#when I said I wanted to make more Sword and Blade content on the last post.

[skitty-kirby]

Some experimental stylized doodles I did, using my favorite Knights as test subjects. :^)

After all it'd be nice to have a doodle style I can use when I don't wanna upload my messy sketches versus don't have the time/energy to make something fully rendered xD

[saturn-lia]

~ Our little date 🩸

Character: Scar (Wuthering waves)

Content: oneshot, SLIGHT NSFW (nothing that serious), scar x reader, fem!reader.

Just scar begin obsessed with you, so much that he is going insane.

again, you find yourself face to face with Scar, for the umpteenth time in the last 3 weeks.

Your icy gaze challenges his defiant one.

"don't look at me like that, come on. If you keep doing this I won't be able to control myself, love." Scar chuckled

In a fraction of a second he appeared in front of you, tipping your chin up with his finger to meet his gaze.

"we haven’t met for 2 days straight, why not enjoy our alone time once more?"

“don’t call me love.”

You approach even more to look deeper into his eyes, making sure he knows how serious you are.

Scar's smile widened, looking as if he took pride in your reaction.

"Why not? But that's what we are, hm?" He leaned forward, his thumb gently caressing her cheek, "I mean, I can't stop thinking about you. What more can I call you?"

Scar's touch caused a shiver to run up her spine, but she did her best to ignore it, attempting to move away from his touch.

With all your strength, you push Scar to the ground trapping him with the weight of your body, blade aimed at his throat as your the knee pushes against his stomach.

He lets out a strangled gasp falling to the ground, his left hand trapped underneath yours.

“...Well, this is rather...intimate," he muses with a chuckle, a smirk still playing on his lips, "If this is how you want to start off, then be my guest, darling. I love nothing more than to enjoy these little power struggles of yours."

you push your knee into his stomach, enough to make him struggle to speak, he flinches.

“You’re just trying to get me on your side.”

Scar's body tremulously shuddered from the pressure on his stomach, making his smirk falter slightly as he struggled to speak, his breath hitching.

Despite this, he still tried to maintain his composure, trying his best not to give you the satisfaction you crave to see.

"And if I am?" He manages to retort through gritted teeth, his gaze still fixed upon you with a mixture of defiance and amusement.

“Did they tell you to seduce me so that it would be easier to convince me?” you say without breaking eye contact, your faces are inches apart.

As their breaths mingle, a slight blush starts to form on Scar's cheeks, the proximity between them beginning to have an effect on him. He takes a moment to answer, his gaze unwavering as he looks deeply into her eyes.

"Well, they didn't tell me anything," he finally says, a sultry undertone evident in his voice, "but even if they did, I would still be drawn to you. Seduce you or not, I don't care about any of that. It's just you and me, now."

"Yeah sure" you stay alert, still pointing your sword at him, you stand up letting him go.

Scar stands up, a devious look gleaming in his eyes as he brushes off the dust on his clothes while watching her with a smirk. After a few moments of silence, he finally speaks up, his tone mischievous

"Ah, I do love how you treat me with such passion." He laughs. "But come now, you can't deny the chemistry between us. Why not we take a step back and have some fun together?"

“It would end up with you trying to kill me”

He chuckled at your response, his smirk widening into a full-blown grin.

"Killing you? Now, why would I want to do that when you make such an entertaining plaything?" He said in mock disappointment, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Tell me, love, what's the point of a game if it ends too quickly? Where's the thrill, the excitement? Don't you enjoy a good chase?"

as he approaches, you take a few steps back.

Noticing her retreat, Scar slows his pace, his movements almost languid as he continues to approach her with a wicked smile on his face.

"There, there... No need to back away," he coos, his voice taking on a more seductive tone. "I won't hurt you, my darling. But isn't this so much more exhilarating than just getting rid of each other?"

A chuckle escapes his lips as he notices your blush, his smirk widening in delight. With a flick of his wrist, he disarms your sword, the weapon clattering to the ground with a dull thunk.

He steps forward, eliminating the remaining space between them and pressing his body against her, the heat between them almost palpable. He leans forward, their faces mere inches apart, his breath hot on her neck as he whispers softly in their ear.

"You can't deceive me, my love. I know you want this just as much as I do."

You try to escape from the weight of his body that pins you against the wall, but he is quicker than you to grab your wrists with one hand, and trap them above your head.

Seeing her struggle, Scar's grip on her wrists tightens slightly, a possessive glint in his eyes as he presses them further against the wall, his body trapping them in place.

"What's the point of resisting, my dear? You may deny it for now, but I know the truth. You're here because deep down, you desire me."

He leans in even closer, his breath hot on your skin as he murmurs against your neck.

His words carry a mixture of confidence and desire as his gaze lingers on her, a subtle shiver runs down her spine.

"You're so beautiful, it's almost a crime…and yet, you're still trying to deny us both the pleasure we deserve."

Scar's free hand starts to slowly run down her body, exploring her form with a possessive touch.

"You don't need to be so shy. Let your desires run free. Let me give you everything you crave, my love," he whispers, his breath hot against her skin as his mouth finds its way to her neck, planting soft and lingering kisses along the tender flesh there.

You try in every way not to fall into the sweet trap he set for you, but you've had enough of pretending you don't like it so, you abandon yourself to his touch.

A smirk spreads across his lips as he senses her finally giving in, the way she melts into his touch only igniting a fire within him even more.

"There, there, my dear," he murmurs against the skin, "Let go of your doubts and fears, and just enjoy this moment with me."

Scar continues to shower her with his heated affections, his mouth moving along her neck and collarbone as his free hand continues its exploratory journey over her body.

your arms feel like jelly, when he loosens his grip on your wrists you let your arms fall to his shoulders.

As she moves, he takes the opportunity to slide his own hands around her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies pressing even more firmly against each other.

"You're so responsive," he praises in a low voice, his breath hot against their skin.

He begins to plant soft kisses along her neck, his mouth moving up towards her jaw as he savors the taste of her skin.

A muffled moan escapes your lips as if your subconscious is demanding more from his touch.

A low growl escapes Scar's lips as he hears her soft moans, his hold on her waist tightening.

"That's it," he whispers huskily, "let me hear you, my love."

His mouth trails upwards, pressing hot kisses along her jaw before he captures her lips in a possessive kiss

He moans softly against her lips, the sound muffled by their kiss. Her eagerness fuels his desire even more, his hands beginning to wander lower.

The kiss grows deeper, more intense, his hunger for her apparent in the way he claims her mouth with heated passion.

You break the kiss to move your mouth on his neck, working on leaving a mark on it, while your hands slowly trace his body lower and lower

A sharp inhale escapes Scar's lips, the touch sending a shiver down his spine.

"Oh, you cheeky minx," he purrs with a low chuckle, his breath coming in ragged gasps now. His hands rest on her lower spine, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles as they brush against the soft skin beneath his touch. He lets out a soft groan as he feels her hands travel lower and lower, unable to hide the effect your touch has on him.

“You want me that much, Scar?”

"You have no idea..."

His breath hitches with a mixture of desire and vulnerability, tilting his head back to give her better access.

"You have no idea how badly I've craved your touch," he confesses, his voice almost a whisper. "Every second, every moment, every breath we're apart is torture. I ache to be close to you in every way possible. That's how much I want you."

A sharp gasp escapes from his lips as her touch finally reaches its desired destination, the sound a mixture of shock and raw pleasure. His body shudders slightly, his eyes widening a fraction.

"Oh, sweet hell..." he curses, an involuntary groan escaping his lips. "You're going to drive me mad, my love."

His hands tighten their grip on her, holding her firmly against his body.

“Don’t hold back, wasn’t this what you wanted?” She whispered against the boiling hot skin of his neck, now covered in marks.

His breath hitches at her words, the mixture of her touch and her whisper against his skin fueling the burning desire coursing through his veins.*

"Yes, yes..." he responds, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "This is all I want... All I need."

His eyes shut, lost in the bliss of her touch as he gives in to the tidal waves of pleasure crashing over him.

“they’d kill me if we get caught, I’m supposed to work, you know?” Scar said.

”I know, but enjoy the moment for now, let’s keep this between us, shall we?”

A grin spreads across Scar's face at her words.

"Your wish is my command, my dear," he replies with a chuckle, his voice laced with a hint of teasing.

He presses up against her once more, pinning her against the wall with a strong hold. He leans in close, his breath hot against her ear as he whispers,

"They'll never find out if we keep this between us."

in that right moment, a feminine voice is heard behind them

“Between the three of us?”

Scar's eyes widen in shock as he abruptly breaks away from her his heart racing furiously as he tries to regain his composure. Seeing Phrolova suddenly appear startled him, and he quickly composes himself, straightening his clothes and forcing a calm expression.

"Hey, what's... what's up?" he asks, feigning nonchalance despite the surprise still evident in his voice.

Phrolova's gaze flicks between Scar and him, she raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing on her lips.

Phrolova: "What's going on here, lovebirds?"

Scar shoots a quick glance at her. His usual cocky smirk returns as he turns back to Phrolova

"Oh, nothing, just a little bit of... intense conversation…”

He turns to face you.

“Our time is sadly over, my dear, I would have liked to tease you a little more.”

He winks at you as he walks away.

Phrolova chuckles, a knowing look on her face as she eyes the both of them.

He shoots you a last lingering glance, his eyes holding a mixture of hunger and desire before he finally turns away.

Phrolova glances at you with a smirk once Scar is gone.

Phrolova:”Looks like you have the notorious playboy, Scar, wrapped around your little finger."

Hi hello I’m Lia yes it’s my first oneshot, hope you liked ❤️

Requests for WuWa are opennnnn!

I’ll wait for y’all <3

[wiltedreamofbaldursgate]

Steady Hands, Frame My Love

characters: Astarion x race/class neutral fem!Tav/reader word count: +3.2k Rating: M trigger warning: mild-ish sexual content. bad eyebrows. This hasn't been beta-read nor am I a native speaker. read on ao3 read more BG3 one shots

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror.

“Come out, spawn. There is no use in hiding.”

You know there is trouble when you spot Lae'zel in front of Astarion’s tent. Her tiny nose is scrunched up in a way that would be cute if it didn’t mean she wants to skin someone alive. The perfectly sharpened blade twitching in her hand is just another hint that she’s out for blood. You almost can’t blame Astarion for hiding from the Githyanki warrior’s wrath—almost, because it’s within every reason to assume he’s brought her wrath upon himself. 

Taking a quick look around camp, you find that everybody is suspiciously busy minding their own business for once, skillfully ignoring the one-sided commotion in front of your lover’s tent. You can’t really blame them either; it’s been a very long day, and everybody wants to get some rest before dinner. You have half the mind to do the very same when Lae'zel’s intense gaze suddenly locks with yours—an honest rookie mistake.

There’s no use pretending you haven’t noticed her now, so you put your journal aside and approach the red tent with long strides and a smile that you can only hope will have a calming effect on her. Unsurprisingly, your hopes are shattered instantly. 

Lae'zel doesn’t wait for you to friendly inquire about what the fuck the matter is this time; before you can even open your mouth, she’s all the way in your face.

“The spawn does as he pleases!”

Lae'zel would need to get a great deal more specific when it comes to Astarion, but you refrain from telling her so, opting for a questioning look instead. 

The young warrior shakes her head, annoyed that her explanation isn’t sufficient enough for your small istik brain to comprehend.

“It is the spawn’s turn to fetch water from the stream. Thus is his duty,” Lae'zel explains slowly, accentuating every word with a well-placed hiss to get her point across. “A duty he fails to perform.” 

You think it is progress that she isn’t waving her sword at you, although she does glare at you as if you were the offending party, which—since your relationship with the pale elf has become common knowledge around camp—you somewhat are.

“Where I am from, we make sure to keep our mates in check, however pleasing they might be. You might want to do the same.” 

Maybe not so much progress, after all.

“Haven't I made myself quite clear on that before, Lae'zel?”

Holding her intense glare, you stare the warrior down. You have made yourself clear on occasion—you aren’t Astarion’s keeper. 

It takes a moment, but Lae'zel is the first to break eye contact, eventually taking a step back. Not lowering your gaze, you wait patiently for her to continue.

“The spawn would better honour his word, or else…” She spits, not at you, but at Astarion’s firmly closed tent flap. 

“I will remind him,” you assure her, not unkindly.

Lae'zel looks you up and down before she inclines her head ever so slightly.

“I trust you will,” she drawls, glaring at the tent one last time before she stalks away.

Left to take care of the issue at hand, you frown at the closed tent flap. As much as Astarion bitches about pulling his weight in camp, it’s unlike him to not do his chores one way or the other. And now that you think about it, he’s set up his tent uncharacteristically fast earlier, too, not even trying to rope anyone in to help him do his work. The realisation that you haven’t seen him since he vanished into said tent quite a while ago settles unpleasantly in your stomach. 

“Astarion?”

You step closer to the heavy fabric closing off the tent’s entrance, listening. There’s no answer, although you do hear some hurried movement from within the tent. It’s a good sign, you suppose.

“You good in there?”

The silence stretches for another moment before Astarion finally lets out an exaggerated sigh. Going by the sound of it, he, too, must be standing rather close to the entrance.

“Truth be told, darling, I have been better.”

“Are you hurt?” You ask, not bothering to hide the obvious worry lacing your voice. 

When could he have even gotten hurt? Haven’t you checked up on everyone after your earlier fight with some overly pesky, giant spiders? Or is he just messing with you—trying to avoid his laborious chore after all?

It takes yet another moment for Astarion to mumble something incomprehensible in reply. With raised eyebrows, you repeat your question, which earns you another sigh from him, this time more exasperated than theatrical. 

“I just so happened to get some acid in my face when we took care of those cursed spiders and—”

“And?” You press, alarmed.

“It’s nothing, darling, really; it’s just—well…”

“Astarion!”

The vampire curses, and you can hear him step even closer to the tent’s opening, closer to you. You’re almost sure that if you pressed your hand against the fabric shielding him from you, you would be able to touch him. 

“They're gone,” he says, his voice so low you have to strain your ears to hear him. 

Your frown deepens. “What is?” 

More mumbling reaches your ear, and Astarion has to repeat himself twice before you can eventually make any sense of his words. You stare at the tent flap in disbelief. You can't have heard right.

“Your eyebrows are gone?”

Astarion inhales sharply. “Must you scream it around for everyone to hear? Come in, come in!”

Not knowing what to expect, you enter the tent. 

Astarion has retreated to the shadows; his hand is firmly pressed against his forehead. You stare up at him, trying to assess the situation. He looks pained alright, although you have an inkling it’s more from wounded vanity than actual injury. As you step closer to him, you give him a reassuring smile.

“So, acid, huh? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He is not convinced. At all. Wordlessly, he’s staring back at you, his jaw set. Your smile fades.

“Let me take a look?” You try again, feeling your already shaky optimism dwindle further.  

He thinks it over for a couple of heartbeats before he slowly drags his hand to his hairline, pushing up the stands of white hair that usually fall so gracefully in his face… 

Astarion must’ve drunk a healing potion because the presumably once-angry burns on his skin have already faded into pale red blotches sprinkled all over his forehead. By morning, nobody would even be able to tell the acid burns were ever there—were it not for Astarion’s eyebrows, or what’s left of them, that is.

You instantly force your face into a mask of neutrality. You have to approach this very delicately.

“It’s… salvageable. Really,” is all you can blurt out, though. 

Astarion’s crimson eyes grow comically round, accentuated by the lack of eyebrows; he doesn’t believe a word you say, which you can’t really hold against him. You’re talking shit. It’s bad, and you wonder how in the nine hells you haven’t noticed this before.

“You can redraw them here and…there,” you go on for lack of anything better to say—Gods, you really should shut up. “Fill them back in, you know…?” 

Astarion wets his lips while you're evading his piercing gaze.

“Why, what a grand idea,” he breathes, shakily. “I never would’ve thought of that myself. If only there wasn’t this one peculiar little thing. What was it again, my dear?”

You cringe. Of course. Of course… How could you forget?

“Ah, right…” You only notice the delicate hand mirror Astarion was holding when it flies across the tent, shattering somewhere on the bare ground farthest from you. “I can’t fucking see my face!” 

As if all strength has left his body, Astarion sinks to the ground, where he lets himself fall back into his pile of blankets, arms draped over his eyes. It’s all rather dramatic, but you guess you can’t have one without the other. 

Grimacing, because you’re sorry for him, you sink to your knees next to him, gently tugging at his sleeve. 

“Do you want me to do it? Redraw them, I mean.”

You can tell by the way Astarion sits up as if struck by lightning that he was only waiting for your offer. Suddenly very close, he considers you with narrowed eyes.

“I suppose you could,” he muses, tracing the shape of your left eyebrow with his index finger. “You usually look presentable enough.” 

You let the comment slide, but not without rolling your eyes at him. It’s just show, though, a way to suppress a smile. Astarion thinks he’s sly about it, but you catch him often enough looking at you as if you were the sun at dawn. 

Of course, you would never dare mention that to him.

“Give me a minute,” you say instead, already rising to your feet, were it not for the cold fingers curling around your wrist.

Astarion gives you a stern look as he's holding you in place, his nose nearly brushing against yours. “Not a word to anyone about this.” 

You give him a solemn look in return as you comb your fingers through his hair, gently guiding some stray locks back into place. “I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

Your hand is trembling just a little—enough for Astarion to notice. Enough for that damn smirk to find its way to his lips. You hold your breath. 

“Nervous, love?” 

Yes, and it’s stupid because you’ve done this often enough—daily, even. It’s just easier to apply cosmetics on yourself, sitting in front of a mirror and not kneeling in front of him, trying to evade his piercing gaze. 

“Why would I be?” You scowl, readjusting the hold on your charred willow stick that has yet to make contact with Astarion’s skin. “Aren’t my eyebrows, are they?”

You shift closer to him, brushing against his leg with your knee, which doesn’t help your case at all. You can’t help feeling a little shaky when he’s this close—and he knows it. 

“No need to tremble like a virgin, then, my sweet.” 

Giving him a sharp look, you draw back a little, although you don’t make it far. 

“Maybe you just need to come a little closer still,” he purrs as his hand takes hold of the back of your knee, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. “Might be less distracting for you…”

For someone close to having a meltdown less than fifteen minutes ago, he’s surely having lots of fun now. Biting your lower lip, you adjust your weight, straddling Astarion properly. Trying to ignore the hard body pressing against yours, you assess the natural growth of his eyebrows again, eventually setting the tip of the charred willow stick down on his skin, only to remove it again. This won’t work like this. 

“Honestly, can you please just close your eyes?” 

Astarion scoffs. “Should I blow out the candles, too, while I’m at it? Leave the nightdress on?” 

“Shut up, or you’ll end up looking like a clown.” 

That eventually does the trick. He gives you one last look that is somewhere between peeved and wary before he closes his eyes. 

Entrusting you with his face isn’t easy for Astarion, which is exactly why you’re so nervous about the whole thing, to begin with. You want to do your very best—make him look his very best so that Astarion can feel good about himself. You couldn’t bear anyone making a bad comment on his appearance when he trusts you to be his mirror. The thought alone makes you shudder.

Astarion’s hand wanders up from your knee to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze; this time, his touch is more encouragement than teasing. 

After taking a deep breath, you lean back in. 

With steady hands, you begin to redraw the missing parts of his eyebrows. Taking your time, you make sure to follow the natural shape of them; to blend out the colour where the charcoal comes off as too stark a contrast to his white hair. 

While you’re working, Astarion doesn’t move one bit, eager—for once—to not fluster you. It’s not until you lean back to consider the fruits of your labour that he opens his eyes again. 

“And?”

“Well,” you muse, “you look presentable enough.” 

He scowls as you throw his own words back at him; you suppress a laugh before you take his face between your hands.

“If I could see the stars right now, I could not tell them apart from you,” you proclaim, mimicking his dramatics once again. It’s not as funny when you do it, so you’re quick to add, “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

You mean it, and Astarion knows it; trusts that you do. He leans forward to brush a kiss against your lips, hugging you to him, which is as much thanks as you expected to receive. 

“Will you do it again tomorrow? And the day after,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, “please?”  

“Of course,” you assure him, deepening the embrace, “until they’ve grown back.”  

Astarion hums in agreement and you remain like this for a moment before you pull back to look into his eyes, which are once again framed by a pair of sharp eyebrows accentuating his perfect features. 

“I should’ve noticed earlier,” you say, at last. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good mirror, it seems.” 

Astarion frowns at you, the intensity of his gaze taking you aback as it is wont to do. 

“Don’t be,” he urges, gently taking your dominant hand in his. He runs his fingers along the back of it, careful not to put too much pressure on your still-raw skin. His touch stings nonetheless, reminding you of your own acid burns that have yet to heal—those spiders really are a menace. “You should be more careful, too, you know? You’re the only working mirror I have.”

You’re lying flat on your back before you can even gasp in surprise. To your embarrassment, your legs have already wrapped around Astarion’s waist; all you can see is that damn smirk on his lips as he’s towering over you, his face barely a finger width away from yours. Your breath hitches as you take him in; nobody has any right to be this beautiful. 

“It would be a shame if I lost it, my precious little mirror,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours. 

It’s a far cry from his earlier kiss—heated, needy. Knowing you don’t stand a chance against his tongue gliding over your lower lip, you open your mouth to him, slowly losing yourself in him. There’s really nothing easier than that.

Your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer as your fingers dig through his locks, eliciting a low moan from him. This is a lot more thanks for your service than you’ve expected, but you find yourself unable to complain. Your mouth is far too occupied for that anyway.

It’s almost obscene how easily Astarion can undo your stays and by the time his hand finds its way underneath your thin shirt, your mind is long clouded by lust. Leaving goosebumps in its wake, his hand glides over your belly up to your sternum before it firmly cups your breast. The lazy pace of his thumb drawing circles around your hardened nipple has you aching your back, trying to ease the wet heat gathering between your legs. 

Wet.

Somewhere very far in the back of your mind, you remember that you had a reason for coming to him earlier—way before you ended up on his lap, let alone underneath him. Let alone this damn wet. What was it again? 

You break loose from Astarion to take a quick breath. Not wasting any time away from you, his lips begin to trace along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone; his wicked grin is painfully obvious against your skin. By the time you realise Astarion is scheming something, he’s already pushing his knee under your ass, repositioning you so that you can feel his hardness pressing against your core. You hiss at the sudden contact. 

Ah, right—hiss! Lae'zel.

You throw your head back with a sigh as Astarion begins to grind his hips against you, making any thought of the Githyanki warrior evaporate quickly. Fuck Lae'zel and her sense of duty and honour. You can just sit out her wrath with Astarion right here, right now, however long it may take. It doesn’t really matter that you’re not sitting much, either.

But then again, maybe this is why your companions take offence at you the moment Astarion is stepping out of line, although you’re sure they would be biassed, too, if they knew how positively divine he feels—especially when he’s teasing the waistband of your trousers with his long fingers as he does now. Your hips move in answer to his touch, and yet…Fuck.

You groan. Not with pleasure but from your own sense of duty. The others trust you as much as Astarion does; that’s why they somehow thought it wise to make you their leader. Almost annoyed with yourself, you prop yourself up on one elbow, pressing your hand against Astarion’s chest, telling him to stop before you’re way past the point of no return. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. His hair is messy and his lips are red and swollen from your kisses and by the Gods you want him to fuck you. It takes you a very long moment to gather yourself.

“Now that we took care of your issue,” you pant, tracing the shape of his left eyebrow with your index finger, “you might wanna go fetch water if you don’t want Lae'zel to wipe them off right away.” 

Tilting his head, Astarion gives you a long look. His fingers keep digging into your thigh which has you grinding your teeth to suppress another sigh. He doesn’t buy your attempt at keeping order and peace, not when he can undoubtedly feel you trembling with need for him. You’re not even protesting when he leans back over you, one arm next to your head to support his weight. 

“So, what?” he breathes against your shoulder before planting a hot kiss against your skin. And another. And another, as he is slowly kissing his way down your body. “You said you would redo them over and over and over again, didn’t you, darling?” 

Holding your breath, you watch your shirt being pushed up the lower he’s moving down on you, gasping only when the crisp evening air caresses your exposed chest. 

Astarion’s trail of kisses comes to a halt right below your belly button. His crimson eyes are looking at you expectantly but you’re too preoccupied with his fingers slowly undoing your trousers to make any sense of his wordless question. You swallow. 

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He repeats, the amusement evident in his voice.

“Yes,” you nod rather enthusiastically. “No problem. Not at all.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Astarion grins, finally freeing you of your trousers to see how pathetically ready you already are for him.

Duty can wait a little longer, you decide as you give yourself over to the pale elf. You only promised Lae'zel to remind Astarion of his chores, not that you would make him do them, you reason. 

You’re not his keeper, after all. 

[loganwritesprobably]

First Meeting With.. Part Two

Part one | Part three | Part four

Content/Warnings: Feat Zoro, Robin and Luffy, GN!Reader, no Y/N, fluff

He seemed a little different to the average guy that you saw around town. He was incredibly well built, and his strength showed not only in his physique but also how steady he was as he swung his swords. He was training, you assumed, though you couldn't guess what for. He turned as he swung another blade, and you caught sight of a previous injury that he'd sustained, taking away the use of his second eye. You wondered if he'd gotten it in a fight, and you found yourself hoping that he'd won.

You slipped away quickly, hoping that he'd still be there when you returned. You arrived home and grabbed a bottle, then filled it with cold water, before rushing back to where you'd previously seen the man. Thankfully, you'd managed to avoid your best friend who you lived with, who would've undoubtably asked questions about what you were doing and where you were going.

The man was there when you returned, now doing push ups. He was strong and steady, and for a moment you just stood there watching him. It didn't last for long though, as the man called out, apparently aware that you were there. "You're staring." It startled you slightly, as he hadn't once stopped doing his push ups nor turned to look at you. "Sorry. I uh- brought you some water. Thought you might need it." You replied, closing the distance between you with a slow approach, the cool bottle of water in hand. He stopped with his exercising after a few final pushes and stood, taking the bottle from you. He didn't speak for a long while, finishing the bottle at once then handing it back to you empty. "Thanks." He grunted, apparently not intending to say much more.

Unwilling to be stopped so easily, you introduced yourself. "I'm Zoro." He told you, and in that moment some awareness began to stir. "Like the strawhat?" "That's me." He confirmed, taking a few steps away from you to begin doing another exercise you weren't sure of the name of. What was he doing here alone? Or in your town at all? "That explains why you're so strong." You said instead of asking, because you figured it was probably none of your business and frankly you didn't want to know the answer. The strawhats seemed to do good, but they still caused chaos wherever they went. "Enjoying the view?" The swordsman asked with a smug grin after you began to stare again. You shook your head to distract yourself and softly laughed, a warm flush crossing your face. "Sorry." You apologised, because no matter how attractive he was, it was considered rude to stare. "No don't worry, you can stare as long as you want, pretty thing."

So you sat down, empty bottle still in hand, and you spent the afternoon mostly staring, but also occasionally exchanging some brief conversation. You weren't a complete animal after all.

You'd seen some beautiful women in your life, but this woman was another level. She was refined, elegant and gorgeous. You were both in the library, browsing the book collection, at least initially. After a few minutes of being in the same space, you abandoned your search for a book in favour of passively observing the gorgeous woman a few rows away from you.

A hand popped up from the floor beside you, initially unseen, and another from the shelf beside you. At the same time, they both reached out, taking your mouth and a leg in their hold to prevent you making a sound and stop you from running. The woman turned to face you with a raised brow and a dangerous glint in her eye. Perfect.

She approached you slowly, casually, still looking at books on the shelves as she passed. She picked one up with ease, every movement delicate, and then she was beside you. "You've been looking a little too long. What do you want?" She asked, her voice soft but a threatening tone underlying her words. "You're stunning." You replied once the hand covering your mouth was moved. The woman faltered, and you introduced yourself. She looked at you for a long moment, suspicious, then released your ankle too. "Robin." She said, and you took that was her name. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." You said, though Robin didn't react. "Charming." She said however, as if she wasn't still glaring at you just a little. That was okay, you liked it when a woman you were interested in was a little bit mean.

She leaned in close to you, making you swallow harshly, only to take a book from behind you with a playful smirk and walk away. You had to see her again, and if you were lucky maybe she'd allow you to take her on a date.

The guy couldn't have been too different in age to you, and he'd rushed into the restaurant like a tornado, knocking over a few chairs and almost a table, before taking a seat nearest to the counter. He talked animatedly with his companion - who looked like some sort of animal - talking loudly of food, mainly meat. You approached with an exasperated expression, but you remained professional. You introduced yourself, then asked what they'd like to eat. "I'm Monkey D. Luffy and I'm going to be the Pirate King!" The guy introduced, and you nodded sagely, wisely keeping your mouth closed. Though, he seemed to radiate the purest kind of joy and you figured there were worse candidates for the next pirate king. He ordered effectively one of everything, and you went away to tell the chef.

You returned to the counter, perching on a stool behind it to get off your sore feet, and did some people watching. That was the best part of your job. The Luffy guy was the most lively adult you'd ever encountered, everything he did was done with more energy than strictly needed but his companion seemed entirely unphased by it, likely used to his friend's behaviour. He was so interesting to watch, and you couldn't help it. His little friend was cute too. You slipped away to collect his food once it started coming out, delivering it to his small table in rounds.

Luffy had no trouble eating everything that was delivered to him, his companion having stopped after the one plate of food that he'd ordered for himself. You watched, though didn't neglect any other customers who needed food or arrived. One man who arrived was just a little too personal with you. He came in sometimes, not quite regularly but enough that you knew his face and name, and he liked to get just slightly too close, to be just a little too familiar, to touch just a little more than needed. You ignored it as best as you could, trying to remain as professional as possible.

Luffy seemed to notice, and he did not like it. You passed him on your way to the kitchen to put in the man's order, and when you left you had another round of food for Luffy. "Who's that guy?" He asked, entirely tactless, even pointing at the guy who'd just come in. "Just another customer." You said, setting plates down on his table gently, while his companion, who you'd discovered was named Chopper, stacked dirty ones so you could easily take them away. "I don't like him, and I don't like that you don't like him either." Luffy declared, and for a moment you just stared. You shook your head to dismiss your confusion, and then scooped up the dirty plates Chopper had stacked for you. "It's fine, honestly. He always pays." Because that was the main concern of your boss - if he pays for his food, nothing else matters.

When you returned from the kitchen again, having apologised to the kitchen porter for all the plates, the guy was at the counter rather than his table. "Hey gorgeous, still nobody at home keeping your bed home?" He asked, leaning just a little further over the counter than he needed to, just to get into your space. "Hey!" Luffy yelled, his arm stretching unnaturally to wrap around the guy's body and pull him away. The guy stumbled and almost fell, but just managed to stay steady. The two dissolved into an argument, and you could do nothing but watch. "He didn't like how the guy was treating you." Chopper explained after seeing your bewildered, and slightly alarmed, expression. You nodded mutely, turning to grab more plates of food when you needed to.

Luffy was done when you returned, and the man had gone back to his own table, bruised and face thunderous. You set down the fresh plates of food for Luffy, and he beamed at you. "He won't bother you anymore."

[sorinethemastermind]

Ancient Evils (2/4)

In which Soren follow's in his father's footsteps, Aaravos underestimates what his opposition are willing to do for love, and Callum makes a startling discovery. @honeii-puff asked me to tag 'em so they could get emotionally obliterated at 6am, and I respect that.

 Aaravos had given them an ultimatum.

 “By sundown of the day after next, bring me the key or bring me your army.” his visage had said from the sky; composed out of glittering stars; his cruel smirk recognizable despite the difference in form. “It doesn’t matter to me. Either way, I will have what I want.”

 They had all stared up at it from the courtyard, having run outside at the sudden bright light filling the sky. The ruined remains of the castle around them made his threat all the more potent, as did the ruinous battle they had conducted little more than a week before. At the time, they had all scoffed at the idea of bringing Aaravos anything. But deep down Soren knew each and every one of them had glanced around the courtyard at the people they loved, and wondered what the price of the next battle would be. And the one after that.

 Soren wouldn’t bring Aaravos the key. But he would fight to his last breath so that the others didn’t need to. That was his promise. That was his oath as a Crownguard.

 The one good thing about Aaravos’ message was that he knew precisely where the elf would be, and when. Soren arrived a little bit early, to the little glen that his enemy had chosen. He lurked in the shadows, sweeping the perimeter several times before he was sure that Aaravos had yet to arrive, and hadn’t left anyone to watch it for him, either. Then he set to work.

 From the satchel he pulled the jar, the horn, and the book; placing them on a large, flat stone in the westernmost corner of the glen. His hand lingered the hilt of his sword. It was a loyal weapon; one that had served him well over the years. He pulled it from it’s sheath with a bit of regret and placed it on the stone beside the rest of the satchel’s contents. It would go into battle with him one last time.

 He waited until the sun was halfway below the horizon. He didn’t know when Aaravos would arrive, but he couldn’t risk waiting much longer. Soren would just have to hope he could hold himself together until he did.

 He lifted his blade, making a tiny slash in the palm of his hand before holding it over the unicorn’s horn. The blood ran through every spiral, and even before he began to chant the words the book had told him to, he could see the malice beginning to fill the once pearly white horn. He placed it before the blade of his sword and took a deep breath. 

 He opened the jar. 

 Soren could practically see his father’s final breath as it swirled about; filled with magic, taken by it, and captured by it too. The contents of the jar turned a deep magenta as he began to chant the words; “𝔈𝔱𝔞𝔥 𝔣𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔞𝔢𝔴 𝔞 𝔥𝔱𝔦𝔴 𝔢𝔣𝔦𝔩 𝔫𝔦𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔱.”

 They coated the horn, making it shine with an unearthly light that was just as quickly snuffed out.

 “𝔖𝔰𝔬𝔩 𝔡𝔫𝔞 𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔩 𝔣𝔬 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔨 𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔤𝔫𝔞𝔱 𝔞 𝔱𝔰𝔦𝔴𝔱.” Soren finished, watching as crackles like dark lighting sparked off the horn, linking it to the blade of his sword, and the two dragged themselves together as though by some unseen force. 

 The weapon clattered back to the table, sparking with darkness, twisted veins throbbing across it to bind horn and blade together. The spell completed, Soren felt whatever had taken him over while he spoke the incantation flee, and with it whatever had been keeping him standing. 

 Callum had never told him what it was like when he first used Dark Magic, and Soren had been rather preoccupied at the time, so he hadn’t seen much. His father had never much cared to discuss that sort of thing with him, not once Soren had made it clear that he had no interest in spells or the like. And Claudia… Soren shivered, remembering when she’d first used a spell; the fear in his father’s eyes as she collapsed to the ground, shaking uncontrollably, skin pallid and clammy. She’d had a fever for nearly a day, their father never leaving her bedside. But the sight had been too much for Soren to bear, and he had spent the time anywhere but at home. 

 He didn’t know what you were supposed to do when suddenly your limbs stopped working and your body felt like it was coming apart. When your head throbbed, but not with pain, instead with… Soren could only describe it as malice. Like something inside him was trying to claw it’s way out.

 He leaned heavily on the stone before him, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to stand. Hopefully the growing darkness would help to disguise what was happening. He just needed to hold out long enough to make sure Aaravos could never hurt anyone else again. It didn’t matter what happened after that.

 Soren clenched his hands into fists, fingers digging into his palms as he pushed himself upright, knuckles white with the effort. He took a deep, shaky breath. And then another. And another. One breath at a time, he thought. One breath at a time. 

 He breathed in, and stepped back from the stone, holding himself upright with only his own two feet. 

 He breathed out, and picked up the sword, tucking it carefully away. 

 He breathed in, and strode to the center of the glen. 

 He breathed out, and he waited.

 He didn’t have to wait long.

 Aaravos arrived when the last of the light had fled, the only illumination coming from the flickering of lightning bugs in the trees bordering the clearing. But Soren could still see his face well enough to recognize the same smile that had belonged to his starry projection.

 “I was expecting the mage.” he said, voice echoing.

 “What, not happy to see me?” Soren managed, trying to hide the unsteadiness in his step by leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. 

 Aaravos laughed, a dangerous sound. “Only surprised. I had hoped he’d be smart enough to take me up on my offer. But, if not…” he shrugged “Are you really all that’s left of their army?”

 “They don’t know I’m here.” Soren told him, and the elf’s smile widened. 

 “Ahhh. Then what have you come here for, little soldier?”

 “I’m a Crownguard.” Soren said, pushing off from the tree and letting the momentum carry him a few shaky steps towards the elf. “It is my sworn duty to protect Katolis and the royal family. Whatever form that may take.” he added, voice faltering. 

 Aaravos just seemed to think it was his courage failing. “So then, you have it for me?” 

 Soren reached towards his belt and watched as the elf’s eyes grew wide with hunger. “Maybe you’re smarter than you look, after all.”

 But Soren’s hand slipped past the pouch there as he took another step forward, and another. His hand closed around the hilt of his blade, concealed behind him. 

 “This.” he said, letting the wobble enter his voice, knowing the elf would just think it cowardice. “Is for them.”

 And as Aaravos reached out for the key expectantly, he brought the blade out in a single, smooth motion and stabbed it into his chest. The elf’s eyes widened, and he stared down at the sword embedded in his chest with a look of astonishment. Soren followed his gaze down to where the blade met his flesh and saw the purple veins on his own hands standing out for the first time. That, he thought distantly, is new.

 Aaravos broke away from him, reaching down to pull the blade out of his chest. Soren wondered, vaguely, if it would stop the spell from working if he did that. Probably not. Hopefully not. Because with the deed done, what little strength had remained in his body was going fast, and he slumped to his knees at the elf’s feet.

 Maybe he’ll just pull it out of his chest and kill me with it. Soren mused, almost drunkenly. And then go about his day. Maybe this was all for nothing. Wouldn’t that be fitting. The Failed Son, failing again. 

 His vision swam, and he couldn’t tell if it was reality or imagination when Aaravos’ hand, reaching for him angrily, turned to stone and crumbled away. Probably my imagination, he decided.

 If before the darkness had come in waves, and Soren had been standing on the shore, now he was on a small boat being rocked about by them; miles out at sea. Everywhere he looked was blackness, rising up in greater and greater waves above him until, finally, one knocked him from the boat and into the water. And then the waves had their way.

 Soren was sinking, but his arms were leaden, his lungs empty of air. Swimming in armor again. He thought distantly. Not a good idea.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 There weren’t many things that could kill a Startouch Elf, Callum had found. Not many at all. The bite of an Archdragon, but Aaravos had knocked Zubeia from the sky with a flick of his hand. The Nova Blade, but that was lost to wars waged before their time. Perhaps against Aaravos himself.

 So Callum had decided, like his predecessors, that the only option was to trap him. It would take far too long to craft another pearl, and even if they managed it, they now knew that Aaravos would still be able to play puppet master even from inside it. He had considered a coin like the ones they found Kpp’Ar and Rayla’s parents in. But they would need the Staff of Xiard, and despite many searches of the castle wreckage, Callum had been unable to locate it. 

 But a statue… now that he could do.

 Callum had risen early, just as they’d planned. The trek would take most of the day, even if they hurried. Aaravos had probably made sure of that when choosing the location, he thought bitterly. The better to make them wallow in the misery of their decision. But he wasn’t going to wallow. He was going to take action.

 He rolled over to wake Rayla, finally sleeping soundly beside him. She had tossed and turned all night, and he hated to rouse her when she had only just managed to rest. At the sight of her, sprawled across the pillow with her hair in her face, some part of him wished he could leave her there; take the satchel and disappear into the early morning light with the knowledge that she would be safe. That he could make this sacrifice for her. 

 But he would never be able to hold out, he knew. And even in the off chance that he could, it wasn’t worth the risk. If he was going to do this, it had to mean something. It had to work. 

 So he woke her as gently as he could, with a kiss and a soft whisper in her ear. And as she began to get dressed he crept off to his office to grab the satchel and his things. Except it wasn’t there. 

 He searched desperately, steadily growing more and more frantic as time went on, until he was throwing books to the ground with no regard for who he might wake. Callum shoved the contents of his table onto the floor, sifting through them wildly; but to no avail. It was gone.

 Rayla burst into the room behind him just as he was sitting up, running his hands through his hair anxiously.

 “Callum, are you okay? I heard-” she broke off at the sight of him, sitting in the ruins of his makeshift office. The real one hadn’t survived the flames, and even what he had managed to salvage was still charred and destroyed. He brushed the residue of ash off his clothes as he stood, but it still smudged on his face as he pinched his brow. 

 “It’s gone, Rayla. It’s gone.”

 “We’ll find it.” She said, the determination in her voice shaking him from his despair just enough to let him muster some of his own.

 “You’re right.” he said with a grim nod. “We can’t let this stop us. Ez must have it.”

 “Why would-”

 “Who else would have taken it?” he called back over his shoulder, already running out the door and down the hall past her. Of course Ezran would have taken it, what had he been thinking? That Aaravos had crept in while they were asleep and snatched his things? It didn’t make any sense. It had to be Ezran.

 He threw the door to his brother’s room - the new one - open and stormed inside. “Ez! Where did you put it?”

 Ezran jolted upright from where he’d been sleeping, eyes flying open. Corvus melted out of the shadows beside Callum, having been watching over his king while he slept.

 “Callum, what are you talking about?” Ezran asked, too confused and tired to be angry. “Where did I put what?”

 “You know exactly what!” Callum replied, stalking across the room towards him. “My satchel. The horn, Ezran. Who else could have taken it?”

 “The horn is gone!?” Ezran was on his feet in a moment, covers falling to the floor in a pile. “Callum, the horn is gone?” 

 And, as his brother stared up at him in horror, Callum realized that it was all a lot worse than he’d thought. “But if it wasn’t you, then..” He trailed off, suddenly unsure. 

 He turned to Rayla, who had just cleared the corner of the hall and was standing, hands on her knees, panting in the doorway.

 “It wasn’t Ez.” he told her.

 “Obviously, Callum.” she said between breaths. “I coulda told you that if you’d just listened.”

 The three of them exchanged scared glances, and then Corvus’ voice rang out. “Where is Soren?”

[injuryprompts]

how would you go about treating a sword through the abdomen?

Heyyy, I am so sorry for the long response time! I would not be surprised if you've forgotten about sending this in the first place.

To answer your question it's important to know if the sword is a through and through or not. Because you said "through" i'm going to treat it as such.

Then it's important to know if 911 is available. Because most sword wounds happened pre-emergency services, i'm going to write it like you'd 100% treat it yourself. Otherwise step 1 would be: call 911.

IF ANYTHING LIKE THIS HAPPENS IRL, ALWAYS CALL THE EMERGENCY NUMBER AND DO AS THEY SAY. THIS IS FOR FICTIONAL USE ONLY.

Now for the treatment of a stab wound to the gut:

First and foremost, DO NOT PULL OUT THE SWORD until you're ready to deal with the bleeding.

Step 1: Make the stabbed person lay down. Because the stab wound is probably front to back, make them lay on their side. This reduces the risk of falling after the adrenaline stops. Which could cause more damage, think head trauma, or disturbing the sword making the wound worse.

Step 2: Remove the clothing around the wound. This gives better access to assess the damage done and get a clear working area.

Step 3: Put on gloves. Easy to forget, but it lessens the chance of infection in the wound. If you can't at least wash them as thoroughly as possible.

Step 4: Prevent bleeding. Severe blood loss will cause shock or worse death. So any blood that can stay inside, should stay inside. If the sword hit a (major) artery the person could die within a minute when the sword is pulled out. WHICH IS WHY YOU LEAVE IT IN FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE.

Arterial Bleeding: The blood will be SPURTING out. It will be a bright red color.

Venous Bleeding: The blood will be oozing out. The blood will be a darker color.

Capillary Bleeding: The blood will slowly come out. It will eventually stop on its own.

To prevent bleeding, apply pressure. You can still apply pressure when the sword is still through the body. Just put pressure around the blade from both sides. and since the knife went through. pressure on 4 sides basically. Be careful not to move the blade too much as you do this.

Chest wounds should be sealed with a credit card/plastic bag/duct tape etc, that sticks on 3 sides, leaving it so air can go out but it cant go in. This helps prevent a collapsed lung.

Step 5: Remove the sword. Get ready to put real pressure on it as soon as the blade is pulled out, because it will probably start gushing. If its not that bad, you can wait until it stops. If not, the wound will need to be sealed/stitched. Now the abdomen has a lot of nasty things called organs in it. Lets hope we missed all of those, because if not, intestine contents can do horrible things to the rest of your body.

Close the Wound Under These Circumstances:

The wound is large and refuses to stop bleeding

The wound penetrated through the entire skin (you’d be able to see underlying tissues)

The wound has been open for less than 6 hours

The wound is over a joint or moving part of the body and won’t close by itself

The wound is gaping open and won’t be able to close without your intervention

You close a wound only when it's dry, preferably with butterfly bandages or adhesive tape, (sutures only by profesionals or in dire circumstances). Or if you want to go for dramatic, cauterization as absolute last resort.

Open or closed, it's now time to cover the wound. You should first use any form of antibacterial treatment, preferably conventional medicine, but if you don't have that, use honey. Its antibacterial too. Then you can cover the wound with a bandage, make sure to change it every so often for a clean one. Every 12 to 24 hours.

Open wounds should be covered by wet dressing. Closed with dry. Make sure to pack around the puncture wound. If you can't find sterile bandages you can boil rags before using them.

ENDING THIS WITH: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. ONLY USE THIS INFORMATION FOR FICTIONAL PURPOSES. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF IN A SITUATION PLEASE CALL YOUR LOCAL EMERGENCY NUMBER. THEY WILL TELL YOU WHAT TO DO.

[gothicprep]

so, apparently marvel is in disarray. ahead of the marvels coming out this weekend, variety dropped a bomb on the studio's somewhat dire state of affairs, as the franchise has hit its first real rough patch since the release of iron man 15 years ago. among the issues: jonathan majors, whose domestic violence arrest continues to hang over marvel's plans to make his character the thanos-like heavy for the next sequence of movies, the weak box office projections for the marvels (which some have said is tracking lower than recent bombs like the flash), the unending flood of hashtag content on disney plus which is overwhelming audiences who are finding it harder to keep up with the interlocking stories that have served marvel so well over the years, shoddy visual effects, spiraling budgets such as the reported $25mil an episode for she-hulk, a show that looked terrible because of the shoddy effects work aforementioned, behind the scenes chaos as kevin feige works to slash budgets and kill projects that aren't coming together. one movie at risk is the forthcoming blade reboot with mahershala ali, which has gone through rewrite after rewrite including reportedly one draft in which blade was the fourth lead in, quote, "a narrative led by women and filled with life lessons".

that last line has provided a lot of laughs for people like jay gothicprep, and critics who insist that marvel's efforts to diversify the lineup have led to much of this disaster, indicative of disney's overall failure with things like indiana jones and the dial of destiny or animated projects like strange world or lightyear. while this is potentially true (i guess, it's possible) it doesn't seem true because this certainly wasn't the case when black panther and captain marvel were both cracking the billion dollar mark a few years ago. rather it just seems, more simply, that marvel has run its course. marvel was hit by a double-whammy of endings. the thanos storyline that'd dominated the first ten or so years of the project came to an end. at the same time, the pandemic began and disney plus started flooding the zone with content, creating a natural break point for audiences that had no desire to watch hours of tv to understand 1.5 plot points in whatever the next movie that's coming out is.

this preamble is getting kind of long, and i have a lot more to say, so i'm going to continue to thought dump about this under a cut.

first of all, i'm still laughing like a week later at the women led life lessons description. no one has disputed that it happened. that description is the funniest thing i've ever read in a trade industry report possibly ever. what in the hell, my friends. did a writer even talk to a producer about what blade was? it's a movie about a guy with a sword who kills vampires! it's pretty straighforward! that sounds like something i want to see! there were three of them already, and two of them were pretty good!

anyway, i think you can take that incredibly ridiculous description of a draft that maybe wasn't the main draft – this movie has been through tons of writers and directors – and see some of the real problems with marvel's creative direction, which is that they've stopped making movies that highlight the core concepts of their characters. there are other problems as well, but when's the last time they put out a movie that was like, "iron man. he's a guy in a metal suit and he fights a bad guy." or "spider man. it's a guy in a spider suit with spider powers. he's got girlfriend problems and he fights crime around manhattan and maybe there's dr octopus." they don't do that. their recent stretch of movies have all been these impenetrable multiverse stuff with ties to tv series that you haven't seen and maybe won't ever see. there was a whole 25 minute section in black panther 2 that was setting up armor wars and ironheart. and like. who needs that sequence, which was boring and looked like total garbage? and now armor wars is being redeveloped lol. they've just departed from a lot of the core concepts that powered their earlier films.

they have some other problems. they've leaned into a slate of characters that is not all that well-known or inherently super popular, even for marvel being able to deliver on making billion dollar films out of guardians of the galaxy and such. maybe with the exception of spider man, which they don't get a full cut from because sony owns the actual movie rights. then there's the fact that the streaming series, by all accounts, aren't great but you *feel* like you need to have seen them. they're all real big problems. marvel needs to go back to making movies that are named after a character who's a superhero with a clear concept. guy with spider powers fights crime in his neighborhood. even though those movies got kind of repetitive, they did well enough because they didn't stray too far from the character concept.

i think, too, as a viewer, when you have a studio churning out so much stuff that's not good, you get the impression that the superhero industry feels entitled to your time and entitled to your money while not delivering.

this summer also represents an interesting counterpoint to what's happened with marvel and dc. the sheer amount of stuff that you devote every waking minute to keeping track of the damn things got exhausting and made movies stop feeling like events. this summer we've had barbenheimer and the eras tour, and those have been both big events and felt exciting. barbie was a chance to be campy, oppenheimer was a chance to see something serious and cinematic, the eras tour was exciting for fans of taylor swift who couldn't afford to spend $3k on taylor swift. and they felt this way because they were all unlike anything you'd seen at the movies in recent years. they had a high standard of quality, and going, it genuinely felt like people were there because they wanted to be, not because they were being force marched by a cultural behemoth to be there. you can't summon that same kind of energy for a marvel movie when it both feels obligatory and you expect it to be bad.

it also feels like there's a certain contempt for the audience where it concerns quality problems. i mean, i don't think that this is the intention. marvel isn't saying "we can deliver this stuff that's garbage and people will see it anyway". but one of the things i thought was the most damning about that variety story was the fact that, on some of the marvel tv shows, the final effects were inserted after the shows were released. so if you watched the show on opening night, you probably didn't see the final effects work. the arrogance involved in that is insane. it speaks to a total vanished pride in putting out a good product.

even some of marvel's better regarded films were heavily edited and heavily worked on right until the end, in part because kevin feige would come in and fix things, so stuff would have to get reworked. that's why effects deadlines were super tight and people were always crunching at the very end of this. there was that incredible quote from sam raimi from a couple months before the second doctor strange came out where he was like, "i think it's done but i'm not sure. marvel, they work on their movies until the very end." the director didn't even know if his own movie was locked or not because he clearly wasn't the one making the decisions about what the final print would look like.

that can work if you're making two movies a year and have a supervisor that comes in during the process and says, "i need you to redo this, in this way". but when you stretch that out to three movies a year, plus god knows how many episodes of television, there's no way to do that and make it a high quality product.

an instructive lesson comes from the book "disneywar", which chronicles michael eisner's time at disney. and one of the things in this book was the development and deployment of "who wants to be a millionaire" in america. bob iger is head of abc at this time. the guys making this show do it for a week. audiences love it. it's putting up huge numbers. everybody is excited. it's crushing it in the ratings. and the people who made it wanted to keep doing special week or two week long engagements that people would show up for. and iger was like, "no. i want this every week, three times a week, forever." and audiences got burnt out on it quickly, because it was something that only really worked as a special that ran for a week and disappeared for a few months. that's what the disney plus strategy feels like with marvel.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 6

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Damen watched Laurent enter with his first adviser Vannes

LET’S GOOOOOOOO

The little brow furrows as he searched for vocabulary, the ‘How do you say—?��� and ‘What is it called when—?’ were gone.

awww cute that damen noticed them before :’) sweetheart

‘It’s lucky for him he speaks our language so well,’ said Nikandros, as they returned to the Akielon camp. ‘Nothing involving him has anything to do with luck,’ said Damen.

Their camps, they agreed, would be kept separate.

ah, the sitcom “line down the room” solution

The Veretians were scornful too, in a different way. Akielons were barbarians who kept company with bastards and walked around half naked. He heard the snatches of what was said on the edges of their camp, the ribald calls, the jeers and taunts. When Pallas walked past, Lazar wolf-whistled.

this reminds me of the two factions from the infamous avatar the last airbender episode “the great divide.” also look, new gay people!

And that was before the more specific rumours, the murmurings among the men, the sidelong speculation that had Nikandros in the warm summer evening, saying, ‘Take a slave.’ Damen said, ‘No.’

so it’s like a social expectation. but he’s still not doing it. even LAURENT does it (kinda), although he has much more to prove than the akielons

He buried himself in work, and in physical exercise. During the day he threw himself into the logistics and planning, the tactical groundwork that would facilitate a campaign. He plotted routes. He set up supply lines. He commanded drills. At night he went alone from the camp, and when there was no one around him, he took out his sword and practised until he was dripping with sweat, until he could no longer raise his sword but only stand, his muscles trembling, the tip of his blade pointed to the ground. He went to bed alone. He undressed and sluiced himself down, and only used squires to perform those menial tasks without intimacy. He told himself that this was what he had wanted. There was a working relationship between himself and Laurent.

no this is so sad, but so relatable. breakup behavior transcends worlds

There was no longer—friendship—but that had never been possible.

tell that to laurent, who allowed himself to become your friend and sexual partner, fully aware of the fact that you killed his brother

He had known it would not be some stupid fantasy of showing Laurent his country; of Laurent leaning against the marble balcony at Ios, turning to greet him in the cool air overlooking the sea, his eyes bright with the splendour of the view.

HE 🗣️ WAS 🗣️ WATCHING 🗣️ THE 🗣️ ROAD

To Kastor, he sent only a single message: I come. He didn’t watch that messenger depart. It’s not naive to trust your family. He had said that, once.

damen. girl.

love the conflicting themes of trust here. damen needs to learn that he can’t trust everyone to have intentions as noble as his, and laurent needs to learn that some people in the world can be trusted to have noble intentions. mistrust makes them both feel alone—laurent takes comfort in that loneliness, because it means no one can hurt him, but it also means that he’s never truly relaxed or vulnerable (in a good way). damen feels awful with the loneliness of mistrust, and wants so badly to reach out and make connections with people even when the flags are very, very red.

Guion was a man in his late forties, with an indoor figure.

does “indoor figure” mean “not fit” because that’s so funny 😭 let’s not bruise the man’s ego by calling him out of shape, he’s just an indoor cat instead

When he saw Damen, Guion bowed in the same way that he would have bowed to the Regent: deeply, sincerely. ‘Your Majesty,’ said Guion.

bitch.

Damen had come here to learn what he could of the Regent’s plans, but there was only one question rising to his lips. ‘Who hurt Laurent at Charcy? Was it you?’ ‘He didn’t tell you?’ Damen had not spoken alone to Laurent since that night in the tent. ‘He doesn’t betray his friends.’

i love damen. he is giving laurent the distance he requested, despite it breaking his (damen’s heart), but he’s also still fiercely protective of laurent behind his back. to the extent that his questions about guion hurting laurent feel more important in the moment than tactical ones about the regent. laurent pretends not to care in an attempt to lie to himself, but damen is only pretending in front of laurent to respect his wishes. he’s not lying to himself about giving a shit, and hasn’t even tried since like chapter 6 of book 2.

also - “he doesn’t betray his friends” implies that damen doesn’t see laurent’s poor treatment of him as betrayal, because knowing the truth now about laurent’s awareness, damen would never expect laurent to have considered him a friend. this gives book 2’s “friends? is that what we are?” a whole new layer of complexity.

'I captured him on his way to Charcy. He was brought to Fortaine, where he negotiated with me for his release. By the time he and I came to our arrangement, he had spent some time as a prisoner in the cells and had suffered a little accident to the shoulder.'

to be fair, i think this is what laurent would want guion to say, and might have even dictated to him exactly. anything else would make him sound weak. but damen knows laurent better than that, and can easily read between the lines.

‘You put Govart,’ said Damen, ‘in a cell with Laurent?’

run.

‘Yes.’ Guion spread his hands. ‘Just as I helped to bring about the coup in your country. Now, of course, you need my testimony to win back your throne. That is politics. The Prince understands that. It is why he has allied with you.’ Guion smiled. ‘Your Majesty.’ Damen made himself speak very calmly,

being a king sucks, you can’t even throw hands with the guy who had your divorce husband tortured because said divorce husband is using said guy as a political asset

‘Did the Regent know who I was?’ ‘If he did, having you sent to Vere was rather a miscalculation on his part, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen. He didn’t lift his eyes from Guion. He watched the blood rise and mottle Guion’s cheeks. ‘If the Regent knew who you were,’ said Guion, ‘then he hoped that when you arrived in Vere, the Prince would recognise you, and be provoked into a blunder. Either that, or he wanted the Prince to take you into his bed. The realisation of what he’d done then would kill him. How lucky for you that didn’t happen,’ Guion said.

the regent failed to anticipate the secret third option: laurent knowing exactly who damen was from the start, accidentally falling in love with him and semi-purposefully gaining a powerful ally, taking him into his bed despite the brother killing, having a messy breakup about it, but still remaining a powerful duo of world leaders unified in wanting to take him (the regent) down

‘You swore a sacred duty to hold the throne in trust for your Prince. Instead you turned on him, for power, for personal gain. What has that won you?’ For the first time he saw something genuine flicker in Guion’s expression. ‘He killed my son,’ said Guion. ‘You killed your son,’ said Damen, ‘when you threw him into the path of the Regent.’

i think this has one of two meanings, diverging with the interpretation of guion’s line.

damen: you swore to help the prince, but then you turned your back on him for personal gain. so did you gain enough to justify that decision? guion: (briefly genuine) meaning #1: i lost my son when the regent’s manipulations resulted in his (aimeric’s) death, so actually i lost something. meaning #2: the prince ended up being so mean to my son that he killed himself, so he wasn't deserving of my loyalty. damen: you’re the person most responsible for aimeric’s death, because you let the regent use him as a political pawn and sexual object.

i’m really not sure if it’s meaning #1 or #2 here. #2 might not make sense at all, because it’s not guaranteed that anyone told guion the details of laurent’s reaction to aimeric’s betrayal—it had only been damen, laurent, aimeric, and jord in the room, right?

regardless of guion’s meaning, damen’s response still stands. and at least it hurts guion emotionally, if not physically. it’s almost like damen is finding himself turning into laurent, acting the way laurent did in the court of vere. he can’t take the direct route, so he has to be backhanded and cruel instead.

He had not dealt with Makedon. Round one came when Makedon refused to accept the extra rations available to his troops from Fortaine. Akielons didn’t need pampering. If Veretians wished to indulge in all this extra food, they could do so. Before Damen could open his mouth to respond, Laurent announced that he would likewise change the provisions among his own troops, so that there would not be a disparity. In fact, everyone from soldiers to captains to kings across both troops would receive the same portion, and that portion would be determined by Makedon. Would Makedon inform them now what that portion was to be?

jesus christ laurent (affectionate)

Round two was the skirmish that broke out in the Akielon encampment: an Akielon with a bleeding nose, a Veretian with a broken arm, and Makedon smiling and saying that it had been no more than a friendly competition. Only a coward feared competition. He said it to Laurent. Laurent said that from this moment on, any Veretian who struck an Akielon would be executed. He trusted the honour of the Akielons, he said. Only a coward hit a man who wasn’t allowed to hit back.

in a way, damen helped laurent with that one, since he’s the honorable akielion who told laurent the same thing in book 1.

It was like watching a boar try to take on the endless blue of the sky. Damen remembered how it felt to be coerced to Laurent’s will. Laurent had never needed to use force to make men obey him, just as he had never needed men to like him in order to get his way. Laurent got his way because when men tried to resist him, they found, sweetly outmanoeuvred, that they couldn’t.

he thought to himself, with heart-eyes,

(i don’t think anyone here is interpreting laurent as “sweet” but you, damen)

In fact, the way Laurent’s men talked about their Prince now was not substantially different to the way that they had talked about him before: cold, ice-cold, except now he was cold enough to have fucked his brother’s killer.

:)

No one was looking at Laurent. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had been. His face showed nothing.

but damen looked at them not looking, and thought of laurent, because this is marlas they’re talking about

‘I’ve been there before,’ said Laurent. ‘Then you’re familiar with the area,’ said Nikandros. ‘That makes it easier.’ ‘Yes,’ said Laurent.

He wanted . . . he didn’t know what he wanted. For Laurent to have looked at him when Nikandros had announced that they would travel to the place where, six years ago, Damen had killed his brother.

messy messy

A rueful flicker of guilt: he knew that these men breaking curfew would not expect their King to appear and admonish them personally. His presence was ludicrously disproportionate to their crime, he thought.

damen kingship theme

‘Stand,’ said Damen, ‘like the men you think you are.’ He was angry. The men, standing, perhaps did not recognise that. They didn’t know the slow way that he came forward, or the calm tone of his voice. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what it is you are doing here.’

wait no we are totally seeing the laurentification of damianos

The boy was badly bruised, and he could not stand under his own weight once the ropes were cut. Damen lowered him to the ground. More had been done to him than target practice. More had been done to him than a beating. They had put an iron cuff around his left wrist, like the gold cuff around his own—like the gold cuff around Laurent’s. Damen knew with a sickening feeling in his stomach exactly what had been done to this boy, and why. The boy didn’t speak Akielon. He had no idea what was happening, or that he was safe. Damen began to speak to him in Veretian, slow, calming words, and after a moment the boy’s glazed eyes focused on him with something like understanding. The boy said, ‘Tell the Prince I didn’t fight back.’

oh fuck, laurent would be horrified by this. it’s like an echo of nicaise and aimeric’s victimhood, and the only reason the boy hadn’t fought back was laurent’s threat. that lack of self-defense goes against so much of laurent’s own values and behavior, and he’d be disturbed to realize how he had inadvertently disempowered this vulnerable person.

‘Makedon of the north,’ said Damen. ‘You were a friend to my father. You fought with him for almost twenty years. That means a great deal to me. I respect your loyalty to him, as I respect your power and need your men. But if your soldiers harm a Veretian again, you will face me at the end of a sword.’

okayyyy so we’re starting to see a hint of where the kingship theme is going—damen getting past the whole “this is how it’s always been done, so i have to do it the same way” idea, and approaching “well i’m the king now, and this is what i think should happen instead”

‘You walk a fine line with Makedon,’ Nikandros said, on his return to camp. ‘He walks a fine line with me,’ said Damen.

YES BITCH!!!

‘Bruising, a broken rib,’ said Paschal. ‘Shock.’ ‘No, I meant—’ He broke off.

aw. damen really has come a long way, in terms of how he sees veretians. i think some of this is laurent-related, but i also think that damen is now extending the honor he’s always shown his own people to people he wouldn’t have considered worth honoring before the series’s events.

‘Thank you,’ said Damen. He heard himself continue, ‘I don’t expect—’ He stopped. ‘I know that I betrayed your trust, and lied to you about who I am. I don’t expect you to forgive me for that.’ He could feel the incongruity of the words, falling awkwardly between them. He felt strange, his breathing shallow.

i really appreciate paschal’s role in this story. a male figure in damen and laurent’s lives who cares about them both, but doesn’t give a shit about their sex lives in the slightest. paschal has always been kind of grey re: the war between akielos and vere too, evaluating people based on their individual qualities rather than their political allegiances. thanks doctor dad, you’re a real one.

‘We all do what we have to,’ said Paschal.

mysterious old man is mysterious…

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 11

Misdirection

Prev: Ch.10 ...Has a Silver Lining || Next: Ch.12 A Ghost From the Past Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: Facing the wrong end of a bandit's sword, Brynjolf must rely on his wit if he and Ariene want to make it out of this crypt alive.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 2,965

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — —

Brynjolf had lost track of the number of times over the years that he’d been threatened. No thief, no matter how skilled they were, could avoid being found out on a job from time to time, and Brynjolf was no exception to that. Getting caught wasn’t what ended a heist, it was how you handled getting caught.

So even as he knelt in an ancient crypt, the blade of a bandit leader’s sword pressed against his throat, Brynjolf forced himself not to panic. Gallus’s teachings echoed in his mind. 

Take stock of your surroundings, identify your assets. What are your options?

Fighting was out of the question. He couldn’t even stand, not when the slightest movement might set the woman off. She was ranting about disloyalty and laziness and greed, almost more to herself than the pair of them. Brynjolf risked a look behind him at Ariene. She stood with her hands held up in surrender, her face pinched in worry. 

The lass was quick; if Brynjolf kept the bandit distracted enough then he had no doubt she’d make a move. His mind wandered back to the letter he’d read in the last chamber. It had been signed by someone called Rigel Strong-Arm, which was very likely the woman before them. Was there something in it he could use? He took a deep breath, and turned his focus back to what she was saying. 

“...what I did to Roar obviously wasn’t harsh enough. I’ll show those good for nothing louts what happens when they mess with me! So who was it? Who hired you?” 

“Hired us?” Brynjolf repeated, and Rigel snarled. 

“No bullshitting, you hear? That armor you’re wearing’s no good for banditing, it’s for sneaking around all quiet like! They couldn’t get past my traps themselves so they thought they’d hire thieves to steal my treasure, but nothing gets past me! Now tell me who hired you, and I’ll do you the courtesy of making your death painless.” 

“Your crew didn’t hire us,” Ariene said, and Rigel laughed. 

“I said no bullshit,” she said. “Why would thieves come to a bandit camp unless you were hired? Now give me a name, or this one starts losing blood.” 

Brynjolf’s mind raced. What could he say to appease her? He focused on his memory of the letter, trying to pull out any useful information, and a line flitted into his head. 

Your 'little sabrecat' has a tidy operation out here and I'm not going to give it up just cause you're afraid of getting caught.

“I’m not bullshitting you,” Ariene was saying, her voice tight. “Your crew didn’t hire–”

“It was your father,” Brynjolf blurted out, and Ariene paused, glancing at him. He made a show of shrugging, and held out his hands. “Look lass, I know he swore us to secrecy, but he hasn’t paid us enough for me to bleed for him.” He looked up at Rigel, whose eyes had gone wide. 

“Da? No, that doesn’t make any sense–”

“It was him,” Brynjolf insisted. “He said his little sabrecat needed taming.” 

The woman reeled back, shock and anger written on her face, and Brynjolf slowly got to his feet, hands raised where she could see them. He had to keep her attention focused on him. What else had the letter said? 

Oh, and quit trying to send back the money. 

“Since you wouldn’t let him send back the money you gave, he used it to hire us,” Brynjolf said carefully. “He thought that if your stash was raided, if you were left penniless, then you’d become discouraged and give up this life. You know he doesn’t approve.”

“He’s never approved of anything I’ve done in my life,” Rigel nearly shouted. “Anyway, what does he know? I could easily make back anything you tried to take in less than a month. I wouldn’t just give up.” 

“With no payment to give your crew?” Brynjolf countered. 

He risked taking a step forward and Rigel brandished her sword, bringing him to a halt. 

“They barely trust you as a leader,” he continued. “They obviously don’t respect you. How could you guarantee their loyalty without the promise of coin?”

“I don’t need their loyalty,” she spat. “I just need them to do their jobs and stay out of my way.” 

“But can you count on men to do that when you can’t pay them?” Brynjolf asked. He heard a quiet *shink* from behind him and he took another step forward. “Face it lass, you’re barely holding this operation together.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rigel said. “Even if you did manage to rob me, it’d only take one successful raid for things to go right back to the way they were.”

“Your father–”

“My father is a fool!” she interrupted with a shout. “He shouldn’t have wasted the money on your corpses.” 

Rigel lifted her sword up, preparing to bring it down in a killing blow, and in that instant, Brynjolf realized he’d made a mistake. His arms were still held out in front of him and he was standing too close to the bandit leader…he had no time to draw his weapon and no room in the tight space to dodge past the attack. The sword swung down and he lurched backward, hands flying up instinctively to shield his face, though he knew it would be no use. 

He braced himself for the pain…but it never came. Instead the cavern echoed with the clang of steel hitting steel, and Brynjolf inhaled sharply.

Ariene had appeared in front of him in the blink of an eye and blocked Rigel’s strike with her steel dagger. The force of the blow sent her staggering back, but she managed to parry the larger blade away despite her lack of footing. She righted herself just in time to dodge another swing, and lashed out with a kick to the bandit’s abdomen. 

Rigel grunted in pain but stayed upright, and as she prepared to swing her sword again Ariene shifted her stance. As Rigel attacked, Ariene moved in close and caught the hilt of the bandit’s sword between her blades, just as Brynjolf had shown her back in the Guild’s training room. 

She twisted her weapons, wrenching Rigel’s sword from her hand, but the strain of the maneuver was too much for the cheap steel dagger she was using. The blade snapped under the force of the sword and Ariene yelped, letting the dagger fall next to the sword with a clatter

Rigel looked between her sword and Ariene, who now stood armed with only one of her daggers. Brynjolf could see the moment that an idea formed in the bandit’s head, and his hand moved to his own weapons. 

“Don’t try it lass,” he warned, but Rigel ignored him. 

She darted forward, arm stretched out to retrieve her sword. Brynjolf drew his daggers, but by then, it didn’t matter. In one quick motion, Ariene slashed her blade across Rigel’s throat. Blood sprayed from the wound and the bandit’s eyes widened in shock before slowly rolling back into her head as she crumpled to the ground, dead.

The utter stillness that follows battle fell over the room, and for a moment, Brynjolf was aware only of the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. Then Ariene let out a loud sigh of relief, breaking the spell. She leaned over and rested against her knees, and Brynjolf winced, unable to help the twist of guilt he felt in his stomach. 

That had been close…too close. How had they missed checking the back of the previous chamber? Why hadn’t one of them heard Rigel sneaking up on them? He was a Guild lieutenant, he should have had better control over the situation.

“Well,” Ariene said breathlessly. “I guess I owe Cynric a new dagger.” 

She knelt and retrieved her fallen weapon, turning it in her hands and staring at the shattered blade. 

“I don’t think the lad will mind too much,” Brynjolf said absently. 

What had come over him? Unbidden, something Delvin had once said to him in the Ragged Flagon came to the front of his mind.

“Whatever’s going on with the Guild is beyond just you and me.” 

Brynjolf had never put much stock in the old man’s insistence that they were cursed…but then again, he hadn’t been out in the field much since the run of bad luck had gotten really bad. Could there be credence to the curse after all? 

“Look what we have here.” Ariene said, pulling him from his thoughts. She’d moved to examine Rigel’s body, and held up a small key ring that she found on the bandit’s belt. “How much would you bet that one of these keys is for this door?” she asked. 

Brynjolf made a noncommittal noise, and Ariene frowned. 

“Bryn?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Is everything alright?” 

He let out a hollow laugh, and shook his head. Regardless of why it had happened, the simple fact was that he had messed up severely, and it had nearly cost both of them their lives.

“I should be asking you that question, lass.” 

“Why?” Ariene asked, tilting her head. “You’re the one who almost got hacked to pieces by that maniac.” 

“And you’re the one who had to step in to stop her,” Brynjolf countered. “All because I wasn’t quick enough on my own.” He took a deep breath, and met her eyes. “I know how you feel about killing, lass. And I’m sorry that you had to on my account. For what it’s worth, I owe you a debt. You saved my life.” 

Ariene met his gaze, an unreadable expression on her face. She fiddled with the keys in her hands, the soft clink of the metal deafening in the silence that had fallen between them. She opened her mouth, then closed it again with a grimace and pushed herself to her feet. 

“It’s not…I don’t have a problem with killing, exactly,” she said finally. “The world is a dangerous place, and I’ll do what I have to do to survive it. It’s…” 

She sighed, shaking her head, and Brynjolf felt another stab of guilt.

“Lass, I–” 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to not have any control over your life?” she asked suddenly, the words practically exploding out of her. “To have the world decide who you are and what you’ll be, just because of what you can do? I didn’t ask to be good at killing. I just am, and everywhere I go someone thinks they can use me because of it.” 

She threw the pieces of her broken dagger back down on the ground, a look of disgust on her face. 

“First my father thought he could keep me tied to him, then Legate Aetius thought he could exploit my criminal history, and then I finally get away from Cyrodiil and apparently the universe itself has its own idea of what–” 

She stopped abruptly and took a shuddering breath in, calming herself. Brynjolf stared at her, shocked by the outburst, and she shot him a wan smile. 

“I didn’t expect the Guild to be any different, at first. I made a promise to myself when I deserted: that I wouldn’t let myself live under anyone else’s thumb anymore. So after the debacle at Goldenglow, I was fully prepared to pack my bags and disappear again.”  

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Well…you,” she admitted. 

A blush spread across her face, and the sight made the knot of guilt in Brynjolf’s stomach loosen ever so slightly. 

“What you said when I got back, I mean,” Ariene continued hurriedly. “The fact that you took my side, that you were willing to go against Mercer on my behalf, even though I’d just joined…I decided to stay and give the Guild another chance.” 

“Well I’m glad you did, lass,” Brynjolf said before he could stop himself. His own cheeks warmed, but the small smile that Ariene gave him in return was worth the embarrassment that came with being earnest. 

“Me too,” she said quietly. Then she took a sharp breath, as if clearing her head. “Now, let’s finish this job and get out of here. I’ve had enough of old ruins for one day.” 

After a few attempts, they found the right key on Rigel’s ring to unlock the chamber’s  door and were able to make their way through. The bandit leader had clearly been paranoid, as the corridors that followed were riddled with booby traps, though Brynjolf and Ariene didn’t have any trouble avoiding them. They were rewarded at the end with the bandits’ cache of valuables, which included the silver mold that the Guild had been hired to retrieve.

They quickly scouted ahead, only to find that the tunnels had looped them back to the large open cavern that led back to the woodcutter’s hut. They returned to the treasure room and cleaned out the cache, taking the mold and as much of the loot as they could carry between them. By the time they emerged back into the forest, the late day sun was streaming through the branches overhead. 

Ariene looked up, raising one hand to shield her eyes against the afternoon light, and swore under her breath. 

“It’s later than I thought…I won’t be able to make Old Hroldan Inn before nightfall and I don’t have any camping supplies. I’ll have to stay one more night in Falkreath.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I was hoping to avoid any more run-ins with Legate Skulnar before this job was done.”

“Tell you what, lass,” Brynjolf said as they started down the road back to town. “Take my horse. You have further to travel anyway; it makes more sense for you to ride than it does for me to. I can make it to Riverwood on foot tonight.”

“Oh, I can’t make you do that,” Ariene began, but Brynjolf shook his head. 

“There’s no use arguing, lass, my mind’s made up. Besides, this way you can use the saddlebags to take the bulk of this treasure haul up to Markarth with you. Sell as much as you can legally and bring the earnings home. It’ll be good to bring some clean coin into the Guild’s coffers.” 

They made it back to Dead Man’s Drink, and set about packing the horse’s saddlebags with the jewelry, metal ingots, and gemstones that Ariene would sell in Markarth. Brynjolf loaded the septims into his own pack, along with a few items that he knew Tonillia would be interested in. 

“Hopefully showing up with a sack load of coin will be enough to soothe Mercer’s temper,” he said casually, and Ariene looked up at him, a frown on her face. 

“Did he give you a hard time over coming here?” she asked, and Brynjolf nodded. 

“He did, but don’t let it bother you. He gives me a hard time over just about everything these days.” 

“Maybe you should take the horse,” Ariene said. “You could get back sooner that way, and–”

“You need it more than I do, lass,” Brynjolf interrupted. “Besides, it’s not like there’s been anything for me to do back at the Guild. The city’s been on high alert since that little mishap in the market. Mercer just likes to take his problems out on me, I can handle it.” 

Ariene looked at him for a moment, hesitation written on her face, before she said quietly,

“Someone very clever recently told me that just because you can handle something on your own doesn’t mean you should have to.” 

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow, a playful grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. 

“You think I’m clever?” he asked, and Ariene rolled her eyes. 

“I was being serious, Brynjolf!” she chided, and he laughed. 

“I know lass, I know.” He softened, and took a step closer. “And I appreciate the sentiment. But it’ll be fine, I promise. I know how to deal with Mercer’s moods. And one of the quickest ways to cheer him up is with a lot of coin.” 

Ariene looked into his eyes for a long moment, as though searching for some hidden truth there. Finally, she nodded

“You sure I can’t convince you to take the horse?” she asked, and Brynjolf shook his head. 

“I’m afraid not, lass. The beast is yours, at least until you get back to Riften.” 

 “Very well,” she said with an overly dramatic sigh.

Ariene swung herself into the saddle with ease, and Brynjolf had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes. 

“Take care of yourself out there,” he said, and she nodded, gathering up the reins. 

“Hopefully I’ll only be a few days. We’ll get to have that drink of ours eventually.” 

“Is that a promise?” Brynjolf asked with a smirk, and Ariene raised an eyebrow. 

“I never make promises,” she said simply. “There are fewer disappointments that way.” 

With that, she dug her heels into the horse’s side and it broke into a brisk trot. Brynjolf watched her ride away until she turned around a bend in the road and was out of sight. 

Gods above, he thought, I really am gone on this woman, aren’t I?

He shook himself and hoisted his knapsack onto his shoulders, turning to take the northern route out of town. His usual temper aside, Brynjolf couldn’t see any real reason why Mercer would be upset with how this venture had gone. They’d fulfilled the client’s wishes, and made a tidy little profit on top of that. Maybe even enough to do something about the extra patrol problem they were having. 

Brynjolf set off down the road, and for the first time in a long time, he actually felt optimistic about the future.

— — —

Author's Notes: Optimism! Cuteness! Nothing Ominous on the horizon at all! :D :D :D (I am very excited for the next few chapters, they're what this whole fic has been leading up to in my mind)

[opereetveritate]

Frozen II - Secret Love

Summary: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, and Olaf embark on a journey to the Enchanted Forest to save their kingdom. But what happens when they meet again with an old enemy? And what happens when old yet strong feelings come up the surface? Read to find out!

Chapter 2

The expression of shock that had previously been on their faces—particularly Anna's—quickly gave way to disappointment. Although several years had passed since their last conversation, his betrayal was still fresh in her memory.

"What are you doing here?" Hans and Anna both asked the same question. Was that a joke? Their foolish "synchronization" was nothing more than a delusion that Anna so foolishly believed in. Anna held the sword with an extraordinarily steady hand, despite her shock. 

Hans, on the other hand, could not express surprise at this fact. The otherwise kind princess had punched him, sending him overboard.

"Oh, look who we've got here!" Hans muttered, acting as concerned. The local people looked at him puzzled.

"Do you know these people?" An old woman named Yelena asked Hans, but he didn't find it necessary to provide her with an answer. Even though he should have known by then that he shouldn't ignore the Nolthaldrian leader's requests.

To Yelena, Hans was still the guy who had mysteriously entered the enchanted forest. She accepted him into their tribe, nevertheless, in part because he lacked an army and any secret powers that he could use against them. Perhaps the other cause was more significant than she herself had thought. Hans appeared to appeal to Cloe, her only daughter.

On the other hand, all these new people. Especially that young blonde woman. There was a mysterious aura around her that Yelena found disturbing.

"The ice gang is back!" With her hand outstretched to him, Elsa stood next to her sister, prepared and eager as ever to turn him into a detached, emotionless, icy figure.

"Ice gang? Wow, didn't see that coming. That was really witty!" Ryder, a young man among the locals, commented, causing Anna to roll her eyes. Who was he that had the audacity to comment about something so personal?

"Thank you, Ryder." Without averting his gaze from his competitors, Hans answered.

"What the hell are you doing here? How do you always appear on our way?" Elsa asked the former prince, making Kristoff and her sister gasp at her indecent utterance.One thing was for sure. They didn't see it coming. Hans contented himself with a small smirk before answering her,

"I'll make it simple for you. I'm the one who always shows up, and you're the one who always leaves and never comes back. Your sister knows that from experience."

Elsa didn't like the fact that he had the audacity to talk about their past in front of strangers. She wanted to use her powers so badly and had a tone of reasons to use them against him, but a look from her sister followed by a hand on her shoulder told her to give it a second thought. They didn't come all the way here to cause a conflict. What they sought were answers. 

Before anyone could register the situation, Hans had grabbed Anna, and by the threaten of her own blade, he dared Elsa to be her true nature. 

"What are you doing?" Elsa asked angrily.

"Get your hands off of her at once. You will regret this!" Kristoff said, grabbing a sword from a soldier nearby. Hans laughed hard at this.

"So, you did find your true love, darling. That's so sweet!" Anna was trying to free herself from his grip only to realize that it was in vain. Since when has he become this strong?

"Don't call her darling!" The blond man yelled at him. He had no idea of the depths of his love for Anna. Hans eyed him curiously.

"I will do whatever the fuck I want, peasant." The locals and the soldiers looked at each other puzzled. They had no clue of what was going on.

"Although he's not that familiar with swords. But that can be taught." He said placing his hand around Anna's throat prevented her from breathing. Kristoff took a step back, not willing to risk Anna's life. That idiot was deadly serious.

"You, bastard. Let go of her!" As he was about to attack him with his sword, Elsa blocked his way.

"Kristoff, please. Let me handle this!" He protested at first, but then he gave it a second thought and realized that Elsa was the one who could finish this pathetic excuse of a prince with ease.He stood back as Elsa raised her hand, summoning her powers. Soon enough, Hans had to let go of Anna as he felt his right hand numb. He was wincing in pain, and before he could process it, his right hand was frozen.

"She's a witch. She needs to be destroyed." One of the locals screamed at the top of his lungs. Kristoff ran to her at once, wanting to make sure she was okay. Anna just gave him a nod in return, trying to catch her breath. Elsa was about to do the same, but Hans' next words stopped her from doing so.

"And the best one in her own kind, may I add." Hans said, looking straight into Elsa's blue eyes. It was right then that Elsa understood his intentions. He pushed her buttons because he wanted them to leave the forest.

"Now it's clear how you managed to enter the Enchanted Forest. The remaining question is, What are your intentions?!" Yelena said making her way through her people.

"Of course it is. I mean, look at me. I can express myself verbally." Olaf chimed in, gaining the attention of everyone around.

"Um, what's the deal with this snowman?" Mattias asked in a whispering tone.

"We're not looking for any trouble. My sister and I are here to protect our people and find some answers." Elsa explained calmly.

"Your people? I don't say anyone else around." Yelena explained gesturing around.

"They're at Arendelle, our kingdom and they're safe for now." Anna replied this time, finally regaining her strength and stood next to her sister.

"Did you say Arendelle?" Mattias asked clearly confused.

"Yes, I did." Anna assured him.

"What's your connection with the royal couple?" The sisters looked at each other puzzled. And why were those uniforms so much like those back in Arendelle? Could there be a chance he knew their parents?

"King Agnarr and queen Iduna are our parents." Anna explained.

"That is, were." Elsa added, her face darkening as she finished her sentence.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, my friend, it is not right to ask people you just met about their back stories and traumas, speaking of which, I have a great story of that kind to share with you."

"Not now, Olaf." Kristoff cut him off, knowing that this kind of conversation was better left unsaid."They've passed away." Elsa said calmly.

"My condolences!" It was a great loss for Arendelle and Mattias was fully aware of it. 

"Oh my God. I can't believe it. You're Agnar's daughters. How could not I see the resemblance in your faces?" He exclaimed and hugged them. 

"And you seem quite familiar to me. Oh, of course. I've known you from that portrait in our study." Anna said happily. Someone was on their side, and she couldn't be more grateful.

"I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? Lieutenant Mattias is the name." He finally said, bowing to them. 

"But wait, what happened to your parents?"

"I'm glad you found each other, but you can't stay here. This kind of sorcery, that is, your magic is not acceptable here." Yelena announced in an authoritative tone.

"That's correct. This is the part where you leave and never come back." Hans also said, knowing that Yelena and himself shared the same opinion on this topic. 

"So that's what you were trying to achieve? Force us to leave?" Anna asked him angrily, unable to hide her emotions. 

"Easy tiger, easy. And yes, that's exactly what I achieved. I'm so sorry you have to leave so early." He replied in a sad tone.

"Hans, I've had enough of your nonsense. Now, if you don't want to find yourself out of here, please let me handle this." Yelena's words seemed to have an effect on Hans, as he stood back and simply said,"As you wish."

"There's nothing that needs to be handled, Yelena. They're my guests, and they will be treated as such." Mattias replied instead of the sisters, taking them by surprise. 

"But her powers-"

"I promise not to use them unless I dim it necessary." Elsa cut in.

"Should I be relieved now?" Yelena asked Elsa, not trusting her.

"Come on now, Yelena." Mattias tried to reason with her. 

"Didn't you just hear her?" Yelena said, gesturing at her. 

"It's ok, mother. Come with me! You need to relax!" Cloe interrupted them, taking her mother by the hand and walking to their tent. 

-------------------------------------------------

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" Hans stopped walking and remained motionless when Jelena yelled in a tone that was clearly angry. All he wanted to do was head to his tent and consider his next course of action. She walked slowly and determinedly toward him, and when she stood in front of him, the young guy stared at her with a seriousness that filled his entire existence.

"Well?!" He looked at her clearly puzzled.

"Well?!" He echoed back, in a tone that provoked her anger. Did he take her for a fool?

“Don't you think you owe me an explanation?” He exhaled deeply. This was a conversation he preferred to avoid. 

"So who are these girls? And why did they get all flustered when they saw you?" He closed his eyes, his hands shaking into fists. They were to blame for his current situation, for his downfall and humiliation.

"You didn't come across as very friendly. What's the matter?" Determined to find out everything she could about the relationship between these three, she asked him.

"You also don't feel very friendly toward strangers. You probably don't want them to remain here." He said back, turning his back to her. He knew that Yelena was a person who knows how to impose herself, who knows how to extract the answers she needs, who knows better than anyone else the wonders that nature hides. He knew that the leader of the Northuldra did not believe in coincidences, only in tangible, simple elements like nature. This last one he also wanted to know.

"Something very bad must have happened between you two." Hans was well aware of the reason. But since his life had taken a turn for the worse, he was now certain that being honest would not help him.

"You are aware that I dislike being disregarded, Hans. If you continue to behave in this manner, then—"

"Nobody likes each other, ok? There's nothing more to tell!" He answered her sharply, unable to withstand the pressure she was putting on him. His failure cost him dearly, and the sadness and anger were clearly reflected in his eyes. Jelena saw the desperation in his eyes and understood.

"What have you done to them?" This question hurt him beyond explanation. Was that the impression he gave others when they saw him? He made no attempt to hide his displeasure and looked at her with the same surprised look, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left.

"Chief, I know you won't like what I'm about to say, but honestly-"

The sudden fall of a trunk caught their attention. Jelena let out a scream of terror when she saw a wave of purple fire coming from afar.

"Quick, abandon your tents!" The Northuldra did exactly as he instructed and grabbed their most valuable possessions and began to run as fast as they could.

[crystallizedday]

Quest – Rekindled (Part 3 of 5)

Level 32 – Hard

Before the demon was the broad-bladed sword given to him by one of those putrid brats. As much as he despised those soldiers, he was at least eager to analyze their findings, especially the strange weapons they kept finding.

Demongo knew something was special about them as soon as he laid his eyes on one of them. They all had this strong fiery aura to them that no one else could see. He knew this aura well.

Of course, he would not tell anyone his discoveries yet. He wanted to figure out why this was happening and how it could be used against these heinous monsters. He also admittedly enjoyed teasing these soldiers and that infuriating samurai. No. He was not going to tell them anything until their frustration with him stopped being amusing.

Still, these weapons perplexed him. They manifested from the disgusting beasts that infected these lands. Their fusion matter must have been tampered with by the spirits encased within these weapons, but why? Where did these spirits come from?

Perhaps the answers resided somewhere. He had heard certain rumors about the Hani Baba temple stationed in the Ruins. Perhaps that temple could give him some insight as to what could be going on.

He would have to look into it later

Because he could tell he had another issue to address right now.

He looked up from where he was seated, immediately recognizing the face that he was greeted with.

Demongo hissed. “Hello, Damien.”

“Heeeyyy!!” Damien gave the demon a small wave, smiling. “I saw you hiding out here while on my way to the crest.”

Demongo had tried to conceal himself within the small patch of forestry just outside the entrance to Huntor’s Crest. He should have figured it was not the most clever of spots to retreat to.

He sighed. “What do you want?”

Damien sat down in front of Demongo. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Our last conversation seemed like it did kind of a number on you and-”

Demongo raised a hand to shut Damien up. “Look. I will admit I have some things I need to work through, but none of them should be of your concern. Just because I am forced to work with you humans does not mean any of you have the obligation or even the right to try and sway me over. I am not some troubled delinquent lashing out because of my issues. It is simply my nature to be this way. Once this war is over and my powers return, I will not be nearly as patient with you pests.”

Damien simply shrugged. “Okay.”

“Wh-”

Demongo was baffled by that response. “Is that all you have to say?!”

Damien nodded. “Yeah. That doesn’t really change why I wanna hang out with you.”

The demon fumbled over his words, both frustrated and immensely confused. “Are you stupid? Crazy?! You know what I’ve done, right?!”

“Yeah,” the human responded. “I know a decent bit about you. You go after warriors because you want to feel more powerful with their souls in your possession. Last I checked, you’re not exactly the conquering type. You just want to feel stronger. That’s why you’re so upset about losing your powers.”

“That’s…”

Demongo was dumbfounded. Damien was technically not wrong. No. He was absolutely right. The only power the demon sought was over those he considered strong enough to fulfill his commands. He did not exactly desire to rule the world or even the universe like many other villains did. Why would he? He would much rather be a powerful force feared and respected by all. It was why he was so content when he used to take orders from…

He did not want to think about that.

Demongo shifted his focus back to the conversation at hand. “How do you know that?”

Damien snickered. “It’s like you said. I can make good inferences. Just because I got a hefty amount of brawns in me doesn’t mean I don’t have any brains as well.”

He made a good point, but that did not make Demongo feel any better.

He set the sword aside. “Okay. Back to the topic at hand. Why are you here? Why are you talking to me? Why am I worth your time?”

Damien’s expression softened. “You’re just nice to be around, honestly. I can’t help but feel sort of gravitated towards you, regardless of your alliance. Honestly, if anyone else gave you the chance, I’m sure they would say the same thing.”

Demongo dismissed that notion. “Oh, please! All the others want nothing to do with me. All they want are answers only I can provide. Nothing more.”

“Hmph,” Damien huffed. “Guess I’m just weird then.”

“Yeah, you are,” the demon retorted. “You’re extremely weird. Instead of focusing on the invasion like you should, you’re wasting your time bothering me for no good reason! You keep talking to me like I’m-”

“A person?”

Damien interrupted him. “I’m guessing not a lot of people talk to you like that, huh?”

Demongo was nearly fed up with this human’s shenanigans. “Why would they?! Why would they ever talk to me like that knowing who I am?!”

Damien was unmoving, his soft tone contrasting greatly with the demon’s. “Because I think you deserve it.”

Demongo froze.

He could barely process what he was just told, let alone come up with a response to it. What would he even say to that? Should he agree? Disagree? He was not sure, and that was clearly getting to him.

Damien continued. “When I told you about wanting to see you flourish, I meant it. I wanna see other people look at you and recognize all the things you can do. Even without your powers, I’ve seen you do a lot of incredible things.”

Demongo tensed up, still silent.

The human could tell something was bothering him. “I know it may be hard to believe, but I genuinely want to help you. I want to help other people see you the way I see you. I want to-”

Demongo snapped at him.

“You think it’s that easy for me to understand?! That someone cares about me enough to go through all this effort?! Everyone else either tolerates me or wants me gone!! And you know what?! I was fine with that!! I was fine being alone!! I no longer had anyone to please, anyone to disappoint, anyone who could so easily toss aside my entire life for one slip-up that WASN’T EVEN MY FAULT!!”

The demon pointed to Damien, getting in his face once again. “You have got some nerve thinking you can just walk over and put this weight on me and act like that’s a good thing!! I just want to wait out this STUPID war so I can get the powers that were WRONGFULLY stolen from me!! And you know the worst part about that?”

Damien stayed silent, allowing Demongo to continue.

“I don’t even know if I can get my powers back!! I have no idea if it’s actually as simple as killing my counterpart!! And knowing that accursed samurai and his mindless allies, they’re probably planning to keep me powerless at all costs!! For all I know, I could have to live the rest of my life in CONSTANT fear that SOMETHING or SOMEONE will finally end me!! Do you know what that’s like?! Knowing that anyone or anything could end you at any moment if you’re not proven useful enough?!”

“Is that what you wanted to hear?! Did you want to hear me admit that I’m afraid?! Cause I AM!! I’m petrified!! I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I can’t get my powers back!! I don’t know if I can… I can…”

He stopped.

He felt hot streaks flowing down his cheeks. He tried wiping them off with the back of his hand. He stared at what he just wiped off.

This oozy substance glowed a bright blue, steam emitting from its hot surface. It was almost like lava.

Were these supposed to be

Tears?

“No no no no no no no, stop it!!”

He tried wiping off as much as he could to no avail. Any drops of it that hit the ground burned tiny holes into the dirt.

Why did that stupid human have to push him to his limits like this?!

Demongo looked up at Damien, barely able to make out the human’s widened eyes staring down at him.

The demon struggled to speak, words constantly catching in his throat as he gasped in between sobs. He glared at Damien. “Is th-this what you w-wanted? T-to see me like th-th-this?”

Damien tried to calm Demongo. “Hey, hey. Listen. It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe.”

Demongo tried to retaliate. “Wh-why should I listen t-to…”

“Please,” Damien insisted. “Bear with me just for a second, okay? Take deep breaths. Don’t worry about anything else. Just focus on your breathing.”

As much as the demon did not want to listen, he did not exactly have any other choice. He slowed his breathing, clutching the sides of his arms as he tried to ground himself.

Damien’s demeanor remained calm and gentle. “That’s it. You’re okay.”

Demongo looked back up at Damien, still not pleased with him. “Easy for you to say…”

“I know,” Damien admitted. “I know. I shouldn’t have pushed you that hard. I’m sorry I did that. Even so, I’m glad to told me all of that. I didn’t know you spent all that time being that scared.”

Demongo was silent, still glaring at the human while “tears” continued to pour down his face.

Damien looked off into nothing for a moment before returning his gaze to the demon. “You know, if you’re afraid of something happening to you, I can be here to help you feel safer! I know you probably don’t like me too much right now, but I really do want to do my best to help you. I’m not sure why, but I care about you, and that’s enough of a reason for me to do this.”

Demongo sniffed, shaking his head. “You really are weird… but…” He took in a shaky breath. “I already told you things I would not dare even utter to anyone else, so…”

Damien reached out, placing a careful hand on the demon’s shoulder.

Demongo yelped, Damien quickly retreating the hand.

The human was panicked. “Oh jeez! I’m sorry! I probably should’ve asked first-”

“NO!!” The demon shouted, his voice quieting back down after that. “Put it back… Please…”

Damien hesitated, but he eventually rested his hand back on Demongo’s shoulder.

The demon let out a shaky sigh. The feeling was so foreign yet so comforting, and he did not know why. His breathing eased as he wiped away the rest of his “tears” with the back of his wrist.

After a moment, he started chuckling to himself, his voice now raspy. “I’m actually impressed.”

“Oh?” That got Damien curious. “How so?”

Demongo smirked. “I didn’t think anyone was capable of making me break down like that, or even… open up, I suppose.”

“I’m glad I did,” Damien remarked. “Well, not the part where you broke down, but more so the part where you got to talk about things you’ve probably been bottling up for who knows how long. That’s not good for you, you know.”

The demon snickered. “Don’t you lecture me about such nonsense, human.”

Damien gave Demongo a mischievous grin in turn, bursting out into a laugh right after. He could not keep up the cheeky attitude.

He sighed. “I hope you know that I meant what I said. I’m attached to you, and I’m willing to be here as often as I can to help you feel safe. You’ve seen me fight those monsters. I’m sure you know I can definitely break a few noses if I need to.”

Demongo giggled hearing that, sighing. “Out of all the world’s greatest mysteries I have seen with my own eyes, you are by far the most baffling to me.”

“Oh really?” Damien placed his free palm under his chin. “What other mysteries have you seen?”

That got another good laugh out of the demon. He rested one of his own hands on top of the fleshy one resting on his shoulder. “Alright then…”

[fantomette22]

What are some of your favorite Gehrman head-canons my friend? ^-^

Hiii !!!! Smiley Anon!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ (sorry I am doing too much?? 😅 always a pleasure to see you're still around friend ♥️ I don't remember if you have an account but don't hesitate again to come talk it wouldn't be a pb for me!)

Oh dear you shouldn't ask me about Gehrman's headcanons without being precise my brain is a constant brainrot of those ideas XD (and I can't choose)

Well I was gonna put a giant list but wait you ask about my favorites right??! i... don't know 😰 I'm really bad at choices 💀 But hey I'm gonna try! (+ had a giant list) I promise not real angsty or sad ones because I'm in the mood for happy things now! ✨

But first well I'm going to link my backstory headcanon for him and the last headcanons list I share for him in an ask game (it's going to be really similar that's why)

If I really had to choose one... well I would say he made the small hair ornament.

And that he made the mercy blade (it was his secondary weapon : in bloodborne we can wield 2 weapons and 2 firearms so...) and passed it down later to the first official hunter of hunter's.

Now here's some put randomly, hope you enjoy! :

He had a few class at Byrgenwerth, didn't go far in the studies but still and have a few classes with Laurence XD

Then he became Byrgenwerth's groundskeeper (employee #1)

he help Willem?/Laurence? to make the gold pendant by potentially making/finding the gold blood gems.

Specialist to hang out looking at the moon at 2am (I mean Caryll too. Byrgenwerth campus was a mess at times)

the big bro of the group!

Of course he love flowers and weapons too! He could speak about hours of it! he's not real social but really cultivate he compensate with his close friends.

With Maria (and a bit caryll & maybe Rom??) they were in charge of cultivate the first Lumen flowers they bring back from Loran.

Part of the siderite use for his weapon and badge came from a meteorite he found when he was little.

yes he knew quite some stuff in astronomy, anatomy & geology (because I say so)

he got inspired by the undead alive giant "arms" for the burial blade.

His name originated from you know the cut content cainhurst knight missing a leg with a spear on a monster horse (kinda look like the tree sentinel in elden ring)

he could had become knight for Cainhurst but he politely declined

About his scarf I fall in love with a friend's version : Maria give it to him as a present. Alternatively it was from his family.

Yeah he had way too much version of the "how to pick up fair maiden books" (the church had them first!) because a few person give it to him or the workshop or it was to other hunters lol. Maybe it's just cool action novels too

He know how to played cello

he make great tea. And good food too

Ok so when he was older (after Maria passed away/before the dream and all) he got a dog! A white female wolfhound that hunt alongside him for years.

+ Sewing :

Of course he had dolls and made clothes for some plushies when he was little. he couldn't do really detailed broderies but sew clothes wince he was young.

He sew back hunter's clothes who were damaged

He made hats for his friends for a Christmas or smt

Well he made the doll clothes but the one the doll wear or a precedent version of the made it for Maria. Or at least he made the red neckerchief!!

Probably design/made at least 1 church outfit or accessories

Of course the charred hunter set is from him??

This man can fix almost anything! (Like weapons)

He don’t need a lot of sleep it’s crazy but when he’s in deep sleep just talking doesn’t work you need to move and push him

His cane is a little trick weapon too. A simple yet cool and fancy sword cane.

Update : omg i forgot to said he made little wood animals figures for his friends! (And more complexe one too!)

And I think I should stop here. That's already a lot of ideas just put randomly here. I probably forget a few and it's the happy ones here mostly. Sorry if you wanted smt way simpler and shorter I got motivated wanting to share headcanons, thanks again and I hope you enjoyed 😅

[slrsunfire]

WIP Wednesday-Love Persevering (Chapter 3)

Making good progress on the next chapter of ACU! Hoping I can maybe wrap up this chapter by the end of this week and have something (possibly) up by this weekend. Since I shared a bit from that story last week, I figured I'd tempt you all instead with some content from the next chapter of my mdtb!Ronin AU since I know there a few of you out there wanting the next installation.

I think after I post this next chapter of ACU I'll be dedicating some time to getting started on the continuation to my recent a/b/o mdtb childhood betrothal fic...I have most of what I want to do with that outlined, my brain has just been being difficult and mulling over how to start if off. *sigh*

Anyway, enjoy!!

Unsurprisingly they fan out to encircle them, though Tobirama notes one horse and its rider have split off from the rest, beelining straight for Kagami. It’s hard to keep his eyes on the strangers that have surrounded him while also marking the progress of the long-haired man so fixated on Kagami. He has only a moment to wonder as to their relation when his young companion catches sight of the stranger and throws himself beyond Tobirama’s reach with a loud cry of happiness. 

“Chichiue!” 

The rider canters up to them before forcing the horse he sits upon to wheel about in an effort to slow down far more quickly than would normally be advisable. Tobirama can tell that the man is a master rider with how gracefully he manages it, even as the creature protests with a high whinny and scrapes its hooves agitatedly against the dusty ground. 

In seconds Kagami’s father has thrown himself from his saddle and remarkably the man’s horse stands still, making no move to bolt while the nameless stranger races up to Kagami and falls to his knees to take the boy into his arms. 

“Thank the Gods,” Kagami’s father chokes out, loud enough that even Tobirama can hear the relief and quivering emotion present in the man’s voice. 

“Take your son back to the compound, Hikaku,” one of the other men suddenly commands. 

Of the gathered Uchiha on horseback, Tobirama finds the man who has issued the order to be the most intimidating of them all, at least physically. 

He is broad-shouldered and blessed with strong, well muscled arms that are clear in their power even from beneath the voluminous fabric of the man’s indigo colored haori. He carries two swords at his waist, and Tobirama can tell the man is trying to determine whether he will need to use them on Tobirama. He has taken to wedging himself and his horse in between Tobirama and Kagami, as if he expects Tobirama to try and steal the young boy back. 

The man’s long, wild hair is tied up and back in a high tail not unlike how Tobirama once used to keep his hair before he’d shorn his locks upon the loss of his family and title. The Uchiha carries the bearing of a leader around him like a king wears the raiments of his station, effortlessly and to ruthless effect. His dark eyes stare piercingly down at Tobirama, sharp in their understated but no less clear warning of violence should Tobirama show himself to be a threat to his people. 

This is a man Tobirama would have feared to have crossed blades with on a battlefield had the Senju ever been set against the Uchiha. He cannot help but grimly wonder if such a fate may still yet come to pass with the frigid reception he has found himself on the receiving end of. Tobirama knows they see him as a threat, that they have taken one look at him and his disheveled clothing and see nothing but a disreputable ronin, just like Kagami had said only a few days before. 

“You,” the Uchiha points to him abruptly, “will give up your swords and come with us.” 

[sinful-morningstar]

Spartober 2023 Day 4 Reunion (VerDante)

Author's note: I purposely kept Nero out of this one despite him being important in the cutscene in DMC 5 but bear with me there will be more Nero content in the future, other than that enjoy this ficlet where they reunite and spar Prompts by whatsanapocolae1 (I am using a combination of Spartober and Devil MayTober prompts) {I'm still catching up on the Prompts so stay tuned for more content i will get caught up even if it kills me lol} 4: Reunion (VerDante)

 “You’ve got some pretty big cojones coming back!...Just don't know when to give up!” Dante growled as he charged at Vergil, his heart racing; he felt a mixture of anger and joy for seeing him again but bitterness due to the last time they saw each other. He jumped and struck Vergil only to have the Yamato push him back, it gave him memories of when the two had fought atop the tower all those years ago. Sparks flew as the blades crashed an echo into the past as Dante remembered their last duel. Distracted by his own thoughts he felt the sheathed blade pushing him back as Vergil defended himself further.He blinked pleasantly surprised that Vergil hadn't impaled or even grazed against his flesh…no the blade was covered and it left Dante wondering why. Falling back Dante steadied himself, his eyes fixated on Vergil as they both caught their breath. He remembered the rainfall on the tower the way Vergil’s hair fell in his face, it was all too similar and it made him shiver. He had Vergil back but at what cost?. Shaking his head Dante proceeded to Charge once more at Vergil, the duo coming to a close in the middle of the Qliphoth as their swords clashed once more, sparks blew between them almost a small flame which perfectly embodied not just their fiery passion for fighting, but something else..something unspoken… Vergil defended himself expertly, keeping Dante back from slashing at him with The Rebellion. The pair grunting in unison as their strength bounced off one another. Sparks continued to fly  between them as he spoke “Defeating you like this..is meaningless…” He says shaking his head he can see just how beaten Dante is ,how tired..or broken he must feel in this moment seeing him again, he can't stand to witness his brother fight in such a weak state of body and mind…No that just won't do.. “Cmon Vergil!” Dante growled soft before he spoke again “Let's do this~” it was almost enticing; the way his breath caught in his throat making it somewhat sultry, this reminded Vergil of the moan that once  escaped his brother's lips as he had impaled him with the yamato ..long ago..

He smirked to himself, some things never change and it seemed this dance of determination and strength was still fresh in their mind as if it ran through their veins and fueled that desire in their hearts, would they continue to fight or would they finally give in to what they both want , that they repeatedly deny themselves every time they battle.

“Heal your wounds Dante..” Vergil said as he looked back into Dante’s eyes; a slight warmth in his tone as he remembered this exact moment years ago. He gripped The Yamato as he continued to say “ Get Strong…After that we’ll settle the matter!”.

He swept the blade beneath where Dante stood causing his brother to fall back, Vergil pushed Dante to the ground making sure he was down and out for the count. He watched him writhe in pain seething at his wounds; the adrenaline from the reunion had worn off and Dante was worse for wear.

Vergil sighed as he used the Yamato to travel to another part of the Qliphoth. The blade sliced a portal open as glowing lights of blue, red and purple mixed homogeneously, leaving a captivating glow that only further pulled Vergil to the opening.

Dante watched as Vergil was about to leave he wheezed “Come back here..I-I’m not through with you..” he shuddered.

Looking over his shoulder Vergil raised a brow at his brother, surprised by his stubbornness. He turned around and walked back over to him, he knelt down on the ground beside him and caressed his cheek gently wiping away the blood on his face.

“Oh I know all too well, brother mine…but if I have my fun with you now, there won't be any more left of you once I'm done with you..and where is the point in that?~” he said in a sultry tone, smirking as he got up to leave.

Dante blushed darkly, this was definitely better than being unconscious and having a stolen kiss..the words..the promises..the empty threats, it's what made his heart race and his blood rush. He watched as Vergil went through the portal leaving Dante on his own.

He would heal..he would get strong just to see Vergil again ..just to have that  twisted pleasure from their brotherly fighting..the rivalry that was in their blood and bones, the one thing that kept Dante going..His reason for fighting…

Reunited and it felt..so good…

[ralofofriverwoods]

My crk Alternate universe lore post. Finally.

I’ll try organizing as good as I can, but i will make no promises. I also don’t know much about anything past the last vanilla kingdom stage, so I won’t be modifying that all that much of that

I’m gonna name this au ‘DE was right, actually(almost)’ so I can stop vaguely referring to it lol.

- - -

Abbreviations-

DE - Dark Enchantress | CoD - cookies of darkness | RV - red velvet | DC - dark choco | PM - poison mushroom | SC - strawberry crepe | GB - gingerbrave

Separating this stuff from the actual content because it’s really fucking long.

Buckle up besties, you’re about to get such a big lore dump that you’ll get bored a 1/4th of the way through!!

1. Cookies of darkness

- white lily cookie still turns into dark enchantress cookie+she still adopts red velvet

- dark enchantress is not ‘evil’. She does still want to kill the witches and rewrite some pretty major things, of course, but she isn’t unnecessarily cruel like she is in canon. She’s actually a good mom, for starters

- some of her methods are a little bit odd/abstract when it comes to dealing with those who oppose her, and if it calls for it she still does kill people. It isn’t her first solution though, she is all about compromises

- a lot of small villages(like black raisin cookie’s) are actually on dark enchantress’s side! The wastelands that surround the CoD’s castle have quite a few villages among them, and therefore they have a symbiotic relationship (the cod help with food and protection, the villages alert dark enchantress of any incoming attacks+watch over the cake hounds)

- these villages used to be a part of the other kingdoms, however after dark enchantress occupied that land the kingdoms cut off supplies/couriers/etc as a precaution. Mostly on the assumption that they would be killed within a week of the new occupation. Obviously this was not very good for keeping the loyalty of the villages.

- the face off between DE and the ancients still happens in pretty much the same way. She is still banished and pure vanilla still gets fucked up, along with whatever happened to the other ancients.

- instead of DE being mostly unreachable, however, she is more of a spirit type entity. She can still be talked with in places where spiritual energy is strong, or with the right spells. One of these places is the basement of her castle, which is how red velvet gets some good ol parenting while she is gone, and is also how pomegranate talks with her.

- red velvet does still get raised by DE! Just not as thoroughly as a normal kid would. A lot of basic survival lessons like how to barter, how to interact with others, etc, he learns by himself or from sympathetic villagers. He is a little kid with no apparent guardian after all.

- yes villagers have tried to adopt him. Whenever they brought it up with him he just shrugged and said no thanks. So instead they just made sure he always had enough food and shelter when he came to town.

- as an adult, he welcomed pomegranate(the first outsider CoD) into the ranks. Adjusting to the new way of life was hard for both of them, but after some trial and error they found out what worked. Pomegranate also helped get the castle back to the state it was before DE was banished(it was all very dusty and unused, seeing as RV lives over by the tower of chaos+does not know how to clean anything that tedious and ornate)

- Dark Choco still has the Strawberry Jam Sword. He still gets banished, which is how he joins the CoD. Pomegranate doesn’t harass him every time he shows his face, though, and instead actually tries to help him get rid of the curse.

- they are completely unsuccessful till licorice comes along, seeing as he is a powerful wizard that knows a lot about curses and undead.

- when they do remove the curse, DC switches to a more slim blade that has been enchanted by licorice himself, which makes it a curse repelling ward as well as a sick ass weapon.

- licorice does not join the CoD for recognition for his abilities. He isn’t very well known, but nobody in his family ever was. He just finds DE’s mission to be an honorable one, and thought it would be good to have the newest blood in such a powerful line of wizards on the side of the dark.

- licorice comes from a family of cookies in the dark cacaoian mountains that are all powerful wizards. Many people that have heard of them assume them to be vampires, and as such have tried to purge them from the land. Seeing as they’re all just magic spider people that don’t get out much, that did not do anything. His family lives in an old abandoned temple to a forgotten god, which they keep up and running.

- The god is one of the patrons of their family because of this, and gives them the gift of forgotten knowledge from ages past.

- poison mushroom. Where did he come from? Who knows. One day they just appeared in the castle, and so licorice decided he’d take care of them. It became more of a group effort within a whopping three days, but PM still only ever calls licorice dad

- naturally, a big part of teaching PM things was not offering the poisonous shroomies to his friends. Once they came up with an alternative for him to grow that was not poisonous, he laid off on the deadly ones. He still does offer them to strangers though.

- PM only ever calls crepe by name (which is still rare), everyone else only gets called by whatever nickname he has assigned them. Everyone else just goes along with it.

- all of the kid CoDs(PM, SC, etc.) are around 15-16 when they meet gingerbrave and friends. If they fight canonically they will be above 15, as a rule. Literal Children should not go to war

- crepe still does fight gingerbrave and co., and they still lose. GB invites them into the kingdom, which they accept.

- the first month or so after they woke up they were alone. Then, they met a strange spectral cookie(DE) that was very nice to them, and offered to give them some new friends. Obviously crepe said yes. So DE told them to keep an eye out for a red cookie with a big saw and blue eyes. This is how they were incorporated into the CoD.

- red velvet took care of them for the most part, seeing as he was one of the only ones who could get up to the vanilla kingdom without the main lift. When they finally went to the castle, everyone immediately decided they were part of the family and adopted them.

- because of this they were also let in on battle plans and the like, which is why, after they fight GB, they ‘join the good side’. This is really just so the CoD can get intel directly from an eyewitness without being suspicious. Also because crepe can work on their machines a lot more there which is a nice bonus.

- pastry cookie’s whole deal has already been mentioned in a previous post, which I will link at the end of this post, but here’s a summary.

- she left the order after learning the truth, bounced around for a little bit, then went back to the cake tower to join the CoD. She now works as a spy along with crepe, though she does more work abroad than specifically at GB’s kingdom. She also changed her name to lavender.

- Madeleine cookie also goes to the dark side! He has had doubts about how evil the CoD’s cause actually is, but after getting the command from The Divine to join the darkness, he goes about doing just that. Turns out his doubts were correct, they are just trying to do the right thing.

- Madeleine is, for all intents and purposes, the CoD’s secret weapon. He still lives in the kingdom, he still fights on their side, etc. his job is to just keep the kingdom goers out of the way of the CoD. He will be one of the ones that, at the final battle, comes from the opposite side and legitimately scares the shit out of everyone.

- he also has wings n stuff which only the CoD know about. Why? Just cause. Another thing to help them get the drop on their enemies.

- - -

2. Gingerbrave’s kingdom

- gingerbrave is technically not the king. He just makes sure everyone has everything handled, like a steward of sorts. There is no true king, after all.

- the kingdom is kind of leaderless, all things considered. When a decision for the kingdom needs to be made, at least 2 representative cookies relating to the discussion will be invited, and a council will be held. Everyone there will then vote on it, and a desicion will be made based on the results.

- most in game cookies that don’t live elsewhere live in Gingerbrave’s kingdom. Cookies like espresso would be invited for magical related problems, blackberry would be invited for supernatural problems, etc.

- there are many more denizens that live in the kingdom than are actively collectible In game. Obviously, there has got to be some normal guys in there, and there are always at least 4 normal cookie reps for each discussion.

- as far as GB is concerned, the CoD are almost exactly how they are in canon. A barely held together group of lackeys, with perhaps a little bit more of a bond to DE than canon. He doesn’t quite understand DE’s true plan, which is why he opposes her so much.

- GB and co. still do not have any intent to kill, however some of the more volatile or morally grey cookies certainly do not mind it. This has led to many close calls on both sides of the war, and a few deaths.

- - -

3. The ancient’s kingdoms + religion

- many of the other kingdoms, such as the creme republic, are either neutral or in opposition to DE for much the same reason. All of the kingdoms that are ruled by the ancients will attack most known members on sight, making traveling a very trivial matter if you work on the side of the dark.

- there are many religious sects that worship different deities. Most are recognized by at least one or two kingdoms, however more cult oriented sects(like the st pastry order) are largely undetected by most kingdoms.

- this includes more chaotically aligned deities(think daedra, from the elder scrolls). Some of the truly evil deity’s followers are openly outlawed, for obvious reasons(cannibalism is not good, neither is blood sacrifice)

- vampirism is considered to be the only exception, as it is a common enough ailment in places like the hollyberry kingdom, and has no non-lethal cures. Because of this there are many places that people donate blood to for vampires so they don’t starve.

- the vanilla kingdom is under heavy reconstruction, and thus has to limit how many people can enter the kingdom at a time. This is due to the structural integrity of the floating islands being greatly reduced out of lack of use. Many camps have been made outside the city for immigrants, until the islands can be stabilized once more.

- - -

That is all for right now! A little lacking on some world development, but a lot has not changed outside of the CoD. I also cannot get the CoD out of my head long enough to develop much else lol

Feel free to offer suggestions n stuff!

- - -

Links-

Pastry’s lore post

[kaija-rayne-author]

Prelude to my Bloodbound.

Content and Trigger Warnings

Rough sex with willing participants (R.A.C.K. Kink)

Reference to tickling as coercion

Graphic Violence

Discussion of depression

Suicidal ideation and past attempt

On page panic attack

Ableist language as self-reference

Allusion to rape

Blood-letting, consumption, and exchange

Reference to self-harm

Motor-vehicle crash

Disrespect of Asexuality

Child Death

Alcohol

Food

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers, rough sex with willing participants and R.A.C.K (Risk Aware Consensual Kink) BDSM.

PRELUDE:

No one wants to open the door to confront me or one of my brethren on their threshold.

No one.

Part and parcel of the whole God’s Messenger gig.

I grimaced something resembling a smile at the terrified otherkin who’d opened the door. It didn’t help. If anything, I panicked her even more; she trembled like a leaf in a gale. I cleared my throat and passed her my burden. A child wrapped up in my shadowfur lined cloak and sound asleep. The moment her gaze fell on the four-year-old, she gasped and her face radiated joy.

A young male otherkin came up behind her, rested his arm around her waist, looked at me with a petrified distortion meant to be a smile, then turned his attention to their child. The only youngling I’d been able to bring home.

I nodded my head and stepped back off their steps. When the silent couple went to unwrap the tyke, I lifted my uninjured arm. “Keep it, please. They’ve had a rough time of it. Tell them they were very brave, and that one of Lord Arawn’s messengers said so. If nothing else, it’ll be worth enough for a good start in life. Let them keep it.”

I backed several strides away and turned. Messengers, our job title was Messenger, but we were assassins. All of us. Usually, the only message Arawn bade us deliver came courtesy of a bladed edge. Written in sanguine ink.

Night had fallen long ago, and the air smelled of wood-smoke, animal scat, and something sweet cooking in the cabin. I cast a last glance behind me; the small family sat cuddling on the doorstep. Joy tried to balance the heaviness in my heart, but it couldn’t.

A black and gold furred cat stood next to the man’s hip. They had their eerie golden gaze pinned to me and when I looked at them, they hissed. Lifting their fur and lashing their tail, warning me off.

I turned away and slid my foot into the stirrup. Hauling my achy body up one armed was a pain in the ass, or the arm, if you want me to be specific, but I managed it. My leather armour squeaked as I settled into the saddle. I gathered Cimmerian’s braided reins and checked to make sure her burden was tied well to the back of the saddle. I reached back and adjusted my sword to a more comfortable angle.

Cim stomped a dinner-plate sized hoof ringed with black feathers of hair and tossed her dual-horned head. Impatient for home. I reached down and patted her powerful neck. “Soon, love. Soon.” Then I pressed her side with my knee and laid the reins along her neck to turn her. I clicked my tongue, and she stepped out.

The mud from the evening rainstorm had yet to dry, and it squelched under each hoof fall. A bitter little laugh escaped me. “I should be happy for the mud, Cim. I really should be. I owe my life to that mud.”

Cim snorted. Unamused by my attempt at conversation.

Huddling in the saddle with my arm held close to my ribs, I sighed heavily. My breath fogged the air, and I shivered, cold without my cloak in my wet gear. I clicked again and Cim broke into a trot, then a canter. One last thing to do before I could go home. One, last, hard thing.

It took us some time to wind through the eldritch forest to where the spirit hounds dwelled. I took deep breaths of the misty air laden with the scent of ozone and green growing things. The full inhalations helped me control my pain levels. Arm, thigh, waist, ankle, and a nasty scratch across my cheekbone close to my left eye. Leagues away from their den, a pale shape emerged from the brume. The first of the gleaming, white, hound-like beasts known as cwn annwvyn. Bigger than the biggest Irish Wolfhound ever dreamed, gleaming in silky smooth, graceful lines. As shiny as fine silk. Their blood-red ears and topaz eyes tracked me and my burden as I rode closer.

I discreetly touched the daggers on my thighs and shifted my shoulders to reassure myself that my sword was still where it should be, cross sheathed on my back for a fast over-shoulder draw. I turned my attention inward to check my magical status. My energy was low after the earlier battle, but I’d still have enough oomph to survive a fight if I needed to.

I kept my gaze ahead of me, between Cim’s ears. At first, only rarely did a hound show themselves. Then, the closer I got, the more packed they sat until I rode through a double, gleaming channel of cwn annwvyn. Their eyes fixed on me, and I kept mine trained ahead. We all knew why I was here.

My arm ached, burning, but I gritted my teeth and bore it. It wasn’t my first injury in the line of duty, and I doubted it would be my last.

I pulled Cim to a halt in front of the cavern mouth of their home. A single hound sat in front of the entrance to the earth. She wore the cuffs of rule on her front paws. Exact visual duplicates, but lacking the powerful spells of the originals. At least she’d get those back now. I breathed out a soft breath and closed my eyes for just a moment.

Finish it, Risk.

I nodded and swung a leg over Cim’s neck to slide off my saddle. I ignored the heightening, searing pain in my forearm when I landed. Then I turned to Cim’s haunches and the cord I’d used to wrap her burden. I swallowed a hard gulp of sorrow as I eased Halley’s form over my shoulder. The ichor had defiled the silk grave cloth I’d wrapped around her. The cold tackiness of blood-soaked fabric brushed the side of my face, but it’d be a dark day when I flinched away from the ink of my trade.

I winced and struggled to hold my work-face as I slung the body into my arms. The weight against my torn vambrace made my wounds smoulder like coals held to bare skin, all the way to the bone. But even that, I didn’t allow to show.

I turned carefully, balancing my burden, then walked to the hound. My snuggly laced boots squelched a little in the mud. She said nothing, simply watched me with heartbroken eyes. I kept my face still, cold. I was just the instrument. This message came from a God.

Slowly, I went to a knee, and refusing to shed any tears, I laid the body of one of my oldest friends at the feet of the new hound-queen.

I bowed my head to her and held my position for a moment. My hand on the body’s head. I’d already said my apologies, and truly, I was just the God’s weapon.

That didn’t help my heartbreak.

Standing, I nodded brusquely to the Queen of the Cwn Annwvyn and turned away so she could mourn her mother in peace. Silence accompanied Cim and I on the long ride out of their territory. The sky held the soft, dark grey weight of pre-dawn on the horizon. Still, they lined the path, so I rode between two gleaming white lines.

I’d brought Halley home. Now it was time for me to do the same. Go Home.

Little did I know exactly how true that would turn out to be.

Read the rest on KU or for $2.99

Amazon.com link