#TSaAoOF

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

Drunk

Time for another original writing piece! Focuses on Bex and Malcolm, and references Matthew. It takes place after the last piece that had them (which you can find under the #slings and arrows tag). 

This one is a bit more serious, so CW: knives, mistreatment/abuse, alcohol. If any of those things bother you, then this one might not be for you. And if anyone reads it and it does upset them, feel free to come and talk to me if you need someone to talk to. <3

Tag List: @dove-actually . If anyone wants to get tagged when I post some original stuff, let me know! 

The metal door creaked open on rusted hinges and a shaft of light fell across Bex’s face. The muscles in his neck spasmed as he lifted his head to squint at the silhouette in the doorway, face invisible as the lamp light from the corridor outside backlit the figure. Bex closed his eyes against the glare, only opening them when the harsh light softened against his closed eyelids.

The room was now lit only by a single lamp, set on a three legged stool in the corner, the door to the cell now closed. The lamp threw uneven light along the cell walls, flickering and moving shadows across Bex and the man leaning against the wall. Bex could only make out a few features in the low light, but he could see a clean-shaven face, meticulously manicured nails that brought a bottle of clear liquid to a mouth that had a familiar shape….Bex started and zeroed in on the eyes as they opened, the figure dropping the bottle of liquor to their side and leaning more into the wall. Grey eyes, hazy and unfocused, met Bex’s wide forest green ones.

“Malcolm.” The name escaped past Bex’s lips as no more than a whimper, almost as if he was afraid that too loud a noise would shatter what had to be an illusion standing in front of him. He stared, drinking in Malcolm’s features, listing and categorizing changes, differences and potential injuries; Bex clung to every bit of information he could glean from Malcolm’s form and compared it to the image he held in his mind from the last time they had been together.

Finally, Bex caught a whiff of alcohol. It wafted off of Malcolm like steam, almost as if he had been bathing in it. From Malcolm’s slack form, to the way he nursed a bottle of hard liquor that one only drunk to get drunk, Malcolm was well and truly hammered.

Bex cast a cautious, panicked glance at Malcolm. In the low light, a sliver of metal glinted as Malcolm slumped further into the wall. Bex’s exposed arms and legs were covered in just healing marks, courtesy of the various guards and members of the sovereign’s staff who had thought the state of the most feared member of Matthew’s court’s amusing. Bex’s arms and legs were chained to the ceiling and floor, and his neck was sore from raising it from its natural slumped position.

Malcolm pushed himself off the wall and stumbled towards Bex, the bottle in one hand and the flash of metal in the other. Slowly. Unevenly. Oh gods. He was truly drunk. Bex bared his teeth as he fought down the urge to shrink into himself, to try to move away, to flee. Even chained in the dungeon by his two former lovers as he was, even as one those former lovers stumbled towards him with a knife, his pride would not waver.

Malcolm pitched forward, almost falling against Bex’s suspended frame. He righted himself an arms-length from Bex and slowly looked up, meeting Bex’s frozen gaze with eyes full of fury and a pure, undiluted hatred that broke Bex’s already shattered heart. Ragged breath filled the silence, the air charged and almost pulsing with tension.

Malcolm broke the silence first, slurring his words and swaying slightly on the spot, the knife lazily held against Bex’s neck. “Hello, sweetheart. I see the guards have been treating you well?” He chuckled to himself and ran a finger along Bex’s arm, growing louder as Bex tried to shy away from his touch.

Bex kept his head down, hiding the tears that clouded his vision and threatened to spill down his cheeks. Malcolm caught the shudder that ran through Bex and tipped his head up with a lover’s gentleness, a mocking shadow of their former connection. Malcolm leaned into Bex’s space, noses brushing, sharing a breath as Bex inhaled sharply. “Why are you crying, doll? I’m here now, it’ll be ok.” If Bex could have, he would have laughed as his heart froze over once again and the tears dried up. He leaned back, seeming to catch his breath, before he gathered himself and spit into Malcolm’s face, a coil of fear and satisfaction making a home in his stomach.

Malcolm’s face froze for a moment, shocked as the moisture slid down his cheek onto his open collar. But all too soon, the clam was shattered as he launched the bottle that dangled in his hand at Bex’s head, which he just managed to avoid with his cat-like reflexes. When Bex looked back up, Malcolm’s face was deathly pale, shaking from some volatile emotion.

“He still cries of you, you broken waste of space bastard. He pines over you day and night, and there’s NOTHING I CAN DO. It’s always ‘Bex would like this if he was here’ or ‘I wonder what Bex would say’. HE PUT YOU HERE. BUT HE STILL LOVES YOU MORE, I’M STILL NOT ENOUGH.” Bex shrank back from Malcolm’s rage in spite of himself, the undiluted hatred pouring off the man a stark contrast to his usual softness.

Bex’s head cracked back as a hand smacked across his face, the sting concentrating into the print of Malcolm’s hand. Bex gritted his teeth as the room spun, the pain making the floor seem farther away than it had been a moment before. Slowly, Bex raised his from where it was resting against his arm to meet Malcolm’s gaze. Reflected in his eyes, Bex saw fear, pain and anger. Bex watched as Malcolm shook, the knife clutched ridgedly in his hand before both the knife and Malcolm fell to the ground, the clattering loud in the room only filled with ragged breath. Bex kept his eyes fixed on Malcolm’s still form, tracking the minute movements of the legs tucked close against his body and the arms wrapped around his knees to form a wall that hid his face.

After a few minutes of silence, in which Bex closed his eyes and closed off his heart, slowly bricking up the holes and cracks that had appeared in the weeks since he had been dumped in the dungeon, the chasms that had opened upon Malcolm’s arrival. When Bex raised his eyes to Malcolm’s no longer still and silent form, his heart was hard and his eyes were dry. He listened to the silence, feeling Malcolm’s sudden misery pouring off of him in waves but not uttering a word.

Soft sobbing broke from behind Malcolm’s arms, seemingly wrenched from him against his will. He shook with the strength of them, arms wrapping tighter, as if to make up for the absence of another’s arms around him. Bex simply watched as his former lover shook himself apart, offering no words of consolation. In between a round of particularly violent sobs, Malcolm looked up at Bex with red-rimmed eyes, searching for something. Whatever he was looking for, he did not find, as he collapsed into harder sobs. With every passing second, the walls around Bex’s heart strained, but no matter how hard Malcolm cried, Bex stayed silent.

Bex closed his eyes, the patter of tears and the soft huffs and hiccups of Malcolm’s breath an uneasy lullaby as Bex drifted asleep.

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

“Is That So?”

K! So, this is the thing I was writing a while ago and forgot to post. Keren is drunk (what a surprise), and I just wanted to intro one of my other lovely OCs. If they had met while sober, this may have gone differently. But...that’s how it is. If you have questions (bc I’m great at not introducing OCs before I use them), ask away! 

Also, this a prompt from somewhere, I didn’t write it down, but thank you to the person who wrote it!

---

Keren was drunk. Again. He was slumped over a table in the corner of an establishment called the Bird Cage, one of the most well known alcohol dens in Chromeckothaun. The ground floor was covered with people crammed into tables and onto the dancefloor, swaying and jumping to electric swing music played by a group of avian automatons. The second floor (where Keren sat) was more subdued, with only a dozen people sitting at various tables. The room was lit by low red and orange lights, giving the room and the people within soft shadows. Music drifted up from the first floor, coming over the edge of the balcony and filling the air with dampened noise.

Keren pushed himself back from the table and stood. The shadowy room swayed in front of his eyes, the red and orange lights blinking and streaking in his vision. He took a step forward and stumbled over his tail, which had been curled around the leg of his chair. The half dozen glasses on the table rattled and clinked against each other, one falling over and rolling in aimless circles. Keren took another step and this time succeeded in disengaging himself with the table. He took another, more confident, step towards the bar, followed by another. He stumbled again, but caught himself and kept going. He wove between the few tables in his way, avoiding them just as much as he stumbled into them.

Finally, he made it to the bar and sat down on a stool, laying down on the bartop and humming as the cool copper came into contact with his cheek. He smiled languidly and shifted his unfocused gaze from empty space to the blurry figure who occupied the stool. The blur had dark skin, golden spikes that Keren took to be horns nestled in a long mass of blonde curls, and a glittering white smile that was visible over the rim of the cup that the figure held in a hand adorned with metal. Keren’s eyes focused and he stared at the figure, marvelling half aloud at the figure’s features.

The figure purred and quietly drummed the hand not holding the glass on the bartop, metal claws clinking against the copper. “You are quite charming, little demon. But alas, your honeyed words will get you nowhere.”

Keren picked his head up off of the bar and sat up straighter, blinking a few times to clear his vision. As the figure’s face clarified, Keren tried to keep his loose, cocky smile in place, but it faltered as he took in the figure in full detail. The blonde hair fell to the small of the figure’s back, catching the scattered light from around the room and looking more like a wavy golden cape than anything else. It was tucked behind one pointed ear, the rest fanning over thin shoulders to cascade down a simple black shirt and pants that hugged the figure’s body. The golden spikes nestled in the curls were indeed twisted golden horns, though whether they were natural or not was indistinguishable to Keren’s intoxicated eyes. Wine-red eyes met Keren’s golden ones, and Keren felt a blush creep across his two-toned skin. The figure smiled, perfect lips drawing back to reveal pointed, pearly canines that denoted something Keren couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Keren cleared his throat and spoke after making sure his signature self-important smirk was in place. “Is that so?” He leaned forward into the figure’s space, catching a whiff of some kind of earthy perfume that made his head spin. His thoughts were sluggish, but put together enough for a small corner of his brain to speak up.“ Are you sure this is a good idea? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” But Keren was quite adept at ignoring what little logic he possessed, especially while inebriated.

The figure inclined his head once while smiling into his glass before setting it on the table. He put his hand out, golden ornamental claws glinting in the warm light. Keren hopped off of his stool, managing to maintain enough grace to look fluid, even in his drunken state. He bowed low over the figure’s hand, all the while looking up into the amused gaze that was directed down at him. “Keren Iados, paladin of the first ring of Hell and soon to be the one to sweep you off your feet.” He kissed the figure’s hand and straightened, winking before sitting down again.

The figure let out a tittering laugh, light and musical. He leaned back against the bar, legs crossed and filigreed nails still quietly drumming on the table top. “I am Auxerre Nightwing, the sole vampire lord of this city, the owner of this establishment, and...your most pleasant nightmare,” the figure finished with a sultry smile. With that, Auxerre stood and stepped in between Keren’s knees where they rested spread comfortably on the barstool. He wrapped his arm loosely around Keren’s neck, leaning back against the bar with only some of his weight on Keren’s thigh.

Keren felt his face heating up, and he knew that even through his red and black skin that the flush would show. He tilted his head to the side, breath stuttering as he tried to think of a smooth remark. “I thought you said that my words wouldn’t get me anywhere? But it seems to me that you have been won by my masculine charms.” He tossed his head and offered the man on his lap a suave smile.

Auxerre clicked his tongue, chuckling softly. He leaned in and kissed Keren on the cheek, once against wreathing him in a subtle but intoxicating scent that made his cheeks flush and want to inexplicably pull Auxerre closer. He smelled of...well worn leather, rain in the forest, and just a hint of something spicy.

Only then did the full weight of what Auxerre had said settle on Keren. He gulped quietly and tilted his head farther to the side, knowing that the low red lights would glint off of the triple sets of small horns set on his forehead, flicker across the gold and silver tattoos that covered his arms and neck, and highlight the long blonde lashes that surrounded his golden, pupil-less eyes.

“What brings the master of such a fine establishment out and into the company of one such as myself?” As he spoke, he wrapped his right arm gently around Auxerre’s back, resting it on the bartop and just barely letting his black, manicured claws catch the fabric of Auxerre’s robe, finally giving in to the urge that screamed to pull vampire closer. Keren knew that he was most likely in danger; vampire lords didn’t choose to dally with just anyone. But Keren was still drunk, and the wine he had ingested made him even more bold than he otherwise would have been, drowning out the tiny voice of reason that forever was doomed to lose to his impulses.

“Well, little demon: to put it simply, you intrigue me. In this shining city, not many are so bold as you. Not many approach the roosting vampire of this house of pleasures, much less lavish so many words and praises upon him with one very singular intention in mind.” Once again, Auxerre’s lips spread to reveal his perfect teeth formed into in a smile that brought a blush to Keren’s face, no matter how experienced with the art of seduction he was.

Keren was just about to offer the vampire-lord a drink when Auxerre’s face changed, becoming serious and concentrated, but somehow only enhancing his feminine but chiseled features.

Auxerre nodded once, eyes locked on some distant point, before standing gracefully and spinning around slowly to face Keren. Auxerre’s face still held the self-assured but charming smile it had before, but Keren could see the tiny cracks where worry shown through. Despite his drunken state and his extremely limited attachment to the man, he felt his heart clench at the sight. “What’s on your mind, doll? I didn’t see you talking to anyone, but something changed. I swear, by the holy fires of Zariel that-”

Before he could finish, Auxerre put a soft finger to his lips. “I appreciate the offer, little demon, but I assure you I am quite capable of taking care of this...nuisance on my own. I am so sorry to interrupt our encounter, as I can see it is leading somewhere quite promising. But alas, I will have to resume this another time. Return tomorrow, and I will assure that we are able to converse uninterrupted.” With a smile bordering on a smirk as Auxerre saw Keren nearly drool at the offer that had been laid out, he leaned forward to brush his lips against Keren’s, before turning and moving gracefully towards the staircase to the first floor, hips swinging slightly.

As as Auxerre disappeared into the low, warm light, Keren licked his lips unconsciously, still feeling the feather-light kiss Auxerre had given him. It tingled in the most pleasant way, almost gone but still lingering. He wanted more, and he was more than eager to see what would transpire the next night.

With a satisfied smirk, confident that the night had gone well due to his indelible charm, Keren ordered another glass of wine and retreated to his corner of the room, settling in again to listen to the music and search for some fresh company.

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

17, 31, 36 for the uncommon OCs questions (a few days late haha...)

17. Are they easily embarrassed?

Ok, all of these will be about my main OC for the moment, Keren Iados. Keren is a peacock: he thrives on attention, positive or negative. He can bend any situation in his favor, and he has no qualms about doing or saying something outrageous. And he has such an…interesting reputation already, he doesn’t really care about being in a situation that might make him the talk of the town for a while. Honestly, he’d be happy with that.

31. Who are they the most glad to have met?

Keren has been married before. He still wears the ring to this day, no matter who he’s in bed with. However, in a sick twist of friendship-turned-murderous-rivalry, Keren’s now nemesis killed Keren’s husband, and in return Keren did the same. Keren thanks the gods every day that he met his husband (I haven’t found the perfect name for him yet, but we’ll get there), no matter how short a time they were together. That doesn’t stop Keren from wanting to tear the world apart to get him back. 

36. Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

Keren can make even his worst enemy think that they’re in love with him. He has a silver tongue and an undeniable confidence that most people find insanely attractive, and he’s well aware of that. He flirts with anyone who he could get something from, anyone he takes a shining to, and anyone he trusts. But romance? Keren Iados loved once, and his heart died with his husband. 

Thank you so much for the ask! No worries about it being a few days late. :) 

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

The Egg

It was a beautiful spring day, and Keren and Makomar were taking a walk in the woods located on the outside of Craedenhelm. Oakridge Forest had a deceivingly sunny and innocent feel: birds were always chirping, and a number of small animals were always running across the various dirt paths. But behind the beautiful scenery and cheery atmosphere, a slew of darker things lurked. One never knew what to expect in Oakridge Forest. And for that reason, Makomar was less than thrilled when Keren stumbled across an egg. The egg was covered in an array of silver scales which reflected back the light, giving the egg a rainbow effect in the bright sunlight.

Currently, Keren sat on the ground with his back to a towering oak which offered pleasant shade from the noonday sun. The egg sat in his palms, cradled against his chest like a treasure, or a child.

“Keren, you can’t keep the egg. Gods know what could be in there!” Makomar’s voice was edged with concern and frustration. Keren laughed and ran his clawed index finger over a scale on the egg.

“Why, of course we can, darling. There is nothing in this blasted egg tat will pose any danger to you; I simply won’t abide it.” Keren gave Makomar with his signature winning smile and continued to examine the skull-sized egg.

Makomar rolled his eyes and shook his head before responding. “It’s obviously not me I’m worried about, I’m, worried about you. I can protect myself perfectly well, but you…” he said, gesturing to his own leather armor and abundant weaponry, and then to Keren in his linen and gold robe. “That egg may cause you some problems, and I’m not going to let that happen.” Makomar crossed his arms over and his chest and puffed himself up.

Before Makomar could blink, his back pas pressed to the oak that Keren had been resting under and the wind was knocked from his lungs. Keren stood pressed to Makomar’s chest with a knife casually held against his throat. Keren gave him a sickly sweet smile and stepped back before sitting back down lazily in the grass and clutching the egg to his chest again, seemingly ignoring Makomar. Makomar was still realizing what had happened, shocked at how fast Keren had reacted. He smiled ruefully and rubbed the back of his head where it had knocked against the tree before turning his smile on Keren, marvelling at the way the sun glinted off of Keren’s various earrings and tattoos, the way it threw shadows over his two-toned skin.

Just as he was about to walk over and sit with Keren, the egg began to shake and fracture. The first crack echoed through the forest and made multiple birds nesting in the surrounding trees take flight away from the sound. The shell started to shake, and Keren dropped it with a yelp he would later deny. He crouched over it and watched with rapt attention as the shell unfolded like a flower and exposed...a tiny dragon the size of Makomar’s pinkie. It was covered with iridescent silver scales that showed peaks of black skin in between. Keren squealed and picked up the tiny thing in his hands, cuddling it to his chest and muttering nonsense to it in a baby voice.

Makomar froze while the egg cracked, keeping his eyes on the dragon. He slowly walked to Keren’s side, careful to not startle the dragon. Once he was within a few feet of the dragon (and Keren), he leapt at Keren, aiming to knock the tiny dragon from his grasp. Keren easily moved to the side so that Makomar sprawled in the dirt over Keren’s legs. Makomar looked up to meet Keren’s shining eyes.

“Can we keep him? Please?”

|Damn, this is my first original writing post. I’m hella nervous about all of 5 people seeing it, but uh. Here you go! My grammar sucks, I’m sorry, someone teach me how to use commas. If you need backstory, just look up Keren Iados on my blog to find information about him, and if anyone cares, I can post some things about the world this takes place in and some of the other characters (should probably do something about Makomar at least). That’s it for now, lmk if you wanna be tagged if I ever post anything original. Thanks for reading!|

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

The Three Lovers

It’s me, back at you with another short story for characters that I haven’t explained yet ;) (I’m sorry, I promise I’ll get to it...at some point...). I think I said I would post this one 2 weeks ago so. Sorry about that. But here we go! Reminder that this is just a first draft, so I’m really sorry if the quality isn’t very good. I hope you enjoy! (Lmk if you want to be on a taglist when I post things and all that.) 

Bex shivered, ice-cold fear running its nails down his neck. He stood motionless, despite the blood that was pooling at his feet and seeping into his through the soles of his shoes. The man he had been dueling moments before lay bleeding out just feet away on the frozen ground, sliced open by the supposedly dull weapon that hung limp in Bex’s left hand.

The man on the ground, his dark curls splayed out in a dark halo, groaned and rolled weakly onto his side, coughing up globs of dark phlegm. The noise was sharp against the shocked silence that permeated the air, until the tension snapped and the small crowd that encircled the two fighters roared to life.

A small mouse-like man toting a bag almost overflowing with pill bottles and bandages scurried between the crowd and Bex, going to the bleeding man on the ground. Bex watched the man apply pressure to the section of the gash that lay across the stomach of the wounded man.

Bex jumped as a hand connected with his shoulder, jolting him out of the numb haze he had entered. He blinked as he turned around, confused as to why the world around him was a watery blur. He put his hands to his eyes and only when they came away wet did he realize he was crying. He was shaking too, shaking so hard as the adrenaline worked its way through his body, endless energy screaming at him to move, run, fight, anything.

“What are your crying about, Bex? Buck up, he’s just another one of the guards. They’re easy to replace. You were going to win anyways, and now he gets some time off.” Matthew Blest Goodwyn smiled winningly, and already Bex could feel some of his panic abating. But nevertheless..”I might have killed him! These were supposed to be dull swords, we weren’t fighting to kill.”

Matthew nodded sagely, golden curls bobbing. “Well, it was more interesting this way, wasn’t it? And he’ll be alright, the wound doesn’t look fatal.” He looked over to where the man on the ground was weakly sitting up with the help of the doctor and curled his lip in distaste. “I didn’t quite expect the wound to be that bad. We’ll have to have the field cleaned up and a replacement found for him.” He nodded absentmindedly, his attention already on something else.

Bex was about to ask what Matthew meant by “didn’t expect”, but he was distracted by a call from off to his right. From the other side of the crowd, and bobbing black head of curls could be seen, standing out against the sea of blonde hair and white skin. Matthew was already smiling widely and moving towards his chief adviser, the group parting around him. Bex shook himself again, trying to get rid of the horror that was wrapped around him like a dog ridding itself of water. He plastered on a shaky smile and followed Matthew before the crowd could close around him.

★ ★ ★

Bex closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to disturb the discussion going on in the room. He turned and walked down a hallway paneled with dark wood to a lavish sitting room filled with black furniture trimmed in metallics. Matthew and Malcolm were sitting opposite each other around a square, glass table with a map (presumably of the city) spread out on it. Their blonde and black curls fell across their faces as their heads almost touched, hunched over as they were. Bex allowed himself a soft smile before clearing his throat quietly, not wanting to startle either of the men. They both looked up, startled but not scared. Matthew’s face broke out into an easy smile, his body immediately relaxing. Bex walked over and sat down on the black leather couch that Matthew reclined on, shooting a smile at Malcolm, who sat on the edge of a black leather armchair. Malcolm smiled sweetly back, quiet and shy.

Matthew put his arm around Bex’s waist and pulled him close as he sat down beside Matthew, touching him with an easy confidence shared by no one else, not even Malcolm. Bex leaned into the touch, turning towards him like a flower towards the sun. He lightly rested his hand on Matthew’s leg, turning to look at the map on the table, which turned out to be displaying one of the various precincts of Chromeckothaun. “What’s this for?”

Malcolm leaned over the table, onyx curls falling in front of his face. He placed his finger in the middle of the circular city, tracing a line through the streets. “Some soldiers have gotten a bit farther into the city than anyone likes, so we’re just making sure they can be contained.” He looked up, catching both Matthew and Bex’s gaze and blushed. Bex smiled slightly while Matthew huffed in amusement and reclined further back into the couch, once again pulling Bex closer. Bex finally relented and relaxed into Matthew, arm around his neck, heads leaning together.

Bex was still stiff, still not used to the soft touches and romantic closeness that he shared with the other two. It had only been a few months since the start of their relationship. It was all in secret of course, the sovereign of Chromeckothaun was of a very strict mindset: men and women belonged together, one of each, and nothing else. Much of the country followed his example, either out of fear or actual opinion. Needless to say, three men in love and sharing a bed on many occasions did not fall under the things the sovereign approved of.  

Bex shifted and sat up straighter, moving out of Matthew’s arms and directing Malcolm and Matthew’s gazes to him. He stiffened, anxiety prickling through his system as his thoughts picked up speed. “We shouldn’t let our guards down like that. What if your father finds us, Matthew?” Bex shifted towards the door, his guard up as he searched for any kind of sound.

Matthew got up from the couch, his movements slow as he approached, his hands up and outstretched slightly like Bex was an animal he didn’t want to frighten into attacking. His smile was gentle but weary; he knew how vicious Bex could be when he got it into his head that someone was in danger.

“Sorry about the fight, doll. I know you’re still all shaken up by it. We didn’t mean for it to end like that, just wanted a bit of fun. But don’t worry, no one is in danger, we’re not getting found out.” Matthew’s voice was soft and reassuring, confident and strong. Bex tensed further, resisting the call he felt to press into Matthew’s warm safety and let himself be enclosed in his muscled arms.

Bex barely suppressed a yelp when he felt a warm presence lean into his back. He twisted and reared back, coiled and poised to strike. His agitated gaze met Malcolm’s fathoms-of-shadows eyes, soft and concerned. Bex slowly lowered his fist, still clenched hard enough to dig his nails into his palm, to his side. Malcolm wrapped his arms around Bex’s waist, and after a few seconds Bex relaxed and hugged him back, even though anxiety still thrummed through his veins. He let himself be led back to the couch and settled onto the cushions, his back against Matthew’s chest and Malcolm’s head in his lap.

Slowly, his heartbeat slowed and his pulse returned to normal, but over and over in his head his anxieties paced and nagged at him. When would they be caught, and what would happen?

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

Character Speed Dating: Makomar Longblade

HI I’m lazy and don’t want to write pages for all 40 OCs, so here goes SPEED DATING: a short summary of whichever one I think of. Enjoy!

Tag List: @dove-actually . Lmk if you want to be tagged when I post original writing!

Makomar Longblade is a half-orc with grey and black hair and green skin. He’s a very serious type, and his swordsmanship and his magic skills are very important to him, and he trains every day for hours before dawn to keep them sharp. He’s really quite a teddy bear with lots of emotions and feelings, but he almost always has a facade of toughness up. 

Makomar’s father is the human captain of the Craedenhelm navy (Craedenhelm is a typical dnd-fantasy-time-period city), and his mother is a orc pirate lord. They’re supposed to be mortal enemies, as the pirates raid Craedenhelm for supplies and terrorize the coastal villages, and the navy is supposed to defend against them. But unbeknownst to everyone, even their own crews, they were in love. And after being together for a few years, they had a child: Makomar. Makomar lived with his mother for his childhood, and every year his father would sneak away from his crew and his life in Craedenhelm and spend a few precious day with his family. 

After two decades, when Makomar was growing into a fine young man, his parents were caught. The crews of their respective ships found out, and of course were outraged. Both of Makomars parents had to come up with split second excuses, but as a result, they swore their undying hatred to each other, and to this day have never seen each other again, as they would most likely have to fight to the death. 

It’s been three years, and Makomar decides to set out in search for his father, who he hasn’t seen a glimpse of for so long. He travels across the ocean to the port city and enters a land which he has never set foot in, filled when new customs, laws and prejudices. Will he survive to see his father again? Is his father even alive? Did his father really mean the oath that he swore, and will he kill Makomar on sight?

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

WIP???

Hi! So I think I have a name for my potential WIP, or one that will include all of the characters from my fantasy universe, as well as the drabbles about them (including the only one I’ve posted, The Egg). I’ve decided to call it “The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune” bc I’m a Shakespeare/English nerd. “Slings and Arrows” for short, or TSaAoOF for the acronym (that’s a lot of letters). Yay possible WIP announcement that might happen at some point??

[honorbound-to-the-pen]

WIP Short Story Snippet

Bex barely suppressed a yelp when he felt a warm presence lean into his back. He twisted and reared back, coiled and poised to strike. His agitated gaze met Malcolm’s fathoms-of-shadows eyes, soft and concerned. Bex slowly lowered his fist, still clenched hard enough to dig his nails into his palm, to his side. Malcolm wrapped his arms around Bex’s waist, and after a few seconds Bex relaxed and hugged him back, even though anxiety still thrummed through his veins.