celestialdetected

[celestialdetected]

It's never been more important that I remind you guys that Arawn was imprisoned for physically assaulting a politician who, through negligence or malice, was responsible for the destruction of his family, the only reason he didn't kill said politician was the guard dragged him off of them before he could.

[celestialdetected]

Arawn was very handy with a lock, or a trap, he had to be. No private eye worth their salt got waylaid by a trapped drawer or a locked room. But to be honest it wasn't usually his main speciality in an adventuring party such as this. His disarming tools were at the bottom of his bag and it was a real bitch to get them. He grumbled and cursed all the while hoping he was making it clear to Honor that this was NOT his idea of a good time.

"Yes, yes we wouldn't want to ruin your delicate fucking hands, now move out of the way and let me do the work so you don't kill yourself in this gods damned dungeon."

The bard smiled, holding up their hands as they skipped backward down the corridor to maintain eye contact. "Hey, I'm just saying it's faster than spending thirty minutes staring at a door that might or might not have a spike pit next to it. I appreciate you, really."

But Honor was really only half-proficient in trap disarming. "I'm just saying that my delicate hands are for viol-playing and a little bit of extracurricular stabbing, not cutting tripwires."

[celestialdetected]

Arawn forcibly makes himself switch into doctor mode, just to temper the rush of rage and panic that shot through him when Peter spoke. Someone hit his boy with a car, twice.

(And when had Peter become his boy? Arawn does not let himself ponder that question)

He presses, very gently, on Peter's abdomen, lets his healing magic do the work of knitting the kid's flesh and bone back together, and then scans for more injuries, fixes a cracked collarbone here, a nasty-looking bruise there, until there's nothing left that Arawn can see.

He still worries though, because there could be plenty below the surface, plenty nasty internal injuries that he has missed, and even with Peter's healing factor those could cause a lot of issues. He pictures Peter's face going ashen, unable to breathe through blood filling his lungs and he has to shake his head, hard, for the image to leave him.

"What the fuck were you fighting out there kid?" And are they still around? Because Arawn, though he tries to avoid conflict, is very willing to immolate them at this moment in time.

What Arawn probably didn't know is even if his window was locked, Peter would somehow find a way in. His sense of tactility and adaptivity really didn't follow any logic. Though, if he did find a way at the expensive of the poor man's window, he'd pester the poor man with many apologies. Luckily, this time, the window did not have to go through that trauma. But Peter's body on the other hand...

He did everything he could to prevent himself from obtaining so many injuries. Even with accelerated healing and his super-human tolerance for pain that was thirty times the norm, he still was pretty beat up after every major scuffle. Maybe he was just too scrappy. Surely, there was a better way to where he didn't have to worry about the bittersweet ache the moment he could finally lay down at home and immediately be greeted by every part of his body flaring up in pain from today's injuries. And when he couldn't prevent it? He was able to reply on Arawn, which, Peter was immensely grateful. He just....wasn't so sure how to share his gratitude beyond numerous vocal thank-yous and the occasional swung delivery of food.

Today was just as bad, apparently, as Peter barely made it inside with a pitiful flop onto the floor, right onto his abdomen that was severely roughed up. Peter shucked his mask off, letting it sit discarded right by him. No need. Peter's mouth involuntarily emitted a groan of pain, though he managed to hold his head back up when he heard the talking footsteps, and soothing sensations of magic applied to him. He managed a very rough smile, eyes tired, just looking up at the man from his position on the floor. The floor was fine for now. Nice and cold. He typically preferred the ceiling, but, he wouldn't complain at the moment.

"Everywhere." He said, silent for a beat or two, before realizing that must've been of no use, "My abdomen hurts the worst. Got hit by a car. Once." He squinted, letting his head rest back on the ground, a brown curl obscuring his eyes, "Twice, maybe. I sort of lost count."

[celestialdetected]

It was in that odd space between dreams that Arawn met the Champion of Ravens for the first time. He'd fallen asleep at camp, his new wings -spectral, incorporeal, still a heavy weight on his back. And now he walked in the void, between the stars where it was bitterly cold, and came across -a table.

It's set for tea, with a void-black teapot lacquered with gold and porcelain cups set around it. Unsure of what else to do, Arawn sits himself down and pours a cup.

Blood oozes, thick and sluggish, from the spout instead. And when Arawn averts his gaze, thoroughly disgusted, he locks eyes with the birdlike mask of the Champion.

Now, he's heard...some things about the Champion of Ravens, it's difficult to work either place he does; temple hopping, and picking through the criminal underbelly of Exandria, and to have not heard whispers of him. A nameless rogue turned follower of the Matron, turned something else after the dust settled in the wake of the Whispered One, there are rumors. Nothing concrete. Nothing Arawn put much stock in, until his own goddess began changing him.

'Champion' the Everlight calls him sometimes. And it terrifies Arawn that he has yet to understand what that means.

"....er, hello?" He tries, unsure of what to say. "Did you bring me here then?" He swallows the investigator's questions, the sarcastic comments, anything but deference. This man might not be a god, but he certainly isn't mortal anymore, and Arawn is smart enough to not go picking fights.

"Want some..er, blood tea?"

@storiesbreathed for VAX

[celestialdetected]

Arawn tried very hard not to get involved in the magic civil war. Not in the actual fighting, not in the clean-up. But, alas, he was a magic user and he lived in the world. And because of those things the Meda often called him in to deal with problems. Heal people here, set people on fire there, investigate this or that, it was all a very standard if frustrating amount of bureaucratic nonsense.

It paid well, it kept Rhiannon in her private music school and Arawn in a comfortable, if not particularly well-furnished, apartment. So he couldn't complain (out loud).

But he does inwardly curse when the Meda send for him, saying there was a murder and would he pretty please investigate? Oh by the way he'd have a partner.

Which....fucking great. Arawn wasn't a people person at the best of times, and he wasn't looking forward to exchanging pleasantries over a corpse.

Money was money though, so time to get to work.

"Right, I'm here," he sighed as he slipped out of the car, hands deep in the pockets of his duster and cigarette hanging from his mouth. "What's the damage?"

@proditeur

[celestialdetected]

"A traveling circus?" Arawn raised an eyebrow. "That sounds interesting, were they any good?" Traveling circuses always seemed to be hit or miss in these parts. Staggeringly amazing, or terrifyingly awful. Sometimes even violent. Though Arawn hopes Harry would have lead with that if that was the case.

"And traveling bards! Unrelated? My, you two have been busy. I bet Rhia got a kick out of the bards." They've made their way onto the street and down the twisting cobblestone alleyway that leads to the little music school Rhia attends. Class is letting out, and he weaves his way around children and their families, looking for his daughter's blonde curls.

He sees her and breaks into a jog.

"There's my beautiful girl!" he crows, scooping her up into his arms, and delighting in her giggles. His family's complete. His daughter is in his arms and his son is at his side, and everything is right with the world.

"So, icecream?"

It's been some time, and time always passes slowly when there's distance, but it's not, Harry thinks, like routine has been missing too often. He still leans against Arawn, enjoying the familiar comfort of affection, and hums in consideration.

"There are a couple things," he tells Arawn, his smile amused, "I promised Rhia she could tell you about, herself." And he's not about to break his word, much less to his sister. "And we're not about to go on gallivanting on adventures without you."

He's happy to go when it's the three of them, but he wouldn't risk Arawn coming back to an empty house.

"But there was a travelling circus," he tells Arawn, as they walk the familiar streets. "And we did need to travel to the next city over to pick up a few books, last month, and the caravan ran into a troupe of traveling bards." He goes on. "All in all, there was little adventuring."

And he didn't mind that, not really. Not for a short while at the very least.

[celestialdetected]

Arawn hums in vague sympathy. Memory issues seemed to be a common theme among the group, he was surprised to learn it wasn't caused by the tadpole.

But he knows the feeling of reaching for something and having it not be there. Or of having the memory of it slip away like wisps of smoke. Sometimes, he'll take the mountain road up, up, up to a little arid plot of land where a village once stood and he'll be shocked to find nothing but rotting houses and ghosts.

"Let's pretend you never knew anything, start from the beginning." Arawn gestures to the rolls of fresh bandages and the pot of boiled water, now cooled. "Cleaning and dressing a wound. You have to know how to be a mundane healer before you learn any healing spells."

"Or," he amends. "You should, there are some fucking idiotic clerics out there who think that they know how to heal a wound because god gave them the power to do it. But if you don't know HOW the body is injured, you don't know how to stitch it up."

"Now," Arawn takes a knife and draws a gash on the meat of his bicep, far away from any arteries, but deep enough to look nasty. "Patch me up."

          𝐏𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐲, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 & not the hulking, six-foot-five barbarian that he was. ❝ O- Oh, really ？You would do that ？？I would very much appreciate that. Thank you. ❞

His tail ( gods, his tail ; he was still adjusting to that new addition to his anatomical oddities ) wagged behind him, making his attempt to calmly & politely accept Arawn's offer embarrassingly futile.

Tail or no tail, it would have been impossible with that expressive face of his, anyway. No need to bruise his ego further, however. Let him believe he could have been more stoic otherwise.

          ❝ I kind of know a little bit. Just- vague instincts from . . . ❞

Before, he did not add, voice fading when a frown began to form.

It was true that he had been watching Arawn heal the others. There was this itch in the back of his mind. He could tell that he used to know something about medicine before it got knocked out of his skull with the rest of his mind. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he hoped it was a sign he wasn't so awful as his Urges led him to believe.

          Maybe he used to take care of people, too . . .

He'd like that. Taking care of people. Helping them instead of hurting them. There was a reason he took on every possible request & kind deed others asked of him. There had to be something good about him somewhere. Anywhere.

Puck shook his head. ❝ But what I know is all scrambled. I wouldn't be able to use any of it without help. Can't even put a name to it. ❞

[celestialdetected]

Ugh so one of my classes is kicking my ass and i've had no energy to do anything send help

[celestialdetected]

Oh his boy. His strong, happy boy. Arawn takes a second to marvel at the way he shrugs off the sting of his birth father's rejection. Arawn knows, if it were him, such a blow would leave him lost in a sea of self-pity.

He likes that his son is stronger than him.

Arawn dusts off his own coat, tries to brush some of the road dirt off of it at the very least and slings an arm around his son. "Ice cream is on the horizon, nearly here I would say."

"Come, tell me everything I've missed and all the adventures you've had while I've been away."

Arawn is, with the exception of Rhia, the one and only person he'll ever allow to ruffle his hair. Especially without annoyance, without grumbling: he's willing to be far more undignified where it concerns his family.

And, moreover, he knows Arawn and Rhia both: he's eager to see them meet again, and he knows he'll treasure this memory, like he treasures many others.

All in all, his blood father would have called it weakness, and Harry has long stopped heading that voice in his mind that sounds so much like him: he's made his choices, they all have, and as much as Norman will always be an open wound, one he avoids even looking at... Harry knows he's happy where he is now.

"It's not a day to be sorry." He shrugs, however, as he puts on his coat and ensures he looks acceptable enough to leave the house, before opening the door. "Not today, not with you back and with ice-cream on the horizon."

[celestialdetected]

There's something surrounding Flo's relationship with the word 'hero' that Arawn has never quite teased out, even in the long years of their friendship. He knows why he is uncomfortable with that word, it doesn't fit the sentenced convict now does it? It doesn't quite wash away the deaths of an entire village who had pinned their hopes on one boy, a boy who had failed them most utterly. Hero doesn't fit him.

But it does fit Flo, so it baffles Arawn that they're so loathe to accept it.

Arawn can hear what Flo's not saying. Messy. Complicated. There's exhaustion in their face, a weariness in the set of their shoulders. Arawn wonders what the casualty count was, if Flo was among their number for a brief period of time.

He'll interrogate them about it later. But after the celebrations. "Come on then, it's nearly time to pick her up anyhow."

hero. they want to laugh. they also want to jab their elbow into his side. “ hells, ” drawls florence. “ don’t start calling me that, arawn. it’s a curse. ”

they meant it as a joke but deep down, they think it’s true. ( has there ever been a happy hero? ) even so, the cleric keeps their smile. there will be time for gloom and doom, but that time is not now. 

“ i ate rations on the road. ” half rations, they should say, but arawn doesn’t need to know. “ but i’ll never turn down a meal. and i wouldn’t dare miss the chance to see rhia ! ” this will keep their head above water. without it, they might drown in the memories of their adventures.

“ it was. . . ” what is the right word? devastating? exciting? quite literally breath stealing and they’ll never, ever suggest the experience of resurrection. “ less of a blood bath than you might expect, but just as messy as imaginable. ”

[celestialdetected]

Arawn allows his cheek to be pinched with all the grace of an irate toddler; that is he squirms immediately and rubs at the offending spot until it's red. He stills quickly, melting somewhat pathetically into Thanatos' arms as the god rests their forehead against his.

Gods, he loves this man. This being. This personification of life's end. He adores them so much it feels like he may split apart at the seams over it.

"I'm good," That hardly seems adequate. "Mostly trying to stay closer to home for Rhia's sake. I get called out to investigate the odd break-in, or heal an illness from time to time. It's steady work, I can't complain. How about you, my love? Surely something must have happened to keep us apart for so long."

"TCH!" they pinch arawn's cheek fondly. "how many a' mortal men have i met? think i have a fairly clear grasp on the extraordinary." the heroes and villains of old bore thanatos - the ones who commanded armies and destroyed entire kingdoms. the men like arawn, the ones who come from nothing and step forward simply because they are good, these are the ones who thanatos would see sonnets written about. he cradles arawn's cheek in a hand and bumps their forehead against his. "and you are extraordinary."

thanatos stands there silently for a long moment, simply holding arawn, tracing the line of his cheekbone with a thumb and soaking in his warmth. "how are you?"

[celestialdetected]

Jim Butcher's Dresden Files where everything's the same it's just Arawn in the place of Harry Dresden.

[celestialdetected]

“forgive me. everything i say sounds so childish.”

"Peter," Arawn's voice is quiet, his hands gentle as he runs his fingers across the teenager's injuries, knitting skin back together with a golden glow. He longs to do more, drape a blanket around Peter's shoulders, offer him a plate of food, shelter him until he forgets the cold of the New York nighttime.

"You are a child. You're allowed to be childish. I'd say it's encouraged even. I know you've had to grow up fast, but don't try and be an adult just yet, it's no fun."

@itsybitsypeterparker

[celestialdetected]

Arawn glared. He'd been reliably told that while his looks couldn't kill, they could maim. He gritted his teeth against the string of expletives threatening to come out of his mouth and sighed.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Don't kill the bard. Do not kill the bard. Do NOT kill the bard.

"I can disarm the traps if you are too lazy."

"How to stop it from being lethal?" Honor suggested with a cheeky smile, the bard with a Healing Word spinning above his fingertips. Their tail whipped back and forth behind them in amusement. "We can go take a nap if you need more spells, but you have to admit that walking through every trap in the dungeon is faster than trying and failing to disarm things."

[celestialdetected]

All the gods becoming mortal cue Arawn celebrating bc it means he isn't (probably) gonna be whisked up behind the Divine Gate at one of these points.

[celestialdetected]

𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝  ,  𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡  𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞  .     ݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚        a  series  of  romantic  gesture  prompts  inspired  by  historical  fiction,  period  dramas,  classic  fairytales,  poetry,  and  more.  will  likely  be  updated  in  the  future,  so  please  do  not  add  onto  this.

[   HAND   ]     ,     sender  kisses  receiver's  hand.

[   COURTESY   ]     ,     receiver  kisses  sender's  hand.

[   KNUCKLES   ]     ,     sender  kisses  receiver's  knuckles.

[   AFFECTION   ]     ,     receiver  kisses  sender's  knuckles.

[   TENDER   ]     ,     sender  kisses  receiver's  forehead/temple.

[   CARE   ]     ,     receiver  kisses  sender's  forehead/temple.

[   LIPS   ]     ,     sender  kisses  receiver  on  the  mouth.

[   SEALED   ]     ,     receiver  kisses  sender  on  the  mouth.

[   HUG   ]     ,     sender  hugs  receiver  close.

[   EMBRACE   ]     ,     receiver  hugs  sender  close.

[   KNEEL   ]     ,     sender  gets  down  on  one  knee.

[   REVERENCE   ]     ,     receiver  gets  down  on  one  knee.

[   OFFER   ]     ,     sender  offers  their  arm  for  receiver  to  join  them  somewhere.

[   JOIN   ]     ,     receiver  offers  their  arm  for  sender  to  join  them  somewhere.

[   ENVELOPE   ]     ,     sender  writes  receiver  a  love  letter.

[   LETTER   ]     ,     receiver  writes  sender  a  love  letter.

[   FLOWERS   ]     ,     sender  gifts  receiver  flowers.

[   BOUQUET   ]     ,     receiver  gifts  sender  flowers.

[   DANCE   ]     ,     sender  asks  receiver  to  dance.

[   WALTZ   ]     ,     receiver  asks  sender  to  dance

[   SILENCE   ]     ,     sender  and  receiver  enjoy  a  quiet  moment  together  without  conversation.

[   READ   ]     ,     sender  reads  to  receiver.

[   STORY   ]     ,     receiver  reads  to  sender.

[   CARRY   ]     ,     sender  carries  receiver  in  their  arms.

[   LIFT   ]     ,   receiver  carries  sender  in  their  arms.

[   HUG   ]     ,     sender  hugs  receiver  close. 

[   INTERLOCKED   ]     ,     sender  holds  receiver's  hand.

[   INTERWOVEN   ]     ,     receiver  holds  sender's  hand.

[   GENTLE   ]     ,     sender  holds  receiver's  face  in  their  hands.

[   CRADLE   ]     ,     receiver  holds  sender's  face  in  their  hands.

[   CONVERSE   ]     ,     sender  has  an  intimate  conversation  with  receiver.

[   SHARE   ]     ,     receiver  has  an  intimate  conversation  with  sender.

[   COOK   ]     ,     sender  cooks  a  meal  for  receiver.

[   CHEF   ]     ,     receiver  cooks  a  meal  for  sender.

[   POEM   ]     ,     sender  writes  a  poem  for  receiver.

[   ODE   ]     ,     receiver  writes  a  poem  for  sender.

[   GIFT   ]     ,     sender  gives  receiver  a  gift  (  specify  ).

[   PRESENT   ]     ,     receiver  gives  receiver  a  gift  (  specify  ).

[   HOLD   ]     ,     sender  and  receiver  cuddle  together.

[   BACK   ]     ,     sender  gives  receiver  a  back  rub.

[   MASSAGE   ]     ,   receiver  gives  sender  a  back  rub.

[   ASSIST   ]     ,     sender  helps  receiver  put  on  a  piece  of  clothing  or  jewellery. 

[   HELP   ]     ,     receiver  helps  sender  put  on  a  piece  of  clothing  or  jewellery. 

[   RAINFALL   ]     ,     sender  kisses  and/or  dances  with  receiver  in  the  rain.

[   DOWNPOUR   ]     ,     receiver  kisses  and/or  dances  with  sender  in  the  rain.

[   BASKET   ]     ,     sender  and  receiver  share  a  private  picnic.

[   WORSHIP   ]     ,     sender  kisses  and/or  touches  receiver's  body  with  reverence.

[   DEVOTION   ]     ,     receiver  kisses  and/or  touches  sender's  body  with  reverence.

[   ALTAR   ]     ,     sender  watches  receiver  walk  down  the  aisle  towards  them.

[   AISLE   ]     ,     receiver  watches  sender  as  they  walk  down  the  aisle  towards  them.

[celestialdetected]

Arawn was going to go on record and say he LOATHED the Shadowlands. He never thought he'd loathe something as much as his time in prison, forced to fight monster after monster so the people who kept him in chains could breathe easier, knowing that their precious colonies were safe.

But this? This was giving it a run for its money. The shadows were viscous, almost slimy against his skin -the Blood of Lathander was barely keeping them at bay, and he'd lost count of the number of skirmishes he'd been in just trying to get to the Last Light.

He was running himself ragged trying to keep the Harpers he'd journeyed with alive, he himself was running on fumes. But they still had a half mile to go, and the shadow wraiths would not stop coming.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself. They wouldn't make it. He himself was resorting to cantrips, just to keep the magic going a little longer. Exhaustion was creeping in, leadening his limbs, slowing his movements.

Then there was another flash of magic cutting through the gloom. Someone new had entered the fray. And they didn't appear to be made of shadow.

"Hells, if you're here to help we sorely need it. If you're not well- kill us quickly."

STARTER FOR: @melihel-shadowhorn