#quest for the frozen flame

[bean-cookies]

📣 New character alert!!!

This is Bibitt, and she's happy to be here. She's a level 1 goblin ranger that I have created for a "Quest for the Frozen Flame" Pathfinder game that I will be playing in soon. 😊

[justicegundam82]

PF 2e to 1e Conversion: Demon, Roru

My newest conversion comes from the Quest For The Frozen Flame Adventure Path, and more exactly from Lost Mammoth Valley. It's a rather straightforward creature, but the shapechanging ability gave me some trouble. I hope I got it right for what's essentially a low-medium CR creature, and I hope that someone more experienced than I am can spot and correct any mistake I've made. I've also changed a few things about the creature's lore, since I thought it'd make more sense.

With that said, here comes the Roru.

DEMON, RORU

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

This corpulent humanoid looks like a skinned human corpse, but its mouth is armed with wicked jaws, and it sports elk-like antlers on top of its head.

RORU       CR 7

XP 3’200

CE Medium Outsider (chaotic, demon, evil, extraplanar, shapechanger)

Init +8; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +15

Aura predatory (30 ft.)

DEFENSE

AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 15 (+4 Dex, +5 natural)

hp 94 (9d10+45) 

Fort +11, Ref +10, Will +6

Damage Reduction 10/cold iron or good; Immune electricity, poison; Resist acid 10, cold 10, fire 10

Spell Resistance 18

Weakness rattled by disobedience

OFFENSE

Speed 40 ft.

Melee 2 claws +15 (1d8+6), bite +15 (1d10+6) or gore +15 (1d8+6 / x3)

Special Attacks incite ferocity

Spell-Like Abilities (CL 9th, concentration +11)

Constant – speak with animals

At will– animal trance (DC 14), charm animal (DC 13), greater teleport(self plus 50 lbs. of objects only), hold animal(DC 14), magic fang

3/day – dominate animal (DC 15), greater animal aspect, pack empathy

1/day – animal growth, summon (level 3, 1 roru, 1d3 swaithes or 1d4+1 dretches, 50%)

STATISTICS

Str 22, Dex 19, Con 21, Int 11, Wis 16, Cha 14

Base Atk +9; CMB +15; CMD 29

Feats Cleave, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Initiative, Power Attack, Stealthy

Skills Acrobatics +8 (+12 jumping), Bluff +8, Climb +8, Escape Artist +6, Handle Animal +15, Intimidate +12, Knowledge (nature) +12, Knowledge (planes) +10, Perception +15, Sense Motive +12, Stealth +15, Survival +12

Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Draconic; speak with animals, telepathy 100 ft.

Special Qualities wear pelt

ECOLOGY

Environment any (Abyss)

Organization solitary, pair or hunting party (3-8)

Treasure standard

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Incite Ferocity (Su): As a standard action, a roru can influence an animal or a magical beast with an Intelligence score of 2 or less within the range of its predatory aura and cause it to enter a state of blind, uncontrollable rage. The victim must make a Will save (DC 16) or be affected as though by a rage spell and become confused (as the confusion spell) for as long as they remain in the roru’s predatory aura and for 1d4 rounds after they have left the aura. Alternatively, this effect ends when the roru originating it is slain or incapacitated. A creature that becomes confused by this effect never attacks the roru. If the affected creature was in the shaken condition as a result of the roru’s predatory aura, such condition ceases to have effect on the creature for as long as the effect of incite ferocity lasts.Thisis an emotion-based, mind-affecting effect. The save DC isCharisma-based.

Predatory Aura (Su): An animal that comes within 30 ft. of a roru must make a Will save (DC 16) or become shaken for as long as they remain in the roru’s predatory aura. This ability can also affect magical beasts with an Intelligence score of 2 or less, but such creatures receive a +4 circumstance bonus on their saving throw. This is an emotion-based, fear and mind-affecting effect. The save DC is Charisma-based. 

Rattled by Disobedience (Ex): If a roru fails an Handle Animal check to handle or push an animal, or if an animal succeeds at their saving throw against the roru’s mind-affecting abilities (including its charm animal or dominate animal spell-like abilities) or is freed from such conditions via outside influence, the roru must make a Will save (DC 15) or become staggered with frustration until the end of its next turn. If the target was an animal companion, the DC for this saving throw becomes (10 + half the animal companion’s master level + the master’s Wisdom modifier).

Wear Pelt (Su): A roru can don the pelt of an adjacent dead animal of Small, Medium or Large size, transforming into a lookalike of it. For as long as the roru is wearing the pelt, it gains the benefits of a beast shape II spell, assuming the form of the animal the pelt was taken from. While a roru wears a pelt, half of the damage that the roru takes is instead dealt to the pelt (rounded down, after putting damage reduction and resistances into account). A pelt has hardness 2 and 15 hp. When a pelt reaches 0 hp, it is destroyed, and the roru immediately returns to its natural form.

Roru, also known as hunter demons, are savage and ruthless Abyssal huntsmen. These fiends arise from the chaotic evil souls of poachers and vainglorious hunters who killed members of endangered species for the glory of it. As demons, they haven’t lost their taste for hunting, though they are now willing and able to hunt down humans and other sentient beings, having lost whatever morals and sense of restraint they had in their previous lives.

A roru is a brutal yet patient hunter. Its favored tactic is to approach a lone animal and slaughter it in order to skin it and wear its pelt. A roru possesses the supernatural ability to assume the form of any animal whose pelt it is wearing, and makes use of this form to infiltrate animal packs and corrupt them from within. In this guise, they whip their newly acquired packmates into a frenzy, driving them to attack livestock and settlements they would ordinarily leave alone. As such attacks invariably cause retaliation, roru rarely find themselves wanting for sentient prey to slaughter, and are quick to abandon their guise and throw themselves in bloody battle when their pack is finally hunted down and killed. Some roru are even more audacious than that, operating in human settlements where they pose as mundane animals and wait for their chance to cause murder and mayhem.

A roru is tall for a Medium-sized creature, often reaching up to 7 feet and weighing about 300 pounds.

[alsovpeach]

Побег от Веретена

Софид возвращается к стойбищу под вечер. Кто-то уже лёг спать. Кто-то ещё сидит у костров или работает в лагере. Кто-то охотится. Софид не теряет времени, отправляясь к шатру своего дома. Он ищет Лецуа. Лецуа всегда прислушивается к советам разведчиков. Випа говорила об этом. Он должен понять и поверить.

Лецуа сидит возле костра и пьёт из деревянной миски, на которой вырезаны бегущие волки, какую-то похлёбку. Софид опускается перед ним на колено, чтобы не тратить время. Эльф с удивлением поднимает на него голову. "Каменное Веретено осквернено. Кто-то украл тотем Ворона, а затем исчез вместе с ним. Без следа. Я уверен, что это работа демонов. Племя не может сражаться с таким врагом. Среди нас не больше десятка воинов. Нам нужно уходить, пока ещё есть возможность." Лецуа быстро поднимается на ноги.

"Демоны?! Здесь? Как они зашли так далеко?" - "Вероятно, банда избежала резни после закрытия Язвы и ушла так далеко от цивилизации, как могла, чтобы спастись." - "Я соберу остальных Владык Мамонтов. Ты расскажешь им всё, что узнал."

***

Вожди племени собираются на отшибе стойбища. Их пятеро. Аргакоа Певчая и Лецуа, мать и отец Випы, возглавляют дом Выдры. ​Дедушка Эйва - старейший человек в племени. Лецуа, как эльф, старше, но он присоединился к племени куда позже. Эйва возглавляет дом Сокола. Именно он придумал привлечь в племя чужестранцев и попытаться понять остальной мир. ​ Мертиг Хозяин Костров - дварф-воин, самый молодой здесь после самого Софида. Он герой племени, охотник на чудовищ. Бывший. Потеряв руку, он стал хранителем очага. Накта - целитель племени. Они полуорк, единственный в племени чародей и одновременно оазис спокойствия и вулкан самомнения.

Все они смотрят с сомнением, когда Софид рассказывает о том, что нашёл следы демонов возле Каменного Веретена. Он и сам сомневается в своих словах. Но он слишком часто позволял неверию командиров губить его сослуживцев. Он не допустит этого вновь.

Лецуа и Аракоа кивают. Эйва задумывается. Но Мертиг и Накта уверены, что справятся с каким-то демоном-одиночкой, забравшимся сюда на свою беду. Софид сжимает кулаки. Он рисует им схему за схемой на земле. Показывает как одинокие демоны десятков видов способны уничтожить или почти уничтожить всё племя. Объясняет, что с единственным мечом из холодного железа они вряд ли убьют врага. Что телепортация позволит демону сбегать и вновь нападать месяцами. Что его невозможно будет выследить. Что он уже заразил воду и землю вокруг. Что нужно уходить и искать помощи сейчас, пока ещё не слишком поздно.

Владыки мамонтов сдаются под напором фактов и логики Софида. Сдаются под весом его опыта. Может быть, они ему и не верят. Но они верят, что у них нет выбора. Племя будет недовольно. Старики будут ворчать. Но старики давно не большинство в племени. Многие никогда не беспокоились из-за старых традиций. И Владыки вынуждены это признать.

Они велят Софиду тихо помочь с подготовкой каравана к путешествию, а сами пока остаются обсудить что-то. Софид уходит. Он валится с ног от усталости. Но усталость - ерунда. Безопасность племени важнее.

Подготовка каравана... Нужно начать с того, чтобы предупредить людей. Он собирается с силами. Находит Випу и объясняет ей, что оставаться здесь опасно и нужно скорее уходить. Випа внимательно его выслушивает, особенно обращая внимание на реакцию своего отца, Лецуа, и обещает передать всем знакомым, а Софида просит разведать и расчистить дорогу дальше по кочевому маршруту.

Дорога, в целом, проходима. Только небольшое гнездо кровоискателей, мерзких тварей, напоминающих что-то среднее между комаром и летучей мышью, могло бы представлять... не опасность, но неудобство для отступающего племени. Софид аккуратно убирает его с дороги, не потр��вожив обитателей и спустя пару часов вернувшись к стоянке, где уже кипят сборы.

Спустя ещё пару часов караван, недовольный, напуганный, но целый, движется вперёд по кочевому маршруту Треснувшего Бивня. Софид идёт впереди. У него слипаются глаза, но он не может позволить себе отдыхать, пока не доведёт караван до места, где можно будет разбить временный лагерь.

[basiliskonline]

One of my MANY additions to the Quest For Frozen Flame

In the Quest for the Frozen Flame, a Pathfinder 2E Adventure Path, the PCs come across several "Apaku", these landmarks are structures that channel and mark the locations of a nexus of leylines for a specific school of magic.

While the Quest for the Frozen Flame has many of them, you don't encounter all of them. I chose to include a Conjuration Apaku on my own.

This comes with multiple components, this is mostly just kept very vague and general for ease:

What it does

The Conjuration Apaku can open to basically any plane of existence briefly at random. Usually this happens as Conjuration energy builds up over the course of a month or so, however as of the last several years it has been happening a LOT more frequently, though no one knows why (until this encounter).

As part of this i check daily if anything has come through the portal, if it does, I randomly roll a direction for it to move every day. It becomes an active wandering monster on the hex crawl (this is really fun to me, I honestly had a ton of fun with this part.)

The Divination Apaku

(One of my favorite parts is that there is, nearby, the divination Aapaku which shows vague symbols on where nearby things are, which means players may stop by the Apaku multiple time to track progress and try to avoid things based on what they guess symbols might mean)

At the Conjuration Apaku

Arriving at the Apaku you see a battle in progress, A group of Bearded Devils (and some hiding imps) fighting a Cu Sith and having JUST killed a Satyr.

Most PCs have jumped in both assuming Devils = Bad and to save the "Good Pupper".

A Volatile Portal'

Any conjuration magic cast in the area potential opens a portal, the higher level that is cast, the more likely a portal is to open and that accumulates each cast when a portal doesn't open.

The bearded Devils have At-Will Dimension Door at level 4, and that basically ensures a portal opens every 3 uses, and that doesn't even factor in the players VERY UNLIKELY ALLY.

Volkbaksh, an Unlikely Ally

The Apaku looks like a large archway etched in magical sigils and designs, just in front of the archway is a medium size boulder etched with the same type of symbols.

This Boulder is actually a Mimic named Volkbaksh.

Volkbaksh was made by a magical mishap experiment by a wizard and shortly thereafter became something of an assistant. Later that Wizard would take Volkbaksh with him to the North to research these Apaku in these untamed lands.

While researching the Conjuration Apaku, the portal activated and some horrific beast came through killed his master, Volkbaksh terrified only hid in his mimiced shape while his master died.

Knowing very little of this land, Volkbaksh was too anxious to venture forth and explore, so decided "I guess I live here now", days turned to weeks, weeks to month, and bored Volkbaksh began to read his masters notes, and later his spellbook.

Volkbaksh learned several things. Conjuration magic caused the Apaku to activate after several casts, and, after years, it became a powerful wizard in it's own right, learning only conjuration spells. It began to spam spells until the portal would open, if things came through it could eat it did so, if scary things came through, it'd just hide till they left and then continue spamming magic. All you can eat dinner.

(This has the thoughtless effect of flooding the valley with dangerous and random monsters, much to the chagrin of the denizens)

It however has a softspot for Humanoids and humans in particular, remembering its master and perhaps even abit of guilt, it will eat humans if it needs too but prefers not too. During the fight it secretly casts spells to support the players in their fight with the bearded devil.

Volkbaksh is recruitable and agrees to "not eat anyone so long as you keep me fed" and is just a pretty good bab, even if it doesn't really concern itself with this whole "morality" thing.

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere Knight x Dragon Reader

sry I haven't posted in a while my single pringles enjoy~

Yandere Knight~ Who was summoned to rescue a princess from the clutches of the most feared dragon in the empire.

Yandere Knight~ Who indifferently agrees and begins his quest.

Yandere Knight~ Who charges to your land on his trusty steed and is then face to face with you your scales shimmering and your eyes burning with fury you were much more magnificent than he imagined...

Yandere Knight~ Who fought well bravely and was about to take the final blow ready to launch his lance into your throat when suddenly you transformed into your weakened part human form stopping him in his tracks.

Yandere Knight~ Who's eyes widened at the sight of you, you were gorgeous much more beautiful than any princess could ever be he took a moment to take in your form as you struggled to stay standing your wings spread and your fiery eyes glaring into his waiting for him to take the blow.

 Yandere Knight~ Who cautiously approached you and watched you sit there accepting your fate and smiles slightly as your eyes open confused as he caressed your cheek and horns muttering to himself.

"Ethereal..."

Yandere Knight~ Who is startled when you growl and fly away, and his eyes linger on your now distant form and internally groans when the princess runs out and throws herself at him as he fights back the burning urge to throw her off.

Yandere Knight~ Who confronts every dragon ologist to learn as much as he can about your kind, He has to know every detail about his new beloved after all.

Yandere Knight~ Who finds out your love for precious objects and always comes to your land leaving treasure and jewels behind picturing how lovely you'll look in them.

Yandere Knight~ Who outright refuses the kings proposal for him to marry the princess as a reward for saving her his mind only occupied with how stunning you looked amongst your flames.

Yandere Knight~ Who makes sure no other knight is sent anywhere near you he can't have anyone else seeing your beauty or attempting to slay you.

Yandere Knight~ Who's attempts end up being futile and is sent with troops to slay you once and for all.

Yandere Knight~ Who is furious to see the last remaining knight standing over your weakened for with his sword raised ready to finish you off.

Yandere Knight~ who charges and kills the knight slicing his head clean off with a sick smile as he watches it fall at your feet seeing your frozen expression as he caresses your face with his bloodied hands.

“No one will ever hurt you my treasure I’ll be the only one who knows your true beauty, and I’ll never let anyone else see it~”

y'all can read my new yandere dragon x knight reader

[arc-misadventures]

The Lady of Frozen Glades

Ren: Brrbrrbrrbrrbrr!

Ren: Why is it so freaking cold?!

Jaune: 1: We're in the mountains, it's always cold up here. 2: We're in the, Frozen Glades. By the name alone it should have been oblivious that it's going to be cold. 3: You are wearing thin robes more fit for summer weather, then the frozen mountains!

Ren: I thought I wouldn't need winter clothes... Achoo!

Jaune: Ren?! We're on a quest to slay an ice dragon. Of fucking course it's going to be cold!

Ren: I just didn't think it would be this cold!

Jaune: You idiot...

Ren: Come on, let's just finish this so we can go home...

Jaune: Okay, let's try this cave here.

Ren: What makes you think they're in this cave?

Jaune: The giant claw marks on the walls, and the floor.

Ren: ...

Ren: Oh...

~~~

Jaune: Okay... This is a big room...

Ren: This looks... Achoo! Ahh... Sniff! This looks like the place... But, where is it? Did we... Achoo! Did we miss it...

Jaune: I don't know, maybe we did. Well, we could set up a trap, and wait for it to come here.

Ren: Wait here... Achoo! I-I-In the cold...?!

Jaune: Well do you have a better...?

(Click, click, click, click, click...)

Jaune: Are those... Does that sound like high heels?

Ren: I think... Achoo! I think it is...

Jaune: Who would be wearing high heels in a mountain? Much less on a field of ice. That's cra... Oh... Ohhhh!

Ren: 'Ohhh?' Wha... Achoo! What's... Oh...

(Click, Click, Click...)

: Oh? More adventures? Are you here to kill me?

Jaune: That depends, are you the Ice Dragon of the Frozen Glades in human form?

: Yes, I am, Weiss the Elemental Frost Dragon of the Frozen Glades. And, are you more foolish adventurers who have come to slay me?

Jaune: Uhhh... No. No, we are not here to slay you.

Weiss: Really now?

Ren: What?! Achoo! The quest was to slay the ice dragon?

Jaune: 'Slay?' There's no, 'S' in the title... It says, 'Lay the Dragon.'

Ren: Bull...! Achoo! Bullshit! You just want to smash the dragon!

Jaune: Shoot me, I'm a Paladin...

Weiss: A paladin...

Ren: Of the Summer Maiden...

Weiss: A Paladin of the Summer Maiden~?

Jaune: No, I was just going to say I'm a paladin. We paladins have a love hate relationship with dragons. Half of us want to kill them, the other half want's to sleep with them.

Weiss: Sleep... w-with a dragon...?

Jaune: Hell, two of my sisters are half dragons! One's a flame dragon, and the other is earth dragon. And, like all dragons they all have their hordes of treasures!

Ren: They both... Achoo! They both have a treasure hold of gold? Achoo!

Jaune: No, my goblin sister is the one with the treasure horde. My sister who is the fire dragon has a treasure horde of mystical weapons, she's really into mystical weapons. She tried to steal my holy sword. Several times at that...

Jaune: My sister the earth dragon, has a horde of books! Lots, and lots of books!

Ren: How many?

Jaune: Ever heard of the, Library of Il'ithyca?

Ren: Yeah, it's the... Achoo! Achoo! Sniff... It's the words largest library...

Jaune: That's my sister's library.

Ren: What?!

Weiss: Oh! Your, Thiriana's little brother!

Jaune: Oh, you know my sister?

Weiss: Yes! We talk a lot about our favourite books! She has told me a lot about you when we were discussing my favourite book.

Jaune: What book?

Weiss: The... The Dragon's Knight~!

Jaune: 'The Dragon's Knight...?' What is that book ab...?! Oh... Oh that book...

Weiss: Yes. That book~!

Ren: What do you mean by that?

Jaune: Uhhh, Ren. You can go back to the inn, and warm up. I need to, 'Slay' the dragon...

Ren: What...?! Achoo! You're not going to kill her! You're going to sleep with her!

Jaune: And, you're going to freeze to death the longer you stay here.

Ren: ...

Ren: Achoo!

Ren: Sniff... Well, I'll see you back at the inn!

Jaune: See you later, Ren.

Jaune: Now then... Tell me, Weiss, Ice Dragon of the Frozen Glades. Which chapter is your favourite?

Weiss: Chapter 21!

Jaune: Oh? Good choice~!

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ if i believe you ˎˊ˗ jon snow

jon snow x reader words: 2.4k synopsis: "There is a queen in the Red Keep who speaks of liberation with fire upon her tongue and necks beneath her heel. and Jon Snow unravels by the hour." notes: finally posting some jon yaaay <3 lit had no idea what to title this so whatever... but im rly trying to learn to write his character so all feedback is appreciated!! n e ways i think this could be read as reader being a targ, but there is no physical description nor much background at all. so do what you love! dedicating this to @dipperscavern & @systraes words can't describe... but u know warnings: major show spoilers, p light smut, angst, references to danyxjon, canon-divergent; i lit don't know my own timeline here but i hope you guys are willing to overlook that LOL. post battle of winterfell. jon is still in the north & dany just took kl. idk. i dont know im sorry im so sorry please i just wanted to post this masterlist requests for jon snow are open.

WHEN NIGHT FALLS, THE KEEP OF WINTERFELL GROWS QUIET. 

These days it is a welcome change; not particularly due to any lack of solitude when sought – but because you, a creature brought forth to the world from a nest of bustling civilization, find yourself rather placated with the silence of Winterfell’s blizzarded walls. You quite enjoy the snow in the North, and all things serene and quiet that it has brought in the days following the fall of Death’s march; but tonight, your heart aches. 

Because it is dawn you dread this evening.

The flames before you dance; and you, rooted to the settee, hold your hand over the flames and consider not for the first time what it would be like to never feel the burn of heat licking flesh. 

Outside, snow comes in droves of howling wind and tiny icicles pelting the glass and stone; Some part of your heart mends itself at the sound – for you know your solitude will be relieved quite soon. 

Because it always snows when he comes. 

This evening, it is not the gentle kind; No flurries dance from the heavens to kiss your sleeve, no wayward lace drifting down from far-off peaks like some god’s idle sigh.

No; this snow is heavy. Relentless. 

It worms through the stones of the old path, creeps into the marrow of the earth, blankets the frozen bloodstained ground in a thick quiet, numbs the breath before it can even leave your mouth. 

He doesn’t knock. 

Jon hardly ever does. 

And you feel him before you see him; always, with a gust of flurries and a hitch in your breath, his footfalls come with that same strange stillness that has seemed to shadow him ever since his heart began beating again. A stoicism, some odd stutter in the world – as if he’s come from the past. 

As if he’s still part of it. 

You have always kept your chambers warm – a habit that often drips in tease from Jon’s lips in the light of morning, though he hardly ever makes any effort to quell your quest for warmth in his embrace when the sun has yet to rise. 

Snow melts in rivulets down the dark furs clinging to his shoulders, beads into cold stars on his lashes as your eyes find his own. Behind him lingers his Ghost – perhaps the only being in Winterfell more quiet and haunted than he. 

He crosses the chamber with a slow pace and you do not so much as rise, far past used to the lack of formalities required between you and Jon.  

You know why he is here just as well as he does.

The raven came this morning to the hands of the Direwolves; speaking of victory and scorched earth of a sister – of nobody – roaming ash-whirling roads and blood-slick alleys.

Someone new sits upon the throne of swords as night falls over the smoldering remains of King's Landing.  

Jon’s gaze casts down to where you sit upon the settee, back to him, warming your weary bones before the hearth. He admires your frame; though he speaks not of it, still you know – you have never required the pretense of courtesy. He does not hide his admiration of you anymore. 

Jon steps just behind you, not daring to disrupt the hazy solitude of you and your blazing hearth. 

Now, he has become something of a shadow of your own; with a sturdy chest, burdened shoulders, and a gaze that cuts through any hesitation you’ve ever foolishly entertained. Your head turns once again to take in the dark kiss of fur across his shoulders, the slope of his jaw, the tied gathering of dark hair along his temples. 

Jon’s eyes are warm with a tenderness you know as no other has ever known; affection in that spiraling pit of solemnity. Though he does not yet remove his cloak. 

It is not long before his voice comes, heavy as the snowfall beyond your door. “I saw your torchlight.” 

The doors in this wing of the keep have thin gaps above the warmed stone; your gaze leaves the curve of his shadowed jaw to trace the lines of light stretching their curled talons beneath the oak slab where they fade against the bitter bite of freeze. 

“I could not sleep,” you sigh, if only to answer the question he does not ask. 

His sigh is gentle, consolatory; and his hand twitches upon his side, as though his fingers yearn to caress the stray tresses that come loose near your neck. 

You know he cannot sleep either – and you do not have to say why. 

Because the why is here; it is woven into the threads holding the freshly spun Stark banner out in the courtyard, it is leaking through the weakened gasps recovering in the infirmary, it trickles from the very thick flake that falls from high in the gods’ skies and beats the remnants of frozen blood far beneath the earth. It’s in the emptiness in the town and the whistling calls of the hills, in the beat of echoed horses towards the Kingsroad hardly more than a fortnight ago.  

The war in the North is over, but peace has not come. 

The ravens came this morning. It is ture: There is a queen in the Red Keep who speaks of liberation with fire upon her tongue and necks beneath her heel; there is ash and blood in the streets, howling screams carrying through the wind.

The realm is spun in a thick web, and Jon Snow unravels by the hour. 

He stands there, your shadow grown behind the settee; Perhaps he watches the flames, or perhaps he watches you. 

The glint of firelight in your hair, upon your cheek. The stillness of your breath, how it rises and curls over the neckline of your dress, how your fingers tug at a thread of upholstery beneath you. The curve of your hips along the fabric of your dress, the slight curve of your neck. 

It is a look of love, by any other name. And perhaps, if you were a different person, and he, a different man – you might ask something from him. A promise, perhaps. 

But you ask for nothing from him; because you know what Jon Snow is. 

He is the man who leaves – who kisses you in the shadows and becomes a pillar of salt in the first shy wink of morning light; and you cannot, for all the spite and selfish hunger in you, bring yourself to blame a frost bitten tree for refusing the hope of spring. 

You love him in spite of it. Or, perhaps, because of it. 

And so you hardly stir when his palm finds the junction of your neck and shoulder, a creeping and almost apologetic thing.

A calloused palm, one so weary and hardened and yet relentlessly kind; Your jaw tilts in quiet invitation as he stands behind you, letting his thumb soothe over the raised gooseflesh of your skin. 

When he says your name, a flood of warmth pools in your stomach; you ease into his touch, sighing when his palm slides away to rest upon the back of your settee – though his warmth remains. It always does. 

His voice comes once more, still low, resigned. 

“You’ll hate me.” 

You don’t speak for fear of the tightening in your throat; for the visions of cloudy skies and floating ash, of sliding breaths and sharp daggers. Of fire, and blood. The thought is bitter and it breaks something far buried within your chest.

A harsh thing, reality has always been. 

There is a long road ahead for Jon, and it is not large enough for two. You’ve known this for some time. 

His voice is exhausted and it comes in a breath, as though he swallows back the burden of which you both refuse to name outright; and perhaps it is some effort to defend the necessary, to excuse the pain to come. 

“She burned them.” 

And you know the name which dances upon his tongue, though he does not speak it. 

The firelight licks over the chambers – some false illusion of warmth in a room which now drips with solemnity. Your throat is tight with the grip of a fading hand and a thick swallow claws its way down your neck. 

“She was a girl once,” you say faintly, biting your lip. “A girl sold. Traded, abused, hunted.” Your heart, a fist beating at your battered rib cage; Your lip does not tremble, though you think it might. “Of course she burned them.”

His breath comes slow and long. “She burned children.”

The words come before you recognize them from your own mind –

“And Stannis did not?” 

He flinches. 

You feel it rather than witness it, through a still air and a stretched silence in which your heart thuds dully and sings the songs of souls long since burned to the gods you do not know. 

“I don’t want to argue.” It’s that tone once more; exhausted, tired – trying. The chambers are warm, and yet somehow his presence is warmer. 

“You never do,” you whisper. You never do, and I love you for it. 

He comes round to face you, backlit then by the greedy warmth of the hearth; how the flames curl around his frame, melting the last stubborn flakes from his shoulders. His hair curls; tresses tied from his drawn brows, pouted lips defrosted and pink in the firelight. 

“I had to see you,” his words come once more, eyes deep and searching your own. “Before–” 

You’ve risen to meet him before the fire, and your immediate presence stuns his words. 

“You mustn’t do this, Jon.” Your eyes sting with unwanted grief; a hollow thing, to know what fate worse than the worst awaits your love. “You mustn’t say goodbye if you’re not going to die.”

His breath trembles, a ripple of wind in a steady sea of pine; the stubborn shake of a handsome visage as he denies the path of ease for the sake of what is right. You love him for it. You hate him for it. 

“I might.” 

And this, it seems, is your final straw. “No,” your hands shake with an unknown ache. “You won’t,” your breath hits his lips as you exhale, “that’s always the curse with you.”

Your words are cruel, and their verity cuts as deep into your heart as they do his own. His face, somber and patient, is warm in the firelight. And that’s just it; memories bloom from behind your eyes, bruises unhealed. Visions of frozen lips and lifeless eyes – of a hollowness that, somewhere deep inside, never quite filled again. 

You had loved him before those scars.

Before death stitched its silent seams across his soul; before hearths blew out in the far North and shadows crawled across the sun. 

And still you love him after, though he came back to you strange and faraway; sometimes angry in a way you will never quite understand, try as you might. 

Sometimes you believe there is a part of him that never truly left the snow – some part of him that does not any longer belong to this realm.

You love him for it the same. 

Jon’s hands caress the curve of your arms when you plant yours on his chest; a steady heartbeat below your palms, through even the scarred skin and breaths of hunger that grows yet never feeds. 

He wants you.

Gods, he does, and he burns for it. You see it in the hitch of his breath, in the way his gaze traces the curved bend of your lips when you let out a small breath. You see it other times, too, in the tracing of your collarbones across halls, in the aching bewilderment of a man who cannot help his hunger. And though his jaw sets and his eyes flick away, though honor sings louder in him than impulse – you know, you know. 

There is no shame in it, not anymore; Jon does not know how to lie with his body. 

But Jon will not take first. He will not take what he wants until it is surrendered to him with bitten lips and soft sighs and breathy pleads; it is a dance unspoken but entwined in your shared nature more than breathing itself. 

And you know; If you asked, he would unmake himself entirely – king, bastard, man – simply to feel your palm in his and your warmth by his side. 

A surrender not out of duty, but devotion; a willing unraveling, thread by thread, until all that remains is the man who wants you. Without titles, without name. 

With nothing.

Though you do not dare betray him with such a request. Because wanting is the first sin, and what comes after is unspeakable. 

Jon was made to lose what he longs for. To hold a knife against his chest and remain unflinching even as the blade pierces through; To blink only when the wound begins to bleed.

And still, you would bleed with him. 

Again and again, in that selfish, aching way, you would – if it meant one breath more of his hands in yours, of that tired, torn, unbearably tender gaze; one final glimpse of such warmth before he turns from you once more.

You study his visage; a grim one, swimming in that dark molten hunger that lives unspoken and unsated in his stare. A kind man – a man who once held you so tenderly and spoke with words far too kind for the world which gave him nothing but pain.

A man who keeps burying the ones he loves.

His hands curl at your waist, a reserved thing that still yet coaxes your skin to sing, to crawl in that hungry way toward his warmth even as it slips away. 

“You love her,” you say. 

The line of his throat is thick in the firelight, and his swallow is heavy. You do not waver in your resolve, and he does not betray you with any feigned sympathy. 

“I tried to.” 

It does not sting like, perhaps, it should. Your nod is stiff and placated only by memories of ruddy youthful stares, brooding glances secretive and rapt across both torchlit halls and flurried yards. 

Outside, the wind howls and pelts snow in thick layers over the rapidly disappearing print of his footfalls. Ghost lies still and solemn, quiet against the pelt upon the stone floor near your door. 

And it is a foolish thing to ask, when he is here and holding you; but you say it anyway. 

“And me?”

Jon’s glance is one that brings the rush of the deepest warmth to your cheeks. A look as though you are the one preparing to leave and never return; a glance of knowledge, of ghosts over lips and hands over trembling skin. 

His heart beats, and its rhythm is your name. 

Jon does not blink, nor does he look away. His palm, large and inexplicably warm despite the howling squall outside, cups your jaw – and then he says your name; a whispered secret to his gods who have long since ceased to listen. 

“I’ve never had to try.” 

His words from minutes ago rebound in your mind; and you, with soft palms and a heavy heart, pull him close. You’re going to hate me. 

“I won’t hate you,” you whisper into his palm, lips brushing over the tremors he hides. “Not even then.”

He closes his eyes with a flickering inhale, sharp and thick with unshed emotion. And then, when he returns his stare so devoted to your parted lips – his hand drags lower, trailing from your jaw and down to your throat. 

A stray thumb presses gently against your heartbeat, as if assuring some deep worry hidden below furrowed brows and a tremorring heart; breath catches in your throat, that dull hunger rising from your stomach and curling warmly through your very veins. Jon’s stare devours; and your eyes hook a yearning ache over the curve of pink lips, flickered by dark shadows and weak restraint. 

You’re eager; an unwitting lean towards him with caught breath, you let his palm trail warmth over your skin and pause at your collarbone – as if he’s unsure he has the permission to touch you at all. 

You don’t wait for him to ask, because he never will. You simply give. 

“Please, Jon,” you whisper, hardly more than breath and want. “Touch me. Let me feel you.” 

And there in the faint flicker of the hearth, the corner of his mouth twitches; the echo of some disbelieving, admiring expression he’s long since forgotten how to wear unless he is with you.

Soon his gaze drops, hazed and sultry, to where his thumb rests just above the hollow of your chest; searching, as if your heartbeat might answer some riddle he’s carried since boyhood. 

You wonder if perhaps it does, because he moves.

It comes not with the fevered gasp of relief that falls from your lips but with the gravity of a man laying down his sword; Jon’s hand trails lower still, hands grazing the rise of your breast and flexing against the touch. From his lips falls a desperate sound; something swallowed soon by his mouth upon your own, heavy and hungry and far too much for what the night could be. 

Dexterous fingers spread, cupping just below the swell of your breast as your own slip under the fur-lined cloak still hung round his thick shoulders. Rough linen lies underneath – cold with the remnants of the snow yet warm with the body he tried for so long to keep away from you.

Your fingers slip beneath the fur draped over his shoulders, and he shudders – shudders – like it’s the first time he’s been touched since his gods forgot him.

“Jon,” you whisper against his lips; needy, wrecked – and that alone breaks the dam already so brittle and wanting; his arms come to pull you tight against the firm heat of his chest. “You’re trembling,” you murmur. 

His lips find your throat; open-mouthed, reverent and hungry, teeth grazing and tongue soothing. The tug of his tresses between your fingers kicks his shaky moan against the hollow of your throat and a warmth spreads heady through your trembling body. 

“Aye. It’s you,” he breathes with honesty, lips brushing your pulse. “I always do.”

The words send a tremor down your spine, a flush pooling between your thighs as his mouth descends, grazing the dip of your collarbone. Teeth catch slightly on your skin, not rough enough to mark, but just enough to make you gasp; just enough to make your hips tilt toward him, hungry and unsatisfied.

The wind howls, wails. The snow swallows the horizon in a dark smother. Your knees back into the mattress; the weather beyond the castle is wild and sharp in its longing, and with you Jon is no different. 

You reach for him and he follows you down, a storm dragged from the mountains and rolling over the hills of sheets. The furs kiss your dress beneath you as Jon takes you into his arms, heavy with heat and muscle and hunger; pressing you into the feathered mattress. 

Hands tug at the laces of your bodice; breath harsh against your throat and words murmured into the damp skin of your throat. Your thighs, then, parting with the shared tremors of fevered desire; a sudden steadiness of hands whose muscles remember the shape of you. 

His mouth hovers just above yours, breath shared, noses brushing. 

Jon takes you with a low and slow groan pressed into your hair; and you with trembling thighs and nails embedded into thick-corded shoulders, head thrown against downy pillows.

The window flickers with the swallowing blanket of the flurry; the hearth’s light spills over the hardened planes of Jon’s body, softened under your fingertips and coaxing raised bumps of desire. 

And when he moves inside you – slow, aching, right – you wonder if perhaps the world might end this very night. 

And if it does, you think as lips press to the corner of your mouth, as a moan strangles his breath, as your body takes him in, if it does, let it end here. Beneath him. Around him. 

Here, with the snow pelting outside, with the fire licking shadows of your entwined bodies upon the wall, licking warmth over his back, up the curve of his jaw, into the wrecked chasm of hunger pooling in his eyes when he looks down at you and thinks, I was never meant to have this.

You pour your love into each kiss he steals; Hands finds your thighs, pushing higher, gripping your heady skin like something already lost. Every inch of him is warm, heavy, solid – and you, reveling in the weight of a man who has only ever known how to carry things that break him. 

When all that’s left is heaving, sweat-kissed chests and intermingled breaths – when your fingers soothe over his cheeks, trace the furrow of his brow, press to his temples; when his calloused palms rove over your hip, tugging you by the neck into his chest, tangled in furs and heat and silence – then, then you allow yourself the heartbreak. 

“I love you,” you whisper into the night air, into the slinking shadows with webbed wings and smoking breath – into the unfurling frost around the casements, into the chest of the man you have known and lost more times than you can recount. 

He says nothing for some time; a shaky inhale as your hands trace over the jagged scars which litter his torso, as his own fingertips idly swirl over your own marks. 

And Jon tells you he loves you with his eyes closed, with his lips pressed to your own. You drink in his words and you do not wish for anything else. 

He says it again, and again, until his voice cracks and his lips dry the tears you swore would not fall.

You do not sleep much that night. 

Lied beside him, you trace the curve of his spine, follow the silky webs of scars above his ribs, across his abdomen and up to the hollow of his throat, where a dagger once claimed him. 

Your hands will remember him.

Slowly, you memorize how his breath deepens in the soft surrender of sleep. You memorize the twitch of unconscious fingers slung across your own bare hip. You memorize the beat of his heart against your palm.

You memorize the shape of him as though you’ll be asked to describe it to the gods. 

And when dawn comes and you stir from the rest that’d claimed you, he is already dressed. 

Ghost waits at your door. 

Jon does not say goodbye, and you do not torture him with words that you both are thinking. 

He says nothing; just presses a kiss to your forehead, cupping your neck, thumb caressing that cherished beat of your pulse – and leaves with a curls of snow brushing into the entryway of your chambers. 

And you stay.

You stay in the room where his warmth once brought you over the edge of sanity; you remain beneath furs once shared, listening to the swirling silence he left behind. You drown in sheets and pretend they are arms. 

You stay – undaunted by snowflurries and howling winds, by hard men and hard women and hard weather. A blue moon waxes and wanes for the first time in seven years. 

The war ends; the queen falls. 

The North remembers.

The seat beside the Queen in the North is worn and a welcome warmth beneath you. The hearths remain bright each nightfall. 

But you remember him. 

And the snow still falls, even now.

tagging some mutuals since this is a new character :') @dipperscavern @dr9carys @inkandarsenic @systraes @swordgrace @kenna-the-cosmic @snow-blower @cregan-starks

[dawnsarchive]

Lost Sunlight (Reupload)

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Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion/Tav (Reader)

Reader: Gender-Neutral

Style: One Shot

Rating: Mature

Content Warning: Suggestiveness,

Summary:

You were willing to give up everything to be with Astarion but you never thought he might decide the price and his guilt was too high.

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You considered yourself to be quite an adaptable person. You had to be to survive what happened in your very recent past. From the moment you woke up on an awful mindflayer ship to the moment when you freed yourself for good, nothing had been predictable. You’d changed to save your friends. You’d changed to save yourself.

So becoming nocturnal hadn’t been the most awful thing in the world – certainly nowhere near having a parasite in your brain.

You hung dark curtains over every window in the house, thick and woolen so that even the brightest days wouldn’t invade the house. On the days when you did miss its warmth, you’d wake up earlier and watch it set before Astarion stepped out to relish in the evening air with you.

You didn’t mind living like that. The thing you missed most was being with your more diurnal friends but you could visit them and they never held it against you that you didn’t join their quests anymore.

Astarion, though, minded greatly.

You saw how he watched you wistfully when you made your way to the front door – forced to leave early to get food or goods from the merchants before they closed for the evening. He’d stare after you as you hurried out into the streets or showed him events he could no longer attend at your side.

You brought it up and he told you instead about nonsense. Spoke endlessly about things that had nothing to do with it until eventually you just left it alone.

But eventually, he had to stop pretending that he wasn’t upset about it.

You’d built a strong relationship with so many around the city. They all knew things and all kept their ears to the ground about any potential cures but in return for their information, you helped them with their various requests and favours.

Could you find my lost necklace? Stole by her sister to pay off gambling debts.

My daughter’s gone missing! She ran away with the man she’d been seeing very publicly though he turned out to be a hobgoblin in a very poor disguise.

Somebody’s stealing all my bread! They had a slime infestation; it ended with you covered in slime for many days.

You asked Astarion if he wanted to help you find missing caravans and it took you no time to follow the reek of rotting meat to a den on gnolls who had taken up residence in some crumbling houses far outside the town. They took no effort to dispatch of but you had ulterior motives and rumours to follow.

Because amongst those stone walls – charred by the flames that had chased their inhabitants away – you found herbs, poultices, and recipe books with potions you had never seen before with ingredients unheard of.

While you paged through the books, he crept up behind you. His lips brushed over your throat, barely there and yet still enough to send shivers of gooseflesh over your skin.

You tilted your head to the side in invitation and he dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin with a chuckle. His breath chilled the shell of your ear as he muttered something you couldn’t quite hear and nipped at your neck. A temptation, he used to call it.

You turned before the flush on your cheeks could grow too great from the warmth pooling in your stomach and pulled him into a proper kiss.

No matter how often he kissed you, your heart raced the same way it had the first time by the river. Iron lingered on his frozen lips as he leaned into you, his touch reverent as it ran over your hips and across your back. He held you carefully now in a way he hadn’t before. As though despite all your armour, anything he did might shatter you into pieces.

You moved away to draw a small gasp of air and he descended on your throat – nipped at your collarbone hard enough to pull drops of blood from the skin and a stuttered moan from your mouth.

But as his fingers dipped between your thighs and excitement raced through your body, you saw the edge of the horizon alight with the first early rays of sun.

It was sunrise and you were too far from the city to make it back safely.

You released your hold on his armour – your fingers sore and aching from your tight grip. Any thrill disappeared in the face of a foe you couldn’t fight. “Astarion,” you whispered. “We have to go.”

“Come now darling,” he whispered in complaint. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes – one that you knew you’d do just about anything for. “No need to worry about the gnolls seeing us.”

You laughed and he took the opportunity to kiss you again, deep and passionate. You moaned against his skilled ministrations – lost yourself in the way he nipped at your lips. It was too easy to lose yourself in him. You could spend the rest of your life in your arms and be perfectly content to do so.

But for that to happen, there was one enemy you had to fear more than any other.

You broke the kiss with every ounce of willpower in you. “The sun’s coming up,” you whispered before he closed the distance again. “We have to go.”

He looked over his shoulder toward the horizon and distaste darkened his expression. He stepped away from you and you reached out for him, your touch on his arm as light and reassuring as you could make it.

“We can continue back at the house,” you offered.

Astarion nodded dismissingly but the mood had disappeared and you knew you would never be able to recover it. His expression, so blank and accepting, hurt in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

You missed seeing him in the sun. You missed the joy the sun had created in his smile; missed finding him standing outside his tent and basking beneath the rays. There was a certain life it had given him that had cut through the harsh pallor of undeath and you knew he wished for it once more too. A cure to vampirism, even if it was difficult to find, had turned into your obsession for no easy reason.

But with each sunrise that he missed, he became further lost. You only hoped he hadn’t gone too far.

As fast as you rushed, you still nearly didn’t make it back to the city in time. A ray of sun caught his arm as you pushed through the door and his hiss of pain didn’t go unnoticed to your ears. You shouldered the great wood closed and the house plunged into pitch black once more with only the faintest sliver of light creeping beneath the door.

You pushed the rug closer and shut it out entirely.

He lit the lamps on the walls while you unpacked what you had managed to get from the gnolls. You’d have to venture out that evening to speak to the merchant who gave you this tip to begin with – see if you’d found the right journal.

“I’m sorry I lost track of time,” you said.

“Oh, don’t worry about it darling,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know how you get when it comes to slaughtering.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you need a balm?”

“Not for this one.”

The balm in question was soothing for those rays that managed to sneak through – a curtain not fully drawn often left him whining for days – but he had grown to dislike it. You always offered but he always shrugged it off.

Astarion turned to you and lightly traced his fingers over the line of your jaw. His skin was frigid but his gaze colder still, almost analytical. “You’ve been looking weak,” he mused. “Maybe you need to spend more time in the sun. It’s quite important for most creatures. You could explore the city a little during the day.”

“I see the sun enough,” you said. “If I needed to see it more, I could simply step into the garden and sunbathe. The city is far too boring without you at my side.”

“Flatterer.”

He chuckled in a way you didn’t quite like. When he laughed, truly laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkled and excitement lit his eyes. When he chuckled to cover his true thoughts, his expression remained completely controlled and those crinkles stayed smooth.

You hated it when he did the latter.

“I’ll find a way for you to join me,” you reassured him. “That’s what this is for. Maybe there’s a potion or a spell that we can use.” You held up the journal firmly.

He eyed it skeptically. “Every lead you’ve found so far has been a dead end,” he drawled and his tone was cool. “I cannot say I’m hoping for anything different considering the only true opportunity I had to walk in the sunlight has been destroyed forever.”

Your blood chilled at the bitterness in his voice. Did he… You frowned at Astarion and he dropped his gaze from your own.

“That wasn’t really an opportunity,” you said after the silence stretched for too long. “You would have to sacrifice so many others and yourself. That’s why you chose not go through with it.”

“How do we know it would have been so bad?” he asked. “We met a lot of strange people but never a prophet. Maybe I made a mistake.”

You didn’t like that line of thought. You glanced at him, uncertain and nervous as to what had changed since you last discussed his ascension. His choice hadn’t been an easy one but afterwards, he’d been relieved and you’d been as supportive as you could have.

“Astarion…”

He looked away from you to the great curtains. “But I suppose I managed to keep my morals or whatever so now I can stay trapped in another house for a thousand years! Except this time, I get to keep somebody else captive with me.”

You frowned and slowly put the journal down on a table. “I’m not trapped,” you said. “I want to be with you.”

Astarion sighed and there was a sadness so deep it burned your soul. “You’re choosing to be with me,” he said. “But you’re not choosing to live in isolation. Away from the sun and your friends and the world. Why would you be hunting so much for a cure if not so you could return to your life?”

“That’s not fair. You know I’m doing this for you.”

“I never asked you to.”

“You didn’t have to,” you urged. “I know how much you loved being free to walk in the sun whenever you wanted. I want to give that back to you.”

“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“It’s not a sacrifice.”

Astarion waltzed over and brushed his fingers over your cheek, his touch filled with reverence and love. His eyes, drenched in a deep, hungry red that had returned after the loss of the parasite, burned through your resolve. Your heart stuttered, scared. Not for your safety but for why he looked as though he was losing something precious.

“Daylight compliments you,” he mused, his tone as sweet as honey. “When the sunshine dances over your skin, I almost start to believe in all those foolish gods.”

You leaned into his touch, flattered but still wary. He gave out compliments easily but this one felt measured and careful.

“Are you feeling trapped here?” you asked. “We can travel. Maybe we’ll go beyond the city’s reach and find somewhere new with adventure and thrill.”

After everything, you’d thought it would be good to stay in one place for a while. With your friends separated into the wind, you had yearned for a brief peace before you returned to the chaotic world of adventures but it had been long enough. You had leads you could follow, places to stay in foreign cities, and a companion at your side.

If he would only stop drowning in his own guilt.

“We won’t find what you’re looking for,” he said. “Power comes from sacrifice. I think I have kept your hopes high for too long.”

“There’s a way,” you said.

“You cannot guarantee it and neither will I.”

“I’m sure of it.”

He smiled like one would smile at a child insisting on something they knew nothing about. It irritated you enough that you moved away from his touch, defensive. You would not have him pitying you. If there was magic in this world that could raise the dead, there would be magic that could cure what plagued him.

“If you are certain, we’ll pack after you’ve rested,” he said. “Come on, you need your sleep.”

You knew what he planned but there was nothing that could be done. Your jaw twitched as you tried not to let the tears slip free before you had a confirmation – clung to the faint hope that you didn’t know him as well as you believed.

“I’ve always loved the moon far more than the sun,” you said. “Remember that.”

You drifted to sleep that night with your head on his chest and your hands knotted tightly into the fabric of his shirt as though it would be enough to keep him at your side. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head right before sleep claimed you and whispered words you couldn’t quite hear.

When you woke in the evening, the heavy curtains of your house had been pulled open as they hadn’t been for many years. A fresh breeze blew through the windows and left a chill over your skin. The empty bed beside you was cold.

You knew you wouldn’t find him but you looked for that faint hope in your heart couldn’t die unless you checked every room, every corner, and every cupboard in your house. You checked and you checked until you saw every dust mote, every spare blanket, and every old potion bottle long forgotten.

The final thing you checked was his pillow, beneath which you knew his favourite dagger always lay, even now that your nights were peaceful and safe.

Seeing it missing caused the tears to finally fall.

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[demaparbat-hp]

Hi! I saw your latest post on your Vampire x Bloodbender AU and wow, amazing work as always! This one in particular really got into my head and I think I got a plot for a new fic.

When you get a chance, do you mind taking a read and telling me what you think? Is it ok if I eventually post a fic based on the piece? I will most definitely give you credit, but please don’t feel pressured to say yes if you got your own plans for writing a fic!

Thanks again for all the amazing art!

Air, Water, Earth, Fire…

Long ago the four nations lived in harmony.

Then everything changed when the Fire Lord broke the taboo…

In Fire Lord Sozin’s insatiable quest for power, he slew the last of the dragons, the original benders of flame…

And the Sun itself turned its back on its chosen people.

Bound to never again walk in the light of day, those who were born with the ability to bend flame were cursed with the need to devour the life force of the living.

The nomads of the air temples meditated, and departed these lands…

The kingdom of earth built up its borders to towering heights that only the foolish would attempt to scale…

The Tribe to the north, prayed to the moon and the spirit pulled up the ocean and covered the people of the north with a frozen shield, leaving their sister tribe…

Abandoned

My people believe that in order to gain something from the spirits you must first be willing to give…

For the last hundred years my tribe has sealed our waterbenders, an offering to the ocean in return for our tribe’s safety during the long nights of the south.

But I believe… that there is a way to break this curse and set the world right once more.

Even if that means I too must break a taboo and undo the seal placed on me.

My people have a story, of when the full moon turns blood red and the spirit lights dance about the night sky, if a Waterbender makes an offering…

I believe that the world can be set right…

For I can now command what the cursed ones covet.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

I! LOVE! THIS! SO! MUCH!

I'm obsessed! This is so amazing and epic and intense and it's just the prologue! I'm aching to read a 90k fic about this concept—it's just *screams into the void*.

That being said.

How would Katara and Zuko meet? Would he be searching for a way to end the curse as well? What's the Gaang's fate in this AU? I am so utterly in love it's difficult to describe my thoughts. I'm not even thinking at all, dear Agni.

This would mess with the entire worldbuilding of ATLA and that's amazing. How would the story change? How would the Fire Nation's culture and politics be affected?

I'm obsessed with everything about this and would love to know more about the AU!

[utilitycaster]

Bells Hells Level Up: Level 14

FUCK IT WE'RE DOING IT LIVE (I forgot to prep this well in advance like a press release as I am wont to do). Gonna be short, sweet, and as always if there are any factual errors let me know! If I simply did not list every single possible feat, spell, or other choice, that is because I did not wish to spend my wild and precious life doing that.

Chetney: With a 13th level in Blood Hunter he gets Brand of Tethering, which is GREAT for making people (Ludinus) not be able to leave. He can also use Blood Maledict 3 times per rest now. Looking ahead: I'm assuming he's sticking with Blood Hunter (or Blood Nutter as the case may be); at L14 he gets advantage on saving throws against being charmed or frightened, and a new crimson rite. He has flame and frozen, and L14 unlocks necrotic, psychic, and thunder options. Their enemies are often immune to psychic but honestly he can just use fire so. Live your best life, Chet.

Laudna: I support waiting to see how the ritual goes! If she levels in Warlock she gets an ASI/Feat (War caster wouldn't hurt; bumping up INT or WIS wouldn't either though my vote, as always, is for INT), another known spell, and continues her quest as Cantrips Georg. If she levels in Sorcerer she also gets another cantrip, as well as another known spell, and I think she should get a 3rd metamagic option but she seems to already have three? Anyway my vote is for Careful Spell. I'll hold off on further speculation until said ritual has completed.

Dorian: Two more spells! Magical secrets, ie, whatever the fuck he wants (true to my name my vote is spending at least one on Counterspell, but go nuts on the other) He also no longer has to burn his inspiration dice on flourishes, though he only gets a d6 rather than his full d10. Looking ahead: He gets 8th level spells of which Mind Blank might be wise given this campaign; he also gets a d12 inspiration die.

Braius is already level 14, thank you Braius.

Fearne: Ok I respect the ASI push but Transport via Plants would be real clutch sometime soon. With that said Dorian or Imogen could take Teleport or they can just hang out with Essek for a while longer. Anyway, as an Arcane Trickster she gets an ASI and another L1 spell; she's been keeping it utility-focused which is smart because her INT score is not high. The ASI move, in my opinion, is bump up INT and CON by one, but she could also benefit from War caster. Looking ahead: As said, take L11 Druid, get 6th level spells, profit.

Imogen: Revelation in Flesh is upon us; I assume it will be electricity themed rather than the traditional Aberrant Mind option which appears to be "cursed axolotl"-themed. This means she can use sorcery points to make herself fly OR swim/breathe water OR see invisible creatures OR squeeze out of tight situations. Looking ahead: 8th level spells next level! Incendiary Cloud seems to be on-brand but Power Word Stun OR Sunburst (miss you Ayden) are both pretty fantastic.

Orym: Fighters get a zillion ASIs, as always; Sentinel might be fun but he could also bump his CON to 16 (if he does this...I must admit I'm warming on the idea of Orym Paladin and wouldn't scoff at a CHA 13 bump either), achieve Chetney-like intellect with an INT bump, or take any number of feats. I am pretty boring with feats honestly so I'm excited to see what Liam picks but I have no good ideas. Looking ahead: At L15, he gets two more maneuvers, which I will definitely look up before they hit L15; he also gets a free superiority die if they roll initiative while he is fully tapped. Fighters: they are unstoppable.

Ashton: It's a path feature! I have no idea what the fuck will be up with that but I'm looking forward to finding out, which, coincidentally, will give us the full picture of Path of Fundamental Chaos! Looking ahead: They get persistent rage at L15, which will make them even harder to knock out, a thing that is already very difficult to do.

[alsovpeach]

Разведка Каменного Веретена

Каменное Веретено находится в нескольких милях от стоянки Треснувшего Бивня, как объясняет Лецуа Софиду. Софид не спрашивает почему не остановиться ближе. Он привык не задавать вопросов командирам. Лучше просто делать что нужно самому, не ставя их в известность. Или просто молчать. Всё равно мудрецам и героям не до тебя. По крайней мере, сама дорога к Веретену хорошо протоптана. Софид идёт по ней прямо и спокойно, лишь изредка вскидывая лук, чтобы увидеть вылетающую из кустов птицу и тут же его опустить.

Дорога занимает несколько часов. Пару раз Софид присаживается на камень или бревно, переводит дыхание и даёт ногам и лёгким отдохнуть. Вдыхает пахнущий морозом, мхом и вереском воздух северной равнины. Позволяет своему сердцу отдохнуть от кошмаров и воспоминаний. Погрузиться в природу. В природу, не пытающуюся убить. Инстинкты кричат, что нельзя доверять дикой земле, что она только и ждёт слабины. Софид не слушает их, и вскоре чувствует, как уходят, растворяются вчерашние страхи. Язвы больше нет. Демоны изгнаны. А здесь их никогда и не бывало.

Он улыбается и даже задерживается на небольшой поляне на опушке куцего леса, чтобы набрать кислых ягод, о которых рассказывала ему Випа.

Каменное Веретено оказывается полукругом из каменных тотемов, изображающих зверей, которых почитает Треснувший Бивень. Когда Софид только пришёл в племя, старейшина Эйва рассказывал ему о них, но мендевец так и не смог понять для чего небольшому клану делиться на дома, а внутри домов ещё и на последователей разных зверей. Он слышал, что саркорианцы когда-то общались со зверьми-богами и брали у них силу. Но Треснувший Бивень молился не зверям, а Саренрэй. Сестре-Золе, как они её называли.

Самый западный ��з тотемов, тотем… кажется, Ворона? - разрушен. Софид хмурится и осторожно подходит ближе. Он не слишком удивлён, что камень сломали. Его смущает то, что кто-то после этого забрал его верхнюю половину. Кому понадобился огромный булыжник в виде ворона, весящий не меньше тонны? Если тотемы волшебные, то почему не забрали целый?

Рядом с холмом Каменного Веретена стоят ещё два холма поменьше. Средний холм зарос кустами и деревьями, и отсюда Софид не видит удобного подъёма. Разведчик тихо, чуть пригибаясь, обходит тотемы в поисках следов и признаков того, как давно камень был разрушен. Если он стоит в таком виде годами, значит не его дело пытаться его починить. И потому что это невозможно, и потому что племени это явно не мешает.

Софид легко находит глубокие следы босых ног. Человеческих. Одной пары. Босых. Принадлежавших кому-то, кто нёс что-то очень тяжёлое. И эти следы исчезают возле крупного валуна возле среднего холма. Софид оглядывает камень, но не видит ни следов инструментов, ни ступеней, по которым можно подняться наверх, не пользуясь ногами. Телепортация. А значит, демоны.

Софид сжимает лук в руках и напряжённо оглядывается. Племя не готово сражаться с демонами. Он не готов. Он не сможет убить демона один. У него нет стрел из холодного железа. А в ближнем бою он ничего не сможет противопоставить врагу, способному поднимать тонны камня в одиночку. Софид бросается обратно к стойбищу племени. Он должен предупредить Владык Мамонтов.

[basiliskonline]

When I run The Quest For Frozen Flame, this is how you take the Ashen Tower.*

* The PCs are inside taking care of the dungeon and Turkek, while the Broken Tusk hold their armies at bay. I was gonna run this myself before game (I've done mass combat before, at others players at request but it ended up to sloggy for them, so i decided to only handle this as people want) But one of the players said it has honestly been faer dream to lead an army that faer druid raised since the 80s, so faer is showing up before game tommorrow and we're gonna run this and see how it goes for the Broken Tusk.

[veal-exe]

I trust your taste in media, and am willing to ask off anon. (Your takes on Berserk are PHENOMENAL, and I heartily agree.)

I love a good tragedy. Some of my favorite pieces of literature and media in general have been tragedies. (Unfortunately, since they tend to get review bombed for not having "happy" plotlines, or happy endings, its hard to find recs for them specifically.)

Do you have a set of I dunno... 3-5 tragedies to recommend? (I am trying to expand my read/watch list a bit, since I am running out of things to keep on my second monitor while I work on other things.)

(I am not easily triggered by self-harm, sexual assault, or gore, luckily, and those tend to go hand-in-hand with tragedies quite frequently.)

So here's a secret about me, when I was young I had a 'rebellious' phase where I decided that instead of just dedicating myself to the family business (Dog training, multi generation) I was going to expand my horizons and go into film and media critique, so I went and I got all the education you need for that, and then I decided, no, I actually like training dogs more. You would think this means I flushed all that right down the toilet but actually now I just hobby analyze media.

All of this to say, I have many things to recommend! In various mediums!

I will place a Star next to my personal favorites. ☆

This is not a comprehensive list! I have known memory issues, so these are just off the cuff, if anyone wants more or wants specific themes let me know, some of these may be more, or less, tragic than others, or have better, or worse, endings.

Tragedy is personal and human.

I have given special TWs for things outside the usual scope or that I find worth mentioning!

Manga & Anime

Fire Punch. ☆☆☆

Fire Punch takes place on an Earth that has become frozen over and barren. The series follows Agni, a young man who is able to regenerate his body. After his village succumbs to inextinguishable flames he is left constantly on fire, leaving him in anguish and vowing to get revenge.

[Special TWs: Cannibalism, Incest themes are touched on, and a very poignant moment of discussion of transgender suffering in regards to a main character, tons of sexual assault including animals being used to sexually assault children, there is a TW for everything in here]

Goodbye, Eri!

A manga about Yuta, a young filmmaker, struggling with grief after his mother's death. He copes by making movies, and meets Eri, a mysterious girl who becomes his muse and helps him create a new film.

Wolf's Rain

The journey of four lone wolves who cross paths while following the scent of the Lunar Flower, and their search for Paradise.

Maquia: when the promised flower blooms ☆☆☆

This one is complex, I don't know if I'd call it a full on tragedy to everyone, but it is worth watching, and it's worth watching twice.

The people of Iolph are known for two things: their youthful longevity and peaceful lives weaving tapestry. When that is disturbed and their home thrown into chaos by those believing that their blood gifts longer life, Maquia loses not only her friends, but a place to return to.

[Special TWs: Coerced Pregnancy]

Clannad: After Story ☆

No summary, watch it blind.

[Special TWs: Terminal Illness, Child Death]

Texhnolyze

Texhnolyze follows Ichise, an underground fighter whose arm and leg were severed after he displeased an unnamed, presumably influential, man. He is brought back from the brink of death by Eriko "Doc" Kaneda, who replaces his lost limbs with prosthetics through a process known as "texhnolyzation"

Angel’s Egg ☆☆☆

An atmospheric, dialogue-light, OVA about a girl protecting a mysterious egg in a ruined world.

Monster

A slow-burning, dialogue-heavy series about a surgeon who saves a boy who grows up to be a serial killer.

Devilman Crybaby ☆☆☆

The classic, you've probably heard of it, it is worth it.

Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou

The definitely 100% for sure uplifting tale of two girls and their quest to find hope in a bleak and dying world. I'll give that this one is a semi tragedy, the ending makes it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Films and Similar

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ☆ ☆ ☆

After a painful breakup, Clementine (Kate Winslet) undergoes a procedure to erase memories of her former boyfriend Joel (Jim Carrey) from her mind. When Joel discovers that Clementine is going to extremes to forget their relationship, he undergoes the same procedure and slowly begins to forget the woman that he loved.

Manchester by the Sea

After the death of his older brother Joe, Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck) is shocked that Joe has made him sole guardian of his teenage nephew Patrick. Taking leave of his job as a janitor in Boston, Lee reluctantly returns to Manchester-by-the-Sea, the fishing village where his working-class family has lived for generations.

The Road ☆

I would really prefer people read the book, but the movie is also pretty great. A father and son travel through a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Bleak, cold, and emotionally raw. Not a lot of dialogue, so the atmosphere does the talking.

[Special TWs: Like, everything on earth, Cannibalism, human livestock, infant death, etc]

The Turin Horse

An apocalyptic parable set in an isolated farmhouse...

[Special TWs: Animal abuse, animal death, racism against Romani people, but the people involved get what they deserve in the end]

[Special Warning: Most people consider this a tragedy but it fills my heart with joy, I have a special place in my heart for any film that shows people I personally consider to suck, especially animal or child abusers, suffering and dying slowly and horrifically and that is all this film is, just an animal abusing man and his daughter dying slowly and painfully during the implied apocolypse, it cures my depression <3]

[thisonegirl]

To Be A Weakling

pairing : jo togami x reader rating : nsfw warnings : angst ; sexual descriptions ; swearing ; mentions of violence ; mentions of blood wc : 2.5k (edited)

Would you stay with a person who is evil to others but good to you?

You had always thought that as long as your partner treated you right, you didn’t care about anything or anyone else but you found yourself doubting that notion as you watched your boyfriend mercilessly beat another boy into a pulp before removing his jacket, the Shishitoren jacket. 

It always bothered you how easily they could turn on someone after calling them brother. You thought it was all about unity, loyalty and fraternity but it turned out to be a dog eat dog world in a quest to be the strongest or, as Choji would put it, the most free.

“What do you even mean by that?” You had asked once, “it’s not like you’re shackled to anything, metaphorically speaking of course.” 

“For us it means being free from boundaries and anything that would restrict us in any way,” Togame explained, the glimmer in his eyes as he spoke told you exactly how much believed in those words and how passionate he was about achieving that goal. “The only way to be truly free is through power, and power is only reserved for the strongest.”

“So you guys are more devotees of freedom rather than power, no?” You had questioned with furrowed brows, slowly making sense of what he had been explaining to you.

“No, we’re devotees of power because that’s what ensures our freedom.” 

That conversation seemed innocuous enough at the time but having seen with your own eyes the lengths they went to ensure their “power”, you couldn’t help but kick yourself for missing such a bright red flag waving right in front of you eyes. 

The sound of Togame’s fists pounding against the boy’s face was unsettling but the sight of it was even worse. You knew all about his lifestyle and all about what they did — I mean, who didn’t? — but Togame always did his best to make sure you never witnessed it. Partly because he knew you were too sensitive for such a sight but mostly because he didn’t want you to see that side of him, the meaner and crueler side of him.

You weren’t even meant to be there in that alley. You were tired and you thought to take a shortcut to get home quicker only to be confronted by a mass of yellow jackets surrounding something, or rather someone.

You weren’t scared or anything. Everyone knew who you were and they knew better than to mess with you so you just thought to keep your head down, turn around and walk away when you heard his voice.

You couldn’t make out the exact words but you knew you heard him so like a moth to flame you followed it. And boy, did you regret it. Managing to catch a glimpse of what was in the middle of the circle from gaps between the rowdy boys, you saw him. 

You were frozen in place for a bit before your legs began moving as though they had a mind of their own. You pushed through the crowd and stopped in front of Togame.

His fist was pulled back, ready and packed with another blow when he saw you. Shock, confusion and even slimmer of shame swirled in his eyes as he faltered. He released the boy’s collar, letting his head hit the ground. The sound of the impact made you flinch and wince.

Slowly getting up, he put his glasses back on and threw the extra jacket over his shoulder. You watched his movements not recognizing the mannerisms. 

“Let’s go,” he said in a cool manner, ignoring the shock, disgust and disappointment in your eyes. He softly pulled you away from the crowd, your eyes still stuck on the bloody face that laid on the ground with no one to help him. You wanted to be the one to do so but by the time you gained control of your body once more, Togame already had a hand on your lower back leading you away from the scene and everyone else had dispersed.

“What were you doing there?” He asked in a low tone that felt colder than what you were used to. 

“I-I,” you stammered a bit before gulping, “j-just wanted to take a shortcut,” you whispered with a slight tremble to your voice.

You all of a sudden felt nervous to be with him. Alone at that. Deep down you knew you were safer with him than anyone else in the world but having witnessed his brutality for the first time, seeds of doubt regarding his character were planted in your mind.

“You shouldn’t go through there. It's not safe,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to his side.

You were hyper aware of his bloody hand on you. You cringed trying to ignore it as he led you home. The walk felt longer than you remembered it to be and the silence between you was only broken by the noise surrounding you. A tense silence that replaced the lively chatter that would usually ensue the second you were together.

When you reached your home, with shaken hands, you tried to unlock your door. Hoping that he didn’t notice how badly you were fumbling with them would be futile as he gently took and opened the door himself. The both of you entered the apartment. The dark and quiet that greeted you were the sign that your mother nor your younger brother were home, much to your dismay. 

Following the routine in such cases, you both go to your room. As you placed your things in their rightful places, Togame went to the bathroom. You heard the water running and you couldn’t help but picture the blood washing away from his hands. Blood from the wounds of a face that would forever remember the hands that scared it.

You heard the water stop running and within seconds he was in your room, behind you, arms wrapped around your much smaller frame. You felt his lips against your head, lingering for a bit before he spun you around in his arms to kiss your forehead.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he whispered.

You didn’t know what to say so you just nodded.

“Please say something,” he sounded… normal again. Gentle and kind like how you had always known him to be.

“I don’t have anything to say, Togame,” you responded.

“Yes you do. You’re just scared,” he countered. He was right. You were scared. And though you knew he would never lay a had on you, you weren’t sure you liked the idea of him being able to hurt anyone else so easily, so nonchalantly. “I’d never —“ his voice cracked and with it, your heart as well.

“I know you wouldn’t!” You interrupted, “I never thought that, Togame. I was just… I guess… a bit off put by it,” you gently explained, “I know what you guys do but actually seeing it was just… I don’t know,”

“He was weak. He went against what we stood for and that’s why —“

“No! Please no, I don’t want to know why,” you said, “let’s just forget about it okay?” You pulled yourself from out of his embrace and went about your night routine, ignoring his gaze following your every movement as you tried to ignore him.

When you both laid in your bed, you thought about how had it been a regular day in the absence of your family, you’d both be insatiably and shamelessly ravaging each other but no, you just had to take that damn shortcut and now you laid together in bed, your back to his chest as he held you close, with unspoken words and uncomfortable feelings lingering about.

“It wasn’t always like this,” he said. You let his words float for a bit before responding.

“What do you mean?” 

“We used to be… different, better. Then Choji…he wanted us to be stronger and he said this was the only way,” he explained further. 

“What was the only way?”

“Getting rid of the weaklings… the losers.” It broke your heart hearing those words leave his mouth. You thought about how much your younger brother looked up to him. He was just starting middle school but he had plans to join them much to your and Togame’s disapproval. Now I know why he opposed it.

“Why was that the only way though?” You asked, turning to face him. You noticed the discomfort etched upon his face as he avoided your eyes in shame.

“Because he believes the strong can’t lose.”

Choji was the youngest ever leader of the Shishitoren. You knew that to get there, he wasn't nice or meek. A weakling, in his words. His cheery personality combined with that fact left you very untrusting of him, very weary and skeptical. He was the strongest of the strongest, therefore the freest. He was beyond boundaries and you knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t tolerate anyone threatening the power of his gang as their strength was supposed to be a reflection of his. 

You didn’t particularly like the fact that Togame associated himself with the Shishitoren nor that fact that he was such close friends with the leader, to the point that he was the second-in-command but you weren’t exactly thinking straight back then being a dumb lovestruck girl and you were no longer in a position to complain because you knew exactly who and what he was when you got together. 

“Do you believe in that too?” You asked, noting how he structured his prior response.

“Not necessarily but I understand it,” he responded sincerely. 

“If you don’t believe in it, why follow it?”

“Because he’s my closest friend. I need to stand beside him no matter what.”

“Even if he’s wrong?”

His eyes tentatively met yours as confliction clouded them. You knew the answer, he didn’t need to utter them. You also knew what you had to do but decided to postpone it for a bit.

Pushing the conversation aside, you leaned forward to kiss his lips. The soft hesitant kiss soon developed into a passionate one. You could almost feel his relief and it broke your heart to think about what you’d do after.

Your hands made their way down his torso and he took it as permission to do the same as he let his own roam over your body. Your kiss, still passionate, was broken for a moment as he lifted your shirt over your head before continuing.

You pulled him closer and over you, tugging on his shirt urging him to remove it as he had done yours to which he hastily complied.

“I’m sorry baby,” he said breathless from the kiss but you silenced him by grabbing his face in your hands and connecting your lips once more.

The remainder of your clothing flew off your bodies article by article until there was nothing left between your bodies.

As he rested between your legs, you felt his cock rest against your pussy. The feeling of his hardening member  made you wet and needy that you begin moving your hips, grinding against him. He groaned against your lips, following your lead and moving his own hips with yours. His shaft moved between your lower lips as his tip brushed against your tender clit with every thrust.

His hands roamed all over your naked body before stopping at your breasts to play around with your hard nipples, twisting and pinching them with his fingers making you gasp and whimper at the feeling.

Breaking the kiss he lowered his head to your chest, placing your nipple in his mouth and sucking it while massaging the other one.

“Ah, fuck,” you whimpered sinking your fingers into his hair, softly pulling at it.

You felt yourself inching closer and closer to your climax, your hips moving faster and rowdier as you did. Taking the hint of your impending release, Togame stopped his movements and pulled away from you making you whine in confusion which quickly disappeared as you watched him move even lower and wasted no time slurping you up.

He feasted hungrily, taking a hold of your hands and interlocking your fingers with his. His warm tongue worked wonders on you, making you arch your back in pleasure as a loud moan ripped through you.

“You like that baby?” He asked, his lips still on your pussy. You looked down at him, at his droopy hazy eyes, the sight making you even horniner.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

“Yes, Togame, yes, I do…” you moaned. Your legs began to tremble as he sucked you clit and licked up and down your lips, and like before, as you felt yourself nearing your end, he stopped.

“What the hell-“ you started to complain only to be interrupted by Togame burying himself inside you in a slow but deep thrust.

“Ohh…” you let out a long drawn out moan at the feeling his cock stretched you out. A feeling that though you were used to, never ceased to make your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Fuck baby…” he groaned, finding a steady pace as he thrusted in and out of you.

Your fingers still interlocked as he held your hands down beside your head. His forehead resting upon your as you breaths mingled and his eyes set on yours as he steadily fucked you.

It had been a while since you felt so close to him, since you felt such a burning passion as you made love to each other. You wondered if he knew this would possibly be the last time. 

As you felt your orgasm simmering once again, your eyelids shut at the intensity creeping up on you. Togame lets go of your hands, one reaching between you bodies down to your clit rubbing and the other wrapping itself around your neck in a firm grip.

“Open your eyes… I wanna see them when you cum,” he hissed, his thrusts growing erratic as he also inched closer to coming.

You followed his orders, staring deeply into his green eyes. The ones you fell in love with and knew you couldn’t live without. Your decision to end your relationship was overturned then and there.

His groans and your moans grew louder and louder as you both reached your came. His body stiffening as he came inside you and your body trembling as you released onto him. You struggled to keep your eyes open as you came, but you tried your hardest enthralled with the intensity and passion in his eyes as you stared into yours. The love and admiration. The devotion and respect.

“I love you. More than anything,” he said. His words left like a promise. It was then that you knew he knew. You had a choice to accept his words and his promise or to let this be the goodbye it was meant to be.

As opposed to the Shishitoren, you were a weakling. You didn’t have the strength to hurt him nor yourself, so you chose the former.

——————————

masterlist

[mya-valentine]

⁍Genshin Impact Masterlist

2nd Masterlist

❥Alhaitham

FICS

Dances of Intrigue

Debating Hearts

HEADCANONS

Dancer S/O

Teasing but Competitive S/O

Liking the Same Person as Cyno

Helping S/O Mental Issues

He Makes Me Laugh

❥Ayato

FICS

Echoes of the Sun

HEADCANONS

Short S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Failed Miserably)

❥Baizhu

FICS

Patchwork of Love

❥Capitano

FICS

Frozen Shadows, Burning Desires

HEADCANONS

Naive S/O

❥Childe

HEADCANONS

Short S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Failed Miserably)

Naive S/O

❥Cyno

FICS

Tickle Tactics

HEADCANONS

Criminal S/O

Sharing an S/O With Tighnari

Ideal Type

Liking the Same Person as Alhaithim

S/O With Large Breasts

Short S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Failed Miserably)

Teaching His S/O to Play Genius Invokation TCG

He Makes Me Laugh

❥Dainsleif

HEADCANONS

He Makes Me Laugh

❥Diluc

HEADCANONS

S/O With Large Breasts

Helping S/O With Mental Issues

Being Best Friends with Kaeya

Cheerful S/O

He Makes Me Laugh

SCENARIOS

Breaking Up an Argument Between Kaeya and Diluc

❥Dottore

FICS

Dottore's Soft Spot

HEADCANONS

Sadistic/Equally Crazy S/O

High-Ranking Harbinger S/O

Naive S/O

Working Closely With Him and Pantalone

❥Heizou

HEADCANONS

Cat-Girl S/O

Criminal S/O

❥Itto

FICS

Of Oni and Foxfire: A Mischievous Rescue

HEADCANONS

Equally Goofy S/O

❥Lyney

FICS

Sleight of Heart

HEADCANONS

S/O With Large Breasts

❥Kaveh

Tall S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Succeed)

Who Fell First, Who Fell Harder

HEADCANONS

Helping S/O With Mental Issues

Teasing S/O

❥Kaeya

FICS

A Traveler’s Love: Adventures with Kaeya and Diluc

SCENARIOS

Breaking Up an Argument Between Kaeya and Diluc

❥Kinich

FICS

Eclipsed by Fate

From the Edge of Darkness

Whispers Beneath the Moonlight

Soft Hearts and Sharp Tongues: A Date with Kinich and Ajaw

Stubborn Gratitude: Kinich's Quest to Repay His Healer

The Weight of the Flame

HEADCANONS

S/O Can Make Ajaw Shut Up

Short S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Failed Miserably)

Cat-Girl S/O

Tall S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Succeed)

S/O has Anxiety

He Makes Me Laugh

Going to the Hot Springs with S/O

Generous S/O

Being his Best Friend

❥Neuvillete

Asexual S/O

Who Fell First, Who Fell Harder

FICS

Of Ice and Water: The Sovereigns' Meeting

Beneath the Rain

HEADCANONS

He Makes Me Laugh

❥Ororon

HEADCANONS

He Makes Me Laugh

❥Pantalone

Going to the Hot Springs with S/O

Who Fell First, Who Fell Harder

FICS

Spoiled in Silk

HEADCANONS

Spoiling His S/O

Naive S/O

Working Closely With Him and Dottore

❥Pierro

HEADCANONS

Flirty S/O

Naive S/O

❥Razor

HEADCNNONS

He Makes Me Laugh

❥Scaramouche/Wanderer

FICS

Teasing in Silence

HEADCANONS

S/O With Large Breasts

Naive S/O

Tall S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Succeed)

He Makes Me Laugh

❥Sethos

FICS

Fumbled Hearts and Flustered Minds

HEADCANONS

Cat-Girl S/O

❥Thoma

FICS

Fire and Duty

❥Tighnari

HEADCANONS

Sharing an S/O With Cyno

Short S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Failed Miserably)

Tall S/O Tries to be Intimidating (They Succeed)

❥Wriothesley

FICS

Tea, Treats, and Tired Smiles

HEADCANONS

Helping S/O With Mental Issues

❥Xiao

HEADCANONS

Yaksha S/O

❥Zhongli

He Makes Me Laugh

Who Fell First, Who Fell Harder

FICS

Eternal Frost and Stone

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

This Is The Last

Chapter 3: Freya

Warning(s): canon-typical violence

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You visited the Temple of Time at dawn. 

Old habits die hard , you were forced to remember when the first rays of light touched your face through the gaps in the wall and you awoke like clockwork, shivering on the heels of some horrid nightmare. The dead Hero plagued your thoughts in ways you couldn’t describe, and you were fairly sure you would never be able to look at that shade of blue again. 

There was no particular reason for your visit, if the giant mark on your chest wasn’t reason already. Your boots clicked on the stone stairs of the dias, but you refused to climb to the top. You refused to touch Hylia’s statue, contemplating it with burning eyes. The ache in your ribcage was back, thrumming against your bones with the same ferocity as your beating heart. 

You wanted to tell her that you were leaving, but you remained silent, hand clenching the hilt of your sword for support. 

Until a crackling noise could be heard from the base of the statue. You took a step back as the flame from last night materialized above the stone robes, a muffled curse leaving your lips. You had assumed it was all a dream, but it seems fate had other plans. 

“It’s you,” your voice cracked like rotten wood, a bitter taste on your tongue as your hands fell to your sides in defeat. Chest pulsing, you sighed. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

The flame wavered, crackling softly. Your brows knitted together and you drew your sword, pointing it squarely at the ball of fire. A gust of wind whistled in from between the missing rafters, ruffling your hair, and you wondered if violence truly was the answer in this situation. Not that you planned to commit any acts against the flame, but you were not above threatening it to protect both yourself and your quest. 

Crackle , went the flame, and you lowered your weapon, running a hand down your face. Slowly. Exhaustedly. Life felt like a dream, slipping through your clenched fingers like sand. Your armor creaked as you re-sheathed the sword, casting a glance at the statue. 

The Goddess’ eyes were cold, but you felt frozen. The dead hero had made sure of that. 

“Are you real?” you asked, though it was mostly to yourself, and you could have sworn the goddess was looking straight at you. Your voice rose, both in urgency and volume. “Tell me!”

Nothing. 

You wanted to scream, cry, or do both simultaneously, but you forced your emotions aside with a shaky exhale. The flame remained; bright, smoky wisps floating from its crackling edges. It reminded you of a companion, however unlikely it seemed. 

You left the temple with a heavy heart, not bothering to watch as a final gust of wind swept the flame into nothingness. 

If climbing the Great Plateau was a challenge, then getting down was a trial unto itself. Standing on the edge of the plateau, you watched the smoldering castle carefully, feeling slightly numb to the glowing hate radiating like corrupted vessels through the ground, feeding the land with its accursed lifeblood. It was becoming increasingly obvious that no one would stand up to the evil that seemed to permeate the very air, and your heart ached at the indifference. Ignorance was bliss, yes, but at what point did bliss become denial? Happiness become dangerous? 

It was staggering how, in your youth, you had looked up at the pinked sky and smiled. Smiled at the corruption, the evil, the sickness ; unknowingly encouraging the very thing ripping your kingdom from the very seams . 

And now, it was your price to pay. The mark on your chest and the rotten blessing of a goddess solidified it, and you weren’t sure whether you were within your rights to simply hurl yourself from the cliff and be done with life altogether. Would anyone care? Would they even know ? 

Your pack–filled with enough food to last weeks and half a quiver of arrows to cover the difference–weighed heavy on your shoulder as you turned, heading for nowhere in particular. The shrine was off-limits, and you had no reason to step foot in the Temple of Time again, so you merely plodded down the path, pace far slower than the one you had arrived with. There was no destination in your mind, only the waving grass beneath your boots and soft breeze in your ear. You turned the corner, trudging through a grove of trees. Every breath rang like a drum in your ears, until you spotted something in the distance. A paraglider, rust-brown with the Hylian crest emblazoned in the center of the thick fabric. 

A gift , your mind whispered as you approached, hand outstretched to poke the center of the paraglider with startling care. It was rough and clearly well-loved, which was far more than you had witnessed on this cemetery of a land.  A gift from the goddess . 

You scoffed, sending the object flying with a single swipe of your hand. It fell to the ground with a thud , rolling to a stop among the trees. A thick breeze blew through the greenery, ruffling both your hair and several branches, sending wide leaves fluttering to the ground. You ignored the chill, crouching down to study the object closer, when there was a very familiar crackle and the flame popped into existence, floating half a foot above the glider. 

Your body moved for you, shooting back in a bid to put some distance between you and the recurring ball of fire. Every nerve in your body tightened, preparing for a fight, but the flame didn’t seem to get the message, floating closer. Only when you drew your sword did it halt, hovering less than an inch from the tip of your blade. 

“ What are you doing here?” You hissed, knowing full-well that conversation was useless; it didn’t understand you more than you understood it. 

There was no response–because why would there be–and you couldn’t help but feel yourself falling deeper into a state of resignation. It had followed you all the way here, only to interfere when you touched the paraglider? Several branches waved insistently in the wind, and you stepped back when the flame appeared before the glider, hovering insistently, if inanimate… things(?) could even convey such profound notions. 

Your brows furrowed, and something deep within your chest urged you to re-sheath your sword; flowing through your blood, coiling between the rough slopes of your ribs beneath your flesh and armor. It pressed against your heart, and you found that weariness beat deep in the organ. You were tired, not to mention the swirling flavors of betrayal and anger coating your tongue. 

Fine , your eyes whispered as you seized the paraglider, nearly crinkling the fabric in your grip. Fine, goddess.  

The edge of the plateau wasn’t far, considering the determined pace in which you trudged to the ledge, overlooking every corner of your terrible, beautiful land. You held the glider high, like a weapon, and took a deep breath, stomach dropping as soon as you flung yourself into the air. Turrets of wind whistled in your ear, deafeningly loud as the landscape spun in a flurry of blues and greens and plums, making you half-heartedly wonder if you should have just listened to your gut and climbed down. The glider caught the breeze with a jolt, holding strong as you drifted down to solid ground. You jumped down as soon as you could, arms aching from the strain of holding yourself up for so long, boots hitting the grass with an impressive thud . 

This was it–you were finally away from that cursed place, hopefully forever, but you knew it wasn’t in the cards. The brand on your chest was more than a symbol of forced loyalty, it was a connection . A link , but you felt that joke a bit inappropriate considering the situation. 

You stood in the field, the plateau to your back, and attached the paraglider to your back via a set of convenient straps. Despite everything, it was a useful item, and you had no intention of destroying it. Yet. 

The sun was high in the sky when you began your search for Rala, your stalwart companion through the worst of what life could throw at you. She was a stubborn creature, maybe even more than you, and you took a saddened pleasure in whistling for her, the sound carrying mournfully through the air. You hoped she was safe. 

It was nearly sundown when you found the horse, galloping in a field, the waving grass obscuring her thudding legs as she ran to you, neighing loudly. You held out your arms with a smile, uncaring of the unsightly brown color her once white coat had adopted, and stroked her velvety nose when she drew close, tail swishing wildly. Rala nickered when you pulled an apple from your bag, offering it to her. 

Relief coursed through you when she took the offering without hesitation, munching happily as drops of juice rained down on your fingers. 

That night, the flame didn’t appear. 

You had half expected it to, keeping one eye cracked open as you leaned against a random tree. Rala foraged before you, the crackling campfire serving as your only light in the darkness. 

You had a plan. Of sorts. 

There was a nicker, and Rala trotted over. Her muzzle swung forward, lips nibbling at your hairline. You swatted her nose gently before relenting, reaching up to stroke her warm neck with your frozen fingers, which tangled in the coarse hair of her mane as you dared wonder if things would have been different if you had the courage to refuse, if you had the courage to accept that revenge was a luxury afforded to heroes and madmen. 

The horse snorted, ears pricking as she rose to meet the darkness, hoved scraping against the grass. You put one hand on your sword, but didn’t stand, knowing that even the bravest of creatures could be fooled by the shadows of night. The campfire flickered, and light danced where it previously hadn’t, revealing the scrunched nose of a rabbit, which darted as soon as it’s cover was blown. Rala tossed her head, and you leaned yours back against the tree. 

Far above, the stars twinkled in the sky, illuminated by the fierce glow of the moon, as untouchable as the goddess who had cursed you. You once loved the moon, but now you couldn’t bear to gaze at it for fear of… well, you weren’t sure, but it was certainly profound from the way a shiver ran down your spine every time your eyes landed on it’s fullness. 

With a sigh, you relaxed into the tree, hand falling from the hilt of your sword to the cool, grassy ground. 

You slept, and the dead hero bothered you all night long.

A day passed, and the flame was nowhere to be seen. 

Aimlessly, you rode across the countryside, heading for the Dueling Peaks. The land was silent, as if morning the loss of order itself, save for the occasional rumble from the Castle, but you temporarily adopted the traditional Hylian bliss and continued like your land wasn’t crumbling at the seams to a problem that should have been solved years ago. It was a shame that the hero was dead, because you had some choice words for him. 

Despite the crippling despair of your situation, the journey was peaceful. The travelers you passed were happy, often humming tunes or calling out as you urged Rala down the road, and their ignorance was both admirable and dizzying, until you considered that many of them had been born into avoidance, suckled it from their mother’s bosom and soaked it from their father’s words. It was all they knew, and it made your teeth ache. 

The Dueling Peaks came into view around dusk, the setting sun peeking between the crevice in the peaks like it belonged there. Your eyes lingered on the tower in the distance; if there was anywhere in the world you could hide, it would be atop one of those, caressed in wind and twice as carefree. A small part of you considered it, but a larger part knew full well that if you wanted to escape the goddess, you might as well throw yourself from the tower than hide in it. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when Rala snorted, slowing to a walk as you passed a large sign. ‘Dueling Peaks Stable’ it read, and you felt the corners of your mouth tug up. It had been a long time since you visited the stable, mostly because of the volume of travelers that passed through and partly because the previous stablemaster was a crotchety old man who believed you should have married young and put on a dress. 

As if the armor you wore was not a symbol of your independence, and the sword at your side not a beacon of the blood, sweat, and tears staining your flesh. 

You gave a gentle tug of the reins, coaxing Rala to stop. Her hooves clicked against the road as she came to a halt. You hopped off, taking a short moment to stretch–it was a bit of a walk to the stable, but you had been riding all day and your legs were stiff from disuse. 

“Hey!” A voice broke through the silence, and you froze. “Do I know you?”

You didn’t recognize the voice, nor the tone, and the urge to hop back on Rala and ride away was a strong one. Instead, you turned, coming face-to-face with a tall, red-haired woman. Her curls, tighter than you had ever seen, framed her face as she smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re Hylian, right?”

“Yes,” you said, unsure of how else to respond.

“That’s good,” she responded cheerily, adjusting the bundle of wood she was carrying higher on her hip, though you didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked to your sword.. “I’m Freya, the stablemaster here.”

You didn’t introduce yourself, only nodding politely and waiting to see if she had anything else to say, which, unfortunately, she did. “Forgive me, but you’re not a knight… are you? The one who’s been saving everyone?”

“No,” a bitter taste coated your tongue. 

“Really?” Freya seemed doubtful. “Because my sister, who’s a bit of a storyteller, met a knight a bit ago with a sword just like yours. I know we’re far from the castle, but–”

“ I’m not the Hero ,” you interjected, not meaning to raise your voice, but also not wanting her to get the wrong idea. Freya’s expression dropped, and you half-heartedly wondered if she was going to kick you out or simply ignore the conversation altogether. 

That is, until she smiled again, softer than the first. “Come,” she said, walking up next to you. “I don’t care who you are, and it’s getting dark. I’ll even give you a discount on a bed.”

You blinked in disbelief, having been sure than your outburst would have driven her away by now. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” she grinned, and your mouth opened again, though nothing came out this time. “Now chop, chop. I’m sure you’ll fight anything that comes along, but let’s try to avoid that, shall we?”

You followed dumbly as she headed to the stable, grabbing Rala’s reins in your left hand. The building was just as you remembered, albeit a bit larger, and with a few more additions. Several horses stood in the stalls outside the stable, nickering softly when you and Rala passed. Warm light poured out from the windows, illuminating the road before them. 

You left Rala outside as Freya led you to the main counter, pointing you to one of the empty beds and informing you that your horse was in good hands, to which you nodded robotically and plodded to the bed, only realizing what kind of discount had been offered to you when she let you go with a smile, demanding no payment whatsoever. You didn’t bother removing your armor, choosing to collapse on the bed like your life depended on it, practically dozing off as soon as your head touched the downy pillow. 

You slept, and the dead hero bothered you for half the night.

Poor Reader :((((