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jaskiersvalley · 4 years ago

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I JUST READ SALT IN OUR WOUNDS. Chair feeling alone on a battlefield, surrounded by brothers in arms, but not at all his brothers. Feeling ostracised because he doesn't want to see the murder of innocent people. Coming across Eskel as he escapes Nilfgaard, and the two bonding from there. Eskel making his own family in Cahir! Eskel defending Cahir from the other witchers when they're cold to him! I love your writing, it always makes me feel so many things 🧡🧡

Have I ever told you that I love you? Because I do. This is exactly the kind of follow-up I had been thinking about. And I adore the fact that you all but reached into my heart and pulled this out as a prompt. Thank you.

CW: The whole of Kaer Morhen’s residents are selfish idiots.

Not once in his long life had Eskel thought he would rather be on the Path than back at Kaer Morhen. But there he was, relieved to be out of the old keep and grateful that his loneliness was the regular kind that he had grown used to. The isolation of winters with his family had been a new kind of hell that he didn’t really cherish. At least out on the Path, his alienation from the rest of society was the usual, he expected that. But not in his own home.

Over winter a lot had happened. Nilfgaard spread more and Eskel’s usual area for work was now the front line of the war. He discovered it the hard way, could hear the fighting and smell death but curiosity still got the better of him. He crested the small hill and watched as the battle wound down. Nilfgaard was victorious once again and the army cheered wildly as surrender was conceded.

The apparent leader of the Nilfgaardian army approached the enemy who was on his knees. The soldiers pressed close, bayed for blood. While every instinct in Eskel screamed to intervene, to protect the defenseless, he didn’t. Witchers didn’t get involved in human affairs. In the end, his meddling would have been superfluous as the Nilfgaardian general lowered his sword and gestured to the battle field. The enemy would be allowed to collect their injured and dead.

Any breath of relief Eskel may have had was snatched away as the Nilfgaardians started rebelling against their general. Not outright assault but there were murmurs, a few comments of “spineless bastard” and “wet blanket” which carried over the fields to Eskel.

Out of curiosity, Eskel stayed and watched. The armies cleared away the bodies and worked methodically. However, he only had eyes on the general. Nobody seemed to talk to him, once or twice when he tried to initiate something he was scoffed at or outright ignored. By the evening, when the army settled in their camp, Eskel saw an all too familiar story. The soldiers were all huddled up in groups, sharing food, joking and laughing. Meanwhile, their general was sat on the peripheral, a lone figure huddled over a bowl of food. Eskel almost smiled at the way his head dropped forward once or twice as he nodded off.

Eskel himself settled down for the night, telling himself he was there to make sure no nasties came about as a result of the battle. A handful of wraiths would be quite unfortunate after all. He woke up to shouting and jeering. The fires were still burning bright in the camp and Eskel could see a group half carrying, half pushing a reluctant figure. They locked their general in an iron maiden and laughed merrily as they set it closer to a fire.

Witchers didn’t get involved in human affairs. Eskel decided there was still enough human left in him that he could ignore that rule. Without a second thought, he took off towards the camp.

Soldiers backed away from him, probably finding him too monstrous to dare challenge. For the first time, Eskel’s looks and demeanour worked in his favour. He barged into the camp and marched up to the iron maiden, ripping it open.

“By the Law of Surprise I claim him,” he declared, pulling a sweat soaked and weak body from the chamber. It wasn’t how Law of Surprise worked but it didn’t matter. Eskel couldn’t stand by and watch someone be humiliated and tortured for being a decent human.

In the end, Eskel had to carry his human rescue out of the camp because he was too weak to move. Obviously the battle then being stuck in a metal torture contraption near a fire had taken their toll. Back at his own camp, Eskel laid the man on his bedroll and offered a few sips of water every once in a while. When the shivering finally started up, Eskel was there, tugging an old horse blanket over him.

“Thank you,” the man managed to force out of his throat before falling asleep.

The next morning Eskel watched the Nilfgaardian army pack up and move out. He didn’t notice until too late that his rescue was lying on his side and watching silently with him.

“I don’t think they’ll bother you again.” Eskel said by way of greeting. “But you can stick around with me for a few days to be safe.”

A few days turned into a week. Then two. Cahir seemed perfectly at ease, keeping the company of a witcher. When pressed, he simply shrugged. “You’ve treated me with more humanity than anyone before.”

The unspoken “I like you” was still heard all the same. Months went by and still Cahir was by Eskel’s side, choosing the hardship of the Path day after day, even when there had been ample opportunity for better futures for him. A man of his skills and talent would find no problems getting a job in a court.

Seasons changed, the heat of summer gave way to the cool of autumn. All too soon, Eskel was going to have to head towards familiar mountains for winter. He was surprised to find he was dragging his feet.

“What happens if you don’t go?” Cahir asked. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go all winter either. So Eskel did the right thing.

“Come with me. Spend the winter in the place I used to call home?”

The past tense wasn’t lost on Cahir but he didn’t mention it. Instead, he graciously accepted the invitation.

Come winter, they ascended the mountain together. It wasn’t easy for a witcher so it was downright impossible for a human but Cahir doggedly followed. Their reception at Kaer Morhen was as frosty as the weather. Ciri had screamed and Geralt scowled. If those two were unfriendly with Cahir, logic followed that Jaskier and Yennefer wouldn’t be enamoured either.

Training was difficult, especially because the others seemed to not want to train with Cahir. They had each other where they could unleash their full might and if they wanted to go easy, Ciri was still needing education. It left Eskel to clash swords with Cahir though, more often than not, they ended up hiding in the battlements and looking over the others.

Any hope of Lambert or Aiden proving to be a bit more open were dashed on the second night when Aiden made a passing comment about Nilfgaardians needing to be put down like sick pigs.

“Just as well I’m of Vicovaro,” Cahir had said softly. Not that it made a difference.

Eskel’s last hope was Vesemir and Guxart. Except they cornered him before he could ask.

“I’m glad you’ve found a companion, it was about time you stopped being alone,” Vesemir started.

Guxart finished though. “But did you really have to settle for a human?”

“Jaskier’s human,” Eskel bit back.

“Jaskier’s also ingratiated himself with a powerful sorceress and Ciri adores him. Between them and Geralt, they’re bound to find a solution.”

“I still think that boy has Fae blood,” Guxart grumbled. “Our point is, even Lambert managed to find someone suitable.”

Eskel’s eyes burned even though witchers couldn’t cry. Even worse was the fact that they were in the kitchen and within full hearing of everyone in the dining hall.

“I think you’ll find that Cahir is suitable enough for me.” He’d finally had enough. “He chose me. He wants me. And you know what? I want him too. Being able to love him is enough for me.”

Vesemir stared at Eskel, unused to having resistance from his golden witcher. The obedient one who always nodded. He looked to say something but Eskel was on a roll.

“You’ve all found yourselves a slice of happiness, a family. And I was so happy for you even when you forgot about my existence in favour of those you loved more.” Taking a deep breath, Eskel’s voice dropped to a hiss. “So don’t tell me what my happiness looks like. And don’t you dare try to take it from me.”

Pulling his back straight, Eskel’s nose scrunched up in disdain and he turned, head held high as he marched out of the kitchen. Nobody dared look at him except for Cahir who quietly rose from the table and followed him out.

Not twenty minutes later they appeared downstairs again, bags packed. Going down the mountain wasn’t going to be easy but they would risk it. Eskel didn’t want to spend another minute in the keep amongst those who begrudged him his choices. At least they had a destination in mind, Cahir had described his home in Vicovaro, they would try and make it there.

“Where are you going?” Yennefer asked from the doorway. The others were obviously eavesdropping behind her.

“Anywhere but here,” Eskel bit out, unwilling to share information with her.

“I’ll open you a portal, name your location.”

Cahir was the one to ask for Vicovaro. They were allowed to grab their horses and Yennefer, bundled up in a coat, followed them out. She opened up a portal and offered them a nod.

“I hope you have a good rest of winter.” As aloof as she had been, Eskel knew she wasn’t the real issue. “And I hope to see you both again next winter. I might have something by then to help your predicament.”

It was a nice enough sentiment but it was too little too late. Eskel stepped through the portal with Scorpion behind him, followed by Cahir and his steed. Somehow, he didn’t think he would be back.

#eskhir #geraskier #laiden #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #eskel #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #lambert #aiden #vesemir #guxart #long post #tldr: eskel makes his own happiness

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elriell · 4 years ago

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i love your meta posts and would really like to see your thoughts on nessian and maybe the next book in detail?? thanks

Thank you, I enjoy doing them. As usual this will be rather long especially with quotes but there is so much Nessian goodness to discuss so bare with me.

[MY FULL THOUGHTS ON NESTA]

We will get in to the good, the bad, and everything in between but let’s start with their future and them being mates. This is not an unpopular belief to my knowledge but let’s talk about it because I feel this will be a part of their arc next book, especially since ACOFAS was kind of setting up the bridge for the spin off.

So take a look at these quotes from ACOFAS,

“Cassian’s face turned uncharacteristically solemn, and he remained quiet for a moment before he said, “I get jealous sometimes. I’d never begrudge you for your happiness, but what you two have, Rhys …” He dragged a hand through his hair, his crimson Siphon glinting in the light streaming through the window. “It’s the legends, the lies, they spin us when we’re children. About the glory and wonder of the mating bond. I thought it was all bullshit. Then you two came along.”

“What about you?” I asked, pulling away after a moment. “Are you … happy?” Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m getting there.” A halfhearted answer.”

I believe this is just a little teaser for his future with her, there is so much foreshadowing about both of them being mates but also becoming something powerful, especially Nesta.

“What if I tell you what the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something—something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth.”

Cassian’s golden-brown face had drained of color, his wings tucking in tight. “What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?”

He is described as a leader, a prince and a god a few times but the foreshadowing for Nesta becoming a Queen/Leader is unparalleled. I know quite a few people are not fond of the idea but to be honest with all the written breadcrumbs I cannot imagine it going any other way... It is mentioned so often.

“Nesta was waiting at the head of the table, a queen ready to hold court. ”

“But she turned to Cassian, looked him over as if she were a queen on a throne, and then declared to all of us,”

“How lovely she is—new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.”

“And proud as any queen, Nesta took Elain’s arm and led her from the guardhouse. Mor trailed behind,”

“A queen without a throne. That was what I’d call the painting that swept into my mind.”

“She kept her chin high, the portrait of queenly arrogance. “I’m not.”

“Talk to me. Nesta. Tell me—” She ripped her hand out of his grip. Stared him down. A mighty, vengeful queen.”

And I feel it will obviously be something to do with the Illyrians, as that is what is being set up. I believe they will become leaders of the Illyrians in a new way not currently present.

Mates

“And what about Cassian? He’s entangled—and enabling this nonsense.” A wry smile. “Cassian is going to have to decide some things, too. In the near future, I think.” “Are he and Nesta …?” “I don’t know. Until the bond snaps into place, it can be hard to detect.”

At this rate I do not even think it is questionable but let’s pretend we have to prove it, here are some key pieces of evidence,

Exhibit A)

Feyre painting the stars for her Mate, and her painting flames for Nesta.

“Nesta,” I said, starting on the other wing, “I painted flames for her. She was always angry, always burning. I think she and Amren would be fast friends. ”

“There was something rough-hewn about his features—like he’d been made of wind and earth and flame and all these civilized trappings were little more than an inconvenience.”

“A matching one lay atop his left hand; and twin red stones adorned Cassian’s gauntlets, their color like the slumbering heart of a flame.”

“So at odds from the male who had gone head to head with my sister, unable to resist matching himself against Nesta’s spirit of steel and flame.”

Exhibit B)

First potential scenting of it/Paralleling Rhys.

“He bowed at the waist, those wings vanishing entirely, and had begun to fade into the nearest shadow when he went rigid. His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock—pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled. “What is—” I began.” [Rhys] “But he did take a step closer, bracing a hand on the mantel, and leaned in close enough to breathe in that scent of hers. It hit him in the gut so hard her could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back in his head, to keep himself poised there instead of burying his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder, to keep from moving closer, from… touching.”

“Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …

Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.”

Exhibit C)

Feeling each others pain/worry without being there.

“He’d followed. She’d known it in her bones, her blood. He’d kept high in the skies, but he’d followed until she’d entered the building.”

“CASSIAN.” Amren reached for her, but Nesta roared, “CASSIAN!”

“Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit. Cassian had been right in the center of it. Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away.”

The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.” [...] But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.” I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”

“Nesta’s screaming was the only sound. Cassian blindly lurched toward it—toward her, moaning in pain.”

“I whipped my head to Nesta as she went silent. The Cauldron righted itself. Cassian again stirred, slumping on the floor—but his hand twitched. Toward Nesta.”

“You’re hurt.” Rhys snapped to attention at that. [...] Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing— “You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely. “I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance. I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.”

Underrated Moments?

“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.

Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.”

I feel like this is such an underrated moment between them, there is so much care and comfort in these moments I love it.

“Is she a witch.”

“She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is High Fae.” LOL

“Nesta listened to the low-level Illyrian soldiers whispering about how Cassian had thrown that spear, how he’d cut down soldiers like stalks of wheat, how he’d fought like Enalius—their most ancient warrior-god and the first of the Illyrians. [...]

Nesta watched, and listened to it all, while the camp was built around us.”

This part of ACOWAR when she is settling in, helping out and listening to the tales of Cassian I think will come to parallel in ACOTAR 4. I love the idea that she just sat around listening to the legend of warrior gods...

Parallels

“Why do you bother, Cassian?”

His hazel eyes shuttered as we smoothly landed. And I thought he wouldn’t answer, especially not as we heard the others already in the dining room beyond the veranda,[...] But Cassian said quietly as we headed for the dining room, “Because I can’t stay away.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, trying to haul Cassian up once more. A broken sound of pain ripped from him. “Go! ” he barked at her. “I can’t,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I can’t.”

*cries*

“But Nesta was glancing between us all, her back still stiff, mouth a thin line. “Where is he?” “Who?” Rhys crooned. “Cassian.”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one. And Nesta had been … pacing in the foyer. As if she was worried.

“I was almost at the door when Cassian said, “Is …” He swallowed. I spared him the discomfort of trying to mask his interest. “Both sisters will be at the house. Whether they want to or not.” Cassian’s eyes flickered. “How is she?”

Rhysand just stuck in the middle probably thinking these fucking idiots ahaha

“Are you … happy?” Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m getting there.”A halfhearted answer. I’d have to work on that, too. Perhaps there were threads to be pulled, woven together.”

“Perhaps you should get a place of your own, then.” “I have one in Illyria.” “I meant here.” Cassian lifted a brow. “I don’t need a house here. I need a room.” [...] I chuckled again, but held in my retort. My suggestion that he might want a place of his own. Soon. Not that anything was happening on that front. Not anytime soon. Nesta had made it clear enough she had no interest in Cassian—not even in being in the same room as him. I knew why. I’d seen it happen, had felt that way plenty.”

had felt that way plenty

HAD FELT THAT WAY PLENTY.

HaD FElt tHAt wAY PLenTY

Perhaps this is really why they sent her to Illyria? Is this them weaving? Not sure how I feel about that really, but we shall see.

She only said, “Go home, Cassian.” He could count on one hand the number of times she’d used his name. Called him anything other than you or that one.”

“Cassian.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard his name from her lips. Cassian had always been him or that one.”

Their reactions to each other currently.

“No matter that she could scarcely stand to be around him. No matter that she had once, long ago, in a mortal body and in a house that no longer existed, let him kiss her throat. Being near him made her want to shatter things. As her power sometimes did, unbidden. Secretly.”

“But from the moment he’d met Nesta, the cold fire in her blue-gray eyes had been a temptation of a different sort. And now that she was High Fae, that inherent dominance, the aggression—and that piss-poor attitude … There was a reason he avoided her as much as possible. Even after the war, things were still too volatile, both within the Night Court’s borders and in the world beyond. And the female before him had always made him feel like he was standing in quicksand.”

Training

Quite a few people do not want her to become a epic warrior, and while I understand that especially after her quote in the books about there being other ways to be strong... but after SJM interviews and so forth I definitely think they will go in that direction...

“You’ll what?” Cassian crooned, trailing her at a casual pace as she stopped perhaps five feet from me. He lifted a brow as she whirled on him. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—”

“Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes. I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there. “Care to join?” Cassian purred. Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”

“Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …”

Morrigan

Alright let’s move on to Mor, I am sure there are a lot of opinions on her/and her relationship with Cassian. I am going to try not to get in to detail about her personally and keep it too Nessian because I feel like that is a whole other can of worms...

“And then there would be the matter of explaining it to everyone.

To Mor. His blood chilled.”

This is a big reason for why I need both of their own POV’s because there is so much we are limited to being inside of Feyre’s head. But one thing is clear and that is that there is something wrong here, ^^^ that response is not normal for a “friend” to find out you like/whatever someone.

It is not a healthy dynamic at all, I am sorry.

I believe it also alters and changes the way Nesta perceives things, we as readers may know nothing is currently going on between them but as an outside party she would not know that and some of their scenes have got to raise alarms.

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Case and point, this was a rather cold and heartless thing to do especially given that she is finally trying to help him and open up. Imagine being Nesta in this situation, it is sure to raise some alarm bells...

“Rhys chuckled. Cassian, however, didn’t smile, every pore of him seemingly fixed on Nesta and Mor.”

I really hope they expand on why he is so afraid of her reaction.

“Just what I always wanted.” He held up a pair of what seemed to be red silk undershorts. The perfect match to her negligee. With Nesta pointedly preoccupied with flipping through her new books,”

“Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead. Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.”

“The general of the High Lord’s armies stuck out his tongue. Mor returned the gesture. Amren scowled at Rhys. “You’d be wise to leave both of them at home for the meeting with the others, Rhysand. They’ll cause nothing but trouble.” His face was indeed controlled, but—a hint of surprise twinkled there. Wariness, too, but … surprise. I risked another glance at Nesta, but she was watching her plate, dutifully ignoring the others.”

I think it is very interesting that SJM put these scenes in here because as readers again we might laugh and enjoy the banter between the circle but she is making it a point to show that Nesta is bothered/has a reaction to these moments. I wouldn’t even call it jealousy per-say but rather wariness over someone she considers a player flirting around, raising red flags.

Especially getting matching underwear with someone, as an outsider how would you perceive that?

“Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.”

I opened my mouth, but Mor beat me to it.

“He’s busy.” I’d never heard her voice so … sharp. Icy.

Mor said flatly, “When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.”

“I tried not to look too obvious as I glanced at Cassian.They had not seen each other since Adriata.But the warrior only gave her a cursory once-over and turned toward Azriel to say something. Mor was watching both carefully—the warning she’d given my sister ringing silently between them. And Nesta, Mother damn it all, seemed to remember. Seemed to rein in whatever words she’d been about to spit and just approached me.”

“So you’re alive.”Cassian bared his teeth in a feral grin, wings flaring slightly. “Were you hoping otherwise?”

Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze.

I don’t agree with her at all, especially since she is a hypocrite because if anyone brings up her relationship with Azriel it is unacceptable and not their business. You can be a friend, you can be protective, as I am sure Az also is but you can keep it to yourself, or Cassian.

Her not wanting to loose her buffer is not only selfish but cruel to him.

“Your Solstice present.” “I don’t want one.” Cassian continued past her, tossing the present in his hands. “You’ll want this one.” He prayed she would. It had taken him months to find it. He hadn’t wanted to give it to her in front of the others. Hadn’t even known she’d be there tonight.”

This isn’t directly linked to Mor but it kind of falls under the same theme of him being shy/embarrassed(?) in regards to her, for whatever reason it doesn’t put things in the best light. We can only speculate about what was inside it, and boy do we, so we can’t say if it was personal or private but the idea that he didn’t want to display any... sentiment towards her publicly must rub her the wrong way especially since only Elain got her a present.

Touch

Not much to analyse here I just want to quote and appreciate these moments.

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.”

“Nesta was standing there, arms around herself, eyes wide. Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.”

“She let out a small, animal sound—like some wounded stag—as she saw him. As he landed so hard his knees popped. He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching—”

“Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated. Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before. Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back. And I marveled at the touch she allowed—marveled at it as much as I did the mud-splattered hand she held out. The concentration that settled over her face.”

“Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.”

“Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. “You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.”

“Her gloved fingers scraped against his calluses, but he held firm. “Talk to me. Nesta. Tell me—” She ripped her hand out of his grip. Stared him down. A mighty, vengeful queen.”

Watching

“He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.”

“When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well. I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing.”

“Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.”

“Cassian had named about two dozen poses for Nesta at this point. Ranging from I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast to I Don’t Want Cassian to Know I’m Reading Smut. The latter was his particular favorite. Suppressing his smile, Cassian gestured to the pretty piles”

“But Mor waved him off and moved to pass Cassian his gift; but the warrior didn’t take it. Or take his eyes off Nesta as she undid the brown paper wrapping on the box and revealed a set of five novels in a leather box. She read the titles, then lifted her head to Elain.”

“What are you?” Cassian didn’t seem to dare take his focus off Nesta. But my sister slowly looked at Lucien.”

“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.” Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval. I wondered if Cassian noticed it—if he cared. His face revealed nothing, not as his focus remained wholly on my sister.”

“She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them. I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.”

“I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” “No one would say that,” I offered quietly. “I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. ”

“Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room.”

“Nesta had been beautiful as a human woman. As High Fae, she was devastating. From the utter stillness with which Cassian stood beside me, I wondered if he thought the same thing.”

Nesta blurted, “You didn’t come to—” She stopped herself. The world seemed to go utterly still at that interrupted sentence, nothing and no one more so than Cassian. He scanned her face as if furiously reading some battle report. Mor just watched as Cassian took Nesta’s slim hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. As he folded in his wings and blindly reached his other hand back toward Mor in a silent order to transport them. Cassian’s eyes did not leave Nesta’s; nor did hers leave his. There was no warmth, no tenderness on either of their faces. Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire.”

Can someone tell them both there are other people in the room? I don’t think they know...

Protect

“Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, “Watch it.” Tamlin looked between my sister and Cassian—his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

“Cassian had stationed himself by the doorway, I realized, to be closer to Nesta. To grab her if Amren decided she didn’t particularly care for where this conversation was headed[...] Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order. Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

“Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.”

This is a personal favourite of mine because when it is truly dangerous she trusts and relies on Cassian completely. Also just the imagery of her peering over his shoulder is golden.

“Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.”

“I don’t think even the Carver knows what Nesta is. But I wanted to see—just in case.”

“Why?”

“I want to help.”

“How do I fix it?” she asked. Her hair had been tied in a loose knot atop her head earlier in the day, and in the hours that we’d worked to ready and distribute supplies to the healers, through the heat and humidity, stray tendrils had come free to curl about her temple, her nape. Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud.”

Despite any vicious words or silly mistakes they both care for each other, the second anyone becomes a threat or a problem to their counterpart a deeper more hidden feeling emerges. A protective instinct.

Brooding

“He very rarely allowed himself to think of her, anyway. It usually didn’t end well for whoever was in the sparring ring with him.”

“He was grateful the streets were empty when he hurled that box into the Sidra. Hurled it hard enough that the splash echoed off the buildings flanking the river, ice cracking from the impact. Ice instantly re-formed over the hole he’d blown open. As if it, and the present. had never been.”

“Cassian shut out the words. Shut out the image that chased him from his dreams, night after night: not Nesta holding up the King of Hybern’s head like a trophy; not the way her father’s neck had twisted in Hybern’s hands. But the image of her leaning over him, covering Cassian’s body with her own, ready to take the full brunt of the king’s power for him. To die for him—with him. That slender, beautiful body, arching over him, shaking in terror, willing to face that end. He hadn’t seen a glimpse of that person in months. Had not seen her smile or laugh.”

Understanding/Compassion

He may have his slip ups but thus far he has proven to be rather compassionate when it comes to Nesta and understanding where she comes from.

“Mother’s tits, Rhys,” Cassian cut in, wings flaring wide enough to nearly knock over the ceramic vase on the side table next to him. “You think we can just take over her family’s house, demand that of them?”

From before they even met he showed understanding to their beliefs about the fae.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

I think they both have their positive and negative attributes to face but overall they genuinely try their best for each other.

“Dresses aren’t good for flying, ladies.” Nesta didn’t reply.

He lifted a brow. “No barking and biting today?” But Nesta didn’t rise to meet him, her face still drained and sallow. “I’ve never worn pants,” was all she said. I could have sworn concern flashed across Cassian’s features. But he brushed it aside and drawled, “I have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.”

No reaction. Had the Cauldron— Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”

The beautiful thing I love about Cassian is that he loves her wholly and without concern of her abilities, her walls.

“Would you be frightened of her, if Nesta was—Death? Or if her power came from it?” Cassian was quiet for a long moment.

He said at last, “I’m a warrior. I’ve walked beside Death my entire life. I would be more afraid for her, to have that power. But not afraid of her.” He considered, and added after a heartbeat, “Nothing about Nesta could frighten me.”

I swallowed, and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

These idiots are both as stubborn and silly as each other, “oh you didn’t say anythign to me!” “well neither did you” honestly, these donuts will be the death of me but I love them anyways.

“And you didn’t say one gods-damned word to me the entire night.

Not that he’d said a word to her. She’d made it clear enough in those initial days after that last battle that she wanted nothing to do with him. With any of them.

He understood. He really did. It had taken him months—years—after his first battles to readjust. To cope. Hell, he was still reeling from what had happened in that final battle with Hybern, too.”

But again he acknowledges her pain, her inability to cope and return to normal after her trauma. Which I dive in to a lot more in my Nesta post, but in short my frustration lies with him saying he understands but then in moments she is suffering he seems to forget occasionally and snap.

Funny/Little moments

“I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.”

“What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring. “Is it Nesta?” “Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

“Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

“Neither of us missed Cassian’s barked, filthy curse, though we didn’t deign to comment. Cassian was a general—the general of the Night Court. Surely Nesta wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.”

“Ready for some flying, Nes?” “Don’t call me that.” The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.”

“Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink. Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

“Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say.”

“He knew about the drinking, about the males. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t want to know who the bastard was who had taken her maidenhead. Told himself he didn’t want to know if the males meant anything—if he meant anything.”

Ownership

“His eyes widened, but the scent of his fear remained—not at her, but at who he’d heard at the front door. As he remembered who she was, both in the court, and to Cassian. She chucked his white shirt to him. “You can use the front door now.”

I think this is a big rub for Nesta, this feeling of ownership. I truly belive she knows and has felt the bond for a little while, for sure after ACOWAR. As we saw with her reaction to Lucien “claiming” Elain as his mate she is not here for this sense of entitlement fae males have.

It doesn’t further help when those around her and in Velaris all treat her as if she is his now. And she is most certainly not.

“Starting with the first male she’d taken here, who had no idea that her maidenhead was intact until he’d spied the speckled blood on the sheets. His face had gone white with terror—pure, ghastly white. Not for fear of Feyre and Rhysand’s wrath. But the wrath of that insufferable Illyrian brute.”

Is this Cassian’s fault? NO. But it probably will not help the situation for her.

“Yet as far as anyone was now concerned, the events of that last battle had bound them. Her and Cassian.”

Promises & Mistakes

“Cassian shook his dark hair out of his eyes, slightly longer than the last time I’d seen it. “I don’t think Nesta will ever forgive me for what happened in Hybern. To her—but mostly to Elain.”

“Your wings were shredded. You were barely alive.”

For that was guilt—ravaging and poisonous—in each of Cassian’s words. What the others had been fighting against in the loft. “You were in no position to save anyone.”“I made her a promise.” The wind ruffled Cassian’s hair as he squinted at the sky. “And when it mattered, I didn’t keep it.”

It is so sad that he feels that way when it clearly was far beyond his control, but I am glad that Nesta doesn’t really hold it against him and when it comes to it later on she trusts him yet again to protect her.

“It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.”

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled. Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

noooow for the scene we probably all equally cringe over...

“Stop following me. Stop trying to haul me into your happy little circle. Stop doing all of it.”

He knew a wounded animal when he saw one. Knew the teeth they could bare, the viciousness they displayed. But it couldn’t keep him from saying, “Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do. If you can’t be bothered to try for my happy little circle’s sake, then at least try for them.”

A void seemed to enter those eyes. An endless, depthless void.

Other than simply being hurt and frustrated I cannot for the life of me understand why he would say that of all things, it is such a hurtful but also random thing to say especially since he seemed to find plenty to like about her prior.

But again they are both akin to make mistakes, saying things they shouldn’t, Nesta certainly cannot complain as she can be very bad for it.

ICONIC.

“Nesta surged to her feet, staggering across the clearing, blood at her mouth from where he’d hit her, and threw herself to her knees before Cassian. “Get up,” she sobbed, hauling at his shoulder. “Get up.” He tried—and failed. “You’re too heavy,” she pleaded, but still tried to raise him, fingers scrabbling in his black, bloodied armor. “I can’t—he’s coming—” “Go,” Cassian groaned. Cassian grunted in pain, but lifted his bloodied hands—to cup her face. “I have no regrets in my life, but this.” His voice shook with every word. “That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” She didn’t stop him as he leaned up and kissed her—lightly. As much as he could[…]”

“And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian. And covered Cassian’s body with her own. Cassian went still—then his hand slid over her back. Together. They’d go together.”

“Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

Then, Mother above, Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, noticing that gleam—what it meant. She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?”

Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” My face began heating, and I opened my mouth. To say what, I didn’t know. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely. Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.”

Nesta

“Nesta is different from most people,” I explained. “She comes across as rigid and vicious, but I think it’s a wall. A shield—like the ones Rhys has in his mind.”

“Against what?”

“Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

And I think that is what makes one of the last things we hear from her in ACOFAS where she admits she isn’t feeling anything at all, a stark contrast from before the war. She is traumatised. Unfeeling,

“Until she drew her knees to her chest and stared into the dimness. Still the silence raged and echoed around her. Still she felt nothing.”

"Nesta struggles a lot with her mental health, with facing her past, with healing herself and learning to love herself and open herself up to other people." -Sarah J Maas

As for the next book I think it will be about both of them learning to heal, to grow, and face all the unspoken things between them. I personally cannot wait for both of them to do so, I love them both equally.

They are both flawed and complicated characters but that is precisely what I love about them.

As usual I say, I am always open to discussions and opinions, I love to chat but lets keep it calm and respectful. Everyones opinion is valid ♥️

#nessian #nesta archeron #ACOTAR #ACOTAR 4 #Cassian #Nesta x Cassian #A court of thorns and roses #mine #nessian meta #cassian x nesta #Anonymous

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ryttu3k · 4 years ago

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Had the Realisation that my oldest vampire character is literally only 41, so. Some actual older vampires! Below the cut - a thousand-year-old Banu Haqim nerd and a two-hundred-year-old Tzimisce who wants to be a cryptid.

Ezra ben Natan, 8th generation Banu Haqim (vizier caste)

Ezra was born in the tiny Jewish Quarter of Constantinople in 981, in a time where the Jewish population was beginning to come under pressure from both the Christian and Muslim communities. Within this instability, Ezra tried to keep up with the studies that fascinated them, eventually catching the eye of a visiting Banu Haqim vizier (a grandchilde of Tegyrius), who saw great potential for learning within the young Ezra. They were Embraced in 1006, initially refusing to return to Alamut with their sire in order to remain with their community. Eventually, their sire persuaded them to at least visit, and with some reluctance (albeit with the rapidly fraying stability of Michael the Patriarch as a fairly potent incentive to leave!), Ezra left their community in 1015.

They found they did actually fit in remarkably well in Alamut, meeting other Jewish Banu Haqim and embracing the Persian Jewish communities near the fortress, thriving amongst their fellow viziers and learning all they could, not only about the Banu Haqim but about the wider world amidst the Islamic Golden Age (while there were certainly Jewish-Islamic clashes outside of Alamut, within, they would largely consider themselves Banu Haqim first, Jewish or Muslim second). During their studies on the Baali Wars, they befriended many of the local Salubri, fascinated by their healing arts and admiring their political stance. They also became a follower of Derech Chaim, part of the Road of Heaven. When the Tremere began their persecution of the Salubri, they were appalled, and successfully petitioned for many of the local Salubri to be protected by groups of Banu Haqim warriors. This was not to last, although, for a time, they were still able to give some protection.

Following the violence of the Crusades and shortly after the condemnation of the Tremere blood curse after the Convention of Thorns and the Treaty of Tyre, Ezra, despairing at the state of their clan and the world, retreated into torpor for several centuries, eventually waking again in the early 19th century. Deciding to leave Alamut, they departed for London, a centre of great industry and change; there would be much to learn, especially everything they had missed over the past 300-odd years they had been in torpor for, and when they eventually paid a return visit to Alamut around the turn of the 20th century, they were granted the title of Distinguished Master (specialising in Jewish Banu Haqim history and with a secondary focus on the Baali Wars). They remained in England until the first World War, when they departed for the United States, settling in New York City, which was nominally Camarilla but never really siding one way or another with a specific sect and so making it relatively ideal for a member of an Independent clan to survive. Residing in Brooklyn, Ezra became the self-proclaimed protector of the Jewish community there, along with a handful of other Jewish Cainites from various clans, and were largely able to insulate them from the eventual Sabbat domination, the Battle of New York, and the Camarilla reclamation.

In modern nights, they have joined their great-grandsire Tegyrius and are nominally a part of the Camarilla (although they consider themself Jewish first, Banu Haqim second, Cainite third, and Camarilla fourth at best). Along with their studies of history and society, they have picked up an interest in technology and strive to keep up with it, and has also delighted in discovering the concept of being nonbinary, which has answered quite a few questions they've had regarding themself over the past millennium!

Personality: Studious and inquisitive, with a strong sense of duty and protection. A strong supporter of the concept of tikkun olam (lit. 'repair of the world'), which they interpret as a directive to protect and heal as much as possible, and they try to be compassionate in all they do. They do, however, have a dislike verging on hatred for the Tremere, not just for the injustices they've inflicted upon their own clan, but for their actions against the Salubri.

Disciplines: Auspex 5, Presence 3, Quietus (Minhit Dume/Hematus) 5, Obfuscate 4, Celerity 2. Possesses True Faith 1

Wish, 10th generation Tzimisce

Wish hails from Tennessee, born Louetta Patterson in the then-new town of Knoxville in 1804. Forever drawn to the Great Smoky Mountains, they spent a wild childhood roaming the forests and foothills, delighting in the freedom from being a girl, from being human, in the early nineteenth century. When their parents tried to reign in the borderline feral child by arranging a marriage between them and the older son of a neighbouring farmer (they were fifteen, he was in his late twenties), they ran, first to their beloved mountains, then further on, following the Appalachians all the way into Ohio, passing themself off as a boy named Louis. While trying to eke out a survival in Columbus, they had an encounter that would change - or rather end - their life, accepting an errand to deliver a parcel to a strange foreign gentleman, surprisingly late at night for visitors.

This gentleman was a Tzimisce, originally from Eastern Europe, now part of the growing Sabbat movement in America. Pleased by Wish's resourcefulness, independence, and curiosity, he offered them the opportunity to discover a newer, wilder facet to life, and Embraced them in 1822. This, frankly, suited Wish just fine, who had never really seen themself as much human anyway, and after a period of mentorship, they returned to the Great Smoky Mountains they so adored, changing their name to Wish proper (from the last syllable of ‘Louis’) and setting up their own little domain there. They wanted nothing to do with human wars and conflicts. They just wanted the mountains and the natural environment.

They didn't get many visitors. That was fine. They could pick up books and eventually records from Knoxville (carefully avoiding the presence of anyone they knew, or else using their new skill of Vicissitude to disguise themself), and eventually built up a largely underground haven in their beloved mountains. Originally satiating their thirst on animals and occasionally on humans during their odd trips to the city, the Appalachian Trail gave them not just a steady stream of hikers to take the odd slurp from, but also the attentions of arsonists and vandals, who... well, were generally not seen again. They also, quite regularly, feed on invasive boars, which compete with the native black bears; two birds (well, boars) with one stone!

In modern nights, they don't look much human any more, and there may be more than the usual number of cryptid sightings in their neck of the woods. They have, much to their dismay, been obligated to get involved with politics, and human politics, no less - learning how to send petitions and communicate with others online about the dangers of regional exploitation, to preserve the Appalachians they so love. More enjoyably, they've also taken correspondence courses on conservation, and are adept at using camera traps to record the wildlife of their domain, taking biodiversity surveys, and the like.

Personality: Introverted, generally pretty relaxed, happy for the odd visitor to show up so they can do the whole Hospitality thing but also, you know, very happy to send them away after three days. Doesn't see themself as human any more, and frankly hasn't since their mortal days; while some Tzimisce go for straight monstrosity, Wish prefers adding animal features, anything from a spectacular rack of antlers to shimmery cuttlefish chromatophores.

Considers themself a caretaker of the environment, and follows the Path of Harmony - the world is in constant flux, and the best way to adapt to it is to flux with it. Despite their Sabbat sire, pretty firmly Autarkis. Politics is for people more human than they are, frankly! Still speaks with a strong Tennessee drawl. Lover of music and words; if you happen to be in the mountains at night, hearing the sound of a record player or perhaps a fiddle, or spot someone lounging in a deck chair with a flashlight wedged in their antlers so they can read... yeah, probably them. Would much rather chill than argue; they get on well with the local Gangrel and even decently with the Fae and Garou, who recognise them as a part of the mountain community and not the larger Cainite society as a whole.

Fond of furries. They’re trying so hard, bless their li’l souls. Maybe they’d make good Tzimisce or Gangrel!

Disciplines: Auspex 4, Animalism 5 (has crow famalus named, uh, Crow because corvidae are smartasses and they respect that), Vicissitude 3, Potence 2 (very useful for, you know, catching invasive boars)

Posts that are straight-out Vibes: antlers, gender, music, that whole being nonbinary/neurodiverse/aspec and also enjoying nonhuman characters and themes while also not wanting to be a stereotype but at the same time the vibes are impeccable thing, a friend

#vampire the masquerade #banu haqim #tzimisce #my ocs #oc: ezra #oc: wish

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tenebriiis-archived · 4 years ago

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The door behind her closes, almost soundlessly as the Enchantress stepped into a chamber fully reserved for her only. It’s secluded from any source of natural light & somehow, flowers are growing at a considerable rate among all the vast space. Branches caress the stone ceiling, roots dare to break into the hardened ground, & none of this is beyond more than a mixture of siphoned magic given shape. If one would choose to take a bite from the Apple hanging from the tree at the corner, it would be no more than deadly poison bitten their tongue. But it was the detail about Illusions, wasn’t it? Things didn’t need to be genuine to still evoke emotion.

The Red in a Frame, could be blood or paint – would it matter too much in the little second a gaze would settle upon?

Awe, Pain & Sorrow – all could be brought forth in that single second of wonder as the brain attempts to avoid differing from reality & fantasy when her bare feet stop touching cold marble & find the grace of grass.

Silk & Organdie murmur against delicate petals as the hem of her dress offers them a caress. Every step is a little more of her magic leaking into this little self-imposed light, walking forward until reaching a little Altar where incense is being burnt. It smells of frankincense & patchouli as her faerie companions flutter in graceful patterns among the fake wind that caresses her skin. All the remembrance of a life that may never return to her; & it didn’t matter for how long it may go, how many decades or centuries may go by… the small wish was nesting, hoping for things to be the same. –Another lie, for the child in her heart who still craved for her burnt home to be brought back, even if her motivations on the present time were highly different.

The darkness in the Paradise of her memoirs is interrupted, as dainty digits started enlightened each fragrant candle around the stone statues on the Altar, one by one with tenderness few had seen as if this wasn’t a mere ritual but a loving gift – A Silent Conversation, exchanging words that no human tongue could translate or known. She hears her voice ever singing in the wind, she feels her delicate & warmth touch on her dark tear-stained cheeks as the facades of security crumble, & her tired heart craves for the affectionate embrace only her Mother could offer to her & her sisters.

Forest Incarnate, she was all around among the vast lands, possessing a consciousness no mortal would ever understand, a voice few could hear if only they chose to pay attention to nature’s orchestra of birds, & the blessed arcane that gave the breath of life to the nymphs out of enchanted trees –extinct by now; in Valoran at least.

“Mother… I – “ She looks up to the figure she had asked many years ago to be made out of her memories. A tall woman surrounded by six ladies of different physical ages, beautiful butterfly-like wings on their backs & the smallest of them all, probably comparable to twelve years old, tightly holding one of her hands. Emilia can’t barely remember times where she wouldn’t look up for her hand when she was young. & Helena –one of the many names given to her Mother by the mortals leaving offerings at the borders of the forest for the Faefolk in exchange of protection–, was ever endearing & kind to allow her to reach for it when she needed it.

“… I saw today those birds you used to like so dearly. You always mentioned how clever Ravens are, & you have not the idea.” She could almost hear her laugh if concentrating. Remembering a sneaky bird who stole something shiny left by the mortal neighbors once. She had followed it for an hour when barely knowing how to fly with her wings even, only to end gifting it to it cause apparently, the shiny ribbon made a cute addition to their nest. The memory was simple, but it was the beauty of childhood: Things didn’t need to be extremely big or mesmerizing to be meaningful, & the way Helena had giggled so beautifully when her daughter’s chase had ended into gifting the ribbon to the bird was enchanting enough. She felt silly back then, but her Mother hugging her after was the precious part…

… She missed her, probably wouldn’t ever stop to do so.

Her Mother lived among the songs, the illusion magic, the gardens, the flowers, the wind, the forest silence only interrupted by its own melody, the sun peeking between the leaves, the animals' flight or steps, the taste of honey & the glow of pristine water. Lullabies lost in time for protection she would sing over and over again in a way to not forget them, write them in different places as to never let go of the lyrics when her Coven had taught her how to write, renouncing sometimes of a couple of memories from the past in order to maintain her Mother’s remembrances.

It was painful to know, that even her own true name had been exchanged for other memories to be preserved. But it was fine; cause it was her actual given name that turned to be the key to preserve her Adoptive Mother’s memory as well. When she had forgotten it in the feral state the loss of her home had left her, & it was the nomad group of sorcerers who would stop near the burnt trees to extend a caring hand… it was their High Priestess who would give her a name until she could remember the exact word.

Emilia had been the given name of one of her daughters, acolytes had told her after a couple of years. It was always a question without answers – Had Fate been so capricious to pull the loose strings, until those could have been woven together in a sole piece?

The Enchantress ever preferred to not attempt breaking the dulcet tones of their shared symphonies with meaningless vicissitudes, as looking to the stone statue next to Helena’s, there was also one for the High Priestess with an older depiction of herself. Mortality had eventually reached her, as such were the subtle details of reality for humankind, no matter how much magic they would possess, & yet… the caring & motherly smile carved in the stone was ever-present, even for those who would do wrong. There was something so generous about her, so unforgettable & unique… that eternity was not required for the ripples of her presence in the ocean of her life to still be seen.

She lived through her Magic & the thousands of spells she learned, through the words on many ancient tongues & the flowers she learned to preserve by drying them among golden pages of grimoires & spell-books. Her voice was in every teaching, her gentle soul in every motivation even if underlying of the dark ambitions. It was inevitable for the Matron to every so often wonder if she was ashamed of what her arcane power had turned into… on all she had to do in order to free many from the Revenant’s Tyranny.

��Forgive me, dearest Mother.” She would whisper more than once, & not solely aloud, to the figure. As among the desperation, many she had lost were generations & generations coming from the same roots & branches as the old sorceress had. Spilling their blood, siphoning their magic, taking & taking despite all the suffering that had been involved, despite all the protection she had offered to the grandchildren of her very own grandchildren. Was it alright to think she had forgiven her?

Perhaps it was equally what moved the strings of her current attitude towards the little blossoms of her Garden. As Above, so Below: Her desire to take care of all the kids belonging to her Night Garden was a mirrored reflection of what she did previously. .. At least until some may learn how to hate her; just as some had attempted to kill her when faced with the options of living or dying.

Such was the Noxian way after all; to be so reverential towards Strength & Might, right from the roots of the first noxii tribes that had inhabited the place. A cult that shall exist until blood would run through its people’s veins – & she may too, respect it on her own particular ways… … But she would ever wonder regardless, was she proud of her? Or would she despise her as an assassin as much as when their bodies would lie in her bloodied embrace?

“...I will do what I must to keep safe as many as I can, Mother. Even if some sacrifices must be done.” Her voice would be hushed, & ever soft-spoken, almost pleading like none would ever get from her. Was she seeking approbation or permission? Perhaps; even if there was no way of giving it, it was partially a manner to offer her soul relief from all the sins she required to commit in order to eventually –she hoped- reach the goals of salvation & redemption of those broken lands...

…

— When she reached the surface once more, walking across the favored Manor connecting to the secrecy of those passages, there’s a sound that never fails on drawing her immediate attention –corrupted or not, no Fae would ever resist the ardent urgency to follow the beautiful sound: The laughter of Children pulling from the strings of her darkened heart, little blossoms of her garden who haven’t yet been tarnished by the cruelty & truths of the Empire & the Night Garden itself. Small ones who knew the kindest & more endearing sides of her, many almost immediately right away after their first cry into this world. Their first scream for a place to exist into the mist of expectations & uncertainties of life that would surely be already settled, some probably too heavy for a child to bear…

… & nonetheless, she cherished them as her own, as a Gardener relishes endearingly on the first blossoms opening among the leaves after days of hard work, just as any fae would feel the inherent need to protect them –especially, if magic gifted- & assure their innocent minds were kept for as long as it could be possible…

A month, a year, a decade, a century… it didn’t matter to her. Their lives all belonged to this soil, & she hoped one of them would be able to see it someday as it was always meant to stay.

The gentle chimes & bell-like voices of the butterflies surrounding her break the little sparks of memories attempting to consume her mind ever again. They tell her about the little feet approaching her, the colorful & bright eyes recognizing the Pale Lady’s silhouette who had ever been around them as closely as their own Mothers had, Emilia’s heart is filled with full contentment – how not to? They haven’t yet learned or found reasons to hate her, their souls were pure & their arcane power clear enough to find its very own branches & roots on it’s own.

A little girl hugged her tightly, & the Enchantress’ hand instinctively seeks to caress the blonde curls of her head as maternal feelings nests in the deepest sides of her Soul; the many voices talking about their newest spells with such glee, her companions would be mesmerized & fluttering in a dance around them.

— She was Mother to none & all in her Night Garden;

& even when her tarnished body may probably never be capable of bare the gift of life for as long as she knew, she didn’t feel it as an impediment to giving all the affection her heart could still offer; at least to every single future petal & thorn that would allow the Black Rose to bloom once more.

#Drabbles #oh; what's this?#self indulgence at its finest #again (?) ; but seeing all writing drabbles about their Muses' mothers made me want to write something for Emilia's too #have those 2k words of monstrosity; cause I feel I can't write anymore x'D #but welp ♥#Hope you all had a lovely Mother's Day ♥#{ ｔｈｅ .ｎｉｇｈｔ. ｇａｒｄｅｎ } — into the black rose #long post #very long post #tw: blood #tw: death mention

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theradioghost · 5 years ago

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I don't know if you're still doing podcast recs, but if you are, I really like dramas, horror, sci-fi, honestly anything that gives you the feels (especially if it has lgbtq+ rep). I am not much of a comedy person though unfortunately. The only podcast I finished was tma and I really loved it.

The recommendations are always on tap here, whenever my askbox is open! You might wanna check out:

Archive 81, for a found-footage horror about mysterious archives of tapes full of encounters with otherworldly horror, dark rituals, cults, and a long-suffering archivist with the same name as the show creator who plays him, which despite all that could not possibly be more different from TMA and yet easily matches it as one of the best horror stories I have ever enjoyed. The sound design on this show is basically unparalleled – where TMA has fairly minimalist sound design, A81 goes all out. Quite a few lgbtqa+ folk also.

I Am In Eskew, for a surreal, Lynchian horror about the city of Eskew, where it’s always raining and the streets are never the same twice, as narrated by a man who is trapped there and the woman hired to find him. Take the most viscerally disturbing episodes of TMA as a baseline for how intense this show is, then imagine the Spiral built a city and invited all the other fears over for a party. Also right up there as one of my favorite horror things ever, and recently ended, so you can listen to the whole thing right now.

Within The Wires, for a found-footage scifi dystopia, telling stories from an alternate-history world. Three of the four seasons focus on lgbtqa+ leads, and the first season, a set of instructional meditation tapes provided to a prisoner in a shadowy government institution, is still some of my absolute favorite creative use of medium and framing device ever.

Kane and Feels, for a surreal noir-flavored urban fantasy/horror hybrid, about a magically-inclined academic (and sarcastic little bastard man) named Lucifer Kane and his demon-punching partner with a heart of gold, Brutus Feels. They share a flat in London, they bicker like an old married couple, and they fight supernatural evil. This show WILL confuse the hell out of you and you will enjoy every second of it.

Alice Isn’t Dead, for a weird Americana horror story about a long-distance truck driver, criss-crossing the US in search of her missing wife. Along the way she discovers that both of them have been drawn into a dangerous secret war that seethes in the empty and abandoned expanses of America, and that inhuman hunters have begun to follow her. Also finished! And as the title kind of gives away, the lesbians do not die!

Janus Descending, for a sci-fi horror miniseries about two scientists sent to survey the remains of a dead alien civilization on a distant planet, only to learn all too well why the original inhabitants have disappeared. You hear one character’s story in chronological order and the other in reverse, with their perspectives alternating, which is done in an incredibly clever way so that even technically knowing what will happen it still holds you in suspense right to the end. Also, it made me cry, a lot.

SAYER, for a sci-fi horror with a touch of dark comedy, and probably the single best use of the “evil AI” trope I have ever seen. Tells the story of employees of tech corporation Aerolith Dynamics living on Earth’s artificial second moon, Typhon, in the form of messages from their AI overseer SAYER. The first season is great, the second season is okay, and the third and fourth seasons are fucking amazing.

Tides, for a really interesting sci-fi about a lone biologist trapped on an alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces. It’s different from just about any other sci-fi I know, focusing more on the main character’s interactions with and observations of this strange new world, where she’s very aware that she is the alien invader. (Also I don’t think any of the characters are straight.)

Station to Station, for a thrilling sci-fi mystery where a group of scientists and spies on a research ship (the ocean kind) discover that the time-warping anomaly they’re studying might be causing people to vanish from existence. Corporate espionage and high-stakes heartbreak abound. (And once again I’m not sure anyone is straight.)

The Strange Case of Starship Iris, for Being Gay And Doing Crime IN SPACE! Or, decades after a war with an alien species leaves humanity decimated and under the control of totalitarian leaders, the lone survivor of a research mission joins up with a ragtag crew of rebels and smugglers to figure out why the very government she worked for tried to kill her, and to stop them from inciting a second war. 100% lgbtqa+ found family in space heist action and it’s glorious in every way.

Unwell, for the horror-ish Midwestern gothic story of a young woman who returns to her hometown to help her estranged mother after an injury, and discovers that there is something just a little bit wrong, not just with her mother, but with her mother’s house, and with the whole town. Subtle and creepy. The protagonist is a biracial lesbian, one of the other major characters is nonbinary, the cast in general is super diverse.

The Blood Crow Stories, for an lgbtqa+ focused horror anthology! The four seasons so far have been the stories of an ancient evil stalking the passengers of a WWI-era utopian cruise ship, a dark Western mystery about a group of allies trying to stop the mysterious killer known only as the Savior, a 911 operator in a cyberpunk dystopia who starts getting terrifying phone calls from demons, and strange and deadly goings-on at a film studio in the golden age of Hollywood. Everyone is Very Gay and anyone can die, especially in season 1.

The Tower, for a melancholy experimental miniseries about a young woman who decides she’s going to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one has ever returned. Quite short and very, very good.

Palimpsest, for a creepy, heartbreakingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful anthology series. Season one is the story of a woman who suspects her new home is haunted, season two is a turn-of-the-century urban fantasy about a girl who falls in love with the imprisoned fae princess she’s been hired to care for, and season three is about a WWII codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on the streets of London during the Blitz.

Mabel, for a part-horror, part-love story, the kind of faerie tale where you feel obliged to spell it with an E because these are the kind of faeries that are utterly inhuman, and beautiful, and dangerous. Anna, the new caretaker for an elderly woman, leaves messages for her client’s mysteriously absent granddaughter Mabel. An old house in Ireland has a life and desires of its own, few of them friendly. Two women fall in love and set out for vengeance against the King Under The Hill. Creepy, strange, and gorgeously poetic.

Ars Paradoxica, for a sci-fi time travel Cold War espionage thriller. Physicist Dr. Sally Grissom accidentally invents time travel, landing herself – and her invention – in the middle of a classified government experiment during WWII. As the course of history utterly changes around them, she and what friends she can find in this new time must struggle with the ethics of what they’ve done, and the choices they’ll have to make. An aroace protagonist, Black secret agents, time-traveling Latina assassins, Jewish lesbian mathematicians, two men of color whose love changes the course of time itself, this show says a big fuck you to the idea that there’s anything hard about having a diverse cast in a period piece and it will break your heart, multiple times. Also finished!

The Far Meridian, for a genre-bending, poetic, at-times-heartwarming-at-times-heartbreaking story about an agoraphobic woman named Peri who decides to begin a search for her long-missing brother Ace after the lighthouse in which she lives begins mysteriously transporting to different places every day. I can never forget an early review that described this show as “the audio equivalent of a Van Gogh painting.” Suffice to say it is beautiful, and fantastically written and put together.

What’s the Frequency?, for a Surrealist noir horror mystery set in mid-20th-century LA. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can really explain what goes on in this show, but it features a detective named Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney searching for a missing writer. Meanwhile, the only thing that seems to be playing on the radio is that writer’s show Love, Honor, and Decay, which also seems to be driving people to murder. Fantastically weird, deliciously creepy.

Directive, for a short sci-fi miniseries about a man hired to spend a very, very long trip through space alone, which doesn’t seem all that sad until suddenly it hits you with Every Feel You’ve Ever Had, seriously I don’t want to spoil it so I won’t say anything more but listen to this and then never feel the same way about Tuesdays again.

Wolf 359, for honestly one of the best podcasts out there, containing all of the drama and feels, seriously this show ended over two years ago and I still cry literal tears thinking about it sometimes. It has definite comedic leanings, especially in the first season which reads a bit more like a wacky office comedy set in space, but it takes a sharp turn towards high stakes, action, and feelings and that roller coaster never stops. Take four clashing personalities alone on a constantly-malfunctioning space station eight light years from earth, add some mysterious transmissions from the depths of space, toss in some seriously Jonah-Magnus-level manipulative evil bosses, and get ready to cry.

or, may I suggest Midnight Radio? It’s a lesbian-romance-slash-ghost-story completed miniseries about a late-night 1950s radio host in a small town who begins receiving mysterious letters from one of her listeners, and I have been assured by many people and occasionally their all-caps tweets that it provides ample Feelings! (also I wrote it.)

#holy fuck when did this answer get that long?#anyway I uh. hope at least one of these sounds good to you!#podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #Anonymous #asks #my posts

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seawitchkaraoke · 4 years ago

Text

Sketch in Shadows

(ao3 link in the notes)

This whole idea was stupid. It was way too early, barely even afternoon, she should be in bed and instead, here she was, sitting at a too small desk on an uncomfortable chair, listening to this human guy talking about some other long dead human guy, who had apparently been really good at drawing sunflowers.

The whole thing had been Toby‘s idea – of course. She‘d suggested that going to university would help her learn about the modern world and at the same time continue the „figure out what you actually like and what your mom made you like“ thing Raysel and her had going on and August had agreed, because she was bored, and she didn‘t have anything else to do and hey it might be an adventure, except this time without the getting lost for a hundred years part. So she‘d looked up some classes that sounded interesting and snuck out way too early, letting Raysel sleep who had wisely refused the education plan.

She had been bored. Somehow, she was even more bored now; she‘d really thought that art history would include a little more art and a little less life stories of dead humans.

August leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for just a second, sighing. She could leave anytime, it‘s not like she‘d signed up for anything or like she was actually planning on getting a degree.

She opened her eyes again.

There was a cat on her desk.

She stared. The cat stared back.

August blinked. The cat did not. It also didn‘t disappear, which would have been convenient.

„Um.“ said August, intelligently „I kinda need that desk. You‘re sitting on my things“

The cat said nothing.

August sighed. „Fine. I wasn‘t taking notes anyway, but once the class is over you have to let me get my stuff“ She reached out, petting the cat behind the ears. It was very fluffy, with long grey and white fur, making it look almost silver. It was a beautiful cat.

August leaned back, her hand still buried in the cat‘s fur, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She couldn‘t wait to get out of here, beautiful cat or not.

The air smelled of paper and dust and human sweat and the violets and dry hay of the Daoine Sidhe changeling in the second row and the peppermint and burning walnut wood of the Cait Sidhe in front of -

She yanked her hand back so fast, she almost overbalanced, as she stared at the not at all normal cat in front of her.

The cat blinked, slowly, deliberately. August did not. She stared.

„You‘re Cait Sidhe! What are you- never mind, I don‘t care what you‘re doing here, why are you on my things?“

The Cait Sidhe, still, did not say anything. Of course not. They couldn‘t exactly transform back into a form capable of the English language in the middle of a lecture hall after all. They just looked at her with big purple eyes.

Right. Mortal cats didn‘t have purple eyes. She really must be more tired than she‘d thought.

„Ugh fine! Just give me my stuff back once the class is over okay? And then I can go home and tell my sister this was a stupid idea and you can do, whatever it is Cait Sidhe do all day“

The cat, again, said nothing, just looked at her out of big purple eyes that really should have ticked her off earlier that this was not a mortal cat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cat‘s name, it turned out, was Zircon and they were part of the Court of Golden Cats (which was ironic considering how silver they were), though they mostly stayed at the university, helping out stressed students and making sure none of the faerie brides were stirring up trouble. They told August all this in the span of the few minutes it took to walk back to the carpark, where Quentin would hopefully be waiting with the car.

„That‘s all great but it doesn‘t explain why you were sitting on my things. I‘m not planning to ‚stir up trouble‘ as you said, I‘m just here because my stupid sister convinced me that university might be fun and not boring“

„Excuse me, you find me boring? And that, when I was trying so hard to entertain you, I don‘t know whether to be hurt or insulted“ they smirked, walking backwards, facing August „you might say you don‘t want to stir up any trouble, but I always check out the new fae on campus just to make sure. And you‘re not exactly just any random fae, August Torquill, you said your name was? I met your sister, though I doubt she realized, she was covered in quite a lot of blood at the time. More importantly I heard what your mother did to the king of dreaming cats to force your sister to bring you home. So I hope you can forgive me, if I need to make my own picture of whether you‘ll stir up trouble“

„Great so you‘ll judge me because of what my mother did? You just said yourself I wasn‘t there for that! I was the one who made her give Tybalt and Jazz back, but no one ever seems to remember that��

That was the wrong thing to say. Zircon hissed and was suddenly too close to her face, the smell of peppermint and burning walnut wood welling up all around them „you want a price for doing the bare minimum? For not being as horrible as your mother? Should I get you a medal?“

August paled, “No! I…. I’m sorry, I’m just really exhausted and tired of people looking at me and only seeing my mother”

Zircon stopped at that, stepping back, slightly „Okay. I won‘t judge you by your mother‘s actions but I know how dangerous your family is, I‘m not so stupid to think you wouldn‘t be as well.“ They looked at August, smiling, showing their far too sharp teeth „you‘re welcome to continue classes here if you decide it isn‘t too boring after all. But this university is mine as much as it is anyone‘s and if I think that you are going to cause anyone here harm either by yourself or by bringing your cursed mother down on us, I will not hesitate to rip you apart. I‘ve heard how fast your sister heals, so I‘m sure I wouldn‘t need to worry about breaking Oberon‘s law“

They stepped back and grinned, teeth having lost their inhuman sharpness and said, almost joyfully „If you‘re interested in art but not the ‚boring‘ stories about dead human artists, you might want to check out some of the more practical classes, I‘m sure you‘d enjoy them“

With that, they sauntered around a corner and a moment later a long haired silver cat with bright purple eyes ran off over the yard.

Well. That could have gone better.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

August dropped in the passenger‘s seat of the car, groaning. She just wanted to go home and sleep some more and not deal with any stupid cats anymore.

Quentin shot her a sidelong look, as he drew out of the parking spot „So who was that person you were talking to? Cait Sidhe?“

„Their name is Zircon and yeah they‘re Cait Sidhe. They don‘t like me on account of my mother being the worst, they threatened me in case I was planning to start trouble for ‚their‘ university and they told me to try practical drawing classes since art history was boring“

Quentin blinked. That seemed to be the motto of today. „Huh. Well, I can‘t say I can fault them for disliking your mother-“ „Who could“, August muttered, „-but practical drawing classes might be a good idea if art history was too theoretical?“

„ Less theoretical, more just talking about the life and death of some human artist who was really good at sunflowers or whatever“

„Van Gogh?“

„Yes him. And I‘m sure that‘s interesting for the humans, but I wanted to hear about history of art, not history of dead artists“, she sighed, sinking deeper into the car seat „This whole thing was a stupid idea, I can learn about art by practicing, I don‘t need classes, especially not at a university with a cat who hates me“

Quentin looked at her for a second, then turned back to the road, „You know Toby used to be convinced Tybalt hated her. It was all she ever talked about“, he smirked, „so… you know how that ended“

„I‘m not Toby, I‘m not going to fuck a cat!“, Quentin shot her a look, “sorry, sorry I know I shouldn’t say it like that but still. I’m not gonna have sex with the first person I meet who isn’t related to me or a teenager, Cait Sidhe or not”

Privately, she thought she really didn‘t think she wanted to have sex with anyone, cat or no, but that wasn‘t something to discuss with her sister‘s teenaged squire

„and anyway, I‘m not going to see them again, I‘m not going back“

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later, August was once again standing in Berkeley, this time with art supplies slung over her shoulder and at a more reasonable hour – thank Oberon for evening classes. She hadn’t wanted to come back, but while going shopping with Raysel and occasionally May was fun and drawing on the giant chalkboard in Raysel and her shared room was enjoyable and occasionally incredibly cathartic, she’d been hanging around Raysel for months now and as much as she was learning to love her cousin, occasionally she needed some time away from her and away from the house that had a far too high average number of screaming teenagers in residence than August was entirely comfortable with.

So here she was, stepping out of Walther’s office, that Chelsea had opened a portal to – after calling first, to make sure Jack or some other mortal grad student wasn’t in – waving goodbye to the alchemist, who was working on some project or other in between his classes, and walking over to the art building.

She had barely set her things down, and there they were, a silver cat, with ridiculously fluffy fur and clearly unnatural purple eyes. August wondered briefly if any of the veterinary or biology students had ever tried to catch and study them; it should really be obvious to them that those eyes weren’t mortal. Then again, humans could dismiss a lot of things and would probably not jump straight from “cat with purple eyes” to “fae are real and walk among us”. Still it seemed irresponsible.

Irresponsible or not, they were strolling in casually, looping around students’ legs who cooed and occasionally bent down to pet them. August smoothed out her face, it wouldn’t do to be caught glowering at the campus cat, that would just make her stand out and not in a good way.

She shrugged out of her denim jacket – full of patches and glued on rhinestones and metal studs, because it turned out she liked being able to customize her own clothing however she wished – and sat in her chair. The teacher called the room to silence: “Welcome everyone! I’m sure Zaddy here is very happy to have your attention but I’ll need you to focus on me now. My name is Professor Smith and today we’re gonna learn how to draw a still life – though when we get to animals, you’ll be free to focus on Zaddy all lesson long….”

She kept talking, explaining the concept of a still life – apparently a drawing of unmoving inanimate objects – and setting down various things for them to use as models. August did her best to ignore Zircon – who had stalked over to her and was now sitting on a nearby shelf full of art supplies, yawning and showing off all their teeth – and listened intently to the teacher, already thinking on which of the objects she would like to draw most. There was a vase of flowers, though thankfully no roses, making the decision easy enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the lesson ended, August packed up her half finished drawing and walked outside. Zircon had left at some point during the lesson, but she didn’t worry about them, if they wanted to talk, they’d find her before she called Chelsea and left, if not, all the better for her. She did not want to talk to the cat. If they had decided to leave her alone, that was exactly what she wanted anyway.

No such luck. She turned the corner and there they were, leaning against a wall, human disguise firmly in place. Their eyes were a dark blue in this form, their fluffy hair, that would surely be striped silver, grey and white in their true from, simply black. They looked good, of course, it would be silly to choose a human disguise that made them look bad, and yet August suddenly really wanted to know what they looked like in truth.

She pushed the thought away just as Zircon pushed off the wall and fell into step beside her

“I can’t say, it isn’t a delight to see you again, but I thought you’d said you found this place “boring” and didn’t wish to return?”

“Yes, and I thought you might not bother me with a speech today, but I guess we’re all mistaken sometimes. Also, you can drop the pretentious speech, if you’ve been living at this university for as long as you implied, there’s no way you speak like that”

Zircon laughed at that, “Ah but it’s that or speak in memes, which might at best confuse and at worst horrify you. I would have thought you’d prefer this sort of speech, after all as far as I know, you haven’t been living in the mortal world much?”

“Right because you’d know how much exposure to the mortal world I’ve had. I live with an average of 2 to 4 teenagers, I pick things up. Anyway, what do you want? I already told you I’m not here to make trouble.” August inwardly prepared herself for another round of threats. Maybe she should just find another university to attend; true Berkeley was neutral territory and therefore convenient but surely she could figure something out.

Zircon shock their head: “I know, and I already warned you what would happen if you changed your mind on that. As far as I’m concerned we’re good; no, I am here to tell you the same thing I tell every fae student here and to ask you a question that’s just for you”

August frowned “okay? And what would that be?”

“First, I’ve been taking care of this university for a long time. I protect and help the students, both mortal and not and in return no one minds when I steal some snacks from the cafeteria or curl up in someone’s office. That means if you’re planning to attend regularly, I’ll be happy to help you too. You’re unlikely to need this, but if you ever need a place to sleep or a warm meal, just find me and I’ll help you. If you need advice on what classes to take or where the best spots are to get someone to teleport you out of here, if you want somewhere closer to the art building than Professor Davies’ office, I’ll be happy to give suggestions.”

“And you offer this to everyone?”

“Yes, although obviously I can’t just say it to the humans. With them I have to be a little more subtle, but I help them all the same”

“I’m sorry but aren’t Cait Sidhe supposed to, I don’t know, keep to the court of cats and run around chasing rats all day or something? Tybalt is going to have to give up being king when he marries Toby, because it’s a conflict of interest, how is taking care of an entire university not a conflict of interest?”, she stopped herself, “um, no offense or anything.”

Zircon laughed lightly: “ah, see Tybalt is a king and I am just a normal Cait Sidhe who finds that “chasing after rats” all day gets old quickly”

August reddened in embarrassment “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry, I’m still…. I’m still unlearning a lot of the things my mom taught me”, this was getting uncomfortable, “um, but you said you had a question?”

“Yes!”, Zircon grinned, “would you like to go for coffee?”

Wait what?

“Excuse me?!”

“I asked if you would like to go for coffee. Or tea if you prefer, of course.”

“Caffeine doesn’t work on me, so I would prefer tea actually, or hot chocolate, but that’s not the point- are you asking me on a date?! Last time we talked you threatened to rip me apart!”

“True and you came back here anyway and didn’t try to hurt me or set your mother or your sister on me. You’re the daughter of a firstborn but you attend art classes at a human university and wear a denim jacket with patches and stuts and glitter and you haven’t called me a beast or vermin even once. You’re intriguing and I’d like to get to know you better. Call it a date, if you like, or a call it just a friendly chat between acquaintances”, they smiled, this time almost softly and August knew she would say yes, “or call it nothing at all and decide afterwards what it was. Now I ask again, though slightly amended: Would you like to grab a hot chocolate?”

The night had barely started, and Chelsea wouldn’t mind picking her up later – it wasn’t like it would take her much time after all. And Toby always said she should meet more people.

“Yes” August said, a smile of her own forming on her face, “I think I’d like that. Just one condition”

“And what’s that?”

“We go somewhere run by fae if there is such a place around here. If were gonna get to know each other better, I want to see your actual face”

Zircon smiled.

#october daye #august torquill #fanfiction #nonbinary character #asexual character #yeah i'm a fanfic writer now i guess #lmao two days ago i was still like 'nooo i don't write'#anyway meet Zircon! they're my oc and i love them very much #please let me know what you think?

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clairelutra · 5 years ago

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How about Akirann for Monster/Monster Hunter/Monster Tamer AU?

send me an au for a short fic

full admission that i no longer have any idea what i’m doing

Being a vampire granted Akira a certain kind of immortality that was dead useful for monster hunting, but (perhaps understandably) something he didn’t really want spread around, especially among the clients that hired him to hunt, well. Monsters.

That meant trying to fake the song and dance of being very careful around the siren he’d been hired to put down.

Sirens were a subset of charm-witches, likely but not necessarily humanoid, who sang a deadly song to lure men to their deaths. Truly a terrifying prospect if you didn’t have magical immunity, or so he’d gathered from the the pale faces of the villagers who lived next to the inlet where she resided.

(There’s only been one casualty in the whole time she’d been here, which was making him doubt that this was a siren at all. It could also be a lost mermaid who liked to sing, a lonely river nymph, or even just an average copycat with bad luck. Hell, it could be a human for all the evidence the villagers were willing to part with.

Still. They were paying him. The commission he got would pay for his Phantom Thief guild membership for another year. His pride wasn’t above that.)

All this to say that it was with less trepidation that he maybe should have felt that he tracked the pretty tune that lurked at the edge of the glade down to the water’s edge

The target in question was classically seated naked on a rock, almost definitely a siren, and looking very lonely indeed as she swished her bare toes in the waves.

...Wasn’t he supposed to be immune to charm spells?

All he wanted to do was...

Mmmm, bad line of thought. He shook off the distraction and reached for his silver bullets, quietly loading his gun and cocking it at the siren.

She looked up sharply at the noise, locking slit golden eyes with his own grey, and he waited out that one suspended moment.

(Sirens never failed to surprise, and it had been far too long since he’d had a fight.)

Then she squawked, jumped, and flailed ungracefully until she crashed face first into the water, barely submerged in the shallows.

Akira slowly lowered the gun, bemused.

...Well.

He had said that sirens never failed to surprise.

She just laid there for a second, then lurched up and backwards, shooting one highly alarmed glance in his direction before scrambling behind the rock with a rather unstealthy series of splashes.

“Um, don’t shoot?” she squeaked once hidden.

He’d be honest here; he’d never met a siren who used ‘charmingly inept’ as a seduction tactic.

(It was working, though. He had to give her that.)

“Are you the siren that’s been haunting that village over there?”

“Um...” she said, and peeked around the rock. Her single visible eye had gone from gold to sky blue. “Kiiiind of? I-it’s a long story.”

“I was hired to exterminate you,” he informed her mildly. It was a much less appealing prospect than it had been before he’d heard her speak, but, well. Siren. That was the whole point. “You’ve been luring men to their deaths.”

“Oh, come on!” she snapped. Her head disappeared behind the rock again, this time with a scowl. “It was just one! And he deserved it!”

“Did he?” All the reports he’d heard of Baron Kamoshida had been glowing. Most were horrified and heartbroken that he was gone.

“My best friend. He ruined her. Death was too kind.”

It was spoken in the flat, hard tone of someone who’d run the question over in their mind many times and come to the same conclusion every repetition.

“...Touché.”

She sighed, sounding exhausted, then: “Oh! Maybe you’d know—is there any way to unbecome a siren? He’d already been after me, so charm spells seemed like the best way to get to him, but I didn’t realize I’d transform until after I drowned him.”

The scars Father Shido had left on his neck burned for a moment, then he said, “Afraid not.”

“Darn it.”

It was such a mild response for someone who’d been cursed with immortality that he blinked. Come to think of it, Kamoshida had only turned up as a corpse a couple of years ago, hadn’t he?

“...How old are you, again?”

“Uhh... well, I was sixteen, but it’s been kind of a while since then, y’know? I lost track. Can’t be too much older than that, though.” She paused. “Maybe I’m still sixteen.”

“Baron Kamoshida died two years ago,” he said, deadpan-flat.

“Oh!” A forehead, a pair of bright blue eyes, tangled blonde hair, and several fingers became visible over the top of the rock. “Then I’m eighteen... I think. Is it November yet?”

“Next month.”

“Seventeen,” she amended, then poked her whole head over the rock, apparently having forgot about the gun. “How old are you?”

“Around two hundred,” he said vaguely. Definitely closer to three hundred, but still technically two hundred-something. Probably. He should probably check on that.

“Wow...” Her eyes were wide as saucers.

Seventeen might technically be an adult for a human in these times, but...

Innocent.

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he pulled the trigger here. He wasn’t even entirely sure he’d be able to live with himself if he walked away at all.

(If Sojiro hadn’t picked him up by the scruff and set him on his feet when he’d first been turned...)

He heaved a silent sigh, then started unloading his gun, clapping the bullets into his gloved palm and putting them back in their pouch. That done, he met her gaze and tilted his head in a gesture for her to come over.

She shrank down. “I’m not really dressed for company. Or dressed at all.”

I noticed. It was surprising that she cared about it, though.

...Though. Come to think of it, it would probably make sense that she was a bit body shy, given how new she was to the ‘siren’ business.

He shrugged off his coat and held it out to her, pointedly turning his head away.

It didn’t take much time at all for her to come out from behind the rock, much less warily than he might have expected, one arm clamped over her ample chest and the other absently hiding her crotch.

(In his defense, his peripheral vision was very good and he didn’t look any closer than what he was already seeing.

...Wasn’t his libido supposed to be dead too?)

She covered as much of herself up in his coat as she could, shooting him curious looks as he removed one of his more decorative belts to secure it around her waist.

“Don’t touch the pockets,” he instructed. There was a second part to that, something about there being dangerous things in there, but she was... much more distracting than he was used to dealing with, especially now that she was wearing his coat, and the words slipped away from him.

“So, uh... what are we doing?” she said, chill and curious and sounding like she’d be game for most of it, and suddenly he was very glad that he was the hunter who’d found her.

“Making you my apprentice,” he said, and reached inside his doublet for an empty phial.

“Appre-what?” then, “Meep!” as as he sank one of his fangs into his own wrist and caught the trail of blood in the vessel.

“Apprentice. It’s not good for a young fae to be on their own.” He put a cork in the phial and closed his fist around it—a tracking spell, a protection spell, a minor luck spell, a stealth spell... and that was about as much as he could imbue into an ounce of his own blood. “That’s how monsters are made.”

“Ohh...” she said, watching as he pulled out a cord and secured the charm. “Wait. What?!”

(Expressive. It was... nice.)

He looped the cord around her neck, looping it into a knot and casting another few spells making sure that it couldn’t be used to hurt her and couldn’t be removed until she was strong enough to remove it herself. Stronger than a basic durability spell and made sure she wouldn’t be stuck carrying him around forever if this didn’t work out and he was indisposed.

“They do things they shouldn’t because they don’t know better,” he explained absently. "So I’ll make sure you know better.”

“That’s pretty ominous.”

He shot her a dry look as he let go and gestured for her to follow him. “Don’t touch the shiny rocks. Don’t stand in bright places. Don’t eat anything that can talk.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay? ‘Shiny rocks’...? Is that, like, gemstones, or gold, or— hey wait, where are we going?”

‘Wouldn’t you like to know’ probably wouldn’t be the best thing to say here, would it. He decided on honesty instead: “First clothes, then to register you as my legal charge with the vampire queen, then get you a guild membership, then go take care of a chupacabra infestation in the lower reaches.”

“Chupacabra infe— that sounds kind of important!”

He frowned as he led the way back to the village, trees passing them by in silent vigil. “Does it?”

“Goats are some people’s livelihoods, y’know?” She sounded genuinely upset about this. “How long will the rest of this stuff take?”

“A couple of weeks...?” he said, surprised into seriousness.

“Their goats will all be dead by then!”

...Huh. They would, wouldn’t they.

Akira kept walking through the profound moment of realization that he didn’t spend nearly enough time around humans anymore.

“Okay, how about this: we get me some clothes, and then take care of the chupacabra infestation, and then do the other stuff.”

Innocent, expressive, and conscientious. He found himself half-smiling as he glanced over his shoulder. “Sounds good.”

She let out an ughhhh... of exasperated relief.

Maybe she wasn’t human anymore, but she was only two years out from it, not well over two hundred. Maybe he’d be getting more out of this apprenticeship than he’d thought.

---

They bought clothes from the village and then moved onto the southern reaches, collected chupacabra pelts for the client and then roasted the bodies so Akira could show his new protégé how to draw the life energy she needed out of them.

Then they headed back to the capital, where he had a conversation with the queen. She shouted a lot and then handed him the paperwork (good old Sae), and it was only when he was trying to fill it out that he realized he’d never asked for his new apprentice’s name.

Hm.

Sae didn’t shout at him for that, just gave him one of the most long-suffering looks he’d even seen and let him take the paperwork home.

(Lady Ann Takamaki of Shujin was his new apprentice, apparently—though he better knew her as a child of sunshine who had rapidly established herself as his lifeline.

Innocent, expressive, conscientious, and more human than not. All he had to do was glance at her to get a second opinion on his decisions, and that was coming in even more handy than he’d guessed it would.)

After that, it was a guild membership, then Igor telling him to go get Ann checked in with the sirens too or Philemon would get angry, and it was some point during that long, relentless search for Belladonna that Ann finally asked.

“So... why are you doing all this for me, anyway? What do you get out of it?”

“Company. Help with work. Moral support.”

“...Seriously?” she asked. On anyone else, it would have sounded at least a little bit flat, but with her there was only curiosity to be found. “Moral support?”

“Especially moral support.”

She was doing a stellar job at propping them up for him while he brushed away two hundred-odd years of dust and decay under her guidance.

She flopped back on her inn bed with a groan, a soft fwumph of fabric and a little grunt in her lungs, her scent swirling in little eddies around the room. “Well. You do you, I guess. Going to bed yet?”

“In a bit,” he said, instead of only if you join me, because he was pretty sure that would earn him a weird look that said he’d misstepped yet again.

He was learning!

“Okay,” she said, then yawned. “‘Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Silence, except for the rustling of bedclothes and mattress while Ann got comfortable, and then:

“And hey, Akira?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. You really saved me. Literally.”

He glanced sideways, just enough to catch her soft smile amid a pool of blankets and blonde curls, and couldn’t help a little sigh. “...My pleasure.”

#shuann #renann #akirann #persona 5 #p5 #my fic #anon

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crownvetch92 · 4 years ago

Text

Light Eternal Chapter 4

Caeweth awoke to the sound of her sister Ingle babbling. Bright golden eyes staring directly into hers. Caeweth groaned, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“What’s the matter little sister,” Caeweth whispered, “Can’t sleep?”

“S-s-sis,” Ingle stammered clumsily.

Ingle proceeded to nuzzle little Caeweth, sniffing at one particular spot on her chest, curiosity leading her to poke at it with her sharp claw.

“Ow, Hey!” Caeweth loudly whispered, “That… actually hurt.”

Caeweth looked down to see a section of skin on her chest, no bigger than her palm, was glowing blue. The lump was hard, like a stone, and sat firmly against her sternum.

Before long her other two sisters awoke, babbling curiously. Caeweth grabbed a blanket, trying to keep the glow a secret as she quietly snuck to the natural spring, Ingle, Frasil, and Levin in tow. The glow became brighter and a dull pain began to throb in her chest. With a bright flash of blue light, the object emerged, much to the amazement of her dragon sisters. It was a stone, a round, smooth, dark blue colored stone embedded in her chest.

Taloned feet clicked on the cave floor behind the children.

“Vell I’ll be,” Estelle’s voice echoed in the cave chamber, “I never thought I vould ever see an emergence, let alone von so spectacular.”

Caeweth gulped and turned around, fully expecting to be in trouble.

“Don’t vorry, you are not in trouble,” Estelle cooed, “Now let me see.”

Estelle closely inspected the round stone.

“What is it?” Caeweth asked nervously.

“Your heart stone. All night fae possess one, and it looks like yours is a blue moonstone. See how it flashes?”

Caeweth looked at her reflection in the calm waters of the spring. It did indeed flash brighter shades of blue when she moved. Her sisters cooed in amazement. Caeweth felt a surge of excitement.

“Does that mean I will get my powers soon?”

“Sveety, I don’t really know… Maybe?” Estelle answered, “All ze Night fae I have met are so secretive about their childhood, it is hard for me to say.”

“So these other Night Fae, what are they like?” Caeweth asked as Estelle ushered her and her sisters back to the nest, “Do they all have moonstones as their heart stones?”

“Zey are quiet folk,” Estelle answered, “I have not spoken to very many. Now back to sleep, growing children need their rest.”

Caeweth’s mind was buzzing with thoughts about what just happened. It was all so sudden, that ‘emergence’ Estelle mentioned. What did it mean? What is a heart stone? How many other Night Fae are there?

She tossed and turned for what seemed like forever, until her eyes felt heavy, and the veil of sleep descended once again.

Meanwhile, in the deepest part of the Forest of Eternal Night, a disturbingly handsome Night Fae gazed deeply into a crystal ball. His midnight hair hung in a blue colored braid over his shoulder. He wore an ornate blue and gold spider silk tunic with a deep V neck, revealing his shining green moonstone, and blue silk breeches.

“Whither art thou?” He muttered, orange eyes intensely gazing into the crystals smooth surface, “Emergling fairy…”

He tried to locate where the epicenter of the magic surge was. He sat in a small room lined to the brim with books. He waved his pale hand over the clear crystal’s surface. He muttered to himself, deep in thought, flicking his translucent, lacy, white wings.

“Darling,” came a sweet sultry voice from the doorway, causing him to lose focus, “Castor, you’ve been at this for hours, Surely you can take a break and have a little fun.”

“Ariadne please,” Castor replied, “This is important.”

“What’s so important that you spend all day locked in a musty old room without little me?” Ariadne pouted, flicking her sunset colored hair.

She wore an especially revealing pink silk dress that emphasized her ample chest, while the peach moonstone on her sternum glimmered pleasingly in the candle light.

“A Night Fae emergence was felt outside the Child Garden,” He replied flatly, “We need to find them before anything else does. Their chances of survival sink lower every minute they remain outside our village walls.”

“Well they survived this long, they can wait a little longer. Why don’t you take a little break with me?” she purred, her voice dripping with desire as she flicked her pink and yellow wings.

“With all due respects, my Queen, this emergling fae might not survive another hour, we really should…” his voice trailed off as Ariadne’s lips met with his.

Oh how he loved Ariadne’s sweet kisses, so soft and warm. Yet, he often felt torn between serving his beautiful queen’s desires, and his loyalty to his own kind. He adored her, he truly did, but her self centered demands became overwhelmingly oppressive, and all of her requests for lovemaking became too much for him to bear. Not one night fae in the village, or even the kingdom, seemed happy at all with her constant demands.

“Well now,” Ariadne purred, “How do you feel?”

The crystal ball glowed brightly, revealing a second, weaker surge of power.

Thank the All Mother, He thought to himself.

“My lady,” Castor said quietly, “I really must find this night fae…”

The disappointment in Ariadne’s deep blue eyes was palpable.

“We will make love once I return, I promise.” He said before shapeshifting into a small, fluffy Scops owl before flying out the window.

“You better keep that promise!” She shouted angrily, stomping her fine pink slippers on the floor before crossing her arms and pouting, “What could be more important than serving your queen?!”

“Serving my people, keeping them safe…” He muttered under his breath.

He flew through the forest, happy to take some time for himself. He barely had a moment alone with her constant need for attention. He sighed, happy to be free… at least for the moment. He soared past patches of brightly glowing flowers, giant translucent glowing mushrooms, and patches of pale yellow glow moss. Before long, he arrived at the mouth of a cave. located at the end of shallow ravine. Glowing white flowers hung down from their vines along the sides of the cave entrance. He perched on a nearby branch, well hidden from anybody exiting the cave. He did not have to wait long before a 6 foot tall brown bat walked out, furiously rubbing her eyes with her spindly clawed hands, a small night fae child trailing close behind her.

“Vell zat vas… interesting,” Estelle said, “Ve really need to verk on your magic. Zat spell nearly blinded everyvon in ze cave.”

“I said I was sorry,” Caeweth said, rubbing her own eyes, “I didn’t think those orbs of light would explode like that.”

“Do not be sorry my little Caeveth,” Estelle reassured her, “I remember my first shape shift did not go vell at all.”

“What happened?”

“Sink of a lump of pitch black slime vith a mouth full of jagged sharp teeth… and too many eyes.”

“Oh…”

“Vas not a pretty sight, I assure you.”

Caeweth laughed merrily, a sound Castor had not heard years, at least not from anybody besides Ariadne. He peeked around the tree trunk as three little whelping dragons bounded out of the cave. Frasil happy tackled little Caeweth to the ground, causing Caeweth to yelp in surprise. The two tumbled around, roughhousing and wrestling playfully under Estelle’s watchful gaze. They all looked… happy… genuinely happy.

He felt torn: Yes the forest was dangerous for a small Night Fae child, but she looked completely happy and healthy, playing around with the whelping dragons. It was clear she was well taken care of by someone, and would be devastated if she was ripped from their caring arms.

On the other hand, the village would provide better protection against the beasts that prowled the forest floor. He could also find a mentor to help with her emerging magic. Controlling magic was often difficult for young Night Fae, and she could get a proper education. He sighed, unsure of how to proceed. He unknowingly clacked his beak in frustration, drawing Estelle’s attention.

Estelle’s ears twitched. She sniffed the air, there was somebody, or something beyond her sight. It didn’t smell of decay and dirt like a grave dog would, or of rancid blood like a skin walker, or of icy winds like a wendigo. She heard the clacking again. She followed the direction of the noise to find an owl.

“Who are you?” She snarled, spooking castor, “Vy are you here?”

Castor gulped. Although shapeshifting mega bats were generally peaceful, they were very protective of their family units.

“A-Apologies ma’am,�� Castor stammered, “I was just…”

“Leaving,” Estelle hissed, baring her sharp teeth.

“N-no,” Castor gulped, “Not until I know this little night fae is safe.”

“She is, now leave.”

“Estelle?” Caeweth surprised both Estelle and Castor, “What are you doing?”

“Adult talk my little sveety,” Estelle cooed, “Now go back to your sisters.”

“They are already here.”

The three little dragon whelps had followed Caeweth, peeking over her shoulder. Caeweth looked at the fluffy scops owl. Something looked vaguely familiar. There was a slight green glow from beneath his feathers, barely noticeable to anybody else. She approached Castor, at the behest of Estelle, and parted the feathers on the bird’s chest. Castor recoiled, nearly falling off the low branch.

“A moonstone?” Caeweth asked, “Estelle, I thought you said only night fae had them.”

“Vat are you?” Estelle growled, “Vy are you so interested in Caeveth?”

Castor tried to fly away, only to be hit with a cloud of smoke belched by Ingle, forcing him to land. He sputtered and coughed, reverting to his Night Fae form.

“You are a Night Fae!” Caeweth exclaimed, “Just like me!”

“Clearly,” Estelle grumbled, pinning Castor to the ground with her clawed hand, “Vat is the meaning of this? Vy are you here?”

“I told you before,” Castor replied, “I was here to check on the little Night Fae… Caeweth was it? I just needed to know she was safe!”

“You ver here to take my little Caeveth away, vern’t you?”

“No!” Castor exclaimed, “I saw how happy she was, I believe she belongs here…”

“Vat…”

“I said she belongs here…”

Estelle removed her hand from Castor’s chest, much to his relief.

“You better not be lying,” Estelle snarled.

“No,” Castor said, “I won’t take her away, I swear.”

Castor got up to his feet, dusting himself off. He looked at Caeweth, who was hiding behind Estelle’s leg. An idea had formed in his mind: With Caeweth’s magic emerging, she would have quite a bit of trouble learning to control it without proper instruction. He could teach her about her own abilities, and let her stay with her little family. It would be difficult splitting his duties even further, but this little Night Fae needed his help.

“How about this?” He said to Estelle, “I could teach little Caeweth about Night Fae magic, and she can stay here. How about that?”

Estelle looked from Castor to Caeweth, and back again. She thought about what she had said to Caeweth earlier, about not knowing how Night Fae magic worked. She snorted in frustration, while watching the little dragons try to play with this stranger.

“Maybe it could work?” Caeweth said, breaking the silence, “I want to learn more about my own kind, and he said I don’t have to leave.”

“Alvight,” Estelle relented, “I agree.”

“Then it is settled,” Castor nodded before kneeling down before little Caeweth, “I will teach you all you need to know about your own kind, and your special powers. My name is Castor.”

He patted little Caeweth’s head, “I will see you soon.”

Castor shifted to his owl form quickly, and flew off into the stygian darkness. He mulled over his idea several times… What if Ariadne found out? What if his lessons failed? What if Caeweth advanced too quickly? He landed in the same room from before, morphed back to his Night Fae self, and closed the window. He winced as he heard Ariadne’s unstable footsteps approaching the door.

“What took you so looong,” she drunkenly whined as she slammed the door open, “I got sooooo lonely without you.”

Ariadne smelled of alcohol, and appeared visibly inebriated.

“It wasn’t that long,” Castor sighed, “Come, you must be exhausted.”

“I’m not tired,” she slurred, “You still owe *hic* me that promise.”

Castor escorted his drunken queen to her lavishly decorated bed chambers, where she clumsily stumbled and subsequently tripped, landing face first into her own plush bed. She had passed out as soon as her face landed in the spider silk blankets, snoring loudly.

“Looks like that promise will have to wait,” He chuckled as he slipped into bed next to her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, “Good night, my queen.”

#fairy #dark fairytale #fairytale #owl #bat #dragon #moonstone #blue #blue moonstone #night #night fae #fairy child #shapeshifter

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years ago

Text

kidnap my heart (ransom my soul)

Based off @homemadesterekpie’s post (also on ao3)

Getting kidnapped was never fun. But it was something that Derek had eventually gotten used to.

No matter how perfect his memory, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't have been able to count how many times he had gotten kidnapped. It was just a part of his life as an alpha.

He had been kidnapped by hunters and werewolf poachers who either wanted to torture him for information on the rest of the pack or force him into his full shift so they could skin him alive for his pelt. Then there were the hunters that just wanted to terrorize him for the fun of it.

He had been kidnapped by other werewolves, other alphas who wanted to usurp him and take over the highly sought after territory that had belonged to his family since before time was a concept. There had even been one alpha who had kidnapped him in a bid to get him to mate her daughter.

He had been kidnapped by fairies and pixies that reveled in the idea that they could overtake Hale territory in the name of the fae folk. It had been a useless endeavor but they had persisted nonetheless.

He had been kidnapped by witches who had wanted to use his blood for old sorts of dark magic. And he had been kidnapped by other darachs who sought to harness his alpha spark for themselves.

There had been countless other creatures that had kidnapped him — vampires, sirens, dragons, even a kelpie — but he had always escaped. With a few scrapes and bruises that would quickly heal, but he escaped all the same.

It was different with hunters.

With hunters, he genuinely had to worry about whether or not they would actually kill him. While other creatures might hesitate at killing, or even just seriously harming, an alpha werewolf who was so connected to the land he could practically predict when the leaves would start to change, hunters had no such qualms.

All they wanted to do was inflict as much pain and agony and traumatizing torment as possible. Until he was begging them for death, begging them to just put him out of his misery.

And they would. In a rare show of mercy, they would kill him. But it wouldn't be quick or painless. No, hunters were never that kind.

They would draw the death out. However they could.

Werewolves could still die of dehydration. It just took a little longer. And the hunters wouldn't mind waiting.

Mistletoe extract was much more than an essential oil used for homeopathic treatments. When injected into a werewolf's bloodstream it acted like a poison, a slow one that felt like fire coursing through veins like a deadly flood.

Knives dipped in mountain ash wine could be used for dismemberment. That way no limbs would heal, nothing would grow back.

It was both fascinating and horrifying how creative hunters could be when scheming up new ways to torture and slaughter werewolves. Human cruelty would never cease to amaze him.

Not after decades of suffering at the hands of humans, of hunters. Not after he was manipulated into being an unwitting accomplice in the murder of his family.

Not after being seduced by a woman twice his age who had charmed her way into his bed and his heart with pretty smiles and sugary sweet lies. Not after being accused of his own sister's murder by humans who had no idea what he was, only who he was.

Not after the pack he had formed out of desperation and howling loneliness had been hunted down by the very same family of hunters that had taken everything from him when he was only seventeen years old. Not after his attempt at living a life with some semblance of normalcy had been shattered into pieces.

And especially not now. Not after they had dragged Stiles into it.

Apparently, Chris Argent, who Derek had been keeping an eye on despite his many assurances that he had put his days of werewolf hunting behind him, still had a few surviving family members. Family members who just so happened to be hunters.

And lo and behold, they had decided to vacation in Beacon Hills for the fall. Of course, Derek hadn't known about any of it until he had already been knocked out by a cloud of wolfsbane and dragged off to some abandoned warehouse.

Hadn't known until he had already been chained up to an electrified fence that was pumped full of enough voltage to kill a whole herd of elephants. Until he had already been viciously shocked for hours on end in hopes that he would reveal where the other members of the pack were.

Derek had never been so grateful that most of the betas had decided to attend college out of town. He had reminded himself of that every time the damn Argents turned on the generator.

He had tried to focus on thoughts of Erica's smile as she laughed at something sarcastic Boyd had said as the hunters gouged him with blades dipped in mountain ash. Had pictured Isaac's head of golden curls and Peter's rare moments of tolerability as he was doused in yellow wolfsbane that made his skin burn like it was on fire.

But the thought that got him through the worst of the torture was Stiles.

Stiles' warm brown eyes that sparkled whenever he made a particularly clever joke. Stiles' perpetually messy hair that couldn't be tamed by all the hair gel in the world.

The constellations of moles on his pale cheeks and down the column of his back. The perfect Cupid's bow of Stiles' pink lips.

The wild way he gesticulated with every inch of his body. The way he quoted Star Wars whenever humanly possible.

The colorful flurry of flannels and ironic t-shirts he always wore. The bright highlighters he gnawed on when he studied at the loft.

It was those thoughts, thoughts of Stiles, that got him through the most agonizing forms of torture. From when they ripped off his claws, one by one by one, to when they drowned him in pools of mistletoe oil.

All that he could deal with. It was nothing new, not really.

But then they crossed the line and one of those bastard Argents dragged someone else into the room. Someone who kicked and screamed and cursed and quipped despite the blood in his mouth.

Someone who earned himself a harsh punch when he bit the hand of one his captors. Someone who screeched out profanities in English, Polish, and the broken Spanish that one learns in high school.

Someone in a ripped flannel and bloody Deadpool t-shirt. Someone with a bloody split in the Cupid's bow of their lip. Someone with messy hair matted with blood.

Someone who the hunters chained to a post so they could torture him, too. So they could burn him with blow torches and break his fingers and his toes.

It went on for days. The torture. The hellish agony that had become both of their lives.

Their only peace was when the hunters got bored of dragging blades across their skin and firing rounds dangerously close to their heads just to scare them. When the hunters left for a few hours to eat and sleep and shit.

Derek tried to use those hours to sleep, to let his body focus on healing. But Stiles, poor Stiles, with the pain receptors of a human and a sore lack of supernatural healing abilities used the time to finally cry.

He tried so hard to be quiet, biting his bruised and bloody lip to keep his sobs in, but Derek could always hear him. Could always hear the desperation, the hopelessness in every hiccup, in every shaky breath.

It was only marginally better than when they actually tortured Stiles.

Because it was then that Derek would have given anything to be deaf. To not have to hear the anguished cries from the boy he loved as the hunters beat him bloody while demanding information.

It was during those moments when he raged against his constraints, when he tried to yank himself off the electrified fence and slither out of the coils of barbed wire they had curled around him. When he tried to rip his chains from the wall so he could kill every last one of the hunters.

He was nearly feral with it, the need to protect Stiles, to rush to his side and free him from any harm. It was the age-old instinct of an alpha protecting its emissary, its mate.

But the hunters didn't know that. They didn't know the stories that had been passed down from alpha to alpha, generation to generation. They didn't know about werewolves. Not really.

Sure, they knew the basics: big teeth, pointy claws, shifts influenced by the moon. And, yes, they knew how to torture and bribe and kill. But they didn't know werewolves.

They didn't know the story of the wolf that fell in love with the moon and serenaded her each and every night with a song so sorrowful the moon eventually took pity on the poor wolf and gave it the gift of walking upright. All the better to reach out to its unattainable love.

They didn't know about the bond between alphas and emissaries, of the shared touch of magic in both. Or how that magic could easily turn deadly if necessary.

And they had no clue about mates. None.

They didn't know about the madness that could overtake a wolf if their mate was threatened, if their mate was hurt. They didn't know about the righteous rage that gave Derek the extra strength to free himself from his restraints.

He had deep lacerations around his midsection, fragments of steel lodged in his gut, but the pain didn't register for a second. None of it.

Not the wolfsbane filled gunshot wound in his chest or the gash in his forehead. Not the fatigue that came with days of captivity and starvation or the lethargy from the poison coursing through his veins.

All he cared about was getting to Stiles, getting to his emissary, his mate. About decimating whatever stood in his way.

It was over in just a few seconds. For all their guns and wolfsbane and mountain ash, all of the hunters ended up the same way: piles of blood and butchered flesh strewn around the warehouse.

The coppery stench of blood hung heavy in the air but Derek couldn't smell it. He could only smell Stiles' distress, his pain.

Whining high in his throat, fueled by adrenaline, Derek had carefully scooped up Stiles in his arms. The aimless wandering through the warehouse sapped the rest of his strength.

Barely two seconds after Derek managed to lug Stiles out of the warehouse and into the cool air of the night, he collapsed. The last thing he saw was the full moon hanging overhead, a silent sentinel as he cradled Stiles to his chest.

He woke up what seemed like years later, emerging from the dark blanket of unconsciousness into the golden sunshine pouring in from the floor to ceiling windows in the loft.

He was in his bed, the downstairs one that he had been using less and less. The sheets were warm yet cold at the same time as he gradually grew more aware of his surroundings.

There was a stabbing pain in his midsection and a full body ache plagued every inch of him. He reluctantly opened his to stare up at the high ceiling, at the rafters where a pigeon had been nesting when he first moved in.

He could hear people breathing, the several distinctive heartbeat patterns informing him that his betas were around. It was a comforting sound, their heart rates calm and unhurried, assuring him that there was no present danger.

But then he realized that there was a heartbeat that was missing. The familiar jackrabbiting pound of Stiles' heartbeat was nowhere to be found.

Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, despite the vertigo, he abruptly sat up, frantically looking around for Stiles. But he couldn't find him.

"Derek?!" A vaguely familiar voice called but it was lost in the fog that was quickly clouding his rational thoughts. "Guys, he's up!"

In a moment all of his betas were by his bedside, worried expressions plastered on their faces. Even Peter looked genuinely concerned.

"Where's Stiles?!" Derek growled at them, his eyes flaring red as he continued searching the room for his missing mate. He could feel his fangs elongating, his claws lengthening as a lethal mixture of protectiveness and worry overwhelmed him.

So caught up in the whirlwind of emotion, he reached out to grab Peter by the front of his V neck. He tugged his uncle close as he snarled, "Where. Is. He?"

"He's upstairs!" Erica snapped, moving forward. She pointed a manicured, red painted nail at the spiral staircase on the other side of the loft.

Releasing Peter who reeled back with an exasperated sigh, Derek leapt from his bed, ignoring his aching limbs. The climb upstairs was agonizing but it was worth once Stiles came into view.

He was lying in Derek's bed, bandaged and draped in a warm blanket. There was an IV in his arm, pumping him full of fluids.

In a chair by the foot of the bed, the Sheriff was snoring softly. He was frowning, even in his sleep.

Stiles was awake, trailing his eyes over the wall until his gaze landed on Derek. He smiled as much as he could without jostling his broken nose, croaking, "Hey, Derek."

Derek could only whine as he slowly crossed the room to climb onto the foot of the bed. He ducked his head in apology, baring his neck.

The sight of Stiles was horrible, a reminder of how much Derek had failed him. Of course, Stiles didn't see it that way, quipping, "You should see the other guy. Well, actually you already did. Right before you ripped his throat out. It was kinda hot."

Ignoring Stiles' witty comment, Derek plopped down beside him, burying his face against the side of Stiles' chest. With a soft smile, Stiles curled his arm around Derek's shoulders, running a hand up and down the alpha's back, "It's okay, Der. I've gotcha and I'm not letting you go. Never."

The sound Derek let out was more of a purr than anything else. Not that anyone could blame him. He had found his moon and he would be damned if anyone took that from him.

#vanessa #vanessa tag #sterek #sterek fic #violence #torture #angst #angst with a happy ending #mates #feral behavior #animalistic derek #hunters #canon divergent #post season 3 #my fic #fic

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webwingalpha · 7 years ago

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[The Sun General]

Sunburst is the Light Ambassador of the Empire, and also one of the highest ranked fighters in the Empire. In fact, other than the leaders, he is technically the highest ranked fighter. He doesn’t get involved in the smaller things the militia deals with, not usually unless something dangerous is there, but in larger-scaled battles outside of the city, whether outside of the clan or in one of the towns bordering the city... you can be sure to see him around, flying above or in front (or both) of the rest of the fighters, leading them and providing motivation/morale and orders for them to follow. It’s not rare, in fights like that, to see him fighting alongside Johnson, the militia commander, in either the air or ground. He prefers the air, being a Skydancer, but he’s just as good with fighting on the ground when needed. He’s also a council member, though he only goes to the fighting/war related council meetings, since he doesn’t feel he’s needed for any of the others.

He uses his claws and rapier more often in battles than his magic, though his magic is quite powerful and dangerous. He prefers the thrill of being within the fray instead of being outside of it using magic, which explains his preference for physical combat, but he has no problems using magic while fighting physically, imbuing his rapier and claws with temporary light magic to help take down his enemies. He has however, yes, used his magic alone and not on a blade, though it tends to be during more dangerous/nasty battles. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of his pure magic, oh no, for it can do some very nasty damage. After all, he is related to the Lightweaver much like Akaash, but unlike Akaash, he’s a few generations diluted, so he’s not as powerful as the older Fae (but both are immortal).

Before his joining the Empire, he was the general of a large light clan, one well-known for their army and prowess in battle. He loved that job, he loved the clan, but everything changed when the Emperor attacked. They were targeted by a large powerful Emperor dragon, the source and now current whereabouts unknown, and the clan was easily ripped apart and ruined by the great beast. Sunburst was one of the few survivors, though he doesn’t know where the other survivors are, now. He was toyed with and locked up for a while before he was eventually freed, by a female Skydancer who referred to herself as Reincarnation, who managed to burn off the shackles that bound him down. It was through her that he found the Empire before it had reached that status, and it's where he plans on staying for probably the rest of his life (or the end of the Empire, but it’s unlikely that anything would be able to tear it down within the next few centuries for sure), being glad he found a new home. He was appointed a high-ranked fighter pretty fast; the leaders finding potential and seeing power (and Reincarnation helped). He doesn’t speak of the time he was shackled for years, though the golden chain markings (scars actually, caused by the magic on the shackles) on his neck will always be there to remind him of that time. Scars that make his whole neck sensitive to touch, especially around where they reside. It’s also suspected that his Thylacine markings are scars as well, but it hasn’t been confirmed.

The darker orange areas on his wings and feathers are actually markings, while the golden marks on his face and each hip are actually magical tattoos he decided to get, which provide some magical protection to him, though not much and it doesn’t shield him completely. It was also found out that Silk, a younger Skydancer who had been in the clan for longer, was related to Sunburst, though through the side without the deity blood, so unlike Sunburst, Silk is not a demigod.

He is intimidating and regal, his form resonating a bit of power that tends to leave him unbothered by most when he’s out and about, power that makes him stick out and noticed. He doesn’t seem to mind, usually, though sometimes he wish he didn’t get as much attention as he does. Then again, he does take advantage of it sometimes, usually in confrontations and battle. He appears to be slimmer and more elegant than the average Skydancer, which also tends to hide the physical strength he has. He doesn’t look as strong as he actually is, by a long shot.

There’s not usually much emotion flickering across his face and eyes, him not being the emotional sort. He tends to be emotionally distant and quiet, especially in formal situations, though it’s hard to get him to loosen/cheer up in other situations as well. He’s a good leader, and even though he doesn’t really show much in the way of outside emotion, he does resonate some charisma that helps him lead others on in battle. Enough that others feel compelled to listen to him to a point, enough that he has managed to make a couple battles turn when he gave out the right orders/did the right actions. It doesn’t always work though, as proven by the big battle he lost. It’s rare to get him to smile or show genuine humor, since he is a pretty serious fellow, though it has happened more than once. He is distrusting, and it has been proven hard to get him to open up, but some individuals, such as Reincarnation, has managed to get it to happen. It’s just difficult, but not impossible. Also he’s honorable and loyal, and is likely never to break a promise or betray anyone, unless he finds very good reasons behind it.

He’s out and about in the city a fair bit when he’s not busy with his duties (including the duties he does as the clan’s Light Ambassador, which does make it so he’s gone a fair bit), though he tends not to interact much with strangers unless they need help or he’s ordering something. He doesn’t turn down a being in need, even if the situation’s not what it looks like, and has helped many dragons in actual distress from one thing or another. He doesn’t talk much, and is definitely not chatty unless he’s around the right individuals, such as Reincarnation, Akaash, and yes, Silk (though he does find Silk a bit annoying at times, and isn’t fond of the fact he’s a thief of sorts). He’s generally respected, and rarely confronted negatively not in battle.

#The Great Iron-Forged Empire #we the iron-forged #l: Sunburst #lore post!#flight rising #fr #my dragons #fr dragon share #dragon share #this is retconned by the way!!#I changed his character quite a bit

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myth-lord · 8 years ago

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CREATURES FROM MYTHIKA: C

CACTUS CAT (American Lumberjack Myth)(Plant/Beast)(Small/Medium)(Best Stat: Defense): Bizarre desert plants that became mobile after million years of evolution and become much like beast predators. Cacti Cat resemble small lynxes made entirely from cacti, larger variants are also known to exist and they add in feral weapons such as a dangerous hard head which they use to ram their prey and normal cacti with, they also grow a ball-like cacti on the end of their tails which they also use in battle. Cactus Cats feed on moisture and are very territorial, they also feed on blood and this makes them fierce enemies of the Chupacabra.

CAGN (African Myth)(Beast/Vermin)(Large)(Best Stat: Stealth): Mantis creatures the size of an Elephant, Cagn are named after a long lost God which created the first Mantis creatures on the planet. Cagn are very hostile creatures and eat everything they can catch with their enormous scythe-like arms. Cagn perfectly blend in with the landscape making them hard to spot for their prey. They prefer other magical vermin over other prey and for this reason some daring Warlocks use them as guardians in their magical gardens to get rid of pesky vermin.

CALEUCHE (Chilean Myth)(Construct/Possessed Object)(Gargantuan)(Best Stat: Speed): Pirate ships cursed by Davy Jones to endlessly sail the open oceans as Ghost Ships. Caleuche sail the oceans without a living crew and all the crew they have are ghosts which they use for assault only as it sails on its own, sometimes these constructs work together with powerful Draugh Captains, but it is mostly the Caleuche that is in control.

CAMAZOTZ (Mayan Myth)(Beast)(Medium/Large)(Best Stat: Speed): Intelligent, giant bat horrors that stalk the jungles and caves at night. Camazotz often work together with Nagual which enrich the bat’s bodies with all type of ritualistic runes and charms which give them special powers. Camazotz can control all other bat-like creatures they see with their sonar waves and you rarely fight one of these Bat “Gods’ alone. It is said that when a victim is bitten and escapes a Camazotz attack, the victim will eventually turn into a new Camazotz.

CARBUNCLE (South American Myth)(Fae/Beast/Chimerae)(Small)(Best Stat: Charisma): Cute looking fae beasts which share parts of rabbits, mice and armadillo’s. Carbuncles have beautiful rare gemstones growing on their forehead and these induce greed into any creature that sees it. Carbuncles can control minor emotions in their prey and feed on those emotions like a vampire feeds on blood, evil Carbuncle feed on negative emotions while gentle Carbuncles feed on happy emotions. Killing an Carbuncle and taking its Gemstone will give the wielder the ability to control minor emotions for a few hours before the gemstone turns to dust.

CASPILLY (Persian Myth)(Beast/Fish)(Large)(Best Stat: Defense): Enormous, monstrous lionfish creatures that stalk the reefs and oceans of the world, they have a long, thin unicorn-like horn on their heads which they use to impale whales and other sea creatures with so they can feast on the organs that bleed out. The poison in these fish spine-like fins is extremely potent and lethal causing victims to wither in pain before they die, the poison is said to even be lethal to ghosts and spirits.

CATOBLEPAS (Medieval European Myth)(Beast)(Large)(Best Stat: Strength): Monstrous bovine-like creatures that live in deep unpleasant swamps, they thrive in ugly, deadly and poisonous environment as few of their predators can stalk them there. Catoblepas eat poisonous plants, small poisonous creatures and other poisonous edibles to enhance their own poisonous gas which they can breathe out at their enemies and prey, elder Catoblepas have parts of their skulls visible as the violent poisonous gas even eats away at their own flesh. Vish Kanya are known to keep Catoblepas like cattle for their poisonous milk.

CENTAUR (Greek Myth)(Fae/Elf/Centaurid)(Large)(Best Stat: Speed): Peculiar creatures that are closely related to elves and have strong ties with wild natural magic. There are countless types of centaurs and while they are all called the same there are also centaurs with the lower bodies of giraffe, antelopes, stags, deer and other herbivorous beasts, but most common are the horse-bodied centaurs. Female centaurs are known as Anggitay and they are addicted to all types of gemstones and often form bandit bands to rob caravans from their treasures, while male centaurs form bands on the savannah or fields and live barbaric lives.

CERASTES (Medieval European Myth)(Beast/Reptilian)(Large)(Best Stat: Stealth): Very flexible sand snakes which hide and slide underneath the sands to stalk their prey, they use their rattle and four horns on their skull to get their prey’s attention, luring them into an ambush. Their poison turns victims extremely thirsty, so thirsty that when without water they slice open their own wrists and drink their own blood. Elder Cerastes are sometimes called Vritra and they bring aura’s which cause extreme drought.

CERBERUS (Greek Myth)(Demon/Beast)(Huge)(Best Stat: Strength): Very powerful hellhounds with three rabid heads. Cerberi are the ultimate guard dogs but they only serve evil creatures such as demons, they hate good alignment creatures and destroy them on sight. Elder Cerberi seem to lack a skin and their skinless bodies leak poisonous blood at all time. When teeth of an Cerberi fall to the ground they turn into Spartoi Skeletons that fight for the Cerberus until destroyed. As the ultimate guards the Cerberus block out teleport abilities so fleeing sometimes isn’t an option.

CHARYBDIS (Greek Myth)(Aberration)(Huge)(Best Stat: Defense): Truly horrifying sea aberrations which creation is a mystery to most living creatures, they are probably the creation of an ancient Scylla or a long lost sea deity. While very huge the Charybdis rarely shows itself to its victims, preferring to attack ships from below or with their whirlpool powers and feast on the morsels that hit the water after they destroyed the ship. A Charybdis looks like a giant mutant sea isopod with powerful carapace which few harpoons can pierce and their maws are much like a lamprey, they use magic and their maws to create magical whirlpools with. Charybdis sometimes gather around a Scylla for some unknown reasons.

CHERUFE (Mapuche Myth)(Elemental)(Huge)(Best Stat: Defense): Said to be the will, mobility and voice of a living volcano these magma elementals demand sacrifices from close villages or cities, when their demands are not met in time they use their awesome abilities to cause minor eruptions. Cherufe can only be killed while they are outside lava, inside it they are practically invincible.

CHIMERA (Greek Myth)(Beast/Chimerae/Dragon)(Large)(Best Stat: Strength): Chimera were the very first breed of Chimerae that walked the earth, all chimerae species were created by Deities, Gods or worse. They are still one of the most powerful of the chimerae and their three heads (goat, lion, serpent) spread fear and chaos on the battlefield. The lion-like head will release roars which cause havoc, the goat-like head is extremely powerful and can burst through most walls with ease and the serpent-like tail-head can breathe poisonous flames onto its enemies. While Chimera are omnivorous they prefer meat and the lion-head seems to be the dominant head.

CHON CHON (Mapuche Myth)(Undead/Aberration)(Tiny)(Best Stat: Speed): Creatures born by a cruel curse, Chon Chon appear to be severed heads which ears turned into bat wings and which teeth turned into vile fangs. Chon Chon fly around in large swarms and drain creatures they find of all their blood. When they completely drained a person the victims head will tear itself from the body and becomes a new member of the swarm.

CHOUKESHIN SWARM (Japanese Myth)(Beast/Vermin/Fae/Swarm)(Tiny)(Best Stat: Charisma): Stunning and beautiful swarms of colorful, life-drinking butterflies. Choukeshin Swarms are created when a beautiful fae creature dies in pure agony and lots of ordinary butterflies live nearby, the butterflies gather around the corpse and macabre forces turn the butterflies into life-drinking horrors that attack any living creature in sight.

CHRYSAOR (Greek Myth)(Humanoid/Beast)(Medium)(Best Stat: Defense): These boarmen are extremely greedy, ugly, envious and gluttonous, they crave wealth and status and everything they do is a competition to prove themselves better than other Chrysaor. They serve demon lords and Sinlords as commanders of armies, and their golden swords and whip-weapons make sure their minions follow their every command in battle or war. The first of these ugly creatures were spawn from the blood of a ugly long-forgotten deity, (Medusa in the myth, but not in Mythika) and when their own blood falls to the ground, swarms of golden scorpions will spawn from the blood, attacking anything they encounter. When you kill a Chrysaor, its vile heart will mutate into a large golden Scorpios monster that burst from the corpse and attacks the killer with a burning vengeance. The most powerful Chrysaor are fully glad in golden armor.

CHUPACABRA (Mexican Myth)(Aberration/Alien/Beast)(Small)(Best Stat: Speed): Chupacabra are blood-addicts and disease-batteries, each time they drink diseased blood they absorb the disease and spread it further with their bites, elder Winged Chupacabra have numerous diseases in their drool and while people often survive their attacks they will die later on one of the many diseases they received from the attack. Chupacabra are covered in spines and when solitary they only attack pets like cats, dogs and especially goats and livestock which gave them their name. When hunting in groups however, they attack much bigger prey such as horses, humans and their most hated enemies the Cactus Cats.

CODRILLE (French Myth)(Dragon)(Huge)(Best Stat: Strength): Also known as Plague Dragons or Blight Wyrms, Codrille are living creatures but their diseased appearance makes many creatures think they deal with an Undead Dragon as their sick flesh appears undead. Their breath weapon spreads the most horrid of diseases and it is said that an advanced Codrille is used by the Horseman of Pestilence as flying mount.

COLOROBETCH (Belgian Myth)(Aberration/Bird)(Large)(Best Stat: Defense): Terrors of the frozen lands, these icy bird aberrations love pecking at cold flesh, they feed on frozen victims only. Their humanoid faces are very misplaced and so it is believed they were cursed, created or otherwise malformed. Ice shards grow randomly from their cold featherless bodies as if they pierced their way out of the flesh in some horrid manner. Colorobetch are kept by the Snow Queen and fed with frozen victims often, they became loyal to her and will fight to the death protecting her.

CON RIT (Vietnamese Myth)(Beast/Vermin)(Large)(Best Stat: Defense): An early-game sea enemy, they are long beautiful colored sea centipedes with a nasty poisonous bite. They are often found near other sea monsters, scavenging on the leftovers that end up in the water. They can constrict small rowboats with their coils and flipper-like legs. They are pretty fast and can escape into the deep if battle goes against them. Con Rit often end up on beaches. They are also related to King Ragworms. Larger specimen are known as Skolopendra and they have both features of ragworms, centipedes and mantis shrimps.

CU SITH (Scottish Myth)(Fae/Beast)(Large)(Best Stat: Charisma): Cu Sith are the favorite dogs and guardians of most Fae, they are loyal, always neutral and protect the natural world with a fierce bite and a multitude on special abilities. Cu Sith hate molesters of nature and will hunt them down and tear them apart with their fangs or magical drool that causes vines to grow inside flesh. Cu Sith drool will heal any plant creature and when it hits the soil a new plant will grow there. Cu Sith are dogs but they look a lot like wolves, plants seem to grow in their green pelts.

CUERO (Chilean Myth)(Aberration/Fish)(Large)(Best Stat: Stealth): Cuero are aberrations, they appear to be mutant freshwater stingrays and their hide is black and white which makes it look like a cow skin. Cuero hunt from the riverbeds, surprising creatures and humans that take water from the river or lake by engulfing them and choking them to death, then eat them. Cuero are unwanted guests for many other lake and river predators and battles between them and Abaia, Mishibizhiw and Ahuizotl aren’t rare. When killed they can be turned into a magic cloak that catches a high prize on the black market.

CURUPIRA (Brazilian Myth)(Fae/Gnome/Elemental)(Small)(Best Stat: Charisma): Curupira are obsessed with fire, the Pyromaniacs are addicted to it and love starting fires in human settlements. Whenever something is burning the bright red hair of a Curupira will set fire as well and they gain new abilities such as summoning walls of fire, throwing fireballs and causing fire to explode. All Curupira have backward pointed feet so they are almost untraceable for their unknowing enemies. Entire forests and jungles have been burned to the ground because of their love for fire, and even their own villages suffer from their addiction. Curupira are related to Barbegazi and other elemental gnomes.

CWN ANNWN (Welsh Myth)(Beast)(Medium)(Best Stat: Speed): Big fae dogs that appear to be large white Doberman dogs with bloody red ears. They run and hover through the forests at night searching for worthy prey to bring to their master the Wild Hunt. These hunting dogs are the most loyal pets of the Wild Hunt and everywhere he goes he always has several of them at his side. All Cwn Annwn in one pack share the same group-mind and soul, killing one of them turns the others stronger, until the last of them becomes a force to be reckoned with.

BOSSES:

Cacus (Roman Myth)(Guardian Giant of Elemental Fire) Cetus (Greek Myth)(Mother of all Sea Horrors) Cipactli (Aztec Myth)(Sinlord of Gluttony) Circe (Greek Myth)(Sorceress of Beasts)

FRIENDLY CREATURES:

Caladrius / Cambion / Cat Sidhe / Celedon / Cervitaur / Changeling / Charon / Chickcharney / Chrysomallus / Curnunnos / Cyclops / Cynocephaly

OTHER MONSTERS: (I like them but aren’t going to post them)

Cadejo / Cagrino / Calopus / Camahueto / Camulatz / Candileja / Capelobo / Cath Palug / Cecaelia / Ceffyl Dwr / Chaneque / Chichevache / Clurichaun / Colo Colo / Cuca / Cuelebre

@NOTE: All pictures found on GOOGLE PICTURES, not my own work, and mostly here to give an impression of what the creatures COULD look like.

If you see your own artwork and want it removed, just PM me about and I instantly remove it.

@NOTE 2: While all these creatures come from mythology, I gave my own spin to these creatures, many of these creatures don’t have the powers and abilities I gave them.

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im-the-potatoe · 8 years ago

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Bruma Magia

Arctos walked through the great halls of the Fae Palace. He expertly navigated the twisting golden halls, before he came to a single door. The Fae of Wonder didn’t bother to knock, simply opening the door and entering. Sitting on the large bed, staring into space and not even acknowledging Arctos’ presence was the young Winter Fae, Coryza.

Arctos held out a journal Coryza, a small thing bound in soft black leather. A thin cord wrapped it shut and a golden tree was engraved on the front. Other than that, there were no writings or decorations of any kind. Coryza didn’t make any move to take it, simply staring listlessly at the object.

“Coryza, it’s hers,” Arctos said. “She left a note with it. She wanted you to read it.”

The young Fae didn’t respond, so Arctos simply set it on the bed in front of him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he hesitated and a sigh came out instead. Arctos gave Coryza a last concerned glance, before leaving him alone to his thoughts.

Coryza stared at the book. After a long time, he mustered the will to take it, opening to the first page, where the name of the owner was written in neat print. A tear slid down his face as he stared at that page. Pain and grief, sadness and longing weighed down his heart, just seeing those few words. Again, it took him a long time to open to the next page and read it.

Blood is not family. They say that you can’t choose your family, but they’re wrong. Of course you choose your family. Sure, in most cases, your blood is your family, but not all. Take me, for instance. My best friend, Alexis. I call her my cousin, consider her my sister. But we’re not related, not really. Different blood runs through our veins. But we are family. Another example would be my mother.

I call her my mother, for sake of convenience and out of habit. But she lost that title. She lost that right. It wasn’t the fact that she punished me. No, it wasn’t even that she didn’t pause to think that there may have been a reason for my mistake. But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Perhaps I should explain the situation first.

This is not the first time something like this has happened. No, this has been happening my whole life. But I beared the burden. Because I didn’t have another option. Especially once I had a little brother to take care of.

October 5th. My birthday. Not that my mother remembered. My brother and I had a long list of chores, but this story only pertains to two simple tasks: dishes and laundry. I’m not gonna lie, we didn’t do it right. Hell, we messed up pretty bad on the laundry. But that was all my mother saw when she was punishing us. She never stopped to consider that there may have been more to the story.

While I had been doing dishes, my brother was folding the laundry. I had been checking up on him, and eventually he finished his task, before I did mine. So, I asked him to put the clothes in a basket, so I could later take them upstairs and he could put them away. That was when the dishwasher- or, more correctly, glorified drying rack, as it didn’t function- fell on me. Nothing broke, save the pot of a plant that had been sitting on top. But it hurt. And I would certainly feel the bruises for a while to come. Not that I wasn’t used to that. Of course, it made a mess, which I had to clean up. Now, I don’t know what my brother was doing when this all happened. But, I do remember telling him to get out of the kitchen, not wanting him to accidentally step on a shard and get hurt. But, I was understandably shaken up. Plus, I was scared, terrified, of what would happen when my mother came home. (Luckily, it was my stepfather that came home first.) When you make a mistake at my mother’s house, one of two things happens. The first is that she shrugs it off, saying it wasn’t a big deal, or at least not making a big deal out of it. That was a rare occurrence, and you counted your blessings when it happened. The more common option was Number Two. Number Two is that she flips her shit, and you end up getting yelled at- or worse- and generally feeling a thousand times worse than before, no bigger than a speck of dust. And there is no in-between betwixt Numbers One and Two. It is one, or the other. Beyond my immediate worry as to my impending fate, everything in my life had been happening at once. I had just moved to a new school, entering high school for the first time. My grandfather was in the hospital, intensive care, to be exact, and I rarely got updates as to his condition. On top of all this, as soon as my mother got home, the four of us went to the movies, a rare treat in the household, like giving lobster to a starving person. So, when she asked if my brother and I had finished our chores, I said yes. In my mind, we had. I had seen the folded laundry. I had told him to put it in the baskets. I had finished the dishes and cleaned up the spill. That was that.

It wasn’t until the next day, after school, that I found out that our whole mission had not been completed. By that time, my mother was yelling at us. My brother was in tears beside me, holding back sobs. And there was no trying to explain myself. Oh, no. That would get me yelled at even more. Or worse; beat.

Our punishment was to lose everything, what little we had. All our spare time was to be spent cleaning- not that it wasn’t already- slowly earning back our freedoms. She even mentioned taking away my books, though I know not whether she will actually go through with it or not.

Day One of cleaning, and not five minutes in, my brother of seven years old did the worst thing he possibly could: he made a mistake.

I saw her beat him, saw the look of pain and fear contort his young face. I heard his cries, the sickening sound of her hand hitting him. Then, I heard her yell. She screamed, she cussed, at it was all aimed at this poor seven-year-old that made a mistake in the cloud of his thoughts. A moment later, and I’m not entirely sure what happened. She made a sudden movement, and I flinched, hard. My littler brother started crying again, all but jumping into my arms in an attempt to escape her wrath.

(I would like to make a note here. To all the parents who hit their kids- stop. There are other ways to discourage bad behavior. It does not make us love you any more, nor does it show your love. I have never loathed my mother more than looking back at the times she hit either one of us. It does not make us respect you. Often, you are twice our size, up to five times our age. There is no respect to be earned from hitting a child. The only thing it may do is instill fear. But is that truly how you want your child to look at you?)

It was not until later that I made a decision that would change me, and my outlook on my mother/daughter relationship. I decided I would turn the other cheek. I would be her little slave. But I would not be her daughter. No, I would not be the daughter of such a woman. And I would never, under any circumstances, let her lay a hand on my brother again. In the solitude of my room, the dark of the night, I shed my tears. For I would do all in my power to never let her see me cry again. I would not show her weakness.

I try, with all my might, not to pick a favorite parent. But I would, without hesitation, choose my father, every time. For my father always listened to me. He never hit me. When he did punish me- though it was rare that he did- they were reasonable and corresponded with the crime.

You may have noticed that I spoke of my father in the past tense. That is because he died, years ago. It was horrible, and the memory haunts me to this day. The worst part was that it left me at the mercy of my mother, for years to come.

I can easily tell you the last time I had a good day, came home, and was able to fall asleep happy: October 4th. Years ago. It was USA Day at school, the second day in Spirit Week, and I was happy to talk about some of the people I had seen, the things we learned in class. My aunt had also come out from Iowa that day. I had dance, and shared laughs with my father. Sure, there was a little bump in the road, but it is not until writing this that I remember it.

On the contrary, I cannot tell you the last time this happened at my mother’s. From my mother upsetting me, to my impossible lists of chores, to my annoying (but endearing) little brother. Even the state of our house, it being the shitshow it is. Sure, I’ve fallen asleep content, my eyes tear-free, but never truly happy.

My mother also has a tendency not to listen. She’ll interrupt, yell, speak, and basically turn the whole situation back around to make you the bad guy. The one time I was able to get my whole story out, I had had to specifically request that she not interrupt. Looking back, I’m amazed she listened. And, if you’re in trouble, you quickly learn to keep your mouth shut. I learned a long time ago to simply accept my punishment. It doesn’t matter how innocent I am. It will only be made worse by trying to prove my innocence.

October 6th was no different. My mother never stopped to consider that there was a reason behind our mistake, beyond the two of us just fucking around. But, it did not matter, for we were to suffer our fates no matter what we did. So, I made my resolutions, and hope to stick to them.

I know not who will read this. I may share it with the world, so that they may learn from my words. Perhaps only a select few. Perhaps no one. These words may never leave the pages of this notebook, and the depths of my mind.

These words aren’t the whole story. No, there is more here that I could say, but I shan’t. Not on this topic, not on this day. But, I want these parting words, if nothing else, to be remembered:

Blood does not equate family. And though these words may be written in the aftermath of anger, they ring not any less true.

---

Coryza closed the book, not able to read any more. He set it on the bedside, putting out the candle and curling up on top of the covers. He clutched a necklace in has hand, holding it close to his heavy heart. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about the girl he had known, and letting silent tears fall into the night.

#Bruma magia #story #writing #wandering thoughts #bit of a longer one #there is more to this one too #in case anyone cares

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myth-lord · 8 years ago

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CREATURES FROM MYTHIKA: A

A BAO A QU (Malay Myth)(Ooze/Shapeshifter)(Medium/Large)(Best Stat: Charisma): Beautiful, shapeshifting ooze creatures that drain charisma from victims to become the perfect lifeforms themselves, eventually evolving into a beautiful dragon-like ooze creature after draining many creatures of their beauty and charisma. They never get enough of Charisma and if they don’t feed regularly they eventually turn back into formless puddles of ooze again.

AATXE (Basque Myth)(Undead/Spirit/Beast)(Large) (Best Stat: Strength): The cattle of the Sinlord of Wrath, burning with red vengeful fire and a disturbed sense of justice these violent red bulls rampage into the night.

ABAIA (Melanesian Myth)(Beast/Fish)(Huge) (Best Stat: Charisma): Acting as the mothers of all lake creatures these powerful eel horrors protect their “children” with powerful elemental water and storm magic against anyone foolish to disturb the lake in any way. The creatures that live inside their lakes often come to depend on the Abaia’s protection and slowly grow or gain additional powers and strange limbs as the Abaia’s aura will slowly mutate creatures that spend too much time in their waters. Abaia are said to be the favorite children of Amhuluk.

ABUHUKU (South American Myth)(Aberration)(Medium) (Best Stat: Stealth): Brain-Eating horrors that can stick to any surface with their gecko-like hands and feet. Their long mosquito like proboscis is used to suck the brains from the skulls of their victims.

ACHERI (Native American Myth)(Undead/Shapeshifter)(Small) (Best Stat: Charisma): The daughters of the Horseman of Pestilence, with a treacherous shy smile these undead girls love to spread distrust and the worst of diseases into any community. Their touch and gaze spreads the most vile of diseases which only their kiss and blood can cure.

ADARO (Solomon Island Myth)(Humanoid/Merfolk)(Medium) (Best Stat: Speed): One of the more vile and dangerous merfolk, these horrors combine the features of merfolk, marlin and sharks. They use poisonous starfish, flying fish and urchins as weapons.

AFANC (Welsh Myth)(Beast/Chimerae)(Medium) (Best Stat: Defense): Combining the terror and strength of a crocodile with the creativity of the beaver, Afanc love to use the bones of their victims to build dams with or turn an entire sewer system into a deadly maze full of traps, giving rise to legends and stories about Sewer Alligators.

AGHASH (Persian Myth)(Demon/Aberration)(Large) (Best Stat: Intelligence): The demonic eyes of the deserts, these beholder-like horrors often work for Sinlords and Horsemen of the Apocalypse and can see through other creatures eyes, making them the perfect spies. Looking directly into their giant central eye will turn any living creature mad with violence, pain and insanity.

AGRIPPA (French Myth)(Construct/Possessed Object)(Medium) (Best Stat: Intelligence): A possessed animated Grimoire that can absorb other creatures into its dark pages and later summon them again from the same page to fight for it, creating entire armies when they collect more and more victims in their cursed pages.

AHKIYYINI (Inuit Myth)(Undead/Skeleton)(Large) (Best Stat: Charisma): Ogre-sized Skeletons that use musical instruments like violins and drums to create natural disasters with, turning a calm sea into a force of destruction in a handclap. Nature seems to dance to their rhythm, which is bad for their enemies and victims.

AHUIZOTL (Aztec Myth)(Beast/Chimerae)(Large) (Best Stat: Stealth): Probably created by an insane Aztec God these chimerae species combine the features of monstrous dogs, otters and monkeys. They lure their victims towards the water edge with their mimicry and use the claw on the end of their tail to pull victims from boats or the edge of the water to drown them, then they feed on their nails, teeth and eyes.

AITVARAS (Lithuanian Myth)(Dragon/Shapeshifter)(Small/Medium) (Best Stat: Speed): Created by the first hag Baba Yaga, these shapeshifting dragons look like fiery roosters during the day, but turn into cockatrice-like dragons during the night. Their gaze and touch curses other creatures with bad luck and burns their very soul.

AJATAR (Finnish Myth)(Demon/Dragon)(Huge) (Best Stat: Charisma): Said to be the mothers of all demons and snakes, though this is false these monstrous demonic cobra-horrors have a abyssal portal inside their stomach and can spit out various demons to help them win a battle, their poison slowly transforms other creatures into lemure-demons and their snake-like bodies are crawling with serpents of every type that protect their “mothers” body from any harm, forming a living shield.

AKANAME (Japanese Myth)(Aberration)(Medium) (Best Stat: Stealth): Horrifying and disgusting aberration humanoids that use their extreme long tongues to get to the filth they craves so much. Their salvia also turns metal to rust and they love to eat this rust as well. These pathetic creatures follow around other disgusting predators to feed on their leftovers.

AKHLUT (Inuit Myth)(Beast/Chimerae/Shapeshifter)(Huge) (Best Stat: Strength): Majestic looking predators with a bad temper, these orca/wolves are extremely protective of their huge territories and hunt for any other living creature that is foolish enough to enter their domain. They especially hate other large predators.

ALICANTO (Chilean Myth)(Beast/Bird)(Small) (Best Stat: Defense): These strange and beautiful silver and golden caracara-birds feathers react to the materials they eat, slowly turning into the same material. Alicanto love to eat silver and gold and so their feathers turned golden and silver and very sharp, they use their sharp wings in battle but lost their ability to fly. The Horseman of War fed some of these magical birds with Adamantium so their feathers would become even more sharp and powerful.

ALP-LUACHRA (Irish Myth)(Aberration/Fae/Parasite)(Tiny) (Best Stat: Defense): Horrifying fae parasites that enter other creatures (mostly humans) throats and start to turn them very hungry and gluttonous, eventually turning them into mindless fat living-zombies that just eat for their tiny aberration host which also uses the fat host as shield against their enemies. Their magical slime keeps their victims alive much longer than otherwise possible.

ALRAUNE (German Myth)(Plant/Fae)(Large) (Best Stat: Charisma): Looking much like carnivorous plants (all types possible) that spawn clones of the humans they once ate to lure more prey towards their waiting, snapping Venus-trap maws. The clones often look like beautiful versions of those humans and are mostly female, female victims are lured in with sweet aroma’s.

AMIKUK (Inuit Myth)(Aberration)(Huge) (Best Stat: Stealth): These slimy aberrations burry their egg-shaped bodies into the snow and patiently wait for prey to wander by, then their four tentacles that end in claws will erupt from the snow or ice and drag their prey towards their enormous maws which are over the length of their entire bodies. Their slime is very slippery and they are hard to grapple.

AMPHISBAENA (Greek Myth)(Beast/Reptilian)(Small) (Best Stat: Defense): Snakes with a head on each side of their long bodies, one of the heads is that of a Seps-Snake which poison turns every prey into a puddle of acid, the other head is that of a Bloodletter-Snake which poison will force all the blood from the victims’ bodies in a horrid show that turns the victim into a living fountain of blood, being bitten by both heads at the same time is the worst death you can have in the world of Mythika. These snakes are small but extremely dangerous for their poisons.

ANIWYE (Native American Myth)(Beast)(Medium) (Best Stat: Defense): Giant, dire skunks that love to eat humans and which poisonous musk will forever haunt the victims as only magical water can wash the stench away. The Aniwye can track any of its stinky victims that survived the smell and often uses its musk to track down villages where the victims flee to. Even dragons evade Aniwye for their horrid stench. Aniwye love dirty things and often sleep on piles of rotting corpses to absorb the stench into their dirty pelt.

ANKOU (Breton Myth)(Undead/Fallen Angel)(Large) (Best Stat: Charisma): The Angels and messengers of death, these are the minions of the Horseman of Death. They hunt down weak victims to take away their souls and like Necromancers can create many types of undead with the spirits they stole. Wherever Ankou reside many dark and evil undead creatures collect in groups. Ankou can control all other undead monsters (but not bosses of course) in Mythika.

ARGOPELTER (American Lumberjack Myth)(Aberration/Beast)(Medium) (Best Stat: Speed): Very dangerous predators which escaped from an Alien-World and somehow turned up on earth where they thrive with their four tentacle-like arms which they use to whip their victims to death or to throw bullet-like wood-splinters with. Their faces and bodies are somewhat like those of baboons. (think of them as much smaller Demogorgons from D&D with only one head.)

ARGUS (Greek Myth)(Giant/Aberration)(Large) (Best Stat: Intelligence): Guardian Giants which disfigured bodies are covered with hundreds of eyes. They collect knowledge and secrets and can dispatch eyeballs from their bodies to scout for them, their eyeballs can also use various gaze-attacks, burning, freezing, petrifying, scaring or even outright killing their victims that meet their many gazes. Argus can see invisible creatures and spot traps and illusions with ease.

ASAG (Sumerian Myth)(Demon/Elemental/Amphibian)(Huge) (Best Stat: Defense): Toad-like (think Hezrou from D&D) rock Demons that like the Surinam Toads they resemble can spawn smaller underlings from their backs, four at a time. Whenever the mother Asag is killed but an underling still lives the Asag can reincarnate from her own offspring’s bodies. The Asag can also throw her own children like a giant throws rocks and her spawn can cling to her body and form an even thicker stone armor.

ASANBOSAM (African Myth)(Troll/Fae)(Large) (Best Stat: Stealth): These vampiric trolls have large iron hooks instead of hands and feet, they use these hooks to swing from trees and to grab their prey underneath them. Drinking lots of blood has turned their hooks and teeth into iron.

ASDEEV (Persian Myth)(Dragon/Elemental)(Huge) (Best Stat: Stealth): Beautiful female white dragons that can turn into mist and fog and which breath will freeze their prey solid. They often breed with Zirnitra (the shadow dragons) to breed new Asdeev Drakes. They often fake being gentle dragons and let victims ride them, only to turn into mist at great height and drop their victims to their deaths.

AWAHONDO (Native American Myth)(Undead/Vermin)(Medium) (Best Stat: Speed): Spirit and Soul eating wasp-like undead horrors. Their bites and stingers only hurt the souls and spirits of creatures, leaving the flesh without scars. Their poison separates the souls from their victims, turning the corpse into a zombie that protects the Awahondo that created it and the soul is hunted down and devoured. They also implant spiritual eggs into some victims which will hatch into new Awahondo after eating the victims soul from the inside out.

AWD GOGGIE (English Myth)(Fae/Vermin)(Large) (Best Stat: Strength): The strange and enigmatic guardians of the fae forests, gardens and groves. These enormous caterpillar-like monsters love to swallow interlopers whole and later disgorge them again as maggot-like monsters with the faces of the former victim still intact, these new Goglings will now forever protect the same fae forest/grove or garden they once sought to harm or enter.

BOSSESS:

Ah Muzen Cab (Mayan Myth)(King of Bees) Akheilos (Greek Myth)(Lord of Sharks) Alastor (Greek Myth)(Sinlord of Wrath) Alberich (Norse Myth)(Right-Hand of Greed) Amhuluk (Native American Myth)(The Father of all Aberrations) Ammit (Egyptian Myth)(The Devourer of Souls) Andras (Infernal Myth)(Right-Hand of Wrath) Antaeus (Greek Myth)(Guardian Giant of Elemental Earth) Anteros (Roman Myth)(Angel of Hate) Arachne (Greek Myth)(Queen of Arachnids) Arzshenk (Persian Myth)(Lord of Minotaurs) Axex (Egyptian Myth)(King of Griffons)

FRIENDLY CREATURES:

Agloolik / Airavata / Alkonost / Alphyn / Amazone / Anansi / Anhanga (on the picture) / Arkan Sonney / Asena / Aspidochelone / Aziza

OTHER MONSTERS (I like them but aren’t going to list them):

Abaasy / Abatwa / Abere / Adlet (on the picture) / Adze / Aerico / Ahool / Aigamuxa / Akashita / Amarok / Ame-Onna / Anggitay / Anzu / Ao Ao / Apaosha / Apocalypse Locust / Arragouset / Ashinaga-Jin / Askafroa / Aziwugum

@NOTE: All pictures found on GOOGLE PICTURES, not my own work, and mostly here to give an impression of what the creatures COULD look like.

If you see your own artwork and want it removed, just PM me about and I instantly remove it.

@NOTE 2: While all these creatures come from mythology, I gave my own spin to these creatures, many of these creatures don’t have the powers and abilities I gave them. Afanc for example aren’t intelligent in the real myth, they are dumb creatures that just look like beavers but they don’t do anything with their beaver features at all, in my project I give the creatures powers, abilities and looks I think fit the monster more.

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