#jeweled protector

[silentkimiya]

At the end of 2023, I put some of my projects up for re-sale on Etsy. You can see them in this image and if you are interested in any of them, you can find these works here. I accept payments through Etsy listings or through PayPal invoices. If you want to work through PayPal, then I will give you a 10% discount on the prices that you will see if you click on the link above (this is the general cost of Etsy commissions for me, so I'll be happy to remove this part from the price). In addition, if you are interested in purchasing several works at the same time, then there is a chance to save on shipping ;) I don't visit Tumblr every day, so if I don't read and answer your message/comment for a couple of days, don't worry - that's normal. If you want to contact me quickly, it is better to write to me by email: silentkimiya@gmail.com . Thanks! ^^ In addition, I have interesting news for those who like my art and who would like to purchase something for themselves. In 2024, I plan to offer at least one finished work per month for sale. Ready-made works have some advantages over custom ones, such as: - you immediately see what you are buying - there will be unique works of creatures, the design of which I myself came up with - by the way, having bought such a sculpture, you can not only put it on a shelf, but also use this creation as your character (I would be interested to see!) - there will also be sculptures based on World of Warcraft, the cost of which will be less than if such sculptures are made to order - dispatch within a few days - I think I got a little carried away with describing the advantages, so that’s all! :P

[beastsovrevelation]

I was looking through my notes for Good Omens fanfiction, and realized almost every damn story includes Crowley having a baby.

There's the one where Heaven and Hell decide to use an angel baby carried by a demon as a diplomatic tool, leading into Crowley being protected by Michael, and them falling in love.

There's the one where she leaves her baby with Anathema and disappears, which triggers all the following events - from the search, to Aziraphale's trial, and everything else.

There's the one where she has to supply the new Antichrist, which leads to her and Lucifer falling in love, and her being crowned the Queen of Hell. (Well, this one is really two stories set in different timelines, in the second one the "baby" is like 27)

In the one inspired by a dream, she does have a baby eventually, but that's far from the worst thing that happens to her. Gabriel's treatment of her after is... How the Hell will I write this damn thing if I can't even think about it.

There's no baby in the one where she gets tortured with diluted holy water.

I see I have no storyline with male Crowley just yet... Fine, that's not true. I do have some thoughts for Crowley x Fem!Lucifer... It could include a new Antichrist, too. And, Crowley wouldn't be the pregnant one for once. But, dealing with pregnant Lucifer would probably be even scarier.

[rataticaisdreaming]

quick 1h painting of metus ❤️🌟

[pupmusebox]

Tag dump 9/?

{ Platinum Ruler of Distortion - Giratina/Izael } { Lustrous Eon of Blue - Latios/Taylor } { Mistful Eon of Red - Latias/Quinn } { Emerald Dragon of the Skies - Rayquaza/Daven } { Ruby Master of the Land - Groudon/Reese } { Sapphire Master of the Seas - Kyogre/Kaiden } { Whimsical Wishmaker - Jirachi/Nova } { Otherworldly Being from the Cosmos - Deoxys/Alec } { Gratuitous Flowers - Shaymin/Sage } { Playful Sparks of Victory - Victini/Flynn } { Mystical Singer and Dancer - Meloetta/Wren } { Modernized Mystery Insect - Genesect/Briar } { Volcanic Steam Marvel - Volcanion/Rex } { Mechanical Majesty - Magearna/Cleo } { Jeweled Royalty - Diancie/Blair } { The Swift Hero - Achilles } { Brutal and Cold Chef - Vincent Charbonneau } { Self-Sacrificing and Devoted Waiter - Rody Lamoree } { Bright Starry Prideful Bird - Kuro } { Sweet Eldritch Terror - Hector } { Scattering Rose Petals - Ruby Rose } { Dark Feline of a Beauty - Blake Belladonna } { Hot Headed Brawler - Yang Xiao Long } { Odd Scientist and Criminal - Eli Pierce } { The Fullmetal Alchemist - Edward Elric } { Armored Alchemist - Alphonse Elric } { One Hell of Butler - Sebastian Michaelis } { Demonic Spider of a Butler - Claude Faustus } { Fire Breathing Hellhound and Protector - Cerberus } { Silver Tongued Salesman - Sampo Koski }

[lcfthaunted]

@capthcwzer • insp.

She knows better than to protest, better than to object, simply accepts that she now has protection. It is likely an issue from her betrothed; a ruler of a planet she has never been to, a man she has never met. She accepted that decision just as meekly, but that was because she knew fighting it would only put her sister in the line of fire. This way, at least, she might be able to leverage some protection for Mallaidh.

In public, she is every inch the dutiful daughter, the proper heiress. She is ever careful to appease the right people, to calm arguments, to accept what is dealt to her. It is only behind closed doors that she ever allows her anger any rein, and even then she is careful not to take it out on staff, including her guard. Everything she’s learned, everything she does, is in service to her sister’s future, and she cannot afford to upset the wrong person.

It is some time into the assignment before Mazie addresses her guard beyond superficial kindnesses or imparting decisions for the day. She is exhausted after a long day of politicking and Machiavellian manipulations, but she knows, from an outside perspective, it was not a very thrilling day. “This must be a rather dull assignment for you, Captain,” she says, not quite succeeding in keeping the exhaustion from her voice. “For your sake, I hope it is not much longer before I am handed off and you will be free to seek a more engaging assignment.”

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The dragon – astonishingly – was a surprise. Even in his worst nightmares there hadn’t been a dragon. But the chains were too well fastened to fight and he supposed that getting eaten was at least quicker than starving to death on this damn mountain. He closed his eyes, but the thundering shake of the ground as the dragon landed was as bad as having seen the claws dig into the earth. He closed his eyes tighter.

“Are you the seventh son of the seventh son?” The voice was inhumanly low and it shook the fear in his bones loose.

“Yes!” he screamed. “Yes! Cursed, blighted, whatever you bloody want! Just get it over with.”

There was a short, tense silence.

“I have not come to kill you, human. I want to offer you a deal.”

His eyes opened in shock. “You what?”

The dragon was sitting a few paces away from him, its scaly claws crossed over one another and its massive, shimmering wings folded behind its hulking back. The look in its glittering eyes was intelligent and calculating, but not unkind, certainly not threatening. It waited.

“What—what kind of deal?” he stammered, heart racing with a wild, terrified hope.

“I understand that you have been left here to die by your fellow humans, because you are an extremely rare type of human, that they are afraid of. Is that correct?”

He studied the dragon’s interested expression for any trace of sarcasm, but there was none. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Well then!” the dragon exclaimed. “I propose to you this: I will break your chains and save you from the humans, and in return you will join my hoard and live in my nest.”

“I’m sorry. Join your—what do you mean live in a nest. Humans don’t live in nests.”

The dragon gave a sideways movement of its massive head, scales glinting in the sun. “There is plenty of room. It used to be a cavern in a mountain, of very respectable depth and dimensions, but during one of my hibernation some humans built a castle on top of it, so it is very suitable for humans.”

He was almost baffled enough to no longer be scared. Almost. “What happened to the people who built it?”

The dragon, somehow, managed to arch a nonexistent eyebrow. “They live there,” it replied, slowly, as if it feared that he was rather slower on the uptake than expected. “That was the start of my hoard, you see.”

He hadn’t misheard it. It did say ‘hoard’. “But...dragons hoard gold, jewels, riches…”

“Uninspired amateurs,” the dragon sniffed. “All very well for one’s hatchling years, but honestly.” The glittering eyes squinted down at him. “Do you not want to join my hoard?”

“I…” Living in a castle with a dragon for a protector sure beat being chained to a rock by feral townsfolk, there was no doubt about that. And what other choice did he have? He swallowed. “I do.”

“Wonderful!” Joyful sparks snapped off the dragon’s jaw as it gracefully leapt upright. “I shall do away with those pesky chains.” And he came towards him with remarkably light steps.

“Do you live very far away?” he blurted out, nervously watching the dragon as it studied the iron rings hammered into the stone. “Will I be able to—I cannot just leave my brothers behind!”

The dragon, who had just crushed one end of the chain to warped bits of broken iron in its claw, looked up distractedly. “Whatever are you talking about? All your brothers are at my nest already. Who do you think told me where to find you?”

His heart leapt in his chest. He didn’t even notice the heavy weight of the chains fall away as they slid to the ground. “You...you’d want to keep my brothers too?”

The dragon made an indignant noise, bowing down low and motioning rather impatiently for him to climb on its back. “What kind of dragon do you take me for! I must have the whole set.”

[zorkaya-moved]

I'm gonna sing you a lullaby From when I was young, young like you Let this sweet little rockabye Rock your world tonight you're the special kind

While the stars shine bright and we say goodnight I'll be by your side sing a lullaby I kiss your cheek and you fall asleep To this melody (melody) With this lullaby

[santaeofficial]

Tidewalker and Gilded Official Reveal!

We are Thrilled and Excited to officially reveal the Official Art for our Gilded and Tidewalker colors, as modeled by the Direfang!  

The Gilded theme reflects the essence of Ancient guardianship, with rich golds, deep blues, and radiant Gemstones woven into its design. This pet is a living relic, imbued with the Energy of sacred locations and powers of the Ancient. The shimmering jewels suggest a connection to Mystical wonders, making the Gilded pet a vigilant Protector, always watching over with a serene yet commanding Presence.

The Tidewalker theme enchants your pet with the Powerful, mystical energy of the Ocean. Plunge beneath the waves with scales and fins perfect for Exploring the depths of the sea! Watery magic empowers Tidewalker pets to embark on undersea Adventure. Your pet will truly embody the essence of the Ocean, resembling the powerful Guardians of the deep. 

Thank You to each and every one of you for your Support and enthusiasm that makes Santae's growth possible. We hope you love these new pet colors as much as we loved Creating them -- and that you're excited for everything more that is to Come! Every Alpha Member and Kickstarter Backer will receive one Gilded Shimmer Dust and one Tidewalker Shimmer Dust as a huge thank you for achieving this goal as a community! Stay tuned for more information on how these Legendary Guardians will be released in the future! These will be issued as we roll into our Beta Testing phase. 

If we can reach our $75k Stretch Goal, we'll unlock yet another brand New Pet to join the world of Santae. And Beyond that, there's even more to unlock. Join your friends in an Adventure Party to take on quests as a team. Tend to your collection of Minimals in a dedicated Terrarium and Aquarium system. Even more new pets, a pet Battle System -- all this and more awaits beyond our additional Stretch Goals!

Thank You All so much for your continued Love and Support! Our Community is what makes Santae truly special.

[elenthyaolyenths]

[ChillOmenstober] Day 10: "Yellow"

↓Companion text (410 words under the cut!)↓

They have met, a long time ago. But fate doomed them.

In a world where a demon can remember and see his other half.

In a world where his other half would never see nor recognise the demon.

.

.

.

“Great warrior, I know you didn’t want anything more than the price we had previously discussed for your protection. But my family and I are now back home, safe and sound, and for that I will feel indebted to you forever. Please, accept this small gift.”

Aziraphale was about to object, but when he saw the item his now former client was presenting to him, his words failed him. The old woman had a soft chuckle. Then she took his large, powerful hand in her thin and fragile ones, and put the gift in his wide palm.

“Please. Take it. I specially asked my nephew to craft it while we were traveling. He barely rested at night just to be sure you could have it before your departure.”

Aziraphale looked at the golden chain and its two red and vermeil flowers, a species he couldn’t recall the name. Delicate, marvellous. Obviously expensive. When he accepted a month ago to escort this family of craftsmen and jewellers, he wouldn’t have expected to earn such a chef-d’oeuvre.

“I-I can’t. I have to refuse.”

Yet, he couldn’t keep his mesmerised eyes off it. And the woman seemed not even surprised, wearing a broad and proud smile. 

“You are a trustworthy protector, Sir Aziraphale. During our travel, your focus never broke. Except this time at the Siwa market, when you met that little one who was selling flowers. I saw you buy their entire stock, then giving it all them back and keeping only one flower for yourself. I would bet my best camel that this plant is now dried and well-stored in your package.”

Once again, he found himself unable to speak – the old lady was definitely too much perceptive for her own good. Or maybe it was his entire fault, being too oblivious. Maybe both.

“Please excuse a old hag’s curiousness, but why these flowers?”

He stilled, flabbergasted – he didn't even know why. He stared back at the jewels, made of vermeil and a curious sort of reddish gold, mimicking almost flawlessly the flowers he saw the other day.

“Why these ones? Well, I'm afraid I don’t know.”

Fiery colours – a touch of red, and a wonderful yellow.

“…They’re pretty.”

. .

Codename: L.T.G Project - with @captainblou

Linktree - Tumblr Masterpost

♥ Tag-List below (tell me if you want to be in or out)♥

@goodomensafterdark ;

@floscrap-blog ; @demonsandpieohmy ; @amagnificentobsession ; @captainblou

@ineffable-hyperfixation ; @itsscottiesstark ; @moralsofanalleycatsposts

@fearandhatred ; @eybefioro ; @crowleys-bentley-and-plants ; @ashfae ; @crowleys-hips;

@paperclipninja ; @silverdphantom ; @neverlet ; @naturallyteal

@mad-aims ; @daisydimple20092 ; @seraphhiim ; @rebeccakatmauri

[br0kenangel]

Queen Y/N Targaryen, known as “the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms,” captivated Westeros with her otherworldly beauty. Her hair, a silver so rare it shimmered like moonlight, flowed to her waist, often left unbound with jewels braided through. Her eyes, lilac-blue, seemed to hold the stars. Archmaester Gyldayn wrote, “No painter could capture her, nor poet describe her, for she was not of the realm of men.”

Born in 97 AC as the twin sister to Princess Rhaenyra, her birth was unlike her sister’s, as she seemed unwilling to enter the world. “Rhaenyra came forth crying with ease, but Y/N seemed unwilling, clawing within her mother’s womb as a wolf to a bone.”

By seven, Y/N’s beauty began to draw notice, and at a feast, she fled in embarrassment when a lord called her “a lily among thorns.” At that time, Queen Aemma assigned her a companion, a young serving girl named Elira, who would become her closest confidante. Rumors circulated through Mushroom, who claimed he once saw Elira “on her knees in devoted pleasuring” the princess, though the maesters dismissed this.

It was not until Y/N was nine that her reputation took a drastic turn. Having previously attempted to claim Vermithor in a moment of jealousy over Rhaenyra, the young princess nearly died when she tried to mount him at age eight. Otto Hightower, her constant companion and protector, reportedly forbade her from attempting such a dangerous feat again. But she defied him, and one year later, she claimed the great bronze dragon. The boldness of this act earned her admiration, and her pride began to inflate.

By her teenage years, Y/N’s taste for cruelty became a matter of court gossip. Mushroom claimed that she delighted in the torture of animals and allegedly watched children gut each other in contests for her amusement. Others, however, claimed that these were gross exaggerations, pointing to her cherished pet monkey, which she doted upon.

Despite her betrothal to young Aegon, Y/N frequently visited brothels. Her favored companion was Aelor Waters, a handsome dragonseed with silver hair and blue eyes. She spent nights in his company until, one night, she reportedly slit his throat in a rage. Emerging covered in blood, she gained the title “The Blood-Soaked Whore,” though Ser Criston Cole claimed she acted in self-defense.

After the death of her firstborn son, who was born with twisted legs, rumors spread that Y/N herself had ordered his death. Gyldayn wrote, “A mother who killed her own blood is cursed indeed.” Two stillborn sons followed, and many claimed her use of black magic had cursed her womb. Mushroom suggested she used it to maintain her beauty, noting she remained youthful and slender even after childbirth.

When Aegon was crowned, she executed men for shouting Rhaenyra’s name, beheading them before their wives, causing many to become widows, hence the title Widowmaker. She declared, "Any tongue that speaks my sister's name as queen shall be cut from its root.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 7: Sapphire] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments 🥰

💎 Thank you for reading (and tolerating all my nautical puns)! 💎

How can love be a curse? How can it be something to fear, to condemn, to break?

She has dreamed of him all her life. First he was a protector, almost fatherlike, and then a remote, bewitching phantom as she crept into adolescence, and then when Harwin Strong died Daemon sailed over Saint George’s Channel to offer her solace in England, and at last the fantasies she never would have confessed to anyone were fulfilled, two marriages and four children later. Rhaenyra remembers what he told her in the mist-draped lakeside cottage where they met in secret, crossing paths like an asteroid striking a planet: My wife means nothing to me. She’s not like us. She is young, and weak, and afraid, and I could never respect that kind of person. Her father owns the last Connemara marble quarry in the world, and I needed a son. But the only woman I want is you.

Aegon fires the pistol as he chases her through the corridors of A-Deck, and when she shrieks nobody hears, or if they do they don’t appear to rescue her; the ship is full of people screaming, sobbing, clawing for their lives against wet walls and locked doors. He shoots and misses again. There’s something wrong with his hands. He keeps fumbling with the gun and almost dropping it, hissing in pain as he squeezes the trigger, and there’s blood staining his fingers.

Good, Rhaenyra thinks. I’m glad he’s hurt. I hope he’s dying.

She sees an open room and ducks inside, slamming the door behind her and barring it with the weight of her body as Aegon rams it with his shoulder. Rhaenyra is surrounded by the trappings of another family who purchased first-class tickets: chairs with velvet upholstery, a faux fireplace, paintings by Rousseau and Boccioni and Homer. The lights flicker and the steel beams of Titanic groan, low and disastrous. There isn’t much time left.

“Daemon!” she yells as loudly as she can. If he hears her, he’ll come running. I have to get to a lifeboat. I have to live for my father, for Jace and Luke and Joffrey, for the children I will one day give Daemon.

Rhaenyra struggles with the lock as Aegon batters the door and it quakes on its hinges. Just as she latches it, he fires the pistol through the door. Wood cracks and splinters; a bullet pierces Rhaenyra’s ribcage like a blade. There is unbearable pressure, and then a sharpness, a pain she believes she cannot stand until it keeps getting bigger, deeper, ripping her open and filling her with dark wet weight like the ocean surging into Titanic. She crumples to the floor. When she coughs, blood spurts out onto her lips. Rhaenyra wipes it away and then stares at the red on her palm.

I can’t die now. My life just became what it was supposed to be.

Aegon punches a hole through the mangled door large enough for him to reach in and unlock it. Then he stands in the threshold looking down at her, his hands shaking but his eyes hard, fierce, unflinching. Rhaenyra has never seen him like this before. She didn’t know he could be good at anything.

“How the fuck did you get on the ship?” Rhaenyra snarls as she scrambles away, hacking up more blood. The black opal ring Daemon gave her gleams like onyx or obsidian, something born of heat and earth and insurmountable, ancient gravity.

Daemon and I were made for each other. The same blood, the same bones, the same will to carve treasures from the bleakest places.

Aegon follows her across the floor, slow stalking steps. He doesn’t answer; instead, he shakes his right hand a few times—steadying himself, casting out tremors like demons—and then grips the pistol with it. He raises the gun, the barrel aimed at Rhaenyra’s face.

“Daemon?!” she screams, but he isn’t here. Then she asks, sudden desperate confusion, her blue eyes wide: “Why are you doing this?”

Aegon’s voice is calm. “Because she can’t be free unless you and Daemon are gone.”

That girl? Daemon’s sad, stupid wife? I’m dying because of HER?

“Father never loved you,” Rhaenyra seethes, red on her teeth, blooddrops spilling from her lips like rubies. Her eyes are cold, glinting sapphires, pools of freezing water that only needs minutes to stop the heart. “Just like Daemon never loved her.”

“I know. And I used to care. It almost killed me, it almost ate me alive. But now I’m better. And I finally know exactly who I’m supposed to be.”

Aegon pulls the trigger.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Daemon descends the Grand Staircase, you crawl down towards the next landing, your head spinning, your hands empty, writhing on your belly like a snake.

The dagger???

But you can’t find it, and you don’t have time to stop and search. Daemon is only a few steps behind you. When your palms hit B-Deck, you try to drag yourself upright, grappling for the banister; but before you can get your feet under you, Daemon kicks you and sends you hurtling down the next flight of stairs. You tumble towards C-Deck, clawing in vain for something to break your fall. Your head strikes the English oak wood and you hear your father’s bewildered voice as he sat at the dining room table in Lough Cutra Castle: Where are you going? When will you be back?

Never, never, never; and now from somewhere below you recognize the roar of rushing water.

“You were going to kill me?!” Daemon taunts as he bears down on you like a storm. Blood soaks his throat and the white shirt beneath his black suit jacket. His eyes are bright, feral, monstrous. “After all those times I spared you when I could have drowned you in a river or a hot bath or the sea? You’re so fucking useless. You really can’t do anything right. All you had to do was shut up and endure, and you could have lived to be an old, old woman with all the comforts my empire afforded you. Now, my dear, you will never see another sunrise. And when Titanic sinks, you’ll be buried with her.”

Down, down, always down towards the ocean floor, you crawl faster away from him as his footsteps grow louder.

“Help,” you moan weakly. Aegon? Anyone? But the only reply is the echoing of your own voice and the sounds of the dying ship: breaking metal, distant screams, gushing torrents of seawater.

You crash into C-Deck and again try to stagger to your feet, but Daemon is here, shoving you as if from a cliffside or off a balcony. And as you plummet down the Grand Staircase towards D-Deck—where the First-Class Dining Saloon is, where Thomas Andrews once assured you that Titanic was unsinkable—it is not hard wooden steps you collide with but swirling ice-cold seawater. You plunge beneath the currents and then come sputtering up to the surface, your white wool coat drenched and threatening to pull you below again like an anchor. You struggle to shed it with arms that are rapidly going numb.

I’m so cold, I’m so cold, if I don’t get out of the water I’ll be dead in minutes—

Daemon’s fingers close around your throat and he forces you under the waist-deep water. You thrash and try to push him away, to pry him off of you, but your muscles seem to have disappeared, they have been scraped off your bones and now you can only wait to die, your breathless lungs burning as your body freezes. You have a sudden vision of Daemon in his firelit study at Lough Cutra Castle, marveling at a shard of Larimar dredged up from the Caribbean Sea and quoting the first known treatise on gemstones, written by Theophrastus in the time of Alexander the Great: Of things formed in the earth, some have their origin from water.

“No!” you scream through the depths, bubbles rising up to air you cannot taste. You claw at Daemon’s hands, but you cannot wound him, cannot get a grip on him, and hasn’t that been true since you married him five years ago?

The dark, freezing water makes you want to give up. It makes death feel easy, painless, inevitable. You imagine faces you’ll never see again: Draco, Aegon, your parents, Fern. You hope Carpathia will be here soon to rescue the survivors. You wonder what will happen to Aegon’s paintings.

Through the water come the muffled booms of explosions, four of them, surely something catastrophic, the ship splitting in half or a distress flare misfired or boilers bursting and shearing through what’s left of the hull. Then Daemon’s hands vanish from your throat and someone is hauling you up out of the icy currents, they are freeing you, they are disinterring you from an oceanic grave.

“I’m here!” Aegon is shouting as you burst into open air, gasping and flailing. He drags you towards the Grand Staircase where you can climb out of the flood, but you’re looking for Daemon. He is a few yards away and floating face-up, one hand clasping his chest and a gurgling sound leaking from his throat. The water around him is turning red. He’s fading, but he’s not dead yet.

“Aegon, he’s still—”

“I know. I’ll take care of him once you’re out of the water. I don’t have any more bullets left.”

“I want to do it.”

“We need to get you dry and warmed up—”

“I want to do it,” you say again, and Aegon lets you go.

You twist off your black opal engagement ring and throw it into the water beside Daemon. Then you place both of you hands on his chest and push him beneath the surface, Aegon standing just behind you with the barrel of the pistol in his grasp in case he has to use it as a club. The glacial seawater froths and whirls as it rises over Daemon’s hemorrhaging chest. He startles—a death rattle, a late rite—and resists feebly, gazing up at you with glassy, disbelieving eyes. They ask: How did this happen? I was supposed to kill you, remember? I own you. I own jewels trapped in subterranean darkness all over the world, and you are the very least of them.

“Draco isn’t yours,” you tell Daemon as you force him under. “Rhaenyra isn’t yours. And I’m not yours either. Now sink and die and make me free.”

He twitches, he bares his crimson teeth at you, but after all this time finally Daemon is the weak one. The rising water flushes maroon around him, his skin goes a frail and translucent bluish-white, his heart is drained until the chambers are cold and grey and empty. You hold him beneath the water until the bubbles roiling up from his nose and mouth disappear. He will never touch you again, he will never hurt anyone, he will never bruise or break or ensnare or captivate. And who will inherit his mines scattered across the planet?

Draco. His only son. And my family and I will act as trustees until he’s eighteen.

“We have to go,” Aegon is saying. He must have taken off his coat before he went into the water after you. He stands shivering in only his white shirt and green corduroy pants, the ocean now lapping at his chest.

“Rhaenyra?” you ask.

“She’s gone. I’m sure.”

“It’s over,” you say softly, feeling weight like stones roll off of you, feeling warmth like sunlight on your face.

As if in reply, the listing ship groans and the lights flicker again. “Not yet,” Aegon says, grabbing your hand. “Let’s hope there’s a lifeboat left.”

You wade to the steps and climb out of the water. Aegon helps you wring out your soaked hair and the skirt of your gown, then snatches his black wool coat off the steps where he left it and puts it on you. You race up the Grand Staircase to C-Deck, and then B-Deck, and then the A-Deck landing where you find your green handbag with Aegon’s tiny aluminum lighter still inside.

“I think you dropped this,” Aegon says when he spots the dagger on a nearby step, still covered with Daemon’s blood. He wipes it clean on his corduroy pants and then passes it to you. When you hesitate to take it, he grins. “Who knows. You might need to stab someone else tonight.”

“I never want to draw blood again.” But you accept the dagger and place it in your handbag, the captive gemstones glimmering there: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire like the North Atlantic Ocean that is swallowing Titanic down into her cold, crushing belly. Then you ascend one last flight of steps to the Boat Deck, passing the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock, stealing a glimpse up at the dome of glass and wrought iron that will soon shatter when the sea punctures through it like a bullet or a blade.

Outside the night air is so frigid that ice crystals begin forming in your hair, and the hem of your blue gown begins to stiffen as it freezes. You are barefoot, you only now realize, and if splinters from the pine planks of the deck needle their way into your flesh you won’t be able to feel them. There are only two lifeboats left on this side of the ship, one of which is already being lowered down to the sea. Officers are still directing women and children into the other. Benjamin Guggenheim and his companions are very drunk, clumsily herding frantic first-class passengers towards the boats. The string quartet is now playing The Merry Widow by Franz Lehár.

“Come, come quickly, Lady Targaryen!” the officers shout when they see you, knowing by your gown that you belong here, perhaps recognizing you from strolls on the Promenade Deck or when you and Daemon boarded Titanic in Cork with much fanfare. Aegon helps you into the lifeboat, his wounded hands cradling yours. Another distress flare is shot into the sky, metallic rain, doomsday portents.

We’re going to be alright, you think. We’re going to survive this.

“Darling, you’re sopping wet!” one of the women in the lifeboat exclaims, and they all begin to fret over you. There are dogs here, a Pomeranian in one lap, a Yorkshire terrier in another.

“Get her under a blanket,” Aegon is saying. “Keep her warm or she’ll get pneumonia. Give her a lifebelt.”

“We will, we will,” another lady shimmering in jewels—a mother of two boys in heavy coats and blue-striped pajamas—promises him. “We’ll take good care of her.”

You turn back to Aegon. “What?”

He tells you, his voice quiet: “Petra, they’re not going to let me in.”

“No, no, you can’t stay here—”

“Women and children only!” an officer booms, then begins waving several shrieking maids towards the vessel, just moments from launching.

“Aegon,” you say, horrified. He’ll die if he stays. He’ll drown or he’ll freeze and he’ll be entombed at the bottom of the Atlantic. “No.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“No you won’t,” you sob, then look desperately at the officers. How can I change their minds? “He’s a Targaryen, he’s a first-class passenger, he must be allowed aboard!”

“A Targaryen?!” one of the officers says distractedly as he battles with the rigging. “I know all the Targaryens on Titanic, and he’s not one of them!”

“Just look at him,” the other officer mutters, meaning: He isn’t dressed like someone with castles or mansions or titles or mines. He can’t be someone who matters.

“He is,” you plead, tears stinging on your cheeks as they freeze. “He’s Aegon, he’s a Targaryen, please, he can’t be left behind—”

“Women and children only!” the first officer barks at you as the other pushes away a group of panicked young men in black suits trying to bribe their way into the vessel. “And if you want to stay here with him, that’s your business, but get to it so the rest of us can try to make it off this ship alive!”

“There’s more than enough room for him, for Christ’s sake, there are dogs in here!”

“There will be other lifeboats, love,” one of the women tells you as she drapes a scratchy wool blanket across your shoulders, but you don’t believe that’s true. The maids are climbing into the lifeboat; the officers are beginning to lower it with sharp lurches that make the occupants gasp.

You reach for Aegon, your hands catching on his drenched shirt, the thin layer of ice cracking beneath your fingers. “No, no, Aegon, I can’t go like this.”

“You have to,” he says calmly, and he holds you face still and touches his lips to your forehead, a kiss goodbye, gentle and lingering.

“No—”

“You have a kid. You have to go. Draco will be looking for you on Carpathia.”

“You deserve to be free too.”

“I’ll stay out of the water for as long as I can,” Aegon says like a vow. “I’ll try to find something to float on. And once Titanic goes down…maybe the lifeboats will come back to pick up any survivors.”

The water is too cold. I’ve felt it, I’ve been paralyzed by it, once you go under you only have minutes. “You can’t…you won’t…”

“Petra,” Aegon says, and his eyes turn desperate. He knows it’s his only chance. “Make them come back for me.”

“I will,” you swear to him.

And he pries your fingers off his shirt and rips away from you before your resolve can weaken. High above and through tears that blur your vision, constellations of stars gleam like diamonds.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs to the other side of the Boat Deck, searching for lifeboats that haven’t launched yet. He can’t find any. There are swarms of passengers weeping, shouting, jostling, and officers trying to restore order. Pistols and flares are fired, chairs are tossed overboard for passengers to cling to as they float. But Aegon knows that won’t be enough; if they stay submerged, they will die.

I need something bigger. I need something I can lie on. A door or a dresser or…

He shoves through the crowd to get to the ship’s railing. Below, the ocean has gotten so much closer. He sees a lifeboat bobbing in the waves, just far enough away that someone brave enough to leap could not get to it. Inside, along with perhaps twenty first-class women and maids, Aegon recognizes Laenor Velaryon and his ever-present Parisian friends. They are puffing on cigars and toasting glasses of brandy, celebrating their good fortune. They must have successfully bribed their way aboard.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs, his breath fog in the frigid air.

How am I going to stay out of the water long enough to survive until I’m rescued?

Then he replays the evening in his mind—his first night with Petra, perhaps his last night on earth, red silk and candles and oil paint and the warmth of her beneath his hands—and Aegon gets an idea. He sprints back to the Grand Staircase and soars down to B-Deck, seawater ankle-deep on the floor. He splashes through the corridors to the staterooms once occupied by Daemon Targaryen’s wife and child, now rid of him, now waiting for what will come next. Aegon hurries through the sitting room, passing the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace and the large, heavy chest where Daemon made Petra lock up the art she bought in Paris.

She didn’t remember to put the real Picasso’s paintings in a lifeboat, but she saved mine, Aegon thinks. If I make it out of this alive somehow, I’m marrying her the second we dock in New York.

He goes to the bedroom, finds what he needs, carries it with him as he returns to the maze of hallways. Now the icy water is nipping at his knees.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ocean is calm, the lifeboat rocking placidly on inky surf. The women comfort their children and their dogs. You take Aegon’s aluminum lighter out of your handbag and light yourself a cigarette, then pass it around so the other passengers can thaw their lungs with hot plumes of nicotine, here in the early hours of the morning when it feels like you’ll never be warm again. The officer who took command of the vessel—the same one who shouted at you and refused to admit Aegon—is rowing vigorously as you and several other women help him, staring horror-struck at Titanic as she goes down by the bow.

“We have to get away from the ship,” the officer keeps saying, and he sounds genuinely petrified. A woman in a glittering gold gown steers with the tiller. “Or she’ll suck us into the water with her.”

There are shadows of other lifeboats nearby, also fleeing from the condemned Titanic, that miraculously colossal and opulent triumph that everyone had told you was unsinkable. You wonder which one Draco and Fern are in, undoubtedly cold and frightened but safe.

Aegon deserves to live too. I have to find him, I have to save him.

Now there is seawater flooding over Titanic’s deck at the bow, where you and Aegon saw third-class passengers—now dead, or very soon to be—kicking around pieces of the iceberg that they didn’t know had doomed them. The ocean surges higher, covering B-Deck, and A-Deck, and finally the Boat Deck, where the towering funnels collapse and you can hear shrieks and guns firing. You know you won’t be able to see Aegon from here—you won’t be able to tell if he made it into a lifeboat somehow, or if he is one of the figures that falls from a lethal height into the waves, or if he is crushed or shot or trapped below deck and drowned—but still, you cannot stop looking for him, peering through the night to where Titanic glows in her spotlight of white-gold electric luminescence.

As the bow sinks, the stern begins to rise, higher and higher until the tension cracks the ship in two, and the passengers you share the lifeboat with wail and sob as the ship’s lights blink out for the last time and the gravesite goes dark. Women call out the names of their husbands, fathers, brothers, adult sons, knowing they must be dying. You can only watch with tears streaming down your face, thinking: How could he survive that? How could I have left him?

The stern bobs for a while in the nightscape sea, a shade, a phantom, and then it plunges into the ocean. The water—indifferent, dispassionate, not a mortal but a titan, here long before humans and destined to outlast them, not unlike the treasures of the earth—gulps down metal beams and pine planks and split bones and shredded flesh. There are screams, so many, so pitiful, so loud they fill the sky, and the howling women in the lifeboat cover their ears and those of their children so they will not have to try to exorcise the sound from their memories later.

As soon as the stern has been consumed by the depths, you say to the officer: “We have to go back to look for survivors.”

“Are you mad, Lady Targaryen?” he snaps at you; but there are tears in his bloodshot eyes. “We’ll be mobbed if we sail into that. They’ll pour into the boat until we go under too. Do you want to freeze to death with them?”

“People will die quickly. They are dying already, the water is cold enough to kill in minutes. If we start rowing towards them now, most of the passengers will be dead by the time we get there. And then we can rescue anyone who’s left.” Please still be alive, Aegon.

“Not a chance in hell,” the officer says.

You turn to the other women. They blink back at you in dazed, timid terror. “It’s murder to leave your men behind,” you implore, you beg them to agree. “Help me row to them.”

But the women only weep softly to themselves and look to the officer to tell them what to do. He smirks at you victoriously, an expression of no humor but rather grim, fearful misery that could drive someone insane. In the lap of one woman, the Pomeranian whimpers.

I can’t leave Aegon, you think. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

You open your green handbag and pull out the dagger, the blade pointed at the officer. He shouts and bolts away from you, incredulous, furious.

“You’re threatening to kill me?!”

You shake your head. “I’m offering you a gift.” You turn the dagger around so the officer can grasp the handle. His gaze catches, transfixed and wondrous, on the gemstone spheres like perfectly aligned planets. “This dagger is worth more than you would make in a decade of work. Go back for survivors, and it’s yours. Refuse, and when we are rescued and my son inherits my husband’s fortune, I will make it my life’s work to destroy you. I will follow you anywhere on earth. I will ruin you. So take the dagger as payment and break my curse, and let us save the people who are left.”

The lifeboat sways in the small, serene waves, and the stars revolve high above in a moonless sky, and you and the other women wait for the officer to reply. After a minute or more—we have to go back now, right now, we don’t have much time—he finally lifts the dagger from your open palm and tucks it into his belt.

“Fine,” he says, picking up his oar again. “Let’s go. I cannot abide your damnation. I’ll be haunted by enough ghosts already.”

He and several of the other women row into the throng while you find the flashlights stored in the bottom of the lifeboat, then perch at the bow searching for Aegon. Instead you see hundreds of bluish corpses floating in their lifebelts, dead men and women and children, some of them first-class or crewmembers of the ship but most of them third-class passengers: Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish, discarded people, good for dying in the operations of mines or factories or railroads and little else.

“Aegon!” you shout over the water, but he does not answer. There is only the mist of your own words and the sound of cold currents rippling as the lifeboat cuts through them.

Your group saves two people from the sea, both nearly frozen to death and unable to speak: one man floating on a table washed out of a dining room, one little girl clutching her dead mother. Then a long time passes with no living souls to salvage.

“Have we done enough now, Lady Targaryen?” the officer asks you gravely. “Have you seen a sufficient number of the dead to assuage your wrath?”

“Not yet,” you say, steely, your eyes fixed on the water as the flashlight illuminates lifeless faces, scraps of wreckage, nothing, nothing, nothing. And then the light settles on him.

When the stern of Titanic went under, so did Aegon: there are ice crystals in his hair, and his clothes are freezing to his skin, and his lips are blue, and he’s shivering violently. But unlike over 1,000 other passengers, he didn’t stay in the depths long enough to perish as the cold stopped their hearts and lungs. He had something with him, a life raft, a second chance, a treasure mined not from some far-flung crevice of the earth but from the bedroom where he uncovered you, where you found each other and never wanted to go back to the way life felt before.

Aegon is sprawled across the oval-shaped mirror that once stood beside your bed, the fractured glass reflecting the stars that glimmer in the night sky. His ravaged hands cling to the wooden frame. And when the beam of the flashlight skates across his face like moonshine, Aegon knows you’ve come back for him, and he reaches for you until your hands link with his and help pull him aboard.

~~~~~~~~~~

Carpathia arrives an hour later, just before four in the morning on April 15th, and as the sun rises over the North Atlantic Ocean you and Aegon find Draco and Fern on the bow deck, where stewards are distributing blankets and tea to the survivors. Women wander the ship pleading for help finding their lost loved ones, weeping endlessly for their brothers, their fathers, their husbands. Your tears have stopped entirely.

Carpathia’s passengers are generous. They offer in charity their food, their clothing, even their rooms. Children share their books and toys with Draco. Fern teaches him how to play marbles; you read him The Story of Saint Patrick. A doctor onboard disinfects and bandages Aegon’s hands, and assures him that he will be able to play viola again, not now, perhaps not even soon, but one day.

That first afternoon, as you and Aegon are taking a stroll on the Boat Deck, you spot a man painting a scene of the sunset: gold, tiger’s eye, ruby, red beryl. Aegon shows him some of the portraits from his scuffed leather portfolio…though, of course, one in particular is not suitable for mixed company. The man is so impressed that he insists Aegon must not be deprived of the ability to create such beauty for lack of supplies, and gifts him an easel and some paper, brushes, and oil paints.

It’s difficult with his sore, bandaged hands, but Aegon still wants to try, and when his brush begins to shake he asks you to help him. Aegon explains things to you as you steady his hands: chiaroscuro, scumbling, alla prima, glazing, impasto, a foreign language that will soon become familiar. Already, you are learning. And as Carpathia sails into New York Harbor on the evening of April 18th, Aegon takes a paintbrush and draws a circle around your ring finger in vivid, sapphire blue, a worthless gift of no gleaming gems or metal, a vow that means everything.

It’s been years, but Aegon remembers the way to his mother’s house. He leads you, Draco, and Fern to the doorstep of the Hightower mansion on Fifth Avenue. He knocks and a butler answers, a middle-aged man who gapes at Aegon in shellshocked disbelief.

“One…one moment, sir, if you’d be so kind to…to…to just wait here, please,” the butler stammers, then disappears inside. A few minutes later, a different man appears in the threshold. He must be Aemond, tall and white-blonde and precise in every movement, his left eye concealed by a black leather eyepatch. His remaining eye, a clear alert blue, darts to where Fern is holding Draco on her hip and then to you and Aegon, his bandaged hands resting so lightly on you they could never leave a mark.

Then Aemond’s face softens, and there is a kind sort of relief that seeps in, and you imagine your parents will look the same way when you return to Lough Cutra Castle. “You’re home,” he says quietly.

And Aegon smiles and replies: “We all are.”

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 4: Harpy

I have a strange relationship with harpies. I really like them, especially since they are the mythical equivalent to my favorite animal—vultures—but also I guess they actually manage to horrify me for some reason... Ah, well, luckily I get a chance to write for them in this challenge :D

Prompt: Day 4: Harpy | Cliff // Flying // Illusion Warnings: Yandere, Fem!Reader, Implied Sexual Actions, Violence (Swearing, Implied Murder, Implied Death, Implied Animal Cruelty, Hunting, Animal/Monster Fighting), Monsters + Descriptions of Monsters, Long Post

"Be careful now, young'un. There's harpies roaming these fields."

Resting your head back, you let the hood of your cape free up some of your sight heavenwards. You watched the clamor of harpies flying high above the field you and the mercenary were crossing through. They were so far away they looked like little specks of feathers against the grey skies.

"Fuckin' breeding season. Every year it's the same shit. They just wait for some poor farmer's son to come out and whisk him away, fuck him till he's sucked dry, and eat him afterward."

Your lips curled into a small smile at the sound of the mercenary's foul choice of words. Although you didn't hire him for his raggedness or the threat of some usually easily slain harpies, you began to appreciate his no-shit attitude the longer you traveled together.

"By that logic, wouldn't you be more in danger?" you asked, referring to the difference in gender you two had. If the harpies were lusting after young men, then you, as a woman, had less to fear, you figured. But at the same time, with his grey hair and long beard, he probably wasn't on the dinner schedule either.

"Don't be so sure about that, young'un. I've seen beasts that were clearly lasses but had pricks closer to that of giants than any man has. Likewise, male monsters tend to prefer to hunt scarier prey than frail women like those from the villages where everyone is skin and bones except the workers. And they keep them as trophies and pets, doing unspeakable things to the men—and have the man do things to them. Monsters are not always what they seem."

"Why would they need a human then?" you questioned his words, but the mercenary only shrugged.

"Maybe they find their own as ugly as we think 'em to be."

You grimaced, unsure how to react to that information. You had always been sheltered by your family, not quite royalty, but wealthy enough that you'd be married off against your will unless you escaped far out of their reach. Luckily, your jewels and gold chains had managed to buy you a decent mercenary to help with your plans of running, finding a new home, and a new life far away from the expectancies.

"Why aren't they attacking us then? Surely, they see us."

"My, you have lotsa questions, young'un. You can't rationalize those monsters. Maybe they like other prey. Maybe they are just waiting for the right moment. Don't worry your pretty head off about why or why not, just enjoy not being eaten."

He clicked his tongue, spurning his horse forward, and you followed, worry tensing your back as you looked up again, noticing how the clamor now seemed much closer. You could even see individual feathers in the mass now. It was questionable whether drawing more attention with faster movement was a good idea. Still, you wanted to trust the mercenary and his years of experience.

"We're close now!" he yelled back to you. "Into the forest, and we'll be out of their sight!"

Pushing your heels into the side of your steed, you two fell into a speedy gallop. The hood of your coat kept falling over your eyes, but you tried your best to stay focused and keep up with your guide and protector. All you had to do to overcome this first hurdle was reach the forest, and you were so close to it, you could already smell the wood.

That was until the sudden sound of screams ahead of you made you push your hood off completely, just in time to see the silver of the mercenary's breastplate sparkling in the light as he wildly squirmed in the grasp of an enormous monster. He was yelling loudly, only drowned out by shrieking and cackling. Another feathery creature swooped down, and it was his horse next that was carried off, neighing and crying out helplessly, your breath hitching with panic as you rammed your heels into your own stead.

You were so close to the woods when a massive bird passed by just in front of your horse, the animal rearing upwards. You tried desperately to hold on, but when something gripped the horse by the neck, a sharp claw grazing your face, you lost your hold out of surprise, your body falling freely to the ground while your poor stead was carried off mercilessly.

Your head pounded with pain as it hit the dirty field, your bones aching as they tried to feather your fall. But luckily, you were pumped with adrenaline, sitting up before you even realized how much it hurt, blood dripping from your cheek.

"Hi."

The woman standing before you smiled, her eyes unblinking as her lips curled upwards. Your whole body halted in its tracks, your breath stopping. You felt yourself relax at the sight of her and then stiffen up completely, goosebumps pebbling your skin as you forced yourself to realize this couldn't be. Whatever she was, she wasn't human, appearing so suddenly. Instead, she must have been an illusion of the harpies—one of them.

She was, at best, a few steps away from you, at worse, too close to be able to escape. Her head cocked to the side just a little too far to be natural as she regarded you on the ground with unbreakable calm. The peace of a predator, someone who wasn't worried about getting hurt. Silently, you cursed your family for denying you to learn how to wield a sword or dagger. Any kind of self-defense, really. "It wouldn't be necessary," well, now it was. There were no signs of the chaos that had just unfolded, the sounds reduced to the wind softly swaying through the early sprigs of oats growing on the fields.

Don't answer, you cautioned yourself, knowing the best survival tactics when dealing with monsters was not dealing with monsters. You were already pretty vulnerable to the creature as it was; you didn't need to agitate her.

"Clever, are we?" she said, her lips splitting to reveal the teeth of the creatures you were most afraid of all of a sudden. Apparently, the harpies were not disinterested in you, something the mercenary probably hadn't thought about as he led you directly through their flock.

"And so pretty," the harpy chirped, her eyes raking over you as she cocked her head to the other side in a snap. "Want to go to the forest? You can."

Suspicion raised inside of you at her offer. Letting you go so easily? Even if she didn't want to take you away for mating, shouldn't her kind be interested in eating you?

"You'll let me go?" you asked, only realizing your mistake when it was too late, and you slammed your hand over your mouth. The harpies grin only widened, her mouth tearing open unnaturally wide.

"Yes, you can go. A darling girl like you shouldn't be around my sisters. They'd love to taste you."

Your chest was heaving heavily with panic as she spoke. You heard her coo sweetly as she watched you, her gaze dropping from your face all the way to your legs as if she were trying to rip you open and spill your guts with just her eyes. Delighted by the sight, hungry. And you felt so vulnerable under the scrutiny, her eyes on you beyond any look anyone had ever given you, dripping with her full attention and desire.

"Come back sometimes, okay? Let's play together? You're so pretty..."

You gulped. Never before had you heard the tale of a harpy letting someone go because they thought they were pretty. You dared to glance by her, looking at the woods that waited for you behind her form. It was so close, perhaps ten footsteps away, before you breached the edge of the forest.

With your breath escaping you, you staggered to your feet, trying to always keep your eyes on her. You stopped mid-movement as you heard the shuffling of her clothes. Clothes that you realized weren't from fabric at all. Just her convincingly placed feathers. It was scary how well she could imitate an ordinary woman if not for her sharp mannerisms and the way she fixated on you strangely. However, someone less aware and less familiar with the threat of harpies could have easily overlooked these features. Fallen for her illusion that only now started to dissolve as she began reacting to you.

Her wings appeared like a brown dress on her, with a mantle over her shoulders to cover up her lack of arms. Her legs were hidden well beneath the "skirt," and her brown locks perfectly framed what could pass as a pretty face in the city you were from. That was until she opened her mouth to shatter that facade.

"What?" she asked. "Do you think I'm pretty, too?"

It felt wrong to agree and give her more of your time than necessary. If she was well-disposed now, you didn't want to draw her ire. But at the same time, not answering seemed like it would cause her mood to sour, too. This time, instead of speaking, you nodded hesitantly, then firmly.

"Ah, I'm glad!" she hooted, and her "clothes" fluttered with excitement, feathers spreading outwards and destroying the illusion of her wings being garments. Something changed right before your eyes, but you couldn't pinpoint it. Even so, you were no longer fooled by her looks. She really was a monster before all else.

"Go," she cooed, leaning forward and hovering above you, her body now appearing much taller than before. "Before I keep you all to myself, you sweet, sweet thing."

Slowly, avoiding harsh movements, you finally came to a complete stand, realizing you were still at least three heads smaller than the harpy. You wouldn't let her out of your sight, and neither did she, you, as you began rounding her at a respectable distance. It wasn't enough distance to make you feel comfortable, as she could probably close it faster than anything else you knew. But it was your best bet.

She lets me go, just like that? you thought, still in disbelief. Feels like a trap.

But soon enough, your back was turned to the forest. A forest that, presumably, would keep you safe from the harpies if the words of the dead mercenary could still be trusted. He misjudged the situation once, but what were you supposed to do? Between the trees, you at least had the size advantage. Her wings fluttered again as she watched, cocking her head, hooting softly. Not moving from her spot.

Five more steps.

Four.

Three—

Your attention snapped away from her the second you heard the shriek of another monster approaching you from the side. You tumbled to the ground, feeling the force of the gust of wind its wings produced as you were thrown further away from the forest and onto the field, claws scratching you, ripping wounds into your sides. There was a match of voices as even more shrieking and hissing erupted, and you buried face down into the mud, shielding your head with your arms as movement and sounds accumulated right above you.

There must have been more than two harpies fighting above you, but you couldn't determine how many there were from your position. All you knew was that their claws sliced through the air just above your back, every one of them trying to get to you. Every one so close to hurting you—or worse.

"MINE!" one of them roared, and more shrieking occurred as a heavy, clawed foot landed on top of your back, pinning you to the dirty ground and pushing the air out of your lungs. "SHE'S MINE!"

The protest was apparent in the cacophony of sounds directed at the harpy above you, but the tumultuous movements slowly disappeared, only one body remaining. And suddenly, everything went dark, the foot on top of you slipping off until two feet were stomped into the ground on each of your sides.

You dared open your eyes again, trying to see what had happened and gauge how dead you were, but it was way too dark to see. A shudder went through what was blocking out the light, feathers fluttering aside just enough to let a spot of light in and show you were still on the dirty field. It made you realize that something was above you, shielding and enveloping you with its body.

"MINE!" the harpy shrieked again, the sound not directed at you, but it still shook your bones. "Mine," she repeated, this time calmer. You couldn't see, couldn't hear what was going on outside. But when her voice calmed, you could finally recognize it as that of the harpy you had spoken to. Even if her shrieks and caws were barely discernable to you, her voice remained the same.

She squawked a few more times into the direction of who knows where, your nerves completely blank as they couldn't get accustomed to the sounds, but now that the situation was calming down, the pain set in again, and you cursed it, willing it away only for it to blow up again inside of you.

Groaning, you braced yourself onto your arms, trying to lift from the ground, only to be met with the sharp sting of your sliced-up side. The wound was deeper than it had felt at first, and you let out a pitiful howl as you agitated it accidentally. You reckoned that your body was not okay after that attack, and you couldn't fathom how anyone could survive and mate these creatures when their claws did so much damage easily.

Turning onto your healthy side was the only thing you could think of to alleviate the pain temporarily, although the movement hurt so much more than if you had remained on your stomach.

"Oh no," the harpy cooed from above, and you spared her a glance from the one eye that was turned upwards. Her wings unfolded from each other, opening enough for her twisted neck to see through the gap, letting in some light and exposing her grotesque but real form. The legs of a bird, feathery and gnarly, the torso of a woman, and the face was a mix of both. No arms, just wings sprouting from her shoulders, and her hair a mess of feathers and twigs, nothing like the beautiful illusion she had shown you before.

"Poor, poor girl," she hooted, her expression ever so slightly drawing together in a meager display of unhappiness. "My sisters are so mean, aren't they? You were just trying to go to the forest."

You didn't acknowledge her with words as you bit your lip to stifle another sorrowful moan. Still, your body contorted, causing you to cry out in pain.

The harpy moved around you, circling you as she watched you restlessly, sweat and tears falling from your face as you couldn't even stop the bleeding with your hands full of grime and dirt. She danced around you awkwardly, keeping her wings up like a shield but letting in enough light to watch.

"You can't go like this now, can you? Can you? Poor, poor, pretty thing."

You heard her sigh, sounding oddly human, then she leaned down, poking you with the top of her wing where the bone spread to form the limb. Shockwaves of pain went through you as she agitated the wound by moving you, and you sobbed into the dirt, not knowing what to do. You couldn't communicate with her, couldn't tell her to fetch you a doctor. But if you stayed here like this, you'd probably be eaten sooner rather than later, and not unlikely by her.

Even as you cried, you used what little strength you had to sit up. The pain was unbearable, even as you clenched your jaws together tightly. But you were grateful when you felt one of her wings sweep beneath your back, helping you up even if it hurt.

"I need to stand up," you explained through sobs and cries of pain, and she hooted in understanding, lending you the firm part of her wings again to hold onto. She wasn't very deft in how much strength of hers you needed to be supported, but she tried to help—she, a monster. The situation was beyond strange and unimaginable, yet you almost felt some gratitude towards her.

"I need..." you gasped as you finally got to your legs. Pain was stealing your air, your mind twirling, and every thought getting more challenging to form. You stumbled backward, but her body caught you, steadied yours with hers. Dizziness raked at your conscience, the blood loss taking its toll. "A doctor. I need... a doctor..."

"Doctor?" she hooted questioningly. "What's a doctor?"

"A human who helps... injured humans. Medizin..."

"Huh?" With her elongated neck, she could easily look at your face even from behind you, but you didn't dare to look up to see how unnaturally she twisted her head back and forth, as she didn't understand. It wasn't that far off that harpies probably didn't help each other heal. They seemed more of the... cannibalistic type when one of them was weak.

"I need... help. I'm sick."

"Oh."

Finally, she seemed to understand, but unfortunately, instead of helping, she seemed deep in thought when the ground suddenly shook, and you had to grasp her wing tightly to keep your balance.

"Not fair!" another creature squawked, the sound almost shattering your eardrums coming from right in front of you. The ground shook even more as more of them landed, confronting their sister and you.

"Not fair! We want the human, too!"

"No!" the harpy at your back barked at them. "She's mine."

"She's not your mate!" they complained. "She's weak and bleeding! As good as dead!"

The harpies fell into a cacophony of chants, some saying "Dead Human!" in unison while the others shrieked, "Eat! Eat! Eat!"

"NO!" the harpy bellowed, shutting the others up fast. You were shocked by the vibrations of her body at your back, but it almost made you smile a little. What a stupid monster without a reason to be this protective. And yet she kept fighting for you.

"Then... she's a mate?" one of the harpies asked, sounding at her wit's end. The other hooted along to the statement, questioning your protector.

"Yes," she announced firmly, and this time, you did wrench your head upwards. She met your gaze with resolution, adding, "She's my mate. I have decided."

"Wha—?" you managed to wring out when one of her feet suddenly dug beneath your arms, clawed toes wrapping around your upper torso. You groaned in pain even though they didn't touch the wound directly as she placed them with intentions, but before you could complain, your feet lifted up from the ground, and you were just beneath the clouds faster than you could speak.

"Wait!" you screamed, struggling only to be hit with more pain.

"Where are you bringing me?" you asked, much quieter now that the situation finally dawned on you. The harpy tugged her legs in, supporting you with the free one beneath your thighs and giving you a place to sit on while also smushing you lightly against her feathery bottoms.

"To the nest. You said you are hurt, so I must clean your wounds, mate. Need to find herbs and food for you. Maybe there's some left from the hunt earlier. Flesh. You are too skinny."

"But... I'm not even your mate! We're both girls!" you complained heavenward, and she clucked, almost as if she was laughing.

"That makes no difference. You are my mate, I have decided."

"Do I get a chance to decide?" you whined, and for a moment, her wings stopped beating, the flight turning into a glide.

Her neck twisted, face turning back to look at you, and your wounds pounded angrily as her grip tightened.

"You are wounded. Do you want to be eaten?"

You gulped. That sounded much like your previous assumptions that harpies were not usually taken on duties to care for others.

"N-No?" you answered truthfully, but it sounded like a question anyway. Perhaps death was better than whatever "mate" was.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, she turned forward again, resuming her flight.

"Then you are my mate now. You'll like the nest. We can soften it together, and then we can create young. You'll stay there and heal, and I'll bring you food and gather pretty things for my pretty mate."

She looked down again, and her lips split in an upside-down grin, so very similar to that of her human form. She seemed almost... happy. You swallowed hard as she revealed her plans, unable to come up with anything that would change her mind and not drop you from this height. What else was there but to comply with her—for now? Maybe once you were healed and back on steady ground, you could escape her and still make the run you had planned to make anyway. Just now, you had your own family and a monster gnawing at your heels. At least you'd be safe for now, you hoped.

Hearing no complaints from you, her grin widened even more, feathers puffing as if she was proud of her accomplishments.

"My mate," she cooed, and the clouds cleared up, revealing the sundown over the ocean, a couple hundred more harpies squealing and screeching beneath you as you two made your way towards the cliffside. It was too close to the city you used to live in. Back to point zero, now with an additional struggle to manage. But at least here, they'd have a hard time finding you and perhaps an even harder time retrieving you while you could plan your next moves.

It wasn't what you had imagined when you ran away, but you'd have to do with it for now.

Your new home.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Oh authorrrrr,I'm baaaacckk~!

May we have more of the destined one being picked on more about his crush? 🙏 or have us being picked on instead? We hunger,oh merciful one,for a food only one such as yourself can provide. (AlsodontfeelpressuredtokeepupwithmyfuckerypleasetakeasmuchtimeasyouneedILY)

((and i Will anyway because YOU'RE FEED MY EGO AND MY WILL OF WRITE STUFF!!!))

"How long does it take to wear a dress?! We don't have al night!"

"I'm following the instructions, now sucking it up and leave me be."

Bajie gave a scruff to the tree where you were currently wearing a highly complicated Hanfu. The ribbons, the layers, everything seemed hard to put together! At least the shopkeeper was kind enough to make some draws to help you out during the dressing; you still had some dignity to try to preserve your personal privacy with your companions.

"Well, if you need help, I was pretty versetile in taking off those dresses!"

"Hold up, Uncle." Yuán Fèn staff slightly touched the old pig belly from his spot near the lanterna, your only source of light. "Leave her be. I thought you were a pious monk."

Now, why the need for such a thing like dolling you up? Well, Bajie found out that not only that the relic was in the spiders yaoguais clutches, but they were preparing some kind of feast of some sort!

The old shapeshift trick would be enough to pass through, but there was a small problem, you.

It seems like the Biàn huà Power created some kind of shield against those staff, and you would surely stand out between some Yaoguais. So the idea was to send yourself as a gift for the old lady! A midnight snack! 

 "Ah! She's far too young for me, boy! I'll leave her to you!"

The old Bajie was able to avoid the smack from the tail of the young monkeys, chucklings, while Yuán Fèn fighited a blush that reached even his own ears. It was like the entire world was now united. Just assume that he had feelings for you!

Old sages?! Those ladies that love to gossip around! He kept on mumbling some imprecation when you finally leave the security of the trees, fixing an earring on you.

"I think I'm done! So ? Edible enough?"

Yuán Fèn didn't speak; how could he?The silk followed the curves of your body like a stream, creating some effect almost as if you were floating. The bright colors make you more like One of Seven fairies, emanating an aura of pure beauty and purity. The jewels that decorated your neck and hairy shined like stars on you, but never like your eyes. 

Edible? Damn, he wanted to swallow you whole.

"Yooo? Earth tò Yuán fèn? Are you here?"

Your hands waved in front of him, trying to get his attention towards you. Saying that you found this state of him cute was an understatement. Your mighty protector, always ready for a fight, concentrated, never losing a step, is in fact easily flustered by a simple, elegant dress.

You giggled when he suddenly shaken his head.

"You look...uh...fine. Yes, fine, snackable, I would say!"

"Thanks... I technically need help with this... The shopkeeper said something about some symbols on the forhead that make you prettier. We lack mirrors here... "

You showed him a small bottle with some red color and a brush. He took it, analizing it a little.

"The huadian? Shure, no problem. Stay still okay?"

You hummed; you weren't sure. of the result, but you just needed something pretty on your forhead, right? 

Yuán Fèn learned closer...very closer. His eyes sherpened to get the right angle. It was a simple thing, but somehow you felt strange. That damn

Damn magic bond, it was still making you feel strange around him. He was so close that trying to hold your hands would just then reduce in a low blow on him, so you stayed still. But still, his vicinity was making you dizzy, so you closed your eyes. It made you feel better—not good, but better...

You wondered, he smelled always so good? It was peaches, of course, but he smelled like...pines, trees...he smelled like the fresh earth in the morning... You were so concentrated over him, even with your eyes closed, that you didn't even feel the brush leave your forehead.

He admired his work. He admired you.

You put a light make-up on yourself—something easy to do alone. Your cheeks were rosy like a plum flower, and the powder smelled like fresh parfume. They must have put some pearls in the mortar because the moonlight made you shine a little. You were beautiful in every possible way.

"Have you done?"

He woke up, hummed in response, and gave you back the red paste and the brush.

"There...uh...I need to go and check a few things! We'll move after that; be ready, okay?"

He was panicking, to the point of tripping on a few roots on the nearby tree. You giggled. Was he always this cute?

"Carefull, girl..." Bajie finally spoke, "You may have broken him. We still need him!"

You laughed, scoffing away those words with your hand. "Oh, please!"

"And...what about you?" He got closer, cleaning a spot from his pants. "Aren't you a little broken? Not even a bit?"

Your eyes changed size in a mere second. You started to stutter, looking around, trying to avoid Yuán Fèn from listening to the conversation.

"What?! Of course not! What...me and him...no! He's...he's great! Don't get me wrong, I like him! He's brave, he cares so much for me, and he's devoted to his cause! And..i'm just...i'm just me...he deserves someone better."

"Are you implying that you're not good enough for him?"

You sighed, kicking a few rocks from your way. It has always been like this; you always thought of yourself so low. The world around you didn't help either. You were always the second choice, always misunderstood by everyone. Even now with this new title that some misteryous wntity had put on you, you couldn't shake the idea there was some mistake.

And the Destined One—you couldn't think straight with him. He was just... so good, so perfect in your eyes. You didn't want to get hurt, especially since you weren't planning to stay there longer.

"Girl," the old one spoke again. "You must fight this voice in your head! If you love him, then go and take him!"

"Uncle Bajie...it's not so simple." You sighed again, looking in the direction that your friend disappeared. "I cherish him; even like this, I'm content. Really. No need to worry!"

You strain a laugh from you; even if the hurt was clear on your face, it was clear as the day. And with that, you reached your simian friend, maybe to avoid the discussion.

Bajie looked in your direction, cursing the destiny that had decided to put those obstacles on you both! He remembered his older brother, Wukong. The pain in his heart, hurting his love to protect the monk—maybe, with the freedom that he obtained, the old sage hoped for a new beginning and, maybe, to heal his heart from the loss. And now there they were, still unable to fix two hearts that clearly longed for each other but couldn't stay together.

@sleepingdramaqueen

@sun-jglim

@crimsonflameproxy

@everlastingmoonlightsworld

@biankanoir

@cromboloni

@miraclecherryblossomsblog

@masksandfeathers

@certifiedsimpinggalore

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@virtualexpertanchor

[crusty-chronicles]

Hiei Courting Headcannons

In honor of the Live Action series (Even though I don't Have High Hopes For It)

Now, we all know Hiei is a very stubborn demon. Especially when it comes to his feelings. When he realized he liked you and didn't just tolerate your presence, he fought hard to deny it.

So what if he spent most of his time with you? Who cares that the first place he goes to after coming back from the demon world is your house? It didn't matter that his eyes seemed to soften whenever you were around.

No not one bit.

But the second Kurama threatened to court you himself, well Hiei couldn't just sit down and let that happen. Didn't that fox understand he shouldn't touch what wasn't his.

1. Showing off to see if you're interested

Hiei may be a demon, but he has some semblance of manners. His pride wouldn't allow him to claim you until you accepted his advances. Any creature who dared force themselves onto another was the lowest of the lowest.

So, his first step is showing off during fights.

Letting the enemy bloody him up more to show that injury didn't affect him.

Using more spirit energy than was needed to end another demon with just one blow

Stopping you from fighting because he'll "take care of it. You humans are too fragile."

He'll also use his Jagan more frequently.

You lost something?

Well look no further, he can track it down precisely and easily.

Praise him even once or say in passing he's really strong, and he'll take that as you being interested.

Even if you're just trying to be nice.

2. Wearing Richer Colors

I firmly believe Hiei courts more like a crow than the usual beast. He's sleek like one anyways.

Now if you didn't know, most birds attract mates with their bright feathers.

In Hiei's case, he'll start to wear dark, yet rich colors to get your attention.

Strength is one thing. Any low-class demon can demonstrate strength and be happy about it.

What Hiei is looking for is to see if you're attracted to him. If you find him visually appealing.

Though he's not a vain creature, he still yearns for the confirmation that him and him alone captivates you.

He'll start with darker blues. Maybe change up his cloak a little.

And when that doesn't work, he moves onto purples. Getting teased by Kurama for 'changing up his style.' But he stays determined.

Eventually moving onto a burgundy. And the way you were immediately drawn to him then made it worth it.

Relishing in your compliments on how 'the color really suits him' and 'it matches his eyes perfectly.'

Letting you grab at the fabric and inspect it until he asks why you like it so much.

"Well I always thought your eyes were pretty. It's nice to see something that reminds me of them."

He's a prideful smug bastard after that. Not even comments from Yusuke can tick him off that day.

3. Bringing You Shiny Objects

Once again, he courts like a crow.

Now that you've shown interest in him, it's time to properly start showing his affections.

Hiei isn't one for flirting or compliments. He's more prone to showing rather than telling. And in this case the way to do that is to bring you little trinkets that catch his eye.

Usually, it'll be small gems he stumbles across in demon world.

Rubies, diamonds, and emeralds. All things he knows where to find thanks to his prior occupation as a thief.

He's not trying to buy your affection. He knows you're not that vain judging by the pushback you always give when he presents you with a jewel.

No, rather he's trying to show that he can provide for you. That you'd never have to worry about scrounging around to survive as long as he was with you.

A protector and a provider.

He also notices how you treasure the less valuable items with as much fondness and care as the others.

He had asked you why you slept with a chunk of pyrite on your bedside one time. And your response let him know he wouldn't give up on pursuing you anytime soon.

"Because it was one of the first things you gave me. Don't you remember? You said something along the lines of fool's gold for a fool's heart. I think it's sweet you even got me something at all."

You didn't care about what he brought you. All that mattered was that it came from him.

If that didn't mean you accepted his advances, then he didn't know what would.

4. Scenting

Ah, yes. Back to the classics

Once you've accepted the gifts he's continuously given you, Hiei takes it as you liking him back.

He's aware human and demon courting processes are very different from one another.

But he's exactly not human, is he?

When it comes to demons, once you've accepted their advances, your mates.

In a sense, it's like dating. Only except a dissatisfied partner will kill the other in most cases.

With this in mind, Hiei happily accepts the fact you're his and immediately moves onto the final stage of courting.

Scenting you so that other demons know to back off.

Think of it as your last out if you realize what's happening and actually don't have feelings for him.

The scenting process will start with Hiei showing up to your place of residence and staying with you.

Not yet following you around, but making sure to spend time in each room.

If he has to leave somewhere, he'll leave either an article of clothing or his sword.

It confuses you at first and you think maybe he just trusts you.

But you start to think otherwise when he starts getting touchy.

Laying in your lap and ordering you to stay still, only to find out he's fallen asleep on you.

Or letting his face rest against the crook of your neck. Which you didn't mind all that much.

It was quite funny to see someone as tough as Hiei become completely docile around you.

You weren't too worried until he followed you out when you went to buy groceries.

"You don't like being around people. Don't you wanna stay home until I get back?" You asked him.

"I've already shown you that you're a very fragile creature compared to me. It's best I accompany you so you don't hurt yourself."

Usually you would have argued back, but it was clear something was off with him.

These past few months had been strange with him either trying to get your attention or trying to stay directly next to you.

You wouldn't figure out what it was until your other three friends showed up.

Kuwabara wanting to have a movie night and you offering your home to do it.

When the three of them arrived, you noticed Kurama and Yusuke hesitate by the entrance.

"Something wrong?" You questioned.

" I can't put my finger on it, but something's telling me I shouldn't go in." Yusuke responded.

Unawares it was Hiei's scent warding him off.

But Kurama knew. He'd known since you opened the door.

It seems Hiei had staked his claim on you.

Yet judging by your calm demeanor, you didn't know that yet.

"Have you noticed Hiei acting strange lately?" Kurama asked.

"Yes! I thought I was the only one. He's been really clingy. I mean at first it was odd he kept bringing me stuff like gems, but then he started following me around like a house cat. It's endearing, but honestly what's going on with him?" You ranted. Prompting a laugh from the redhead.

"I see. Good luck on your new relationship."

Before you could question him about what he meant, a gentle grip around your waist stopped you.

"What're you doing inviting these fools to our home. You know how long it took me to get rid of their scent the first time? It's like you want me to start the whole courting process all over again."

Courting?

Oh.

Oh.

You couldn't say you minded now that you knew what was actually going on.

[harrowharkwife]

thinking thoughts about how nona was so obsessed with crown, and crown specifically- not coronabeth. crown, with her boots and her cargo pants and her guns and her hair tied back, with all her charm and strength, all her rage and determination.

was that really just nona? or, walk with me here- is there a chance that that was actually alecto, too, bleeding through and rising to the surface?

alecto, seeing a kind of kinship in crown- in this big, tall, strong blonde with a sword strapped to her back, hot and lovely and kind and awful and powerful and perfect. this woman who refuses to give up- on her sister, on saving jody, on BOE's resistance. who's unafraid to throw one hell of a tantrum, if it means being listened to, for once. crown, who everyone thinks of as dumb, who everyone underestimates, who no one ever takes as seriously as they should, even though she's clearly capable of plenty of atrocities in her own right. this woman who's been described over and over again as someone who positively radiates life, and energy, and vitality, and strength. this woman who wanted nothing more than the chance to be herself, to be free, to serve as cavalier and guardian and protector, but was instead sentenced at birth to a life of being a princess and wearing dresses and looking pretty and loving less and staying out of the way and keeping her mouth shut and playing second fiddle to a necromancer obsessed with power and glory. familiar, no? this woman who was betrayed, left behind, left alone, and left utterly in the dark by the one person who's supposed to love her the most- only to then be told that being abandoned was in her best interest, really, for her own safety.

thinking about all the times we've seen ianthe insult crown's intelligence and praise her beauty in the same breath. you big dumb bimbo, what can you do? of all the times we've seen ianthe fussing over crown's appearance. thinking of the sister-lyctor makeover-montage ahead of dios apate minor, and how harrow hated every second of it, and how ianthe treated it like nostalgic second nature. thinking about the third house: fucked-up planet gossip-girl with all its betrayal and espionage and flesh magic and debauchery, three for the gleam of a jewel or a smile. thinking about the pressure that must have come with keeping up the double-necromancer ruse, about ianthe having successfully played the part of two necromancers from the age of six. exactly how much practice must that have taken? thinking about the casual, automatic, possessive, offhanded, violating nature of ianthe playing god and giving harrow a full head of fast-growing hair without asking, without even telling her, just to make harrow prettier, just to piss her off, just because she could. how she did it so easily, and without hesitation, almost as though she's maybe done that sort of thing before.

thinking about preservation. about a perfect body frozen in ice for a myriad, about ianthe spending all her downtime on the mithraeum figuring out how long she can keep an apple core in perfect stasis before the rot sets in.

thinking about corpse puppeting: a deceased world leader here, a trusted cavalier and friend you've known from the cradle there. about i picked you to change, and this is how you repay me? about she took babs. and who even cares about babs? babs! she could have taken me!

thinking about alecto, and hollywood hair barbie, and you have made me a hideousness.

thinking about crown, who's by her own admission boobs and hair and talk and a hell of a swordhand.

thinking about something as simple as stud earrings, and about how much grief ianthe gave her for daring to wear them.

nona loved crown.

something tells me that alecto might, too.

[dm-tainthairs-collection]

In The Tavern...

|| Closed Starter - @pyramultimuse - Tozen 'Toast' Sylyra ||

ᒥ💗ᒧ—        Comfort was new to this city, simply passing through on his adventures. Neverwinter, the Jewel of the North. Plenty of guilds and adventurers to heal, but first a drink and a hot meal. Comfort enters the Tavern, taking a seat at the bar. He sets down his staff and his tail waves side to side in excitement for food. The stares thrown his direction he ignores, he was used to them. Could be because he was a tiefling, could be because of his massive and curled horns, could be because he was a cleric and a tiefling, or could be because he bore a symbol of Asmodeus proudly. Whatever the case, he was used to the stares, they didn't bother him in the slightest.

He had chosen the Chasm district to reside, because it was easy to keep a low profile in the Southeastern quadrant that was rarely inhabited due to the destruction caused by the Spellplague. Why not spend some time healing those in need before he went to Protector's Enclave to swindle people of their money?

He pays the barkeep the silver for his meal and just about to dig in when he hears whispers of the patrons behind him. They made mention to what day it was, tax day, and a knight should be appearing soon to collect said taxes.