#Blood Moon Thresh AU

[mizumech]

Day 4: Divine/Infernal

It’s mizumech! I had this written a little in advance, so here it is. Presenting “rises the moon” a demon hunter AU clocking in at 1743 words.

I reserve all rights to editing and putting it up on ao3, and happy reading! :]

TW: guns, swearing, injury

—

Martyn’s hands twitch on his rifle. The day is almost gone and he can make out the faintest shape of the moon in the sky.

Tonight will be the night he hunts a demon.

The church altar roars with noise as the pastor rouses the people and their pitchforks, and Martyn’s stomach seems to do a flip.

He clutches at the lapis talisman under his coat; because something deep down is telling him that this hunt will be one of his biggest mistakes for a reason he can’t fathom.

He’s not scared of the chase and he’s not scared to kill. He doesn’t believe in their god and he doesn’t believe in demons.

So why does his heart still protest this one like his life depends on it?

Martyn remembers his first kill. A great stag on a full moon, with antlers that pronged towards the sky.

Ren hadn’t been there to see it, but he had congratulated him on it when he came back to town, so that was that.

Speaking of which, where is he?

Well, any excuse to be away from that frenzied mob. Any excuse to be where he actually belongs.

~

Back at the house, Ren…isn’t there either.

The pantry’s also bare, which is strange since Martyn clearly remembers going to the market to buy pumpkins, potatoes, and steak with Ren just yesterday.

To be fair, Ren’s always a little absent during full moons, and the week after often consists of Martyn helping to patch up wounds that he knows Ren will never explain, but tonight is important to the safety of their home, and Ren wouldn’t just run, right?

Right?

But his coat and his axe are gone.

Where could he be?

~

Ren watches as Martyn leaves the altar with worry twisting his features.

In that moment where the moonlight slips through the rooftops and catches his features, Ren thinks he might be looking at a god.

His hair looks like someone spun gold and took the care to sew it into a doll and his eyes are like if someone could have a Heart of the Sea for eyes.

God to a mortal.

Unbeliever to a demon.

A shout from the rabble startles him out of his trance.

The moon is rising, and his simpage must cease, for the sake of both his safety and Martyn’s sanity.

Goodbye, sweet Dogwarts, he thinks.

If Ren can help it, he will never see Dogwarts again.

~

No one has seen him.

Neither that nice librarian who’s dedicated their life to Mending books nor that farmer who’s spent theirs in the sun hoeing and threshing grain.

Martyn can’t tell if he’s buying himself time or running out of time.

However, Martyn has suspicions. 

One last spot to check before giving up, he decides, just one more.

~

As he reaches the forest, Martyn decides enough is enough. He’s quickly gotten sidetracked by a shady figure who he knows he can't let go and he still hasn’t found Ren.

He forcefully loads his rifle, letting his normally practiced movements be heard.

The hooded figure stops in its tracks and slowly turns around.

Martyn trains his gun on them, not willing to make another sound until they do, cacophony of hard breathing and pumping blood rushing in his ears; thoughts of Ren all gone.

Who-you, they sign in Dogwarts Sign Language, Why-here?

Martyn’s thought flow stutters to a halt. 

“I—I’m not going to put down my gun. I—Maybe you’re mute or maybe you’re deaf but I don’t know what your intentions are, or whether you’re a threat to us…”

He lets out a shaky exhale, almost too shaky for his liking, the adrenaline leaving, leaving Martyn working on empty but surprisingly clear-headed.

His fingers twitch on the trigger.

“Show me you don’t mean any harm.”

The hooded figure fumbles, patting themself down for any talismans or tokens, presumably.

Martyn has no problems with that, but then the hooded figure’s hands start retreating towards the pocket area, and that’s what raises his hackles.

It could be a knife or it could be a bribe or it could be a—

He shoots. Better safe than sorry.

The sound reverberates, bullet arching upwards, straight and true in some twisted arithmetic question; gun recoil hitting his cheekbone, just as the hooded figure reaches out a hand; either to stop him or to show him something and shouts his name.

“Martyn!”

Fuck.

He’s just alerted basically the whole village to their location with his gunshot, for it to be nothing.

Martyn slowly lowers his gun from its position, from pointing towards the sky to strapped across his shoulder.

He doesn’t even need to look at what they were trying to show him, because he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Ren.”

“Hey.”

Martyn sighs. Out of petulance, he turns to reloading and cleaning his rifle; very purposefully not meeting Ren’s gaze.

“Well, if you’ve got anything to say, at all,” he sneers as the bullet case is ejected, “Now’s the time to do it. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m sorry, my dude.”

“You’re always sorry, Ren. Every month you’re sorry, and from the moment I met you when you were bleeding in the woods you were sorry. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The image of flaxen hair and void-dark eyes seems to telepathically manifest between them.

“That’s not fair, to compare me to him.”

Fair?

“What? Because he’s the one who’s bandaging his landlord’s wounds? Because he’s never left Scar?” Martyn snarls, all his previously bubbling annoyance suddenly rising to the top; rifle now aimed back at Ren, “What do you take me for?”

“Martyn—“

“All you ever do is leave,” Martyn grits out, between the roiling turmoil that threatens to make him shed tears because gods above, Ren is someone who he has always cared too damn much about, “You leave and you come back right as I think you’re gone forever and then you leave again and you leave me to pick up the pieces—“

“You don’t understand, Martyn! I’m leaving for a reason that is bigger than you and me. I can’t tell you or show you because—“

Martyn slowly lowers his rifle again.

“—because you don’t trust me?”

Ren sighs, adjusting his robes while he fidgets.

“…yeah, I guess. I—I—take a walk with me?”

“Don’t be a coward about this. No more running, no more running away, okay?”

“I’m not,” Ren says, and Martyn can hear his voice crack, “I’m not running. That’s not the difficult part.”

“Then stop walking away. Stop fucking—leaving all the time. If you’re going to leave, don’t keep coming back just to do it again. What is so much bigger than me that I can’t understand it? Am I just not enough?”

“You’re always gonna be enough, Martyn.”

It would be so easy for Martyn to leave it on that; something that will keep him going in hard times. But all his problems in his life have been because of his big fucking mouth, and it seems that he’ll never be able to let go of that habit of betting on losing dogs.

“If it’s so damn easy for you to leave, why do you even bother coming back at all?”

“Because leaving ISN’T THE EASY PART, MARTYN!” Ren shouts, maybe sobs out, “It's loving you, that’s the easiest goddamn thing in the world! That’s why it’s so difficult to come back! I come back every month and I see you worried! I see you holding your questions and I know you want answers that I can’t give you!”

In the emotional scuffle, Ren’s hood falls.

The moonlight that’s cast on his face starts to distort his features, much to Martyn’s horror and shock as his eyes go crimson and grey starts to seep into his normally brown hair; the colour of wolf fur. His skin starts to mottle with scales and his figure starts to tower, with horns spiralling and leathery wings ripping out of his back like a leviathan might cut through the sea and into the open air.

Martyn clutches his rifle, frame seemingly cutting into his hands like an ill-made axe, as he whispers with uselessly trembling hands, as he shrinks away from him, “Ren, your hood’s off, Ren——”

The air suddenly feels dryer, now like the air wasn’t made for someone human like Martyn himself to breathe.

“Who’s the coward now, Martyn? Who’s running?”

That word jolts him out of the trance. 

Why is he running? From Ren, of all people?

“That’s…fair.”

Ren turns away from him.

“I can hear them coming. Do what you have to do. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m…sorry. For all of this. I just wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

There’s a rueful laugh from Ren.

“You were also sorry from the moment we met, weren’t you? You’re also sorry every month when you make me drink that—glistering melon juice.”

“That’s just…us now, I guess. Losing dogs who can’t stop regretting.”

“And who’ll be left to bet on us?”

They both share a melancholy chuckle. A good last inside joke to ease the parting pains.

~

Finally, the pitchforks come and the shouts of the rabble grow ever louder as they approach.

Ren turns back to him, eyes conveying some sort of look Martyn can’t ever hope to decipher in this lifetime. 

There’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to leave unsaid.

And for once in his life, his big mouth (doesn’t) fail(s) him.

Ren’s height forces Martyn to look up to stare into those strangely pink pupils; pink like a peony in a snake’s skull; up like a child looking upon a god.

As Ren seems to ascend with the beats of those powerful wings, one of the elders shouts for Martyn.

“Shoot, boy, shoot!”

Instinct suddenly kicks in again.

He raises his rifle.

Shoots a missing shot, just skimming Ren’s ear and reloads.

The bullet case falls beside a lapis talisman that matches his.

It’s Ren’s.

That’s enough to send a tear streaking down Martyn’s face as he takes aim again because he could have killed him—

He closes his eyes, and lets fate take his next shot. Maybe he won’t even shoot.

“All you do is leave,” Martyn whispers bitterly against the butt of his gun; maybe a bit of a justification to himself, and maybe a bit of an angry mourning, “All you've ever done is leave.”

Martyn’s hands twitch on his rifle. The day is almost gone and he can make out the faintest shape of the moon in the sky.

Tonight will be the night he hunts a demon.

The church altar roars with noise as the pastor rouses the people and their pitchforks, and Martyn’s stomach seems to do a flip.

He clutches at the lapis talisman under his coat; because something deep down is telling him that this hunt will be one of his biggest mistakes for a reason he can’t fathom.

He’s not scared of the chase and he’s not scared to kill. He doesn’t believe in their god and he doesn’t believe in demons.

So why does his heart still protest this one like his life depends on it?

Martyn remembers his first kill. A great stag on a full moon, with antlers that pronged towards the sky.

Ren hadn’t been there to see it, but he had congratulated him on it when he came back to town, so that was that.

Speaking of which, where is he?

Well, any excuse to be away from that frenzied mob. Any excuse to be where he actually belongs.

~

Back at the house, Ren…isn’t there either.

The pantry’s also bare, which is strange since Martyn clearly remembers going to the market to buy pumpkins, potatoes, and steak with Ren just yesterday.

To be fair, Ren’s always a little absent during full moons, and the week after often consists of Martyn helping to patch up wounds that he knows Ren will never explain, but tonight is important to the safety of their home, and Ren wouldn’t just run, right?

Right?

But his coat and his axe are gone.

Where could he be?

~

Ren watches as Martyn leaves the altar with worry twisting his features.

In that moment where the moonlight slips through the rooftops and catches his features, Ren thinks he might be looking at a god.

His hair looks like someone spun gold and took the care to sew it into a doll and his eyes are like if someone could have a Heart of the Sea for eyes.

God to a mortal.

Unbeliever to a demon.

A shout from the rabble startles him out of his trance.

The moon is rising, and his simpage must cease, for the sake of both his safety and Martyn’s sanity.

Goodbye, sweet Dogwarts, he thinks.

If Ren can help it, he will never see Dogwarts again.

~

No one has seen him.

Neither that nice librarian who’s dedicated their life to Mending books nor that farmer who’s spent theirs in the sun hoeing and threshing grain.

Martyn can’t tell if he’s buying himself time or running out of time.

However, Martyn has suspicions. 

One last spot to check before giving up, he decides, just one more.

~

As he reaches the forest, Martyn decides enough is enough. He’s quickly gotten sidetracked by a shady figure who he knows he can't let go and he still hasn’t found Ren.

He forcefully loads his rifle, letting his normally practiced movements be heard.

The hooded figure stops in its tracks and slowly turns around.

Martyn trains his gun on them, not willing to make another sound until they do, cacophony of hard breathing and pumping blood rushing in his ears; thoughts of Ren all gone.

Who-you, they sign in Dogwarts Sign Language, Why-here?

Martyn’s thought flow stutters to a halt. 

“I—I’m not going to put down my gun. I—Maybe you’re mute or maybe you’re deaf but I don’t know what your intentions are, or whether you’re a threat to us…”

He lets out a shaky exhale, almost too shaky for his liking, the adrenaline leaving, leaving Martyn working on empty but surprisingly clear-headed.

His fingers twitch on the trigger.

“Show me you don’t mean any harm.”

The hooded figure fumbles, patting themself down for any talismans or tokens, presumably.

Martyn has no problems with that, but then the hooded figure’s hands start retreating towards the pocket area, and that’s what raises his hackles.

It could be a knife or it could be a bribe or it could be a—

He shoots. Better safe than sorry.

The sound reverberates, bullet arching upwards, straight and true in some twisted arithmetic question; gun recoil hitting his cheekbone, just as the hooded figure reaches out a hand; either to stop him or to show him something and shouts his name.

“Martyn!”

Fuck.

He’s just alerted basically the whole village to their location with his gunshot, for it to be nothing.

Martyn slowly lowers his gun from its position, from pointing towards the sky to strapped across his shoulder.

He doesn’t even need to look at what they were trying to show him, because he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Ren.”

“Hey.”

Martyn sighs. Out of petulance, he turns to reloading and cleaning his rifle; very purposefully not meeting Ren’s gaze.

“Well, if you’ve got anything to say, at all,” he sneers as the bullet case is ejected, “Now’s the time to do it. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m sorry, my dude.”

“You’re always sorry, Ren. Every month you’re sorry, and from the moment I met you when you were bleeding in the woods you were sorry. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

The image of flaxen hair and void-dark eyes seems to telepathically manifest between them.

“That’s not fair, to compare me to him.”

Fair?

“What? Because he’s the one who’s bandaging his landlord’s wounds? Because he’s never left Scar?” Martyn snarls, all his previously bubbling annoyance suddenly rising to the top; rifle now aimed back at Ren, “What do you take me for?”

“Martyn—“

“All you ever do is leave,” Martyn grits out, between the roiling turmoil that threatens to make him shed tears because gods above, Ren is someone who he has always cared too damn much about, “You leave and you come back right as I think you’re gone forever and then you leave again and you leave me to pick up the pieces—“

“You don’t understand, Martyn! I’m leaving for a reason that is bigger than you and me. I can’t tell you or show you because—“

Martyn slowly lowers his rifle again.

“—because you don’t trust me?”

Ren sighs, adjusting his robes while he fidgets.

“…yeah, I guess. I—I—take a walk with me?”

“Don’t be a coward about this. No more running, no more running away, okay?”

“I’m not,” Ren says, and Martyn can hear his voice crack, “I’m not running. That’s not the difficult part.”

“Then stop walking away. Stop fucking—leaving all the time. If you’re going to leave, don’t keep coming back just to do it again. What is so much bigger than me that I can’t understand it? Am I just not enough?”

“You’re always gonna be enough, Martyn.”

It would be so easy for Martyn to leave it on that; something that will keep him going in hard times. But all his problems in his life have been because of his big fucking mouth, and it seems that he’ll never be able to let go of that habit of betting on losing dogs.

“If it’s so damn easy for you to leave, why do you even bother coming back at all?”

“Because leaving ISN’T THE EASY PART, MARTYN!” Ren shouts, maybe sobs out, “It's loving you, that’s the easiest goddamn thing in the world! That’s why it’s so difficult to come back! I come back every month and I see you worried! I see you holding your questions and I know you want answers that I can’t give you!”

In the emotional scuffle, Ren’s hood falls.

The moonlight that’s cast on his face starts to distort his features, much to Martyn’s horror and shock as his eyes go crimson and grey starts to seep into his normally brown hair; the colour of wolf fur. His skin starts to mottle with scales and his figure starts to tower, with horns spiralling and leathery wings ripping out of his back like a leviathan might cut through the sea and into the open air.

Martyn clutches his rifle, frame seemingly cutting into his hands like an ill-made axe, as he whispers with uselessly trembling hands, as he shrinks away from him, “Ren, your hood’s off, Ren——”

The air suddenly feels dryer, now like the air wasn’t made for someone human like Martyn himself to breathe.

“Who’s the coward now, Martyn? Who’s running?”

That word jolts him out of the trance. 

Why is he running? From Ren, of all people?

“That’s…fair.”

Ren turns away from him.

“I can hear them coming. Do what you have to do. You know how much time you have.”

“I’m…sorry. For all of this. I just wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

There’s a rueful laugh from Ren.

“You were also sorry from the moment we met, weren’t you? You’re also sorry every month when you make me drink that—glistering melon juice.”

“That’s just…us now, I guess. Losing dogs who can’t stop regretting.”

“And who’ll be left to bet on us?”

They both share a melancholy chuckle. A good last inside joke to ease the parting pains.

~

Finally, the pitchforks come and the shouts of the rabble grow ever louder as they approach.

Ren turns back to him, eyes conveying some sort of look Martyn can’t ever hope to decipher in this lifetime. 

There’s so much he wants to say. So much he wants to leave unsaid.

And for once in his life, his big mouth (doesn’t) fail(s) him.

Ren’s height forces Martyn to look up to stare into those strangely pink pupils; pink like a peony in a snake’s skull; up like a child looking upon a god.

As Ren seems to ascend with the beats of those powerful wings, one of the elders shouts for Martyn.

“Shoot, boy, shoot!”

Instinct suddenly kicks in again.

He raises his rifle.

Shoots a missing shot, just skimming Ren’s ear and reloads.

The bullet case falls beside a lapis talisman that matches his.

It’s Ren’s.

That’s enough to send a tear streaking down Martyn’s face as he takes aim again because he could have killed him—

He closes his eyes, and lets fate take his next shot. Maybe he won’t even shoot.

“All you do is leave,” Martyn whispers bitterly against the butt of his gun; maybe a bit of a justification to himself, and maybe a bit of an angry mourning, “All you've ever done is leave.”

@treebarkweek

[mega-aulover]

The Chosen One

Rating: M

Synopsis: Everlark AU. Characters off-Canon, Fantasy SciFi set on Earth during the Dark Ages. Panem is ruled by bloodthirsty King Thread and his enchantress Enobaria who will stop at nothing to prevent the rightful king from awakening. Meanwhile, a slave girl named Katniss dreams of a man’s voice calling to her, but she doesn’t know who he is or why he needs her help. She soon discovers that being the Chosen One means danger surrounds her with every step she takes to find this man and her destiny.

**KP** THE CALL:

Katniss’s eyes opened, and she found herself in the midst of the dream she’d been having since before her family was stolen by death. It was always the same. As if on queue, the man’s gentle voice whispered in her ear. “Katniss.”

In a trance, she followed his voice toward massive double wooden doors, ornately carved to depict a garden. The doors opened at the first touch of her hand. The room appeared empty, save for tall, lit candles.

Tonight, however, she heard his voice clearly. He usually sounded so far away. Katniss turned around, looking for him. She thought he stood behind her. His voice was roughened but sweet to her ears. He beckoned, “Come, Katniss, I’ve been waiting for you.”

The twin moons hung high in the sky and they looked closer this time than the last. As always she spotted a bed on a dais.  

Katniss was drawn to the bed. Her heart raced. Her palms turned sweaty as she walked up the steps of the dais, her attention focused in on the body that lay on the bed, covered in a white burial cloth.

Just as she reached out to touch him, a strong pair of arms wound themselves around her middle. This was new to her, but she relaxed into his embrace. His breath was warm as he murmured into her neck, “You are beautiful.”

His hot breath and the caress of his lips against her nape stirred her blood, kindling a yearning she’d never experienced before. Desperate to see him, she turned around in his arms, but once more the door swung open and she was pulled backwards through a tunnel, screaming for him. He was important to her.

Katniss sat up, breathing harshly. Tears fell from her eyes. His voice still resounded in her head, calling her to come back to him. She quickly looked around and rubbed her face. She was exhausted from the ordeal she’d faced. Wiping her face, Katniss lay back down and wondered why this dream never left her and why, when she had finally seen something new, she was pulled back from the bed. Lying back down, she closed her eyes and eventually fell asleep.

She dreamt of the day her father and sister died, but when she woke up screaming in fear, it was morning and they were not alone. They were surrounded by men, with painted faces and vicious eyes. Katniss got to her feet and raised her bow up quickly. Jo stood with her ax ready.

“You are coming with us,” the leader said. He was tall, with bronze hair, broad shouldered. His face was painted in blue and green and along with his sword he had a trident.

“The hell I am,” Johanna said, swinging her ax in the air. The men were quiet. None moved. Katniss notched an arrow, aiming it directly at one of them.

“Stay back,” Joanna shouted.

One of them took a step forward and Jo swung her arm at him. Another approached Katniss. She took aim at him and shot. He dove down and she quickly notched her arrow again. She let it fly at a man trying to tackle Johanna just before a group of men jumped on her, forcibly removing the bow from her hand.

“THRESH,” the man with the blue and green painted face shouted.

“RUN, JOANNA, RUN!!” Katniss screamed, and Jo made a mad dash away.

One of the men yelled, “Go find the other one.”

Katniss struggled as they tied her legs and arms. A short while later a younger soldier came out from the woods. “Sir, we’ve lost her.”

Katniss hung her head in silence, glad Johanna had escaped. She peered up at the men who were eyeing her. “What you going to do with me?”

They didn’t answer her. Instead, they sat her atop a horse and took off with her hanging on for dear life.  At night, they met up with a larger group and the leader of her band of captors threw Katniss over his shoulder and dumped her onto the floor of a covered wagon.

“Stay,” ordered the man who carried her. When he stalked off, she peeked out and saw him speaking to the dark skinned man she felled with her arrow. She also saw some of the wounded women and girls from the Cloister being treated and fed. This was a kind act, something she hadn't expected.

It was said the Invaders were rough on the women they captured, but she observed as the men did not act as if the women were plundered goods. She saw an invader offer a cloak to one of the priestesses, and another gently deposited an older woman as if she was precious inside another covered wagon.

Nothing made sense as they began to move.

Her head lay back against the leather covering of the wagon, the rhythmic thud of the wheels turning causing her to fall into a deep sleep.

“Katniss, come to me,” the male voice called.

Katniss found herself in front of the massive double doors again. This time she noted they had an image of a bird in in-flight, an amulet in its claws. Her hands trembled as she reached out to open the door. Once more the doors opened and closed behind her.

She was back in the room with the tall thick candles. Through the window, she could see the twin moons high in the dark sky and they looked as if they were nearly on top of the other.  She walked forward.

“Katniss,” he whispered in her ear.

With purpose, she ran up the dais steps to his body. Her hand reached out to remove the burial cloth.

“Free me, help me…” he cried.

Katniss pulled away the cloth and saw blond curly hair, just as the door opened up and she was once more yanked away.

Katniss awoke with a scream on her lips. She sat up, but she was not alone. In front of her, an elderly woman smiled. She patted Katniss’s hair.

“Please let me go. Let me free,” Katniss whispered.

The woman shook her head but offered Katniss a sip of water from a mug. Katniss drank deeply, glad for the refreshment. She leaned her head back. The woman placed a small piece of bread to Katniss lips. Katniss opened her mouth. She was hungry, and soon she was full.

“I am Katniss. Who are you? What is your name?”

The woman mumbled something. Katniss could tell she was mute. She sighed, wondering where she was headed.

They traveled by day and night. Each day, the old lady offered her a sip of water and bread. They would make infrequent stops, enough time for Katniss to relieve herself but always with heavy guard. At night she dreamt of the man on the dais; of his voice, his curly blond hair, of a strong muscular chest and arms. She dreamt of cinnamon and dill. None of it made sense, but her dreams grew in frequency until the day they arrived at their destination.

When she opened her eyes, she could tell this day would be different. Her hands and feet were not bound and the leather covering of the cart had been removed. They were winding up a large hill toward a stone castle at the summit.

Katniss expected the castle to look ominous and forbidden with overcast clouds and vultures flying above, like the stories she’d been told of the Invaders as a child.  Instead, it was the sort of castle little girls dream about, an idyllic place with, brightly colored banners hanging from the towers. The village below looked clean. Its people were not dressed in rags as in the streets near the cloister. The walls were formidable and the iron-gate and its barbican were at once welcoming and impregnable.

The sky was blue and the warmth of the summer sun caressed the pale skin of the inhabitants in this land. The uncovered carts made their way inside of the bailey of the castle. When they stopped, men were waiting for them.

She was brought to a bedroom with walls made from stone. A bright tapestry hung on the wall and in one corner was an artist’s nook - a container that held brushes and an easel with a tarp over it. She frowned, wondering who lived here, but then she had a flash...a vision of the back of a man's blond head bent over the easel. Scared she jumped back, but then saw there was a fine film of dust on the mantle. She knew this room, and although it was currently bereft of its owner, knew who once lived there.

Katniss openly gawked at the bed. She’d never slept on one. It was canopied and had heavy curtains, and a quick inspection revealed a soft mattress. The lure of the bed was far too strong for her tired body. Katniss climbed on top and fell asleep. When she awoke, a guard stood by it. Her hands were once more tied and she was gagged.

Two men stood by a window where the sun was cresting over the sky. They were clearly not from Panem, but she heard her native tongue being spoken.

Katniss recognized the back of the man with the blue and green face, the one who captured her. “We had to attack. They were killing the women when we got there. We found the girl at the foot of a cave.”

“I don’t think she’s the one, Finnick,” said the other man whose back was too her. “You brought back eight women and countless little lasses.”

“I don’t know, Rhys. I have a feeling about her. She had a bow with her! She maimed Thresh. How many female slaves do you know who can shoot a man’s bow? Besides, our spy informed us that she is the one.” The one called Finnick tossed a look over his shoulder. He was tall and broad shouldered, with golden skin and had long reddish blond hair around his face. It was a striking face, and seeing her awake, he winked cockily at her.

Katniss scowled at him, but the man he was speaking to did not pay attention to their interaction.  He ran hands through his hair.

“Finnick, you know how important this is, to my kingdom, for my brother. I know how dangerous it is - what our friend is doing amongst Thread and Enobaria. If he is found, he could be killed.”

“Your grace, I know how important this is. I can assure you of that,” Finnick’s words died on his lips as Rhys held up his hand.

The man called Rhys came toward her. He wore a crown upon his brow. His hair was white and his eyes were a murky blue. His youth and vigor had long left him. He had creases in his face, indicating he’d led a hard life.  Her eyes were wide on her face as he ripped her sleeve. He stood back and quickly glanced at Finnick.

“I told you. She’s the one.”

“Leave us,” Rhys ordered.

Finnick and the guard left.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair. “I thought you a myth. I thought you didn’t exist. But Finnick and Plutarch insisted. ”

Katniss didn’t say anything. She had no idea what the man was talking about.

“If I remove your gag, you must promise not to yell,” Rhys said.

There wasn’t any point in screaming. She was being held against her wishes.  The man leaned over and removed her gag.  “I am Rhys, second son of King Mellark.”

Katniss hardened her jaw.

“If you haven't figured it out yet, Mistress Coin was going to sell you to Thread. I’ve brought you here to spare your life.”

“Yet I’m a slave once more,” Katniss said.

“No,” Rhys countered, then ran his hands through his silver blond hair again and sighed. “Yes, but I need your help. You are the one foretold in the legends. It’s fortunate that Coin didn’t know what you are.”

“What?” Katniss frowned. “I think you are crazed.”

“No, I am not. I am a believer. I believe you were born to help him achieve his quest. How is it you know nothing of your heritage, your lineage?”

“I’ve been in hole half of my life,” Katniss said sarcastically.

Rhys looked at her as if she was making fun of him. In part, she was, but she was also telling the truth.

“Listen to me very carefully, daughter of Diana. You will help me because it is your destiny. You are the Mockingjay. The chosen one.”

Katniss was curious. “Why do you call me that?”

Rhys pointed to her arm, “That birthmark tells me you hail from a line of great hunters, descendants of Diana the huntress. You possess a virtuous skill with bow and arrow and Finnick told me you carried one with you when they found you. I know of another who has that same mark.”

Katniss had never heard of such a thing. It was preposterous for someone to have identical marks. The King had to be lying, but Katniss questioned for what purpose would a man of his stature bother to lie to her?

“If it is true what you say, then show me.”

His face was unreadable to Katniss. His dark blue eyes were lit with anger. “I will.”

Her heart beat wildly inside of her chest, but Katniss set her jaw in pure defiance. She watched him get up and yank the door open.

“Bathe her. She reeks,” he barked.

Katniss put her head back against the pillow. King Rhys was going to show her who else had the mark. But what difference did that make? She didn’t understand what was going on. She wondered whether Johanna had suffered some similar fate. All she wanted was to be free. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes for the first time since this misadventure started. She swore that one day she would be free.

It took several hours before anyone came to the room where she was being kept prisoner.  When the door finally opened again, a group of women came in and arranged white linen cloth on the floor in front of the fireplace.

A young girl, no older than ten and two, came forward and unbound her hands.

Finally free, Katniss wanted to stand but her legs were wobbly.

“Oh miss, you mustn’t get up on your own,” the young girl said alarmed.

Katniss nodded as she stood there she noted nearly all of the girls were young, two were her age and the rest were well past the childbearing age.

Katniss allowed the women to escort her to the tub. She blushed scarlet as the women stripped her of her simple garment, but an hour later she was scrubbed clean and given a green gown and soft leather shoes. She found it odd to wear shoes again, her feet felt trapped.

Her legs were massaged and their strength returned. Her tresses were combed to a lustrous onyx waterfall. Katniss did not recognize the image staring back at her in the mirror.

“You are exactly as the oracle predicted,” a young woman with long reddish brown hair stated.

“I’m sorry,” Katniss turned to face the girl.

“Annie,” another girl urged, “We must get her to the chamber. The midnight hour approaches.”

Katniss was frightened, but she followed the women throughout the well-lit corridors of the castle. The castle seemed to be full of men - tall men, short men, thin men, muscular men and ones with rounded bellies. The only women she could see were the ones with her.  They arrived at a room with double doors and found King Rhys waiting outside. She kept on looking for the old woman who took care of her in the wagon but she did not see her.

Katniss looked at the doors, then back at King Rhys. Her eyes were wide on her face. She recognized these doors. She didn’t need to get any closer to know these ornate wooden doors were carved with a relief of a garden. Katniss moved forward automatically.

The doors to the room were opened by the guards. Transfixed, Katniss passed over the threshold, and just like in her dream, lit candles stood everywhere. Moonlight spilled in through the open window. She swallowed as she approached the dais. Her hands shook as she grasped the white burial cloth and pulled it off.

There on the bed lay a handsome boy, about her age, with blond curly hair. He looked innocent, and it seemed as if he were asleep. She frowned, her heart beat wildly as her first instinct was to kiss his lips. It shocked her when she realized her mouth hovered over his, but she made no move to stop herself as her lashes fluttered closed and she pressed her lips to his.

She felt a warm breath against her face and a hand reached up to cup her cheek. His lips were warm and she felt a rush of hunger as she shyly responded back to him. Their lips separated but still needing contract, they touched their foreheads together, their breathing harsh. She kept her lashes shut.

“You came,” he whispered to her.

Had she not been awake, she wouldn’t have believed what was happening to her. “You’ve been calling me.”

He laughed. She opened her eyes and pulled back to see a pair of vivid blue eyes staring at her. His lips were quirked up in a smile. She stumbled backward and was caught by Finnick who promptly pulled her away. She reached out to the boy in the bed, but she was dragged away and shut once more into her chambers.

[hook-and-chains]

( SIT )

Seduction Starters | sitting on Thresh’s lap

“ しかたがない。 。 。 Looking for more attention from me, shark?”

The Demon boomed ominously trying to enjoy a moment of peace from the hunt. It didn’t seem as he was entirely displeased but still a bit on his high from the slaughter. His pupils rolled slowly over the spearman’s form at all of the blood they had collected together.

He did quite like the sight of their efforts on him however he had been in the process of trying to clean his scythe before he had propped himself in place of it.

“You know I don’t like to be kept waiting. Explain yourself.”

@demon-spearfisher

[wardens-art]

A few doodles I did while not being tired from work

[shurelyasreverie]

League of Legends Masterlist (Updated 16/07/2021)

Welcome to the masterlist post! This post is in alphabetical order by how champions are known in game.

Please read the rules before requesting and check the request status on my blog/ask page.

Valorant Masterlist

Key (for Drabbles/Oneshots):

 💧 - Angst

☀️ - Fluff

⚡️ - Drama

⭐️ - Personal Fave

🥰 - Fan Fave

📔 - Scenario/Oneshot (1000+ Words)

Aatrox

Aatrox x Nightbringer!Reader Headcanons

Blood Moon!Aatrox x Reader Headcanons

Saving His Kidnapped S/O Headcanons

Wooing His S/O Headcanons

Ahri

K/DA!Ahri Relationship Headcanons

K/DA!Ahri with S/O Being a Fan of Another Group

Sprit Blossom!Ahri with S/O Returning to the Spirit Realm

📔⚡️ [K/DA!Ahri] Attention Please (ft. Seraphine)

📔⚡️ True Feelings

Akali

💧Akali x Reader Drabble

Aphelios

Aphelios x Deity!Reader Headcanons

🥰⭐️📔⚡️ Faith in the Traitor

Aurelion Sol

Aurelion Sol x Deity!Reader Headcanons

Cassopeia

Spirit Blossom!Cassopeia with S/O Returning to the Spirit Realm

Darius

Darius x Cute!Reader Headcanons

Evelynn

K/DA!Evelynn x Chubby!Reader Headcanons

K/DA!Evelynn x Shy!Clumsy!Reader Headcanons

Ezreal

Reverse AU Headcanons

Fiora

Fiora x Shy!Reader Headcanons

Graves

Relationship Headcanons

☀️ Confession Drabble

Gwen

Gwen x Game Designer!Reader Headcanons

Jhin

Relationship Headcanons

Dark Cosmic!Jhin x Nightbringer!Reader Headcanons

Jhin with S/O Involved with the Arts

🥰⚡️ Soulmate AU Drabble | [Part 2]

Kayn

Reverse AU Headcanons

☀️ Cuddle Drabble

🥰⚡️ Soulmate AU Drabble | [Part 2]

Lee Sin

📔☀️ Distraction

Leona

Relationship Headcanons

Lux

Battle Academia!Lux Relationship Headcanons

Battle Academia!Lux Introducing Her S/O to Garen

Lux x Shuriman!Reader Headcanons

Miss Fortune

Arcade!Miss Fortune x Shy!Reader Headcanons

Mordekaiser

Relationship Headcanons

Nami

💧 Nami x Lunari!Reader Drabble

Pantheon

Pantheon x Deity!Reader Headcanons

Pyke

📔⭐️⚡️ To the Depths

Qiyana

True Damage!Qiyana with S/O Being a Fan of Another Group

☀️ Battle Queen!Qiyana x Reader Drabble

Quinn

Quinn x Demacian!Reader Drabble

Rhaast

Relationship Headcanons

Rhaast x Nightbringer!Reader Headcanons

Saving His Kidnapped S/O Headcanons

Wooing His S/O Headcanons

⚡️ Fickle

Samira

Relationship Headcanons

Sejuani

☀️ Sejuani x Injured!Reader Drabble

Seraphine

📔⚡️ [K/DA! Seraphine] Attention Please (ft. Ahri)

Sett

Big Brother!Sett Headcanons

Sett x Mage!Reader Headcanons

Relationship Headcanons

🥰☀️ Sett x Healer!Reader Drabble

���️ Valentines’ Day Drabble

📔☀️ Love is the Best Medicine

Shen

Relationship Headcanons

Shen x Reader x Zed Polyamorous Relationship Headcanons

Skarner

Skarner x Crystal Maker!Reader Platonic Headcanons

Swain

☀️ Break Time

Sylas

Sylas x Deity of Magic!Reader Headcanons

Sylas x Noxian!Reader Headcanons

Talon

Relationship Headcanons

Thresh

Spirit Blossom!Thresh x Nightbringer!Reader Headcanons

Twisted Fate

⭐️📔☀️ Wanna Bet? | [Part 2]

Varus

Varus x Nightbringer!Reader Headcanons

Wooing His S/O Headcanons

☀️ ⚡️ Injured!Varus x Healer!Reader Drabble

📔⚡️ Humanity (Soulmate AU)

Viego

⚡️ Soulmate AU Drabble

☀️ Viego x Sick!Reader Drabble

📔 ⚡️ You Will Stay

Viktor

Relationship Headcanons

Yasuo

☀️ Yasuo x Empath!Reader Drabble

📔☀️ Meditation (ft. Yone)

Yone

Reverse AU Headcanons

📔☀️ Meditation (ft. Yasuo)

📔 ⚡️ Spirit Fighter

Zed

Zed x Reader x Shen Polyamorous Relationship Headcanons

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made.  I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years.  We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends.  It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media.  I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs!  When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’  We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her.  I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones.  Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it?  You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable.  Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was.  What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her.  Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible).  Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative.  I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).  

Really, RivkaT?  A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy.  I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either.  It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued.  I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does.   Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic.  Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”  And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

[ncumenia-archived]

📱MOBILE-FRIENDLY RULES📱

OTHER LINKS:

lore

bio

headcanons

exclusive ship list

Since English is not my mother language, I apologize in advance if there are some grammatical errors or I use wrong words to describe an action. If something is not clear to you, just let me know, I’ll fix it as soon as I can.

Roleplay Rules:

TAG DUMP HERE!; (NSFW too)

Mun&Muse are both 21+. This blog is selective, 18+ exclusive, canon divergent, duplicates crossover, AU, fandomless, etc… friendly!  

Besides the obvious fact I won't rp smut or ship with minor muns/muses whatsoever, do not follow me if you're underage. This because I feel uncomfortable interacting with minor muns due to the huge age gap that might be between us. (Mun is currently 25 as I write this) Please, don't take it too personally, it's just for my own comfort. Furthermore, if your rules and age (mun is 18+, mun is 23, mun is of age and so on...) are not present on your blog I won’t rp with you at all. Lying about your age will result into a permablock and reported. The same applies if you're underage or your age is not stated and you dare to interact in any kind of NSFW way with me (This also includes liking/commenting my nsfw posts or sending me nsfw asks)

I refuse to ship/interact with: aged up muses (Nunu, Annie, Zoe etc…) and only smut-oriented blogs since they both make me uncomfortable. So, please, if you’re one of these blogs do not follow me.

No godmodding. If our muses are fighting, I’d like to discuss first with the other mun, in order to avoid it as much as possible;

I don’t like “follow for following me back, and if you don’t follow me I’ll unfollow you“ philosophy because I find this kinda disrespectful. I’m also available to interact with you even if we’re not mutuals! Usually, the reasons why I unfollow you are these: spamming too much without using a proper tag, talking shit about other people here on tumblr, spreading useless drama or rumors, posting stuff that makes me uncomfortable or if I somehow assume you’re not interested to interact with me.DMS are always open for plotting!

Currently available verses: Canon, Odyssey, Modern/Academy, Bloodmoon, Deity Please, before interacting with my muse in one of these verses make sure to read the lore and, if something is not clear to you, dm me anytime!;

I’ll try to match length more or less, so don’t worry about that. And please, TAKE YOUR TIME to reply. I have a life too, so don’t worry I’m not the one who runs after others! I tend to easily forget threads, so if I didn’t reply to our thread for like a couple of days dm me!;

I do believe in reblog karma, it’s your choice to send me a meme, but please reblog it from the source and not from me if you don’t want to send me one. If you reblog a meme from me without sending me one for more than once, I’ll block you. I’m sorry about this rule, but after some time this becomes quite annoying;

Any kind of hate toward a nationality/gender/sexual orientation and so on will result in a report and permablock. I believe everyone should respect a person, regardless of their gender/ethnicity/sexual orientation. If you don’t, you’ll get permablocked. Period. The same goes for every kind of insult or anon hate toward me, a ship or a friend: not only you’ll be ignored, but, if it is necessary, I’ll report and permablock you.

This blog is against any kind of fake/unfounded rumors and drama. I'll only reblog callouts that provide evidence about the problematic individual, and mostly about extremely serious topics (like minor hunters, abusers or if someone who is seriously in danger) I'm not afraid to callout people if they have a problematic/gross behavior or if they support/justify problematic/disturbing/traumatic topics.

I won’t rp and tolerate extremely disturbing topics like incest, rape (non-con/dub-con as well), pedophilia, child/animal abuse, and similar. The same goes for every kind of ship where these themes are involved. Mentioning these topics during a thread is okay (For example if you’re talking about your muse’s past), but I’d rather talk with the mun first so we can plot things properly.

Any jokes about child death, rape, racism, disability, sexism and so on are not allowed here. If I see one of them, I may go to your dms and telling you that’s not okay writing these things because they’re harmful, and to stop with that stuff. If you’ll ignore/insult/make fun of me you’ll be permablocked. [Added: 09/07/2019]

This blog may contain triggers such as blood, angst, smoke, drugs, gore, mental health etc. I’ll tag everything and I’ll use “read more”. (I’ll tag my triggers using, for example, “tw: blood” without air quotes) Before rping this stuff with you, I’ll always ask you if you’re okay with it, so do please tell me if you have any triggers or I should tag something specific in my blog! For example, my muse, when she’s overwhelmed by certain feelings or recalls what happened to her kin, she bleeds from her mouth and sternal scar. Please, if this makes you feel uncomfortable don’t be afraid to tell me it; Regarding sexual content, it will also be present, especially during Sinday, but I will always tag everything accordingly and put everything under read more.

Please, tag these two topics: needles and stepping on people. I feel extremely uncomfortable regarding the latter because it's heavily connected with animal abuse, and it makes me feel so sick I start to panic. I only ask you to tag these two topics.

I’m a human being, and sometimes I make mistakes too. If I made something that offended you/made you feel uncomfortable, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I want to learn from my mistakes.

Shipping rules:

Even if I’m more than aware of the fact an 18+ mun is legally an adult, I realized I feel more comfortable shipping with both muns/muses who are 20+, especially in the case there will be some nsfw. That’s my personal preference, and this is NOT negotiable and it will NEVER be.[added 06/05/2019]

If you don’t want to keep our ship going on, that’s TOTALLY OKAY. I will NEVER get mad at you, neither asking you the motivation. If you don’t feel comfortable anymore, that’s okay and I respect your decision!

This blog is multiship exclusive, that means I'll only ship with one muse/au of that muse. Furthermore, I'll be highly selective with whom I ship with, and I mostly prioritize people I've been friends with for a long time. [EXCLUSIVE SHIP LIST]

I state in advance I don’t ship my muse with Diana, since she sees her as a mother-like figure. So… This basically would be incest, and I feel very uncomfortable with it. Furthermore, I won’t ship with Taric, Leona, Aurelion, Soraka, Zoe (But this is almost needless to say since she’s a minor, but prevention is always better than the cure), and yordles.

Even if I’m extremely fine with a platonic/non-sexual relationship, I’m also okay with some smut and that may occur with a serious plot, and ONLY if I feel comfortable and I trust my rp partner enough. Unfortunately, I don’t feel very comfortable rping it on Tumblr, and I’d rather rp it on Discord. [Please check the smut rules here] DON’T FORCE IT WITH ME, otherwise the ship will be deleted and probably I’ll block you too.

My muse is a revenant (I’m talking about her canon verse. In Odyssey! and Modern! she’s a living being) and NO, shipping with her is NOT necrophilia (She’s NOT a lifeless, nonsentient, smelly and rotten body who cannot give consent. She has revived thanks to Targon/Moon’s magic, and she’s ABLE to consent and she doesn’t smell bad, she’s not rotting and so on). I’m writing this because I’m kinda sick of this subject because “Shipping with Ernye/Pyke/Thresh/Kalista/Yone is necrophilia1111!!1!!”, and I’m more than sure these people are the first who fall in love with a vampire. If I receive any anon asks about this stuff in which there’s written I cannot ship her with anyone or other offensive things toward me or my muse (both ic and ooc), I’ll ignore and permablock them. No matter who’s the person who sent this. Again: I’m sick and tired of this stuff because basically there’s no problem in shipping with a psycho who can basically kill/abuse you any moment, meanwhile, GOD FORBID a revenant/vampire and stuff like that. So, better safe than sorry. If this bothers you so much you can unfollow me.

Respect my right to say “NO” if I don’t want to ship with your muse. So, don’t force it or I’ll block you.;

About the Mun:

You can call me Silkie, and I’m 25 years old;

Discord for mutuals only;

Pronouns: she/her (They/Them is also fine, if you feel more comfortable with it, no worries);

Chickens, cats, chinchillas, and Castlevania addicted;

I consider myself as a friendly person, so if you wanna know me or rp with me just send me a message! I suffer from diagnosed GAD and depression, so I really need time to open up to people and my activity may be sporadic because of this. And, please: if I make/say something that makes you feel uncomfortable TELL ME ANYTIME since I never mean to hurt anyone here through my words or acts;

Remember Muse ≠ Mun. Ernye’s actions don’t reflect my personality, or what I think about you;

Please DON’T FLIRT WITH ME, it makes me extremely anxious and uncomfortable due to many awful experiences I had in the past, and also because rp is a hobby and I want to have fun, and I’m not looking for a romantic partner. If you ignore my warnings I’ll permablock you. And yes, this also applies to every NSFW question about me. If you dare to do so you’ll get immediately reported, permablocked and the whole chatlog saved. I will also NOT tolerate any kind of NSFW anon ask about me.

The cringy art you see on my profile is made by me unless stated otherwise. Constructive criticism and bits of advice are more than welcome and encouraged ♥

[ If you have read my rules send me “Has the killing moon come for them?” That’s optional, of course, you don’t have to send it to me!]

[mourningdread]

Just a PSA I am 100% up and down for RPing aus with Thresh based on skins and such. Especially Dark Star and Blood Moon because those AUs are N I C E Maybe even ones that don't involve Thresh like Judicator/Arclight and Battlecast

[a-wolf-among-men]

Dark star au

I swear I put way too much thought into a skin I don’t even really like smh

Anyways there’s a shit ton of info under the cut, because I basically made an entire species. I literally thought this out waaay too fucking much and spent a lot of time on this. ;v;

Brief over view

Thresh is a part of an alien species (Droknal)   who are extremely religious and have a hierarchical  society. He is the last oracle due to shortening resources in their area. Thresh is the only oracle left in his hive. He is the person in the hive that can continue to power the stella tenebris that will someday grow big enough to bring them to rapture a tale that’s been passed down through generation after generation.

The hierarchy

The hierarchy goes oracle, queen, king, breeders, soldiers, workers, and then gatherers. Workers and gatherers are the lowest of the low. Often queens will refuse to listen to them since they are simply a number to her. If a tyrant oracle kills the current one the queen and kings will often team up with the heir to kill the current one.

Oracles are the head of society. The queen must come to them before making any decisions and must carry out their orders. The oracle is the most important person in this hierarchy they direct soldiers, work orders, when breeders can be active, and what areas gatherers can take things from and hunt in. They typically have purple exterior. Long tendrils usually take the place of hair and are usually dressed in heavy robes along with ceremonial and clan painted markings of whatever color the hive is associated with. Every millennia an heir is born to challenge the current oracle and kill them. Many oracles have been seen covered in various scars and injuries from these fights. Some missing limbs or even parts of exoskeleton. Oracles are the strongest, wisest, tend to have magical abilities and theoretically can live forever if unchallenged. They live at the top of the hive usually in a observatory like structure.

 Queens are the only Droknal who can activate the reproduction gene in breeders through pheromones released through pores on the side of her face. She is the only person whose larvae grow from a day to a week. This is why she only ovulates starting a hive, during times of war, when a new heir is needed, and a severe population drop. She carries out the oracles orders and monitors each level of the hierarchy to make sure everything is in working order. She is typically dressed extravagantly. Jewelry usually covers her head to toe all heirlooms from queens of the past. Special designs and patterns corresponding the color of her hive. She directs all aesthetic choices and expansions of the hive without needing to contact the oracle first.  Queens color range goes from sky blue to lavender. They can live forever without being challenged, however as they grow older they get weaker. They live in the center of the hive. their rooms are usually adorned in silk hanging from the ceiling and attached to the walls with large cushions and bathing areas.

There isn’t always a king in power there’s usually multiple cherry picked from the pool of breeders and they aren’t always males either. The queen rubs her face against a chosen breeder and gradually over time their pearly exterior morphs into a shade of blue and they grow exponentially stronger as well as activating a gene that makes them fertile. Their duty is to cater to the queens needs along with assist her in anything she may ask of them. They are in charge of carrying out war orders. A queen may make a king just for war or diplomatic purposes. Kings aren’t tied at the hip to the queen they are free to go out and become a mate of whoever they please. The many kings are purely for genetic diversity among the hive, so there’s little to no inbreeding. Live to around three millennia. They live with the queen or oracle.

Breeders are healers, servants, nannys, and are in charge of taking care of every single larvae. Their color ranges from pearl to cream rose. They typically are shorter and have multiple limbs, longer tails, and smoother faces. They have quieter voices and are well respected by everyone. They are usually dressed in thin almost religious robes as they help out around the top of the hierarchy. They wear very minimal jewelry often only having a single gem of their hive color adorning the middle foreheads. They are usually sent off on diplomatic missions to other hives to build bonds and arrange meetings and trade. They are also sent out during times of war to mend the wounded. They do not have claws or fangs, their mouths are more beak like than other Droknal. Practically immortal. Live wherever they’re needed.

Soldiers, workers, and gatherers are all pretty self explanatory. They are referred to by number. A113 means soldier 113, B112 means worker 112, and C111 means gatherer 111. It isn’t uncommon for them to give themselves names, but because their can be upwards of three million Droknal per hive, numbers are just easier. Soldiers colors range from fossil to charcoal with heavy war paint of their tribes color coating their exterior. Soldiers range in size and strength depending on their regiment along with what they are equipped with for battle. Generals are assigned to each sector by the main king. They live in stations on the outskirts and territory of the hive. Workers tend to be shades of yellow with stripes of the hives color. They have gripping pads on their hands and feet along with multiple limbs. They are the only Droknal to have mandibles as well. They live in the ceiling of the hive. Gatherers are shades that correspond to their surroundings. If they’re in a brown marshy area they’re going to be shades of brown if they’re in a blue mushroom forest they’re going to be shades of blue. There are two types of gatherers, hunters and herbalists. Hunters are faster and stronger often running on all fours. They have sharp claws, teeth similar to a crocodile and long tails with spikes or blades attached to them. Gatherers have four arms and are adapted for what they’re picking. If food is normally up high they’ll be taller, if it’s under ground they’ll have longer claws, etc. They only have a life span of a century. They fill the gaps in the hive often having upwards of hundred gatherers per dorm.

Heirs don’t have a rank in the hierarchy and simply are the heir to either the oracle or the queen. They have a genetic need to challenge them for their place and usually die, because of this.

Reproduction

Droknal are technically all hermaphrodites. Certain genes are either activated or cancelled morphing sex organs into what has been assigned, but all their genitals look the same. It’s purely their appearance that changes. Females have smoother more rounded exoskeletons with shorter tails, they are the second strongest among the hive just below the oracle and they also tend to be larger than and less colorful males. That doesn’t mean there isn’t transgender Droknal, but it is very very unlikely for one to be born. 

Being someones mate is like being married except you literally fused part of your genes with theirs. There is only a huge public ceremony when a oracle or queen chooses a mate. All the others usually don’t have one, but some will.

Oracles don’t usually have mates, but are normally with breeders or kings.

Queens only mate with kings.

There’s always one king mated to a queen other than that they can be mates with whoever they want.

Breeders can mate with anyone, but are most commonly mated to soldiers and oracles.

Soldiers, workers, and gatherers are free to be mates with whoever they want to, though they usually only are mated within their group.

Gender doesn’t really matter since they all have the same genitals

When a female ovulates eggs are produced inside a pouch within her. Once they are fertile they are pushed through her skin into a pouch until they hit the larval stage. Then they are moved to cells inside a special place in the hive by breeders. Once there they are fed the blood of whichever their determined role is. This activates genes and hormones they change them into that breed. Once they hit the pupa stage they’re moved to a gel filled cocoon like structure until they climb out and are assigned to an area.

Even tho I even thought of how their genitals look like I’m not going to write it down unless someone rlly wants to know

Misc details

The planet they live on doesn’t currently have a name (feel free to suggest one if you want)

Their eye color depends on the hive

Their planet is as big as our sun to give some context. Thresh’s hive lives in a mushroom marsh that is similar to zangarmarsh in the out lands. The forest is constantly humid and foggy the only real light sources being their son and the glowing spores the mushrooms release. Various wildlife adapted to that habitat live in the area.

The shortest ever Droknal documented was 5′1 foot and the tallest was 20′9 feet. The average height is 10 feet. (idk how much that is in cm sorry)

Oracles are commonly seen floating around

stella tenebris is kept in a glass like globe small enough to contain, but that isn’t it’s actual size. It’s very much large enough to swallow up planets.

Oracles never get a break

They don’t have facial hair, but some Droknal do have tendrils that look like it. However if they cut them off, they won’t grow back.

Piercings aren’t uncommon among the top four, but jewelry is completely forbidden among lower classes.

the planet has a sun and four moons

the color of the sky changes depending on where you are at

[sculchained]

The demon rushed into the other’s room, breathing heavily yet seemed super excited. “Thresh! Let’s go huntin’ together!” (Blood Moon!Au)

@death-from-below | plotted

White locks of hair followed along with the movement as the demon’s skull turned to the side, reddish pink orbs focusing on the interloper with irritation- who dared interrupt him?!- but softening only slightly at the realization that it was, simply, Pyke. The other demon seemed to be out of breath- perhaps he had run the whole way, perhaps he was just overly excited- but Thresh stood up off his chair and wandered over.

“Excited, are we? Do take a moment to gather your breath lest you fall behind on the hunt.” Eyes crinkled and shimmered with amusement, the hand holding his hook letting go in favor of placing itself onto Pyke’s shoulder; as if urging him to calm down.

[ace-of-spades-ezreal]

Also man, y’all ALWAYS salty

fuck we cant have one god damn nice thing in this community without enough butthurt to give a donkey a hernia 

stfu  about diana tal and tf not being ionian

the blood moon skins havent been restricted to ionians since thresh and kali u idiots

2 years and yall didnt fucking notice?

shut up its a fucking au skinline in a fantasy game where God is a fucking egotistical space dragon with stumpy legs.

and then ur gonna give artists shit about it. 

un-fucking-real

[hook-and-chains]

Yijun gently cups Kaigen's face and presses a kiss to his forehead, "How are you doing dear?"

Kaigen tilted up his head meeting his kiss to his forehead before shutting his eyes in content. He had just got back from a call to the hunt and tries not to get too close for the fear of staining Yijun in blood he had yet to clean off of himself.

“ こちらこそ。I am fine however… saving my energy now to spend time with you. I have missed you.” He gives a soft grin as warm as any other time he has ever looked at him.

“Tell me what you have done in my absence.”

@bells-of-black-sunday

[hook-and-chains]

"Most attractive feature? Your eyes." -Yijun

“ありがとうございました。 。 。 it has been too long seeing yours as well. Have you been well? Work called for much longer than I had anticipated.”

@bells-of-black-sunday

[hook-and-chains]

(SURPRISE) yijun to Kaigen 👀

Seduction Starters | being found without an article of clothing

“あなたはなんて美しい 。 。 。 “ Kaigen muttered upon the gracious reveal that was his lover. He had been coming home much more frequently and to see this sight was one he had been waiting for.

“I do wish I could see this sight more often...” He sighs wistfully before caressing the sides of Yijun’s face delicately. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes he was so drawn to him.

“I don’t think I’ve made you wait too long, have I...?”

@bells-of-black-sunday

[hook-and-chains]

Dumb face, but w/ incubus!yijun for shenanigans

send me “DUMB FACE” if you want to ship with Thresh

“Yijun? Is that you...?” Kaigen gawks trying to keep it together. “Are you who I think you are?”

[hook-and-chains]

A lovely gift art of Blood Moons made for me and my friend by my twin brother @mightygarebear!! I was given permission to post this <333 ! I love it so much AAAAAAA--- Thank you Leon u da besttt!