#and still I kind of over render the armor

[ididntthinkiwould]

It's Viktor's birthday, so it's a good day to hug your version of Viktor (If he wants to)

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Run

Synopsis: Running hand in hand with Ser Aemond as you try to escape a suitor. Warnings: None (yet), Familial Problems, Aemond and Princess Growing Closer, Fluff, Comfort PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: Is it too soon to say foreshadowing?

Aemond woke with the first light shining upon his closed eye. Aemond furrowed his brows, not fully aware of what he had done— he had slept! He had slept through his post the entire night. With such realizations, Aemond suddenly opened his eye, sitting up straight only to realize that the usual coldness his metal and leather armor presented turned warm. He looked down upon his frame and saw the fur blanket that was once on your bed. He looked further upon his current situation, one of your tattered plush animals in between his arms. “Good morning, Ser Aemond.” He heard you call; he looked up only to see you dressed in your embroidered robe, sitting on the carpeted floor, playing with your pet. 

Aemond blinked and quickly stood, springing back to his usual guarded disposition, making you laugh at how quickly he shed the peacefulness you observed whilst he slept. He looked quite serene with his eyes closed and his face not adorned by the harsh stoicism he usually presented. “Princess… why did you not wake me?” He questioned, clearing his throat as his voice still held the traces of sleep. “And why should I? I’m not that cruel,” You smiled, petting your feline as he purred at your touch. “Yet still— you sh—“ You sighed and shook your head at your knight, who still clutched your favorite plush animal in his arm. It was quite unnecessary for you to place it on his hold, but you could not resist! You could deny yourself the image of your strong, frightening knight holding your favored plush toy that you sought every time you were rendered afraid when you were a child. 

When Aemond realized you were still giggling, he looked down at his frame and saw the reason for the glee in your eyes. He sighed as he took hold of the plush animal you placed in his grasp and placed it on the chair. “You should have woken me, princess.” He sighed. “You needed rest.” You insisted, turning away from Ser Aemond for a moment to place a kiss on your pet’s head. Aemond was ready to argue once more, but you spoke first. “No sense to argue about such matters; what’s done is done. You had the respite you needed, and no danger came into the night.” Aemond bit his tongue, preferring to focus on the respite you bestowed upon him and the kind gesture you showed. 

When a knock upon your door sounded out in the room, Aemond unbarred it, thinking it was your handmaiden ready to dress you for the day, but the knight was met with the prince. “Good morrow, Ser Aemond. Is my sister awake?” He questioned, and the knight nodded, moving out of the way for the prince to enter. “Sister th— why are you on the floor! I told you not to sit there! It’s quite dirty; you’ll get congestion!” Your brother fretted, and Aemond was quick to go to your place and aid you in standing. “What is it, brother?” You sighed, taking a few moments before stealing away your hold from your knight’s arm. 

“Lord Dumont is asking to break your fast with him in the gardens.” You frowned, and your knight stilled. “I do not want to.” You said quickly, and Aemond felt an odd sense of relief wash over him. Your brother sighed, “Blatantly denying his request would be most impertinent— please, sister, you must humor the lord.” Your brother said as he watched disgust present itself on your face. “Then say that I cannot because… because I am injured!” You suddenly proposed, moving forward your injured arm as evidence, but in doing so, you were only overcome with pain, making you wince. Your knight was not certain what to do because he could not let his concern for you show when in the presence of your brother. “Oh sister, you cannot use your injury as reason— I saw you running around the garden just yesterday!” 

“I wasn’t running,” You muttered, glancing towards your knight, who gave you a knowing look, for you truly did run away from him yesterday. “That is beside the point— the point is, you must break your fast and spend the morning with Lord Dumont.” Your brother sighed, and you shook your head in defiance, and for once, Aemond agreed to your stubbornness. “Sister, you are of age now! We cannot ward off the eligible lords forever!” Your brother explained, not expecting to have this argument with you so early in the morning. “You could try,” You mumbled, looking upon the floor, your knight doing the same in order to hinder his smirk. 

“Enough! This is not up for discussion; you will spend the morning with lord Dumont. I am not asking you to marry him; just humor him because that is what any princess does.” You parted your mouth to speak, but your brother quickly scurried out of your chambers, and in exchange for him was your handmaid who readied you for the day whilst Ser Aemond exited your chambers and took his post outside your door. 

Ser Aemond stood behind you as you sat with lord Dumont in the gardens. The knight resisting to aid you in all that you need for the lord Dumont offered his services. “How long are you to stay in the capitol, my lord?” You drawled, trying to make conversation with the nobleman who you were in no mood to entertain. “As long as the crown will have me, my princess,” He smiled charmingly, inching towards you, and you could only force a small smile to come to your lips. For the better part of the morning, you had to force yourself to appear interested in the lord, who discussed philosophy with you. In other cases, you would find the topic interesting, but all the lord discussed with you was misinformation— the matters were muddled in his mind, and he did not articulate it well as he spoke. Aemond heard you let out a grieved sigh as you were driven to a frenzy due to the dullness of the lord. 

“Is anything the matter, princess?” Lord Dumont questioned as he heard the sigh leave your lips. You blinked for a moment, thinking of an answer. “Oh, no… I am just… thirsty. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a cup of wine?” You say, batting your lashes in order to convince him that it must be him to fetch you refreshment and leave your side instead of him ordering a squire. “But of course, anything for you, princess,” The lord smiled. You returned his smile and watched as he disappeared amongst the shrubbery of the gardens before quickly turning to your knight. “You must help me get out of this,” You said in desperation, already expecting him to disagree, for he was always stubborn and restrained himself to the laws of men. “Very well, princess,” he nodded, and words of further persuasion left your lips as you thought he had disagreed. “Oh— wait, did you agree?” You asked, and Aemond bit the insides of his cheek as he gave another nod. “Well then, come on!” You said and took hold of his hand as you rushed out of the gardens, readily escaping your suitor. 

“Princess— where are we going?” Aemond asked. He fretted that you would trip as you two passed the halls, trying not to let his sensibilities get clouded as you did not let go of his hand— letting him feel your soft touch against his roughed ones. “I do not know. Somewhere my brother could not find me and force me to spend another second with that lord. Did you hear what he was saying? He was insisting that Archmaester Atticus is the one responsible for the belief that there are two worlds—“ 

“Our world, the material world—which is the imperfect copy of the real world.” Ser Aemond finished your sentence as you two slowed down, far enough from the gardens and your brother’s wing. “Yes.” You nodded and finally let go of your knight’s hand. “And when I informed him that it was indeed not Archmaester Atticus but rather his teacher, Archmaester Philo— he laughed at me in ridicule!” You explained in disbelief that such treatment was bestowed upon you. “Me?! He was laughing at me in ridicule as if I were the one who was wrong! If this were my grandmother’s decade, the punishment for mocking a princess is hanging! Or at least a moon in the black cells,” Aemond breathed out a laugh, even though he tried to resist it. “He was quite insufferable, princess. Dull and… apparently dumb, as well.” Aemond commented lowly. “I know! And my brother wants me to consider him as a prospect for my hand! Imagine!” You exclaimed, with a disapproving shake of your head. “I can’t,” You knight commented. “Nor can I,” You agreed. 

“Princess?!” You hear the call of lord Dumont, making you take your knight’s hand once more and flee to another wing of the keep. “What is this place?” Ser Aemond questioned as he led you to a dusted and what appeared to be an abandoned hall. “It was my great grandparents’ wing— grandfather closed it after their death, wanting to preserve the memory of his parents.” You say as Ser Aemond helped you bar the great doors. “Did you know they died on the same day?” You say, and Aemond shook his head. “Was there a plague? Were they attacked?” He questioned, and you made a face at his rather grim assumptions. “No,” You say as you two thread further into the abandoned wing. “My great-grandmother died in her sleep, and my great-grandfather discovered her. He made it through the rest of the day, preparing her wake in the specificity that she had always wanted, and when night came… great-grandfather joined her in the afterlife.” You informed, your knight slowing down in his steps as he tried to comprehend your words. “He was in perfect health despite his advanced age… and they concluded that the reason for his death is because he found no point in living after his wife’s demise.” 

You paused by a portrait that was dusted and was holding the remnants of lapsed time, gazing upon your great-grandmother who sat on the throne and her husband in his rightful place, standing beside her. Aemond turned his eye towards you, who was looking with longing upon the portrait of your great-grandmother and her husband, who was once her sworn protector. “They were the last love match in our family,” You suddenly said, bringing Aemond out of his reverie. “What?” He asked, uncertain of what you said as he was too focused on gazing upon you. 

“They were the last love match,” You repeated. “They were the last rulers in our family who married for love rather than just duty— after that, as much as they tried, their children only married their spouses for the sake of the crown or gain. Even my mother and father… and I suppose me and my brother as well,” You sighed heavily. “As a child, I dreamed about breaking such dreary and hopeless traditions, but time and time again, I am reminded that such dreams are not meant for my station— we’re not meant to marry for love but rather for logic.” Aemond’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened as he heard you utter such words. Never had he heard you so… serious and pessimistic. “That could still change, princess,” You turned to your knight, surprised at his uncharacteristic show of optimism. 

“I hope. But if it were up to the others— I would be married to the next wealthy lord who asked for my hand,” You say, an odd twisting in your stomach as you uttered the truth of your situation and a flutter in your heart at the dark look in your knight’s eye. “I could kill them— or perhaps maim them beyond repair,” Aemond said, serious, but you only laughed, taking your knight’s words as a jest. “Again, I’m not that cruel,” You laughed. “Let’s go; I know a passage here that leads to the library,” You say, taking hold of your knight’s hand out of habit as you two ran through the halls once more. 

“Such insolence! Do you truly not think about anyone else but yourself!?” You looked upon the floor as your mother came to your chambers later that day to scold you for the disrespect you showed towards lord Dumont. Aemond was standing by the door at his usual post, resisting to go by your side as you shrunk in your spot and as your mother poured out her rage. “By gods— how are you this selfish?! Do you not understand how important and heavy the influence of lord Dumont’s house presents to the kingdom?! And you had the gull to escape him as if he were the plague! You ingrate!” You bit harshly at the inside of your cheeks to prevent the sobs that wanted to escape, letting your tears hit the ground as you could not find it in yourself to defend the actions that you believed to be necessary.

Aemond could only watch as each pearl tear rolled from your eyes and dropped upon the floor. “I… I did not wish to offend him— but I did not think him to be a suitable suitor… did he not sire two children by his sister’s handmaiden? Children that he does not acknowledge nor care for. How could I marry such a man? I did not want to waste my time on a futile courtship.” Your mother scoffed. “Waste your time?” She asked in ridicule. “And how valuable is your time that you cannot even perform your simple duty? Would you rather spend your precious time painting another useless landscape? Or perhaps run wildly around the gardens? Tell me. Where must your time be spent?!” You bit your tongue as your fingers picked at themselves as a distraction from your tears. “You’re so self-centered! But I suppose that is the outcome when your father grants all you want and wish for. Letting you grow up spoiled and without regard for anyone else but yourself!” Aemond swallowed thickly as he could not disagree more with your mother’s words. He greatly wanted to defend you,  to tell your mother how truly selfless you are, how well loved you are by your subjects, and how everything she said was entirely far from the truth, but Aemond kept reminding himself of his place. 

“You wretched child!” Your mother screamed, raising her hand to slap you in the face. You flinched, ready to be met with a harsh slap, but your mother hindered herself midway, and your knight finally had enough, moving forward to get to you. The clank of his armor caught the attention of your cowering frame and your mother’s, whose hand was still cocked in the air. Aemond bit his tongue as he was met with the loathsome gaze of the queen. When he told you moons ago that no one could truly hate you even if they tried, he believed his words to be true. But to see the hate in your mother’s eyes, Aemond felt unfortunate as he had sold you a lie.

Aemond lowered his gaze, reluctantly returning to his post. “Just wait until your father hears about the way you had treated lord Dumont— I’m finally certain you wouldn’t be so endearing in his eyes now. There is only so long a time when he could indulge your ways, blaming your carelessness and crassness on youth. But you are of age now, daughter. He could no longer turn a blind eye to the unruly, self-involved, and indulgent girl you truly are.” You whimpered as your mother threaded close to you, spewing out the spiteful words so close to your face. 

The queen let out a breath, walking to your door as you continued to whimper, still forcing yourself not to let your sobs escape your lips. Before your mother exited your chambers, she paused by the door, “And no sweets for a moon!” She proclaimed before forcefully slamming shut the wooden door, leaving you, who finally let out a sob. Your mother seemed discontented at the hurtful words she spewed; she had to spite you and take one of the things you truly enjoyed and loved in the world: your precious sweets. 

Aemond moved to take hold of your tremoring frame, your tears never ceasing, but you backed away. “Could you… s—step outside for a moment,” You say, your voice tremoring as you turn away from your knight, not wanting him to see your cry once more— it was becoming a habit, and you did not want to get used to letting him see you in such a vulnerable state. Aemond shook his head even though you were not turned to him. “Please? I… I need a moment,” You insisted, your voice breaking further. Aemond sighed, moving to pry away your hands that covered your crying face. “I… I’m not leaving you, princess,” He muttered and pulled you into his arms, letting you cry into his chest, and he could only hope that his presence would be enough to comfort you. It was. 

[chantillyxlacey]

i've seen a lot of takes (i am using the word 'take' absolutely neutrally here; and i'm specifying neutrality bc i have started to see that word as having inherently negative connotations in this context and i have no idea if that's just a Me Problem but i figured specificity couldn't hurt)

okay, that got away from me, let me start again

i've seen a lot of takes about The Damsel that have to do with idealization being another kind of dehumanization and how she's Like She Is because you/TLQ are projecting a fantasy onto her and sanding away any traits that don't fit into that fantasy and rendering her into little more than a vessel for your/TLQ's wish fulfillment

and i don't necessarily think that's *wrong* either-- but i think that's also not the complete picture, and that only looking that that half of the image does kind of tend to paint TLQ in an unfairly bad light

because the thing is, in The Damsel's route, TLQ is ALSO being reduced to an archetype just as much as The Damsel herself is! The Princess becomes the quintessential fairytale fair-maiden-in-distress that exists only to be rescued by a knight-in-shining-armor; and TLQ-- if you allow them to be guided entirely by The Smitten-- becomes that quintessential fairytale knight-in-shining-armor that only exists to rescue the fair-maiden-in-distress

The Damsel says over and over, explicitly, that "I just want to make you happy!" and The Smitten in this route is equally preoccupied with making HER happy-- he even says it directly if you start deconstructing her. every other part of his identity has been subsumed to revolve entirely around her just as much as the reverse is true for her.

(speaking of the Deconstructed Damsel, i've also seen Smitten's reaction to that touted as him not caring about her agency-- but again, i always read that as him being unable to see any flaws in her rather than being pleased with the idea of her being biddable, specifically. if you halt the deconstruction his reaction is "she's ALWAYS been perfect" -- he'd think that no matter what she did or said, because his identity revolves around her the exact way that hers revolves around him/TLQ)

even the actions that lead to HEA fit into this, i think-- i read that moment as less The Smitten lashing out at her because she didn't live up to his fantasy-- it still happens even after she's said "i guess we can stay, if that's what you want"-- she's giving The Smitten what he wants, but he's still distressed because SHE'S not happy

i think it's more The Smitten feeling that HE hadn't lived up to HIS half of their shared fantasy. if she's not happy with the idea of "all we need is each other" then it must be because HE failed somehow. if she needs or wants more than him, it must be because HE is not enough.

if he was just better at playing his part, if he just offered her more, if he was just clearer about his devotion--

"if we just showed her the contents of our heart, she'd be happy"

that's not to say that what The Smitten does in HEA isn't incredibly toxic for both of them-- it definitely is, and it clearly makes both the Princess and TLQ miserable. "everything she doesn't know she wants" is a bad mindset to approach a relationship with, whether that mindset is reached through controlling selfishness or a desperation to appease (and i definitely think Smitten is motivated by the latter-- it's no coincidence that we arrive at HEA through a literal and fatal act of self mutilation)

he's definitely the antagonist of HEA, in that he is what TLQ and the Princess and the player need to overcome, but he's not a VILLAIN (which i think is most clearly illustrated in the moment where the Princess admits she's unhappy, that she's never been happy here, and his reaction is to GIVE UP instead of lash out harder)

i never got the sense that The Smitten was ever putting any blame on The Damsel-- he always considered *himself* to be the problem-- he puppeteers TLQ just as much as he does the Princess, even if we can't hear him while she can, and he asks TLQ/the player through her "isn't this enough? isn't this what you wanted?"

which in and of itself is an unhealthy way to approach a relationship-- blaming oneself for every bit of conflict or lapse in synchronicity is just as harmful as laying all the blame on the other person. there IS no blame-- sometimes people disagree or have conflicting needs or desires, and that's not anybody's "fault" because that's just how people and relationships WORK.

...can you believe i wrote out all of this when my original intention was to lay out an entirely different point about a read on The Damsel/HEA routes that wasn't about relationships at all?

OKAY!

THAT GOT AWAY FROM ME LET ME START AGAIN

so i don't think that looking at The Damsel/HEA through a lens of "what does this say about relationships and expectations and respecting other people's agency" is incorrect-- clearly i have a lot of thoughts about that lens!

but i wanted to offer another one that i haven't seen yet:

The Damsel/HEA route as a commentary on what makes a satisfying narrative

if you play out The Damsel route just single-mindedly taking actions to free her-- it's kinda dull, isn't it? like-- it's not without its charms! The Smitten is silly and entertaining and the Narrator's exaggerated pettiness is very funny! but ultimately, that's about it.

potential sources of conflict are brushed aside-- if you took the blade with you, you just drop it and it gets forgotten; the Damsel's hand slips right out of the manacle with no effort or harm; when the Narrator locks the basement door, every 'choice' you make just magically unlocks it right away. and then you're outside, what you wanted to do from the start. ...so what do we do now?

nothing, actually. the chapter ends, and there is no chapter 3. the game itself continues, but that ending feels about as substantial as the Narrator's "Good Ending" where you follow his instructions without question and accomplish his goal immediately.

if you DON'T take either of the actions that lead to one of Damsel's chapter 3's, there's very little variation in The Damsel's story-- pretty much all of it comes down to slight differences in dialogue. there's no "the princess kills you" outcome. the closest thing to an alternate end to The Damsel is if you deconstruct her-- and even then, it feels like less an "alternate route" and more like-- a cheeky acknowledgement of the lack of substance, because that isn't a bug, it's a feature!

but if you introduce conflict-- either in the more direct sense by slaying The Damsel or in the more interpersonal sense by highlighting a mis-match in her and TLQ's desires-- suddenly the story opens up! there are a bunch of new possibilities and a bunch of new outcomes, and all of them are more interesting than "you achieve your goal with trivial effort, hooray!"

Even if you wind up finishing HEA on a note that is superficially very similar to the easy end of The Damsel's route-- you leave hand in hand with her, the narrator conceding defeat, and the last image of her before TSM takes her is a warm, tender smile-- it FEELS so much more like a genuine happy ending-- even though the Princess' face is still streaked and stained from her tears. BECAUSE of that.

it's one of the most heartwarming moments in the game, and one that has made me misty eyed every time i've seen it, and it's BECAUSE of the conflict you had to go through to get there.

conflict is what drives a compelling narrative, is the takeaway. it precludes PERFECT endings, perhaps, but not happy endings-- it's what makes those imperfect happy endings feel substantial and earned.

even the dinner and the board game contribute to the idea-- the description of the food is some really lovely writing, to the point where i sat through and listened to it all again even though i knew nothing really happens during it-- but *nothing really happens during it*. it doesn't move the narrative forward-- you're just as hungry as you were when you started. it just stalls the story in place, and every time you go through it again it's less satisfying until it's outright unpleasant. the description of the meal also notably gets simpler each time, and less detailed-- there's only so much that you can say about it before you run out of things to describe.

the board game is similar-- the way that it's described the first time you play even sounds like the description of an exciting story! and then the board resets, and you do it all again just the same. and so on. the game/story stops being exciting and the wins or losses stop feeling like they mean anything-- because is conflict really conflict, is a challenge really a challenge, if you're always tracing the same path, always making moves where you already know the outcome? it becomes "a slog towards the end"

and this is how i tie the idea of "what Damsel/HEA has to say about relationships" and "what Damsel/HEA has to say about narratives" together:

ultimately, the statements can be summarized the same way "whether in a narrative or a relationship, 'perfection' is unattainable, but you wouldn't actually want it anyway"

conflict, substance, variety

in a relationship there will always be differences of opinion, differing goals etc-- variety between the members of the relationship, knowing and sharing this substantial and non-superficial information about one another, navigating the resultant conflict-- that's what allows the relationship to grow and deepen, and what allows the people in it to grow as individuals as well.

in a narrative, or in Narratives, as a whole, conflict is what makes things HAPPEN, substance makes them feel like what happens MATTERS, like something is being communicated, variety means that you're learning or considering something new-- and those are what make a narrative capable of impacting a person, of changing them, of being remembered

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 10 | chapter 11

Rhaella Targaryen. Wife of the Mad King Aerys II. Mother of Queen Daenerys across the Narrow Sea. The Dragons.

You had read about her in scrolls and books when you were still young. Rhaella was unhappily married to her brother Aerys II. They were both forced into marriage due to a prophecy that came from a witch, making her resent being a Targaryen. The prophecy said they would give birth to a 'prince that was promised'. Through time when the King went mad, Rhaella had been abused endlessly, imprisoned in her own chambers. For all you knew, she was glad Targaryens were finally removed from existence.

It would explain how your father had insisted you to study the ancient language High Valyrian throughout your life, how he trained you to fight, how he encaged you as your own protection as if you were someone other than his daughter.

You listened to Oberyn share more about what happened when your mother brought you to him. You were still three years old when you first rode the Dornish ship. That was why you could remember slivers of memory being in the Citadel, the streets in the Capital, platinum white hair entangled through your fingers and the vast sea with huge waves when you were young.

Three years later spending under your father's care, you remembered Elia being murdered, her children killed as well.

Now as you faced the Mountain standing on the other side of the pit, the one who was ordered to kill Elia, made you grit your teeth from fury.

It only stopped when the Lannisters and Tyrells walked past through your side to give you good luck for the fight. Tywin nodded back at you, remembering your brief conversation with him earlier that morning together with Oberyn — offering Yronwood castle to set Cersei free from any arrangement.

"You're a fool," Cersei muttered as she intentionally left herself behind others. The crowd had already gathered on the stands around the pit, cheering and booing at Tyrion or The Mountain. You only bowed your head. "Tell me, Y/n. Why does my brother deserve this?"

"He didn't kill your son, Cersei," you said. "And I know terrible things have happened to you to make your heart forever cold, but it doesn't mean there's no kindness left in this world and your brother deserves it too. You deserve it as well."

She swallowed nervously before she abruptly pulled you into a tight embrace, making others look away.

"I . . . I can't lose you too, Y/n," Cersei whispered into your chest, rendering you speechless. She may had heard how loud your heart was beating from your chest.

When she pulled away, her eyes were red, glistening with tears. Does she really care for you or is it for the crowd, knowing you two are engaged?

You felt her hand tugging against your hips, realizing she was placing a small dagger in your belt. You doubted the small weapon could help you defeat The Mountain, but the gesture made you want to kiss the woman.

You looked at Cersei and see her hard gaze, the clutch she had on your hand felt like she didn't want to let you go. Even her father Tywin has already called for her. And she still hesitated. "I . . . I lo—"

The sound of the horn signaling the event made her pull away. "You better come back to me alive."

Your eyes followed Cersei as she walked away, longing for the fight to be over and finally talk to her. Ask her if she meant it. That you weren't just imagining it. That she had almost said she loved you too.

Shaking your head, you headed towards Tyrion near the pit. You could see Oberyn and Ellaria looking all worried from a distance.

"You know, if you die, Cersei will kill me herself," Tyrion said, making you laugh nervously. "Although, I know you Vipers are fast, so I think it's an advantage," he then glanced at you from head to foot, "Wait, you're only wearing that? No armor? Have you lost your mind when you were flirting with Cersei?"

"Armors are heavy, they make your actions slow," you said back, smiling at him.

This made Tyrion lose his balance as he almost fainted. "I'm going to die," he declared in a low voice, talking to no one in particular.

Ignoring Tyrion's ongoing monologues, you moved forward unto the pit while one of the Dornishmen soldiers approached you to provide you with your weapon — a long spear with a sharp steel point as a spearhead. Your very own weapon.

Your eyes trailed to Gregor, The Mountain, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with his massive sword placed in the ground in front of him, a six-foot-long blade. His enormous hands with gauntlets was probably the reason why Tyrion was terrified for you.

The Mountain was completely covered with steel armor, you would need to figure out his weakest points. Whereas your outfit consisted only of leather and flowing silks, a trademark of Dorne.

Your eyes then darted towards the stands as a round steel shield was placed on your other arm.

You could see Cersei's troubled face sitting beside her son Tommen, holding his hand to keep herself grounded. And as if she knew you were looking, her eyes met yours in a longing stare you two didn't dare to look away until you had to.

When another horn was blown as a signal to start the fight, you moved forward swiftly, while The Mountain advanced towards you, his feet almost shaking the ground as he moved.

"Do you remember Elia Martell,  Princess of Dorne?" you began, moving to the side as he attempted to attack you with his sword.

"Some dead woman," he grunted.

The answer only made you upset as you thrusted your long spear forward. However, Gregor had deflected the point with his shield, pushing it aside, and charging at you once again with his sword.

You spun away unscathed. You lunged forward your weapon, but The Mountain slashed at it, causing you to pull it back and thrust once more. Metal shrieked against metal as the spearhead skidded off the Mountain's chest, cutting through the latter's coat, leaving a long scratch on the skin underneath.

"You raped her," you went on, watching the man hiss in pain. "You murdered her. Then you killed her children."

Gregor grunted as he made a slow, heavy charge to strike at your head, but you saw it coming as you easily evaded the attack.

You kept on circling, jabbing and then swiftly withdrawing, which made it hard for the larger man to foresee your next move. The Mountain struggled to keep sight of you so you skillfully took this advantage, leveraging both the reach of your spear and your own speed.

"You raped her," you said. "You murdered her. You killed her children."

"Did you come here to talk or to fight?" The Mountain groaned, as you managed to hit him again.

"I came to hear you confess."

The battle continued like this for what felt like an eternity. You moved back and forth across the yard, circling each other in spirals. Gregor swung his sword at the air while your spear struck his arms, legs, and even twice at his forehead. Gregor's large wooden shield took numerous hits. Yours didn't fare well, making you let it fall to the ground.

"You raped her!" You deflected a brutal swing with your spear and quickly thrusted the spearpoint towards The Mountain's eyes, causing the massive man to flinch. "You murdered her!" The spear then flicked sideways and downward, scraping against the Mountain's breastplate. "You killed her children!" With its length—two feet longer than Gregor's sword—the spear kept him at an awkward distance.

He swung at the spear shaft whenever you lunged, attempting to sever the spearhead, but it was as ineffective as you were faster than him.

Gregor charged straight into the spear's point, which drove into his right breast and then scraped aside with a terrible, screeching sound of metal. Now that the Mountain was close enough to strike, his massive sword flashed to strike towards you.

The crowd gasped. But you managed to dodge the first blow and released his grip on the spear, however the Mountain was already so close.

His hand shot up and seized you behind the knee. You swung at his sword wildly, but it was of no use as the sword was quickly abandoned. Gregor's grip tightened and twisted around your leg, pulling you down onto him. You both tumbled unto the ground, the shattered spear swaying back and forth.

"Stop it! Stop the fight!" you heard Cersei's voice overpowering from the crowd. Or maybe you were only imagining it.

The Mountain encircled you with one massive arm, pressing you close to his chest as though embracing you tenderly. And you couldn't breathe.

Then he threw you unto the ground like a doll before he punched your face so hard, you thought you'd blacked out, your head turning to the side where you could see The Lannisters against the dust. Cersei was on her feet, screaming in agony as she was being held back by the Kingsguard.

Gregor's hand wrapped around your neck, making you look back at your attacker.

As his grip tightened, everything flashed before you. Rhaella Targaryen. Doran. Cersei.

Cersei. And then you remembered the dagger she placed earlier into your belt. Your hand knowingly pulled out the weapon and used whatever was left from your energy to slash the blade against the skin of Gregor's throat, his blood spewing into your face.

The Mountain's grip loosened and his body fell limply unto you, heavy weight pressing unto your body. The crowd went silent as they witnessed the bloody scene.

You managed to lift your hand to the side and raise a thumbs up to the crowd, making them erupt in cheers.

And it was all black after that.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: thor au, mingyu has superhuman strength (he's literally a god so), mingyu's kinda a dick, re-imagined plot of the first thor movie for fanfic purposes, mentions of movie characters, afab reader, smut, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2203

a/n: thor was my favorite marvel movie growing up so i loved doing this!!! tysm to the person who requested this and im soooo sorry it took me so long T-T also i havent watched the movies in forever so im so sorry for inaccuracies </3

masterlist

mingyu wasnt too sure where he was.

just moments ago he had been fighting with his younger brother, loki, scolding him over yet another mischievous act, but now he was in the middle of nowhere. well, at least that was going off of his surroundings. in the distance, he could see various signs detailing the foreign words 'new mexico'.

he had just been wandering aimlessly around the desert, not paying too much attention to his surroundings as he tried to make sense of where he was. that was until his entire body was pushed forward by a massive object, making him lose most of his ability to process what just had happened. he was only slightly lucid as he laid limp on the ground, barely processing the girl looking down on him, completely freaked out at having just ran over a man in the middle of nowhere. without putting much of a fight, he allowed you and your friend to struggle your way as you dragged him into the back of your van, probably not wanting to leave any evidence that you'd almost committed homicide.

unfortunately for you both, he passed out quickly after that, not allowing you to confirm any information about him, nor giving you a chance to stumble your way through an apology for almost killing him.

seeing as you almost cost him his life, you decided to bring him to your laboratory, where you would let him rest until he was conscious enough for you to find a way to make it up to him. your friend darcy left you on your own, claiming it wasn't much of her problem since you had been the one driving when you crashed into him.

as you waited for him to wake up, you wondered how and why he had survived your van crashing into him. i mean, he didn't sustain any injuries, simply passing out from the impact. he had even left damage on the van itself upon the crash. looking at him, you realized he was very fit, with muscles bulging from the strange armor he had on. you hadn't questioned any of this until now, being mostly freaked out by almost killing him, but it was all now making you wonder the logistics of the situation.

you didn't have too much time to think, as he began to stir, groaning a bit before actually waking up. he jumped in place upon realizing he was in unfamiliar surroundings, staring at you with wide eyes as he backed away a bit.

"hey-"

"you! who are you? where am i?"

"listen, you might be a bit disoriented after the accident, you're in-"

"new mexico? right? i saw a sign earlier today."

"yeah, it's-"

"okay, but where is new mexico? i need to get back to asgard. how can i manage that?"

"asgard? listen, you must be going through a psychic episode, just let me-"

"stay away! i demand you tell me where i am!"

jesus christ, this man was stubborn. not once sentence could leave your lips before he was making demands. he didn't even give you a chance to apologize either. you weren't sure what he meant by his blabbering, which was still going on by now. asgard? was he hallucinating about norse mythology? had you rendered this man insane?

"we're in new mexico! right by texas? are you okay? you seem kind of disoriented. i'm so sorry about what happened, i-"

"my armor! you damaged it with your machine!", he finally looked down at the scratches and missing bits of his armor, eyes widening once more.

he got up from his spot, marching around your laboratory and grabbing at things with curiosity. he eventually came across your globe, reading out the label before gasping loudly.

"earth?! loki told me of this place. that means you're a human," he was mostly speaking to himself before turning to finally direct himself at you, "human. i am mingyu, the god of thunder. you must help me get back to asgard. can you do that?"

you were speechless throughout his entire ransacking of your lab, but even more so now. was this an insane man you were with in the middle of the desert? you had brought him to your secluded lab out of remorse for what you'd done, but now you were alone in the middle of the night with a maniac. a very strong one at that.

"don't look at me like that," he interrupted your thoughts, "i know im not the god your people typically serve, but i still demand your help. you did hit me, after all."

that broke you out of your spell, your niceness peaking out again, "i'm sorry! i-"

"great! so now you're indebted to me," he clapped his hands together, "how shall we begin?"

okay, there was no way you were helping this maniac with his senseless plan, but you needed to think of a sensible way to tell him to fuck off.

"you're mingyu? the god of thunder? why are you reciting norse mythology to me? i cant get you back to asgard. it doesnt exist," okay, not subtle, but it was a start.

"listen, human. your kind would not understand the depth behind my people. you don't believe me? i'll show you."

and with that, he raised his arm, erected and facing to his side as he stared at you directly into your eyes. he stayed like this for a minute before you chose to question him, only to be shushed by him once more, "just give it a minute, human."

it was about three minutes when suddenly a hammer came crashing through the wall, destroying everything in its way in order to arrive to mingyu's hand.

next thing you knew, you were hiding under your table, utterly terrified at whatever the fuck was happening. was he really the mingyu? but those were all a child's tale, were they not? did you truly have a god standing before you, trying to convince you to come out from hiding?

"human, i- im sorry. i shouldve warned you. come out, please? i'll even forgive you for crashing into me. i just need some help," he sounded so defeated, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him, deciding to come out from hiding as long as he put his hammer down, something to which he agreed to with no hesitation.

"o-okay, mingyu. are you- you're real? shit, okay, never mind. you clearly are. but how can i help you? i'm not a god, h-how am i supposed to help you go back home?"

"there's always a way, human. we just need to find an opening. you see ..." he proceeded to explain his entire plan to you, sounding way more intelligent than he had shown himself to be throughout every interaction you'd had with him so far. he was also standing. very. close. it was hard to pay attention when the damage of his suit allowed you such a perfect view at his gigantic muscles. but you needed to focus! you owed it to him to at least try to help him.

the plan had been settled soon after that, agreeing that tomorrow you'd use your 'machine' (re: car) to drive him to a specific spot in which he'd be able to gather enough energy to summon lightning from the sky, which would render him powerful enough to communicate with gandall, who would take him back to asgard. it was too much for the regular person to process, but luckily for him, the person who almost ran him over was a scientist who was very well read on norse mythology.

after that, you had told him he could hit a shower, located in the habitable part of the lab in which you'd stay at sometimes. you let him know you two should also catch some sleep before tomorrow. you offered up your bed, claiming you'd take the couch since you'd caused him all this trouble anyway. he agreed with no argument, making you frown a little at his lack of gallantry.

he came out of the shower soon after, all while you sat on the couch occupied by a book. you heard his arrival, but didn't pay him much mind until doing a double take on him, realizing he was stark naked, with every glorious inch of skin in full display.

"jesus christ! what the hell are you doing?!", you covered your face with your book, extremely flustered at the sight. how was he so bi-

"what? is there no nudity on earth?", he sat on the couch, way too close to you.

"yes! but not like this! you're supposed to warn me beforehand. i-"

"why won't you look at me, human? uncover your face at once."

you weren't sure why, but you followed his direction, removing the book from your face but keeping your eyes closed.

"eyes open too."

you opened them, looking up as to avoid staring at his nether area. although you weren't looking at him, you could tell he had moved to sit even closer, making you anxious about what he'd do next.

"look at me."

you looked down to find him staring directly at you, face at only a few inches from yours. you couldn't help it when your eyes lowered to his lips, noticing him mirror your actions.

"this?" he whispered, "this is what you want?"

it was an ominous and unclear statement, but you still found yourself nodding, too full of a sudden surge of lust to think properly.

he attacked you with his lips, using full force immediately upon kissing you. he was very intense with his movements, almost immediately pinning you down on the couch, an easy feat for a god with his superhuman strength.

you couldn't help how wet you grew almost immediately, having taken a peak at his massive length when he had first approached you on the couch. was he going to put that in you? you were kinda terrified, but also giddy to feel the insane stretch he was about to give you.

you kept keening against him, softly moaning into his lips as he ground his hips against your own, making him groan in return.

"gods, human. you're so fragile ... so delicate. i'm gonna- gonna break you," it sounded like dirty talk, but there was some genuine concert laced in his tone.

"do it! please ... please fuck me," all dignity had left you the moment you saw him in all his naked glory, so any begging was fair game to you by now.

he chuckled, "yeah? pretty princess wants me to fuck her? think you can take it?", he was quite literally dangling his dick in front of your eyes, hands ripping your shorts out of the way as you gasped at the act.

"sorry, princess," he coo'd condescendingly, "they were getting in my way."

he didnt bother to check whether you were wet enough or not before plunging into you, but you had fortunately been dripping for him by then. still, his massive size had you writhing under him, screaming his name to anyone who could hear you from your secluded location.

"oh? now you pray my name? fuck, beautiful human. didn't know humans could be so pretty ..." he was growing delirious at the tightness of your cunt, combined with your much smaller frame. all women in asgard were as big and built as him. this was his first time experiencing anything like this, and it had him rethinking his return to asgard.

'g-gyu ... shit. i'm gonna cum, please!'

he folded you like a pretzel, not caring to conceal his inhuman strength as he pounded madly into you, feeding off your gasps and squeals. you were making him see valhalla.

"pretty princess ... cum for me. let me have yours and i'll give you mine- shit! gonna breed you. gonna come back here and take care of you every time im lonely. g-gonna keep you all to myself. my pretty secret on earth."

the idea of mingyu popping by to fuck you whenever the literal heaven that was asgard became too boring for him had you keening, now grateful you had ran him over as your orgasm attacked you unexpectedly.

you had never felt such a high, almost feeling like you had astral-projected into heaven. mingyu seemed to be in a similar situation, groaning against your mouth as he filled you up with his endless seed. seemed like he was well-endowed in all areas, being a god and all.

"fuck ... thank you for that, human," he thanked you as he got up, at least having the courtesy of helping you clean up, "now i feel kinda bad about leaving."

"then dont," you werent sure why you said that. maybe the high of your orgasm.

"yeah?", he smirked, nearing you once again, "convince me," you noticed his hardness was already back, at a literally inhuman speed.

you weren't sure how you were meant to take him again with no rest in between, but you were willing to take the challenge. you'd worry about how to get the god back to his home tomorrow. for now, you were going to enjoy him while you had him.

a/n: before anyone comes for me, I KNOW this isnt very inaccurate for thor (ive watched the movies too many times) but i wanted to write a short smutty blurb and not go off with too many words so this is what we ended up with

[niobiumao3]

Anyways, here are some random tidbits I swear I'm not actually writing this except maybe I am who knows anyways...

At the time she convinced herself it couldn't be him. They'd killed any clones whose chips hadn't activated. So it was just her imagination, a desperate attempt to find any excuse to cling to the hope he'd survived, as she had, probably for similar reasons: pure, stubborn refusal to let the Empire win.

***

Later she would accept that she'd known it was him from the moment she saw him standing in the line up. Not because she could see his face--they were all helmeted and wearing identical, dusky black armor--but because she'd have known him anywhere by stance and posture alone. They'd not fought side by side in the war for over three years for her to forget him, any of them really but especially not him.

But won they had. Memories of her life before the Inquisitorious were fragments, seemed more like dreams described by a different person. A wild young Jedi and her squadron of variant clones. It sounded like a children's story, in some ways was less painful to tell herself that's all it was. Otherwise--

"Your assigned operative will be CX-2."

The Grand Inquisitor's voice drew Fifth Sister back to the present. Though the armor the clones wore was all identical, not all of them were the same size. The one they'd stopped in front of was taller than average, shoulders broader. This was important somehow. (Another way she knew it was him.)

Fifth Sister looked the operative up and down. His hands were clasped behind his back like the others, and he stood perfectly still. This wasn't the stillness of rest: he was poised, ready, waiting. A knocked arrow.

"CX-2," she said, and the operative nodded an acknowledgement. She looked askance at the Grand Inquisitor. He and his own operative--CX-1, a shorter clone with a broad chest--were watching the two of them intently.

"How do I refer to him?"

"Operative should be sufficient," the Grand Inquisitor said. Fifth Sister made a face.

"Won't that be confusing if multiple of us are assigned to the same mission?"

The Grand Inquisitor shrugged. "You can use the designation in such cases."

She fought down a sigh, considered the operative in front of her. He gave the distinct impression he wasn't looking at her, which annoyed her for some unfathomable reason. Why should she care if he paid attention to her, as long as he followed orders?

The Grand Inquisitor held out a hand to his operative, who gave him a datarod. "Your first mission is to intercept a shipment of cargo bound for []." He offered her the datarod. Fifth Sister took it, eyes narrowed.

"Cargo," she echoed. The Grand Inquisitor arched an eyebrow at her.

She considered his expression. There was only one kind of 'cargo' with which the Inquisitorious concerned itself. "Force-users."

"Very good," he said. But he was still waiting. Which meant...

"Potentials."

The operative in front of her said, "Younglings."

It almost startled her to hear him speak. His voice was modulated, rendering it garbled and rough. And he'd just corrected her.

"Potentials are by necessity young," she said, voice sharp.

Either be didn't notice, or didn't care, because he said, "Not always. You were not."

Probably sensing the fury swirling into being within her, the Grand Inquisitor said, "Quite right, CX-2. However, that was only to found the Inquisitorious. From this point forward our potentials will be younglings."

The operative's head tilted for a moment, then he nodded. Fifth Sister took the time given by this interruption to reign in her anger. Killing her operative for the high crime of being precise wouldn't go over well with her superior.

The Grand Inquisitor continued, "You have three standard rotations. Report in if you require assistance or if the mission exceeds these parameters."

Fifth Sister nodded, jerked her head at the operative and strode towards the hangar deck. He was tall enough she had no hope of outpacing him without use of the Force, another minor irritation.

After a minute or so she realized he was careful to keep his distance behind her precise, even if she slowed down. He never allowed himself to be in front of her. In her way.

"It's going to be hard to address you if you're always behind me."

"I can hear you perfectly fine from this position."

"But you can't see my face. My expression."

"I am unclear on how that is useful."

"Depending on the situation I'm not always going to be able to say what I mean."

"I am more than intelligent enough to intuit such instances."

"*Really* . So this isn't just an excuse to get a good look?"

Confusion rippled around him in the Force. "At what?"

She sighed, shook her head. "Nevermind."

***

"It would be best if we--"

She tied off the bandage with a sharp yank, causing him to fall silence with a grunt. Between cleanup around the other gash, she said, "If you're about to suggest something *idiotic* like I should leave you here so I can return the [] and then come back for you? You can keep that shit to yourself."

Her voice was sharp and even, the way it was when she was well and truly angry. Yet unlike in those moments, when he sometimes thought he could feel the Force rising around her, aiming to strike down her enemy, there was something else hovering around her. Tenuous, wavering. Brittle.

"I was not going to recommend you return for me."

She made a frustrated sound, looked away. "You really think I should leave you hear for the sake of some--some fucking *missives*. We don't even know if they'll be useful."

"They are vital to the mission."

She started to say something, stopped. A sensation ripplied through him almost like fear. Almost. He didn't know what she'd been about to say, except some part of him *did* know, knew it was something they couldn't come back from. Best to not give voice to it, make it real.

She licked her lips. "I'm not likely to get out of here without you anyways."

"That is untrue." He took up his datapad, winced as the bandage on his side pulled. He took a moment to catch his breath, brought up the schematics. "There is a route here which will be possible for you to use. Together we would likely be seen or caught, but on your own it--"

"Not an option."

He held in a sigh. No one could move her when she dug in her heels like this, save the Grand Inquisitor, sometimes Fourth Sister. "If you are not back in one rotation they will depart without you. Those were the mission parameters."

"Then we find our way back on our own."

"My injuries are such that leaving this planet without the asistance of Imperial resources will be extremely difficult, if not simply--"

The medkit next to him rattled, the lantern jostled. He fell silent, waited and watched as she struggled her eyes shut, one hand formed into a fist so tight her nails would have drawn blood from her palm if not for her gloves.

The tremor abated. "I am not. Leaving you here. And that is *final*."

He sighed, considered his datapad again. In the corner of his eye he noted a hairline fracture in the lantern's shroud. "In that case."

[8o8o8o8o8]

It was probably a young lady's bedroom that he entered, Gabriel thought. Clothing trailed across the floor and the scent of abandonment clung to every surface. Still, shelter is shelter, and dust aside the room was intact, so he settle down for the night.

Armor discarded, he swept the dusty bedsheet onto the floor, disturbing the veritable mountain of stuffed animals in the corner. A blueish lump of cotton and soft fabric rolled off the bed; he bent to grab it.

It's a depiction of an ancient and extinct kind of fish, crude, or perhaps 'cute'. The rows and rows of teeth had been rendered as flat triangles of felt. The big, dark eyes were surprisingly accurate. It reminded him of how humans used to depict cherubs, loosely correct but less dangerous. Its perpetual frown is more endearing than unnerving.

He squeezed it to his chest. The plush shark is a nice armful. It felt...worn. No, well-loved.

"Charming little beast." It gazed dumbly at him with its cloth eyes. "I hope your owner won't mind me borrowing you for a night."

Laying down with the shark on his chest, its floppy fins draped over him like a hug. He hugged it back in turn, and went to sleep.

[desultory-novice]

What do you think about Dyna Blade and her chicks?

I adore them!

Dyna Blade in general is really under represented in this fandom!! I kind of wonder if the majority of the fandom folks having gotten their intro via the more accessible anime and the fact that anime Dyna Blade was some cursed levels of bad/stiff animation has something to do with that? Though I guess I can't blame people as I remember not being super fond of Dyna Mama in the SNES Super Star because I (lol) always hated when characters in video games did that weird "layered sprite" thing using spheres to connect two parts together and of course Dyna Blade was one of those bosses.

Super Star's graphics were also a bit muddy (sorry! I still love the game!) and I think she looks better in general in Super Star Ultra! In fact, I would say Dyna Blade looks quite beautiful! I'm very fond of her design. The fact that in Japanese, she's known as (or at least, her game mode is known as) "White-Winged Dyna Blade"...!!

:insert Dess making sounds of fangirlish glee at that name:

...Too bad the Dyna Babies look worse in the remake?! The over-rendering does them no favors.

They look cuter in either version once their coats (?!) come in.

That is maybe the coolest thing about Dyna Blade, imo. The fact that she's a species of bird that just... is naturally armor plated with steel wings?! I'm not as much of a bird fan as, say, Starstruck is, but I can absolutely get behind a lady bird that's just this cool!

(I think that the steel/razor wings are probably the origin of the "white-winged" nickname. She's got white steel feathers! Ahhhhhhhhh that's so cool~!)

That said, I can see why she's mostly made only cameo appearances since then. Her story is kind of locked to a specific span of time and we actually see the Dyna Babies grow up enough to fly on their own by the end of the story. One could presume their species ages slowly, but we ought to expect if the family makes another appearance, the babies would be at least be in their young adult forms!

...Which would be SICK to see, imo. Three junior Dyna Birdlings coming in to rescue their temporary foster-mama Kirby in a pinch?! It's obviously HAL Labs hasn't forgotten her (though a Dress-Up Mask would have been cool) so I feel that she or maybe the kids really could another appearance...if/when the time is right!

(...It would be funny if that one chick was still adorably bad at flying)

Speaking of reappearances though! Dess is a less knowledgeable Kirby fan than I thought because I did not know that Dyna Blade makes a brief cameo appearance in Star Allies if you linger around Castle Dedede for long enough!

S-See that smudge in the bg? That's her ^^; It's...more obvious in motion...

Anyway, Dyna Blade is good stuff. Her story game, despite not being as challenging as the others, still has a kickass and memorable opening (literally slicing through the hills) and she's a totally under-appreciated Kirby ally (having helped him during MK's coup) and she's a strong, cool mama raising three kids on her own...!!

I wanted to draw her super early on when I started my blog but I had no confidence in my abilities too. Now that I've been practicing more, I should try again. There is a dirth of DB love in the world...!

...Since I've already flooded this post with pictures, Dyna Blade also happens to look really good in Kirby's Air Ride, albeit, the translators that time around called her a guy ^^;

(it's still the same Dyna Blade though. Speaking of, as much as I've been critical of the novels, I do think it's kinda neat they had a species of similar but less rare, less special bird appear one time. Points to Takase-sensei for introducing some interesting world building along with the staple one-off character.)

[cypressvs]

STAR CROSSED LOVERS

pairing: dan heng/gn!reader, gepard landau/gn!reader, jing yuan/gn!reader (separate)

cw: spoilers about character lores

wc: 0.8k | join the taglist

DAN HENG stares blankly at the console in front of him. Protected by the four walls of the train's archives, he allows himself the luxury of pressing his lips into a torn frown. Seconds pass by with each tick and yet he remains unmoving, as still as the illusions of the past that he can never seem to outrun. The faint scent of roses—foreign in his room and tearing apart the more rustic aesthetic crafted by towering bookshelves and asymmetrical ceilings—remove him from his trance. Tenderly, with all the care he could muster in his war-stained hands, he brushed his thumb over a petal. For a moment, he imagines that the red on his skin was not from grotesque memories but from the love-worn warmth of the roses and its sender's rouge print on its accompanying letter. He breathes and the scent fills his lungs. You fill his lungs and his heart quenches with a thirst that can never be quelled. Finally, he moves away from the screen, treading towards the faux sky on the other end of his room. He spies a lone star and similarly alone in his space, he whispers forlornly with a vulnerability he can only afford to show now.

"I'm going to have to leave you eventually." Lashes fan against pale cheeks before settling into a mournful close. "For your sake, I pray that you don't get too attached to me."

GEPARD’s armor clicks and clangs with each step he took forward. He smiles at familiar faces, nods at other patrol guards’ salutes, and stops to help grandmothers cross the rail tracks. He shakes his head at their words of thanks, saying that it was his duty as the Captain of the Silvermane Guards. At that, he receives an adoring shake of heads before they all eventually part ways. Courageous, he might be, but he’s stubbornly self-sacrificial to the point of no return. The tram’s ringing bells snap him out of his thoughts and he moves to resume his patrol. However, before he can take another step forward, he sees a once-friendly shadow. One he’d meet with an adoring smile, one he’d come home to with a needy hug, one he’d loved in his youth’s years and continue to love now in his matured present—a suffering reserved to an unwavering affection that perseveres throughout the years. His sudden pause catches your attention and you flash him a reserved smile; the kind you’d offer awkwardly to a figment of a past you wish you could run away from. Suddenly, he’s thrown back to that fateful night three years ago. The salty streak that plagues his tongue, the gloved hand clenching his chest, the guilt that flushed his cheeks as memory of missed anniversaries and birthdays resurface once more. He remembers your pleading sob—the desperation that made your hands claw desperately into his arms.

"I love you.” He mumbles, nearly unheard among the hiccups and gasps shared by the two of you. “I love you,” he repeats, “but you deserve so much more than I could ever offer you."

JING YUAN likes to think that years of experience has made him capable of rendering all adversaries that may come his way into a fond memory to look back on hundreds of years later down the line of his abnormal lifespan. However, some days, the taste of the tea he drinks leaves him sentimental, memories of tears and glee alike filling his mind with a bittersweet respite from its business. Nostalgia is a double-edged sword, he thinks to himself as he sips on his porcelain cup. The familiar teahouse morphs into an empty field. The wooden sword on his hand is lighter than the one he wields now and the expression on his face is one more similar to that of a naive child trying to rush into adulthood. If only he could tell himself to take it easy, to let the years work him gently, then perhaps his misery would at least be halved. His master nods to acknowledge his efforts but the sceneries change once more and his weapon is now of metal and there is nothing but undying death in his master’s visage. Lightning strikes and blood is spilled and he is once more back to his reality, relishing in the gentle sounds of the wind chimes and the peace that washes over him as he hears you laugh behind the counter. Feeling a gaze on your back, you turn around only to see no one. Just an empty cup and an indescribable weight on your heart. 

“How strange…” He hums as he walks back to the Seat of Divine Foresight with his arms resting on his lower back. “To think that I would find myself eager to sacrifice something of my own happiness in order to make sure you're safe…”

© 2023 CYPRESSVS. all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, repost or translate in any platforms.

[heliosynchronisity]

hi henlo! im still between work and relying on commissions for food/bills~ And i've just finished up last month's queue and would love for y'all to peruse my wares and share if you're able to ^_^ thank you!

(all prices in usd)

Sketchy Painty Render - fully rendered portrait in my sketchy painterly/oil pastel style Bust: 70 - 100+ Halfbody: 100 - 200+ Full:  200 - 400+ Scene: Quote Only

Flat-colour Sketch - what it says on the tin, slightly tidied up sketch with flat colours underneath. chunky outline optional. Paper texture optional. Bust: 30 - 80 Halfbody: 50 - 150 Full:  80 - 300 Chibi-fullbody: 50 flat Scene: Quote Only

Lasso Tool Illustration- flat graphic illustrations done with the polygonal lasso tool, developed as a way to rest my wrist somewhat as i can do it with a mouse. Budget friendly option. Simpler characters preferred. Bust: 20 - 40 Halfbody: 40 - 80 Full:  80 - 200 Chibi-fullbody: 30 - 50 Scene: Quote Only

Preferences:

I can draw pretty much any kind of character (animals, monsters, mechs all welcome. something like mechs or complex armor/weapons may affect final pricing tho)

all kinds of ships/dynamics/stories welcome.

i am super open to high detail characters, sparkledog, elaborate fantasy characters etc. My approach to art is just… maximilalism, the less empty space the better. So come to me with ur lolita vampire with 15 layers of lace or sparkledoggy with 147.5 colours that every other artist turned down. There are perfectly at home with me!

i have the right to turn down any commission request for any reason

nsfw artwork available for 10% surcharge, most niches accepted. Inquire to check.

TOS: by commissioning me you agree to the following Terms of Service

you must be over the age of 18

all payments are in usd and are arranged via paypal invoicing

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[lostinwildflowers]

Dragon Island

Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

Summary: Kirishima is nothing but loving toward his dragon. When she disappears with no trace, he panics. When set out on a voyage to find her, he finds something he wasn't quite expecting.

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: strangers to lovers, also kind of idiots and enemies to lovers, fluff, very slight angst at the end, and slightly more mature language, a little *tiny* but spicy but still SFW :3

A/N: Wow, wow, wow, it has been a hot second. I have been so insanely busy with work that I am completely exhausted by the time I get home. Please enjoy this Kiri fic. -Birch<3

Useful Info:

Part i. Romantic Flight - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Part iii. To Befriend a Dragon - Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Nothing is stronger than the bond between a dragon and its trainer. The relationship is strong as the metal forges that build their armor, it's as tough as the gnarled skin of the dragon. It even is as tender as the love between a married couple, soft and kind.

This rings especially true for Kirishima, who loves his Rumblehorn, Honey, with all of his heart. She is a remarkable dragon; obedient, protective, and most importantly, loyal.

You see, Kirishima raised Honey when he found her egg abandoned in the mountains of his home. There was no clutch of other eggs, no mother dragon in sight. There was no indication of a home for the egg, so he took it to his village to raise on his own.

Kirishima spent countless hours incubating the egg, monitoring its temperature and position until it hatched. That is when Honey joined the world.

Honey, once hatched, was identified as a Rumblehorn, a medium-sized tracker dragon. Known to be tough skinned and thick-skulled, Kirishima knew this little dragon was going to be his entire future.

That's why it stung so much when she disappeared into thin air.

The roar of the ocean was loud in Kirishima's ears, the dark, steely blue waters slapping against the keel of the ship. It was a rhythmic crash and pull, one that seemed to tug him deeper and deeper into his mind of worries.

The crew of men was working together on the ship, following the maps and comparing them to familiar landmarks. And the path of the dragons.

The longboat was one Kirishima had been in many times as a young boy, but now he found it dreadful and confined. He felt trapped by its mossy walls and soggy floorboards, wishing at any moment he could step onto dry land.

A cry from the darkened sky above crackles the air, and the sight of fire breaking through the blackness of the night makes Kirishima's throat tighten. Yet a moment later, it's silent again, or at least back to the sound of waves crashing.

After the brief interruption from whatever dragon was in the sky, Kirishima attempts at busying himself, sharpening his blade, sorting through his rations- anything to help him stop fretting over the disappearance of Honey.

At least, he tells himself, At least it wasn't just Honey. That Nadder from the family up on the hill has been missing, and even Mrs. Oonlouck's Grockle flew off.

So, the hours on the ship slowly ticked by. A night full of dangerous waters and old shipwrecks merged into a light blue dawn full of hope and prayers.

And, Dragon Island.

The island was beautiful, to say the least. Soft, white sand edged the beaches, with nothing but clear waters washing the shoreline clean.

The island was mountainous, with a high peak in the far-off distance carving into the sky, while smaller trees and bushes coated the rest of the land. Kirishima could see the small, colorful specks of flowers and wild grasses where the sand faded into the dirt.

And that's where the dragons were.

Many distinct dragon species dotted the skies and the ground as the longboat came ashore; Gronckles, Deadly Nadders, Hideous Zipplebacks, and even the occasional Monstrous Nightmare.

Some of the dragons were fishing in the clear waters, rendering themselves full of fat fish. Others were scavengers, hunting down deer and elk further inland. And those that were full sat basking in the sun, soaking in the heat of the day from the warm rocks they laid on.

Crimson-colored eyes raked the sky, the water, and the land, but there was no sight of the green-toned Rumblehorn anywhere. Kirishima tried to keep his hopes up as the men prepared the ship for docking, but he couldn't help the feeling of his stomach sinking at no sight of Honey.

He tried to push off the nervousness and help his mates settle the ropes and unload the supplies before they set up camp. It was no easy task, skirting around the dragons and trying to find an unoccupied and central location where no one would burst into flames, but after a while, they found the perfect spot to set up.

They had to hike a good distance inland, as many dragons liked to nest on the beach, but they eventually found a quiet field with the cover of some tall pines as protection. As brave as the viking men were, there was always a minor fear of getting blasted by an angry Thunderdrum or Scauldron on the beach.

So the men set up tents and a main fire to cook their dinners and soon set off on their own paths to find the missing dragons.

Every dragon roar that hissed through the air made Kirishima's heart flutter, but there was still no sight or sound of his beloved Rumblehorn.

He recalled that when he found Honey, he was deep in the mountains, so he would set off for the tall peak that signified Dragon Island first thing the following morning.

The next morning, Kirishima gathered the most he could in his pack and started his hike deep into the heart of the island. Alone.

Many of the other men were missing their dragons too, but they figured that based on their dragons' personalities and species, they would be lower in altitude, more likely to be by the beach or lower forests.

So, the redhead picked his way through the underbrush on the outskirts of the camp, his heart pounding in his chest. He traveled as carefully and efficiently as he could while he hiked, the small pack on his back carrying a canister of water and a couple snacks, as the climb wasn't easy.

Up and up he climbed, the ground changing from lush, brown soil to rocky outcroppings, with loose stones underfoot. The stone was smooth under his boots, and Kirishima stumbled a few times and had to slow his pace down so as to not hurt himself.

Why am I doing this? Kirishima thought to himself as he rounded a bend leading to a flat clearing near the top of the peak. There was little grass, but he could see the mouth of a cave up ahead.

He was tired and sweaty, a thin sheen of sweat coating his entire body and dripping down his forehead. The sun was almost setting at this point, and Kirishima knew he wasn't going to make it back to camp tonight.

Instead of dwelling on the fact that he'd miss dinner, Kirishima focused his attention on the cave he saw in the distance up ahead.

Well, this could be it, he wonders as he makes his way over to the inlet. It was dark in the mouth of the cave, the sun's orange and pink rays only lighting up the very edge of the cave, but nothing deeper inside.

He slowly cranes his neck into the darkness, but the cavern was damp and quiet. When he doesn't see anything initially, a crestfallen sigh breaks past his lips as his crimson eyes trail to the ground.

Nothing.

But then, an ear-splitting roar sounds out, and Kirishima whips around just in time to see a flash of green armored skin, and he lunges into the bushes just outside of the cave as the scaled creature dives into the cave.

His heart racing in his chest, Kirishima peaks out of the bushes to try to see what just dove past him, but he couldn't make out a figure. It's silent, so he peaks around the edge of the cave entrance, where he had just been standing, to lock onto the unmistakable golden glow of a dragon's eyes.

Kirishima starts, "What the-", but is interrupted when the dragon turns to face him head-on, and a soft "Wait," falls from his parted mouth.

The redhead squints, trying to dig through his memory, and takes a hesitant step closer to the dragon. He slowly offers his hand, the tips of his fingers shaking ever so slightly, and lets his eyes flutter closed before standing perfectly still.

A beat passes. And then another one. And just as he thinks about opening his eyes to see if the dragon is still there, the smooth skin of a dragon's horn brushes against his hand.

A shaky breath falls from his lips as he feels the warm breath of the dragon puff against his face. Kirishima's crimson eyes gradually slide open, only to be met with the face of the dragon he so desperately missed.

"Honey!" he immediately calls out, lunging excitedly into the chest of the large green Rumblehorn. His muscular arms wrap around the neck of his beloved dragon, and he can feel Honey chitter underneath him in happiness, her eyes soft as she nuzzles at his back.

Kirishima does his best to keep his emotions under control, but he can't stop a stray tear or two from sliding down his cheeks. However, he rapidly pulls back from the hug when he hears a small cry from deeper into the cave.

He glances at Honey in worry and asks, "Did you hear that, girl? Sounds like someone's in trouble."

He untangles his body from around the large dragon, and picks his way around to her tail. Moving cautiously and with his hand on a knife in his belt, he plunges into the darkness of the cave.

It's dark for a minute, and then fresh air hits his cheeks, and it opens up into a wider den. The gentle cast of an orange glow can be seen dancing on the walls of the cave, but his attention is soon drawn away from that.

And it is pulled to the figure of a woman.

The woman was crouched over what he quickly identified as a baby dragon, her hair color warmed by the small fires in the edges of the den.

"Hold still, you little rascal," you mutter as you try to wrestle the baby Rumblehorn. He was attempting to slide out of your grasp and toward Honey, who had appeared from the cave tunnel.

Kirishima stood silently next to his dragon, almost blending in with the wall as he watched, his hand relaxing from his knife as he gazed at you trying to help the baby dragon.

You didn't notice the redhead as you called out to Honey, whose footsteps you heard, "Mama Dragon, you're back! This little one had a crack in his tooth and wouldn't let me look at-"

Your words trail off as you catch sight of the tall man standing next to Honey, and you instinctively reach for your blade strapped to your back, pushing the baby dragon behind you. A war cry falls from your lips as you draw your blade and you dash toward him, sword swinging straight toward Kirishima's head.

He's fast though, and reads the attack from across the room, easily ducking out of the way. Working on instinct, he grabs one of your arms, and folds it behind your back, pulling the blade out of the hand.

Since he was close to the wall when you attacked, he uses it to his advantage, pressing you into the cave wall with his hips and knee.

Pain blooms in your chest as the air left your lungs, your collarbones cracking against the hard stone. You can feel his larger frame and muscular chest push against your back, and you hiss in frustration at his simple move.

Kirishima takes his free hand and reaches up to pull the blade from your hand that was still grasping at your sword. In a swift motion, he throws it a couple of feet away, far enough away that you won't get it, but not too close to the dragons to be a threat.

He keeps you pressed against the wall like this, and you tried to struggle and get free, but it was no use.

"Who are you, and what are you doing with my dragon?"

Kirishima could feel you stiffen under his touch at the harshness of his words, yet he remained quiet in wait of an answer. When you don't say anything, he sighs and repeats, "What are you doing with my dragon? She disappeared into thin air a little while ago, and now here she is."

You shift ever so slightly in grasp, a disgruntled look on your face as your cheek laid flat against the cool, damp wall of the cave. A quiet gasp falls from your lips as you back pops from the pressure he's applying with his hips and knee, and you can feel him loosen his grip ever so slightly.

Kirishima sighs again and reiterates, "Look, I don't want to hurt you or fight. I just want to take Honey home."

"...You call Mama Dragon Honey? Wow, I can't imagine how she puts up with that," is what you spit out. Kirishima blinks in hurt at the harshness to your words, but a look of confusion passes over his features, not that you could tell.

"Ma- Mama Dragon?" he stutters, his grip completely relaxing and letting you free. He takes a step back, giving you space as his hands run over his face.

You groan in relief and shake out your arms before you grumble, "Yeah, Mama Dragon, didn't you know she was pregnant and carrying eggs?"

Kirishima's jaw drops, "HONEY WAS PREGNANT AND SHE LEFT ME?!" You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration at this stranger and you reply, "Yes. Sometimes it's hard to tell when a Rumblehorn is going to lay eggs because they are already built so wide."

You walk around Kirishima to your fallen sword, reaching down to pick it up from the stone. Kirishima's hand instantly falls to the knife on his belt, but he doesn't move as he watches you pat Honey on the chin before walking back over to the baby you were tending to.

"So... how many babies has Honey had then?" Kirishima asks quietly, walking over to Honey's side and gently rubbing at her face. His crimson gaze watches your every movement, waiting for any sign of hostility, but he didn't see any.

You turn back toward him, the baby you were working on in your arms. There is surprise lacing your features, and you shrug and say, "She laid 4 eggs, so now she has four babies. 3 females, 1 male."

Kirishima just nods, processing the new information. He points to the one you are holding and questions, "Which one is that?" You smile fondly down at the newborn dragon and say, "I call him Boulder, he's the only boy from the clutch, and he already thinks he's the strongest."

The little red-toned Rumblehorn just yawns in your arms, curling up for a nap. You giggle down at him, walking over to the large wood-built nest near one of the fires.

Kirishima watches you set him gently down on the dried grasses, and he suddenly notices the other three dragon newborns curled up, asleep. He gazes in awe, and can't stop his feet as he walks over to stand next to you.

He is completely starstruck by the colors of their scales, and kind expressions on their faces as they cuddle up together. His mouth falls open before he stammers out, "I- I am so sorry for fighting you like that. All this time Honey's been away, and you've been taking care of her?"

You turn to face him, and you have to look up to catch the corner of his red gaze, but you nod in response. "Yes, I have been watching over Honey. This den isn't usually occupied because it's so far from the water, but I knew a special dragon must have chosen this den for a reason."

Your (colored) gaze flicks over to Honey, and with a gentle smile, you continue, "She is the first Rumblehorn I've seen in a few years. You are very lucky to have such a strong dragon at your side, Sir...?"

Kirishima just looks down at you, his eyes glazed over. In the time of your fight, and his whole world being flipped upside down at the factor his dragon left him to become a mother, he didn't realize how beautiful you were.

Your (colored) hair was pulled back into a couple of intricate braids that cascaded down behind your neck, a few stray pieces lingering to frame your face. There was a firmness to your eye that let him know your guard was still up, but he could see the kindness written on your features.

"Hello?" you repeat, "What can I call you?" Kirishima shakes his head back and forth for a moment, a warmth blooming on his cheeks as he chuckles and offers you his arm as he replies, "Sorry, this is all a lot to take in. Please, call me Kirishima."

You nod and reply, "Nice to meet you, Kirishima. Honey is an excellent mother and a very gentle dragon. I can't imagine how much training it has taken for her to be as good as she is."

The tall man shifts on his feet and glances over at Honey, who had made her way over to the other side of the nest and laid down. She had closed her eyes to rest as well, it seemed.

"To be honest, I really didn't do that much to train her," Kirishima started, "From the moment she hatched out when I was a boy, she always was the sweetest dragon. It's sort of how she got her name."

You just giggle at that, and Kirishima immediately finds your (colored) eyes, genuine happiness coating your features. Your giggling persists for a moment before you wave at him, "It's nothing, it's nothing, I swear. That's just a funny origin, that's all."

Kirishima just tuts and gestures toward you, "Well then, miss, what name can I call you? Especially if you think Honey's name is so ridiculous."

You get slightly shy at that moment, glancing down at your boots as if they were the most interesting thing at that moment. You shrug and mumble, "I'm just the caretaker for the dragons on this island, that is all."

Kirishima steps closer to you and insists, "Well, you must go by something," he feels butterflies bloom in his belly but he gushes, "You have a gorgeous face, I can only assume your name is equally as stunning."

You freeze at his words, and you swallow thickly as heat spreads from your cheeks to your ears, and down your neck. Kirishima seems to understand the weight of his words, and he shuffles back in embarrassment and stutters, "I- I, I only mean-"

"Y/n," you cut him off with a smile, glancing up at his obviously flustered appearance, "You can call me Y/n L/n of Dragon Island."

He dips his head in acknowledgment and replies, "Seems as though I was right... Miss Y/n." He tests your name out like it's delicate, and yet he revels in the way your name rolls off of his tongue.

It's silent for a moment before you point to the back of the cave, even further into the den, "Would you like to sit with me? I can explain more of what I do and know."

Kirishima opens his hand and points to the narrow opening and replies, "Lead the way, milady."

You and Kirishima talk through the night, conversations of Dragon Island, breeding season, and travels filling the late-night air. You told him of your place on the island; helping dragons that were sick or injured, tending to their young, and the general welfare of the sacred breeding place.

Kirishima, in turn, told you of his travels across the seas, all of the dragons he's encountered, and the people of his home. The conversation flowed so easily that it was hard to remember that the two of you had only met a few hours prior.

It had been silent between the two of you for a while, comfortable and peaceful.

"You should come to my homeland sometime," Kirishima murmurs quietly, his eyes gazing deep into the embers burning in front of the two of you.

You are quiet for a moment, and then you shake your head, "I couldn't. There is so much for me to do here year-round, and there are always dragons that need my help. I cannot leave."

Kirishima nods but doesn't say anything, but sits there and crosses his arms across his chest. Your (colored) gaze snaps over to him, gauging the contemplating look on his face.

He can feel the heat of your gaze on him, and a soft smirk rests on his lips as he then states, "Then I'll just have to come visit you then, right? So we can catch up and talk about Boulder, Honey, and the other babies?"

You mirror his smile and reply, "That would be lovely, Kirishima." He sighs and pokes at the fire with his boot before he asks, "Do you ever get lonely here? I mean you have the dragons, but I bet you hardly ever see anyone."

You feel the weight of his question more than he realizes. Yes, it does get lonely. Yes, I do crave connection and human attention. But my lifestyle cannot afford that.

All you can do is nod and whisper, "I do get lonely, Kirishima. More than you could ever know." The redhead's gaze is on you this time, your own eyes latched onto the dying flames of the fire.

He shifts from his wooden seat to stand next to your own, offering you his hand. You look up at him, vulnerable in a way you never would imagine with a stranger, yet he made you feel so comfortable.

"I get lonely too, Y/n. You don't deserve to be alone all the time. Please consider joining my village, or even coming to visit. The invitation will always be open for you," he whispers back.

He leans down slowly, placing a soft peck to the top of your head before retreating back into the main den where Honey and the babies were sleeping.

"W-wait!" you call out after him, your cheeks burning and your mind racing. He stops in the doorway and looks over his shoulder back at you, waiting.

"D- do you really mean that?" you manage to choke out. He gives you another gentle smile and states, "Never been more sure in my life." And he walks down the hall as the dawn light starts to flood into the den.

The trek back down to the ship seemed to come quicker than the hike up the mountain. Maybe it was because of Kirishima riding down on Honey's back, or the way he had to chase Boulder and the dragon babies as they rolled down the grassy hills.

You bid him farewell at the mouth of the den, promising that you would see each other again. Neither of you discussed the kiss on your forehead, but there was tension in the air as his figure disappeared in the direction of the ocean.

You could feel your heart splintering at the thought of him leaving. You knew you didn't truly know him, but you could tell your body felt like it knew him, that your souls were somehow akin.

You didn't know what to do, so you let him walk away.

But then you heard a soft cry from the back of the cave, toward the edge of the nest you had helped Honey build. And there, sitting in the depths of the nest, was a tiny, and freshly hatched Rumblehorn baby.

You dug through the straw the find the remnants of the shell, and you gasp in disbelief that you somehow missed an egg that Honey laid.

Crap, crap, crap, you thought to yourself as you looked at the newborn in front of you. This little fellow really needs his mother, but I bet Kirishima and his mates have probably loaded up and left at this point. What do I do?

Another glance down at the newborn told you everything you needed to know. You needed to get to the water before their ship sailed off.

So you wrapped the baby in a spare shirt that you had, tucked him under your arm, and ran as fast as you could in the direction you knew Kirishima set off in.

Your lungs burned for air as you ran, your feet sliding on loose shale, your calves aching as you pushed your body to its limit. You could feel your arms growing weaker from the weight of the newborn, but you pushed yourself on, determined to find Kirishima before he left.

You ducked under low-hanging limbs and jumped over dense brush, swerving and dodging everything in your path. C'mon Kirishima, you think, Please wait. I know you don't want to leave yet, so please wait!

It seems like hours as you rush down the mountain, time somehow flying by and slowing down at the same time. You swore your heart was about to explode in your chest, but you were so close to the shoreline, you couldn't give up now.

But by the time you get to the white, sandy beaches, you can see the viking's longboat sailing into the horizon, and you can't stop the sob that rips itself from your throat. Your body crumples to the ground in sheer exhaustion, and you bring the small dragon into your arms to hug closely.

"I- I'm so sorry, little one," you hiccup out, tears streaming down your face as you pulled back to look at the little green Rumblehorn baby, "I couldn't get you back to your family in time."

It just peers up at you, curiosity and innocence emanating from it's sweet face. This only makes you cry harder, and you clutch the little dragon back to your chest.

You sit there in the sand for a few moments, blinking through the tears and emotion as you watch the ship float off into the distance.

That is, until you feel warm pressure on your shoulders, and when you look up, a tall figure is blocking out the morning rays of the sun.

"You're missing me already? I don't think gorgeous women like you should cry, Y/n," comes the voice.

A loud sob pulls past your lips, and you scramble up to crush Kirishima in a hug with one arm. You cradle the baby in the other, careful to not hurt him.

The tall redhead just chuckles and steps back at the force of your hug, but wraps his arms around you closely, holding you tight, "I've gotcha... I've gotcha," he whispers as you settle down.

You pull back a minute later, wiping the tears from your eyes, you punch him in the shoulder and yell, "You forgot something, dammit!"

Kirishima yelps in pain and shies away from you as you hold out the small baby Rumblehorn, and awe takes over his face as he cups the delicate dragon in his large hands.

"I didn't know there was another one," he mumbles as he glances back up at you, "Thank you." You roll your eyes and mutter, "That wasn't the thing you forgot, dummy."

In one swift movement, you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down to meet your lips. Your mouth collides with his own a second later, and he can't help but let out a groan at the taste of tears on his tongue.

The kiss is short but sweet, and it's enough to send both of your minds into overdrive. You both pull back at the same time, staring blankly in shock at each other.

The moment is interrupted when Honey chuffs, nudging Kirishima to give her the last baby. He quickly sets the green-scaled baby on the ground before turning back to you.

"Now, where were we?"

[wardencallings]

Little Harding drabble I wrote based on her romanced combat callout. It's a little suggestive but nothing too crazy. Male dwarf warrior Rook and brief Neve/Lucanis mention! Enjoy :)

The ogre charges, but Rook is ready for it. He launches himself upward, thrusting his shield in front of him to deflect the incoming blow. Using the momentum from the collision, he pushes himself upward and into the air, driving his axe into the ogre’s head on his way down. With a roar of pain, the ogre collapses to its knees. Rook removes the axe from the beast’s skull, its dark blood splattering onto his armor. The ogre groans once more, then dies.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” a voice teases from behind him. Harding lowers her bow and smiles at Rook, her cheeks flushed from the fight. The way the sun illuminates her face, her braids slightly undone and messy, the sweat dripping down her temple and onto the embroidered collar of her shirt…Rook is briefly rendered immobile by the sight. His breath catches in his throat when he remembers that she’s his to admire, but he forces himself to recover as smoothly as he can. He isn't so foolish to evade an opportunity to flirt with such beauty, after all.

“Oh, is that why you like me?” Rook asks, leaping off of the ogre and landing gracefully in front of Harding as she returns her bow to her back.

“Well, there are other reasons,” Harding replies, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. Her blush intensifies until her freckles are almost entirely masked by the rosy color.

“Is that right?” Rook replies. “I wouldn't mind hearing a few of these 'other reasons.'”

As Rook approaches, sauntering slowly toward her, Harding giggles, backing up until her spine presses against the rocks of a nearby cliff. Rook stops just a few inches in front of her. He places a hand on the stony surface behind Harding, leaning in until their faces are almost touching.

“Uh,” Lucanis interjects, wiping the Darkspawn blood off his knife with a handkerchief. He looks at the taint and the couple with the same expression etched on his face: apprehension. “Is this really the time to-”

“Hmm, well I guess I love how attentive you are,” Harding answers, either not hearing or ignoring the Crow -- more likely the former. “You always listen to me, and you make me feel safe. You’re sweet and strong and so handsome. And however rough you are with the monsters we fight, you’re so gentle with me, at least when I want you to be.”

Rook traces a finger up the side of Harding’s neck, landing on her jaw. He tilts her head up so that she’s looking into his eyes. Goosebumps rise on the shorter dwarf’s skin, and her fingers interlock, twitching in anticipation. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself to prevent her lyrium from manifesting and soiling the moment.

“And you are smart and capable and beautiful. I could count all your freckles ten times over and still not tire of looking at you. I’ve never met someone so kind, so resilient, so…you,” Rook replies. There are a few more moments where the pair can't stop looking into each other’s eyes, and then Harding grabs the gold necklace hanging from Rook’s neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

“Hello?” Lucanis says, waving a hand. “Hi. Your ally Lucanis here. Remember me? Can we get going?”

Rook wraps his arms around Harding’s waist and fully mends the distance between their bodies. Their hips collide, and Rook's hands move up and down Harding's back, teasing the hem of her shirt with his index fingers each time he finds it. On one such instance, he traces the hem around to Harding's stomach.

Suddenly, Harding pulls back with a wince. 

“What is it?” Rook asks, unable to stifle the fear that wavers his voice.

“I had a close call when that ogre threw his boulder,” Harding admits. She tugs at the bottom of her shirt, right where Rook's fingers had been a moment before, and pulls it up to reveal a bruise across her ribs. 

“Lace,” Rook whispers. He hovers a hand over the wound. “That looks nasty.”

“It isn’t so bad,” she lies, but Rook doesn’t buy it. He can see the tears perched in her eyes, the way she grits her teeth, how she can't look into his eyes anymore.

“You’re a bad liar, love. Some of those ribs are definitely broken. We need to get you to Emmrich.”

“We’re on a mission, Rook,” she protests, and he frowns in response.

He knows if he tells Harding he’s worried about her ability to fight Darkspawn in this condition, she’ll become defensive. He doesn’t want to appear as if he’s underestimating her tenacity or her skill with a bow, but he knows putting his partner in more danger isn’t the correct solution. So, he tries for a different – yet still honest – approach.

“If we keep looking for the Darkspawn nest, I’ll be too worried about you to do any good with my blade. Besides, Davrin will want to be here for this fight. He’ll already be mad at me that we killed some without him.”

Harding chews at her lip, deep in thought. Her gaze bounces from her bruise to Rook. 

“Fine, but I’m going back out in the field as soon as I’m feeling better. Deal?”

“Deal,” Rook replies, relieved. 

“Alright, let’s go then,” she says, but before she can step away from Rook, he carefully scoops her into his arms and presses her against his chest. “Rook!” she shouts, punctuated with a giggle. She wraps her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly.

“You think I’m going to let you walk home like this? I’ll carry you the whole way home. After all, these muscles aren't just for show, Lace. Lucanis, scout ahead for danger,”

“Mierda,” Lucanis swears, shaking his head in exasperation but following the order. “Are Neve and I this bad?”

[punch-aholic]

I love your art style, I was wondering what your inspirations were/your process for getting your art style to where it is now

Oh my gosh what an amazing question!! Thank you so much, I really appreciate this :) I'd love to talk about my style and how I've kind of honed in my style over the years. This will be a bit of a long one so I'll put in a cut!

I've been drawing DC art for a long, long time. Since I was really young back when I was playing Lego Batman lol. Before I was doing digital art I was really focused on designing my own versions of characters. I sort of learned how to draw one thing at a time. I learned how to draw hair, then eyes, then noses etc.

I wasn't very good lol. I think these are from like 2016? I took a lot of inspiration from DC Comics actually! I always describe my style as almost-realistic though, because I actually grew up as a life-drawing artist. I can't stress enough how important it is to take the time to really study the human body if you want to draw people. I went to college for Life Drawing and Anatomy studies and it really helped me figure out posing, how certain parts of the body move and stuff like that

I use myself as a reference a lot too. You're your own model! It leads to some pretty funny pics too haha (I ended up changing the pose a bit, but you get the vibe)

These are older and my handwriting is unintelligible but you get the picture. Learning how to translate emotions and character into a pose is really helpful and then of course figuring out how to draw clothes is helpful too. Before I was doing Superheroes I did a lot of fantasy art which helped me kind of perfect armor, cloth and those textures.

When I moved to digital drawing it really helped me learn how to render, which was kind of the final piece of the puzzle. Shading is so fucking difficult and I'm not perfect at it by any means (these drawings are two or three years old now and they still have a lot of issues). I mean, to show you how much my style has changed, this is the same character in 2016, 2020 and 2023

SO yeah! I get a lot of inspiration from older Disney, I really liked She-Ra's art style, and mimicked that a lot when it came out, and now I've kind of grown it into something all my own to the point where I can do full character scenes with my own designs. Anatomy, color theory and character design are big passions of mine and I try to show that in every drawing I do on here.

Thank you for asking by the way, I hope this is what you were looking for! Sorry for rambling lol

[dokidokitsuna]

Slowly, I think I’m getting a handle on this…I tried studying the character art from my favorite dead MMORPG, Maple Story 2, and I think it helped me find a style for the shading and rendering that’s more dramatic but still sort of cartoony.

Plus, I’ve been doing a bit of script writing, which always helps me figure things out. ^^ So please enjoy the additional work I’ve done on these character concepts.

-Between these two, Magolor definitely needed the most work: you can tell because I basically drew a full character design sheet, which is something I almost never do because I don’t like repetition. XP But it doesn’t feel repetitive when I’m totally lost to begin with. ^^; I think I got a little too abstract that first time I drew him, so my focus here was to figure out the specific shape of his body and rebuild outward from there. In stark contrast to my usual Magolor designs, he’s very tall and muscular, with an imposing silhouette (especially with his cape on). Yes, he IS hiding something under all those purple bandages, but we won’t talk about it today. ;)

-I also like that his outfit gets darker the further inside you go, from the solid white cape and glittering chains, to the silver armor and gray scarves, to the skintight navy blue fit underneath. Symbolism??? Perhaps~

-Blade’s design was already pretty solid, so I just adjusted her cape a little, and then dove straight into the Rainbow Malady concept art. ^^ Phase 1 has her sprout a second eye and wings on one side of her face. Her head catches fire, as the power of the Rainbow Sword attempts to ‘burn away the darkness’. In this phase, Blade is already in a lot of pain, but remains fully conscious and can even speak, when she isn’t coughing up multicolored blood. She can recover from this on her own with a day of rest. Phase 2 is much more serious, forcing her organs outside of her body, and growing star-shaped welts over the rest of her skin. At this point, she can no longer recover without Magolor’s help-- essentially, he uses magic to shove all her organs back where they belong and stitch up the open wounds. It’s like setting a bone after it’s broken-- just as painful as the injury itself (if not more), but necessary for proper healing…which takes about a week.  Phase 3 is the last and worst, transforming her arms into elongated wings and her whole body into burning plasma, on top of all the issues from Phase 2. Thankfully, she can’t really remain conscious in this phase-- she’s usually delirious from fever, blood loss, and her brain literally burning away. ^^; Storywise, she needs about a month to recover from this, so she doesn’t use it too often…of course, as the 'player', you can put her through it as many times as you want. =T

-Fun fact, I guess: So the primary love language between these two characters is food. ^^ I was musing about what I could do with a protagonist arc centered around worsening illness (which is…surprisingly rare), and I thought, “so what do you do for sick people? You put them to bed, you manage their symptoms, you clean and comfort them…and most importantly, you feed them.” And then ^that little doodle basically came to me in a dream, and from there evolved the idea of Magolor showing kindness to Blade by cooking for her.

Most of the time, the little affection Magolor shows to Blade is…basically performative. Think of it like a hammy supervillain petting their cat-- it’s more of a character stim than anything else. ^^; The way Magolor talks to Blade (and especially the way he talks about her…) makes it clear that the hand-holding and headpats don’t mean much.

But on the other hand, giving Blade food and watching her cutely devour it, especially during the times when she’s bed-ridden and he doesn’t see her as often…I like to think that might genuinely endear her to him a little, enough to make it a sort of stand-out gesture. Like, if he strokes her forehead when she’s sick, that’s whatever; but when he spends 5 hours making a Maxim tomato consommé for her to eat, that’s him trying to say he cares. Maybe it’s just a tiny bit, maybe it’s just in that moment, but a small part of him truly wants her to be happy.

[dexterity8]

Worthmore

11 — Vicissitude

Hogwarts hummed with the quiet stillness of night, its grand halls now emptied of bustling students and lively chatter. Only the occasional flickering torch or the faint echoes of a shifting suit of armor broke the silence.

And then—the chime.

The great clock tolled its final note for the evening, a solemn, resonant sound that rolled through the stone corridors like a distant thunderclap. The weight of curfew settled over the castle, locking its students within the safety of their common rooms. But April was already wide awake, anticipation pressing against her ribs so intensely she thought it would suffocate her.

During dinner, Ominis had tried—one last time—to dissuade her. His voice was calm but insistent, laced with quiet concern. But she had merely smiled at him, unwavering, her decision long since made.

And now, it was time.

When the rest of her dorm mates had long since surrendered to sleep, she set her escape plan into motion. Every movement April made was deliberate, precise—the practiced art of a rule-breaker who was only just discovering she had it in her. She slid out from beneath her blankets, feet pressing soundlessly against the cool floor. Each breath was measured as she tiptoed past slumbering figures, past the lull of dreams and into the waking night.

The common room almost looked eerie this empty, bathed in the soft glow of the moon spilling from the windows as April reached the door. With one last glance over her shoulder—half-expecting to hear someone call her name—she stepped through, pulling it closed behind her with barely a whisper of sound.

Then, with a quick, deliberate flick of her wand—Disillusionment.

The magic washed over her, wrapping around her form like a second skin, a perfect cloak of deception. Her presence melted away into the castle's stone walls, rendering her nothing more than a ripple in the air. It was exhilarating, in a way—this kind of defiance. A thrill, a secret, a challenge.

Well, perhaps not much of a challenge. Because her escape was seamless.

Surprisingly so.

Navigating the castle's corridors proved easier than she had imagined. The prefects made their rounds, their wandlight casting long, vigilant beams through the halls, but April remained unseen, slipping past them with barely a breath of hesitation. Even Peeves, who'd been floating idly near a staircase, failed to notice her, his usual mischief wasted on the empty air where she stood.

By the time she slipped through the great oak entrance doors and into the crisp night air, the tension in her shoulders eased. She'd done it.

She was free.

And soon, so would Ollie be.

She flicked her wand again, and the magic concealing her melted away, leaving her visible once more beneath the vast, moonlit sky. The stars overhead were endless, scattered across the sky like celestial freckles. And the moon—full and luminous—watched her knowingly as she bolted to Professor Howin's cottage, her excitement simmering uncontrollably in her veins.

Ollie, who'd been curled in his pen since she'd left, perked up instantly when she ran over. The moment his wide, gleaming eyes locked onto hers, a chirp of recognition left his snout.

April grinned, slightly breathless. "Hey, little guy."

She unlatched the gate as quietly as possible, the metal hinge barely making a whisper. When the door cracked open, Ollie didn't hesitate—he trotted straight to her, nuzzling her leg with a joyful warble. His energy had shifted entirely, the melancholy that had weighed him down since that morning now shedding away.

April let out a soft laugh, kneeling to scratch beneath his chin. "I take it you know where we're going."

Ollie trilled.

"Come on, then."

She straightened, gesturing for him to follow. With each step away from the castle, her excitement grew, the thrill of it all bubbling beneath her skin. Above them, the full moon beamed like a watchful guardian, illuminating their path as they made their way toward the forest.

April had never felt more alive.

And when they reached the clearing—the very spot where she had found him all those years ago—she exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

This was it.

She turned to Ollie, her voice unguarded and encouraging. "Go on, then."

For a moment, he hesitated. But then—

He danced.

It was instantaneous, as if he had merely been waiting for permission. His small, sturdy frame moved with a joy so pure, so uninhibited, it was infectious. He pranced and twirled, leaping in elegant, sweeping arcs, his luminous eyes reflecting the moon's glow. The silver light caught on his fur, making him look almost ethereal, like a creature spun from stardust.

April's heart ached at the sight.

Because he was happy. Truly, undeniably happy.

And so was she.

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, pure and unrestrained. Before she could think better of it, she joined him, her feet moving in reckless abandon.

She chased him, twirling through the moonlit grass, her breath coming in joyful gasps. Ollie spun and hopped around her, his delighted chirps filling the air, matching her laughter in perfect harmony. The wind rushed past them, cool against flushed skin, and for the first time in forever, she felt utterly, completely free.

Nothing else mattered.

Not her responsibilities. Not the rules she was breaking. Not the ominous warning that had loomed over her all day.

They spiraled, danced, weaved around each other, filling the silent night with joyous, unfiltered laughter.

April couldn't remember the last time she had laughed like this. Her lungs burned from running, but she didn't care. Her feet ached, but she hardly noticed. Every ounce of her was too lost in this euphoria, in the sheer joy of existing in this night, in this space, with the little creature who had somehow become her greatest companion.

Between breathless giggles, she rambled—more to herself than to anyone else. "This is perfect. Absolutely perfect." She twirled, arms outstretched, staring up at the endless sky. "See, Ollie? No tragedy, no misfortune. Just us. Just this."

Ollie trilled in agreement, prancing beside her.

April's smile softened.

"I love you, you know that?" she said between breaths. "Words really can't explain how much I care about you, Ollie."

Ollie chirped, his large, gleaming eyes blinking affectionately at her. He didn't understand the depth of her words, but he understood her.

She had spent so long aching for something she didn't even know she was missing. The comfort of companionship, the reassurance of presence. And looking at Ollie now, she realized—

Maybe she'd been seeing herself in him.

Abandoned, perhaps not by both parents but feeling the isolation in equal parts regardless. This must've been what her mother felt like, relishing in the joy her daughter brought her despite the absence that lingered.

But right now, she didn't want to think about that.

Because in that moment, they were everything to each other.

And nothing—nothing—could take this from—

SNAP!

The sharp crack of a branch shattered the fragile tranquility like a mirror breaking under force. April's heart leapt to her throat as she turned on instinct, eyes wide, breath caught. And then she saw them.

Three figures emerged from the black maw of the forest, their silhouettes cutting sharply against the moon's pale light.

Poachers.

She knew it instantly. The way they carried themselves—unhurried, assured, as if they'd already won. Their masks, beastly and intricately crafted, hiding faces she was certain she never wanted to see. The tallest of the three was a brute of a man, his disheveled clothing barely concealing the thick muscle beneath. His owl mask was the most unsettling of the three. Hollowed-out eyes stared at her, empty yet suffocating, as if they saw something inside her worth tearing apart.

A woman stood opposite of him, clad in layered purples, an elegant, flowing contrast to the rigidity in her posture. The sharp contours of her wolf mask caught the moonlight in glints of pale grey, her presence exuding something animalistic, primal.

And then there was the man in the center. The one who spoke first.

His attire was refined—too refined. A pristine yellow coat draped over his shoulders, polished boots sinking into the damp forest floor. His crow mask barely obscured the wild curls spilling a little past his shoulders, streaked with a single slash of white.

"You must be either very brave or very stupid to be out here alone," the man mused, tilting his head as if he were observing something peculiar. "A Ravenclaw, no less."

April swallowed hard, her pulse a rapid thrum in her throat. She wanted to run, to disappear, but Ollie stood behind her, completely oblivious to the imminent danger, and her body moved before she could think. She stepped in front of him protectively, shielding him with her own trembling form, her hands instinctively spreading out as if her small frame could ever be enough to keep him safe.

Damn it. Damn it all.

She had been so stupid. Ominis had tried to stop her. Nearly everyone had. And she hadn't listened. Now, standing here, with Ollie pressed against her back and these masked figures closing in, she knew she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

But she stood her ground nonetheless, forcing herself to meet the faceless voids of their masks.

The man in the crow mask suddenly took a step forward, tapping his wand against the palm of his hand nonchalantly. "Tell me, little bird, do you make a habit of wandering into danger? Or are you just particularly fond of testing your luck?"

April's throat was dry, but before she could respond, the woman beside him let out a laugh—sharp, unkind, brimming with cruelty.

"Oh, she's shaking," the wolf-masked woman cooed mockingly. "Poor thing's scared out of her mind. What did you think was going to happen, sweetheart? Did you think you'd come prancing out here, all alone in the dead of night, and not run into something nasty?"

April clenched her fists, willing herself not to let their words cut deeper than they already had. This wasn't about her. This was about Ollie.

"What do you want?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper, fighting to sound braver than she felt.

The crow-masked man didn't hesitate. He raised a gloved hand and pointed, with all the indifference of someone requesting a cup of tea, at the mooncalf behind her. "That one. His fur will fetch quite a price."

April's blood turned to ice.

She shook her head before she even realized she was doing it, her body shifting to press Ollie further behind her. "No," she breathed, then louder, more forceful, "No. You're not taking him."

The man sighed, as if this was all dreadfully inconvenient. "See, we expected you to be difficult. Most sentimental types are. But we don't have time to play nice."

April knew what was coming before it happened.

She lunged, grabbing Ollie with trembling hands, ready to run, to fight, to do anything—but the owl-masked man was faster. A crushing grip seized her arms, yanking her back, trapping her. Ollie screamed—a gut-wrenching, ear-splitting sound—as the crow-masked man grabbed him by the scruff and yanked.

April lost it.

"No—NO! Let him go! Please!"

She thrashed violently, nails clawing against the owl-masked brute holding her, but he was a stone wall, immovable. Ollie shrieked and kicked, his small body writhing in the crow-masked man's grip, his panicked cries merging with April's own as she sobbed, pleaded, begged.

She didn't care how pathetic she sounded. She didn't care how weak she looked. She would get on her knees if she had to. Anything—anything to stop this.

"Please, please don't hurt him, please—"

Ollie kept crying, fighting against the grip that held him captive. April's sobs broke into breathless, hysterical gasps, her entire world spiraling into a frantic, unbearable nightmare.

The crow-masked man suddenly inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if absorbing the night air, and then—

Green light.

A flash.

A silence so thick it was suffocating.

April couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think.

The moment stretched into eternity, her mind frozen in a space between before and after.

And then, the spell dissipated.

Ollie crumpled to the ground.

April's world shattered.

Her breath hitched, her body quaking with a terror she had never known, as she stared at the tiny, lifeless body on the ground.

His beady eyes, once so full of wonder and joy, were empty. Staring. Unseeing. Dead.

April screamed.

It wasn't a sound of anger, or even grief—it was something primal, something inhuman. A wail ripped from the depths of her chest, raw, broken, the sound of something being torn apart from the inside. It was agony made tangible, a guttural scream of sorrow so uncontrollable it rattled the very bones of the earth. She dropped to her knees, crawling forward with trembling hands, reaching for Ollie like as if she could just touch him, she could pull him back. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead.

But he was cold.

Gone.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

She was sobbing so violently that she could barely hear the laughter around her. The jeers.

"You really brought this on yourself, darling," the wolf-masked woman sneered. "Did you really think you could parade around with a creature like that and not face consequences? You're pathetic."

April sobbed, shaking her head violently. "No... no, please—“

She could barely register anything through the static in her head.

Nothing mattered.

Nothing—

Her body suddenly acted on pure, frenzied instinct. One arm wrenched free from the brute's grasp, and in her blind desperation, she lashed out. She struck something—someone—the woman, if the sharp intake of breath was anything to go by.

A terrible, terrible mistake.

The woman let out a low snarl. And then, without hesitation, a fist—gloved, bladed—collided with her face.

A sickening crack split through the air as metal tore through skin. The force of the impact sent her reeling backward, her body hitting the ground hard. A fresh wave of agony bloomed across her nose, wet and hot, mingling with the salt of her tears.

She could taste the blood in her mouth.

Could feel it trickling down her face, warm and sticky.

The world spun.

Somewhere above her, laughter rang out. Cruel. Unforgiving.

April Worthmore did not move.

She just lay there, bleeding into the earth, drowning in grief.

The wolf-masked woman's voice rang out again, grating and laced with venom. She shouted things April could barely understand, each syllable a knife twisting deeper into wounds both seen and unseen.

"Pathetic little girl," the woman sneered. "Crying over a dead rat like it was ever going to live forever. This is what happens when you act like a stupid, sentimental brat.”

April was too weak to even recoil when the woman crouched beside her. She didn't notice what was happening until she heard the sharp snap of wood.

The sound barely registered, but her gaze, clouded and unfocused, drifted down just in time to see her wand—her last, pathetic shred of defense—broken in two, the splintered halves tossed to the dirt like garbage. Just like Ollie.

A strangled sob caught in her throat, but she was too weak to even cry out. She wanted to, god, she wanted to, but her voice was gone. Stolen, just like everything else.

Then, the woman said something that made April's insides shrivel.

"Why don't we really teach this little vermin a lesson? I'd wager the torture curse could set her straight."

The suggestion alone sent a frigid dagger of terror through her chest. The other two poachers seemed to consider it for all of a second before deciding it was a grand idea. Why not? They had nothing better to do, and April was already nothing but a pitiful heap on the forest floor.

Her lips parted, desperate to plead, to beg, to do something—

But she didn't get the chance.

"Crucio!"

The first curse slammed into her like molten iron, searing through her veins and setting every nerve in her body alight. She screamed. God, she screamed, her voice shattering into raw, agonized sobs as her limbs jolted uncontrollably. The pain was unlike anything she'd ever known, a torture so absolute that she couldn't even think. It ripped through her, setting fire to every fiber of her being.

Then it stopped. Just long enough for her body to slump back into the dirt, twitching.

Then, another voice muttered the curse.

The second wave of pain crashed into her, even worse than the first. The world dissolved into blinding agony. April wasn't sure if she was still screaming anymore. It was too much, too unbearable.

And they didn't stop.

They all took turns, watching her writhe like some sick form of entertainment as the bright red beams hurled at her from every direction. She wasn't human to them. She was a lesson. A warning. This is what happened when you disobeyed.

Her fingers curled weakly in the dirt. Her own voice sounded so distant now, breaking apart into hoarse, helpless sobs. She didn't even have the strength to flinch anymore, her body so mangled by pain that it all just blurred together.

Maybe she really was going to die here.

And maybe... maybe that was okay.

Her mind drifted, somewhere between consciousness and oblivion, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw Ollie again, standing in the clearing. His beady, bulging eyes were bright with life again, filled with warmth and wonder, just like before.

She reached for him.

But then he was gone.

April’s chest caved in. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She didn't want to wake up again. Not without him. What was the point? She deserved this. This is what happens when you're selfish. When you get innocent creatures killed.

She deserved to die.

But then—

The curses stopped.

April barely noticed at first, her body still jerking involuntarily, muscles locked in agony. It took a moment for her brain to register the sudden silence, the absence of searing pain.

Why?

With the last ounce of strength she possessed, she forced her head to turn, her swollen eyes barely able to focus. The poachers were moving—no, they were leaving. Disappearing one by one into the night, vanishing like ghosts.

But they didn't leave alone.

Somewhere, through the haze of fading consciousness, she heard the unmistakable sound of something being dragged through the dirt. A heavy weight—small, limp. The realization dawned upon her, too distant to fully grasp, but it cut through her soul all the same.

They were taking Ollie.

Even now, even in death, they were stealing him from her.

A fresh sob choked in her throat, but she was too far gone to let it out.

She barely realized one of the poachers had lingered.

The man in the crow mask stood motionless, looking at her. No, not just looking—staring. And through the slits of his mask, she caught the faintest glimpse of something that made her stomach twist.

Green.

Two vivid green orbs. Piercing. Calculating.

Even through her haze, she swore there was something in them. Something familiar.

But before she could comprehend it, he was gone.

And she—

She let go.

The darkness took her under, cradling her in its merciful grasp.

And for the first time, she prayed it kept her.

[shewhowas39]

wip whenever

thank you so much @kalmiaphlox for the tag!

so the next chapter of Juniper & Starlight is going to be a bit late, because i'm finally working on the smutfic i promised. which also serves as my Fall in Faerun piece for @thekindredcollective's ongoing event!

so here's another snippet from that piece! which i hope to have up in the next day or two.

***

Astarion makes his way past them all, heading straight for the library. He’s eager for June to see his costume and inevitably swoon over him. He’ll tease and tantalize her until the end of the night, until she’s wild and desperate for him, and that will be his revenge for her betrayal. A nice, simple plan. 

He pushes open the large oak door and is greeted by a few familiar voices. 

“I’m real sorry she couldn’t make it,” says a woman with a twangy accent from somewhere deep within the chamber.

“As am I. But it sounds like she and her brother are having a nice evening back in Baldur’s Gate with our little girl.” A pair of large devil horns appear around the corner of a shelf. “But I should be getting back. Gale has been kind enough to allow me use of his Teleportation Circle so I can make a speedy return to my family.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you on this return trip, my boy,” warbles an old man’s voice. “Though I have enjoyed the festivities, I do have an engagement I must attend to in Baldur’s Gate that is of the utmost importance. I dare not say urgency for that implies a level of danger that I do not think exists in this situation, but importance nonetheless.”

“Of course you may, Elminster.” 

Wyll, in a very elaborate knight’s costume, with full, shining plate armor, comes into view. He pauses and smiles at Astarion, raising his sword in greeting. Beside him, the famed elderly wizard has cast an illusion on himself to appear as a walking hunk of cheese. It is both impressive magic and a disturbing image at the same time.

“Astarion!” Wyll says. “It’s good to see you. You look quite scholarly.” 

But Astarion isn’t listening to a word Wyll is saying. His mouth has gone dry and his eyes have gone wide, because just behind Wyll is the most beautiful woman Astarion has ever seen.

June is dressed in a flowing pink gown that coasts elegantly over her soft curves. The bodice of her dress cups and pushes up her breasts in the most enticing way. And a glittering silver crown with pink jewels sits atop her head full of dark blond curls. He’s seen her every day for the past three years, and somehow she still has the power to render him speechless. It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so damn smug about being the one this gorgeous woman wants.

And, of course, beside June is Astarion’s current rival for her affection: the dog. Scratch has a spiraling white unicorn horn attached to the top of his head. The princess’s noble, magical steed.

Astarion does take some amount of solace in the fact that June’s blue eyes rove over him as well, and a flattering blush colors her cheeks as she does so. 

Wyll’s gaze darts between the two lovers, and after a moment he laughs before clapping the elderly wizard on the back. “Come on, Elminster. Let’s give the lovebirds some space to compare costumes.”

“Hm? Oh, quite right,” says the walking cheese.

***

no pressure tags for @kittenintheden @khywren @dungeonsdragonsandlawyers and @aevallare