#not sorcery just existing as a otherworldly being

[false-guinevere]

Since we’re talking about magical Guinevere. I’ve mentioned before of one of the Gwenhwyfar being the daughter of Gogfran the Giant and I’m still obsessed with it. And I think Guinevere has been reference as his kid other times as well.

But like I do usually consider Leodegrance her father too.

So sometimes I just Theseus Guinevere’s parentage in my head. She just has 3 parents (1 mom, 2 dads). How do the genetics work? Giants are involved don’t worry about it

[benevolentcalamity]

I'm Quite Ten-tickled. [Mindflayer x Fem!Reader]

Cause I know a few people that would shout at me 'YOU NEED TO DO A MINDFLAYER' if they knew I existed. (That being about 1/4 of the Baldur's Gate fandom.)

Warning: This fic contains smut. I dunno if this equates to dubcon or what, but proceed with caution cause I have no idea what I'm doing.

There will be inaccuracies because I've only scanned a wiki and seen BG3 clips. Hopefully you guys still love me!

CURTAINS!

Come.

As though responding to the order tugging at your brain, the writhing tendrils part like a sentient curtain, before unwinding from around your arms. When the writhing prison at last gives way you're sent onto all fours, limbs limp from lack of use if only just to wriggle away from your tormentors. A cruel joke, this place, so wondrous and fascinating in its almost otherworldly structure... Yet, the moment you were pulled up by that grotesque tendril you regretted your brief study of them.

Was it a mistake, then? To push your brother out of the way even though he was the paladin? Surely he'd have laid waste to this ship by now - you simply doomed yourself to the fate he would have destroyed.

... It wasn't. At least this way he can go back to the church and mount a rescue. Not for you- alone, anyway. Everyone here that's still alive.

T'was the firelight outside that woke you to the siege. Buildings were being destroyed to kill the weak or scare the potential test subjects out into their range. You and your brother were two such folk - or to be more accurate he was the one. They always did look for the strong ones with 'potential', according to the horror stories of those that survived.

Did they know they were being researched? Or were they simply combing the continent for prey? ... Is this worth wondering if you're not sure whether tomorrow is what will be destroyed?

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"

A scream, unholy and thick with suffering, pulls your hairs on end, your feet fusing to the floor for just a moment. Your heart leaps into your throat, hands growing so cold they could sustain ice-based sorcery. With a deep breath heat slowly creeps back into your fingertips, and a harsh swallow commands your legs to keep moving as though nothing's wrong.

Again, the order: "Come to me."

For the guided it isn't a long walk, any passing faces blurred or forgotten, the near and distant screams falling mute. In fact, as you get closer, only the order - and in turn the Mindflayer responsible - remaining. You hardly feel how your back straightens like a stiff beam as you prepare to be obedient.

To the rhythm of the squirming sound in your head, his elation pulses with the order in repeat. That he will rise above, and command the shared mind of his kindred...

How do you...?

A dizziness takes over, wavering your steps a moment, as the flesh doors open. The moment that his mind reaches you, you're again steady, as though his hands themselves guide you in this moment.

"There you are."

Tendrils flexing and curling, he stands, and for a moment they reach toward you. Before long they echo the movement of his hand, beckoning you with a roll of the fingers. Watching you cross the squishy floor he hums, voice digging into your mind fully as his innate power wraps around your mind.

A break from this is visible solely in how there's a momentary hesitation in your hand reaching for a tentacle. That disgust fades in a blink, however, as momentary as he'd allow. Only he can feel that, if anything at all, in the turmoil that is his kind's heart. They have one, beating in only the Queen of their collective consciousness. All else is simply them following nature's grand design.

Impatient, a tentacle reaches and wraps around your neck, cueing you to simply shed your clothes. Without hesitation you follow the order, some stray tentacles wandering about your body as they pull you yet closer. Further imprisoning your mind where it should be, the rest of them wrap about your head, loosing your hair from the ribbons as his hand guides your legs apart.

Curiosity is shared between you two, the tadpole shivering in fervor as his cold gaze pierces your own.

"If yours is the body I require..." You're turned around and guided onto his lap, legs split and held up in the air. "Then through you, I'll hold the key to my ascension. So, rejoice now, for I will become the Absolute, and your womb will bear Illithid that will see my will enacted."

Clouded, you swallow. "... I will be... of service," You breathe. "My Emperor..." A thrall, yet your form hasn't changed - it's simply too sad to see tentacles spring from your flesh. Well and, you're appetizing simply in more ways than satisfying one's hunger.

Guided by his desires, your head tilts back with the opening of your mouth. Pleased, he allows a tentacle to slip inside, which you suck on as another wraps around your hand and holds it up so it can be caressed. In the meanwhile his mind engulfs your body, the very will to pleasure you seeing your insides squirm and pool warmly. Without complaint or hesitance he watches, amused, as your skin flushes and your every muscle bends to his will.

"A-aah!"

Slipping through his pants with unceremonious mucus, his cock slips inside of you with the help of a tentacle or two. It's big enough, lumpy and undulating, slipping in and out as though with a mind of its own. His powerful hands keep your legs high up, another tentacle pushing into your mouth as it throbs, swirls, and churns inside of you. With each thrust it hammers in his dominion over you, the voices of the other Illithid fading out as his own mind worms its way from the collection.

Merciful he tugs the tendrils from your mouth, save for one at the tip of your tongue, and lets you breathe. As the engorging and pulsating cock pounds all the way to your cervix, your mind grows foggier until he's all you can even feel.

I... I can see it now...!

From your body, eggs the size of your fist, squishing and squirming with new life ready to form. They'll grow into an army, nay, a legion, that will serve the new Absolute. Never will you die, for only you are worthy of this blessing - and thus the only one that should be seated upon the blessed cock of the Emperor.

Sucking that tentacle back into your mouth, your moans are silenced once again, thumb rubbing the tentacle guiding your arm around his neck.

Undulating further, his cock squirms and engorges until it settles in for what feels like eternity. He lowers your legs to hang them over the arms of the throne, familiar tendrils wrapping around your ankles. Anticipation sees your body arch, his arms wrapping around your waist as the rest of his tentacles tighten around your head. Not in hunger or malice, but an overwhelming possessiveness that will never see you be rescued or taken from him by another.

Lowering to grab your hips, his own snap up into them, and you squeal, mouth gaping open as he mercilessly pounds into you. Pleasured cries and pleas for him to never stop reverberate through the ship, him not interested in silencing them. Encouraged by your pleasure he continues his powerful claiming of your womb, his own arousal and satisfaction stoked by your flaming hunger for more.

"Yes-! YES!" You cry. "Ohhh, my Emperor! Oh, my Emperor!" Your one hand caresses his slimy head, one of his hands coming up to hold yours. "Aaah! Aa-aaah! Aaaah! Gh- fuck! Ahhh!!!"

Your back arches, and light flashes in your eyes. After too short a time he shoots a load into you, neverending, until your stomach expands and then hangs. The hand holding your precious head falls to hold your belly. In what feels like no time it feels lumpy, already hard at work in proving he made a good decision keeping you alive after you'd robbed him of the paladin.

"There. Now, you will bear the trueborn, and with me rule this world and all beyond. May our bodies never age or fall to mortal malady, for we will be the architects of a world befitting only our ilk."

He reaches beneath your body, cock sliding back into its slit, and an egg slides into his palm.

"Until time itself withers."

[dartagnantt]

Martial Archetype: Knight of the Fallen Oak | The trip spam fighter returns!

PDFs of this and more can be found over on at my Patreon here!

This was a patron request (hint hint, high tier patrons can just straight up ask me to make stuff) and I felt like it just so happened to fit this month's theme of inexorable, since this was inspired by 3e and pf1e trip builds where you make trip attacks and then keep making them as they try to get up because getting up provoked opportunity attacks back then in addition to eating up all your movement.

Tripping Hazard

With how 5e combat works, this wouldn't really be a feature if you tripped in place of an attack, sine you can do that anyway. Though it being a save is a difference. But this is how wolf bite attacks work, for instance. Why call out halberds specifically? Because tripping was their thing. In fact, they weren't even reach weapons or mechanically identical to glaives.

And Stay Down

This feature exists explicitly to replicate the old AoOs, and to lean in on a subclass that benefits on tripping

Opportunist

There exists a feat in pathfinder that gives you a number of reactions equal to your Dex mod, which is a bit much, as people noted the last time I gave a fighter this feature, but I felt like more opportunity attacks would benefit the previous feature.

Not So Fast!

Gave a bit of the sentinel feat, which is a popular feat for control builds especially when paired with the polearm master feat, which I also considered adding, but since the only reach weapon this specifically benefits is the halberd, having it be within 5 feet was less useful out of your turn.

Kick Them While They're Down

And because this subclass felt like being a dick, this one seemed appropriate to be mean.

And now to plug my stuff. I release homebrews weekly over on my Patreon. Anyone who pledges $1 or more per post don't have to wait a month to see them, and also help fund my being alive habit.

At the moment, they have exclusive access to the following:

Words of Power

Maelstrom Hammer

Sealing Rituals

Otherworldly Patron: The Bound Demon

I also have three classes, and a splatbook over on DriveThrueRPG to check out:

The Rift Binder. A class specialising in summoning monsters and controlling the battlefield.

The Witch Knight. A class that combines swords and sorcery in the most literal way.

The Werebeast. A class that turns you into a half beast to destroy your foes.

d'Artagnan's Adventurer Almanac. A compendium of races, subclasses, feats, spells, monsters and more!

[imwife]

echo of infinity.

word count - 512

in the heart of bustling tokyo, where skyscrapers kissed the sky and neon lights painted the streets, there existed a realm hidden from the mundane eyes- a world of curses, sorcery, and enigmatic beings. at the helm of this clandestine domain stood satoru gojo, a man cloaked in mystery, revered as the strongest sorcerer if his time.

-

the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an ehteral glow over the city as satoru gojo, with his signature blindfold concealing his eyes that held untold power, strolled through the labyrinthine alleyways. he moved with an effortless grace, his presence commanding respect from both allies and adversaries alike.

tonight, however, there was an unfamiliar weight upon his shoulders, a subtle unrest that stirred within him like a tempest waiting to be unleashed. it was as if the very fabric of reality whispered secrets yet to be unveiled, and gojo found himself irresistibly drawn towards the source.

he followed the elusive trail of magic, navigating the intricate network of streets until he arrived at an abandoned warehouse stuffed with an ominous aura. with a flick of his fingers, barriers fell like fragile illusions, granting him access to the enigmatic depths within.

there, amidst the shadows, he discovered her- a young woman adorned in tattered garments, her face obscured by cascading locks of ebony hair. but it was not her appearance that caught his attention; it was the raw, unbridled power that emanated from her being, a force both primal and intoxicating.

"who are you?" gojo's voice resonated with an otherworldly resonance, piercing through the silence like a clarion call.

the woman raised her gaze, obsidian orbs meeting his with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. "i am but a reflection of your own desires," she murmured, her voice like a melody woven from starlight and shadows.

in that moment, gojo understood. she was no ordinary sorceress; she was a manifestation of of his deepest yearnings, a mirror to his innermost self. and yet, she was more than just a figment of his imagination- she was a paradox, a mystery waiting to be unravelled.

with each passing moment, their connection deepened, transcending the boundaries of time and space. together, they danced upon the precipice of oblivion, navigating the intricacies of a world caught between reality and illusion.

but as dawn approached and the first rays of sunlight bathed the city in the golden hue, gojo knew that their time together was fleeting. for he was bound to a realm of sorcery, a guardian of balance tasked with protecting the fragile equilibrium between light and darkness.

[my-forgotten-notepad]

Blanda the Jungle Queen

Blanda The Jungle Queen is a Public Domain character with incredibly little to her name in terms of history; both from Comicvine where no description is given at all, or public domain superhero fandom website. Which details her as a leader/ruler in a locationless jungle and ruling over a group called the Aza Tribe, she saves a game hunter called Greg Martin from being sacrificed because she loves him.

I think that from the time periond this was penned in and context clues in the three sentences describing her publication history, like Cave Girl that Blanda was meant to utilise Africa (more specifically a hyper-fictionalised impression of Africa) as a backdrop for the narratives she was involved in. Hence the Big Game hunter and her being the 'voice of reason' to the rest of her wild animal worshipping, human sacrificing tribe. Which in turn like many WW2 public domain characters makes Blanda hard to reimagine into the modern age.

But it isn't impossible; considering how little actual material exists of Blanda's run as a comicbook character, anyone reimagining her only needs to keep track of two things: She rules a group/tribe of individuals in a wild or primal part of the world, and that said group reveres and worships animals. Greg Martin, the implied notion of this being somewhere Africia and her being some 'voice of reason' can all easily be discarded.

A way to reimagine Blanda could be something similar to Bastard: King of Evil and Destruction; where technology and magic and religion have bled into one another, where the Aza tribe were designed for animal husbandry and are capable of calling on otherworldly power or energies to maintain their borders to fulfill their purpose. Allowing a mix of sword and sorcery and low fantasy fair found in the 1996 Heavy Metal movie and the 1977 Wizards; where wizards, knights and tanks and guns were side by side.

You could go comfortably into a middle fantasy world with artistic leanings from Conan and Red Sonja. A primeval world where civilisation was just beginning to dawn and magic and the gods are real; so the Aza tribe's reverence for animals assists them in staying enemy forces and intentions. But also means that Blanda must way the consequences of taking people and using them as a sacrifice to appease the gods and fuel her kingdom with power and plenty.

Or you could do something similar in tone to Kamandi and the Tiger Empire by DC Comics; have Blanda and the Aza tribe be some neo-dark age pocket of human civilisation in world dominated by an alien species or some kind of hyper-evolved animal-humanoid hybrids. That Blanda must use her position as queen to protect the last few vestiges of Humanity left on a planet that has either moved on from them; or out right abandoned them. In this narrative Greg Martin might be a young animal-humanoid who encounters the tribe and realises that they've been misled or indoctrinated into thinking hunting humans for sport is utterly disgusting and wrong on so many levels. Leading to him feeding the Aza tribe information whenever he goes on a 'hunting expedition' as to avoid being caught aiding a group that his culture deems a lower form of life.

[elonasblog]

Spiritual meaning of a peacock

Peacocks are great animals that can be tracked down in many corners of the world. The implications behind their vivid quills and exquisite dance are fascinating to any individual who these mind blowing and lovely birds have charmed. Peacock as a soul creature shows you previous existence examples, while variety wizardry imparts sorcery into your regular day to day existence. If it's not too much trouble, figure out how this creature soul guide rouses you with its profound imagery and importance!

Spiritual meaning of a peacock and the actual peacock is a ravishing and unusual animal. Nonetheless, as it moves for its future mate with all the finesse of a heavenly being, one might contemplate whether they are just vain animals who center around appearances as opposed to their actual magnificence that comes from additional heavenly sources, like otherworldliness or self-esteem.

The glad and glorious peacock has forever been a number one among many societies. The plumes are images of magnificence, as well as the different legends that encompass it in folklore.

"Peacock" signifies peacocks or hens from Early English words like pawa, significance rooster or hen. However, curiously, there is some discussion on its starting point in light of the fact that different dialects, for example, Sanskrit have varying implications for this creature name where they call them Pavakapriya, which means 'the loveable one with delightful plumage!'

Peacocks have been worshipped for quite a long time as images of favorable luck. The Hindu religion, specifically, respects the peacock and believes it to be a consecrated creature on the grounds that their goddess Lakshmi is frequently portrayed with one strolling close by her. It's likewise connected with Indra (a thunder god), who downpours down abundance upon Earth with the peacocks moving when they realize the downpour will before long tumble from the sky. This represents how nurturing water recharges our planet. Through precipitation achieved by storm divine beings like Indra himself!

[dcbbw]

The Witch Hunt

This fic is a highly fictionalized account of true events. I wrote it as a way of coping with the discourse and said it would never be publicly posted. But thanks to an ask from @twinkleallnight (and her persistence that anything I write needs to be shared and enjoyed by all), and discussions with my boos, bears, and Coven sisters … here it is.

HUGE THANK YOU to @ao719 for the amazing moodboard.

Thank you to my writing sisters for re-reading this story and assuring me that it still makes sense.

For all who will read this fic, THANK YOU! Your time, efforts, and energy spent reading, commenting, and/or reblogging is greatly appreciated more than you know.

Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. (I rushed through my final editing)

Only the Commoner and the King belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: Every Breath You Take, Scala/Kolacny Brothers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bt63b4x2Xec

Word Count: 3,546

Eastwick

Light years and many moons from Reality, there is an alternate universe called Fandom where both children and witches live. The witches are a large coven, and spend their days writing spells; incantations of love, lust, and laughter … sometimes of darkness. The spells are for their intended and beloved, and tell of the lives and adventures the sorceresses wish to experience with them.

The witches live in a corner of the Fandom known as Cordonia, in a small town called Eastwick; for the most part, they all got along well and were supportive of each other.  Within the coven were three sisters: Hilda, Zelma, and Glinda. The sisters lived together in a large Victorian house, complete with wraparound porch, bay windows, and spires. All three were well-known and well-liked throughout the coven.

Glinda was the most popular; her bright cheery smile and sweet personality made her a favorite throughout Eastwick.

Zelma was the friendliest; she knew nearly all the other witches, and read over their spells to ensure that nothing went wrong. One incorrect word or improper enunciation could twist the spell’s intention completely.

Hilda, who was also a wizardess, was the most empathetic; she offered hugs and a listening ear to the strays of the coven: The witches who either had no magic, or if they did, no idea how to use it. Her sisters were usually tolerant when Hilda brought home her newfound, friendless acquaintances … except for Apple Core. There was a reason the oldest citizen of Eastwick had never truly been a part of the coven, but Hilda insisted Apple Core just needed love.

The sisters were sitting at their kitchen table, writing spells for their love interests. Zelma was in love with the Commoner of Cordonia, as were many others; it did not deter her from sending her love spells into the universe, neither did it stop the Commoner from returning her affections.

Glinda and Hilda were in love with the King; as was the case with the Commoner, the sisters were in competition with many for his both his hand and his heart. Glinda had decided that she and Hilda would love different versions of the King so as not to make things awkward between them. Glinda fell in love with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed King, while Hilda’s King had dark hair, dark eyes, and Asian features.

“I love him so much,” Zelma murmured as she finished her spell, her eyes landing on a picture of the Commoner she had summoned in their crystal ball.

“And he loves you in return,” Glinda said while tapping her quill pen against her chin.

“He loves an alternate version of me. If he knew what I really looked like, he wouldn’t,” Zelma lamented.

“Our beloveds see our hearts and souls, not our outer appearances,” Hilda stated as she waved a wand over her spell of lust.

Silence as the sisters worked to finalize their spells before casting them into the Void. Suddenly, there was a jarring of the earth and a loud clap of thunder; it was so loud and sharp,  Glinda covered her ears as the house shook.

Zelma looked up, her eyes darting around the room, as if the source of the disruption was in their home.

“The Dark One is casting.” She looked at her sisters uneasily.

WestWorld

On the other side of Cordonia, in WestWorld, The Guardian’s head lifted at the sound of distant thunder. Her eyes fell to her glass of water, now slightly moving across the table from the remnants of the shaking earth. Her gaze narrowed.

“The Witches!” she hissed.

WestWorld was where the children of Cordonia lived. There were some adults:  survivors of trauma and abuse from their previous worlds, but the majority of the residents were children. The Guardian lived there to ensure the under-aged residents were properly housed, clothed and fed. She shielded them from the Witches, whose sorcery and magic were misunderstood by WestWorld.

The Guardian and her Army believed in love and light; no sex was needed for that. Angst and strife were not needed for that. Darkness definitely was not needed. So, the Guardian warned the children constantly not to venture into Eastwick and to never, under any circumstances, read the spells that were cast into the Void from the other side.

And now, the Witches were casting darkness into the Void … again. Dark magic was the only thing that would have such far reaching effects.

The Guardian retrieved an ornate gold box from her cupboards and removed the lid to reveal her crystal ball. She chanted as she waved her hands over the ball, summoning up a spell to inform her of what was happening.

The Dark One appeared in the glass, looking rather smug and pleased; her image faded, to be replaced by the parchment containing her spell. The Guardian fell into her chair, her eyes wide with shock as she read what the Dark One had cast.

The Guardian felt her stomach churn; the children would most certainly want to see what had caused such a disruption in their world. Normally, the citizens of West World were content to read their tales of otherworldly creatures from a time long past, or of the single mothers who loved their childen beyond measure.

But they were children, and they were curious.

And now Dark One was once again summoning the Guardian’s charges to the other side.

The Guardian rose hastily from the table, and ran through the halls calling for her Generals.

One Week Later

Eastwick

The Dark One sat in her living room, her eyes fixed on her Book of Spells, searching for an answer, a solution.

Something.

The Guardian and her Army were calling for the Dark One’s head. They wanted her banished from all of Cordonia, and her spells erased from existence.

The Dark One shook her head to herself.  

That was unacceptable.

The Dark One was in love with the Commoner; she always had been since she first laid eyes on him. However, The Dark One knew she would never stand out in the sea of spells filled with love and lust. She didn’t speak that language.

No, she needed to speak to the Commoner soul to soul.

She focused not on his perfection, but his flaws and insecurities. She sought out the Commoner’s dark side that no one wanted to hear of or speak to. The Dark One offered the Commoner her broken pieces, her sorrow and hurt … and he was finally accepting them.

He was falling for her.

And she refused to let anyone stop them from being together.

With a small sigh, The Dark One sipped from her glass filled with hibiscus wine. This was not her first run- in with The Guardian. When The Dark One cast her first appeal to the Commoner’s dark side, her spell was met with resistance from both Eastwick and Westworld. She had taken a day away from the coven, not in shame, but to consider whether to remove her spell. If it inspired such strong feelings from her fellow witches, would it repel the Commoner?

But it did not.

He began looking her way. He urged her to tell him more about herself; he whispered more of his secrets in her ear. And The Dark One decided not to remove her spell simply because others were jealous the Commoner’s attentions were turning to her.

But now, The Guardian was viciously attacking her, over simple spells! There were threats of her murder if she did not comply with The Guardian’s request. Her sister witches, save for a few, were silent. The chosen to do battle with WestWorld fought alone; however The Dark One was given suggestions, instructions, and encouragements in private:

Listen to their concerns.

Perhaps you need to not cast so many spells.

Just stand down for a little while; it will blow over. The battles always do.

The Dark One thumbed slowly through her Book; her eyes took in the words that her soul had spilled. Her blood, sweat, and tears covered every page. And she knew what she had to do. She would step away from the coven; not because The Guardian told her to, but to protect the innocent.

It meant leaving the Commoner behind and The Dark One wasn’t sure she could do that. She had finally captured his attention and found her understanding.

But she would try.

She just had to do one last thing …

That night in Cordonia the earth shook, and the thunder clapped loudly and incessantly as The Dark One released nearly all her spells into the Void.

The Three Sisters

At the home of The Three Sisters, Zelma fretted as the house shook and dark clouds covered the sky.

“She’s been casting nonstop for a week! They’re threatening to kill her! And now what is she doing? The Void cannot handle so much dark energy.” Zelma stopped pacing to angrily throw her hands in the air. “She’s going to make it so none of us can cast!”

Glinda poured hot tea into three delicate teacups. “Perhaps we can appeal to The Guardian.”

“She won’t listen to us! With The Dark One being so unreasonable, The Guardian will set her sights on us. I’ve dealt with WestWorld once and I’m not eager to be once more tossed into that fray,” Hilda argued as she added honey and lemon to her fragrant beverage.

“If we use our powers of invisibility, she may. I see others from both sides are appealing to her in that manner.”

Zelma and Hilda barely heard their sister; they were watching the crystal ball reveal spell after spell flying past, flurries of parchment and ink whisking before them as if in a windstorm.

“Stop it! Stop the ball!” Hilda yelled.

With a frown of confusion, Glinda waved her hands over the sphere and froze the image. The sisters read the spell before them, eyes widening at the darkness it revealed. When they finished reading, they looked at each other, each trying to process what they just read.

Hilda straightened up. “This…this is not good. Perhaps I will approach the Guardian. I see where she has let the children read one of my spells. She praised it.”

“Perhaps … “Zelma said doubtfully as she reached for her cup.

The knock on the door startled the trio. Glancing at the clock, Glinda wondered aloud who it could be at this hour. Hilda went to the door; she was the oldest and viewed herself as her sisters’ protector. She pulled open the door to see Apple Core.

Apple Core was an outcast amongst the witches. She was without magic, and very demanding of members of the Coven. Apple Core had no true home and only one friend.

“Hello, dearie,” the outcast croaked.

“Good evening,” Hilda responded politely.

She noticed the older woman’s threadbare cloak and cracked, dry lips. Hilda stepped aside, pulling the door open wider as she did so.

“Please, come in. Perhaps partake in a glass of water? And a bowl of brew?”

Apple Core smiled thinly as she entered the household; she ignored Glinda and Zelma rolling their eyes at each other.

“The Dark One is releasing her magic quite freely tonight,” Apple Core remarked as she settled into a wooden rocking chair.

Glinda went to fetch water and brew for their visitor. Zelma and Hilda sat side by side on the sofa.

“Yes, she is. I plan to reach out to The Guardian as she and I are on friendly terms.” Hilda smoothed down her dress.

Apple Core looked at her quizzically. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“She has let the children read one of my spells.” Hilda said with a hint of pride.

WestWorld never allowed a spell to be voluntarily brought into their corner of Fandom.

“Your spell has been removed and cast out of WestWorld. The Guardian has discovered that you are mutuals with The Dark One, and therefore are guilty by association. In fact, all three of you are now on The Guardian’s blacklist.”

Glinda was returning with the sustenance for the visitor and heard the last part of the statement; her voice held an edge when she spoke.

“What are you talking about? I was never mutuals with The Dark One, and Zelma broke ties with her months ago! Hilda has maintained ties with The Dark One, but in name only!”

“This has become so much more than a push to banish The Dark One. And I fear now, even if she leaves, the damage has been done. Deep damage,” Apple Core said cryptically.

Her eyes fell to her bowl and the glass of water; she greedily licked her lips. “The best thing to do … frankly, the only thing … is to deflect The Guardian’s anger and ire back where it belongs. On The Dark One.”

“But how?” Glinda sat next to her sisters.

Apple Core slurped her brew directly from the bowl; splashes of broth splattered both Apple Core’s dark cloak and the silver spoon still sitting on the tray. Her eyes rolled over to the three sisters. “I can only point you in the direction, I cannot lead you.”

Hilda spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “The spell we just read; perhaps that will be enough to redirect The Guardian. I can speak to her invisibly. It can’t hurt.”

“Have you ever used the Spell of Invisibility?” Glinda asked, scoffing slightly.

“Hmmmm, once?” Hilda shrugged.

Glinda shook her head impatiently. “I’ll show you!”

Apple Core finished her meal and rose from her chair. “Your secret is safe with me, dearies. Just know, I have seen many battles fought between the two sides, and this one is going to be far worse than the others before. And a word of caution … The Dark One has even more spells; she just isn’t releasing them yet.”

“MORE spells?” Zelma exclaimed, wondering just how many spells The Dark One had. She rose to  usher Apple Core to the door where she bid the woman a good evening, watching Apple Core’s dark cloak billow behind her as the outcast made her way back to a hut on the outskirts of Eastwick.

Two Weeks Later

Eastwick

Zelma was sobbing as her sisters tried to comfort her. The battle with WestWorld was intensifying at a rapid rate.

Hilda’s attempts to divert The Guardian had failed: The Guardian had already read every spell The Dark One had cast into the void, which led her to seek out who among the Witches approved of such an abuse of power. The Guardian’s research went back over a year and was helped along by several informants, all invisible and anonymous to her but she had her ideas as to who the people were.

Names filled her ears, portions of spells and those who supported them crossed her desk. Her lips tightened a tad more with every name she came across. The Guardian needed a plan; a plan to end this once and for all.

This was so much bigger than simply The Dark One.

Zelma had wanted to approach The Guardian with news that one of the informants was bogus, and a spy for both sides. But in her haste and eagerness, she forgot to cloak herself with the Spell of Invisibility.

The Guardian’s lips had curved in a slightly cruel smile when the two women faced each other in their crystal balls. The Guardian knew who Zelma was; Zelma found out who the Guardian was. The witch flushed beet red and began to stammer, but The Guardian waved her hands and both balls went dark.

Zelma panicked. She knew about the Blacklist and didn’t want to be on it. Zelma didn’t want to be in WestWorld’s crosshairs at all.

She saw what had happened to Hilda; she saw what they were doing to The Dark One. Zelma immediately wrote a letter of apology to both the Coven and WestWorld. She tried to scrub any traces of her affiliation with The Dark One; but still, they remained.

The Guardian refused to listen to Zelma’s apologies and excuses. Moreover, she was angered by the outpouring of love and support for Zelma. But The Guardian held the upper hand, and she did not hesitate to use it.

Zelma was blacklisted and outed.

Her best friend in the coven had her spell creating abilities revoked.

Yet another friend wrote an appeal to both sides, asking to come to a consensus as to the best way to protect the children. She too was outed and blacklisted.

The only concession made by The Guardian was to restore spell creating privileges and to assure Zelma that she was in good company:  Her sisters, along with many others, would be joining her on the list.

Invisibly, Glinda, Hilda, and several others from the coven reached out to The Guardian; they were either ignored, or met with dismissiveness. Hilda’s plea was met with acknowledgement she raised valid points, but The Guardian would not waver on her decision.

This was for the children.

The sisters and their friends were both resigned to and relieved at their fate. Perhaps this Blacklist would be a good thing. They were buoyed by their fellow Witches requesting to be added to the list.

WestWorld and Eastwick rarely interacted; another layer of separation may be the best thing.

WestWorld

The Guardian’s head was in her hands, her fingers splayed across her face. Everything was going to hell in a handbasket, so quickly.

Too quickly.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

The Guardian had started her crusade with one mission in mind: banishment of The Dark One. But that hussy hadn’t left; she had barricaded herself inside of her home after releasing hundreds of spells into the Void. For days on end, all that crossed anyone’s path were dark, potentially triggering spells. The Guardian was truly puzzled how one witch could have so.many.spells. just waiting to be cast. And for the Commoner’s love at that; for the King … The Guardian could see that.

At least it was over.

Then began the influx of invisible, anonymous visitors. The Guardian knew they weren’t all witches, at least in the beginning. The Spell of Invisibility was available to all the citizens of Fandom.

Hour upon hour, The Guardian heard words of support and encouragement; tales of trauma; grateful sobs … all from people with no names or faces.

The Guardian knew she was doing the right thing; she and her Army were protecting those who were defenseless. The Dark One was simply the tip of the iceberg. All the dark spells had to go, and the ones who wrote them had to be outed, at the very least.

A new plan formulated in her mind, and her generals agreed with it.

The Blacklist would include the witch’s names, their addresses, and a list of the offensive spells.

And that is when the others began to visit.

They came while The Guardian slept; they came while she was preparing her meals. One came while she was bathing. All told her she was self-serving, trying to draw attention to herself and WestWorld.

That her plan of the Blacklist was simply telling the children where to go.

That they too were traumatized, and this is how they chose to cope.

The others told her they warned the children not to read their spells because the words they spoke were not for young eyes.

They told her to reach out to the people being put on the list, to walk in their shoes for a day or so.

The Guardian’s brain felt as if it were about to explode from too many voices and too much information.

She argued that she had reached out to the Witches; they had blocked their portals to her.

The Witches said that was an untruth.

The Guardian said she was doing what was best: Providing the children with the witches’ addresses and providing them access to their portals was to protect the children and survivors.

The Witches countered The Guardian was readying her Army to attack them. The children had already used their invisibility and anonymity to bully them to the point of encouraging the witches to commit suicide.

The Guardian said she was making Fandom a safe and nurturing environment for all.

The Witches scoffed at that, arguing that was why they lived in Eastwick and the children lived in WestWorld. It was neither safe nor healthy for either side to interact with each other.

It was all too much; this is not what was supposed to happen. Despite what it looked like, she was not looking to start a war.

But one was underway.

And to make everything even worse, The Dark One was casting spells again.

With a slightly trembling hand, she reached for her glass of water as she popped an aspirin in her mouth. The knock on her portal startled her; water sloshed from the glass and onto her frock.

She raised her head as the witch stepped over the threshold. It was Hilda.

A smile on her face, but a serious look in her eyes, Hilda sat uninvited at the table with The Guardian.

“We need to talk.”

Tagging:  @sirbeepsalot @jared2612 @ao719 @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @ofpixelsandscribbles @debramcg1106 @marietrinmimi @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @indiacater @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @bebepac @zaffrenotes @liyanin @liamxs-world @choiceslife @ac27dj @the-soot-sprite @gnatbrain @anotherbeingsworld @atha68 @hopelessromanticmonie @amandablink @mom2000aggie @cmestrella @iaminlovewithtrr @shewillreadyou @starrystarrytrouble @liamrhysstalker2020 @alyssalauren @queenrileyrose @ladyangel70 @yourmajesty09 @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @lodberg @charlotteg234 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @mainstreetreader @busywoman @gabesmommie1130 @jessiembruno @darley1101 @txemrn @tessa-liam @phoenixrising308 @beezm @gardeningourmet @lovingchoices14 @thegreentwin​

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #158

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making the best blue dog in Chaldea since Cu Chulainn (And also the guy riding him) Avenger of Shinjuku! (If we really want to avoid spoilers, should we be calling them the Rider of Shinjuku?) As always with these servants, it’s hard to go into detail about who they are without spoiling stuff, so keep that in mind before going further.

Check out their build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

Next up: Funny amogus reference!

Hessian Lobo are mostly a Shadow Sorcerer to summon a big scary dog and other magical nonsense we need stuffed into this spirit origin, but they also get a couple levels of Fighter, because the endgame levels of Sorcerer are bad, and you do hit things with a sharp stick from time to time.

Race and Background: You’re a Human, but you’re also a ghost that haunts a stretch of road, killing all you come across, so that makes you a Revenant as well. (I will tell you now, a lot of headaches would be solved if you just went with Halfling Revenant instead, but human’s still the most in-character.) This gives you +1 Strength, +1 Charisma, and +1 Constitution, as well as a Relentless Nature. This means you gain 1 HP each round if you’re bloodied, you can’t die permanently, and you always know the direction of your DM assigned goal. Once that goal is complete, you die instantly. Bit of a downside, but tbh D&D games take forever, you’ll barely notice.

In life you were a Soldier, and while that doesn’t fit the background of both members of your party, the Athletics and Intimidation training will come in handy.

Ability Scores: Make sure your Charisma is as high as possible, you are terrifying, and you know it. Strength is a close second, because heads are notoriously difficult to separate. After that is Constitution, not only are ghosts hard to kill, but you’re also invisible half the time, which makes things even harder Your Wisdom isn’t bad- you can tell where people are when it’s time to take heads, but you still don’t really have eyes. You don’t really get off your horse that much, so your Dexterity is pretty low, but we’re dumping Intelligence. One of you is literally brainless, and the other is an animal. You won’t be solving Sudokus any time soon.

Class Levels:

1. Fighter 1: Starting as a fighter nets you plenty of goodies, including extra HP and weapon proficiencies so you can use a real scythe. You also get proficiency with Strength and Constitution saves, as well as Animal Handling to keep the king of Currumpaw under control and Perception. You can see without eyes, that’s pretty skillful.

You also get a Fighting Style, and if you really want to play D&D without a head the Blind Fighting style is a must, giving you blindsense in a 10′ radius around you.

You also get a Second Wind once per short rest as a bonus action which’ll heal you a bit. I guess that’s your oblivion correction.

2. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge, letting you take an extra action in a turn once per short rest. I hope you like it, because this is the only way you’ll be able to attack twice per turn for ages.

3. Sorcerer 1: While I wouldn’t call you a wizard, you do some wacky tricks that you can only really do in D&D with magic. Since these come from your being dead/unethical spirit origin mad science, I’d say a Shadow sorcerer is the closest thing in the rules books.

First level shadow sorcerers get Eyes of the Dark, giving you 120 feet of darkvision, which is really impressive for someone without eyes. You also get the Strength of the Grave, letting you make a Charisma save when you drop to 0 HP once per long rest. If you succeed, you drop to 1 HP instead. This doesn’t work on radiant damage or critical hits, but all that makes you more ghostly, so that’s probably fine.

You also get Spells that you can cast using your Charisma. Friends will help you work with your slobbery partner more easily, while True Strike and Sword Burst add a bit of flair to your weapon attacks. You also get the cantrip Mind Sliver to track down your prey.

For first level spells, Mage Armor will help out with riding around in a suit, and Expeditious Retreat makes you a bit harder to escape from. Both these spells can also be pretty useful for Lobo once he shows up.

4. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers are a Font of Magic, which lets you turn spell slots into Sorcery Points and vice versa. You can only have a number of sorcery points equal to your sorcerer level at most, and they refill on long rests.

You also learn the Jump spell to help the King of Currumpaw get around the crowded streets of Shinjuku.

5. Sorcerer 3: At third level you get two Metamagic options to alter your spells. Subtle Spell lets you cast magic without somatic or verbal components- very useful when you don’t have a mouth. Twinned Spell will let you cast spells on two targets instead of one, which is great for making both you and your ride invisible.

Enlarge/Reduce might not seem that useful, but trust me you’ll love it in a bit.

6. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump your Strength up a bit for stronger melee attacks.

The cantrip Message will help you get around that whole “no mouth” thing to talk to your party members, and your first bit of Invisibility will make sneaking up on your target a breeze.

7. Sorcerer 5: Fifth level sorcerers get Magical Guidance, using your sorcery points to re-roll failed ability checks. I’m not saying the Hessian is magically glued to his saddle or anything, but you never see him fall off, do you?

You also get third level spells, like Hold Person, which makes taking peoples’ heads off so much easier.

8. Sorcerer 6: As a sixth level sorcerer, you finally get your Hound of Ill Omen. Using three sorcery points, you can summon a hound as a bonus action, targeting a creature within 120 feet of you. It’s mostly a Dire Wolf, with a few changes:

It’s medium, not large, and a monstrosity, not a beast.

It gets temporary HP equal to half your sorcerer level.

It can move through solid objects as if it was difficult terrain, taking 5 force damage if it ends a turn in something.

The hound automatically knows the location of the target at the start of each turn.

On top of all that, it can only move towards the target, and can only use its action to attack the target. Also, the target gets disadvantage on saves against your spell while within melee range of the hound. The hound disappears after it or the target hits 0 HP, or after 5 minutes.

The big problem here is the size; you’ll either have to use Enlarge/Reduce to ride it, or just Be a Halfling.

Either way, you can also use Haste to double a creature’s movement speed, give them an extra action each turn, and boost their AC and dexterity saves. The creature also has to take a turn to rest after the spell ends, but that’s probably fine.

9. Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells, like Dominate Beast. I know I just said Lobo technically isn’t a beast, but it’s the thought that counts.

10. Sorcerer 8: Now that you have a mount, we can get Mounted Combatant, giving you advantage on attacks against creatures smaller than your mount, and they get evasion. You can also force attacks that hit them to you instead. Don’t do that though, you’re a sorcerer, and Lobo can be rebuilt on a bonus action.

You can also Charm Monster this level, which comes with the added benefit of actually working on your wolf.

11. Sorcerer 9: Ninth level sorcerers get fourth level spells, like Greater Invisibility, which lets one target become invisible for the duration regardless of how many heads they take off.

12. Sorcerer 10: Tenth level sorcerers get another Metamagic option, like Extended Spell. A lot of your spells are buffs, and it would be awkward for that invisibility to drop when you’re halfway through a hunt.

You also learn Minor Illusion, because I couldn’t really come up with a sixth cantrip to give you but now you can make your cape look cooler, and Hold Monster. Just ask Sanson, a disappointingly small number of the things you fight are actually human.

13. Sorcerer 11: For your fifth level spell, Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise both makes you scarier and makes you a stronger fighter, making you immune to Fire and Poison damage as well as the poisoned condition. You also get +2 to your AC, gain a flying speed, and you can attack with your weapon twice per action, using your charisma instead of strength, and it counts as magical damage.

14. Sorcerer 12: Speaking of, let’s bump your Charisma up a bit for stronger Strength of the Grave saves and better magic.

15. Sorcerer 13: Lobo is now so fast you can Teleport as an action, moving you and up to eight willing creatures to a destination on your plane of existence. There’s a slight chance for failure that goes up the less familiar you are with the destination, but that’s probably fine.

16. Sorcerer 14: At fourteenth level, shadow sorcerers can Shadow Walk, letting you teleport between areas of dim light or darkness within 120 feet of each other as a bonus action.

17. Sorcerer 15: Your seventh level spell, Dominate Monster, finally lets you put Lobo fully under your control. He might not like it, but he’s only alive for five minutes at a time anyway.

18. Sorcerer 16: Use your last ASI to max out your Charisma for the toughest saves, strongest spells, and strongest attacks while using your Otherworldly Guise.

19. Sorcerer 17: Speaking of strong spells, you can now use your Blade of Disaster to cause disaster for anyone banking on an intact neck. You can create a magical blade that deals two attacks per bonus action, dealing 4d12 force damage on an attack. On a critical hit, the damage is tripled instead of doubled, and it crits on 18s or higher. Also, it can pass through anything, including a Wall of Force.

To make that even scarier, you can cast it as an Empowered Spell, letting you reroll up to five damage dice each attack.

20. Sorcerer 18: Your capstone level gives you an Umbral Form, letting you use a bonus action to become a shadow that can move through physical objects and has resistance on all damage besides force and radiant for a minute. You take 5 force damage if you end a turn inside an object.

This is especially useful given the fact that you have a ride that can only go forward, and already moves through objects itself.

Pros:

Once you lock onto a target, it’s really hard to shake you. With a hasted dire wolf, you can go 100 feet per round, you’ll always take the shortest route possible, and they literally can’t hide from you.

Two levels of fighter on any sort of caster is very useful, thanks to your action surge giving you an even better version of Quickened Casting.

Mounted Combatant is a nice enough feat, but it doesn’t do too much to help out here since a lot of your spells aren’t really attacks. That is until you realize Blade of Disaster makes melee attacks, and Mounted Combatant doesn’t specify it only works on weapon attacks. This means you can make all those attacks with advantage, further increasing your odds of getting enormous crits with each swing.

Cons:

The reason that great combo above doesn’t quite work is simple, though: You need your concentration focused on keeping your mount around at all, since without Enlarge/Reduce you’re stuck with a medium sized wolf. That also means you can’t haste the wolf and ride it. Or turn it invisible. Or even charm it.

The biggest problem here is Flavor. You can either do all the cool things Hessian Lobo does, or you can ride the wolf. These are mutually exclusive, unless you A) are a halfling, B) have a cool DM, or C) just invest in a horse.

Despite being a frontline fighter, all those levels of sorcerer make you incredibly Squishy. With a low AC and low HP, you’ll have a hard time sticking around without your invisibility. Normally this would be made up for thanks to your mount keeping you out of trouble, but your wolf only knows how to run even further into danger.

[bigskydreaming]

This isn't a meme thing or anything but I was wondering if you had a top ten favorite characters from books? I actually end up getting a lot of good book recs from reading your blog so I was just curious lol.

LOL I wasn't going to do this ask because I was like ugh I suck at top ten lists because I can never pick just ten. But then I thought about it for like, five whole seconds and realized I DO have ten standout characters in answer to this so its like oh hey, learned something new about myself today! Lmao.

Anyway, in no particular order:

1) Anyanwu - from Wild Seed by Octavia Butler - Can not stress how like fucking...formative Anyanwu's character was for me as an abused kid who first read this when I was like 12. The book heavily deals with the back and forth across centuries between these two immortals, Anyanwu and Doro, as Doro basically tries to control her every which way he can, and Anyanwu just defies him at every turn, and it just....you love to see it. She's a bad-ass and I adore her.

2) Prince Corwin and Merle Corey/Merlin - from Chronicles of Amber by Roger Zelazny - Yes I'm cheating but its me so you should have seen that coming. Another fave series from when I was in middle school, its ten books in total, and the first five are in Corwin's POV and the second five are in the POV of his son Merle/Merlin. So I maintain it counts. And is fine. Shhh, let it go, Elsa said so. ANYWAY, I actually probably like Merle better than his dad, because I mean, lbr, Corwin is a total asshole. But he's MY asshole, y'know? Wait, that came out wrong. Don't quote me there. But you know what I mean. Merle is a lot more level-headed, and quick-witted I think, and I like his supporting cast of relatives who want to kill him and he sometimes want to kill more than his dad's supporting cast of relatives who want to kill him and he always wants to kill, but like. Both are Valid. Also shout out to Fiona and Rinaldo, with a side shout out to Flora, who are probably my next three favorites from the series. Dara would be up there too but she knows what she did.

3) Elric/Corum/Dorian/etc - from the Eternal Champion books by Michael Moorcock - Look I'm already cheating so why not continue on a theme. But basically this counts too, I'm just saying. See Michael Moorcock's big project going all the way back to the 60s was he created a fantasy multiverse of different dimensions where this one Eternal Champion, meant to balance the scales between the Lords of Law and the Lords of Chaos, like, is reborn over and over again in different incarnations but who are all essentially him. So Elric of Melnibone, Dorian Hawkmoon, Corum I can never remember his last name.....they're all essentially the same guy.....but they're all at the same time very very very different, and they have extremely different storylines. But I maintain if you're gonna read one you kinda gotta just read them all, all Pokemon like and such forth, because the real beauty of these books is seeing the familiar traces of the Eternal Champion threaded through each of these incarnations but also contrasting how different they are from each other and like, looking at what makes them so different each time and how much it stems from their environment and situations, etc.

4) Civet - from the Dragons of the Inland Sea series by Laurence Yep - This is a kids' series, like for ages 10-12 kinda, but easily my favorite from when I was a kid. I reread them so many times, and I love pretty much all the characters from Shimmer to Thorn to Monkey, but Civet was always a standout. She's essentially a tragic character and her ending is bittersweet, but like.....she fully knows who she is and what she's about and makes no apologies for that, and she ends on exactly the note she wants to. Like, her story and her characterization was pretty damn dark for such a young-aimed series, but that's part of what drew me to it, it managed to capture the tone it set out to convey but in a completely age-appropriate way, and in an era when most books aimed at kids dumbed down most of their story concepts and themes, this one was refreshing for just being....real. Despite being blatantly fantasy. Also the Boneless King is one of the best villains ever, despite being deliberately over the top a lot of the times....idk what it was about him, but he was just chilling.

5) Jack the Bodiless and Diamond Mask - from the Galactic Milieu series by Julian May - These are linked as well because they're a couple and their stories intertwine so much that there's no real point in separating them y'know? That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But anyway, they're a weird choice for me because Julian May is hit or miss for me overall....I HATE her Saga of the Pliocene Epic, which is technically in the same universe as her Galactic Milieu series, but they have totally different vibes and the latter series doesn't contain any of the elements from the Saga of the Pliocene that I loathe, so it just works. Plus it has Jack and Diamond Mask, and like.....I don't actually know why I love them so much? They're just so different from pretty much any other characters I've ever read. Like, May does a lot of really high concept stuff across the board, but Jack and Diamond Mask are like.....high concept character wise? If that makes sense? Its okay if it doesn't. I'm literally just spitting words out here. Honestly, its hard to say anything specific about them because so much of their characters conceptually just doesn't make sense without knowing the in-universe concepts that led to them even existing, but like. They're weird and off the wall but still astoundingly human for all that and I love them.

6) Naomi Nagata - from the Expanse books by James S. A. Corey - I mean, if you've seen me ramble all the Naomi love in my live-watches of The Expanse TV show, this should be no surprise, but my love for her in the books like, exists manifold. She's great in both, but the books cover so much more content-wise, that her character has so much more room to breathe and be explored in all kinds of directions the TV show never touches on. The funny thing is, I actually prefer the TV characterizations overall....I think the authors of the books are actually pretty shit at characterization a lot of the time, but the basic thread of Naomi's character is consistent and the sheer abundance of story material she has in the books like.....keeps me going back to them even just for her. Her conflict with Marco in the books in particular just has so much more depth than in the show....like, I don't hate the show's version at all, anyone who's seen my posts there knows that lol, and I'm not actually even sure which version I actually like more in terms of that particular storyline.....but I just love that both versions are so different, while still being recognizably the same, y'know? I don't even know. Nobody knows. Its a mystery. Just nod and say yes, shh, its fine.

7) Locke Lamora - from The Lies of Locke Lamora/The Gentleman Bastards series by Scott Lynch. This is an odd one for me, because in one sense Locke is a very contrived archetypal character from an author that doesn't always pull it off as successfully as I feel he thinks he does.....like, what I mean is Locke is inherently that type of character that is SUPPOSED to push buttons and straddle a line between likable and unlikable....and to be fair, that is VERY hard to pull off without at least some of the time falling on the wrong side of that line and alienating at least some readers. But there's something very genuine or sincere feeling about the character underneath all that, which is ironic for a character who is an acknowledged pathological liar and hardly ever tells the truth....like I said, its an odd one for me because I can't actually put my finger on what makes this particular character work for me when so many similar characters just bug the crap out of me.

8) Damien - from Black Sun Rising/The Coldfire trilogy by C. S. Friedman - This one is a whole fucking lie because I don't actually even like Damien that much lmao, but the thing is, I don't have a particular fondness for any of the characters in this series? But I gotta put it on the list anyway because I just love the world in this series so much, and its practically a character in and of itself. Like, so this was a science fantasy series set on a distant planet in the future but otherwise steeped in fantasy archetypes about spirit creatures that only Adepts could see, and like, Fae and life energy and sorcery that had roots in scientific principles but was otherworldly all the same. And that's like.....all literally my jam, and so I can't deny that this series was very formative for me even if its not the best example of those concepts. Its just the one I tend to go back to the most in my mind, like....the world and its characters are very standout and larger than life for me, even if they don't specifically APPEAL to me? They're impactful all the same. Its another odd one. I'm odd. You just kinda gotta roll with it. Its a thing. Its factual.

9) Yeine Darr - from The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N. K. Jemisin - This was a tough one because I love literally everything by Jemisin and all her characters are just so....ooof. They're very very real, even in the most fantastical of settings. I have mad characterization envy every time I read her stuff, but like. Its so good. So really the struggle was picking one character or even two, because I mean, The Fifth Season and its sequels are easily her best known works and have a ton of fantastic characters, and I think her Dreamblood duology is vastly overlooked but in the end I had to go with The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms even if just cuz of nostalgia. Its the first of her works and when I first started reading her and so its just.....anyway, if I was gonna go with that, it had to be Yeine, because she's so central to everything and also just....fantastic. Nahadoth and Sieh are also standout characters who get mentioned a lot in talk of this trilogy, and they're both such big personalities that at times they kinda overshadow Yeine, but Yeine has such a compelling.....undercurrent to her that she never actually gets lost in the shuffle even when surrounded by all these larger than life gods, and just. You love to see it. I do anyway. And its my list so nyah. But also if you're gonna read Jemisin, read everything Jemisin. It just makes sense, y'know? Good for the pores.

10) Cayal and Arkady - from The Immortal Prince/The Tide Lords by Jennifer Fallon - All the other Tide Lords can rot, but Cayal is hilarious in a depressing way. He's a ten thousand year old immortal whose greatest wish is just to die, which is how he meets Arkady who is a historian who just wants to like....know everything he knows once she realizes he actually is the figure of legend he professes to be and is so mad at him for not really giving a shit about all the weight of history he's been present for, but Cayal's just like, umm, I LIVED it so that's why I don't care, I'm allowed to not care, that shit hurt. Did you miss the part where one of the other Tide Lords threw a fucking meteor at me? And Arkady, distinctly unimpressed, is just like....I thought YOU did that, to Jasper. And Cayal's like, no that doesn't sound right. And Arkady's just like, you literally JUST told me that story. And Cayal's like, huh. I must have been lying. I do that sometimes. And Arkady's like, I thought you never lie, that's your whole thing? And Cayal's like, ahah, but what if THAT was a lie too? And Arkady's just like, bitch I hate you so goddamn much, how are you the worst of all the Immortals while still the only one who will actually talk to me and answer my questions. Cayal's like, we may never know.

Anyway, there's my list but like there's a lot more obviously because I'm me, I don't do moderation, its against my religion, but also I have to stop some time and the ask was for ten and those were the ten that popped into my head so they must be the right ones! Probably. Until I change my mind at least.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Skin-Walker/Nature Spirit Boyfriend: Daithi

Genderless reader x Male monster

Warning: mentions of bullying, blood and death of a character.

PART 2

Can’t Pretend

You had been six when you had first witnessed something called magic, or anything from an otherworldly order. 

Your village that you had been born and raised from was very aware of the myths and legends that fell amongst the land; where the ties between mortals and spirits crossed.

You had been a simple child, one easily picked on for you innocent looks, someone who could be pushed around and not tell a soul.

The other children were cruel and heartless, yet your poor beloved mother had thought otherwise and tried getting you to mix with them and befriend them.

You had been beaten and shoved into the river closeby where the younglings went to play, far away from any adult’s supervision. It was where you had first seen anything or anyone who was associated with sorcery.

Those around you whispered and danced along your skin when you felt the ridicule and laughter surround you, like demons tormenting your very soul. They had been so fascinated in bullying another one their age to not know of their own surroundings.

You had seen the bird first, a crow to be exact, land on a broken log close by to you, its obsidian wings fluttering once, then twice as they stilled, tucking away as its beady black eyes stared and watched the scene unfold.

One of the boys was first of the tormentors to spot the bird, mocking it first as it cawed quietly, stretching its wings as if to fly away, but remaining on the spot.

Their little minds had grown to drive the winged creature off and out the area, but you had been mildly surprised by how this small bird could have the bravery to stand its ground when small pebbles and sticks and abuse was thrown its way.

“Stupid bird, get out of here!” The same boy shouted in absolute badinage.

“Are you really sure about that?” Came a disembodied sing-song voice that carried itself around you all.

Everyone halted on their spots, rigid in fear of the voice that had caught them, the panic that had washed their skin clean with life and made them look like walking ghosts.

They scattered and ran from the clearing, leaving you there to defend for yourself as they ran back to the village. They didn’t care for you, but their parents would be annoyed by them not watching over you.

Your breathing came out ragged, as if you had just finished running a 5-mile run uphill, and there before you, as you turned to face the crow, to stare into its beady eyes, did you see something else.

When did crows have grey eyes?

The small winged creature, fluttered its wings to land just a couple of inches to you, staring up at you. “You’re not hurt?”

You blinked perplexed at the words, and the way any animal with a beak was able to annunciate words with not being able to properly pronounce certain words without having a human mouth.

“Y-Yes,” you breathed quietly, watching it vigilantly, not sure as to whether to call this intelligent animal an animal for it was able to speak your language.

The crow - who you could only assume was male from its voice - titled its head to look up at you, its small claws tapping restlessly against the pebbled stones of the bank. “Good, you best be leaving, before they find you again, and it doesn’t get too late.”

“Okay.” You didn’t know whether you had called it magic or the mind playing tricks on you, as when you had turned, the same little crow with its grey eyes were not there anymore, now replaced with the same black ones.

It cawed at you once, before fluttering its wings to take off, and drifting away with the use of no wind away from you.

By the time you had returned to your village, every child that had been there had been stories told by their parents, and none of them was believing it over the fact that they had heard a crow speak. The mind played tricks on the vulnerable, you had learnt on that harsh day, never forget it.

You had been thirteen when you had met the same little black crow once again, and this time, you had been lucky to of not been harassed nor bullied when you had been found.

You were sat by the riverbank, watching the stream as you threw pebbles and rocks to see if they floated or sunk. You had grown older and although seen in the eyes of your village as an adult, you didn’t feel like one.

Perhaps, your mind had aged, but you didn’t feel like an adult in the slightest. “Picking rocks alone, no-one to throw them at?” Your ears picked up on the oddly familiar voice as you dropped the one over your shoulder to thud into the ground behind you.

You could’ve been dreaming once again, or one of the other boys could’ve been tricking you into teasing you once more, it wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Who’s there?” Your voice carried itself over the air, shaking like the autumnal leaves that had fallen a few seasons ago. “You’re shaking like a leaf, little one.” It soothed you with a hint of whimsical mirth to his tone.

“Show yourself.” You Impatiently asked to the wind, and to that, it gave you the chance of seeing you once again.

That was when you saw it, the same black crow and its beady eyes, a little larger than the last time to make you believe it was a different one, but you were certain that it was the same brave little one when it had stood up against the children years ago.

 You sighed, a tut to resemble more of a sigh in frustration. “Just as I think, a little crow, not some hermit who lives in the woods.”

“Well, that’s not very nice, coming from you.” The same voice mused. You blinked, looking down to the crow as it stared up at you. Oh, it had been the same one from all those years ago.

“Hi,” You shyly said, watching its head tilt from side to side, and suddenly, its black eyes changing back to those grey ones.

“Hi, little one.” The crow approached with little offence taken his way at your words before, jumping onto a tree to look you properly in the eye. “What are you doing here?”

“Killing time, what else?” You quipped. “I like being out here. Do you too?”

“Well, for someone who lives here, I assume I have to.” A small breezed picked up behind the back of your neck, tickling your skin like a teasing friend or lover kissing his wife’s skin in adoration. Whatever it was, it felt confusing at best, odd in touch.

You squinted down at the bird for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Why did you save me that time before?”

“Younglings aren’t very nice when they’re with those their own age. I would know.” The crow contemplated. “They don’t like something they can’t understand.”

“Right, but that doesn’t answer my question, crow.” You observed its movements and behaviour carefully. “You're a bright soul, I could tell. It’s not the first time the trees have spotted a brave one in the lands.”

“A bright soul? And what do you mean the trees told you of me?” You were mildly left in bewilderment.

The crow if possible could’ve given you a smirk in knowing of what it was, with you not having a damn clue. “I’m a nature spirit, little one. I live in these lands protecting it from those who want to destroy it or harm anything. 

Your nose scrunched up as you snorted, “So, a swindler then?”

“You humans would call me that, but I would call it skin-changing.”

“How does it work? The fact that you can live out here?”

“I know every soul, every breath, every life and every death that takes place. I have been tied to this land longer than you have been around, before your village’s existence, or even before the foundation of man. I am eternal.”

“Very wise, but what are you? You seem to be a smart crow.” You mused. The crow cawed in the tone of any human you knew, but the cadence was off, and it was oddly uncomfortable to hear.

“This form isn’t my truest, but it helps me to blend in properly, to see the world where the world cannot see me.” The crow shifted on its legs. “Would you like to see?”

“I don’t know, what can you turn into?” You asked carefully. “I can turn into a form most familiar to yours if that makes you most sufficient.”

You agreed and watched the crow hop down from the rock and fly over the river to stand on the opposite side to you. You watched in scepticism at first, crossing your arms over your chest in bated breath.

The same wind picked up in the area where there was no true concept of it from how the leaves didn’t move along the trees. But the same leaves that already fallen grew and became rejuvenated once more as if just fallen in the season of autumn.

They were picked up by the wind, taking the form inside a mini-tornado, forming and surrounding the crow as if to sweep it up and take off with it. You were about to step in to see if the little thing needed saving when you watched at the transformation.

The tornado grew in size and so did miraculously the crow. They swirled and drifted in the air, and before you, ink-black feather morphed and changed into bare pale arms, hooked claws became feet with long legs.

His skin was porcelain, a lithe body forming as it emerged like a magic trick being performed in front of you. A human was now forming in front of your eyes, with his head and neck present to be human, the wings and many black feathers had formed to be made into his clothing, the unruly feathers becoming so trademark cape that tapered around his pale neck and shoulders. 

His skin was smooth, almost translucent like snow, the contrast between his pale skin and his sable hair was surprising and eyecatching, long his hair was and plaited, reaching down his waist in beautiful leafy ornaments and decorations, a crown of some sorts planted on top of his head to make him resemble a king of the forests; something of the many elf royalties you had heard of in your village.

From his gleaming white teeth, his straight nose, high cheekbones and visible Adam’s apple, nothing could tell you it was him until you saw his eyes. Those eyes, as beautiful as fog, mixed in with the wilderness.

He stood before you like a living God on this land, and you were merely a worshipper of his body. He was breathtakingly beautiful. “Well, how does it do?” He held his arms forth in confidence, awaiting your verdict.

You looked like a dying fish with your mouth opening and shutting and yet, now words forming. “You look... beautiful.”

His laughter and everything to him was beautiful, a melody played along with the winds as he fluttered almost on air towards you, closer than you had expected. “Hardly of the looks of some humans, but I have tried to pull the best one out the bag.”

You watched him with the fascination of a young child, too naive to know of the world of sorcery nor of this eternal being in front of you. It nonetheless, left you very charmed by him more and more.

You spent those days young with him every day, leant up against a tree as he told you of his old tales and his travels, of the people he met during his time and of how not much to do with humankind had changed greatly.

You were very surprised in grasping that he was older in ways you didn’t realise. He had you wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it in many ways.

“Will you be back again, little one?” He asked, your body leant into his shoulder as the sky was darkening, the day coming to an end.

“As long as I get to know your name?” You beamed curiously. He hummed in appreciation, his eyes looking you over, staring down at you. “ Didn’t your mother not tell you it’s rude to ask for another’s age much older than you?”

You couldn’t help but snort some laughter, rolling your eyes to him. “I’ll tell you my name if you want to know it?” You leant up towards his ear, whispering it closely your name, aware that you watched his eyes widen, his skin bring up shivers along his pale skin.

“That is a lovely name, dear. I shan’t leave you any longer in knowing mine. I guess it has been a while.” He leant up into your ear himself, so close, you could feel the raspiness of his voice, how rough his breathing was as he told you what it was:

“My name is Daithi.”

“Daithi. How quaint.” You hummed his name out softly, getting back up onto your feet after a pause of your introductions. “I best be leaving, Daithi. My mother will be most worried that I’m not home yet.”

“Yes, best be leaving, before you get those worried about you.” In a blink, he was stood before you, towering over you with the charm and ability to make you swoon quicker than you had realised.

He took your hand into his, the feel of the calloused feel he had on you was opposite to how gentle his hold was, his lips coming to press against you bare knuckles, a fluttering kiss to your skin to make you feel as if you had been brandished with an iron rod.

“Until next time, dear,” Daithi whispered your name in a farewell, taking off with a dramatic flutter of his feather-cape that had turned back it the form of crow wings, his form changing back into the bird as he flew off and into the void of the woods with a beat of his silent wings.

You had hurried to your village and when your mother had scolded you about your messy clothes, you had been too giddy in laughter and drunk love to realise it.

You had slept that night and many nights after thinking of your new friend, thinking about when it would be lovely to see him again.

The seasons had come and gone, and you had aged, time never slowed down for anyone; growing into the older person you were today.

You had always remembered Daithi from those years before, your memories vividly reminding you of what he looked like, and any time you had heard the flutter of wings fly past, your mind made you think of him and his wellbeing.

Your mother had arranged a marriage for you with one of the butcher’s boys, one of the same boys who had grown up bullying and abusing you; now a man as burly as a bull, and effectively to be your husband.

You had gone off to collect your thoughts once more in the woods where you had spent your childhood, thinking back to the days of youth when you hadn’t been so aware of the presence of time and your life on earth.

You had now been in your late twenties, now thinking back to the times when you weren’t as smart nor aware of anything; had you wished you could go back.

You stopped off at the middle of the clearing when you had spotted Daithi again, except, something had been off.

He was in his human form, lying in a bed of weeds with his back facing towards you. His feathers cape was shattered and torn down the middle, his pale back so stark white made you believe you were seeing a ghost for the first time. 

There was black and white and then there was red, lots of it... too much of it. You had thrown your things down before you, hurrying with all the speed left in you to get to him.

You crashed to his side, pulling him so you cradled his head into your lap, watching in horror. “Daithi...”

His eyes were bloodshot red, dried tears leaking down his already pale skin, making him look now like a walking corpse than a living being. His long black hair was dishevelled and unkempt as if he had rolled out of bed and hadn’t had time to brush it out.

When you had gone to touch his skin, you bit back a yelp from the touch, his skin so cold it almost felt hot to burn you.

His eyes were such a pale grey that you thought he was already dead, staring to nothing in particular, but soon looking slowly your way when he felt the presence of you beside him. 

He silently took hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly in his own.

He was afraid, and he knew something more than you did.

“What happened?” You felt the stiffness in your throat at your words, something bubbling inside you to make you want to cry or throw up. The sight of the blood was a horrid sight and seeing your friend on death’s door made you want to scream up at the sky.

“Poachers... they found me, slashed a-and shot at me.” He groaned, and you avoid touching his back at the feel of the blood seeping into your fingers like water flowing. It was not stopping.

You were trying to find the right words to not sound like you were nervously rambling. “I can get you to my village... I’ll heal you and you can stay as long as you need to properly heal-”

“No.” His voice cut you off sharply, gulping heavily as if drowning. “I cannot go there, they will kill me and you before t-they find out.”

“What can I do--- you’ll die out here!” You felt the tears forming in thick droplets down your face, and shaking hand coming to wipe them away. 

“My dear, I lived a-a very long time. I’m ready.”

“But Daithi--”

“Look at you, crying for me, I don’t want you to ruin your pretty skin for me. You go and l-live your life, go old and enjoy it all before it’s gone.”

You blubbered and cried for him, an old friend you didn’t know you had, but you knew there was nothing you could do that was to save him. If he wanted to go, he wanted to go.

“I wanted to at least save you, after all those years when you had done the very same for me.” You wept.

“But dear, you already did. You saved me from never knowing of true life, of knowing what it was like to love.” Daithi smiled up at you, his soft features cutting grim with a sharp pain from his wounds as he hissed in torture.

“I ask of one thing, my dear.”

“Anything.” You swept his messy locks out of his face, leaning down into him, chests together as you felt his heart race.

“A kiss, to feel you here one last time.”

You didn’t need to be told otherwise, leaning down, nose bumping as you pressed your lips to his quivering ones, a final gasp coming from his when you kissed him deeper.

You hadn’t felt him slip from you, his body was heavy on your lap, but you didn’t care, and when you had pulled back you had thought you would look down upon his smiling face and words of endearment; the ones to hear from someone in your life.

But nothing.

There was nothing as if he had never existed, to begin with. You were left there in a bed of weeds, a lone black feather the only thing to remember him by.

-

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[porcelainhands0717]

In Aeternum | Jungkook X Reader

TITLE: In Aeternum CHARACTER/S: Jungkook | Reader GENRE: fantasy | romance | hunter vs immortals (unspecified beings) WORD COUNT: 2,232 CHAPTER COUNT: 1/1 | one shot | drabble TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death/dying

Your luminous amber eyes were trained to the night sky, beholding the beauty of what was to be the last full moon you’ll see in your lengthy lifetime. It seemed trivial knowing that you would be able to see it whenever you wanted to, but times have changed as your predestined death approached. And what a beautiful thing it was, the moon, and the irony that you only ever appreciated it mere moments before you close your eyes for all eternity.

“I knew you’d come,” you spoke, your clear voice sending ripples of waves to echo back with a subtle ring that sliced through the silence you’ve been enduring for days. You didn’t have to turn around to know that you were no longer alone in your chambers. You knew exactly where he was standing without looking, just under the lintel of what was supposed to be a stone doorway. It was both a power and curse to have such heightened senses that you could almost touch the very essence of another being lurking close enough.

Your destined executioner’s life force was just too potent for you to miss. It was something you’ve always marveled at from the time he was born. You have known of everything, his fate and how it was intertwined with yours. The oracles have spoken. Your death shall come in his hands and no one else’s, and for someone who is so used to living, it was an affront, but so was your initial designs to end his life before he even knew of what he was to become.

You remembered standing over his wooden crib twenty three years prior, a dagger raised high above your head, ready to kill. But then, he opened his eyes, bright as they were dark, rendering you motionless and unable to carry out your plans. A smile etched its way across your mouth. You had it coming, too.

When he didn’t say anything, you took it upon you to break the silence. “You would not remember, but the first time we met was on a night like this,” you began. “A full moon on placid winter evening.”

“No. I met you at the edge of the woods on a spring day,” he contradicted, moving deeper into the room, his boot-clad feed hitting the hollow floor-boards with creaks and dull thuds until he was standing right beside you.

“Sometimes, I forget that you are fully aware of my nature.” You broke into a sorrowful grin whilst you turned you head to face him so that only half of your otherworldly countenance was illuminated by the moonlight, the rest hidden away in the pitch-black darkness of the chamber. “I have known those eyes since the day you were born, Jungkook.” Reaching out with your hand, you touched him on the cheek, your lithe fingers brushing ever ephemerally across his skin. “I know why you are here.”

He nodded, placing his larger hand over yours, slowly sliding your palm over his mouth to press butterfly kisses into your supple skin. Closing his eyes as if he was being physically assaulted by an unseen force, he pressed closer to your cool hand.

“I came that night with the same intention you have at present and more nights and days after that. I thought I can stop the Fates from having a hand in my destiny, yet I could not bear the thought of your blood being spilled.”

He opened his eyes. “You knew.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“I was born to kill you.”

“And I am ready.”

Jungkook shrank away from you, retreating into the darkness, eyes glistening with hurt and rage as he regarded you with those eyes, the same ones that shone brightly at the sight of you not too long ago. “You lied to me.”

You received the accusation in a resigned manner, merely looking away and returning your gaze back to the moon. There was no sense arguing your cause. Essentially, you did lie to him by not telling him the truth that you know.

“You made me think you were something else entirely. You befriended me, gained my trust. You protected me, taught me everything I know these past seasons, and for what, Y/N? You led me to believe we can be together!” he rasped in anger, his voice rising and engulfing the whole room and the woods that surrounded you.

His words were followed by a thud, causing you to look his way, and found him kneeling on the floor, agony written all over him.

“All this time, you knew what I was to you…” He raised his head and with blazing eyes, looking straight into yours. “Why didn’t you just kill me? Why did you have to be so good to me just so I could take your life away later?”

You fully faced him, dropping on the floor and cupping his face between your hands. “Jungkook, such is the will of the gods.”

“Then why did you make me love you?” Tears spilled from his eyes, staining his cheeks as he dug his fingers into the floor. “If you wanted me to kill you, why did you make me feel like this?”

You held his head against your chest, embracing him, feeling his warmth seep through you, letting his smell fill your lungs and letting him invade your senses. “In truth, the day we met in spring, I thought you were setting out on your mission only to find out that you knew nothing. At first, I only wanted to know whether my destined opponent was worth it, but you’ve proven to be more than that. I’d gladly die in your hands than anybody else’s.”

“No!” he protested as he wept against you.

“Jungkook, listen. If you don’t kill me today, one way or the other, you will. We are natural enemies after all. I’m an abomination in this realm because I violate the nature of life itself by being deathless because of dark sorcery, and you were born of the lineage that has sworn to obliterate my kind. If you do not do your duty, you will end up damned like I am.”

He looked at you sharply through his tears. “You are not damned.”

You smiled at him. “I’ve lived for eons. I do not fear death anymore. I will never hate you for being who you are even if you’re the one fated to end me.”

“It will not be by my hands, Y/N! I refuse. I do not care for the legacy of my forefathers or the pact they made sealed with blood. You have been good to me, you love me, I know that, too. It does not matter to me what my people would say, even if they disown me. I love you more than anything else in this world even if it means I burn in the depths of hell for it.”

You were taken aback by his words and you would shed tears if you could. Instead, you were just stunned into silence as you minced every single word he said, your mind lingering on his final statement and declaration of love for you that your resolve was being shaken. He took that chance to lean forward, seizing you by the chin and securing you against him by the back of your neck as he laid claim to your lips with his, molding his urgent mouth against yours which submitted to his will like the clouds to the wind. He kissed you with scorching fervency until the feeling was a burning brand in your very being, his taste a permanent sensation.

“I love you,” he said against your mouth.

You gazed into his eyes. “I will not allow you to do that for me.” You reached for the sacred dagger he brought with him for the purpose of ending your life and placed it in his hand. With eyes that have turned darker, you glowered at him, enraged that he would think of such things. You directed the blade towards your chest. “Do it, Jungkook. Kill me. Fulfill your purpose!”

He pulled it away from you, gripping your hands instead. “Didn’t you hear me just now?”

“You don’t know the consequence of what you’re saying!” you shouted at him, the physical force you were repressing manifesting in another form, making the whole chamber shake. “You will be like me, an eternity of wandering in this pointless existence while everyone else progresses towards their possibilities while I remain frozen in time. You do not want this.”

“I know I want to be with you.” As if to emphasize his words, he removed the silver ring that had been passed down through generations to the leaders of his people as a symbol of their purpose, throwing it somewhere in the room along with the dagger, reminding you of every mistake you did in your former life. “I denounce my claim as the heir to the throne of the Hunters.”

“No!” you screamed, but it was too late. Those were very simple words, did not even count as an incantation, but they held power. It did not even have to be a hallowed rule among them. Just the way he said it with all the conviction and absolute certainty was enough.

“It’s done. I’m all yours.”

You staggered back, trembling as he was suddenly engulfed with black smoke, moving like tentacles that wrapped around his limbs and his body, reaching around his neck and his head. All you could do was watch as the consequence of his actions took effect like it did with you all those centuries ago. You were powerless against it, and finally, you found something you could not protect Jungkook from. He wanted it and brought it upon himself.

History was repeating itself. You were the greatest of your kind, the Huntress, leader of the hunters, until you also relinquished your blood oath with the gods because you fell in love with one of the dark immortals you were meant to kill, the punishment for which was to be turned into their kind. You have remained the greatest enemy of the hunters, waging war after war against them until only a few were left of both of your kinds out of revenge after they have killed the man you have loved, all that, thinking you would never feel the same way again. That was until Jungkook came, making you realize just how much more you could give and feel for someone else, enough to let yourself perish in the process.

Unable to do anything else, you simply stood there, waiting for the effect to complete itself. You had no control over it and there was nothing you could do to change it. Such was your fate, and he made his so to be entwined with yours for all eternity.

There was a loud click and all the lights came on. “And that ends my presentation on the legends of the Hunters of the North,” you said, closing your laptop and smiling at your classmates.

“Excellent work as always, Y/N,” your professor complimented you, glancing at the clock above the board behind you. He stood up from his post on the stairs at the aisle of the amphitheater-type lecture room. “We’re out of time, but since that was the last report on the legends we are tackling, prepare for a quiz next meeting. Dismissed.”

Collective groans filled the room as you collected your things from the table, also leaving the room with the others once you were done. You spotted a familiar figure standing across the door, making you break into a giddy smile the moment your eyes met, but then, one of your female classmates approached you.

“Hey, Y/N, you did really well today!” she said as a way of congratulations. “I think yours is the best. You related the story as if you were there to witness it firsthand if that makes sense.” She chuckled. “Cause yeah, they’re legends, but damn, girl!”

You joined in on the laughter, exchanging glances with the person waiting for you. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She also took the hint and winked at you. “Anyway, I best not keep you from your Prince Charming.” She waved bye at you and left.

“If they only knew that you were the single female figure who made it into the legends of the Hunters,” a melodious voice said just loud enough for you to hear and when you looked, the owner of the voice was already standing close to you, eyes bright as they stared back into yours in pure adoration the way he always did for century after century now. “But she’s right. You did a great job today.”

You rolled your eyes and linked arms with him and prompted him to walk. “I told the story the way it should be,” you told him. “I knew you were listening.”

He chuckled at that. “How long has it been since then?”

“About a thousand and a half years now.”

“And you remember it like yesterday?”

You glanced at him with a withering look, feigning annoyance. “How can I not, Jungkook? You’re a constant reminder, really.”

“Tired of me yet?” he asked.

At that, you stood on your toes and planted a kiss on his cheek, smirking. “Not in a million years.”

-END-

Thank you for reading.

ctto (GIF)

[blackosprey]

kh3 stuff i did like i guess

tbh I think there’s more negatives than positives in my mind but let’s try to focus on the often neglected group. I’ll try to keep it as sincere and unironic as possible.

- The graphics. Ironically that was the thing that a lot of people including myself were worried about. 0.2 was essentially 3′s tech demo and looked kind of janky, and downright plastic in early trailer releases. KH3 trailers had characters looking kind of off. idk what sorcery they used but they got their act together in time for the release. 

The environments are pretty spectacular for the most part. It’s a massive leap forward from the PS2 esque visuals we’ve been using since day one. All the characters look great too, there’s not really any I can remember that didn’t look quite right.

- Tho I can’t get into the song, the OP looks beautiful. Part of it that shows everyone’s shit getting rocked also synchs perfectly to “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” so that was fuckin hilarious

- On that similar vein, the Pirates world?? I’m not too fond of all its minigame battles but oh my god it looks beautiful. The photorealistic characters in the world look *right*, and SDG’s designs are fantastic and blend in so much better than anyone ever did in any photorealistic world before. 

- Monsters Inc world probs had one of the better integrations of a KH villain with the world’s local quirks. A being that is made of, eats, and makes monsters out of negativity, in a world formerly powered by the screams of terrified children? Makes perfect sense. Best original story in the disneyworlds by far. Also YEETUS VANITAS. 

- The idea to include Remy from Ratatouille was cute and pretty neat. I didn’t personally end up using the mechanic much but it’s a cute way to integrate a movie that I don’t think would have translated well as a world. It’s also a nice touch that Remy is called “Little Chef” and never speaks since he was never shown to speak to humans. The food also makes me HUNGRYYYY

- While I’m not a fan of the Toy Story world, watching Woody do the “oh you’re approaching me” walk up to a bishie anime villain to tell him he’s an unlovable lil bitch was an otherworldly experience

- They put some degree of effort into th characters’ reactions to getting their photo taken which is nice. They didn’t have to do that.

- The opening sequence was a nice bunch of callbacks that didn’t feel too much like nostalgia pandering.

- Got a big scary snow golem as a party member

- The Frozen world’s wolf boss was probably one of the most badass heartless fights ever and was almost enough to get me to like that world

- I think Sora was less stupid than in KH2 and DDD and definitely was a lot less annoying since he had D and G to bounce off on. The banter and dialogue, while still often stiff and awkward, wasn’t as bad as it usually is. 

- Cutscenes are a lot more technically impressive. There’s actual cinematography going on, some variation in what you’re seeing than the most basics of basic. Generally, no more fish face. 

- Donald’s a good healer now

-  I like everything about Rage Mode. Visually it’s a callback to Antiform, it’s all  bloodreds and blacks with a frenzy that lives up to its name. Mechanically it’s a free heal, and while you have to cut HP to deal more damage, your party members are generally capable of healing you up and mitigating the risk completely. Storywise, it’s implied this is smth Sora can do in moments of desperation and pain (it tends to pop up when you take a nasty hit), and that concept has lead to a LOT of juicy fan content

- ngl as annoying as being forced into rage mode was in the final boss fight, it lead to this visual that’s stuck in my mind since i saw it

Which is like, holy shitfuck, that is so scary but so cool. Not even Ansem the muthafuckin’ Seeker of Darkness managed to get that amount of unbridled eldritch darkness tentacles pouring out of him.

- The Part Where Everyone Died and The Part Where We Actively Retconned It were both done... in ways I take issue with, but both’s existences also gave rise to juicy fanworks, yay!

- I liked the upgradable weapons and the fact you could actively swap between them in battle

- The Final World was pretty cool tho I kind of wish there was more emotional weight and urgency to the situation

- Though I’m pretty sure the story part of the upcoming DLC was cut content either for time constraint reasons, or to just make more money off a purposefully incomplete product, it does seem like Nomura and co. are making some effort to respond to fans’ criticisms, issues, and requests. 

[dartagnantt]

Calls of the Grave | Some weird and useful necromancy spells

PDFs of this and more can be found over on at my Patreon here! My Kickstarter is live! Support it and get rad new lycanthropes!

I would have used the "spelling dead" but that one already exists! Anyway, I decided I would do some undead targeting spells, or just dead targeting in some senses of the word. Good day to be a cleric wizard or warlock, it seems.

Animate Corpse

This is an elder scrolls styled scaling reanimation spell. One target, and short time, to give you full access to the corpse's abilities at a low level. I thought it was neat. I highly suspect that the durations aren't worth the 6th level+ spell slots, but you generally get diminishing returns on scaling spells.

Corpse Explosion

This one is diablo inspired, which I did something similar in my rot druid. But that was more accelerating a natural process, where as this is just shoving necromancy into something until it explodes.

Death Knell

Ironically, this is a cantrip with a similar etymological root as toll the dead, but toll the dead's gimmick is weird AKA "The first hit sucks, afterwards this is the strongest cantrip in the game" So instead, I decided that the mark of death from the death knell more strongly affects those who should already be dead. Works well with last week's necromancer who ignores the resistance or immunity undead have to the damage type, which is admittedly not as common as you'd think.

Knit Flesh

An undead cure wounds. I often use this for my undead boss characters so they can heal themselves, but it's handy for any necromancer… kinda. 3rd level so a 17th level wizard can't just heal their zombies for free

Restless Dead

An interesting concept. A damaging reaction cantrip, but with a rather limited trigger. The intent is to have revenge for having your friends die, but I'm sure someone can find a weird use for it. The bonus here is the virtually completely unresisted damage type.

And now to plug my stuff. I release homebrews weekly over on my Patreon. Anyone who pledges $1 or more per post don't have to wait a month to see them, and also help fund my being alive habit.

At the moment, they have exclusive access to the following:

Otherworldly Patron: The Absolute

Martial Archetype: Knight of the Fallen Oak

Words of Power

Maelstrom Hammer

I also have three classes, and a splatbook over on DriveThrueRPG to check out:

The Rift Binder. A class specialising in summoning monsters and controlling the battlefield.

The Witch Knight. A class that combines swords and sorcery in the most literal way.

The Werebeast. A class that turns you into a half beast to destroy your foes.

d'Artagnan's Adventurer Almanac. A compendium of races, subclasses, feats, spells, monsters and more!

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; a Witchlands AU

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children's Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, minor Ryber/Kullen (and more... stay tuned!)

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

chapter 1

811.34 Courrier

811.34 Gaines

811.34 Vasiliev

Iseult reached for another book from the cart.  She ran a pale finger along its spine, noting the title vaguely, before settling on the call number at its base.

813.01 Balthazar

Her gaze lifted to the long line of books shelved in front of her, scanning for one in particular, before bending low and craning her neck to read the next row underneath. A twinge of discomfort radiated through her neck protesting the awkward angle, but she stayed hunched over, reading the call numbers until she found what she was looking for.

813 Allein

813.2 Husmond

Ah. She slipped Balthazar’s book neatly between the two titles, then drew herself up with a tired slowness. Stifling a sigh, she rolled her shoulders and let her head loll back before rotating it from side to side. Standing upright was decidedly more comfortable than the 90 degree angle she’d bent in and out of all throughout the day, but no amount of stretching seemed to ease the ache in her neck and back. An unavoidable caveat of working at the Venaza City Library.

Five months ago when she’d taken the job, Iseult det Midenzi had not considered the physical toll books could have on a person. Sure, she had read Eridysi’s Lament enough times to know books could break your heart worse than any one person could. But books existed to exercise the mind. The most Iseult had exerted herself for a book was forcing herself to stay awake long enough to read just one more chapter a dozen or so times before resigning herself to being a filthy liar. And that was admittedly more a testament to her mental willpower than any physical endurance she may have possessed. Besides, the price she paid for a sleepless night was well worth the reward. It certainly didn’t leave her physically disabled.

Yet here she was, 22 and condemned to live in the body of a 90-year-old woman. All because she shelved books for a living.

Safi told her she’d have the ass of a model by the time she quit, what with all the squatting. Iseult had yet to notice any improvements. (Not that she was checking, of course.)

Maybe it really was time to go back to the gym, she thought as she massaged the painful knot at the base of her neck. Finally start going to yoga again like her best friend had been nagging her to do every Saturday morning since school term had started. A year ago it would have been Iseult dragging Safi out of bed at 7 A.M., succeeding only by using the one means of bribery she possessed: the promise of a double chocolate double whip hazelnut macchiato from the campus coffee cart, followed by a hash brown heist from the dining hall. Nothing quite curbed a sugar rush more than an adrenaline rush and some grease.

Iseult dropped her hand. The spot on her neck faded into a dull throb at the thought of her and Safi running from the dining hall, pockets stuffed with hash browns wrapped in napkins and a breakfast sandwich fisted in each hand, while cafeteria staff shouted after them as they escaped with their spoils.

No. She hadn’t stepped foot on campus since she dropped out. She wasn’t about to now. And not just because she and Safi now had copies of their student I.D. photos posted on the community board in the dining hall asking students to keep an eye out for the notorious thieves.

Drop out. There wasn’t an aspect of her life that didn’t seem to revolve around those two words. She could hear Safi scolding her.

“Don’t say that! ‘Drop out’,” she'd said one evening while they closed up her uncles’ coffee shop shortly after Iseult had made the decision. “You didn’t drop out of anything. You made a graceful exit. To do something more noble than any of those old toads sitting cushy in the administration have likely ever done, might I add! They should consider themselves lucky that you’ll even be coming back!”

Iseult fingered through the books on her cart. Well. That had been back in September. It was now January, the first week of second semester had just wrapped up and Safi had changed tactics.  Instead, she ranted about how the collegiate system was the world’s biggest scam, squeezing their generation of every last drop of money and happiness they had, and that she should drop out too just to have the satisfaction in giving Dean Henrick a big FUCK YOU. It was a touching offer, though, not exactly the most ambitious plot for revenge. Safi was running on a free ride. Henrick’s deep pockets wouldn’t be any lighter if she left. He’d still be sitting pretty on the proverbial throne.

“Iseult.”

Iseult looked up to see Evrane gliding down the aisle towards her, thoughts of school and Safi interrupted. As always she was impeccably dressed, from the silver dangling from her ears all the way down to the perfectly polished stilettos she wore. Her long white hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, leaving her bronze face bare, radiant even under the library’s miserable lighting - a feat aided by sorcery, Iseult could only assume. It was a wonder what patrons must think of her roaming the halls, what with her pale moon skin and midnight hair. She looked more like the ghost that was rumored to haunt the library tower.

But Evrane wasn’t the library’s director for her otherworldly cheekbones or dazzling emerald eyes. She was also the sharpest person Iseult had ever met and someone she couldn’t believe she had the privilege of calling a mentor.

Iseult hastily tugged off her earbuds. “Hi Evrane.” Her voice cracked; sshe cringed inwardly. She hadn’t spoken a word to anyone during her 8 hour shift. Evrane didn’t seem to notice.

“How are you, dear?” Evrane asked. She nodded to Iseult’s cart of books. “Tackling the nonfiction, I see.”

“Good,” Iseult replied, this time willing her voice to sound normal. “I’m almost done with the nonfiction, and then I have some books I need to bring down to Children’s. I think someone may have mixed up the carts. My shift ends soon, but I could stick around to shelve them. There aren’t too many but...” She trailed off watching Evrane shake her head, as though amused.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, then adding, “Pleased as I am with your progress, I was actually wondering how you were doing… How was your trip home?”

Iseult stared blank-face at Evrane. She should have expected this. Evrane had taken to Iseult from the moment they’d met, always seeking her out between bookshelves, pulling her aside to talk about the latest book Iseult was reading or simply inviting her back to her office to join her for tea. Secretly, Iseult was pleased. To have a woman like Evrane be genuinely interested in what Iseult had to say… well.  It was more than she could have dared to hope for.

Which was exactly why couldn’t help asking herself, why?

Iseult never did come up with an explanation for why Evrane hired her in the first place. She could only assume the woman had done it out of pity. Her resume had been woefully thin to the point of being downright pathetic with only her part-time barista gig at Mathew and Habim’s coffee shop to her name. She had no other achievements. No special skills. And of course, now, no academic prospects to boast. Iseult had nothing to offer.

And yet... here Evrane was asking the one question Iseult wished she wouldn’t.

Home was the same as always. Saldonica never changed. It was still the grimy, cut-throat city it had always been, with its streets teeming with crime and illegal trade. That was the accepted way of life there. But it didn’t phase Iseult. She never really considered it home anyway. She hadn’t grown up there. There was only one thing, one person, who made Saldonica home.

Her mother. The true subject of Evrane’s inquiry.

So how was she?

Sick. Very sick. And showing little improvement. Though, she’d probably be worse if not for Alma caring for her day and night. If not for the money Iseult sent home each week to ensure she was getting the medication she needed. If not for her mother’s damned stubbornness to shirk life’s more unsavory aspects and persist in the face of uncertain fate. That in itself was likely aiding Gretchya more than Iseult and Alma’s contributions combined.

“Fine,” Iseult said, expression unchanging. It was automatic. Succinct. Gretchya would have approved.

Evrane merely hummed, bowing her head slowly. As though Iseult’s meager reply required deep and philosophical deliberation. “You know,” she continued after a moment, “I know this,” her eyes panned the bookshelves on either side of them, “wasn’t exactly where you expected to be by now. I am sorry your plans to return to school didn’t work out as you had hoped, Iseult… but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’m happy to have you with us for a little longer.” Evrane raised a hand to Iseult’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze, a gesture that should have been comforting, yet only turned Iseult to stone. “If there’s anything I can do to help, my door is always open.”

Iseult tried to nod. Swallowing suddenly became painful. Speech, impossible. Mercifully, Evrane let go of her arm and changed the subject.

“Now tell me, where is that cart you were talking about?”

“O-oh you d-don’t have to -” Iseult stammered. She immediately snapped her mouth shut. Hell-gates, did she have to stutter like that now?  In front of Evrane!

The woman seemed to take no notice and simply waved a hand. “I am the director of this institution, am I not? I think I am more than capable of handling a couple books.”

“By circulation,” Iseult forced out. Evrane gave her an appreciative smile, then walked away, her silver circlets tinkling prettily in the quiet of the library.

For a moment, Iseult simply stood there, staring down the aisle where Evrane had left. Eventually, she untangled her earbuds and popped them back in. She opened Spotify on her phone and swiped through the playlist she’d been listening to before Evrane showed up. However, after a few minutes of mindless scrolling, stuffed her phone into her back pocket, abandoning her search. Silence filled her ears.

Iseult grabbed a random book off her cart. She read its cover, though not really taking in the the words, and when she went to find its place on the shelf, it was as though she had not read it at all. This happened with every book she picked up over the next ten minutes, and when she finally forgot the author of The Autonomy of Dalmotti - a book she had personally read at least five times - she finally gave up.

Frustration prickled the back of her throat. Gripping the book tight, she leaned her forehead against the oak bookcase. The smell of old paper filled her nose as she let her eyes to sink shut, breathing in the musty air through her nose. What she would give to fall head-first into a book right now...

Stasis, she told herself. Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.

Gretchya sick.

Stasis.

Evrane. Broken words. Broken.

Stasis.

Drop out. Drop. Out. Drop. Out.

Stasis. Stasis. Stasis.

Over and over again Iseult silently whispered this to herself, until a familiar calm resettled in her chest, until every last thread of emotion was pulled tight. Nothing out of place. She took several more slow, deliberate breaths for good measure, then, she opened eyes.

That’s when she saw them.

Through the narrow opening between shelves, Iseult spied Evrane standing by the circulation desk. But it was who she was speaking with that caught Iseult’s attention.

It hadn’t taken Iseult long to familiarize herself with the people who passed through when she began working at the library. Though Venaza City was largely populated, the library had its regulars, and even those who visited only once in awhile had become catalogued in Iseult’s memory like the books she shelved. In fact, on more than one occasion, she found herself recognizing patrons outside of work - an oddly unpleasant experience. She already spent enough time dodging former college peers whenever she ventured out into the city. They now had competition.

That being said, Iseult knew nearly everyone who came to the library. Except for this man talking to her mentor.

Even from behind, there was something striking about him. He towered over Evrane, his imposing figure standing impossibly still in dark form-fitting jeans and a muddy burgundy leather jacket. Iseult wished he’d turn around so she could see his face. Regardless, two features immediately stood out. Or rather, accessories.

First, a blue, opal earring in his left ear. And second, the child held in his arms.

These two things seemed to clash together in Iseult’s mind. The girl, she guessed, was no more than five. A mop of dark hair obscured most of her face with only a red, chubby cheek visible resting on the man’s shoulder. As for the earring, Iseult wasn’t old-fashioned enough to believe men couldn’t wear jewelry. In fact, depending on the piercing’s style and placement, she found them rather appealing. However, the more closely Iseult looked at the gemstone, the more it called out to her as some sort of statement - and not one of the fashion variety. It lent little to the rest of his dark ensemble and stuck out like a sore thumb. It was too ornate. Too deliberate. Something worn out of habit.

Iseult inched forward, bracing a hand along the edge of the shelf as she watched from her hiding place amongst the books. She knew she was teetering on the edge of polite observation and straight-up creeping, but she was too curious to care. Evrane stood close to the young man, too close for him to be an ordinary patron. And there was something in the way that she looked at him that gave her the impression that she wasn’t simply giving him a book recommendation. Even through the warmth Iseult was so familiar with in her expression, she couldn’t miss the urgency in her eyes. Her lips were moving carefully, and she imagined the melodic gentleness of her voice, the same voice that had spoken to her only moments ago. Soft words only meant for him.

As if on cue, Evrane reached for his arm.

Iseult immediately noticed the mystery man’s shoulders stiffen. It was the first indication of life she’d seen from him during the entire encounter. A pulse ticked in his jaw, the only sliver of his pale face she could see. Evrane had stopped talking, but kept her hand on his arm, her thumb gliding back and forth, and appeared to be listening attentively to the man’s response. But as the seconds dragged on, her eyes - never wavering from his - glimmered with a touch of something new. Sadness, perhaps. Her expression dimmed, and eventually the hand holding his arm stopped moving and returned to her side.

Iseult’s nose was practically brushing the books blocking her from view now. Who was this guy? Evrane had never spoken of family or a significant other. On one occasion, she had mentioned a nephew - something about how he’d just returned home after studying abroad. But other than that, no one else. This couldn’t be him, could it? He had a child with him. A child who - Iseult suddenly realized with a jolt of horror - was staring right at her.

“What are you doing lurking in the shadows?”

The Autonomy of Dalmotti dropped to the floor with a rustle of paper and a soft thump as she whirled around. How her best friend had managed to sneak up on her in the dead silence of the library without her hearing, Iseult didn’t know, but the self-satisfied look Safi was pinning her with made her curse the Moon Mother for turning her momentarily deaf.

“If by lurking you mean shelving books,” Iseult replied smoothly, kneeling down to pick up the fallen book as though nothing had happened, “I’m working. It’s kind of in my job description.”

Safi cocked her head to the side, eyebrow arched. “Is spying on hot guys in your job description? Can’t see his face, but the view from behind is certainly enough to go on.”

Iseult felt a rush of unwanted heat flood her cheeks, but aside from that, her face betrayed nothing. Yes, she had been spying. But not in the way Safi thought, and the idea that she had been caught not only by her best friend, but by that strange little girl made her want to tear every book from the shelf and bury herself underneath them.

“What?” Safi persisted innocently as Iseult turned her back to her. She slipped The Autonomy of Dalmotti between two volumes, not particularly caring whether or not that was where it belonged so long as she didn’t have to see the infuriating smirk on Safi’s face. “I don’t blame you. You can’t be expected to stare at dusty, old books all day - no matter how much you love them.”

“Wanna bet?” Iseult muttered. For all her love of the library, she had thought she’d be back in school by now, trading in its dusty, old books for overpriced textbooks.

“I’d love to. Tonight, in fact. At The Cleaved Man.”

“I - ” Iseult began, but Safi’s hand slashed through the air cutting her off and she pointed a finger in Iseult’s face.

“Don’t say you can’t! I’ve barely seen you all week!”

“As if that’s my fault,” Iseult countered, grabbing another book and the opportunity to turn the tables. The last thing she wanted to do right now was spend the night in an overcrowded bar. “Where were you last night? You never came home.”

Safi picked up a book from Iseult’s cart and examined its cover. “Polly’s.”

Iseult paused mid-shelving. “Leopold’s?”

“Mhm.” Safi opened the book, casually flipping through its pages.  Silence stretched.  She looked up. “What?”

“I thought you weren’t going to see him again,” Iseult said, watching her friend carefully.

Safi lowered the book and frowned in confusion. “Not see him? What are you - ?” But as soon as the unfinished question left her mouth, Iseult saw the life in her eyes freeze for half a heartbeat, and comprehension slowly dawned on Safi’s face. A second later, her expression hardened. “Hell-gates, Iz! I didn’t mean him.”

Him. Or as he was known as in their apartment, the Chiseled Cheater. To the rest of the world, he was simply Caden. Handsome, strong-jawed, infuriatingly charming Caden.

Safi gave Iseult a disparaging look before snapping shut her own book and stuffing it onto a shelf where - Iseult noted - it should not be. Now wasn’t a good time to be pointing out mistakes. The hard line of her pursed lips may have grown taut like she was fighting to feign indifference, but Iseult knew when her best friend was hurt. And this time, it was her fault. Safi crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“Like I’d ever,” Safi huffed, tossing her unruly sun-streaked hair over her shoulder, looking anywhere but Iseult. She let out a strained laugh and shook her head as though the thought of her and Caden together was ludicrous - though, it didn’t stop a tinge of pink blossoming across her cheeks. “Spend the night with him. Honestly, Iz. You know we’ve never - I’ve never -”

Pink turned to a vibrant red as she struggled for words before making a disgruntled noise and giving up.

“Sorry,” Iseult murmured, her expression void of all emotion. “I was just worried.”

Safi finally met Iseult’s gaze. The silence of the library was deafening. Then, she shook her head. “It’s fine,” she relented, and Iseult was relieved to hear sincerity in the statement that was universally known to mean the opposite. “I don’t blame you. I mean... he is Polly’s roommate and it’s me so…” Safi’s eyes darted away self-consciously and she took a fortifying breath, arms unwinding from her chest and hands bracing themselves on her hips. When she spoke next, there was no question as to whether or not they were moving on from the subject of the Chiseled Cheater. “By the time we got out of Two Left Feet and grabbed dinner, it was so late that I just ended up crashing at his place.”

“Two Left Feet?” Iseult repeated.  

“Modern dance," Safi replied, as though this was the most ordinary explanation in the world.

“Oh.” Iseult wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I didn’t know we had a modern dance company.” Or that Safi was interested in modern dance. “Um, how was it?”

“If that’s what modern dance is, then I’m not sure what I’ve been doing at the club all these years.”

“Two Left Feet.” Iseult paused. Her mouth twitched. “Seems like a counterintuitive name.”

“Ohh no trust me, they hit the mark on that one.”

Any hint of a smile left Iseult’s face. “Please tell me you didn’t heckle them.”

Safi’s hand flew to chest and she gasped. “Heckle? Us? Two purebred members of high society like ourselves? You insult me.”

“Don’t scoff. Last year you two almost single-handedly disassembled Pobody’s Nerfect.”

Safi shrugged half-heartedly. “It was an improv show. It’s supposed to be interactive.”

“You made that freshmen kid cry! I could have sworn I overheard him talking about transferring as we were leaving.”

“Audience participation was encouraged!” argued Safi. “Besides, the fact that we even went to their little dance performance was generous enough. You think I wanted to spend the first Thursday night of the semester watching people roll around on the floor trying to sell it to me as art?”

“Then why did you?”

“We were expanding our horizons?” Iseult rolled her eyes and turned back to her books as Safi laughed. “I don’t know. We were walking around campus after class and saw the sign and I was like, “Well, I have nothing else to do” so -” She stopped suddenly, as though a thought had just thought of something. “Should I have texted you? It didn’t even occur to me that you’d want to go to something like that.”

The concern in the question made Iseult pause… which irked her. The concern or the pause, she couldn’t tell which. Maybe because if she had been on campus with her and Leopold, there wouldn’t be a question of whether she’d have gone. Safi would have dragged her in there whether she liked it or not, and Iseult would have gone along with whatever Safi wanted to do as she always did - good idea or not. Modern dance would have been decidedly not. That never stopped Safi, though. Or Iseult.

“No,” Iseult simply answered.

Safi nodded, and though it was almost imperceptible, Iseult saw her lips purse, like she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Next time,” she only promised.

“There’s going to be a next time?”

“You never know.” Safi’s sea-blue eyes flashed mischievously. “Come on, I’ll show you a couple moves I learned at the Cleaved Man.” She gyrated her hips for emphasis, causing Iseult to look away embarrassed on her behalf. This only prompted Safi to bump Iseult’s hip with her own.

“Saf, I wasn’t kidding before,” Iseult insisted, stumbling over her feet as Safi went in for a second, more forceful hip check. “I really can’t -”

“Hey, you owe me after that comment about Chiseled Cheater!”

“30 seconds ago you were saying that I was right!” Really, the grudges this girl could hold. Iseult almost felt sorry for Caden.

Safi heaved a wistful sigh. “You know, if I could come keep you company at work, I would.”

“I’d never get anything done,” Iseult said, gesturing the pile of untouched books on the cart between them.

“Right. As if I’m the one distracting you, you little stalker.”

“I wasn’t -” Iseult began to protest, but Safi was already backing away down the aisle, doing what had to be the world’s worst attempt at the moonwalk.

“I’ll be warming up the car!” Safi whisper hissed, rattling her car keys in the air for emphasis. When she reached the end of the aisle, she spun around on the spot theatrically, and then she was gone.

Iseult shook her head after her ridiculous, wonderful best friend, then peered down at the pile of books in her cart. An hour ago she had been daydreaming of ordering the Arithuanian take-out that Safi never wanted to get and hunker down with one of her all-time favorite books, The Raider King. She’d be in bed by 9 and asleep by 9:15.

So much for that.

It was ironic, really. Safi could rant all she wanted about the injustices of the modern day collegiate system, but no amount of theoretical scheming to take down the patriarchy would change the fact that Iseult missed college.

She missed waking up every day and knowing where she was going and what she was doing. She missed her textbooks. She missed late night cram sessions at the university library with Safi and getting nothing done, aside from gaining 15 pounds from vending machine snacks. She missed misty morning walks to her 8 A.M. seminar. She missed the notes Leopold would pass her during Professor Rosa's soul-killing lectures. Heck, she missed her lectures.

And of course, she missed the dining hall hash browns.

So naturally - naturally - the only thing she didn’t miss about college was the one thing she couldn’t escape.

The college bar scene.

Iseult hadn’t taken Safi seriously when she announced one day just before summer break that she would be getting her bartender license. It seemed to be the thing every college student said the second after they turned 21. For Safi to voluntarily subject herself to 40 hours worth of training courses was enough to give Iseult doubt. However, unlike the rest of those drunk idiots, Safi was true to her word, and in no time, she started bartending at Venaza City’s most popular college bar, the Cleaved Man.

Moon Mother, kill me now, Iseult prayed as she pushed her book cart down the aisle. Its rickety wheels squeaked horridly in the cavernous hall. She cringed inwardly knowing that the second she turned the corner, all eyes would be narrowed on her, silently shaming her for disturbing the peace. Halfway down, though, she hesitated. The wheels grinded to a halt.

Ignoring the sick embarrassment bubbling in her stomach at what she was about to do, Iseult cast a look over her shoulder to make sure Safi was truly gone. Then, she leaned forward and peered between the stacks of books.

The mystery man and his little companion were gone.

[eternityunicorn]

Elijah’s Eternity Part Three

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Fantasy/AU

Warnings: Violence, Language, Possible Smut 

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Summary: Elijah Mikaelson didn’t know what to expect when he encountered the strange archer in the night, but he certainly didn’t think his whole world would be turned upside down by it. Yet, he quickly learns that she is more than what she seems, having come looking for an Original after a large spike in supernatural being populations started cropping up on Earth a thousand years ago. Now, he must help her decide if the supernatural community should stay on their home planet or leave it for good? A task that is made more complicated along the way, as his life is changed forever.

NOTE: OC is the main character from my upcoming book. There will also be elements from my book too. So, it's a fanfic with original elements.

———————————————————————————————————

From the moment she disappeared into the night like a phantom, he thought of her. He couldn’t stop himself. She was always there in his thoughts, as if she were a long lost lover he was pining for.  It was strange, this sudden obsession of the mind, especially since it was only one meeting. He couldn’t help but to wonder what sorcery had been cast upon him to be this way. Yet, Elijah didn’t believe that it was any type of magic that caused it.

“They all do that. React that was to me, I mean”

He thought about his initial reaction to her and those of the diner patrons, summing it up to a natural phenomenon; a byproduct of her presence or lack thereof. Perhaps the knowing of her caused an obsessiveness, making those that had the honor of meeting her unable to forget her, unable not to think about her constantly afterwards. 

Or maybe he was just falling in love with her. Elijah laughed at the ridiculousness of that. Nobody fell in love with someone they just met, not even a godlike figure. 

Even so, Eternity was something remarkable, a being unlike any other that he or anyone else on Earth had ever encountered. Anyone would feel obsessive over such an otherworldly meeting - a once in a lifetime sort of thing. Hell, some humans were like that in regard to him and his kind. He supposed there was something about those greater that yourself that caused the phenomenon of unforgettableness. Elijah now understood those humans better, related to them in a way he couldn’t before. 

Then there was his curiousness about his own connection to the story she had told him. Ten thousand years ago, there had been all kinds of myths and legends living on Earth, and they were different than the supernatural community that existed now. Yet, they were gone, existing elsewhere. What did that have to do with him and the community? What was the connection? 

“There was a being named Ceres....She split the one universe into two; the Mortal Universe and the Immortal Universe.”

To split a universe into two had to have taken incredible power - the power of a god. Yet, Eternity swore that she was not one, that none of the beings like her were. Despite the denial, he couldn’t help but think that way - that Ceres was some sort of goddess. That Eternity was one too. Though he didn’t know the extent of her abilities. Could she split the universe and transport millions to different worlds? Maybe. What did he know?

He spent the day thinking about all this, waiting for the evening to come around. Eternity had sent him a telepathic message during the day, telling him the specifics of their next meeting, since she had forgotten in her haste to leave last night. It had caught him off guard, but it certainly wasn’t the first time he had a message delivered to him that way. Some witches could send messages that way, but it took a lot of energy. And given Eternity’s otherworldliness, he wasn’t surprised that she had the ability.

Eternity told him to be at the diner at six. The time the message had been delivered had been eight in the morning. Therefore, Elijah had the day to think and obsess, in a way he had never thought or obsessed before. It was maddening and it made time move slower. 

He was grateful when the time finally came to meet with Eternity again. Hopefully, he could get some answers, as to his relation to her story - and more about her. 

The old manor that Elijah had been staying in was just down the road from the diner, so he walked the short distance to the place with brisk steps. It was mid summer and so the sun hadn’t set yet. Most vampires couldn’t be out in the open because of the daylight, but he wasn’t one of them. A daylight ring kept him from burning up. 

He had the brief wondering of whether or not there were other types of vampires, ones that lived amongst the other immortals Eternity spoke on. Furthermore, just how many myth and legends of Earth were real? He supposed he was going to have to ask her when she came to meet him. 

Elijah entered the diner without gaining as much of the attention he had gotten last night from the many more patrons currently there. A few looked up from their meals or conversations, gazing at him curiously or oddly. It was most likely he was an elegant man in an expensive three piece suit. He was certainly out of place, just as he had been last night. 

Yet, he paid no attention to any of them. Just as it was last night, it wasn’t the first time he had gone to a place he was out of place at. In fact, he had gone to worse places than an old diner in desperate need of refurbishing in his dealings with others, mostly vampires or witches who sought favors of him or whom he had manipulated into serving him. 

The booth that he had sat down in with Eternity last night was free. He went to it, sitting down in the same place he had, so that he could watch the door for the white-haired beauty. A different waitress, a young woman with short red hair and bright green eyes, came over to offer him something to drink. He ordered coffee from her, and then, proceeded to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Hours passed by, until the sun had begun to set and the diner began to empty out. The red headed waitress had been by to refill his coffee cup many times, asking him if he wanted something else, specifically something to eat. He declined with cool anger. Though anger not at the young woman. He felt like a fool, sitting there for hours waiting, watching the pathetic looks from the humans around him. 

Then there was the hunger. He needed to feed. 

Disappointed and angered, Elijah decided enough was enough and got up to leave. He moved toward the front of the diner, the hunger getting to him as he went. He could hear the heart beats around him, smell the blood that pumped through their veins. He made the quick decision to feed now. 

There was a young woman sitting alone at the bar top. She was undoubtedly waiting for a friend or her partner. A perfect target, especially since the diner had thinned out of people. Nobody would suspect. He’d simply compel her to let him feed and then compel her to forget him or more specifically, that he was a vampire. 

“Hello sweetheart,” he spoke seductively to the woman, catching her attention.

The second she turned to him, Elijah compelled her to let him feed from her and to be quiet. Then he began to feed from her neck, making it look like he was kissing her there instead of biting. He pulled the blood from her, feeling the red liquid warm him, safe him. She gasped at the initial bite, but kept quiet as he knew she would.

Once he was done, Elijah released her. She would live. He made sure of that. Leaving a trail of bodies wasn’t his thing. He was smarter than that and he was certainly no amateur. 

After he was through sating his hunger, he left the diner. Only to find Eternity standing there. She was dressed in an elegant white dress that flowed around her. The summer breeze blew both it and her nearly ankle length hair all around her, across her round face, intensifying her etherealness. Her sapphire eyes looked apologetic. 

“Eternity,” said Elijah, surprised to see her.

“Forgive me,” Eternity replied. “I didn’t mean to be so late.”

He shoved a hand in his pants pocket, rubbing the fingers of his other hand lightly across his lower lip in nervousness. He had just fed upon an innocent woman. Yes, he had left her alive, but he had still done harm. Had she seen it? What would she do, if she had? He felt fearful for his life, something he hadn’t felt in nearly a thousand years. He also felt ashamed, guilty.

“Don’t,” Eternity said quickly, coming closer in that floating way of hers. 

Elijah noticed her wince a bit as she did. She stuttered in her step, a slight pained sound fell from her pink lips. However, she recovered so quickly that he wondered if that had been what she did.

“I know what you’ve done,” she told him, “I understand it is necessary of you to do. I also know that you left the girl alive. You spared her life. That is merciful, good. I hold nothing against you, as you were doing what is necessary.”

Elijah was again surprised, as he relaxed considerably. It was as if a great burden had been lifted from him. “I waited for you,” he said, non-accusing. 

“I know that as well,” she smiled. “Again, I apologize.”

“Well, you’re here now. So, shall we have that dinner?”

“Actually, it’s fairly late and honesty, I’m not hungry at that moment.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?”

Eternity’s smile turned mysterious. “I actually want to show you something,” she offered him her hand, “Come with me.”

Without hesitation, Elijah took her hand and let her lead him away from the diner. They walked together unhurriedly down the empty sidewalks of the small Maine town. It was rather romantic, especially with how dressed up they both were. Then she let go of his hand and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, pulling him closer to her. 

They didn’t speak, just like last night when they had walked to the diner, but it was companionable, the quiet between them. It wasn’t awkward. Elijah wondered where she was leading him, but didn’t question her. Trusting her even though he trusted nobody that he had just met. Her presence was simply comforting, peaceful, trustworthy.

Soon, they were wandering off outside of the town to the wilderness there, into forest. Now, he was curious. Why were they going into the wood? 

Just as Elijah was about to ask, she stopped and moved away from him, leaving him to watch her with confused curiosity. Without a sound did she move. Even in the pitch blackness around them did she possess a shinning grace, casting a dim light around her. Ounce she was a few paces ahead of him, Eternity turned back to him with a small grin.

“You wanted to know what I was yesterday,” she said to him. “I thought that tonight I would show it to you, the being that I truly am.”

Now he was really curious. He watched intensely. It seemed to him that in the brief moment it took for her to show him, time itself came to a stand still. Nothing moved around them. No sound could be heard. Everything had simply stopped. 

Then it happened. In a bright, almost blinding flash of light, her form shifted and molded itself into something else entirely. A piercing musical whinny rang out into the night and from the fading light, leapt the strange white beast of legend: a unicorn!

As a woman she was gorgeous, but as a unicorn? The words turned to ash in his mouth. He felt such strong emotion standing there before her. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes that he tried to hold back, but couldn’t. His knees felt weak, like the powerful and inexplainable emotions were dragging him down. It was if he subconsciously wanted to worship at her feet. Yet somehow he managed to say upright.

Captivated, he observed her. Her snow white form remained unmarred by anything; not even the dirt at her cloven hooves dared to touch her perfection making it appear as if she was, ever so slightly, standing above the ground. He watched her deer-like face, as she stared back through large sapphire colored eyes that were aged by thousands of years worth of wisdom and experience. Her lion’s tail swished behind her gently as her mane rippled like consistent waves of the ocean down her back, much in the same way her hair did in human form. The unicorn’s long spiral horn, dull gray in color, glowed bright blue briefly with a short hum. She moved one twiggy leg as she pawed the earth in restlessness, the tuft of hair at her ankle waving like a flag with her movement.

Neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other; one in curiosity and the other in amazement. Her long deer-like ears twitched, seeming to casually catch any sounds around them. She blinked at him after a time, as if waiting for him to say something.

It was hard to speak, to express any words or feelings. Yet, he found the strength to force himself to speak, swallowing hard and licking his suddenly dry lips to say, “You’re a vision.”

The unicorn seems to approve. Her large sapphire eyes gleamed merrily. She whinnied her approval, dancing side to side on her hooves. Then she shifted forms again, back into the snowy colored woman that didn’t cause such maddening, involuntary emotions in him. 

Those strong emotions that had Elijah shedding tears and feeling weak kneed vanished with the reversion of her appearance. Eternity silently moved closer to him, reaching out to wipe away a tear on his cheek that he hadn’t notice fall from his eye. He flinched a bit at her touch, still reeling from the sight he had just witnessed. 

“Sorry, that’s also a natural reaction,” said Eternity with a slight laugh, shrugging a little bit. “The presence of the woman is a wonder, but that of the unicorn is breathtaking.” 

“So, you’re a unicorn,” he responded, soundly pathetic to his own ears, while using the handkerchief he carried the breast of his suit jacket to dry his eyes the rest of the way.

“Aye.”

“I recall tales of your kind. People would seek the horn of the unicorn for it’s healing power.”

She nodded, “Yes, I know of the tales. They wouldn’t find anything since my people, and all other immortals, were gone, but those stories used to be a reality long ago. So many of my kind were killed either being hunted and participating in war. So many in fact that my family is nearly all that’s left.”

“Well, I’m glad you showed me this,” Elijah smiled. “To witness such a rarity is quite the honor.”

“Aye,” she paused to smile back and hold out her hand to him again, “Come and I’ll tell you the reason why I was seeking you and your family.”

Once more without hesitation, Elijah took her hand. This time, he took the lead and guided them out of the forest. The quiet was companionable as always. 

Then just as they exited the forest, they were greeted by a handful of ugly creatures. They were small grotesque things with leathery green skin and bright yellow eyes. Yellowed teeth filled their mouths and long sharp claws adorned their wrinkly hands. These creatures growled and hissed in an animalistic way, zeroing in on them.

“Friends of yours?” Elijah quipped.

“Not in the slightest,” replied Eternity, her clothes magically changing into the corset and leather leggings ensemble from before. Her yumi bow and quiver appeared on her back, while her sheathed katana appeared in her hand. “But don’t worry, I got this.”

[elonasblog]

Spiritual meaning of the peacock

Peacocks are wonderful animals that can be tracked down in many corners of the world. The implications behind their brilliant plumes and exquisite dance are fascinating to anybody who these inconceivable and delightful birds have captivated. Peacock as a soul creature shows you previous existence illustrations, while variety sorcery ingrains enchantment into your regular daily existence. If it's not too much trouble, figure out how this creature soul guide moves you with its profound imagery and significance!

Peacock imagery and the actual peacock is a dazzling and unusual animal. In any case, as it moves for its future mate with all the finesse of an other-worldly being, one might contemplate whether they are just vain animals who center around appearances as opposed to their actual excellence that comes from additional heavenly sources, like otherworldliness or self-esteem.

The glad and eminent peacock has forever been a number one among many societies. The plumes are images of magnificence, as well as the different legends that encompass it in folklore.

Spiritual meaning of the peacock or hens from Early English words like pawa, significance rooster or hen. However, curiously, there is some discussion on its starting point in light of the fact that different dialects, for example, Sanskrit have contrasting implications for this creature name where they call them Pavakapriya, which means 'the loveable one with delightful plumage!'

Peacocks have been venerated for quite a long time as images of favorable luck. The Hindu religion, specifically, venerates the peacock and believes it to be a hallowed creature on the grounds that their goddess Lakshmi is frequently portrayed with one strolling close by her. It's likewise connected with Indra (a thunder god), who downpours down abundance upon Earth with the peacocks moving when they realize the downpour will before long tumble from the sky. This represents how nurturing water reestablishes our planet. Through precipitation achieved by storm divine beings like Indra himself! Kuan Yin, the goddess of harmony in Far East folklore, is credited to making nature's most gorgeous things. Known as Kwan-yin or Guanyin to her devotees, this god made a peacock's tail after she surrendered interminability for mankind and was at long last ready to climb from Earth once more into paradise. The peacock turned into a natural image for magnanimity, making it an ideal defender against any who could attempt to upset humankind's feeling of smoothness with savagery (or war).

In Asian culture, there exist numerous fantasies about how various ideas appeared yet none more well known than those encompassing the making of magnificence by its supporter goddess - Kuan Yin.

In Eastern societies, for example, China and Japan, the Peacock is an image of solidarity and excellence, as well as eternality. The Antiquated Greeks believed him to be the eyes of stars while Persians saw them close to illustrious chambers behaving like watchmen. Chemists involved peacocks in their examinations, with some accepting that they were natural types of phoenixes, which address restoration or rebirth.

In one structure, peacock feathers are said to safeguard the people who wear them for security from hurt (counting toxic substance) and disease - however this power can likewise reach out into satisfaction whenever worn on your hat at weddings! Regardless of how you access its capacities, however - whether through charm or by wearing his quill at the crown - peacocks will continuously oversee every one of us.