#walking into caelid for the first time was an experience

[theloathsometwinkeater]

me genuinely tweaking everytime i think about the fact malenia was cowardly enough to use her aeonia or whatever i dont give a shit and absolutely nuked caelid and radahn and caused the death of an entire continent

[primelight]

Erdtree forgive me for what I'm about to do (WNM mini fic, that's not the title but sorry not sorry)

SO as some of you may be aware of, I've written...rather far ahead in 'Who Needs Maidens.'

In light of RECENT TRAILER DEVELOPMENTS my creative brain is going rabid, and to temporarily sate it I'm going to post a mini part of one of those thingies here. I might toss it out. It's rough. I might not pull the proverbial trigger, which is why it's going nowhere near AO3. It...kinda works as a standalone fic, though.

WARNING: Dubious consent (not super graphic), WEIRD imagery, Miquella's dilemma about being an ancient eldritch being stuck in, first, a child's body, and then whatever Mohg turned him into. Basically he's a dream-walking adult/demigod/eldrich abomination.

And, uh, spoilers.

Working Title: To Burn Alone, Once Again

Miquella’s body was cursed with delicacy, with beautiful, sterile youth. His life was but a moment, frozen in time. But Miquella’s mind grew old. In his dreams, he was free. His abundance was unrestrained. 

Trina was a useful mask. Beautiful, like him, mysterious and wise. He shrouded himself in mist, and traveled in shadows. He lived through others, gathering memories like flowers, slipping through the shadows of their dreams. 

But sometimes, when power flowed through him, and a dream was so strong that he could touch it, Miquella would cast Trina aside, and dare to reach for the raw blood and emotion burning in the world. He took up the sword with hands as large and dextrous as his father’s. He crossed the rolling hills of Altus in the dreams of soldiers, and waded through the despair of Tarnished Hunters in Limgrave. He donned grand, red-and-black vestments plucked from his half-brother’s mind. He loaded his body down with rusted iron armor, and stuffed linen into his boots to cushion the blisters on his heels. 

He tasted faint, alluring memories of ale and greasy, tavern-fried duck. He caught the scent of blood and shit on the Caelid battlegrounds, but also of hot honey-tea and warm bread. He felt – 

Miquella did not dare draw close enough to truly feel. He risked discovery, reprisal, and then retaliation from forces beyond his control. 

And guilt. To experience the terror and thrill and pain of battle alongside a dreamer was to touch the softest, most vulnerable parts of them. More joyful memories were worse, for Miquella longed to sink deeper.

He told himself that he simply wanted to share such things with the dreamer. But when it grew cold and dark in his cage, and when the days before and after, before and after, before and after the burning of the Erdtree stretched on for too long, Miquella knew the truth. He wanted those precious moments for himself. He wanted everything.

Miquella embodied Abundance, after all. He was meant to sow his seed, to reach out to the very corners of the Lands Between, and to fill the cosmos itself. If not for the curse, his legs would be long, his shoulders would be broad, and he could join his other half in battle.

You will always be my blade, Miquella thought, because he knew that Malenia would not have it otherwise. So I will be your shield. 

Waiting was hard. Miquella soothed himself with his own dreams, his own plans, and watched, unable to do more than suggest, to hint, occasionally prod a sleeping mind in the right direction. He got better at it each time the Erdtree burned. 

He could not truly interfere. Yet he could not turn away from the Volcano Manor, not when he realized what had happened. 

What should not have happened, not with — 

Miquella cursed Mohg with every fiber of his ancient soul.

…and Bernahl dreamed. 

Keira crossed the room once more. He relived the moment when she realized that he was watching every move she made. And then, again, when her laces loosened, and his gaze snared on the dip between her collarbones, and then slid lower as her shaking fingers twisted in her tunic, unknowingly teasing him. And in hindsight…oh, if he’d known, he’d have taken more time to draw the moment out. 

But it continued. A rush of anger, then the crush of his mouth to hers. Blushing, stammering, and then heavy breaths and soft moans.

Their clothing lay in a heap on the rug as he coaxed her with his hands and words. But too quickly, the searing heat of her had him gasping in his sleep.

His dream pulsed and lingered, stretched and indulged. Bernahl’s hands squeezed and soothed in turn. He was still tangled up in her warmth and scent, more than enough to inspire him once again. 

The dream urged him on, demanding that he look closer, squeeze tighter, fuck harder, for it could almost see, and surely then, it would almost feel… 

…Not enough. 

Miquella moved on, and dreamed of another life.

…Malenia’s Cleanrot Knights imprisoned Mohg at the first hint of his betrayal. Only the Haligtree’s treaty with Leyndell spared the Omen demigod. Rumor had it that Morgott the Grace Given had set a quiet, isolated cavern aside for Mohg, and left him to his blood sorcery and cruel prayers.

Instead, Miquella emerged tall and strong from the Haligtree roots, wings trailing behind him like a gossamer veil. Malenia had been waiting for him, wounded and still twisting in Rot, but overflowing with joy. Miquella held her close, excessively careful of his newfound strength. The top of his twin’s head rested just below his chin. They were a matched set, at last.

Together, Malenia and Miquella conquered the Rot, brought it to heel like a rabid dog, and spat in the face of its foul god. The Haligtree remained hollow, as he no longer had need of it, but Elphael grew nonetheless. Albinaurics, Misbegotton, and Tarnished alike flocked to the Haligtree alongside the Grace-blessed humans of the Lands Between. Miquella’s power grew with every life he took under his wing. 

Miquella dreamed that Keira found her way there as well, and offered her help, first to his knights, then to his builders, and finally to the gardens growing from the roots. She kept her sword at hand, but she claimed a greenhouse for herself, and used half-forgotten knowledge to help her fellow travelers. Soon, many of Miquella’s devotees would come to her for instruction, and her scarred hands would fill Elphael with green and gold. 

Perhaps he would hear tales of the strange Tarnished who could make the most stubborn plants grow. Perhaps her teachings would spread to his inner circle, or the fruit of her labors to his table. 

Perhaps he would decide to thank her himself. 

Miquella would come upon her by a carefully arranged accident, his wings hidden under a simple robe, and appearing as simply a very tall, very comely man. He’d find her hard at work in her garden, clad as lightly as decency would allow, spots of earth dusting her face and blackening her hands, her skin gleaming with sweat.

Perhaps he would sit beside her, heedless of his attire, charmed by her passion for her work. Perhaps his heart would ache when he saw how she missed her First Tree, but then nearly burst from his chest when she offered him half of her lunch.

She’d work out who he was, of course, perhaps on their second meeting, if his eyes gleamed too bright, or if she saw his wings. 

Would Keira be frightened? Excited? Mortified? Flattered?

Miquella rather liked the thought of all of them, depending on his mood.

Regardless of her reaction, he would give her some time to think. A day or so later, he would find her again. He would curl over her, cup her face in his hands, and make his intentions clear. 

No-one would dare watch if he lay with her among the lilies. Not that Miquella would care. They could stay there as long as he wanted, wrapped up in his opalescent wings, their bodies lit by the soft glow of unalloyed gold.

A lovely dream. Perhaps he was a romantic at heart.

…

…Or upon establishing his rule, Miquella could simply summon Keira to his chambers. The God of Abundance and Lord of the Haligtree would, naturally, want to personally interview a Tarnished with such an unusual passion for growing things.

His attendants would bathe her in steaming water infused with sacred oil, and cleanse her with soap formed from Trina’s lilies, known for relaxing the mind and softening the skin and hair. Her woes would be smoothed away, fragrant oils massaged into her skin until it glowed with health and softness, and her hair combed until it shone, and left to flow down her back in dark waves. 

Her face needed no paint, no adornment, and after Bernahl Miquella barely had the patience to hide her body in the lightest of moth-silk.

But for the dream, he would, if only to draw it out. 

Keira would be nervous, though she would hide it well, wouldn’t she? Bernahl hadn’t realized that she had never had a man until he’d been knuckle deep inside her. She would likely be considering whether or not to lie about her lack of experience, as only a complete imbecile would mistake his intentions.

Would she lie? Miquella would, of course, take her at her word, for what Tarnished would lie to their god? Then he could allow himself a little bit of greed, could press his suit quickly, roughly…and surely she would open for him so easily that any pain would simply heighten her pleasure. 

And despite her clear anxiety, Bernhal had made her so very wet…

She’ll be wetter for me, Miquella thought, in the garden or in my bed. He groaned at the surge of sense-memory, and curled long, powerful fingers in thick, dark hair. He tugged, and the sharp cry he received in return cut a line of fire down his spine.

Honeyed seduction melted into a frenzied claiming. Silk thread spun and writhed about Miquella’s bed as he pinned Keira beneath him, his smile as beautiful and terrifying as a blade. He smelled blood on her hands, and smoke in her hair. Erdtree smoke, from the dozens of times it had burned, each time bringing him one step closer to freedom — his little champion —

Miquella grasped for the pieces of sensation he’d cobbled together from thousands of dreams. Here, he tasted the power, the strength he craved. Every atom of his divine flesh pulsed with health. His curse was a memory, a vague, unpleasant dream as he cupped Keira’s face in hands that could crush her skull like an egg, and promised to be gentle. 

A lie. This way of love was not soft, and would never be safe. 

Miquella dreamed on, enfolding himself in borrowed sensation. He bid her cling to his shoulders and hips, and as it was his dream, she dug deep, and cried for him.

She wept until her eyes ran red, pleaded until she grew hoarse. She told him that next time would be the very last, that he would be free. He would ascend. She begged him to stay with her, to speak to her, to take her with him, anything – please —

…It was just a dream, so Miquella simply told her yes, and yes again, and took her.

Keira cried out, and he knew from the wet, lewd sound of their bodies that he barely fit inside her. And it would likely be worse — better, he needed more — in reality, considering what Mohg had made of him.

“You’ll forget him,” Miquella whispered.

Keira buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

[astraldrake]

thoughts on elden ring bcs i feel like i have to put them somewhere fair warning for spoilers

- much more colorful than ds3 (low bar i know but goodness the difference is stunning when you go from one to the other) -im so glad they gave us the ability to jump. like wow i can actually go up stuff now?? im not trapped if i fall down a small ledge?? sweet. - the ambient music in caelid makes my skin crawl (complimentary) also they really nailed the vibe of it as this horrible rotting place that wants you dead. also all the giant mushrooms and stuff everywhere, love those. - speaking of, i love the lil wolf howls in the raya lucaria ambient music. (also the overall color palette and aesthetic and stuff 10/10 blue good, sparkly rocks good) - radahn's fight was fun and chaotic (once i had enough health that he wasn't 2 shotting me right as i walked in) i liked that you could just keep summoning backup throughout the fight so you had a near endless stream of cannon fodder help. - rykards fight was a pain in the ass though, idk if it was just me but i struggled to get the timing down on when and how to stun him. (also, i really expected his voice to be more,,, idk intimidating?? he just sounds like he's talking with his mouth full.) - morgott wasn't too bad (although it was also the first fight i did while having a great rune active so ��\_(ツ)_/¯) (should also note i beat him before i took down rykard) i will say i didn't expect his lore to be so sad. Like shit dude I feel bad about killing you now. - im really enjoying the wide variety of stuff i can do with incantations, i can summon lightning, throw fireballs, temporarily give myself a tail, and turn my head into a dragon's, it's great. - i have no clue what is happening like 60% of the time. i feel like i probably missed some story stuff somewhere down the line. (i spent so much time dicking around with other stuff i would not be surprised) - I kinda miss destiny's more expansive lore entries. I get that that's just not the way these games tend to operate when it comes to story, like i know they like to be vague and leave stuff up to interpretation but sometimes i want more than flavor text yknow? I want to read more about these characters and events. (and yes i know ao3 exists but diving for good fic takes time and trial and error, that and i want a more consistent understanding of canon than what assorted fic would be able to provide. ah well, when there is no canon, you make your own.)

- I wish id gotten more time to talk w/ melina before she died. the cutscene was really nice and it felt like it implied a lot but i just didn't get to hang out with her enough for it to hit as hard as i think the creators intended it to. (or maybe im just more emotionally numb in general these days idk.) - that said, i really like the conversation you can have with her if you beat the boss at the end of the shunning grounds. "however ruined this world has become, however mired in torment and despair... life endures. births continue. There is beauty in that, is there not?" like fuck dude!! you're right!! there is beauty in that!! ( i then proceeded not to go looking for the frenzied flame, and instead just took the item in the chest and the incantation i got off the boss and left. ) - also i did some pvp invasion stuff for varre's questline since i wanted to see if anything in or around that area would have more fun blood flame incantations. (I have found none so far but i did find mohg!! who i have not fought yet.) Given my experience with pvp being primarily overwatch and destiny ( very different genre i know, but still) i kind of expected to just get repeatedly curbstomped by tryhards, but i actually didn't have too bad a time. I even manged to kill a person (or three. look three out of five is a pretty good track record for me ok??).

anyways i think that's all i have to say about that.

[farumazula]

Sparrow lowered his arms as she came closer, digging into the ground with the tip of his sword as he leaned onto it. He hoped she didn't take the unsheathed weapon badly, as a sign of aggression- but he didn't dare to lean onto any of the walls, or sit on the ground. He'd have to wash in rivers for weeks just to get away the feeling of Caelid on him already- it seemed to sink into every single crevice of his armor, and every crack and line on his skin.

"Hail and well met," he greeted, his own tone contrasting hers- warmer, much friendlier. He understood hers though. It was just that Sparrow had a way of looking at the world, and well, he wanted to believe that other people were kind, and didn't have ill intentions. Of courae, he knew the world as it was, and didn't allow this want to pull wool over his eyes, but still... he couldn't help but hope everytime he came across a new soul.

"I waved you over for it anyways," He shook his head with a chuckle, gesturing her to come closer. "It's not that cozy, but keeps enough away... and what isn't scared by the fire..." He trailed off, grinning a little under the helmet before nodding to his sword. It still held bloodstains from all his past kills, a red that would never truly wash out from the steel.

"I have to say I may have lied a little bit, more waved you over because I'm sure you saw, but there's a giant dragon that's just about gone mad up the path. Walking into it seems like it'd be suicide- it's spewing it's rot wherever it can." Sparrow waved a hand in a gesture, glancing back towards what he could see of the dragon in the distance. It reared it's head, letting out an ugly roar and the man winced just a little, his nose scrunching. Like nails on a chalkboard to him, it was. Too loud... He much preffered enemies who could speak, or atleast, didn't scream as much.

He shook his head and looked back to Alma, the small smile reappearing. "Unlike most people in these lands, in my experience... I wouldn't be able to keep my conscious clean if I didn't offer some help. So you're free to stay here if you'd like. I don't have any rations to spare so... we'll have to hope it passes quickly."

Hell, he didn't really have the rations for himself either. He always relied on bumps in the road not happening, on living day-to-day, hunting or scavenging when he was hungry. He supposed he should have learned after the first few times- but his speciality was battle sense, not common sense.

Speaking of which... "If you're one of the ones who prefer fighting, I've been staring at that thing for a few hours, trying to figure out it's weakness." Sparrow paused, taking his weight off his sword and bringing it up, setting it against his shoulder. "I wish I could say it's as easy as it's feet being left open, but everytime something goes close, it spits that nasty rot breath at it. I'm a bit more keen on just sitting here and waiting it out, honestly..."

@farumazula

He hoped the billowing smoke, and the flames- and himself, waving them down would serve to get their attention before they continued on.

Even if they did know- perhaps he could offer them something in exchange to help him kill the beast, regardless.

The dragon reared its pained head this day, clawing at the ground wet with its own pus. Whether the clouds were too low, or the birds started pecking chunks of rotten flesh off its wings, did not matter. It raved in agonizing hysteria at every smallest disturbance, having lost both its eyes and nose to the rot, and unable to distinguish friend from foe. What a poor, magnificent wreck.

Going near it would be unwise, to say in light words. Coming back from the waypoint ruins where the Kindred made its home, Alma hauled a bag of eggs with herself. Negotiations- that word lay like a lump on her tongue -were going in ways unexpected. Pests did not lack intelligence nor union to know that their unwilling neighbors were few in number and had more important tasks in mind than to hunt down their kind. In the language of clicks and gestures they offered peace, if their prayers were undisturbed. In exchange, as a sign of trust...

Alma shuddered under her tabard. Three of her men were left there, with those things. She breathed in and out, to focus on the road. It was unfit to think about them any lower than herself, she bit her own tongue in silence. The last thing she wanted to be was to be alike the missionaries of the Golden Order.

Yet, the fear did not leave.

The dragon ahead only made her thoughts darker, as she couldn't get past it any sooner than... by the gods, how long will it take to go back to its sleep? The Redmanes ascertained that it was rather pragmatic to let it quietly die and not touch it, instead of losing people in the battle against it, but it did not make it any less of an issue...

A flicker distracted her from the spiraling thoughts. Fire, there was a fire nearby, even though she wouldn't smell it: the eyes accustomed to see the pyres of her fellows made quick work of noticing another one.

...No, not one of her own. Coming from an edge of a hill, from some cave, if she had to guess.

The choice was hers: to drop the bag and hold onto the sword, or continue on towards the fire, unarmed as she would be. For better or worse, a simple want for some warmth won over logic, and she began trudging forward.

Slowly she made her way down to the cave level, approaching. Indeed, a silhouette of someone right behind the smoke! Relief, as it was, came with caution. For all it could be, a well made trap for tired travelers, but to run now would to return to the pests or... into the dragon.

A bandit was hardly the worst out of those two.

"Hey there!" Alma kept her voice starchy, "Mind if I join you by the fire?"