#(but has no use of his 'real' hand until the mage hand has finished its task)

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

ppl tend to understate Buggy's intelligence in fanworks sometimes I find. Like he was able for 25 years to both hide his devil fruit from the world, his connection to the Roger pirates, he can make bombs and he did hide his devil fruit while in impel down effectively so he wasn't put in seastone cuffs or tortured in a way that would affect him at all. Dude can be smart, he just has 0 foresight and is emotional and single-minded to the point of short-sightedness. Even his initial plan with the chop chop fruit and the map was very smart for a boy his age, he just freaked out when shanks showed up and deliberately sabotaged himself, like that's his thing. He also got really close to killing Luffy in Loguetown, if not for the convenient lightning strike, Luffy could have died there. Buggy contains multitudes, he can both be insanely stupid and very smart.

...we must be using very different search terms to find buggy fic, anon.

but you're right, buggy is smart and stupid simultaneously! high INT/low WIS, i think is how the modern nerd would put it: he can come up with a good plan, but he does not think it through long enough to consider any bad outcomes, so they always take him by surprise. like, the muggy bomb is much easier to hide on his person than the og buggy bomb - it fits in the tip of his shoe! how convenient! but that also makes it easier for someone to just swat it back at buggy, to literally blow up in his face.

and buggy would have killed luffy in roguetown, for sure. the marines had no interest in intervening, and luffy's crew weren't gonna get to him fast enough. if it weren't for luffy's uncanny luck (or his dad literally conjuring up a storm, depending on what you think really happened in roguetown), that would've been a win for buggy.

...that said, i don't think the chop-chop fruit plan was a good one. i know the art style suggests buggy's an older teen, but per later canon buggy is at most twelve years old in that moment. and he's gonna sell a devil fruit, and with those funds get himself a ship and a crew of treasure-greedy pirates to follow his treasure map? at twelve? that boy is not gonna be a preteen pirate captain, he's gonna get his throat slit.

[stargazer-dreamer]

It’s on the Tip of My Tongue Chapter 1

character: yami sukehiro

content warnings: misunderstandings

reader: gender neutral; ring magic user

chapter list: 1 [you are here], 2

notes: also on ao3. 2k word count. pre-relationship (but we’re getting somewhere). part of the stoprewind verse

Your room, when presented to you, was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. It took you a considerable while to feather and air it out—but you just couldn’t find the time to roll up your sleeves and get down to the dirt and grime of it all. Between that, imprinting locations with Finral, reviewing all your past and future responsibilities, and preparing for the transfer into the Black Bulls, you found little time to settle into your new home within the base.

You didn’t even get the chance to mingle with any of its other members, much less the captain himself. He talked real big, but you’ve hardly seen a glimpse of him all week. This frustrated you—he wandered in, in the middle of your day-to-day operations, uprooted your entire lifestyle, demanded you work under him specifically, yet he has not greeted you once. If he was going to be this sort of captain, he would have to earn your respect.

You, however, were finding a quick friend in the spatial mage—going from location to location got boring fairly quickly and, as polite as he was, he seemed to drop the act when Yami wasn’t looking.

“He works me to death! You know how hard it is managing funds while having to pay out property damages every other day, in between having to joyride him around the country? I have to do paperwork on the road!” Finral stepped through his own portal and waited patiently on the other side for you. “It’s the worst, really.”

There must have been a change to your expression, since he seemed to backtrack a little bit. “But it’s not so bad! Really! Now that you’re here, I’ll have more time to work through it!” He scratched at the back of the neck as his gaze traveled. A tilt of the head—like he was debating on saying his next words. “And he seemed pretty sincere when he said you’d only be doing the transportation thing. He usually leaves me to my own devices until he’s ready to head back or move locations, so you’ll probably get a lot of downtime…!”

He smiled at you, good-naturedly. “Lucky you.”

This did not help improve your quickly souring impression on the captain. You spared a moment to mark the area before moving on to the next. It turns out, Finral had well-over a hundred different locations he had imprinted upon, not including the local area—and the captain wanted you to retain all of them! The nerve!

Hardly ever having left your hometown, the sudden increase to your mental magic map took a little while to get used to; and with it rapidly expanding every day, it was a bit overwhelming, to say the least. Finral must have realized this early on, dividing up his list into digestible sections throughout the week—but the two of you were far from done yet. First came the important locations, then the common ones, next were the useful areas, followed by the more niche places…

Despite Yami’s command of all of Finral’s impressions, the two of you found no need to share his more personal locations, such as his family home and room back at the base. Those were for Finral specifically, and there was no need to hand over such keys.

As a seasoned spatial mage, his senses were naturally more adept at managing a mental map of the world; for you, it was far from the case. After going at it for a few hours, you found that you developed headaches that could only be mended with proper rest or mana-regaining methods, such as specialized drinks or medicine Finral would graciously provide. It was more of a nuisance than anything else—all you wanted to do was finish this first task, but you couldn’t handle the load.

That’s something you admired about Finral; he was a pretty capable mage.

The day finally arrived when the documents were properly filed; Captain Yami Sukehiro stood you in front of the rest of the squadron and introduced you properly—as properly as it seemed he could manage, at least—followed by a multitude of questions from everyone in the room.

Instead of navigating through the sea of voices yourself, the captain made short work of it for you. “No fighting, no hazing, no eating; you just ate, no looking at pictures, no one can hear you, no shopping—we’re busy.”

“We are?” you asked before he handed you, rather unceremoniously, the infamous black robe.

“Yes,” he replied, short, before addressing the squad once more. “This is my new ride, so I won’t be sharing. Finral’s still here, if you need quick transport.” You sputtered at his choice of words—his ride? Sharing?

“Oh! So you use spatial magic too?“ A starry-eyed boy inched closer. “That’s so cool! Can I see?”

“Oh, no,” you shook your head, but at his continued interest, showed him the band encircling one of your fingers anyway. Haunted by the memory of your shoddy escape the week prior, you started wearing multiple rings on both hands, in addition to keeping one tucked away in your grimoire pouch, just in case. “While I do use a form of spatial magic, I’m actually—”

“What did I just say?” You didn’t need to turn around to know who was towering behind you, the mana in the air stirring like crazy.

Despite that, the boy carried on, unfazed. “But sir! The use of any teleportation magic must take an incredible amount of control—”

“Which is why I need you to bugger off, so my ride can be in top condition for me. C’mon,” with a glance in your direction, he gestured with a jerk of the head and walked towards the front door.

Stepping outside in the dancing shadow of the trees, you were struck at the difference in lighting, how striking he really was. Out in the morning sunshine, you forgot the words you held for him for over a week. The blue morning glow of the waking sun didn’t do him justice, if this is what he truly looked like, underneath the new warm hue. The thin undershirt he wore did little to hide anything—especially since he chose to wear nothing over said shirt—skin all but bared to the world, in all it’s severe beauty.

He was a warrior alright and had the scars to match, crisscrossing his skin in rough patches; down his arms, across his shoulders, and up higher, to the one bisecting his brow, and the one set at the corner of his mouth.

To keep from staring at his lips, your eyes lowered to his jaw, and focused in on the stubble, down his neck, evolving into the hair leading to the peek of his toned chest underneath it all.

Suddenly, you felt the need for a cold drink. You spun a band circled around a finger. “Um,” you began. “Captain Yami Sukehiro?”

“Just Yami’s fine,” he said, and went to light a cigarette.

“Captain Yami,” you said instead, resulting in a click of his tongue and quirk of his brow. Actually just Yami, I guess. You’d work on it. For now, you were trying to remember what it was that you had been meaning to say to him.

He led you out here with some type of purpose. You stopped fretting with the robe in your hands. You had to speak your mind, first and foremost.

“Yami,” you met his eyes. Steel. Like his blade, you did not know how much power it hid. But you were not afraid. “You said you wanted me for my magic. You may be my captain now, but I do not intend to be taken advantage of. I will not be overworked.”

His reply was instantaneous. It was different than before, when he walked out of the alleyway; instead of his entire being, this laugh came from the chest—throwing his head back with the force of it. Your eyes widened, before it clicked. Before, you felt as if he was laughing at you—now, it was something different entirely.

He smiled at you, big and proud, and declared—“I like you.” Warmth welled up inside as a weight seemed to lift itself off of you; like the smoke rising from his lips. He lifted a hand and before you knew it, he was ruffling the hair atop your head. “I don’t give jobs to people who can’t handle it.” You blinked. “Don’t sweat it—you’re my ride. Simple as that.”

So what Finral told you was true. You were so lost in that thought, you didn’t notice Yami’s hand go to smooth out your hair, running down, until it stilled, cupping the side of your face. You felt warmth once more, but not from the inside. “What—what are you—”

“Getting to know one another, like I said we would.” Before you could piece together what he meant, he pinched at your cheek.

“Ack!”

“You’re too serious,” he said, like a statement. “You’ve been running around all week. Every time I tried to find you, you were off doing some other thing. When you were here, you were either off with Finral or busy in your room. When was I supposed to be with you?”

It sounded distinctly like a pout. You stood there, rubbing at your cheek, staring at him. Yami Sukehiro, with a plume of smoke surrounding him, trying to wave it away. Like a distraction. He shifted his feet. Put his hands in his pockets. Removed one to scratch at the back of his neck.

He clicked his tongue. The robe you had resumed fretting with was snatched from you, and before you could even process it, Yami’s hands were at your front, doing up the button and straightening up the hood around your shoulders. “You’re a Black Bull,” his eyes were downcast, focusing on his work. And then, quieter: “I said I wanted you.”

You remembered the alleyway, and the sun eclipsing him; his touch, and the way he held your hand. “Oh,” was all you could manage. The transfer was busy work. He must have not realized that. And when he gestured to your still fretting hands, all you could do was stare harder.

“You have more this time,” his hands went back into his pockets. “That’s good, for you.”

The subject change nearly gave you whiplash, despite the pause between. “Um, thanks?”

“Yeah. Anyways, mark this one too.”

It was a simple band. Black, with no embellishments; and when he tilted it in the light, it seemed to swallow the sunshine whole. Dark and—when you got a closer look—incredibly inviting. As you held it in your hand, you noticed it was lightweight. Sturdy, with a smooth finish. Whichever material it was made of felt powerful where it sat. Indestructible. It would not shatter so easily.

It was only after you marked it did you realize you’ve never imprinted upon a ring that didn’t belong to a family member.

After you were done, he slipped it on—left hand, ring finger. His non-dominate hand. A good choice, for his fighting style; he wouldn’t have to worry about changing the way he handled the grip of his sword. It would be out of the way, but at the ready if he needed it.

“There,” he said, with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You tried not to stare. “Had it made. Figured I’d need one for myself—your hands are puny.”

You sputtered. “Not everyone is as big as you!”

He carried on as if you didn’t say anything. “Thought maybe, if you gave me one of yours, I could wear it on a chain or something. But that seemed like a hassle, so this was what I got instead.”

He held his hand up to the light. One of the things Yami was known for was his magic attribute—it seemed fitting that he would choose an accessory that physically matched the aesthetic; though, you never would have guessed he cared about that sort of thing. A black hole, it claimed space for itself; tugging you in and pulling you within his reach. His hand was warm, when your fingers intertwined.

“It’s beautiful,” you told him. The compliment, however, got drowned out by another, more pressing noise.

“Attaboy, Captain!” someone cheered from an open window. Then, from someone at the front door—“I’m happy you found the perfect ring!”

You turned to see what seemed like the entire base crowded around each other in windows and the entranceway, making no effort to hide themselves as they watched the two of you.

“That’s the man’s way!” The man with the mohawk pumped his fist in the air. “Straightforward!”

The witch held up a bottle, “Let’s celebrate!”

The short one next to her nodded enthusiastically, “We’ll have a feast!”

The man with the hair covering his eye looked surprised. “So this is what they meant when they said Yami was after someone…”

It appeared, where you stood, that there had been a major misunderstanding. Rumors are already spreading in the workplace—on your first day, nonetheless! Involving your boss. Your mother had warned you to stay out of Black Bull scandals; but there you were, in front of the entire squadron, probably ruining Yami’s reputation even more. You dreaded the headlines already—the immigrant Magic Knight captain, abusing his position of authority. Alternatively: the rookie mage, a golddigger.

In your horror, you spotted Finral in the back. Meeting your eyes, he gave you a thumbs up.

“What are you bums doing standing around for?!” Yami charged forth. “Go find some work, all of you!”

Scrambling out of sight, the group dispersed rapidly. Based on the shielded grins and fading laughter, you did not think that reaction cleared up anything at all. What a start to the day.

[illumiera]

sending you yet another ask. ‘Q’ and ‘U’ for ellie and miraak, and ‼️ for you! :3

thank you for yet another delicious ask, jules! 🤲

✨ ask game! ✨

Q. first act of non-sexual intimacy (e.g. washing the other's hair, taking a bath together, sharing food)

ah, I love this question! for Elentari and Miraak's first act of non-sexual intimacy, I'm tempted to say it comes shortly after they escape Apocrypha. he sleeps a long time after his resurrection—two weeks, really snorking those mimis—and she spends a lot of this time sitting at his bedside, guarding him as fiercely as a dragon does its treasure. in fact, how about I let her tell you about it? 😼

She swears to herself that she won’t reach out for him, not even when his brows furrow and his clawed fingernails dig into the embroidered quilt. It’s too dangerous, knowing what she wants and yet can’t allow herself to have. Her dragon soul and her mortal heart are both greedy things, after all, and neither will be sated with just one gesture of tenderness. She’ll stay still, or sit on her own hands if need be, but she won’t do anything more than watch and make sure he’s safe this first night—and then he starts to toss his head and thrash, straining away from something or straining towards it, and before she can finish damning herself for it, her fingers are twining in his hair. “Drem, Dovahkiin,” she murmurs as she brushes spun-gold strands from his burning forehead, as she undoes his tangled braids and combs them smooth so gently that she doesn’t detect even the slightest wince, and as she discovers that his hair is so, so much softer than she could have imagined. “Nid faas het, zu’u kaat. It’s not real, whatever you’re seeing. It might have been once, but you’re not there now, no matter how much it feels like it. You’re here with me, safe with me, in the Fourth Era, and—” Despite herself, her fingers have drifted down to skim from his temple to the pale, thin scar slicing his cheekbone; they trace the length of it once, twice, as she wonders why he kept it, skilled mage that he is. “And I really would like for you to wake up and see it.” It could get a person drunk, this—this touching. Just as Elentari decides against intoxicating herself further and makes to pull away, his hand flies up out of nowhere and seizes hers. “’Sili.” She doesn’t dare breathe, healer’s excuse at the ready, but instead of waking and eyeing her like she’s some sort of madwoman—a not-inaccurate assessment given the circumstances, she can’t help but think—he folds his fingers between hers, snaring her as surely as if in any spell, and sighs, “Stay.” And whatever his dreams are, she can’t leave him to face them alone. So she stays, perched there on the chair with her hand in his, until the hearthglow dims to embers that limn the places their fingers meet in muted molten candle-gold, like sunlight, like cleansing fire.

U. first pet-names/nicknames they give each other

this is where I rub my hands together like a mischievous raccoon—because of the Time Nonsense™️ I like to play around with, this one has two possible answers!

in the Fourth Era, Miraak calls Elentari dii rinisil or rinisili not long after they meet. he intentionally mistranslates or implies that it means "the equal to my soul", but she soon enough realises that it actually means "my same-soul", which feels like a totally different thing. they have a lot of pet names for one another (they're disgusting.), but this one gets a lot of use.

meanwhile, in the Merethic Era, Miraak (who isn't yet Miraak at this point) meets her in a dream and calls her kundruniik, or "light-bringer", since he doesn't know her actual name and won't learn it for thousands of years. you could say that this is the first name she was ever gven, way before her parents ever named her Elentari.

(also, in the Merethic Era, Ellie is the first to use rinisili for him, though Fourth Era Miraak doesn't remember that until she restores his memories to him...)

‼️ free space! tell us about a notable "first" in your writing journey!

answered here!

[rendy-a]

Event teaser 2

I've decided to post little "getting ready" fics to lead up into my 500 follower event. I'll put up the event when I get to 500. Here is the first one!

Preparing for guests with the First Years

You sneezed for what felt like the millionth time today.  All this dust was playing havoc with your sinuses but, even so, you had no desire to cease.  Every student at NRC was diligently cleaning the campus to prepare for guests.  Royal Sword Academy would be attending the goodwill dance being held on campus “to foster close bonds between budding mages” or at least that is Crowley’s claim.  You privately thought it was some piece in a game he had to one-up Ambrose, Headmage at RSA.  But that wasn’t all.

Rook pops his head in the room, dressed in the black of his ceremonial robes and holding a feather duster.  The students were down to the wire but refused to stop cleaning until the very stones sparkled; no RSA snob is going to look down on their campus!  Reminding you very much of a French maid, he exclaims, “There’s a girl in the castle!” before scampering off.  So, they were finally here: the students of the all-female Fair Maiden Academy.  It was both exhilarating and frightening for it cemented the reality of the coming event: a co-ed dance. 

Not that you were worried, parish the thought!  I mean, you might not have a date…or an outfit…or like any real plans for that night at all but you weren’t worried.  So what if your school now had like a million more people in it for competition?  That didn’t worry you.  No, why would it?  You psych yourself up by reminding yourself that all those extra students are also an opportunity to be your date.  After all, why shouldn’t you just go up and ask out an Idol like Neige or that blond with total princess vibes from FMA.  There are like 8 princes and princesses between the three academies but only one student from another world; you are one of a kind, who wouldn’t want to go to the dance with you?

“Prefect, stop spacing out and help us here!” Ace shouts at you.  “Come on Ace, give the Prefect a break,” Deuce says while laying a comforting hand on your shoulder, “It must be so much harder for them to clean without magic.”  You shake your head in agreement, glad that you could count on Deuce to have your back.  “Whatever, this better get done by dinner or someone is getting their pillow covered in cold water tonight,” Grim says from the corner.  You smile at your friends and get back to scrubbing tables in the classroom.  It was assigned to the first years to clean the campus as the Housewardens and Vice Wardens were greeting the guests at the gates. 

“IF YOU CHILDREN ARE DONE COMPLAINING, WE HAVE WORK TO FINISH HERE!” Sebek interrupts your friendly banter.  Ace gets a sly look on his face and he looks at you from the corner of his eye and winks.  “Oh yeah?  Well, I guess if we are children that must make you an adult then?” he prods carefully.  Sebek scoffs and answers pridefully, “Its clear that I’m the most mature one here.  With my intensive training, it could hardly be otherwise.”  Sensing that he had him where he wanted him, Ace smiles and then asks mockingly, “Then a super mature guy like you must have already found a date for the dance.”  Sebek blanches and starts stammering, “Wha.What are you suggesting.  Of course, I…I mean.” Then he blushes and turns away quickly.  Ace slides up and sets a hand across his shoulder, “Oh, did you hear that Prefect, Sebek has a date.  Why don’t you give us some tips on how to pick up a date?  Come on Casanova, regale us with a tale.”  Sebek looks between you, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Hey, stop fooling around,” Jack sighs from the corner.  It was decided that Sebek and Jack, being the most physically fit among the year, would take care of moving the furniture so it could be cleaned around.  Deuce looks over at his track club teammate and asks, “Have you ever taken someone to a dance before, Jack?”  Jack looks over and smiles, “Sure have.  Plenty of times.”  Ace goes wide eyed, “Wha?  No way!”  Jack pats the back of his head sheepishly and elaborates, “My sisters are always asking me to come to these Father-Daughter type dances back home.  I know my pops should be going instead but they insist they want me to come.”  Now Ace is angrily yelling, “Oi, oi, oi!  That’s not the same thing!”

You are laughing when Epel comes storming into the room, looking like he is about to rip something or someone apart.  “Dagnabbit!” he shouts before grinding his teeth in a deep scowl.  He scans the area, and you privately wonder if he was looking for something to vent his anger on, like your buckets of cleaning water or the trashcan.  Maybe it’s better if you attempt to mediate this situation.  “Hey, what’s up Epel?  Something happen?”  He looks over at you furiously and declares, “I’m not cute and I’m not a girl!”  The guys hold back a snort but Ace, ever the instigator can’t leave it alone, “Did one of the RSA guys ask you to the dance, Princess?”  The effect is immediate as Epel leaps over a table at Ace and a scrap begins.

“My sensors detect elevated levels of sound coming from this classroom,” a robotic voice echoes from the door.  “Come on guys, let’s not fight in front of Ortho!” you say.  You know that he is technically not a small child but it’s hard to avoid treating him like one when he had such a small stature and adorably innocent face.  Your fellows appear to agree because Epel released Ace’s collar with a mild snarl before standing up and dusting off his jacket.  “Next time Ace,” warns Epel, “I’m going to wipe that laughter right off yer face!”  Ortho’s eyes crinkly in excitement, “Oh!  Are we telling jokes in here?  I can access a database of popular comedic routines for you, if you’d like!” 

You hastily wave aside his offer, “No, no no.  We were just discussing the, um, difficulties we were having with the students at RSA.”  Epel tosses his head back wildly, “Difficulties my boot!  I’d like to toss a rotten apple right in there faces!”  Suddenly, a highly mischievous look comes over Ortho’s face, “Oh ho, so its pranks you are looking for?” he says while raising a hand to his robotic mouth.  “I can suggest several pranks from highly rated high school animes.”  You gaze at your fellows, feeling like you probably should decline this suggestion like the prior one…only…” But when you finished sweeping the room, no one would meet you eye.  Even the rule abiding Jack seemed hard pressed to dismiss the suggestion.  So, you decided, why not? 

That day, you and the first year crew spent the morning cleaning the classrooms and the afternoon pelting wayward RSA students with water balloons containing colorful pigments and alchemically created scents.  Which, of course, led to you spending the evening wiping up a colorful and horrible smelling courtyard as punishment.  As you clean up a neon blue puddle with Deuce that smelled suspiciously like rotten bananas, you asked him, “Are you worried that you won’t find a date to the dance?”  He looks over at you and replies, “Not really.  The last school dance I was able to attend, I didn’t have a date or friends.”  He looks down, perhaps recalling his delinquent past, “If I end up just going with my buddies, well, that’s fine by me.”  Finally, you feel the tension you’d been holding in the pit of your stomach relax.  Yeah, that was fine.  If you got a date, great but, if you didn’t, you’d still have the first-year crew to keep you company.  And with friends like these, what more excitement did you need?

[m-r-levine]

Happy Blorbo Blursday!

Today I want to hear about the inspiration behind your OCs. How did they come to be? You can answer for as many or as few as you like!

~ @tabswrites

Thank you for the ask! 🖤 Many apologies for getting to it so late.

I am sure everyone is tired of hearing about mi hijo maldito by now, and he can either learn to share the limelight or give me prose, so I think I shall ramble about my older OCs instead.

This feels long to me and… personal? So I will toss it behind a cut. It seems the polite thing to do, but perhaps i am old-fashioned.

Firstly, the reason I picked up my pen at all on this side of Being An Adult: the glass cannon with many aliases of varying levels of creativity, Brynrinkeris — or Keris for short.

She was created first under a different name as an avatar on a hardcore roleplaying server in an MMORPG many years ago. I joined the server in a last-ditch effort to actually play and enjoy the game I was given - my then-partner and their guild out-leveled me on my poor frankencomputer very quickly and their FFXI play-styles were more intense, aggressive, and numbers-heavy than I prefer in my games. So I wandered among the storytellers to see what their world was like.

My therapist at the time made a wild suggestion on my second week “playing the same game but alone” - since I struggled with journaling for various reasons we won’t get into here, she was curious if that would also translate to imaginary journals. You know, a kind of running memoir for this character I’m playing with in a setting that’s so full of stories and choices. What if she were a real person? What would she think and feel about this broken world she’s moving in? What would she notice about the people around her, living their stories out in the open where anyone could see them, hear them? What would she - not me! - do if someone said Hi? What would she write about it later?

An interesting experiment.

For Science.

So naturally I did what anyone would do in the era of the early high-speed internet and I made a blog for an imaginary person in an imaginary world.

And then I handed off my gear to an alt and re-rolled her, thinking differently about the character choices this time. Not a cute swashbuckler because of pretty swords and tattoos, but a mage with elemental leanings (a preference which would get stronger as we went along together). I wanted to get to know the world of the game and the world the players had created within it, but I was so conscious of my outsider status, my fragile justification to be there, my ignorance of The Rules. I chose the female, dark-skinned elf avatar specifically because I was giving her a warrior backstory, the “good” city made my skin crawl in a way I couldn’t yet explain, elf because long ears pretty, and… well… I was already tired of crackerjacks back then. I built as opposite as the game and my own personality allowed. Then I took her memory away so that I the writer would not need to know anything we couldn’t learn from just playing the game.

I expected it to be a short and lonely experiment, running out the subscription clock and failing at yet another popular video game.

Ha.

Within a year she was the leader of a large neutral merc guild, had a very full friends list both in and out of character, and had forged alliances with several other guilds for regular raiding parties.

Frankencomputer The First died under the weight of the game files and chatlogs and the Shuttlebox was built to take its place. I didn’t realize how much writing with my friends had become part of - or perhaps the heart of - the game for me, until one night a stranger randomly tipped me money for a story we were telling in the tavern. I wrote a macro to scrape game command junk from the chatlogs and ran a few nights’ files through.

For Science.

Once I finished the scrape and manual deletion of stuff i couldn’t macro, I learned apparently Keris had taken us to a place where writing 30k words on an average weekend was normal. Without me ever noticing. Because you see - the journaling was still hard, but not as hard, and it hit in a different way. I thought I was struggling to manage three pages of fictional journal every week, but actually I was writing thousands of words of improv every night. No wonder my hands hurt. (Yes, my then-therapist laughed at me. I am not very smart.)

Anyway, I set aside some time in about… 2006? to answer the question of how much of this accidental mountain of story was beholden to the original game content that helped me find my voice again. Turned out that most of the direct references to the game could be swapped with a dozen other fantasy IPs with very little impact to the actual stories I and my closest collaborators were telling. While the game was very much high fantasy, high-stakes, binary heroes and villains… these stories were not. Even the proud leader of this mercenary company was a million shades of gray and far more concerned with the lives and happiness of her soldiers than the rise and fall of the citystates and factions they worked for.

I asked the (dangerous) what if question of what might become if I built a new world for these stories? A world that addressed issues I had with the source material and others like it? What elements would I need to keep and were they unique to that source or were they just… archetypes and tropes? What would happen if I freed my little cast from the confines of that borrowed world and dependence on other storytellers with time and spoons and a yearning for stories in compatible veins? Could I build something that big and sprawling and take any satisfaction in the result?

Thus, Dark Tapestry was born.

After Keris came all the people around her. Rokoval and Merezin, Fahlanin and Urg’Tak, Chryso and Serevhin and Airold and Cir and Pietor and Jaelle. Anyone and everyone Keris needed to interact with was (perhaps still is) in danger of Becoming Part Of The Cast the moment the narrative forced us to learn their Name and The Place And People They Come From.

Fahlanin il Rex the young and headstrong moonborn commoner is a great example of this: I really just needed someone to pole the gondola. Keris however, being an idiot(affectionate), tried to bribe the civil servant driving said gondola to drop her at a different location and pretend they’d never met. Fahl had opinions about this and within a few chapters she was pushing the plot around.

Davri came about because he had a stoneborn proverb to share in a council meeting where I was showing the Amicae guided by representatives from every culture in the then-known world. Keris made an offhand comment about relying on his advice and personal loyalty, so I pressed on that until she revealed why.

When I pressed her for where her little penchant for picking up oggish came from, given her otherwise fastidious behavior in personal connections, I discovered a delightfully bawdy and probably unprintable story in her distant past and the origin story for Hrrg’tk (moves-stone) The First Oggish Mage.

Not everyone in the stable descends from a tangle of what-if-and-why though.

A call for themed submissions from a small fantasy romance press led to me building Maleta, the protagonist and narrator of 9th Division. I actually worked up a proper character outline for her - mostly inspired by the submission requirements and research into the publisher’s range - a rough plot, and deliberately outlined with narrative roles instead of actual characters for the first pass. I went back into those bare bones with my worldbuilding notes open to flesh out the two Love Interests, the Surface Antagonist, the Red Herrings, the Unlikely Ally, the Mentor, the Expert, the Big Bad, the Victims, and so on. I chose a promising spot in the world timeline, a few Important Political Figures to mention in the city, and by the time I finished the manuscript I’d also brought in a couple of supporting characters from Keris’ stories (including a brief cameo by Keris herself).

And so you see some of OCs really are only inspired but such boring details as The Plot Requires A Farmer, where other OCs — especially in the fic I’ve written — are inspired by the equally boring but far more self-serving grounds of I want to read a story with a character like that.

Or both.

Prime example: Nialet. I needed a farmer very far from the center of power whom our favorite disaster king would trust with a delicate political situation, and based on what he values in the people close him, and a throwaway (ha) name and vague profile from another piece, voila. The longer I kept her around though, the more I liked her and wanted to know about her. I found i was interested in reading the kind if story that would center a narrative like hers, and thus Day Arising was begun. (Outline is done, and more prose than is posted, but life rather interrupted the fleshing-it-out-process. Hopefully I will get back to it soon…)

[pain-suffering-even]

adding more because the brainrot is real

One of the things Jongin and Yoonho bicker about is Jongin being a private school kid - not only that, but boarding school too. He makes fun of Jongin for being rich and Jongin makes fun of Yoonho for being rasied by wolves

Byungyu got a parrot when he retired, just so he would have something to take care of. He is teaching it every swear word in every language. Jongin is highly amused by it. Jinchul is almost glad Byungyu retired

Jinchul learned to mediate and multitask from taking care of his two younger siblings after his mom left and his dad decided not to pick up the slack. He's a little bitter about it still, but that's why he's so hardworking all the time

Haein and Eunseok became friends during their time in the Fame Guild with Ma Dongwook

Jongin makes fun of Yoonho for graying when he's barely 30 - its because Yoonho's hair goes white when he activates his power, but Jongin insists he's graying

Byungyu wanted to be a diagnostician due to not ever knowing what condition his grandma passed away from - he was in school for about two or three years, but when the gates appeared, he awakened as an S rank, so his dream of being a doctor was shattered since his mana was just too high to be around normal people

Haein didn't have very many friends growing up since her family moved around a lot, due to her parents being in the military

Taegyu used to tease Jongin for always having soot on his fingertips from being a mage, until he realized it was the buildup of charcoal on his fingers from drawing so much. Apparently, Jongin likes to draw whenever he can't sleep.

No matter how much Taegyu asks if Jongin has drawn him he will never answer. He knows he won't be able to live it down

There are portrait drawings of everyone, but specifically, Jongin loves recreating photos in charcoal. Sometimes, if he's inspired enough, he tries to recreate them in oil pastels. His favorite project is one of Yoonho's dogs from a photo he posted. Jongin would sooner die than admit it

Haein goes by herself to see as many movies as she can. She always enjoyed watching films when she was growing up, and if she continued school, she would have minored in it. She goes by herself because Jongin is too cynical about the endings

Byungyu loves bug hunting. One of his favorite things to do in retirement is take his pet parrot out on a walk and just see what he can find in the fields of Jeonju, his and Yoonho's hometown

Before the Jeju island fiasco, the island was fought for and traded hands many times before falling into the ownership of The Fiend Guild. Taegyu feels partially responsible for how things turned out, since he could never defeat the gate over the span of those three years...

Jinchul would love to keep up with Byungyu but he is too busy to spare time to go down to Jeonju

there you have it. i finished this draft real quick since i've been on hiatus for so long - something to tide you guys over.

also! i haven't seen the anime yet, but honestly i'm going to ignore it lmao. my headcanons and plots are already pretty insane and i think i'm just going to stick to them and enjoy the anime as it is. from what i've seen, they've changed some stuff here and there, and have made canon certain character designs i made up differently.

various headcanons that i forgot aren't actually canon

just the koreans cause if i did everyone at once, we would be here forever

Jongin and Yoonho were both part of the Fiend Guild, and that's where their rivalry started, by competing for vice guildmaster

Jongin rescued a cat from Jeju during their first raid and smuggled her back in his cape. Her name is Kiwi. He had to get a new cape because she uses his old one to sleep

Byungyu and Yoonho are childhood friends. Byungyu would always defend Yoonho, because he was so much of a softie and a crybaby as a kid

Yoonho has like. A bajillion animals at home. At some point when he's walking his dogs during a hot summer, he goes topless, and the picture reaches the papers so fast. It gets brought up in almost every single argument with Jongin

Taegyu will eat sour candy until his mouth bleeds and it sends Byungyu insane

Eunseok was an S rank assassin part of the Fame Guild, and was best friends with Byungyu and Haein

Haein was first vice of the Fame Guild before Jongin created the Hunter's Guild and stole her (he promised her no paperwork if she joined, and she was sold)

Hwang Dongsu used to be part of the Knights Guild. He joined, thinking as an S ranker he would immediately become the guild leader. When that didn't happen, he began searching overseas, where Thomas Andre ran into him and picked him up

Byungyu felt too guilty to dedicate himself to one guild, and so he freelances for a high price, so this way he can help more people instead of being tied down. It made it easier to retire, too. The running joke is that he wants to join the Hunters Association

Taegyu and Dongwook had a healthy rivalry between the Fiend and Fame guild. They don't know where Jongin and Yoonho learned to be rivals like that

The Fiend Guild used to be no. 1 until Jongin rose to the top by recruiting Haein and gathering a lot of attention by being a guild leader as a mage

Taegyu and Jongin still talk often. Jongin always makes fun of Taegyu for being ancient and forgotten and Taegyu calls him an arrogant brat. They would die for one another

Just before he became no. 1, Jongin had a really bad fight with Hwang Dongsu. It wasn't unusual, because most other S rankers despise him, since he was blatantly power hungry and bloodthirsty. Because Jongin lost, he ended up leaving Taegyu and the Fiend Guild and created his own guild in an attempt to prove his strength

Jongin despises Yoonho for hiring Hwang Dongsu's brother, Dongsuk, because he still holds a grudge

Jinchul doesn't like Taegyu very much, because he kept trying to bribe him to join the Fiend Guild. They're ok now, especially now that the Fiend Guild isn't no. 1, but Jinchul avoids Taegyu still

Go Gunhee used to pretend actually entertaining the idea of letting Jinchul join a guild until Jinchul told him it was causing problems on his end (Thomas got sad Gunhee said no and Jinchul was terrified that sadness would turn to anger)

During the holidays, Yoonho always takes his dogs and one cat back home with him. Byungyu also goes, so it's become a sort of yearly roadtrip for them. Yoonho usually asks Taegyu or Haein to pet-sit the rest of his animals while he's away

Haein likes fast food restaurants. Neither Jongin nor Dongwook understand why, but she drags them there all the same

Jinchul appreciates Byungyu and Haein, since they always mediate Yoonho and Jongin whenever he isn't around to stop them. It doesn't always work, but at least they tried

Haein doesn't know Jinchul is the origin for her nickname, The Dancer, because he was creating her hunter profile and was mesmerized by the way she fought. He mentioned it to Go Gunhee, and it kinda spiraled from there

[tartglias]

almost falling (headcanons)

characters: scaramouche and xiao

warnings: VIOLENCE. i’m 98% sure i kept it slight but just in case don’t read if you’re sensitive please!!

request: “Anyway, so I'm requesting for Xiao and Scaramouche (fitting, they're sadists HAHA) their s/o (separate) is about to be thrown off the balcony after someone pushed them and hit the railings and they're about to hang on edge of their life. The boys just came back after whatever mission or errand they finished and saw the blasphemous attempt of a masochist (because how DARE they attempt such on their s/o?) Trying to kill their love. They sprinted or used their powers to get to them and stopped calamity from unraveling (sorta) into their world. Yes add some Overprotectiveness and probs them hunting to rip that masochist's head if it's not too much. Headcanons pls--“

[a/n: i loved this headcanon and i knew what you write from the start (which i never do lol), but the mental gymnastics i had to do to find the vocabulary omg... i can’t say i’m a big fan of how this turned out because of that]

•••••

Scaramouche

Scaramouche had to do some business in Mondstadt, and since you wanted to visit your friend Amber, why not accompany him? It took a while to convince him since he usually doesn’t like the idea of mixing his personal and work lives, but he has a soft spot for you, believe it or not. Not that he would ever admit it.

Before he left you to do your things, he made you promise to meet him at the Good Hunter after an hour, on the dot. He had a busy schedule, but he still wanted to treat you lunch so you excitedly agreed by kissing his cheek and nodding.

After the meeting, he hoped to see you sitting down at one of the tables waiting for him, but instead, he saw no one. “I thought I made myself clear about punctuality” he thought.

“Did you see my partner? They’re about this height tall, *hair color* and probably accompanied by some friend called Amber?” he asked the girl that took orders at the Good Hunter, with a very obvious fake smile. “Not really, I’m sorry” she said, giving an apologetic look, which quickly turned into a frown. “Although, I thought Outrider Amber was out on a mission today. She even ordered some food supplies this morning, are you sure your partner was with her?”

He took a moment to think. He knows you were meeting with Amber because you kept rambling about how you haven’t seen her in forever and you wanted to surprise her. He can’t recall a time when you lied to him, either. Something about having an honest and open relationship with him, so you couldn’t have lied. And you wouldn’t leave the city without informing him, either.

So he decided to scratch out the possibility of having to search you through all Mondstadt. Then, he nodded towards the girl and left without saying a word.

Walking through the city, he paid attention to details. Something was off, he was sure of it.

After a while, he heard a yell. At first he wasn’t going to do anything about it, it’s not his problem plus he still has to find you. But when he realized the owner of the voice yelled “Leave me alone!”, he knew it was you. He ran towards the origin of the sound and found out that you were on top of the wall that protected Mondstadt.

He climbed as fast as he could and when he got to the top, his blood boiled at the sight.

A big tall man was holding your arms tightly, and then pushed you to the edge. Your back hit the railing and you let out a pained yell. You saw the man approach you with intentions of pushing you again, but before you could lift your arms to protect yourself, you heard thunder.

“You heard them, leave them alone. Now” you heard Scaramouche say. The atmosphere became dark and tense very quick, making a shiver go down your spine.

The man let out a short laugh. “You can’t intimidate me so easily. They were mine first, I’m just reclaiming my property”

Oh boy

“I don’t think you heard me, stupid. Leave them alone, now. Or I’ll make sure you suffer the most painful and slow tortures ever imagined. I have a whole book I want to test out anyways, you know.” Scaramouched threatened, and when you saw the look on his face, you gasped. You never saw him like that

He had a creepy smile, no, it was the smile of a sadist, actually. Small thunders came out of his fingers, and by each second, they grew stronger. You noticed that the man started shaking, now reconsidering everything. Scaramouche tilted his head a bit and let out a laugh. “You don’t want to play anymore?”

The man quickly left, or more like ran for his life without sparing you a second glance. You dropped down to the floor and noticed the sky get clearer, and so did the sound of thunder. You were still teary-eyed and overwhelmed from the situation with the man, but you lifted up your head to see a calmer Scaramouche.

You didn’t notice before, but his purple eyes were sparkling with pink thunder, and once he kneeled down in front of you, they turned back to their original color.

He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close and away from the edge. “Are you alright, my beloved?” he asked you, a hint of concern filling his face. “Now I am. Scaramouche... I never saw you like that” you said, holding his hands that previously let out sparks and thunder.

You heard him sigh. “I lost control. Your scream and then seeing you almost falling... it made me snap. I can’t lose you.”

You kissed him, hoping that this way he can understand that you’re not scared of him and also reassuring him you’re not going anywhere either.

“You scared him for life” you said once you pulled away, laughing slightly. “I’ll scare him for eternity because he won’t be alive after I catch him”

Xiao

He told you numerous times to call his name if you ever found yourself in trouble. Even if it’s just a whisper, a thought even, you just have to say “Xiao” and he would drop whatever he was doing to come to rescue you.

In full honestly, you thought you could handle things on your own. You didn’t need him to come to rescue you, unless a very real danger was knocking on your door. Which unfortunately, leads to this situation.

Moments earlier, you were at the top floor of the inn, waiting for Xiao to come back. Everything was normal, until you noticed two suspicious looking men approach you. At first, you didn’t think much of it since adventurers often ask you for certain locations or roads. But this thought quickly changed when one of them came from behind, a little too close for your liking, before covering your mouth with his hand.

“A little birdie told us you’re close to an adeptus” one of the two men said, standing in front of you with a smug smile. “We need a favor”

It happened very quick, you were fighting for your life as you screamed and tried to kick the man holding you down. You almost succeeded, if it wasn’t for the other man in front of you. He held your arms tightly and pushed you towards the edge, you lost your balance and tripped over it, but quickly managed to grab onto the railing.

“Go on. Call the adeptus for help, we’ll love to have a small chat with-“ the man started saying, but got cut off by a strong wind that made him trip over. It was Xiao.

His eyes immediately landed on you, you were trying so hard to lift yourself up but you were slowly slipping. You weren’t going to last much longer and rage filled both his body and mind almost instantly.

How dare they lay a finger on you to get to him? “Worthless. Pathetic. Stupid.” he muttered each time he hit the men, until knocking them out. His eyes went back to you, and he immediately sprinted towards the railing.

But he was late

Your hands that desperately tried to grip the railing and lift yourself up were red and they hurt, and just when he was about to extend his hand for you to take, you slipped and fell.

You thought it was over, truly. You yelled out Xiao’s name as you tried to get hold of anything that could possibly prevent you from hitting the ground, but you were far away and the floor was coming closer and closer. You closed your eyes, ready to face your end.

But that end didn’t come, and you found yourself wrapped in Xiao’s arms while strong winds surrounded you, keeping you from hitting the ground abruptly. Once his feet touched the floor, you heard a faint sigh of relief from him.

Now on the ground, you dropped to the floor while you sobbed in Xiao’s arms, suddenly very aware of how close you came to meeting death. He kept you close to his body, as if you’re gonna slip away from him again. He faced many monsters and wrath in his life, but he never felt as scared as he did at the moment.

“I’m sorry” Xiao muttered out once your crying calmed down. Drying your tears with the sleeve of your shirt, you looked at him questioningly. “You almost died because they were after me”

This made you cry more

He was kind of confused? Why were you crying again?

“Xiao you don’t have to apologize because its not your fault at all and you also saved me! I should apologize for not being careful and tripping!” you sobbed again. “But it’s not your fault either...” he whispered as he patted your head, not sure how to calm you down.

Xiao doesn’t kill humans, but nothing is going to stop him from making hilichurls, mages, and other monsters appear in the way of these two men. He’s going to make them pay (indirectly)

[sondepoch]

HC: MC breaks a bone!

Demons can’t break bones. Neither can angels. Nope, from head to toe, they’re pretty much indestructible. So imagine everyone’s utter shock when you break a bone, and they’re reminded of just how weak the human body really is.

Word Count: 5.2k

SFW + mild violence + mild description of broken bones 

Characters: All Brothers + All Undateables + Luke

MASTERLIST

Lucifer

Boi flips out

So it didn’t actually happen while he was around, which is why he has so much trouble understanding what happened

You tripped on the steps outside Majolish? And you fell the wrong way??? And somehow, that was enough for you to break your ankle?!?!?!

Poor baby, he has no idea how he’s going to relay the information to Diavolo

When Mammon and Asmo sheepishly enter his study to tell him what happened, they’re highkey terrified for their lives - but learning that you actually broke a bone has him so shook that he doesn’t even remember to punish them, and he’s instead rushing to your room to see the damage for himself

He sees Belphie napping on your stomach and sort of assumes that everything is okay, and that his brothers were making a big deal out of nothing

Then he gets closer and sees the horribly twisted angle your left foot is in

Suffice it to say, neither Mammon nor Asmo returned to their rooms fully unscathed that night

Overcomes his natural hatred of Solomon to call him and ask for—brace yourself—help, and when the mage offers to cast a spell that will revert your body to its prior state, Lucifer insists on doing it himself, no longer trusting anyone else with your all-too-fragile body

Relocates your room to the first floor of the house after all is said and done

Asks Diavolo to move all your classes such that you don’t need to climb any stairs

Refuses to believe you when you tried to insist that bones breaking is fairly common for humans

Becomes super overprotective

Insists on helping you with everything

“Lucifer, I can walk down the stairs myself, you know.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can” - he says with a straight face, refusing to let go of your hand as he takes you down the two-step elevation outside the House of Lamentation

(Bonus:) One day he catches you and Levi looking at parkour videos and from that moment and onward he refuses to let you out of sight for any longer than is absolutely necessary

(Bonus bonus:) Catches you doing "parkour" in your bedroom, jumping from Beel’s shoulders to the bed, and then it becomes a new house rule that you’re not allowed to climb onto Beel’s shoulders

Mammon

He was with you when it happened, and the second he heard the crack, he screamed

Honestly, the most high-pitched, shrill sound you’d ever heard

You were more scared of the noise coming out of Mammon’s mouth than the awkward way your pinky was dangling

Only when he was done screaming did the pain actually set in, and then you were hissing viciously in an attempt to distract yourself, trying your hardest to blink the tears from your eyes because Mammon already looked like he was about to cry, and the Devildom really didn’t need two blubbering messes in one day

The one saving grace for you both was the fact that Simeon was nearby, and he used his Celestial magic to heal you (you both begged him not to tell Lucifer, of course)

Baby becomes even more possessive over you afterwards

Still can’t get over how easily it happened

“Are ya sure?” Mammon asks whenever you casually tell him you’re about to do something. Doesn’t matter if you say you’re folding paper cranes or planning on jumping off the roof of the House of Lamentation, he’s lost pretty much all faith in your ability to do anything without your human body breaking in the process

Oddly enough, he becomes much more touchy with you

Needs you to “prove to him” that you’re not injured by squeezing his hand

And then he just doesn’t let go

Oh, you’re holding hands? What? Who said that? Wait, can you prove that you’re not injured and squeeze his hand again? It’s for safety purposes. For safety.

Occasionally, though, he really does have you move your pinky just to prove to him that there weren’t any lasting effects

Overprotectiveness increases by 500 points

Starts to hover around your room a lot more, awkwardly trying to help (really, he’s doing his best) but often doing things much worse than if you simply did them yourself

Gets into a fight with his brothers whenever one of them handles you too roughly

“Hey!” He shouts at pretty much anyone who touches you “Ya gonna hurt my human!”

Will drop anything and everything if he ever sees you trip to catch your fall

Legit, he was once holding Lucifer’s cup of coffee and out of the corner of his eye, he saw you jump to flop on the couch. Cue instant panic mode: he turned into his demon form and all - literally throwing the coffee on Lucifer as he ran forward to catch your body before the couch could break any of your bones

Yeah, he got into a lot of trouble that day

Leviathan

Has officially decided that he’s never going outside again

Ever.

It happened while you were both at one of Lord Diavolo’s parties - you were trying to maneuver the crowds in search of him, actually, and another demon tugged you close and tried to force you to dance. You fought back, of course, frowning as you escaped the demon’s hold, but apparently, they pulled you back and your wrist just snapped

God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sound of your scream

The demon was punished severely, Diavolo made sure of that. But Levi didn’t care anymore - he just wanted to get you back home, safe and sound

In the following days, he never leaves your side

You have to switch to online classes, at least for as long as your wrist is healing, and Levi takes it upon himself to make sure that the assimilation process is as smooth as possible

You start taking all your classes together, remaining in the same room even if you don’t have the same subject

Homework is a little harder, since Levi usually finishes before you, but he waits for you to finish while he reads manga

Evenings are spent watching anime in his room and debating random topics (oh, and you both marathon the entirety of TSL a couple more times ;))

He even tries to let you get the video game experience, and he picks an RPG game for you both to play and lets you tell him what to do an how to move around, since your wrist is broken

It’s actually super fun because he knows where all the traps are and which ones you’ll like, so he subtly guides your character through the gameplay process to get the best possible experience, and you actually end up enjoying this more than playing solo

(As a joke, he once offers to let you play with him. As in, you use your nonbroken hand to control the left side of the controller and he controls the right side, but that turns out to be a hot mess and you both quickly abandon the idea)

Even after your wrist heals, the two of you continue to spend boatloads of time together

This boy even stops calling you “normie” at one point

Real subtle about it but he tries to convince you not to go back into society again. Like ever. 

“What if you get hurt again?” He asks when you tell him you’ve made plans with Asmo to go shopping

“Then we get to spend even more time together, all over again!”

Cue leviathan/blushingmess.exe

Satan

Probably the ONLY brother to have actually known that it’s possible for humans to break bones

Why?

He read about it in a book once

Still, that doesn’t stop him from visually flinching when he sees you writhing on the ground after being shoved into a bike rack by a lower-level demon, clutching your arm which is disfigured so awkwardly that the bone is popping out

His demon form manifests immediately, and he’s about to rip this demon to shreds when you desperately call out his name, and then he’s more preoccupied with helping you than he is with beating this demon to death

(Inwardly, though, he’s quite relieved that you stopped him from killing the demon immediately. Now, he’ll get to spend the next four millennia torturing the creature slowly, keeping it just an inch from death until he’s satisfied that the demon has paid for injuring you so severely. :))

Runs over to you immediately and pulls you onto his lap, quickly muttering an enchantment that will temporarily numb the pain

Proceeds to ask you whether you want him to use magic to forcefully heal you or if you want to heal the human way

Will respect your wishes 100% no matter which you choose

Throws himself into reading and studying human medicine as soon as the two of you get back to the House of Lamentation

By the end of the month, he’s an expert on human anatomy (and where human strength lies on a comparative figure to demon strength)

Takes it upon himself to watch out for you, threatening any demons who express behavior that isn’t excessively cautious

Starts walking with you and Mammon to and from school

Keep it lowkey, but the truth is that he doesn’t trust his brother to fully make sure that you’re safe so he takes it upon himself

Doesn’t really panic too much, he knows that you getting injured was more the demon’s fault than it was yours

Is actually very considerate of your feelings in all this

Consciously makes sure that he doesn’t treat you too differently, not wanting to make you feel like he thinks you’re weak. But he no longer trusts other demons around you, and after getting your permission, he casts an enchantment on you which prevents lower-level demons from touching you without your explicit consent

Smiles devilishly every single time one of them tries to shove you in the hallways of RAD and gets sent flying 30 meters backwards in response

Devilish smile intensifies when he finally gets around to kidnapping and torturing the demon who dared to push and injure you in the first place

Asmodeus

He’s worried about you for a good hour

Not to say he’s inconsiderate

No, he’s understandably concerned immediately after he sees you on crutches, and when you come home with a broken foot, he’s immediately hanging out with you and completely (read: barely) restraining himself from making flirtatious comments in case you’re still in pain

The second he realizes that you’re fine as long as you don’t apply pressure on it, a switch flips

Now that he knows that the fracture isn’t going to spread to the rest of your body and destroy you from the inside, he’s overwhelmed with how cute it is that you need his help to do basic stuff

And honestly, you kinda vibe with it

He’s the shortest brother, so you having to ask him for help to get things off the shelf because you can’t stand is a rarity, and he is living for it

He lives with six overlords of hell, so the feeling of someone asking (no matter how reluctant) him for help in simple stuff like climbing up or down the stairs is something he absolutely cherishes

The second he realizes how good it feels to do stuff for you, he’ll never stop

Will 100% put Mammon to shame in how frequently he starts hanging by your side

He thinks of everything even before you do, always making sure that when you guys sit down, you have everything you need to be occupied for hours: from water to nail polish to the latest gossip at RAD, this man will make it his life’s mission to be the perfect prince while you’re injured

Seriously spoils you

Even when you finally heal and get better, he doesn’t stop helping you

Actually has the nerve to start complaining when you try to do stuff on your own

“You’re going to hurt yourself! Let me do it for you!”

“Asmo, I’m microwaving popcorn”

It doesn’t matter if you shower him with 'thank yous’ or if you grunt in annoyance every time he sits down next to you with an item you were about to get up and look for, he knows you appreciate the things he’s doing and that’s all he needs

Effectively gives you the royal treatment, occasionally putting Barbatos to shame with how diligent he is in helping you out

It never stops, even months after you’ve made a full recovery

Then again, who are you to complain? ;)

Beelzebub

Suddenly becomes terrified of his own strength

He’s there as it happens, and the way your face immediately contorts in pain right before you bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming will really never stop haunting him

It doesn’t help that you get injured from something that would usually be considered child-safe in the Devildom - a small windup toy which your fingers had gotten stuck in before two of them snap completely

Man is by your side immediately

The pit in his stomach isn’t caused by hunger but by genuine fear as he watches Lucifer and Satan soothe you with magic

He wants to run over to you and wipe your tears away, but should he? How can that be a good idea? He’s easily 1000000000x stronger than that toy you were messing around with, and what if he accidentally hurts you?

He knew it was possible for him to kill you before, but now he realizes how easy it would be - so simple that he might not even realize it

Instantly steps back and begins avoiding physical contact with you, trying his hardest to be there for you emotionally but struggling because every time you ask him for cuddles, he awkwardly changes the subject and looks away

He only comes clean to you about his concerns after you get mad at him and plant yourself in his lap, wrapping your arms around his head angrily as you demand that he give you affection

“Beel,” You mutter, a light pout forming on your face. “The reason you’re strong isn’t just because you have the muscles, it’s because you have control. You’ve never hurt me before, and nothing you do will hurt me now, so stop being such a stubborn goof and hug me”

Cue very hesitant hug

But it’s a start, and he slowly becomes physically close to you once more

(Subtly tries to let you stay in charge, though. He’ll initiate hugs, but you’re the one to squeeze tightly, and he’ll simply follow your lead)

Decides that rather than being afraid of what his strength can do, he’s going to use it to his advantage - and he resolves to become even stronger so that if there’s ever anything that can cause you pain, he’ll be there by your side protecting you, whether it’s against a demon strong as Diavolo or another windup toy from Majolish

Gets into the habit of running his fingers over your hand after it’s done healing, checking for scars and making sure that you’re still completely healed

Slowly develops into handholding - and who is Beel to complain? If he’s holding your hand, he’s by your side, and if he’s by your side, he can better protect you, so there’s no problem there

Belphegor

Quietly blames himself

It apparently happened while you were alone, and you fell down the stairs in the House of Lamentation. But Belphie is 99.99% sure that you were only going up to see him, and if he had just been awake, this never would have happened

Not to mention, this was the second time he had caused you pain, and it wasn’t even intentional!

Boy can’t look you in the eyes properly after the incident

Starts forcing himself to stay awake and isolates himself in the attic

Only when Beel finally gets serious and asks him what’s wrong does he quietly confess his thoughts, and his twin is quick to relay the information back to you

Honestly, you’re lowkey relieved when you hear the reason 

You were beginning to think that Belphie was avoiding you because he had grown tired of your company, and the thought was sort beginning to break your heart

That doesn’t stop you from yelling at him for being inconsiderate 

“This is why you need to talk about your feelings, Belphie!”

“But— “

“No buts!”

Honestly, he’s kind of relieved to see you yell at him so animatedly despite the cast around your arm, it makes him realize that although you’re physically injured, you’re mentally fine

Is very hesitant about napping on you, especially since he knows that if he falls asleep and accidentally shifts into a position that hurts you, you won’t be strong enough to stop him

You flick his forehead and tell him to not to be stupid, insisting that he sleeps next to you like usual, and he very hesitantly leans on the shoulder of the opposite arm you injured

Becomes way more considerate, even when tired

Shift in your sleep? He’s awake, checking to make sure that you aren’t uncomfortable or in pain

Wake up and try to get a glass of water? No problem, Belphie will get it for you, just stay here and sleep tight

Hogging the blanket? For the first time, Belphie doesn’t even mind, he’ll just carefully snuggle closer to you, double-checking that you’re comfortable before drifting back off to sleep

Even after the cast comes off, he’s still conscious about how tightly he grips you and how much physical exertion you put your body through, always reminding himself that, above all, you’re human and your body can’t handle the things his can

Solomon

Groans

That’s right, thanks to an awkward fall, your toe is broken, and this wizard boy has to audacity to groan at the sight of you on the floor, tears in your eyes as you clutch your foot through your shoe

“As if those brothers don’t hate me enough as is,” He grumbles, lifting you to your feet and whisking you back to Purgatory Hall, where he goes full medic mode and inspects the damage

Tries his hardest to convince you to let him fix it with magic, but just last week, he accidentally turned you into a cat while attempting to place a strength enchantment over you, so you’re understandably hesitant as you refuse him

As expected, when the brothers find out, they put him through hell (pun intended)

For not being able to protect you while it happens (they ignore his complaints that it was technically you who fell and injured yourself) he is now tasked with your recovery

Aka he is your slave

You make him carry your books when you go from class to class, you make him buy you lunch from the cafeteria, you make him give you his lecture notes whenever you don’t feel like paying attention in class

Hell, if he weren’t such a god awful cook, you would probably make him take over your cooking duty, as well

“This is abuse” He huffs one day, sighing in irritation after you ask him to go fetch you a glass of water

“I’m sorry?” You ask, feigning innocence. “What’s that? Did you ask me to go tell Lucifer that you aren’t treating me properly?”

Grumbles under his breath in six different languages, cursing you out in each one of them as you wink at him

You’re almost sad when your toe finally heals, and he’s finally free

Thankfully, the two of you somehow grew used to each other after spending so much time together for so long, and (much to the brothers’ displeasure) you continue hanging out with Solomon long after you’re off crutches

Will tease you about it when it’s all over

He doesn’t forget about how you lorded over him for as long as you were injured, and thus takes it upon himself to make sure that you don’t get hurt again under his watch

(At least, that’s what he tells himself as he holds your hand to march you down the steps outside Majolish, not letting go even after the ‘threat’ is passed)

Simeon

confusedangel.exe

First and foremost, how did this happen??

He’s so concerned and shocked when you show up to RAD one day in crutches because you broke a bone on your leg

Didn’t know that was possible

Actually goes home and spends half an hour on the Devildom equivalent of Google trying to maneuver his phone and search up how common this is and whether it’s normal for humans

Accidentally opens the images tab and sees a bunch of super disturbing and painful-looking injuries, and he nearly drops his phone altogether

Instantly assumes that your injury is as bad as those, despite your constant reassurances that you’re fine as long as you don’t apply too much pressure

Lots of pampering

He’s suddenly available 100% of the time for you, no matter what he’s already doing or the time of day

Insists on helping you wherever he can, like holding your stuff for you at RAD, ferrying you from class to class without forcing you to don that heavy rucksack 

Even takes over the responsibility of walking you to and from school

He doesn’t quite understand that your injury is physical??

Like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that you’re mentally unaffected by the injury, because angelic injuries are typically so difficult to induce and severe that they always cause some kind of trauma 

He’s always testing you - double-checking that you remember facts from old lectures, holding up fingers to test your sight, even asking you details about himself every now and then

That’s actually the story of how you accidentally told him that you thought his eyes were prettier than the sky and he still hasn’t forgotten it

Never really forgets about your injury, even after your crutches are long gone

Protectiveness goes up by 5000%

He suddenly becomes acutely aware of the fact that you’re surrounded by demons and, although the brothers usually mean well, he becomes impossible concerned for how you’re faring

He expresses his concerns to you one day really sweetly and you’re so touched because ??? How can someone be this pure???

To ease his concerns, you both start hanging out a lot more - when before you mostly hung out at the RAD library before parting ways, Simeon now invites you over to Purgatory Hall more often and you bring him back to the House of Lamentation so that he can see how safe you are with the brothers

Luke

Just like Simeon, there’s so much confusion going on inside this smol bean’s head

Are you really telling him that you??? the person who has taken it upon themself to be protective over HIM??? are so weak and fragile??? that tripping over a pebble was enough to fracture your jaw???

The roles in your relationship are suddenly reversed

(Or well, Luke tries to reverse them)

He does his best to be there for you instead of vice versa, insisting that you no longer need to save him from the brothers when they make fun of him for being like a chihuahua 

Lowkey, he actually earns their respect for how protective he’s suddenly being over you, but the baby can only go so far because - face it - he’s basically ten years old

Doesn’t let that stop him from shooting dirty looks toward any demon who looks at the bandages on your face twice

Immediately goes home and researches what kind of foods you can comfortably eat, and enlists both Barbatos and Beel’s help in cooking soft dishes for you that you’ll be able to eat, despite your injury

Does his best to help you where he can

Takes over your cooking duty at the House of Lamentation

Takes extra-detailed notes so he can lend them to you after class

Even goes as far as to get high-quality Celestial bandages with natural healing properties and gives them to you, hoping that everything he’s doing will make your recovery a little bit faster

He’s really come to look up to you as an older sibling, so seeing you injured (even if you don’t necessarily show the pain) has him seriously torn up inside, and it takes all his effort to keep a straight face every time he looks at you and sees the bandages on your face

If you’re even a little self-conscious about any scars afterwards, he will spend hours convincing you that you look fine (and in truth, he can’t actually see the scar anymore, so he’s being honest)

Long after you’re recovered, he will remember at the most random times that you’re so fragile despite always looking so strong, and it tears him up inside

Because of this, random, tearful hugs become the norm

Occasionally, one look is all it takes before his eyes are welling with tears and he’s burying his face inside your stomach, holding you tight and promising to “protect you to make sure that you never get hurt again”

Very innocent, very sweet

Never fully forgets ever again just how fragile humans are

Barbatos

Knew it could happen

Was sort of prepared for it to happen

Didn’t actually expect it to fucking happen

This is probably one of the only times where he regrets not using his powers to check and see what the future held - literally, it would have been so easy to have saved you had he known it was coming 

Went to Diavolo asking to switch timelines but the demon lord said no

Highkey becomes incredibly protective of you, just in super subtle ways

You suddenly find yourself invited to Diavolo’s palace much more often, and it’s Barbatos who now entertains you, bringing you there under the guise of asking you to “taste the new recipes” he’s attempting to perfect

Pfft, his recipes are already the definition of perfect - the only reason he’s putting that food in your mouth is because he cast a spell on it, and it’ll make your bones stronger

Dodges all questions when you ask about it, real slick

“Barbatos, isn’t this the same dish you gave Beel when we came here last month?”

“I’m afraid I have no recollection of what you’re talking about.”

“You know, the dessert you gave him after he asked you for the biggest banana spli—”

“Oh my, would you look at the time. Let’s get you home, now, before it gets too late”   

Used to walk in front of you when walking you around the palace, but he now walks behind you so that he can watch you in case you trip

I mean, why wouldn’t he? You managed to break your collarbone while jumping down the stairs in Diavolo’s palace - you clearly can’t be trusted to look after your own health

(lowkey also never leaves you unsupervised around Mammon again, who in hell thinks it’s a good idea to try parkour of all things in the castle of the demon lord??? and encourages it?????)

Finds it incredibly endearing when your injury renders you unable to do basic tasks

Like if you were a helpless human in his mind before, now you’re less independent than an unpottytrained demonchild, and Barbatos is living for it, especially since you’re too stubborn to ask the brothers for help, so you turn to him instead

Absolutely loves when you text him for help

[17:39] MC: barbatos?

[17:40] Barbatos: Yes? Are you in need of something?

[17:40] MC: ...i was walking around the House of Lamentation and i accidentally banged into the wall outside Satan’s room and there was a really big sound and it turns out that i knocked a bunch of his books off the shelf and he comes home in half an hour and please help he’s going to kill me if he sees what happened

[17:40] Barbatos:

[17:41] Barbatos: I’ll be right there.

Diavolo

Oh boy

This man has lived a long, LONG time and never in all those millennia has he been as pissed as he is now, seeing you sheepishly lean on Mammon for support with the nearly all of your leg hanging limp

What he can’t grasp is the fact that this actually happened in school

Like, it would be one thing if a demon had injured you out of spite - he could simply punish them for all eternity and eradicate the root of the problem

But for you to be injured this severely? In spellcasting class, no less?

Instantly fires the teacher who was careless enough to let you walk into a casting circle which almost obliterated you whole - and spends ages commending Satan for having the wit to save you before things got even worse

But that doesn’t stop him from using the full extent of his princely power to ensure your continued safety

Instantly moves you out of the House of Lamentation and into his own palace, ignoring Lucifer’s repeated requests for you to not be moved

“I need to make sure they’re comfortable,” He hisses to his right-hand man, almost to Barbatos’s amusement. “The healing process for humans is long, and I need to make sure that they get better without the distractions your brothers provide”

Makes it painfully clear that if you ever get injured again under an RAD teacher’s watch, nothing will be able to save them from the unforgiving flames of his wrath

Starts spending as much time with you as humanly possible 

He always stops by your room in the afternoon, generally to check on your well being and to inquire on how you’re faring, but those conversations always seem to wrap up late at night, long after you’ve both abandoned the original topic at hand and are lost in discussion over something else

One time, when he was feeling particularly guilty after looking at the painful swelling on your leg, he invited you back to his own room to sleep on his bed because - as the acting king of the Devildom - his bed is literally the most comfortable place in the world and he hardly uses it

You sleep in it once and can never sleep anywhere else again

For more reasons than one

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

(Reluctantly) offers to let you move back into the House of Lamentation once you’re completely healed, but celebrates like crazy when you tell him that you’d much rather stay with him, and it becomes SUCH an ego stroke every time you remind him how much you adore it in his palace

Lowkey grateful that you got injured because it was the catalyst that allowed you both to grow close

But will absolutely make sure that nothing of the like ever happens again

[silverknightpiece]

@rove-bogge

flinching at the term cursed he sighed looking down the can of energy drink in the other hand. Guessing it wouldn't really have any effect on the other if the sleep was magical.

Shame he gave it away...it was cherry flavoured he had to search for one of those....well…it wasn’t like he paid for it. 

"Well...that's awkward..." He commented on the curse fiddling with his book looking to the other almost as if to check that he hadn't fallen asleep. He had a few classes with Silver, both of them being in the same year but he tended to avoid people, especially those that made him nervous.

"Isn't there some potion or magic item you can use to counteract the curse?" He asked curiously, especially with some very powerful mages in the diasomnia house, surely someone could fix the silver haired teen right?

Then again...He saw some of his stitch marking poking out from his sleeve. One finger running over it in a fidget. Not every magical mishap could be just magiced away he guessed....his markings certainly couldn't be..and those were a reaction to magic. 

"What are you working on?" He asked, trying to move on from the subject peering over to Silver’s book trying to read the notes made there wondering if the other would be even able to finish his work if he kept falling asleep.

He does notice that the other has a growing discomfort from the change of air around them, but Silver couldn't tell why exactly. Perhaps it was the situation as a whole or maybe it was that he had interrupted the other on a bad day, and he tries his best to cause the other any unneeded stress.

It wasn't until the other answered that he nodded in understanding and put the unopened drink between them, not really having use of it. "Yes, it seems to have grown a bit awkward. Usually, other students pick a fight or run away at this point, for some reason..." Silver knows his uniform can make others angry or even fearful, but had his person (as the bodyguard) really gotten around so many people had become drastic? It was strange, but nothing new.

Silver ends up shaking his head without much hesitation, and his lips tighten as he fills in the Ignihyde student. "Not that we have found. Coffee, magic potions, loud music, important tasks; it's not any more effective than just getting a lot of sleep and hoping I don't sleep on my feet." Silver lets out a sigh after that, remembering the alarm clocks he's got in a set-up around his headboard and pillows.

The book before Silver had its pages brushed real quick as the sophomore checked for any drool or wrinkles, just in-case he accidentally abused the tome in his drowsiness. The pages show plants of unknown origins, but vague guesses on possible vegetative spots are listed in the research pages after the reports. "I'm going back to a failed waking potion recipe and looking up alternative ingredients, but so far, I'm just looking at high value fairytale plants... Some of these only last a page before they end..." Silver finished the last part melancholic, especially with the bare blank page of speculation below him.

𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 ： 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 ： 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢/𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

If Silver hadn't needed the credits for his class, he wouldn't dare study outside or anywhere warm like the library in the evening. The unusually calm atmosphere, the coddling warmth, and the beginning of fuzzy text passing his fading consciousness did nothing to stop the unstoppable.

Silver, with his eyes already heavy and glued together, could barely mumble out a, "Not..." before he slipped into the abyss of sleep.

He couldn't finish his simple sentence of not again before slumping onto the student to his left, his head hitting the other's shoulders unceremoniously.

[bazzybelle]

Magical Equality Within The World of Mages

I’ve been thinking a lot since I finished reading Any Way The Wind Blows, and there are SO many things that I still need to process. I took my time with reading it, I’ve listened to the audiobook and I plan on re-reading it several times, once I move into my new house and have THAT stress done and over with. I cannot wait to re-read it on my back porch with some iced tea and a notebook to annotate and comment on pretty much everything that gave me feelings.

But for now, there is one massive issue that I want to address, and it plays into the plot for all three books.

Warning for those who have not read Any Way The Wind Blows, this post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution. I am tagging this appropriately, but adding an extra warning just in case.

Huge thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for reading this over and making sure I didn't sound like a rambling mess.

The World of Mages is an incredibly toxic place! This is especially true for anyone who isn’t a magical powerhouse, or stupid rich.

I’m going to not focus on the obvious socio-economic bullshit, because I’m not familiar enough with the British class system to properly comment on it. But if anyone wants to add onto this with a whole meta like that, please do so!

Instead, I’m going to focus on magic use and how detrimental it can be to grow up in this world if you aren’t one of the few who are blessed with the RIGHT kind of magic (I say right kind of magic for a reason, and I’m going to come back to that). I want to focus my attention on three characters (two of whom were drawn into Smith-Richard’s fake promises, and one who was just fed up with it all): Martin Bunce, Daphne Grimm, and Agatha Wellbelove.

1) Martin Bunce: We first hear about Martin Bunce in Carry On. He’s Penny’s dad, a renowned scholar and is leading a team researching the effects of the Insidious Humdrum. He’s a highly respected individual, in his own right. Penny adores him, she only speaks his praises, and I get the feeling she gets along better with Martin, then she does with Mitali. When Penny needs help with Shep’s curse, she trusts her dad to help her after her mother flat out refuses.

While Martin is respected in the community, he isn’t a magical powerhouse. In fact, he isn’t very powerful at all. Baz makes a cheeky little comment about how he must have come from mundanity with a name like “Bunce”, and he doesn’t teach any magical classes at Watford, he focuses mainly on Linguistics.

Professor Bunce is one of the people taken in by Smith-Richard’s message, and I’m kind of glad he is. It shows that Smith-Richard’s message can reach anyone, even someone as scholarly and learned as Martin. Martin Bunce is intelligent, loving, devoted, and the apple of his family’s eye. But, when push comes to shove, all that does not matter because in the end, he isn’t as magically powerful as his wife and kids. How many times has Martin been compared to his wife? How many times has he been compared to his kids? What was it like going to Watford and having to hear about how you barely scraped by in the magical classes? His whole family is obsessed with magic, his daughter's best friend is the Most Powerful Mage. Martin is constantly surrounded by people making comments about power and magic and being strong enough as a magician.

That stuff stays with you... So when you see someone performing magic that can pull you to your full potential, of COURSE you grab onto it and hope that it’s a real thing.

Something interesting to note here; Towards the end of AWTWB, Martin casts a drinking spell, and Baz makes a comment about anyone who could cast that spell in quick succession doesn’t need a power-up. Now, was Martin truly not powerful, or did he just not have the right type of magic? Could he have been a better magician if he was able to find the right situations where his magic responded better? If he was allowed to learn in a way where his magic could have reached its full potential, without the use of a horrible curse?

I have a teaching background, and I’ve worked with a lot of kids in Inclusive Education. I’ve had to differentiate practically all of my lesson plans so that all the kids in my classroom would understand the lesson and be able to reach the goals outlined for them. Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve taught, but I look at stuff like this in the World of Mages and my teaching ear perks up.

2) Agatha Wellbelove: Another person who comes to mind, especially with not having the right kind of magic is Agatha Wellbelove. Agatha does not see herself as a very strong magician. She tells Simon that magic for her is like holding a muscle. Pair that up with a mother who is OBSESSED with magic and power and who’s got the most power, and which magical matches will bring about powerful children, and you get someone who becomes resentful of the whole effing thing! I’m not even going to touch the whole “dating the Chosen One” thing because that’s a whole other can of worms.

When we first meet Agatha, she’s already fed up with magic, and wants nothing to do with it, and I can’t say I blame her. She spends all of Wayward Son running away from magic, and meandering through life, being still so unsure of herself and of her place in the world. She calls herself a poor excuse for a magician, yet she manages to save both herself and Penny from the NowNext by summoning fire! That’s a huge flipping deal! Not everyone can do that, yet Agatha is able to summon the power inside herself to do so! Imagine the wonderful magic she could have done if she was taught in a way that spoke to her.

In AWTWB, she is the ONLY person who is able to get through to the Goats. Her magic seems to be connected to nature (if I had to guess). The Dryad, all the way back in Carry On, tells Simon that she and the others find Agatha “peaceful”. That’s her magic. Agatha was able to come full circle by finding peace with the magic she has. She was able to find a place for it. What’s sad is that she felt the need to run away and not want to have it in her life anymore. Her magic is beautiful, yet not enough.

3) Daphne Grimm: So, this is the character that stood out to me the most. Daphne is the reason I even wanted to write this commentary. Those of you who know me, know that I adore this character. Partly because, I’m obsessed with the idea that Baz has people looking out for him and who care about him.

Anyway, Ms. Daphne Grimm is the apple of my eye essentially. I love her, I adore her, and she is treated SO UNFAIRLY by the World of Mages.

What do we know about Daphne? She is Baz’s stepmum, and has four kids with Malcolm. From the first book, there are snarky little comments about Daphne’s lack or power and magic. Baz himself makes a shitty comment about how Daphne’s “blood is as thin as gruel”, even though Daphne goes out of her way to make sure he’s got food sent to his room. She’s extra careful in making sure Baz feels safe in his own home. She suggests to Malcolm that Baz should see a therapist for everything he’s been through, making her the ONLY parent who not only acknowledges her child’s trauma, but tries to do something about it!

She is a GOOD mom!

Ok, we know that Baz wears a ton of masks of indifference in Carry On, and he softens up tremendously in Wayward Son, calling her lovely while teaching him to drive a car.

We learn a lot about Daphne in Any Way The Wind Blows. Namely that Fiona has some pretty nasty opinions about her. (That comment about her kids not being legitimate, and that she’s as “thick headed as she is thin blooded”. Now, imagine you’re Daphne, and the widower of the Great Natasha Pitch asks to marry you. That’s already some MASSIVE shoes to fill. You accept, and you do the best you can, taking care of his son and being a positive presence in his life, meanwhile going to all these posh functions where EVERYONE talks about power and magic. Then to have the sister of your husband’s first wife make snarky comments about your level of power and magic.

That stuff sticks with you.

Daphne doesn’t want her kids going to Watford, the ONLY magical school in the UK (as far as we know). She wants her children to succeed and be known for everything they are capable of doing, instead of being ridiculed for all the ways they’ll come up short. According to Baz, the only reason Daphne graduated from Watford was because she was smart enough to pass every exam (yet, Fiona still makes snarky comments about her intelligence).

Daphne is well aware of how painful it can be to live in the World of Mages and not be a powerhouse magician. Like Martin, she takes matters into her own hands and seeks out a way to make herself more powerful.

It is heartbreaking to look at these three amazing, beloved characters, and think about the suffering they have had to endure by their peers. Both Daphne and Martin get frustrated when those around them question their choice to follow Smith-Richards, stating “you don’t know what it’s like”. Luckily for Daphne, Baz makes an effort to actually understand her, and doesn’t judge her. Even when Fiona mocks her, Baz defends his stepmum. When Daphne berates herself and compares herself to Natasha, Baz reflects on how Natasha would have killed him (something Daphne would NEVER do to any of her children).

We know that Watford did not allow magical creatures, or differently-abled magicians (I use this term for a reason) to study there until the Mage came around and allowed everyone into Watford. This was a great thing, because now, every magical child was given the opportunity to learn how to speak with magic.

However, it should not have stopped there. I spoke earlier on differentiation and on finding the right place for everyone’s magic. What if magicians like Martin, and Daphne, and Agatha are all powerful in their own right, and they just haven’t found their place where their magic fits? Instead of finding the right way to teach these magicians, they are left to struggle and ultimately resent their magic and the magic of the world around them.

Do I hear a social commentary on the state of standardized education? I can’t really comment on the British Educational System, nor the American one, as I am Canadian. What I can say, from my own experience in Canadian classrooms, is that for all the talk we do on making education inclusive, there is still a big push from higher ups for high grades and standardized testing. If any of my followers are British or American and care to share your two cents, feel free to do so. Let’s keep the conversation going!

I think this post might have gotten away from me. I think my point was to act as a defense for people like Daphne and Martin who found themselves fished into a scam all for the promise of feeling like they are enough in their world. I also wanted to defend people like Agatha, who did all she could to run away from all of it, only to find the place where she (and her magic) belonged.

I remember having this discussion on Discord, and one of the points that came up was that maybe The Greatest Threat to the World of Mages was this deeply ingrained prejudice over magicians with different sorts of magic. Magicians who need that extra bit of help to find their way.

We’ve seen in this series how these prejudices can threaten to split the World of Mages apart, and it looks like magicians like Penny, Baz, and Agatha are learning from these mistakes. Only time (and us fanfiction writers) will tell how they end up shaping their world for the future generations.

[marblesphere]

Xiao x reader

!Angst Warning!

Slowly and gently, I can see how he tucks the loose lock of her hair to her ear. I can also see how she blushes at his gentle gesture. A small barely noticeable smile on his lips. I clench my fist tightly, I feel the Qingxin flower's stem crushed in my palm. I want to walk away from the irritating scene, but my feet are rooted on the ground. As if some force prevented me too.

It took all my willpower to tear my sight from them. "Xiao…" I whispered to the wind, hoping he would notice. But alas, the harsh reality proved otherwise.

10 years. It took me ten years to befriend the so-called vigilant yaksha. The only remaining yaksha. The yaksha which is said to be the coldest amongst all of the adepti in Liyue.

I met Xiao when I was 6 years old. I was lost in a forest near Liyue harbor. I remember Granny Ping said to call Adeptus Xiao if I ever had any trouble. So with a snotty nose, I wail out his name. A gust of gentle breeze blows before a tall big brother (at that time) in teal arrived. He frowns at me. I still remember my hand, which was full of snot and tears, grabbed his long sleeves and cried to it, effectively soiling the pristine cloth.

He almost flung me instinctively, but I know how hard I grabbed it and I am still a Liyue citizen. Xiao kneeled and with an awkward pat on my head, he lifted me up easily. Without a word, he jumps high. I can still vividly remember the breeze blowing my face. I stopped crying immediately and realized how high we were.

Tears were replaced with small giggles. From the position we were, I found my parents shouting my name. "Papa and mama." I leaned my body, wriggling out of his arms.

"Don't move." That was the first time I heard his voice. It's so beautiful that I shut up immediately. Xiao maneuvered and landed near to my worried parents.

"Mama, Papa!" I rushed to them right after Xiao put me down. My mother quickly hugs me tight, afraid if I were to disappear again.

"Where were you?! Do you know how worried we were?!" Papa scolded.

"But Papa, Adeptus Xiao took me home." I wriggled out from my mother's embrace and looked behind me, only to find empty space.

"Adeptus Xiao was with you?" Papa asked bewildered.

"Yep. Granny Ping told me to call for Adeptus Xiao if I had trouble. I did and he came. He jumped so high and I could see you." I excitedly told them my tale.

Not long after, I finally found out not many people can meet the elusive Adeptus. But I was determined to meet him again. To thank him and befriend him.

So, I ask the most knowledgeable person in this world, Granny Ping. Granny Ping told me that Qingxin is his flower. I want to pick one, but it only blooms in high peaks which is impossible for me. So, the next best thing is buying from a florist. Granny Ping also told me where to give the flower. Wangshu inn. Thus, I made it my mission to go there everyday to give him a Qingxin flower.

In Wangshu inn. As expected, I couldn't meet Xiao, instead I met the owner. Verr Goldet. After hearing my reasoning to visit the elusive Adeptus. She told me to put the flower on the balcony on the highest floor. I will stay there for hours without meeting him. And I do this everyday for almost a month.

Maybe Verr was taking pity on me. She told me to help her deliver a plate of Almond tofu to Xiao. And thus, our second meeting. I was so excited that I almost fell flat smashing the tofu to the floor if not for his fast reflex.

Xiao frowns when he sees me. "Adeptus Xiao, thank you." I smiled as I gave him the flower.

"Don't come close to me." He frowned.

"But, I want to." I shook my head. "Granny Ping told me you have protected us. I want to thank you." I pouted.

"...I am just doing my job according to the contract. I don't need any thanks." He said.

"Even so, I want to thank you." I said persistently.

I think that was the time he gave up explaining to a small naive kid. From that day on, I meet him everyday with a Qingxin flower and a plate of almond tofu. Of course, I still have to call him or else he won't show up even with almond tofu.

After a year, he softened up a bit. At least, I don't need to wait for him on the balcony. He will always be there by the time I reach the balcony with a flower and a plate of almond tofu. Another year and I can even manage to slip a Qingxin flower to his hair. And the second year of our meeting is truly the start of my happiness. Xiao gave me a small trinket made from sage technique to ward off evil. Every year following that on my birthday the small trinket will increase, a crystalfly, a leaf butterfly, you name it. And last year, he gave me an amulet. The amulet I have never taken it off since I wore it on my birthday.

In exchange I too, so persistently celebrate his birthday, since he won't tell me when is his birthday, I just mark the date we met is his birthday, not until a few years later he finally grumpily told me his real birthday.

I started learning martial arts and cooking courtesy from Xiao for the former and Smiley Yan for the latter.

10 years of hardwork, 9 years of nurturing feelings, all of them have gone to the drain. With just one appearance of this girl. No, she is not a traveller with a fairy. She is just someone from Qingce village. Xiao met her when he was patrolling around the area. Just in a month she undone all my hardwork. Now they are a step away from being lovers.

I made my way back home. For the first time in 10 years, I didn't go to Wangshu inn, no I didn't go to meet him. A fresh Qingxin I have picked and a plate of almond tofu are laid forgotten on the table. Fresh tears finally flowed down from my eyes. It hurts. It hurts so much looking at them. It hurts so much seeing him smile at them. The smile that I thought only I could see.

'It's not yours anymore.' A sickly sweet voice whispered

'He is finally happy. He finally rid himself of you. You are just a worthless girl. You don't deserve him.'

'The love of his life is not you. It will never be you.' The sickly sweet voice cackled gleefully.

That night I succumbed to the negative emotion of mine.

The next day, I resolved to investigate that girl. I have realized I am not good enough for him. That's why I want to make sure she is good enough for him.

'You just want to make yourself better if you find a flaw in her. What a liar.' The voice back in my mind echoed.

I shake myself, trying to get rid of those voices. First, I will obviously start from Liyue. I heard her parents are doing business in Liyue and she sometimes tags along. And today, she didn't come. Perfect. I have double checked in her parents' shop.

But every answer I get from them lowers my spirit. In the end, I can only summarize her in one word. Perfect. She is so perfect. All of the people I ask from will sing a praise to her. It's almost impossible for a perfect human like her to exist. But she is, and now she could even open the vigilant yaksha's heart in the span of a month.

To clear my head and the annoying voices in my head, I make my way to the secret place I have found a few years back. Inside the forest where I first met Xiao, there is a small patch of Qingxin flower field deep inside the forest. Qingxin flower, which is said to only bloom in the highest peak, somehow can grow in that patch and only that patch. The area around it is also safe from hillicurls or slime. Xiao said he never detected any malicious intent around the small field. Thus, that area became our secret spot.

Either Celestia likes to mess with me or I am just that unlucky, I met the perfect girl. She is surrounded by hillicurls. I frowned, I materialized my weapon and took a step.

'Why don't you just leave her alone. She is powerless. If the Hillicurls get her killed, then no one will be with your precious Xiao again. You can have him all by yourself.' The sickly sweet voice is tempting me with that.

I stop dead in my tracks. Indeed, If she is dead, then Xiao will have no one but me. It will be just the two of us again. I take a step back and turn myself.

'Good. This is what you should do.' The voice cooed.

"Kyaaa!!"

I grit my teeth and spring back to act. I rush to the group of hillicurls, which fortunately just 3 of them. I swipe their feet using my polearm. "Run!" I barked at her. She flinches at my harsh glare and voice, but finally starts running.

I quickly engaged with 3 hillicurls. I am not a pro, but Xiao taught me enough to defend myself. I panted after I finished the last hillicurls. I am just glad I didn't get any deep injury. "Kikiki!" A small fireball flew past me.

I cursed my luck. A pyro abyss mage is waving his staff and 3 small monster heads are firing flamethrowers at me. I barely dodge it. "Kikiki!" Then another cyro abyss mage comes out.

I gulp. This place might be my grave after all.

*3rd POV*

Yue Mei is just picking herbs by herself. She giggles at the thought of the famous vigilant yaksha literally swept by her feet in their first meeting. She fell in love at the first sight. She glanced at a charm on her neck. She is really grateful for this charm. She made a wish a year ago in an adepti abode. And that adeptus gave her this charm. She is told to wear this everyday, everywhere she goes. This charm will help her.

True to his word, after she had worn this charm. Everyone has become nicer. They gave her a lot of free stuff and some even started to court her. She was shy at first, the attention she got was really overwhelming. But, she already has an ideal man. A man who is strong and handsome. And her ideal man turned out to be Adeptus Xiao.

She blushes again remembering him. Their last meeting ends up with Adeptus Xiao tucked her hair back to her ear. This intimate gesture is really making her happy. Soon, she will confess to him soon. And they will become a couple.

But, her daydream is short lived. A group of hillicurls suddenly appear and surround her. Fear gripped her entire being. "A...ade...adept…" She is too afraid to even call the yaksha. One of the hillucurls raises its club high. "Don….'t… Kyaaaa!!!!" She let out a blood curdling scream as she closed her eyes.

But the pain didn't come. When she opened her eyes she saw the hillicurls on the ground and a girl wielding a polearm glared at her with such hostility. "Run!" She barked at her. Yue Mei flinches at her harsh tone. But her feet finally gained their freedom as she ran away to the direction of Wangshu inn.

Her feet are tired and trembling. She collapses on her knees. "Adeptus Xiao." She whimpered. A familiar breeze whirled, and Xiao came. Looking at the trembling form, Xiao frowns, "What happened?" He kneeled in front of her.

"Hi...Hillicurls…" She managed to stutter.

He hisses, knowing those monsters targeted someone under his protection. "Where are they?"

"There…" She pointed to a direction. "A girl...wielding...polearm...is...holding them...off…" She said shakily. The entire time she clutched her charm.

"A girl… wielding polearm…" His eyes widened. A girl wielding a polearm. The only one that comes to his mind is "[Your Name]..." He whispered. Somehow his mind becomes clear, as if the fog in his mind has been blown away. Xiao quickly summons his own spear.

"Don't!!!" Yue Mei quickly grabbed his hand. "Don't...leave...me alone." Tears streamed down her eyes, making her look so pitiful. This usually invokes some kind of protective instinct from the opposite gender. But, unfortunately for her. She is dealing with this the one and only Conqueror of Demons. Now the spell has been broken, he is not as nice as previous him except to a certain mortal.

"Release me!" He growled as he glared at her, more specifically at her charm.

She flinches at his harsh tone and glare. She stares at him wide eyed. He never used this kind of tone with her, not even on their first meeting. Her hands loosen up. And Xiao quickly disappears from her, leaving her all alone.

Xiao rushes to the direction that the girl pointed to. His mind is racing with what ifs. He finally arrived, but [Your Name] is not on sight. There are only 3 dead bodies of Hillicurls. He calms down a bit. She can handle herself just fine if it's only 3 Hillicurls. But, when he observed more carefully once again, his blood ran cold. Not far from him, a puddle of red blood is spotted, along with two dead abyss mages.

His heart thumped loudly, looking at the trail of blood moving to a certain direction. To the direction he is so familiar. His mind starts racing with a really unpleasant outcome.

"~~~♪ ~~~ ♪" The wind brought a familiar tune.

"...Xiao...where are you…?" He heard it. Her voice. But her voice is so weak, like she will disappear forever. Xiao has never rushed this fast. Right now in his mind, there's only she has to be alright.

*1st Pov*

"Hah...haah…" I panted as I stabbed my polearm to the ground, using it to stabilize my body. The puddle of blood on the ground beneath me is proof it's too late for me. 'If I were to die… At least let me choose the place.' With that in mind, I dragged my feet to our secret spot no, my grave. The small patch of Qingxin flowers.

I drop my body in the middle of the patch, hissing from the pain. But the smell of Qingxin is calming me down. It feels like Xiao is with me.

"~~~♪ ~~~ ♪" with my shaky voice, I started humming a tune. This song is passed down from generation to generation in our house. Apparently this song is some kind of a prayer back in the ancient times. My eyes are blurry now being soaked by blood. "...Xiao...where are you…?" I couldn't see anymore. I reach out my hand, hoping he will grab it. Then a miracle happened. I can see Xiao grabs my hand and pulls me up. I can feel the pain has started to dull and then disappeared, I feel so light, so free. I can see him clearly. Hand in hand the two of us wander to wherever we desire.

"Thank you for coming." I smiled.

[mochiimiiki]

| Act one: Possibility |

[Xiao x F!reader]

[Pyro vision reader]

Summary: Feelings are something of a concept, humans determine their meaning and everyone else simply accepts. But what if he has no concept of emotions and you’re in denial? What becomes of it then?

Warnings: spoilers for xiao’s story, angst, violence, blood, slow burn

A/N: first time writing a proper fic sooo be nice! also italics are being used for past events!!

Masterlist

- - - - - -

Your encounter was an accident. A mistake, a flaw in the matrix. However, It was a memory you held onto even after all of those years. Staring across Dihua Marsh, your mind couldn’t help but wonder, wonder all the way back to the vigilant yaksha. Whom refused to converse his name. His real name.

It was in the depths of night where the demons lurked, and as an adventurer you often encountered such mutated creatures. It was not your duty to defend the land nor protect the innocent from the midnight stalkers. Yet, you felt obligated to. Perhaps it was a form of misconception or the chivalry in which your father had brought you up with. Nevertheless, you found yourself stalking a possessed abyss mage. In hopes of vanquishing it before the mutant could perform damage upon any civillians.

The moon guided you, luring you to where the beast crept. Through squinted eyes, you could just about see a sleeping village a few hundred metres from where you stood. Determination pumped through your veins, urging you onwards with a singular goal; vanquish your opponent.

In the brief moments that you were distracted the target had vanished. Frantically, you begun searching. ‘Where’d it go...?’ You breathed to yourself. Fear creeping along your spine and infecting your mind.

Suddenly, a cryo shot sent you flying back into a rock. Your back hit it with a thud and the wind was knocked from you. Dazed it took you a moment to adjust your senses. As your vision became focused you quickly rolled out of the way as another cryo shot narrowly missed you. Reaching for your bow you aimed at the abyss mage.

You scoffed. A cryo abyss mage? The fight would be over in no time. Your bow charged quickly and you launched your attack. You jumped with glee, You’d hit the shield directly in a patch you’d grown accustomed to know as a weak spot. However, as the steam cleared from the melt combination you realised you’d done little to no damage. The unsettling anxiety seeped it’s way into your heart once more. “I-Impossible!” You declared, to no one in particular. “I hit you!” The abyss mage let out a low chuckle. It’s sonar voice vibrating off of the trees and rocks that littered your midnight hunt. However, you realised something was off with this mage. Not only was it’s voice an octave lower but a strange black mist eminated from its being. Was it possible this was the kind of creature your father had warned you about...?

Before you got a chance to react the abyss mage launched you backwards once more. This time you landed in the soggy pits of the marsh. You blindly fumbled with your bow attempting to ignite it with your pyro element. However, the dampness of both yourself and the weapon caused evaporate. You silently cursed. No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening not now, not when you were so close. Repeatedly you tried again. Only looking up as you heard the familiar chuckle of your enemy.

Squeezing your eyes shut you begged Rex Lapis to not let your life end so soon. You had so much to learn! So many places to be and you still had to find the truth of...

You thoughts came to an abrupt end.

Suddenly, a gush of wind sped past your face, in turn your eyes shot open. It was just in time too, as you witnessed your saviour.

In the moonlight his hair appeared dark grey and his clothings multiple shades of silver however, black and turquoise mist eminated off of his being. Your eyes widened in shock as one blast of his power shattered the cryo abyss mage’s shield. “EVIL CONQUERING!” He cried throwing it back into the same rock it had once thrown you into.

Pulling enough energy from your damaged body you limped over to your saviour. “You saved me!” Exclaiming in delight. “How did you... no I should be thanking you! Thank-” Yet, before you could continue your praise a final blast of cryo hit you from the dying mage. Falling to the ground you felt your senses dim. Blurry vision caught sight of your masked hero finishing off the job only to finally pass out. A deep, charcoal black enveloping you in an everlasting grip.

- - -

Upon awakening you had found yourself placed in a bed in a familiar building. One you had only viewed on the outside: Wangshu Inn. Clambering out of the comfort of the bed you stumbled to the doorway.

A violet sky was clear from the room in which you occupied. Dim stars twinkled as a rouge sun dawned. You stumbled over to the balcony, confusion clouding your thoughts and erroding the pain.

You collapsed onto the railing of the balcony, thanking the red painted wood for the sturdiness it granted. You glanced out across Dihua Marsh. It’s landscape accentuated by the red light from the dawning sun, her face glowing brightly and guiding adventurers and monsters alike into the unknown.

“What are you doing?” A low voice growled behind you. Instantly you jumped from the disturbance to the peace, immediately after regretting it as a sharp pain jolted through your side. Glancing down your eyes settled upon a bandage wrapped around your waist. You realised the only material shielding you against the harshness of the cool autumn morn was the bandages that started at your chest and ending at your waist. Instantaneously a flush crept over your face and along your neck. “Y-You did this? Pervert!” You shouted, a finger pointing accusingly.

For a moment the boy appeared taken aback before scoffing. “First of all.” He growled taking a menacing step towards you. “I didn’t do that.” He glanced down, taking another step. “Second I saved your life, so even if I had you should have been grateful.” Another step. “And last of all, it was the Inn keeper who helped you. You can thank her later.” He was inches away from you, his brows furrowed in irritation and it was clear your comment had irked him.

You swallowed thickly and uncomfortably. You pushed against his chest, attempting to create distance between himself and you. However, he remained rooted in place. Whether, or not he intended to intimidate you or was simply setting straight facts you were unsure of.

Eventually, he acknowledged your efforts and with a grunt stepped backwards. You tried to steady your thoughts, and clear your mind. Up until now you’d been thinking irrationally and it had ended with you in a critical state.

You opened your mouth to speak once more when with a dismissal of his hand the man spoke first, “Unfortunately, there are other matters that require my assistance. If you’ll excuse me.” Though he seemingly asked for his departure you knew that it was more of a statement than a request. “W-wait!” you cried suddenly, grasping his wrist as he leaped onto the railing of the Wangshu inn.

The man stared puzzlingly at your hand, almost in a way that suggested he’d never been touched by a mortal before. “I didn’t ask your name.”

“I go by many names.” The figure retorted bluntly, an action that caused your hand to retract and your face to drop. With a sigh he spoke once more, his tone etched with a little less aggression. “However, you may call me vigilant Yaksha Xiao. Or for short Xiao. Should you ever need my help, or cannot face killing a monster call my name. I will aid you.”

With that he vanished before your eyes. Taking on the form of shadows and fleeing into the Abyss.

- - -

Staring across the Marsh now it appeared so different. Not only had it been two years since your return to Liyue but it was also daytime upon your arrival, a splintering summer sun sparkled brightly amongst the leaping clouds. It suddenly occurred to you amongst your reminiscing that you had never gazed upon the marsh in the daylight. To bestow it the title of breath taking was an understatement, to simply put it, it was exquisite. How the summer rays of light bounced across the murky waters of the marsh and that they illuminated the once gloomy surroundings. It was a sight to behold, it was beyond enchanting as it bewitched its onlookers and lured them to an untimely death.

“Ma’am?” A voice called for you, intruding your thoughts. She gave you a gentle smile, one you knew was plastered on to appease customers. “Your room is ready madam.” She spoke so softly that had you been immersed in a conversation with another you may not have heard her. You exchanged a polite nod as she led you up the stairs of the Wangshu Inn.

Despite your absence from Liyue for two years the Inn had not particularly changed. It was still lined in the same ruby red railings albeit faded to a salmon blush. And it had the same wooden floors, that creaked and squeaked ever so slightly under foot.

“Here is your room, I hope you enjoy your stay.” Quietly excused the girl as she departed. Leaving you standing alone in the doorway to a room too large to fit a single person.

Hauling in your luggage you flopped down onto the bed. The scent of Fresh linen tickled your nostrils, a particularly summery smell.

As the night progressed you had departed from your room and explored a little more of the grounds belonging to the Wangshu Inn. Fully satisfied with your miniature expedition you retired to the cafe and settled in for a long night.

- - -

The evening wore on tranquility reflected in the expressionless faces of the Inn stayers and keepers alike. As the café grew quieter you had taken it upon yourself to mark out your journey on your map. Small red exes marked the spots of your previous journeys, and although you wanted to pursue the land of the unmarked you had unfinished business to complete in Liyue harbour. Tapping your pencil on the page as you pondered your next move a shout caught your attention. Your quiet night had come to an abrupt end when a face you believed you’d never set your eyes on again appeared before you.

It was the dead of night. The only two souls that remained in the lobby of the Inn were you and the owner’s wife. When suddenly, a third party joined.

In stumbled an extremely battered and bruised man. His hair was knotted in scruffs and a deep gash seeped into the skin in his chest. With a startled cry the woman behind the reception desk ran to his side.

You stared in horror into the cat like eyes of this man. A flash of a familiarity flickered in them, in a brief possibility that he recognised you a bubbling emotion of hope fluttered in your stomach. However, the feeling was all but short lived as his eyes fluttered closed and he collapsed, toppling to the floor. Completely unconscious.

[bamf-jaskier]

Who the Fuck is Philippa Eilhart?

I don’t know if you’ve been following Witcher news lately but Philippa has just been cast!

Of course, many show-only fans might not be familiar with her character and game-only fans might not know how different her story is in the books, so I’m here to give a relatively brief overview of her plot line in the books. Warning: lots of book spoilers ahead as well as the standard graphic violence that is the norm in the books.

With that, Hi! I’m Aaliyah and this is Part 6 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subject from The Witcher books.

The first time we meet Philippa in Blood of Elves, she is an advisor to the King of Redania. Dandelion is brought before The Redanian Secret Service because they wish to know Geralt’s whereabouts. 

Excerpt:

Dandilion glanced at the fourth person present at the meeting, who until then had remained silent. Philippa Eilhart must have only recently arrived in Oxenfurt, or was perhaps intending to leave at once, since she wore neither a dress nor her favourite black agate jewellery nor any sharp make-up. 

She was wearing a man’s short jacket, leggings and high boots – a “field” outfit as the poet called it. The enchantress’s dark hair, usually loose and worn in a picturesque mess, was brushed smooth and tied back at the nape of her neck.

“Let’s not waste time,” she said, raising her even eyebrows. “Dandilion’s right. We can spare ourselves the rhetoric and slick eloquence which leads nowhere when the matter at hand is so simple and trivial.”

Here are some of Dandelion’s thoughts on Philippa:

Dandilion divided women – including magicians – into very likeable, likeable, unlikeable and very unlikeable. The very likeable reacted to the proposition of being bedded with joyful acquiescence, the likeable with a happy smile. The unlikeable reacted unpredictably. The very unlikeable were counted by the troubadour to be those to whom the very thought of presenting such a proposition made his back go strangely cold and his knees shake.

Philippa Eilhart, although very attractive, was decidedly very unlikeable. Apart from that, Philippa Eilhart was an important figure in the Council of Wizards, and King Vizimir’s trusted court magician. 

She was a very talented enchantress. Word had it that she was one of the few to have mastered the art of polymorphy. She looked thirty. In truth she was probably no less than three hundred years old.”

Then, Dandelion leaves to go back to Geralt and Philippa follows him in the form of an owl:

A big grey owl glided down to the sill without a sound. Shani cried out quietly. Geralt reached for his sword.

“Don’t be silly, Philippa,” said Dandilion.

The owl disappeared and Philippa Eilhart appeared in its place, squatting awkwardly. The magician immediately jumped into the room, smoothing down her hair and clothes.

“Good evening,” she said coldly. “Introduce me, Dandilion.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Shani of Medicine. And that owl which so craftily flew in my tracks is no owl. This is Philippa Eilhart from the Council of Wizards, at present in King Vizimir’s service and pride of the Tretogor court. It’s a shame we’ve only got one chair in here.”

Geralt is trying to hunt down a wizard, Rience, who is trying to get Ciri. When Geralt is about to kill Rience, Philippa lets Rience portal away and Geralt, Shani and Dandelion are quite upset:

“Philippa!” shouted Dandilion, still holding the weeping Shani. “Have you gone mad?”

“No,” said the witcher with some effort. “She’s quite sane. And knows perfectly well what she’s doing. She knew all along what she was doing. She took advantage of us. Betrayed us. Deceived—”

“Calm down,” repeated Philippa Eilhart. “You won’t understand and you don’t have to understand. I did what I had to do. And don’t call me a traitor. Because I did this precisely so as not to betray a cause which is greater than you can imagine. 

A great and important cause, so important that minor matters have to be sacrificed for it without second thoughts, if faced with such a choice. Geralt, damn it, we’re nattering and you’re standing in a pool of blood. Calm down and let Shani and me take care of you.”

Of course, this is all a part of Philippa’s larger plan to hold a coup and gain political power. Vilgefortz hired Rience and if Geralt had found that out then Vilgefortz would be revealed as a traitor to the Brotherhood and Philippa couldn’t have that happening before her coup.

The next time we see Philippa is in Time of Contempt at the banquet on Thanedd Island. She talks to many of the guests, here is a short conversation between her and Geralt:

“There’s no caviar.’ (Geralt)

‘One moment.’ (Philippa)

She looked around quickly, waved a hand and mumbled a spell. The silver dish in the shape of a leaping fish immediately filled with the roe of the endangered shovelnose sturgeon. The Witcher smiled.

‘Can one eat one’s fill of an illusion?’

‘No. But snobbish tastes can be pleasantly titillated by it. Have a try.’

‘Hmm… Indeed… I’d say it’s tastier than the real thing…’

‘And it’s not at all fattening,’ said the enchantress proudly, squeezing lemon juice over a heaped teaspoon of caviar. ‘May I have another goblet of white wine?’

‘At your service. Philippa?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m told etiquette precludes the use of spells here. Wouldn’t it be safer, then, to conjure up the illusion of the taste of caviar alone, without the caviar? Just the sensation? You’d surely be able to…’

‘Of course I would,’ said Philippa Eilhart, looking at him through her crystal goblet. ‘The construction of such a spell is easy as pie. But were you only to have the sensation of taste, you’d lose the pleasure the activity offers. The process, the accompanying ritual movements, the gestures, the conversation and eye contact which accompanies the process… I’ll entertain you with a witty comparison. Would you like that?’

‘Please do. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘I’d also be capable of conjuring the sensation of an orgasm.”

She is quite ruthless and cutting and while Geralt remains upset about Rience, Philippa, in true sorceress fashion, has already moved on. As well, she is explicitly queer in the books which I talk about here

Later, Geralt gets up in the night to go to the bathroom and stumbles upon Philippa attempting a coup. Triss temporarily blinds Geralt and Philippa and Tissaia exchange tense words. Philippa sends Geralt away with Dijkstra, offering him mercy despite him finding out about her coup. 

However, Geralt gets away from Dijkstra and goes back to Thanedd where a full-battle is going on. 

Turns out, Tissaia and Philippa’s fight cumulated in Tissaia releasing Vilgefortz and lowering the barrier as seen in this passage:

“They’re still fighting,’ said Carduin, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s hot down there, one spell after another…’

‘Spells? In Garstang? But there’s an anti-magic aura there!’

‘It was Tissaia’s doing. She suddenly decided whose side she was on. She took down the blockade, removed the aura and neutralised the dimeritium. Then everyone went for each other! Vilgefortz and Terranova on one side, Philippa and Sabrina on the other… The columns cracked and the vaulting collapsed… And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars, and those elven devils suddenly leapt out… We told them that we were neutral, but Vilgefortz only laughed.”

Geralt then runs in Keira Metz who was thrown out a window and she explains that after Vilgefortz was released the Scoia’tael (Elven and Non-human fighters who are allied with Nilfgaard sort of) attacked: 

“Sorry. How did the Scoia’tael get here?”

“They were hidden in the cellars. Thanedd is as hollow as a nutshell and there’s a huge cavern under it; you could sail a ship in if you knew how. Someone must have told them the way—Ouuuch! Be careful! Stop jolting me!’

‘Sorry. So the Squirrels came here by sea? When?’

‘God knows when. It might have been yesterday, or a week ago. We were preparing to strike at Vilgefortz, and Vilgefortz at us. Vilgefortz, Francesca, Terranova and Fercart… They conned us good and proper. Philippa thought they were planning a slow seizure of power in the Chapter, and to put pressure on the kings… But they were planning to finish us off during the Conclave… Geralt, it’s too painful… It’s my leg… Put me down for a second. Ouuuch!”

Later, there is a flashback to Philippa and Tissaia’s fight:

‘Enough!’ Philippa slammed her fist down on the table. ‘I shall satisfy your curiosity, Carduin. You ask who is preparing a war? Nilfgaard. They intend to attack and destroy us. But Emhyr var Emreis remembers Sodden Hill and has decided to protect himself by removing the mages from the game first. With this in mind, he made contact with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. He bought him with promises of power and honour. 

Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the governor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north. Vilgefortz, helped by Terranova and Fercart, shall rule the provinces which will be established in place of the conquered kingdoms. It is he who will wield the Nilfgaardian scourge over the people who inhabit those lands and will begin toiling as the Empire’s slaves. 

And Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, will become queen of the land of the free elves. It will, of course, be a Nilfgaardian protectorate, but it will suffice for the elves so long as Emperor Emhyr will give them a free hand to murder humans. The elves desire nothing so much as to murder Dh’oine.”

Tissaia states, “That is a serious accusation. Which means the proof will also have to be as weighty. But before you throw your proof onto the scale, Philippa Eilhart, be aware of my stance. Proof may be fabricated. Actions and their motives may be misinterpreted. 

But nothing can change existing facts. You have broken the unity and solidarity of the Brotherhood, Philippa Eilhart. You have handcuffed members of the Chapter like criminals. So do not dare to offer me a position in the new Chapter which your gang of traitors–who have sold out to the kings, rather than to Nilfgaaard–intend to create. 

We are separated by death and blood. The death of Hen Gedymdeith. And the blood of Lydia van Bredevoort. You spilled that blood with contempt. You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.”

I won’t go into detail for the sake of brevity, but Philippa ends up escaping Thanedd unharmed after her failed coup and we don’t see her again until Baptism of Fire when she is forming The Lodge. 

Here is an excerpt of her pitch speech about The Lodge to the other mages:

Philippa Eilhart stood up, her dress rustling.

‘Distinguished sisters,’ she said. ‘Our situation is grave. Magic is under threat. The tragic events on Thanedd, to which my thoughts return with regret and reluctance, proved that the effects of hundreds of years of apparently peaceful cooperation could be laid waste in an instant, as self-interest and inflated ambitions came to the fore. 

We now have discord, disorder, mutual hostility and mistrust. Events are beginning to get out of control. In order to regain control, in order to prevent a cataclysm happening, the helm of this storm-tossed ship must be grasped by strong hands. 

Mistress Laux-Antille, Mistress Merigold, Mistress Metz and I have discussed the matter and we are in agreement. It is not enough to re-establish the Chapter and the Council, which were destroyed on Thanedd. In any case, there is no one left to rebuild the two institutions, no guarantee that should they be rebuilt they would not be infected with the disease that destroyed the previous ones. 

An utterly new, secret organisation should be founded which will exclusively serve matters of magic. Which will do everything to prevent a cataclysm. For if magic were to perish, our world would perish with it. 

Just as happened many centuries ago, the world without magic and the progress it brings with it will be plunged into chaos and darkness; will drown in blood and barbarity. We invite the ladies present here to take part in our initiative: to actively participate in the work proposed by this secret assembly. We took the decision to summon you here in order to hear your opinions on this matter. With this, I have finished.’

Then, later on in Baptism of Fire at the first official meeting of the Lodge Philippa discusses how she wants to make Ciri Queen of the North. 

“Who, then, is to be this Queen of the North?’

‘A girl from a royal family,’ Philippa calmly replied, ‘in whose veins flows royal blood, the blood of several great dynasties. Very young and capable of producing offspring. A girl with exceptional magical and prophetic abilities, a carrier of the Elder Blood as the prophecies have heralded. A girl who will play her role with great aplomb without direction, prompt, sycophants or grey eminences, because that is what her destiny demands. 

A girl, whose true abilities are and will be known only to us: Cirilla, daughter of Princess Pavetta of Cintra, the granddaughter of the Queen Calanthe called the Lioness of Cintra. The Elder Blood, the Icy Flame of the North, the Destroyer and Restorer, whose coming was prophesied centuries ago. Ciri of Cintra, the Queen of the North. And her blood, from which will be born the Queen of the World.”

After this, Yennefer, who was brought to the Lodge agains her will (although she is a member) escapes with Fringilla’s help in order to find Ciri and Philippa is furious. 

The next time we see Philippa is in The Tower of the Swallows and it is when Yennefer is hunting down Vilgefortz and contacts Philippa for help:

Philippa stared at her from under lowered eyelids. “If you believe,” she said finally, “that you've won peace, time, or security with this declaration, then you've miscalculated. Make no mistake about it, Yennefer. 

When you fled from Montecalvo, you made your decision. You chose to stand on a different side of the barricade. If you are not with the Lodge, you are against the Lodge. Now you're trying to forestall us from finding Ciri, and the motives that guide you are opposed to ours. 

You act against us. You do not want to allow us to use Ciri for our political purposes. You shouldknow that we will also do everything in our power to make sure that you cannot use the girl for your sentimental purposes.”

“So, it’s war?”

“Competition.” Philippa smiled toxically. “Competition only, Yennefer.”

“Decent and honorable?”

“You must be joking.”

“Obviously. Though on at least one specific issue, I would like to have an honest and genuine conversation. And, incidentally, it involves a favor to me.”

“Speak.”

“Over the next few days, maybe even tomorrow, events will occur whose consequences I cannot foresee. It may happen that our competition and rivalry suddenly has no meaning. For the simple reason that one of the competitors will not be there anymore.”

Philippa Eilhart narrowed her blue-shaded eyes. “I understand.”

“Ensure that I posthumously gain back my reputation and good name. I will no longer be held for a traitor or an accomplice of Vilgefortz. I ask this of the Lodge. I ask this of you, personally.”

Philippa was silent for a moment.“I deny your request,” she said finally. “I'm sorry, but your exoneration is not in the interest of the Lodge. If you die, you die a traitor. You'll be a traitor and criminal to Ciri, because then it will be easier to manipulate the girl.”

“Before you do something that could be fatal,” Triss said suddenly, “leave something behind for us…”

“A will?” Yennefer said.

“Something that allows us to… continue. To find Ciri. Because we are primarily concerned for her health! For her life! Yennefer, Dijkstra has found some traces of… some traces of certain activities have been found. If Vilgefortz does have Ciri, then the girl faces a horrible death.”

“Be quiet, Triss,” Philippa Eilhart hissed sharply. “We are not trading or bargaining.”

“I will leave you the information,” Yennefer said slowly. “I'll leave you the information on what I've found and what I plan. I’ll leave a trail you can follow to her. But not in vain. If you will not facilitate my exoneration in the eyes of the world, then to hell with you and with the world. But at least grant me exoneration in the eyes of the witcher.”

“No,” Philippa denied the request almost instantly. “That is also not in the interest of the Lodge. You will also remain a traitor and a mercenary sorceress to your witcher. It is not in the interest of the Lodge for him to furiously attempt to avenge you. If he despises you, he will not attempt to take revenge. By the way, he's probably already dead or will die any day now.”

“The information,” Yennefer said dully, “for his life. Save him, Philippa.”

“No, Yennefer.”

“Because it's not in the interest of the Lodge.” A purple fire kindled in the sorceress’ eyes. “Did you hear that Triss? There, you have your Lodge. You see their true colors, their true interests. And what do you think of them? You were a mentor to the girl, almost – as you put it – a big sister. And Geralt…”

“Do not attack Triss’ relationships, Yennefer.” Philippa retaliated with her own fire in her eyes. “We will find and rescue the girl without your help. And if you succeed, that's fine, a thousand thanks, because you will have saved us the trouble. You tear the girl out of the hands of Vilgefortz and we will be happy. And Geralt? Who cares about Geralt?”

“Did you hear that, Triss?”

“Forgive me,” said Triss Merigold dully. “Forgive me, Yennefer.”

“Oh, no, Triss. Never.”

I know this is a long scene, but it’s so important and isn’t one I felt right in slicing up. This establishes Triss’ true betrayal of Yennefer. Just prior to this, it is practically stated that Triss and Philippa slept together and despite Triss’ love for Yennefer her loyalty to Philippa is stronger in this moment which makes this hurt so much more. Philippa is also so cruel to Yennefer in this scene, denying both Geralt and Ciri the truth of her motivations as to better manipulate them. It really showcases how her lust for power overrides her empathy. 

The final time we see Philippa is in Lady of the Lake when Ciri is brought before the Lodge. Here, Philippa describes what their plans are for Ciri:

“You are coming with me,” Lady Owl (Philippa) said, breaking the heavy silence, “and Sile to Kovir, to Pont Vanis, the summer capital of the kingdom. As you are no longer Cirilla of Cintra, during the course of the audience you will be presented as an adept of magic, being protected by us. 

At that audience you will meet a very wise king, Esterad Thyssen. You will meet his wife, the Queen Zuleyka, a person of singular nobility and goodness. You will also meet their son and heir, Prince Tancred.”

Ciri was beginning to understand and rolled her eyes. Lady Owl did not miss that detail.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “First of all you must impress prince Tancred. Because you are going to become his lover and give him a child.”

“If you were still Cirilla of Cintra,” Philippa continued after a long pause, “still the daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Calanthe, you would become Prince Tancred’s legal wife. You’d be the princess and later the queen of Poviss and Kovir. Unfortunately, and I tell you with genuine regret, fate has deprived you of everything. Including your future. You will only be his mistress. His favourite.”

Then Later: 

“Your’s and Tancred’s child,” Philippa watched here with dark eyes, “will ensure the future and status of this Lodge. Take note that it will be a great thing. You will be a part of it, because right after the birth you will sit with us at this table. We will teach you. You are one of us, even if you do not want to admit it yet.”

“On the island of Thanedd,” Ciri overcame the tightness in her throat, “you said I was a mindless tool, even a monster, Lady Owl, and now you say that I am one of you.”

Then, the Lodge asks Ciri what her last name will be, Philippa and others offering theirs but Ciri declines in favor of choosing Yennefer’s:

“Thank you, Lady Philippa,” Ciri said after a few moments, squeezing the head of the sphinxes in her hands. “I also feel honoured with the proposal to take the surname de Tancarville. However, it seems to me that my new last name is the only thing that I can choose for myself, I thank the two mistresses. But I want to be called Cirilla of Vengerberg, daughter of Yennefer.”

Ciri requests to go and see Geralt and The Lodge votes on this and Philippa is the deciding vote. At first, she is hesitant but then Ciri shows her a vision and Philippa says this: 

“This Lodge,” Philippa said at last in a firm voice, “is to decide the fate of the world. So, this Lodge must reflect the world. Here, equilibrium and wisdom does not always mean cold and selfish, calculation and vileness, and sentimentality is not always naive. On one hand, iron discipline and on the other responsibility, resistance to violence, gentleness and trust. Cool reason… And heart.”

“I,” she said into the silence that reigned after her introduction, “cast the last vote. I will take into account one more thing. An element that without balancing anything, balances everything.”

“Following her gaze, everyone looked at the wall, to a mosaic of many multicolour tiles depicting the snake Uroboros, biting it’s own tail.

“That thing,” she continued, staring with her dark eyes at Ciri, “is destiny in which I, Philippa Eilhart have only begun to believe in recently, which I have only recently begun to understand. Destiny is not the way to providence or comfortable fatalism. Destiny is hope. I am full of hope that it will become what we want to happen, so I give my vote to Ciri - Child of Destiny, Child of Hope”

In the pillared hall of Montecalvo the was silence for a long time. From outside of the window came the hunting cry from a sea eagle.

“Lady Yennefer,” Ciri whispered. “It means…”

“Come, my daughter,” Yennefer whispered back. “Geralt is waiting for is and it is a long road ahead.”

This is the last time we see Philippa, but based on what we hear at other parts of Lady of Lake, we know she does not have a happy ending. After this, the Witch Hunt begin, a period of time when the Clergy hunted and murdered sorceresses and destroyed their pictures and images. The Witcher Hunts themselves could be an entirely separate post there is so much there. 

Many sorceresses, Philippa included as later considered Martyrs but she was killed viciously by the clergy as described in this passage from Lady of the Lake:

…As well as many of the other faithful, St. Philippa was also besmirched with betraying the Kingdom, inducing riots and plotting a coup. Willemer, a heretic and sectarian, unlawfully appointed himself the title of archpriest, and ordered St. Philippa to be thrown into a dark dungeon, and to plague her with cold and hunger, until she confessed to her sins of which she was accused and repented. 

Also various instruments of torture were used to try and break her spirit. But St. Philippa with disdain, spit in his face and accused him of sodomy.

The heretic had her disrobed and whipped her with barbed wire and placed sharp splinters under her nails. While unceasingly preaching about his faith and denouncing the Goddess. But St. Philippa laughed at him and recommended to him to heal his sick mind.”

“Willemer then gave the order to have her taken to the rack and stretched, while tearing her body with sharp hooks and burning her with candles. Although thus tormented, St. Philippa showed no weakness in body and indeed her resistance and endurance seemed almost superhuman. 

The executioner’s arms went limp and with fear they retreated from her. Then the filthy heretic, Willemer, began to threaten them and told them to continue the torment. They burned St. Philippa with red-hot irons, pulled her limbs out of their joints and pulled at her breasts with blacksmith tongs. And although she passed away from this torment, she confessed nothing.

The shameless heretic Willemer, we read in the books of our holy fathers, later suffered for this punishment and it was that lice and worms began to eat him alive, his entrails rotted away and he died miserably. 

His carcass carried with it a foul stench and nobody wanted to bury him, and so he was dropped in a swamp.

For the suffering and death of St. Philippa the eternal memory of a martyr’s crown rightfully belongs. Let us give the Great Mother Goddess praise for her lessons and teachings. Amen.

The Life of St. Philippa, Martyr of Mons Calvus

The Book of Martyrs Compiled in the Breviary of Tretogor, For the 

Contemplation of the Holy Fathers and Mothers.”

Needless to say, Philippa’s hunger for power and The Lodge end in ruin. There are very few happy endings in The Witcher and this is just another example. 

So that’s my overview on Philippa! I had to cut some scenes and moments in the hope of keeping it short, but I hope it was still an enjoyable read. If you want another character/topic WTF post leave something in my inbox and I will get to it when I can. 

[delldarling]

the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time. 

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try. 

-

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled. 

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here. 

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away. 

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those. 

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners. 

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar. 

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?  

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips. 

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard.  ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.  

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!” 

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer. 

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks. 

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales. 

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?” 

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier. 

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting. 

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.  

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting. 

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-” 

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs. 

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand. 

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?” 

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand. 

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away. 

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.  

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand. 

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.  

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed. 

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips. 

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. 

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

  “Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever. 

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed. 

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction. 

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”  

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed. 

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.  

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils. 

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

  Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about. 

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

[behindheremeraldeyes]

damirae week 2021 tuesday, May 4th - enemies to lovers & dark fantasy/ fairytale

title: bewitched

summary: “There’s a sly and satisfied smirk playing on her lips, and for a moment, he knows she has bewitched him, body and soul. This girl— this demon— is going to be his downfall. " Ao3 // ffnet

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It is a moonless night when the most powerful members of the League of Assassins are gathered in the catacombs of the sacred city of Eth Alth’eban. There are at least 20 men wearing dark-green hoods to cover their faces, each holding a lit candle in order to provide just the minimum luminosity for the ceremony that is about to take place. Their leader, Damian Al’Ghul, stands straight as he holds his powerful countenance, his emerald eyes never leaving the deteriorated book in his hands. A conjuring circle has been drawn with the ancient sand of the white desert, and at this moment, all the preparations have been concluded.

At last, the time has come. After spending years studying the dark arts and reading countless manuscripts on the matter, Damian is finally ready to take the next step towards a prosperous future. He is about to do what his predecessors never had the guts to, and with this action, a new era for the League is about to begin. He will make his grandfather proud by rewriting the history of their organization. He will be respected and his name, finally, immortalized.

“From hell, I, Damian Al’Ghul summon thou. Break the gates, unleash thy power and come forward. Step into this world now that the shadows cover this land. Be mine, demon, and my heart shall be yours for eternity.” He closes the book, handling it to one of the servants standing next to him. His hand reaches for the dagger in his belt, and in a fraction of a second, he tears the skin of his right hand. Red blood oozes from the sash and he lets it drip over the circle, tinging the white sand into a bright crimson. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos.”

The last words come as a whisper and a profound silence envelops the room. A couple of seconds pass, and though he can practically touch the thick anxiety of his subordinates around him, there’s no room for hesitation in his core. His pulse suddenly increases and it’s as if he can feel his heart constricting inside his ribcage. It’s not painful, not in the least. In fact, it gives him a feeling of fulfillment, and as he embraces this feeling, the ground beneath his feet starts to shake.

A dust of wind invades the catacombs, the lights of a few candles fading in consequence. Suddenly, an ominous fog swirls inside the circle, delicate at first, but quickly escalating into a dark vortex. Breathing gets harder, as if all the oxygen is quickly vanishing, and from the corner of his eyes, he can see some of the elder man falling on their knees, holding their throats and gasping for air. He doesn’t move, though. He can’t, for his feet are suddenly too heavy and something tells him he shouldn’t move a single muscle.

So he doesn’t. He stands his ground for what feels like an eternity, but eventually, the turmoil ceases and a dark sphere appears over the circle, floating steadily. His ears capture the sound of his men recovering, and some even take a step closer to him, as if to offer their prince some support. They have their blades ready, but Damian knows they won’t do anything unless he commands them to. There’s no need for violence. At least not yet.

After almost a full minute, the orb then dissolves and a small figure is now kneeled on the floor, the runes of the circle now shinning with a purple aura. His men are left in pure awe at the scene in front of them, but Damian doesn’t let those feelings take over him. His eyes are slowly studying the figure, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize the demon he has summoned has a human form— the form of a woman, apparently.

Her head is lowered, dark hair falling forward. She’s naked, her bare skin pale as the finest porcelain and slim curves outlining her figure. Her arms are wrapped across her chest in a protective way, and he is quick to notice the way she’s shivering. She’s cold, he thinks. It’s mid winter here, and perhaps, she must still be used to the warmer temperatures of hell.

“Bring me a source of fire. Now.” He orders, and his subordinates don’t question, quickly lighting a brazier. In a swift move, then, Damian unbuttons the cape that falls over his shoulders and wraps it around her. He’s crouched now, his feet invading the circle and his face just a few inches away from hers. When he reaches out for her now covered shoulder, she trembles under his touch. His eyes squint a bit, and slowly, he watches as she finally lifts her face.

Their eyes are connected now. His emeralds and her amethyst clashing and he can’t find it in himself to look away. She’s enticing, seductive, even. Her eyes are as deep as autumn’s starry skies, and her rosy lips are slowly parting as she studies his expression. There’s a red crystal on her forehead, and it’s as if flames are dancing inside of it.

Damian is mesmerized by her ethereal beauty. She’s probably the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, and for a moment, her pure looks make him forget that she is, in fact, a demon. A demon he has summoned to help him achieve his goals.

Once realization strikes him back, he blinks and breaks eye contact. He stands up, his imposing figure now towering over her body as he reaches out, offering his hand to help her stand. At first, her eyes are just staring at him, but eventually, she accepts his gesture and he can properly feel her icy touch clashing against his warm skin. Though her legs are still shaky, she manages to stand up, and as expected, she’s smaller than him. She lets go of his hand once she’s confident enough to stand alone, and though her eyes were only filled with confusion until this point, now, he can see a new flame behind her irises.

She’s examining her surroundings now, and he wonders if she’s either planning a way to escape or to kill all of them— for their sake, he hopes it’s not the latter. The demoness takes a deep breath, then, and her attention returns to him.

“So you’re the one who’s summoned me.” Her voice is low, almost velvety, and he senses an inch of growing confidence in it.

“Yes.” He confirms. “You will help me achieve my goals.” His eyes are determined as those words roll out of his tongue, and that determination evokes a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, is that so? How can you be so sure of that? Tell me what’s stopping me from killing you and all of your men?”

The lack of hesitation in her voice causes a turmoil in his men, and they were quick to unsheathe their blades. Rage fills their hearts, and their blood-thirst is almost palpable now.

“Just say the word, your majesty.” One of them says, and it’s clear that they only need the minimum approval from Damian to slit her throat.

“Is this your pathetic excuse for backup?” She huffs, not bothering to spare them a single glance. They’re growing more irritated, but she pays them no mind. ”I see why you needed a demon, then.”

“You devil creature! How dare yo— “

“Enough.” He says, firmly, with a reprimanding tone towards his men. If anything, he won’t let them fall for her tricky games so easily. He’s glaring at her now, yet she doesn’t seem intimidated by him in the least. “If you wanted us dead, you would’ve done it by now.”

“Very astute, your majesty.” She mocks, finally turning her amethyst orbs to his men. “At ease, gentlemen. No one needs to die here tonight. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to speak alone with you, Damian Al’Ghul.”

“Very well.” He turns to his men. “You can leave now.”

“What?! Master Damian, we shouldn’t have done this. We can just kill her and get back to the way we were before. We can—“

“Don’t you dare finish this sentence, sergeant.” He speaks, harshly. “I forbid you or anyone else in this facility to bring her any harm. Have I made myself clear?” There’s a screaming silence after his words, but eventually, his men bow their heads in acceptance. Hands are clenched into tight fists, and at last, her smirk fades from her face. For that, Damian is thankful.

In less than a second, all the men surrounding them leave the room. The light from the lit fire outlines their silhouettes as they now stand face to face. She’s still wrapped around his green and golden cape, and there’s a serious expression decorating her features now.

“So, Damian…” She starts, squinting her eyes in defiance. With her powers, the magic book he’s used to conjure the spells comes floating to her hands, and she’s quick to start flipping through its dusty pages. “You might be aware of this already, but you have used a pretty powerful grimoire to summon a demon like me. The mage who wrote this spells certainly knew what he was doing, for he’s found a way to turn the tables against us, evil creatures.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we can’t just fool you, humans, into doing whatever we want like we’ve been doing for the past centuries.” She smirks. “At least not so easily anymore. With the spells in this book, giving you my real name or stuff like that makes absolutely no difference.”

“And what is it? Your name, I mean.”

Her eyes stare at him for a while, and though she takes a couple of seconds to try and read him, eventually, she gives in. “Raven. You can call me Raven.”

“Raven.” He tests her name in his own voice, and unconsciously, he finds himself enjoying the way it rolls out of his tongue. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine.” She replies, finally closing the book with a loud noise. “Well, you’ve summoned me from the depths of hell, Damian. You don’t need to tell me your reasons for it, but please, do tell me, what is it that you want me to do? How can I serve you?”

He nods at her, and even if Damian knows better than to simply trust a demon, he believes she’s being genuine. Though there are still a lot of things he has yet to learn about dark magic, he knows that the book he’s used gives him the higher ground against her. There are taming spells there that can subdue her to his wills, and if anything, she’s not allowed to kill him. They’re bound together for as long as he wants to, and giving her his heart in exchange for that felt quite acceptable.

They’re each holding the strings of each other’s lives, and with that, he believes they will find balance.

“I want what all the humans in my position want, Raven. I want enough power to protect my man and the things we stand for. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Nothing more, huh?” Her brows quirk, and she takes a few steps closer to him. Her eyes are on his, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t spot a certain curiosity in her demeanor. “Don’t you want to rule the world, Damian? Don’t you want to be feared by nations and create your own empire?”

“No.” He says, promptly. “A true leader should not be feared, but respected.”

“How very honorable for a human.” She teases, finally returning the book to him. “But this is none of my business. I’m in no position to defy your wishes. I’m bound to consent if that’s what you want.”

She turns away from him, then, and he watches as his cape dances around her slim legs. She stretches her arms and neck, and that’s when he reminds himself that, even if she’s a creature from hell, Raven still has her own wishes and desires. They’ve made a contract, and even if the odds are in his favor, there must be something in it for her, too. He refuses to believe that a human heart is enough to pay for what could be a life of servitude.

The leader of the Assassins takes a deep breath, then, as he decides to venture unexplored territory. His intentions are noble— at least he thinks they are— and he doesn’t hesitate before speaking. “And what is it that you want, Raven?”

“Me?” She asks, curiosity lacing her voice. She turns to face him once more, and he catches a glimpse of interest in her amethyst eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m asking you what is it that you want. What will you get from helping me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asks, her tongue instinctively running across her lower lip. “I’ll be finally free, Damian.”

“Free?” He arcs his brows as he tries to understand her words. “Can you really be free while bounded to a human?”

“You humans have a very idealistic sense of freedom. We are bound together, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean you’re taking away my freedom. It’s quite the opposite, in fact.”

“How so?”

“You took me away from hell, Damian. And though it might not be the worst place for us, demons, it’s still pretty hard not to lose control when all of those suffering souls are screaming inside your head.” She smiles, weakly, but genuinely. “Now that I’m only connected to you, it’s easier to think straight. My mind isn’t crowded anymore, and that alone sets me free. If you are to put me in a cage for the rest of your life, so be it. At least I will some peace.”

His lips go agape after her words, and he feels his heart skipping a beat. Though he initially believed to know enough about demons due to his previous studies, Damian now knows that there’s a lot more about them he has yet to understand. They’re creatures with thoughts and emotions, and some of them might still carry some traces of humanity. Though malice and wickedness might prevail in their core, perhaps— just perhaps— some of them can come to comprehend feelings such as mercy and happiness.

Perhaps, together, they can eventually comprehend the meaning of love.

The heart inside his chest, though no longer his, beats faster as his eyes continue to stare at her. A sense of dignity and justice takes over him, and before he knows it, his hand is already placed over her shoulder. His touch is tender, and he watches as bewilderment spreads around her face. “You won’t be trapped in a cage, Raven. I want you to rule by my side, and we will stand together against whatever might come for us. I will give you anything you might desire. I will keep you safe.”

As his words sink in, a slow smile takes over her lips, and she uses her right hand to remove his from her shoulder. “A human protecting a demon… How amusing.” Her small fingers are now holding his, and he notices how foreign her touch feels. Still, she’s gentle. “Not trapping a demon in a cage, huh… You might regret this decision later, Damian.”

“I won’t.” He nods, his grip on her fingers tightening. “You will be free by my side. I give you my word.”

His promises come out almost as a whisper, and he watches as her expression, though still very strict, shows signs of excitement. Her amethyst eyes seem to shine brighter now, and her thin lips are slowly turning upwards. Right now, Damian is captivated by her genuine beauty and he can’t control the sudden desire to have her that has grown inside of him. Perhaps it’s part of the original contract or even a curse she’s putting on him. Whatever it is, he can’t find it in himself to fight against this urge.

Raven blinks one more time, and slowly, her hand slides from his and she’s now cupping his cheek. Her thumb slides across his olive skin, and he can’t help but allow the weight of his head to rest over her palm. Their eyes are connected and he can feel a soft breeze coming from her slightly parted lips. She’s incredibly close now. So close that if he leans in, his lips might brush hers. The thought of kissing her crosses his mind, and though it might seem too misplaced, it’s not completely absurd.

She’s the owner of his heart, after all. Though the meaning of it might not be the same for her, he is still human. He is still a man.

“Raven, I—“

“Shh…” She silences him, her eyes now only half opened. “Don’t say anything you might regret later.”

“I— “

Before he can even finish his words, Raven is the one who closes the gap between them. Her lips are pressed firmly against his in a soft and chaste kiss, and his body is quick to respond to her action. His arm slowly snakes around her small body, bringing her closer so they can deepen the kiss. Damian can feel the curves of her bare breasts against his chest and he can feel his body warming up at her touch.

Their tongues brush softly against one another, and once he adds a little roughness to the kiss, he’s able to elicit a soft moan from the depths of her throat. She responds to him promptly, their lips moving in perfect synchrony. Though it might not be natural for two extremely different creatures to engage in such actions, the desire running through his veins seems to be controlling his movements, and he doesn’t think he has the strength to break free.

His mind is revolving around her right now, and though it might feel a little clouded, Damian doesn’t think he has ever felt more powerful or sane in his entire life. He can barely feel his own heart beating anymore, but the power that now courses through his body is making him feel incredibly alive.

What is she doing to him? He doesn’t know, not really. However, he doesn’t really care about it right now.

He’s entranced by her, and there’s no turning back anymore. At least not until his heart stops beating.

His need for air forces him to retreat momentarily, their foreheads resting against one another. His lungs are desperate for fresh air, and judging by the way her ribcage is moving fast, he assumes she’s just as needy.

“What have you done to me?” He asks, still breathless. The turmoil inside his body seems to be fading, and at last, he can think straight again.

“Nothing your heart didn’t wish for, Damian.” Raven answers, sliding her hand across his chest, until it’s placed over his heart. She can feel it beating against her palm, and he notices how focused she seems. There’s a sly and satisfied smirk playing on her lips, and for a moment, he knows she has bewitched him, body and soul. This girl— this demon— is going to be his downfall.

And the worst part is that he’s looking forward to it.

fin.

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a/n: day 2 and here we are! Ngl, I had this idea while watching a weird show and I’m pretty happy with the result. Both Raven and Damian are such amazing characters to play with, and I think it’s our duty as shippers to explore them and their love. Well, what did you think? Hope you’ve enjoyed it! Thank you for reading it, and see ya!

[pricemarshfield]

moments like these

A Figayda angst/hurt/comfort fic. Requested by @sapphic-tuesday even though they only requested it because I love Figayda. (ily bestie) Read on AO3 here.

Prompt: Figayda, angst, hurt/comfort, “You don’t need to stay.” “I don’t need to. But I want to.”

The forest is dark and damp and the worst fucking place Fig has ever been, and she's running as fast as she can to get away from herself. She'd point out how it's way too on the nose if she had any breath left, but as it stands, it's all she can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, slower and slower.

Eventually she has to just collapse into the nearest bush, hope somehow that's enough stealth even as the crack of the branches seems to echo out for miles and miles. There's a long, long beat, where she thinks, just for a second, that maybe she's done it. Maybe the other her isn't too perceptive, either.

She hears an oddly pitched laugh from right behind her ear, as though she isn't lying on the ground, and when did the branches tangle around her leg? Where'd her bass go? Why did none of her friends even seem to care that someone else took her place--

Fig wakes up with a start, sits up, hits her head against her ceiling which is, of course, the living room floor. Her horns scratch it a bit, but thankfully, her mom won't ever see it. Her crystal says it's 3 in the morning when she checks it, and fuck, she's gonna be stuck in here for awhile if she can't pass back out.

She could send a quick text to the Mordred group chat (the manorlings, despite Ragh vying for 'OWLBEAR HYPE HOUSE') and ask if anyone's up to let her out, but then there'll be questions about why she's up, so she just concentrates on mage hand until she nails the chord and the ceiling opens.

The house feels too empty with everyone asleep, too stifling when she can't make any noise, but there's not exactly anywhere else she can go. Her days of sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to concerts aren't nearly as fun now that she misses her friends the whole time. Also, now people recognize her for being one of Solace's biggest stars or whatever, and that's just kind of a hassle when she's not in the mood for attention.

The living room couch is an old, cracked leather thing, moved from Jawbone's apartment. It's not comfortable in any traditional sense, but there's a groove in it that fits her perfectly, and that's nice, in its own way. Sometimes she misses the couch in the old house. It got burned to hell in the attack on prom night, though, so. The whole house did, honestly; when she went home after everything, the window in her bedroom was shattered, glass all over her bed so that she had to pick up each piece, vacuum up what small pieces she couldn't see. She still woke up with a couple cuts on her legs that she didn't have before, but it was home, even if the posters and the pink wallpaper were both singed, even if the purple comforter she'd had since she was a kid didn't smell like it used to.

The old Faeth house never really felt like home after her horns, sure, but Mordred...

She does like it here. Loves it, when everyone's crowded around the table, Adaine arguing with Kristen about some minute difference in casting, Jawbone telling a wildly off-color story to a confused-but-interested Aelwyn, Sandra Lynn making sure Ayda has enough food on her plate while she blinks back fiery tears.

But it doesn't change the fact that she lived here for all of a day before spring break, and right now the hallways and secret passages and tall ceilings all feel ominous, not exciting anymore.

She turns on the light before her mage hand dissipates, scrolls through the games she has on her crystal. Most of them are things she's had on here back when she liked unicorns and glitter and all those girly things that she never got around to deleting.

It's something to do, at least.

The bright colors are nostalgic in just the wrong way, and she makes it through two minutes of matching pop rocks and cake slices before she's scrolling through the games again, on-edge for no goddamn reason.

"Fig?"

Part of her relaxes against the couch before she's even finished processing the voice as Ayda. "Hey! I didn't think you were staying here tonight."

"I wasn't," Ayda says, looking at her with an expression she can't read at all. She's in a deep blue chemise, like she'd been sleeping before she walked through the enchanted door into Mordred. "I--may I sit?"

"Yeah, of course," Fig says, patting the spot next to her. "Always, babe."

Ayda cries a little as she sits, and Fig wipes the tears away. The first time she tried, when she was a normal tiefling and didn't wear the title of Archdevil, it stung a little, like stepping into a too-warm bath. Now, it feels just like the hint of warmth against her hand, uniquely Ayda and not at all painful. (Which is also uniquely Ayda, to never freak Fig out even when she's in this shitty mood.)

"So," Ayda says. "I was in Leviathan, as I needed to--well, still need to, I've merely decided the task isn't as important--I'm getting sidetracked."

"Yeah," Fig says, and when Ayda stiffens, says, "Not bad! Not a bad thing! It's cute."

"Oh," Ayda says. "I--sorry," and bursts into tears again. Fig wipes them away, kisses her cheek just 'cause she can, kisses the other one because she can feel Ayda's face get even warmer.

"No worries," Fig says, too late, because she's not--this is still new to her. "So what's going on?"

"As you know, I am a divination wizard, though not an Oracle like Adaine, our best friend." Fig nods. "But sometimes my dreams have--not prophecies, but looks into the present, or even occasionally the past."

"Okay," Fig says. "Is there, like, a slumbering demon lord underneath Mordred?"

"No," Ayda says. "I asked a ranger I know in Leviathan to check before he left on a journey to Sylvaire. Unrelated to the Nightmare King. I checked, just to be sure, because I am sure none of us want to deal with that again."

"Mmhm," Fig says, willing herself to keep breathing slow and easy and not tense up like she wants to. It's just Ayda talking about preventing further Nightmare King stuff. The Nightmare King doesn't even exist anymore, they're Cassandra, they're cool. "So, uh, what'd you see in your dream?"

"You," Ayda says. "That isn't uncommon. I dream of you often. You're in more of my dreams than not. Is that strange? Should I not have said that?"

"Not strange," Fig says, sure her cheeks are red rather than pink. "Just--I'm flustered, okay, give me a second."

Ayda nods at her, not smiling but face relaxed in a way that suggests the same feeling. Fig grabs her hand just to ground herself, squeezes it once. There's a moment before Ayda squeezes it back, like she's thinking about whether it's the right thing to do.

"Totally normal," Fig says, just in case.

"Good," Ayda says with one long exhale. "I was worried."

"You know, it doesn't matter to me if what you do is 'normal'," Fig says. "I like you whether what you do is normal or not!"

Ayda nods. "I want to finish my thought, but after that I want to kiss you. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You could kiss me and then finish the thought?"

"I would forget," Ayda says, like she doesn't remember everything, like Fig is enough to distract her. Fig can't quite meet her gaze, then, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She squeezes her hand again. Ayda squeezes back immediately. "Um. I'm distracting myself. What was I talking about?"

"Your dream."

"Right. Thank you, Fig. I dreamed about you, and I think it may have been--it was as though I was standing at your bedside. I know it was a dream and not sleepwalking, because I can't actually stand in your room--it's too short and I don't want to set your house on fire. But you seemed upset, and while I don't know if that was real or a dream or not, I couldn't--I couldn't just sit in my room and Leviathan without checking."

"Oh," Fig says. "Um. I'm fine."

"Hm," Ayda says. "You know, you were the one who told me that if people say they're fine, it very rarely means they're fine. I don't understand the logic of it at all, but I trust your insight."

"It's stupid," Fig says, and then, in a twist, bursts into tears herself. "God. It's stupid, I don't even know why I'm upset? Like, it's literally nothing, nothing is going on, I'm just dumb--"

"You are not dumb," Ayda says, and Fig hates herself all the more for the panic she can hear in her voice. "You have taught me so much, and if it matters to you, then it's not stupid. Fig?"

"Yeah," Fig says, voice embarrassingly choked up. She clears her throat as best she can, which isn't very well, since she's still actively crying. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't know what you know," Ayda says. "But I know that when I cry, you wipe my tears away, and I'm going to do the same for you, unless you want to stop me, in which case I won't."

Fig doesn't move, lets Ayda wipe away her tears even though it makes her want to cry more, someone being nice to her right now. "Thanks."

"Any time," Ayda says with the weight of a promise and not at all like the platitude most people would mean. "Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't. I often don't want to talk about the things I'm going through when I'm still going through them."

"I don't," Fig says, because the idea of explaining the nightmare and Mordred and her old house being destroyed and feeling so, so unmoored and stuck all at once makes her want to tear her own hair out. "I don't--you don't need to stay. I'll be okay. If I'm not--if I can't talk about it, you don't need to stay."

"I don't need to stay," Ayda says, carefully, and Fig grips her hand tighter without consciously meaning to. "But I'd like to. If I can."

"I meant it when I said always," Fig says, still not looking at Ayda because she can't.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," Fig says. "I always want you to stay."

Jawbone walks into the room on his way into the kitchen, sees two teenagers holding hands and crying and slightly-burning his couch, and decides he can just get water from the bathroom instead of the kitchen. He's not one to interrupt a moment.