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97keanu · 9 months

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i really need a kevin lomax smut

Tags/CW: corruption kink, some dub con, Kevin teases your body, innocent reader, angel!reader, Kevin knows he's demonic, intern!reader, age gap between reader and Kevin, demon magic hehe.

Demonic!Kevin Lomax who picked you, the innocent, angelic fresh graduate as his intern. He couldn't help but be drawn to you softness, your sweet doe eyes that want to believe in the good in people. You chose to be a defense attorney for that reason, so that you may protect those wrongly accused. What a good heart you have, it would be a shame if you let someone as evil as Mr. Lomax taint you...

Angelic!Reader who comes from a good, christian upbringing. Who went to Sunday school and never missed out on a sermon. Who helped out the community, and eventually fluttered away to law school, with bright eyes and white, powdery wings. Who doesn't know she's descended from angels, who has no idea that her new boss has been eyeing her from the moment he saw her. That Mr. Lomax would love to corrupt.

Demonic!Kevin who starts out slow, asking you to stay late, asking you to change your dress, buying you lavish clothes from name brands that you surely couldn't refuse despite how much of your breast is exposed, how much thigh can be seen. You question these choices, but Kevin's soft voice coaxes you into wearing such garments. You can hardly believe no one is staring when you go to your first courtroom case and your thigh high designer stockings can be seen.

Angelic!Reader who also can't believe how her boss looks at her during the case. Someone must be noticing this, but when you look around all you see is people devoting their attention to the case. Your mind bends as you try to understand what's happening. You feel yourself begin to imagine Kevin's hand moving to your supple thigh, slowly moving deeper and deeper towards parts of yourself you know he shouldn't be touching, let alone in public. It's so bold you gasp, and glance to see if anyone's heard you, but the prosecutor continues their opener.

Demonic!Kevin who knows exactly what he's doing to you. He can barely hold back, but forces himself to savor it. To savor your undoing. He reaches his large, firm hand even deeper, enough to wrap a finger around your, of course, white panties, and pull. He maneuvers them so the slide up your already wetting slit, pressing them in so your clit is being teased by little movements. It drives you wild, your breath catching, a hand reaching up cover a budding moan.

Angelic!Reader who knows not what magic makes this courtroom ignore the filthy things Mr. Lomax is doing to you. You feel him move closer, his warmth against your side, his free hand snaking around your shoulders to grip your aching breast. He keeps teasing your clit, your moans still hushed by a quivering hand. You hear his voice float in your ear, deep and husky. "Are you going to be a good little intern and pay attention to the case?" You can hardly keep your mind on what's going on, the words of the courtroom seeming so distant to what's happening to your body. You have given up trying to understand why no one seems to see Mr. Lomax violating you like this. You whisper out "No...please. I'm a good girl, I don't do things like this..." But you know the pleasure you're feeling is not worth giving up. Guilt wraps like a snake in your stomach, knowing you have saved yourself all this time despite what your friends at college did at parties you never went to, and now here you are, a moaning mess from the lightest of nudge.

Demonic!Kevin who loves how much you've come undone for him, now twitching under his slightest touch. He continues using your panties against you, letting go off his grip and changing it so he's now rubbing your clit with his nimble fingers over your panties. "I want to feel your wetness, even through your underwear, can you be a good girl and do that for me? You said you were a good girl..."

Angelic!Reader who can only buck her hips into his hand as response, then hears his hushing tone about how eager you are. You can hardly stand this teasing, you want his fingers against your skin. You need it, you don't know what's come over you, why its so easy to give him right now. You feel the courtroom slip away, despite Mr. Lomax's chiding tone to pay attention, be a good little assistant, this is important. How could you ever pay attention to the case when he has his hands between your legs and his trailing sucking kisses on your neck.

Angelic!Reader who moves Kevin's hand so he is now in your bra, his hand now having access to your hardening nipples. He chuckles in your ear, "You can barely contain yourself. I can't believe what a dirty slut my assistant has turned out to be. Maybe you're a bad girl afterall..." You shake your head, no, you're not a bad girl, you're not supposed to be like this. Your body is betraying you, your mind has come undone, and you have no way of stopping this treatment. All you can do is keep taking Kevin's touches, feeling when he finally foregoes your panties and dips his fingers into your wetness. He tells you how good you are for getting so wet for him, how you were hired for being able to follow any command, how much he wishes he was tasting you right now.

Demonic!Kevin who has you coming completely undone, who is relishing in how easy it was to make a pretty little angel like you fall. He can't hardly wait until he can be inside your warmth, but he holds himself back. He has to tame you first, open you up, get you ready for all that. He uses his fingers to play with your nipple and clit until you're a panting mess, moaning out protests when it feels best. Kevin can only keep giving, making sure you're completely putty in his hands before letting you cum. "Don't you dare cum I tell you to. Don't cum unless you're begging for my cock next." He growls in your ear, twisting your nipple as a threat of punishment.

Angelic!Reader who is so close to the edge now, who is twitching and twisting for more. Who wants to say no, you know you should stop all of this, but the words get stuck in your throat. "God...please..." You whisper and feel Kevin's hand enclose on your throat, tight, firm, but not rough. "He won't help a little slut like you, my angel. You've given into pleasure too much for that now. You better beg me to cum so you at least get something out of this." You begin to moan out freely now, no way to stop the feeling that keeps building up. You begin to stutter out Kevin's name with want, and he tells you what you have say to cum. You don't want to, you know begging for his cock is fully giving in, but your legs are shaking and you need this. You need this so badly...

Angelic!Reader who falls, who finally says "Yes.... Yes Mr. Lomax. Please make me cum, please give me your cock..."

Demonic!Kevin who obliges, who gives you exactly what you want until you're clamping your legs shut around his hand, bucking from how good it feels. He eats up every moan, every sensation you're feeling, enjoying how much he has corrupted you. He knows how badly you didn't want to give in, and loves to see you a panting tainted mess.

Angelic!Reader who is barely done cumming before you're snapped out of your trance. The courtroom comes back into play, and Kevin is saying your name. You see he's next to you, your shirt still buttoned, your skirt still where it should be. You can't fathom what happened, surely it wasn't all a day dream? It felt so real, and so easy to give in. "Already spacing out during your first case, Intern?" Kevin laughs quietly and chides you. You blush deeply as you realize what happened. You blush more when you realize your panties are still soaked.

#kevin lomax x reader #kevin lomax x intern!reader #kevin lomax imagines #kevin lomax fanfic #kevin lomax #the devils advocate #my writing #my imagines #my drabbles #keanu reeves #✧kevincore #ask lila #••• ◛ ʸᵒᵘ’ᵛᵉ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵐᵃⁱˡ!

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ladyduellist · 4 months

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Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Reflections are made on Tav and Astarion's intimate night together before entering the Goblin Camp.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 7: Beholden

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Blood, Violence, Language, Act 1 Spoilers

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We must follow nature’s course. Whether it be cruel or kind. We cannot interrupt its plan for the world. Their tadpoles connected them in more ways, than a simple acknowledgement of their shared affliction. But, boundaries are toilsome when broken. And creeping upon their coasts, will cost a sacrifice yet to be demanded.

— Halsin, journal entry 1,200

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There was a stir of a song being born. One from the buds of untilled soil thought dead. The words to accompany it were being haphazardly forged on parchment, like random notes written on coffee-stained napkins.

Tav hummed and wrote. Wrote and hummed. It was an all-consuming process that transfixed her until it was completed. And her lucky muse? A wreath of ghostly ringlets framing two eyes of garnet that haunted the pounding organ behind her cage of bones.

♫On your chariot of umbra, You rode up from the world below, And with a kiss of starlight you…um??? Youuuuuu….♫

“Hope I’m not pesterin’ you. Saw you over here by your lonesome,” Karlach interrupted as she approached the lounging minstrel with a lopsided smile and a ‘hair of the dog’ pint in her grasp.

“Mornin.’ Only struggling with this verse,” Tav beamed, tucking a wavy piece of hair behind her ear.

“Something’s different about you, eh?” the fiery tiefling observed, taking a sip from her drink.

Tav placed her quill back into its ink pot and straightened out her music sheets while readjusting her position on the tree stump. A cunning prickling of thorns flushed on her cheeks. “I—no. I don’t believe anything has changed about me.”

But, that wasn’t true. Within a man’s arms she came undone, finding empyrean respite. His fingers worked her like a charm spell until she lost herself in the casted shadows of candlelight. Yet, it wasn’t her moans for him in the night nor the donation of her ichor that she gave willingly that surprised her: it was a piece of her trust.

“Perhaps it is because she engaged in quite the exhaustive venture last evening! Blood loss does have quite the effect on people—or so I’m told,” Astarion cut in. “But, me? I feel wonderful!”

And he did look wonderful. His cheeks were less gaunt. The bags under his eyes were a calmer shade of powdery periwinkle. Eyes appeared sharper, a brighter red. Even the sky blue coloring veins in his arms was more prominently saturated.

All his beauty and dangerous splendor were the reasons sonnets are made along the roadways of mud and intoxicating jasmine blooms. There was thousands of intricately weaved words inserted into poems to describe his ilk, like morning mist drops settled upon the threads of arachnids.

Tav cannot contain the lightness she felt when she saw Astarion. Her wings spread out, each feather hiding fragility under their vanes. Will he catch her slim feet as she flies away?

“Hey-o, you dandy! Ready to go gut some gobs today?”

Tav hushed the acrobats in her stomach. “Good dawn to you, ‘Starion.”

“Karlach. Songbird,” he greeted them equally. “You know I wouldn’t miss out on such a gutting show, however, I did come to check on our leader before we head out.”

Before Tav was able to speak, he had already sailed over to her upon muted silver heeled footsteps. She sat up, suddenly aware that he was bent acutely at his waist—enough to reach out to kindly dust her fresh bite marks.

“How badly does it hurt?” his pale head tilted, curls slipping to the side.

The smell of his freshly applied perfumes addled Tav's mind. His eyes, a clever decadence, held the knowledge of her ecstasies that she snuck to him during an impulsive need.

“Sorer than the wrist. Like a dull muscle ache from a cramp,” the bard congenially answered.

“Nothing you cannot surely triumph over. And how about everything else?” he breathed out.

The vampire does not attempt to mask his meaning or shy from the euphoria he exorcized from her body. He was brazen to ask her in front of their acquaintance.

Heavily did she swallow to control the overflow of her marching chest. “Fine. Everything else is fine.”

“Hmm. You know…” Astarion whispered, a low distraction as she watched the tip of his tongue wet his lips. “I can still taste you on my fingers.”

This fancier of the bloodthirsty arts, has two sets of teeth. One with which to feed; the other with which to claim. For this elven bard, a bargain has been made.

Tav wanted to match him in his torturous tease. To pluck out his devil’s tongue and boil it in a spiritual cleanse.

But, there was fine print that sat on the curled edges of the pages from their pasts, smudged with fingerprints and laced with belladonna. Warnings of holes where their hearts lay; labyrinths of frozen gardens that have no end.

Tav had not forgotten the way their rousing decision ended the night prior—with his fingers covered in her fruit and her lips finding purchase upon his alabaster skin. The vague emptiness that enameled over his touch, apparent through the shadows of his eyes. She had left his tent, with her sex loosened and a continual masturbatory bomb of fears that she had crossed a broken boundary of his that he didn’t yet understand.

“Astarion, there’s something I wanted to ask you about last night.” She attempted to mouth in hushed tones.

“Oh my sweet, you’re not getting mawkish on me now, are you? The only serious thing we need to discuss is when you’ll invite me back for another snack,” Astarion winked suggestively.

The bard continued her well-nigh unresponsive discretion of her features, ignoring Karlach’s pacing behind the pale elf. She stood up, a few inches shy of his natural height, placing her hands on her hips. Her quietness showed her sincerity as she stared into his face.

Astarion looked surprised, as if she had just turned an entire ocean to desert. He avoided entertaining her with any further quips or illusions, instead, blinking several times before abruptly summoning his trained foxy slink back to his face.

“Did you hear that? I think it’s our ghastly duty calling upon us to finally help those Silvanus freaks before they start complaining about ‘the leaves of nature being preserved'," he dramatically retorted as he casually checked the cleanliness of his nails. "It may be wise to think of better songs to regale the goblins with then you did that foul ogre—lest we wind up on the skewer. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Astarion gave the women a mannerful bow before he strode away without paying another peek in Tav’s direction.

Tav remained calm as he left, breathing out a long sigh. They needed to prepare for the assault on the goblins. He was a distraction—not necessarily an unwelcome one—but one with knobby roots twisted along the cloister inside his dried innards. If she didn’t get her shit together, a lot of people would die and their blood would be on her hands.

“I’m sorry about the interruption Karlach, he—”

Karlach took a long gulp of her drink, the ale dripping down onto her chin. Her face lit up—almost literally—with an excited smile. Tav knew immediately that the barbarian was far too astute in situations of sexual vices to not read the interaction that just occurred.

“Oh. My. Gods. That’s why you look like you’re glowing today! You and Astarion?! You fucked him, didn’t you?!”

The songstress's vision widened and her face felt like it would burst into flames, much like the tiefling’s engine. “Hells, Kar. Could you keep your voice down? We just—we kissed. A lot. And he obviously bit my neck to feed afterwards.” She pulled down the collar of her doublet to show her the punctures.

A white lie. Tav wasn’t one to share the details of her romanticisms with others. It was a preference to keep the echoes of intimate reflections as special moments: treasures discovered along the shipwrecks of life.

“Hey, I’m not judging! Astarion is gorgeous! Bit of a sassy grouch sometimes, but if I had my chance with him, I would not hesitate to get all over that.” The red woman made thrusting motions with her hips. “That being said, you don’t look entirely happy about it.”

Tav pursed her mouth, staring off to the right side of Karlach as she collected her thoughts. Her throat tightened as she spoke, delicately attempting to avoid providing any details she knew of the spawn’s past. “You mentioned recently that you sensed Astarion has been through a lot of pain, but I’m unsure where that begins and ends for him. And that concerns me. Karlach, I don’t want to potentially hurt him further. I barely know him and it’s… look, I’m telling you this because I think out of everyone, you will understand.”

Karlach crossed her arms, a caring frown accompanied the orangish calm of her irises. “I won’t pry, but Astarion seems to be fixated on his freedom from that fucker Cazador. Can’t blame him. I am too with my own from Zariel. Fangs can be a real piece of work, but even rotten scoundrels need a gentle hand sometimes. Maybe he hasn’t had that in a long time—if ever.”

The bard blew out the air she’d been holding in. “A gentle hand,” she repeated. “You’re right. Thank you for listening. I want what’s best for Astarion—everyone really—but I’m not sure he even knows what that is just yet.”

“I’ve got your back, Tav. Everyone in camp does too. And shit will work out, alright? We’re truly in this together, as sappy as that sounds.” The tiefling knocked back the rest of her drink, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Now, can you at least tell me how it was to kiss him? Please let me live vicariously through you.”

A merry laugh passed through Tav. She curled her index finger near her chin in thought. “Okay. Close your eyes and I’ll describe it to you. Imagine lips: plush, supple, but chilled. Not frozen, but a pleasant degree, like sweetened cool milk soothing your warmed lips. As you press them against his, you can feel your heart quicken and slow at the same time. Your breath’s intertwine with warm and cold temperatures that elicit thoughts you’ve never had. And when your lips start to move? It feels like you’ve both committed the crime of lassoing the sun closer to you as you melt into one another.”

Karlach visibly shuddered, opening her eyes to Tav smiling gently at her. “It’s no wonder you’re a bard. I could almost feel that myself! I suppose we’ve wasted enough time talking about boys for the day—should we get things rumblin’?”

Tav politely nodded and turned around to round up her belongings. Rummaging aimlessly through her satchel, her brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Something the matter?” the tiefling questioned.

“Just something odd. I could have sworn I put it in here before I came to write.”

“Maybe I can help find it. What is it that we’re looking for?”

Lost in confusion, Tav held the purse upside down a final time to see if any items stumbled to the ground. “My cuticle oil.”

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When he woke from his trance in the early morning hours with dried blood cracking in the corners of his mouth, his vampiric nose involuntarily breathed in an alien scent that had seemed to fill his tent overnight. A pink tongue darted out to clean off his mouth, swallowing the red flakes down.

Astarion’s clothes stunk of Tav’s fragrance—she was ever so fond of—having made homes for itself in the islands of stitches on his sleeves and ruffled v-neck. Bodily fluids, now dried on his ornamental pillows, a sexual honeyed musk. He wrapped his tongue around his finger, still tasting the glacé of her sensual defeat and the sour memory of their night together.

He reached for the rags he had used to wipe off her bloodied essence from her upper body, scrunching them up to place under his nostrils. Cock half-hardening, he inhaled without reserve and groaned at the reminder of the effect drinking from thinking creatures had on his hunger.

Under the light of a candle, its single flame licking wicked pathways to Tav's want, he had concealed his guise of disgust behind her shoulder. All he could remember was the act itself—that it happened. That his fingers entered her and he poetically spoke naughty phrases into her ear to anchor her wetness for him.

Trust. Trust. Trust. She gave it to him with the arch of her back into his chest. Just as he predicted. Just as he planned.

However, virtually all of the details of their intimacy—the night—were lost on him. Her face was another among the blur of thousands he seduced over two centuries. Up petticoats and down breeches he searched bodies to steal their pleasures. His cock only thickening out of trained habit or a rare wishful fancy of ravaging apart a neck from any creature without hisses and tails. It meant nothing to him.

Yet, a singular detail did remain. A place he entered beyond the second circle of hell in lust, a circle where it seemed like his death could be undone. A river of lyrics carrying him along a raft of flower-crowned skulls towards the banks of her merciful arms.

During the twilit minutes before he released her, he made the blunder of examining her eyes before their ravenous kiss. What he had seen was acceptance. And it scared the fuck out of him.

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“I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you Gale?” Astarion teased while they walked through the inner sanctum of the temple overtaken by the goblins.

“Um yes, in silence.” Gale leaned in towards him, whiffing his scent, “By the way, I don’t mean to pry, but did you apply more of your aromatic oils than usual? ”

He searched for a quick remark to hand to the wizard. “Only because I knew I’d be in your presence today.”

Half of the vampire’s morning had been dedicated to scrubbing. Crouched over a bucket of soapy water, Astarion had soaked his clothing and rags, ridding them of scents unknown. Of the lingering remnants of her. His skin raw from how hard he attacked his flesh with suds and woven cloth. The final touch? Excessive dabs of his oils in unusual places to cloy any bits leftover of the bard's odor.

“The Priestess is up ahead; I’ll go speak with her. Wait here for a moment,” Tav’s melodious voice spoke reservedly to them.

No-nonsense. That was a part of her Astarion both equally appreciated and despised. Despite her penchant to offer her generosity to all of Faerûn, she pulled her punches. It was a waste of time to her otherwise and could be messy. Efficiency would deliver the most desired outcomes, but gods, he desperately wanted to create mischief at every turn.

Astarion, be nice. Astarion, we don’t need to lockpick EVERY chest. Astarion, leave that ogre and bugbear having intercourse in the barn to fulfill their needs alone. Astarion, don’t have fun. Astarion, let’s save all these idiots!

”Astarion? Please don’t hurt me." Tav's voice echoed in his head, throwing off his equilibrium.

He shook his thoughts away, reflecting back on their encounter with the dream visitor in the prism as they came upon the entrance of camp a short while ago. It wanted to protect them against The Chosen. The Absolute. All their enemies. To give them power. Yes. Power was the most important ability to hold in all aspects. With power, the possibilities were endless. With power, he would have protection. All it would take, would be to manipulate the pretty songbird into aligning with his goals. And judging by how he already managed to pleasure her so soon after they first met, it would be a piece of cake.

Thrum-dub…thrum-dub…thrum-dub.

Pulses? Astarion felt the constellation of his soul mark beating mildly. Tav’s back faced him, her features obscured. Her body was hunched over minimally at the waist, hand at the side of her temple. His eyes narrowed, jaw taunt. Something happened.

Thrum-dub.Thrum-DUB. THRUM-DUB. THRUM. THRUM. DUB.

Faster now. Harder pounds of a pumping bass through the bandwidth of their marks. She was nervous—frightened. The threshold betwixt them was closing in as an invisible rope pulled him closer.

He flinched. Really, he should stay out of her way; he shouldn’t get involved. It was perhaps wicked to not divulge to her the shared marks they possessed, but it would change everything. His plans would become a brittle cascade of a future he sought. He didn’t want to disrupt the plank he had been trying to balance upon since his unintentional escape from Cazador. But, Astarion was aware that he needed her and she needed him.

Besides, what better way to obtain one’s help to a cause—his cause—than a life owed?

“They’re connected. Quickly, we need to do something! If we start attacking, Tav could be in danger.” Gale stepped forward, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

Light were Astarion’s steps as he snuck upon Tav and Priestess Gut. The creator of his misery appeared stifled, her mouth partly opened with persistent shallow breaths. The tadpoles of the goblin and elf had connected; Tav was fighting to push it out. A dull whimpering snuck out from her throat as if a deer was jerking around in pain.

Astarion seized her elbow, declining his head to press his lips to the opening of her ear canal, nose softly resting against its shell. He whispered in elvish, a language only the two of them would know, steadying his voice firmly. “She won’t see it. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’m here.”

The hex of the worms severed and she was free! Tav’s body slumped downwards, but faithful hands were catching her, grabbing at her arm to wrap around staunch shoulders—wrapping around the illusionary dripping silverlight he exuded.

“When did you…?” her voice broke up in a hoarse mutterings.

Giving her waist a confident squeeze, he smiled sweetly at her. “Hello beautiful. Think you can stand on your own?”

“Urgh...yes, I think so.”

“Splendid. As much as I detest putting you in that wizard’s care, do me a favor and go to him.”

The bard wobbled as she stood on her own, backing away towards Gale. “What do you plan on doing?”

Astarion removed one of his trusted blades from his back. Bringing it to his mouth, he licked the side of it, much like when he smothered his saliva over bitten wounds. “I plan on slicing open the Priestess’s neck. Now stand back, the smell of blood will be in the air soon.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Filets of goblin meat were a stark contrast against the erected statues of the temple dedicated to Selûne. Her lifeless face watched the companions as they carved through the vile threats. Ripped sashes of ruby life essence unwound in the drafty camp, splashing the group.

A witness Tav played, as she paid honor to Astarion’s image under the sparks of the wagon wheel chandelier inside the chambers of Dror Ragzlin. He stood soaked in ichor, peering off to his side with a final swoosh of his dagger through the atmosphere, flicking off excess blood. The dance macabre had been sated.

Flags of pure white raised, red fangs and swords embroidered in the middle. The belief of their crusade, a righteous seat upon golden scales. Raise thy sword in the name of murder. Let us pray.

All three leaders: Priestess Gut, the drow Minthara, and Dror Ragzlin—deceased.

“As you can see, ceremorphosis has been halted—as a surprise to all of us. I am not one to tempt fate, but if you cannot heal us, then any guided direction towards someone that could offer assistance would be most appreciated,” Gale explained hastily to the arch druid Halsin they released from the goblin prison.

Halsin casted a yellow glow that coated Gale’s entire body, sensing the mechanisms of the mind flayers. “Illithid tadpoles. Oak Father preserve you all. I’ve studied these for a long time now, without much results. It was the reason I came here, to seek out research. I may not be able to heal you, but I can at least tell you where a mass amount of true souls are going to be infected.”

The druid was large, easily towering over Tav. Almost the size of the bear wild shape they had found him in. Scars upon his wise face, a set of misty tea irises surrounded by reddish brown hair that wafted of autumn leaves and sandalwood.

The bard was stunned. “You mean they aren’t all being captured upon a ship and given the worm as we have?”

“I’m afraid not. Moonrise Towers is a stronghold ruled by a man named Kethric Thorm in the Shadowlands. Innocents go in and true souls—infected—come out. The lands are dangerous. Anyone that steps foot there is at risk for turning into demonic shades,” Halsin spoke in caution. “You have two options to enter: through the Mountain Pass or the Underdark. Both come with their own sets of tribulations. The Underdark specifically is home to a Sharran temple.”

Gale faced Tav, speaking in a muffled shallow. “Shadowheart may be quite interested in hearing about that bit of information.”

Focusing on the fine lines of Gale’s crow’s feet lifting upwards, she nodded. Her eyes swooped down to the strange circular marking in the middle of his chest, the way it seemed like tendrils of smoke sneaking up past his clavicle, to the side of his neck. A part of him, he frequently hesitated to speak on. But, being so close to the human man, she wondered what secrets lay under the surface of his skin.

“I know you’re curious about it—the marking, I mean. But, now isn’t the time to explain. Soon, I promise.” Gale gave her a reassuring compress on her shoulder.

Tav, now quietly embarrassed, turned around, finding two familiar crimson eyes following her. Coveting and dark.

Thousands of flowers sprouted behind her as she went to him. With her tears, she would bathe his feet; with her hair, she would dry them. His armor drenched in blood, dripping onto the new growths left behind, urging petals open.

Thankful for his earlier care with the priestess, her inspirited hand graced the tips of Astarion’s fingers with delicate plumy touches as she briskly clenched hers around them before turning to leave the chambers.

“I owe you my life ‘Starion,” Tav whispered, peering away from him.

He deceitfully smiled. ”I’m sure there will come a time when I will need your help in return.”

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

Text

Part 4

Dustin kept his promise to help teach Steve how to find food. Sources were getting scarce though. And after some time, Dustin decided his energy would be better suited to finding out where the fairy prince lived.

"If I can find him, he can get you home."

"Or you can find my home. Or better yet, fly me there", Steve suggested.

Dustin rolled his eyes. "Look at this wingspan. I'm lucky if I can carry a twig with some berries. Strength is not my forte. But finding things is. I've already found you twice. Maybe this Eddie guy is just bad with directions."

"Go, leave me here to fend for myself."

"I thought you were supposed to be the adult between us. Don't die!", he said as a reminder before taking off.

--------------------------

Steve's mother Lina waited as one day turned into two, then three. She waited as more of the leaves changed colors, and as the first frost appeared. While others prepared, and later celebrated the fall season, she waited by his bedroom window. She didn't make the dresses she normally did for the girls to dance in. Instead she spent her days making new outfits for Steve. One lucky aspect of having such a small son was that she needed very little material.

When night fell and it was too dark to sew by, she kept his window for as long as possible, singing lullabies, hoping he could hear and follow her voice home. Sometimes she looked to the book of tales, still open to the page with the fairy prince.

Steve's prince had promised to return him. Lina believed in chivalry and love. But she was also aware of how difficult to small people looking for each other in this big world could be. Steve could be right in the garden or a whole town over and she wouldn't know.

Tonight snow was falling and a powdery blanket was beginning to cover the ground. Feeling helpless but not hopeless, Lina closed the window for the night. She'd get started on a new blanket for him tomorrow.

-------------------------------

Eddie pushed Honey on, even as the winds got colder. Royal authority didn't give him the power to stop the seasons, even when he asked. He heard a commotion going on closer to the ground and flew in to see what it was all about. There was a toad, so he counted his luck.

"Hey!", he called out when he landed and hopped off his bee. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the guy I'm looking for. About yae high, beautiful brown hair, was last seen in blue?"

The toad sneered at him. "I ain't got nuthin' to tell a fairy. Buzz off." He turned to stomp away, muttering something about a Carol and a wedding.

Eddie flew past to head him off. "Wait just a second, I'm not done. Now I've lost someone and he could be in danger."

The toad was about to tell him off when his expression changed to something more conniving. Eddie got on his guard. This could very well be the toad that had taken Steve.

"Lost someone, you say? Maybe he just didn't wanna be around you", he said with a harsh shove, nearly knocking Eddie over.

"I don't want any trouble. Just some info."

Then he felt someone grab him from behind, arms surrounding his neck in a chokehold. Eddie immediately launched but was surprised when his assailant didn't fall behind. Instead they cackled and he also heard the sound of beetle wings. They wrestled in the air before Billy got the upper hand and threw Eddie against a tree.

He was disoriented as Tommy picked him up and shoved a knee in his stomach.

"I think if we wanna get our hands on that princess, we better keep a hold of the prince", Billy said.

"Yeah, but I'm not babysitting him."

Eddie regained just a bit of his fight to whistle, ordering Honey to bulldoze right into Billy. Tommy pushed at Eddie to get out of the way, making him fall into a deep puddle.

His wings weren't much use in the water. And he was fatigued from searching endlessly. He felt himself moving slow but it wasn't just his body. The water froze around him, sealing as he reached for the surface.

Honey hovered before she was shooed off by Billy. "Looks like we got some crown royal on ice", he grinned.

-----------------------------

To his credit, Steve felt like he did pretty well for a while after Dustin left. Still, there was no beating the cold when you had zero walls to shield you. By luck he was able to find a discarded holey sock to wrap around himself. His shivering only stopped when he passed out, praying he'd awaken in the morning.

When he did wake up, it was to warmth, so he was sure he was dreaming. He stretched out and instead of a worn sock, he had a much nicer cloth on top of him. This was nicer than the toad's barge, but he was so over waking up in unknown places.

"Oh good. You're finally awake."

Steve looked to the side and saw that he was in the presence of a weasel. A smartly dressed weasel at that.

"Did you bring me here?", Steve asked, looking around. The space was small, but that made it easy to keep warm. Which seemed to be accomplished with a stove.

"That I did. I'm a doctor around these parts. You can call me Brenner." He was stirring a pot as he spoke. "Are you hungry, Steve?"

"Starvin-wait, how do you know my name?"

Brenner chuckled to himself. "It's a small forest. I know all about you. How you were being courted by those toads and all. How you turned them down because of your previous engagement with the prince."

"We're not quite engaged", Steve took the cup that was offered to him. He didn't know what it was but it was warm and smelled of spices. "But, I suppose something like that was on my mind."

"Mhm", Brenner went back to stirring the pot. "Of course with him being dead, your plans must've changed."

Steve barely got a sip before the cup dropped out of his hands, startling the doctor.

"Certainly you knew about that?"

"No....", Steve whispered. He backed away until he came to a wall. Suddenly the cozy space felt much too small. "Eddie can't....he can't be...de-" His voice broke off with a weak gasp.

"My apologies. I assumed you knew."

Steve sunk down to the floor and pulled his knees up this his chest. If Eddie had been looking for Steve, if he had died out there while on the search...he could never forgive himself.

"Good food and good company can get your mind off that terrible dreariness. Come now." Brenner took a piping hot tray out of the oven. "We're going to take these to a dear friend of mine."

Steve didn't get up. "I'm really not up for visiting anyone right now."

"The way I see it, I just saved your life. And you can't muster up the energy for a stroll to my closest neighbor?"

Steve didn't even want to move. He thought his heart broke at the idea of never seeing Eddie again. Him dying was so much worse. It felt like his heart had been ripped out and left a whole in his chest; like he would never be full again. Brenner was looking at him expectantly though, so slowly, Steve rose to his feet. The weasel did bring him in from the cold and revive him. And it wasn't Brenner's fault that Steve was lost or that Eddie was...

His body moved on its own as Brenner put the pan in his hands and led him through a small door. The tunnel was dark and Brenner filled the space with whoever this neighbor was. A Mr. Henry Creel apparently.

Little did he know, Dr. Brenner had his own ulterior motives for Steve.

Part 6

Tag Team

@telidina

@novelnovella

@ajeff855

@mars-the-witch

@ceejay-955

@punctualhowell

@child-of-cthulu

@estrellami-1

@cupcakesnwhiskey

@spectrum-spectre

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #thumbelina au #only a couple more parts left!#that crown royal joke was for the jill scott fans #LOL

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harmonictechnicality · 2 years

Text

Eddie is a roadside magician and Steve is his eye candy assistant that rakes in all the tips.

Sometimes while they’re traveling, Eddie will pull a sunflower (Steve’s favorite) out of his sleeve. It undeniably makes Steve feel special - he always wants to say thank you, it’s beautiful. But it simply comes out as:

‘You don’t have to do this. You’re not performing right now.’

And Eddie fights the urge to say, you’re the only audience I’ve ever needed. Instead, he’ll reply:

‘I just need the extra practice. Don’t want to lose the magic.’

Other times, Eddie will ask Steve to pick a card out of a pile. Steve catches on rather quickly that he always seems to pick the Jack of Hearts. After the fifth time this occurs, Steve asks:

‘Why do I always get this card?’

And Eddie fights the urge to say, because it represents my heart and I want you to keep it. Instead, he’ll reply:

‘Just a coincidence, I guess.’

December is their busiest time for performing and they land a gig with a local circus on Christmas Eve. After the last performance of the night, Steve packs up their props while the crowd filters out of the big top tent. The place is empty, the spotlights are cut off, and it’s just Eddie standing center stage.

‘Everything’s packed up, we can hit the road,’ Steve calls out from the stage wing.

But Eddie motions his head for Steve to join him on stage. ‘Not yet. I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve.’

‘Let me guess… sunflowers?’ Steve approaches him, rolling his eyes at Eddie’s usual antics.

‘Better than sunflowers.’ Eddie playfully grins and works his sleight of hand.

And it is better than sunflowers.

It is so much better than sunflowers.

Because Eddie pulls out mistletoe.

He opens his mouth, ready to explain the customary rules of mistletoe - but he doesn’t even have the chance. Steve’s lips are already on his.

The kiss is just like the snowflakes that gently descend around the tent. Powdery soft. Pure-white devotion. Simple but rare. Not long-lasting, but nevertheless memorable.

It’s a kiss that communicates unspoken affections. There’s no words that either of them have to fight off anymore. They can say whatever they want.

And just for now, right in this moment, they only need to say one thing.

‘Merry Christmas, Eddie.’

‘Merry Christmas, Steve.’

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #ugh i’m sorry i am so sappy #definitely did not mean for this to becomes a christmas thing #it was accidental winter romance i swear

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balladetto · 6 months

Text

Once, when Link was even smaller than he feels, he'd knocked his shoulder out of its socket in a terrible fall.

Terrible in that he'd cried about it, ashamed and at the then-height of pained, not that it was a particularly horrific tumble. He'd just landed wrong, he remembers someone telling him — frantic and almost apologetic in their reassurance. Too much has happened for him to reconstruct a face for the memory, but Link can still recall the stutter in their words. You're g-gonna be okay. Y-you're gonna— gonna be f-fine.

And he was. Someone had gone to fetch a healing fairy while others came to keep him company. It'd been the right shoulder, burning at the joint and numb all the way down to his fingertips, but he'd found a spot of hurt he could grit his teeth through; then breathe through; then eventually speak through. By the time the fairy was brought over, Link had been so deep in the rhythm of holding himself together that he'd nearly slapped her away when she broke it.

He remembers her, he thinks, the most out of everything. There's a distinct clarity associated pain will give you with any recollection. She was rose-pink, a little darker than he was used to, and she'd bristled when he whimpered through a fresh wave of tears and pushed at her with his pinky.

"Stop that," she'd said. "Bones aren't easy, you know. It'll only hurt for a pinch, it has to for me to fix it. You're already being so brave! Can't you be brave a while longer?"

Outside the memory, Link lays crumpled on cold tiles, eyelids like crushed butterfly wings and the cave of his chest barely moving as he looks up and up and up. He thinly wonders, for a fixing like this, how long he'd have to keep being brave for.

Neither of his shoulders took the landing this time, but he knows many things are wrong with both of them. By extension, many things are wrong with all of him. He should take stock, a part of him understands. He'd like to take stock, another part realises, if only he had the capacity to. Each breath shifts the slivers and splinters his bones have shattered into. Agony twists through every vein like a replacement for the blood he imagines paints his trail from platform to windows to the far below floor. He can't feel his fingers, which twitch as if to grip something — his left hand, mangled, rests as if in graveyard dirt.

There is no amount of searching in this sea that will land him in a place where this might be bearable.

"Link!" Navi yells, a trilling bell that drowns out the sound of dying. His heart threads an extra thump, like he still has it in him to be scared alongside everything else, before it fades back into a whisper of a pulse. She wheels above him in panicked, powdery circuits: hair to boots and back. "Get up! You have to get up!"

He does. He does have to. Link doesn't get to think he's gonna die now. He doesn't get to be tired enough — small enough — for that. He draws a rattling inhale, head practically cracking open with how the air presses against its seams. He's sixteen. The world will end if he's nine. He's sixteen, sixteen, sixteen.

He chokes on liquid rising in his gorge, coughs it up, and closes his eyes when gravity brings the blood down in blotches on his skin. It's— really gross, and that's such a mundane thought in the face of what he has to reckon with that his chest starts spasming with strangled laughter instead.

"Link!"

Navi, he replies in his head, 'cause that's all he can do. He traces over more names: Sheik, Zelda, Saria, the Sages, the Kokiri, the list goes on as his voice dips into hitching, searing gasps. It's an awful thing to realise — that's all he can do. Link has to get up, has to be Courage, has to be more than what he is.

And he can't.

Sound drifts down from above, mocking. Cruel. It's a laugh getting louder and louder, and Link prises his lashes apart with the sheer will borne from a unique dread. A kind of fear, if you felt it not in sensation, but in the dizzying spiral that is the certainty of where this will all end.

A kind of fear — and a kind of fury.

Link is nine, thrown to the ground, battered and muscles stinging with a magic he tastes as something crackling on his tongue. He glares up at the tall man on the tall horse, smouldering so brazenly with protective, frustrated outrage that he shakes with it. He is not unafraid of the sneer that answers him, but he does not look away.

Link is nine, broken over the ground, near dead and stuck in a body he's tried to make his. His eyes are cold as he watches Ganondorf descend, burning with tears dyed red from failure. The brand on his left hand glows, resonating with a magic he no longer has the nerves to feel. Navi doesn't leave. There are a thousand things he wishes he could scream.

Large fingers fold around the wrist of his gauntlet, deliberate in their ignorance of the softness a joint that bent must be afforded. As his arm is lifted, the pain dragged along every passing second like some horrible, continuous song-note that eclipses even his fears, he pretends none of the noises coming from him are his and thinks everything that could mean: I hate you.

He thinks everything that could mean: I'm so sorry.

The man raises his other hand, palm closing in, and Link forces another entire earth on the child he can't be even here — even now. He does not look away. Navi, oddly muffled, rings something wordless.

Link waits for the end of this story.

#* lionheart / study.#( so uh. down.fall timeline drabble! [pops a party popper]#i don't usually write on full workdays because i /can't/ write on those days (head fuckening. empty) but god. god #Inspired!! i hope it reads well <3 #thinking about. an ending where li.nk turns out more kokiri than hylian (yay?) in that he's a spirit that no longer ages who takes on the #image of a child most times because that's what his core mainly reflects. but it's like looking at smth you aren't supposed to #in the itchy brain sort of way -- and sometimes the borders of his form blur so entirely that he's the image of what he was when he. y'know #do you get me. do you see the vision < delirious with sleep deprivation #i'm sure i'll find something to regret about this when i wake but i am sending post i can't look at this anymore flksjdf )#* lionheart / ic.#* ic / para.#* v / a story that can't be changed.#death implied #ask to tag /#* intermission / queue.#long post cw

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annikin-annotates · 11 months

Text

Within a Wing Beat - The Blood Rite - Part II

Pairing: Aemond X Fem!OC

WC: 7.1K

Reblogs Appreciated!

Cluethael

The year had come to a close rather quickly, they had covered stances, fighting tactics, and discovered their preferred weaponry, They also learnt how to identify and dress wounds accordingly, often having to suture and dress their own when they occurred. It wasn’t an easy journey, for Cluethael especially, who had to learn, practice and dine on her own. The first few months the loneliness had been excruciating, as was the hurt of her friend abandoning her. But she had pushed through, and now it was the night before the Blood Rite.

“You better watch your back, we will come for you, you ruminating cunt,” Brynn hissed at her, holding her fingers to her forehead to represent horns. Cluethael felt her stomach twist painfully as she rolled on her side in her cot, closing her eyes to get some sleep, gods know she was going to need it.

The Blood rite was a great honour to participate in, she reasoned with herself, it is a ceremony to weed out the weak and allow the strong to flourish. Nothing she could tell herself would ever be able to bring her to terms with the fact that she may not survive past tomorrow. She may not live to grow old, to marry, to bear children and bring forth a new line of heirs; she would give anything to tell her past self to run away and never look back.

The cot creaked as she rolled onto her back, staring at the wooden beams that held the thatch roof over their heads. It sounded silly, but the beams had become her friends during her stay. She would tell them the details of her day, however small; she liked to pretend that they were her father. She murmured a prayer that she had not heard since she left her home:

“Kostilus gaomagon daor rual morghon naejot gūrogon ñuha riña,”

Please do not allow death to take me.

“Kostagon se ra isse se guēsin henujagon nyke sagon,’

May the things in the forest leave me be.

“Istin return lenton,”

I must return home.

“Mīsagon nyke hen ōdrikagon”

Protect me from harm.

Sleep was torn from her in the wee hours of the morning by the thunderous beating of drums to herald the Blood Rite. They dressed silently, all of them in leathers that suddenly looked far too big for them. Cluethael silently ate her porridge as she listened to the low hum of chatter between the girls around her as they prepared for the Rite. The food seemed to sour and turn to ash in her mouth, but she forced it down as best she could, as it would be her last proper meal for a while.

She threw her legs back over the bench seat she occupied at the table she inhabited by herself and turned to exit the mess hall. It was a stunning morning, a powdery robin’s egg blue blanketed them as far as she could see; soft clouds floated by lazily, she couldn’t help but begin to feel sick at the thought of what was to come.

Anxiety prickled all over her body as she slowly inched up the line to be fitted with all the necessary tools needed for the Rite. She tried not to crane her neck to see where the others were being led to, she would find out soon enough. As much as she tried to calm herself, her body would not settle; she picked nervously at her cuticles as her toes wriggled restlessly in her boots.

She was unaware that Runa was behind her until a small, cold hand reached out for her own, a silent offer of comfort for the both of them. She ripped her hand away from Runa’s as if she had been burned by her very touch, “I thought you didn’t mingle with cattle anymore,” she spat. Runa offered no reply. Soon enough it was her turn to be led into the tent she had seen all the other girls enter.

They blindfolded her immediately, disembodied hands gripped her arms roughly and forced them outwards, slipping a contraption over both of her shoulders before binding her hands behind her back. She fought the urge to let out a frightened cry at her treatment. She wasn’t sure what they placed on her but it made her shoulders stiff and was tight around her waist, it made her wings ache under the strain.

A taloned hand gripped her painfully; she couldn’t see anything, but she could feel the transition from the coldness of the tent to the warmth of the sun on her skin. She could hear sobbing and sniffles, hushed chatter and prayers to the gods.

The gods would not help them.

“Recruits,” a stern voice started, all crying and conversations ceased.

“You have the honour of participating in the Rite,” another started; she could feel the buzz of tension around her. “You will be taken to the base of the mountain, from there you will be untied and your blindfolds will be removed. You have seven days to reach the summit and place your chosen stone at the monolith,” she finished.

Fear roiled within her as a rope was placed in both of her bound hands, the coarseness grounded her and offered her comfort in the uncertainty. Her group stumbled and tumbled through the underbrush, the biting chill of the snow capped mountain becoming more apparent the further they trekked. The change from grass to snow was sudden, the tread on the bottom of her shoe offering little against the cold that was already blooming in her toes.

Her nose collided with the solid form in front of her and the rope binding her hand was cut. She instinctively rubbed her wrists, trying to get rid of the itchiness that lingered. She stood frozen for a moment, both unwilling and too frightened to move. Her blindfold was removed and the blinding light caused her to squint, lifting her hand to shield her eyes. She looked around for any sign of another person, a Valkyrie - or a recruit.

Not a soul was near her. She must have collided with the back of her guide, she shook the thought from her head - it didn’t matter now. What mattered was reaching the summit and surviving. She picked up the length of rope used to guide her to where she was, she didn’t know if she would need it - but it was better safe than sorry.

The main part of her first day was spent walking; she had ambled aimlessly through dense underbrush, avoiding low hanging branches and fallen logs. Feeling the sun become warmer as the day progressed; she had never seen this part of the mountain, just a glimpse of it when she flew over years ago; the obelisk atop the mountain now a distant memory. A pleasant tune was carried through the trees by Mockingbirds, if it weren’t for the feeling of impending doom; it would have been a nice walk.

She regretted ever wanting to participate in the Rite.

Winter had never felt so bitter before, this one was not spent with her family reading under the blanket, nor by the fireside she had grown to tolerate. She was alone, cold and fighting for her life, with only herself to blame for it all. She could have deserted the camp, turned tail and ran at the first opportunity, or refused when they took her from her home. Her mother allowed her to be taken, and Emerie before her. The very thought sparked a fire that fuelled the bitterness simmering in her for so long began to rear its head.

She stumbled and wandered through the trees for hours, stopping to check her surroundings and pick up any rocks she could use as improvised weapons. She had scaled the trunk of a pine tree, finding refuge for a few hours of rest before she continued on her ascent at the first light of dawn.

She had taken the time to fashion herself a dagger from the oval shaped rock she had chosen the day she had arrived, the one she needed to take to the summit. Spending the afternoon and well into the night chipping away at it with another small stone - sharpening both sides but leaving enough space for her hand to grip it without being injured.

At some point during the night she had drifted into a light sleep, both rocks still in her lap. A blood curdling scream woke her, ice filled her veins as she peered from between the leaves of the tree. The forest surrounding her was almost pitch black, she could barely make out the outline of a person. And something big.

Very big, she thought.

It was thirty paces behind her, eyes so yellow they looked like golden coins. Its body was tall and lithe, streamlined for the hunt. Large feathered wings hung from its sides, like an unholy combination of wolf and owl - a Fenris. Stalking its prey like a shadow, it was so quiet she wouldn’t have noticed it, despite the beast’s size. She didn’t know what to do, did she try to help? Or did she stay put and let the Blood Rite weed out the ones not meant to be here?

The Rite is a place to allow scores to be settled, a voice crooned, a shiver ran down her spine, it sounded like it was coming from all around her.

She decided to let nature take its course. Her hands firmly planted over her ears to block out the screaming - the feasting happening below her. She was terrified, she was cold - she missed her family and she missed her bed. She just wanted it all to go away.

It is smart to only move in the day time, lest you become like all the would be Valkyries that came before, a voice hummed, an eerie delight dancing in the statement. She didn’t dare answer it; the last thing she wanted was for the beast below to be alerted to her presence. So she waited with bated breath, unable to move a muscle as she listened to the sounds around her.

With the dawn came safety.

The bitter chill roused her from the fitful slumber she had fallen into, the sky was trimmed with its silvery hue before the sun began to rise. She surveyed the land around her; from this height she could see a relatively clear path over the trees and towards the slope of the mountain. It couldn’t be that easy, surely.

She untied the length of rope that kept her firmly planted in the tree; ignoring the biting pain in her palms as she slid down the final few feet of the trunk, her feet planted firmly on the ground. Snow crunching underfoot, she tried her best to look away from the unrecognisable body that sat in a tattered heap just to the left of the path she had been walking on to find the tree.

Large prints were still visible in the snow, a single paw print was two feet across and almost as deep. She couldn’t contain the fear that prickled the base of her spine. If she was going to have any chance of survival she needed to use every tactic she had learned over the last year.

There would be no fire lit to keep her warm through the night, or to soothe the dull ache in her legs. The last thing she wished was to draw the attention of the same fanged beast that tore a girl to shreds the night before; she shuddered at the memory. So she chose the cold, to be cold was to be alive, she reasoned.

None of the trees around her were strong enough to hold her weight, all of them too thin to climb or too short to hide in. She didn’t know what to do; if she continued to walk she risked death by creatures unknown and if she stayed she risked freezing to death in the snow. That’s when she saw it, as if by magic, a rotted tree stood tall across the clearing; if she could make it she would live to see another day

A steady inhale calmed her, the hot breath clouding the air in front of her. Everything in that moment felt so loud, the singing birds, the snow beneath her feet and the sound of her own breath. She inched herself out of the thicket and into the clearing to cross, safety only stood a hundred paces away.

“Hey!” a voice shrieked. Her head snapped in the direction of the voice only seeing a glimpse of red hair before taking off; darting across the clearing and into the densely packed woodland on the other side, hoping to lose them.

She had been found - not by one of the bloodthirsty creatures that roamed the woods, but by her own comrades. Though the situation terrified her, she wasn’t surprised - the Blood Rite was about settling scores as well as reaching the summit. She knew that in her heart she would either kill or be killed.

And she was not ready to die.

The Fenris stalks these woods, use it to your advantage, that haggard voice whispered.

Several pairs of feet hurried after her, cackling wickedly; calling her names. “What’s the matter? Too scared to fight us?” one girl taunted, she didn’t dare look behind her to see who it was. She did her best to take deep and calm breaths, forcing as much of the icy air into her lungs as they would allow. That familiar deep burning bloomed in her chest as she forced herself to pick up her pace, the group quickly gaining on her.

She needed to figure out a plan, quickly. With haste, she made a sharp right, heading into the dense forest, hoping she could stall enough to pull it off. She hid behind a large evergreen, grabbing a handful of snow and shoving it into her mouth to stop her breath from fogging and giving her spot away. She couldn’t stop her hands from trembling as she untied the rope from around her waist and fished the sharpened stone from her sleeve. Her teeth chattered and ached as she wrapped the hemp rope around the stone, crafting a makeshift rope dart.

The very same rope that sentenced her to death was the very thing that would save her life.

Harsh whispers alerted her to their presence, “Where did she go?” one asked.

“How would I know? Just find her,” another bit back.

She swallowed thickly. In the commotion, through the pounding of her heartbeat and trying to steady her breath, four voices can be made out, albeit garbled she is certain they are dangerous. To survive this ordeal she would need to be smart - pick them off one by one. Let their own thirst for blood take them out, or let the Fenris do most of the work. She swallowed the now melted snow in her mouth to replace it with more as she peered around the tree. The group were about a hundred paces away, with Brynn leading the pack.

Her breath began to quicken, her heart thrumming with a mixture of fear and anticipation, causing the veins in her neck to throb. Her teeth chattered and ground against each other, her jaw tensed alongside her body. She felt the rough bark of the tree she leant against in a poor attempt to ground herself. Every fibre of her being wanted her to turn and run, but she knew that it would only prolong the inevitable. Either they died, or she did.

Her talons bit into the bark, the small chips splintering under her grip as she closed her eyes and drew in a deep, slow breath. Trying to quell the feelings coursing through her body, blood bubbled and fizzed beneath her skin.

The group was closer now, about twenty five paces away.

In the heat of combat, Cluethael's focus narrowed to the girl in front of her. Survive, she needs to win this to stay alive. She will not die in this forest trapped like a rat, she repeated in her head like a prayer. There is the background noise of yelling and screaming from the fight Cluethael is stuck in the middle of; a snarl throws her off for a moment, pulling her back to her own body.

She watched the large Fenris silently slink out of the cluster of evergreens, recognizing the jagged and blood stained teeth poking out from its maw, the same on from the night before; its focus was on the pair who were fighting. Both of them now rooted to the snow in fear. Hot breath came from its nose in bursts of thick smoke. Its alarmingly yellow eyes connected on her, it made her heart stop for a moment. It was so much more fearsome than she had imagined, the growl the beast elicited rattled the very bones inside her.

At first there was an eerie quiet that settled over them, neither of them sure of what to do. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she slowly inched her way back towards the woods. She caught her lip between her teeth as she watched Brynn’s eyes flickered to hers, and she also slowly began to back away towards the tree line. Neither were prepared for when her heel caught on a rock behind her; she stumbled backwards and fell onto her back.

The Fenris wasted no time going in for the kill.

Her heart seized as she jumped to her feet and began to run, the surprise triggering the Fenris to attack Brynn with a ferocity that was unmatched. Barely able to hold down the bile in her empty stomach, Cluethael was able to hear the shrieks of her would-be attacker slice through the air suddenly stop. A cold sense of dread filled her, but her body made her push on deeper into the forest - and further up towards the mountain.

Her teeth chattered and her legs shook from exertion, the snow she ran through was deeper than she’s ever seen. She could see the sky through the cracks between the dense pines, it was darkened, the final warmth of the day leaving behind a befitting crimson glow. An eerie feeling of being watched washed over her, her head snapping to her left and then to her right. Nobody was behind her, either. She wasn’t sure what was worse: someone stalking her from within the woods or her own paranoia eating away at her.

She was about to brush it off as her own paranoia when a sudden crack alerted her of a nearby presence. Her heart rate spiked as the chase began once more. She took off into the thicket, hoping to lose whoever, or whatever, was chasing her.

The woods around her were blurred with how fast her feet carried her, vicious laughter mocking her from a few feet behind. The ivory crystals crushed underfoot as she pushed herself further into the densely packed conifers and pines. Her calves burned and begged for her to stop, but she pushed on.

She made the grievous mistake of looking over her shoulder as she ran, she stumbled on an upturned root. Her body splayed out uncomfortably as she slid a few feet, the snow burning her skin. Clambering to her feet, she began to run once more, leaping to clear fallen logs and ducking under low hanging branches.

Cluethael had once again found refuge in a pine tree, she climbed to the highest point she could get to, talons splintering and snapping and she clawed her way up the tree. Her lip began to tremble again as the slaughter repeated in her head again and again, the chase, the fight, then the screams. She cried herself to sleep, her cold hand gripping that delicate seven pointed star.

Tears shed last night turned her eyes bleary the next morning, it felt as though sand had been thrown into her eyes, the felt gritty and dry. After the slaughter last night, there wasn’t much else to do but to move forward. She could scout the area and find a vantage point, where she sat in the pine gave her a great view of where she was in terms of beginning to scale the mountain. If she kept heading north-east, she could be at the base of the mountain by nightfall, ready to begin her ascent by the next day.

Fate had other plans, it seemed.

The footsteps behind Cluethael became louder and louder; no matter how fast she ran, they were never far behind. In her haste to clear another fallen pine her ankle gave way, an ugly crunch reverberating through her body as she cried out; she was splayed out in a tangle of her own limbs on the freezing ground.

Small hands pressed down on her throat, cutting vital oxygen from her brain. Blind panic overcame her as she struggled against the girl choking her, she was a familiar face - an unkind one, but familiar all the same. Her talons dug into her attackers hands, hard enough to draw golden ichor, her attacker did not yield to her desperate clawing and kicking. She wasn’t sure what else to do - so she simply stopped fighting. Her head rested against the hard snow, allowing it to soak into her braided hair. There was a calm, as she closed her eyes and then a sudden absence.

Death did not come. Not for her.

A thick wetness dripped onto her boots, she cracked open her eyes, only to have wished she kept them closed. Hanging almost vertically above her feet was the impaled body of her attacker, their wild hair caked with blood and dirt. Her head hung limply, pain still etched on her face as her green eyes stared down at her, lifeless. A frightened cry ripped from her throat and her heart leapt from her chest as her eyes flicked to the looming figure about ten paces from her.

The creature had to be over six foot tall, it wore a dark brown shroud and blended almost seamlessly into the trees around them. The way it moved was similar to how she thought a ghost would move, gliding silently from tree to tree; edging closer to her. She pushed off from the ground to begin running only for her to falter and fall into the snow once more. She found herself pushing her body backwards using her hands and one good leg, trying to retreat into the snow.

Her back hit the sturdiness of a pine, her heart sat in her throat and breathing became difficult. She was going to die, this was it - she would meet the same end of all the unworthy who tried before her. She could see what it was now - a Borshee.

You are not like those who came before.

She swore she heard it talk, but its lips remained unmoving. She watched on in horror from outside of her body as the creature inched closer to her. Borshee’s were notorious for their vengeful spirit and bloodlust, having derived their strength from wars and those willing to share their rage.

The Borshee’s face was haggard, lips taught and pulled back, exposing its wide and off putting mouth. Its eyes were milky white and glazed over, a gaping hole in its face where its nose should have been. Angular cheekbones pulled pallid skin taught, a distinct lack of hair made it look more monstrous than the smell was. The stench was rancid, it smelled of iron and fear.

It smelled like death.

She fought the urge to run away, every fibre inside of her told her - screamed at her to run. She noticed the talons on the Borshee, chipped and blood stained; another reminder that the creature was lethal. Capable of killing her without sparing a second glance, the thought made her flinch away from the shrouded skeletal body towering over her out of instinct. And yet in her moment of weakness, it extended its hand.

Why?

The Borshee’s grip was firm in contrast to the frail look that it sported, lifting her exhausted body to its feet again like it was nothing. Her injured leg was bent slightly, to keep pressure off her broken ankle, “Why did you save me?” she asked, her voice trembling as she blinked the fearful tears out of her eyes.

“Because your time here is not up yet. There is more for you to do,” it replied simply. Her eyes widened in realisation, that voice was the same one that was crooning to her in the tree, about the Fenris and the Rite. It was the Borshee the entire time.

An incredulous laugh escaped her, “It was you - you this entire time?”

Despite its milky eyes she could almost see delight dancing in them, as if it enjoyed her world crumbling around her. Realisation struck her, Borshee’s were creatures that derived its powers from making pacts, information in exchange for an unknown price.

She didn’t care what the price of surviving was, she would gladly pay it if it meant she could return home. “Please. I’ll do anything, just help me survive this,” she pleaded, her voice thick with desperation. It said nothing, but held out its shrivelled, corpse-like hand.

Satisfaction flashed across the Borshee’s withered face, “Once this exchange is done, there is no going back,” it explained to her, “I will give you the information you need for survival, but I will take something from you.”

She nodded, uncaring to the consequences. “Take anything, I care not what it is. Tell me how to survive this,” her voice sounded strained, hoarse from fighting back tears.

Their intertwined hands began to glow, the Borshee’s magic manifesting in the form of a deep crimson, like blood. Other than the tingling in her hand, she felt no different. She still had both wings, legs, and a heartbeat. “What did you take from me?” she asked, her tone sharp.

It grinned at her, exposing more of its blackened gums than she thought was possible, its teeth brown and rotted. It raised its bony arm, a spindly finger outstretched and completely disregarding her question. “Follow the Hellebore, it will grant you safe passage,” it offered cryptically before vanishing in a wisp of grey smoke. She couldn’t fight the shudder that crawled up from the base of her spine.

The first thing she needed to do was assess her ankle, the pain slowly becoming more and more severe, her once loose pants leg now taught across her shin: a sure sign of a break. Binding it would be the best option; it would slow her down significantly, but at least she would still be moving. Better that than dying.

She snapped branches from the conifer beside her, cutting the length of rope in half to create a splint for her leg. She whittled the leaves and jammed the posts of the branch in her boot to brace, wrapping the rope and knotting it twice before she tried to stand. Cluethael inhaled sharp as she pushed herself forward onto her knees, sticking her injured leg out and slowly pushing up from the ground, using the tree for support.

The pace set was almost painfully slow, hobbling through the forest scanning the underbrush for any sign of hellebore flowers. When the sound of a violin being played caught her attention, the song was delightful, it made her want to dance and spin in circles. It drew her in, further and further into the blackness of the woodlands, ignoring the biting pain as the music filled her veins.

She was unsure how long or how far she walked, but when she came to it was dark overhead, the warm hues that hailed sunset replaced with an inky indigo sky. Her eyes fixed to the light shining through the cracks between trees, a flickering fire glow, she could almost feel the warmth from where she stood.

The cottage looked warm and inviting, candles flickered in the windows and smoke puffed from the chimney - a pleasant smell emanating from it. Perhaps those who inhabited it could help her, allow her to borrow some bandages for her ankle or a morsel of food, her stomach growling in agreement. For the first time in days she felt light, fluffy even. Floating through the woodlands, her entire body felt as though it was shimmering, like ripples in a pond, not even her ankle hurt anymore.

As she drew closer to the cottage, she could see that the door was slightly ajar, the smell of rich stew stronger now. Her hand raised to knock on the splintered door, her injured ankle hovering over the threshold. The music was louder now, more apparent. She cringed, the louder it was the more it sounded like cries - like screams. The familiar voice of the Borshee snapped her out of the dangerous trance she had entered.

‘It is not wise to enter this cottage,’ The Borshee hissed, the sudden intrusion making her flinch and stumble back and fall over, her body sliding back into the tree line. Whyever not? she asked, slightly upset that the Borshee was getting in the way of a meal and made her slip and fall.

The violin ceased.

‘Nothing human lives in these woods,’ it replied. The coolness of his tone sent a chill up her spine, ‘This cottage belongs to something far worse than I or the Fenris’.

“A Nokken,” she whispered.

It was if the mere mention of his name beckoned his attention, A lithe man sauntered out of the cottage door, violin in hand. He had shaggy inky coloured hair that hung almost to his waist and skin that was a disconcerting shade of grey, she watched in silent terror as he scanned the treeline for any sign of life - any sign that someone had taken his bait.

“Come,” his velveteen voice called, “I have a hot meal and a warm bed, you have nothing to fear,” the Nokken’s voice was far too sweet to be genuine, his voice feeling like thick honey had been poured into her ears. The Nokken raised his nose to the sky, like he was trying to catch the scent of something as he raised the worn violin to his shoulder to begin to play.

‘Cover your ears,’ Borshee rasps. She did not question its intel, immediately covering her ears with her hands, doing her best to drown out the cacophonous sounds.

Crunching footsteps came from her left side, wide eyed she watched as the girl danced merrily past her, ignoring her entirely. The familiar hand caught her eye from where she had hid, it was the same cold hand that reached out to her three days ago; Runa. Without thinking she pulled her down to where she sat, cringing at the music, working quickly to clap Runa’s hands over her ears and placing her hands back over her own ears.

Sighing in relief as she watched Runa return to her own body. Both of them watched in silence as Nokken lured them closer and closer, music only ceasing once the door had shut behind his victims. She did not wish to find out what would happen to them.

Runa slowly took her hands away from her ears, opening her mouth as she did so, only to have her friend's pointer finger pressed to her chapped lips. “If we talk, Nakken will come back,” she mouthed. Runa stood from her position, her body obscured by a pine, she held out a hand for Cluethael to take. The gesture made every moment Runa hadn't offered her hand flash before her eyes, that familiar bitterness bubbling in her stomach.

She took the hand anyway, doing her best to haul herself up from her position on the ground, grunting as she did so. Runa slung Cluethael’s arm around her shoulder, doing her best to carry as much of her friend’s weight as she could and hobbling back into the relative safety of the woods.

They tried to ignore the rippling screams that tore through the woods as best they could; the night had well and truly set in. Neither of them could see more than three feet in front of them. The steady increasing slope of the mountain made it hard to keep your footing in the day time, never mind at night with an injury. It was best to find a relatively safe spot to camp for the night.

There was an awkward silence between the two as they sat huddled against each other, tucked into the root system of an enormous oak. Cluethael could feel her friend tremble, with fear or from the cold she did not know, what she did know is that she was glad to have found her friend amidst all the madness.

“What happened?” Runa asked softly, her head resting softly against Cluethael’s shoulder. More silence hung between them, how would she tell her that Runa’s new found friends had tracked her down to murder her, only to be murdered themselves. She didn’t have the heart.

“I, uh, fell over a log,” she replied softly. There was not much else she could say about it, but perhaps she could see if Runa had seen any strange looking flowers in her travels around the mountain.

“Hellebore,” Cluethael asked unprompted, “Have you seen any Hellebore?” she added, she could feel Runa’s head shift, giving her a quizzical look in the darkness.

“Uh, yes, actually I have, why?” Runa asked.

“Because if the both of us are going to get out of this alive, we need to find it,” was Cluethael’s only answer. “Do you remember where you saw it?” she pressed. She needed whatever information Runa could give her on where it was, the earlier they could get to it the quicker they could climb the mountain and the quicker it would be over.

Today was the final day.

They both rose before dawn, their bodies were stiff from the night spent on the ground. Cluethael had almost laughed at the fact she went from feeling too much pain, to being totally numb from the cold. Stars still adorned the indigo velvet sky, like millions of crystals glinting in the summer sun.

The glow of the sun had just begun to peer over the tops of the mountains that seemed so far away. There was just enough light to see where they were going and to look for the low growing clusters of Hellebore, they had a few hours before the sun rose to fully beckon in the dawn. To herald the end of a torturous four days.

It didn’t take long for the pair to find the trail of Hellebore, its deep midnight purple stark against the white snow. There had been thousands of tiny purple flowers lining the path up the mountain - lining the path to victory, to safety. She could practically taste the freedom. Cluethael hissed at the biting pain in her ankle as she leant on Runa for support, listening to her soft words of encouragement.

Her mind drifted to other things to keep her from falling into the snow and giving up, she thought of her mother, her sister, of her nieces, of Aemond. She could see the obelisk from where they stood in the pathway, a breathless laugh escaped her. A renewed sense of strength pushed her to keep going, her body felt like it was on fire, she was exhausted, injured and had spent the last three days being viciously pursued by humans and predators alike.

A snarl came from her left; both girls' heads snapped in the direction to see glowing gold eyes peering at them. Cluethael’s heart leapt to her throat, though she made no sudden movements, she saw what happened to Brynn the last time she saw the beast. Sudden movements spelled death. Only one of them was making it out of this, she was injured, Runa was not; she still had a chance.

“Runa, go. I’ll be right behind you,” she whispered to her friend, she could see Runa open her mouth to protest.

“Go, back away slowly, into the tree line and then run. I’ll be right behind you,” she soothed her friend with a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. Runa began to back up slowly, the Fenris’ nose crinkled in a low growl, its canines on full display.

She had no idea how she would get out of this one. ‘If you have any last minute insight, I would appreciate it,’ she remarked dryly to the Borshee, who she hoped could hear her.

‘Surrender, wait for it to come to you,’ the Borshee’s response wasn’t entirely comforting, but at least she had an idea of what to do. She needed to lure it to her, make it think that she was submitting.

A lamb to slaughter.

Ever so slowly, she bent her knees, wincing as her ankle sat at an awkward position, she made herself as small as possible, all while never peeling her eyes away from the Fenris’s golden ones. Just as predicted, the beast inched closer, close enough to see the flecks of golden blood dried on its maw. Its head was mere inches from her own; a painful knot formed in her chest, but in the face of certain death, she remained calm.

To capture a predator, you cannot remain prey. You have to become its equal - in every way.

A steeley calmness washed over her as she locked eyes with the monster centimetres away from her. Her hand reached for her rock that she had fashioned into a makeshift dagger, clutching the rope wrapped around the hilt so firmly her knuckles turned white and her hands shook. Cluethael only had one shot at this, that much she knew. The low rumble of its growl reverberated in her chest, it made her want to gag in fear.

The next few moments felt like hours, time slowing until it had almost stopped. In that moment she felt everything, her muscles in her arm straining and pulling, the Fenris’s hot breath on her face; the squelching of a freshly made wound, a pained howl. The hound threw its head back in a pained howl, pulling Cluethael onto it back as it did so.

A shriek tore through her as she felt the thick, near black blood spilling from the wound Cluethael had made. She wrenched the jagged blade from its eye and began to stab, bringing the blade down on the beast's neck, shoulder, and maw. She didn’t know how many times she stabbed, but she kept going until it was no longer breathing. The Fenris fell with a heavy thud, it's one golden eye rolling backward into its skull, tongue still twitching in its marred mouth.

She hauled herself to her feet, ignoring the pain shooting up her leg; she ran and ran, even when she knew she was safe, she continued. It was the eleventh hour, the final push up the mountain, she could almost taste the freedom that hung in the air. The onyx obelisk was within her reach; Runa had made it, her stone set at the foot of the tall pillar.

There were stones littered all over the plateau of the summit, some stacked, some not, some in intricate shapes, while others stood alone. She wanted to place her stone with her sister and her mothers, to continue the family stack. Her mother Tiger’s Eye and her sister's Rose Quartz sat proudly accompanied by her obsidian dagger, the family was complete.

“We did it,” Runa grinned.

Cluethael nodded. “We did,” she agreed, against all odds, Cluethael had survived the bullying, training and the loneliness. It had almost killed her, but here she stood at the summit looking down on Valkyrie Village.

Cluethael looked to her friend, breathless, and began to laugh; a laugh that rumbled from deep within. Runa laughed too, they laughed until their eyes watered and their stomachs hurt. She leant on Runa, embracing her into a tight hug and cried, an effervescent mixture of relief and euphoria. Neither of them would be the same, but they had done it, they were Valkyries.

—

She doesn’t remember how she got back to the outskirts of the village, but when she came back to her body, she was limping down the snowlined path. Runa supported as much of her weight as possible, though Cluethael tried to walk some of the way herself it proved too much, the adrenaline finally beginning to wear off.

A healer saw to her ankle upon returning, the raven haired healer had taken off her snow sodden boot and sock to reveal a bruise that was blooming different shades of blue and purple like the petals of a flower.

“You did well to return with only this as a reminder,” the healer spoke, her voice soothing. Cluethael said nothing, just nodded in agreement for she had been lucky, luckier than most. She watched quietly as her ankle was bandaged tightly with strips of cloth, the healer leant back on the small stool so Cluethael could push out of the cot to stand.

“Try to keep off it as much as you can, adding more stress to the bone could cause more damage,” she said, a firm hand on Clethael’s shoulder as she led her out of the tent to where Runa stood. Her and Runa both walked together to the town centre, inching along the sleet covered cobble, careful not to slip and fall.

Returning to Valkyrie Village after all she had seen was like seeing the world through different eyes, once vibrant now drained of colour, of life. Out of all the recruits that had entered the Rite, less than a quarter returned. They bore the same look as she did - the same look that all who came before did. The streets of the village were lined with the residents that lived there, their closed fists beating against their chests like a thunderous war drum.

She had been dubbed ‘Demure Death’, after recounting how she submitted to the Fenris in order to slay it. Much to Cluethael’s surprise, a Fenris had never been felled before, she was the first to do so. She ate until she felt sick that night, and when she finally crawled into her cot, it felt as luxurious as a feather bed.

And on the morrow she would finally get to return home.

She had hoped that she had made her father proud.

#aemond targaryen #aemond headcanons #aemond x you #aemond imagine #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #alicent targaryen #alicent hightower

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cbairdash · 2 months

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Author’s note: Hoist the Colors may eventually inspire fiction. Most likely will and I’ll gladly write it. But right now, it’s a role-playing game setting with what I hope is an interesting take and look at an “Alternate History” of Earth. It isn’t really “steampunk”, though I can see how someone would get that impression. For me, it’s more a “gaslamp fantasy” set on Earth of 1722 in all it’s historical mess… that I’ve stirred up even more!

So, with that said, I thought I’d cover the playable species and cultures players will have to choose from. Starting with the Thayans. So if you’re interested in worldbuilding for a setting, enjoy!

Thayans

They’re a people of magic, mystery and determination.

Professor Isolde Trelawny, Historian at the Royal Institute of Otherworld Studies

Thayans are one of the many species that appeared after the Crossing’s Fall disaster. A charismatic folk of tight-knit communities, they hail from Afalon Isle in the mid-Atlantic, southwest of the Azores. The same island that crashed to Earth after the Otherworld shattered.

At first, they remained hidden, but not for long. Thayans, or ‘pixies’, were the first Otherworld survivors to make themselves known to the world. They were also the first to be displaced by the Mid-Atlantic War that erupted after Afalon’s arrival.

Thayan refugees fled the war and scattered to far lands. Some settled in Ireland, others in the Caribbean. Some landed on the North American shores of the League of Nations. A determined few refused to leave their island home and rebuilt towns on northern Afalon. Some looked to rebuild their lost civilization. Others turned to immigrating into human nations to start over.

All But Human

Just remember, they’re stronger than they look.

Professor Isolde Trelawny, Historian at the Royal Institute of Otherworld Studies

At a glance, it’s easy to mistake them as human. They look human in many ways with a human-like face and body. In comparison, the typical thaye is only slightly shorter than a human. Thayans average about four inches shorter than most humans and have a thinner build.

Their hair color is like anyone else from black to brown, blond to red. Also, their hair does turn gray as they age. In the face, they look every bit human, but their eyes are a different story. Thayan eye color spans any color imaginable. Some are human colors of amber, green, brown or gray. But red, copper, gold, and even jade are not unheard of. Thayan males also have facial hair. Beards are often neatly trimmed affairs among the men.

As for complexion, that is no different than the average human. Which is quite a surprise given thayan blood is green instead of red. Their ears however are another story. Thayan ears are slightly pointed with the traditional faerie point. But the shape is not that pronounced and easy to overlook.

Out of all their similarities and differences, the one feature that sets them apart are their wings. Thayans possess delicate, yet durable, dragonfly-like wings that let them fly. Most assume that thayans possess hollow bones, like a bird. This is just not true. Thayan bones are lighter than a humans but still just as strong. Their bones and wings are strong enough to let a thayan carry themselves, a backpack, and even a human with them in flight. This is a startling surprise given their thinner stature.

Their wings have another characteristic and that’s a yellow-gold dust they shed in small amounts. Humans call this ‘pixie dust’ while thayans refer to it as ‘mana dust’. No matter the name, it is a soft, powdery dust that has a faint glow. For the average person, it’s either a curiosity or a nuisance. humans call ‘pixie dust’. This magical substance is a powder-like form of solid magic. A mysterious substance that, if collected in large amounts, aids anyone from human to thayan wizards alike in the practice of magic.

For the rest, see the link above or click here! Thayans on Hoist the Colors!

Taglist: @thelaughingstag

#writing #work in progress #writeblr #writers on tumblr #role playing games #worldbuilding #hoist the colors #rpg

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owliellder · 8 months

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Thanks to the anon who talked about moth/butterfly!Hybrid!Reader w Leon... Now imagine if the hybrid reader unintentionally walked Leon with her wings

Like they're distracted by something and got rather excited so her wings kinda like spanned out or smth and hits Leon in the head and knocking him on the floor, then the reader has a sad and guilty look on her face

moths have that soft powdery stuff on their wings so they'd essentially be powdering the dudes face with moth dust (need)

but the typo made me think of leon trying to take reader out of the house on a leash, they see a pretty light, and he ends up getting dragged down the street while trying to reign you in

all the moth hybrid stuff you guys come up with fuels my every waking thought...

#moth hybrid reader

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

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𓅨 As Dawn Breaks: Chapter Twenty-Seven

As Dawn Breaks: Mother Night and Father Time, after having sired seven Endless to personify life in the known universe, create Earth and human life begins. One last Endless is created: Dawn, the personification of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day and a chance for happiness and improvement. A love will span thousands of millennia, breaking with every sunrise and renewing hope come sunset. Yet, even the personification of hope can lose the very notion of her existence from the sting of a broken heart.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Dream/Morpheus x Endless!FemaleReader(Dawn), This Involves Themes That Are Not For Everyone.

Word Count: ~2.0k

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“Winter harvest should prove fruitful,” Gallia spoke, eying the grape vines frosted over. You hummed in agreement before eyeing the cranberry pond, it’s harvest season was nigh over.

“Surely we shall bottle a great deal of ice wine this season, but I fear we must hasten the harvest of our cranberries for their time is almost at an end.” You mused softly, your tongue already craving the tart taste of cranberry jam and sweetened cranberry juice. Gallia nodded in agreement before glancing down at the clipboard in her hands.

“Shall I assign the Western water nymphs to aide in the harvest?” She offered, knowing that the Western water nymph pod were very adept with their hands and thorough in their work. You hummed in agreement before pausing in thought.

“How about inviting Bezina? Surely she would like the change of scenery, or at the very least some enrichment.” You added, drumming your fingernails on your crossed arm. “She’s been rather lethargic lately and not getting into trouble…” Gallia eyed you with a half smile. While the Jengu was mischievous and always causing some sort of trouble around the realm, she had been rather demur as of late and it was clear you didn’t like that. All of your people needed to be healthy and happy, even the troublemakers. Besides, what was life without a little mischief?

“I shall dispatch one of your faeries then,” Gallia murmured, scribbling on her clipboard. Your eyes scanned the vineyard one last time before you turned and looked up at the looming mountains within your realm. It was one area of your realm that you seldom visited, mostly because your people who lived their preferred solitude and to not have outside interference. You respected their way of life and stayed distant, but perhaps it was time to stop by to visit. You started walking for the path that led to the mountain summits. It was an arduous path, twisting and winding through the dense woods that surrounded the base.

The path was nearly overgrown as you walked it, bushes and vines having grown into the dirty to the point where you had to stop periodically to coax the plants from where feet were meant to walk. It wouldn’t do to have your precious plants trampled, now would it? As you walked you could see the eyes of the woodland creatures following you and hear the flutters of wings and feet through branches. It really had been far too long since you had visited the summits. Walking along, the temperature slowly got colder and colder until the dirt underfoot turned hard, and then soon became fresh snow. Your lips twitched with childish joy at the cold powdery substance. The urge to shirk your duties was strong, you wanted to gather the little ones of your realm and spend the day playing in the snow, building sculptures, carving ice, even skating along frozen ponds.

“I don’t know who is the worse influence, me or the little ones…” You sighed to yourself, picking up the skirts of your chiton so the hem didn’t drag through muddy parts of the path. Halfway up the mountain you had to pause for a break, feeling far more fatigued than usual. Leaning against a nearby tree, you collected your energy once more. How many millennia had it been since you were this tired? Perhaps you had overworked yourself again, you had just gotten through the busy summer season of hopes and dreams and hadn’t really taken a chance to relax through the fall. Running a hand over your hair, you looked at the trail wearily… it might be tiring, but the destination would be worth the laborious journey.

Humming lowly, you resumed your walking and reached the village within half an hour. You were huffing a puffing of course, an off feeling for an Endless, but forgot to question it the moment your eyes connected with the solitary villagers. Their eyes brightened nearly as bright as the lanterns handing from the irons posts throughout the village.

“My lady! We were just wondering if we should invite you up for a viewing of your winter gardens!” Fiobe, the head Faun of the clan cried as she trotted over, her hooves striking on the stone cobbles that wound through the village. You smiled at her and looked around, appreciating the the hand stitched banners that were mounted on poles and the marbled sculptures of Pan. It was a refreshing change to what you were used to seeing.

“I’m afraid in my endeavor to give you the solitude your people life, I have neglected to ensure that you have everything you need and are well,” You told her tiredly, your fingers grasping onto the skirt of your dress tighter. Surely your journey hadn’t taken that much out of you? Fiobe shook her head, her curls flying around her horns.

“Oh no, my lady, the peace and serenity you have given us is more than we ever dream of!” Fiobe echoed, her large doe eyes scrutinizing you with unease. While your visits were far and few between, you had never looked anything but the picture of perfection… until now. Now you looked tired, run down, almost sick even. What reason did an Endless have to be sick? Were they even capable of being so? Fiobe didn’t know and was concerned. “Shall I show you the flowering gardens? I am sure you will love the alpine flower garden, we’ve had a particularly good grow this year.”

You agreed and followed the faun along the path. There were an abundance of delicate snowdrops blooming highlighted by the bright yellow winter aconite blooms dotted here and there though you did notice that quite a few plants had little nibbles on them.

“The children snacking on the garden once more?” You asked, your lips twitching. The young fauns had a garden designated for snacking. They could eat whatever flower or plant that was within the walls of the garden. But every so often a batch of adolescent fauns decided to help themselves to the gardens not for eating. Fiboe went off on a tangent, hands on her hips and stamping a hoof as she chided the eating habits of the latest brood of fauns. You almost started to laugh at her irateness when a surge of nausea churned within your stomach. Squeaking, you threw yourself in the direction of the exit and just mangled to get yourself out of the garden and to a small patch of mud and stones before the lunch you had enjoyed earlier that day with your handmaidens came up in an acidic sting.

Your fingers dug into mud, snow, and stone as you heaved, and your eyes burned with tears. This was such an awful feeling, and one you hadn’t felt in eons. It terrified you. Fiobe was at your side, patting your back and holding your hair for you as you spit up the rest of your lunch. More fauns came trotting over in a whirlwind, their soft voices echoing with questions and above all concerns. Fiobe hushed them and shooed them back to give you space.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” She said, her eyes wide. “I think you perhaps best return to your inner sanctum my lady. We shall send for to Ruta and Rosea so they are expecting you.”

“It took me an hour to walk here, I’ll just transport myself to them,” You rasped. The fauns chittered their concerns.

“I fear what will become of you should you attempt to use magic in this moment.” Fiobe responded, shaking her head. “I will call for The Zheng, he shall take you down the mountain swiftly and safely.” You were too consumed by how you felt and the troubling implications of your sickness to argue back. It was only perhaps half a minute before the beautiful and sleek Zheng bounded over. It had the form of a leopard, but had a single horn protruding from its forehead and five tails that swished behind it. The Zheng was a solitary creature, traversing the mountains alone and avoiding most crowds. It had a predatory gaze and a vicious nature, but should you get close to it, you could make a friend for life. This particular Zheng you had hand reared yourself and was immediately shoving her face towards you, a whine of curiosity and concern building in her chest.

“I am simply unwell, my cub,” You sighed, reaching up and pressing your hand into her side. “Can you please bring me back to the castle?” The Zheng let out a chirp and settled on her belly, allowing you to climb onto her back with the help of the fauns. Once there, you pressed your fingers into her short mane and looked to Fiobe. “Fiobe, I wish I could have stay for more than mere minutes.” You spoke to her, your voice rasped from you getting sick. The faun clicked her tongue.

“Never mind that, my lady, you can always come back. You being sick is no trifle.” The old faun gave you a look, and you pursed your lips.

“Ruta shall be attending, I can promise you that,” You whispered, leaning your cheek against the Zheng’s flank. “I could also do for a nap, I feel ever so tired.” As a matter of fact, you didn’t just feel tired, you felt nauseous and ready to be sick all over again. You thought to close your eyes for but a moment, but one moment you were resting your eyes atop the mountain, and the next you found the Zheng gently loping through the halls of your castle. Softly moaning as your stomach rolled once more, you lifted your face from the Zheng’s flank to see her entering your private garden where Ruta and Rosea already waited. Worry was plastered on their faces.

The Zheng crept to a stop and slowly lowered her belly to the grass. You twisted on her back and moved to slip to the ground as Ruta and Rosea rushed over. Both handmaidens noticed how dreadful you looked, a slightly green tinge to your cheeks and a pallor that washed out your usual lush skin. You dropped to the grass of your private courtyard and wobbled, Ruta’s hands steadied you.

“Thank you, dear Zheng,” Ruta spoke to the creature before she and Rosea guided you towards your room. By the time they had you sitting down your bed, your ere trembling with anguish.

“Ruta,” You spoke in a hush, your eyes barely lifting to hers. “I think I—“ You couldn’t say it, because saying the words meant that it could be true, and that terrified you. Tears gathered at the edges of your eyes. “I can’t go through that pain again, I— I can’t.” Ruta shushed you as your tears started to fall, her hands stroking over your hair. Your handmaiden was well adept and in-tune with your health, and focused her gentle powers on your being.

There it was. Just a little tiny ember, was a star of life growing within your womb. Oh how Ruta wished she could lie to you and say that all your fears were for naught. That you were merely sick and would recover in respite. That you didn’t have to face your biggest fear, once more. But she couldn’t. Not to you, her precious maker, her precious charge, her precious friend.

“Dawn,” Ruta spoke as gently as she could, dreading the emotions and tears that are surely to come. The agony. The despair. The torment. The ruin. “You have a child of the stars growing within your womb once more.” Silent tears were no longer silent as you started weeping, terrified of what you considered to be inevitable. All Ruta could do was hold you.

“What would you like me to do?” Ruta asked you, knowing that you wouldn’t want the other Endless to feel any of your trouble or agony. A tear streaked down your face and dripped from your chin. Your lips trembled as you parted them to give her your answer.

“Seal the gates.”

Date Published: 4/17/23

Last Edit: 4/17/23

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#morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #the sandman #dream the endless x reader

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stesierra · 10 months

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Find the Word tag! @isabellebissonrouthier tagged me!

My Words: Feather, Scar, Tooth, Ribbon, Gold. I'm drawing from Cast Out!

I'm going to tag @babybirdi @fishythewriter and @grimfox. Your words are jump, tatter, swim, ravage and clap.

Feather

Lira turned her head. Her lips shaped, "What is that sound?"

"What?" I scanned the desert around us. Thesil, behind us, was staring south. I followed her gaze and caught a flicker of movement in the distance.

It came closer and closer, moving slowly and awkwardly through the air, like a child's paper-boat floating in a mud-puddle. It flew low over the desert, a long white neck outstretched, rusty wings wobbling like it was about to fall out of the sky.

Thesil spun towards me, her hands already moving. "It's your stupid goose!"

I stared at the speck for a long moment. Then I ran.

I ran towards her, shouting, waving my hands, calling her name, anything to get her attention. Anything to bring her down to me. If she flew by overhead, just out of my reach...

I couldn't bear it.

She turned, a slow loop above the small trees, and veered towards me. My chest burned, but I kept running until she crashed to a landing in a thorn bush. She freed herself before I could reach her and waddled the last few feet to peck at my pants.

I fell to my knees and hugged her, inhaling the smell of her powdery feathers. Her beak preened my hair. I held her to me and rocked, her large webbed feet pressing against my thighs, and I missed Thesil's approach completely.

Scar

Amaz signed, "You see, sweet deaf child, I, too, was cast out. I had closed my eyes to true revelations and the voices of the Great Unknowns. I was too proud of my beauty. And so the Great Unknowns punished me, and my limbs failed me on my fifteenth birthday."

I frowned at him. Mother told me sickness – and difference in general – was not a punishment. It only was.

"I began my pilgrimage on my sixteenth birthday. At the end of my journey, my eyes were opened to the Great Unknowns. I offered them my nose. My beauty. In return, they cured me."

I stared at the knotted scar in the center of his face. He had cut off his own nose?

His hands were still moving. "When I became perfecta again, I chose to remain in exile. My prayer is to guide others to the same revelations. And cure."

Amaz bent to put himself eye to eye with me. I wanted to back away. His honey-sweet breath reminded me of my painfully empty belly. I'd been too sick from grief to choke down first-meal that morning.

He signed, "Will you let me help you, sweet child?"

Tooth

I wished I could see their expressions, but the masks hid all but their eyes. "Why were you thrown out of the cities?"

Both of them looked at me as though I were mad. Tamorin gestured to their joined heads.

"But that's not a sign of death-palsy."

"I'd be much more worried about our health if it was," Tamorin said.

"We don't fit the city's image," Gadara signed. "It's no more complicated than that."

"But you shouldn't be imperfectas! The whole point of Holy Efra's dictates–"

"We know," Tamorin said.

I finished my sentence in my mind. Her dictates were to isolate those whose defects might carry the disease. Not to get rid of people who were different. It was as wrong as Thesil's exile, and I felt slow-burning outrage building in my core.

Across the camp, Grandmother waved at us, her other hand full of reins. The donkeys were ready.

I nodded to her and signed to the siblings, "Thank you for telling me. I'd like to talk with you more later. If that's all right?"

Gadara signed, "Go ahead. Pick his brain. Everyone wants to. Do you plan to be a healer, too?"

I blinked. "I'm a painter. I couldn't heal a sore tooth."

"Then you had better not get sick," said Gadara.

Tamorin elbowed her under their cloak. "Don't worry. We have nothing against paint."

"I'm glad," I signed, and ran to take the donkeys from Grandmother.

Ribbon

I couldn't find this one.

Gold

Abursa motioned me closer and handed me my slate. "This automa is ours. It's a model of what we do. Our signpost. We display it when the perfectas come to camp."

I wrote back, "A model of what?"

"We fix automa for the cities. Once we get them working, we slap on a layer of cheap color, then cover it in varnish. But with a real painter, we could charge more. We could get more custom." She cast me a significant look.

My heart lifted. Even if what they wanted was more functional than art, I might have a future working with paint after all. "And you want me to decorate them?"

She nodded as she scribbled, "To paint them, and help with repairs like anybody else. The core that powers the automas, it's a mix of magic ores. One of them ought to be familiar to you."

I had already smelled it. "Oracle ore. The revelations."

"The automas don't need it to run. It's just mixed in to give them Efra's blessing. If you've rarely taken revelations, there's enough in the core to make you dizzy and dreaming. But the other ores can kill you, especially over a long period of time. We take turns handling the cores. First I test everyone to see if they're going to fall down giggling."

I took a small step back from the automa. "You want me to try? And what about Thesil?"

"You, yes. I wouldn't trust her not to drop it. These are worth more than she is."

As I read her last message, she leaned up and hauled on the chest of the automa. I lowered the slate necklace, intending to help her, but she waved me away. Her ass flicked its ears, apparently used to this sort of thing. I hung the amulet back over my neck.

The panel of wood sprang free suddenly, as some unseen latch gave. An edge of it clipped Abursa's legs. The gaping hole it left glowed with dim yellow light.

The humanoid shell was hollow as a vase, and at its center, suspended in a web of chains and wires, hung a fist-sized heart. The mixture of ores shone faintly gold, with only a hint of oracle green. Someone had carved it in the shapes of ventricles and atria.

I stepped forward, worried the troupe-leader was hurt, and walked straight into dreams.

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#tag games #Cast Out

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springbreezes-and-peonies · 3 months

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*Slides you a blank check for the remaining ask game options* no pressure though! /gen I’m happy to give you an excuse to talk more about Peony 👍

Ohhhh boy you did it now! Wait…you guys are getting paid for this? Lol anyway! Here we go! All the unanswered Peony asks for ya!

🪐—Peony is from Planet Popstar! She is a Floralian moth-kind specifically and as such is from the sky kingdom of Floralia. She has lived on a small sky island on the outskirts of the Floralian archipelago all her life, she drifted there, carried by a gentle breeze as a little baby caterpillar and the island and its flora are all she has ever known. It is a neglected and ignored island in terms of the Floralian kingdom and the monarchy has never taken much interest in it…so far 👀👀👀

⚔️—Peony fights with her magic when she has to, so vines to hold and whip and entangle, sharp leaves and petals to cut and blow around like the leaf tornado ability Kirby gets with the leaf copy ability, and other such attacks. She can use her magic when in need, to generate a large, thick, flower petal shield, but she has no weapon per se like Meta Knight, Dedede, and BanDee.

🪽—Peony absolutely can fly, she has magical moth wings that I’m trying to make more clear in my drawings are transparent and magical in quality and she usually only summons them when she needs them to fly, otherwise they are not visible. If touched, they would, despite their transparent nature, feel soft and velvety like a moth’s wings and scatter sparkling, powdery, scales around.

🥘—Peony’s diet is a lot of fruits and honeys and nectars. She really loves bread with honey, it’s a huge comfort for her, and when Taranza introduces her to teas, she absolutely adores them. They are so soothing and warm she can’t get enough for a time. And when he shows her REAL pastries she falls even more in love lol If absorbed by the cook ability she’d drop a Strawberry Shortcake! 🍰

☀️—Peony is in no rush in the morning since her time for really longest time ever is her own, and so she really only manages it based on what SHE wants to do and accomplish. She takes her time waking up and getting ready, combs through her curls, and gets ready to water and tend all her plants. For breakfast she’ll usually have whatever fruits are currently growing in her garden and just go.

🎶—Peony cannot play any instruments, surrounded by plants it’s not something they would be able to really teach her. I do like to think Taranza teaches her piano at some point because that’s just very sweet to me 🥺. She CAN naturally sing pretty well though! This isn’t part of the ask but my headcanon voice for her is Kira from The Dark Crystal so if you’ve ever seen that film, that’s how she sounds and sings. I feel like if she had a battle theme it would probably sound somewhat similar to the instrumental bits of Evanescence’s Imaginary, good song for her in general, same with October by them too. ALSO Thursday by Asobi Seksu, specifically the Olympic Studios version is a song I HEAVILY listen to when drawing or writing for her so if interested in personality of her character and whatnot through music check that song out specifically. I actually have a whole playlist for her on my blog somewhere, it’s a lot of music I use to think up stuff for her!

💌—Despite the trauma of her first relationship and friendship being an entirely fake ruse by Dark Matter to gain her trust in order to possess her, Peony is STILL a very friendly person who wants to form friendships and a loving bond with others and she can’t help but put herself out there and try to make new friends when she encounters new people. She is very friendly, affectionate, and extroverted, and her not understanding social cues and graces, is pretty touchy-feely, huggy until told not to be then she listens immediately. The more ingratiated with others she becomes, the more this behavior changes and fades except around those who like and appreciate such things. So she is a social butterfly, or rather a social moth lol she loves the company of others, and being alone for so long, it’s something she craves above everything else.

⚙️—She has little to no knowledge of the ancients, though what she learns does interest her and makes her curious to an extent, it’s not really a fixation of hers. She has no connections to them either.

🍨—For Peony the mech would be one of the jet type designs for the flying sections, all pink and yellow with floral shaped engine fans and wings shaped and colored like her own. It would shoot seed pod looking missiles!

🪞—Peony does have a mirror counterpart, I’ve been meaning to draw her lately. Her color palette is more muted and dull yellow and grey instead of pink on her dress, her skin pale pink and her hair very dusty pink. Her bangs look sort of like the Pokemon Hattena’s in that they’re over grown and curl over her eyes, covering them up. Her wings are black and gold. She is lonely, apathetic, cold, and distant from her social neglect. She does not care for others like Peony does and in fact, does not care much for herself anymore either. Whatever mirror world equivalent to Peony’s Dark Matter possession was visited upon Shadow Peony effected her far more deeply and changed her far more fundamentally. I got asked a couple of times if like Peony is with Taranza, is Shadow Peony seeing Dark Taranza and I haven’t fully decided but if she were the relationship would be very unhealthy. Shadow Peony is apathetic but very codependent in a very unhealthy way. She would latch onto even false affection even knowing it was false and Dark Taranza being the embodiment of Taranza’s grief over Sectonia’s death given form would never be able to truly love her back, but certainly would see a willing puppet he could use to attempt bring Sectonia back to life, or drown Taranza in his grief. I don’t think Peony would at all get along with Shadow Peony and would be very disturbed by her, but would also feel a lot of pity and sorrow for her, recognizing her for what she is, a reflection of her loneliness and trauma.

♟️—Unfortunately for Peony, she does get possessed easily and has been possessed before (it is part of her backstory which is pinned on my page). I think she DOES train herself with Taranza’s help as he is able to possess others and understands how it works, to build up a resistance to possession as it is something she fears happening to her again greatly.

🦁—Peony is already sort of an animal person, if she were a normal animal in our world she’d be a rosy maple moth.

🕰️—I will actually have to draw this VERY soon as it’s been heavily on my mind lol but her Dream Gears version would have a big, puffy dress with arches pinned up by flowers, one of those fancy, Victorian wide-brimmed hats decorated with flowers that you tie under your chin to keep on, and more lacy looking gloves. I’ll really have to draw it to give the full picture tbh but it’s in my brain lol. She would be a botanist of course.

🛡️—Peony would pick beam mage for sure, which I also should draw lol

🦋—Peony fears death about as much as the average person and doesn’t often dwell on her own mortality unless it becomes pressing in the moment. This fusion with the Morpho butterfly I really can’t much describe and will likely have to draw. Her eyes would be white voids instead of pink though and the Morpho sword would look more like her antennae than its typical orange look.

🍒—Out of all the Dream Friends she easily gets along with Taranza the most. She is in love with him, and adores him so much. But other than him, she gets along with the main four especially well, and especially Kirby considering he saved her life. She loves how happy and kyoot and squishy he is and he always likes her hugs. Dream friends she doesn’t really get along with are Dark Meta Knight for obvious evil mirror reasons and Susie for a time because her personality is more cold and corporate than Peony can easily adjust to.

And hey WOW that’s all of them! It was so much fun! Lol I’ll have do this again if another one pops up! Or try to make one of my own 👀👀

Thank you for everyone who participated!! This was so much fun fr

🌸🌷🕸️🌷🌸

#kirby oc #hoshi no kirby #Kirby #kirby oc ask game #kirby taranza #kirby OC asks #taranza x oc #peony baby 🥺🥹#Kirby OC peony #this was so fucking funny #thank you again everyone for your asks #now I have so many drawing ideas

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