#A Serpent's Daughter // IC

[achaotichuman]

THE GARDENS THE FRUIT AND THE SERPENT

The prequel to A Witch A Warrior And A Reckoning, the story of Dahlia Fairburn and how the next generation of A Court of Thorns and Roses tore down the most powerful tyrant of history.

This prequel will be updated alongside the main story, though the main fic does not need to be read to enjoy this one. (Link for AO3 at the bottom of the post)

Protagonists

Dahlia Fairburn

Elain Archeron

Azriel Shadowsinger/Vanserra

Nyx Archeron

(Main) Relationships

Azriel x Eris Vanserra

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

Dahlia Fairburn x Eve Almila

Summary

Years after the killing of the Deathless, Koschei, the Lords and Ladies of the Courts of Prythian have settled down, and their children freely roam the land, preparing for the day they may take on the Crown.

Dahlia Fairburn, the daughter of Tamlin Fairburn, the wildcard of her father's household, unpredictable with the same shimmer of gold her father has. Her wants are to serve her people, and hone her natural predatory skills in the dance of battle. And perhaps if she can score an invitation to work under the new King of Vallahan, she might get her chance she's looking for.

Azriel is trying to move past the feuds with Rhysand that drove them apart, settling into his life in the Autumn Court alongside Eris Vanserra. Still the ghost of what happened haunts him, and he sees in the now dull eyes of Nesta Archeron. The heaviness of his past weighs down, and he can only hope to shield his daughters from what had happened to him.

Elain Archeron has seen visions, visions she doesn't understand, but knows they are dark. The future is undecided, but all she does know, is one day this mask will come crumbling down. And when it does, it might be helpful to have the most powerful in history under her thumb.

Tags (Tagging the same people from the tag list of A Witch A Warrior And A Reckoning, let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list):

@sonics-atelier, @sadisticdevile, @shi-daisy, @skyesayshi

@praetorqueenreyna, @futurehunt, @unanswered-stars, @mathiwrites

@honeysuckle-daydreams13

[uzumakichcined]

" This information only concerns me further-- "

[deathfavor]

@shackld said:

@ lamia

' . . . '

Oh what a shame...what a tragedy...it seems the Chief's number has been blocked from her phone. Oh dear, what ever shall she do? She's soooooooo sad :(

[uzumakichcined]

" Exactly, and if you care for your elderly teacher than I suggest you assist me. I want to run a few tests on the frogs that him and yourself summon. Nothing invasive, just a variety of samples of their venom. "

❝ HEY! HEY?! What the hell did I do?! ❞

He just got here damn it!

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: 'I'm not here to fuck spiders' type of vibe. I am just going to warn you now, the reader is definitely a 'fuck around and find out' type of gal. "Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't'" - Lady Macbeth, the original man eater, my guiding light.

Chapter 30:  Fire and Blood

For days you bobbed beneath the surface of consciousness, breaking through the waves rising to the top, looking around to observe your surroundings, your body still heavy as a stone before you crashed down into the abyss once more, tart liquid on your tongue. 

You emerged from the turbulent waves again, eyes sliding open, head turning sluggishly to the seat beside your bed. Each movement of your head against the pillow made nausea climb up through your throat.

The world spun as you were finally able to concentrate on the figure that sat rigidly beside your bed. Donned in a tight green dress sat Alicent, watching you unmoving, with her lips pursed into a tight line.

She sat so stiffly, you would not be surprised if a rod had been shoved inside of her. As though you were to blame. As though by some inexplicable reason, that she had been put out by the actions of her own son, who had been encouraged by her bitterness for years.

How dare she fucking look at you like that.

Fury burst through you as you struggled to pull yourself sitting, desperately dragging your body up from beneath the sheets, grunting. The pain in your side was raw as you heavily laid your back against the board of the bed. You sucked in greedy breaths, holding in whimpers of pain as your side was alight with pulses.

She watched you impassively, having not moved as she waited for you to pull yourself upright. She did not offer help, nor twitch at the sight of you struggling, or in pain. She was every inch an Ice Queen.

You looked at the tables beside your bed, they were empty. No cups to throw at the Green Queen, no blade to slit her throat with, no makeshift weapon to avenge your family.

You stared at her, begging to keep your grief at bay, and let your anger rise above it all. You needed to hold strong. You needed to be a dragon.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, head tilted as she spoke.

How were you feeling?

How were you feeling?

Her son murdered your brother in front of you, chased you about the skies tormenting him. For years she and her kin have made your families lives a living nightmare. Her son usurped the crown from your mother as she forced people to support him. She made the realm a more dangerous place for women, ensuring that you would never become heir to the throne.

How were you feeling? 

You watched silently as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap, pulling and twisting, waiting for your response, though none came. The skin around her nails were raw and bloody as they twisted in her lap.

You wished she would bite through the bone next time. 

“I prayed to the Seven every night for your speedy recovery from certain death. You fell and Aemond caught you. The Prince brought you here, gaunt, pale, wet with rain and blood. The Maesters were sure you would not survive, but Prince Aemond insisted on saving you."

Saved you?

Saved you??

He was the reason you were in this godforsaken bed.

It was almost laughable. In fact, you did laugh, though the dryness of your throat caused your lungs to seize. A ragged cough forced itself from your lips as you doubled over in pain, clutching your side.

What had he done to you?

What was wrong with your side?

If he had saved you, why do you feel broken?

You sucked in an agonising breath as you leant back, pulling the white chemise up your side higher and higher from your body, slowly exposing your skin to the room. You grunted with every movement.

Around your ribs were thick bandages pulled taught against you. Blood stained the left of the creamy strips. Tentatively, you went to pull the bandages away from your skin, to look at what lay beneath.

“Aemond saved you.” She repeated, as though you hadn’t heard her.

You scoffed, but the rush of air caused your side to flare with pain. You sucked in a shallow breath, snapping your head to the woman at the side of your bed. 

Her face had not changed. Ever the martyr. Ever the goddamn self righteous woman of the Gods who could do no wrong. Who could never be held accountable for the domino affect of her actions.

You swore to yourself then and there, that once you were healed and ready, you would kill her. Present her eyes... No. Her head to your mother as a gift.

As you looked down at your side, large bruises peaked above the bandages, dark purples and reds blooming across your skin. You breathed shallowly, fingers resuming their pulling on the bandages, more discolouration becoming visible to your eyes.

“He saved you from the fall, a certain death if you were to hit the waves below you.”

Your fingers pulled at a bandage with dried blood away from your ribs, the strips resisting as they had stuck to the wound below. You held your breath as you pulled the bandage further away, feeling the scabs pull from your wound, a sharp stinging spreading across your side.

Beneath the bandages, your skin was deeply bruised. A large gash ran around the side of your ribs from your front, to your back. Its edges were jagged, as though a blade had been roughly pulled along your flesh, the tight skin snapping apart from the tension.

Through the ragged and torn flesh were lines of hastily done stitches, their dark thread holding the wound tightly shut together. Every movement pulled on them. And the wound was swollen and red, there was no sign of infection to be seen.

You sucked in a stuttering breath as you placed the bandages back against your side, slumping as you watched the woman in front of you ramble.

“The Seven heard our prayers and saved you from The Stranger. Princess Helaena has prayed for you too, as did the King. You are safe here. We have made sure that you have had the best medical treatment in all the realm.” 

You felt bile rise up in your mouth. You stared at her, unblinking until finally you spoke.

“My brother is dead.” Your voice cracked dryly.

Alicent stiffened in her seat, sitting up straighter as her hands came to a stop in her lap.

“I grieve-“

“Lucerys was murdered…” You cut her off. “By your son…A Kinslayer.” 

Every word twinged your side in pain.

You breathed heavily, the strumming pain curling around your lungs as you waited for her to respond. The Dowager Queen simply stared at you, waiting for you to talk again.

You both sat like this for some time, willing the other to talk as thoughts whirled through your mind. You gave in to the silence.

“I suppose you have informed the Queen that you have me as your prisoner?” You inquired dully. 

The Dowager Queen's perfectly manicured brows twitched above her eyes, lightly scrunching in the centre as she suddenly shifted in her seat.

Her fingers picked at her skin more openly.

Realisation dawned on you, as you leant your head back, looking down at her from your nose.

“They do not know I am alive,” You prodded, “Do they?”

The Hightower did not respond. 

There was your answer.

A huff of laughter jerked out of your mouth, side twinging. Your lips pulled into a wide smile as you began to laugh, the pain from your wound ignored as joy coursed through your veins. You wondered if anyone else in the Keep knew of your survival, except those trusted by Alicent to tend to you.

You laughed loudly at the predicament as the Dowager Queen sat rigidly in her seat, fingers clenching in her lap. Your laughter peeled across the room dryly, wisps and croaks following after. 

What a delight to know that Alicent truly had made a grave mistake. 

The door to your chambers opened as Ser Cristin Cole and Aemond walked into the room, watching as you laughed heartily, clutching your side in agony as you felt the stitches pull tightly in your wound, fresh blood soaking the bandages. 

You laughed louder at their entrance, their confusion evident on their faces as they came to stand beside Alicent, looking down at her, eyes searching for answers.

Aemond watched you intently, almost unsure of how to react.

Oh Gods, it just got better.

They think you've gone mad.

A cough worked its way up your throat as your laughter turned into a string of hacks, pain capturing your entire body. The bitter taste of blood pooled in your mouth as you coughed, hand coming to touch your lips delicately as you smiled through the pain.

“They do not know I am alive.” You laughed, hand pulling back to look at the spots of blood on them.

You leant heavily against the board as you looked at them all grinning, blood in your teeth. Aemond watched you curiously, eye patch once again gone, as he looked at your hand covered in blood.

You pushed your arms below you, pulling yourself up to sit higher against the wooden board behind you, as you shook your head gently at the woman in green, tutting her as you did. 

“You’re all going to die.” You beamed viciously, “You know this… Don’t you, Alicent?” You pushed out a grunting laugh again as your eyes skimmed to Aemond, watching him as you spoke again.

“They’re coming for you. All of you.” You mimicked Rhaenys warning. You slid your eyes back to Alicent who’s head sat higher on her neck. “Oh Alicent, I thought you were smarter than this.” You chastised her, “Mothers favourite son, and fathers favourite daughter?” 

You laughed again at the absurdity.

“You really should have told them that I was alive.” 

You looked pointedly out of the window across the room, sighing dreamily as you spoke, the room silent except for your voice, “I suppose they should be here very soon.”

Aemond shifted on his feet as he stepped forward, placing his seated mother behind him. Always the protective young man you thought, as your laughter turned into little huffs of giggles before you finally calmed yourself.

The bitter copper taste in your mouth made you run your tongue along your teeth to clear it.

“If you continue to allow the Queen and King Daemon to believe that both I… and my brother were slain, you will find the Keep burnt to ashes before the morrow. If you were clever, I would send a raven.” You mocked.

“We have tended to your wounds, brought you back from the brink of death, kept you safe he-“

“Safe? You have imprisoned me in my old chambers,” You looked about the room as you spoke, smiling through the pain, “Your demented son chased me and Prince Lucerys around the skies when we were messengers, and allowed my parents to believe that they lost two children at the hands of your Kinslayer son.” You hissed.

“I would have sent a raven by now, though I have no issues with dying in the Keep with you all.” You smiled, looking directly at Aemond, “At least I will get to hear you scream.”

Alicent pushed up from the seat beside your bed turning to Ser Criston Cole, before swiftly leaving your chambers, the dark haired knight trailing after her as you guessed they were to send a raven to the Queen.

“Send my regards to my mother!” You called out as Aemond stood stiffly beside your bed, looking down at you.

You stared up at him as you sat lazily against the board of the bed, fatigue slowly working its way through your body as your side began to throb viciously.

You sighed as you looked at him, his demeanour confused you.

The silver haired man looked tired, large bags under his eyes standing out against his pale skin. Most likely due to celebrating his murder and capture of his obsession.

The One-Eyed Prince went to turn away from you, but you stopped him.

“Aemond wait.” You called out to him, false desperation in your tone as he halted to turn and look at you, eye searching your form before it paused on your bandages.

You swallowed thickly, looking down into your lap before looking back at him, pulling your face tightly together as you faked a sob. The tall man twitched forward towards you as you pulled your hands up to your face, hiding your sneer.

You dropped your hands back to your lap, looking at the man before you. Nothing but violent rage curled through you as you looked at him. Images of your brother dying, flashed behind your eyes. 

You sniffed. 

“You saved me.” You spoke quietly, looking him in the eye.

Aemond shifted on his feet as he looked at you, saying nothing. 

You sniffed again, wringing your hands in your lap before touching your side gently, “Thank you.” 

He still said nothing.

Simply observed you.

Come on you bastard.

“Thank you for saving me.” You looked at him with pleading eyes. You watched his form relax, the tension moving slightly from his shoulders.

Men.

They are so easy to manipulate. How dull they all are. You simply bat your eyes, put a little bit of stupidity in your tone and flash them your cunt, and they will do anything you say.

Anything.

"Thank you, uncle." You sniffled as you gave him a sad smile.

The Prince took two steps towards you, still towering over you as he watched. You looked into your lap, twiddling your fingers together as he stood beside you.

Look innocent, and sweet.

Quite the performance you made as you reached a hand shyly to grasp at his that was by his side.

And he let you.

You reached for that hand and held it as though you were a maiden, shy and unsure. You pushed down your disgust and the way your skin crawled at the contact of your brothers murderer.

You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles softly as you gazed up at him, before you brought his hand towards your face. You felt him stiffen slightly, hesitant, and so you put the act on harder.

You almost dropped his hand, uttering a gentle whisper of 'sorry'. His hand squeezed yours gently, keeping it in your grip. He was reassuring you.

You had him.

Hook, line and sinker.

Letting your lips pull into a mournful smile, you looked down at his hand before you brought it up to your lips. You had to use every ounce of energy within you to not bite his fucking fingers off.

Those rough fingers. The ones that had been inside you. That had touched you. That have held blades and swords, and books and wine. The same ones that had taken life, touched your lips as you pressed a slow and gentle kiss to them, shyly looking up at the Prince.

It was every mans wet dream.

He leant into your touch, his eye blinking. He seemed almost shocked.

Good.

You rubbed your cheek against his hand, looking at him with your sweetest doe eyes. Something you had learnt from your father. He said the eyes carry a thousand words that your lips cannot.

As you leant your face into his hand that was still clutched in yours, you smiled sadly at him. Pathetically. Like a bird with a broken wing, singing a sad song to its captive.

And as you watched his shoulders sag, and the tension leave his brow, and his lips relax from the god awful purse he always wore when angry, you let yourself smile.

A soft smile, just a hint.

A sort of smile you give to someone you might pity.

And you did pity him.

What a stupid fucking man.

You opened your mouth, closing it again for show as if in thought on how to thank him next. Perhaps he was thinking you may ask him to bed you. He could certainly crawl into bed with you, and you would certainly bite off his cock.

What an exhilarating thought.

You opened your mouth again and spoke in the most sickly sweet manner that you could muster.

"Thank you, uncle. For saving me. For saving my life."

You paused for effect.

“Now that I live... I will get to watch you die screaming.” 

You smiled cruelly at him. Hand still holding his gently against you.

And then tension was back in his shoulders and face, and the spell you had cast was broken as the older Prince seemed to come to his senses, his one eye locked on yours as silence captured the room.

“You really should have killed me, uncle.” 

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut

[artistic-endchamber]

[[ FINALLY!!!! My main OC's older sister,, Mary!! <3 ]]

Mary Silverstone

Basic Information

Mary Silverstone

Blood Type: A  positive

Age: 19-21 (As the series goes on)

Birthplace & Current Residence: Clover Kingdom, and Clover Kingdom

Occupation: Magic Knight of the Celestial Serpents or the Aqua deers, and later goes to serve in the medical ward.  (Depending on Universe)

Affinity: Ice/Snow Magic

Height: 169.9 cm (5'6)

DOB: December 4th

Sex, Gender Identity, and Sexuality: AFAB, Female (She/her strictly), and Straight (male-aligning people)

Voice Claim: [English Dub]  Raven  (From Teen Titans Go) // [Jap. Sub] Kyoka Jirou (From BNHA)

Mary’s grimoire has a build that looks like a normal-sized book. Her cover has a base that is as white as snow, and is decorated on the edges with grey calendulas, and has a 3-leaf clover in the center of it.

Personality

Mary is a very stubborn, stoic, and seemingly indifferent person. She stands her ground on what she thinks is right and doesn’t socialize much due to being raised only to be powerful. She has a fiery passion (although she has a snow and ice affinity); but doesn’t show it to mostly anyone. She seems very unapproachable and probably is. However; once you get to know her, she starts opening up and becoming very comfortable with you and she is a great person. 

Likes: Mary doesn’t have many likes other than training at first. But later, she begins developing a higher interest in medicine and healing. She also likes music to a fault. 

Dislikes: She dislikes ignorance. Doubting someone for a certain trait they have, bigotry based on someone's orientation and/or looks, or being overconfident makes Mary want to hurl. 

Appearance

Long, white hair that Mary usually heeps in a very simple but elegant bun.

Weight: 140 lbs

Height: 169.9 cm (5'6)

She has an hourglass figure, mainly due to being raised “perfect”.

Ruby-red eyes that shimmer in the sunlight. She has more of a pigmented skin tone compared to Giana, but her nose gets red very easily – just like her younger sister. 

Underneath her Aqua Deers (Or Celestial Serpents) robe, Mary wears a sleeveless, white top and a high-rise skirt (Which is black but has light, sky-blue accents on it.)

Modifications to her Body: Just like Giana, Mary has a septum piercing but takes it in and out (Usually she puts it back in at night and wears it on her off days). 

Skills

Marry is stubborn, adamant, and has a shit ton of integrity. She’s often considered as a Straight Man in any group; since she gets irritated quite easily. She’s stoic and cool-headed in the battle zone though, which helps her almost always make rational decisions and stay calm. It takes a while, but when she finally trusts in her comrades – she’s unstoppable. 

Background

Mary Silverstone is the eldest daughter of the main Silverstone Family. She shares the same mother, father, and cousins as Giana, but her story is different. 

Mary was close with Giana, even though she was older, she saw Giana as a twin sister and her closest, best friend. Mary was born with Ice magic (Which also doubled as a snow attribute), and her parents were proud of it. Mary trained day in and out to live up to her parents’ expectations, and was on the brink of earning it. Every Silverstone receives a mark on their face when they come of age. The mark signifies that one is a silverstone, and is considered an award for living up to expectations. Mary wanted it, she wanted more than anything in the world to be worthy of the mark.

When Everyone found out about Giana’s magic, everything changed. Mary was stripped of her little sister and left with no one to play with or be close to. Mary’s bond was broken, but she wouldn’t dare to resist or fight back. If she fought for her sister, who had been rumored to now be the devil, she knew she wouldn’t be worthy of the mark. She wouldn’t be treated kindly, she wouldn’t be everything she ever wanted to be. Worst of all, everything she had worked for would have been for naught. 

And so Mary abided, staying indifferent to the world and its cruelties. She didn’t really know what she expected of herself anymore – so she drowned herself in work and training. She hated herself for leaving her sister like how she did, but she also refused to do anything. She swallowed her guilt. She bottled it up with all her emotions and lived how her parents said she should.

Then came Royal Knight exams – and she was faced with Giana’s team. 

Mary had an outburst. Her resentment for herself turned into jealousy for everything Giana had built for herself. Mary was supposed to be the one being valued. She was the one who had worked so hard – throwing her life away for success. Mary was the one who needed friends. Mary was the one who needed support, now – She was the one who yearned for a life. Giana got it all without anyone ever knowing. How was this fair? Mary spent years hurting herself and drawing herself in work. How was it that someone who didn’t do that could so easily be on par with her – and worse, how could they win?

When things were over, Mary didn’t know what to do. Even though Giana had won, she was wounded badly. But she still walked over to talk to her older sister. Mary visited her later in the infirmary, and they talked. She apologized and vowed to fix things. She swore that she would protect her sister and change the way she lived. On her way out, Mary met Magna – someone who Giana considered her Older Brother.

Mary declared a rivalry, her only way of earning her title of “big sister” back, and Magna accepted. Though, somewhere along the way… well, you’ll see. 

(P.S. After Mary starts her redemption arc, she finds herself taking a bigger interest in healing!)

Spells

offensive spells -

Ice Magic: Cold Daggers of Death

These daggers are fast, sharp, and precise. They can cut through even the thickest of steel and can penetrate skin easily. Once they do, they drain the heat and freeze over whatever/whoever they impale. Mary can control how bad the temperature situation gets, though. 

Ice Magic: Protector(s) of the Lost

In which Mary creates either a dozen medium-sized knights made of ice to protect and defend, or a giant Ice monster that can do the same things except it’s bigger, bulkier, and has enhanced stats. Each of these Ice men responds to only Mary’s orders and instructions. if one has her direct magic channeled into it, she can use it to communicate and channel her thoughts into. 

Ice Magic: Infecting Fractals

This is a tricky, wide-range spell. Mary blasts special snowflakes dowards her opponents in a wide range, and whatever they touch they freeze with Icicles on command. This can be a long-term spell or a super fast one. Mary can control whether or not the fractals can spread. 

defensive spells - 

Ice Magic: Snowstorm

This spell is similar to an incomplete mana Zone, where Mary can create a swirling snowstorm to do multiple things. This spell can be used for cover when being attacked, an illusion when needing a getaway, or just simply to spread Mary’s Mana around to confuse the enemy and use her offensive spells for larger ranges. This also later evolves into a spell she uses to heal others. 

healing spell -

Ice Magic: Snowstorm – Healing Method

This spell is an evolved version of Mary’s “Snowstorm” defense spell. It holds all the same attributes, but it can also heal and boost the stats of whoever is inside of it. 

Ice Magic: Chilling Regeneration

This is a close-up spell Mary uses to heal one or two patients who are close to death. She puts her hands hovering over them and uses this spell to boost regeneration and healing, and adds a coolling touch to it despite the fiery battle mood. 

[uzumakichcined]

" That's the price of you not having to pay for fixing your legs. . and getting you out of being imprisoned. " Karin sighs, she knew the routine and while it was silly, she didn't really get that bothered by it. After all, at least they all looked silly and it wasn't just one of them.

"They're not gonna make use wear weird ass costumes and take a family photo again, are they?!"

The only thing Tayuya can think of when she hears Orochimaru being silly are those weird photos she saw a while back.

[hyunbunlix]

Rejuvenation [resurrectionist!Felix]

Characters: Felix, fem!OC Rating: A/O for Adults Only Content Warnings/Tags: mentions/depictions of war/battle, death in battle, depictions of grief, pain as fuel for magic, resurrection/reincarnation, anthro/bestial characters, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, hickeys, switch Felix, blowjob, fingering (f. receiving), p in v, multiple female orgasms, raw male orgasm, cockwarming Word Count: 11,688 Summary: When Felix’s beloved is killed in the war between chimaera and seraphim, he gleans her soul and swears to build her a new body as close to her old one as possible. As the years pass and Felix is tasked with creating hulking, fearsome chimaera for the war effort, the materials to bring his beloved back are scarce. Finally, he manages to work himself to the bone and bring her back to life . . . only to be barely recognizable himself when she returns. Note: Based on the world of Daughter of Smoke & Bone by Laini Taylor.

Once upon a time, a sphinx lost his wings, but those wings were not the ones he wept for.

Felix always felt a sense of dread when the chimaera went into battle with the angels. Whether the chimaera won or lost the day, there would always be warriors among them—friends, neighbors, loved ones—who were slain.

            As the resurrectionist, it was Felix’s job to stay in reserve and glean the souls of the slain. He wasn’t the only one able to glean, of course—anyone with the right materials could—but their losses had been so heavy recently that they couldn’t currently spare a soldier to lay in wait for the fighting to be done. Ergo, here he was, tucked back in the trees and wishing he could cover his feline ears, which were presently picking up the battle in sickening detail.

            If Felix died, so too would the chimaera. He was the last line keeping his kind from being wiped off the face of the planet by the seraphim, who sought to rule it all. He was a capable fighter, of course—most of them were; they had to be—but his task was more important than that, and so he had to remain safe at any cost.

            His ears swiveled, alerting him to the angel sneaking up on him. Felix whirled around, shouldering his way past the soldier’s guard, past his sword, cutting him down swiftly with his deer horn knives. He moved on quickly after that, finding a new place to hide, and bide, and wait for the fighting to end.

            After years of listening to his friends fight and die, one might think Felix would be used to this by now. But oh, how he wasn’t. Never could he be. He was the sort that could never harden his heart to suffering no matter how many times he had to witness it.

            So he waited, and he prayed, and he hoped that when his friends died, it would be swift so they would not suffer.

            When the hours of fighting were over, Felix could not tell if they had won or lost. If they had won, it had been at a terrible cost, because, alongside him, only three chimaera were left standing.

            Felix’s blood turned to ice.

            “No,” he whispered. One of his comrades, a massive goat-serpent, pointed toward the hill from which he’d just come. It was Felix’s job to glean them all, but his comrades knew him well, and knew who he would need to glean first.

            “She’s there,” the ram said. “They ambushed her.”

            Felix took off, leaving the ground in wingless flight, the result of magic he’d stolen long ago. He shot up and over the hill, and sure enough, amongst a platoon of fallen angels with extinguished wings lay his love, pooled in blood, both hers and others.

            It was a blur after that. Habit took over as he lit the incense that would guide her soul, and opened the thurible that would hold it tight. He could feel her in the air, the shape of her soul as it left her body, as it twisted through the ether and finally curled up inside the thurible. He twisted the metal sphere shut, put it in his bag, and went to do the same for the rest of his fallen comrades. He couldn’t mourn here, not when each and every fallen soul was on a timer, and he was the only thing that would save them from evanescence.

            He couldn’t mourn here, but when he gleaned the others, it was with silent tears streaming down his face.

            Only when he and his few remaining living comrades, laden with thuribles, flew back to the relative safety of their citadel, only when Felix was alone in his workshop with nothing for company but a pile of thuribles, did he break. He held her thurible to his chest and sobbed bitterly, because he was the resurrectionist, and he knew how long it would be before he saw her again.

Felix was in charge of keeping the tide of the war from drowning the chimaera. He had a list of priority resurrections in accordance with the request of the generals, knew who he had to bring back first and in what form to keep them all fighting. Because the chimaera’s numbers were reduced with each conflict, every resurrection had to count for two or three angels. As a result, he had no choice but to build behemoth bodies that were all wings, claws, and goring horns rather than the beautiful, graceful, natural bodies of born chimaera, which ordinarily came in all shapes and sizes.

            It was a fate they had all accepted, a fate necessary to avoid their own extinction. Through the materials of magic and metal and gemstones and teeth, they could be reborn through strange alchemy. Felix, too, had been reborn this way once, though it was before things had grown so dire, before the previous resurrectionist had died and evanesced. In his first life, Felix had been a sphinx, but when he’d come back, the only parts of his original self that remained were his feline ears, retractable claws, and sharp teeth. His predecessor told him this was because their circumstances were grave, and they needed someone able to go into the neighboring world, among humans, and buy, barter, or steal the materials they needed for the war. All Felix needed was a hat or a hood, and humans didn’t so much as glance his way.

            Felix remembered how disorienting it had been to wake up without his wings, without his feline legs and tail. Learning to balance again had been no small task, and he hated that he had to put such strain on his comrades now. Though, they’d been doing this long enough now that most of them were growing accustomed to being hulking creatures of nightmare.

            Most, but not all.

            Felix’s love had still been in her original body, lithe and elegant and strong, the most beautiful creature Felix had ever seen. He’d met her after his resurrection, after his natural body had been lost, and despite his relative lack of animal features, she had taken an interest in him. Where others whispered or mocked, saying his body looked naked and alien and unadorned, she told him how beautiful she thought he was, and how taken with him. After such a hard life, Felix’s heart had had no resistance to her, and he’d fallen quickly.

            He would not be able to bring her back for quite some time. Officially, this was because she was not very high on the list of priority, but frankly, had Felix had all the right materials on hand, he would have forsaken that rule. What could the war counsel do? Fire him? He was the only creature still alive who knew the delicate alchemy of resurrection.

            But he didn’t have all the right materials. This was to be her first time coming back to life, and Felix wanted to make the process as easy on her as possible. Not just any vessel, any body, would do. He needed her to come back as close to the way she had been as possible.

            And he couldn’t do that when his priority was monsters, nightmares, the huge bodies that depleted his stores and sent him scouring the human world for new materials. He couldn’t put her back together when his first priority was keeping them all alive, when he needed to make sure she even had a home to come back to.

            So he brought the others back, a little at a time, but as the weeks passed, his beloved’s thurible remained untouched on his bedside table. Weeks turned to months, and his heartsickness grew. Every time he was close, every time he had set aside nearly enough of the right materials to build her new body, they would take losses again, and he would be forced to raid that secret store.

            For the greater good. For the war. For the chimaera. For all of them.

            All of them, it seemed, except him, and except her.

            Every so often, when he felt so low that surely there could be no further down to fall, he would open her thurible just a tiny bit, just enough for the impression of her soul to rub up against his in the ether for the barest moment. He couldn’t leave it open for long, or her soul would escape and dissipate, but these small moments, these little reprieves, were some of the only instances that kept him going.

            Though, if one were to judge only by the way he cried after, one might think the ritual did more harm than good.

It had been more than a year.

            Felix worked himself to the bone to keep them afloat. His time was evenly split between his world, Eretz, and the world of humans, Earth. On Eretz, all his time was spent in gleanings and resurrections. On Earth, all his time was spent scouring the globe for teeth, both animal and human, and metallic ores and gemstones to infuse the bodies with, giving them strength, durability, and dexterity.

            Every day, the chimaera became more and more the monsters the angels claimed they were, and it was Felix’s fault. But what else could he do? What else could he fucking do? Let them all go extinct? Let the angels wipe them off the face of the planet?

            Several times, he got low enough to consider bringing his beloved back in one of those monstrous bodies. It didn’t matter to him; he would love her in any form, no matter how frightful. But then the selfishness of that plan caught up with him; dropping her into a random, unfamiliar body with extremities she wasn’t used to, dimensions she couldn’t control. At that rate, she’d probably just get killed again. The chimaera had come so far from what they’d once been, and unlike the other soldiers and assassins, she had not experienced the series of gradual resurrections that, in a way, eased the process, becoming more bestial with each evolution.

            No. He couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t.

            So he kept stashing away her materials, the reptile fangs that would replicate her lovely, durable scales, the tiny bat’s teeth that would give her new wings, the spiral-horned antelope’s incisors that would twin her old horns, and human teeth for everything else. He even planned to use diamonds, ensuring she would be as strong and beautiful as he remembered.

            And yet, again and again, he was forced to borrow from her unmade body to fuel their fucking war.

Felix had been happy once. Even as the resurrectionist, he’d had no shortage of smiles, sunny even when they were tinged with melancholy. But under the strain of endless death, under the toll of endless pain to fuel his magic, and without her presence by his side to make it all bearable, his spirit withered.

            He kept doing what needed to be done, but it was by rote. He did what he was told because thinking itself was taxing now. He kept the chimaera alive and felt very little in the way of pride or even relief at doing so.

            They were losing, and part of him wished it would just end already, no matter how badly.

            It had been two years without her.

            Finally, after his most recent excursion to the human world, he’d been able to snap up the last teeth he needed. Upon his return to the citadel, he promptly shut himself in his workshop and barred the door. He often worked with urgency, but this time especially he was not to be disturbed.

            Mostly because this was not at all what he was supposed to be doing with his time and resources, and he was terrified that someone might burst in and force him to stop.

            Meticulously, he threaded the necklace that represented her body in perfect configuration. If he didn’t take care, her animal aspects might manifest in the wrong places and render the whole process moot. He knew exactly what to do, he’d done it countless times, and yet, in his nervous fervor, he checked the string of teeth and gems and metal beads multiple times to make sure it was perfect.

            After that, it was time for the conjuring.

            The conjuring was always by far the worst part. The price for magic was pain, and bringing a body from concept into existence required a steady stream. Sometimes soldiers, especially injured ones, would contribute their pain to the cause, a terrible tithe to help keep them all going. Today, in order to keep this a secret until it had already been done and could not be taken back, he could be afforded no such assistance.

            Felix stripped off his shirt and affixed four sets of screw clamps to his arms, two for each. On his upper arms, they viced painfully around his triceps; on his forearms, they ground between his radius and ulna bones. The pain was, as always, a hum in his body, impossible to ignore. He would bruise heavily from this.

            He didn’t care.

            He directed his pain through the necklace in his hands, his own pain forming a harmony with that of the creatures whose bodies these teeth had once come from. Death was its own kind of resonant pain, so even teeth taken from bodies already expired held magic within. It was a careful calculus, to take pain and death and turn it into a new vessel for life.

            When the necklace was gone from his hands, he knew it was done. He turned around and saw the body, bereft of cloth or covering, lying on his secondary work table. Felix heaved a sigh as he beheld it, and then moved to loosen the clamps from his arms and put them away. Sure enough, his new bruises were already blooming.

            He got up to examine the body. It was as close to her original one as it could possibly be without being wholly exact. After all, the animal aspects of natural-born chimaera on Eretz were not exactly alike to the animals on Earth. Felix’s love had been a dragon woman in her natural life, and this new body was as close a match as he could possibly make.

            Even now, changed though she was, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld.

            Now that he’d confirmed the body an acceptable vessel, he went to retrieve her thurible and a cone of incense. The scent was thick and earthy, a combination of her favorite herbs and flowers, concentrated. There was no scientific need for the particular scent, as just about anything that left a strong trail on the air would do the job; he simply wanted to welcome her back to the world as thoughtfully as possible.

            He placed the incense on the body’s forehead and lit it, and once the smoke had curled upward and begun to hang in the air, he opened the thurible.

            As before, he could feel her soul—her gentle, remarkable soul—but unlike before, there was no danger in it escaping the thurible and vanishing. Now, it would simply follow the trail left by the incense smoke down and into the body, becoming whole.

            He almost held his breath while he waited, but he already felt so close to passing out that he had to force himself to breathe. When her eyes fluttered open, his breath did catch, tears welling in his eyes. She sat up slowly, glancing around the room.

            “Where . . . ?” she murmured, and her voice was so nearly a perfect replica of what he remembered that the tears did fall then. Slowly, she brought her eyes to him, and for a moment, there was nothing like recognition in her eyes.

            “Love . . . ?” he asked softly, willing his voice not to shake yet feeling not an ounce of embarrassment when it did not obey. Her eyes sparked then and went over his form again, and her mouth parted with a surprised little gasp.

            “Felix?” she whispered, and Felix couldn’t choke back the sob that came in response. She swung her legs over the side of the table and opened her arms for him; he pressed close to her and bawled.

Felix was not as she remembered him. His features were sharper, gaunter. He looked exhausted. His hair hung lank in its ponytail and desperately needed a trim; there were deep, dark circles under his reddened eyes. Worst of all, perhaps, was how skinny he’d gotten, little more than bones and the flesh stretched across them, on full display thanks to his lack of shirt. And the bruises. So dark and awful that they would no doubt turn into welts.

            He was still her Felix, and yet, he was changed, too.

            She held him close while he cried, pulling the tie out of his ponytail and running her fingers through his hair. She was still completely naked from her resurrection, but she felt no embarrassment in it. This man had seen her natural flesh naked countless times, and he had built this new body from scratch; there was not a person alive that she felt had more right to behold her like this.

            When he’d finally managed to calm himself, he pulled back to just stare at her. “I was so scared,” he said. “I thought I’d fucked something up, that you didn’t remember me, that maybe I’d opened your thurible one too many times and lost part of your soul somehow . . .”

            She smiled gently, touching his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. He looked immediately confused.

            “Did you think I would let you just stay dead?” he asked, sounding mortified. She shook her head quickly.

            “No, that’s not it. I mean, I’m thankful for new life, yes, but that’s not what I was referring to. Thank you for visiting me in my thurible,” she clarified.

            For whatever reason, that pulled another soft sob from him.

            “I couldn’t help myself,” he said miserably. “I just missed you so much.”

            “How long has it been?” she asked. There was no way to gauge time in the stasis of a thurible, and while the changes in Felix attested that time certainly had passed, she had no concept of how much.

            “Two years and eleven days,” he said. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

            “You counted?” she asked, incredulous. He nodded.

            “How could I not?” he said in return. She shrugged helplessly. He took a step back from her and offered his hands to help her down from the table. She held to him for a moment while she found her footing, careful to mind his bruises.

            “How do you feel?” he asked, taking on a professional cant despite the tear tracks still on his face. “Any disorientation? Anything that feels wrong?”

            She took a step back from him. She tested her arms and legs with some basic motions, then swung her tail back and forth. She rolled her neck, her head appropriately weighted by horns. Finally, she fanned her wings wide, careful not to knock anything over.

            “It all seems to be in working order,” she said, taking a deep breath in and out. “Truly, thank you.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” he said, then, after a beat, he seemed to realize she was still naked and he himself half-naked. “Oh, gods.”

            He went quickly to the other side of the room and brought her some basic tail-friendly breeches and a halter-style tunic to put on. Then, flushing, he hurried to put his own shirt back on.

            “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “After the conjuring, I was so focused on getting this done that I completely forgot. I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, it wasn’t supposed to feel like an ambush or something. I don’t . . . I mean . . . Fuck.”

            She had known Felix long enough, had witnessed the battle between his brain and his mouth enough times to understand what he was trying to get at but couldn’t quite bring himself to say. After he’d pulled his shirt back on, she stepped close to him and tipped his head just right to kiss him.

            “I will never complain about seeing your body, or about you seeing mine,” she said, and his face burned a shade hotter. She stepped back from him then and set about getting dressed. As she was tying the strings to her breeches, pounding started at the door.

            “What are you doing in there, resurrectionist?” bellowed a commanding voice. Felix’s eyes narrowed, feline and hateful, his posture ramrod straight. “You were supposed to be working on Qworom today, yet I have his thurible right here!”

            “You should know,” Felix muttered quietly to her, “that I wasn’t supposed to do this.”

            She cocked her head in question, her expression creased into suspicion and discontent, but she didn’t have time to ask what, exactly, he meant by that before he’d already gone and removed the crossbar from the door, allowing it to burst open.

            A hulking chimaera bulled through, and she had the immediate impression that he would have simply broken the door down had it remained obstructed. He was certainly large enough to make it happen. He was a harsh-looking creature, part bear, part bull, part lion, if lions had manes made out of reptilian points. He was terrible, but beautiful in a certain way, too, and she recognized the body immediately as Felix’s work.

            “General Torza,” Felix acknowledged, his voice carefully neutral. She regarded the general with surprise; she remembered what he’d looked like two years ago, and he bore only the faintest resemblance to that form now. She saw Felix’s feline ears twitch backward toward flattening; was he ashamed to let her see what the chimaera had become, what he had made them? Was he eaten alive with guilt over his inability to find a more elegant solution to their extinction?

            She ached to reach for his hand, to make him know that none of that was true, but refrained. General Torza was looking at her with something like astonished disgust, and she knew she would have to play the next few minutes very carefully.

            “What is that?” Torza demanded of Felix, gesturing at her like she was the most offensive piece of furniture to ever exist. She resisted the urge to bristle.

            “A revenant,” Felix answered blandly. Revenant was the general term for a chimaera soldier who had come back from the dead at least once.

            “And why does it look like that? You know what we do here, boy, and that does not fit the strategy,” the general snarled.

            “She,” Felix snapped, all his sharpest teeth on display as he furiously hissed the word, showing his first inflection of true emotion during the encounter. Torza snorted in indignation.

            “She,” he replied mockingly. “This is not the time to be crafting your own personal plaything. I need soldiers, boy. Monsters that will strike terror into our enemies and rend them in two with their bare hands. Not this.”

            Felix’s face was flushed with rage now, his ears pinned back. It was an emotion he so rarely displayed, and she laid a hand on his shoulder. Instantly he fizzled out, turning his head to look at her like he was lost and she was true north.

            “Actually, sir,” she said to the general, picking her words carefully, “Felix didn’t bring me here to fight.”

            “So you’re useless,” Torza growled.

            “No, sir,” she answered. “I’m here to help him. This work takes its toll and goes much faster with assistance. I’m sure you’ll recall that his predecessor had three helpers, four if you count Felix during his apprenticeship. If we’re to turn the tide of this war, you can’t rely on one soul to rescue all others.”

            Torza regarded her for a time, then turned his eyes back on Felix. “Is this true?”

            “It is,” Felix answered, regaining himself. “I needed help. Things will be easier now, and if something were to happen to me, well . . . All wouldn’t be lost.”

            Torza gave a sharp exhale that put his bovine side fully on display, part snort and part grunt. He held out Qworom’s thurible. “Then I expect this one done by the end of the day,” he said. It was a minor concession, but it would do.

            “Of course,” Felix answered, accepting the silver vessel. The general turned and stormed his way out the door, which Felix promptly closed and barred again. He leaned back against it, his posture sagging. “Thank you. For thinking so quickly. You shouldn’t have needed to deal with a confrontation so soon after waking up. I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t mention it,” she said, shaking her head to wave it away. Then she gestured to the thurible in his hand. “I suppose we had better get to work, or else I’ll be a liar.”

            He gave a soft huff that was almost a chuckle. “I suppose so,” he said, and went back over to his work table.

Felix moved through the steps of the resurrection process, offering a truncated explanation as he went along. There would be more time later to instruct her in detail, but right then, with such a tight deadline, there wasn’t enough.

            He explained the teeth, the way you had to listen to each one to understand its essence, understand whether it was the correct part for the whole they were trying to assemble. He explained the configuration as he strung it, why which parts went where and what they corresponded to.

            Finally, with the necklace completed, it was time for the conjuring. He blanched when she held out her arms to him. This part, she was already familiar with. Every chimaera close to the war effort was.

            “What are you doing?” he asked as though he didn’t already know. He knew, of course, but his mind refused the possibility outright.

            “I want to tithe,” she said. He shook his head immediately.

            “No,” he answered. Her expression creased into a frown, and his heart constricted.

            “But I saw your arms earlier. It would be easier on you if I just—”

            “No,” he repeated. How could he make her understand? “I can’t . . . I can’t be the reason you get hurt. I can’t. You might spare me some physical pain, but my heart can’t take it.”

            Her expression softened, sadness and love on her face. He wanted to curl up against her, but the work wasn’t finished yet.

            “All right,” she relented.

            He did allow her to help him set the clamps, which would at the very least speed up the process a bit, especially once the conjuring was complete. Pain was required, they both understood that, but she made it clear that she didn’t want him in it any longer than necessary. After the conjuring was finished, she swiftly loosened the clamps from his arms, and though she did her best not to, Felix caught her frowning. He’d instructed her to tighten the clamps directly onto the bruises that had already been there—the quickest and easiest source of pain.

            Felix put his shirt back on while she fetched the incense and thurible, carefully setting them up just the way he instructed. Then she lit the incense and opened the thurible, funneling Qworom into his ugliest body yet.

            Guilt, yes. Shame, yes. Felix prayed they would all live long enough for him to put them back into the bodies that matched their souls.

            After walking Qworom through a quick set of physical litmus tests—which, all throughout, the soldier kept tossing confused and almost suspicious looks at the dragon woman—Felix sent the soldier on his way. He couldn’t shake the sudden uneasy feeling in his stomach.

            “When was the last time you ate, Felix?” she asked once it was just the two of them again.

            “I don’t know, last night, maybe,” he answered. Her eyebrows drew together in concern.

            “You don’t even know for sure?”

            He shrugged.

            “Well, I’m hungry, and you should eat, too. Is the mess hall still where I remember?” she said, and he could tell she was fighting very hard to downplay her worry for him.

            “Yes,” he answered.

            “Great. Let’s go.”

            Going to the mess hall didn’t make Felix feel any better. The second they entered, chimaera started whispering. Most of those eating in the hall currently were hulking revenants, but there were also cooks and caretakers, chimaera of standard proportion, some of them even in their original flesh. It took a lot more than soldiers to keep the citadel running, after all.

            For a moment, Felix hoped that perhaps his beloved would blend in with the others whose trade wasn’t war. If that was his goal, though, he probably shouldn’t have walked in with her. Then again, any such illusion would have been pretty much shattered once anyone witnessed the dark eye-shaped brands in each of her palms—the mark of a revenant.

            Worse, perhaps, were the individuals who had a long memory, and who paid enough attention to remember who this dragon woman was, and, more critically, who she had been to Felix before her death.

            With his feline ears, very little escaped his notice, and so he heard all the little comments and jabs. “I suppose one would get lonely up in that tower.” “I wonder if he changed anything, brought her back exactly to his taste.” Those sorts of things were bad enough, but there were worse ones. “Why would he waste resources on her?” “She wasn’t on the list. Has he stopped believing in the cause? Are we losing that badly?”

            Felix half wished he could cover his ears, but that would be far too obvious a concession. Now of all times, he could not afford to look weak-willed in front of his comrades.

            They retrieved their rations and went to sit and eat. Her expression was unreadable; her hearing wasn’t quite as good as Felix’s, but she had clearly picked up on enough of the talk to be at least somewhat on her guard. They ate in silence, and just when Felix thought they might get through this unharassed, a passerby dumped their cup of grasswine down the back of her body.

            She didn’t react beyond the instant flaring of her wings. Another person might have taken it for an instinctual reaction, but Felix knew her and saw her face when she did it, and understood that she had opened her wings to block off the walkway between their table and the one behind her, forcing the culprit to either stay put or try to bull their way past.

            To Felix's surprise, they didn't move while she shook out her wings and slowly got to her feet.

            "I haven't heard an apology yet," she sighed. "I can only take that to mean you aren't sorry."

            As she folded her wings enough to turn around and face the careless aggressor, Felix recognized him as Narium, a horse-aspect chimaera with the proportions and affect of a minotaur. He was based on a Percheron, and at least twice as wide as the dragon woman. Under the table, Felix's hands inched toward the deer horn knives that he never left his workshop without.

            He was tired of living in a world where everyone, whether enemy or ally, felt like a threat.

            “My deepest apologies,” Narium said in a mocking tone. “I must have tripped on that lizard tail of yours.”

            The end of said tail flicked in irritation.

            Narium, for all his equine features, had reptilian eyes, and he was carefully sizing up the dragon woman now. He was likely weighing his chances against her, thinking he would come out on top since she was unarmed. As far as Felix knew, the two of them had never served together, so Narium would have no reason to know that so long as she had her horns and tail, she was not without a weapon.

            Felix had just moved to get up, to intervene, to make himself a target instead if he had to, when Narium swung his massive fist. From the angle of the strike, he didn’t look to be aiming for her body at all; he wanted to break her left wing, to leave her shattered on the ground.

            She was faster, as expected of her smaller size, and she leapt into the air, out of reach, before the strike could connect. Her wings beat powerfully, sending silverware skidding and stray vegetables rolling off of plates.

            “There’s no reason for this,” she called down. Narium, too, had wings, but due to his hulking size and the limitations of mechanical leverage, they were huge and therefore ineffectual in the mess hall.

            “Your cowardice is reason enough,” he snorted, stomping one large hoof. “Running away where I can’t pursue you. Come outside where the fight will be fair.”

            “Contrary to popular belief,” she said tersely, “the point of a solider is not to die needlessly. I would hate to make more work for Felix.”

            Narium turned his gaze on the resurrectionist then, and he looked furious. “Did you really make your pet strong enough to kill me?”

            The insult rattled through Felix. As though she would ever consent to being anyone’s pet. He itched to draw his blades, which was unusual for him; his first instinct had ever been to defuse rather than escalate. As always, though, the rules were different when it came to protecting those he loved.

            Before he could act on either impulse, however, General Torza plowed his way through the mess hall and banded his powerful hand around the horse-chimaera’s arm, yanking him in close so that he had the soldier’s full attention.

            “That,” Torza said lowly, nodding his horned head up at the dragon woman, “is our new resurrectionist in training. Pray your soul never passes through her hands, or you might wind up a toad next time.”

            Narium snorted again, seemingly more frustrated now, but lumbered away after one final glower in Felix’s direction.

            “I understand any jealousy you might feel,” Torza said, raising his voice to address the whole hall. “We all miss the forms we were born with, and the vessels that replicated them most closely. But we exist in our current forms to best serve one goal: Our survival. For some of us, that means monstrous bodies to strike fear into the hearts of our foes as we overcome them. For others, it means a quick, dexterous form to better glean our souls and synthesize our new bodies. If you harm those responsible for your resurrection, you will be dooming your own future at best, and our entire race at worst.”

            He paused for a long moment, letting his words sink in. There were no objections.

            “As you were,” he said finally, and the majority of the gathered chimaera went back to their meals. Felix, still frozen where he stood in front of his table, met eyes with the general and hoped his expression conveyed his gratitude. Torza inclined his head slightly, then turned away to fetch his own food.

            Rather than come back down to the floor as Felix expected, his love glided over to the nearest window and let herself outside. Felix had the fleeting impression of a butterfly once trapped.

            He did the only thing he could think to do, the only thing he had any desire to do. He followed her.

            When he caught up, she was sitting atop one of the citadel’s turrets. In the past, it had been used to hold prisoners. Now, though, it was basically empty. Taking prisoners hadn’t been part of their strategy for some time. The sun was rapidly setting around it, making her a shadow limned in orange.

            He touched down beside her but hesitated to sit. “May I join you?” he asked first. She nodded, and he sat, his feet dangling over the side with hers.

            It was quiet for a few beats until he broke it again. “I’m sorry,” he said. She glanced at him.

            “You didn’t start that fight,” she replied. “The one who owes me an apology is Narium, but that’s never going to happen.”

            “Not for that,” he said softly. “I mean for bringing you back at the wrong time. For provoking whispers and stares and even violence. They’re going to treat you differently because I brought you back differently, and I wasn’t supposed to. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re my favorite, and it’s not fair to them, or to you.”

            “To me?” she asked. “How do you figure?”

            “Because I brought you back in this form during a time when I knew they wouldn’t accept you,” he said, his voice growing a bit louder, frustrated by his own lack of foresight. “I had some idea what the consequences would be, but I didn’t let myself dwell on it. It seemed so small a thing next to the weight of continuing to live in a world without you. Now you’re stuck with me, doing my terrible work with me, when I don’t even know if that’s a burden you want to bear, or if you even want to be near me at all anymore, let alone in the same way you were before your death. It’s been less than a day, and nothing has gone the way it should.”

            She surprised him by reaching for his hand.

            “I think one thing has,” she said. He dared to meet her eyes.

            “What?”

            “I’m with you,” she said simply. “That’s the way it always should be.”

            His eyes widened a bit, and he found himself searching for any indication that she was lying, that she was only saying so to spare his feelings.

            “You know you don’t have to say that,” he deferred softly. “It’s enough for me that you’re alive and in the world again. It’s enough for me that I get to see you, and know that you’re all right. You don’t . . . Things don’t have to be the way they were between us before. I won’t hold you to it.”

            “The only thing that could make me go,” she said softly, “is if you can look me in my eyes and tell me honestly that you don’t love me anymore.”

            He exhaled, long and slow, and shook his head. “That will never happen,” he said, his heart so full he thought it might burst.

            “Then I will never leave you for any reason besides death,” she said. “Simple.”

            Gently, like he feared she might vanish as though a figment, he laid his hand on her neck, turning her face just the slightest bit more with his thumb against her jaw. He searched her eyes again for doubts, for regrets, and found none. After that, he kissed her. She squeezed the hand in hers as she kissed him back, and though it had been two agonizing years, her mouth felt just as familiar as he remembered; when she parted her lips for him, she tasted the same.

            He moved closer to her on the ledge, draping his thigh over hers to erase as much negative space as possible, his hand shifting to the back of her neck to deepen the kiss, to make his hunger known. Her tongue grazed his; his teeth brushed her lip; her free hand moved to his thigh. He moaned, a sound he hadn’t made since she’d been killed.

            She pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him while he flushed, panting to get his breath back.

            “I missed you,” he said meekly, as though it wasn’t brutally obvious. It made her smile, though, and that was what mattered.

            When she leaned to press her lips to his again, her stomach protested, causing her to break away with a laugh. Felix echoed the sound, low and a little raw from disuse.

            “How about this,” he said, toying with the end of a lock of her hair, “you head back to my workshop, and I’ll bring up a plate to replace the one you were forced to abandon?”

            “Only if you bring one for yourself, as well,” she said, giving him a knowing look. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but couldn’t smother his smile.

            “Deal.”

That night, Felix had his best sleep in years. Not only did his love all but force him to retire at a reasonable hour, but he refused to let her bunk in the barracks after what had happened in the mess.

            Instead, she piled into his bed with him, her new body remembering all the old postures they used to use to accommodate her wings. Pressed against her warm body, his back to her front, Felix’s thoughts tended not to race quite so badly. It was an effect she still had.

            The end result was that he fell asleep more quickly, lulled into unconsciousness by the sound of her breath, and stayed asleep longer, his body perfectly at peace beside hers.

She woke before him. Not by choice, but because someone at the main door to his workshop seemed very keen about getting inside.

            Loathe to wake him at all, she shook his shoulder as gently as she could, softly calling his name. He groaned, pressing nearer to her, his face against her skin.

            “I’m sorry, love,” she murmured, gently running her fingers along one of his softly-furred feline ears. “Someone’s at your door, and they sound rather insistent.”

            He stilled, one ear swiveling as he listened for a moment, and upon confirming the validity of her statement he sighed, uncurling his body from hers and stretching. He’d deemed his shirt unnecessary to sleep in, and though he was still both far too thin and far too bruised for her taste, she couldn’t help admiring him.

            They both got up and dressed appropriately before going to the door.

            Predictably, General Torza was on the other side, dropping off the thuribles of his top-priority soldiers. Felix accepted them, each one labeled by a piece of parchment affixed to the thurible by a bit of wire, and they got to work.

            Such were their days for the foreseeable future. She learned better each day how to be the most help to Felix. There were still things only he could do, such as the delicate magic of conjuring, but she was able to help with every menial step along the way. Molding incense, setting teeth and gemstones into metal anchors so they could be more easily strung, fetching him things as he needed them including food and water. She was pleased to see that over the weeks, he gained a little weight back, and General Torza too was happy that the pace of resurrections had increased.

            But the one thing Felix still refused to let her do was tithe. Occasionally, other chimaera, especially those who had been wounded in combat, came to offer their pain to the process. All other times, though, the burden fell to Felix.

            Once, when she felt she couldn’t bear the sight of him affixing a clamp to his already bruised arm, she reached reflexively for him, and he jerked away.

            “If you would just let me—” she tried to say.

            “No,” he said, raising his voice the slightest bit, something he rarely did, especially towards her. “Don’t ask me again. Ever. All right?”

            She’d nodded stiffly, and, unable to watch him do it that time, flown out the window to wait perched on the roof until it was done.

            She had not brought it up again since. Now, she simply tried not to look while he conjured, to busy herself with other things in an attempt not to notice. She could always hear the way his breathing changed in relief when it was over, though, and always she was there to hand him a cool compress or two to help soothe the pain.

            They’d been working side by side for about a month, a well-oiled mechanical rhythm to their process. The other chimaera seemed far less angry about her existence now that they were being reunited with friends and loved ones more often. Since Felix had been able to exceed what had previously been his maximum pace, he’d been allowed to bring individuals back who weren’t strictly soldiers, creating reunions for others much like he had for the two of them. This had the added benefit of encouraging more individuals to tithe. It was a lot easier to accept what Felix had done once others got to experience that same joy.

            And yet, things weren’t exactly the same between the two of them, either. The stress of catching up with the resurrections had left him little time for anything other than work and taking care of his physical form as best he could. They’d been companionable, of course, but outside of sharing the occasional kiss and sleeping in the same bed, the affection between them wasn’t what it had once been.

            She supposed that’s what she got for being dead for two years.

            One evening, though, after an exceptionally productive day, they went to eat dinner in the mess, and Felix kept tossing her weird looks across the table for nearly the whole meal. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and asked, “What is it?”

            He hesitated for a moment, looking abruptly shy, then said, “I’m tired of being cooped up in the citadel. I’m thinking about flying to the lake tonight.”

            “Moonwing Lake?” she asked. She assumed, since it was the largest lake within easy travel distance of the citadel, especially if one flew there, something they both knew from experience. Felix nodded.

            “I’m not supposed to go anywhere without an escort—I’m ‘too valuable’—so I wanted to ask if you’d like to come with me,” he said. He was entirely nonchalant about it, except for the way his eyes left hers for a moment—skating down her neck and then darting away entirely.

            She felt she grasped the meaning of the invitation without him expressly needing to say it.

            “That sounds nice,” she answered. “As long as we’re back by morning, of course.”

            “Of course,” he echoed. “Always more work to be done.”

            “Always,” she repeated back to him. “All the more reason to let off a little steam every once in a while.”

            He gave her a pointed look, a look she remembered well from before her death, and knew for certain she had not misread the situation. “My thoughts exactly,” he said, and the tone of his voice, a purr so low in his vocal register that she would not have caught it if she weren’t so close to him, kicked off butterflies in her stomach.

            “Glad that’s settled,” she answered, unable to help the airy, breathless quality in her voice. Felix smiled, an edge to the expression that put all his sharpest teeth on display.

            She knew she’d feel those teeth before the day was out, and the butterfly feeling spread to places other than her stomach.

Though only one of them had wings, they were both swift fliers. They took off for the lake after dinner, Felix’s silent, wingless flight alongside her strong wingbeats. They couldn’t fly too close together thanks to her wingspan, but it would be clear to anyone who looked up that they were indeed flying together.

            It was a temperate summer’s eve, the perfect time to go swimming in a lake that had been warmed by the sun all day. When they landed on solid ground again, she folded her wings, her tail flicking eagerly. The two moons were rising—one full and one a sliver—their reflections playing on the water.

            Felix dropped the pack he’d been carrying—containing towels and snacks—and then tugged his shirt up and over his head. She watched him closely, marveling at every bit of his lean, strong form. It wasn’t unusual even now for her to see his bare torso at least once a day, but every time she saw him gave her pause like it was the very first. It was as though he’d been perfectly molded to attract her. She supposed she had the previous resurrectionist to thank for that.

            In kind, she loosened the ties at her neck and hips that kept her shirt on, letting the article fall away, leaving her top half as bare as his. Like her, he couldn’t keep from staring, his lips parting slightly as he drank her in, his eyes widened like he couldn’t quite believe what he was being shown. Just as easily, she slipped out of her pants and walked into the water, leaving him to gape after her on the shore.

            “Oh, come on,” she teased. “This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.”

            “It isn’t,” he agreed, his voice sounding the slightest bit strained, “but it has been a long time.”

            She turned back in time to see him strip, too, and despite his previous surprise, there was nothing stilted or nervous in his motions. He met eyes with her a few times, as though to make sure he still had her attention, then waded into the water after her. Despite most of his body being widely considered plain, she thought he was the most beautiful being to ever walk their world. The last month had been kind to him, and as he approached her, he looked every bit as lithe and strong as she remembered.

            When he stood face to face with her, the water up to their hips, he raised his hands, trailing them up the line of her body, her waist, the sides of her chest, then further, his left hand tracing the line of her right horn while his right hand moved from her left shoulder to her wing-arm. Her wings stirred, an involuntary reaction to his touch not just there but everywhere, and she watched his eyes, his wide, dark pupils, the way he watched every move of hers as though in rapture.

            “I missed you,” he said, his voice so low it invited a shiver in her. He’d said those words dozens of times since her resurrection, but she was well aware that they meant something different this time. It was not her presence as a whole he spoke of now; his words implied her carnality and his yearning for it to match with his.

            In answer, she pressed her hungry mouth to his. His hands went back to her waist, perching as perfectly as they ever had, drawing her bare body flush with his. He kissed her like he was starved, like he might devour her, and she welcomed it. Their tongues skimmed, and he moaned into her mouth. She grazed his lower lip with her teeth—a taunt, a plea—and he nipped hers in return, pulling a breathless sound from her.

            Once her lips felt sufficiently marked by his, she pulled back and moved to his jaw, his neck. She kept drawing those throaty moans from him, and when she dragged her tongue up the column of his neck, he made his most ragged sound yet, his hips flinching into hers. She clamped her mouth to his right trapezius muscle, sucking a mark into his skin, and the flinching turned into bucking, an intentioned effort at chasing any friction he could get.

            “This is why we came here, isn’t it?” she asked, needing to be sure beyond a shadow of a doubt before she actually touched him. He nodded, his ponytail coming loose, making him look all the more disheveled, all the more in need.

            “Yes,” he gasped out. “Needed you. Needed to be with you away from prying ears.”

            She kissed him again, one of her hands feeling for him in the water, finding him already mostly hard. He made a deep, strangled sound against her mouth while she explored the shape of him, wrapped her hand around him, her grip fitting him exactly the way she remembered.

            “Are we going to have to come all the way out here whenever we want to do this?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice. He flushed but shook his head.

            “No, I just . . . I wanted our new first time to be special,” he said. She smiled, all hints of jest melting away. “I missed you,” he said again, and it was like he’d put his entire soul into the words, so bared was his longing.

           She put her hands on his hips, gently guiding him back a few steps into shallower water. Then she settled onto her knees, trailing kisses on his body all the way down.

            Until she was at eye level with his hardness.

            She looked up at him for permission; he was still pink in the face, but he swallowed hard and nodded. She put her tongue out, licked along the underside of his shaft, and he shuddered. His fingers wrapped around one of her horns, and she knew instantly that it was for the sake of his own stability rather than any kind of bid for control.

            Determined to savor, she took him slowly into her mouth, a little at a time. He tasted of lake water and salt, and every sound he made, deep in his throat and escaping as though unbidden, let her enjoy her work even more. Stasis had been kind to her; with the exception of those little moments of awareness—awareness of him—time hadn’t touched her mind or her heart. Not as it had touched Felix. The way she took him now—softly, ardently, wholly—was her apology for the loneliness he had endured.

            Finally, when he could take no more, he did use the hand on her horn for control, holding her back and keeping her from sinking his cock back into her mouth. She looked up at him, saw the fight for self-control on his face, the edge of delirium in his eyes, and hummed in question. He groaned again and pulled her all the way back by her horn, forcing her to release his length, sloppy with spit and pre-cum, from her mouth.

            “We didn’t come here just for me,” he said, his voice scraped raw, low, near the bottom of his vocal register. She shivered to hear it.

            “You know I wouldn’t put your cock in my mouth if I didn’t like it,” she answered, but stood up out of the water all the same. He watched the rivulets drip down her form with more attention than strictly necessary.

           “I know,” he said, “but I want so much more than that.” He swallowed hard, vulnerable, and added, “It’s been so long. This body has only ever known you.”

            Her eyes widened a little, staring. He held her gaze so earnestly, so honestly, that she couldn’t question him further.

            She knew, of course, that in his sphinx body he’d had other lovers. But after his resurrection into his current body, she had been the first one to lie with him. Up until her death, she had been the only one. Now here he was, telling her he’d waited, denied himself physical comfort for two long years waiting for her?

            “Felix,” she breathed, bewildered. “You didn’t have to do that. I wouldn’t have held you to that. I wouldn’t have asked that of you.”

            “I couldn’t imagine being with someone else,” he said. “So I just didn’t.”

            She kissed him again, and when they broke apart, he took her hand and led her back to the shore. He spread one of their towels on the bank, and laid her on her back. She let him guide her body, let him look, let herself be plied when he spread her legs open and settled between them. He didn’t enter her, not yet, but pressed his hardened length against her abdomen. She shuddered.

            She could wait. Her waiting was nothing compared to his.

            He lowered his face to her neck, his lips eager on her skin, kissing over and over. He trailed up her sensitive flesh, making her squirm under him, until he came to her ear, his teeth skimming the lobe, which made her whimper.

            “I want to see if you’re still sensitive in all the spots I remember,” he said, voice scraped low, making her shudder again, and her next sound was a moan while she nodded her agreement, her eager permission. He moved his mouth back to her neck, a soft scrape of his teeth against it before he clamped his mouth to her skin and sucked in a mark to match the one she’d given him. Then his mouth traveled lower, dragging over her collarbones. He licked and kissed his way down, and just when she thought he was going to put his mouth on one of her breasts, he pulled back.

            She groaned and fidgeted in frustration. There was faint amusement on his face when she met his eyes.

            “Open,” he instructed, and she did as requested, opening her mouth and putting her tongue out just enough to shield her bottom row of teeth. He put his right middle and ring fingers in her mouth, and she closed her lips around them. She held his eyes while she began giving his fingers the same treatment she’d given his cock just minutes ago, and reveled in the way he moaned, his hardness twitching in either remembrance or need. She hummed, pleased with herself, the sound muffled thanks to her full mouth.

            He sighed as he lowered his mouth again, picking up where he’d left off and going right for her breast this time, lapping his tongue repeatedly over her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. She whined around his fingers but didn’t let them go. He kept up his ministrations until she felt she couldn’t take it anymore, and then he moved to the other breast. Her whining was all but incessant now, and he pulled his fingers out of her mouth, letting her be as loud as he wished.

            Which, once she found out why he’d taken his fingers back, was pretty damn loud.

            He sheathed his damp fingers inside her, and she was already wet enough that he met no resistance. She moaned, arching as he immediately curled his fingers forward, pumping them just right to hit the spot inside her that made her writhe. He was watching her so closely that she flushed. She knew him well, had been with him so many times, but she’d never received a look quite like that one before. He looked like he wanted to pounce on her, and it was taking every bit of his self-control to draw this out instead.

            So, naturally, she decided to make that ten times harder for him to do.

            It was the dab of stickiness on her stomach that gave her the idea, which meant it was actually his fault. But feeling his tip leaking on her like that, looking down and seeing it, too, she couldn’t help reaching for him again, jerking him quickly. The sound he made then was almost a growl, his eyes going unfocused for a moment before he gritted his teeth.

            “You want me to last, don’t you?” he chided. She smiled innocently, and he sighed raggedly.

            “Maybe,” she said sweetly.

            “Then don’t do that,” he said.

            “Maybe I have an agenda.”

            “Which is?”

            “Making this unbearable so you hurry up and put your cock inside me already.”

            “Fuck,” he snarled under his breath, and then, to her shock, pulled his fingers out of her and lay down next to her. “Well, come on, then.”

            “You’re going to make me do the work?” she asked, pretending to complain, though she was already in motion, lining herself up above him while he held his cock in perfect position for her.

            “I already told you,” he ground out while she slid down onto his length, unable to tear his eyes away from the point of contact, “I want to see if you’re still sensitive to the same things. I seem to recall that this is one of the best ways to get you to orgasm on me.”

            She shuddered, both because of his words and because of the way he fit as perfectly inside her as she remembered. As far as she understood, the art of resurrection was just that—an art, and therefore inexact. Rarely did chimaera end up with an exact replica of their old bodies. Though, she supposed, few people knew the resurrectionist as intimately as she did, and vice versa.

            “You have a good memory,” she sighed, both in response to his words and her own thought. Then she leaned down to kiss him, all the while working her cunt slowly up and down his cock.

            He moaned into her mouth, unable to keep silent for more than a second. She hummed in response, but unlike him, she wasn’t purposely holding herself back. She wanted to savor, to draw him out as long as she could.

            “You can hold out for me, can’t you?” she murmured. “You aren’t going to finish too quickly, are you?”

            “I’ll do whatever you want,” he answered. “I don’t care. I just need you. I don’t care how.”

            She bit his lip lightly. Felix had always been a generous and thorough lover, and she was happy to find the last two years hadn’t changed that.

            “Good,” she breathed, sitting back up and rocking on his cock more soundly, “because I want to come all over that cock, and then I want you to wring every last drop out of me until you can’t take it anymore and make the biggest mess of all.”

            He nodded eagerly, gripping her hips hard while he stared up at her. Every time she dropped down on him, he pulled, too, making sure every thrust was felt acutely by both of them.

            “I can do that,” he groaned. “I want to do that. I want you to get so fucking slick that I don’t even have to think about restraint while I fuck you.”

            She nodded too, picking up her page. “Want that. Want you to take out all your pent-up feelings on me.”

            “I will,” he moaned, moving his hands to squeeze her chest now, making her whimper, her hips stuttering for a moment. “I’ll show you just how badly I missed you,” he promised.

            She put her elbows down by his head, rutting back hard on him, shallow whines accompanying every motion. His moans were deep, so close to her ears.

            “Please, please, Felix, I’m so close,” she whimpered. His hands clamped back down on her hips, keeping up the punishing rhythm she’d set even when she faltered.

            “That’s it, that’s it, love,” he said, his voice so low, every syllable an aid to her. “Let me feel that sweet cunt coming all over my cock.”

            She broke. For a moment, her body locked up, her eyes squeezing shut, and then she was shuddering on top of him, moaning his name and a hearty combination of swears. His hands kept guiding her hips, less brutally now, ensuring they both got every bit of possible pleasure from her orgasm, prolonging on her end and teasing on his.

            “That’s it,” he praised, “gods, I’ve missed you so much.”

            She nodded deliriously, panting while she came down from her high. She met his eyes again, saw the perfect combination of adoration and lust in them, and ground herself down on his cock again. He groaned, and she clamped her lips down around another whine.

            “More,” she said, and he nodded. He coaxed her hips up off of him and guided her onto her back again. She opened her wings wide, laying all of her body—his work—out beneath him. His eyes roved over her every feature, and the sigh it prompted was long, like she hollowed him out entirely.

            “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, positioning himself between her legs and tapping her entrance with his cockhead several times in quick succession, a sticky slap accompanying each one. She moaned and squirmed, hating and loving the teasing all at once. “Good thing you’re all mine, hm?”

            She nodded eagerly. “All yours. Forever.”

            “Good girl,” he praised, then entered her again. She fisted her hands into the towel under her, her hips shifting up to get as close to his as possible while she whined. She was already so sensitive that his every motion in her was acutely felt. His moans were deep and ragged as he picked a rhythm, and he wasn’t slow or gentle about it. Just like he’d said before, she was plenty slick, letting him abandon any semblance of self-control. He fucked her like mating with her was his only directive on this planet.

            He pinned one of her thighs back with his hand, using the other for balance above her, pounding into her hard and fast. She didn’t know where to look. There was his face, a frown of concentration and need, his lips parted while he moaned again and again. There was his musculature, pronounced all along his chest and abdomen while he put all his physicality into fucking her rough, chasing that high. And then, of course, there was his cock, glistening and sticky where it sank into her again and again. He was entirely mesmerizing.

            She put her hands out, trailing his body, feeling every dip and ridge of muscle at work. That drew a different sound from him, sighing deeply like he was the most blessed creature alive to have her attention.

            “More,” she urged again, her greed plain in her voice. The challenge flashed dark in his eyes, and he pinned both her knees back, shifting himself further over her in the process so that his hips thrust down instead of forward, hitting her deep and hard with the force of gravity on his side.

            “Yes, yes, that’s it, don’t you dare stop,” she said, her words tripping over themselves with little thought behind them.

            “Yeah?” he said, his turn to goad now. “That greedy cunt gonna come for me again?”

            “Yes,” she whined. “So close, please, Felix, please.”

            “That’s right, love,” he purred. “Show me what that pretty cunt can do.”

            Her moans were high and loud when her second orgasm tore through her, unable to make herself shut up. He moaned, too, the sound filled with both pleasure and pride.

            “That’s my girl,” he praised. “So good for me. And so fucking sexy, too.”

            She couldn’t answer him intelligibly, whining wordlessly instead. He let one of her legs go, but hooked the other one over his shoulder, straightening up on his knees and resuming his hard, fast rhythm. She knew him well, knew that when he fucked like that he was close to meeting his end. His hair was in his eyes, and he ran a rough hand through it to push it back.

            “I’m not the only sexy one here,” she whined. “You’ve always been so fucking beautiful.”

            Her words seemed to shatter his fervor for a moment, and his eyes snapped wide, sweet and full of love, as he met her gaze. His thrusts didn’t slow, but he leaned over her to kiss her, pressing her thigh into her body in the process. She moaned into his mouth. He broke their kiss with a surprised noise.

            “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

            It was so like him for kissing to be his last straw. His lips parted as he came hard inside her, every pump of warmth from his cock punctuated by a thrust of his hips. His moans were deep and throaty, his eyes shut tight against the sensation as he spread hotly inside her. He was so fucking gorgeous that it made her dizzy.

            After he’d finished, he stayed propped over her, breathing hard while his senses came back to him. She rubbed his back, feeling his heart hammering from his efforts. He put her leg back down, then pulled back enough to just look at her, and she looked back.

            “I love you so much, Felix,” she said softly, pushing his hair out of his face and tucking as much as she could behind his soft ears. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

            “I could never,” he said, his voice gentle but a little hoarse from how noisy he’d been before, “because I love you just as much.”

            They lay tangled together while he softened, and only after that did he remove his length from her. He helped her up, and they went back into the lake to gulp mouthfuls of water and let their bodies rinse naturally. After swimming leisurely for a bit, they got out and Felix produced the snacks he’d brought. They lounged about on the towels together, neither of them bothering to put their clothes back on.

            “Do you want to head back after this?” she asked him, licking a trail of fruit juice from her finger. She caught the way Felix watched her tongue work with singular attention.

            “What’s your hurry?” he asked softly, dragging his gaze back to her face. “We won’t be missed till morning.”

            She gave him a sly, lazy smile. “And how are you going to entertain me until morning, hm? What if I fall asleep on you?”

            “By all means,” he answered, his mouth pulling into a matching smile, “fall asleep on me as much as you’d like.”

            At that, she climbed back over him, slipping his soft length inside her. He flushed; he clearly hadn’t expected her to call his bluff so soon. As she stared down at him with a satisfied expression, she felt his cock twitch inside her, the beginnings of a new erection.

            “Ah,” she said, poorly feigning surprise, “I see.”

            It was a very long night for them, indeed.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Susanoo with an s/o who's the daughter of the dragon god, Ryujin? S/O often chooses to shrink down from her giant, dragon form so she can hide in his clothes and be cozy.

'Achoo!' [Y/N] sniffled as she let out a big sneeze. Followed by a shiver as they wrapped themselves tighter in her kimono.

"I told you to bring a jacket." Susanoo told her. A jacket, a long cloak, anything. But noooo. The daughter of the dragon god did not need such frivolous things. Her body ran hot from the fires of the old gods in her veins.

If she just said she didn't want to carry it he would have been more sympathetic, but now he just felt the need to point out the mistake.

"I didn't need it before when I was inside." [Y/N] argued. Her voice already taking on the distinct stuffiness of a cold. "Give me yours."

"No." Susanoo put his foot down. This was exactly why he told her to bring a jacket. Because she would get cold, then ask for his jacket, then brow beat him until he gave in, and then he would be cold. "You put yourself in this situation, so you can work it out. I'm not going to suffer because of your poor planning."

[Y/N]'s glare was about as icy as the wind. She suddenly uncrossed her arms, as if to double down, and then shifted into her dragon form. Not the giant behemoth version that toppled cities, but the small almost serpent size one she used for short trips and flying. And she flew right into the collar of his yukata.

"Damnit [Y/N]!" Susanoo cursed. Battling at where she had scurried into. Her scales like ice chips on his back with how cold she was. The little nails on her claws scratching as she tried to avoid him. Not enough to draw blood, as they were about as thick as a cats, but still uncomfortable. "Get out of there! This isn't fair!"

"No!" [Y/N] told him through the psychic link of her mind. "You wouldn't share, so now I'm making you share. You told me to figure it out and I did. You can put up with it for the rest of the walk."

Susanoo grumbled. Her body was already quickly adjusting to the heat of his own, and her claws had retracted. He supposed he could put up with it for the time being. "This still isn't fair."

He knelt down to pick up her discarded grand kimono and folded it up to carry back as well. "Next time just bring a jacket."

"I will!" [Y/N] replied cheerfully at getting her way. But Susanoo knew she wouldn't bring one.

[powdermelonkeg]

Tears of the Kingdom: The Final Analysis

Part 13: The Finale

Part 12 here

So, Sidon's tear.

I backed up a few frames to see if I could get a better look at the etchings on it while it was close up.

It looks...like an eye?

Almost like an Eye of Truth, but not quite. Given that Zelda's tear had Recall on it, I wonder if this tear gives a power unique to it, as well.

When we zoom out, we can see that Sidon, at this point in the game, is wearing a fitted version of his father's crown.

Which, of course, begs the question—what happened to Dorephan? When last we saw him, he was in good health and spirit, if mourning his daughter. Is he hurt? Did the Calamity injure him? Did Sidon prove himself mature? What is going on?

Tulin comes into view. He's only here very briefly, so it was hard to catch him properly, but-

Right here, he's now holding the Great Eagle Bow instead of his old Swallow. Which, if you didn't know—in order to make the Great Eagle Bow in Breath of the Wild, after you've broken the original, you need to take Harth a Swallow Bow, five bundles of wood, and a diamond. Little buddy possibly crafted the upgrade himself.

Now let's look at his tear.

This one is much more abstract than Sidon's, so I haven't any guesses as to what it could mean.

Once Tulin flies by, Link races to fight an enemy, a HUGE shard on his back.

Despite its size, however, he wields it as a one-handed weapon, fused to the hilt of a Rusty Broadsword:

The material doesn't look like anything I've seen before, and given its glow and the fiery Gleeok he's about to face-

I'd say it's embued with the power of ice, if not outright made from the interior of one of Naydra's horns.

Speaking of Gleeok! For those unfamiliar, Gleeok is a classic Zelda boss. And by classic, I mean actually classic.

This guy, from the original Legend of Zelda, has made so many appearances.

Oracle of Seasons had Gleeok like this.

In Phantom Hourglass, it was a two headed water serpent.

This isn't even counting the variants and spinoffs, Gleerok from Minish Cap or Gleeokenspiel from Cadence of Hyrule. This guy is recurring, just like Dodongo is.

The number of heads Gleeok has varies—even in Legend of Zelda, the boss showed up twice, first with two heads and then with four. And in its official art from back then

He has three.

This guy has three huge, unhinged jaws, fire blazing out of the crest of its heads, and its eyes are all malice slits.

Despite the fire, though, the background is a dull teal, with snow falling. The only other place in the trailer we've seen this environment is in the Thunderhead that we've explored with Tulin.

We're reaching the end now. Zelda holds the Master Sword, says that Link is "our final hope."

"Our last line of defense will be Link."

After what? What is Link a contingency for? Plans falling through? Ganondorf breaking free?

Tears of the Kingdom. The filled in, red edge of the mural we saw in the last trailer.

Ganondorf commands his forces, a towering figure above the rest.

Soldiers stand bravely against him in battle.

There are enemies new long with the old.

And among the chaos, right at Ganon's feet, one person has managed to slip past the hordes, with no weapon or shield to protect them.

Zelda, scuffed from battle, calls our name-

The Master Sword clutched tightly in her hands, hilt barely visible.

"You must find me," she says, seated on her altar

Her face toward the southern sea

From a place we've seen before.

I'd like to bring your attention to one last thing, before I end this analysis.

We've encountered five tears thus far in the trailer, each with different colors, each different significance.

We're still missing two.

[achaotichuman]

THE GARDENS THE FRUIT AND THE SERPENT

The prequel to A Witch A Warrior And A Reckoning, the story of Dahlia Fairburn and how the next generation of A Court of Thorns and Roses tore down the most powerful tyrant of history.

This prequel will be updated alongside the main story, though the main fic does not need to be read to enjoy this one. (Link for AO3 at the bottom of the post)

Protagonists

Dahlia Fairburn

Elain Archeron

Azriel Shadowsinger/Vanserra

Nyx Archeron

(Main) Relationships

Azriel x Eris Vanserra

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

Dahlia Fairburn x Eve Almila

Summary

Years after the killing of the Deathless, Koschei, the Lords and Ladies of the Courts of Prythian have settled down, and their children freely roam the land, preparing for the day they may take on the Crown.

Dahlia Fairburn, the daughter of Tamlin Fairburn, the wildcard of her father's household, unpredictable with the same shimmer of gold her father has. Her wants are to serve her people, and hone her natural predatory skills in the dance of battle. And perhaps if she can score an invitation to work under the new King of Vallahan, she might get her chance she's looking for.

Azriel is trying to move past the feuds with Rhysand that drove them apart, settling into his life in the Autumn Court alongside Eris Vanserra. Still the ghost of what happened haunts him, and he sees in the now dull eyes of Nesta Archeron. The heaviness of his past weighs down, and he can only hope to shield his daughters from what had happened to him.

Elain Archeron has seen visions, visions she doesn't understand, but knows they are dark. The future is undecided, but all she does know, is one day this mask will come crumbling down. And when it does, it might be helpful to have the most powerful in history under her thumb.

Tags (Tagging the same people from the tag list of A Witch A Warrior And A Reckoning, let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list) :

@sonics-atelier

@sadisticdevile

@shi-daisy

@skyesayshi

@praetorqueenreyna

@futurehunt

@unanswered-stars

@mathiwrites

@honeysuckle-daydreams13

@matrixsss

@amalhe-kofee

@merwgue

[uzumakichcined]

" Now where is that blonde idiot. " She huffs, thinking to ask Naruto about this rather than the sage as to not tip him off.

[that--lavender--haze]

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚I'd care at 11:59

Hiii!! I'm Irisse Aveline, 15, and a daughter of Iris! All year-rounder because I ain't got any parents anymore and made money out of painting to live.

some other info about me:

BIRTHDAY 23RD SEPTEMBER

Height is 5'4 AND A HALF (Im not that short yippeee)

Step mom is Indian, Dad is French, born in America, lived in India for a bit of my childhood, but travelled half the world-

But then i got disowned and came back to USA

I speak English, Korean, French, German, Hindi and Spanish

Sexuality: Why do you want to know :)

Taken by my sweet, angelic, hot, pretty, amazing, cute, caring, brilliant boyfriend @lovely-blond-child Oscar ʕ♡˙ᴥ˙♡ʔ and my other amazing, hot, sweet, caring, great, SILLY boyfriend @ravensonofdionysus Ravenʕ♡˙ᴥ˙♡ʔ

Personality: flirty 87% of the time, golden retriever, me love language is physical touch, gift giving, and quality time and uh idk what else to write so just perceieve me as whatever-

Idk ask more more stuff if you want to know-

I like to paint, read, write, paint, music and did I mention painting...? I like to do art, a lot. And photography. I also like ice-cream (mint-choco is the best and it is NOT toothpaste. Blueberry, Raspeberry, Butterscotch, Coffee, Cherry- basically any icecream flavor- is also good). And anything else that's sweet!

☆I play the drums, piano and sometimes guitar too☆

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Nothing counts after midnight

Please help me expand this list ~ʕ^ᴥ^ʔ

@archery-and-musicals (first person to talk to me here<3 rly cool) Penelope☆

@thathypnoskid (she asked me for a painting, we became bsfs<3) Bee☆

@you-cant-save-us (I gave him a rock ^^) Eli☆

@your-favourite-iris-kid (My amazing sweet kind... Did i mention amazing.. sister) Esme☆

@lovely-blond-child (my partner for chaos [:< ) Oscar☆

@ravensonofdionysus (SILLYYYYY) Raven☆

@spawn-of-a-serpent (shes so prettyyyy!!) Andrea☆

Lore: she’s a daughter of iris that got brought to camp half blood after being discovered at an art museum because she’s a painter and she can make paints that have magic

Irisse moodboard and picrews here

Ooc: I'm a minor so no nsfw please!

Also thankyou to @if-chaos-was-a-boy for making this oc for me!!!

Divider by @saradika-graphics

My other rp acc @mireya-the-awkward-extrovert @out-in-those-neon-lights

[kchanzx]

May I introduce Milori the Sea Serpent Kaiju!

A little bit of her story: Milori was discovered in an ice cave while still in a deep sleep. She was awakened from her sleep by Ghidorah's Alpha call during the events of 2019. Milori is located in Outpost 30 which is close to an island near the arctic that nobody has seen before, it's now called "Auroria Island". Little Info: She is the rival of Majira aka. the Princess of the Monsters (Godzilla & Mothra's daughter in my AU). They often compete for food or territory ever since Majira reached maturity & went to look for a territory of her own.

DO NOT steal my art, repost only with consent & mark me as the artist if you draw my ocs or repost my art.

[teratocrat]

the leopard seal-eyed azhdarchid-basilosaurs that called themselves the Federation of Eaters claimed dominion over eleven planets around nine blue-white stars and were in the process of terraforming four more. it was through them that we learned of the terrified squeaking ice-rodents and pigeon-sheep that wove cloud-bread from the seeds of brass dandelions and hid behind armadas of omen-kites armed with verses of poetry that ate themselves into battleship armor and firework-warheads that rained down thermite and plutonium-chaff across continents. they claimed the protection of ancient oaths with the Monarchs and Daughters, scissor-jointed insectile dolls with enamel skin and lungs for marrow, eusocial workers tilling the floral farmlands and orchards of four hundred and ten tropical worlds orbiting vast red charcoals smeared across the sky. soldier-daughters like butterflies the size of moose with antlers twisted into the shapes of seige equipment and alien chess pieces accompanied the semaphore-diplomats with hypnotic agate eyespots, and eventually we learned of their hive-palaces stocked with vaults of eggs, factories, workshops, nurseries, refectories and dormitories, of their queens and princes and the peculiar lives of their princesses, who spend much of their lives thrusting themselves into reckless adventures hoping to bring back fortunes of enough benefit to their hive-palace to earn themselves the right to breed, the complex system of interdependencies their morphs had on each other based on their diets, the soldiers and monarchs fed on the honey-wine and bread-like Ration fermented in the crops of the workers. it was in one of the polarized glass guildhalls of the Federation of Eaters, propped up by twelve stout trees like skyscraper-tall brass horsetails, that we made a kind of peace with the bronze-feathered gryphons who raided our worlds, and with their hunting partners: predatory stormclouds with neon dreams, gelatin-boned alligator-slugs, greasy-pelted coyote-serpents who wore sweat-and-sex-and-gasoline perfumes. they claimed dominion over seventy-one planets whose ecosystems were all in various states of recovery from the not-infrequent nuclear exchanges they settled their most heated arguments with

[what-even-is-thiss]

Ragnarok.

Fimbulwinter. Also known as. Three years of nonstop winter. Which I always nervously read as a nuclear winter.

Then the sun and moon get eaten. By a wolf. The wolves always chasing the sun and moon caught up. The humans are all killing each other off. Dying of famine. Because of the never ending winter. And the sun and moon getting eaten.

Then Loki gets out of his prison. Somehow. He borrows his daughter’s dead people and her ship made of fingernails.

The ice and fire giants get out. Heimdall blows his horn. The Aesir are like. Oh. Well time to die I guess.

Fenrir the wolf breaks free. His lower jaw is on the ground. His upper jaw is in the sky. He’s big. We get it.

The world tree itself shudders. The Midgard serpent thrashes.

Odin is swallowed whole by Fenrir. Vidar props open Fenrir’s jaws and stabs him in the heart. Thor and Jormungandr fight. Thor wins but the poison from his injuries kills him nine steps later. The fallen warriors of Odin and Freja all die again.

Freyr frights the fire giant Surtr and loses. Surtr sets the earth ablaze. The world sinks into the steaming ocean and the stars all blink out one by one.

Time passes.

It’s not all bad. Some gods survived. The sun had a daughter who takes over her job. Hodr and Baldur return from the dead and they discuss old times and play games with the surviving gods.

Some humans survived by hiding in the trunk of the world tree and living on the morning dew that gathered on it. They come back out. Slowly, the crops and the animals return. The world is back but it will never be the same again. All must start over.

Isn’t that fun?