#i feel like I should have magically divined his presence

[perfectlyoongi]

SUGAR-DADDY!TAEHYUNG who spends summer days at a lake with you. the tranquility of nature was enough to make Taehyung feel completely relaxed. adding you as company only improved his entire experience. when the days started to get longer and the heat was suffocating, Taehyung would always ask if you wanted to forget the world. “let’s run away,” he used to say. “let’s run away and forget all our responsibilities. just me and you. away from everything that holds us back and hurts us.” and you accepted, you always accepted. partly, you accepted it because you knew it would make Taehyung happy – that was what you had agreed upon; but there was also a part of you that accepted it because you knew that those days, away from everything that distressed and hurt you, were the closest you would get to heaven.

SUGAR-DADDY!TAEHYUNG who takes you to balls all over the world. Taehyung was a devoted fan of that mystical magic that surrounds fairy tales. there was something in that divine hope that held Taehyung and made him want to dream. as such, he just wanted to try to recreate the enchantment he felt whenever he heard or read a more fanciful story – and the best way to reproduce all that magic was by going to small, beautiful dances. Taehyung didn’t care about dates or places or themes – it was all irrelevant. all he wanted was to know what time he should pick you up so you could spend an endless night in each other’s arms. of course, having already experienced a considerable number of dances Taehyung had a favorite: on the warmest spring nights, when the birds began to learn the symphony of joy and all the stars created sketches of enchanted stories, Taehyung liked giving himself to you. always keeping you close to him, holding your waist as if the secrets of the cosmos were in his hands, looking at you with the radiance stolen from the most romantic gods, Taehyung liked those spring dances, for it was in them that all the celestial magic covered you in a tenuous cloak of dreams. “there will be a masquerade ball this summer. do you want to go with me? we can have clothes made to match your favorite color.”

SUGAR-DADDY!TAEHYUNG who asks you to sleep there more often than he should. yes, Taehyung knew you had a meeting early tomorrow. he also knew that all your clothes were in your house. and yes, it was obvious he knew you couldn’t sleep comfortably without your pillow. but, did you know? did you know how much your presence calmed Taehyung? did you know how your words were the only ones that could lull Taehyung into a deep sleep? did you know that without you Taehyung simply couldn’t have a good night? so if you knew, why don’t you just stay there with him? in his bed? being wrapped in his nervous arms as he whispered to you how grateful he was that you made this effort for him – why did you want to abandon him? “just tonight, please. i’ll take you to work tomorrow and you can sleep with me a little longer. it won’t do you any harm. you know how much i enjoy being here with you.”

SUGAR-DADDY!TAEHYUNG who can get you into any event. Taehyung didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘impossible’ when it was about you. you were a special person, someone who had a certain charm and was capable of molding the entire universe in your image if you wanted it – Taehyung just had to pamper you. you being the owner of all the celestial dust that enchanted the world and made Taehyung a real person, only made he use his influence as his thanks. fashion shows, autograph sessions, gallery openings, anything you wanted – Taehyung knew you better than anyone, he knew where you liked to go, what you liked to do. always accompanying you, getting lost in your wide smile and the way your eyes sparkled when you saw something you really liked, Taehyung took you to experience the world; there was no experience that left you curious, there was nothing forbidden for you. everything you wanted was yours long before you asked for it. “don’t hide anything from me. all i want is to keep you happy in this relationship. and if i have the possibility of increasing this happiness, just tell me. it’s everything to me. you are everything to me.”

SUGAR-DADDY!TAEHYUNG who gives you a black card to spend on your birthday. on every birthday of yours you woke up with a bouquet of flowers and an envelope addressed to you – Taehyung did everything he could to make sure the first thing you saw on your birthday was that little gift from him, so you could try to understand how much you meant to him. the flowers you received were always the same, your favorites in your favorite colors, wrapped in paper sprayed with Taehyung’s perfume; the envelope, however, the envelope was the real gift. a small, white card came signed in Taehyung’s handwriting and next to it was Taehyung’s black card. on that day of yours, not as different as the others, but more special to you, Taehyung would give you the opportunity to go shopping alone or with your friends and spend as much as you could. it was always the same gift, always the same card, always the same ritual – but for you, it was everything. “happy birthday, darling. have fun during the day, and don’t forget that this night you are mine. xx”

SUGAR-DADDY!TAEHYUNG who likes it when you wear the clothes and jewelry he gave you when you’re not with him. Taehyung liked to give you gifts; it was always charming to see your curious eyes opening the bags or boxes, your smile painting Taehyung’s dreams. as such, Taehyung offered you everything: shoes, coats, necklaces, even the groceries for your home – anything that could be bought could very well be offered to you. but of everything he gives you, of seeing you happy with so many things, he would have to confess that when you went out to have fun or relax and use something he offered, Taehyung’s heart smiled a little more. it may seem strange, maybe even childish, but when Taehyung knew that you were walking around the city showing off the clothes and necklaces he had given you at the beginning of your relationship, he felt closer to you, you felt closer to him. seeing you in those clothes when you didn’t have anything planned with him made Taehyung believe that your relationship could very well turn out to be something more. “i saw your instagram story and i just want to say i’m glad you’re still wearing those boots. they look good on you. you look good with everything, but yea. i called just to tell you that.”

SUGAR-DADDY!TAEHYUNG who kisses you under the eiffel tower. on your longer trips, when neither of you needed to worry about dates and deadlines, Taehyung liked to take you to Paris. it was in the magic of that city that Taehyung hoped your love would blossom. it was in the beauty of that city that Taehyung fell even more in love with you. and it was in the hope of that city that Taehyung declared himself to you again and again and again. under the stars, in the endless nights of aimless stars, Taehyung kissed you. once. and another. and another. and another. he didn’t need to say anything, there was no need for that – Taehyung just had to gently hold your waist for you to understand what he wanted, what he would do. they were tender kisses that covered your heart with security and comfort, small confessions of love that would forever remain embedded in your soul. and only this magic happened in Paris – until he finds the courage to recreate it at home.

[anincompletelist]

[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | vol iv ]

happy january friends! :D

there have been a crazy number of wonderful fics that I have had time to catch up on this month, and I've saved a few for next month's rec as well!

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

this turned out to be a bit of a long one! I hope everyone has had a wonderful start to the new year so far, and happy reading y'all! <3

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it's a kind of magic | Jaistiel | E | 82k

Henry, the man who had asked if Alex's magic hurt him before asking if he used it for evil things. Henry, the man who seemed terrified of his magic, but also held a level of awe and wonder about it. Henry, the man who was likely scared out of his mind to share a tent with someone capable of the things Alex could do, but was offering anyway. "Alex." He watched as Henry's eyes widened with shock, his jaw dropping open just enough for his full lips to form a small, perfect 'o' shape. "If you're asking me to share your tent and your blankets, I guess you should at least know my name."

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you can see it with the lights out | weathersriley | G | 3k

"Alex thinks of the water. Of feeling like he might never reach the surface, might never reach Henry. But Henry is here; Alex remembers falling asleep in the glow of his presence, and beneath his shaking fingers, Henry’s chest is warm and his heart is beating steadily and Henry is here. Alex is afraid, but Henry is here."

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Dream A Little Dream Of Me | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 9k

They’re no longer in the garden. There’s no grass, no flowers, no fireflies. Only stars—hundreds upon hundreds of them in an otherwise vast sea of darkness, dazzling and twinkling and here. “How—” “They came here for you,” Alex says, his voice light. “It’s what you desired. So, I asked them to come and shine. Just for you.” “But won’t the world need them?” Alex shrugs and simply says, “You need them more.” [Or, Five times Alex visits Henry in his dreams during his dark days, and one time he does so in the real world (and stays)]

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if I do not have (your) love, I am nothing | @read-and-write- | M | 9k

The church says that sin keeps you away from God. Your disobedience is to remain hidden and only admitted during confession. The greater the sin, the greater your penance should be, and God, as the loving God he is, will forgive you. Because God is love, and he’s the greatest expression of it. Love thy neighbor is the greatest mandate of all. Yet, when Alex loves, his love is seen as perverse, impure. The greatest sin he has committed was to fall in love with another man, who has lain by his side during countless nights. But when Alex looks at Henry, he finds nothing reprehensible, nothing unclean. Instead, he finds the truest form of worship held between his arms, trailing fingertips that climb up Henry’s spine as a litany of words spill out from his mouth. A room consecrated by each whisper of God’s name, said so reverently that no one would dare say they have taken His name in vain. [A character study of Alex, religion, divinity and love.]

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sea of endless hope | acastle | E | 65k+

Henry watches Alex, the man he adores and loves so ardently, and the moment is palpable, delicate, and yet too large for even the sky to contain. He watches Alex, and in that moment, he wants to be his husband, the ache and urge of it almost unbearable. “Daddy!” Nena takes Henry’s hands, and he looks down at her, the angel who had saved him, and he smiles at her, quiet with emotion, letting her lead him into place. He would follow her, follow Alex, anywhere. (Henry, Alex, and their daughter, and the first years of coming home, forever.)

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I wake up with your memory over me (and that's a real fucking legacy) | @coffeecatsme | E | 21k

The ski instructor stops in front of him, takes off his goggles, and Henry about stops breathing for another reason. “Hey,” Alexander says with a grin, his face distinctly lacking in wrinkles Henry was expecting from a renowned instructor. There’s a bright grin on his face that rivals the sun, rich brown curls spilling out of a red beanie, and Henry realizes he’s absolutely fucked for a whole other reason than his inability to figure out how to stay upright in skis.  [Or, the one in which Henry is hopeless at skiing despite his family's aspirations, and Mary hires Alex as an instructor to amend that.]

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Praise and Supplication | @nocoastposts | E | 3k

Alex is always moving, always going, always seeking. He is defiance and brashness tinged with anxiety, but not in these moments. Henry pins him down with a gaze as heavy as his touch, and all of Alex’s motions cease. He is calm, he is obedient, he is pliable. He knows he’ll be broken apart piece by piece, sending waves of heat deep into his core. [When Alex gets stuck in his head, Henry helps him let go.]

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Room for Rent (Sex Dungeon Not Included) | @everwitch-magiks | E | 19k

When Alex comes, he only knows two things: that he’s good, and that he’s Henry’s. And that’s all he needs to know. Alex’s housemate has a sex dungeon. It’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect; whips and bondage gear and a chair that looks like something a gynecologist would have use for. Alex, being the chill, sex-positive guy he is, is of course extremely cool with this. Totally normal about it. Enthusiastically supportive, even. But as Alex watches Henry invite a steady stream of men into his dungeon, he develops one tiny little issue with the arrangement: he desperately wants to take their place.

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stolen glances with a string attached | @wordsofhoneydew | T+ | 6k

Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read. The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.” [An AU in which two men fall in love through their office windows]

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two is better than one | @bigassbowlingballhead | E | 8k

“You’ve thought about being with two of me, baby?” Alex teases, “Are you sure you can handle that?” he smirks. “I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Henry says matter of factly. “Not that it’s even fathomable.” “What if it could be…”

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love left a permanent mark | @hypnostheory | E | 10k

Henry clears his throat and answers again. “I’m a bit nervous. About the needles.” “Thank you for telling me,” Alex says, voice dipping low. Henry wouldn’t move from his spot on the couch if the apartment was on fire. “People aren’t afraid of the needle. They’re afraid of the pain. But you’re not scared of that, right?” [Henry decides to get a tattoo. It comes with more than one kind of aftercare.]

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Grounded In Fact | @england-would-fall | E | 5k

When Georgetown grad student Henry's and Alex's flights home are cancelled for bad weather, they secure the last room at a nearby hotel. Henry Fox, facing the prospect of sharing a bed with his roommate/love of his life/friend he has never confessed his feelings to, enters into an epic state of Gay Panic (tm). Come on in and watch as Henry Who Is Experiencing The Greatest Tragedy Since The Burning Of Alexandria navigates this very real and not at all in-his-head crisis.

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kitchen confidential | @dumbpeachjuice | T+ | 4k

The NDA is approximately a mile long. “Jesus fuck,” Alex splutters. “What, is their favourite film The Menu or something? Am I gonna come out of this one alive?” [Or, the one where Alex is hired to cater a private dinner party for Prince Henry and his friends, and it does not go as he expects.]

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Newton's Fourth Law | dilfpickles | E | 26k

In which Alex meets his new very attractive roommate through Reddit, downloads Grindr, and discovers some things about himself and his roommate in the process.

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Knowing me, knowing you | phlebotinxm | E | 8k

It wasn’t like the thought crept up on him by surprise. It had come in waves, like white salty water spread upon the shore and leaving little bits of foam and dust for people to see, like an idea Henry couldn’t quite shake that seemed to bleed into every era of their lives. It stayed at the back of his mind as he got up in the morning, and pulsed against his temple when he fell asleep. [In which, upon discovering something he’d never imagined about his father, Henry realizes that he is ready to take the next big step in his and Alex’s relationship.]

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All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers | @kiwiana-writes | E | 5k

“That floor doesn’t look like it’s very comfortable on your knees, is all.” Henry leans forward, scooping out a piece of brownie that got under the counter, somehow. “I wouldn’t worry about that—my knees are quite used to it, I assure you.” A ringing silence follows this pronouncement, during which Henry focuses very hard on opening a trap door directly into hell with the power of his mind. [Or, five times Henry puts his foot in his mouth in front of his customer crush, and one time he puts his dick in his customer crush's mouth instead doesn't.]

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The Consequences (Of Our Actions) series | @anchoredarchangel | E | 78k+

"I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.” Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-” “My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah." [Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.]

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Burnt Offering | justice fortheJ14magazine | G | 9k

He just needs to get through washing his hair. Simple. Except washing his hair has never been simple. It’s the polar opposite, actually. The more he thinks about the task set out in front of him, the more daunting and impossible it feels. His limbs feel like lead and the weight of the hot water pouring over him makes his head buzz. But Alex can do this. He’s done it before. A shower after a long lacrosse game or that one time he had the flu and had to stop three times to sit under the water and collect himself. He can handle a little finals week exhaustion. He has to. [Or, Alex’s hair care routine is elaborate, he struggles to let Henry help him, and he learns some important things about receiving love through service.]

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Ho for the Holidays | @whimsymanaged | E | 6k

“Listen, don’t worry about this,” Henry says quickly, already mentally crafting the passive-aggressive text he’s going to send Pez. “Better luck next year. I’ll just be off—“ “Hold your damn horses.” Alex stops Henry with a fast, surprisingly gentle hand to his wrist. His eyebrows furrow. “What did you put on your questionnaire?” Henry’s ears go hot. “That’s none of your business.” Alex scoffs and leans in closer. “Baby, we matched. It’s safe to say we have at least some interests in common. Be honest—was it because you confessed to having a secret desire to slap me?” [Or, Pez organizes an event called Ho for the Holidays, and these two idiots get paired up.]

--

see you all soon! :D

sarah / anincompletelist xx

[receival]

baldur’s gate 3 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from larian’s baldur’s gate 3. part 2.

look at me - i’m not a monster.

stay back. i don’t want to hurt you, but i will.

no. you’re not one of them at all.

i was ready to run you through. my mistake, friend.

that’s far enough. what’s your business down here?

you revealed our location? that tongue gets any looser, (name), and i’ll cut it out.

reckon i might miss this place.

this place is more dangerous than i thought.

well, don’t you cut a fine figure.

sometimes i’m jealous of that girl. ugh - to feel so invincible again.

in your expert opinion, what’s the best way to kill a devil?

i’m certain there are answers out there. we’ll find them together.

there’s no story. none that you’re entitled to hear, anyway.

you can tolerate a great deal of suffering, so long as it has meaning.

until then, all i can do is endure.

please try to understand that it’s not something i can just talk about freely.

perhaps there’s potential in you.

honestly, your faith is your own concern. i won’t judge, one way or the other.

i think i did well by joining you.

you already know my biggest secrets. what more can you ask?

that wall’s an illusion! hiding what, i wonder …

sun, moon, and stars will still be there, waiting for us.

this place is pretty spectacular, isn’t it?

no book or painting could ever do its strange beauty justice.

a perfect ring of mushrooms … nature, or magic?

hmm. i thought that might’ve done something.

another illusion. is anything real down here?

i’m more concerned with this ‘twit’ who set a spectator on you.

a rival - a mere footnote to my legend. you should be more concerned with who i am.

the fools must have turned back. or, better yet, died in the search.

i need no more rivals. try to take this as a compliment, yes?

this presence … this magic is not divine, but fey.

little? i am a god! and i’m gonna rip you - tear you - wear you for a hat -

don’t do anything hasty, now.

i’ll just kill you and claim it for myself.

i’m the lord of murder - i’ll show you why.

if you’re expecting me to drop to my knees before you, forget it.

a wizard’s tower is his sanctum, a private place for research and respite. but as this wizard’s not home … i say we take a peek.

a strange place for a button. especially one that doesn’t work.

what good would it do for me to be troubled? we can’t save them all.

you’ll have to speak slowly. i find it quite difficult to concentrate with my condition gnawing at my insides like a teething displacer kitten.

the whole village is falling to pieces …

hey, maybe we can scare up a few dusty bottles of wine somewhere.

i like your way of thinking. split any takings we find?

what creatures live in water this dark?

i’m a rabid dirty dog. and i bite.

i could’ve killed you before you even noticed me, but i didn’t. stand down.

i can be discreet. no need for bloodshed.

share? you really are in the wrong place.

a bleeding heart, are you? reckon i’ll just roast and eat it.

what in the hells did you do to that corpse?

you do plenty for me, more than you realize. but this cannot be remedied.

are you alright? is there anything i can do to help you?

enough. bickering won’t save your friend.

run away, then.

(name) - i was so worried! did they hurt you?

who cares? we’re together now, thank gods!

i’m grateful, don’t mistake me, but … why help us?

freeze it, cock-stench. we aren’t done just yet.

pay up, and you get to skink away. resist, and i gut you.

drop it. i don’t owe you anything.

your incompetence has been my ruin.

stop! no more innocents will die today, (name).

you care for the weak. most curious.

you so much as touch me, and i’ll tear you from limb to limb.

ah - another treacherous soul walks among us.

i ain’t going down easy.

you been a shit since i laid eyes on you, (name).

strike him down. prove your faith.

your silence speaks to your heresy.

look, you have no idea what you’re dealing with …

it’s the whole damn reason we’re here, and i’m not leaving without it.

the mission comes first.

and i thought i’d heard it all. that’s some cambion-level deception.

i go where there’s shit to stir. and there’s no shortage of options.

i can’t remember much, truth be told.

centuries of torment will do that to you.

you’ve been naughty. and you know what happens when you’re naughty.

just who in the nine hells are you?

well, well. aren’t you a luscious thing?

been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that.

you have a manner of irresistible desperation about you. i like it.

you know, i’ve been thinking. and i think there’s something i should tell you. nothing big or terrible, just … a small little detail about me that hasn’t come up naturally.

i want to join you - to fight by your side.

i’m sorry for barging in like this, but i had to come find you.

i won’t let you down. i promise.

we all have our burdens, one way or the other.

i’m trying to say that you’ve earned my trust in a way very few ever have … i want that to mean something.

freedom - i’d forgotten how it felt. thank you.

if you have a moment, i’d like your opinion on something.

the problem is this: a preponderance of evidence that i am a terrible adventurer.

i can’t risk re-capture. i barely escaped last time.

it was a mistake. and not one we’ll repeat.

i don’t know. he was kind of fun.

we can’t just invite danger in to our hearth like that. we must be more careful.

most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.

an old hunter’s trick - if you can’t mask your scent, spoil it.

i prefer a weapon to stench, thanks.

you’re a monster hunter? not what i imagined.

whatever you’re hunting, your stench alone will kill it.

a quick wit is rare indeed.

know how to ask, and they’ll share that knowledge. if you’re fool enough to pay their price.

speak plainly. what is she?

i think you’re mistaken - this place looks innocent enough.

truth is like a blade, my friend. we can arm ourselves with it - or just as easily find it pressed against our throat.

i would not put you in danger.

your coyness is getting boring. tell me.

you take insult where none is intended, my friend.

how thoroughly invigorating it is to stand by one’s friend in the face of danger.

you best have one hells of an apology for me.

you must have mistaken me for someone else.

that wriggler swimming in your brain juice is a bit of an inconvenience, isn’t it?

that’s none of your concern.

don’t change the subject.

keep that hole under your nose shut.

let’s not involve ourselves in this place any longer than is necessary.

you want to play the hero so badly? fine. let’s make this interesting.

gods, it’s hot in here.

i’ve had better days. and worse ones.

i am, after all, the villain of the tale.

you truly are a soul that steels my own.

you are as thick as they come.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i stand at a precipice, but if you do not give up hope, neither shall i.

all of this … it must feel like a betrayal.

you bastard! you ruined it, you ruined everything!

slow down - what did i do?

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

i don’t need this. good luck getting out of here on your own.

i know i should head home, but … i can’t bring myself to leave.

(are you alright?) / not even a little bit. but i will be.

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

i cannot thank you enough.

you will face (name)’s judgement.

i wish you could have visited at a better time.

you had no right to intervene.

you’re not one of us.

copper for your thoughts?

always a delight to speak to you.

did i play games like this in my youth? was i sweet once?

what are you doing? i’m busy here!

nothing beats the taste of stolen beer.

come on, now. they’re just having a bit of fun.

let’s do what we have to do, then get out of here.

smell’s like burnt flesh.

hold out your arm so i can mark your flesh.

i’m here to spill your guts across the floor.

pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?

i often feel i like raw pain too much. it scares me.

as long as the story ends in death, it’s all the same to me.

forgive me, but - that look in your eyes. something terrible has happened to you.

what i see in your eyes, in your soul, is only natural.

we’ve all suffered in these dark times. it is little wonder you hear scars of pain and anguish.

touch me and you’ll lose your hand.

the pain you suffer will cleanse you - do not fight it.

you look tired. should i take over?

welcome the pain. let it become part of you.

that looks like it’s going to bruise.

not that i’m suggesting we stop for a drink, of course.

i wouldn’t want to place all my faith in blind luck.

sympathies won’t help me to survive.

your life, much like your words, is meaningless. end the latter to save the former.

looks like the booze got the better of them. they’re practically unconscious.

they’re dying for me. all of them.

why don’t you take a closer look? i’ll observe from back here.

please don’t open the creepy book!

toddlers are easier to please than you lot.

you know, i never pictured myself as a hero.

all i want is a little fun. is that so much to ask?

having performance issues, (name)?

never have i met such troglodytes.

i was hoping you wouldn’t notice i was gone.

i suggest we admire it from afar.

it would be too much to hope that’s nothing to do with us, wouldn’t it?

i go my own way - alone.

i’ll feed your innards to the ants before i do that.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Lissala: Kurshu the Undying

CR 15

Lawful Evil Large Outsider

Adventure Path: Shattered Star: Into the Nightmare Rift, pg. 88-89

"Lissala?" I hear some of you ask in confusion, "who's Lissala? I've never heard of her!" And as I turn from the chalkboard to explain, the unfortunate who asked is teleported before the decrepit and mummified Kurshu to receive a fate worse than any I could bestow: an in-depth history lesson of an empire which survived for thousands of years before being struck down by an apocalypse. I speak, of course, of ancient Thassilon--the very same empire ruled by the archmages known as the Runelords--of which Lissala was the chief deity. When Thassilon was destroyed by Earthfall, so too was Lissala's faith, an organization of millions reduced to a fraction of its glory in mere moments, which inevitably dwindled until basically nothing was left. Lissala was not killed by this event (though many believe she was), but faded into total obscurity on Golarion, leaving behind countless markers upon history and a great many of her divine creations, Kurshu included.

Even in the modern day, there are very few beings in existence who even know about Lissala, let alone worship her, but nevertheless there are some who still fervently hold onto their faith that she may one day return, chief among them Kurshu herself and the Rune Giants who remain slavishly devoted to both Lissala and the dwindling Runelords. Now and then a true Cleric of Lissala will rise up and show actual divine power, but it's a coin flip as to whether they've truly forged a connection with the lost Thassilonian deity or are being deceived by some other entity... and if they ARE, then they have Hell to pay when Kurshu tracks them down to investigate.

Having spent many thousands of years wandering Golarion and the Great Beyond in the hopes of finding traces of Lissala's presence to soothe her (which the book hearbreakingly describes as "similar to a widower smelling his dead wife's clothes in the hopes of sparking a lost memory"), Kurshu has grown to possess a paradoxical resentment for her deity and creator for abandoning her to wallow among the filth and ruin left in the wake of Thassilon's fall. Though she remains devoted, this devotion is described in a way that almost feels like a drug addiction than a true bond, with every part of Kurshu screaming for any sign of her goddess even while she's is painfully aware of how pitiful it's making her and how much she desires to simply stop and find something else. She hates Lissala. She loves Lissala. She resents her, and yet is fully aware she would gladly crawl back into her master's lap if it meant never again feeling the longing she does now. She is pitiful, but she despises the idea of being pitied. Do not bring up how relieved she looks when a Cleric of Lissala shows true promise, or when she finds some artifact or place which resonates with the power of the lost goddess.

While many Heralds possess duties they're expected to perform, Kurshu is a free agent, able to pursue her own goals. These goals continuously revolve around Lissala and Thassilon, but she is free to pursue them with her endless time, pausing only occasionally for a snack break, but we'll get to THAT in a moment. Unlike other Heralds, Kurshu has no goddess to direct her and is free to respond to the summons or prayers of ANY being that invokes her regardless of alignment should see use in it. She is also able to track down anyone wishing to learn more of Thassilon and its rune magic to teach them, and can actually replace the target of a Greater Planar Ally spell being cast by a Lawful Evil-aligned caster if they're not careful in how they word their requests for knowledge. Guarded by her own obscurity, most beings don't know just who or what they're dealing with until it's far too late, and she's seized control of them. But what will she do once she has someone on a leash? Let's find out...

Kurshu has two primary motivations in any encounter: survive first, and locate more Thassalonian lore after. To aid in her survival, she often has a menagerie of Outsiders of varying alignments and strengths at her beck and call, a small army she is prompted to stock with subject hovering between CR 8 and 10 due to her horrific hunger. You see, without Lissala's divine power flowing into her, Kurshu suffers from Divine Separation, an affliction which imposes 1 negative level every day she goes without devouring the corpse of an Outsider (including Native Outsiders; tieflings and aasimar beware!), which often means that--if she's trying to be economical with her livestock--she's encountered with anywhere between 2 and 6 negative levels to sap her otherwise potent skills.

Further confounding the issue is the fact that she refuses to consume Lawful Evil Outsiders on principal (but will if she's desperate), AND that in order to alleviate her hunger, the consumed victim must have at least 8 Hit Dice; she cannot simply feed upon Quasits to stave off her decay, she must at the very least be slaying creatures like Succubi, Choral Angels, and Pelagastr, creatures which can actually fight back against her. Every HD from a consumed Outsider instantly removes an equal number of negative levels, meaning she can "waste" her food by eating Outsiders with too many HD, something she's painfully aware of and which can often cause her to wait a little longer than advisable between feedings, weakening her if her enemies are trying to hunt her down. Similarly, if she knows she's being hunted she may burn through her supply faster than she intends trying to keep herself at full strength, forcing her into a desperate catch-22 as she runs out of minions to slow her adversaries down.

But how does she keep this army of hers in check? Limited Wish. Unlike many monster entries where Limited Wish is simply a blank check, the book goes into a lot of detail about how Kurshu manipulates this powerful spark of divine magic she retains and can use, for free, 3 times a day. She primarily uses it as Charm Monster to snare the minds of her prey, keeping them docile and willing to listen to her for two weeks per casting, weakening them with a Wished up Mind Fog if need be, though she can also save a wish casting by instead heightening her spells with a 3/day Power Surge, a swift action she can invoke to raise the save DC of the next spell she casts by +2.

In case you thought she only had her wishes available, this is far from the truth. She has a LONG list of 3/day spells available to her, including but not limited to Cure Serious Wounds, Hold Person, Stinking Cloud, and Slow, with simple but potent offensive options like Fireball, Lightning Bolt, and the reliable Vampiric Touch. She can counter enemy tricks with Dispel Magic and defend herself or a valuable ally with Displacement, and of course she can use all of these while flying*, leaving her foes to tangle with her ground-bound allies while she rains debuffs, damage, and debilitation upon them.

*NOTE: There's an error in her Archives of Nethys sheet; she's supposed to have a 60ft Fly speed (Good) maneuverability!

The book amusingly notes that her tendency to have a flock of Chaotic Outsiders with her, and her own withered appearance, causes many of her enemies to waste powerful anti-Chaos or anti-Undead spells upon her in the mistaken belief she is also some minion of chaos or undeath, often giving her just enough time to retaliate with a powerful blow of her own. In especially dramatic cases, someone may rush up and hit her with a powerful Cure Wounds or Heal spell in the hopes of ending her, only to watch her HP refill and invite her retaliation.

She's no melee fighter and prefers to keep at a distance for fear of death, but the token melee abilities she has are quite potent: her lashing tail can slam victims for 1d8+2 damage, then Grab and constrict them for 1d8+5 damage each round until they either escape or succumb to whatever spell she prepares to melt their brains with via Limited Wish (such as the crushing, no-save-allowed Geas, a spell that LW allows her to cast as a standard action!). And speaking of brain-melting, I'm sure there's a very select audience reading this that will enjoy knowing the snake woman can also shave 1d4 Intelligence off any creature she strikes with either of her two slam attacks (1d8+5 on their own), allowing her to literally beat someone stupid.

Defensively, Kurshu is a tank to a degree matched by few other casting-focused Heralds. 30 AC, DR 10 that's only bypassed by a magical cold iron weapon, and a decent 26 SR to fizzle most spells being cast by the creatures she's hoping to face. She's also got 30 Resistance to (almost) every element but Force, severely cutting down on any attempt to damage her with elemental power... unless that power is Acid damage, which not only does she have no resistance to, but is the only damage type that shuts off her Regeneration 5, an ability she will take full advantage of by keeping out of reach or even teleporting away to heal up.

Kurshu does not wish to fight to the death, and will use her 3/day Greater Teleport or Plane Shift to escape any encounter that begins to turn against her, and trying to counter that with Dimensional Anchor or similar may see her using Limited Wish to break the effect without risking a dispel check failure... or simply teleport her enemies away instead of herself. "Wait, that's not a spell effect in Pathfinder!" To which I smile and point at the fourth line in Limited Wish: "Produce any other effect whose power level is in line with the above effects, such as a single creature automatically hitting on its next attack or taking a -7 penalty on its next saving throw." The example lines on LM's spell card are merely to show the power level it can manage, its actual effect can be anything that roughly matches a 6th level Wizard or Sorcerer spell in terms of power, which a hostile Dimension Door effect to send multiple people hundreds of feet away falls into. Even if she can't get the full party with it, splitting them enough to let her either pick off one or two key members or simply flee the combat is a good enough use in her eyes.

Having spent millennia avoiding her own death with a fear matched only by mortals, Kurshu has no end to emergency options. As mentioned, she can Greater Teleport or Plane Shift away from conflicts she wants no part of up to 3/day. In addition, she has both Craft Wondrous Item and Scribe Scroll, but can combine them with her unique Spell-Like Crafting, allowing her to use her spell-like abilities to meet the prerequisites when creating magic items, something that would normally prevent her from having three or four Limited Wishes on her belt waiting for her personal supply to run out. The same can be said for her transport spells, or scrolls of Tongues (which she can use at-will), Stinking Cloud, or Slow. Such valuable items also act as potent bribes to make other Lawful creatures more likely to serve her by their own free will, if she doesn't simply wish up a pile of valuables to pay them.

Kurshu can be a frightening and powerful foe, even moreso than most other Heralds due to the lack of divine restriction she operates under. She does not need to be invited into a situation by Lissala's worshipers, she can simply show up of her own free will with a small army of fiends, monitors, and celestials at her beck and call, and now everyone simply has to deal with her presence and whatever nonsense her ensorcelled "allies" are getting up to. Why is she here? That's probably the true mystery of the adventure, and solving it brings the party one step closer to making her leave without provoking her potentially apocalyptic wrath.

You can read more about her here.

[doomieshot]

Maybe it was always them, even before Mythal, when he was a spirit of wisdom, wandering around, being that, just knowledge and wisdom... Maybe even back then he longed for more than just knowledge.

A physical body that could be loved, it was probably his curiosity and desire that prompted him to accept the first opportunity. He didn't get that connection with anyone else, well with anyone other than Mythal and even if he had her, they were just two curious beings exploring the world, exploring themselves and exploring emotions, feelings, experiences... They could be more.

Ambition may have corrupted him too much... But he swears that the moment he saw her, lying on that mattress of straw and cotton, her arm glowing with magic and pain, he had never seen such a precious being. A dalish, an elf who had lost her knowledge to the dawn of history and time, too proud to accept help? Perhaps he didn't like them because they reminded him too much of himself.

But she was different, a totally new spirit, striking, unique... She was fierce, but she was also sweet, she had shown it by being so sweet to Cole, but fiercely sinking her (metaphorical) fangs into the initiative to help the mages, even though everyone seemed to be against them.

He had two sides... Or maybe more, he wanted to see them all.

He didn't realise when or how, but his heart was racing and his face was hot the first time she spoke to him, he doesn't even know how he could control himself so well... The terrible Fen'Harel blushing at the curiosity and gentleness of a Dalishana? Yes, Elgar'nan could probably burst out laughing if he was told something like that.

Oh, but when he saw that vallaslin.... That damn tattoo, her Lavellan was not the property of any god, she was not a slave, she hated to see that mark of Mythal even if it was that simple and delicate tattoo on her cheekbones and not that intricate one Felassan used to wear... It could have been worse, it could have been marked by Falon'Din or maybe Dirthhamen... Ugh, gods forbid... Well maybe it was the jealousy of his pride or his Fen'Harel side, but he felt possessive of the Inquisitor's interests, which in turn, made him feel sick because she was light and strength and he couldn't and wouldn't turn that off.

That probably contributed to his abandonment of her.

His perfect, precious Lavellan, she shouldn't be caught up in his catastrophes.... But he couldn't help but feel a part of him being reborn when he saw her coming up the stairs. It didn't matter that she now had wrinkles around her tired face, or that she had a few grey hairs adorning her hair, to him, she would still look like a divinity, everything the evanuri once dreamed of being, she already was and had nothing to do with the perfection and beauty of a god's immortality.

He felt self-conscious, not only because of Mythal's presence, but also because of the intervention of his vhenan.... He was being intervened by the women in his life and one of them even took him by the hand and promised not to leave him, how could she be so precious and gentle with him? He was heartbroken! She should be furious with him, she lost an arm, she threw herself at everyone, she almost lost her life TWICE.... And all because of him and yet, she forgives him and goes with him to exist and be happy in the veil? How? That question hits him too many times a day, even now, when his head rests on his beloved's thighs and she can only caress him gently like the fluttering of a butterfly, as if he might break if she touches him too roughly.

She is gentleness, she is humility, she is mercy, probably why Cole felt so at ease in her presence? That's probably why everyone was so comfortable with her, and him? He was betrayal, lies, and selfishness, the complete opposite, and yet he melted in her arms and gawked at her.

If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

(I'm just rambling on about how much I love Solas while I let the play control charge.)

[loxosceleslolo]

Call It Magic

my Elden Ring brainrot is so severe that I have yet another AU longfic in the works. This one involves both the Heart Stolen "ending" and the question: "what if Ansbach met us at the First Step instead of Varre?" (this was crossposted to AO3 if you prefer to read there)

“Can you teach me how to do that, Sir Ansbach?” 

Sir Ansbach looked up from the book in his hand, the crease between his snowy brows deepening slightly like a furrow in freshly fallen snow. His eyes, sharp as a winter morning, met Folly’s eager gaze.

Folly pointed to the book, her finger trembling slightly with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. “That. Readin’. Writin’, too, if you could. Please.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, like water over stones.

“You never learned?” 

“Can’t say that book learning was a real priority out there in the Badlands. Not with the sellswords I worked for, neither.” Folly tossed her black hair, obsidian waves catching the light, and squared her shoulders, almost daring Ansbach to say something about her history.

“What makes you interested in reading, if I may ask?” Ansbach's tone was gentle, coaxing.

“It’s magic. It’s magic I can learn, even.”

“How so?” Ansbach leaned forward slightly.

Folly leaned over Ansbach’s shoulder, close enough that the warmth of her breath ghosted across his cheek. She traced a letter with her fingertip, the touch reverent. The scent of ink and vellum clung to him, an intoxicating mixture that made her heart beat a little faster, like a caged bird. “You draw these symbols…”

She traced another word, her finger dancing across the page. “…and you can convey your thoughts across any distance. Across years, or centuries even, if the book holds up. It’s as close to real magic as anything, I reckon.” Her voice was hushed, filled with awe at the power contained in those simple marks.

Ansbach smiled, the expression transforming his stern features. Bright, genuine smiles from him were a rare and precious thing, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “Was that the only reason?” His eyes twinkled with knowing amusement.

Folly’s cheeks burned, a rosy hue spreading across her face like wildfire. Of course it wasn’t. She’d take any excuse to be close to the older man, to bask in his presence like a sunflower turning towards the Erdtree. Not that she would admit it. 

“If I’m going to be the Elden Ring’s steward until our Divinity and Luminary awaken, I should know how to read and write, shouldn’t I? I’d much rather do it myself than trust a scribe.” The words came out in a rush, a thin veil over her true motivations.

“Fair enough.” Ansbach gently closed the book, the soft thud resonating in the quiet air. He set it on his bedroll with careful reverence, then picked up a stick, its rough texture a stark contrast to the smooth pages of the book. “We’ll begin with learning the letters.”

Folly picked up a stick herself, mimicking Ansbach’s posture. She traced the marks he made, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Like this?”

He laughed, full and hearty, the sound warming Folly from the inside out. “You’re as quick a study with that stick as you are with a blade, dear Folly!”

Dear Folly.

Those two words set Folly’s skin ablaze, as if she’d been touched by the sun itself. They left her feeling as if an entire swarm of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach, their wings beating in time with her racing heart.

Words were magic, indeed. And in that moment with the warmth of Ansbach’s praise enveloping her, Folly felt as if she had discovered the most powerful spell of all.

[iphig3nia]

Sunlight || Sebastian Sallow

“Oh, your love is sunlight”

Sebastian speculates that you are of divine nature, he think his observations prove it.

(no established relationship, no outright love confession only worship from afar >:(, he’s on his HANDS and KNEES)

cw - none

a/n || man the Starbucks refreshers with the vanilla sweet cream rly fucks so hard, it’s so good.

—

Sebastian observes you.

He thinks that you are the goddess Nike, victory made human. Encouraging him fight after fight. He vies for your attention after he duels in the Crossed Wands club, wanting to be praised by who he believes to be a goddess. “I won because you were watching” is what he would say to you, but he doesn’t. Sebastian notices that the more and more you watch his duels the more he wins. Surely that is a sign of divine blessing from you, the winged victory perched on his shoulder. Your divinity is a speculation though, he will have to research more.

The more he observes the more he begins to believe.

Maybe you are a culmination of the muses. You embody Terpsichore when you dance in the undercroft when you think no one is watching. And especially for him, when you decide he is worthy enough to see your lithe ankles and your movements that flow like water. Sebastian sees the muse Calliope in you when you read to him, laying on your lap outside in the shade of a tree. Your words weave stories of heroes and monsters, like Penelope at her loom every night. But he is not thinking of the hero’s schemes and adventures, he is thinking about how your eyes are like sunlight, warming his body and mind.

Or maybe you are the goddess Circe. Your magic so strong that you could turn the tide of the battle with one spell. He would certainly not tell you that he would be happy to be turned into an animal, if it meant that he would get to stay at your feet for eternity. Sebastian thinks if he were Odysseus, he would not hesitate to stay on your island. You could bind him to you and make him your mortal consort. Sebastian thinks about the story and knows that if you were in it, Odysseus would cease his journey and stay with you.

It is set in his mind, you must be a goddess.

You sit in the courtyard reading a book with Sebastian’s head in your lap, the rays of the sun coming down onto you. You almost appear as a flame, pulling a moth into your light. Sebastian likes to think if he were Icarus and you were the sun he too would fly as close as possible to feel your warm touch on his skin. He too would see himself worthy of your sunlight. “With wax melted I’d meet the sea” he shivers at the thought, to feel your love to even feel your presence is something he would die for, it is worth dying for.

Surely if you aren’t a goddess then you must be Helen of Sparta reincarnated. Your blood and beauty has to be divine in some way, there is no question. You are so radiant that he would start a war for you he thinks to himself, to Sebastian you’re worth launching a thousand ships over. If Helen was of indescribable beauty, then you must be almost incomprehensible. Too beautiful for the mortal mind to even understand. He sees you look down at him from your book and you smile. “Something wrong?” You ask with a laugh, you wonder what has him staring at you so deeply.

“No, nothing’s wrong..” a lie

You gently run your fingers through his hair chuckling as he closes his eyes. “Everything is wrong” he thinks to himself, the way he must keep his adorations to himself, too scared to beg you to be his forever but aching to show you properly how deep his devotion is to you. For now he will conceal the worship he yearns to show you. Sebastian will hide how you have him wrapped around your finger, tight enough to draw blood.

Sebastian decides that one day he’ll drop to his knees as he should, grabbing at your skirt and heaping praise after praise to you. His confession will be filled to the brim with the supplications deserving of asking you to be his. On his knees he’ll ask you to let him stay in your sunlight, the Icarus to your certainty.

For now though he’ll continue to worship your sunlight in silence and hope that one day you’ll tell him which goddess you truly are.

[letmehavemyfictionalmen]

Galactic Vows: chapter I

Summary: Within the walls of Aurorium's regal abode, murmurs of an imminent betrothal flutter like delicate wings. All eyes are on the princess, awaiting her response to the proposal, and the future of the kingdom hung in the balance. The weight of tradition, duty, and love rests heavily on her heart as she contemplates her answer, knowing that with one word, she will change the course of history.

pairing: Manda'lor!Din Djarin x afab!Princess!reader

warning: 18+ content, Eventual smut, Royalty Au, Unprotected sex, Violence, Death, Blood, Age-Gap, Fluff, Angst, Idiots in love, Flirting, possessive!Din, Powerful!reader, Dragons, Themes of war and political power, Trauma, Arranged marriage, Grogu being too cute you won't survive his cuteness, Emperor!Din.

next

The night sky is awash with a gentle radiance that filters through the trees, casting a serene glow upon the world of Asteralis. The moon, a divine lantern of the cosmos, illuminates the land with its soft light, transforming the darkness into a canvas of ethereal beauty.

The gentle beams filter through the leaves of the trees, painting intricate patterns of light and shadow upon the ground beneath them. It is a moment of pure tranquility, where the world seems to breathe in unison, and every creature seems to be in harmony with the peaceful night.

As the sun slowly descends beyond the horizon, the warm rays of its light embrace the land, a gentle kiss of warmth upon the cool marble tiles that lie beneath your bare feet.

The soft caress of a gentle, cool breeze envelops you, carrying with it the sweet aroma of blooming jasmine flowers. The fragrance fills the air, mingling with the subtle scent of the lush greenery of the royal gardens.

The petals of the flowers are as soft as velvet, each one a delicate work of art, and their fragrance is as intoxicating as the sweetest of loves. You inhale deeply, savoring the delicate fragrance that seems to embrace your senses, taking you on a journey of tranquility and calm.

Beneath your palms, the velvety touch of warmth embraces your lap, a comforting weight that brings solace. You sway gently on the swing, the rhythmic creak of the ropes harmonizing with the gentle rustle of the wind through the leaves. The enchanting moonlight illuminates Asteralis in a surreal glow, casting a magical spell over the kingdom. As you gaze at the mesmerizing sight, a wave of tranquility washes over you, lifting the weight of your princess duties off your shoulders.

"My jewel?"

The gentle whisper of your mother's voice calls to you, like a soft melody that slowly pulls you away from the tranquil cocoon of your thoughts. With a gentle turn of your head, you behold a regal figure standing in the doorway of your balcony. It is your mother, the Queen of Asteralis, and the very essence of her emanates an aura of authority and grace. Her attire is as majestic as the ruler that she is, every inch of her radiating the elegance and poise of a true queen.

Her eyes have an unspoken language of love, a depth of feeling that only a mother can possess, but also holds the weight of responsibility that matches her crown.

"What brings you here, mother?" You inquire your voice a gentle breeze that carries your words to her.

A playful glint sparks in her eyes as she makes her way towards you. "Must I have a reason to visit my beloved child?" she teases, her voice carrying the familiar lilt of affection that you have come to cherish.

The swing creaks gently as your mother settles down beside you, her elegant dress rustling softly against the fabric of the seat. You feel her gaze upon you, a weighty presence that studies your every feature with a deep knowing.

"Should I tell brother that you called me the favourite child?" You tease back, a mischievous smile gracing your lips.

The bond between you and your mother is one of love and laughter, a cherished connection that transcends the regal responsibilities that surround your life.

She chuckles softly, the sound carrying a hint of warmth. "Oh, he would be quite envious," she replies, her eyes glimmering with affection. "But my love for both of you is boundless and unwavering."

As the two of you sway on the swing, the gentle movement creating a soothing rhythm, you find comfort in this shared moment. The worries of the kingdom momentarily fade away, replaced by the simple joy of a mother and her child enjoying each other's company.

"So, my dear, have you heard the whispers in the halls?" she asks, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation.

Your curiosity piqued, you turn your attention fully to her, the warmth of her presence enveloping you. "Whispers?" you inquire, a note of intrigue in your voice.

Her eyes sparkle with a mix of excitement and tenderness. "There is talk of a proposal," she reveals, her words hanging in the air, filling the space between you.

You feel your heart skip a beat, a mixture of surprise and anticipation coursing through your veins. A proposal? The notion dances in your mind, weaving dreams of a future yet to be written. "Talks of a proposal?" Your voice trembles with uncertainty, the words lingering in the air as your mother's revelation takes root in your mind.

She nods gently, her eyes filled with a mother's wisdom and empathy. "Yes, my precious jewel," she begins, her voice carrying a soft cadence, "the Manda'lore himself has sent forth a proposal for the hand of the youngest Princess of Asteralis. It is a gesture that speaks volumes of his regard for our kingdom and his desire to forge a bond that unites our lands under a shared destiny."

You inhale deeply, the weight of the decision settling upon your shoulders. The moonlight casts a reflective glow upon the regal surroundings as if the very walls of the palace hold their breath in anticipation of your response.

"He is a leader of unwavering resolve," your mother continues, her voice carrying a mix of reverence and admiration. "His reign has brought stability to our people, and his unwavering dedication to the Mandalorian ways has earned him the respect of his warriors and the allegiance of neighboring lands."

Your heart skips a beat, a mixture of surprise and curiosity coursing through your veins. The Manda'lore? The legendary figure who commands the Mandalorian warriors with unwavering strength and honor. The very thought of a proposal from him fills your thoughts with a whirlwind of possibilities.

"He seeks a union that not only solidifies alliances but also lays the foundation for a future filled with unity and prosperity," she adds, her voice tinged with a mother's hope.

As she speaks, you find yourself caught between the weight of tradition and the whispers of your heart. The gentle breeze carries with it the fragrant scent of blooming flowers, their delicate petals mirroring the fragility of your thoughts.

"But, Mother, an arranged marriage? Is that what they're suggesting?" you inquire, searching her face for any hint of guidance.

Your mother's gaze softens, understanding the conflict that stirs within you. She reaches out to gently touch your hand, offering comfort and reassurance.

"Yes, my dear, it is an arranged union," she acknowledges, her voice gentle and soothing. "But it is not merely a transaction of power and alliances. The Manda'lore's proposal carries with it the potential for something greater. It is an opportunity to build bridges between our kingdoms, to forge a bond that goes beyond politics and secures a future of peace and prosperity."

Her words resonate within you, and you can sense the depth of her conviction. Yet, a part of you yearns for the freedom to choose your own path, to follow the whispers of your own heart.

"I understand the weight of duty, Mother," you say, your voice tinged with both respect and a hint of longing. "But what about love? Shouldn't that be a part of such a union?"

A contemplative silence falls between you, the moon casting its gentle glow upon the world as you both gather your thoughts. Your mother's eyes hold a mixture of empathy and understanding.

"Love, my precious jewel, is a complex tapestry," she replies, her voice carrying the wisdom of experience. "It can bloom from the seeds of friendship, respect, and shared dreams. The foundation of this proposed union is one built on trust and the shared desire for a better future. Love has the potential to grow within such a partnership, as two souls learn to navigate the intricacies of their hearts."

Her words resonate within you, and you find yourself pondering the possibilities. The moonlight bathes the surroundings in a serene glow, as if nature itself is urging you to listen to the whispers of your own heart.

"Ultimately, my dear, the decision rests with you," your mother continues, her voice gentle but firm. "You are the youngest Princess of Asteralis, and your happiness and fulfillment are of paramount importance. I will support you in whatever path you choose, whether it aligns with tradition or leads you on a different journey."

You take in her words, grateful for her understanding and unwavering support. The weight of the decision still lingers, but the seed of possibility has been planted within your heart.

"Thank you, Mother," you say, your voice filled with gratitude and a newfound sense of determination. "I will consider the proposal and listen to the whispers of my own heart. Whatever path I choose, I hope to honor our kingdom and our legacy."

Your mother smiles, a blend of pride and affection shining in her eyes. "I have no doubt that you will, my dear," she replies, her voice brimming with confidence. "Remember, you have the strength and wisdom within you to shape your own destiny. Trust yourself, and the answers will reveal themselves."

Emboldened by your mother's words, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. The night sky seems to shimmer with newfound possibilities, and you find solace in the gentle embrace of the swing.

As you and your mother continue to sway back and forth, you take a moment to reflect on the magnitude of the decision before you. The proposal from the Manda'lore holds the potential for great change, not only for yourself but for the kingdom of Asteralis.

You contemplate the vision of unity and prosperity that your mother spoke of, and you can't help but wonder if such a union could bring about a future where love and duty intertwine. The notion of love blossoming from a foundation of trust and shared dreams resonates deeply within you, and you realize that perhaps the path to happiness lies in finding a balance between tradition and personal desire.

With each passing moment, the night sky grows darker, stars twinkling like beacons of guidance. The moon continues its celestial journey, casting its ethereal glow upon the world. And as you sit on the swing, immersed in your thoughts, you begin to listen to the whispers of your own heart, knowing that it holds the key to your destiny.

The decision may not be an easy one, but with the love and support of your mother, you feel empowered to follow your own path, whether it aligns with tradition or veers in a different direction. You trust that, in due time, the answers will reveal themselves, and you will make a choice that honors both your own happiness and the legacy of Asteralis.

With a newfound sense of clarity and determination, you take one last gaze at the enchanting night sky, its beauty serving as a reminder that even amidst uncertainty, there is always a glimmer of hope. You turn to your mother, a silent understanding passing between you, and together you rise from the swing, ready to face the challenges and opportunities that lie ahead.

Hand in hand, you walk back into the palace, your hearts filled with love, trust, and the unwavering bond between a mother and her child. And as you step forward into the unknown, the night sky continues to watch over you, a tapestry of stars illuminating your path.

As the first rays of sunlight breach the horizon, a palpable sense of anticipation fills the air. The golden hues of dawn paint the sky, casting a warm glow that embraces the world with a gentle embrace.

The dawn chorus of birdsong weaves a melodious tune, adding to the symphony of excitement that stirs within the palace walls.

You step into the new day, the polished marble floors cool beneath your feet. Each breath you take is infused with a mixture of nervous anticipation and quiet determination. The sun's gentle caress upon your face feels like a reassuring touch, inspiring confidence as you make your way towards the throne room.

Approaching the grand entrance, the doors stand tall and imposing, intricately carved with symbols of the kingdom's history. With a steady hand, you push them open, revealing a world of regal splendor beyond.

As you enter, the room exudes an aura of grandeur. Soft sunlight filters through stained glass windows, casting a mosaic of vibrant colors upon the floor. The air hums with restrained energy, as if the very walls hold their breath in anticipation of the decision that awaits.

At the heart of the chamber, your older brother stands tall, exuding an air of authority, accompanied by his beloved husband, General Cadmus, whose presence radiates strength and loyalty.

Across the room, your sister stands gracefully, her regal stature accentuated by the presence of her husband, Lord Cedric, whose unwavering support is evident in his attentive gaze.

Upon the majestic thrones sit your parents, the King and Queen, their expressions a delicate balance of pride, love, and hope. Their presence commands respect, yet their eyes sparkle with warmth and understanding.

The hushed whispers of anticipation reverberate through the throne room, as all eyes turn toward you, the youngest Princess of Asteralis. The chamberlain, courtiers, nobles, and council members fill the opulent space, their presence a testament to the gravity of the moment.

You stand at the center, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves and meet the expectant gaze of your father, the King.

His voice, deep and resonant, fills the room as he addresses you with measured words, giving weight to each syllable. "My dear daughter," he begins, his eyes reflecting a mixture of authority and paternal love, "the time has come for you to share your thoughts and intentions regarding the proposal that has been laid before us."

You feel the weight of his words, the collective gaze of those assembled, and the weight of tradition bearing down upon you. In this moment, you draw strength from the teachings of your mother and the whispers of your own heart.

You take a step forward, the air is thick with anticipation, and a serene determination settles upon your features as you begin to speak.

"Father, honored members of the court," your voice carries through the room, its timbre steady and resolute. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, allowing the weight of your decision to settle within you.

"I have given careful consideration to the proposal put forth by the Manda'lore," you continue, your voice filled with a sense of conviction. "And after much reflection and listening to the whispers of my heart, I stand before you today to affirm my acceptance of this union."

A hushed silence fills the throne room as your words hang in the air. All eyes remain fixed upon you, waiting for your next words, and the anticipation is palpable.

"I understand the significance of this decision, not only for the kingdom of Asteralis but for the future of our people," you express, your voice carrying a mix of responsibility and determination. "It is my belief that this union holds the potential to strengthen our alliances and pave the way for a future of unity and prosperity."

As you speak, you feel a surge of confidence welling within you, fueled by the knowledge that you are making a choice based on a combination of duty, trust, and the possibility of love.

"I embrace this proposal with an open heart and a steadfast commitment to honor the traditions and values of our kingdom," you proclaim, your voice echoing with sincerity. "I am prepared to embark on this journey, knowing that it will require dedication, understanding, and resilience."

As the last words leave your lips, the room erupts into a symphony of emotions. The silence breaks, replaced by whispers, murmurs, and exclamations of surprise and approval. Courtiers exchange glances, their faces a mixture of curiosity and intrigue.

Your brother, the Crown Prince, steps forward, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sister," he says, his voice filled with pride, "your decision speaks volumes of your wisdom and dedication to our kingdom. May this union bring forth the unity and prosperity we all strive for."

General Cadmus, standing by your brother's side, nods in agreement. "I have no doubt that together, our kingdoms will thrive," he adds, his voice resonating with confidence and support.

Your sister, radiant with joy, takes a step closer to you. "Little sister," she says, her voice filled with affection, "I am overjoyed to witness this moment. Your courage and willingness to embrace this path inspire me. May this union bring you the happiness and fulfillment you deserve."

Lord Cedric, standing beside your sister, places a hand on her shoulder and nods in agreement. "Our kingdoms shall stand united, and our families will share a bond that strengthens us all," he affirms, his voice filled with conviction.

The room buzzes with conversations, as nobles and council members discuss the significance of this decision. Your parents, the King and Queen, exchange a knowing glance, their eyes shimmering with pride and love.

Your father, the King, steps forward, his voice carrying the weight of his authority and the warmth of a father's love. "My dear daughter," he says, his voice resonating with pride, "your decision to accept this union fills my heart with pride and joy. Your dedication to our kingdom and your willingness to forge a path of unity and prosperity are commendable. May this union be blessed by the gods and lead us to a future of peace and harmony."

Your mother, the Queen, approaches you with grace and tenderness. She takes your hands in hers, her eyes shimmering with a mix of emotions. "My precious jewel," she whispers, her voice filled with love, "your strength and conviction inspire me. As you embark on this journey, know that you carry the legacy of Asteralis within you. May this union bring you fulfillment and the love your heart desires."

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel the overwhelming support and love surrounding you. In this moment, you realize that you have made a decision that aligns with your duty, your heart, and the aspirations of your kingdom.

As the throne room begins to settle, your father raises his hand, signaling for silence. The room falls into hushed anticipation, awaiting his next words.

"Let it be known," he proclaims, his voice resonating with authority, "that the youngest Princess of Asteralis has accepted the proposal of the Manda'lore. May this union bring forth a future of unity, strength, and prosperity for our kingdom."

The chamberlain steps forward, a scroll in hand, ready to record the momentous decision in the annals of history. With a steady hand, he begins to write, etching the words that will forever mark this day in the story of Asteralis.

And as the ink dries upon the parchment, sealing your acceptance of the proposal, you feel a surge of hope and determination coursing through your veins.

The path ahead may be filled with challenges and unknowns, but with the support of your loved ones and the resilience within your heart, you are ready to embrace this union and carve a future that blends duty and love, tradition, and personal fulfillment.

☼ Please note that I do not wish to have my work translated or published on any third party reading websites. I claim the rights to my work.

☼ Where I don’t have any rights to the characters, many ideas and OC are my own creation. Please respect that.

[inquisimer]

the answer will be an echo

Day 4 of @tranquilweek! As Cadash & Avexis investigate Redcliffe Village, they learn what became of the other Tranquil.

read it on ao3 here!

Avexis & Female Cadash | Rated T | 1139 words | CW: implied/referenced abuse, chantry critical

-

Cadash liked picking locks. It made Avexis wonder, as they waited outside the dilapidated shack in Redcliffe, if that was why the dwarf was always carting her places. She was a puzzle, an oddity—she wondered if Cadash simply saw her as a lock that could only be picked over time.

Well, she mused, thumbing the hilt of her dagger, hopefully she figures something out.

Being in Redcliffe made her itch. There were mages everywhere and odd magic on top of the rifts. It set her teeth on edge. The whole place was a disaster waiting to happen. Or maybe it had already happened. It was hard to say.

Their fear was as palpable to Avexis as her own. It hung in the air like a dense fog, coating her throat when she breathed and sitting on her skin like a cold, sticky sweat. Fear of the Templars, fear of the Breach, fear of the Tevinters and what their presence spelled for the mage rebellion.

Cadash grunted and the door clicked open, creaking ominously. Within, the cabin’s dirt floor was dappled with sunlight through the rotting roof.

“Why was it even locked?” Varric huffed.

They found out soon enough. Over a dozen skulls watched them from makeshift shelves, their empty eye sockets gleaming with Fade-touched crystals. Pointed stumps with odd runes etched into their ends were stacked against the wall and tipped over on the floor. When Avexis brushed her fingers across the runes, they flared a bright green.

For the briefest moment, she saw a face—square jaw, blank, gray eyes, freckles that sprayed up to the sunburst brand that marred his brow. Before she could dig up a name, or even where she knew him from, the vision was gone; the part of her mind that she knew was Cole slipped between her and the magic and whatever it meant.

And that meant only one thing. “Something's not right,” she murmured, skittering back a few steps. Cole was matching her rising panic with soothing comfort, but it was a cycle—the more he soothed her, the more she feared what, exactly, she needed soothing for.

She flinched at the too-loud crunch of parchment in Cadash’s fist. “That is fucked,” the dwarf hissed.

“I had noticed their disappearance, but imagined nothing like this.” Avexis could hear Cassandra’s scowl and that defensive mix of guilt and shame that the Seeker usually directed at her. A horrible realization was coming to her, sinking in her mind like boots in cold swamp mud. As if in a trance, she paced back to the shelf of skulls.

Varric coughed pointedly; she could feel his gaze boring into her. “Maybe we shouldn’t—“ he began loudly.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” she whispered. One hand cupped the smooth arch of a skull, thumb tracing the sharp edge of the dormant crystal. “We found the Tranquil.”

No one answered, not that it mattered. Their silence was all the confirmation she needed.

“Avexis—“

“Don’t,” she choked. Before she’d even taken a breath, her eyes glossed over with tears. She made no move to stem their tide. Her grief fell in heavy drops, each one sending poofs of dust up where it landed on the earthen floor.

Her other hand clasped the same skull and she stared into its empty sockets as though she could divine their identity that way. Who were you? she thought desperately. Did I know you? Is anyone missing you?

Of course not. No one missed the Tranquil. That was how this had happened; how the evidence of it existed right under the noses of the mage rebellion, and yet no one cared enough to know, or even ask.

Avexis trembled, an inappropriate laugh bubbling from her lips as anger ripped through her like an earthquake.

That should be me. Then, out loud: “I shouldn’t have— that should be me, too.”

“No.” Cassandra’s voice was closer than she’d expected and Avexis flinched. Her gloved hands caught the skull where Avexis’ grip left it bare and she slid it gently out of the mage’s grasp. Setting it back on the shelf, the Seeker put herself directly in front of Avexis instead.

“It should not have been you, and it should not have been them either.”

“Why don’t we mean anything to anyone?”Avexis whispered. She clenched her fists. “Why doesn’t anyone care?”

“Hey, we care.” That was Varric, and Cadash, coming closer as well but—thankfully—leaving the path to the door wide open. “We’re here, we see you. We care.”

“You see me,” she repeated, shaking her head. “As I am now. Would you still see me if I remained Tranquil? Would you have noticed that I was gone? Because apparently no one—” she gestured angrily to the shelves “—noticed them.”

Cadash caught Avexis’ fist in her roughened palm. “Hey. You’re right.”

“I—what?”

“You’re right,” Cadash said again. “The Circles used the Tranquil because they were conveniently controlled. Because the comfort of those in power was more important than those lives. Because they could.”

Her voice was steady and grounding. Though Avexis' sorrow remained heavy, the tension wound in her relaxed. She pressed her palm flat against Cadash’s and curled her fingers down over the dwarf’s blunted nails. As she searched her eyes for answers and assurances, the filtered sunlight shifted and caught the casteless brand burned into her cheek.

“But the Circles are gone,” Cadash said firmly. At her back, Cassandra scowled, but wisely bit her tongue. “We’re not putting them back unless we’re sure they can do better. For the mages, the Templars, and the Tranquil.”

Avexis exhaled slowly. She knew that was what Cadash thought, but it was good to hear her say it anyway. And yet—

“They’re still gone, though,” she whispered, nudging her chin toward the shelf of skulls. “They still died like that. Were murdered like that. It’s not something we can fix.”

“They were. And it’s not.”

“That hurts,” Avexis whimpered. She ground her teeth together. “It hurts, and I want it to stop hurting. How do I make it stop if I can’t fix it?”

“Sometimes, you can’t.” It was Varric who answered, but Cadash nodded. “Sometimes you just have to sit with it. It might never go away, but you’ll go on. And eventually, you’ll grow around it, instead.”

“That bloody sucks.”

Cadash snorted. “Yeah. It does.”

“Can we…” Swiping at her eyes, Avexis took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to leave them here. Not like this.”

“There is a Sister up the hill—“

“No.” Cadash cut Cassandra off. “We have time, and they deserve better than the Chantry’s biases. We’ll take care of them ourselves.”

Relief flooded Avexis where she hadn’t realized she’d grown tense. “Thank you,” she murmured, ducking her head. Cadash laced their fingers together and squeezed.

“Let’s go.”

[rillils]

so um, so maybe i'm addicted to prompt generators. that might be a thing. hm. *screeches into the void*

rating: T wordcount: 1378 tags: fluff, crack, established relationship, bearded Steve because i've got a soft spot for him, general silliness, dorks in love, domestic bliss, aaand that's it i think

If life was fair, and not plotting to give Bucky an inappropriate boner in the middle of a crowded beach, then for once Steve might deign to look like any average guy enjoying a hot summer day with his man; rather than, you know, put to shame the rest of humankind with his luxuriant, marble-carved, sexy lumberjack league, mouth-watering presence.

But nope.

He walks out of the ocean with seafoam lapping longingly at his ankles, looking for all the world like Aphrodite and Magic Mike had hot writhing sex right there on the shore, without ever getting a single grain of sand in any uncomfortable places, and nine months later he happened, with his thick thighs and his tapered waist, and droplets of saltwater gliding down the slick planes of his torso like liquid diamonds. (Which Bucky will stoically abstain from licking off Steve’s skin. Not because he’s feeling especially strong today, no – just so they don’t end up charged with public indecency. Again.)

Steve’s face, though, as he splashes eagerly towards him, is the face of a kid who just spent the better part of an hour frolicking about in the water, flushed and animated, ecstatic, and bearing the promise of one hell of a nap sometime in the near future, out of sheer exhaustion.

He seizes Bucky by the waist with his big wet paws, and presses a victorious kiss to Bucky’s mouth, nearly causing him to drop his ice cream bar. Yes, the one Bucky bought just so he’d have an excuse to step back, and enjoy the newly familiar sight of Steve Rogers having the time of his life, in the most joyful, delightfully mundane of ways.

He should get to be this carefree every day. Bucky feels very strongly about that.

“Come back in, honey, come on,” Steve cajoles, wearing the biggest, goofiest grin Bucky’s seen on him in months. Possibly since the day he caught this very man hurtling down their driveway on a hoverboard, at breakneck speed, obviously, because the original S.G.R. device only has one setting, and that setting is called ‘STEVE YES’.

Now that was an experience. It would have taken some pretty heavy divine intervention for him not to go crashing straight into the trashcans, Bucky considers distantly – and God must have thought it wasn’t worth the hassle, if the big oaf was just going to pick himself up and try again anyways.

“In a minute,” Bucky promises him. Because, while there might be a universe out there where he’s actually capable of denying this guy something he wants, that universe is definitely not this one.

“Come on, the water’s great!” Steve presses on, his meaty hands squeezing gently at Bucky’s waist, deliciously cool against Bucky’s sun-warm skin. He’s like a big puppy begging for another treat, buzzing with energy, glowing with it from the apples of his flushed cheeks to the sparkling blue of his eyes. He is, for lack of a better word, fucking precious.

Bucky slides his free hand up Steve’s chest, metal fingers stroking appreciatively over the dark whorls of his chest-hair. It’s ridiculous, how quickly he’s ready to give in.

“At least let me finish my ice cream, first,” he says, waving the thing under Steve’s nose. He could swear Steve’s ears perk up, like he’s only just noticed the little stick in Bucky’s hand.

“Oh,” he says, and it’s a pleased kind of oh. “Can I have some?”

“’course. Here.”

Rather than passing the ice cream over to him, Bucky just lifts it to Steve’s lips, inviting him to take a bite.

Eyes crinkled with some secret pleasure, Steve leans in. The thin chocolate shell breaks with a crisp, satisfying crunch under his teeth, the creamy vanilla filling kissing his bottom lip and lingering there, helpless, until Steve collects it with a slow sweep of his tongue, never one to leave someone behind. The soft mmh he releases goes straight to Bucky’s gut, warming him from deep within.

He smiles, like he’s been trying to hold back and he just can’t help himself anymore. “Is it good?”

Steve gives him the Look – the one he gets in his eyes sometimes, when the toe-curling intensity of his gaze tells Bucky that he’s thinking about them – them in their bedroom, stumbling their way through the door with groping hands and tangled legs, laugh slipping into moan slipping back around into laugh, or on the kitchen counter, making the cabinets shake and the bag of sugar spill everywhere, or in the broom closet, caught by a mid-morning frenzy like they were last Saturday, quick and frantic and muffling each other’s moans, as if somebody might have walked in on them any second. And they’re in public, so Steve can’t do anything about it; but Bucky can tell he’s filing away all the words he wants to say and saving them for later, when he can lavish them straight onto Bucky’s sweat-slick skin.

“’S nice,” Steve rumbles, gaze dropping to Bucky’s lips for a long, deliberate moment. “But I know something better.”

A sweet shiver rolls down Bucky’s spine. “Do you, now.” He palms the side Steve’s neck, thumb circling over the delicate skin behind his earlobe, and pulls Steve to him, meeting him halfway into the kiss. Steve’s lips part gloriously for him, the hot caress of his tongue slipping the taste of chocolate and vanilla into Bucky’s welcoming mouth, spiked by a thrilling hint of salt.

A few drops of saltwater drip from Steve’s beard to land on Bucky’s bare chest, and from there trickle down his stomach, skirting his navel to soak into the waistband of his swim trunks, following a path Steve himself has traced with the tip of his tongue many a time.

Only too soon, Steve nudges his chin into Bucky’s own, pulling away, and Bucky chases his lips for one last peck before he lets go.

Steve looks back at him, his eyelashes fanning darkly, thick with moisture. His eyes come alive with his smile, gleaming with the pure, blinding joy behind it. Openly adoring, they are, in a way Bucky couldn’t perceive any more clearly if Steve were spelling it out for him.

He thinks Steve knows (how deeply, desperately) he feels the same way. He thinks he should tell Steve more often anyway, just in case.

“You gonna join me, then?” Steve asks, all sun-kissed freckles and hopeful eyes, hands giving Bucky’s hips a playful little wiggle. Silly man. Bucky would reach up and pluck the sun out of the sky for him, if he only asked.

Bucky grins, and hopes it doesn’t scandalize any onlookers, with how obscenely fond it must be. “What about my ice cream, though?”

The curl of Steve’s mouth turns unexpectedly mischievous.

“Just hold it out of the water,” he says, and with no further ado, he swoops in to hook one arm behind Bucky’s knees and hoists him up, startling an undignified squeal out of him.

“What–! ”

Steve beams down at him, an almost manic glint in his eye. “Let’s go!”

And with the enthusiasm of an excited golden retriever, he goes bounding towards the glittering waves, kicking up wet sand behind them. Bucky grabs onto his broad shoulders, partly just to feel the firm muscle there, and partly out of a last-minute sense of self-preservation.

“Steve!” He calls out, laughter ripped out of his chest, sudden and shocking, as they splash a bunch of shrieking children on their path. “Put me down, you punk-ass manchild–”

“Nope,” says Steve, relenting only once the water’s reaching up to their chests. There, he stops, swaying gently with the tide, and shifts Bucky in his arms until he’s got Bucky’s legs wrapped around his middle, gathering him close. “I’m your ride for the day.”

And how could Bucky ever object to that? The ocean dances sweet and placid around them, warm under the midday sun, and the man he loves wants him here, tucked in the circle of his arms.

“Fine,” he says, pressing the word to Steve’s lips with a slow kiss. Fine, have it your way.

His last coherent thought, before Steve licks expertly into his mouth, is that they might not escape the public indecency allegations today, after all.

[ansbobcar]

EP 19 - A trip and a chat away

WORD COUNT. 1656

Link to overview

_ _ _ _ _

Did anything of note happen during October? Discounting the investigation and invitation to attend his family’s dinner with her partner in convenience, work and romantic affairs, nothing much. There’s no point in focusing on the dinner conversations as they play as before just with another person, namely the wife and child of the most beautiful and handsome man in the whole continent. Though it must be a feat that this man gets fed one of the most fulfilling dinners each night. What a goddess in the craft of cooking. The two could never hope to achieve even a fraction of this as their eyes and taste buds analysed the intricate rich yet balanced and flavourful dishes. Even the Autumn Market wasn’t worth discussing as the magical police handled it completely. If anything, there was just paper work this month and the typical meetings.

With Rinka having more meetings with the Director and being allotted time to try train the Ice Cane’s magical output. Her presence feels more and more like a ghost. Only a flicker in the hallways as he was stuck working. Maybe he should hit Joe’s competition again. It’s been a while, stepping foot into the bar.

“Oh! Here he is!” The old man gestures towards him for an unfamiliar silhouette. Clad in an eyesore of gold, with a high collar and bare chest for show. His eyes and posture lacked the redness and disorientation expected from how much he reeked of strong cologne and tobacco. With a cigarette bud at his fingers.

“The heaviest drinker you’ve met?” The dishwasher blonde pointed at him. He howled humorously at his appearance. “Really, Joe? A four-eyes?”

“Yes, that’s the guy I’ve been telling you about.”

Ah. “Do you want to challenge me in a drinking contest?”

“Duh!” he choked out. “I’ve been waiting for ya to stop by for ages!”

He took a seat besides him as shots were put on the table. “I wonder if I’ve lost touch.”

_ _ _

They both vomited simultaneously around round 43 resulting in a tie. ‘What the fuck.’ This guy drinks as heavy as him. If only they didn’t vomit simultaneously. Without batting another eye, the golden boy took out another stick and lit it with his wand.

“You gotta be joking,” Orter slightly slurred as he propped up his head with a hand. “You just barfed… on the fucking countertop, frat boy.”

“You did too nerd,” the challenger blew out a puff watching as he took out his wand and cleaned up the mess. “Joemama here really wasn’t joking with your weight…” His eye twitched with his lips forming a crooked smile. “You know… that means you gotta fulfil me a dare… right?”

“The same applies to you too,” as he gladly took the mug of water the old geezer had given him. “What’s your fucking name?”

“Just call me Adele, nerd.” Before he clicked his fingers to catch the man’s attention. “Oi oi, you gotta chick or sumthin’?” Why the sudden question? His brass eyes staring at his opponent’s piss yellow ones. “Joemama talked about how you always drank here until the summer rolled round,” nudging the hunched divine visionary’s side. “It’s gotta be a chick isn’t it?”

“Why would you care, Adele?”

“Because I want you to call her over,” he huffed. Eyes filled with mania and thrill. 

“She’s asleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can call her if that works for you,” taking out his rabbiphone which received a laugh. “The maker was rabbit obsessed. Give him a break,” as he searched for her name in his contacts and put the call on speaker. After two rings, she had picked up.

“... why are you calling me this late?” she murmured with a yawn.

“I ended up in a draw for a drinking competition with some frat boy called Adele.”

“... what round?”

“Round 43.”

“... ah…” He leaned onto the countertop as he waited for her slower replies to be constructed. “You must’ve met your match other than me… that’s nice to know…”

“She better than you?” Curious about her words.

He scoffed at this wonder. “Not even drunk… right, sunshine?” She hummed over the phone.

“Why? Does he wanna win against me?”

“Hell yeah!”

“... maybe another time…”

“Can you pick up your man? I wanna leave now~”

“... in 3 minutes.”

Heartlessly, he waved a goodbye to the two. “3 out of 3 stars for the experience, man!” Slamming the door behind him before Rinka, in a simple yet sheer night gown with her rustic robe tied like a cape around her neck, opened the door in her bare feet. “Let’s get you back home,” she muttered as she walked outside with his body draped over her.

The wind whispered into her ears as she looked around her.

It’s empty. With no trace of Adele in sight.

“A ghost perhaps?” she uttered before she raised her wand.

“That’s her?”

“...yes.”

_ _ _

It’s November 3rd and she had nearly forgotten about his birthday, almost going into tears at this realisation. She didn’t know what he liked other than working because she also liked working! She nearly got whacked with a sturdy book by Sophina when Ryoh brought up the topic over some tea. “You should spoil him!”

“With what, expensive wine? Champagne? I don’t even know what he drinks!” she moped. What about books? “Have you seen what he’s been reading the past year? Pure stacks of reports!”

“It’s the thought that counts,” her godfather tried to reassure her. “You’ll figure out. Maybe a photo album could work!”

And that’s how she ended up in a bookshop, in some random town about 2 towns away from the Bureau, blankly scanning and flipping through a book she plucked out of curiosity before placing it down. Unless the Desert Cane was into a potions making book, she didn’t really have a point of reference as she placed back the book and quickly found a familiar book.

‘This is the anthology I had to learn for Language Studies,’ she reminisced before a hand reached out to grab it. With a white robe entering her vision and a creepy grin etched in pride, it dispersed as they locked eyes. More dishevelled looking hair, two straight lines and sunglasses. “What are you doing here?”

Without batting an eye, she craned back her head towards the shelf, “Picking out a book for your brother.” Was this town closer to Easton Academy? It’s been a while since she’s gone there.

“Then you’re looking in the wrong section,” he replied, pointing over to a different section, “He’s into encyclopaedias.”

RINKA: Really? I always see him reading short story anthologies…

WIRTH: That’s because he’s addicted to reading

“Atleast. That’s what I know,” he murmured under his breath as she walked over towards the section. Maybe she could ask him a bit more, being brothers had to mean something to an extent. Holding up a book titled, “The encyclopaedia of fruits,” she asked the taller teen for his opinion. “He’s already read it.” Resulting in it’s immediate shelving. 

The only thing she confirmed with his younger brother was his obsession with reading. Nearly 15 solid years of pure unadulterated reading seemed to be his special skill and world record.

‘Should I choose this?’ Enjoying the pictures and interactive sounds included in the book. ‘Or this one?’

“Are you done already?” He snapped her out of her decision making. “I need to pay.”

‘The Music Encyclopedia should do,’ she put back the other one. ‘He needs bigger font anyways.’ Only to gawk at his stack of books piled into a tower and a quarter at the counter, she only had 2 items. “Your semester hasn’t ended yet has it?”

He sighed at her question. “It’s mostly for the honour roll exam.” Of which only 3 have successfully passed the exams.

“That will be 7,500 lond.”

He was short a few coins, he huffed. ‘Now I have to--’ She took out some coins to finish the amount before quickly paying for her own books.

“Where was I?” Attempting to recollect her thoughts. “The books, and then--the honour roll exam,” she seemed elated as they walked in tandem. His towering stack perfectly hovering just behind them. “Wasn’t that over the summer?” It got postponed. “Is that so… I remember the teachers encouraged my to try it since it tests your application and understanding of all concepts of magic and human-made studies like language, medicine, and politics even… but I dropped out of school before I could take it,” she snickered at the memory.

But Wirth, the taller man beside her---years younger than her---was shocked by this fact. How in the world was there a Divine Visionary who didn’t graduate high school?

“When did you drop out?”

“In my 3rd year.”

“Why?” A mix of anger and resentment traced his voice. “You were so close to graduating,” he argued watching she calmly took in her surroundings, noticing the melancholic gaze she had throughout it all.

"This was before the Bureau made it compulsory to complete high school for Divine Visionaries,” she began to half-heartedly explain. “In short, I prioritised and preferred the Bureau over Easton at the time. So I naturally just dropped out." 

To think that his older brother was dating someone so powerful without even completing her magic education, ‘he really is something.’ But that probably means she also caused that rule to get instilled in the first place. “Nobody opposed it either,” she muttered before they came to a halt at a bridge. This was the way back to Easton.

“Oh yeah, thanks for paying the missing amount,” he bowed slightly towards her. “I can carry my stuff from here,” flicking his wand for his totem of supplies. 

“It’s fine. Just make sure to send a letter to your brother for his birthday,” waving him goodbye. As if he wasn’t…

_ _ _ _ _

HAHAHAHAH OKAY GUYS I'm gonna be super frank I just started writing EP 24 (it took be like 3 weeks to finish EP 22) so you will probably get up until EP 23 since I am stressed over school work :D But it's okay, I'll be back to updating by then! (Just won't have the overview updated for 3 weeks - v - )

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS I AM DEAD INSIDE

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

His Soul (Chapter 10)

Show and Tell

Summary: After saving the abducted collectors, you were trusted with Curioso's box. What seems like a dangerous possession slowly turns into an opportunity to learn more about this creature and his curse. Can you earn his trust, and possibly, his affection?

Pairings: Curioso/Reader, Curioso/The Detective

--

It took a bit of searching on your end, but you finally tracked down a translator who was able to make any sense of the book. You had reached out to several other people for a week, all of whom sadly informed you that they couldn’t understand it. Still, you remained determined and you were glad your patience finally wore off.

You were sitting in a small office across from a woman who wore a blue suit. Her eyes were wide as she read the book that you left open on her desk. You were still dumbfounded with the news she’d just given to you. 

“You can really read that thing? I haven’t met a single person who could.”

She nodded and leaned back in her seat. “You see, Detective, I used to delve into magic - divination back in my day. This book was written by an enchantress. I recognize the spell that is decrypting it from normal eyes.”

“Huh…” Your mind went back to the time Curioso disabled a concealing spell on that house in your last case. Had he done the same thing to this book to make sure Andrew couldn’t read it? “Are you sure it was an enchantress? Not a…creature of some sorts?”

“Her name is written right here. I can translate this for you, but I’m afraid it will take some time.”

“That’s fine; I’m in no hurry.” You waved your hand. “Just…do you know what it is?”

“Instructions, I think,” She rubbed her chin as she observed the pages. “But what they say and what they are for…I will have to get back to you on that.”

“Great. Just call me on the phone when you make any progress - I’ll pay you in advance.”

She stopped you when you stood from your chair, her eyes lit up in fascination. “I am curious, where did you get this book? I have never seen anything like it.”

“....A friend of mine gave it to me. I’d like to know what it says.” 

“Very well. Expect to hear back from me in a few days…thank you for such an interesting job. I will have fun translating this.”

You stood and dusted off your pants, relieved to have finally found someone for the job. You were antsy to know what this book contained…if she was right, then they could possibly be instructions for Curioso’s box. You desperately needed that, as you couldn’t keep relying on him for its codes and instructions. He lied to you about that before and you were sure he would do it again if it benefited him. 

You handed over some cash and shook her hand, already wishing time would move forward. 

-----

You returned to your office and sat down in your chair. If Curioso sensed that you had the book before, then he must know it was out of your possession now. When you looked up, you found his box lighting up from your shelf. A sign of his presence.

Before he could say a word, you beat him to it. “I don’t have it. Are you happy?”

“Did you destroy it?” 

“No. Just…loaned it to someone. I’ll get it back, but I still don’t know what it is.”

Mist pooled out and you found the projection of his mask greeting you from across the room. He tilted his head. “Who did you give it to?”

“A magician,” You spread your hands out theatrically. 

You thought he might take it as a joke, but that didn’t happen. “You’re smarter than you look, Detective.”

You narrowed your eyes with skepticism. “You still don’t want to tell me what it is? Even if I don’t have it with me anymore?”

“You should have gotten rid of it, that’s all I’m telling you.”

You paused. Something just occurred to you that you should’ve thought about before. “Just a silly question here, but…it’s not going to kill me, right? Or bring a sudden end to the world?”

“Only an end to mine.”

You jumped out of your seat. “It’ll kill you!?”

Curioso laughed really hard. It made you feel ridiculous as you slid back down into your seat. Your face was as red as a tomato for overreacting the way you did. 

“How kind of you to care about me..! But, no. That won’t happen. I’m sorry.” 

You groaned and tried to hide your face. “Believe it or not, I actually WANT you here. Otherwise, I would’ve given you right back to Andrew.” 

“Yes, that’s right. You want me here as part of your things …your collection. Your memories.” 

“No, I-” You were getting flustered over this and you didn’t know why. “I want to get to know you. Isn’t it obvious that’s what I’ve been doing?” 

“You don’t need a book for that. You can ask me all your questions, Detective. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” 

Your face was still hot and your heart wouldn’t calm down. Something about this conversation was embarrassing you. You grabbed a piece of paper from your drawer and took a deep breath before walking over to Curioso’s box. You held it up and prepared to enter the correct pattern, then you hesitated.

“Do you…want to come out? I mean, if you’re not still mad at me?” Your voice was timid. 

“I always want a breath of fresh air.”

You gave a wryly grin. “You wanna’ watch me do paperwork? Do all the boring detective stuff?” 

“Please. The anticipation is killing me..!”

You chuckled and let him out of the box. The same bright flash ensued and he was standing before you again. You rubbed your eyes as you stumbled back over to your desk. It felt like getting your picture taken with the flash on. You wondered if there could ever be a way to change that. 

“Take a seat anywhere, you can explore my office. Just don’t touch anything.” 

You sat down and grabbed a pencil, preparing to do some work. To your surprise, Curioso didn’t stray very far and instead perched himself on the edge of your desk. He really wasn’t in the way of anything, but his close presence made you nervous. His set of sharp teeth was closer to you than you were comfortable with. 

“There’s another chair right over there,” You pointed across from your desk.

“Ah, but this is annoying you, isn’t it? He grinned. 

“It is, actually. Yeah.” 

“Then I’m not going to move anywhere.”

“Fine."

You began filling out paperwork in spite of his close proximity. You pretended he wasn’t there and you were just doing some work as usual. You were actually able to get a bit done. You paused to stretch your arms and crack your back, suddenly remembering Curioso was right beside you when you accidentally smacked your elbow on him. 

“Whoops - sorry…” 

“I like your name,” He whispered.

You blinked twice before glancing back at the paperwork and found your first and last name signed on the sheet before you. You hadn’t thought he was seriously paying attention to what you were doing. Who in their right mind would willingly watch someone fill out boring papers instead of looking at pictures of your heroic cases? Curioso, apparently. 

“Ah, thank you,” You grew warm again and cleared your throat to change the subject. “So I can ask you questions, right?”

His voice was dramatic. “I guess you can.” 

“Apparently, that book was written by a woman. Do you know who she is?” 

“...” 

“Her name is in there. I’ll be able to find it soon. Is she someone I should get into contact with?”

“NO!” He exclaimed loudly into your ear. 

You flinched and nearly stumbled out of your chair. He noticed your state and withdrew into himself, moving away from your desk and into the seat across from you. He was deliberately trying not to face you.

“Alright, geez.” You rubbed your ear in pain. “So, she’s nobody I should know, apparently?”

“Detective.” His voice cracked. Your heart broke at the sound. “Don’t dig any deeper than you already are. You’re keeping that book despite my wishes - please listen to me and never find that woman.” 

It felt like you lost all your strength. “Okay…I won’t. I promise.” You waited a second before adding, “Can you at least tell me who she is? Why is she so bad?” 

“Patience is a virtue.” He tapped a robotic finger on the edge of the wood. 

You wanted to groan and throw a fit, but now wasn’t the time. He sounded like he was on the verge of crying. You didn’t know if that was possible or not, but you didn’t care to test it. Your eyes traveled down Curioso and you realized you’d never gotten such a good look at him up close. Observing him for too long hadn’t been your goal back at Andrew Collins’ house. You’d been too preoccupied worrying about him getting into anything to really study him before. 

He wore a blue-and-red jester costume, but it was torn in places and had many holes in its fabric. It was also dirty, like it’d been through hell and back. His top hat was in a similar condition, torn at the ends with its colors dull. When you looked at his hand, you found holes, scrapes, and cuts on his mechanical digits and palms. Even his mask, when he turned to look at you, was damaged and missing pieces of its decoration. 

You never noticed how… rough he looked. Like he was something someone had left outside and forgotten about for years - equally as damaged from the weather as he was from the neglect of his owner. Pity swelled in your throat. 

“Are you alright?” The jester queried. 

“I remember you looking a little different,” You confessed. Something was off about him…he was missing those little hats on top of his big one, and you swore he was more colorful before. “Did something happen?” 

“This is how I’ve always looked.” 

“But..” You leaned forward and squinted your eyes. You probably looked ridiculous doing this. You didn’t care. “Your mask isn’t supposed to look like that, is it? Your hands…they’re all damaged. Did…did something hurt you?”

He promptly moved his limbs out of your view. “Just wear-and-tear. I’ve been around for a long time.” 

“When we were in your box-” You pointed at him, the memories flooding back to you. “You looked perfect. Your mask was glittery, your clothes were bright, everything was fine…what happened?”

“I can bend anything to my will there. Anything I want.” His voice grew quiet. “Even myself.”

“You mean you made yourself look like that?” 

“Do you ever want to relive your glory days?” He threw his head back and grinned widely at you. His teeth still remained pearly white and as sharp as always. The only part of him unchanged and intact. “That’s how I used to look. I’m sure you remember a time when you were young and full of energy…” 

You shook your head and sat back down to give him some space. “Alright. I don’t know anything about your kind. But I’m going to assume that’s normal unless you tell me otherwise.” 

“Completely normal.” He insisted. “If you had to wear the same clothes everyday, you’d look just like me after a while.” 

“I don’t have holes in my face or my hands,” You pointed out. 

Curioso slouched in his seat. He clearly wasn’t happy that you were pressing this as much as you were. “They’re artificial. It’s not me. Not really.” 

“What do you mean..?” Why was it always a guessing game with him? Why couldn’t he explain anything to you? “Curioso, I don’t really understand what you are. Can’t you just tell me?” 

“I wish I could, but even I don’t know what I am.” 

“I still don’t understand…”

“What is there to know? I’m a jester in a box. I like collecting human souls and exposing their dark secrets. That’s all there is.”

“I don't think that’s the case. What were you at the carnival?” 

You could’ve sworn his smile grew smaller. He must’ve thought you’d forgotten about that detail, but you didn’t. He confirmed himself that what Andrew said was true. If you couldn’t find out WHAT he was, then you could at least learn where he came from. 

“I was a jester,” He responded. “Telling jokes, making fun, you name it.” 

That , you could believe. But it felt like he was only telling a half-truth. “Really? With all your powers, you only told jokes?” 

“They were good ones..!” 

“Tell me one.”

“ ‘Why don’t cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny !’”

“Yeah, there’s no way you were telling that to kids.”

“Maybe I didn’t perform for kids..?”

Now you are getting concerned. “Curioso-”

“-Honest, Detective! I was an entertainer at the circus. For both adults and kids! They loved my show, I’d been doing it for a long time.”

You went quiet as you tapped your pencil on your desk. You were neglecting your paperwork now, but you were far more invested in learning about your friend. Not many people could say they've held conversations like this one. 

“Did you like it?”

He sounded strained. “Of course.”

“Then why did you come out of your box angry? Why did you threaten Andrew? If you loved what you did, why did you want revenge-”

He did something you did not expect - which was to learn towards you, pinch your cheek in between two white fingers, and pull a little too hard.

“You’re so nosy.” He hissed. “Must you know EVERYTHING?”

“Ow!” You swatted his hand off and rubbed the red spot left on your skin. “You said it yourself - I’m a detective. It’s in my job description.”

“Hmm. And you’re putting together the mystery of my past ?” You swore you saw a small flame flicker in his mask’s eye socket. You blinked twice and it was gone.

“If you’re going to make it this much of a challenge, then I might as well.”

He tittered. “You’re so fun. That’s why I like you.” You blushed at his words and scolded yourself for feeling so flattered. “I suppose I can help you solve it, but…you may find things that you don’t like. Are you okay with that?”

“I found a room full of bodies in my last case.” You shuddered at the image left in your mind. “I’m sure that whatever it is, I can handle it.”

He hummed, looking at you for an awfully long time. Then, he said, “I’ll tell you when I feel that you’re ready.”

You wondered when that was going to be.

[aziraphales-library]

hi! i was wondering if you had any pining/love confession fics with a flustered!crowley and an aziraphale who’s the one to iniate the encounter to recommend? if it’s not too much trouble :]

Hello! Please check out our #pining, #love confessions, and #flustered crowley tags for more fics like this. Here are more for you...

Smile by Fallenangel_Winchester (NR)

There's a smile that keeps appearing on Aziraphale's face that Crowley can't figure out what it means

lover, be good to me by cuips_not_cute (T)

Crowley’s heart thudded. “Should we be as drunk as we are, angel? I can sober up, if you’d like.”

“No. Don’t want to be sober.” Aziraphale paused for a moment then said, “Wouldn’t have the courage.”

Crowley stilled. He knew that whatever was said next would change things. He just wished he knew how.

“Crowley I—” Aziraphale took a deep breath, preparing himself for something, glancing over his shoulders like he was making sure they weren’t being watched. At last, he spoke again in a voice barely above a whisper. “Crowley, my dear, I love you.”

if i could make the world as pure (and strange as what i see) by fathomlessblue (G)

It’s a cold, quiet night. Inside a warm, stuffy bookshop in Soho, what starts as another bout of their usual bickering might just be the catalyst both angel and demon need to finally tell each other the truth.

After six thousand years, a happy ending is the least they deserve.

Goose Chase by Benjito (T)

Aziraphale can feel traces of love, and when he's overwhelmed by its lingering presence at his bookshop, Crowley is desperate to throw him off.

A Midsummer Afternoon's Curse by cyankelpie (G)

(Aziraphale is the victim of a love spell, and needs Crowley’s help to break it. Which is a problem, because it’s very difficult for Crowley to focus while Aziraphale lavishes him with affection.)

The rest of the sentence got knocked out of him by a large, off-white blur that flew out of the door and tackled him. “Crowley,” said a familiar voice, though the breathy fondness and affection in said voice was anything but familiar. “I knew you’d come.”

Oh. It was Crowley. Crowley was the target of Aziraphale’s magical infatuation. Aziraphale wanted Crowley’s help ridding him of this newfound affection for Crowley.

And Crowley, who somehow needed to be the level-headed one in this situation, was utterly fucked.

Familiar Creature by improfem (G)

In the aftermath of the non-pocalypse, Crowley struggles with returning to a 'normal' life. How do you decide what work is worth doing, and which habits to keep, when you're a disgraced demon? Meanwhile, Aziraphale has issues of his own, namely: How on earth do you define the difference between divine and personal love, and could online dating be the answer?

- Mod D

[shearlin]

Inspired by this post by @thatonedragongirl and addition by @bokettochild

I also feel like FD does not completely take control, but is such a strong presence, that it overwhelms the user after a extended / repeated use, to the point of losing a sense of self.

However, I always hc that FD mask is a cursed object and behaves as such. It warps the perception of user, yes, but it also warped the Fierce Deity himself. Just like putting a power of divine in a mortal vessel would never end well for the mortal in question, smushing a god in a tiny piece of wood would not end well for the deity.

I hope you don’t mind a little drabble about this concept about FD influence and my understanding of it.

Fierce Deity was powerful. Was.

It was centuries, millennia ago, when his power was stripped, cramped and forced into a piece of wood, trapping him in a plaything, a mask. A thing to be used like a tool.

But he did not fade like they hoped nor he subdued to their will. He was a god. He lingered, observed, adapted. He would not be defeated that easily.

They took his body and freedom. They wanted to play gods, when they were at war. They made a mistake and paid for it. But it did not end his imprisonment. The cycle continued. Someone found the mask, put it on and then break under his will. Over and again.

But that was a past long gone. His current wielder was different. Treated him with respect and fear like he should. He would not mind a vessel like that. His mind and magic was strong and his spirit was touched with Her divine light. Fierce Deity did not expect the fragile child that found him to become quite the man he is now, but it was only for the better.

Every time the hero put on the mask that hold his power he would whisper his guidance, pour his power into him, making him a true avatar of his might. Fighting like this felt right. Fighting both to protect and destroy. Even if he was not free. He helped when he was called and it was almost enough.

But if he could convince him to leave it on, to let him handle it, that he would take care of it... After all, who was better to wield a power of a god than the divine it belonged to?

It would be easier. It would be painless.

His wielder would not have to be hurt, ever again. Even if the hero thinks he could do it alone. The deity has chosen and laid his claim.

Fierce Deity would never be free. But this is still his. And he'll be damned, like the curse they called him, if he let anyone take it away.

---

Time didn’t know what to think of the Fierce Deity mask. It scared him. It sickened him. It drew him in. It gave him strength and power. He needed it.

Putting it on felt... intoxicating. There was nothing - and he meant nothing - that could stop him when he put it on. He could protect everyone like this. His home, his wife, his boys, everyone.

He could also kill everyone like this. After all, Fierce Deity had no reason to hold back. No reason to stop his blade.

And every time he put the cursed mask on, Time could feel he had less and less reason to as well. It was freeing in a sense.

It was terrifying.

He vowed to never put it on unless absolutely necessary. He was long past the time, when he thought he would be able to let it go completely. When he tried to fool himself he had it under control.

One day, the gentle pulls and whispers would turn to shoves and commands that can't be ignored. One day, the overwhelming presence that felt in equal part comforting and threatening, would be too inviting to stop. One day, he would lose himself in the sweet song of power and the rush of never-ending fight.

The worst part? He knew. It was already happening. And yet, there was no way on Farore’s green earth he could let go now. He knew, but he didn't care anymore. He was not sure when he stopped.

There would always be someone stronger that him that endanger everyone. An evil that he would not be enough to defeat. Ganondorf still lives in his Hyrule. Moon was still on the sky, ready to plummet. You just never know when you might need some extra help. So the mask stays in his pouch ready to be used, humming with power both cursed and divine.

Fierce Deity had him in his clutches, marking his face and purring in his mind, promises of easy victory and safety for those he loved.

And Time was terrified how easily it was to accept that as true.

[labellefleur-sauvage]

A Most Dangerous Magick

Summary: Deep in the woods, the villagers say a forest witch dwells in her hut, alone, tending to her garden. They say she’s mad, that the bones of children hang from her ceiling and that people who enter the woods and stray from the path never leave. 

When Elain Sees a nefarious visitor is on their way to her forest cottage, she decides to entertain her guest for an evening they both will never forget.

I was inspired by this post by @bittermuire, saying that Elain should have been creepier in canon. I wholeheartedly agree. I took it a few (a lot) steps further and made her a violent, bloodthirsty, unsettling forest witch, because, at the end of the day, Elain deserves it.

Rating: Mature/Explicit. Violence, animal death, bodily harm, body mutilation, smut. This might not be everyone's cup of tea but if you're in the mood for unhinged Elain, read on.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3. There are research notes at the bottom of the AO3 link, if anyone is interested.

XXX

Elain could feel change in the air like a punch to her gut. 

It came on suddenly: the sensation lit across her fingertips like little shocks of static and settled on her arms like an unnervingly thick coating of dust. It filled her lungs like smoke from a forest fire and its bloody metallic tang hung in the back of her throat and coated her tongue. 

It disappeared just as quickly as it had come on, leaving her slightly disoriented and gasping for breath. She spat on the ground - bloody. Elain frowned slightly. Yes, change was coming, and soon, though she chose to keep optimistic until she could divine more of the situation. 

She hurried through the forest towards her house. Her dinner - a rabbit, neck broken - hung from the ratty belt around her waist. Her feet were bare and covered in dirt; a few twigs were tangled in her long brown hair. Her dress was filled with rips and stains, the hem nothing more than a tangle of threads. 

“How interesting,” she mused aloud. “It’s been… decades, I think, since something has happened here. Not since that silly little human marched here with his fancy horse and iron weapons to try to take the woods away from me.” She looked down at the dead rabbit hanging from her belt, its body bouncing against her leg as she walked. “What do you think, Mrs. Rabbit? Is someone coming? Or perhaps a storm or drought?”

The rabbit did not deign to give a response.

Elain tsked. “Well you’re not a very good conversationalist.” 

She was close to her home - she could feel her magic traveling through the earth under her feet. The trees around her reacted to her presence, dragging their leaves and branches across her body as she passed. They whispered their tantalizing secrets they had plucked from the air to tempt her to stay. She closed her eyes and sighed, enjoying the feel of them around her but sadly called out, “I really must hurry home.”

The forest groaned its lament but obliged. The trees picked up their roots and moved, revealing a small clearing ahead. She waded through the knee length grass towards her cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney. Her goats and chickens were in their pens, pawing and pecking at the ground, and her lone cow stared balefully at Elain as she passed, a large wad of grass sticking out from her mouth. 

She threw open the door to her hut and tossed the dead rabbit on the table. A large tabby cat sat on top of her shelves, glaring at her as she entered. 

“Hello Gray,” Elain chirped. The cat arched its back and hissed at her, its hackles raised. Elain ignored the cat’s frosty response. “Where are The Ravens? Have they dropped by while I was gone?”

The cat only growled. His memories were apparently sharp today. 

As she did whenever she entered her home, Elain moved to the altar dedicated to Mother and added her new offerings she had collected while she had been out. She lovingly caressed the bit of bone and hair that had once been a part of Mother’s body that now blessed and protected her home before moving away.

She unlocked her corner cabinet and pulled out her grimoire, the cover cracked and slightly peeling. Elain frowned - she would need to capture another child to repair her book’s damaged skin. Gently she flipped the book to the ‘Prophet and Premonitions’ section and began reading. 

Different spells required different ingredients, with the most powerful spells in her book demanding personal sacrifice as well. She didn’t really feel like offering anything of herself at the moment - the fingernails on her left hand were still growing back after she had ripped them out to ensure her chickens laid enough eggs so she could make her prized lemon bars- so she decided on a basic precognition spell. 

This particular spell was rather simple with its three requirements: something from the earth, something from the sky, and something vital to life. The first two were easy - she plucked a bunch of henbane from her extensive herb garden and rooted around in her cabinets for the preserved sparrow entrails she kept on hand - but the third had some leeway. 

‘Something vital to life.’ This was up to the discretion of the spell caster. Most people used an object that made their own life worth living - a bottle of their favorite liquor, their most prized book if they were a great reader, or perhaps their favorite food. 

Elain tended to be more literal with her interpretation. Walking out to her chicken pen she surveyed the animals. She needed to keep her sole rooster and most of her chickens were on the younger side. 

She sighed. “Sorry Nan,” she apologized, stepping over the fence and plucking her oldest chicken up. Nan squawked indignantly and tried to flap out of Elain’s arms. 

“It’s alright,” she cooed in Nan’s ear, stroking the soft downy feathers of her head. A firm hand on the chicken’s body, another on the head and Elain snapped the chicken’s neck in one smooth, practiced motion. 

Back inside her house, she set the dead chicken on the table next to the rabbit and hauled a bucketful of her Cauldron blessed soil to the wood floors and scattered it in an even layer on the ground. Crouching down, she began tracing the image of a Daisy Wheel in the blessed soil on the ground: a large flower with six thin, oblong petals evenly spaced apart, all contained within a large circle. 

She laid her ingredients in the center of the Daisy Wheel then dug her teeth into the soft chicken’s body, covering the spell components in a thick layer of blood. The blood seeped into the grooves she had drawn. Elain plucked a few feathers from her mouth and daintily wiped the chicken’s blood running down her mouth and neck away on a stray kitchen cloth. 

Elain knelt on the ground and took a deep breath. One had to go about witchcraft with a clear mind, lest one's thoughts and emotions muddle the results. She let her body relax, her muscles and bones becoming soft and pliant like the dead animal bodies littering her home. Her eyes drifted closed. 

“One two three, one two three,” she muttered to herself in a sing-song voice. “Oh Mother dear, what will you reveal to me?”

Nothing. Elain waited for several moments, still as a stone. She opened one eye, looking around her expectantly for something to happen. A breeze drifted through her open door, wafting around her head, carrying the faint, cruel sound of mocking laughter.

Elain huffed like a petulant child - Mother did always demand more from her daughters. She angrily tore at the flesh of her palm. Her blood sprayed out onto the floor, mixing with the soil and offerings she had laid out.

The effect was instantaneous. A happy sigh on the breeze, then, like her blood on the ground was a living thing with a mind of its own, it raced through the grooves of the Daisy Wheel, coating each petal before zooming around the outer circle to complete its bloody mission. 

When her ichor completed its route around the symbol, it began beating and pulsing like the heart of an ancient slumbering beast taking its first breath of fresh air after a thousand year hibernation. It shuddered and quaked, sending small vibrations through the ground, before small tendrils of blood began branching out from the daisy wheel. 

Elain sat, transfixed, as the blood snaked its way through the dirt and began forming an image of its own: a snout, two pointed ears, four legs supporting a small body, a long bushy tail. It was an obscene two-dimensional masterpiece. Finally the blood finished its painting. All was still as she studied the drawing in front of her. 

A fox? Elain hummed thoughtfully to herself. All of the predators in the woods knew to stay as far away from her clearing as possible, guided by a deep rooted instinct that they most likely didn’t fully grasp. A simple fox couldn’t do any harm to her or the woods. 

But what did foxes represent? Cleverness, cunning and mischief. Elain swiped a finger through the bloody fox and brought it to her lips. Images like lightning came to her in flashes: a lone figure in a deep green cloak walking through the woods; a handaxe, gleaming, attached to a hip; a sheath of long, red hair; a large golden brown hand squeezing her hip - 

Elain found herself on her back, eyes closed, a heavy weight on her chest. She wasn’t sure how much time passed. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see Gray sitting on her collarbones, one clawed paw extended towards her throat, his eyes narrowed in anger at his plans being thwarted. 

“Oh hello silly,” Elain said weakly, reaching up to scratch his ears. A growl - too deep for a cat - rumbled in his chest before he slunk off under a cabinet, his yellow eyes the only thing visible. 

Elain let out a deep breath, still laying flat on the floor. Change was coming, in the form of someone out to deceive her. Did they want to hurt her or the woods? She would never let that happen - the only way she would ever be separated from the woods was if her head were no longer attached to her body and plenty of people had tried and failed over the years. 

There were only two reasons anyone came to her remote dwelling: the first was if a wayside witch or warlock came to trade stories or materials or spend the night; the second was a mortal arriving to kill the bloodthirsty witch rumored to live in the forest. She didn’t get the sense that this person was magical - her territorial instincts would have been set off much sooner if a fellow witch was near. No, whoever was coming was definitely mortal. 

All this meant was that she was getting a visitor. 

Elain sat up and clapped her hands together, beaming. “Well ladies!” she said brightly, addressing the dead chicken and rabbit around her. “It looks like we’ll have a guest sometime soon - time to make the home presentable!”

XXX

Hosting an impromptu dinner party for a yet to be seen guest was not a skill Elain could say she was blessed with. She had already spent hours cleaning up her cozy and charming home and had to admit that anyone other than a fellow witch would be horrified at what they saw. 

Her altar to Mother was covered in dried blood and offerings; her apothecary filled with jars clearly labeled with all manner of poisons that would kill a human in seconds; a collection of bones, animals and human, children and adults, hung from the ceiling in the corner; and her fireplace was embarrassingly sooty and grimy. 

Elain bit her lip. Cleaning all this was a daunting task and she wasn’t sure how much time she had until her visitor arrived - the sun outside was beginning its journey towards the tops of the trees and it would be dark soon. She could cast a glamor but the magic required to transform her entire house for an extended period of time would take a significant sacrifice. Slave away to clean and put away her private items, or glamor her house to make it look like a normal human house? 

She had balked earlier today at the thought of giving any more of herself than needed to perform some basic Seer work and here she was, debating on sacrificing a not insignificant part of her body to hide her home and transform it into something human-like. Heaving a great sigh, she consulted her grimoire. More skin flaked off the cover. She thumbed through the pages as she went, ignoring spells allowing for someone to read other’s minds (too intrusive for Elain’s sensibilities), granting someone giant bat wings (cumbersome, how would they put shirts on?), and a potion granting the ability to change into a great beast (something to keep in the back of her mind, she thought appreciatively, if a man ever dropped by). Finally she found the glamor spell, written in old spidery handwriting. 

She bit her lip and groaned - she had never cast a glamor and didn’t realize the cost: a long list of herbs, various potion ingredients, an essence of the space being glamored and a sacrifice from the bearer. 

There was a sudden flapping at her window. Elain looked over to see The Ravens pecking at the window, begging to be let in. She opened the window and they hopped in, yammering at the tops of their voices.

“A stranger! A stranger approaches!”

“Deceit crowns him like the flames around his head!”

“Yes, yes, I know this already,” she snapped, her head beginning to throb. “It would have been nice if you two would have shown up earlier!” Gray hissed at her tone of voice and Elain hissed back. 

Elain threw her head back and groaned. Why did she even care who this person was or what they wanted? She could rip them to shreds as soon as they crossed the threshold of her clearing, dead before their body hit the ground. 

“Kill him and be done with it!” A Raven cried. Something soft twined itself around her ankles and she looked down to see Gray sitting dolefully at her feet, his prior memories gone for the moment. 

Because your familiars don’t talk back the way a human would, a taunting voice whispered in her ear. It was true. Elain was terribly lonely, having no one but The Ravens and Gray to talk to, and they never talked back - not in any meaningful way. She was so desperate for any type of interaction with something that didn’t either squawk or hiss at her, that she was willing to harm her body to give the appearance of normalcy so this stranger would spend time with her before trying to kill her, based on the handaxe they carried.

Despite the threat of violence that hung at her doorstep, Elain couldn’t help but feel a small sense of elation that someone was coming to visit her. If she could perhaps persuade or trick them into thinking she was somewhat normal and not a witch, they might even stay for a while and have a chat. She could make a normal human meal and talk about… What did humans talk about? The weather? Their occupations? Regardless, she would find out when her visitor arrived.

It seemed her decision was made. Taking another look at her grimoire, she began gathering the needed ingredients: pressed chamomile flowers, fresh sage, vervain, foxglove, a sprinkling of dried meadowsweet, nightshade, dandelion leaf, lemon balm, hibiscus and finally freshly plucked rose petals. She had nicked her fingers on the rose thorns as she collected the rose petals and cursed the plant, thinking that she should enchant her garden gloves to protect herself.

She placed the plants in her large mortar and consulted her ingredients cabinet. She began pulling the rest of the potion ingredients and adding them to the mortar as well: an owl wing, a mummified finger bone from a fellow witch who had died several centuries ago, a bit of a tongue from a man sentenced to hang for thieving, and her last vial of virgin’s tears. 

(Adding the virgin’s tears to the mortar brought up fond memories of the sniffling man she had killed to obtain said tears. Elain smiled softly to herself as she remembered collecting the tears from the dark haired man beneath her, after he had foolishly tried to seduce her by gifting her a glittering necklace. She had cut his throat with the glass charm and then wrung him dry.)

“Ravens,” she called to the twin birds, “could you bring the Cauldron blessed soil over here?”

Ever the dutiful servants, the birds glided down to the large pail full of soil and flew it over to her workstation, setting it next to the mortar. She scratched them behind the ears before shooing them away. 

This next part was perhaps the most difficult: an essence of her space being glamored. She glanced around her home. It was small but it had everything she needed: a small kitchen space, a cozy armchair by her fireplace, cabinets and nooks and crannies to store all her ingredients, books and knick-knacks, even a separate bedroom off to the side of her altar.

The altar. Of course. It was the only area in her entire home that defined her space, as it was Mother’s relics - her bit of bone and hair - that had literally brought the cottage into existence.

Nearly a century ago, after Elain spent months wandering woods and swamps and glens, she had taken a rest in this empty meadow with her few meager belongings: some clothes, her grimoire, and those physical bits of Mother that connected Elain to her ancestor and the original witch. When she awoke, she found herself on the ground in front of the entranceway of a small cottage. The only thing inside the empty cottage was a clean altar, Mother’s bone and hair placed neatly front and center. 

Mother’s relics were sacred and nearly impossible to come by now - for Elain to have two spoke of how highly Mother favored her, and why she pushed Elain to give more of herself than other witches. But could Elain sacrifice even a bit of these precious objects, items with which she derived her power and gave her everything she had and made her who she was? For a chance to have a normal conversation, to relieve this unending loneliness she experienced day in and day out?

She took her knife and began shaving a bit of Mother’s bone away. Yes, she would definitely give a bit of Mother in exchange for a normal house for her visitor. 

The bone shards fell into the mortar; black smoke wafted from the bone. She was almost done, just a sacrifice from herself. She knew it had to be significant. She had just given a bit of bone from Mother for the glamor - surely she would demand bone from Elain as well, or something similar. 

She ground her teeth in frustration - and did it again. Teeth were similar enough to bone and the effort and pain that would go towards getting it out of her mouth would surely count towards her sacrifice as well. Besides, her tooth would eventually grow back.

Elain grabbed a pair of rusty pliers out of her ingredient cabinet and steeled herself. Not giving herself time to talk herself out of what needed to be done, she wrapped the tip of the pliers around a back molar and tugged with all of her weight. 

A burst of white hot pain, some of the worst she had ever experienced, shot through her head. She gasped, choking on the blood that instantly filled her mouth and dripped down her throat and flooded over her lips. Elain stumbled, nearly falling to her knees and dropping everything that was in her hands. Whimpering and groaning, she blindly grabbed a kitchen towel and stuffed it in her mouth to try to staunch the flow of blood. She bit down gingerly with her back teeth and moaned at the excruciating pain that rocketed from her head all the way down to her feet.

She could fairly hear The Ravens squawking in concern around her, the slight breeze from their wings beating near her head wafting her hair away from her heated face. 

“Up, up, up!” one screeched, while another alighted to her side with a shiny red button in its mouth. It set it down on the ground and hopped back, looking at her expectantly. 

“Oh thank you,” Elain gritted out through the blood and towel. “What a nice gift.”

Taking a closer look at what The Raven had brought her, Elain saw that it wasn’t a red button but the tooth she had just yanked from her mouth. Reaching forward with a shaking hand, Elain grasped the slippery tooth and pushed herself up on colt-weak legs. She stared at the tooth in her hand. Bloody nerves and blood vessels dangled from the pale roots obscenely like a second pair of legs.

Elain struggled to stand and threw it in the mortar without a second glance. The pain was nearly blinding and she wiped the sleeve of her dress over her eyes to collect the few tears that were threatening to run down her face. She reached over to grab the pestle and began pounding and grinding the ingredients into a thick paste. 

She could feel the magic growing and forming as she continued working the mixture into a more coherent paste. Some of it traveled through the arm working the pestle and moved to her mouth, settling in the empty tooth socket and filling the void where her molar was just a few moments before, leaving a sharp zing in her mouth in addition to the throbbing ache in her jaw. Other traces of the magic traveled through her torso into her limbs, stretching all the way down to her toes, through the skin and seeping into her bones and marrow.

Finally the glamor paste was mixed and done; it had turned an oily black color, thick and sticky like molasses. Pure, raw power thrummed through her veins. This was what being a witch was all about, what made every sacrifice and day of loneliness worth it. The access to so much strength and potential made Elain feel drunk with giddiness and excitement and she realized belatedly the muffled, choking guffaws were coming from her own mouth.

The energy running through her veins was masking the pain in her mouth. Removing the bloody towel and replacing it with a clean cloth, she quickly consulted her grimoire for what she needed to do with the glamor paste. The paste needed to be spread around every opening of the space being glamored. She only had one window and the front door, so it didn’t take her long to spread the mixture around the frames with trembling hands, making sure the paste formed complete borders with no gaps.

Almost there. All she needed was to imagine the space she wanted and the glamor would take effect, and not too soon. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and the back of her neck with sweat, she could taste and smell nothing but the thick, metallic tang of her blood in her mouth and her legs felt like they were going to collapse under her at any moment. Turning and gripping the sides of her altar so hard her knuckles turned white, Elain thought of her cozy home free of anything that mortals might think odd and unseemingly. Gone were the bones dangling like a grotesque weeping willow in the corner; gone were her apothecary jars filled with poisons and items no one but witches would possess; gone, too, were the suspicious rectangular holes and mounds of all sizes behind her house, temporarily hidden from sight. Gone was her blood consecrated altar to Mother. The process of temporarily glamoring it felt like an act of betrayal to her very core. 

Elain opened her eyes. If she hadn’t been intimately familiar with every inch of her house, she would not have believed she still stood in her abode. Her bone collection had been transformed into dried stalks of corn. The apothecary cabinet had been filled with a series of glass jars holding cooking herbs. The altar was now a basic three drawer bureau and her grimoire was disguised as a cook book.

Her fireplace was clean, and a bubbling pot of chicken and rabbit stew was placed over the hot coals. A fresh loaf of steaming bread was on the clean kitchen table, already set for two with what appeared to be a bottle of wine set in the center. The floor was swept and a clean rug was in the entryway and a coat rack - with a coat and scarf she had never seen before - delicately hanging on a hook.

Elain sucked in a breath, looking around her in awe before registering the lack of pain in her mouth. Her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth where her missing back molar was. The tooth was still gone, the space empty in her gums, but it was no longer bleeding. She touched her mouth, face and hair, startling at the feel of suddenly soft locks framing her face. Racing to the small mirror she kept in her bedroom, Elain lifted it up to look at herself. 

All traces of blood, grime and dirt had been cleared from her face. Her dark brown hair, impossibly shiny and fluffy, hung around her round face in long, delicate waves. Her lips were parted in shock, her cheeks tinted with the light pink blush. Her large brown doe eyes were framed with long, dark eyelashes. 

Even her outfit had been glamored. Her dirty, rough dress she had been wearing was replaced with a pale pink dress with long sleeves, a buttoned bodice and a cinched waist that flared out to a pleated skirt. A white apron was tied around her waist. 

She had never seen herself look so… different. She no longer looked like a forest witch who regularly communed with nature; she was otherworldly in her beauty, stunning enough to bring anyone under her spell just by her appearance alone. 

Elain laughed in disbelief at everything around her. Mother went above and beyond what she had requested in her glamor. 

There was a crash from the front room followed by screeching from The Ravens. She ran out to find them flying around the room near the ceiling, a broken butter crock on the ground.

“The Fox approaches! He aims to kill!”

“The Fireling is near!”

Gray was sitting on the altar-turned-bureau, hissing and swatting at The Ravens as they flew around. 

“Yes, yes, I know they're near!” Elain shouted over the squawking of The Ravens. She moved Gray off of his perch as she tried to corral the birds towards their clean golden cage in the corner and picked up the broken butter crock and threw it in her waste can.

Elain took a deep breath. Besides her familiars running around like chickens with their heads cut off, everything was in order and ready. A mixture of excitement and nerves coursed through her veins. She felt drained from all the magic she had performed today but couldn't find herself regretting any of it. Soon, very soon, someone would be here, with her, in her house, hopefully talking and conversing with her like mortals do all the time. They would share a meal and some drink and she’d learn what was going on outside of the woods, what petty issues the humans concerned themselves with. It was terribly mundane but Elain had to pinch herself to keep from screaming.

And then this visitor would most likely try to kill her, but she could preemptively forgive that, as long as they behaved like a decent guest for a short time before they attempted to murder her. 

Suddenly Elain could feel the change in the air and knew the visitor was here. Smoothing out her dress, she swung open her door to reveal a tall, hooded figure, one hand raised as if to knock on the door. Their green hood fully obscured their face but she could make out a few deep red strings of hair peeking out.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds before the stranger lowered their hand.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the stranger said in a deep voice that shocked Elain and sent a ripple of excitement through her body. “I’m a traveler who has gotten lost in the woods. Would I be able to shelter in your house for the night?”

Liar, Elain thought with a smile on her plump lips. “Oh of course,” she replied graciously, her smile never straying from her mouth. “All manner of beasts lurk in the woods at night - do come in.”

The man stepped inside and threw back his hood, revealing the most magnificent man - mortal or otherwise - Elain had ever seen. He had golden bronze skin, framed, like The Ravens had said, with flaming fire-like hair falling past his shoulder blades in a long, straight sheath. He wore a clean tunic over dark brown pants with knee high boots and though he most likely thought himself clever by trying to hide it, she could see the outline of his handaxe on his hip under his clothing.

“Would you like to hang your cloak by the door?” Elain asked. 

Her visitor didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to study Elain and his surroundings and refusing to meet her gaze. “No thank you,” the man replied. “It’s rather cold outside and I’ll need it to warm up.” 

Elain nodded and moved aside so she could close the door behind him. An awkward silence followed, with Elain staring at the stranger and the man staring anywhere but her, his eyes narrowed slightly. She realized she had no idea how to be a good host - must she insist he take off his cloak or shoes? - but thought offering some comfort would be a good start.

“I have stew,” she said cheerfully, moving towards the fireplace. “Wine as well, if you’d like.”

“What’s in the stew?” he asked sharply, still standing stiffly by the door like a caged animal.

“Uh, chicken and rabbit. I threw in some carrots and potatoes - ”

“I - yes,” he said, coming to stand next to the kitchen table, flexing his hands. His eyes finally darted up towards hers, looking slightly abashed and surprised. “I apologize for my tone. I was rather nervous that I would be lost in the woods for the night.”

Liar, liar, Elain thought viciously to herself, turning her back on the man to stir the stew as she smiled to herself. You knew exactly where you were going.

Ladling two bowls of the stew, she turned back to him with a pleasant smile on her face, batting her eyelashes over her large doe eyes at the man. “My name is Elain, by the way. Stew?”

It had the desired effect - the man almost dropped the bowl she handed him, stammering his thanks, before he placed the stew on the table and drew back a chair to sit. 

Elain settled across the table from the man and opened the bottle of wine, pouring it into two glasses. It was a light golden color that sparkled in the firelight. 

“Honey wine,” Elain said without thinking, a tone of surprise in her voice - her favorite. The stranger raised an eyebrow at her, as if she should know what she had put on the table. Rushing to cover her slip up, she said, “Made from honey from my bees.”

The man sniffed his drink before taking a sip. “I didn’t notice any beehives as I was walking to your house.”

“They’re around the back,” Elain improvised. “With how cold it is, they’re not producing anything at this time of year.”

She took a sip from her glass, enjoying the sweetness that flowed over her tongue. Seeing Elain drinking, the man also took a sip and began eating his stew.

Companionable, if a little awkward, silence followed. Elain couldn't help herself from sneaking glances up at the mystery man, who steadfastly ignored all further eye contact with her and focused instead on his food or trying to discreetly look at her house, no doubt looking for evidence of witchcraft. Doubt was marring his face, however. He had clearly come here expecting some wizened hag and her bloody ramshackled abode, not a clean young lady in a homey but isolated cottage. 

She wasn’t sure how long the glamor would hold but prayed it would be long enough to get to know the man better.

“You know,” Elain started in a light teasing tone. “I’ve now invited you into the goodness of my home, and provided you with food and drink. I believe you owe me something in return.”

The man tensed in his seat; she noticed one of his hands leave the table. “Oh? What are you thinking?”

“Hmm.” Elain made a show of placing her chin in the palm of her hand, her fingers drumming along her cheek, her brows furrowed is if deep in thought. “Let’s start with your name. I’ve been calling you ‘Man’ and ‘Stranger’ in my head and that seems rather rude.”

The man relaxed. “My name is Lucien. Lucien Vanserra.”

Now it was Elain’s turn to narrow her eyes in thought. “Vanserra? Are you related to the local baron?”

“Aye,” Lucien answered, relaxing fully and grinning softly, confidently, as if he thought the power and prestige of his family could protect him from the horrors Elain was already picturing for him. “My reputation precedes me. The seventh son of the Baron. With six brothers ahead of me, I’ve had plenty of time over the years to travel the land, get to know the people here very well,” he smirked.  

Elain could see the exact moment when Lucien no longer suspected her of being the gruesome witch the local villages gossiped about: his body loosened like jelly, his eyes stopped taking in his surroundings and his sultry gaze focused solely on her. The heat from the fire was nothing like the fire in Lucien’s eyes as he openly gazed at her and discarded his traveling cloak over the back of his chair. 

She felt her inner witch awaken and stir with hunger, the need to tear, rip, kill rising, boiling her blood and causing it to sing in joy and exhilaration. Soon, she thought to herself. For the time being, at least, she was still a gracious host to her lordly visitor and would need to wait to pounce on her prey. 

“And why was such an esteemed and noble gentleman like yourself wandering the woods this late at night, unarmed and alone?” Elain asked innocently, taking a sip of her wine. Her tongue peeked out from between her lips to gather at the liquid on her lips and she noted Lucien tracking the movement of her tongue like a hawk.

He drew in a stuttering breath. “I’m on my way to Alton to look to purchase a new riding coat. It’s an easy enough walk that I've done dozens of times so I didn’t bother bringing anyone with me. I got distracted and found myself off the trail, wandering the woods until I came across your little cottage.” 

Liar, liar, liar. Whatever he said, Elain knew Lucien originally came here with all intents and purposes to harm her even if he no longer thought her a witch but she could barely stifle her feet from tapping the ground excitedly. Here she was, talking and eating with a handsome mortal who talked back in complete sentences, who answered her questions and no longer believed she was the fearsome witch everyone thought lived here. All it had taken were her precious ingredients, a bit of her most prized possession, a tooth pried from her mouth with her own hands and the most pain she had ever experienced in her life.

What an utterly delightful evening she was having. 

Lucien smiled lazily at her like a cat that got the cream as he leaned back in his chair and finished his wine. “Now, what’s a beautiful young lady like yourself doing out here in this remote place? Does anyone live here with you?”

Elain blushed. No one had ever called her beautiful before. “I… ah… moved out here a short time ago. I’m originally from a small village down south but when my father died I had nowhere to go so I started making my way north. I heard of this abandoned house and that’s that,” Elain ended lamely. 

Lucien hummed as he poured himself another glass. “And no other family?”

“Nope. No one but me.” Elain took a large mouthful of her stew to buy her more time and hopefully distract Lucien from asking any more questions.

She did have family but she hadn’t seen her two sisters in years. She had no idea where they were or what they were up to; knowing Nesta, death and destruction, and Feyre, hunting mortals for sport. 

The light from the fire reflected off his russet eyes. “It must be lonely, being here all by yourself.”

Before she could answer, The Ravens started cawing from their cage. Lucien jumped, spilling some of the wine on his tunic.

“Oh, ignore them!” Elain called, rushing over to The Ravens and dragging a blanket to cover their cage. “Just some noisy birds -”

“Ah, so you don’t live here by yourself,” Lucien said conspiratorially, grinning at her. He walked over to the cage before Elain could cover them. They began screeching even louder as he approached, puffing their chests and flapping their wings at him. 

“Stranger! Stranger!”

Lucien tilted his head and stared at the birds. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “I know ravens can sometimes imitate speech but it’s rare. Did you teach them this?”

“Oh no, they, uh, came with the house,” Elain laughed weakly, throwing the frayed blanket over their cage. Immediately the birds settled and quieted. 

Elain was about to suggest they head back to the kitchen table when a small mass streaked by her and stopped at Lucien’s feet. Gray hissed at Lucien and butted his head against his ankle, herding Lucien away from the birds - and towards the front door.

That little bastard. Ignoring Lucien’s confused stutters, Elain picked up Gray and bundled him to her so he couldn’t claw and bite her. Gripping his body and neck tight, Elain hurried towards the bedroom. “Behave, or I’ll slit your throat,” she whispered in the cat’s ear. Gray growled and Elain tossed him in the bedroom before quickly shutting the door behind her.

Elain turned back to see Lucien staring at her. “An old forest cat,” she blurted out. “He’s rather resistant towards staying indoors.”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “You didn’t tell me you already had houseguests,” he teased, smirking at Elain with a heat and familiarity that far exceeded the short time they had spent together. 

“Well, a couple of loud birds and an angry housecat don’t make the best guests,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and grinning back shyly. “I was hoping they’d all be on their best behavior.” 

“And have you?” Lucien asked, sitting in her single cozy armchair. His voice had lowered an octave and he was staring at her with an intensity that rivaled the fire just a short distance away.

“Am I what?” Elain asked, walking to stand a few feet in front of Lucien, keeping her breath steady. 

“Have you been on your best behavior for your esteemed guest?” His hand shot out to grasp her wrist and dragged her on top of him, her knees bracketing his hips. His warm lips placed small kisses on the inside of her wrist, moving up her forearm.

“It must be so lonely, being here all by yourself, with only some half-feral animals to keep you company,” he whispered, his voice low and deep. One hand kept her wrist steady in his grasp while the other trailed lazily up her body, along her outer thigh, a hip, then moving to her back and moving higher and higher up her body.

For as long as it had been since she last talked to someone, it had been even longer since she’d been intimate with another. She had had plenty of affairs with fellow witches and some warlocks over the years. Most recently a gorgeous blonde witch with the most beautiful red cape had spent the night in her bed and fucked Elain so thoroughly she had needed days to recover. 

To say she was going through a dry spell was an understatement. 

Elain took a shuddering breath, both to steady her nerves from his words and the feeling of his hand that had reached the back of her head and was now tangling in her hair, his fingers lightly massaging his scalp. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt him flex his muscles. “It’s not that bad. I have my garden and my animals and my bees - “

“Oh, you lovely fawn,” Lucien whispered. “You wear your loneliness like a second skin, tighter than this dress you have on.” 

She froze. That he had managed to get to the crux of her deepest shame so swiftly felt more damning towards her than any intelligence on his part. Had she been that obviously desperate? Should she have not been so inviting when she let him in and fed him? She had only wanted to be kind and welcoming to make him doubt, if only for a time, that she was a violent and bloody witch who could easily flay him alive.

Elain swallowed. “You must think yourself so clever to come to my home and attempt to make the measure of me based on knowing me for only a short amount of time.” 

He chuckled. “Do you know what they call me? Lord of the Foxes, because I’m so smart and adept at reading people, figuring out what they want, what they desire.” The hand holding her wrist released her, his fingers weaving a delicate trail along the sensitive skin of her arm.

“Oh yes?” Elain said imperiously, trying desperately to wrest some control back into her hands. “And what is it that I want?”

Lucien smiled, all teeth and for a flash of a moment, Elain thought she had underestimated the man beneath her. “Me,” Lucien snarled, bringing her head down to his and claiming her lips in a brutal kiss. 

A bolt of lightning must have struck the house and landed squarely on Elain. That was the only explanation she could think of when Lucien’s lips met hers and a zap of heat moved through her entire body. His lips were plump and slightly chapped and they moved effortlessly against her own. His one hand remained tangled in her hair, pulling softly, while his other hand moved to her chin so he could better direct her face over his. His tongue stroked against her closed lips, begging for entrance, for more, and she obliged, parting her lips with a gasp as she tasted the sweet wine on his lips.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, Elain thought dazedly. She did want him - just not the way he was perhaps thinking. 

“Such a perfect flower you are, blooming for me so prettily,” he rasped against her jaw. His hands had dropped to her hips, squeezing the flesh there in his big hands. The honey wine had clearly given way to honeyed words, if his soft ramblings were anything to go by: she heard compliments - so beautiful, such perfect lips - and praise - yes, move your hips like that, you’re doing so well - and fevered confessions - I want nothing more than to hear you moan for me. His words sent a frisson of heat between her legs and Elain was helpless to do anything more than feebly clutch his shoulders and take whatever Lucien was willing to give. 

His hands left her hips to move to her bodice and began slowly thumbing the buttons there. Elain was in no mood to be teased; she swatted his hands away and began unbuttoning the top of her dress herself, staring down at Lucien through heavy half-lidded eyelids. 

The sides of her breasts were just visible after Elain had finished. Apparently no longer wanting to delay any longer, Lucien gripped her bodice and tugged, exposing her pert breasts to the warm air. 

Lucien groaned at the sight of her breasts and immediately moved to cup the small swells in the palms of his hands. Elain gasped and shuddered, silently begging him to do more than just fondle her tits. He pressed between her shoulder blades towards him so she was forced down closer to him and his lips sucked a peaked nipple into his mouth.

“These tits are perfect,” Lucien groaned, sounding drunk off her body. Elain let him suck and caress and lick her breasts, feeling the rush of his fevered touches and words move through her body and end on her throbbing center. She wanted too many things at once - she wanted those clever lips of his elsewhere on her body, she wanted more confessions spoken into her skin like a sinner at church. Most of all, she wanted to see and feel more of the hard length she felt twitching against her covered center. 

She settled on moving her hands to his luxurious hair and threading her fingers through the deceptively thick strands, giving a slight tug on his roots so he was forced to detach himself from her breasts and stare up at Elain, wild-eyed, lips swollen and glistening, his chest heaving.

She stared unblinkingly into his eyes, willing him to see and sense her desire for him - not just physical but emotionally, mentally. Damn him, but she wanted him more than she anticipated. She had only set up this farce of an evening as an excuse to temporarily fool the stranger beneath her to spend time with her, talk with her, before he undoubtedly went about his murderous plot. Now here she was, a writhing, panting mess in his arms and lap, letting him lick and fondle her to his - and her - heart’s content. She couldn’t get any more attached to this arrogant mortal than she already was.

Lucien stared right back at her, one of his hands drifting upwards to cup her cheek in his hand in the first bit of tenderness he’d shown all evening and she’d received in years. She melted into him like a newborn deer, turning her head slightly to kiss his palm. A spark ran through her lips at the contact with his warm flesh; based on the surprised gasp from Lucien, he felt that same spark as well.

A pause that lasted two, three heartbeats, then Elain tore into Lucien with a ferocity that surprised even her, and Lucien met her with a frenzy of his own.

His big hands rushed down her body and forcefully bunched up her dress so he had unguarded access to the heated flesh between her thighs. His fingers glided along her bare thighs towards her center and they gasped in unison at what he found.

“Oh, my darling fawn,” he groaned, lightly brushing a finger through the wetness between her thighs. “Do you always walk around bare, with nothing under your pretty dresses?”

Elain whimpered against his neck, too flushed with arousal to answer that yes, of course she never wore anything under her dress, why would she, when his cunning finger rubbed against her clit. Elain could feel the heat from Lucien’s eyes trained on her face the entire time he rubbed and caressed her folds, a satisfied smile gracing his lips whenever he found a particularly sensitive area.

Without warning, a single thick digit entered her pussy. Elain gasped at the sudden intrusion, shocked at how good a single finger could feel. She crashed her lips against his, clutching his upper arms for dear life and shifting her hips over his hand when another finger entered her slick channel, stretching out her sensitive walls and stilling inside her. Lucien nipped her chin and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Elain gave a shaky nod and Lucien began moving his fingers inside her at a leisurely pace. 

It would be a shame that she’d have to kill him after this night. 

As Lucien’s fingers picked up their pace inside her, his thumb slid up her folds to circle her clit in quick motions at the same tempo as his fingers. His clever fingers, so thick inside her, reached ridges and flesh her own fingers couldn't. Her hips were moving over his on their own volition, rocking onto his hand for more thrusting, more friction, more anything.

She was so close. A little more, a little more, she begged, not realizing she had spoken aloud until Lucien answered, “Yes, yes, anything -” 

One last quick flick against the side of her clit and Elain was tumbling down an impossibly deep mountain, falling and falling, gasping her pleasure-filled moans for anyone to hear. Lucien worked her through her orgasm, his fingers steady inside her before she grabbed his wrist to stop his ministrations, the nerves in her pussy hypersensitive to any more stimulus. 

No, Elain thought, as she came down from her high, Lucien’s smug grin highlighting his perfect face, why must she get rid of him? She bore him no ill will for his original plans, even if he hadn’t confessed as to why he originally came to her home. He was a handsome man that coincidentally also found her attractive and freely gave her pleasure. Why should he be separated from her? 

A plan, half formed in her hazy post-orgasmic brain, was taking root. Why indeed should this exceptionally stunning man be reduced to spare parts around her house? She originally thought to strip his skin and bind her grimoire with it, pluck out his eyes and install them over her door to serve as an alarm system, cut his lovely hair and use it as thread to mend her pillowcase, or perhaps make a lovely decorative wreath with it. 

Using his body and discarding it would be a waste when it was his charm, his cocksure grin, his breathy moans and whispered words that attracted Elain and made her mad with desire. She couldn’t stand to be parted from this man after tonight.

Reaching down to his breeches, she began fumbling with his ties with trembling, excited fingers, barely able to contain her glee. She pulled his hard cock out from his pants and wasted no time in wrapping her hand around his length and pumping her fist. He was harder than a rock and thick, covered in the same golden bronze skin as the rest of him. Small tufts of amber pubic hair peeked out around his cock and Elain was desperate to get him bare, to see how much hair crowned his length but she could be patient and wait another time. 

There would be plenty of time for that later, after she had bound them together. 

Elain continued moving her hand up and down his swollen cock, twisting her wrist at the fat, red tip and squeezing slightly. Lucien threw his back and screwed his eyes shut, his hands grasping his hips and thighs.

“Look at me,” Elain commanded. Lucien snapped to attention, transfixed as he watched Elain spit in her hand and continue moving her hand up and down his cock, squeezing his base as well as the sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” Lucien gasped. He grit his teeth and a vein popped out of his neck; Elain resisted the urge to bend down and bite and tear the vein out and slurp it down, instead leaning forward to nip at his lips. She bit just hard enough to draw blood and delighted in his moans as the taste of his heady, metallic blood filled her mouth.

“Gods I’m close,” he groaned against her lips. Elain doubled her efforts, her wrist and forearm beginning to ache but she dared not stop, needing to see Lucien combust at her hands.

“Come for me,” Elain whispered in his ear, tugging his earlobe between her teeth as her hand clutched the tip of his cock, “and I’ll show you even more of what I can do.”

With a strangled moan, his spend spurted over her hand and landed on his breeches and her dress. She kept moving her hand up and down his length as he climaxed, feeling his cock pulse and throb in her grip. He had made a thorough mess of her but she found she couldn’t be angry - not when she suddenly had everything she wanted.

Lucien lay boneless beneath her, his body twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm as the final drops of his come tribbled out of his softening cock. Lifting her come-covered hand to her lips, Elain took a tentative swipe over her fingers, then another when Lucien let out a wrecked groan at the sight of her licking his spend from her hand. 

He grinned lazily at her. “How fortunate for both of us that I became lost in the woods this evening.” He was breathless, still recovering from his orgasm, his half lidded eyes taking in her flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance. 

Elain leaned forward and brushed her lips against his before moving her lips to kiss along his jaw, one of her hands trailing down his body. “Well, we both know that’s not true, is it?”

Lucien froze beneath her. Her lips moved to his neck and she could feel his pulse beating wildly against the skin of his throat, could hear the rush of blood through his veins and arteries as his heart began beating a wild staccato in his body. 

“Elain?“

“You were never lost. You entered the woods for one purpose: to kill the witch who lives here.” She leaned away from his body but kept herself on his lap. His eyes were wide with shock and a hint of fear. Only a small sliver of russet shown in his nearly black eyes.

“How - what -”

“You’ve been lying to me the moment you stepped through the threshold of my house,” she tsked. “Naughty boy. And once you decided I was no threat, merely a mortal woman, you decided to seduce me instead?” 

Lucien stared at Elain with a mixture of blatant fear and rage roiling in his eyes. Neither moved for a second before his arms suddenly reached down to his side while his hips tried to buck her off of him. With preternatural speed and strength, Elain squeezed her thighs around his hips to prevent him from tossing her off him, while one of her hands shot out to wrap around his neck and squeezed.

“Looking for this?” From behind her back she pulled the handaxe that had been on his hip. She applied a bit more pressure to his neck, watching with delight as his face slowly turned more and more red. One of his hands flew to her wrist at his neck and the other reached towards the handaxe feebly. Elain chuckled. “Men really get far too relaxed with women after their cock’s get a little attention.”

Lucien’s eyes were becoming bloodshot as she strangled him, his face swelling and small, purple clusters of broken blood vessels appearing over his skin. He thrashed against her like a bucking bull, trying his hardest to escape.

Elain shushed him gently. “This will all be over soon,” she cooed. “Be still, just for a moment.”

Elain brought the handaxe down on the largest expanse of his available skin - his face. She only intended to skim his cheek but he jerked at the last moment and the sharp blade of the ax ran down the side of his face, too deep, over one of his precious eyes.

She threw the handaxe away after she had cut Lucien and removed her hand from his throat. Lucien screamed in pain as his hands went to his face to cover his bloody, mangled flesh and he threw his weight around to try to force Elain off of him.

She tried to pry his hands off his face but he refused to budge, moaning to himself through his pain. “Lucien, stop, I can make it better -”

“Get away!” he gasped, shaking with fear and blood loss, a whimpering mess. “Gods, please, just let me go!”

Elain sighed sadly. “I can’t do that. I told you I would show you even more of what I can do.”

Ignoring Lucien’s shuddering moans, Elain forced her hands against his bloody face, letting some of his blood mix with his come still on her hands. She licked at the mixture, her eyes slipping closed at how good Lucien tasted. 

Cutting her palm with her nails, she let her own blood mix with Lucien’s fluids. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, clearing her mind of all the external forces around her. Steadying herself, she began chanting:

Seed of my enemy, wrought from my hand

Blood of my enemy, I command

Transform this man, bound to me

Into a beast, ne’er wild and free

Lucien’s eyes rolled back in his head as the spell took effect. Scrambling off his lap, Elain watched in breathless delight as his body seized and twitched, his blood seeping into the fabric of the chair around him. His body slumped in the chair and he gave one last heaving breath before his body went still and silent.

Elain smiled. Now all she had to do was wait.

XXX

Hours, then days, passed. Lucien’s form was curled in front of the fireplace, now as sooty and dingy as ever. The glamor had remarkable staying power - it had lifted only earlier that evening in waves and pieces until finally, her beloved cottage had returned to its normal appearance. 

A soft whimper came from the bundled mass in front of the fire. Elain shot up from her chair and rushed to kneel next to Lucien, cooing softly and running a gentle hand down his body.

Russet eyes shot open in fear and alarm at the sight of her. He tried to back away from her but his body was weak after her spell. 

“It’s alright,” she murmured softly. She gave him her nicest smile, showing her lovely sharpened teeth. “You’re fine. You’re safe with me.”

Lucien finally got ahold of his bearings and tried raising himself off the floor but was hampered with his extra limbs. Flailing about, he looked wildly at himself as best he could in his new body. No doubt he could make out the most impressive features: four slim, strong legs and a small body covered in an auburn pelt with a long, bushy tail. Lucien fumbled about and began barking, his fear palpable.

It was only fair that a man who thought himself as a Lord of Foxes would turn into such a lovely fox himself. 

Elain waited patiently for Lucien to settle down. “Do you really think you’re the first person who’s tried to kill me?” She cocked her head at him. “Hardly. In fact, I've had plenty of practice turning violent men into my pets.”

A soft fluttering and then two light weights perched on her shoulders. Elain saw Lucien’s panicked eyes dart to The Ravens who had appeared. 

“These two,” she said, motioning to the birds, “were the first. Sent by some of my father’s acquaintances after I murdered him and fled. Twins. For human men, they put up a decent fight. I was going to just kill them and throw them in the chicken coop but thought, two assassins who call themselves The Ravens may have their uses. They’ve been like this for so long they’ve completely forgotten they were ever humans and only answer to me.”

Lucien now appeared paralyzed with fright, too scared to do anything but stare between the two birds cuddling against Elain. His terror was palpable and was the most delicious thing Elain had ever tasted.

Some softness grazed Elain’s leg as Gray rubbed himself against her, purring loudly. She smiled and reached down to stroke him behind his ears.

“And this one,” she said fondly, “was the son of a local lord who thought himself a general, with his impressive horse and iron armor. He came with his men to kill me and take the forest from me.” Elain laughed but there was no humor in her voice. “He was before your time - maybe the people still talk of the missing lordling who entered the woods one day and never returned. He’s still resisting the change but it’s been nearly fifty years - soon he’ll have forgotten all about those pesky human memories and emotions.”

Lucien was making soft whining sounds, his ears flat to his head, his body trembling. He was looking around wildly like he might escape but Elain saw defeat cloud his eyes.

“But you’re different,” Elain said indulgently. “None of the others tried to get to know me, none of them told me I was beautiful and made me come on their fingers. I’ll admit, I was just going to kill you but thought how nice of an evening we had together and what a waste it would be if I never got to kiss those lips again. When I allow it, you’ll be able to change back into your human form temporarily - when I need someone to talk to, or when I want you to use those clever fingers on me again.”

She patted his head and felt a growl rumble in his chest. His lips were in a snarl, his canines gleaming in the firelight. He raised himself on his new four legs and puffed himself up to make himself appear larger than he was.

Elain sighed happily. He was adorable, and all hers.

“Welcome home, my clever little fox.”

[rhysdasiorarchive]

closed starter for @witchysethharper.

Given everything that had occurred over the past few days, the last place Rhys wished to be was anywhere containing other people. He’d been comfortable enough locked away in the safety of his office, avoiding any and all socialisation unless workplace requirements demanded it. For a while, it had been easy enough to distract himself with the last few pages of paperwork that needed tending to – followed by a brief flick through the pile of books on his bedside table he’d been meaning to read for months but had found himself too distracted by Roland’s near-constant presence to properly devote any time to – before the guilt and concern grew too large to ignore. He’d been lazy in patching things up with Seth after the events at Cannabites, too proud to be the first one to admit concession and too distracted by Roland’s incredibly sudden and jarring departure from his daily life seemingly overnight. It seemed as if that evening had brought with it a whole host of complications that Rhys really should have envisioned a whole lot sooner. Then again, perhaps this is what he got for neglecting his divination and intuition in favour of pursuing and maintaining emotional connections. 

With the festivities in full swing downtown, Rhys knew exactly where he’d find the younger witch and despite his reservations, he pushed his pride aside to make the first step towards putting at least one thing right. Even if he was still unimpressed with how Shade and Seth had handled their side of things, Seth was still someone Rhys considered close enough to practically be family at this point and it seemed childish to throw away that kind of bond when it ran as deep as it did, not to mention the fact that they still had to work together – there was no point in making the workplace environment any more insufferable than it already was on a regular day simply due to working where they did. For a split second, the thought of handing in his notice with immediate effect and returning to London to spend the rest of his days in quiet misery seemed far more appealing than being the bigger person, but if he didn’t fix this now, he likely never would and Seth deserved an attempt at repairing their relationship at the very least. Rhys made no attempt to get in the spirit of things – participating in anything Halloween-related had never once appealed to him, not even as a child – simply choosing to head downtown in his usual finery, following the chord of the younger witch’s inherent magic that always allowed him to keep a vague idea of Seth’s whereabouts even from afar. The club he arrived at was Rhys’ worst nightmare in multiple ways, not just because of its owner and the witch’s soured feelings towards him, but also due to the impact of the jarring sensory overload and the very real threat of Roland’s presence also featuring. If he could get this over and done within a handful of minutes, Rhys would consider it a job well done and he could retire back to the comfort of entirely self-imposed isolation. 

Pushing through the crowd with just a little excessive force that was partially a byproduct of his rising discomfort at having to be in such an environment in the first place, it didn’t take long for Rhys to spot his fellow magic consultant and he raised his voice just enough to be heard over the music. “Seth– look, I’m not here to argue. I just– I need to talk to you. Outside. Five minutes, no more. Don’t wanna keep you from…” he gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “…this.”