#ruby amulet

[cosmicheartzone]

((A follow-up to when Cosmo was asked about her petal skirt and her amulet))

[bunnidarling]

“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.” – Robert A. Heinlein

Thank you for the lovely art @LaFrenchbrioche ✨

[nine-blessed-hero]

An Odd Thing Happened on the Way to Anvil

CW Genre-typical mentions of violence, injury & blood; fantasy religion Universe: Vanilla Oblivion Comment: This is less of a fic and more of a description of events that I just needed out of my head. "Grilikamaug" = Shamen, Orcish. Or read on AO3

Kick's penance for marring his clean record and besmirching the good name of the Fighter's Guild is to be bumped back to Associate and sent off to Anvil for some rookie tasks. Quite frankly he's a bit insulted by that, but mostly he's just glad the Guildmaster didn't throw him out on his ass. He's definitely not a good enough mage to enter their guild…

As a shortcut, he's shlepped his way over the Colovian heaths, accidentally tangling with some bandits on the way. They were living on a handful of withered carrots and a cob of bread so hard it got used as a cosh, so now that he can spy the outline of Kvatch sitting high on its mount, his mouth wets with the thought of fresh game pie and a tot of Flin. It's not until he's halfway up the mount that a problem emerges. The perfect blue colovy sky darkens, turning an eerie shade of thunderous red. The wind, which should have a bracing nip, is warm and smells of egg and ash. It's further confirmed by the defences at Kvatch's gate and the burning oval – a portal, according to the guard who gives him the story and begs for aid.

He's not supposed to take contracts not approved by the Guild, but the sporadic waves of creatures that spew forth convinces him that there's no time to request permission. Especially not when his query into Kvatch's Guild chapter head is met with a shrug and, "I hope you weren't close," from another of the guards. So he agrees to see what can be done about closing this portal, because he's the freshest one here and there are no armies on the horizon. And because looking at the thing is making him feel nauseous and itchy. The kind of itch you get from a wound trying to heal.

–

When he stumbles into the church after closing the portal and helping Matius clear out the last of the creatures, he's bleeding from a dozen places in armour that's shot to hell. From his wet and ragged breathing, he thinks something's wrong internally too. There's a priest and a healer, but they're next to useless – already up to their armpits in other people's blood and magicka all tapped out. Kicks is told to pray at the altar to the divines, a prospect he views with some scepticism; Prince Mauloch, of course, has always been the orismer's patron. Still, it's better than bleeding out on the floor, so he does as bid and is pleasantly surprised when he feels the touch of the divines banishing his pains and woes. His armour's still shot to shit, but he'll take what he can get.

–

By the time Kicks has helped Matius take back Castle Kvatch, the Chapel survivors have been moved down to an encampment at the bottom of the mount. It is to here he carries Matius, the man's arm so mangled by the jaws of some hellish beast, he'll probably lose it.

The orismer smith won't take coin for the meager patch-job she wrangles on his armour – "Where would I spend it, eh?" – so he trades her the last of his food instead.

While Kicks waits, resting in the shade of her tent, the priest comes with linen strips and brackish water. Now he can be seen in the light, Kicks thinks they may have met before, but the when or where of it he can't place. Maybe it's the nose, maybe it's the eyes… Maybe all Imperials just look the damned same. "I thought you may need some assistance with your wounds," the priest says, lifting his saucepan of water in explanation. Kicks has been using his severely depleted magicka reserves to slowly heal himself, though he's not getting very far. Now the excitement of battle has worn off, he's tired and sore. Kicks grunts. "You're right there, Grilikamaug. Though I've no more food to barter with." As the priest kneels down, he says, "Without your bravery this day, I and my fellow citizens would still be stuck in the Chapel. Or worse. So you've no need to barter further, my friend. May I?" Kicks is already shirtless from sluicing the blood and grime from his skin, so this last is in reference to dressing his wounds. "Sure. Call me Kicks." The priest nods. "I'm Brother Martin."

–

Kicks spends a few more days in the encampment, busing himself with making mediocre healing potions and hunting deer, before reinforcements from Anvil and Skingrad arrive.

The morning he chooses to leave, he presents Batul with a topaz gem, prised and pled from the gold setting of that giant ruby. "Trade it, sell it – or keep it. Your choice." "Then why give it at all?" It seems like she's laughing at him, so he smiles. "Good work under dire conditions deserves to be honoured in kind." "Pah!" She punches him lightly on the arm. "It's no less than my ancestors would expect, and you'll still need to see another smith. But I accept your recognition." Batul is still smiling as she inclines her head. He bids her farewell with a plea to Mauloch to keep her forge-fires strong, and heads off, along the road to Anvil, wondering if he can convince the spirit-infested ruby to part with another gem for his armour's upkeep.

[deadgirlsam]

we need to start posting about female characters the way we do male characters . enough of dean's rings and cas' tie Where's the love for ruby's stupid ass belt buckle and amulet

[locitapurplepink]

Sofia, Ruby, & Jade singing together

[wiproaringreading]

A good idea for a series you love the characters or premise of and want to make into something longer than the trilogy is of course to be really good at summarizing anything important in an interesting way because people will pick it up in the middle and you might as well court them AND people might just forget things and need the reminder, nbd.

But I think a special thing about some series is no t him ish is the first entry makes you double guess and want to google "xyz series" that will fool people into thinking you are supernaturally good at summarizing episodes and reintroduce good characters. Maybe you don't need the backstory to happen in the present in the first book, maybe it just comes up bit by bit.

I only have superficial examples but Repairman Jack he almost seems to mention a previous adventure he had in a way that did seem so real like I should know. And Stephanie Plum's ex-husband, who is mentioned in the first book but appears in the third book and is very worn in as though he is always miraculously representing Plum's bounty, like a set up classic rival. But no he doesn't always work with the bounty. However Ranger and Morelli ARE set up classic meddlers. You know what I mean? It's not just abut having a strong handle on the characters and thr backstories it's about the writing.

I think it would be fun to write the first and wecond books and watch how yoj summarizing the firta book in the second, and then sacrifice a book idea to be a summary in the first book. It's not about "remember how we all met in Vietnam?" it's not even about "oh stop holding it over my head that you saved me from the haunted robo-dogs that were created from silver chain links" it's about "last week I faught these haunted robo-dogs created frlm aillver chain links. i swear i usually don't have such crazy adventures. if i see a cursed amulet im turning 360 degrees and walking away! (sees the cursed amulet) (tries to turn 180 degrees but cannot Refuse The Call) my ex saved me not rhat i would admit that outloud. if i see my ex i am running away! (sees the ahirt she's wearing) oh mama!" my new series Jewler Jack I got hung up on the amulet. Just like Jacknis gonna get hung by pearls in the thirs book of my books. Will he esacpe? Yeah but it will make you claustrophobic. And rhats the true meaning of horror to me.

[princess-ibri]

Made some more Disney Oz stuff! (Click for better quality)

Little line up of how the characters would overall look for Disney's "The Wizard of Oz"

And then a family tree of how I'd link the characters together (usually I try to only use Baum created names but Singra is a really good name for the Wicked Witch of the South so we'll let it slide)

So my thoughts on the Glinda/Evanora/Theodora backstory is that Glinda was the daughter of King Pastoria, with Locasta the Witch of the North. But she vanished one day, and after a year of fruitless searching and another of mourning, Pastoria decided his daughter needed a mother, and married his Grand Vizir Singra, the Witch of the South.

Little did he know that Singra was actually wicked, and had been behind his first wife's disappearance.

For a while, the girls were all happy enough together. Young Theodora especially loved her new father and sister. But as they grew older, things began to change. Singra asserted more and more control of the kingdom, and Evanora followed after her footsteps, and her stepfather was convinced to name her as the official Witch of the East.

Eventually Singra made her move, and killed Pastoria--but Glinda caught her in the act, and in an attempt to save her father also ended the life of the Wicked Witch. Her defeat of Singra also gives Glinda her title of Witch of the South, on top of her royal one.

Evanora was unable to prevent Glinda from fleeing the palace and soon took up her mother's postiton as Grand Vizir/Steward of Oz, telling everyone that Glinda was responsible for the King's death. Her own powers grew in wickedness but cost her her beauty, and she was forced to rely on the magical amulet her mother used to cover her true face. She also instates her sister as the new Witch of the North.

(Singra had wished to have Evanora instated as Witch of the North, but the title could only be granted by previous holder, either willingly or through their death. Singra had been unable to truly defeat Locasta, instead locking her memories and true form away in that of an old woman named Tatty-poo, so the title could not be truly passed on, but Evanora told Theodora and the people of Oz it had been officially transfered to consolidate power)

(During her reign Evanora also had a daughter, Mombi, with the Crooked Magician Dr Nikidik)

The events of Oz the Great and Powerful happen, and Evanora and Theodora are cast out, Theodora taking up the title of Wicked Witch of the West after fleeing to Winkie Country, and Evanora the Wicked Witch of the East. They go out to battle against Glinda and Oscar from time to time, and in one battle, a firework costs Theodora one of her eyes.

Oscar and Glinda are not without their own losses though. During this time they’re blessed with a baby girl, who they name Ozma, and for several years they’re happy together, even if having to pretend Oscar is the Wonderful all powerful Wizard takes its toil. And Oscar realizes that this charade can’t last forever, for several reasons, both that he can only pretend for so long due to aging—and that both Glinda and Ozma will far outlive him due to actually being magic. In an attempt to rectify that, he seeks out a magical potion that will grant him eternal life—but the Enchantress who gives it to him is in fact Mombi, the daughter of Evanora, who tricks Oscar into giving over Ozma (his greatest treasure) to her in exchange for the potion, not realizing what he’s done.

(Ozma is trapped in a mirror that also sends part of her out into Our World, where she will later meet Dorothy in Return to Oz)

When Oscar realizes his daughter has been spirited away and that it’s his fault, his and Glinda’s relationship suffers drastically. He retreats from even her into his role of the Wizard, and she removes herself from the Emerald City to live in Quadling Country.

Meanwhile, Evanora becomes increasingly desperate to regain her lost beauty, even having Theodora's old ruby slippers stolen from the Palace in hopes of using their wishing magic--but a Kansas farmhouse costs her the opportunity.

From there the events of The Wizard of Oz plays out, (still deciding what I want to do with Theodora) but events will also happen that end with Oscar and Glinda going off together to try and find their daughter, thus explaining Glinda’s absence in Return to Oz

Return to Oz happens, and in following adventures afterwards Dorothy helps reunite Ozma with her parents, and even her grandmother Locasta

And that’s what I’ve got for Disney Oz for now!

(Also Dorothy gets to be a witch)

[the-dormant-ocean]

Sam using someone else's blood to cure Demon Dean was a smart move because if he had used his own, Dean would have been anything but normal about it. Dean's obsessive and possessive side would have flared up like crazy the moment the reality of him having Sam's blood pumping in his veins would have hit him. He would have gone full weirdo about it.

Sam giving him his blood would be the best gift he gave Dean with the amulet. The biggest and most beautiful declaration of love Sam could have ever made to him. This way, he has a part of Sam constantly with him. Sam's blood is pumping through his veins and organs. It's keeping him alive. He would be so drunk in love over the gesture. Sam may have drank Ruby's blood but he never gave her his. Only for Dean do not mention Crowley to him he will snap and kill you.

He would be, standing naked in front of a mirror to search for every vein he can see through his skin and trace them lovingly, level of weird. Kissing the veins of his wrists and tracing them with his tongue. Thinking about how when he jerks off or is fucking someone that it's Sam's blood making him hard.

Dean would freak out if he got hurt and started bleeding during a hunt. He would scare the shit out of Sam because he's sounding like he's dying when it's only a gash. He would panic because Sam is leaving his veins and he doesn't want to waste Sam's gift/love. He doesn't want to go back to living without Sam's blood inside him. He would cup his hand to collect the blood he was losing and try to shove it back inside the wound with his fingers. Sam would have to restrain him because he's digging at his wound. It would take Sam to tell him he'll give him more blood for Dean to settle down.

[cosmicheartzone]

Cosmo: For the question about our senses in tree form. We can still feel something touch us, like when Tails unwittingly rubbed my side during the first time he discovered my tree form. Some of the other senses depend on whether or not we're hiding our face such as sight and smell. We can make it so that only a single eye appears if we need to peek what's going on around us. We can still hear at the very least even if our face is completely hidden. And all our taste buds move to the roots

[serpentface]

Four khattanocuy. (Clockwise: a simple ornament with woven textile, a decorative and protective silver ornament with a khait figure and dual pelatoche, an inscribed guardian lion ornament with white lionsmane tassel (uses deified hair from a sacrificial lion, restricted to Odonii and their blood kin), and a ruby-inset ornament awarded in recognition of valor in battle.)

Khattanocuy refers to tassel ornaments occurring predominantly within the Imperial Wardi cultural sphere, usually worn on the belt as a decorative element of masculine dress.

Their defining feature is the use of animal hair, usually that of a khait (the name itself is a way to say 'khait tail'). A few variants use feathers instead, most often for their visual appeal but sometimes as specific symbols of office (for example, tax/tributary provincial officials wear white gullfeather khattanocuy). Very cheap variants utilizing horse wool have a mocking colloquial name of tsimounacuyit ('(little/baby) horse tail').

The base of the tassel can range from plain undecorated metal to elaborate silver and gold ornaments with inlaid precious stones. 'Doubled' khattanocuy integrate the basic small tassel design (sometimes multiple) on top of a wider base with long hair.

Many men wear simple khattanocuy on a daily basis (a belt/sash itself is an element of everyday wear, used to carry belongings and as an attachment for pouches). Outside of people who have/want to project the impression of great wealth, more complex and decorative khattanocuy tend to be reserved for formal occasions. It is considered a highly masculinized item of dress and generally regarded as inappropriate for women to wear (though some small tassels that are khattanocuy in all but name make appearances on women's hats/headbands).

These items serve no direct religious function, but their wear may at times have elements of spiritual protection/medicinal purposes. They are frequently made with silver (ascribed protective elements against sickness and/or curses) and may have small apotropaic amulets/motifs added to them. Very rare variants are made with hair/feathers from sacred animals sacrificed in public rites (whose parts are considered to become bodily relics of god in death). The wear/use of these holy animal parts is usually restricted to members of priesthoods and their immediate kin, though they can be granted as gifts to laymen by priests of significant authority.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 7

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: The time to restore your memories has finally come.

Warnings: Violence, Death (well not really)

Word Count: 4600

Notes: This is the moment of truth, our girl finally gets some answers. Hope you enjoy!

Part 6 ○ Part 8

It hasn't even been a full day since you killed Norris in that dark cell, but you've never felt better. The moment his heart stopped beating, you started breathing easier. It felt like the weight of the world fell off your shoulders, and knowing you will never have to kill or hurt someone at his orders brought you an amount of relief you never thought you would be able to feel. The days of stretching yourself thin to do his and the guild's bidding at the cost of your conscience were finally gone, you truly couldn't believe it.

You weren't so naive to think the guild would allow you to walk away so easily after not only deserting and sharing classified information about the organization, but also killing one of their best members. They would surely send out assassins to find and kill you, to silence you lest you tell the courts of Prythian too much about them - this is precisely how the guild has managed to survive in the shadows for so long after all, by disposing of any possible threat to the organization. But, with the backing of the Night Court and Azriel's endless support, you didn't feel so threatened, especially after witnessing their power and resilience while helping you with this whole situation. Rhysand has also already gotten more than enough information from Norris' mind to give you enough of an edge. Most of all, you weren't alone for the first time in your life.

The only thing that was still missing were your memories, the main part of the plan and the exact reason you were currently sitting in this foreign room while the High Lord prepared himself to enter your mind and destroy the spell keeping them locked out of your reach. You've been told this was the room you and Azriel had shared in the townhouse before you passed. An interesting choice made by the High Lady for such a somber spell to occur in, though you understand the sentiment behind her decision. With some luck, this place could act as a jumpstart to the process if needed. It would also be good for you in case regaining your memories somehow erases the recent ones.

If it were up to you, this would have happened right after Norris was killed, it could have been in that same damp and bloody cell for all you cared, but Azriel and the others insisted on waiting, letting you and Rhysand rest your bodies and minds before attempting such a delicate procedure.

Azriel also had to go and find the witch's tool Norris used, although that had taken him less than an hour since Rhysand had stolen that information directly from Norris' mind, and he had been back before you even had the chance to finish bathing. Apparently your theory that the tool had to be close to him was correct, and so your handler had hidden it not far from where your meeting had occurred. After he died, the glamour placed on it fell apart, and Azriel's shadows easily found it in the exact place Rhysand had told him it would be in.

The tool was nothing more than a simple amulet. It was easy to overlook the small ruby hanging from a delicate golden chain if it weren't for the strange, dark aura that clung to it, even Azriel's shadows seemed to recoil from it. It was hard to believe such a small object could cause so much destruction and hurt so many people.

Using the tool shouldn't prove to be too complicated for Rhysand either since he has seen Norris' memories of using it - you asked him to share these with you, but he refused, not wanting you to see that cruel male ruin your life and the state your body was in when Norris found you lying in a pool of your own blood in the forest, somehow still alive despite the wound and how long it had been, you decided to wait for your memories to come back before asking him again, the old you had to know how to convince him better - and, after dismissing the wards around your memories with its help, the rest should fall under standard daemati capabilities, which he already excelled at. Even keeping the amulet inactive and safe would be easy enough. Amren seemed to already have made preparations to keep it safe in the court, and a wicked glint in her eyes at the prospect of having such a tool in their arsenal - you really were glad they were on your side now.

The only standing problem and the reason the atmosphere in the room was so tense, was the lack of knowledge on the spell itself, and, more importantly, how dispelling it would affect you. The wards were placed in your mind a century ago, and had been active without pause for that long. Even Norris didn't seem to know the spell's full power or what ramifications could linger after it's gone from what Rhysand was able to learn in his mind. It's safe to assume that there's a big chance of your mind not being able to assimilate back, or even survive it.

You could almost feel Azriel's anxiety and fear as if they were your own, and, even if he would never ask that of you, you knew he didn't want you to go through with this. It was painfully obvious on his face - the spymaster was a lot easier to read then you would have guessed before meeting him. Azriel would rather have you like this than not at all, and you can't blame him for that as you don't know what it feels like to lose someone you love, let alone being on the verge of it happening for the second time, but that's precisely why you need to do this.

From what he has told you, you lived a full life before Norris had found you, and it doesn't feel right trying to fit back into place when you can't recall any of it, when you don't feel the same as you once did, when you don't know if you're still the same person. It would be impossible to even attempt to live a normal life with the constant reminder that a full century of your life, almost everything that you knew about yourself, had been a lie.

His hazel eyes meet yours as you shift on the mattress, impatiently waiting for Rhysand to finish his preparations. In truth, you don't think he has looked away from you for a second ever since you walked into this room, walked back into his life even.

You give him a small smile, hopefully quelling some of his nerves. He tries to return it, but you don't need your memories or the decades of knowing him to see right through it. It didn't reach his eyes, the concern so visible there it made a lump form in your throat, and his shadows were clinging to him almost desperately, trying to soothe their singer as best as they could, to no avail. You wished you knew how to comfort him, and how to let him comfort you properly in turn - yet another reason to go through with this.

“Are you ready?” Rhysand's voice makes you jump slightly and break eye contact with your husband, not even realizing you'd gotten lost in the warm hazel of his eyes once again.

“Yes,” you nod, straightening your back and placing your palms firmly on the mattress, risking one last look at Azriel before focusing on the High Lord.

“We can start then.”

You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit nervous, scared even - your life was on the line after all, but this was your only chance of getting rid of that aching empty well inside of you, and if Azriel was convinced Rhysand was capable of doing so, then you believed him.

The High Lord was also worried though, if it wasn't obvious by the way his mate kept touching his arm and squeezing his hand, the lack of his usual obnoxious confidence would have given it away. If he failed he would not only lose his friend again, but also break his brother's heart beyond repair. You even think he'd end up blaming himself, though it didn't seem to fit in with the image you initially had of him. It's not an exaggeration to say your life is in his hands.

Feyre helps him wrap the amulet around his wrist as if it were a bracelet, squeezing his hand one more time before joining Azriel a few steps away, a conflicted look falling over her face as she watches her friend, not knowing how to comfort him. Even Amren, who stood by the door with crossed arms, looked concerned. If you weren't already more than curious enough to risk your life to regain your memories, the fact that such a creature would look worried about you would definitely make you want to remember everything just to find out exactly how that came to happen.

Rhysand walks to you then, stopping right in front of your legs dangling off the bed, close enough that your feet almost touch his shins, and lets out a soft but weary breath, looking into your eyes as if searching for any sign of doubt. When he seems to be content with what he finds in them, he reaches over and holds your head between his hands softly.

“It might help me keep grounded in your mind. Every little trick is worth a try,” he explains when he sees your confused expression, the smile he throws at you not quite reaching his purple eyes either, before closing his eyes, his magic coming to life around you.

In the next moment, you feel black talons scraping at your mental walls, prompting you to close your eyes as well and fight against every one of your instincts to allow the High Lord passage into your mind. You try to keep your thoughts as blank as possible so Rhysand can find what he's looking for more easily, like he said, every trick is worth a try.

You don't exactly know what you were expecting, but definitely not for it to happen so fast. Just as you felt a knock at what you now could distinguish as the wards keeping your memories from surfacing, they came tumbling down, an acute pain at the base of your skull making you fist the sheets under your hands, biting your lip to stop yourself from making any noise or moving too much. You didn't want to break Rhysand's concentration, or worry Azriel and the others more than necessary, you could handle it.

The pain goes as suddenly as it started, and you could feel Rhysand's presence everywhere as he searched through your mind. It was a foreign feeling, to know someone could read into your every thought. Even if he dove into a different corner of your mind, one you hadn’t agreed to, there was no way for you to stop him now, no way for you to stop him from seeing all the awful things you've done at the guild's orders, no way to stop him from showing them to Azriel if he so wished. In the midst of your spiraling thoughts, a soft caress reaches you through your mind, a reassurance - you almost forgot he could hear your fears as well.

A few moments later, you feel him come to a sudden stop, the lull barely giving you a chance to breathe before memories start rushing into your brain at an alarming speed, so much so that your head physically hurts, a lot worse than before. It's like you can feel the memories forming into your brain and pushing away the ones constructed by the spell. Some of them you were vaguely aware of as they seemed to haunt you when you slept, like dreams overwriting reality but, with every second that passes and every moment shown to you, you realize they had never been dreams to begin with.

Your mind struggles to hold onto everything, your past memories eating away at what you had believed was your life mere minutes ago. You faintly feel Rhysand's, now achingly familiar, presence leave your mind, his hands lingering a second longer, thumb caressing your cheek comfortingly before following, letting you have some privacy to assimilate the onslaught of information on your own, and then the world goes dark, senses completely overwhelmed, barely registering the feeling of your body falling back into the mattress and scarred hands holding onto you, as your mind struggles to catch up to everything.

Your feelings seem to reach you before the memories even have a chance to sink into your mind, or for you to go through them and remember everything properly. The strongest ones are easily your love for Azriel, flowing over you in suffocating waves, and the subsequent anger at yourself that follows, for abandoning him and then hurting him so much. It's like some little voice inside you that had been screaming at you, and trying to claw its way out from under your skin, trying to stop you from hurting him, was finally able to be heard.

As you rake through the memories, remembering all the happy moments you and Azriel have spent together, - every little date, every kiss, every night and morning spent together, - and even the saddest ones, - the fights spent yelling at each other in the rain and the make up sex right up against your front door - the guilt only gets heavier in your chest, tying itself around your heart and almost making you unable to breathe.

You stabbed your husband, the love of your life, the male you had vowed to protect and love to the end of your days. Even if you had been controlled by whatever dark magic was in your brain, you can still feel the weight of Truth Teller in your hand, could feel the faint resistance of his skin against the decisive force of your movement, could feel his blood on your hands, could feel so much blood on your hands. Gods, what have you become?

It almost feels like there's two people inside you for a few moments, trying to make sense of each other as the world collapses and re-forms itself around them. As one part of you lives through memories in the night court, the other balks at all you've done at the guild, mourns an innocence you will never be able to get back. You don't know where you begin and the assassin ends, where Azriel's wife even fits in the equation.

Trying to stay on track, and desperately hold onto something in the incessant waves of memories, real and fake, and the feelings attached to them, you try to calm yourself enough to try to remember what happened the night you died. You knew your throat had been cut with a faebane laced weapon, the scar would always be etched into your skin, but you never knew how it happened. For some reason, you never even thought of asking anyone in the guild about it, like you didn't consider it pertinent information - no doubt, a consequence of the spell Norris used on you. If you started asking questions you might have found out something you weren't supposed to.

That particular night is still somewhat hazy in your mind, likely a consequence of the trauma you experienced. There are broken memories of you talking about the mission with Azriel and the rest of the Inner Circle. You recall not feeling the least bit nervous about it as they were simple bandits that somehow had gotten lucky and managed to evade Azriel's shadows for a little while before getting caught. You remember getting a few leads on them, and splitting up to try and find something. The feeling of Azriel's lips on yours as he quickly kissed you goodbye before disappearing into his shadows is still vivid in your mind.

After that things start getting muddled. You found the bandits at some point, and, even if there were more of them than what you expected, they didn't seem particularly strong so you were holding up your own in the fight that broke out as soon as they saw you. The next thing you knew though, someone had struck you from behind, hitting the back of your head hard enough that it brought you to your knees, the same person grabbing your hair and slicing your throat the next moment, not giving you a chance to avoid it. There's a break in your memories then.

All you can remember at first is your body feeling heavy, not being able to get your limbs to obey your commands as you struggled to flip yourself over so you weren't laying face down on the mud, the cold rain falling on your skin uninterrupted. Trying to take a breath into your lungs only to find it almost impossible and extremely painful. You remember the coppery taste in your mouth distinctly, not being able to swallow or make any sound through your destroyed throat. The thought that the knife had to have been laced with something was swimming around your mind, a simple cut like that wouldn't have been hard for your fae healing to handle.

You were vaguely aware of the voices around you but couldn't make any sense of what they were saying, your heartbeat was too loud in your ears and panic was starting to set in. The only thing you were sure of at that moment was that you were going to die on that muddy floor at the hands of petty thieves, this possibility not allowing you to even try to make out what they were saying, not caring about them anymore.

Azriel always told you that you needed to work on your openings so things like this didn't happen, so you didn't get caught off guard. He was right, he usually was, not that you would have ever admitted it to his face. The thought of your husband brings tears to your unfocused eyes. You wished you could have had more time with him. He has brought you an amount of love and happiness you didn't even think possible, and all you'll give him in return is pain. You promised him you would stay by his side to the end of your days, assured him you would never leave him multiple times when his nightmares became too much to bear and old insecurities made themselves known.

You made one last prayer to the Mother. Begging for your life wasn't worth it anymore, but you still asked that Azriel could survive this, that he would forget about you and move on. You had always wanted to give him the best, had vowed to make him as happy as possible but were failing miserably like this. The news of your death would break him, you didn't even want to imagine how he would feel when he found out. Fuck, you hoped he wouldn't be the one to find your body at least.

What a cruel fate. Making him go through so much hardship and pain in his life and still take one of the few blessings he had found for himself. You've only been married for a little over a decade, such an insignificant amount of time compared to the years he had behind him, and hopefully still ahead of him. You'd never forgive the Mother for making him suffer so much.

As your thoughts quiet, you notice the lack of voices around you. Apparently the killers had just left you there, bleeding out on the cold ground, not even bothering to finish the job properly. They didn't have to, you didn't need to be a healer to know your injuries would kill you in not even another minute. Your senses were getting duller with every painful beat of your heart, you couldn't even hear the sounds of the birds coming from the forest behind you anymore, couldn't focus on your thoughts, could barely see the light of the moon and the stars shining in the dark sky. It feels fitting for you to die at night, it was as close to Azriel as you could get now, watching the same moon shining under him, the same one you had fallen in love under.

As you gaze upon the brilliant light of the moon, wishing you would have had the chance to say goodbye, a tightness settles in your chest, somehow making it pump faster, lessening the ache ever so slightly. The feeling is unlike any other, you mistakenly think it to be your body dying off before a breath is once again allowed into your lungs, easier than before. You blink a few times then, trying to search your surroundings for anyone with the limited control you had over your body, only to come up short. If anyone was healing you, there would be no reason for them to keep hiding. You've also had to be healed after an injury plenty of times, enough to know what it feels like and how effective it can be. This felt different somehow, and it didn't seem to be fully healing you as you could still feel your wound bleeding, your throat still as painful as it had been.

Azriel's familiar scent reaches you and mixes with your own. Your chest grows tight once more, body temperature somehow rising despite the cold rain and lack of blood, before an overwhelming feeling washes over you, traveling to every inch of your being as things suddenly click into place.

This was a mating bond.

Your sobs return at the realization, even more inconsolable than before, fingers digging into the bloody mud under you at the unfairness of it all. You could feel Azriel as if he was under your skin for a moment, smell him like he was standing over you, when in reality he was nowhere to be found, when you wouldn't be able to see him ever again.

Mating bonds are extremely rare and precious, most fae yearn for one chance of a love as powerful as a bond like this can bring. So why would the Mother waste it on you? Why not bind Azriel to someone who can stand by his side? Why not show it to you sooner, so you could have at least enjoyed it for a while? You've never heard of a bond forming as one person is about to die, when the other isn't even close - usually all it takes is a simple glance, the right exchange or words, rarely happening years after knowing someone.

What was the purpose of this? Why must life be so cruel? You almost want to hope it was a mistake, but the visceral reaction your body has at the thought, even in this state, doesn't allow you to. Azriel was yours, even if only for this laughable amount of time. You had a mate, one you would be able to tell your parents about when death came for you and took you to them.

Those were the thoughts swirling around your mind as you let out what would have been your last breath. Crying every tear left in your body, looking up at the moon and praying for the Mother to take the bond away, or not allow Azriel to feel it because, as much as it hurt you, you knew it would kill him to not only lose you but also lose a mate.

You had found it strange when Rhysand had told you Norris had found you alone in the forest, your body already cold, only a drop of blood still allowing you to cling onto life, but this explains it. The bond had somehow kept you alive long enough for Norris to find you, and take you to a healer at the guild like Rhysand saw. You had been long unconscious when he did, and so you didn't have any memory of any of it. You were also pretty sure the thieves might have been working for him, which explains how they had evaded Azriel's shadows for so long.

The answers regarding your death, the ones you had been aching to learn, now paled in comparison to what you had just unknowingly stumbled upon. You had a mate. You almost couldn't believe it, but the bond made itself known now that it was free from the wards' confines, shining bright deep inside you, linking you to someone through a strong but neglected bridge, still holding on after a century, and you know just where that bridge leads, shadows lurking over the other side.

You come to slowly, your mind aware of your consciousness before your body can follow. It's like you've never been this deeply asleep, the feeling of deja vu hitting you immediately. Perhaps that's why it takes you longer to realize you weren't lying down on a bed, not directly at least. There was a body under you, holding you close to him, enough so that you could hear his heartbeat as your head rested on his chest. You know it's Azriel right away, his touch and scent so unmistakable to you now, you don't know how it had been possible to ever forget it.

And the bond. You can feel it now, can feel something connecting the two of you, etched so deep into your soul that it almost feels impossible that you've been blind to it for so many years. Maybe because you've left it abandoned all this time, but you can literally feel it purr in satisfaction now, making it hard to focus on anything else.

You don't know how long you had been out for, the sun had set in the sky and everyone seemed to have left you two alone, the faint, lingering smell of Rhys' expensive cologne mixed with one scent you've only discovered recently, the only thing left behind. Gods, you can't believe both Cassian and Rhys had mates too.

Azriel had moved to lean against the headboard, sitting you across his lap, holding you close to him and resting your head against his chest as he rubbed slow circles up and down your arm soothingly. You didn't have to see him to know he had called his shadows over the both of you, keeping you safe in his arms as he waited for you to wake up, just like he always did.

Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes, not being able to restrain yourself from looking at your mate for another second. He must have been distracted or falling asleep himself because he tenses softly when you stir and rise up from his chest, hand moving up to hold your cheek adoringly the moment your eyes meet his wide, hazel ones.

You can see the questions swirling in his gaze, can almost taste the anxiety, but relief conquers every other emotion. As much as he wanted to know you were back, he was glad you had at least survived. Keeping him in suspense would be cruel of you, especially after making him wait a hundred years, you don't think you could bear another second either.

“Hello, Az,” you whisper softly, emotion tightening your throat. He lets out a sigh of relief, one that came from the depths of his soul and brings tears to his eyes. He leans his forehead against yours, stealing your breath away as a tear rolls down your cheek unattended.

“Welcome back, my love.”

[rukafais]

i do think it's really interesting how in the first three drizzt books (the icewind dale trilogy not homeland) regis is not actually a good person and it's harsh circumstances forcing him to realize the consequences of his mistakes that set him on the path to becoming one.

his amulet is a funny little character quirk but it is also an incredibly dubious magical item that also betrays how callously he can treat other people when he doesn't have to actually pay for the consequences. if they have something he wants, he just takes it or coerces people into giving it to him. he does this so much that he has a reputation for it, and that reputation makes him easy to find, especially by people who you know, might be looking for that thing he stole:

Entreri considered the last exchange and again a smile widened across his face. He knew well the wake of magical charms. The "ruffled victims" that Fender had spoken of described exactly the people that Pasha Pook had duped back in Calimport. People charmed by the ruby pendant.

He literally creates his own problems. The pendant is nothing but trouble but if he'd kept it out of sight and NOT USED IT ON PEOPLE to get the luxurious lifestyle he wanted, he wouldn't be in trouble. He would be unrecognisable! But he just can't help himself. He can't throw off the mindset that got him into trouble in the first place because he's never mentally gotten out of the place that made him the kind of person to do that. People are toys to play with when you have a magic pendant that can charm them into doing whatever you want.

As much as Artemis searches for his mirror in Drizzt (which, they sort of are but only for fighting skills; Drizzt is not tremendously interested in being his mirror), he and Regis are reflections of the same busted system that raised them both; you have to keep an advantage on you at all times, you have to be ready to be fucked over, and you have to manipulate/kill people first before they can do it to you. Regis and Artemis are very similar in how they handle people, they just use different toolkits (Regis through social engineering, Artemis through violence and intimidation) to the point that other skills atrophy for it (Regis cannot fight his way out of a wet paper bag, Artemis, uh. Don't let Artemis try to do diplomacy that's not threatening people).

So Regis is not a good person to start. He continues to use the pendant for completely unnecessary shit. What's the difference between him and the guy he stole this pendant from? What's the difference between him and Akar Kessell?

Well, mostly it's because he still has the capacity to recognise people as people and not playing pieces or toys or victims he can fleece.

Any relief that Regis might have felt at the demise of Entreri was lost in the swirling mire of his anger and sorrow. A part of the halfling had died in that alcove. No longer would he have to run - Pasha Pook would pursue him no more - but for the first time in his entire life Regis had to accept some consequences for his actions. He had joined up with Bruenor's party knowing that Entreri would be close behind, and understanding the potential danger to his friends. Ever the confident gambler, the thought of losing this challenge had never entered his head. Life was a game that he played hard and to the edge, and never before had he been expected to pay for his risks. If anything in the world could temper the halfling's obsession with chance, it was this, the loss of one of his few true friends because of a risk he had chosen to take.

Like Artemis (who takes a lot longer about this revelation but tbf that's because he's in a job that sort of requires him to mercilessly squasher downer it lest he think too hard about it and feel unnecessary feelings, it's not a job that makes a lot of friends), when Regis is hit with actual consequences for his stupid decisions and his gambling with people's lives (knowingly, even) he goes "Oh. This isn't fun any more." Someone he actually cared about is dead, as far as he knows. Can't teehee i'm just a little guy out of this one!

But I do think it's interesting that this is the inciting incident that snaps him out of survival mode; that someone has just died for him, because of something he had a direct hand in. He fucked this up really bad. Now all he can do is try to make up for it.

[raayllum]

Arc 3 Predictions Electric Boogaloo

Because there's certain stuff that makes a Lot more sense now even as we're left with more questions, so let's talk about it.

Aaravos and the Cosmic Order / Claudia

So Aaravos wanted to take down the elves and dragons. Now the archdragons are all gone circa S7, which means he can hit the ground running upon his return in seven years. This means that the next target can fully be the Cosmic Council outright, and more recontextualization about how creating Eternal Night would make them suffer (though I don't think he'll repeat plans).

I could see him giving instructions / ideas to Claudia through dreams or visions, and she's armed with her amulet in the meantime and will maybe track down a replacement staff since she doesn't have one anymore. (Or she'll want to steal it back from Callum since it was a product of both her 'fathers'.) Other antagonists such as Finnegrin (maybe) and Kim'Dael (more definitely) will likely be interwoven.

That said, I think there'll be plenty of conflict already for our protagonists to deal with even before any of our old foes show up again.

Aanya + the Fire Ruby Project / Ezran & Zym

With the arrows temporarily able to dispose of Aaravos (even if I mandate he let himself get chained down in 7x07 in order to manipulate Ezran) and his imminent return, Ez and Aanya have an incentive to keep going with Project Ruby Fire. However, we also know thanks to interviews that Aanya has an adoptive brother, and from Tales of Xadia that:

The city is more fortified of late, as there are rumours of internal treason. The farmers worry that young Queen Aanya isn’t old enough or wise enough to protect what’s been built over the centuries.

So what I'm thinking is that adoptive brother Grark may pull a Karim and work on the project behind his sister's back or stage a coup. This could also put Ezran at odds with Zym, as Project Ruby Fire was designed specifically to be good at defeating dragons and to be so destructive that the mere threat of them would be enough (but, of course like the Mage Wars, someone's gonna use it). Having deeper, more politically / personally driven conflicts between Ezran and Zym (he had conflict with one brother, and now another) is also possible now that Zym can speak, and I think they'll take full advantage of it.

Ez and Zym together have always represented Hope the most (3x06), as Ezran found the egg, they're the two young princes turned kings, and are spearheading things forward.

So what happens if/when they start to crack? This could also provide a contrast to Janai and Amaya, as their new nieces/nephews through Miyana and Karim could provide a conflict. Even though the kids themselves will be too young and Miyana convinced to walk a different path, that doesn't mean they won't be used or treated as symbols by somebody else to sow more conflict.

Evrkynd and Elarion

The choice to establish a new city to show the growing unity between elves and dragons makes sense, but it made me wonder why do it now and not as an end-of-arc 3 idea. Then I considered that perhaps it's to set up Everkynd as an Elarion parallel: a glistening, shining city, where after it fell the land was divided and more chaos ensued.

Only Evrkynd will emerge and stand the test of time, of course, with the connection between the two halves being maintained and strengthened. But still, a thought I'll probably have something more eloquent for later.

Callum, Corruption, and the Cube (+ Rayla)

Was thinking over 6x06's "the darkness and corruption will overwhelm you" in addition to the choice in S6 to establish that Callum's father died of a chronic illness / the consistent comparison to dark magic as a plague/infection/sickness (2x08, 5x01, 5x03, 5x04, 5x09, etc). The options I'd considered for how the corruption would manifest post usage usually fell into two camps: instantaneous and complete, or gradual and ongoing. I'd thought the second one would be interesting for a mid-season dark magic use, speculating it'd be like the shadowmonsters in taking a few days or longer for something to take.

I certainly didn't think it'd be a process over Years, but given the seven year timeskip...

I'm picturing something like Callum still taking mushroom salves or potions regularly from Muhko (hence that inclusion for Zubeia) to stave off corruption overwhelm, and giving him parallels to Damian. This would also potentially enhance the feeling of "living on borrowed time" he and everyone, but him and Rayla in particular, are bound to feel as they know they have Limited Time before Aaravos comes back.

I'm also curious as to how openly or how much Callum will be studying dark magic, even in comparison to before ("Well, I've read a lot about it"). He has Viren-Claudia's relic staff, and the corrupted sun stone within it, so there could be interesting ideas or experiments there. The fact that Callum has the Staff and the Cube and the white streak does not bode well for him.

An additional assumption is that Callum will go to Elarion offscreen (cause that is a Long skip) but be unable to find what he's unknowingly looking for (the primal magic book?). I also don't think at this point I have to go into much more detail about CHET given that we've been here with the theory for 4 years, and pieces of evidence at the time that felt like a stretch are now being incorporated, such as:

The Cube pointing to Elarion, which was incredibly important to ancient humanity and Aaravos

Elarion poem is associated with nature (flowers of elarion) and dark-light motif

Rayla is Callum's light in the darkness and his destructive path. She was prepared to destroy him (7x09) and will likely save him in the future.

The flowers of Elarion were involved in a story where they were seen as gifts / "fair exchanges of beloved for beloved". Then Rayla, by Aaravos' own word, was described as Callum's "beloved" (7x09).

The entire conversation with Dark!Callum and the cube in the woods in 7x06 but especially "If you love her, you'll be the you that can save her" and "I have always been a part of you."

Basically: it's not over till the cube is plot relevant and all the foreshadowing / lines of dialogue surrounding it have come full circle in some manner. In Arc 3 we trust.

Misc Predictions / Ideas

that didn't belong anywhere else!

Given that we know Aanya has her older brother and Prince Kasef has a younger sibling, I think it'd be interesting if they teamed up to try and stage mutual coups or something.

Since the archdragons are gone, I'm curious what project ruby fire would be used against. Maybe just other dragons? Or invoking stuff from the past mage wars.

More info on the relic staffs and self-eating I think for sure can be expected, as well as what happened to make Kpp'Ar completely change his mind.

I'm expecting S8 to be catch up and set up much the way that S1 and S4 were.

There are river pirates between Duren and Neolandia (Tales of Xadia) so I could see Finnegrin being woven back in there, although I'd love to go back to Scumport and see any changes Elmer has made.

Kim'Dael feels like a 2 season antagonist to me, in order to reintroduce her (maybe Aaravos inverting the Moon Nexus set her free) and then to draw on her history with the Moon Fam (Bloodmoon Huntress graphic novel).

A lot more lore on the Startouch elves / I'm fairly certain Shiruakh was a star devourer dragon

Aaravos making the Cosmic Council mortal, etc etc.

Sol Regem lore and backstory

[justporo]

Changing Trajectories (Stars that collide)

A while back I wrote this drabble about ascended Astarion suddenly interrupting one of Tav's jobs as a thief - almost ten years after they've parted ways. The title was How to Catch a Mouse

I've come back to it and decided to turn it into a longer story. So, we'll be right back at the moment where the first (very short) part left off: Astarion with his hands on Tav, interrupting her from stealing her target object. Turns out the vampire lord didn't happen upon Tav on accident this fateful night.

Song: Devil May Cry (Apashe & Sofiane Pamart)

Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, angst Note: This will not be like the usual fluff I write. In fact it will probably not be fluffy at all

~~~

You were pulled back by the hands firmly gripping onto your waist. You couldn’t help but let out a little shriek as you collided with the upper body of the person standing behind you. His presence was overwhelming now.

You could take in his scent now: he still smelled of bergamot and rosemary and the scent immediately unveiled memories you had desperately tried to forget, to hide in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind, to strangle so they wouldn’t haunt you anymore. But images flashed through your mind: of the close moments before, ten years ago, when you had thought you had found your soulmate.

Hands were still gripping hard on your waistline, holding you in place, pressing you against a firm body.

“Hello, my darling Tav”, you heard the voice purr again and felt his breath as it was leaning over your neck. No lips were touching your delicate skin, but you could almost feel the grin that bared fangs right above your quickening pulse.

“Astarion”, you whispered spiritlessly because it was the only thing you could muster. You knew you should feel terrified that you had fallen – quite literally – into the hands of one of the most dangerous creatures of the Sword Coast if not Faerûn. But all you could feel at the very moment was deep desperation and overwhelming sadness as more memories flooded you from a different time.

“Is this the way you’d like to greet me after all this time, love?”, Astarion said with a tinge of anger when there was nothing else coming from you. His hands spun you around, made you face him. His hands grabbed your elbows now, holding you in place.

Again, you couldn’t help but gasp. He was as strikingly handsome as you remembered, even more so! Ten year old memories couldn’t do justice to the vampire lord’s glorious beauty: his chin lifted arrogantly, every white curl perfectly in place, ruby eyes striking, piercing, boring into your soul and soft lips perpetually curled into the smirk that once had almost made you give everything to him.

And suddenly you felt rage overcome you, drowning out all other emotions you had felt before.

The element of surprise on your side you pushed him away, startling him. It was only a split second, but it was enough for you to step out of his reach.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”, you screamed at him and took more steps away from him – until you collided with the small stone pillar behind you. The amulet on it fell to the ground with a clattering sound. But you couldn’t care less in this very moment.

Astarion’s face had become a mask of rage, his eyes almost blazing with it. “You dare speak in that tone with me?”, he screamed back. Power rang in his voice and struck primal fear into you immediately.

You immediately scurried around the small stone column at your back and slowly took more steps backwards, trying to get away from him.

You realised two things: firstly, that it was very likely no one in their right mind should speak with this mighty monster in this tone because secondly, he could absolutely kill you and splatter you all over the ground if he wanted to. It probably wouldn’t even cost him that much of an effort. And he’d probably walk out of here with not a hair out of place.

You gulped as fear filled you as a delayed reaction to Astarion’s appearance.

The vampire meanwhile closed his eyes and took a deep breath in as he obviously tried to gain back his composure. He rolled his head and shoulders as an arrogant – and very fake – smile entered his face and he opened his eyes again to watch you again.

You stopped wandering back – there was no use to it anyway, Astarion was blocking the only way out of the room.

“I do apologise, it’s been a while since someone has been foolish enough to cross me.” His tone was civilised, polite even. His gestures that of a bored noble merely having a dull conversation. But the way the smile grew into a wicked grin baring his fangs was still a bit too predatory for his masquerade.

And still your heart couldn’t help but flutter again as he looked at you again – this time again not out of fear. He angled his head and looked you up and down.

“You look incredibly beautiful, my darling, even more so than I remember.”

Unbelievably enough, he sounded genuine. His gaze lingered on you, seemingly far away for a moment. It seemed you weren’t the only one taken aback by a sudden flood of memories.

“So do you”, you whispered before you could think better of it. His gaze snapped back to yours, a knowing smirk playing on his lips now. He looked a lot less intimidating now and much more like you had kept him in your memories.

Back then, you had always told him how beautiful he was. At every given opportunity. And each time he had smiled at you and given you a loving kiss.

Your chest started to ache as you lived through one of those memories.

“What are you doing here?”, you asked him before the pain of it could close up your throat.

“Ah, I could ask you just the same, couldn’t I?” He inclined his head a little and his smile grew making it even easier to mistake him for what he really was. He watched you carefully, noting how you had taken several steps away from him, but he didn’t move closer again. “But then again, I know very well what you are doing here, seeing as I was the one who had the cheese laid out for you”, the vampire explained and pursed his lips. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Your jaw dropped: “You are the client behind this contract?” Obviously, you internally rolled your eyes at yourself. Why else would he have put up a show with the whole cat-mouse-thing. But you had been too starstruck in the beginning to make sense of it all.

That you hadn’t known the true identity of your client wasn’t that much of a surprise though. You only had had contact via messengers that had kept the identity of your customer hidden – but that was very usual in your line of work.

Astarion’s eyes started to sparkle even more as he watched the gears in your head turn and while his smirk grew, he started to saunter towards you again. He kept silent as he approached you once more as you kept feeling more and more alarmed.

This wasn’t good. In fact, it was terrible. This meant he hadn’t just happened upon you. He had specifically sought you out.

“Why?”, you simply asked as the vampire lord strode closer to you with the languid elegance of a cat.

He threw out his arms in a dramatic pose: “Why indeed? Because I wanted an artifact stolen, obviously.” One of his eyebrows twitched and he let his tongue roll in his mouth. He was so obviously enjoying keeping you on thin ice. Another flare of anger rushed through you.

And to add to your misfortune, you suddenly heard shouts and the stomping of heavily armoured boots outside the room.

You must’ve been found out.

Your eyes darted to the door, then back to Astarion who must’ve heard the same. His grin had become feral again.

“Oh oh, my dear, looks like you’re about to be caught in flagranti”, he said as he had almost reached you. Your heart and mind raced, searching for an impossible solution.

“Come with me”, Astarion whispered in a deep, sinister tone when he was close enough to reach out to you and elegantly offered you one of his hands.

Your eyes jumped between the door, his face and his offered hand. Outside the steps came closer. You were indeed between a rock and a hard place – and you couldn’t decide which option was more daunting.

“Rot in a dungeon until you die or take my hand, your choice”, Astarion said, his tone now cold and sending new jolts of icy dread through you. And you were suddenly sure that if you were caught and indeed thrown into a dungeon, he would make sure you would die there. So, you probably did not have a choice from the moment you had entered this room.

With your heart racing you took his hand and he immediately drew you in close to him: his forehead almost touching yours in a delicate way. Another gesture you remembered well from him. Emotions swinging wildly from incredible fear to bittersweet melancholy and back again.

“Glad to see you still made the right decision”, he mumbled. His red eyes dropping to your lips for a moment before looking in your eyes again. You weren’t sure you would agree with him.

As he made to turn, you remembered that there was still an amulet to steal. You were a thief after all and even though your client was an evil vampire lord and your former acquaintance you’d rather forget, you sure as hell wouldn’t miss out on the gold – not if you had gotten so close.

Astarion must’ve sensed your intention as your head turned to where the amulet had fallen to the ground. “Oh, don’t worry about that, my love”, he said with a wink at you. “That’s only a replica, I had the real one stolen and replaced months ago. And you should be glad about it because two of the three thieves that were sent didn’t make it out alive”, he continued to explain and let out a laugh at the end as your eyes widened in shock and you felt goosebumps all over your body.

You let yourself get dragged towards the door as your mind tried to make sense of what he had said. This whole situation was becoming worse by the minute. So – not only had he specifically sent you on a quest, but the job hadn’t even been his motive… “Was this whole shitshow just an elaborate setup to get to me?”, you asked the vampire and dragged on his hand that was now firmly held by his, fingers crossed. As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to bite your tongue off realising you had shouted at him angrily again – and you feared how he would react.

But this time Astarion only grinned at you, lifted your arm and made you turn beneath your joint arms as if dancing until you were chest to chest with him again. “Oh yes, you’re only now getting this? I mean, I could have let you be taken by my servants or broken into your home for a quick little visit, but this is way more fun, isn’t it?”, Astarion drawled. You could only stare at him in shock as hot and cold shivers ran down your spine at his casual explanation of how easily he could have threatened you.

But more than anything you wanted to know why he had taken such elaborate measures to get to you.

But you had no time to voice your question as the door flew open and a bunch of heavily armoured city guards stepped in followed by a bald servant from the estate.

The guards took in the scene and immediately levelled their halberds at the two of you. Astarion let go of you and nonchalantly stepped in front of you and the very pointy and sharp-looking weapons. He casually crossed his arms over his chest – not a care in the world it seemed. But somehow his posture was still that of a threatening predator not that of prey backed against a wall. Maybe it was the way how he held his back straight and slightly leaned forward as if ready to strike at any moment or his absolute stillness as he confronted the guards.

Before any of the guards or the obviously terrified servant could say something, Astarion spoke up: “Care to explain why you are so rudely interrupting this sweet – and dare I say private – moment I was sharing with my beautiful lady?”

His voice was cold now and made the hair at the back of your neck stand up. You’d been the focus of this voice once this evening and deeply wished to not be it again.

“Well, do you care to explain what you and your lady which is also a wanted thief are doing here?”, one of the guards answered – seemingly the captain of the six men and women lowering their weapons at you.

“In fact, I do not. But – I feel rather generously today, so if you’d be so kind as to let me and my lady pass through, then we can all forget about this and go about our lives”, Astarion offered throwing out his arms and then clapping them together again.

The captain threw his head back in laughter and his guards joined in with chuckles. “Who do you think you are?”, the captain replied after a few heartbeats.

The vampire lord lifted one of his hands quickly. You could see it was surrounded by a soft red glow.

With lightning quick motions every single one of the guards had moved and were now pressing their halberds beneath their chins, the metal points already drawing blood for some of them, their eyes filled with the same red glow.

The servant screamed and tried to scurry away, but Astarion’s eyes shot to him and enclosed him in this sort of spell as well: making him grip his own throat with both hands and squeezing.

“I think”, Astarion spoke, his voice filled with otherworldly power “I am someone you don’t want to threaten.” He flicked his hand and the guards parted into a grotesque row for you, their weapons slowly pressing harder against their skin, cutting flesh now. Their faces distorted as they felt the pain.

You had become a statue, horrified by the casual display of violence. You were no stranger to bloodshed, by no means, but this… this was different.

“Come now, my love, before we’re further inconvenienced”, Astarion said as he turned to you again. His demeanour was that of bored arrogance again. He stepped over to you, put his hand on the small of your back and pushed you towards the door – you did not have it in you to resist. Too shocked, maybe, or too scared he’d do the same to you.

You passed the men and women quickly as they were silently suffering. Only as you were past them did you dig your heels down and tried to turn around.

“Let them… let them go”, you demanded shakily. The vampire turned to you, his face a sneer. “Tss, if it makes you happy.” He snapped his fingers and you saw how the spell broke, the tension in the guards’ bodies broke and they toppled over, gasping, screaming. Astarion snapped again and the door flew shut, blocking your view of the men and women. You turned to the vampire lord who was carefully observing you, still holding on to you with one hand.

“Don’t tell me you softened up, my love. After all you were the one pushing me to sacrifice seven thousand souls to become this”, Astarion sneered moving closer to you until his nose was almost touching yours. “Don’t tell me, violence shocks you know, Tav. You’re no innocent lamb.” His eyes sparkled with challenge; his lips curled in slight disgust.

You tried to hold his stare, but you couldn’t. Only after a few heartbeats you had to lower your gaze; because he was right.

He dragged you on. “Come on now”, he demanded, no room for disobedience.

The two of you walked through the giant mansion for long minutes. You weren’t even entirely sure how much time passed as you were too deep inside your thoughts and also kept coming back to notice how gently Astarion was holding your hand as he led you very purposefully through this maze of a place. There was no need for him to still keep holding on to you. You knew you didn’t have a chance to get away from him. But it seemed he enjoyed this method much more than other means.

Then, before you could round a corner, you heard voices coming towards you.

Astarion lifted his free hand again. “No”, you whispered almost out of reflex, your tone pleading. The vampire looked at you in annoyance but simply dragged you to a nearby, small alcove and with a quick mumbled incantation shrouded you in shadows for passing eyes as he pressed his body against yours.

Two servants passed, focused on their idle chatter, as you were painfully aware of the closeness of Astarion’s body: closer than you had been the entire night. You could smell him again as he carefully observed the two passing persons and you kept staring up at his face.

You knew the line of his nose or the way a deep wrinkle formed between his brows when he furrowed them as well as the back of your own hand. Despite everything that had happened this night you couldn’t deny how your body and not least your mind and heart reacted to being so close to Astarion after a decade of mourning him and yearning for him.

The way his body pressed against yours, making you remember how it had felt like to be held by him or kissed. Just how effortlessly close the two of you had been. Whole nights wasted away with laying around naked, talking, embracing each other - not even always ending in sex.

You had felt the walls of the fortress you had built around those memories and feelings start to crumble from the very first moment you had heard his voice again. But the stones started crumble dangerously fast now.

When the servants had passed, Astarion looked at you with a grin, but not seeming inclined to move away. In fact, he even pressed you harder against the wall with a cheeky grin.

You gasped, eyes widening at him as your heartbeat thundered and you realised that you absolutely were the dove facing the dragon and yet craved for this continue – to go further actually.

And Astarion must’ve seen something in your gaze as you looked up at him with doe eyes. His expression changed from playful and cruel to something that almost made your heart stop.

For a moment it seemed in his crimson eyes like something was desperately trying to claw its way up to the surface. Something that had been thought lost almost a decade ago. But the moment passed.

Then Astarion pressed his open lips to yours, taking them in a possessive kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, dominantly taking it for himself as one of his hands pressed to your chest on the naked skin of your neckline. With so much force it hurt, his hand wandered up your chest to your neck until he could almost wrap his fingers around your throat.

You could not help but moan into his open mouth in heedless pleasure as the kiss continued aggressively, all teeth and tongues, his fangs grazing your bottom lip and drawing just a single drop of blood.

Tasting you again after what had been ten years of abstinence almost made the vampire lord lose control.  He moaned and his leg pressed between your thighs making you feel embarrassingly hot within in mere moments.

But then something changed. Almost as if an echo of what you had seen in his eyes for a heartbeat or two had come back to haunt him.

The kiss softened, his leg withdrew slightly and the hand on your neck wandered up further to softly cup your cheek. It became something sweet and slower until it was almost delicate and chaste, his thumb on your face caressing it with a featherlight touch.

And you felt your walls not only crumble but turn to dust – all the work of keeping these emotions out, for nothing. You were helpless under his touch and as it felt like something that could almost have been.

Suddenly, Astarion broke the kiss and stepped back – way more than necessary, as if he had suddenly an urge to get as much distance between you as possible. For an instant you saw confusion on his face, but a mask of teasing mischief was slipped quickly back into place.

“So, you do still want me”, the vampire said with another grin. “Interesting”, he whispered as one of his eyebrows twitched and his smirk grew. “Very interesting”, he said louder as he turned away and you asked yourself if he was doing it to keep a safer distance from you now.

“I trust you can find the rest of the way yourself, you’re a capable thief after all”, he said and threw you a last glance before he started to saunter off. “And don’t worry, I’ll be checking up on you again, very soon, my love.” He drew out the last words as he walked away without another look.

Of course, he hadn’t asked if you wanted that, but you had already realised that none of this had been your choice after all; it never had been.

And so, the vampire lord strode away, deep in thought about what kind of storm he might’ve started. While you kept standing there some long moments longer feeling helplessly violated by the events of the night.

But in your heart… In your heart you felt foolish and stupid and yet delicately warm hope rising up, slowly.

[objectshowincorrectquotes]

Book: Do you even know what an amulet is?

Ruby: Of course I do! I eat amulets sometimes. I like the ones with cheese and onions!

Book: Ruby, those are omelettes.

Ruby: Oh. Then I've got nothing

[vosh-rakh]

Martin didn’t lack for company. The Blades insisted upon him at every moment: to guard him, to quiz him, to dote and serve and sometimes just loiter nearby, reverently soaking in the presence of a new Emperor. And Jauffre insisted on constant lessons in royal etiquette, political education, and the history of the lineage. But all this did not satisfy what company Martin truly wanted: absent Olof’s.

Cloud Ruler was an expansive compound, but Martin felt chained there with his longing. The time he’d spent with Olof (and to a lesser extent, Jauffre) traveling the Colovian countryside towards Bruma and Cloud Ruler felt like a torturous memory — far removed from this hazy dream of boring mundanity — that he struggled to cling to amidst the constant influx of new expectations. Sometimes he swore he could barely remember Olof’s face, just a grey oval with two bright rubies embedded therein like embers. 

Jauffre — curse him — had sent Olof away to rendezvous with Baurus in the Imperial City for some clandestine investigation into the Mythic Dawn and the whereabouts of the Amulet of Kings. It had only been a couple of weeks at most, but to Martin it felt like an agonizing eternity. 

Finally, he couldn’t handle being cooped up any longer. Slipping past the night guards in the early morning, he descended the hilltop and wandered the snowy Bruma county, night after night. He wore heavy enough clothes — he wasn’t that soulsick over Olof — but he enjoyed the cold’s sting on his fingers and cheeks. It returned an intimate feeling of real immediacy to his life that he’d been missing during this long sleep. He always made sure to return to the temple before his absence was noticed, cutting this time outside woefully short, but he didn’t want a chastening from Captain Steffan, or worse, Grandmaster Jauffre. 

It was the 20th of Frostfall (Jauffre impressed upon Martin the importance of paying close attention to dates) when Martin went out for his fifth and final night.

Martin stared in the distance at the crooked tower to the east. The Blades had called it “Frostcrag Spire,” but none knew much else about it. Martin had only had time to examine a paltry few books from the temple’s libraries, and none had mentioned this place.

He sighed, his breath forming a crystalline vapor in front of his face. He pulled down his hood and shook out his hair, hoping to catch some snow in it. The frigid flakes would melt by the blazing braziers of Cloud Ruler, and it would only seem as though he had just taken a bath. But he cherished them, Zenithar’s beautiful collaboration with Kynareth, while they lasted.

“Lady Kalthav?”

Martin froze. That was his traveling pseudonym, from when Olof and Jauffre were transporting him to Cloud Ruler. But he didn’t recognize the voice that called it.

“Yes, surely you’re Lady Kalthav,” continued the voice. “Your beautiful shoulders give it away.”

Martin slowly turned, his feet shuffling in the snow. “Look, friend, I’m not sure who you think I am, but —”

“Ah!” said the man, a Dunmer in red robes. “What a wonderful beard you have, Lady Kalthav.” Martin hadn’t shaved in several days, and sported a dense stubble on his face. “Why, I’d say it makes you look quite a bit like our late Emperor, don’t you think?”

Martin’s eyes widened, but he answered genuinely: “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that before, no.”

The Dunmer smiled, a wicked splitting of his lips, baring teeth like from a wolf’s maw. “A shame. How handsome you are, Lady Kalthav. Truly a royal visage you possess.” The Dunmer made a show of looking around at the fields of white around them. “Another shame that your…kindly entourage isn’t here to look upon it with me, isn’t it?”

Jauffre had insisted Martin keep a dagger on his person at all times. Martin thought it pointless; he was a rather skilled mage, and didn’t need a weapon beyond his wits to defend himself. So he left it behind tonight. He began to quietly channel fire into his fingertips, ready for a fight.

“Yes,” continued the Dunmer. “A shame no one is here to guard you. Your Blades are quite useless, aren’t they? First your father, and now you. It’s almost as if they never wanted to protect you in the first place.” He cast a spell, and heavy Daedric armor molded itself around him in a red haze like blood, a spiked mace appearing in his hand to accompany it. “Know that this is the will of Mankar Camoran, of Mehrunes Dagon; that Paradise shall overtake this cursed world; that —”

His voice was cut off by an arrow to the throat.

The Dunmer collapsed, his conjured armor and weapon fading away into the cold night air, his jugular blood painting the snow red.

Martin spun around again, in the direction of the arrow’s arrival. At first he saw nothing but a sea of white under a span of stars. Then a figure rose from a crouch, bow in hand.

“Olof!” Martin ran to Olof — as fast as he could in several inches of snow, at least — and embraced him. “You’re back!”

“Aye, Martin,” said Olof with a smile. “But what are you doing out here? He could have killed you.”

“I could have handled him. I’m not helpless.”

“You only know touch spells.” Olof wriggled out of Martin’s arms to properly scold him. “You would have had a hard time getting close with that mace threatening you.”

“You sound like Jauffre.” This realization depressed Martin more than he thought it would.

“Whatever. Come along; Baurus is waiting at Cloud Ruler. We’ve news about the Mythic Dawn.”

Martin wanted so desperately for him to take his shivering hand, to lead him back to the temple with that warmth. But Olof suddenly seemed as cold and distant as the ice in the sky. Martin sighed and simply followed.