#autumn leaf the sorcerer

[sonicfan3]

Chibis of some of my DND characters!

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

Sukuna's Wife and Yuuji's Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) Part 2

Part 1

Several hundred years ago…

You adored autumn more than any other season. Leaves drying, flowers falling to the ground–you felt most alive surrounded by death.

“The leaves remind me of your hair,” you said to him, holding up a red maple leaf. 

“You did not just compare me to a dead leaf.” He watched with crossed arms as you fiddled with the leaf before letting go. 

“It’s a compliment. Though…I guess the maple is prettier,” you teased him. The rubiness of autumn maple was rich and with a charm incomparable to any flower.

He huffed.

You laughed a bit, though your giggles were covered up with coughing.

He strolled closer, wrapping a scarf around your neck, his large hands careful not to pull on your hair. “You love autumn but can barely stand the cold.”

You snuggled closer to his side, placing your ear close to his heart. “Then it’s a good thing I married you.”

***

Present day.

Yuuji was the single most precious person to you. He and old man Wasuke were more your family than the actual people who made you. When the toddler first grasped your finger, tightly and warmly, you swore that nothing else mattered in the world.

As the days passed and that little crybaby grew up into a taller crybaby, your sentiments only got stronger.

No one cared, no one mattered, not even yourself.

If anyone deserved to live a long, happy life, it was your sweet, salt of the earth Yuuji. 

That’s why, after the man called Gojo explained everything: from curses and cursed energy to Yuuji’s fate after eating one of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers, you found yourself getting down on both knees and laying your nose on the ground.

“Please,” you begged, “please spare Yuuji. If you need another host, then transfer Sukuna inside me and take me instead, but leave my brother alone.”

All three men were stunned.

Fushiguro reluctantly opened his mouth, “H-hey–”

“Nee-chan, get up.” Yuuji went to grab your shoulders, but he was taken aback when Gojo knelt down in front of you. 

He hummed, before asking, “You sure are a good sister. You realize that you’re basically asking us to kill you?”

You said nothing as you kept your forehead on the ground.

“So that’s your answer.” Gojo crossed his arms and pretended to think.

“Darling.” Sukuna appeared on Yuuji’s cheek. He growled, “Get up. You shouldn’t be prostrating yourself in front of these scum.” 

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Leave it to me, Y/N-chan!”

“Hey!” “Oy!”

Fushiguro and Sukuna chorused, “You’re not really dragging her into this, are you?” “You damn sorcerer, don’t you dare call her so intimately. Only I can–”

“Raise your head, Y/N-chan.” Gojo chuckled. “I’ll take care of you and Yuuji.”

Despite everything, Gojo needed to be sure of Itadori’s potential as a vessel, so he knocked the boy out and did the same to you before you could try to hit him. 

“You’re not really thinking of using that woman as a vessel, right?” Megumi watched as his teacher held you in his arms. “And how do you even plan on transferring Sukuna into her?”

“Tell me, Megumi, do you want Itadori-kun to live?”

“Of course, I do.”

“How about his darling nee-chan?”

“Yes, but–”

“Sukuna cannot be trusted, but if he really does care for this girl then we can use that to our advantage, don’t you agree?”

Megumi couldn’t protest. He didn’t like the idea of getting civilians involved, but if he had to choose between two people and the rest of the world, then the answer was obvious.

The day Old Man Wasuke was hospitalized, you already took a leave of absence from college. Quitting your part time jobs and packing up your belongings took less than a day, and cutting ties with the rest of the world you knew was easy. You had no warmth for your colleagues, or your classmates, or the lonely old house you grew up in. 

Sukuna was surprisingly quiet the whole ride to the high school, but when Satoru Gojo started flirting with you, an eye and mouth would open up on Yuuji’s cheek and demand he stay away from you. 

“How dare you lay your filthy hand on my beloved–”

“You mad? What’re you gonna do from waaaay over there?” (You seriously started to worry about your brother’s safety while being protected by this moron.)

Yuuji was placed next to Megumi Fushiguro (a polite but reserved boy, you noted) while you were put in the girl’s dormitory, which was practically empty. Sukuna was vocal about “being left behind,” but Gojo was adamant about separating the boys from the girls like the rules state. 

Lies, Megumi thought to himself. He just wants to piss off Sukuna. That and it was for your own safety. Though the King of Curses seemed attached to you, he was still a curse, and his attitude could’ve been a mask. 

You were used to being alone so living without a roommate or “friends” in a large building was no big deal. Once you were settled in, you returned to Yuuji’s dormitory, but when you found him unconscious and tied to a chair by talismans, you threw a shoe at Gojo without thinking.

“Why are you so violent?” Gojo complained as your shoe bounced off his infinity. 

“You said you would protect him!”

“Calm down,” Fushiguro said from behind you. “Please, Gojo-sensei may look and act like that–”

“–oi, what do you mean by ‘that’–”

“–but I promise you, he’s doing this for everybody’s benefit.”

“...You’re lying.” 

Fushiguro’s blood froze as you gazed into his eyes. He has never felt such intense blood lust from a single human before.

“You’re not doing this for my baby’s sake… you’re lying… you’re tricking us…” Your voice dripped with ice, your stare glazed over. 

Fushiguro was speechless. Something told him you weren’t talking about just Yuuji right now. 

“Give him back to me.” You gripped Fushiguro’s arms. “GIVE MY CHILD BACK!”

Fushiguro was at a loss, though your nails dug into him, he couldn’t bring himself to summon his familiars or push you away. You were a bit violent, but he saw Tsumiki in you. 

Wait, did she just say child?

@laurcad123 @aidanstan @deepinballs

Part 3

A/N:

I'm getting way too lazy to write full fledged prose.

Anyway, I love soft sukuna.

Also, med school is murder T.T

[shogunish]

𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿.

pairing. student! gojo satoru x reader

genre. fluff, slice of life, idiots in love

warnings. tooth-rotting fluff

summary. and when you laugh at his stupid comment, leaves of all colors and sizes in your hair, cheeks red from the low temperatures, he finally knows why you love autumn so much.

words. 901

note. don't imagine falling in love with toru in autumn, sharing hot chocolate, cozy movie dates and him giving you his sweater bc yours don't keep you warm enough

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

satoru doesn't know why you love autumn so much when it's not only the busiest time for sorcerers, but also annoyingly windy with sudden downpours out of nowhere. days are cut short since the sun would set earlier than usual and dark skies would envelop tokyo at five pm instead of at nine in the late evening. autumn is the season in which everything starts dying or hiding away; may it be trees drying out and shedding their once lush leaves or that small hedgehog across the street searching for a cozy, safe place to hibernate.

a scowl rested on satoru's handsome face. the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks are bitten red by the chilly temperatures lingering in the streets. snot runs from his nostril and he sniffles. even the coat paired with the scarf wrapped around his neck can't stop his runny nose. satoru isn't sick, oh no. if anything, he's sick of the weather.

chilly temperatures always equal a runny nose for satoru.

he sighs, cerulean eyes rolling behind pitch black shades. "next time, you go on that walk by yourself. my doctor will hear about you if i get sick."

a light bounce is in your step. turning to face satoru, you smile at him. "stop exaggerating. i just wanted to see you and spend some time with you." satoru is right next to you, eyeing you from his peripheral. "you've been away so much ever since autumn came."

he just scoffs. luckily, satoru's cheeks are already red or else you would've called him out on the blush blooming across his cheeks. he likes to pretend to be tough and immune to your words when in reality, each of your honeyed words cut through his defenses like butter.

"must miss me real bad, huh? how cute." satoru puffs his chest out, proud of the comment he's just come up with.

a little pout rests upon your lips and all of a sudden, you feel a little shy, because yes, you do miss satoru real bad and feel almost..lonely without him. but with an ego as massive as satoru is tall, you can't give him that sort of satisfaction. so all you do is huff in response. "all i heard is that i'm cute."

selective hearing, hm?

despite the several layers of clothes hiding your skin and keeping you toasty warm, satoru knows how to worm his way through every single layer until he is underneath your skin, flustering you and making you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

popping into your personal bubble, he wears a smug smirk on his chapsticked lips. "ohhh, you do miss me!" satoru chirps, tosses his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

occasionally, satoru forgets how strong he is compared to you and is a bit rougher with you than he should be. the pull is sudden, makes you squeak as you slip on a damp leaf and lose your balance. instead of finding yourself in satoru's arm, your butt lands in a pile of dried leaves.

dumbfounded you stare at satoru, owlishly blinking at him while a few leaves get stuck on the top of your head. he thinks he fucked up, will get a real good scolding from you, telling him to be more careful, but your nagging never comes.

instead, you laugh heartily with round cheeks and your teeth showing off. a melodious sound that fills the park and drips right into the cracks of satoru's heart, turning the snow into sweet, saccharine honey.

his heart does this funny thing again. the thing where it skips a beat and pumps just a tad bit harder, making him feel warm from the core up.

before satoru can even think about teasing you, a handful of leaves is flung right at his face and he finds himself laughing along with you. "what was that for?"

"for letting me fall and getting my ass wet!" you're still laughing, then your face scrunches up as satoru flings his own fistful of leaves at your face.

you begin chasing him with two fistfuls of leaves. suddenly, red, yellow and orange is stuck in his hair and you realize..it makes his eyes look even more mesmerizing than they already are. how unfair.

"not my fault you're getting your ass wet over me!"

oh, he's having the time of his life chasing you around the park, flinging dried leaves at each other and laughing so carelessly without a worry in the world. your laughter mixes with his, creating a symphony that only something akin to love could compose.

"oh, shut up, will you?!" playfully, you shove satoru into a pile of leaves, but if he's going down, he's taking you with him.

grabbing you by the collar, satoru falls into the pile of leaves with you and laughs alongside you. a tangled mess of limbs and puffs of white smoke fill the space around you. your head rests somewhere on satoru's chest while his arms and legs are sprawled out like a starfish.

"i'll only shut up if you make me, darling." satoru wiggles his eyebrows at you, all in good fun.

and when you laugh at his stupid comment, leaves of all colors and sizes in your hair, cheeks red from the low temperatures, he finally knows why you love autumn so much.

taglist; @torusmochi

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

Read on AO3

Hannah would never forget the moment she first laid eyes on a ginkgo tree. 

It was shortly after she’d stepped off the plane from England. Amidst waiting with her entourage, she spotted the fan-leaved deciduous hiding within a rush of Japanese maple. Its green coloring stuck out like a sore thumb beside their purple foliage, then Hannah saw the unique leaf shape. At the time it was early April. When autumn arrived, the ginkgo’s matcha green would turn a vivid yellow not even the Temple of the Golden Pavilion could outshine.  

Charles Darwin once dubbed the ginko a “living fossil,” and indeed his description was appropriate. Ginkgos were one of the oldest surviving trees in existence, believed to date back some 200 million years, if not, longer. So much time and history passed down from seed to seed. Staring up at one was like staring at a cornerstone of creation; what came before us, what will be here after.

Hannah could list an encyclopedia of facts about ginkgos. For one, they were gymnosperms, which was a fancy-shmancy way of saying they were nonflowering and only reproduced via seeds exposed to pollen, rather than inside fruits. This placed them in the same division (clade) as cycads and conifers. However, because of their uniqueness and specificity, ginkgos belonged to their own nomenclature. You could also guess the age by its stem coloration; The greyer the branches, the older the tree.

A native species brought over from China, the ginkgo would become a popular symbol within Japanese culture, both in art and in politics. The first European to study the deciduous tree was a German naturalist and explorer by the name of Engelbert Kaempfer. Upon visiting a temple in Nagasaki around 1691, he enquired the name of the tree, having never seen one before. But the native dialect of his tour guide got lost in translation, and so, he wrote down “ginkgo,” much to the confusion of every modern day Chinese and Japanese, for the word did not exist. The true name of the ginkgo is the “maidenhair tree” (銀杏) pronounced “ee-tchō.” Kaempfer’s mistake has never since been corrected.   

Though for those not born in East Asia, ginkgos were a gateway to someplace more, a sign you had ventured outside the world as you knew it. For Hannah, this meant her impending marriage to Satoru, the clan leader of the noble Gojo family, one of the Three Sorcerer Families of Japan. It meant a different country. It meant change.

Maidenhair, she thought. Fitting that she’d spotted one so quickly, as she was set to be a maiden no more. 

In time, Hannah would grow fond of the fan-leaved tree. It would shed its foreignness into something reminiscent of home; The Gojo estate was flush with ginkgo, drenching the house in nature’s botanical gold come October.

Which so happened to be now.

Hannah inhaled a deep breath as she readjusted her blanket, fighting off the early autumn chill. She should really stop doing this. It wasn’t smart to keep shoji panels open when the weather was cold; lets out all the heat. But she couldn’t help herself.

When the morning sun hit the forest at just the right angle, the mountainscape was too beautiful to ignore. It had to be witnessed by one’s own eyes.

Ginkgos. Maples. Japanese larches and pines.

She could stare at them for forever if she wanted, forgetting her worries and her cares. There was no place on earth more magical than Mt. Takao. 

She heard a soft grunt immminating behind her and the rustling of bedsheets. Hannah turned around.

She saw the Berllini statue in the shape of her husband, sound asleep on her futon, a living artwork of sculpted abs and muscle. They had slept in her room again last night and had optioned the floor. He was butt naked underneath the covers, torso barely covered from alternating positions in his sleep. His exposed skin looked soft to the touch. She could hear his gentle snoring, snowy white hair strewn every which way atop the pillow. He’d be needing it cut soon.

Hannah smiled, thinking back to last night. If she closed her thighs together, real tight, she could still feel him there, pulsing and incessant. The love they made must’ve tuckered the poor man out. Not even the cold had awoken him. 

Perhaps she should put some clothes on and head down to breakfast. Today was sure to be a busy one.  

Satoru grunted once more and rolled over to his other side. His back was to her now, except the blanket hovering around his torso fell away, giving her a full profile of his arse.

Mind you, it was a pretty great looking arse. God must’ve taken His sweet time sculpting glutes like that, goodness.

Hannah suppressed a giggle from her naughty thoughts and rose from her perch along the opened shoji. Keeping quiet so as not to disturb him, she tiptoed toward the slumbering Adonis and draped one end of the blanket over to conceal his nakedness. There, bare arse no more.

As if sensing she was near, Satoru began to stir. “Mmm, Hannah,” he slurred loosely. 

“Shh,” she hushed, crouching down to plant a comforting kiss on his temple. “Go back to sleep, my darling.”

She had cast her spell, and the sorcerer drifted peacefully back to sleep.

And Hannah went back to staring at the golden ginkgos outside. 

She wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

This country. This beauty. Her darling.

Chapter Contents

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

trick or treat 🥰🖤! i’m picking Sol of course ~

Hi Belle! You get a treat since the spinner has continuously been kind to all my trick or treaters! How nice! Sorry it's a tad late, but better late than never, hehe... Hope you like it! 🖤

A very quick mention of Sol's past, so read at your discretion.

Solomon x GN! reader

Leaf Pile For Two

With the changing of the seasons, the trees had taken on new shades of colors on their limbs. Slowly, but surely, the colors had drifted throughout the month, littering the ground below. Today was a particularly windy day, which caused a plethora of leaves to swirl around in the breeze as you and Solomon marveled at autumn's beauty. 

An idea comes to mind and you question if he’s ever made a leaf pile and jumped in it afterwards. To your surprise, he shakes his head no. Being deprived of a normal childhood - and a normal life in general - he explains he’s never had the chance to partake in such an activity. 

Well, you had to change that. 

After getting your hands on some rakes, the two of you got to work making the biggest leaf pile you could. There were plenty of scattered leaves laying about, with more falling by the second, so there was no shortage in sight. The act was almost hypnotic once the two of you got into a groove of raking the leaves, and the pile ended up much larger than necessary, exciting the both of you to no end. 

You threw your rake to the side, not wanting to wait a second longer to jump into the pile. In a single leap, the leaves engulf you with a loud, sharp “shh,” and Solomon laughs at how quickly you’re buried. He watches you peek your head out of the mountain of leaves, chuckling along with him. And with a motion of your hand for him to do the same, the sorcerer takes a small running start and hops into the leaves. A moment later, he pops his head out right next to you with a bright smile on his face - looking perfectly carefree. The two of you take turns throwing leaves or tackling each other deeper into the pile, just playfully messing around in the cool autumn air. 

When all is said and done, the both of you head back inside to warm up with warm drinks; and with a warm smile, Solomon knows the memory of feeling young with his favorite person will forever be embedded in his mind.

Songs: Paper Dolls ~ Corinne Bailey Rae, Into Black ~ Blouse, Full Moon ~ The Bear Ghosts 

[bettathanyou]

A Sky Without It's Moon

Fic by Bettathanyou

Hey y'all, this is a fic I wrote for @fantadym and their self insert OC, Elisa, with Don Cedric (what she calls her au version of Cedric!!) Please give them as much love as you give me, this fic wouldn't exist without such lovely characters if a talented writer/artist such as fanta didn't exist!!!

Cedric walks in to the quaint home with a groan of relief, the weight of today's work finally lifting off of his tense shoulders. They sag, finally down to their normal level instead of being scrunched up to his ears.

The living room was dark, shadows being his only greeting. It was quite late, and the hush over the house confirmed that his sweet Estrella and his love were mostly likely asleep by now.

Good, Cedric nodded. Too many times he's had to insist that his family go to bed instead of ruin their sleep schedule awaiting his arrival. Some days were much better than others, but still.

He knew how important rest was, even if he and everyone under this roof was guilty of being a night owl to a fault.

Cedric walks with practiced silence to his daughters room, the soft glow of her enchanted star lantern illuminating the crack beneath the closed door.

Turning the knob with a deft hand, he peeks inside. The room was peaceful, and the soft breath of Estrella was the only noise within.

Cedric's mouth can't help but form a smile, an automatic response whenever he's in Estrella's presence. He tiptoes in, checking on her swiftly.

The small girl was fast asleep, hands tucked to her chest as dark curls frame her chubby cheeks.

A soft sigh of amusement passes the sorcerer's lips, as he bends down to kiss the child on her forehead.

"Buenos noches, mi Estrella. Sueña con los angelitos." He whispered lovingly, petting her hair for a moment before he swiftly exited.

Cedric crosses the hall, his shared bedroom with Elisa pulling him towards it like an invisible rope around his waist.

He knocks, softly, their nonverbal greeting.

Elisa had long since heard her husband return home, but for the first time in a long time, she doesn't have the strength to get up from her place at the windowsill.

She trembles, feeling the draft through the cracks between the caulking. She'll have to remind Cedric about fixing it later.

But not now. Now, as the woman lays her throbbing temple on the cold glass, Elisa just wishes for rest to come.

Cedric walks into the room, halfway shrugging off his heavy silk robe. He almost missed the silhouette of his love, but it was like his body already knew where to look when his eyes rested on her.

Two different shades of brown irises collided- one as dark, deep, all consuming as the night sky, yet glittered with the brilliance of the stars held within it.

The other- soft, sweet, the color like a caramel candy that melts perfectly on your tongue, or like the dappled rays of light that shine through the perfect autumn leaf.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, letting the silence hold them in an unspoken pact; as if Cedric and Elisa had said "let's just be, tonight."

Cedric takes off his robe, hanging it besides the hook on the door. Dutifully unbuttoning his vest, sighing in the way Elisa knows means the day was long.

She purses her lips, raising her head and glancing over to her husband.

You should do something- not be sulking here by the window. Elisa chastised herself, limbs creaking as she shifted off the ledge towards the lanky sorcerer, his hands already undoing the last button.

Cedric doesn't notice, not immediately- he tends to hyperfocus on things. But Elisa always had a way of bringing him back from the clouds that fog his mind.

He felt her small hands touch his back gently, and he turns towards her.

"Good evening, mi corazon." He whispers, tensing his shoulders as he is about to take off his vest.

"Allow me, mi Rey." Elisa's words roll off her tongue in the way that makes Cedric's heart flutter every time without fail. Of course, he doesn't protest as he feels her gentle hands remove his vest with a loving touch, that could only be described as reverence.

Elisa slips off the bright magenta fabric, her eyes tracing the subtle curves and slopes of his shoulders that cling to the forest green button up beneath the vest.

All Cedric notices is the dark circles underneath his wife's eyes, catching in the shadows of their room. He thumbs the dark half moons, frowning.

Elisa nimbly avoids his gaze, already knowing what Cedric would say.

"You look exhausted..." He murmured, his tone slightly prodding Elisa to speak. He holds his breath, already knowing it won't be easy to get her to crack.

"It was a busy day-... But I'll be okay tomorrow!" Elisa starts, smiling, but the light doesn't reach her eyes. Her smile falters, and her fingers nervously fiddle with cedric's dress collar.

Cedric's frown deepens, which makes Elisa's heartbeat quicken. Did she say something wrong? Was Don Cedric mad at her? Why wasn't he saying anything-

"...But you're not okay now- which is what matters to me, dear." Cedric replies in a soft, yet concerned tone of voice. His fingers brush through the waves and curls on Elisa's head, feeling restless and nervous himself.

How had he not noticed this until now? Was Elisa ever going to say something if this went unchecked? Did she even realize she was this tired? Cedric felt his heart pick up speed with each question that popped in his head, guilt singing through his veins.

"I... I'm-..." Elisa stutters, unsure of what to say. Her eyes flick up towards Cedric again, seeing the worry lines etched into his skin.

Elisa's heart sank.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be- I should've noticed sooner."

"I... I should've too... I guess, I just run around so much, I don't even have time to notice I'm tired." She laughs, but it's hallow sounding and they both know it. She cringed, choosing to look away and back to the windowsill where she waited for the sorcerer to return home. Her eyes scanned the sky, looking for a moon she knew wasn't there.

It was the new moon tonight- the one day a month that even the moon gets to have rest. She envied it- to have a day just for her is a luxury she can't seem to afford much these days.

Cedric follows her gaze, noticing it was a moonless night tonight as well. His caramel brown eyes drift away from the window, back to Elisa. The starlight was more than enough to illuminate the soft curve of her cheeks, the rich dark line of her eyelashes, and the lovely hue of her skin. He sighs silently, admiring her beauty for a moment.

The sorcerer can't help but plant a soft kiss on her cheek, smiling to himself as he felt his own cheeks tingle from blush.

This pulls Elisa from her stupor, a soft noise coming from her throat in surprise. Feeling flustered, from the kiss and from being caught in the middle of zoning out, she rushes to change the subject.

"T-the moon is gone tonight..." The short woman trails off, stepping away from Cedric to sit back down on the plush window seat from the bay window.

Cedric chuckles as his wife's bashfulness, joining her on the opposite side of the window seat, propping a leg up as he rests his arm on his knee.

"She will return, like always; even the moon has to rest to recover her light." Cedric chuckles dryly, eyeing Elisa with a knowing smile.

Elisa huffs in amusement, looking down. She knew Cedric wasn't really talking about the moon- he was referring to her.

"Maybe."

She relented, scooting into her husband's lap; Cedric extends his hip out, giving her room to get comfortable. Elisa fits into Cedric's lean frame like a puzzle piece, her soft body sinking against his chest. Cedric hums lowly, enjoying the soothing pressure her body weight provided him- his heart rate slowly down to a steady rhythm.

Elisa sighs in contentment, as Cedric snaked his arms around her waist, enveloping her completely. Her tense and achy muscles always seemed to melt under his touch, and her hand gently rests on top of his, her thumb tracing along his knuckles.

"...What about the people who rely on the moon? Don't they need her light, too?"

Elisa asks, barely above a whisper.

Cedric looks up at the twinkling stars above them, his heart aching for Elisa.

When will she see that keeping her light for herself is included in that equation? Cedric ponders up at the sky with a pained sigh, his free hand tracing light circles on her arm as he thinks.

"That's why the moon has the sun, darling. To be there when she cannot be- just like she supports him. That's what they do, mi amor. They look out for each other... Yeah?"

Cedric asks, his voice soft and his true accent leaning heavy in his words. Except it wasn't in anger like usual, it was a moment of vulnerability and affection.

Usually, such a sweet moment would ease Elisa's heart, but tonight it felt like a storm of negative thoughts and emotions- with her in the eye of it, completely lost and alone. She doesn't answer Cedric, not for a while. She fidgets restlessly in Cedric's embrace, a tight line on her mouth as her insides twist themselves into knots.

"What if the sun doesn't really need the moon? ...If she disappeared, would anyone notice?"

"Of course they would." Cedric answers back bravely, pulling her tightly to his chest. Elisa hears the sorcerer's heartbeat, strong and sure and confident in its drumming. It felt like her anchor in the swell of emotions within her, as tears threatened to fall.

"There's a reason the sun sets everyday- it's because it's the only way he can see his lovely moon illuminate the sky."

Cedric proclaimed, love and adoration dripping from every word like honey. He kissed Elisa's shoulder, and the woman can only bury her face deeper into him even though she knew he could feel her tears sinking into his clothes.

"If she were gone... He would disappear too. And never return until he finds her again." Cedric speaks with a steady, low voice, his lips tickling the skin of her shoulder as he nuzzles her, holding her protectively to him.

The storm within her seemed to quell at the moment, as if the reassurance was the beacon guiding her out of the maelstrom of doubt and fear that would usually send her spiralling into a deep abyss. She inhales a shaky breath, trying in vain to swat the tears away.

"...Really?" She asks, feeling a little self conscious for asking for even more reassurance even when Cedric was already giving her so much. But it was compulsive, and she waited for Cedrics answer with bated breath every time.

"Yes, really." Cedric nods, kissing the crown of her head sweetly as he squeezed her in comfort.

"I need you, Elisa. Always- taking a break doesn't mean I'll disappear; and you won't either, my dear." The sorcerer offers her a genuine smile, his caramel eyes softening more as he brushed away her tears.

Elisa was speechless by this point, and all she could do was nod until her voice returns to her again. How did she ever get so lucky, no- so blessed by the gods to have such a caring person enter her life? Who understands her in ways no one else will? How could words ever express the full gratitude and love she has for her king, mi Rey?

Even as her words failed her, she showed her appreciation in the ways she knew she always could; she snuggled close to her husband, her hands gently gliding along his sides as she mumbled sweet nothing's in her native tongue.

Cedric smiles, looking up at the stars and the moonless night.

It seems I've found the moon... Not in the sky, but right here, in my arms. He thought to himself, heart squeezing tightly with love.

He looks down at Elisa.

"I love you, Elisa."

Elisa blushes, but with all the confidence in the world, replied, "I love you too, Cedric."

[nine-of-words]

(Naga + Four of Swords)

M Naga x Demisexual M Elf Reader

Wordcount: 6004

Content Warnings: Old Injury/Chronic Pain, Scars, Religious Themes/Trauma, Cloacal Sex (Reader Tops); As a baseline, all Drakkith have both sets of reproductive organs and are typically bigender. Sometimes individuals choose to identify as solely one gender, as is the case with Salim in this story.

This one ran a little long, and personally I blame inherited catholic guilt.

Rain again today.

A loathsome drizzle.

You watch it patter down from your post by the door to the grand hall, the water pooling on the autumn leaf litter you haven’t had a chance to rake in days. You rub out your aching, fussy shoulder.

"My, it's really coming down out there. No end in sight.” Mother Abbess appears at your side and clicks her tongue, as if chiding the weather might make it stop. “And the station broadcast said because of the magical nature of this cold front, that it’ll carry on like this for several weeks. Weeks! Can you believe it, Ser?”

"Hmmh." You grunt in acknowledgement, not really feeling the desire to socialize; the burning ache from your shoulder to the fingertips on your casting hand- your former casting hand- is more than enough to turn you off from pleasant conversation. The rain only makes the aching and the stiffness worse.

"Perhaps it'd be smart to prepare some of the extra beds, just to be safe?" She says thoughtfully,  in her usual cheery, warm tone. "Any travelers unfortunate enough to be caught on the road now will want to shelter here until this awful downpour finally stops."

You came to this temple to recover from the injury that took you out of service. Once a knight-sorcerer, you’re now, technically speaking, only a knight, and a very underworked one, at that.

You used to be able to help people. Now you are another glorified doorstop, guarding a sleepy temple that not a single beast nor bandit has dared to touch in the time you’ve been here. They seem to be repelled from the place, regardless of your presence.

The longer you’re here, the more you realize your recuperation time seems to not have an end. You come to suspect that you’ve been left here to rot.

You let out a long, withering sigh. You’re still far too young to have been politely yet forcibly retired in everything but name- shoved in a corner to collect dust. But while you crave the bloodrush of combat, you know that realistically, you would not be able to hold up the way you are now.

Evening meal time rolls around, the chattering of the young initiate priestesses carrying over even to the end of the long table where you solemnly eat.

“No, that’s impossible. You’re just making things up for attention-”

“I’m telling you, it’s haunted!”

Then Mother Abbess joins the table, interest sharply piqued. 

“What’s this silly business I hear about ghosts in the temple? You know, our good knight goes to great lengths to make sure the temple is safe for all of us.” The older woman turns her attention to you with a playful smile; what you now know is her way of trying to rope you into joining in on the conversation, like a mother trying to goad her shy child into speaking up. “Have you seen any ghouls or spectres on your patrols lately, Ser?”

“Not one.” You shake your head, then continue to chew in silence.

“See ladies, there’s nothing to worry about!”

“No Mother, not the temple- the crypt. It’s coming from inside the tomb! We heard it!!” 

“Hilde and I went to refresh the altar for the dead, like you asked, but- oh, the sounds! Banging, scraping, groaning like pain! It was far too terrifying. We ran back before we could even think of finishing.”

“Well, that’s no good. This certainly isn’t the time of year to slack on honoring the dead, either.” She taps her chin in thought with the hand not holding her spoon. “Ser, do you think you might be able to go check the crypt after supper? So we might have some peace of mind.”

Obedient as always, after you’ve eaten, you re-don your armor just in case, and slog out into the rain and water-logged mud, towards the temple for your obligatory ghost hunt. 

You’re not going to find any ghosts, you’re sure. At most, perhaps a weak, trapped lesser spirit that can’t even communicate properly- but even that seems unlikely. At least the younger residents of the temple will be able to sleep soundly at night; that is enough of a reason for you.

The main door hangs ajar, left to creak as the wind moves it back and forth.

You click your tongue. The young sisters must’ve fled in such a hurry they left the door open. Still, you steel yourself and sharpen your senses despite the lack of obvious threat, just as your training has taught you.

You light the lamp and kick the excess mud from your boots before you descend the stone stairs into the darkness. You’ll take a look around, then you’ll be back up to the dry warmth of your bed, trying to sleep through the dull pain in your arm.

Inside, the crypt is dark, damp, and smells of old incense and lamp oil. The only thing that lives here is spiders and mold, surely. But the echo of your footsteps and the haunted atmosphere makes you feel starkly like you’re not alone here.

But in your search, you find nothing amiss. You only find the silence of the dead. Whatever was here must be long gon-

A noise in the silence, like a pained voice.

Was that a groan?

The hairs on your neck stand on end, your pupils constrict, sweat beads on your forehead. Your heart starts racing, gripped by a cold fist of terror.

Your good hand flies to the hilt of your sword.

“REVEAL YOURSELF!” You boom into the supposedly empty crypt, projected voice reverberating off the stone walls.

You are an extensively trained, battle hardened knight. Few things can shake you.

But perhaps you were wrong to doubt the young priestesses, this time-

The cold-burning torches in the chamber seem to flicker all at once.

Stone grinds on stone. The lid of a nearby sarcophagus moves in front of your eyes.

Your hand clutches the gas lamp, feeling your knuckles go white under your gauntlet, watching the stone lid continue to move back. You expect to see some spectral or skeletal hand rise from the gap, someone long dead disturbed from their eternal slumber.

You half-pull your sword from its sheath, ready to deliver this revenant to its second death as soon as the rest of your body breaks out of your fear induced paralysis.

Instead of a translucent or rotting set of digits, though, a slender, intact and solid olive-skinned hand reaches out, grasping aimlessly, followed by the other one.

“What in the Lady’s name-” You sputter, trying to make sense of the seemingly living person currently inhabiting the tomb.

With a pained groan, the rest of their body rises out of the dusty sarcophagus. They’re wobbling fiercely, barely able to support their own weight, but you get a good look at them.

Smooth, cinderous dark brown hair. Sleepy, heavily lashed, almond shaped eyes. Expensive looking clothing far too thin and flimsy for proper insulation needed for the beginning of the wet, cold autumn in the Rowenian wilds. 

…And the bottom half of a serpent? Specifically, scales of a vibrant gradient of variated oranges and yellows, with splotchy black stripes running horizontally down, from trunk to tail.

You know people like this exist, but you’ve never interacted with one in person, even in your travels during active duty. A type of the dragon-people. Naga, if you recall correctly.

“What in the blazes are you doing in this crypt, serpent?” 

“Pleassssse-” Their voice trails off weakly, slurring and nearly incoherent, grabbing at you in desperation. “Heeeelp.”

Desire to help those in need wins out over your own hesitance and shock and perhaps small bias, and you reach out the arm that they seem to be gravitating towards, despite it being your bad one. Their skin is cold as ice where they hold onto your neck for balance, their thin clothing still damp and clinging to them.

They immediately collapse against your body, laying their face on your shoulder. You can’t help but think that the weight feels good against your plate. When was the last time you were touched like this…? 

You can’t remember.

You quickly shake the thought away. There are more pressing matters.

You help them back to the temple, through the soggy ground. Mother Abbess and the rest of the priestesses still milling about after supper are surprised to say the least, and you set the stranger to rest in front of the main fireplace in the dining hall, hopefully sufficiently fulfilling their request for heat.

After Mother Abbess has shooed away the rest of the prying eyes and only you, her and the new visitor remain, she addresses them.

“Let me fetch you some hot broth and some blankets, dear. That will help you warm up while we have a chat.”

You watch the naga closely, arms crossed and feet planted, while Mother Abbess goes to retrieve some broth from the kitchens. Given the naga’s incapacitated state, you doubt they could be a threat right now even if they tried, but you are trained to be ready for one, regardless.

After a few minutes, they shudder and stretch out their limbs, seeming to come back to life a bit. They turn their head to look at you, the sharp lines of their features backlit by the fire. 

“Here you are, dear.” She hands them the wooden bowl full of heated broth.

“Thaaaank youuuu.”

A long, slender black tongue creeps out from between their lips and dips into the liquid, sampling it with a gentle flutter.

Seemingly finding it to their liking, they retract their tongue and start to sip from the edge of the bowl like a civilized person.

Then they smile at you, as if to silently address the fact that you’re staring, making your face flush in uncharacteristic bashfulness. Prickly heat creeps up the back of your neck- from standing so close to the fireplace in plate armor and nothing else, you’re sure.

“My name issss… Sssssalim. I am a man… and a healer by trade.” He manages to speak slowly, his voice gradually losing the harsh hissing noise and settling into a more subtle, faint accent as he pulls himself together. “Thank you for the… assisssstance…”

Mother Abbess gives him a brief introduction to the temple, herself, and even you, much to your chagrin.

“However did you come to be inside our temple’s crypt, Salim?”

“I had paid a merchant to transssport me through the mountains, for a job placement from the order I have waiting in the city. But during a break for the oxen… I spotted some mushrooms that are an essential ingredient for a rare curative balm, so I went off to collect them… The merchant seemed to have left me behind during that time,” He recounts the story, surprisingly even-tempered while recalling it when he’s described essentially what amounts to paying someone to leave you to die in the woods. “I wandered for what must have been days, it started raining… it didn’t stop raining… then I saw the stone marker for the temple… it seems as if I took the wrong door in, but by then I was too dazzzed by the cold to find my way out… but I got here all the same.”

He lets out a hiss of a laugh at his own folly, a sound you can’t help but find downright charming.

…Charming? What’s gotten into you this evening?

“Oh, what an unfortunate experience you’ve had! Good thing we prepared those spare beds in the guest dormitory earlier.” Mother Abbess beams, placing a wrinkled hand on her sternum. “The good knight will show you where you can sleep, Salim. You’re free to stay here as long as you need.”

He thanks her profusely for the hospitality, and then they indulge in a bit of idle chatter which quite honestly, you could do without. Once he seems to have recovered enough to move around, you escort him to the guest dormitory.

“You will sleep here.” You say curtly as you direct him to one of the made-up bunks closest to the small hearth in the guest hall you stoked earlier. Then, before you can even second guess why you’re saying it, add; “Do not even consider sneaking into the sisters' dormitory, or I will not hesitate to cut you down.”

“Ah, that won’t be a problem- if you’re implying what I think you are.” They say in the most polite manner possible for such an unprompted accusation. Their black tongue flickers in consideration, seeming to taste the air like any other snake’s would. “Even if I had nefarious intentions… There’s nothing that suits my particular interests to be found there…”

“Right.” You say, then think to yourself; Perhaps he only finds others of his kind suitable as potential mates. 

…Good.

Over the next few days, Salim seems to begin to make himself right at home at the temple. He enjoys spending time in the library and chatting with the sisters in the dining hall, while you prefer to spend your time as far away as you can while still keeping a watchful, distrustful eye on him.

…Only for the sake of security, of course. 

Despite him claiming he has no interest in them, the young priestesses are all a bit too interested in him for your liking. Instead of their usual chatter when not doing their duties, they’ve started gathering to listen to stories about his travels with the rapt attention a child would give a shiny new toy, or a schoolgirl would dote on their first crush.

If you thought that Mother Abbess trying to force you to socialize was bad before, you now know the strife of having to endure conversations with Salim, as well. It’s nearly every time he lays eyes on you, it feels like, with the curious looks and the incessant questions.

His presence in the temple makes you feel… strange. 

Wrong, somehow. A benign sort of malaise.

You try to bury it, and just go about your normal routine.

Mother Abbess has the bright idea to enlist Salim into doing health check-ups while he’s here, which he readily agrees to do as gratitude for the aid he’s already received. Over the next few days, everyone has had their turn having a physical, while you have been conveniently busy every time that you might be called to have yours done.

But as the rain continues to pour without signs of relenting, and the surrounding wilderness grows saturated and flooded, the aches and pains are only getting worse and worse, harder to ignore by the day. It hadn’t interfered with your duties yet, but one day, you finally slip up. The Mother Abbess finds you struggling to collect the stack of dry firewood you’ve dropped across the stone floor of the main hall, then proceeds to tear into you in her characteristic, most loving of ways.

"-And don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re avoiding having your physical. But you need to have your injury looked at, at least! It has been causing you pain; I see you struggling with it, even if you hide it well, Ser." Mother Abbess scolds you after helping you to pick up the logs, complete with finger wagging. "We finally have a healer in the temple again after old Mother Alys passed, so stop being so stubborn and make use of his services while he's here! He may only be here until the rain lets up, as far as we know- and then you’ll have lost the opportunity completely. You will go, if I have to see you there myself!"

“Yes, Mother.” You grumble out your reluctant agreement. As much as you wish it wasn't true in this case, she rarely guides you wrong. “Escorting me will not be necessary. I will go of my own accord.”

"It would not hurt you to make a friend, either.” She adds, emotionally kicking you in the ribs while you’re down. “There is nothing in the scripture forbidding having a friend."

Obedient as you are, you force yourself to pay him a visit in the quiet, mostly unused infirmary. You part the privacy curtain, walls drawn up and ready to get through this experience- but instead you’re met with a precious sight.

Salim seems to have fallen asleep in the padded chair in the corner of the room near the hearth, serpentine lower body coiled up around himself, a book propped in the dip between layers of scaled tail.

He finally seems to wake. Warm toned eyes blink open, their pupils constricting into lines as they take you in.

“Oh, why hello. My last patient finally arrives…” Salim yawns and rubs at one eye. “It was so quiet and serene back here, and the fire so pleasant- It seems I couldn't help but doze off…”

He rises lithely and arches his back like a cat waking up from a good nap in a sunny spot. The book on his chest slides down his body, seemingly forgotten.

Reflexes sharp as ever, your hand snaps out to catch the book before it falls. You don’t need to read the title to recognize it, but you skim it anyway.

Lady Night’s Good Knight, and Other Courtly Tales

You’re very familiar with this book- it’s a collection of old knight’s tales, simple parables that are intended to be bedtime stories for children. What is he doing reading this, of all things? You would assume a healer as erudite as he’s shown himself to be would be reading one of the numerous dusty old historical manuscripts or books cataloging flora and fauna of the area.

“Oh! Have you read this book before?” He gestures to the tome you’re now pondering in your hands. “I found it in the library and was far too intrigued to pass it over.”

“Back when I was a boy and not once since.”

“The tales inside are quaint, but enjoyable. I had never given knighthood much thought before coming here, but I admit I’m quite intrigued by the idea now. …Back home, there are no knights. Or I suppose everyone who is physically able is a knight, in some regard- it depends on how strictly one considers the definition of chivalry.”

“A kingdom full of knights sounds like a blasted nightmare.” You find yourself speaking far too candidly before you can stop, remembering what your more active days in the order were like. “That’s a recipe for far too many pissing contests for my liking. Everyone wants to ride in and play hero, and not a soul can fill out a single page of paperwork.”

“Healers never want to do their paperwork either.” Salim’s face lights up in amusement, a soft hissing laugh escaping his lips. You experience a short moment of pride that you’ve made him laugh, followed by that strange feeling- some mix of joy and terror and confusion filling you once again. 

Suddenly a ball of nerves forms in your stomach, realizing you’re about to let him touch you.

“Let us get this over with quickly,” You gripe, setting the book on the end table and taking a seat in the chair across from him. “I still have duties to see to before night falls.”

“Of course.” He says politely, and efficiently prepares what he needs to get down to business.

It’s a needlessly vexing experience; being poked and prodded, performing tricks on command like a well-trained hound, with Salim uttering the occasional hum that may be a good hum or a bad hum, for all you know- And the invasive sensation of his hand on your chest to auscultate your heartbeat and breathing has your skin prickling under your collar.

“My, are you a wonderful specimen. Steady heartbeat, clear lungs, good color to your gums.” Salim praises you after he’s finished examining your general health with the medical kit still left over from the old healer. He now motions for you to undo your shirt. “You are an exceptionally healthy man. Barring this one glaring area, it would seem. Let us take a look…”

You hesitate, but you relent and untie your loose, simple linen shirt just enough to slip your arm out of the sleeve. One hand gently slinks up the back of your firm upper arm, the other holding your elbow.

It’s a dreadful, ugly thing, your bad arm. Discolored and shiny from the healed burn from your fingertips all the way to your clavicle. To make things somehow more ghastly, the veins on your arm are ruddy black and fully visible from where the overloaded mana scorched through your blood.

"And your magic is fire." He says, a statement, not a question, as he manipulates your arm to inspect the way your scarring behaves. "Mine, as well."

You can already tell his alignment is fire; if not clear from the familiar hum within you in acknowledgement, it is clear from the pleasant smell of recently extinguished candle that seems to always permeate his general vicinity.

"It was. Why does it matter?"

"The raw power still radiating from this…" The way he looks at your arm feels almost reverent, his eyes glimmering. "You would have been quite the sight to behold, were you not? Before all of this damage."

“Does this endless prattle have a meaning?” You say, your nerves forever raw when it comes to this subject. “What are you seeking?”

"I simply thought since we share the same mana alignment, that you'd enjoy speaking about it. And that we could perhaps come to know each other better…" He hopefully looks up his brow at you, still holding your arm aloft in his elegant hands as he inspects you like some piece of meat for slaughter.

You grit your teeth, pulling your scarred limb away.

“My magic was a gift from the Lady. Now, it is gone- Revoked. Of course I don’t want to dwell on that fact. What more is there for me to say about it?”

"...I apologize if I have caused any negative feelings to resurge. I only wished to propose… a mutually beneficial arrangement between us. We could be of great assistance to one another, even share some comfort-"

"I don't want or need your comfort," You snap, pulling your shirt sleeve back on, confusion at your own feelings bubbling up into anger. "Unless it's bloody healing. Can you help with this pain or not?"

"I am capable, and the solution is related. Being a sorcerer, your mana is continuing to generate internally- perhaps moreso than normal to overcompensate for the weather. However, the damage to your arm is preventing the natural release of that unused accumulation, also due to the weather. Due to the age of your injury, I'm sure you already are familiar with the treatment for this particular predicament; Siphoning.” Salim pauses, waiting until he sees your nod in understanding before continuing. “…While my own mana stores have not fully recovered from my jaunt through the woods, not in such damp conditions as these. So, I could take this excess from you, through touch… If that was a prospect you found appealing…"

“I do not.” You say, standing to depart so abruptly that the chair scrapes the stone loudly. “I will wait this out, just as I always do.”

“I do not think that is very wise...” Salim says grimly. You see concern etched in his features.. “But I would never force a patient to accept treatment.”

You don't want to think of it. Nor do you want to think about why your heart starts racing when you are close to him, or why your eyes always seem to catch on the sheen of his scales like they do on a well polished blade, or why the simple act of a gentle examination of your weakest part feels so good, so right, when he was the one doing it.

Giving up the chance to have a wife or a family never felt much like a loss when you were first training to be a knight. You had never felt much desire for one or the other, either way. But now… you finally feel this carnal sort of desire… and it’s for some monstrous serpentine abomination.

Another test of your virtue? Fine. You won’t give in.

Cold, wet days pass into cold, wet nights. Tonight you lie in your bed awake, overheating from the inside out, the blazing heat radiating from your arm. Your good hand clutches at your shoulder, knuckles white from the grip as your writhe, blankets fully kicked off and biting a spare scrap of leather to keep from waking the whole temple with your screams.

This is certainly the worst flare up you've ever had, the old scar burning nearly as terribly as it did the day the explosion happened, when a magical attack overloaded your system and destroyed the ability for your own mana to properly cycle through your body. A broken circuit.

Typically flare ups only happen around excess of the corresponding element. But in such oversaturated conditions of the opposing element- in your case, the water in all this blasted rain- what remains of your mana becomes volatile, trying to overcompensate for your surroundings with nowhere to naturally leech off to.

But you are strong. You can weather this pain, like you have time and time before…

It just needs to pass already.

So close to the brink of being driven to complete madness by the torment, you almost fail to notice the door to your chambers slowly creaking open. The only light filtering in is from the window, as you've left your hearth unlit to avoid making your pain worse. But even in the low light, you can recognize those undulating movements anywhere now. 

"...I can feel the energy cresting all the way from my bunk," Salim's soft, worried voice says from the shadows- as if it was ever going to be someone else, slithering into your private chambers in the dead of night. "Please… allow me to help you."

"Fine! Fine. Do what you will to me, serpent," You growl, barely snarling back tears as the leather strap falls from your gritted teeth. "Just make it stop."

You expect maybe for him to come to your bedside and lay his hands on your arm from there, but instead you feel the weight of Salim slithering into your bed beside you. 

He entangles your arm with his upper body, pulling your hand towards his face to gently cup his cheek, your forearm tight against his body in its bent position. Every part of his exposed skin that he can feasibly manipulate into touching yours finds its way there; arms, hands, chest. Even his long tail winds itself around one of your legs.

Normally being pinned by another person’s weight like this might cause you to want to escape from the claustrophobic feeling, but it doesn’t seem to appear this time, only a strange sense of security after all the thrashing in pain you’ve been doing this evening. You find a comfort in it that you didn’t know you could crave.

The heat in your arm continues to grow, but it flows with purpose now. The molten energy flees your body, in favor of migrating into the naga’s body instead.

Sweeping tingles run over the surface of your skin in waves, wherever it has contact with his. The sensation is so overwhelming, almost like the ground falling out from below you, despite laying securely on a bed, but with an added layer of temperature fluctuating wildly. 

Then… Relief. Finally, some modicum of relief.

This is what your sword must’ve felt when the blacksmith pulled it out of the forge, you hazily decide.

You're nearly euphoric in the simple absence of the white-hot needles jabbing into your flesh from the inside. It might as well be ecstasy, compared to what you’ve been enduring.

Thank the Lady- you think to yourself, before correcting yourself mentally. No, she gets sufficient enough praise the rest of the time. This time, it is 'thank Salim'.

You barely have the sense to care that that’s probably blasphemy, blinking the rims of your eyelids dry. Your heaving breaths finally start to even out into their normal, resting rate of rise and fall.

Finally in a calm, bearable state, you become acutely aware that you're now left in this close, pointedly intimate embrace with him. Shining starkly in the darkness, his irises have started to glow in a saturated vermillion hue, no doubt from the copious amount of magical energy he’s just taken in.

"This should suffice," Salim finally says, sounding sleep-drunk from all of the warmth of the mana he’s absorbed. He seems hesitant to actually let your arm go and depart, still holding your hand to his face, fingers weaved in yours. "I can leave now, if you wish."

"I do not wish for you to go." You admit, taking nearly all of your strength to keep your voice from shaking in fear of what that means.

"Oh?" He traces the fingers on his free hand down the inside of your forearm. How pleasing that simple pressure feels on the parts of your body usually used to the weight of heavy armor- which is most of it.

The feeling of the smooth, bare skin of his chest on your arm is just too enticing to let go, and your resolve crumbles.

The temptation is finally too much, and you're overtaken by the desire that's been gnawing at you despite your attempts to quash it.

You seize him at the back of the neck, pressing your mouth to his.

Salim seems shocked into stillness for a moment, before he relaxes in your grip, moaning his approval into your open, greedily searching mouth, and grasping the back of your own head with his hand. His fingers immediately catch in your hair, the sensation sending a flash of pleasure over your over-sensitive nerve endings. 

That long tongue you've thought about so much over the last several days glides across yours, winding around your own like his long serpentine tail is wound up between your legs, coiling around you.

Your free hand searches his side, grabbing anywhere you can find purchase. You want to take in everything; the sensation of soft skin that you know, though starved of, but also the new, enthralling sensation of hard reptilian plate underneath your fingers. It's smooth and rigid, yet still malleable as his dense muscles move underneath. 

You trace every crevice and crest you can reach where scale meets plate meets skin, investigating all the differences in texture. His body is positively drenched in warmth now- your warmth- and hot to the touch underneath your hands.

The solid feeling of Salim's tail between your legs feels dangerously good. You find yourself grinding against him to meet the rolling movements of his hips, already this close but desperately wanting to be closer, somehow.

You don't have to see it to know the thin linen sleeping trousers you wear to bed are not concealing anything at this point. The fabric is pulled taut against your arousal, barely even forming a barrier between the smooth plates of Salim's underbelly.

You barely feel any shame now, brazenly rubbing your hard cock against him. It simply feels too good to be embarrassed about at this point.

"This isn't a result of mana," Salim rasps in a moment taken to breathe, lips still hovering over yours. You can feel his dexterous fingers fiddle with the laces, and his tongue flicking at your neck. "But I can treat this heat as well…"

"Please," You growl.

Salim quickly loosens the laces just enough to push the fabric down as much as he'll need to, every minute trace of contact stoking your desperate need.

The darkness doesn't deter him all. His darkvision clearly must be better than yours- making lining up the wet, soft crevice between his belly scales with your waiting member trivially easy.

You can barely contain your excitement as your throbbing cock catches on the edge of his slick vent. The only thing you've felt before has been your own hand, in the times when you've needed release. You need to know how being squeezed inside him feels.

Salim doesn’t even extract himself from the coiled embrace he has you in, nor shift his weight. Once he is sure he's got the tip lined up where it needs to be, he simply starts pressing his hips flush to yours, taking you in.

A low, incomprehensible noise of approval escapes him as presses himself forward, all the way to the hilt. His fingertips grip at your chest while your own seek purchase in the dips of his hips.

Your jaw clenches involuntarily. He's hot, almost unbearably so. You knew he would be, but you weren't ready for the sensation of being enveloped by such sweltering, magically augmented heat. 

If the siphoning felt like your sword being pulled from the forge, this is being plunged back into it.

Your lack of experience doesn’t seem to matter anywhere near what you thought it would, not with Salim doing most of the hip movements. You thrust forward as much as being on your side and wound up by him allows, not content to be completely idle.

You're not going to last long like this, but you’ve got to try.

The writhing continues, locked in a slightly damp, molten knot of limbs and starved kisses, until you’re clenching every muscle just to let it continue a bit longer. The grip of Salim’s tail only gets tighter and tighter, until it culminates with a series of forceful contractions around every part he has you captive. That does you in, your own pelvic muscles violently tightening as Salim’s hole saps you of everything you have to give.

Afterwards, Salim doesn’t say anything, but the ragged breathing into your neck is just as good as any words he could say, anyway.

You lie there, skin still tingling all over with heat and a burn deep in your muscles- a pleasant kind in comparison. Eventually you drift off in the darkness, still holding a firm grip on the serpentine body entangled with you about the hips.

You sleep like the dead. 

When you wake in the morning you feel revitalized, like you're a new man.

It doesn’t take you long to notice your visitor from last night is nowhere to be seen. You briefly consider if it was all a lewd, feverish, hallucinatory dream…

Only it couldn't have been a dream- your arm is nearly devoid of pain as you clench a fist and flex your muscles, and you can still hear the rain pattering against your chambers' window.

Just as a small twinge of panic starts to set in, you hear someone slip into your chambers.

It’s exactly who you expect it to be, and he’s carrying what looks like two servings of warm breakfast on a tray. When your eyes meet, his mouth curls into an enigmatic smile.

“Good morning.”

“There was no need to coddle me like this.” You protest, sitting up in bed as he sets the tray down on your desk and takes a seat on the paired wooden stool. “I’m perfectly capable of making it to the dining hall.”

"You are sorely in need of time to recover… I've told the Mother that you are to do nothing but rest today."

"And I'm sure she found that terribly agreeable." You say, running your hand down your face in frustration. She's constantly chiding you to take more breaks as it is, and now she has reinforcements.

"Of course she did. Healer's orders," Salim says very seriously, though the glimmer in his eyes is clearly playful. "Though perhaps, depending on how you're feeling now… you may require additional treatment..."

Despite the exasperation, you can’t stop the twitch of a smile on your lips.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

[skitters in] the entire emoji themed ask game for Eleazar and Lazarus please and thank you ::3

waaaah. utc its SO long.

Ask Game!

🍼 [BABY BOTTLE] What's your OC's first memory?

Lazarus: Waking up in the burnt down ruins of its home, completely detached from life.

Eleazar: A birthday party when he was five.

🥛 [MILK] What is your OC's relationship with their biological parents like? What about their relationship with any non-biological parental figures?

Lazarus: Strained.

Eleazar: Really good! He relies on them a lot.

🍨 [ICE CREAM] How does your OC compose themselves in stressful situations?

Lazarus: Disappears lol.. It's abilities are very much ghostlike, so it tends to just disappear. It will come back when its calmed down, yk?

Eleazar: Nervously plays with his hair. He'll twist the strands.

🍦 [SOFT CONE] Where does your OC work? How much are they paid, and would they prefer a different job? Why?

Lazarus: "Lazarus Fletcher, Reaper of Phantom Fade." It is death. One of 'em at least. It doesn't get paid anything, thankless job really. It would prefer being a historian, they both wanted to be historians.

Eleazar: He has a part time job at the college library (,: it doesn't pay that much but it helps with his education. One day he'll be a Preservationist! He wants to work with the HEA to preserve sorcerer society and finalism. Especially after WW2 wiped so much out.

🍬 [LOLLY/CANDY] What would your OC like to receive for Valentine's Day/as a token of love?

Lazarus: Nothing? It doesn't really care.

Eleazar: Cupcakes! Strawberry ones.

🥤 [PARTY CUP] How does your OC feel about drama? Do they start any themselves?

Lazarus: It won't start any but it WILL listen. :eyes: and all

Eleazar: He says he won't get involved in drama but he's so gossipy lol

🍷 [WINE] Where on the 'wine aunt scale' is your OC?

Lazarus: Gags trying to drink wine.

Eleazar: Also.. gags trying to drink wine.. But he's cool

🥀 [WILTED ROSE] How good is your OC at meeting deadlines? What motivates them?

Lazarus: It literally has an easier time dispatching of lost souls than traditionally reaping a soul. It will fuck up ON PURPOSE. So BAD. AWFUL. LMAO??

Eleazar: Really good!! He's gotta be for that degree :triumph:

🌹 [ROSE] Does your OC believe in true love? Why?

Lazarus: It hopes so.

Eleazar: YES.

🍄 [MUSHROOM] How likely is your OC to eat random berries/mushrooms they find?

Lazarus: Very likely, it gets bored.

Eleazar: Well wars are super cool for making food scarce. He's quite good at identifying random berries and mushrooms.

🍁 [MAPLE LEAF] What is your OC's favourite season? Why and what do they do during it?

Lazarus: Summer. Nice, warm. Sunbathe...

Eleazar: Winter. Its the season opposite to the one he lost his twin in. Skiing!

🍎 [RED APPLE] Who does your OC value above all else?

Lazarus: It's twin.

Eleazar: His twin.

🍒 [CHERRY] Who is your OC's perfect companion?

Lazarus: A bird, perhaps a little mouse.

Eleazar: Doggy!! Probably a big fluffy one.

🍓 [STRAWBERRY] How do they feel about 'cute' things?

Lazarus: Doesn't pay attention.

Eleazar: Coo

🍅 [TOMATO] How misunderstood is your OC? In-universe or IRL.

Lazarus: Especially at the time period it's in, probably pretty misunderstood? IRL I think people would be down bad for it.

Eleazar: Same situation as Laz.

🌶️ [HOT PEPPER] Who would your OC declare their sworn enemy if they could meet them?

Uhm well Laz died as a result of WW2 and Eleazar lost his twin as a result of WW2 so. Hitler????

🍉 [WATERMELON] What will your OC take to the grave?

Lazarus: WELL YOU SEE.

Eleazar: That he's partially to blame for his twin dying.

🍟 [CHIPS/FRIES] How much junk food/sometimes food does your OC eat? Has it affected their health?

Lazarus: It has no need to eat, so most of the food it consumes is junkfood lol. It doesn't have an affect, yk, death.

Eleazar: He eats as healthy as possible but he loves sweets...

🍂 [AUTUMN LEAVES] Does your OC view piles of dead leaves as a mess or as fun?

Both: Fun!!

🥕 [CARROT] How tough is your OC against certain situations? How weak are they against others?

Lazarus: Literally invincible. ONE GUY can kill it and that guy has not yet been born. Well and the Fates can erase it, but they have no reason to.

Eleazar: Anything that counters his umbramancy. Too bright an area can absolutely fuck him over because he won't be able to use his magic properly. That being said, he's pretty good in most situations thanks to the abundance of shadows.

🍊 [ORANGE] Does your OC have a prophecy surrounding them? If they don't, what would it be?

Lazarus: Nope! If they did it'd be the "died for another to prevail" type prophecy.

Eleazar: Also no. But one could argue he is the other half of the "lost someone important in order to prevail" trope. And his twin's death did directly lead to him insisting on the preservation of magical society so as to prevent a future erasure. But it isn't a prophecy because he alone wasn't enough for that. I think Rowan said the last one was the 60s?

🥭 [MANGO] What colours best represent them and why? Does this differ from their favourites?

Lazarus: Blue and silver. I don't have a why, it just does. Anyways it's favourite colour is orange.

Eleazar: White and black. His favourite colour is red.

🌰 [CHESTNUT] What food group does your OC mostly eat (e.g., grains, fruits)?

Lazarus: Candy.

Eleazar: Vegetables.

🍑 [PEACH] How do they show their kindness? How kind are they truly?

Lazarus: It isn't very kind because it doesn't have much opportunity to be. It doesn't even really grant the souls it reaps any sort of kindness. Watching them become monster in order to hunt them down.

Eleazar: He always remembers people's interests or things they point out. He likes to think he's pretty kind.

🧅 [ONION] What is surefire to make your OC cry? Who knows of this information?

Lazarus: Hurt its brother.

Eleazar: Remind him of his childhood.

🍍 [PINEAPPLE] Pineapple on pizza or not?

Pineapple on pizza doesn't exist in their time rn LOL. Neither will care in the future though.

🍋 [LEMON] What is their kryptonite/ultimate weakness?

Lazarus: Boredom..

Eleazar: Honestly too many things. He's a soft guy.

🌽 [CORN] How good are they at hiding and finding their way?

Lazarus: It IS its whole thing..

Eleazar: VERY GOOD.

🍕 [PIZZA SLICE] How good is your OC at sharing? How do they share something if there's not enough supply?

Lazarus: It won't want to, but it will. Because there's very little it needs to sustain itself.

Eleazar: Will make sure everyone else has their share before him.

🧈 [BUTTER] How soft is your OC? In what sense are they soft?

Lazarus: Has really soft hair, thats about it.

Eleazar: He's very soft. He refuses to let the horrors he's experienced turn him to stone.

🍌 [BANANA] Have parts of your OC been lost to time (in-universe)? What do they wish they could lose from themselves?

In the future, yes. Eleazar's efforts will be forgotten and those who knew sans it's family will know Laz.

🏵️ [ROSETTE] What flower symbolises your OC best and why? What does the flower mean in floriography?

Lazarus: Forget-Me-Not. I mean. Lol.

Eleazar: Purple hydrangea. A deep desire to understand.

🍪 [BUSCUIT/COOKIE] Does your OC prefer things simple or extravagant?

Both: Simple.

🍻 [BEER CHEERS] Is your OC typically on the louder or quieter side?

Lazarus: Quiet.

Eleazar: Loud.

🥂 [GLASS CHEERS] What is your OC's 'aesthetic?'

Lazarus: doesn't really have one?

Eleazar: DARK ACADEMIA IM AFRAID.

🥃 [MATE] What does your OC look for in a friend? What do they find is a turn-off?

Lazarus: Would run screaming if forced to make a friend.

Eleazar: Kindness to animals is a must! If you don't like animals, he won't like you lol

🍯 [HONEY] At what point does someone seem sickly sweet to your OC?

Lazarus: It is really good at reading people. As if it can tell if someone is lying. Using kindness as a front, even slightly, it will know.

Eleazar: Too many compliments...

🍞 [BREAD] Does your OC have any allergies? How severe are they? Do they require equipment to help them?

Lazarus: Not anymore.

Eleazar: He's allergic to bees..

🥐 [CROISSANT] Where is your OC from? How do they feel about their homeland? Where are they now?

Their family is originally from England, however both of them were born in Germany in the 1930s. Their family is now back in England. Lazarus, drifts..

🥖 [BAGUETTE BREAD] Where is your OC's favourite food from? Is it a variety of places?

(sounds of lane googling where cake was invented)

"The first documented strawberry shortcake recipe appeared in a 1588 British cookbook." there.

🥨 [PRETZEL] How complicated is your OC's backstory? Who does it entwine with?

See it isn't necessarily complicated, but it is HEAVILY related to /actual world history/ which makes it just really fucking grim. Its accepted Ad Vitam canon that there were genocides of sorcerer children before they came into their powers, and complete wipes of their religion from history.

Lazarus and Eleazar's stories heavily have to do with these genocides and that comes in combination with WW2 being a big part of their lives. Not complicated at all. Just sad.

🥯 [BAGEL] What does/has your OC have/had an unhealthy obsession over? What caused this obsession? How do they deal with it? Do they seek help?

Lazarus: It thinks its normal (You couldn't face your family for years because you couldn't stand the fact you wear your brother's face.)

Eleazar: Food hoarding... He can't help it..

🥞 [PANCAKES] What's the most your OC can eat in one sitting? At what point do they get sick?

Lazarus: Like a normal plate?

Eleazar: He has a bottomless stomach...

🧇 [WAFFLE] Using shape language, how would you redesign your OC?

fuck if I know.

🧀 [CHEESE WEDGE] How often does your OC get into situations that rely on pure luck/miracles happening?

Lazarus: Way too often..

Eleazar: HE IS AVOIDING THESE SITUATIONS SPECIFICALLY.

🍹 [TROPICAL BEVERAGE] If your OC could go anywhere, where would it be?

Lazarus: Ancient Greece!

Eleazar: Ancient Greece. (for his twin)

🍔 [BURGER] What would your OC put on their burger?

Lazarus: so many pickles...

Eleazar: Whatever you are offering, he will put on it.

🍰 [CAKE SLICE] How does your OC change as you get to know them?

Lazarus: A little less awkward, more open. Softer than it seems.

Eleazar: He has more anxiety than you'd originally think...

🥧 [PIE] What's the longest journey your OC has gone on? What was it for? Did they succeed?

Lazarus: It went to Denmark one time that was neat.

Eleazar: IRELAND. For survival, and he survived so I'd say he succeeded.

🌻 [SUNFLOWER] Where would your OC get lost in the moment/beauty of the place?

Botanical garden, both of em.

💐 [BOUQUET] If you could send your OC a bouquet, what flowers would make it up and what is the overall message

I would send Eleazar a bouquet that represents forgiveness and new beginnings and I would send Lazarus all the pink flowers in the world cause it needs some colour in its life.

🌾 [RICE SHEAF] How picky is your OC with food? What will and won't they eat?

Neither are picky.

🍈 [MELON] If they had to be put into a box, what box would it be and why?

Lazarus: Resurrection.

Eleazar: Like a nice soft velvet box maybe..

🍏 [GREEN APPLE] How do they differ from the norm and how are they punished for it?

Lazarus literally died on account of being magical. Eleazar has to hide and suppress his magic and religion even now that he IS immortal just because its safer.

🍐 [PEAR] What is their current social standing? If they could change it, would they, and to what?

Lazarus: ????

Eleazar: Poor but he's managing. He'd like to be a nice middle upperclass but alas.

🥒 [CUCUMBER] How innocent are they (unaware to the bad happenings around them)?

LOL. They are not. They're both VERY aware. Lazarus is only innocent in the sex sense.

🥬 [LEAFY GREEN] How mundane are they? Do they like it that way?

Lazarus: Not very, but kind of hard to be when you're blue.

Eleazar: He tries to come off as mundane but he definitely isn't lol

🥦 [BROCCOLI] What do they hate about humanity/their species?

Lazarus: Humanity's inability to understand those unlike them + it has met some egotistical reapers. SHUT UP about being better than others.

Eleazar: Humanity's greed.

🥑 [AVOCADO] What will they never back down about, even if it makes them seem bad?

Lazarus: It doesn't care man I'm ngl.

Eleazar: That reapers and fate know nothing of the woes of the people who Actually contribute to the universe.

🥝 [KIWI FRUIT] How does their outside appearance differ from who they are?

Lazarus: It looks unapproachable, it is.

Eleazar: He looks very nice and calm, he is very nice and calm (lying)

🌿 [HERB] Is your OC religious? What do they believe in?

Yes, Finalism.

☘️ [SHAMROCK] How passionate is your OC about things they love/hate?

Lazarus: Not Very.

Eleazar: TOO MUCH.

🍀 [FOUR LEAF CLOVER] Would your OC spend hours looking for a four leaf clover?

No.

🌲 [EVERGREEN] What does your OC's dream treehouse look like? What tree is it built upon?

They have the same dream treehouse: One of those really old really tall oak trees and the treehouse would have a bunk bed for them to share and a nice window view.

🌳 [DECIDUOUS] What's your OC's favourite thing to do at the park?

Lazarus: Nap

Eleazar: Feed the ducks!

🍾 [POPPING CORK] How does your OC celebrate special occasions? With whom?

Lazarus: Eh.

Eleazar: Family and with lots of food!

🍃 [FALLEN LEAF] What's the darkest period of time your OC has been through?

Lmaooo I feel like I'm a broken record atp.

🌵 [CACTUS] How physically resilient is your OC?

Lazarus: Very!

Eleazar: Immortal yes, but still kinda weak

🍵 [GREEN TEA] What's your OC's preferred flavour of tea, if they even drink it?

Lazarus: As sweet as possible.

Eleazar: Fruit teas.

🍸 [COCKTAIL] When was the first time your OC had an alcoholic beverage? What did they think of it?

Lazarus: Recently, it was fine.. It didn't like it that much.

Eleazar: For his fifteenth birthday and he had rum and it was so gross.

🌱 [SEEDLING] What new passions/hates is your OC discovering?

Lazarus: It hates woodworking, don't ask.

Eleazar: Religious history.. And sewing.

🌴 [PALM TREE] What are the stops on your OC's dream cruise? What boat are they on?

They have never thought about this whatsoever.

🌸 [CHERRY BLOSSOM] Does your OC believe in legends/myths?

Lazarus: Only the ones that are actually real. But it used to love the Greek myths..

Eleazar: Some!

💮 [WHITE FLOWER] Has your OC ever kissed someone? Who, when, and where?

Lazarus: Nope.

Eleazar: A few times! Cheek, nose, lips, collarbone.

🌺 [HIBISCUS] What does your OC think is the prettiest name?

Lazarus: Annabella.

Eleazar: Amelia

🌷 [TULIP] What is your OC's favourite flower and colour?

Lazarus: Orange tulips.

Eleazar: red amaryllis

🍧 [SHAVED ICE] What's your OC's favourite flavour of edible thing (e.g., strawberry)?

Both is strawberry LOL

🧁 [CUPCAKE] If you had to describe your OC using flavours, how would you (e.g., 'they're very sweet')?

Lazarus: Bitter with a sweet inside.

Eleazar: Cotton candy..

🍭 [LOLLIPOP] Would your OC ever share food with someone?

Yes!

🍆 [EGGPLANT] How are they used by others? How easily are they tricked into this?

Lazarus: It is not tricked into this at all anymore.

Eleazar: A little easily.. He tries to keep an eye out but he just wants to help people.

🍇 [GRAPES] What's their circle of people/their species like? What dynamic would they be called?

Lazarus: Does not have one.

Eleazar: He keeps a close group of friends and he's very close to his family. But he bounces around groups and talks to lots of people.

🍩 [DONUT] What is your OC's biggest flaw? How do they deal with it? Do they deal with it?

Lazarus: It's apathy. It doesn't care.

Eleazar: The fact he holds grudges easily.. And he tries to deal with it! Its just really hard.

🍮 [CUSTARD] Expensive restaurants or cheap store-brand microwave meals?

Cheaper better.

🎂 [BIRTHDAY CAKE] How does your OC celebrate their birthday? With who, and where?

Lazarus: Every year, it would celebrate its birthday by changing its face to reflect its twin's growing up. So that they'd always match, looks the same in age.

Eleazar: He spends it with his parents usually, sometimes a few friends.

🥔 [POTATO] What do they have that others see as a flaw, but they don't care about?

Lazarus: Also its apathy.

Eleazar: I think he would have a panic attack if someone pointed out his flaws.

[lemme-just-oops]

Arcana Twilight and them in autumn:

Arcturus: The reason I have this prompt. September did not even arrive and he is already talking about christmas! Already has presents for everyone he knows. But only he can talk about the festive season, because if anyone else makes a comment about it, he will reply: "It's still far away, shouldn't we concentrate on other things first?" WHY DOES HE ALREADY SMELL LIKE CINNAMON?! He also makes you knitted pullovers to keep you warm! And gloves! If you walk in on him knitting, he will start talking about all different types of wool.

Alpheratz: Comes late to classes with a pumpkin spice latte in hands. Still falls asleep though. He is famous for feeding birds sunflower seeds now, and he takes care of hibernating hedgehogs. May or may not use this season to wear turtlenecks, which he knows he looks amazing in. Probably uses the cold wind as an excuse to hold your hand. Actually is awake for a good amount in the beginning of autumn, and really productive. But not for long.

Pollux: How often do you step on a leaf only to discover that it is not crunchy? That is him every step. Autumn disappoints him, but he WILL carve pumpkins and Arcturus will make soup or fries out of it. Decorates his room for every coming holiday and has suiting snacks as well! Barely goes outside though, because he is always cold. Use this wisely, because this is your time to cuddle in a blanket with him.

Sirius: You will find him gathering a lot of things. From nuts to dry leaves to anything else nature dropped. Of course it only is his duty as guide sorcerer, gather materials for class projects. But you know him. He does it because he enjoys being outside and being stunning in the golden autumn light. His mischief finds a more flirtatious tone and he will not shy from giving you forehead kisses. Avoids garden work like the plaque though.

Spica: Sleeps even less than usually and tries to stay awake, because it feels like time is rushing by. Gets irritated easily, but he manages to keep his frustration to himself. The guide comitee forces him to calm down and carve a pumpkin with them and luckily it helps to ease him. There was a photo shooting of him among red and orange leaves! And do not forget that he writes poems in this season! Mostly romantic or just anything to sort his mind!

Vega: The nostalgia this boy feels is enormous. All those memories that he barely manages to visualize or explain flood his mind and he will ramble about it for eternity. At least he has you, the one who shares similar experiences from Earth and you can relate to him. In evenings, he likes wearing fluffy blue socks to keep his feet warm and drinks tea. His toes wiggle when he is content in the warmth he feels, but no one would believe you if you said that out loud. Has a bird feeder outside his bedroom window, but never puts anything inside (because you do not want to wake up with a whale looking through your window for food).

[anasui-at-disneyland]

Concepto Sadida/ Sadida Concept:

Quise jugar con el concepto de las sadidas y su relación con la naturaleza y la vegetación, y dándole un giro a la apariencia de las sadidas, la cual es prácticamente un bikini de hojas, para esto integre elementos de las 4 estaciones en la apariencia y habilidades de esta:

La primavera esta representada por los adornos de flores en sus muñecas y tobillos, y sus habilidades con estas se basan con el crecimiento desenfrenado de vegetación en área y control del campo.

El verano esta representado por la falda, la cual esta diseñada para verse como el paisaje de un campo de trigo, y sus habilidades con esta se basa en el crecimiento de distintas frutas y vegetales con capacidad curativa.

El otoño esta representado por el top, el cual esta compuesto por hojas otoñales, y sus habilidades con estas se basa en el uso de hojas muertas y brisa para realizar ataques de área.

El invierno esta representado por los adornos de su cabello, los cuales son coníferas y muérdagos en sus astas, y sus habilidades con base a esta se basa en el uso de madera fría como lo son ramas y hasta troncos.

El diseño presentado muestra elementos de las 4 estaciones, pero puede simplemente adaptarse a la estación actual para tener en harmonía todos sus componentes (los mismo aplica para sus astas).

También añadí tatuajes tribales representando raíces y hojas, para mantener la esencia de las sadidas como brujas silvestres.

En cuanto a las armas que usa, tenemos un bastón el cual es el brazo de un abraknido el cual sostiene una carcasa que contienen todas las semillas utilizadas en sus hechizos, y las muñecas, en vez de tener una cantidad enormes de muñecas, ahora solo cuenta con 2, las cuales cubren las capacidades de las muñecas sadida (y su diseño esta completamente basado en mis sadidas de Dofus y Wakfu).

___

I wanted to play with the concept of sadidas and their link to nature and vegetation, giving a spin to sadida´s look, which is just a leaf bikini, for this I included elements of the four seasons to both her clothes and abilities:

Spring is represented by the floral rings on her wrists and ankles, and her abilities are based on overgrowth of vegetation on an are and field control.

Summer is represented by her skirt, which is designed to resemble a wheat field and her abilities are based on the growth of various crops with healing capacities.

Autumn is represented by her top, which is made out of autumn leaves and her abilities are based on the use of dead leaves and breeze to perform area of affect attacks.

Winter is represented by her hair broochs, which are pinecones and mistle toes on her antlers and her abilities are based on the use of cold wood such as branches or even tree trunks.

Current design showcases elements of the four seasons, but she can just adapt to the current season to keep the harmony of all the items (which includes her antlers).

I also add tribal tatoos resembling roots and leaves, keeping the esences of sadidas as sylvan sorcerers.

On the topic of her weapons, she got a staff which is a Treechnid arm who holds a shell that keeps all the seeds she uses for her spells, and her dolls, instead of having a handfull of dolls, now she only has 2, which cover all the capacities of the clasic sadida dolls (and their designs are fully based on my sadidas from both Dofus and Wakfu).

___

Su diseño esta basado tanto en mis Sadidas Sakura-Bloom (Dofus) y Winter-Sprout (Wakfu), dandole un giro al concepto del bikini de hojas para que este se encuentre en un punto medio entre bikini y bruja silvestre.

Her design is based both on my Sadidas Sakura-Bloom (Dofus) and Winter-Sprout (Wakfu), giving it a spin to the concept of leaf bikini, so it finds a middle grounf between a bikini and a sylvan sorcerer.

Dofus:

Wakfu:

[shadows-starlight]

Shadows and Starlight

Book 82: Autumn's Magical Lesson

-

It was autumn in the forest of Ebonvale.

The leaves on the trees were changed from their usual shades of green to shades of red, brown, orange, and yellow. Some stayed attached to the trees while most leaves covered the forest path. The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of pine and fallen leaves.

Malakar, dressed in his autumn attire, gently pushed an orient pram down the forest path that carried his little daughter, Aurora, in. She too, was dressed in her autumn attire.

The baby looked around the surrounding forest. It was definitely not as lush and green as it was a few days ago.

"Aurora, my darling," said Malakar, "Today is a very special day. Today marks the first day of autumn. Autumn, or fall, is one of the four seasons that make up a year. In autumn, the leaves on the trees change colours and fall off the trees, making them bare."

Aurora cooed as she tried to reach out to the falling leaves with her little hands.

Malakar chuckled, reaching up to catch a bright orange leaf as it fell, and handed it to her.

“Here,” he said, guiding her fingers to the leaf. “See how pretty it is?"

Aurora clutched the leaf, waving it around, her gaze fixated on its bright color. Malakar watched her with a gentle smile.

As they continued their walk down the forest path, the sorcerer noticed some squirrels darting up a tree. One of them clutched an acorn in its mouth, stopping briefly to stare at them before scurrying higher into the branches.

Some skunks, chipmunks, opossums, and raccoons were doing the same.

"See what these animals are doing, my little star?" Malakar asked, pointing to a family of skunks heading to their den, "Some animals, like these skunks here, are busy gathering food for the cold winter ahead. It's a process called hibernation. It's when certain animals gather food and go to sleep for the entire winter before waking up again in the spring."

Aurora giggled, her bright eyes sparkling. She waved goodbye to the skunks as they walked into the thick forest. Then, she turned out to see a large pumpkin patch where pumpkins and gourds of all shapes and sizes stood ripe and ready to pick.

"See those oddly-shaped vegetables?" asked Malakar, "Those are called pumpkins. See, some foods like pumpkins, gourds, apples, cinnamon, sweet potatoes, and cranberries, have been growing all throughout the spring and summer and now, since it's autumn, they are ready to pick and harvest."

He plucked a small, vibrant orange pumpkin from the ground and placed it in his satchel, "perhaps we can carve this one together, or make some pumpkin pie with it."

Aurora liked the sound of that.

Malakar leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “You’re learning so much already, my little star. Even though you can’t talk yet, I know you’re taking it all in.”

The sun began to dip lower, casting long shadows across the path. The air grew cooler, and Malakar saw Aurora shivering a little bit. He wrapped her baby blue bird's nest embroidered blanket around her so she would be snugly and cozy as he started the journey back to the lair, both of them wrapped in the beauty of the season.

[sonicfan3]

Opted to do an art summary again this year

Template

[cultgambles]

Nearly a Blip in Time

I love historical sukuna so here i am. Also i am lowkey so confused at his story. Like i know he was a sorcerer at one point in history but like when did he get all his arms?? BC according to the wiki he was killed and then became a cursed spirit and then his fingers were waxy (lol weird choice of word) ?? anyway, in this, hes not a people hes a monster.

He’s also OOC. first time writing for JJK, but i wanted something soft hehe. Reader bites the dust

Wc: 3033

Masterlist | Requests? open

“[Y/N], you can’t be serious. No way a person of your . . . stature . . . could research in depth about something as big as Ryomen Sukuna. In fact, I’d wager that you wouldn’t even get within 5 feet of his temple,” the local teacher scoffs, disbelief plain as day on his face.

“You wager? What if I do get within 5 feet, then? Will you take me in as your student?” You cross your arms, staring him down. “Do you accept the challenge? I mean, you said it to begin with.”

The scholar throws up a hand, blowing you off. “Fine, whatever. You have half a year to write an in-depth dissection of the demon lord Ryomen Sukuna, and you will report your findings back to me at this very hour once your time is up. I expect perfection.”

“And if I win?” You ask, writing down every word he has said.

“You won’t die.”

“And?” You shoot him an unamused glare.

“And I will take you in as a student. God curse your father for teaching you to read and write.”

“He knew it would be beneficial for me. Now, sign here so you don’t try to cheat your way out of this,” you thrust the wood block and paper attached towards him. The scholar grumbles, almost breaking the ink brush in the process of writing his signature.

You carefully tuck the contract under your arm and scurry off, not before telling him you’d be back.

His laughter echoes around you.

At home, your father was amazed and horrified to learn of this deal, but he knew nothing could stop you. You gave him one last hug for the time being and gathered what little belongings you had in a knapsack.

“Don’t worry, father, I’ll be back before you know it.” His warmth lingers on your person, seeping into your bones. You’ll miss this.

Sukuna’s temple isn’t far from your village, in fact, he was revered as a protector of some sorts. Perhaps one quick to anger and that changed on the dime. It was a couple miles up the mountain where the snow thinned in winter and where the flowers bloomed in the spring. You’ve been to it only a handful of times before, once with your father, and several with the other village ladies. A yearly tradition, you suppose.

The temple is always well kept, the torii gates painted a pristine red, the surrounding area swept and neat, no dust to be seen near the wells or on the floor. Some, like the scholar you had made a wager with, merely believed he was a spirit, a demon of imagination. Others, like you and your mother, really believed in his existence. Before it becomes too late, you decide to scope out the area and set up camp a ways away from the temple so as to not disturb him. You briefly wonder if he was here or away at some other village. Would he be wreaking havoc? or be somewhat kind and spare the folks living there? You decide to set up your small camp under the camouflage and protection of the trees, maybe fifty feet from the river. You’d be much happier to stay at home, but the paths could become treacherous for a young thing like you at night. Maybe a little bit of the great outdoors is what you needed, anyway.

Almost a week passes before you ever have the hint of seeing the demon in the flesh. It’s on one of the days where you bring a small offering. Not much since you can’t exactly go home and cook a nice meal every time, but usually a flower crown or other type of decor.

When you do see him, however, time slows to a crawl. You swear your legs feel like jelly as he glances down at you. Sharp-featured and arrogant, beautiful, all man. He stands tall, towering above you. He has to stoop to reach the depths of the temple from the doorway.

“Well, well,” he croons, “what do we have here?” His four eyes are the color of what flows through each being and his canines sharp as knives. Truly, he’s beautiful, sculpted muscles rippling under inky black tattoos, blazing red eyes.

You bow deeply and straighten your shoulders, gaze still downcast to be respectful. “I just wanted to make this offering to you. I know it’s not much, but I hope you will find it useful.” You raise the small gift above your head, feeling his gaze roll over your body, sharp nails lightly scraping against your skin, grasping the wreath.

“Peculiar,” he says. His thumb and forefinger tilt your head up and you struggle to avert your eyes. “What’s your purpose here, little human?”

“I made a bet with the town scholar. I’ve to write about you and return with my findings so I can become a real student there.”

“A student, eh?”

“Please! I’m fascinated by you,” you plead, feeling his grip on your chin tighten.

“I’m intrigued, if only slightly,” he muses, releasing you harshly enough you’re forced to regain your balance.

You soon learn his ego is massive, that’s probably the only reason he spared you. He’d just love something written about him, wouldn’t he? Ever the gracious god, he lets you stay in one of the temple rooms. You had offered to take one the furthest from his own so he could have plenty of space, but he put you up right across from his instead.

Something about you being near to always capture his persona. Whatever.

Life at the temple is never truly boring. there’s always something going on; whether someone bringing gifts, like an unlucky human sacrifice, or some warriors barging in thinking they could actually harm the demon.

Sukuna likes you watching him tear apart these people limb from limb the best. The first couple times you couldn’t stand it, but it soon became a natural occurrence. Sure, you felt bad for those folks, but they never came truly prepared.

“What’re you writing now, pet?” he asks you one day. You glance up at him. He’s wringing the blood out of one of his sleeves, the blood drip drip dripping to the floor in red rain.

“I’ve noticed you like toying with your prey. If you’re in a good mood, you’ll let them think you have the upper hand,” you tell him.

“And if I’m in a bad mood?”

“Slice them in half!” He nods. His black nails gleam in the sunlight and you watch a pair of arms reach up behind his head as a cushion as the other balances to sit next to you.

“I really like how the trees change color in the autumn,” he says nonchalantly.

“Because they’re the color of blood?” you offer. You draw a small leaf on your paper’s corner.

“Maybe. Their lives are so short, unlike mine. Not that I’ve been a curse for too terribly long.”

You bite your tongue. Is it lonely? bounces around in your head.

“What will I do when my little scholar leaves too?” You flush and stammer that you still have a couple months. Sukuna pauses in thought, then, a sinister smirk gracing his lips.

The more you get to know him, the more you realize that he’s much more bored with life. Killing random people stated his boredom and gave him something to do, it wasn’t until later that he learned to revel in it. The more you got to know him, the more you didn’t want to leave.

He taught you, too. Weird things, usually, but still, useful things. He wasn’t all that good a teacher, but he was patient and expected you to figure shit out on your own. Sometimes he took you down to the market and showed you how to best barter.

And to steal.

Other times, he would sit and watch you cook silently. He always says your cooking wasn’t crap, so you just take it as a compliment.

Six months have passed since you first climbed the mountain. Sukuna finds you in your room packing what little belongings you have.

“That time already?” he muses, leaning against the door. You hum in acknowledgement. “What if they don’t even accept me?”

“Then you’ll return, of course.”

“That’s a nice thought.”

Of course, little did you know, but to Sukuna, that was a command.

He didn’t just watch your figure walk away, no, he followed silently behind, taking in the way you’d stop to study a particularly interesting tree or follow the clouds.

Your village is still the same. Same rickety well, same sunken houses, same sort of dreariness when you left.

You make your way towards the school house, it’s kind of near the back of the village, backed up to the lush forest. “I’ve done it!” you call, standing tall. “Not only have I been within 5 feet of his temple, I’ve been inside. I’ve had actual conversations with the demon Ryomen Sukuna.” You fish out your copious amount of notes and dissertation, shoving it in front of you.

“I’m surprised,” is all the teacher says, “give it here.” You hand him the documents, and he flips through the pages.

“So?”

“So what? For all I know, this could all be made up.”

“What? It’s not! How would I make up his favorite fruit or the way he likes his meat cooked? Papaya and rare, by the way,” you cross your arms.

“Then you should have brought him down with you.”

“You called?” his deep, rumbling voice cuts through the silence.

“S-Sukuna? What are you doing here?”

“I told you, pet, you’d return to me.”

“Sukuna-sama!” the scholar bows. “This is all a misunderstanding, their findings were great! Very convincing!”

“Give them to me.”

“Yes, sir!” he wails, pressing the papers to the other’s chest.

“You didn’t think he would actually keep that bet, did you?” Sukuna asks you.

“Well, I was hopeful!”

“Aw sweet,” he mocks you lightly. “You don’t need to be surrounded by such inferiors. Come now.” It seemed just a snap and somehow the scholar’s head was lobbed off.

You nod dumbly, barely processing what exactly just transpired. Did he kill him? For you? Surely there must be something in it for him.

But the way he holds out one of his four hands for you to grasp sets a fire in your heart. It’s small, no grassland bonfire, but a smolder that you know will become a steady heat.

His hand is rough and calloused while yours only has a few bumps from holding your ink brush so tightly and for so long. Sukuna leads you back to the temple, guiding you back into the room you stayed before.

“Why,” you ask him softly.

He shrugs. “You’re amusing to me. I like the silly words you use.”

“So you like my company?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he chuckles, running a hand over your head.

“Hey! You’re gonna mess up my hair!” you giggle.

“Don’t worry, next time it will be because your head will be atop my bed.” Shameless. Truly shameless. “Just keep writing about me.”

Somewhere in between you returning to the temple and now is when you find yourself tangled in his sheets. Two of his arms wrap securely around your waist and hip, another caressing your cheek. If you’re being completely honest, it seemed as if he adored you. He never coddles you per say, but anything you’d mention off hand, he would remember. An object you wanted, or even that you wanted to take a bath later that day. Sometimes he would even brush out your tangles for you.

You’re surprised by the normality of it all, how he’s gentle with you, unlike others who dare to cross his path.

Waking up together is a part of your daily routine. (Every morning, he gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.) (You trace the patterns of his tattoos lazily.) You’d ask him about you and him sometimes, and he always responds that he’ll always keep his little one happy, that you belong to him. Sometimes, in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s actually being truthful or he’s just passing the time. Maybe the truth is a little bit of both, but you’re happy anyway.

He likes holding you, the two of you sitting by the river in the flowerbeds, watching nature for hours at a time.

Other times, he lets down his walls in the four corners of the temple. Every time he comes home smelling of blood and decay, you drag him to the bathroom and run a hot bath. Your nimble fingers glide through his hair, stopping to pull out leaves and scrub away dirt from his skin. More often than not, he would pull you in with him, your laugh ringing in his ears like bells.

But happiness must come to an end.

Apparently.

It’s a weekday when it happens.

Sorcerers.

They come in doves, feet stomping like drums.

“I guess they’re tired of me wreaking havoc, hmm?” he muses.

“There’s a lot more than usual, are you sure you’ll be alright?” you whisper softly, cupping his cheek.

He holds your hand there, leaning in and closing his eyes. “Who do you think I am? Of course I’ll be fine. You will be too.”

“Okay,” you watch him leave, a familiar aura of danger seeping in like a thick fog.

But it’s not okay.

Someone finds you and they drag you out of the temple by the hair. You’re thrown to the ground harshly.

“What, a little harlot? That demon won’t bother saving you, don’t even look at him. You’re nothing to him,” the sorcerer tells you, pressing a steel toed boot to your throat. You’re gasping for a breath, any.

“Obviously you think I’m worth something since you’re dealing with me,” you struggle to voice.

His nostrils flare, eyes wide. “See you in hell,” he snarls. You’re feeling everything and nothing at once. Surely the wound in your chest as you bleed, but you can’t seem to think of anything good or bad. You’re clutching your wound, sputtering. As if sensing you, miraculously, Sukuna turns in your direction as his fist rips through someone’s chest. Faintly, you hear a roar of anger, and then the screams around you are deafening.

The dozens of sorcerers that tried to defeat Ryomen Sukuna lay at bizzare angles, each in their own pool of blood.

It’s this horrible humorless laugh, his open mouth desperate and hungry like he wants to devour the world in punishment for taking the one true thing he held dear to him. The last piece holding his humanity together. He doesn’t know how you even got out of the temple, that’s definitely not where he left you. You’re staring blankly ahead, but he notices your hand gripping the pendant he gifted you.

Sukuna sighs, kneeling next to you, holding you close to his chest. He doesn’t know what you would have preferred: whether to be buried or cremated, and there’s no point now. Ultimately, Sukuna places you in a bed of flowers. He makes his way back to the temple, stepping around the bodies that litter the floor. Maybe he can threaten some laymen to come clean up the mess.

When he returns to the main room, the first thing he notices is the shelf with all the books you loved. Papers strewn everywhere, pages bent.

Your findings about him on the top shelf are gone.

That’s not something he realizes until much, much, much later when he’s ambushed after terrorizing another village. It’s been years without you, and yet he still feels anger of how you were taken from him. He promised he would protect you, at least, in the sanctum of his own mind, never voicing it to you. And yet, he’s failed.

Your coping mechanisms suck, you’d probably say if you saw him now. But I’ll write it down anyway, and we can cross it out later, if you want.

Like your death, he’s not even sure how the sorcerers managed to defeat him.

His twenty fingers cut up, separated through time and distance. Dormant, for now.

—PRESENT TIME—

“Oi, brat, ask that blindfold asshole what those are.”

“Ask what are what?” his host, Yuuji Itadori quips.

“Over there, on display. The books.”

Yuuji hates to admit it, but he’s curious too. How important are they to be kept here, and in a glass case, no less? Anyway, he hardly ever gets to see cursed objects in the flesh.

“Gojo-sensei! What are those!?” he shouts.

“They’re books, don’t you know what a book is?”

“Okay, yeah, but what’s their use? Like, why are they here?” Yuuji pulls at his hair.

“Hmm, they’re written by a [Y/N]. Long ago, not much information about the author, but the writing is phenomenal. And all about that little curse inside of you,” Gojo smirks, running a finger down Yuuji’s forehead and bopping him on the nose.

“About Sukuna?”

“Pretty mundane stuff, if you ask me. I’ve been told the sorcerers that defeated Sukuna used those texts. Not sure how ‘he hates when food offerings have tomatoes’ was useful, but apparently it was,” he shrugs, looking at his watch. “Ah, would you look at the time, I’ve gotta go! Pressing matters with a special-grade. And the candy shop I want to go to closes in 30!”

“Later, sensei,” Yuuji waves. “You don’t like tomatoes?”--silence-- “What, no response? You’re suddenly shy now?”

Sukuna hears him, and ignores him as per usual.

So, my little scholar’s books were stolen, huh? Here, all this time?

[demifiendcruithne]

name: Mehr al-Gulrukh

race: Eladrin

class: Warlock (Archfey)

characterisation: A stylish, dramatic model garbed in leaves, Mehr is known for their beauty and grace, but also for their willingness to work with almost any brand, should the conditions be right. So long as they may wear their signature style and it is presented as a crossover, they’ll happily collab with near anyone. Few know this is the condition of their patron - an archfey fashionista, who forcibly recruited Mehr to help promote their brand. Mehr had a strong sense of style even as a struggling child. Despite being in a poor area, by hoarding and putting together scraps of whatever material they could find, they always were able to look good even through the roughest times. One day, though, they took and used a petal from a fey flower ring. The fey were displeased; the only thing stopping Mehr from being cursed on sight was the good presentation of the petal as a highlight of their outfit. After some discussion, an archfey gave Mehr an ultimatum: they would promote the archfey’s fashion and be lifted from poverty, or they would be cursed for life. Mehr of course took the first option, and while their relationship was rocky at first, over time it improved to a business relationship, and even into casual workplace friendship. They enjoy the work they do and the travel it requires, but often get bored of going back to the same place many times. Sometimes they wonder if it would have been better to live free and cursed, than live bound and blessed...

recommendations: Pact of the Talisman would be most thematic with fashion, but any could work nicely

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inspiration: Roserade with the whole masquerade thing, Roserade always seemed pretty fashionable to me. with that in mind, I knew what I wanted for the backstory pretty quickly, and was able to work around that. warlock was the most clear choice, although certain sorcerers and bards (such as glamour bard) were in running; I eventually went with archfey because thematic for leaf-based clothing which would do well for Roserade. as for eladrin, that was a pretty clear one - I’d generally stick with Spring or Autumn, but if the others happen to be needed,  then...

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share link: https://www.heroforge.com/load_config%3D30982080/

[luninosity]

So I’ve started putting Magician (the sequel / spin-off to Sorceress - which was my first-ever pro published fantasy story, way back when! m/f, bisexual main characters, a single mom, a prince, a dragon!) up on AO3, mostly for motivation / wanting to get excited about it with people!

(And it’s technically fanfic, properly, now, isn’t it? For my own story? *laughs*)

Anyway, if you might like...a magician in need of redemption (he was the villain, or at least the problem, of the first story!), and an optimistic prince who likes books, and tropical fruit, and also (eventually) only one bed at the inn...chapters 1 & 2 are up now! More soon, I promise - I’ve got about 30k written already! And you don’t really need to’ve read the first short story first; I think it stands alone fairly well!

Read at AO3 here! Teaser below.

#

The world’s greatest living magician, lying on his back on a rocky ledge halfway up a cliff and bathed in sunshine, felt the boat’s arrival on the shore below like an uninvited knock at a private door. He did not enjoy it.

 He didn’t move for a moment. He did not feel like it, and there’d be no rush. Nobody’d get past his wards.

 He kept both eyes closed. Sun streaked red behind his eyelids; gold warmed his skin, his hair. His body soaked in the sensations of strong heated stone, sank into stone, became stone: learning how the rock felt when bathed in lush late-morning light. His edges blurred, softened: time slowed, thrummed, grew earthen and deep, salt-lapped and wind-etched. He might’ve been here for centuries, unhurried. Equilibrium and erosion, solidity and reshaping: a balance.

 He had needed balance. Something he’d thought he’d known, once. Something he no longer understood.

 He’d thought the island might help. Being rock for a while, or the wind, or the seaspray: being suspended amid them all. Being alone, because he was not sure he recalled how to be human, not well enough.

 The island was warm—Lorre had always shamelessly adored being warm—and far enough from the mainland that he’d been mostly undisturbed, and close enough to trade routes that he could occasionally walk on water out to a boat and barter some repairs or some healing for some news of the Middle Lands and King Henry’s court at Averene and the Grand Sorceress Liliana. Lorre had promised not to magically check in on Lily or their daughter; he was attempting to keep that promise.

 Equilibrium. Difficult. Sunlight was easier. Sunbeams were weightless. Stones did not have to think about human promises. Human perceptions.

 The knock came again. It was not physical, or not entirely. It was a presence, an unexpected intruder standing below, shuffling feet in the sand and no doubt wondering where precisely a magician could be found, being faced with a towering blank cliff and no visible habitation.

 Lorre sighed, pulled himself back from frayed edges and heavy sleepy light, and sat up, pulling a robe on in an unfussy tumble of blue and gold, mostly just because he liked the caress of silky fabric on bare skin. His senses shifted, dwindled: more human, though not entirely. He’d been a magician too long to not feel the threads of brilliance—cliff, vines, fish, grains of sand, sea-glass polished by waves—all around.

 He peeked over the side of the ledge. Behind him the cave yawned lazily, reminding him of sanctuary: he could simply walk back inside, the way he had for several years now, and ignore the new arrival. That generally worked.

 He was rather surprised someone’d found him at all. He wasn’t exactly hiding—oh yes you are, said a tart little voice in his head, one that sounded like Lily’s—but the island, after a bit of work on his part, nearly always concealed itself from maps and navigation charts. At the beginning a few enterprising adventurers had managed to track it down, young heroes on quests or proving their worth by daring an enchanter’s lair or begging for Lorre’s assistance in some revenge or inheritance or magical artifact retrieval scheme.

 He’d ignored all but two of them. The illusion-wall kept everyone out, simple and baffling; the island had fresh water but little in the way of food. Mostly the adventurers’d given up and gone home, years ago; he couldn’t in fact recall the face of the last one. Two had become nuisances, loud and shouting; one of those had actually threatened to drink poison, melodramatically demanding Lorre’s assistance in collecting a promised bride from a glass mountain, claiming he’d die without her.

 The young man currently standing on the beach was neither loud nor melodramatic. In fact, he was calmly considering the sheer cliff-face, which revealed nothing; he stepped back across the small curve of beach, shaded his eyes, seemed to be measuring. After a second he put a hand up, obviously checking the edge of the cliff: having noticed the very slight discrepancy where sea-birds dropped behind the illusion-wall a fraction sooner than they should vanish in reality.

 Intelligent, this one. Lorre dangled himself over the ledge at an angle which would’ve been dangerous for anyone else, and watched.

 The young man had dark reddish-brown hair, the color of autumn; he wore it tied back, though a few wisps were escaping. He’d dressed for travel, not in shiny armor the way some knights and princes had: sturdy boots and comfortable trousers, a shirt in nicely woven but also practical fabric, a well-worn pack which he’d swung down to the sand. He wasn’t particularly tall, but not short: average, with nicely shaped shoulders and an air of straightforward competence, not trying for impressive or intimidating.

 Lorre, despite annoyance about the interruption, couldn’t help but approve. At least this one had some sense, and didn’t walk around clanking in metal under the shimmering sun.

 The young man called up, “Hello?” His voice was quite nice as well, not demanding, lightly accented with the burr of the Mountain Marches but in the way of someone who’d been carefully sent to the best schools down South. “Grand Sorcerer?”

 Lorre mentally snorted. He didn’t have a proper title, not any longer; if anyone did, it’d be Lily. His former lover, now wife of the brother of the King of Averene, was by default the last Grand Sorceress of the Middle Lands; she’d started up the old magician’s school again, welcoming and training apprentices. Lily always had been better with people. Lorre was not precisely welcome in Averene.

 The young man said mildly, “I expect this is a test; I thought you would do that, you know,” as if he thought that Lorre might answer, as if they were having a conversation; and looked around. “I’m meant to find you, is that it?”

 That was the opposite of it. Lorre on a good day barely recalled how to be human, and certainly wasn’t fit to interact with them. He’d lost his temper with the melodramatic poison-carrying prince, strolled invisibly onto the shore, asked the poison to turn itself into a sleeping draught, and then poured it into the idiot’s water flask. Then he’d found a passing ship and dumped the snoring body onto its deck. He hadn’t known the destination, and hadn’t bothered to find out.

 His current young man was looking at driftwood. Lorre wondered why. He was getting a bit dizzy from leaning nearly upside down; he considered the sensation with some surprise. A swoop of gold swung into his eyes, distracting and momentarily baffling; he pushed the strands of his hair back with magic.

 The young man found a stick, one that evidently met his standards for length and strength. He kept it in front of himself; he walked deliberately toward the cliff, and the illusion.

 Oh. Clever. Avoiding traps. Testing a theory. Lorre found himself impressed, particularly when the young man watched the tip of the driftwood vanish and nodded to himself and then set rocks down to neatly mark the spot.

 The island was not large, and the beach even smaller: a jut of cliff, a tangle of vines, a small lagoon and a trickle of water down to the shore. The illusion hid the cave-opening, but there wasn’t really anywhere else for someone to be; the young man figured that out within an hour or so of methodical exploration, and returned to the shore, and looked thoughtfully at the cliffs. He’d rolled up his sleeves and undone the ties of his shirt, given the heat; he had a vine-leaf in his hair, along with a hint of sweat.

 Lorre, in some ways still very much human, couldn’t not stare. Something about those forearms under the rolled-up sleeves. That hint of well-muscled chest. The casual ripple of motion, broad shoulders, heroic thighs.

 “I suppose,” the young man said, very wry, still looking at the cliff as if perfectly aware Lorre was watching, “I should introduce myself. I think I forgot to, earlier.”

 I suppose you should, Lorre agreed silently. Since you’re here. Disrupting my life.

 He ignored the fact that he’d had no real plans. Meditation. Quiet. A hope for calm.

  A hint of dragon-fire slid through his veins, under his skin. A memory. Restless. Beckoning. Dangerous.

[autumnleafhq]

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐄!

you have twenty-four hours to send in your account name via an ask for your spot to be held!

𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦: River Lee 𝘚𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦: changcling 𝘈𝘨𝘦: 22 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴: he/him 𝘍𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮: Yeonjun (TXT) 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴: ranged sorcerer 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘴: Human 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵: River was convinced from the moment he was old enough to read up about mythology, that he was a changeling. After all, why else would his parents detest his existence so much? Why else wouldn’t he fit in with the family he was supposedly born into? It was the neglect, the abuse, the arguments between his parents, and between them and him, that drove River to staying in his room gaming from the moment he brought home a second hand laptop from school to do his homework on. The better he got, the more he started to enter into little local competitions, earning the money to get a better laptop, snuck in through his bedroom window.

Then he met some of the people at Autumn Leaf and, well… sneaking things in quickly turned to River sneaking out to go to meetings with the group, climbing out of his bedroom window anytime the screaming got too loud or the hits got too hard. The group gave him a safe space, an escape from it all and in turn, a sense that maybe he had somewhere he belonged after all.

𝘖𝘖𝘊 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯: Robyn, She/her, 25+ (collectivemesses)