#he was such a beast in battle and in general but so soft with her

[yourlittlebunnyy]

kitty cat azriel x f!reader

main masterlist - azriel masterlist

summary: meow meow meow

warnings: fluffiest fluff🥹

w/c: 1.6k

enjoy! 🐈

"i kinda want to adopt a kitty." you say out of nowhere. cassian, who was blatantly talking about some new illyrian techniques, immediately shuts up.

"woah, why? you know im allergic to those things." he says brushing off his shoulders some invisible hair, always with his theatrical behavior. you roll your eyes, faking annoyance. "dont talk like this!"

"like what?" he asks confused. your little shopping walk near to an end as you take the street that will lead you to your house.

"you're talking about kitties as they were things. like, bad things." you explain, pointing an accusatory finger at him. he shrugs his shoulders.

"look at you," he chuckles, some dimples appear on his cheeks, visible through his beard. "acting like my opinion would change yours."

you smirk, an idea popping into your mind like a blinding light that you cant ignore. "you know what? you're so right."

"told ya." he winks. "so, what now? are we going to buy a cat?" he stops walking, waiting for your answer. you dont even think twice.

minutes later, you're in front of a pet shelter. "stupid me. i would have thought id die in a battle as a warrior. turns out im gonna die because of some stupid beasts." you ignore him, deeply offended by his little comment. instead, you look at him with a glare. "what? im stating the truth!" he shrugs his shoulders once again.

the little place is cosy and filled with cute pets. as soon as you open the door, a little bell informs the owner of your presence. cassian decided to stay outside, fearing an imminent death. you find it incredibly ironic, the general of the Night Court forces, an Illyrian warrior, scared of some cute little pets.

it doesnt take you long. with the help of the sweet owner, who turns out to be a old lady, you immediately find what you were looking for. as soon as you saw her, a lovely little cat sleeping in her kennel, you knew you had to give her a home.

"found it?" cassian is on your side the moment you step out of the shelter. a smile brightens your features. "yeppy!" you exclaim, excited and incredibly proud of your choice. the little cat rests on your arms umbothered, occasionally purring when you give her some soft caresses under her neck. "isnt she just so adorable?" you squeal.

cassian looks at you, then at the animal between your arms, then at you again, a look of disgust on his face. "whatever." he says. you roll your eyes at him, this time not faking annoyance. "you're so boring." you protest. "i dont wanna see you for at least a week."

"goodbye to you too, y/n." he laughs, waving with his hand as you enter your home. "and good luck with Az."

telling your mate you adopted a cat will be a funny mission. you know he wouldnt actually be mad, but you like to play with him too much. and he, unfortunately, likes when you play with him too much.

"azzie, how mad would you be?" you're laying together on the bed, the morning sun enters the room, kissing with warmth your skin.

"depends, love. what have you done this time?" he murmurs against the skin of your neck, his face hidden in your collarbone.

"wait, why do you always assume i did something?" you complain, putting some space to look at your mate straight into his pretty hazel eyes, a dramatic look on your face.

he smirks, a relaxed yet sleepy expression painting his face into the most beautiful shade of happiness. you can only believe you reflect the same emotions on your skin. "hmm, well, then tell me what would make me mad."

he shifts, trying to reposition himself closer just like moments ago. "let's suppose i feel alone when you work." you start.

maybe the choice of words wasnt the best one, since the look on your mate's face when you said that was pure horror. "i dont mean that!"

"dont ever do that again, please, love." he whispers, pressing a kiss on your naked shoulder. you always loved moments like this, slow and full of love and softness. its a shame, really, that you have to admit this little thing to azriel. "okay, azzie." you say, placing a sweet peck on his lips.

"go ahead, then." he encourages you. you smile trying to hide the fact that you're nervous, but of course azriel can feel it. "love, are we still supposing?"

you look at him in the eyes, biting your lip. "no, i guess you were right. i did something."

"its okay." he reassures. a scarred hand gently caresses your face. "just tell me. wont be mad, i promise." his words are muffled by your own skin.

"i was feeling alone, as i said." he nods and the gesture gives you time to take a deep breath. "i know its always been you and i..."

you can literally feel his heart skip a bit, and you almost laugh. "y/n... you said-"

you force yourself to fake guilt. its true, you did something, not as horrendous as bringing a third to your lovely relationship, but this doesnt mean you cant play a little with your mate. "i know, im sorry."

this time its his turn to put some space between you two, the pure look of betrayal makes your heart clench. it doesnt last long, tho. his face quickly changes in something more raw, rage fills his eyes.

"azzie..." you try to explain.

"how can you lay on this bed?" his voice is deep, cold. you know what he's trying to do - shutting down all the emotions, playing the spymaster role. "how can you-"

"azriel." you try again. he shakes his head, moving until your bodies no longer touch. it leaves you cold, and guilt fills you head.

"i... i need a moment." he explain, even tho he doesnt owe you anything. your hearts clenches in your chest.

"let me explain." he looks at you while he gets up to find some clothes. you dont let your gaze wonder on his perfect sculpted body, instead, you hold the eye contact. "its not what you think."

"its not what i think? and what should i think?" his words are red with rage, filled with venom. "you were feeling alone, and-" at this point, you cant hold a little giggle. "oh, you're laughing, now?"

"my love, you completely misunderstood!" his forehead wrinkles with confusion. he opens his mouth, ready to speak and probably ask for a further explanation, but you dont let him.

you get up, uncaring of the state you are, naked and vulnerable, and quickly disappear behind the door of your room. you appear seconds later, a nightie covering your body and your hands hidden behind your back. "little friend." its all you say.

"y/n, you better-" you show him what you're hiding, and he stops in the middle of the sentence. you can see how quickly his expression changes, you can feel every emotion he's feeling.

the first look is surprise, then confusion, then an adorable smile adorns his pretty face, lightening his eyes with joy. "love, i thought-" a laugh interrupts him, contagious to the point you let out a little giggle too.

"surprise!" you smile, bringing the little animal to your chest, cuddling it with little caresses between its ears.

his eyes soften, watching the scene with adoration. he walks until he stands right in front of you. "a cat?" he asks, he raises his hand tentatively and let him cuddle the little pet too.

you look at him through your lashes, putting on the sweetest and most innocent expression ever. "i was feeling alone..." he rolls his eyes jokingly.

"i hate you." he teases. you tease him back, a smile adorning both your faces. "nuh-uh. i know you love me, azzie." he chuckles, placing a naive kiss on your lips.

you carefully pass the cat to him. "so you're not mad?" he shakes his head. you watch as he caresses the cat's fur with his fingertips, the touch so soft its barely there. you swear you fall in love with this man more and more every day.

"do you already have a name?" he asks, but his eyes are still concentrated on the little creature he is holding. its so small that one of his hands is enough to cover it all. "no. all i know is that its a she. but isnt she so cute?" you squeal, hugging the both of them, careful not to squeeze the kitty.

"shes purring!" azriel realizes, he looks at you like a little kid that just got the present he wanted for so long. gods, you really love this man.

"she already loves you, azzie. look, she is also sleeping."

"and?" he asks. you answer as its the most obvious thing in the whole Prythian. "means she trusts you!" you press a kiss on his cheek, then a little kiss on the top of her little head, feeling the vibrations of the purr on your lips.

you stay silent for a bit, just enjoying the little moment and the new member of your family. its azriel who breaks the silence first. "kitty."

"what?" you ask confused.

"we could name her kitty. 'cause she's a kitty, you know." you giggle.

you repeat the name, tasting the sound on your lips. "kitty cat." you say almost like a proud mother. "i like it."

hope you enjoyed♡

[oxbellows]

Welcome Home! Nothing Weird Happened.

Written based on @emilybeemartin's spectacular Boromir Lives AU comics, with permission. I might write more, who knows.

My whole thought process here is this: if Boromir lives and makes it back to Minas Tirith, he is about to receive an absolutely ludicrous quantity of bad news. And I for one think it would be both plausible and hilarious for Pippin to be the one who ends up delivering that news. So here we are!

Trigger warnings for that whole pyre situation from Return of the King.

 It was fitting, to Boromir’s mind, that the battle for Minas Tirith should be decided by dead men. So many had died for the city of kings already, their blood seeping into her soil like rain. Why, then, should her fate rest solely in the hands of the living? An unnatural justice rang out in the clang of steel against phantom blades, heralding the return of a hope long since given up for lost. 

“None but the king of Gondor may command me,” the wraith hissed.

“You?” Boromir had roared. “You, Oathbreaker? I am the heir to the Stewards of Gondor. Generations of my kin have died for an empty throne. None but the king of Gondor may command ME. Here stands the king of Gondor before us, and you will suffer him as I have!”

And suffer him they did. Sickly green washed over the last armored oliphaunt as the dead claimed more souls for their own. Boromir pulled his eyes away from the spectacle and spun his sword in his hand, scanning the area around him for the next foe. He found none. Only the backs of retreating orcs, and weary Men attending to their fallen brothers. That and, out of the corner of his eye, the strangest possible trio of a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. Finding no enemy to engage, Boromir instead turned his step toward the strange trio to embrace his friends in the wake of victory. 

Aragorn, king of Gondor, did not appear especially regal at the moment. He was covered in grime and gore, surrounded by the corpses of orcs left to rot in the open field. Gimli’s sturdy metal armor was slick with blood, and it dripped steadily off the edge of the axe that he had slung over one shoulder. Legolas, of course, was only as disheveled as he might have been after a short run, clean of the muck that covered the rest of them. His hair still fell properly at his shoulder, what witchcraft did the Elf use to maintain it? 

Boromir could only imagine what he himself must look like. He knew that he was damp and smelled like death, which did not bode well for a lordly appearance. Nonetheless, even in all his heavy armor Boromir felt lighter than he had since childhood. The battle was over, fought now only by those straggling beasts that had not managed to escape the field on foot. Boromir was still, impossibly, alive, and so were his companions. So was his king. 

The enemy may yet prevail, but Gondor would not fall before the White Tree bloomed again. It was more than his grandfathers had ever dared to hope. 

“Is that blood in your hair or just its natural grease?” Boromir asked his king, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and stepping over the body of a fallen orc to approach him.

Aragorn laughed, raising one dirty hand to skim his fingertips over the top of his head. “I cannot say, Captain. I only know that in either case, I would wash it before I present myself to your lord father.”

Boromir clicked his tongue dismissively. “My lord father’s not the one we have to worry about. If my brother hears that I’ve brought Isildur’s heir home in such a state, he’ll throttle me.”

He almost continued speaking. He almost added, if he’s alive. Aragorn heard the unspoken caveat all the same. His dark eyes had a softness in them when he spoke.

“The battle is over, Captain of the White Tower,” Aragorn said. “We must turn our efforts now to the dead and wounded. May we not find you kin among them.”

If the taste of ash settled on the back of Boromir’s tongue, it could be attributed to the smell of Mordor’s filthy army laying dead at his feet, and not to the terrible image that flashed across his mind’s eye of Faramir’s bloodied and unblinking face.

“My father will be well,” Boromir asserted, determined not to speculate on his brother’s wellbeing. “He is past his time as a warrior. He will have commanded our troops from a place of safety within the walls.”

Aragorn inclined his head in assent. His hair really was a sight- black blood had matted chunks of it together, and where they stood now in the open field, with the sun just beginning to peek through the enemy’s unnatural bank of shadow, Boromir could see that his clothes were in much the same state. Perhaps this was why Aragorn so persistently favored black for his travel clothes. Were he wearing any other color, it would be obvious that he was as drenched in the blood of orcs as if he had bathed in it. 

A warrior of staggering skill was this king of Men, but he preferred not to proclaim his deadliness to the world. He tucked it away into shadow until such skill was needed. Perhaps one day Boromir might look upon this man that he called brother and not be humbled by the mere sight of him. 

Perhaps. 

“I will search with a sharp eye, then, for Captain Faramir,” Aragorn promised. 

Boromir closed the distance between them to grip Aragorn’s shoulder in thanks. Aragorn returned the gesture with ferocity, digging his fingers into the mail covering Boromir’s upper arm. Gimli thumped Boromir’s back in a heavy handed gesture of approval, and Legolas bowed his head with a coy smile. A river of unspoken words passed between the four of them, about great and important things like love and fear at the end of the world, and then they released each other. Aragorn turned his stride towards the Citadel to lend his knowledge of elvish medicine to the House of Healing. Legolas and Gimli set out together to help carry the wounded into the city for aid. Boromir made for the rocky outcrop at the city’s outermost wall, the one that archers favored for its vantage point. There he was sure he would find rangers, and hopefully news of Faramir.

The walk carried him past countless dead orcs and uruk-hai, but also more dead men and horses than Boromir had ever seen on a single field. For every pair of comrades he saw embrace in giddy relief, another wail of grief reached his ears from somewhere else. His mail grew heavier with every step he took.

Boromir had scarcely made it halfway to the archer’s outpost before he was stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Captain Boromir!” a familiar voice shouted. “You live!”

Boromir stopped and whirled about. There, about ten yards from Boromir, close enough to the outermost wall to be half-concealed in its shadow, crouched a man in a forest-green cloak. His hands still hovered over a fallen Gondorian soldier, as if he had frozen partway through checking for signs of life. Before the man in green rose to stand, he brushed a hand over the fallen one’s face, coaxing his eyes shut before stepping away. Boromir felt a dull pang of grief in his already overburdened heart at the confirmation that yet another of his countrymen was dead. He had no time to acknowledge that pain, though, as the man in green righted himself fully. The green cloak, brown leather vambraces, and longbow on his back all sparked immediate recognition. 

Boromir knew this man, had met him before, but his weary mind failed to provide a name for him. It hardly mattered. The uniform he wore told Boromir everything he needed to know. Faramir had been clad exactly the same, the last time Boromir had seen him. This was one of the rangers of Ithilien, his brother’s own company. Hope swelled painfully in his chest. He hastened his step towards the ranger.

The ranger rushed to meet him and performed a quick, obligatory salute when they were close enough to speak comfortably. “My lord,” he greeted, breathless. “Your father thought you dead, but we in Captain Faramir’s company held out hope.” A wide grin split across his face. “You cannot imagine how sorely you’ve been missed!”

Seeing his smile finally dragged the ranger’s name to the front of Boromir’s memory. “Anborn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you alive and well. Tell me, what news do you have of my brother?”

 Anborn’s smile dropped, giving way to a look of naked concern as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “I have no news, my lord, none that is not two days old at least.”

 "Then give me the old news,” Boromir pressed, trying not to snap. 

Anborn grimaced and nodded. “My lord,” he said, haltingly, “The last time I saw your brother, my Captain, was on the day he rode out to reclaim Osgiliath with a company of forty mounted soldiers.”

Boromir could only stare for a long moment, turning over Anborn’s words in his head to try and make them comprehensible. No clarity came to him. “My brother is- in Osgiliath?”

Another grimace. “If he is still there, he is dead.” Boromir’s lungs constricted and froze. Anborn continued, “Osgiliath was overrun more than a week ago. I’ve heard rumors that Faramir made it back to the Citadel, but I cannot say any more than that without inventing rumors myself.”

“The Citadel,” Boromir repeated. He forced breath into his uncooperative lungs. He would go to the Citadel, and he would find Faramir there with their father, incoherent with frustration after arguing strategy with Denethor. He turned on his heel and started walking. Anborn said something as Boromir strode away, but he didn’t hear it properly over the ringing in his ears. 

What he had heard of Anborn’s words clamored in his mind- it sounded as if Faramir had taken a company of only forty men to reclaim an overrun city. That would be absurd, though. Faramir may be prone to bouts of melancholy and brooding, but he wasn’t suicidal. And even if he did, for some reason, decide to seek his own death, he would never bring any number of Gondor’s defenders with him to do it.

 Your father thought you dead.

 Boromir broke into a run.

Faramir didn’t hold sway over all their troops’ movements. Faramir wasn’t the Steward. 

 He was moving too slowly. Stumbling to a halt, Boromir grasped at the leather straps holding his pauldrons in place and did his best to unfasten them with numb fingers. Denethor had not been the same in recent years. The shadow in the east had darkened his thoughts, day by day, and set him talking as if the end were already here. His gray eyes had glinted in a way that Boromir scarcely recognized when he’d spoken of the One Ring. He’d never favored Faramir, never encouraged him the way he deserved, but the cruelty that had colored Denethor’s every interaction with his secondborn in the year or two before Boromir left shocked him. 

Boromir’s pauldrons landed on the ground in a heap, and now he doubled over to escape the shirt of mail. It was a difficult task without taking off his sword belt, but he managed. He needed to be faster, but he could not bear to go unarmed. The chain links poured gracelessly down over his head, yanking his hair as they went, and then he was free. Boromir took off running again, now unencumbered. 

 Faramir would never plan a suicide mission. 

 Would he accept one, though, if he was ordered?

Boromir’s feet touched white marble bricks for the first time in months that had felt like decades. He did not pause. Shouts followed him as he went, calling his name or exclaiming surprise. Arches and edifices flew by overhead. Rubble littered the street. He caught glances of bodies crushed under great stones. 

Boromir made it to the stairs. His weary legs burned and protested, but he dared not slow his descent. He needed to know where Faramir was, now. He needed to know what had happened in Osgiliath, before any more ideas had the chance to take root in his head. If he finished the line of thinking that Anborn’s news had set off-

 Boromir might kill his father with his bare hands.

So, he would not stop, and he would not think, until he found answers.

 He reached the top of the stairs. 

 A small group of guards, maybe five or six, clustered together at the Citadel gate, all spoke over each other in urgent tones. Boromir could not hear most of their words over his own ragged breath, but he caught a few. He heard “Mithrandir” and “Witch King” and “wood”, and then, “Denethor.” 

“Where?” Boromir barked. Every one of the men before him startled and turned to him with unabashed fear written across their faces.

If Boromir had looked a mess back on the fields, by now he must appear absolutely deranged. Half his armor gone, hair wild, white shirt drenched with sweat and blood- he could hardly blame the unsuspecting guards for the shock and confusion they displayed so brazenly at his question. Nor could he blame himself for the urge to grab the nearest one and shake him until he spoke sense.

Fortunately for all present, the guard furthest to the left, a man of slight and youthful stature underneath his plate armor, spoke up.

“The House of Stewards,” he said, voice trembling. He pointed in the right direction. “In the tombs. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.”

 Boromir ran like he had never done in his life. 

 For what possible reason would his father and brother be in the tombs in the midst of battle?

 He threw himself against the door to the tombs of his forefathers. They gave way with no resistance, and as he stumbled through the opening, he noted that the floor was dusted with splintered wood. This door had already been broken through. There he stopped short.

He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the scene before him.

 In the center of the foyer, directly on top of Húrin’s memorial etching, were the remains of- a bonfire? Heaps of ash and charred wood covered the usually immaculate white marble floor, built up into a high, still-smoldering mound in the chamber’s center. The air reeked of smoke. Neither Denethor nor Faramir were in sight, nor was anyone else. The tombs appeared deserted.

  “Faramir?” Boromir called warily. 

A clang of metal and the scuffle of unshod feet on stone answered his call, and then-

“Boromir!”

A small form collided hard with his midsection, forcing him to take a staggering step back. Small arms wrapped around him like a vice, a familiar vice, and Boromir abruptly realized that he was in the embrace of a hobbit.

“Pippin?” he demanded, aghast.

The young hobbit turned his face up to meet his gaze and a fresh wave of panic seized him. Pippin’s face was coated in ash and streaked with tears.

“Boromir!” Pippin cried again. “You have to help, Gandalf said that healers were coming but nobody came, there was screaming in the halls so I dragged him as far as I could but he’s heavy and I don’t know where Gandalf went and just- just- come here!” 

The hobbit released his iron grip around Boromir’s waist in favor of clutching one of his wrists and started hauling him off to one side of the room, into a corridor of mausoleums. There, poking out of the nearest alcove, Boromir spied the lower half of a single black boot. 

Pippin pulled him onward when his own pace faltered. With each step he could see more of the body that Pippin had apparently tried to drag to safety. A small, or rather, hobbit-sizedsword lay carelessly discarded on the floor beneath the alcove’s arching entrance where Pippin had dropped it. That would explain the clanging sound Boromir had heard just before being tackled, then. Which would mean that when he called out, Pippin had been guarding this archway with sword in hand. 

Pippin’s relentless tugging finally forced Boromir to where he could see the stricken man on the floor.

It was Faramir.

Of course it was Faramir. 

A rough, strangled sound echoed through the quiet tombs, and Boromir only realized a moment later that it had come from his own throat. Pippin darted from his side to kneel at his brother’s head, petting his hair and murmuring a soothing word. Faramir did not react in the slightest. He wasn’t dead; Boromir had seen enough dead men in his life to know with unfailing precision the difference between a dead body and a dying one.

No, his brother was not dead. He was only dying. 

Boromir dropped to his knees. 

In all this time that he had dreaded coming home and hearing that Faramir had fallen in battle, it had never occurred to Boromir that he might watch him die.

“He needs medicine,” Pippin pleaded, his little hand nestled in Faramir’s hair. Boromir now saw that the hobbit was dressed in the garb of the guards of Citadel, mail under a velvet tunic embroidered with the white tree. What had happened in his city? When had this barely-trained halfling become his brother’s last line of defense?

“Go,” Boromir rasped. He touched the hilt of his sword. “I will protect him now. Go to the House of Healing, down one level. Aragorn is there. He will listen to you.”

Without another word, Pippin took off at a sprint. Boromir and Faramir were left alone, together for the first time since Boromir had left for Rivendell. 

Boromir wanted to scream.

Instead, he maneuvered himself carefully to sit at his brother’s side. How Pippin had managed to stash Faramir away in this little nook, Boromir had no idea. He could only just find room for himself against the wall without jostling the motionless body beside him. He reached a tentative hand out to lay it on Faramir’s forehead. He paused before he touched skin, momentarily stunned by the radiating heat. When his fingers settled on his brother’s brow, it was like touching metal that had been left in the sun too long. Faramir burned. Boromir gently smoothed his hand over damp hair.

It wasn’t just Faramir’s hair that was damp, actually. It was everything on him. His short beard, the finely embroidered collar of his tunic, the silk of his sleeves. If his fever was so high, it was not so surprising to find him coated in sweat. The choice of clothes, though, was undeniably strange. There was no blood staining the fabric. Had he not been hurt in battle, then? Had he simply been taken by a violent illness? Was there a plague in the city? That might explain the lack of gore but not the presence of finery. Boromir had only ever seen Faramir wear this tunic for ceremonies. He wouldn’t have put it on before battle, and he would certainly have taken it off if he were falling ill. 

No, the only reasonable conclusion was that Faramir had not been the one to dress himself. A terrible, unspeakable suspicion wormed its way into his heart. 

Boromir almost regretted sending Pippin away without first asking him what had happened to create this bizarre tableau. Almost. His answers could wait until Faramir had been brought safely into the care of physicians. He lifted his hand to stroke Faramir’s hair again, but the slickness that clung to his palm bade him pause.

That wasn’t sweat in his brother’s hair, it was something else, something more viscous. Puzzled beyond words, Boromir brought his hand close to his face to inspect it. 

His palm was smeared with oil.

All at once, a dozen disparate fragments of information arranged themselves into nightmarish clarity.

Someone had dressed Faramir for a funeral. Someone had brought him into the place where the bones of their ancestors rested and covered him in oil. Someone had lit a bonfire in the center of the tombs. 

Not a bonfire. A pyre.

Someone had tried to burn his little brother alive.

 “No,” Boromir whispered, as if he could prevent his next thought from taking shape.

Only one person in Gondor could do any of this without being stopped.

In the tombs, the guard at the gate had said. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.

Boromir launched himself upright, out of the cramped alcove, and was sick all over the marble floor.

For the second time in a day, Pippin found himself running for someone else’s life. At least he didn’t have so far to go this time. He could not remember ever being so tired. It was also fortunate that he knew already where to find the House of Healing. Gandalf had insisted he memorize the route there as soon as he’d made his oath to Denethor, which was a bit insulting, to be honest, but turned out very useful in the end.

 The first time he’d entered the House, just a few days ago, he’d thought it was very full. Most of the rows of clean, simple cots had been occupied by rangers returning from outside the city. As he dashed through the sturdy oaken door now, though, he entered a different world entirely.

The cacophony of sound, smell and movement that surged up to meet him stopped Pippin in his tracks. The House of Healing was so crowded he could not see the far wall. He could barely see the nearest row of cots. Tall ladies rushed about in every direction, shouting orders to one another above a nauseating din of groans and cries. Pippin had been standing guard in a cloud of smoke for hours, and yet the onslaught of ugly and unfamiliar smells that accosted him here made him wish for the scent of smoke again.

His foray into the front lines of a battle had been terrifying. This place might be worse.

Boromir had said that Aragorn was here, though, and Pippin would walk headfirst into an army of orcs right now if it meant that Aragorn would help him. He never wanted to be in charge of anything, ever again, especially not trying to keep great lords and heroes alive. Aragorn was good at that sort of thing, he could take over now. Pippin took a deep breath and began forging a path through the chaos, calling Aragorn’s name as he went.

As he weaved his way through cots, ducking underneath outstretched arms and around long legs, Pippin heard questions following him that he had no desire to answer.

“How old is that boy? Who let a child in the guard?”

"Is that one of those halflings? The wizard’s pet or something?”

“Are you lost, little one?”

Some of these Men had the most terrible manners, clearly. Most of them were bleeding very badly, though, so Pippin could forgive them for their rudeness. He ignored them all and kept moving.

“Aragorn!” he shouted again.

A women that had been rushing by him paused for an instant to glare down at him. “Hush, you,” she scolded, in a voice that spoke of unquestionable authority. She wore a sort of veil with a nice brooch on it, so Pippin supposed she might be in charge here. “Lord Aragorn’s doing very important things right now and I’ll not have you disturbing him.”

Pippin’s heart jumped. “Where is he?” he asked.

The woman tsked and shook her head, making to continue along her original path. She held a bowl in her arms that Pippin was quite sure he did not want to see the inside of. Whatever it was sloshed unpleasantly when Pippin lurched after the women and grabbed a handful of her skirt to prevent her from leaving.

“The Steward has ordered me to fetch Aragorn! Show me where he is!” Pippin declared. He didn’t think it was a lie. Denethor was dead, so that made Boromir the Steward in his place, probably.

The woman gasped in surprise. “Lord Denethor lives?” she asked. “Wondrous news, we thought lord and son dead already.”

 Pippin avoided the question about Denethor by standing up as straight as he could. “Lord Faramir needs medicine,” he said imperiously. “He needs Aragorn’s skill. Take me to Aragorn.”

With a quick hand gesture to follow and not another word, the woman took off walking at a brisk stride deeper into the crowded hall. Pippin had to run to keep up with her. After what seemed like a dozen maneuvers around clumps of people and cots, a figure clad all in black finally came into view.

“Strider!” Pippin cried with relief. 

Aragon knelt at a young man’s bedside with a wet rag and bowl of water in his hands. He turned his face at once toward the sound of Pippin’s voice, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he did. Some of the panic that had been driving Pippin these last several hours faded away at the sight. If Aragorn was here, then surely things would get better now.

His relief faltered a bit when Pippin noticed that Aragorn was simply ­covered in blood- both red and black, and sweat, and grime that Pippin could not begin to identity. The Men gathered round him didn’t seem to mind Aragorn’s state, but then, most of them were splattered with blood as well, probably their own. Even Aragorn could not dispel the somber truth hanging in the air, that unimaginably many people had died today.

Faramir would join the dead soon if Pippin didn’t get a move on, so he marched past all those tall, bloodied Men to stand right at Aragorn’s side.

“Faramir’s dying,” he hissed, hoping he was quiet enough for none but Aragorn to hear. He didn’t especially want to deliver more bad news to the people in this room. “Boromir is with him, but he needs medicine, now.”

If Aragorn found this news distressing, he did not show it. He just nodded thoughtfully, and asked, “Can he walk?”

Pippin shook his head. Aragorn hummed an acknowledgment and rose to his feet. He handed the bowl and rag he’d been holding to another woman that Pippin hadn’t noticed before, murmuring something that sounded like instructions. He then spoke to the lady that had led Pippin, the one who seemed to be in charge.

“Ioreth,” he addressed her. “We have need of a stretcher.”

“It will be done,” she said, and turned on her heel to vanish back into the crowded hall.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers to dry them. Pippin suspected he made them dirtier in the process. “Pippin,” Aragorn said. “Will you please lead me to Boromir and Faramir?”

“Yes, this way,” Pippin answered quickly. He was eager to be out of this terrifying place. He found it easier than before to navigate through the throng. He realized after a few moments of uninhibited movement that people were stepping aside to make way as soon as they saw Aragorn following him.

Had Aragorn already gotten around to being crowned while Pippin was busy? These people were certainly treating him like a king.

“Did you already become the King?” Pippin asked without thinking.

Aragorn chuckled dryly. “No, and I don’t think the lady healers would much care if I had. They care only that I know how to draw out the poison that covers many orcish blades, and that I’ve shared what I know.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, feeling queasy.

Finally, the door came into sight, and with a quick burst of speed, Pippin flung himself back into fresh air. Mostly fresh, anyway, permitting for some lingering smoke. The smell of blood and death that lingered in his nostrils seemed even more vile when contrasted against another, cleaner scent, and it made him gag. Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand between his shoulders.

“The battle to save the wounded is the hardest and the bloodiest,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in being shocked by it.”

Pippin couldn’t quite speak yet, so he bobbed his head in a jerky, shaking nod. He allowed himself two deep breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Right. Faramir. Shot full of arrows and nearly burned to death, currently stashed in a mausoleum, actively perishing of fever. He had to bring Aragorn there, and then maybe he could sit down for a moment. He set off again at a jog.

Aragorn, being unfairly long-legged, could follow him with a brisk walk. Pippin was growing weary of these big people, he really was.

Back over the same cold marble stone he went, retracing his steps to the tombs. Two men carrying a stretcher had started following them at some point- Pippin hadn’t noticed exactly where they came from, but the stretcher they carried was already stained with red, so he suspected that they had been going back and forth from the House of Healing for a while already. Aragorn let there be silence between them for several yards, but began asking questions as soon as they crossed under a crumbling archway.

“What happened to Faramir to leave him needing medicine?”

“He was shot at least twice, I’m not sure when. Sometime yesterday.”

"Where has he been?”

“Well, he got shot when he was fighting in Osgiliath, and then the horse dragged him back, and that probably made it worse, actually, but then Denethor put him away someplace for a day or so and then brought him into the tombs and tried to burn him alive.”

Aragorn froze for a moment. “What?”

“Denethor lost his mind just before the battle started, he tried to burn Faramir alive on a pyre. And himself too, I think. He thought the world was ending.”

“Where is Denethor now?”

“He jumped off the wall.”

Aragorn took up walking again, now at a faster stride. “Boromir is with his brother now?”

"Yes,” Pippin confirmed, doing his best to keep up with Aragorn’s pace.

“Does he know what happened?”

That was a good question, actually. Had Pippin explained the situation at all? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember most of today, to be honest- it was all a blur of screams and fire.

He remembered the blinding panic he’d felt when heavy footsteps had entered the tombs. He remembered clutching his sword with sweaty hands and bracing himself to get torn to shreds by uruk-hai, and then abandoning his sword to hurl himself at Boromir once he’d heard the man’s voice. What had Boromir said, though? Anything? Had Pippin said anything?

He remembered Boromir dropping heavily onto his knees. The look on his face had been awful. He looked sad and scared and sick all at once. Pippin had never been sure what the word anguish meant, but he was sure now.

“I don’t think so,” Pippin finally answered.

 Aragorn muttered something to himself, a string of elvish words that Pippin had never heard before. It sounded like what Legolas said when he missed a shot, though, so Pippin could wager a guess at what it meant.

At last, they reached the door to the House of Stewards. Pippin darted through, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aragorn was still following. Through the foyer, around the smoldering remains of the pyre, down the corridor on the right, and there they were. The lords of Gondor. Not quite as Pipping had left them.

Boromir had extracted Faramir from the alcove where Pippin had dragged him to lay his brother out in the open. The fine silk tunic Faramir had worn lay in oil-soaked shreds scattered about the floor, and the mail shirt he’d had on underneath was similarly cast aside, half-obscuring a puddle of vomit near the entry to the alcove. Pippin was sympathetic- being in this place made him want to retch, too.

Faramir lay on his side in his undershirt. The fabric had been white once, Pippin knew, but blood, oil and ash had colored it through. Boromir knelt at his back, holding him steady by the upper arm with one hand and gently tearing the cloth of the ruined shirt with the other. The cloth didn’t move the way it should when Boromir tugged it. It stuck stubbornly to Faramir’s scorched upper back and shoulder, like it had been glued there.

Pippin gasped in horror as the realization hit him. Boromir couldn’t get Faramir’s shirt off because it was stuck to his burnt skin, fused in place by the heat of the fire. Had his skin melted? Could skin melt? The thought alone sickened him.

Boromir must have heard Pippin gasp, because his head snapped up to fix the hobbit with a wild stare.

Pippin didn’t usually think of Boromir as frightening. Fearsome, of course, but not to his friends. Certainly never to Pippin.

He looked frightening now. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were tiny pinpoints. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic expression, somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, showing just a hint of teeth. His shoulders curled forward, hunching slightly over Faramir’s still form, and through his thin, damp shirt Pippin could see he was shaking with pent up energy.

When Pippin was younger, one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs had gone missing. They’d found the creature hiding under a shed, nursing a bleeding paw, growling and snapping at any hobbit that tried to approach. Boromir did not make a sound, but Pippin swore he could hear the same wounded dog’s growling all the same.

Pippin felt rather than heard Aragorn approaching from behind him, and it was a great relief when Boromir’s gaze flicked up off his face to fixate on Aragorn instead. With what seemed to be a tremendous effort, Boromir opened his mouth to speak.

“Where is Denethor?” he rasped, voice shaking.

Aragorn took a cautious step forward, moving in front of Pippin. He held his hands up, fingers splayed open, the way he did when trying to settle a spooked horse. “Boromir, my brother-” he began, voice soft and steady.

Boromir interrupted before he could take another step. “Tell me where my father is, Aragorn,” he croaked. “Tell me so I can find him and gut him.”

“He’s dead,” Pippin blurted. “He set himself on fire and then he went off the edge of the wall and died.”

Aragorn stiffened. Boromir’s jaw went slack. He heard gasps from the men carrying the stretcher behind him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Gandalf was always telling him something to that effect.

Boromir let out long, low groan and slumped in on himself, bowing his head so low his forehead grazed Faramir’s hair. He released the firm grip he’d been maintaining on his brother’s upper arm to grab fistfuls of his own hair instead.

Aragorn moved swiftly to kneel beside Boromir. He wrapped one arm around Boromir’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided embrace. Boromir went without protest, deflated and boneless against his king. Aragorn spoke to him, too softly for Pippin to hear, and coaxed him to shuffle backwards just a pace or two to create space at Faramir’s side. The two half-forgotten men with the stretcher between them seized their opportunity and swept in to gather Faramir up. Boromir twitched forward when they lifted his brother, but Aragorn held him back with a hand on his chest. With quick, synchronized steps, Faramir was taken out of the tombs.

Louder now, so Pippin could hear again, Aragorn spoke with real regret in his voice. “I must follow them. I promise I will give all the skill I have to make Lord Faramir well.”

“I’m coming,” Boromir stated.

Aragorn fixed him with a hard stare. “It will be ugly,” he warned. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off his back, and I expect much of his skin to come with it. If he wakes it will be to scream.”

“I know,” said Boromir.

“I would rather not find your blade shoved through my heart while I work.”

Boromir flushed. “I would not.”

Aragorn raised one eyebrow. “All the same, if you wish to follow, leave your sword at the door for my peace of mind.”

Boromir opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and simply bowed his head in assent. Aragorn hauled himself to his feet and offered Boromir a hand up, which Boromir accepted without hesitation.

“Can I help?” Pippin asked, surprising himself.

Aragorn eyed him up and down. One corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, Pippin, I think you can help us all very much by staying at Boromir’s side and keeping him calm. If you have any more news to deliver, however, perhaps you could share it beforewe enter the House of Healing?”

Pippin recognized the admonishment for what it was and ducked his head, chastened. On the other hand, now that he mentioned it-

“Gandalf’s staff is broken,” he announced.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Pippin. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well. If you think of something, take Boromir out into the hall and tell him.” Aragorn turned to Boromir and spoke sternly. “Boromir, if Pippin takes you out into the hall, I forbid you to pick up your sword until we have had a chance to speak.”

Boromir huffed out something very close to a laugh. “Wise council, my king.”

[gardenofhearts]

Headcanon - Love and Deepspace boys as Disney Princes

This came to me out of nowhere but was also quite fun and challenging to write, since the boys are such interesting characters. Do note that not all the "princes" are official princes, I just used that term because it's quick and easy. I hope you'll enjoy this and if you have other opinions, please let me know! I would love to hear your thoughts on this

English is not my first language, apologies in advance. The gradient banners are made by me as a bit of try out to see how they look. If you wish to use them you can do so if you credit me. Thank you and happy reading <3

Xavier

Xavier was a bit of a hard one to really pin down. So, I would say a part of him reminds me of Shang Li. Both are trained in combat, and take time to warm up to you, both are also quite loyal to you.

Due to Xavier’s strength and from what I have seen in his memories sort of boy next door vibes and cuteness I will also say he reminds me of Hercules. Hercules has that sort off cute awkwardness to him that I feel sometimes Xavier also has. In addition to that, Hercules would and has almost sacrificed himself to save Megara which in my opinion is similar to Xavier’s decision to leave his home, not knowing what could happen, to save his love.

Zayne

For the most part he gives me Robert from Enchanted vibes, a bit more reserved and a tad cynical while also being frank. However, I also think Zayne is partly Prince Philip, brave and loyal; a prince who charges into battle to save his love which I think fits Zayne. Also fun fact Robert’s last name is Philip! Both also fought dragons lol, something Zayne would definitely also do to save you.

I also believe there is a hint of general Shang Li within him, both incredibly devoted to their work and also very good in their respective areas. Also, just like Zayne, Shang Li at first seems a bit cold but once you get to know him better you’ll see just how soft and sweet they truly are even if it’s not always immediately noticeable.

Rafayel

Sylus

Hear me out, prince Edward from Enchanted. I know, another character from Enchanted -sue me- but I do think he has similarities to prince Edward. They both lean on the dramatic side and I don’t doubt for a second that Rafayel would also sing ‘A true love’s kiss’ in public. Edward converses with a chipmunk, Rafayel converses with sea animals. They're practically twins.

The other prince I think Rafayel resembles is Cinderella’s prince, prince Henri, but the version from the third movie. A believer in true love and also a tad dramatic, Rafayel would also jump out a window to go after his one true love. He also, just like Prince Henri, searched quite some time for his love and had to go through quite some trouble to find you.

This might be unpopular but he reminds me of Dimitri from Anastasia: witty, sarcastic, smart and from my pov both in a way underestimate their love interests. Just like with Dimitri does is take some time for Sylus to ‘soften’ a bit, in the beginning he was a lot harsher yet from more recent memories we see a very different side to him.

I also think he has a touch of prince Naveen, with how they’re both a bit reckless and love to spend money. Unlike Naveen though I don’t believe Sylus’ is much of a ladies man, in my opinion he would dislike such superficial relationships.

Lastly, I think he also has a touch of prince Adam/the Beast, both a bit coarse in the beginning yet just like the other princes Adam softens up and becomes a big supporter of Belle similar to Sylus with you.

Caleb

Caleb gives me a mix of prince Eric and Phoebus. Eric because both are in a way adventurous, Eric more so I’d say and also both are big time romantics. Eric believes in true love and Caleb believes you are his true love. Both are also very kind, Eric takes in a complete stranger and allows Ariel to stay in his castle while providing her all she could need without asking anything in return and Caleb similarly looks out for you, cooks for you and tries his best to make you happy. He wants to make sure you want for nothing.

I think Caleb also resembles Phoebus because both are able to keep a straight face but also quick to crack a joke. Also both are soldiers, al be it both aren’t exactly doing it super willingly. Phoebus does it to survive and Caleb had no say at all. I also think he has hints of Kristoff, although both are kind I do get the vibe that Caleb can come across as very cold just like Kristoff in the beginning. With Caleb this is most noticeable when he’s a colonel and the person that helps warm him up is obviously you.

Next headcannon: lads as the different types of Kens?

[shegatsby]

Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/n; Hi little doves, how are you?! I've missed you so much and here i am. Let me know what you think of this chapter. xxx

TAG LIST IS OPEN! (let me know if i forgot to tag you)

Warnings; Baron being a pedo, he is a pedo in the books and i wanted to keep it that way. Little bit of NSFW!

Words; 4.708K

Chapter Seven ''The Wedding''

Y/N Atreides found herself laying flat back on his bed, alone. After their small exchange of comfort Feyd Rautha didn’t say anything but left her to sleep in the living room section. Y/N changed, got ready and she noticed she was stumbling in the bed chambers, walking around, brushing her hair slowly but why? After some time she huffed in annoyance trying to get rid of what happened today from start to finish. She had bigger problems such as her wedding in two days. She turned on her side, curled up into a fetus position and closed her weary eyes.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen was sweating under the Black sun of Giedi Prime, he had his morning training with his coach, an ex commander from Salusa Secundus, at his prime he used to crush men’s skulls with his bare hands, now he was an old man and transferring his skills to younger generations. Baron himself bought this man to guide Feyd in combat.

A strong hit came to his cheek, ‘’You seem distracted, Na-Baron.’’ Feyd heard the man’s rough voice, indeed he was distracted. ‘’Is it because of the stupid fight you had with your brother or.. something else?’’ the old man attacked again but Feyd was able to block it. ‘’I’m fine.’’ He growled in distress, sweating under the hot sun, ‘’Then prove it.’’ The man was skilled at getting under his skin too. Feyd launched at the man, he was screaming. The sun was boiling him like an egg, he had pent up rage within him and he unleashed the beast. The old man’s face turned into Rabban’s in his twisted mind and Feyd attacked religiously. At the end of the training the old man was on the floor with a bleeding face and he was laughing, ‘’Well done boy,’’ he was out of breath, ‘’Bring that to the upcoming battles at the arena for your wedding.’’

Harkonnen custom was to fight on your wedding day to prove to your wife that you can protect her and defend her no matter what. With the old man’s words Feyd’s mind altered a vision, a dream, last night he had a taste of fighting for someone, someone he is going to share his life with and he liked it. The animalistic instincts in him were triggered since that night and when they shared that soft moment between them last night he internally promised to himself that he is going to protect his wife no matter the outcome is.

He left the training grounds, his routine was to go to the baths to shower and relax, his legs were taking him there but his mind was too occupied to notice his surroundings, he marched to the bath chambers and closed the door behind him, ‘’Hello nephew.’’ Came the Baron’s voice, Feyd composed himself in a second. His uncle was in the stone bathtub, smoking, Feyd could see his ugly form.

‘’Hello uncle.’’ He said with a flat tone, and he walked to the bathtub, he wanted to be alone but he couldn’t leave now, his uncle would get suspicious. ‘’Seeing your disposition your training was successful.’’ He motioned to Feyd’s sweaty and muscular chest, ‘’Yes uncle. It was successful.’’ He repeated his uncle. ‘’Get in the tub. You deserve to relax now, perhaps take a servant to your room eh?’’ he laughed with his raspy voice, Feyd had to laugh with him, he took off his pants under his uncle’s curious eyes and got into the tub. Feyd leaned his back on the stone and closed his eyes, arms spread wide on the stone, ‘’Rumor has it that you haven’t visited any of your ‘’darlings’’ are they entertaining you anymore?’’ his uncle asked, Feyd knew that whenever Baron opened his mouth to speak he had a motive, his words hid something underneath, ‘’I have been busy recently.’’ He replied, his eyes closed, ‘’How does your wife-to-be take the news of your darling, is she jealous?’’

Feyd didn’t think to bother Y/N with this detail but if his uncle is mentioning it, it meant that she would be hearing it soon, ‘’I do not care what she thinks, as long as she does her duty then I shall be content.’’ He opened his azure eyes to face his uncle and caught him staring at his chest, ‘’Good boy. I expect great things from you Feyd and you have never failed me. Keep up the good work son.’’

Tomorrow was their wedding day and Y/N was occupied heavily, seamstress and other servants kept coming and going to her, getting measurements, talking about the design and the color scheme and the guests… ‘’Of course you must be ready to greet the Na-Baron after he wins the battle in your name..’’

‘’I do apologies but,’’ Y/N turned to face the servant girl, ‘’What battle?’’

Servants looked at each other before one of them bowed her head and spoke, ‘’In order to prove himself that he is the protector and provider.. Na-Baron will fight in the arena, for you.’’

Y/N never asked for a battle, whenever she runs from blood the blood follows her, she never asked to watch prisoners die before her eyes and the fact that  it would be on her wedding day.. she calmed herself with a Bene Gesserit trick. ‘’Thank you for the information.’’ She smiled kindly and continued with her day.

With a huff she walked into the living room, her skirts swirling, she shut the door and leaned her forehead on the cool metal, yes, the doors were metal.. like a prison.

‘’Long day I assume?’’ a raspy voice startled her, she turned to face the owner of that voice that haunts her dreams. He was sitting on the dining table’s chair, the table was set, candles lit, he leaned his back on the chair, his shirt looking tight on his chest. He gestured to the empty chair at the opposite top of the table, ‘’Sit.’’ She didn’t say anything, this was the first encounter after their soft ending of yesterday night, his face looked better, perhaps his doctor gave him medicine to make his wounds heal quicker.

She sat. The meat on the table smelled delicious and her mouth started watering, ‘’Please,’’ he gestured again to the table, ‘’eat. I bet you didn’t eat much today.’’

‘’I was busy.’’ She said and started her dinner, ‘’I figured.’’ He said in short, she was surprised that he wasn’t tormenting her. ‘’Are you-‘’ she began but stopped when she caught his complete attention.

He looked puzzled when she stopped herself, ‘’Please, continue.’’ She heard him say please two times in few minutes, was the galaxy dying? Was it Doomsday?

She kept her hands busy with cutting the meat, ‘’You seem tired.’’ She said with a flat tone, the meat she was dealing with looked more interesting than Feyd’s surprised face, if only she looked up to meet his azure gaze.

‘’Is someone worried about her husband?’’ his mocking tone came back, ‘’You are not my husband.’’ It was her generic response. ‘’Aren’t you tired little dove, tomorrow is our wedding day after all.’’ He drank his wine, enjoying cornering her, ‘’I cannot wait to become a widow.’’ She snapped back and earned his laughter, he enjoyed this banter dearly, ‘’Finish your dinner, I want to take you somewhere.’’

Y/N panicked for a second, ‘’Where?’’ she asked immediately, ‘’It’s a surprise.’’  He whispered jokingly.

It was late at night, full moon casting mysterious shadow, it wasn’t cold and yet she could feel her hands go ice, maybe it was because of unknown intentions of Feyd or maybe she felt the slight breeze. Feyd and Y/N were walking side by side, their shoes made echoes in the corridors, halls, guards were present at certain doors and they had their night shifts but they were so silent and blend in with the black walls Y/N felt as if her and Feyd were the only residence of the fortress. His hands were behind his back, ‘’Where are we going?’’ she couldn’t help her curiosity. Feyd stopped in his tracks, turned his face to the side, Y/N took a step back, ‘’Curiosity killed the cat.’’ He said mockingly but she could sense the irritation underneath so she didn’t reply and kept following him.

Feyd-Rautha had been planning and organizing this since Y/N first stepped foot on Giedi Prime, it was hard work but he managed to pull it off and he did it under the radar, he made some excuses for it so that his uncle wouldn’t search for a deeper meaning.

Together they walked out of the fortress to the barren courtyard, Giedi Prime’s courtyard was nothing but stone, few marble status and that’s it. Y/N noticed how quiet it was, guards were scarce and it was late, she was getting more suspicious with each passing second. The stars were bright, almost like glowglobs hanging in the sky to show them the path.

Feyd now was making her walk through shadows, and they reached to a glass door, he stepped away and extended his hand to the door, ‘’Would you like to do the honors?’’ he said and waited for her to open the glass door. It was dark and all she saw was the handle of the door, she opened the door and walked in. For a second the darkness continued until Feyd also walked inside and hit the switch for the glowglobes inside and Y/N had to close her eyes, it was too bright all of a sudden and when she opened her eyes she could feel her mouth open with shock.

They were inside of a garden filled with flowers and small trees from Caladan and Kaitain, the fresh smell hit her nostrils in a pleasing way, she had dreams where she walked in the gardens of Kaitain and her dream now came true, she slowly walked among the plants, flowers, there was a fountain in the middle of the garden, it was white marble and had fishes in it, everything inside made her peaceful.

‘’I didn’t know this place existed.’’ She said smelling a red rose, ‘’It didn’t.’’

Y/N turned to him, looking puzzled, ‘’I have arranged this,’’ he began, coming closer to her, he came to a stop in front of her, ‘’for you.’’ He confessed, his head low, suddenly the soil ground looked more interesting to him than her pretty eyes. Maybe he didn’t want to find any confrontation or rejection.

Y/N had no idea what to say or even react to his kind gesture, her Bene Gesserit mind immediately looked for any strategy or profit, why would he do something like this if he has no gain from it? However, a dark corner in her mind whispered to her that he did this for her comfort and to see her happy and content, she had been going through a lot especially with the rude comments of  Rabban…

He dared to see her reaction with his yearning blue orbits, her face soften when she saw his expression, he looked like a lost little boy, the boy she had met years ago.

‘’Feyd I-‘’ she began but failed to express how grateful she was, be that as it may, her hands went to his pale face, caressing gently, Feyd’s touched starved soul leaned in to her touch, of course he had been touched many times he was yearning for this kind of touch; soft, gentle and nurturing.

Y/N smiled, ear to ear, ‘’Even though we aren’t in good terms most of the time… this means a lot to me.’’ She finally said. ‘’Thank you Feyd.’’

Feyd started to take slow steps towards her, ‘’Say it again.’’ He begged, she could feel his hot breath on her face, she had to take steps back because of his movements towards her and she felt herself cornered between him and a tree, ‘’Feyd..’’ her hand still on his face, ‘’Again.’’ He demanded, his voice getting raspier and lower, his breathing getting quicker, ‘’Feyd-Rautha..’’ she whispered with her soft voice, so soft it made his insides melt, he was so close he could smell her fresh and sweet scent, her hair thick and long, his hand went to touch it. He was mesmerized every time, the texture of her hair was so soft it made him feel like he was touching pure silk.

Y/N lowered her hands and let him touch her hair, when he started to massage her scalp gently she closed her eyes, a soft moan leaving her shiny lips, Feyd smirked in victory. She was wearing a baby blue gown, fabric tight around her body and making her curves look dominant, he could see the cleavage of her chest, his mouth was watering but he had to keep himself for he promised to himself that she had to come to him, willingly. When he stopped massaging her scalp she opened her eyes in protest, fire in her eyes, ‘’The garden isn’t the only thing I want to give you.’’ He said and his hand went to his pocket, he showed her a golden ring with obsidian stone, ‘’It was my mother’s, now it’s yours.’’ And he took her left hand to place the ring, Y/N mind went to the knowledge she had of his parents’, was it a good time to ask? She decided that it wasn’t time or the place for that conversation but Feyd sensed her trouble, ‘’You don’t like the ring?’’ he asked with defense in his tone, ‘’No, no. I love it. I just.. I don’t have anything to give you.’’ Feyd chuckled, his hand went to caress her cheek, ‘’You are giving your hand in marriage to me. That is more than enough.’’ She was relieved, ‘’Although,’’ he began with a cunning smile, his eyes shining like a predator on a hunt, Y/N raised her eyebrows in question, ‘’a kiss would suffice.’’

Y/N wasn’t shocked to see his boldness, but why now? Her mind was racing like a race horse, she was comparing pros and cons, over the days he was getting more and more nice but there were things he did in the past such as beheading a servant because she refused to dine with him, but he defend her against Rabban who is his flesh and blood. And now they were standing in the garden he had built for her…

Y/N’s hands went to his face again and she kissed his plump lips, his lips felt so welcoming that she kept kissing him but her intention was to just give him a quick kiss. Feyd wrapped his arms around her to pull her extremely close. Wet sounds and soft moans leaving their enchanted mouths, she was water he was thirsting over, and he was the darkness she ran into. She could feel his stone of a body pressing her against the tree, his body felt so firm she wanted to touch him but in this position she let him use her mouth, he was getting more and more eager, Y/N pulled back when she needed breath and together they chuckled. ‘’Let’s go. We have a big day tomorrow.’’ Feyd extended his hand and together they left, till they reach to their chambers neither of them spoke or let go of each others’ hand.

(for some reason i listened to this when i was writing the Baron's part lol)

‘’My Baron-‘’ Baron Vladimir Harkonnen’s spy ran to his chambers, Baron was getting ready to sleep, his room was extra dark, ‘’How dare you disturb me at this ungodly hour? You better have something worthy to say.’’ Baron was furious, he never liked being disturbed, especially when there was a servant boy laying under his sheets, the spy’s eyes gazed upon the sleeping boy… he looked immobile and the spy understood the situation. ‘’Na-Baron and his wife to be, they have been spotted hand in hand leaving the garden Na-Baron had built for her.’’ He explained what he saw in details. Baron didn’t say anything and dismissed the spy with the promise of gold and the spy left smiling.

Baron Vladimir poured himself a drink, he loved to drink after he used one of the boys, he was in his device which made him float in the air, he moved to his window overlooking his city, ‘’So, you choose her over me..’’ he was talking to himself, his icy cold eyes focused on a distant building, he could feel the rage in him building but years made him act in a more strategic way, he learned how to manipulate his rage into the right path, he only agreed to take the Atreides girl as a pawn, to use her name and family to his ways. It seemed like the girl had her own plans, ‘’Not for long..’’ he said and finished his drink, his hand was shaking rapidly so he exhaled his breath.  He smashed the glass against the floor which made the boy in his sleep startle and wake up in terror, Baron turned to the boy, his eyes made the boy cover himself in fear, ‘’Please Baron,’’ the boy begged, he was moving towards the boy, ‘’No more, please..’’

And that night, as usual, the guards at Baron’s door heard the painful screams of the boy.

Y/N started her day earlier than usual, it was her wedding day. She was happy because she was going to see her family but she was also dreading the day. After having a small breakfast they made her wear a black velvet gown, the dress covered her body entirely, only her hands and face could be seen, it was the custom so she said nothing. Before the wedding she had to watch Feyd fight for her so she was guided to the seating areas of the arena, the guests and Y/N were going to witness the fights behind glass, their seats were high, the pit was under them so she had to use a device to see the fight like others. She greeted the guests, Minor and Major houses were there, their wedding was the talk of the ton, everyone was talking about how Feyd-Rautha demanded her and got her, how brave he was… no one asked her how she was, no one wondered how she was surviving in a place like this, among the monsters.

‘’Y/N..’’ she heard her mother’s voice, ‘’Mother!’’ she turned excitedly to see her and her smile turned into a frown when she saw her mother with that woman, Reverend Mother Helen Mohiam. ‘’The Reverend Mother wishes to speak to you… alone.’’ Her mother announced with her formal tone, ‘’I would love to talk to her alone.’’ Y/N said with an icy bite. Together they moved to a small room, Jessica closed the door for them to speak.

‘’You have been handful, get your mind organized or you will lose everything.’’ Reverend Mother began, ‘’I was brought here against my will!’’ Y/N protested,  ‘’Silence!’’ Helen used the Voice on her and made her stop talking, ‘’You listen carefully, this arrangement had been in the progress since before you and Na-Baron were born. You are a woman, you are superior than him, use your mind to manipulate him and you shall live or..’’ Helen noticed the change in the girls eyes, ‘’You are very pretty,’’ her voice softened like a mother, ‘’however that isn’t enough for you to survive. Baron Vladimir is a dangerous and jealous man. He has spies everywhere, don’t talk to anyone about anything. Watch your back all the time and convince him.. convince Feyd to get rid of his uncle. Or he shall be the end of you and your children.’’ With that Reverend Mother left the small room, Y/N knew how dangerous the Harkonnens were, especially Baron but if Reverend Mother herself was warning her directly then it meant Baron had made his moves already. As soon as she become Feyd’s wife she was going to be thrown into the battle so she had to be ready and she had to manipulate Feyd to get rid of his uncle one way or another.

The black sun of Giedi Prime made the arena look bright white, the spectators were cheering to see their Na-Baron, before the doors opened a male voice announced the importance of today and screamed his name, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. The doors were opened and prisoners, slaves entered, Feyd entered from a different door in the middle.  He had his two blades and the shield device to protect him. He greeted everyone and waved at her, she only bowed.  She was uneasy, never liked to watch battles, the fireworks were the color of black because of the sun, she hated the sun of Giedi Prime, it’s light made everything look black and white. One of Y/N’s maids whispered in her ear, ‘’My lady, the prisoners your husband-to-be is ought to fight are drugged before the event. See that one, he is limping as he is walking.’’ Y/N turned to the maid, ‘’So it isn’t a fair fight.’’ She cursed herself for saying that, ‘’It is the custom. Baron cannot risk his one and only heir’s life.’’ She noticed the maid’s eyes following a young man, ‘’Oh no, that slave isn’t drugged.’’ And she turned to see the man. The maid was right, others were limping but he wasn’t, he was walking straight.

Y/N watched the entire fight with her heart at her throat, his death meant her demise, he had killed the drugged ones but the last one was a problem, he was a skilled fighter just like Feyd. There were men covered in black  at the corners of the arena just in case. When he killed the man Y/N found herself cheering for her husband-to-be, she was clapping and smiling, she was relieved that he was unharmed.

‘’My lady, it is your turn.’’ Her maid announced, ‘’My what?’’ she started to get looks from the guests and servants and her maid whispered again, ‘’You have to get down to the arena and kiss Na-Baron’s blade. It means you are satisfied with his efforts and you shall have him.’’ No one told her about this, when the maid saw that Y/N wasn’t moving she gently held her arm, ‘’Follow me my lady.’’

Feyd was waving at his people who were cheering for his victory, he loved the attention he got. He intentionally didn’t mention this tradition to her to see the irritation and shock on her face. The door was opened for her to enter, she was startled when she heard screams and cheers for her, she slowly walked towards him, it was way more hotter here,  the sun burnt her eyes, she was uneasy with the attention she got.

She bowed respectfully, ‘’My Na-Baron.’’ She had to follow the traditions if she wanted to survive.

Feyd bowed in return, ‘’My Lady.’’ And he extended the blade he had killed his enemies, Y/N looked up to meet his gaze, ‘’Kiss it.’’ He ordered, there was a strange light in his eyes, his chest was heaving and his hands and clothes were bloody, she could feel her stomach twist but she had to. Y/N gently kissed the metal of the blade, her lips covered in his enemies’ blood. Feyd lowered the blade and with another hand he grabbed her neck and pulled her for an animalistic kiss. Y/N was startled, she didn’t expect him to kiss her like that in front of thousands.  He let go after the heated kiss and whispered,

‘’See you at the altar.’’

Later she was taken to her chambers to wear the wedding gown, when she saw the completed version of the gown on the tall mirror she couldn’t believe her eyes. The fabric felt smooth like liquid, the color was silver white, with grey strands of fabrics, she was flowing like a fairy,

(this is the gown, i've found it on IG the account's handle is @etheralsoftwear.ai )

she expected a hair style but the maid said something which left her speechless, ‘’Na-Baron has requested for your hair to be loose.’’ She touched the strand of her hair, where he touched…

‘’You are ready my Lady.’’ His personal maid said and they opened the door for Leto Atreides to walk in. She didn’t see him among the guest and thought he didn’t come. ‘’Dad!’’ she jumped into his arms, ‘’Hello love.’’ He kissed her forehead, ‘’Look at my little duchess, you look amazing.’’ Even though she was mean to him and also heartbroken because of the fact that she was here she really missed him.

He extended his arm, ‘’Shall we?’’ Leto looked handsome in his black and green suit, his medals shining with the glowglobes’ lights.

The wedding ceremony was at the grand hall of the fortress where the Harkonnes held important events. The hall was decorated in black and white, flowers were white, symbolizing purity and innocence, guests were seated at their tables talking among themselves, when Leto and his daughter entered all conversations ended, she could see the looks they got, admiring her dress and beauty, she had always noticed the people watching her, observing her in detail.

Feyd was waiting at the black altar, in his black ceremonial clothing, he had his boots, made him look more tall and menacing, his hands clasped in front of him, he had his silver ring on his small finger, she came up with an idea of getting him a wedding ring maybe just like the one she has but in silver..

His face was as if made of marble, Y/N noticed how stiff he got among crowed but when he spotted her she noticed the small smile and the shine in his azure eyes.

Leto walked her daughter and left to take his seat remembering the conversation he had with Feyd earlier today;

‘’Duke Leto,’’ he called for him, ‘’May we speak in private?’’ it was before the arena.

‘’Yes, we may.’’ And Feyd took him to his study. ‘’Do not have any fear for your daughter’s future for I am her provider and protector starting today. She will be taken care of the way she wishes. Not a strand of her hair will be harmed. You have my word.’’ And he bowed respectfully.

Leto looked at him different than the day his daughter was taken. Today he was going to be his son-in-law, the father of his future grandchildren, ‘’If you need anything,’’ Leto began, ‘’I will be there for you, son.’’ And he hugged Feyd. Feyd wasn’t used to getting hugs or sentimental things from his family members so he was startled at first but he hugged Leto back.

At last she was standing in front of him, holding a small bouquet of white tulips, officiant of the wedding was the Reverend Mother herself. Y/N guessed that the Mother wanted to see this through.

‘’We are gathered here today to join two houses, Harkonnens and Atreides in holy matrimony,’’ Reverend Mother began, there was no sound in the room other than her strong one. Y/N glanced at the guests, they were so elegant and chic but she knew the lies laid underneath and she saw him with his family… Pyramus…

His brown eyes found hers, his clothing looked richer than usual, he was wearing colorful rings and necklace, he looked like an important man now but to her.. he was nothing.

Feyd noticed the small exchange while Reverend Mother was giving her speech, he was the one who personally sent a letter to invite the low life and watch Y/N ‘s reaction, a reaction that he completely misread. He didn’t like what he saw.

‘’I announce you, husband and wife.’’ The old lady finished and the ton cheered, smiling and yet Feyd wasn’t smiling. He looked at Pyramus, captured his gaze and leaned to kiss Y/N. The kiss was more passionate than earlier, Feyd’s soft lips encapsulated hers, his hands went to her waist to pull her close, she could hear the cheers, screams, the ton was having fun. She didn’t want to make a scene but her hand gently pressed on his chest, signaling for him to stop, he pulled back looking offended. Later he held her hand walked to their table.

‘’Let the feast began!’’ Baron Vladimir announced and the servants started to bring the food.

TAG LIST; @superchatnoir07 @mamawiggers1980 @landlockedmermaid77 @moonsoulk @crystalskiesandcherrywine @palomavz @beebeechaos @jeong-uwu @tian-monique @avidreader73 @aleemendoza2425-blog @taleah @oneandonlybbygrl @flower-frog @or-was-it-just-a-dream @howibecameabadassbitch @monstresshorn @keanuispunk @lunerose0 @purplepeach333 @torossosebs @austinbutlerslovers @athanasialove @darlingisntit @aoi-targaryen @alexa4040

Thank you for reading. Let me know if you want to be tagged.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Xcuse me but I forgot very important questions about BS parenthood.

Does he teach the kids more things besides fighting? Is he a cool dad, stoic dad, protective dad or "over-the-moon" dad? Does he gives romantic advises to his son? Does he let his little beast princess play with boys her age? Does he dreads the day when she falls in love? (I have the headcannon over my own BurningCheese fankid that whatever girl/boyfriend she gets they need to AT LEAST be able to put up with him in battle)

Yay, more questions from my buddy Almellow 🗣��🔥🙌

Spice is 100% "over-the-moon dad" when they're babies. It's a pleasant surprise to many to see him so genuinely bubbly and smiley (not to Golden, though, she knows his soft side by now and is just happy to see him enjoying being a father). It's really cute. (I like the concept of hyper-masculine men being soft and loving towards their families ok)

As they grow up, he becomes a mix of all those dad modes, really. Mostly Cool Dad, because having your kids look at you like you're larger than life is just the best. (He's also not the best at disciplining them a lot of the time tbh. He wants to indulge their foolishness, it's more fun. He ends up acting like a child himself, wanting to have fun with his children. And then they all get chastised by Golden together after they break something lol)

He's less protective than you'd imagine him to be; not because he doesn't care, but because he really does have that much faith in their strength right from the get-go. It's actually Golden that's the overprotective one, at least when they're little; he had to coax her into letting them start their warrior training because she kept wanting to push it back and making excuses to do so. (She just can't bear the thought of her little ones getting hurt. She's lost so much already. If anything happened to her children, her little gems... Spice is the one to convince her to have faith in the kids and let them do things. Of course they'll get hurt, she and him get hurt all the time still and they're adults. But they'll be fine. They're tough. They have to nurture that toughness, not stifle it. They can't protect them forever... But they don't need to. The kids can stand on their own two feet. He's never doubted either of them for a second, for any reason. She shouldn't, either.) But make no mistake, Papa Bear is alive and well, just dormant. Only coming out when necessary. You want to see the old Burning Spice? You want to see the Beast of Destruction again? Hurt those kids. Harm a single hair on their heads. Make them cry, make them bleed. Knock on that devil's door enough and Burning Spice will answer it, and he will greet you with that axe of his and that fiery, seething hatred that once consumed his soul and helped burn away countless others'.

Burning Spice trying to talk to his son about love is a really amusing thought lol. I don't think he'd go out of his way to do it until he actually notices his son expressing some form of interest in someone, then it's honestly 50% Lighthearted Dad Mockery™️ and 50% Actually Trying to Teach My Son How to Be Smooth™️. Pepper Jack is having less than none of it, this is all embarrassing as hell, he doesn't want to hear a damn word from his father's mouth (he's a teenager by this point, what teen wants their dad to try to coach them on how to flirt lol). He tries to shut Spice down with sarcasm (Jack is the KING of backtalk and smartassery when he's a teenager, he's a damn menace) or just questioning his wisdom in general. He likes to bring up how annoying and gross Spice and Golden always are (unapologetic PDA constantly lol). He's already forced to witness what "love" and flirting look like, he doesn't need his father pouring salt in his wounds

(Jack once made the mistake of going "didn't you used to be weird and creepy towards Mother" once, as a sort of "gotcha". It made Spice genuinely upset and angry and he tore Jack a new one that lol. Jack felt bad (and kind of scared. Spice never really gets truly angry with the kids, but Jack has seen him get angry with others, and... Oh Lord) and apologized, promising he wouldn't say anything like that again. Things were cold and awkward between them for, like, a week. And then Spice got over it and went back to annoying his son like usual lol)

As for Matar Paneer... She's his princess. His little girl. His little flower. (He has nicknames for both of them lol. He really does love them very much.) She can play with who she wants, so long as she's happy and no harm comes to her (but again, he believes in her strength wholeheartedly and expects her to kick ass if trouble comes by). But... Oh. When she's old enough to date... Poor Spice, he's so miserable lol. He would unironically own and wear this shirt:

If Burning Spice is saying he'd gladly go back to prison for something, you best believe he's being sincere lol

It's Golden that has to step in here. Before, he was the one soothing her worries; now the roles are reversed. She needs Spice to understand that Paneer is a becoming a young woman and she has the right to pursue and be pursued if she wishes. It's ok to care and worry, but he has to let her live and grow. (She's her mother and has always been a girl's girl, she knows what's up and will always be 100% in Paneer's corner in this regard.) Spice once asked her to have more faith in them, now she's asking him to do the same. (And, of course, he can brutally murder whoever hurts Paneer, if that really does happen. But he'll have to wait his turn, because Golden already plans to do the same ☺️)

And yeah, of course Spice teaches them stuff besides fighting. He's happy to do so. He teaches them how to meditate (he gets back into that after he reforms. Jack picks it up a lot faster than Paneer does lol). He teaches them to make the traditional Wild Spice dishes he still remembers how to do himself (he lets the other spices teach them the rest). He... teaches them about history. About the Wild Spices' history, and about history in general. He sounds so... somber when he talks about things like that. It's strange to them. They're used to seeing him act lively and wear that sharp-toothed grin he's always got. But it must mean that what he's saying is really important, right? He wouldn't look and sound like that if he wasn't being serious, right?

[pricklepearr]

Do you happen to have any headcannons regarding O'Connor and his friends? They live rent free in my head right now

Gotta admit, i do really hope they release maybe like a dlc or a short part two game that just focuses on the crew and their lives, because O'Connor and Gibbo, despite having only a few lines actually seem like they have lots of cool lore! Especially Gibbo (him talking about beasts, flashing lights etc)

Anyways! Heres a few headcanons of Gibbo, O'Connor, Trots, Finlay and Caz! **SPOILERS!!**

O'Connor

- i think lots of people think Mary is O'Connors wife, but I actually think hes talking about his daughter! Someone on the SWTD reddit said the ones who turn into The Shape are sort of traumatized or broken in some way, and the shape seems to lure/sedate its victims by making it think someone they care about is talking to them, so my mind immediately goes to O'Connor had a wife who either died or left and Mary is all he has. Poor guy :(

- I feel like he would be the type to go up to Trots when they first meet and ask if he can "see how blind" Trots is by trying on his glasses lol (he means well though!!)

- Poor man has night terrors like nobodies business. I like to think hes had night terrors the week leading up to what happens in the game about The Shape, but in very vague ways. Has probably told Trots or Gibbo about them as a joke.

Gibbo

- Again, a lot of people on reddit speculate that people who are traumatized or broken, I think his father left him or maybe just isnt a very great guy, since he tells Caz to tell his mom he'll be home soon, and since his ramblings sometimes sound like something an angry/neglectful father would say to a kid. I think Gibbo def gives off mamas boy vibes

- BIG. OLE. SOFTIE!!!! Definitely is the one who hung up all the christmas decor, and helped Dobbie with decorating their shared cabin.

- Definitely has seen some weird shit that Rennick has told him to stuff down, the "flashing lights" in the ocean, creatures that come up that he chalks up to being weird sea creatures so he can sleep peacefully at night

- I feel like in a weird way, he would survive the explosion and make his way to the main land, maybe to see his mom again or to try an find help

Trots

- I personally fucking adore Trots, he feels like the dad friend of the crew, the type that goes up to the crew when Rennick is up their asses and tells them to stand up for what they think is right.

- Always making passive aggressive comments around Rennick, Caz and Roy are always having to break the two up when they get into heavily heated arguements

- In his infected form, i think it shows a lot about the stresses he has as a union person and as a person in general. He feels like hes always having to clean up peoples messes, make sure things are working the way he should be, I feel like he puts on a composed face infront of everybody but is heavily stressed by his duties to keep everyone from getting killed

- I think he likes melancholy music :] soft and sad tunes that you can take a nap to while it rains outside

Finlay

- Can throw back shots like nobodies business, Caz and Muir are constantly doing drinking games with her and she always wins (though the hangover afterwards for her is more of a lose than anything)

- Constantly messing with Addair by getting into political battles and not giving him any satisfaction in seeing her get angry or anything, will sometimes just throw in random hyper-exaggerated takes to see him get mad

- As we seen from the paper, an absolute fucking wizard at darts, like, to the point where if shes drunk as all hell shes still able to hit multiple middles in a row

- Has nightmares too, but about her son. I cant imagine how hard it was for her to make it past the Shape hearing her son singing and calling out to her :((

- I feel like shes also pretty close with Roy, goes out for smoke breaks with him and stuff like that

Caz

- Double jointed. Maybe im just projecting onto him but the way his legs hurt from like THE SMALLEST OF FALLS is some double jointed problems shit. That being said, he totally does that bending-finger-back party trick for the crew, Trots tries to warn him against doing it but the look of disgust and suprise on the crews face will always make him do it again lol

- Was accidentally the first person to find out about Muir and Innes's relationship. He caught them kissing in the mud room, ever since then hes tried to be like,,,, overly accepting to the point where every time Innes and Muir are walking together he gives them a thumbs up like a dork

- Keeps his hair long despite Rennick and Addairs comments because Suize likes it that way (you cannot tell me Caz doesnt like getting his hair pulled lmao he is WHIPPED for that lady)

- I like to think his afterlife is him haunting his house, i know that may sound shitty but i want that man to be able to watch his weans grow up :(((

[galadhir]

Silver Queen

One for @mircallaruthven who requested something about Celeborn at Celebrian's birth

Silver Queen

The chamber doors open. The midwife comes forth, swathed bundle in her arms. Celeborn would rise but the strength has drained from his legs. His has been the lighter task, but still he has been carrying these fears for a day and a half: Will Galadriel live? Will she come through this battle whole as she has come through many another, creating life this time rather than destroying it?

Will she have put so much craft and magic, so much of her own creative force, her fea, into the child that she has drained herself and is lessened by it? She never did like to do a thing half way.

Vain of her dignity, aware that to give birth is a thing one cannot do prettily, and unwilling to be seen in her travails, she had shut herself in with a healer and a midwife, and permitted no others to witness the birth, not even him. Every possible disaster has tormented his thoughts ever since.

Now he raises his head and breathes out. Galadriel is too sensible to die from a thing like this. She knows when restraint is necessary just as well as when to give her all.

He meets the midwife’s gaze. Alfirin is her name. She is nearly as old as he – he remembers her as a child in Menegroth, and even then she was never without a pocketful of newly born beasts. Doubtless, she has ushered more lives into the world than he has dispatched from it.

“You have a daughter, my Lord.”

The joy tries to hit him then. He pushes back the great shining silver wave of it long enough to gasp, “Galadriel?”

“She is well. Resting. Here.”

All this time she has been approaching. Now she lowers the bundle toward him. His arms come up to cup it, in an instinct born of long practice. There is an echo of Nimloth, of Dior, of Elwing, and then he parts the white cloth that swathes her and sees her tiny face and all at once there exists no one but her in all elven history.

Here is the little one to whom he sang the Nandorin songs of strengthening, when she was wrapped up in her mother and Galadriel’s bright eyes shone above her, humouring him. Here she is, whom they loved already, but whom they clearly had not loved enough.

He ghosts a fingertip along the slope of her nose, and the joy that had been oncoming now breaks over him, cutting the world out from beneath him, reshaping him. His chest aches as it is expanded to hold her. Part of him now.

Oh look at these tiny hands! Have there ever been hands as perfect as this? With their tiny moon-pale nails and their strong grip? Never, surely.

She opens her eyes, and they are Galadriel’s eyes, slate blue and imperious as she frowns at the sunbeam striking the tapestry above his head.

“Is it a little bright after all that darkness, my queen?” he laughs, feeling renewed, as though he were again no more than a hundred years old, and moves to the other side of the room, where she can look down into a shaded garden, over-run by wild roses. “There. Don’t be afraid. It’s not a bad world, and daddy will keep you safe.”

Tiny, tiny hands.

He brushes his own hand feather soft through downy hair that glints like water and tears burn in his eyes once more. “Did you know you have the King’s hair? Elu’s hair? How generous of your mother to choose it. She must have known what it would mean to me, to have his crown continue in my own child. When they see you, all the elves of Middle-earth will know you are Elu’s kindred. Royalty.”

“She must have a name, my Lord,” says Alfirin, and her brisk tone drags him back to the real world, where his daughter will be princess of a realm shared with the grandchildren of kinslayers. She will be looked down on by prideful Amanyar and eerie golden-eyed Maia alike as they pass by on their way to their forges.

Fine then. “Celebrian,” he says, in his mind already fighting any man who would disdain her, full of a soul splitting pain at the thought of anything hurting her in any way. Did she stumble and graze her knee he would break the ground beneath it. She would know only bliss. Misfortunes would have to come through him.

“For she is a descendant of kings and will be a mother of kings until the end of the earth.”

“And she’s queen of your heart,” Alfirin quipped, not quite rolling her eyes. She had doubtless heard many other similar declarations from other fathers before, and having survived Galadriel in the pains of labour was not intimidated by his bombast.

He looked back down to his daughter as she wrinkled her nose at a distant butterfly, and laughed, swinging back into worlds of joy.

“And she’s queen of my heart,” he concedes, full willingly. “So she is. My silver queen.”

[rocketyship]

BE’s Angel’s + the world idea

The Seven Trumpets

Okay so super simplified there was a war and the world was devastated, only coming to an end when an Angel came from heaven, bringing seven stars with her and slaying the beast that had ravaged the earth. Following the war, the angels declared that humanity is incapable of taking care of itself and needs them to rebuild the world. Thus came the seven gardens and heaven’s monolith.

Each Angel governs a one of the gardens which are as follows (featuring pictures from Pinterest to convey an idea)

Meadow

Governed by Doir. The meadow is one of the smaller gardens, mainly consisting of the humans who had been the least injured in the battle and are mostly young adults. (Humans only began living in the gardens 100 years after a stasis). This Garden is much like a small country side village, with the sole goal of keeping the humans as happy and healthy as possible. Doir herself typically appears like holograms around the area, and personality wise is kind of a valley girl stereotype all be it she is incredibly intelligent and very knowingly putting on a show for the humans she watches. To those who were saved by her during the conflict actually know her to be more brutal than she lets on, although they know better than to say anything.

The two of the humans here: Evan and Tiffany

Paster

Governed by LAMB, the general area is very similar to that of the meadow, however the main difference besides the bizarre amount of sheep that wonder the area, generally houses children and contains educational facilities also ran by LAMB. LAMB herself is soft spoken, small, and seemingly harmless and childlike herself: however she is in fact one of the eldest angels and simply takes on a form that she believes to be the most comforting to the children under her care. She is the most protective and because of this entering the Paster is near impossible from any one or even the other angels to do so.

Naomi resides here

Eden

An area where the flora and wildlife of the old world returns. A large area, and least populated, mainly by biologists and other experts. Eve is a silent creature, however she is ever watchful nicknamed the eyes of the heavens by the humans around her. Eden is ever growing, getting bigger and bigger, its plant life and animals (all biologically altered by Eve) are shipped to the other gardens constantly and has the end goal of repopulating the endless snowy surface of the earth in the lush greenery of the past.

Labyrinth

All the humans (with some exceptions) here are currently still in stasis. Paige the most robotic of the angels. Cold and calculating, he has a goal to create rapid human evolution and study to create the perfect humans to repopulate the planet. He is not the most liked amongst the angels but he doesn’t really care. As whilst he does love the humans like the other angels, he goes about it in very questionable ways.

Becky resides here.

Sanctuary

Guarded by Uriel, this garden is a large industrial city, built over the ruins New York, this area is the most populated. Its geography being that of a dense forest that gradually fades into the main city. Its lower levels are flooded, full of marine life of all kinds. Although it’s up for debate which are real fish and which aren’t. During the war Uriel was the main combatant against the machines destroying the world. She is large, ruthless, and constantly policing her city to ensure the best possible outcomes and work ethics. This garden has the largest population.

Gloria resides here

The Crypt

Behold the Mercy of night, where the calamity at last sleeps.

No humans rest here. No soul ever seeks. The crypt is there for a reason. Marah must stay in her chrysalis. No matter the cost

Gone

He’s gone. An angel ripped from heaven. The Garden missing, its inhabitants lost.

[badlydrawnmanic]

baldur’s gate 3 has once again taken over my life and i low key wanna draw the playable characters as mobians because i have crossover / furry brain disease + edits

to no one’s surprise astarion is a bat because, well. vampires, and his secret isn’t exactly hard to figure out before the reveal cutscene. he himself may not be associated with bats but you get it

gale is kinda tough for me to pin down because he’s both plain but not at all at the same time. his personality doesn’t fit cat despite his light association with them through tara, but hedgehog is seemingly considered a default even to the sonic series itself much like human is in dnd, so that might work. his hair is also kinda makes me think of a lion and that has a bit more character to it

karlach is undoubtedly my favorite. outside of fire one of her bigger unique design bits is her broken horn which i’d wanna keep fairly the same. sheep would fit the curled shape but she doesn’t really have a soft vibe that comes along with sheep. maybe some sort of cow-like animal. big and powerful. friend suggested she be a boar instead of minsc which i could roll with. confused for a hellsboar by wyll

lae’zel is supposed to be markedly different from the other characters, so i’m thinking either some kind of reptile / amphibian or something entirely alien in that it’s a beast from the dnd universe. while they aren’t associated with the githyanki there’s gremishka in the creche and that might be just interesting enough to work. big ears. friend also suggested a skink specifically and people seem to think she's very frog even if i don't see it lol

shadowheart is also relatively normal. was thinking wolf for a time but honestly she had cat vibes + that would sort of play into her and lae’zel being kinda similar despite being from fundamentally different places / backgrounds. friend suggested a squirrel? will consider

wyll feels like he’d be some kind of dog given the general good boy-ness of him, loyalty, etc, plus it kinda plays into how mizora talks about him. naturally his “you didn’t kill karlach” form would be a hellhound. friend mentioned fox but i think dog is more fitting

halsin is a bear and there is nothing difficult about this whatsoever

i haven’t done an evil run yet where i recruit minthara but i know she’s a lolth sworn drow and they’re associated with spiders and that would be kinda cool. friend suggested wolf for her also

minsc would probably also be a dog. even though repeats are a bit lame, he was a protagonist in another group of characters from another baldur’s gate so it’s fine. one of those stupidly huge breeds that look more like lions than dogs. if not a dog than maybe a boar. friend suggested a ferret but i think he needs beef to him. wolverine maybe?

jaheira also being from the other baldur’s gate game could probably be a repeat too. slightly cranky old cat but she loves you in her own way. would also contrast with minsc. if not a cat then i could see her as a deer i think. i somehow forgot that the game's ai defaults her wildshape to a panther when you're battling alongside her in moonrise towers so panther it is

[thegrayascendancy-if]

Short story

Another milestone, another moment for me to show appreciation to you guys. I've spoken of this one before, so here is a short story of the first meeting between Arthur and Gale. I've been battling for a bit, thinking what exactly I want to show here, and this version finally nails it. Please, enjoy!

The adults were whispering at each other hotly but Mother had told him to behave and do not even try to listen in—so he did not. Mother's mood was often a fickle thing and if it were to ruin quickly, she would have left the carriage and not come with them. And without Mother, those trips were simply not fun.

Arthur dropped his gaze instead to the heavy tome in his lap. It was a gift—presented to his Father for some reason but then handed down to Arthur anyway. It was a messy and complicated read, like all adult things. He couldn't stand to follow the letters with the way the carriage was rocking, but the drawings were little short of life-like. He was long past the middle of the book, but he kept coming back to the part about the fog-hounds: giant beasts with fiery eyes and impossible bodies made of fog. The long daggers of their claws were painted with such true artistry that he could almost feel them prick his fingertips as he kept tracing the intricate lines on the paper. The text around the drawing was difficult, and Arthur refused to admit he barely understood what it said: in his mind, he had long decided they spawned out of large, engulfing fires, and he preferred his version anyway.

"My dear, we're here."

His ears perked up before he let his eyes drift to the source of the sound. The carriage had indeed stopped, but his stomach was still in knots.

Mother's sharp eyes were watching him. Tired and a little troubled, but they held the warmth he so craved.

"Now, Artie," Mother said as she leaned toward him, her dress softly rustling, "none of the talk we do at home, remember? Not even a peep. We are in the royal palace now." She glided a thumb over his cheek, gently pressing into it as he nodded. Mother smiled then and spoke fondly, "Good... You have such striking eyes, just like your father's."  

As if that was a command, Arthur glanced at his father who cleared his throat and fixed the slump of his shoulders. Arthur did not understand what made him, the man who had never taken pride in his appearance, perk up. Perhaps it was the arrival to the palace, but he thought better than to question it. He carefully closed the book and laid it on the cushion next to him.

Father exited first, then Mother, leaning on Father's hand, and, finally, Arthur by himself. People were waiting for them already, lined up before the broad white stairs. They had never exited only to see no one there.

He waited to be introduced, hands behind his back, but his gaze kept drifting upwards, to the spires and seemingly endless balconies with the connecting walkways and arches. The palace looked like an endless maze with ever-shifting rooms and silhouettes disappearing in the windows. He loved the way it was made: of surfaces that were cold and smooth to the touch, yet so intricate they looked as if they grew out of the nearby rock like mushroom shelves on a tree.

Arthur was so distracted, Mother had to give him a soft nudge on the back to snap him out of it, and he followed his parents inside.

The preparations were well underway, with expensive fabrics being hung and all the lights fitted with the candles in every corner of the palace, even the ones Arthur did not believe people ever stepped in. The smells of food were carefully faint, but they promised a generous, lavish feast anyway. Through a crack in the doors down the corridor they marched, he spotted numerous silver trays with fruit and cuts of meat, breads twisted in the shapes of animals.

But they kept on walking, led down a wide hall and then up the stairs by a man in an important mantle and with an exceptionally straight back. Looking at him made Arthur too aware of the stiff collar around his neck, its stitching rich and solid, yet aggravatingly inconvenient if he needed to look down at his feet.

Once they arrived at the lodgings offered by the Crown—explicitly suggested to remain at the palace over their Rimehall estate—Mother disappeared into one of the bedrooms, trailed by the court ladies. Father explained to him that he was to speak to someone and Arthur could use the time to roam around, but only if he swore to behave.

He did.

The chaos of the preparations turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. The halls looked busier, and if he wasn't in the way, he was looked at and acknowledged with either a smile or his title and the full length of his name. At the same time, he felt like almost more passages were open because of the need to carry massive kettles, tables and crates, and Arthur managed to sneak into parts of the palace he had never seen.

At some point, a passing servant smiled at him and offered him an apple: giant, red and ripe, crisply cracking in his ears upon the first bite. And so, working on the surprising but welcome snack, he roamed just like he had promised. Avoiding trouble, staying out of the way and gawking at the tall ceilings and stopping by the arched lengths of the windows.

After a while, he found himself outside, overlooking the inner yard. Tall stairs led down towards a plain of withering grass, marred with foot trails. Here and there, islands of taller plants appeared: massive trees sprouting from a thickness of other vegetation. The balcony served an impressive view of the city as it cascaded down the hill and to its feet like a long mantle. Each roof resembled a toy, an illustration, and he could not remember seeing it like this even from a window up above. Mesmerized, he watched, first placing the half-eaten apple on the marble balustrade, then, wanting to see how the city spanned the steep part of the hill, he started to climb on top of it himself.  

It wasn't easy. His outfit of thick fabric allowed only for gentle and polite movements. He managed to get one leg up with much effort, but the resulting swing of his foot knocked off the apple over the edge.

Silence. Rustling, thud.

"Ow!"

Arthur froze with one leg on the balustrade. If someone was hurt... He had sworn he would behave. Oh, Mother would be so cross with him, and Father would look from under his furrowed brows and never let Arthur out of his sight until the end of the trip.

Slowly, he crept back, heart thumping hollowly in his chest. He looked back at the path back into the palace but he could not retreat. The trace of his misdemeanor was right there.

He winced and, forbidding himself to think on it further, dashed down the stairs. The wind was kicking up his hair, offering relief to the skin that was growing warmer with each moment.

He stopped where he thought the apple had landed. But there was nothing.

He was staring at a stripe of some bushes with large leaves, growing up against the palace wall. The apple had to be somewhere, and if he could pick it up and dash back into the palace, no one would be the wiser.

But no. Searching for the apple, he found a boy.

Small and clad in dark and plain clothes from neck to toe, he was easy to miss in the tapestry of leaves and stems. His hair was dark too, eyes green and looking sleepy. Despite that, he was staring back at Arthur.

None of them said a word. Arthur glanced at the empty yard and then back at the figure in the bushes.

"Please, don't look," the boy pleaded in a whisper.

"What are you doing?" Immediately, he felt bad for using his normal voice. He should have whispered too.

"Hiding."

Huh. It had never even occurred to Arthur to hide. From anything, anyone, though he probably had wanted to at many points in his life. He felt a hot, aching ball in his chest. Borne of a simple word, it swelled, fed by disappointment and embarrassment. To fight it, to stop the spread of the warm blush on his cheeks, he dashed into the bushes.

The other boy hissed, more surprised than hurt, but still.

In his rash behavior, Arthur had tapped him with his knee. To him, the impact was negligible, but he knew the right thing to do.

"Sorry—" Got promptly shushed. "Sorry," he whispered then.

They sat like that for a while, listening to the distant sounds of the palace bustle. Arthur felt his breathing slow down but the excitement was still there.

He turned to the other boy and discovered, much to his surprise, that he was covering his head, knees pulled close to his chest. Arthur didn't know what to make of it.

"I'm Arthur," he offered at a loss. It felt odd and bare, a lie even, not to attach any title to it, but for some reason, he was convinced that Margrave van der Garde would not have sat in any bushes. He also felt a burn on his cheek.

"...Gale."

He didn't know any Gale. Not until then, at least.

"Who are you hiding from, Gale?"

The younger boy tried to suppress a smile at the question and struggled to appear very serious. The sight of the smile, even if fleeting, soothed Arthur, because his suspicion had been grim. What did one even have to hide from in the royal palace?

"From Frederick," Gale finally managed, glancing at Arthur first quickly, then with rounded eyes. "You are bleeding."

He almost forgot to whisper. Arthur brought his finger to the spot on his face that Gale had pointed to. It came back with a trace of bright red, so bright it looked like juice.

"Just a branch," he said calmly, but the sight of his blood was rare. Arthur struggled to look away but knew he needed to. For whatever inexplicable reason, he wanted to appear strong and unbothered by the things as simple as a cut. He was hiding and Arthur was perhaps already ruining it with his larger form, a dark red outfit, and now with his blood.

But Gale did not look convinced. His brows twisted in worry and hands stopped covering his head, although without a clear plan he was just sitting there. Worried.

They both were.

Time simply crawled by. The concern for his mortality was easing its grip on Arthur. He managed to smile.

"And when is Fred—"

The sound of steps barged in on them. Then they heard skirts ruffle.

Gale grew stock still.

"Oh, just where are you?!" a woman's voice called out. She was quickly approaching them, and all Arthur could do was foolishly hope they wouldn't be found.

But her sharp eyes picked him out like he was a sparking metal plate.

"What is... What is this nonsense!" She nearly ran for them. Gale looked crestfallen, and Arthur was completely void of ideas.

"Why are you—No!" She grabbed Arthur, although without roughness, and pulled him out. Her voice got noticeably softer. "Young Lord, what are you doing?!"

She eyed him toe to head, gaze stopping on his cheek.

"And he has hurt you?! Oh goodness, this is a disaster!.. Gale, get out of there. Now."

"He did nothing, that was all my fault!" Arthur complained, her hand still around his upper arm. He sensed that she was trembling. Confused, he watched as Gale climbed out with his head bowed down. But it didn't seem like the woman was willing to hear him out.

"First I can't get anything out of Frederick on where you are," she scolded, glaring at Gale, "and now you go and hurt an esteemed guest! You were alone with him!"

"He didn't—"

First, without looking, she tucked Arthur out of Gale's view.

"Young Lord," she turned to Arthur then with an immediate smile. That her face could change so quickly was a wonder. "Let me get you back inside to have you taken care of."

"It is fine. It doesn't hurt."

Her smile became even sweeter. "Margrave van der Garde. We simply cannot have you wearing scrapes on the Princess' birthday."

She started to drag him, only to stop after a few steps and snap to her full height.

"Stay here," he directed sternly at Gale, his eyes cast to the ground. "I will return and I will find you here."

And the fussy woman proceeded to take him inside.

[fallentheatre]

Time... to be a little insane <3

I entirely blame @hoverboards-and-dragons for all of this. They introduced me to the God and Archangels concept brainrot and then the Roo brainrot. And this should help explain any drawings we do with these funky designs too.

First, lets meet the cultivator of creation himself, Ady (Adonai)! (AKA the 'God' figure)

He's a gigantic plant entity that can re-arrange his floral body in ways of slightly less concerning body horror. One moment he has paws, the next, all the roots in his legs mangle and reform into claws. The yellow cloak of leaf-fur can expand into wings, but he doesn't use those all that often. He's large, a big beast. Just a massive mass of plant deity that is incredibly soft to touch.

Creation is his garden and he intends to remove it of all parasites through any means necessary.

He also will photosynthesize in the sun. He's not mediating. He's eating. Let him eat in peace.

Meanwhile... we have the parasite he's been trying to rid creation of from day one.

Roo! The 'root of evil' in Ady's creation garden (Their garden)

Where Ady is gentle fun leaf-based body horror, Roo is straight flesh and gore. A parasitic mole in the eyes of Ady and by extension his creations, Roo is something that needs to be exterminated, though none have the power to do so. She's got plant-like elements to her, something that insults Ady personally, due to her 'lure' human-like form sprouting out of the mouth like a flower.

Oh yeah, it's a lure. What easier way to draw prey into the jaws of death than to look like a struggling victim in a sinkhole? It also makes Ady feel uncomfortable beyond belief after the lure becomes more human-esque to specifically and personally drive Ady insane. They're awful to each other. Complete enemies who drove each other to become who they are today. If they aren't ripping one another's throats out, they're being the pettiest people alive.

Roo is a lot more chill compared to Ady. She kinda just does her thing, as she too is fundamental in creation. Roo and Ady spawned together in the abyss and expanded it to become more. No matter how vile her action or how Ady ensures all know her as evil and rot, Roo is vital to creation. They even created their first living organism together in collaboration. That is when it turned for the worst, as their morals clashed until they started to flash their teeth and unsheathe their claws in battle. Ady is generally well put-together, despite being a complete goofball on the outside. But when Roo is around? All his whimsy is gone. There is only mutual hatred and violence.

They're both big beasts, and the full body of Roo is yet to be determined. They're so fascinating because everything would be going so well if they just. Didn't resort to violence and aggression when things dont go their way. They're the only ones who can truly pose a physical threat to one another, and therefore are the only ones they lose their own composure's around.

Still working on the finer details, as these are just concepts at this stage, but I love them dearly. They're awful I hope they maul each other so thoroughly that they cannot tell each other apart in the carnage they make.

Roo kind of became just the blame for everything. Yeah she takes full credit for the things she did do-- she doesn't regret anything. But Ady sees her as the core source of evil, when all he wants to do is spread and nurture good. Roo has accepted the role of evil, not really caring for nor needing a definition for what she does, and Ady kind of forces everyone to see her as nothing but evil. Good and Evil just happen, but both have strange relationships with the ideas. I'm still figuring it out but like. Everything is a grey area can you two stop and accept that please! No? Well. Just keep arguing then I guess.

But yeah she's sick of Ady's shit as much as Ady is beyond frustrated and furious at her.

I also did her demon disguise / form! I don't know how to describe clothing or anything but I really like her. And the downward markings on her stomach is her body showing. It's like a slightly soft exoskeleton? I don't know how to explain pffff.

I then decided to also go ahead and do a human version of Ady. Comedy gold I tell you. Both of these guys make me very happy <3

And as a treat, I also did rough ideas for how Lucifer and Micheal look!

And before anyone says anything, no, those aren't top surgery scars. They are natural markings. Since Lucifer is the morningstar, rising before the sun, it's supposed to make the star on his chest look like it is rising, where Micheal, the eveningstar, is supposed to be setting! (I'd say falling, but that feels... disrespectful lmao)

They also get the leaf-fur elements and some more nature theming due to my idea really focusing on the garden aspect (because it is so fun and i love plant / bug / animal designs so much). Also tried to make Lucifer look more snake-like where Micheal really seems to be heavy on the bird elements (did I hear birds hunting snakes? No? well... what a very funny thing to hear from the wind ehe)

Uhhh yeah. First time trying to ramble out a few of the concepts I have. No idea if I explained anything well but hey! What are rough first drafts if not scribbles on a page?

[vilandel]

Black Clover Next Generation III ♣️💘

Family Tree of House Vermillion

Fire Vermillions

Plant Vermillions

I've already talked a bit about Mimosas and Langris children here, so I won't go too much into details yet (that will be for the profiles).

Just so you know, Kirsch is actually an excellent uncle and to Mimosas surprise, well loved by her children. He also became an uncle for Finrals and Finesses children.

As for the Fire Vermillions, Esclarmonde and Yogan are the oldest of their generation.

Yogan is the only son of Mereoleona and Yosuga (their marriage/bond/whatever is rather special in many ways I'm still figuring it out^^'). He is actually as calm as his parents are wild.

Yosuga and Mereoleona can have their most fierce, devastating battle training and he can just sit unbothered in the middle of it with a book.

Just so you know, he is very powerful magic-wise, in fact he is double as powerful as his parents... Him being such a calm boy was a relief for EVERYONE. Yogan also gets along great with his uncle Fuegoleon.

Yogans birth is quite the story, because Mereoleona was fighting an herd of powerful Magic Beasts and some renegade noble bandits WHILE giving birth to her son. Come on, this is Mereo, of course she would give birth during a battle or something.

His parents are still very proud of him.

Esclarmonde is the calmest one of her siblings. She has a romantic soul and the story of her parents underlines this trait even more.

She also wants one day to become Wizard Queen, learns and trains hard for that. This includes also doing charities and learning no-magic first aid. Plans already to make this a basis for Magic Knights training and has talks with her father about it. She and Fuegoleon are really close, a true Father-Daughter trust.

Is determined to join the Crimson Lion Kings and also to become their captain one day.

Orion is wilder than his older sister, but still calm. Let's say that he is calm but with passion.

Doesn't talk much, but shows more. Not very stoic, though, as he smiles often.

Aliénor is much younger than her siblings, another kind of surprise child.

Personality-wise, she is like auntie Mereo.

Leopolds wife is another OC of mine (I'll made a profile one day for her). To sum up, Venus is a peasant, a member of the Green Praying Mantises and rather crazy (she can cut with her Foam Magic).

Their daughter Eleonora is as loud and wild as her parents. She has a soft spot for volcanos, much to auntie Mereos delight.

Their son Espumaleon is practically the shy baby. Was very sick when he was a baby, so his parents are protective about him and his big sister even more.

Unlike Eleonora, Espumaleon prefers calm and fluffy places, especially with pillows and blankets. Or a bubble bath. He also doesn't want to become a Magic Knight.

Yogan as straight and long dark red hair, which he usually wears in a low pony tail, his mother's blue eyes with the Vermillion red eyeliner and he has powerful Lava Magic (Don't make him angry, as he doesn't yell, remains calm but his lava quickly runs wild).

Esclarmonde and Aliénor have all their mother's nacreous eyes and their father's red Vermillion eyeliner. Orion has his father's bright lilac eyes, but also the red Vermillion eyeliner (maybe a bit darker than his sisters). Esclarmonde has wavy waist-long hair, red has Fuegoleon's and also has inherited her father's Fire Magic. Orion has dark purple hair like his mother, but shoulder length and soft just like his father, he also got Litals Star Magic. Aliénor has a wide curly mane like her mother, the color is a redish purple (a mix of her parents hair colors) and got Seafire Magic, a powerful one at that. Noelle one day almost got a heart-attack when little Aliénor accidentally put her Sea Dragon's Roar on fire^^'

Eleonora has long and slightly curly red hair, her mother's jade green eyes, with typical Vermillion eyeliner and got her father's Fire Magic. Espumaleon has black hair like his mother, grass green eyes and red eyeliners from his father, with Venus' Foam Magic.

[mithrilandvilya]

12th – language/culture/beauty 

Beauty in Harad 

She was Hastalteth, healer.  It was a title, assigned to a slave whose duty was to scour the battlefield for the fallen but not-yet-dead, and make them fit for further duty.  Aside from this, she had no name that she could remember, and recalled no life other than as Hastalteth. 

She was claimed by Qol Kai Chek, a large beast of the men of Harad.  Technically, he was Khandish, but his trade was war, and Harad had been his place for most of his career.  A fearless and commanding general, he led his troops with brutal efficiency and cunning, crafting his path to higher stations with ruthless ambition.   

This particular hastalteth was uniquely gifted at her craft, and this had become well-known amongst all the Southland battalions.  In a sea of clashing bodies bent on destruction, those who recognized her stepped aside and wielded their axes and maces in other directions, for the chance that should they fall, she would make them rise again. 

Nevertheless, her body was tainted with myriad scars and bruises, with  unnatural slight bends and bumpsi n bones here and there from ill-healed breaks.  There was no life without pain in Harad, especially for a slave.  There were no healers for the hastalteths, forbidden to aid one another and left to the help of only what they could do for themselves.   

She helped herself little, because when she saw a fallen soul on the hot, blood-stained dirt at her feet, she gave no heed to who he was or who he served.  All broken souls called to her equally, and it pained her more to hear the cries in her head and heart and do nothing than it did to face the lashes, violations, and beatings of her master for aiding an enemy. At the end of a battle, her exhausted body would be carried off to his tent by some servant or other, and she would face his wrath.  There was no expression of gratitude for saving his strongest, fastest, or best archer – another day of life was all she could expect in exchange for a successful rescue.  Although he would never speak it, despite her willful disobedience at every battle, her unparalleled healing ability made her too valuable to dispatch.  Because she was his, his reputation was all the better; she served his ambitions. 

Thus she lived on a narrow precipice of survival, mourning little for her own fate.  The lowness of her station was drilled into her self-perception, inextricable. She could not imagine a world where she was treated differently or deserved a different kind of life – the very language of Harad which gave her no name ensured it. 

At least, that was almost so.  The Southlands were bleak and razed, baked by hot sun, repeatedly coated in suffocating black ash, and strewn with anger and death.  But her eyes and soul were drawn to the rare flashes of beauty that persisted, and she could almost envision the power of the beauty encompassing all, scouring clean the filth of evil, freeing minds and hearts. 

Her mind’s eye held onto the memory of a loyal friend carrying his comrade to her through the greatest peril.  She had seen the friends later, arm in arm, laughing away pain and darkness for one more day.   

She had seen rare, dainty white sand-lilies springing from cracks in the dried, hard earth, and intrepid bees packing their legs with pollen steadily with no mind to the bloodshed all around them.   

She watched magnificent sunrises and sunsets, and moonrises and moonsets, enhanced by the persistent smoke over Harad. 

She had once gone as far north as the southern edge of the Dead Marshes, witnessing the ghastly fallen spirits in its murky waters, while over them a family of beavers busily built their lodge, old swords, bows and staffs picked out of the choked bottom made part of its construction, so that the lodge was an entrancing work of art. 

She routinely noted bird nests tucked into layered cliffs, parents feeding their young amid soft, sharp chirps of excitement exuding from the nestlings. 

And she had twice knelt over and healed exquisite forms of the most beautiful elves, deemed merely mythical creatures this far south, and saw their shining eyes delight as the Halls of Mandos slammed shut before their spirits entered.  These had laid their hands on her in otherwise unknown gentleness and gratitude, inviting her to go with them, which she had refused because she desired not to make them a focus of her master’s worst intentions.  But ever since, she dreamed of them and the beauty that must fill the lands of such stunningly elegant people. 

She held on to these flashes of beauty, secreting them away in her mind, using them to keep from breaking entirely. Qol Kai Chek had complete control over her body, but he never knew what was in her mind.  That was hers and hers alone.  She had trained herself so that when he bore down on her with whips, chains, straps, and fists to leave her body and instead be with the bees, beavers or birds, or even with the elves.  He would grow frustrated that his punishments never changed her behavior, but when he ran out of breath at his exertions against her, he knew nothing else to do short of killing her, which he did not want.  He was clever enough to spin all in his favor in the eyes of charges and superiors, so it mattered not.  

Hastalteth steadfastly healed hundreds or maybe even thousands before Qol Kai Chek finally fell.  In the chaotic aftermath of his ultimate defeat, his remaining soldiers scattered confusedly in all directions, all thinking only of themselves, and none thinking of her.  She trudged wearily amongst the fallen, seeking any near enough to life to revive, until she happened upon the corpse of the general, not knowing he had fallen until then. She heard a far-off call from his soul to hers, pleading for life, but when she went to touch him, she felt his spirit violently jerked back away from her, and there was no more of him in this world.   

She stood, turned, and looked all around her and found herself utterly alone in the desolation. Above her, the sky was fiery red at the brink of night, and a single dark form cut across it from South to North.  A great eagle slowly soared, coming low as it passed over her, and she could see the beautiful fine detail of its powerful yet graceful feathers. It uttered a sharp, plaintive peal, seemingly calling her to follow.  

Hastalteth was apparently no more, but what she now was, she didn’t know.  The eagle was already far ahead of her and disappearing beyond a ridge as she set out after it. Her path was slow and treacherous over rocky, broken, and battle-shredded terrain, but by dawn, as she pulled herself up the final ledge of a cliff, she saw a trail of daisies before her, heading down into a very narrow green valley surrounded by bare black and red mesas in all directions.  The green winding canyon bottom was strikingly solitary and the only way forward.  Her eyes followed it as far as possible, and where it disappeared at a bend miles in the distance, she believed she could see a stand of lush trees, something she had never before seen but instantly recognized. 

There was a word for these trees, rarely used because they were rarely seen, nearly archaic in the Haradrim tongue. Santi, it was.  As she thrilled at the possibilities before her, she carefully made her way toward the stand of Santis, though it would take her nearly the full day to get to them. Looking on them as she drew near, and felt transformed by the sudden change in her fate.  She felt inspired to give herself a name.   

“Santi I now am,” she said out loud to herself, “and I will follow the path of beauty before me to see where it leads.”   

That night she laid under the boughs of her namesakes and dreamed of elves in splendid lands somewhere in the north and west, for the first time thinking perhaps she would actually see them someday.  The gently swaying Santis saw her beneath them, and having heard her say her name, reckoned her as one of them, and kept her safe in their embrace through the long night.  They sent out whispers through the earth and on the winds to all the places they knew, telling about her, and thus enchanted her journey. Creatures small and large welcomed and protected her wherever she went for the next several months.  Whenever she felt uncertain which way to turn, some creature would inevitably appear on her path, leading her around obstacles gradually north, and now and then west.  The enchantment continued until she first stepped into the realm of elves, where it ceased, no longer needed. 

Santi had no idea she had made it to the lands she dreamed of seeing, but she knew she was surrounded by overwhelming beauty.  Perhaps those from these lands took it for granted, but she herself was continually surprised and amazed at all she saw.  She sat down to rest, but fought against closing her eyes for more than a few moments, slightly fearful that when she re-opened them she would find this all a fantasy and awake with the brutish form of the general hovering over her, freshly laid welts and bruises marring her body, as she cowered in the corner of the tent of her master.  Eventually her eyes did close, and she slept without knowing. 

Night fell, starless due to low, wet clouds, when a soft touch on her shoulder stirred her and she was greeted by a voice she had heard once before.   

“Santi, I am relieved that you have found and followed the path we laid for you to come to us.  You are welcome here as long as you wish to remain.” 

Before she could ask, the elf continued, “We know your name from the trees, for we hear their voices as well as yours.  Come now to the halls of healing where you may rest and eventually work if you so desire.” 

Only then did she understand the solitary green line pointing her north, through the Santis to here, had been laid for her by the elves.  The two she met had both invited her to go with them, but had not forced her when she refused.  However, they did not forget the beautiful heart of the Haradrima healer that had tended them, and with a gentle touch at their departure had inserted themselves into her dreams to comfort her while they prepared her way out of the lands of darkness.  

Never before had Santi felt loved.  But once she knew it, she recognized love as the source of all beauty.  She understood that what Harad suffered was from its lack, and she pitied those she had left behind. 

 After a long respite with the elves, she followed the now-decaying green line back to her homeland.  As she passed the Santis, she thanked them for their name and protection but set them both aside and again became Hastalteth.  She spent the rest of her life healing as many as she could with loving care, with no master other than her own heart.   

On a particularly bleak, smoke-filled winter day less than a half-decade after her respite, two elves collected her shattered body from beneath a sullen rocky precipice deep inside the realm of Harad and carried her away to lay her to rest under the Santi trees, who again embraced her as their own.   

Those who saw her die mourned for themselves over it, but continued on their way to another battle they would soon face. However, among those she had healed were a few who were touched by her compassion and inspired to carry some of it themselves.   Nameless, she was before long forgotten in Harad except by the Santis, the only evidence of her life a small light in the hearts of some she healed and a few more that they themselves touched with compassion.  It went on and did not extinguish, helping to keep the full domination of darkness ever so slightly at bay. 

[kalmiaphlox]

So Begins The Long Night

Chapter 4: Snow Warning

Previous Chapter / AO3 / Next Chapter

And yet, Lae'zel could not forget about her soft of body, heart, and mind comrades no matter how many years slipped by. What would Shadowheart say this emotional experience deep within her sinews is? It is not loss, but something else. An emptiness accompanied by a longing, an appetite for what is no longer there. Lae'zel missed them, these ra'stil, her companions in arms and soul. She bore their bruises, and they took on hers all the same come Vlaakith or ghaik.

Gone their separate ways following the defeat of the Absolute, Team Tadpole has reunited outside the Neverwinter Woods for a hunting tournament that will be one for the ages.

Unfortunately, an outsider has set their sights on them, determined to bring about a never-ending winter with the assistance of these heroes.

Can they defeat this nefarious presence or will they blanket the land in snow in his name?

-

Chapter: 4 of 7

Chapter Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Action/Adventure, Lots of Monsters, Hunting in the woods, Gathering of Friends, The Gang is all Back Together, There's a little tiny bit of romance but it's not the focus, little gore

Snow does not agree with Lae'zel, and she has decided that she does not agree with it. This wet-yet-not abomination slows her deft movements in this frigid wilderness. She will not be bested by snow. She will conquer it, the same as she has so many of Vlaakith's fortified strongholds.

Ice magic exists and is put to noble purpose in the Astral Plane, but to play and prance in this horrid water state as Karlach does is preposterous to the gith.

Her silver great sword is drawn faithfully, a gift from the great Kith'rak Voss for her endeavors. Any beast should be so honored to die by this legendary blade forged within the heart of a felled god! Lae'zel will return victorious, bathed in the blood of her quarry, and graciously receive her prize—her companions' devout admiration. Compared to sailing the Astral Sea to slay her misguided githyanki brethren, this so-called hunting event is mere child's play.

Of her companions, she believes only Karlach might stand a chance of dominating Lae'zel in the art of the hunt. The tiefling is a trained soldier through and through, but her softened and squishy metal-heart will be her downfall. That is to Lae'zel's advantage.

Wyll, the she'lak, while a formidable and driven human, does not possess the battle-hardened prowess of Lae'zel and Karlach to follow through. He will fall hubris to his willingness to let others take to the skies. Chk. Astarion will preen and cluck loudly over whatever he brings back, but his thin, willowy limbs cannot carry anything larger than a wolf, and Lae'zel knows he only wishes to drop his catch at Hircine's feet so she might welcome him into her bed again. The simple-minded fools.

No. They do not compare to Lae'zel as she is. She honed her skills atop Qudenos, speared her eternal illithid enemies through their fleshy skulls, and shattered the yoke Vlaakith had ensnared so many of the githyanki in.

Lae'zel will not be defeated for she is fury, and she is death!

And then they will feast on the wizard's provisions in her name, etching this event into their histories to be told for generations to come.

To this group, they have lived out a few measly years on the material plane, dithering about as they do until their muscles become sludge from inactivity. Lae'zel rises above it all, for Orpheus and her people, she will overcome, for the past thousands of years she has experienced and for the thousands of more to come while embroiled within this battle for the githyanki freedom.

And yet, Lae'zel could not forget about her soft of body, heart, and mind comrades no matter how many years slipped by.

What would Shadowheart say this emotional experience deep within her sinews is?

It is not loss, but something else.

An emptiness accompanied by a longing, an appetite for what is no longer there.

Lae'zel missed them, these ra'stil, her companions in arms and soul. She bore their bruises, and they took on hers all the same come Vlaakith or ghaik.

A few years for them, but to Lae'zel millennia have passed her by in the whirling dervish of silver blades, flowing blood and boundless eternity of the astral plane. So many millennia where she has changed and fought and grown.

Yet these… friends stay the same.

And for them, so will she in their presence.

To shed her weary body of the battle-worn armor and don light leathers after so long, Lae'zel forgot what it meant to be comfortable and at peace. Last night was the first night in not even Orpheus knows how long that Lae'zel slept through the night, unworried and unburdened, wrapped in wool and laid out next to a small fire that somehow warmed her body more than the stone-melting flames of a great red dragon.

Comforts can make even the most hardened soldier complacent, so it would be wise to for Lae’zel to always be prepared come fiery hells or freezing snow. But one day, out of all of this eternity, she can lay her blade down and… relax as Karlach would say. No one knows better than the tiefling on how to ‘kick their feet up’ with a pint in hand.

Gale will have the finest ale for their return. It will pair perfectly with whatever beast Lae’zel presents.

If only such a thing would present itself before her.

There is nothing, hide nor hair, that crosses her path in these silent woods, yet Lae’zel will know no peace until a bounty is secured.

Amber eyes narrow, searching through the forest so dense with tree trunks and bushes that she cannot see more than fifty paces into the darkness. Even the overhanging branches do not allow light to penetrate their overbearing cover.

Aimlessness is not a welcome feeling among the gith. They have always had a purpose, some honorable goal—or false promise to work towards, but here in this Neverwinter Wood, other than the search for something, Lae’zel has neither marker nor means to identify a quarry.

Her will though, is unbreakable, infallible. The mortal Faerun might perish and Lae’zel will still stalk these woods in her need to accomplish.

To give up, to turn tail like a coward, is unthinkable.

And then she hears it, a rhythmic, harried crunching of snow getting louder from the west, heading right towards Lae’zel.

Her fervent grip on the loyal silver sword is renewed, braced for impact. Blood will be shed today.

By the sound, it will be upon her any moment now. Roaring, Lae’zel rushes to meet it in valiant combat. “Htak’a!” As her sword slices the air with a focused ferocity, a massive axe meets her blade, sparks flying with an echoing metallic clang.

“Whoa-ho! Lae, what a greeting!” Karlach laughs joyously, easily deflecting Lae’zel’s strength in a way only this hellish barbarian can.

Sword pulled back in a resting position, Lae’zel addresses her companion. “Karlach, greetings. You run with the heaviness of a noble beast. Were my strike true, you would not have survived.”

“Awe, sorry for alarming ya! I actually saw a, er, noble beast. Some big moose or deer or somethin’, so I was chasin’ it down and here you are! Did ya see it?” Her greataxe stowed, Karlach stretches and flexes her muscled arms, sleeves ripped away, most likely because of limited movement if Lae’zel had to guess. A correct move, even in this glacial wasteland.

“Hmm. I have seen no such thing. Do you know the direction it is headed so I can track it?”

“That way!” Karlach points.

“That is west, Karlach.” Steeling herself for the journey deeper, Lae’zel treks on.

The tiefling gasps, “Wait, I saw it first! It’s my beastie!”

“As you… baldurians like to say, ‘tracker’s owners’.”

“Er, you mean ‘finder’s keepers’?”

“That is what I said.”

Guffawing loudly, Karlach’s voice reverberates through the woods, perhaps scaring off the beast she hunts. “How about we see who finds this thing first? I ain’t lettin’ it go that easy. Not even for you, Lae.”

“Chk. Do as you see fit. I yield to none.”

Side by side, the women press on, Karlach making casual—and loud—conversation that will surely alert this creature to their presence. However, Lae’zel will not dare to stop the deluge of words. The contentment she feels with Karlach’s presence, even with their rivalry, soothes the aching sting of bitter cold and loneliness.

In every direction, the snow is untouched, pristine, frozen in time, as the women mar the land with their steps toward a hard-fought reward. Even in pleasant company, Lae’zel is ready and alert, head twitching at the slightest noise—or it would, if there was a breath of life in the air at all.

Could these old woods be dying? Such is the mortal plane’s fate. To succumb.

“Hey, Lae,” Karlach begins, hands braced behind her head, elbows pointed out, as she walks, “how, uh, have you been?”

Directing her attention to the tiefling, Lae’zel assesses her rival for this match. “I sail the Astral Seas in a grand pursuit of my people’s freedom. I am dutiful and driven.”

A black eyebrow arches as Karlach considers her words. “Is that right? That must be nice, having some purpose… Don’t misunderstand, I’m so happy to be free from Zariel and Avernus, but…” She pauses, sighing deeply, arms flopping to her side, flaming eyes pleading, inconsolable. “I really miss you guys! It’s not fun being on my own.”

Intriguing. Last night, Karlach boasted about her nights out at all the taverns Baldur’s Gate housed, and spoke brazenly of her nightly conquests as well. The thought of Karlach being unfulfilled did not cross Lae’zel’s mind.

They share some manner of thinking…

The gith’s pace quickens, though Karlach’s long, muscular legs carry her easily across the land, and she matches stride easily as the tiefling continues speaking. “I know you have your-your grand pursuit, and I would never ask you to give it up, because that’s selfish and I love how devoted you are to it, but Lae, have you ever thought about, you know, comin’ back more? To Faerun? To us?”

There have been days and decades where Lae’zel never thinks of such things.

And then there are the centuries, every seemless minute running into the next where she can do little else but think of them. To sit around a campfire as Wyll entertains them with tales of his childhood or listening to Astarion complain ceaselessly about the infinitesimal bugs that apparently bother him at all times of the day.

The meals Gale would server them every night as they traveled Baldur’s Gate were, while not always filling based on their provisions, had a care cooked into them that no other githyanki possessed. Though quiet, Hircine had a hearty interest in Lae’zel’s culture, the good, the bad, and the lies, she learned without judgement of their ways, ever eager for the next reading of the Tir’su scripture.

While their beginnings were tumultuous, Lae’zel and Shadowheart formed a bond that even with the fading of their ‘relationship’, as it’s called, it is unbreakable. Their paths diverged, but Lae’zel would not hesitate to defend Shadowheart to the death, and she knows the half-elf would do the same.

But to return to them? Abandon her duty to her prince and to her people?

She would be labeled hshar'lak, condemned the same as Vlaakith has named her.

Voss granted her this rest for her bravery and commitment to the cause, anymore breaks in duty would be seen as weakness… a broken promise…

The temptation is almost too much. Let it all go, carve her own fate.

“I’m sorry, Lae’zel, if that was wrong of me to ask. I know how important this is to you, truly. All I care about is that you live to fight another day, forever, if that’s how it works out in sea space.” Karlach says.

“The Astral Sea, and no, you are—” Lae’zel tightens the bindings on her gloves. “I feel it too, that pull to return, but I cannot abandon my cause.”

A powerful hand claps her back—a comforting gesture that is very distinctly Karlach. “Hey! I get it, I really do! Do you think you’ll be able to defeat that old death-granny in my lifetime? The rager we’ll have in your honor will be something that even the mind flayers will talk about!”

For Karlach’s sake, Lae’zel hopes they can free all gith from Vlaakith’s fetters sooner rather than later. She thinks she might enjoy such a ‘rager’. “Yes. I swear it.”

“Awe, don’t put yourself out on my behalf. So, when the time comes, how do you can a lich queen-goddess? Does she have a phil-er-octeronomy?”

“A phylactery, and yes. It is well hidden, but we are scouring the endless sea for it. Once destroyed, then she will follow.”

“Damn, that’s really—”

“Halt,” Lae’zel commands, holding her arm out as she comes to a stop, finding that they have reached the base of a rocky outcrop. Chk. These trees allow for little visibility. Time feels slowed here, no sun to tell when they should return. For all she knows, it could be set now, and Wyll and Astarion have returned victorious.

Lae’zel will not be bested by them.

Jerking her head toward the growing stone barrier, Lae’zel directs them around, finding a massive hollowed interior.

“Whoa! A cave!” Karlach whisper-shouts. “Maybe we’ll find a bear hibernating. Seems a little mean to kill one while it’s sleeping.”

There is no remorse for a bear sleeping out in the open like this. It should have chosen a better spot if it did not wish to be skewered on her blade.

Sword held defensively, Lae’zel moves in, gritting her teeth as her tentative footfalls in the snow sound her arrival. A cursory glance shows this cavern stretches on far back, the expanse empty except for a neat pile of shiny, white snow situated in the center. No trail leads in from where this could have been deposited, and the ceiling of this cave is intact, so it could not have floated down from above.

In and out, the snow is undisturbed, as it has been throughout this entire venture. How has there not been a single bird flitting about?

Strange.

Deeper she goes, with Karlach right behind her, humming quietly under her breath. If a bear were to hear them, it would not matter as it stands no chance against the ferocious women.

Skirting around the heaps of snow, Lae’zel finds them frozen to the touch, as if carved from ice. How its cooler than the air outside the cave, she does not know. Now further in, they find nothing yet, but perhaps a bear or other hibernating creature slumbers beyond.

“You want to keep going, Lae?” Asks Karlach.

“Yes.” Lae’zel answers. She will not stop now.

An earth-rumbling vibration shakes the whole cavern from behind them, knocking dust and loose rubble from the ceiling onto their heads.

Whirling around, they watch as the heap of snow packs together with threads of white magic, rising high above their heads, a giant creature of bulky ice limbs now stands before them.

Lae’zel growls. “A snow golem! It was left here to protect something of value within, I am sure of it.” Their size, though, while large, are never three times the size of a person. Powerful magic created this one.

The golem winds an arm up and swings, thankfully slow, so Lae’zel and Karlach can easily dodge out of the way as it bludgeons the ground, spraying icy powder in its wake.

Fire blooms from Karlach’s axe, illuminating the room in flickering hues of orange and yellow, and the tiefling grins devilishly. “I’d bet my pinky this snow bitch don’t like fire much!”

“Indeed!” Lae’zel agrees, wishing she had brought oil to dip her blade in to set alight. She didn't prepare for an event like this, and now she will pay the price of her thoughtlessness.

After all these years, a githyanki of her standing should know better.

Drawing the golem’s eye as she moves in, Lae’zel will distract it so Karlach can deal a a vital blow against the construct. It roars, deafeningly loud, and lunges in for a kill, but again, such a heavy bodied creature is no match for an agile warrior of Lae’zel’s caliber. Its blocky hand crashes against the wall, sending a shower of jagged rocks blasting towards Lae’zel.

“Et alibi!” She reappears some distance away in a plume of blue haze, sneering smugly at the golem in its confusion.

Karlach is next to it now, a fierce battle cry breaking from her lips as her flaming axe slices in an arc towards the golem’s chest. “RAAAGGHH!” The edge of her axe sinks in, extinguishing, dealing minimal damage to the mass of snow. “Uh, Lae?” Karlach questions uncertainly, as she harshly yanks at her axe now, unable to free it from the icy body.

“Get away from it!” Lae’zel shouts, summoning an invisible mage hand to assist with the axe’s retrieval.

The golem narrowly misses when Karlach dives away, axe in hand. The tiefling springs to her feet, and sprints to Lae’zel’s side. “So, uh, I don’t think that was supposed to happen.”

“Fire is a snow golems greatest weakness. There is dark magic at work here.” Assessing their situation, Lae’zel notes that the golem blocks the path whence they came with it body. Slipping by will not be easy, and the snowy ground outside could certainly aid its movement. “We must go deeper.”

“Ya sure?”

“Yes. Onwards.”

And they run as the golem howls after them, chilling the air with its frozen breath.

The cave narrows, ceiling sloping down fast as they press on, and Karlach bends her head low when her horn clips loudly along the tunnel’s edge.

It’s pitch black ahead of them, Lae’zel’s enhanced vision providing no clear markers to follow. Their feet slow to a shuffle when the walls squeeze them more and more, a suffocating existence should they become trapped inside. Silver sword pokes and prods along the path, seeking any hazards on the ground that might trip them up—or worse, kill them.

Not all that much later, the tunnel widens again, allowing them room to breathe and then—

And then they step out into the sun, a wide meadow untouched by the wintry cold, smattered with vivid wildflowers and lush berry bushes now lay beyond their feet.

Lae’zel halts, and Karlach smashes into her back, but neither fall as they take in the view before them.

Right in the center stands a most magnificent creature, an elk with monstrous antlers sharpened to deadly points, snow white fur that glistens in the midday sun as it grazes upon the verdant and bountiful field. At their arrival, its head raises, blood-red eyes glinting while it chews audibly on grasses.

Revealed by its side is Hircine, having shed her red cloak from the surprising warmth in this pocket of summer, stroking the elk’s fur, a peaceful smile twisting her lips up. She meets their gaze. “Well, what a surprise! Isn’t this place wonderful? I took a break after taking care of Gale and Shadowheart and just couldn’t believe my eyes! And this boy here, isn’t he handsome?”

Something about her words does not settle correctly within Lae’zel. Hircine is not one to wander on her own, especially when her limbs are so frail.

“Hey, that’s the beast I saw! Hircine, I called dibs on this one. Sorry, you’re gonna have to say goodbye to your friend!” Karlach yells from beside Lae’zel, striding her way over to their ‘comrade’.

“Karlach—” Lae’zel begins, a sense of foreboding chilling her spine, but Hircine interrupts, tutting softly. “Oh, no, he isn’t the friend I’ll be saying goodbye to today, not when he listens so well. You won’t mind will you, Karlach? It’s not like you have a heart, anyway.”

The tiefling stops in her tracks, appalled at the words that just came from the drow’s mouth. “What? If I’ve offended you, Hircine, tell me whats up. We don’t need to fight.”

“You’re right, we don’t. Stand down for our lord or suffer winter’s embrace.” Hircine sneers, backing away from the elk.

“Tsk’va! This is some impostor! Karlach, her words mean nothing.” Silver sword readied, Lae’zel prepares to attack. “We will slay the beast and return sense to Hircine after.”

The drow titters from afar, wiggling a finger like Lae’zel is some naughty mortal child. “Do you think the gith will even miss you? You’re just fodder at the end of the day, Lae’zel, for these never-ending wars. Being a pawn never sounded so boring! Don’t worry, you’ll be given new purpose.” And with a snap of her fingers, the meadow melts away, replaced by a bloody snowfield covered in the corpses of woodland creatures.

The elk is stained by gore and viscera, and it is not grass it chews, but the belly of a deer. It paws at the ground, lowering its head to present its antlers menacingly.

“Get them, boys.” Hircine jeers.

‘Boys’?

The ground shakes from behind Lae’zel. Whipping around, the snow golem has reformed only a few feet from her and its club arm meets her side, launching her away. She lands on her back, snow burying her beneath the drifts, though Lae’zel’s grip on her sword does not falter. Karlach’s muffled barbaric cry can be heard from a distance, her duel with the elk has begun.

Rising swiftly, Lae’zel stands. The only death she would accept is one in the Astral Planes, not here, where their so-called friend has turned against them. Even if against her will, Lae’zel thought Hircine’s mind might be more fortified than this.

They will perform some mind protection lessons once these foes are felled.

The golem is on her yet again, though thankfully the giant still moves sluggishly in the snow, and Lae’zel skirts around the construct, keeping a careful distance as she thinks of what to do.

Karlach’s fiery smite did nothing to harm it. Were the flames not hot enough, or could it be magical safeguards?

She doubts this being of ice and snow could withstand the heat of the majestic Qudenos… but Qudenos is not here.

Well, not his body.

Rolling away once again as the golem slams its arm against the ground, spraying icy powder swirling into the air, Lae’zel digs a hand into a satchel on her belt, instantly finding what she is looking for. It’s a waste to use such a precious item in what should be simple combat, but nefarious magic is at work here. Lae’zel has friends to save.

A blisteringly hot bottle is pulled from her sack, illuminating her entire body in searing warmth, the snow surrounding her feet melting to slush.

Bottled dragon’s breath. The gith harvest it from the great red dragons as they make for excellent thrown weapons.

The bottle is pelted at the golem, exploding on impact into a inferno of blazing glory. The creature hasn’t a chance to scream in agony as the snow vaporizes, turning to mist, obscuring Lae’zel’s vision.

She must find Karlach. Attuning her ears to the grunts and yawps of the tiefling, Lae’zel seeks them out, ready at the slightest movement to drive her blade through the heart of that carnivorous elk.

Out from the mist, Lae’zel emerges, locking onto where the beast and Karlach battle. Karlach holds the elk by its antlers, eager to prevent it goring her through the chest while the creature tries in vain to tear its head away from her grasp, bugling its throaty cry.

Striding forward ready to assist, Lae’zel prepares to bring her sword down on the elk’s thick neck, sever its head for a trophy when it stops its struggle against Karlach completely, the red of its eyes staring past Lae’zel.

She should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.

The golem’s arm bludgeons into her body, knocking Lae’zel out cold.

[writebackatya]

i wanted to ask, why beauty and the beast as your favorite disney movie? do you have any specific memories with it?

There might be some childhood bias but man I do love the Disney Renaissance era. I was born near the end of that era so I did have a certain fondness. Mind you I have vivid memories watching both Tarzan and Mulan in theaters and the rest on VHS and DVD with my siblings

For the longest time I’d say Aladdin was my favorite Disney movie of all time and I think it might be the one I watched the most, but when I was in my teens Beauty and the Beast became my favorite because it’s just the best in my humble opinion

I love everything about it!

The music numbers are wonderful! The Disney Renaissance in general has a lot of wonderful music!

Every movie from that era I will admit have some bangers. The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, The Lion King, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hercules, and Mulan; all great stuff! But I admit all of them have song or two that just don’t really do it for me as much as their others. Doesn’t mean I hate them though. (The only songs I genuinely hate out of these movies are Les Poissons from The Little Mermaid and A Guy Like You from The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

But Beauty and the Beast! Every song is a banger and not a drag and moves the story forward! First you got it’s opening number: Belle! I just love it’s energy and how it introduces its main characters! It’s so good it gets another reprise and you don’t know how often I’ve sung “I want adventure in the great wide somewhere” in public. Twice. Once at work

And Gaston!? An amazing villain song. It’s so ridiculous, makes you wanna sing along and do all the voices, and it captures our villain’s scummy ways so well! And the reprise!? So good! Just love how sinister it becomes while still being so jovial!

Be Our Guest!? Yes please! The supporting cast in this movie is so good and this song is a great showcase of these characters, specifically Lumiére and Cogsworth! Lumiére with his excellent showmanship and Cogsworth just slowly getting into while being on the end of a lot of slapstick! Don’t worry, Mrs. Potts will get her time in the spotlight soon but we get a small taste of her singing talents in this one!

And how about Something There!? Whenever it’s a beautiful winter day this song will always play in my head! And it’s funny to think that one of the previous scenes before it was the Beast fighting off those wolves in the snow! When all of that was kinda scary and he was still seen as somewhat of a threat! But look at him now! Birds love him! He has a gentle side! And he sucks at snowball fighting! It’s funny! Oh and his voice! So damn good! And Belle’s singing is still just as beautiful as ever

If we’re talking extended edition I do really enjoy Human Again which is a great addition to the soundtrack! The beast’s servants deserve their own song singing about what they want

And now. The main event. The titular song. Beauty and the Beast sung by Mrs. Potts herself!! God this song is so beautiful! Angela Lansbury’s voice is phenomenal; it’s so loving and caring and soft! (Also absolutely great blend of 2D and 3D animation in this scene! So well done!)

Funny to think about that the final song (besides the reprise) is the Mob Song. But yeah! This song is damn good too! Like I love the Beast but this fear mongering song is such a banger and shows Gaston’s manipulative side so damn well. And let’s not forget the servant’s side as they head into the final battle! Good stuff!

I love all the characters in this movie! Belle is a great protagonist, the Beast has development that you just love to see happen, Gaston is the most fun villain to ever come from Disney, and the supporting characters are great at stealing scenes

I remember there was a time on the internet where everyone just seemed to have this whole “Yo! Fuck the Disney Renaissance movies” and just had a whole bunch bad takes such as Belle being a horrible person, Gaston is a good person, the infamous Stockholm syndrome take. I guess that pushback just made me love it more. Not to say the movie shouldn’t have its critics but i just felt those arguments were always weak and either ignored details from the movie or just added something that wasn’t in the movie

In the 8th grade, I was in my school’s musical of the Disney version! I played Monsieur D’Arque (the asylum guy) and my big solo moment was “He’ll wreak havoc on our village if we let him wonder free”. I was friends with a lot of the leads already so this musical was a lot of fun for me

And recently on my trip to Disney World I got to eat at the Beast’s Castle

So yeah. I love this movie. It’s my favorite. But I admit there is some bias to it but who cares!? There’s always bias when it comes to opinions

[flyingspacewhale93]

After the tree is pruned (Jing Yuan x Reader) 1.2 SPOILERS

NSFW MINORS STAY OUT NSFW

Reader can be read as Dom or Switch if you want. CW: mentions of death. Also angry sex (only one person is angry tho)

Word Count: 610

Jing Yuan returns from fighting Phantylia and kisses you, his beloved. “I’m back safe and sound, my love.”

“Welcome back, my dearest husband.” You say trying to keep as prim and proper as possible. “I have something to discuss with you in our chambers.”

“Well whatever it is, I’m sure I won’t get very much rest.” A warm smile lights up his face. “Lead the way.”

When the two of you are alone together you kiss him passionately, tongues wrestling for dominance. “...mmm, I missed you.” You murmur running your hands through his hair.

“As did I, dear. But I said I wouldn’t be long-” You shove Jing Yuan down on your large shared bed and unbuckle his pants, a growl escaping from your throat. “My, someone’s eager today.”

“Shut up.” You hiss. “I’m gonna ride you until I cum. Those hands of yours will do what I tell you to do, do you understand?”

He nods, that fucking irritating Cheshire cat smirk still on his smug face. “Did I mention how sexy you are when you take charge?”

You huff. “You said you wouldn’t fight anymore!” You slam your hips against his, fucking him at a fierce pace. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when that beast tried to turn you into a puppet?! For fuck’s sake, Fu Xuan showed me everything!”

“Well I survived, didn’t I? Honestly, you’re more threatening than she ever was.”

“Do you think Fu Xuan likes showing people live scenes of battle? I had to beg her to show me because we were all worried!”

He chuckles. “An old friend and our honored guests were with us. We weren’t in any danger at all.”

You glare at him with lust in your eyes. “You are never leaving my side again! I’ll keep you in bed filling me with cock!”

“Oh? Now that sounds like a good idea. Just let me tell Fu Xuan that I’ve been unfortunately taken prisoner by a fierce and gorgeous lion.” You leave little hickies and bites on any bit of exposed skin.

“You are an arrogant general.” You roll your eyes. “How dare you make me feel so good? Just what would I do if I didn’t have this cock taking care of me, these hands to pleasure me just right?”

“I’m certain you would have a parade of suitors at your beck and call. Of course, whether or not they could handle the fire burning brightly within you is another question entirely.” Jing Yuan lays back, his hips matching your fast pace.

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close. I’m gonna take all your cum as punishment!” Your legs begin to shake.

“Go ahead. I have no need to give my seed to anyone else.” Jing Yuan says. You let out a groan as the two of you release together, your bodies joining in bliss.

You lay curled up on Jing Yuan’s strong chest as you sob, relief and ecstasy wracking your body. “I-I was afraid I might lose you.”

Jing Yuan shushes you softly. “It’s alright, darling mine. I didn’t want you to worry but I knew you’d pry. Just have a little faith in your husband, alright?” His lips gently kiss your bare skin while he lets out the occasional purr. The next part of his speech comes out in a soft whisper. “If she had known about you and turned you into an Arbiter of Destruction, I would have gone mad with grief. I have lost many things in my long life, but I cannot lose you.” His arms clutch you tightly as you both fall asleep together, letting tomorrow bring what it may.