#sylven

[fancyspants]

Sylven my beloved. Uno's been rotting my brain since I'm actively playing her right now, but I never stop thinking about them either. Just need to remind everyone they exist and I love them. And making them suffer.

Ko-Fi

[gladetiger]

Artwork I did of my OC Sylven which I turned into trading cards <3

[radiomogai]

[PT: more referential terms for my neogender umbrellas! end PT]

more referential terms for my neogender umbrellas!

before i start, i want to say that 'younger' and 'older' in these definitions are intentionally vague! just as a twenty-something may call themselves a boy/girl, a parent may call their minor child a young man/woman, an adult may refer to their friends as 'the boys/girls', etc., these terms are not strictly intended to refer to minors and legal adults.

aurethesia:

the general term, coined in the original aurethesia post, is reth, and the plural is rethi. reth is simply a shortening of aurethesia.

the word for a younger reth is roa, which is derived from the word 'aurora'. the plural is roae.

the word for an older reth is eoan, a word meaning 'of the dawn', which was derived from the name of the greek goddess of the dawn, eos (her roman counterpart is aurora). the plural is eoans.

tenethesia:

the general term, coined in the original tenethesia post, is teth, and the plural is tethi. teth is simply a shortening of tenethesia.

the word for a younger teth is tae, which is derived from latin 'tenebrae', meaning 'darkness'. the plural is taen.

the word for an older teth is stro, which is derived from 'astro', which itself is derived from 'aster', which astraeus, the name of the greek god of dusk, is also derived from. plural is stroes.

once i realized that aurora, roman goddess of the dawn, had a greek counterpart, eos, who had a husband who was the god of the dusk, i decided to use eos and astraeus as inspiration for the older aurethesia and tenethesia terms. i feel like they fit together nicely!

comuniterm:

the general term, coined in the original comuniterm post, is niol, and the plural is niolae. it comes from 'neolabel' and 'liom'.

the word for a younger niol is rai, which comes from 'resident' and 'mogai'. the plural is raien.

the word for an older niol is hom, which comes from 'inhabitant' and 'liom'/'mogai'). the plural is homs.

i used 'resident' and 'inhabitant' as inspiration for rai and hom since there's not really an english word that specifically means 'member of a community', but terms for those who live in an area are close enough in my mind!

wevaranet:

the general term, coined in the original wevaranet post, is rane, and the plural is ranae. it comes from 'araneae', the order of spiders.

the word for a younger rane is ret, which comes from 'spideret', a young spider. 'et' also gives similarity to 'marionette'. the plural is rets.

the word for an older rane is pule, from 'manipule', the old french root of the word 'manipulate'. the plural is pulae.

sylvaencan:

the general term, coined in the original sylvaencan post, is sylv, and the plural is sylven. it comes from latin 'silva'/'sylva', meaning 'forest'.

the word for a younger sylv is aun, from middle english 'enchaunten', meaning 'enchant'. the plural is aunae.

the word for an older sylv is nem, from latin 'nemus', meaning 'grove'. the plural is nemi.

@radiomogai

[cillyscribbles]

big lizard 👍

[beccadoodled]

Was listening to Lorraine by Big Thief (if you don’t know it GO LISTEN TO IT NOW!!!) and thought of them..idk..then I couldn’t sleep until I finished this. Quite proud of the lighting though!!

You know what’s crazy though? I draw these two like this then decide they’re a strictly platonic duo lol. Bromance is important too!! One of them dies as well!!

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

By Your Side

Okay so this was *supposed* to be a funny "Agi gets high and is silly with Astarion" fic but it turned out a little bit more serious with added Whatever the Fuck Sorcery Agi does lol. Mostly SFW.

“How are you doing, darling?” Astarion cooed at his well, we’re not lovers in the traditional sense perhaps…companion? Yes, my companion! He looked at Agnetha with such fondness that if he saw it in anyone else, he’d scoff. But not with her and I. No, I am that fond of her. I love her so dearly.

After taking up Halsin on his offer to give her herbs to help her relax (my poor sweet deals with so much) and smoking them, she was currently staring at Astarion, her brown eyes wide but definitely glazed over. “I am fine and dandy, love. Everything is so nice, you know?”

“It is, sweetness, especially with you.” One of his pale hands tapped her thighs, and he smiled. She’s so soft and warm. Perfect. I always need to touch her…

“Ughhhhhhhh, you silly bitch, you don’t have to use your lines on me anymore. You got me!”

Did she just…?!? He laughed, squeezing her softness. “I’m a what, darling?”

She snorted. “Silly bitch. Because you are. But it’s okay obviously!!!” Good gods, she’s giving those puppy dog eyes. “Because I love you.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed a finger on his lips. “I know you won’t say it to me. I know. It’s okay. I know you will someday.”

“I…” He struggled to find the words, any word, to express both the relief of her reassurance and sadness. She deserves someone better than me. Someone who will tell her every moment of every day for the rest of her life that she is loved. Someone who will make love to her whenever she wishes. For as long as she desires. Someone who isn’t me. “You know I do, right? You know how I feel?” Wait, she’s high as fuck and I’m asking her about knowing how much I love her? Idiot.

Agnetha nodded, smiling happily. “’Course I do. You say it all the time without actually saying it.” She thought for a moment and then grinned. “Like when you always watch my ass in fights.” I won’t lie I do in fact do that, but I believe she meant watching her back. “You make sure I’m okay. You never let anything near me.” Not if I can help it, no. I will slaughter anyone who tries to hurt you. “You’re always trying to touch me in some way. Don’t think I don’t notice!” She just tapped her finger on her nose. Now she’s giggling like a mad woman. Agnetha undid her ponytail and twirled a few of her long, red curls between her fingers. “You brush my hair every day. You love to bathe with me. You patch up my clothes and even…you know…” Let them out as much as I’m able. We never find anything that truly fits her, poor dear. If we manage to kill Cazador, I’ll make her whatever she wants. Everything she wants. “Help me with them…I know you love me. It’s in everything you do for me. Though,” her gaze returned to his. “There is something I need to know, okay? Just one thing.”

“A-alright. What is it?” Every muscle in his body tensed, afraid of what she was going to ask.

“Will you be there when I’m old? I could understand if that’s not what you want—oh!”

Always. He hugged so hard and so quickly that she toppled backwards, her head hitting a pillow. “I will be by your side for as long as you’ll have me. I promise.” Resting his head on her ample chest, he felt her rubbing his hair.

She let out an adorable little gasp. “Forever then, Star?”

Always. “If that’s what you want, darling, then yes. Forever it is.” It won’t be forever though. She’s a human---her life will end in the blink of an eye. She’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone…alone…all alone… Blinking back tears, he nearly began to sob when she began to rub his back.

“It’s okay. I’ll think of something. I will. Just you wait and see, love…” She whispered softly, rocking them both gently. “It’s okay. I’ll do some magic shit and make it alright.”

He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. Oh my darling girl, not everything can be solved with you thinking very hard and making magic happen. Though if anyone can, it’s you. “Will you now?”

“Yep.”

Well, that’s definitive.

***

Ten years after their marriage, Astarion was astounded to learn that his wife did indeed “do some magic shit” to make eternity less painful for him. With spells she composed herself (using that beautiful tempest swirling inside her and…feelings, I suppose), she managed to accomplish three things: 1) that her body would remain the same with every reincarnation; 2) that she and Astarion were soul bound to each other; and 3) that they would find each other after her twenty-first nameday. “Because of the binding, we’ll be drawn to each other, seek the other out.” She took one of his hands in hers, her brown eyes full of joy. “You won’t wait too long, love.”

He leaned to her, a hand cupping her cheek. As his lips touched hers (perfect every time), he smiled. “And how will you know that I’m your husband?”

Agnetha chuckled softly. “Just trust me that I’ll know. It’s all up here,” she tapped her head. “And here.” She then tapped her chest over her heart. “After all, I haven’t failed you yet, my naughty little bat.”

Astarion kissed her again, this time with a little more passion, hands sneaking around her much thicker and more delicious waist. “The most popular tailor shop in Baldur’s Gate and seven children. I’d say you haven’t failed me yet, no.” He teased. His fangs scraped lightly over her lips, which never fails to turn her on. “Not that you could anyways, dear.”

She wrinkled her nose and giggled. “Flatterer.” The human placed an affectionate kiss on his nose and cupped his face. “Now we’ll be together forever. Just not in the way that either of us imagined.”

He knew what she meant. The ritual. I had it all planned, you see. I’d complete the ritual, become the Vampire Ascendant, and convince Agi to let me make her into a vampire spawn. There---problem solved. What a fool I was! I would not trade our lives together and the lives we created for anything. “But it is so delightfully us, isn’t it? Full of love and adoration and only slightly mad.”

“Only slightly.” She teased, pressing several kisses to his lips. Gods, I cannot get enough of her. Not now. Not ever. “My mad husband who wants a dozen little dhampirs…”

Two at play at this game, madam. He clicked his tongue as one of the hands on her waist squeezed. “My equally mad wife who wants a dozen little dhampirs and lets me spoil her rotten—”

“Daddy? Mummy?”

Someone didn’t lock the door, Agi.

With one last peck, Agnetha looked at the toddler in their doorway. Pale ginger curls framed the boy’s round face, and ruby eyes glanced between his parents. “What’s the matter, my little love?” She beckoned him over, and he scurried to his mother and soon settled in her arms. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He nodded. “Scary…”

“My poor little Sylven! You can stay with us tonight, darling.” Astarion cooed as he ruffled his son’s hair. The toddler snuggled against his mother, a sight that before his capture by the mindflayers would have disgusted him. But not anymore. Not when I have them. Emilia, Ariane, Sophie, Nessa, Helene, Thora, and Sylven.

And my darling girl.

Before long, the small boy fell asleep cuddled against his mother while his adoring father rubbed circles into his back. “Did I tell what happened earlier?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sweetness, that could be anything.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Fine. Anyways, I asked Sylven when he was playing with the blocks what he wanted to be when he grew up.”

“The suspense is killing me, dear.” Astarion deadpanned, kissing Sylven’s curls.

The look in her eyes turned dreamy. “Daddy. He said Daddy. He wants to be you, love. That was the sweetest damn thing.” She turned her head to face him. “And you thought he wouldn’t love you.” His wife teased, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

The second we saw that he was a boy I panicked. With the girls it’s so easy for me. I make them the prettiest outfits in Baldur’s Gate, make matching ones for their favorite dolls…have so many tea parties where we gossip like spinster aunts. But a boy. The girls are learning archery so he can too, I suppose. What was I to do with him? I was terrified. And as always, my infinitely wiser wife was correct: “Just go with the flow and listen to him.” Going with the flow has turned out to be excellent advice because he is glued to me, especially when we’re in the shop. He wants to watch me work and pretend he’s sewing too. My little boy wants to be…me. Me. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded before giving her another kiss. “Happy to be proven wrong, darling.”

“I see! Well, I’ll note that for future reference.” She noted rather too smugly. Has she been learning this from me? Because I’m so flattered, dearest. For the next several minutes, they settled in a comfortable if exceedingly sleepy silence. Agnetha’s breathing became slower and deeper, and her eyes fluttered open and closed.

“Silly goose. Go to sleep.” Astarion chided his wife gently, now laying on his side. Rest. You need rest. Between the children, the shop, and ensuring I’m fed every day, you need to rest, darling. “Don’t stay awake for me. I’ll trance in a while.”

A small smile tugged on her pretty lips. “Forever…it isn’t what either of us thought but…we’ll be together…forever…” Eyes full of sleep, she held Sylven closer to her. “Love you, my shining star…”

“As I love you, my darling girl. Have the sweetest dreams for us…”

Always.

Forever.

[givemethesleep]

thinking about my nerevarine and her travelling companion telling eachother stories under the stars vs thinking about my dovahkiin having his finger chewed off by his travelling companion because not only did he betray his best friends trust by getting involved with the dark brotherhood, but he also killed allendor's father and didn't have the guts to tell him to stop waiting for him to come home. Both of these scenarios drive me crazy.

[coro-sg]

Old but one of my favorite oc parody drawings

[blessed1neha]

Do you know 108 names of lord Krishna?

Yes, I know and also I can provide you with the 108 names of Lord Krishna along with their meanings. These names are known as the "Ashtottara Shatanamavali" and are recited as a form of devotion and prayer. Here are the 108 names of Lord Krishna:

Om Shri Krishnaya Namaha  - Dark Complexioned Lord

Om Kamala Nathaya Namaha Consort Of Goddess Lakshmi

Om Vaasudevaya Namaha Son Of Vasudev

Om Sanatanaya Namaha The Eternal One

Om Vasu devatma jaaya Namaha Son Of Vasudev

Om Punyaya Namaha Supremely Pure

Om Lila-Manusha-Vigrahaya Namaha Assuming Human Form To Perform Pastimes

Om Shrivatsa Kausthubha-Dharaya Namaha Wearing Shri Vatsa And Kausthubha Gem

Om Yashoda-Vatsalaya Namaha Mother Yashoda’s Loving Child

Om Haraye Namaha The Lord Of Nature

Om Chaturbhujatta-Chakrasi-Gada-Shankadhyayudhaya Namaha Four Armed One Carrying Weapons Of Disc,Club,Conch

12. Om Devaki Nandanaya NamahaSon Of Mother Devaki

13 Om Shrisaya Namaha Abode Of Shri (Lakshmi)

14 Om Nandagopa Priyatmajaya NamahaNanda Gopa’s Loving Child

15 Om Yamunavega Samharine NamahaDestroyer Of Speed Of River Yamuna

16 Om Balabhadra Priyanujaya Namaha Balram’s Younger Brother

17 Om Putana Jivita Haraya Namaha The One Who Took The Life Of Demoness Putana

18 Om Shakatasura Bhanjanaya NamahaDestroyer Of Demon Shakatasur

19 Om Nandavraja Jana Nandine Namaha The One Who Is Bringing Joy To Nand And People Of Braj

20 Om Sachidananda Vigrahaya Namaha Embodiment Of Existence, Awareness And Bliss

21 Om Navanita Viliptangaya NamahaLord Whose Body Is Smeared With Butter

22 Om Navanita Nataya Namaha The One Who Dances For Butter

23 Om Anaghaya Namaha The Unmanifested

24 Om Navanita Navaharaya Namaha The One Who Dances For Butter

25 Om Muchukunda Prasadakaya Namaha The Lord Who Graced Muchukunda

26 Om Shodasha Sthri Sahasreshaya Namaha The Lord Of 16,000 Women

27 Om Tribhangi Lalitakritaye Namaha The One Who Has Threefold Bending Form

28 Om Sukavag Amritabhdhindave NamahaOcean Of Nectar According To Sukadeva (Shuka)

29 Om Govindaya Namaha One Who Pleases The Cows, The Land And The Entire Nature

30 Om Yoginam Pataye Namaha Lord Of The Yogis

31 Om Vatsa Vatacharaya Namaha The One Who Goes About Caring For Calves

32 Om Anantaya Namaha The Endless Lord

33 Om Dhenukasura Mardanaya Namaha The Lord Who Beat Up The Demon Dhenukasura

34 Om Trinikrita Trinavartaya Namaha Lord Who Killed Trnavarta, The Whirlwind Demon

35 Om Yamalarjuna Bhanjanaya Namaha The Lord Who Broke The Two Arjuna Trees

36 Om Uttala Talabhettre NamahaThe Lord Who Broke All The Big, Tala Trees (Killing Dhenuka)

37 Om Tamala Shyamala Kritaye NamahaLord Who Is Blackish Like A Tamala Tree

38 Om Gopa Gopishvaraya NamahaLord Of The Gopas And Gopis

39 Om Yogine NamahaThe Supreme Master

40Om Koti Surya Samaprabhaya NamahaOne Who Is As Lustrous As A Million Suns

41Om Ilapataye NamahaThe One Who Is The Master Of Knowledge

42Om Parasmai Jyotishe NamahaOne With A Supreme Light

43Om Yadavendraya NamahaLord Of Yadav Clan

44Om Yadudvahaya NamahaLeader Of Yadus

45Om Vanamaline NamahaOne Wearing A Sylven Garland

46Om Pita Vasase NamahaOne Wearing Yellow Robes

47Om Parijatapa Harakaya NamahaOne Who Removes Parijath Flower

48Om Govardhanachalo Dhartre NamahaLifter Of Govardhan Hill

49Om Gopalaya NamahaProtector Of Cows

50Om Sarva Palakaya NamahaProtector Of All Beings

51Om Ajaya NamahaThe Conqueror Of Life And Death

52Om Niranjanaya NamahaThe Unblemished Lord

53Om Kama Janakaya NamahaOne Generating Desires In Worldly Mind

54Om Kancha Lochanaya NamahaOne With Beautiful Eyes

55Om Madhughne NamahaSlayer Of Demon Madhu

56Om Mathura Nathaya NamahaLord of Mathura

57Om Dvaraka Nayakaya NamahaThe Hero Of Dvaraka

58Om Baline NamahaThe Lord Of Strength

59Om Brindavananta Sancarine NamahaOne Who Loiters About The Outskirts Of Vrindavana

60Om Tulasidama Bhushanaya NamahaOne Who Wears A Tulasi Garland

61Om Syamantaka Maner Hartre NamahaWho Appropriated The Sysmantaka Jewel

62Om Nara Narayanatmakaya NamahaThe Selfsame Nara-Narayana

63Om Kubja Krishtambaradharaya NamahaOne Who Applied Ointment By Kubja The Hunchbacked

64Om Mayine NamahaMagician, Lord of Maya

65Om Paramapurushaya NamahaThe supreme one

66Om Mushtikasura Chanura Mallayudha-Visharadaya NamahaOne Who Expertly Fought The Wrestlers Mushtika And Chanura

67Om Samsara Vairine NamahaEnemy Of Material Existence

68Om Kamsaraye NamahaEnemy Of King Kamsa

69Om Muraraye NamahaEnemy Of Demon Mura

70Om Narakantakaya NamahaDestroyer Of Demon Naraka

71Om Anadi Brahmacharine NamahaBeginning Less Absolute

72Om Krishna Vyasana Karshakaya NamahaRemover Of Draupadi’s Distress

73Om Shishupala Shirascettre NamahaRemover Of Shishupal’s Head

74Om Duryodhana Kulantakaya NamahaDestroyer Of Duryodhana’s Dynasty

75Om Vidurakrura Varadaya NamahaDestroyer Of Demon Naraka

76Om Vishvarupa Pradarshakaya NamahaRevealer Of Vishwasrupa (Universal Form)

77Om Satyavache NamahaSpeaker Of Truth

78Om Satya Sankalpaya NamahaLord Of True Resolve

79Om Satyabhama Rataya NamahaLover Of Satyabhama

80Om Jayine NamahaThe Ever Victorious Lord

81Om Subhadra Purvajaya NamahaBrother Of Subhadra

82Om Vishnava NamahaLord Vishnu

83Om Bhishma Mukti Pradayakaya NamahaOne Who Bestowed Salvation To Bhishma

84Om Jagadgurave NamahaPreceptor Of The Universe

85Om Jagannathaya NamahaLord Of The Universe

86Om Venunada Visharadaya NamahaOne Expert In Playing Of Flute Music

87Om Vrishabhasura Vidhvamsine NamahaDestroyer Of Demon Vrishbasura

88Om Banasura Karantakaya NamahaThe Lord Who Vanquished Banasura’s Arms

89Om Yudhisthira Pratishthatre NamahaOne Who Established Yudhisthira As A King

90Om Barhi Barhavatamsakaya NamahaOne Who Adorns Peacock Feathers

91Om Parthasarathaye NamahaChariot Driver Of Arjuna

92Om Avyaktaya NamahaThe Unmanifested

93Om Gitamrita Mahodadhaye NamahaAn Ocean Containing Nectar Of Bhagwad Gita

94Om Kaliyaphani Manikya Ranjita Shri Padambhujaya NamahaThe Lord Whose Lotus Feet Adorn Gems From Hood Of Kaliya Serpent

95Om Damodaraya NamahaOne Tied Up With A Rope At The Waist

96Om Yajnabhoktre NamahaOne Who Consumes Sacrificial Offerings

97Om Danavendra Vinashakaya NamahaDestroyer Of Lord Of Asuras

98Om Narayanaya NamahaThe One Who Is Lord Vishnu

99Om Parabrahmane NamahaThe Supreme Brahmana

100Om Pannagashana Vahanaya NamahaWhose Carrier (Garuda) Devours Snakes

101Om Jalakridasamashakta Gopi Vastrapaharakaya NamahaLord Who Hid Gopi’s Clothes While They Were Playing In River Yamuna 102Om Punya-Shlokaya NamahaLord Whose Praise Bestows Meritorious 103Om Tirthapadaya NamahaCreator Of Holy Places 104Om Vedavedyaya NamahaSource Of Vedas 105Om Dayanidhaye NamahaOne Who Is Treasure Of Compassion 106Om Sarva Bhutatmakaya NamahaSoul Of Elements 107Om Sarvagraha Rupine NamahaTo All-Formed One 108Om Paratparaya NamahaGreater Than The Greatest

[milk5]

Did a little doodle of my OC Sylven Aster Starwind CASUALLY committing war crimes in my most recent campaign! 😋 *digital painting of a telegram screenshot depicting an ambiguously gendered dnd tiefling with a mullet posing in front of a decapitated stripped naked castrated corpse in a boreal forest*

[midnightfairy1]

The Forest Kingdom

Chapter 1

4.1k words

Sorry this took me so long to post after i promised a story! I rewrote it a couple times because I kept changing ideas, but I finally settled on this one. Expect drawings of my two ocs from this story in the near future. Sorry there is barely any g/t interaction in this first chapter, but im a sucker for world building and I promise you im setting the story up for really good g/t in chapter two.

I hope you decide to give my story a chance!

Cassian: In the Forest

Cassian and Sylven had been best friends since before Cassian could remember. They made a pact to continue being best friends forever. The people of his village knew by now that if you saw one boy, the other was close behind; it was common knowledge. They were both Feykin people, and lived in a humble village on the outskirts of their kingdom in the forest. One day when Cassian was nine and Sylven was ten, they sat in Sylven's room and talked about something Cassian had heard his parents whispering about earlier that day.

“Hey Sylven, do you believe in humans?” Cassian wondered. There was a small pause before Sylven answered.

“I don’t think so, if they were real that would be scary. I think they're just bedtime stories to keep us from walking too far away.” Sylven replied. They were both sitting on his twin-sized bed together; Cassian was laying on his back staring up at the ceiling, and Sylven was sitting up and holding a small twig he was trying to whittle into a spoon.

“I think they’re real. I heard my parents talking about them. Apparently they’re so big they can carry you in the palm of their hand.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to think about it.” They sat in silence for a little while, both lost in their own thoughts.

“What if you met a human? What would you do then?” Cassian asked, rolling onto his side so he could look Sylven in the eyes.

“Easy. I would run away. That would be way too dangerous.” He replied immediately.

“Really? What if they were just nice and friendly? I think I would make friends with my human if they were nice and friendly.”

“Your human?”

“Mine as in the one I’m hypothetically meeting. Apparently you’re hypothetically running away from yours.” Sylven huffed, and then snorted as a wood chip he had whittled off his soon-to-be spoon flew onto Cassian’s nose.

The two boys ate steaming vegetable soup for dinner. Sylven’s mother was an amazing cook; some claim she's the best in the whole village. She is trying to start teaching Sylven, but he can’t focus on learning when he’s more focused on bickering with Cassian.

Cassian finally went home after a plentiful meal. It was pitch black out but he knows the path back better than he knows the back of his hand. However, once he arrived home, he noticed something off immediately.

The front door was wide open and all the lights were out. Cassian tentatively took one step inside; he made it halfway through the doorway before his mom grabbed him into a suffocating hug. He kicked the door closed as he was dragged to the floor. His moms eyes were glossy and shining as the moonlight coming in through the window reflected her tears. Now he was extremely worried.

“I love you so, so much,” Sera choked out through her sobbing. Her only son, Cassian, was trapped in her arms. She kissed his forehead violently, and her hands tousled his hair as she shoved his head into her chest and cradled him.

“Mom… W-What’s happening?” Cassian pulled away and looked up.

“Just hold onto me sweetie, the soldiers will be here any minute to take your father and I away. After they do, run as fast as you can to Sylven’s house. His parents will take care of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassian replied, failing to comprehend the words his mother just spoke, because accepting them meant his reality was crumbling. Literally a second ago, life was normal. Before his mother could answer, the family heard a loud CRACK and the door broke down, their house swarming with soldiers. His mother kissed Cassian’s head one last time, although now there were tears streaming down his face as well.

“Handcuff the two adults. Bring the child over to me. The king has special plans for him.” One of the soldiers directed. Sera’s head snapped up. What did he just say? Why would the soldier have mentioned her son? He had absolutely nothing to do with this, he was only nine years old. Her husband stepped in before she had a chance to speak.

“No! You can’t do this! What has Cassian got to do with any of our mistakes-” Elaren’s angry retort was cut short abruptly when he got the wind knocked out of him by one of the soldiers. He crumpled over, and rope was quickly tied around his wrists. Sera watched the scene play out, a looked of horror glued to her face. Before she realized the soldiers starting to move in on her, Cassian was torn from her grip and she was pushed into the chest of her husband, who had just regained his footing.

The soldier who had given the initial commands just shrugged. “King's orders.” He informed, running a bored hand through his hair. He waved for the guards to take the two away, obviously upset with the noise and lashback he was receiving.

Sera clutched desperately onto her husband's shirt, refusing to turn around and face the monster taking her son away from her. She would die before giving them the respect of earning her eye contact. She savored one last look at her precious son. Cassian was looking around, slightly dazed with tears streaming down his face. He was growing up to be so beautiful and kind so far, she was ashamed she wouldn’t be around to see him as a man. Sera allowed herself a small smile at the thought of Cassian all grown up, before a bag was thrown over her and her husband’s head and the world went dark.

Sera awoke an undetermined amount of time later, her face in the dirt. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, dry dust falling off her eyelashes, and took in her surroundings. She was trapped by three dirt walls, a dirt ceiling, a dirt floor, and metal bars. The air was thick and stuffy, so she had to be pretty far underground. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a guard monitoring her cell, although he didn’t seem to be very attentive at the moment.

“Hey! Guard!” Sera called. She didn’t realize how weak and ragged her voice was going to sound before she spoke, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The guard looked up, obviously very startled.

“Oh, you're awake!” He responded, shifting in his position against the wall. “Be right back, I should go inform my boss.” He started inching away slowly.

“No, wait!” The guard stopped moving and turned back to meet her eyes. Sera paused and looked away for a second, then looked back at the guard. “Where is my son right now?”

The guard’s head fell. The question obviously made him very uncomfortable, only thickening the knot of worry in Sera’s stomach. He shuffled his feet, and let a long pause fill the air before he lifted his head to speak: “They stole his life-force.”

The color drained from Sera’s face. Life-force refers to the magic flowing through all beings of the forest, specifically Feykin. If the royal court had figured out a way to drain it… Sera didn’t want to have to think about the possible outcomes, although the guard was heavily implying the worst one. She started shaking all over and fell to the ground. Why had her son been so brutally punished instead of her? He didn’t deserve to have the magic drained out of him- she didn’t even realize that was possible. Leave it to the royals to find an ancient way of torturing the people of their kingdom. She genuinely wondered what their reasoning could have been; it’s not like they were even punishing her by keeping her there to witness the murder. Although, Sera had to admit she was feeling absolutely defeated anyway.

The guard slipped away quietly, at least having the decency not to watch Sera sob herself to death.

Cassian: In the City

Cassian has no memory of his life before he was adopted. All he was told was he was walking the streets of the city at night in the middle of winter. He was immediately turned into one of the local adoption agencies by someone walking their dog at 5:00 am who stumbled across a bush he happened to be sleeping in. He was adopted relatively quickly compared to other kids who were stuck in the agency. His adoptive mother was a sweet, slightly older woman who loved to bake sweets. His adoptive father was a little more stand-offish, never bothering to bond with Cassian in any way. They hopped towns as soon as Cassian was adopted, and settled down in a comfortable cold-a-sack area in a neighborhood with a good education system.

Unfortunately for Cassian, tragedy struck him once again (although he had no knowledge of the first time his world was torn apart). A fire was set ablaze in their home in the late evening, for reasons still unknown. Cassian was sixteen at the time, and was riding his bike around the neighborhood with friends when he saw the smoke rising in the distance. As he and his friends rode closer and closer out of curiosity, Cassian began to realize his own family might have been victims.

By the time he arrived on scene, the paramedics were placing white cloth over the body of a woman with an uncanny resemblance to his mother, although she couldn’t be Cassian's mother because that woman was dead, and the mother he knew was alive and well when he saw her earlier that day. Cassian had always had a problem grasping reality. Instead of thinking about that impossible truth, Cassian instead decided to focus on his father who was lying unconscious on a stretcher while bandages were wrapped around his shoulders and neck.

The excitement surrounding the tragedy eventually passed, but Cassian’s father couldn’t live in that town anymore. His entire life reminded him of his wife’s tragic passing, and everywhere he went people pitied him. He was constantly reminded further that he once had a beautiful wife and now she was gone. Instead, by the time Cassian turned seventeen he and Cassian packed up and moved back to the town Cassian was found in, a place they stayed in for a very short period of time and therefore a place safe from many heart-wrenching memories. Cassian’s father found a small but respectable apartment for a good price near the edge of town, overlooking the forest.

Cassian: In the Town

One day, not long after moving, Cassian decided to go for a walk in the woods. He figured if he was going to be living near them for a little while longer, at least through his senior year of highschool and the rest of his junior year, then he should probably become familiar with them. And who knows? Maybe he would find something interesting. While walking, Cassian felt a very strange feeling of deja vu creeping through his body. Every tree, every branch, every leaf looked way too familiar. Maybe he spent some time in the woods before he was sent into the system? Who knows, really. Cassian continued to travel along the dirt path, kicking a pebble by his feet while he walked, until a small flicker of movement caught his eye. He spared it a glance (as one does); perhaps it was a small animal. He thought he saw something fall from a tree a little off the path and walked to investigate. However, one he got there he found something he would have never expected.

Cassian did a double-take. And then a triple-take. He crouched down. No way. He was staring at what appeared to be a miniature person, although their movements were slightly blurred. Cassian knew that the forest was strange, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling he was being watched, but this was just too much.

He peered closer. The person appeared to be asleep, and not looking too good. He had half a piece of moss wrapped around him as a shirt, and cotton for shorts. Cassian thought it was quite the revealing outfit for the start of winter. Cassian scanned the ground for a second, and found more pieces of the moss shirt. However, as he lifted them into his hands, blood rubbed off on his fingertips.

His eyes widened. Cassian quickly ripped off the moss shirt that the person was still wearing, feeling sorry for stripping the little guy without his consent. However, the blush and sheepish look was wiped off his face when dark bruises were revealed, covering the guy’s entire body. Now that he looked closer, he could see one of the guy’s legs was all twisted up in a weird way.

Without thinking, he grabbed the guy to take back to his place; maybe he could put together some mouse-sized bandages or at least offer a dose of aspirin or something from the medicine cabinet.

While walking, Cassian became increasingly self-conscious of the fact he was holding a little person in his hands. The weight was barely detectable, if he looked away Cassian might think he was carrying loose pocket change. He hadn’t thought about it too much when he first grabbed him (he hasn’t even completely come to terms with the fact that little people exist), he just knew that help was needed. Although now, staring at life he was holding in his hand, Cassian started feeling like he may be overstepping boundaries. What if the guy didn’t want to go back with him? What if he had friends coming to his rescue?

Cassian decided it would be best to ask him the questions himself after the person woke up, and after receiving proper medical treatment from Cassian.

Cassian brought the palm of his hand closer to his face. The guy looked to be around his age, with tanned skin and chocolate brown hair. Cassian couldn’t help but think about how familiar this guy looked, getting that weird sense of deja-vu all over again.

Finally Cassian arrived home. His dad was out at the bar again, meaning Cassian had the house until 1:00 or 2:00 am. It was late dusk now; the sun was just starting to set. Cassian threw open his front door and shuffled quickly to the bathroom, laying the little guy down on the counter. He cringed as his finger let the guy’s head down on the cold, uncushioned marble countertop. Thinking for a second, Cassian rushed to his room and reappeared with his favorite navy blue hoodie. He lifted the little guy back up and set him down in the middle of the folds of fabric. This hoodie was his favorite because it was the softest of his collection, meaning it must feel like sleeping on a cloud to the person in front of him. Cassian wished he could experience that. He reached over the counter to pull out various medical supplies from the cabinet, placing them down slowly.

It had only been a couple minutes; Cassian was still inspecting the labels on the various meds to decide which one would be the most helpful. He was currently reading up on the benefits of tylenol when heard a quiet yelp from the counter below. Cassian’s eyes shot down and he found the person now fully awake, staring up at him with wide, crazed eyes.

Sylven: After Cassian Disappeared

It was gloomy and cloudy the day after Cassian was taken, not that Sylven had known what happened yet. He was completely content as he skipped down the trail to Cassian’s house, carrying a basket of pastries for him and his parents. His mom had got him up early that morning to bake them; it took more tries that Sylven was willing to admit, but he finally procured a respectable muffin from the oven that he was saving especially for Cassian.

However, as he walked up to the house, he realized something terrible had happened. The door was kicked all the way down, the furniture inside strewn about aimlessly. Sylven knew Cassian would turn up eventually; nobody ever went missing missing in their small, humble, tightly-knit village near the edge of the forest. However, at this very moment he just happened to be missing, so Sylven did the smart thing: dropped the pastries (except he held onto the muffin meant for Cassian), turned around on his heel, and sprinted back to tell his mom.

As days, then weeks, then months went on, Sylven feared more and more that Cassian might not be returning. The village put together search parties to find him, but nothing turned up.

It was two years after Cassian disappeared when the kingdom went into lockdown. Apparently, humans had been spotted. To be more specific, humans had kidnapped a patrol. The entire forest was in a panic. Humans were real? What does this mean for the future of the kingdom? Did Cassian meet the same fate as that guard? The thought made Sylven sick to his stomach. The five year anniversary for Cassian’s disappearance rolled around. The entire village came together and lit torches, holding them up. It was the beginning of winter, and tiny snowflakes started falling for the first time of the season that night. The village hoped the warmth from the torches would reach Cassian, wherever he was.

Unfortunately, this small anecdote meant for Cassian was abruptly cut short once the guards took notice. They couldn’t risk being seen by humans. Two more of their kind had disappeared after the guard, and traps meant for small animals had started popping up all around the forest. If Sylven was being honest, he didn’t mind the interruption. He had already been given more than enough time to say his prayers, and his fear for humans had grown immensely after the nightmarish bedtime stories he was told as a kid turned out to be true.

Sylven: Left for Dead

Sylven’s eighteenth birthday had just passed. He trudged through the village in the early morning, handing out rations to starving families. The fields that used to grow their food had been destroyed after a human was spotted not far from the patrol base at the edge of the village; they couldn’t have humans seeing the fields and growing curious. Everybody was under a mandatory curfew, not that it mattered because they stayed cowering in their houses all day anyways. The village had been remodeled not too long ago, disguising all the houses and shops.

Sylven was happy to help. He and his mom ran a kitchen together, where they made three meals a day. Villagers would come by and donate scraps of ingredients when they could, trusting the kitchen to put together something magical that could help the entire village. Sylven did his best to live up to this responsibility.

While he was walking, some of the younger patrol boys spotted him. All the patrols were sent from the center of the kingdom where the king lived, and the ones sent to the small run down village Sylven grew up in were not happy. On the bright side, however, they got to bully the lowly villagers to their heart's content. Unfortunately for Sylven, he was one of their favorite targets. They stepped in front of him, successfully stopping Sylven in his tracks and causing him to stumble.

“What do we have here?” The taller one sneered, although they both towered over Sylven so height didn’t really matter. Sylven was small for a Feykin, approximately three inches (or 7.5 cm) tall. These soldiers about to torture him were nearing four inches, and by the looks of their obvious looming, they were proud of it too.

“I- I’m just delivering the morning rations as always.” Sylven stuttered, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

“You know, you have to ask us for permission before you leave your house.” The shorter one stated. He pushed Sylven’s shoulder down, causing him to kneel and drop the bread in his hands.

“Sorry…” Sylven mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry I will ask you for permission next time I leave the house.” Sylven said, slightly louder. He hoped the patrols were too stupid to notice the faint sarcasm in his voice. They were not.

The taller one scoffed and grabbed his wrist, dragging him up. He marched away towards the patrol base, Sylven involuntarily in tow. The shorter one quickly stomped on the bread Sylven dropped, much to Sylven’s dismay, and followed quickly behind. Sylven’s irrational fear of humans was common knowledge at this point; even the guards knew him for it.

“We’re gonna show you what a real human looks like.” The guard holding his wrist looked back at Sylven while he said it, smirking and flasking his teeth. He was content once he saw the horror flash across Sylven’s face.

After a quick stop by the patrol building and a short beating behind a tree, the three Feykin were headed off to start morning patrol. Well, two were off to start it and one was forced to be there. Some of the older soldiers watched them leave with discomfort; Sylven was a sweet kid. However, none of them cared enough to do anything about it.

Now he was bloody and bruised, and the tight grip the taller guard (who he now knew as Rowan) had on his wrist was anything but merciful. They trekked through the forest in silence, until finding an appropriate tree and situating themselves on a high branch. Did Sylven also mention he was afraid of heights?

The two guards bickered, jabbering with one another for what felt like ages. The first breezes of winter were starting to rustle through the trees, and the guards had definitely not given Sylven the time to change out of his pajamas. Sylven was cussing out the guards in his mind when a chill fell over all three of them, although this time it was not due to the cold.

They all heard it, the subtle but strong rumbling that swept through the branches and leaves they were currently occupying. A human. Sylven’s eyes grew wide with horror.

“Oh Shit!” Rowan grumbled, standing up. Sylven’s head snapped up, eyes frantically searching the forest in the direction Rowan was facing. That’s when he saw it. The human was even more fearsome than he had imagined. He was so tall, he was eye level with the Feykin even though they were currently residing on a branch six feet above the ground. Sylven’s heart dropped to his stomach. He was frozen in fear.

The human was walking slowly, kicking a pebble on the ground. All three Feykin were dead silent. That was the last moment Sylven remembered before his life went to hell. The shorter guard (Sylven still didn’t know his name) stood up a little too fast. The human’s head snapped towards them; His ice blue eyes narrowed.

“Quick!” Rowan hissed. He and the shorter guard sprinted past Sylven towards the tree trunk. Sylven was still sitting down, frozen in fear. As the two patrols passed behind him, he felt a slight pressure on his back.

Then he felt an immense pressure on his back. Am I being pushed?! Sylven thought frantically. Before he had a chance to answer that question, he found himself plummeting towards the ground below.

Sylven didn’t know how long it had been as he groggily opened his eyes and rubbed his face. It was insanely bright. He felt very comfortable, and patted the surface he was lying on. What is this? He wondered. His eyes, which had been flickering between open and closed, snapped open. Oh my god, I fell off a tree branch. He sat up, attentive. All he could see in front of him was a large wall. Not a wall, he realized. Sylven started shaking, scared to look up. He turned his head back slowly, and gasped. Looming over him was the human. Immediately after hearing the noise escape from Sylven’s throat, Sylven gained the human’s full attention. He was completely at his mercy; Sylven was living through his own nightmares. The human’s features immediately softened and a look of realization crossed his gigantic face.

“Sylven…?” He whispered gently. “I- Is that your name?”

**End of Chapter 1**

first chapter (your here!)

next chapter

Alright, that’s it for the first chapter and I am actively working on the second. Expect a post by the end of next weekend. I appreciate anybody who decided to give my story a chance so so much, more than you probably know. If you enjoyed it, let me know and I can create a tag list!

[inquisitornocturn]

𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖊𝖔, 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖔

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 6 - 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱

⫸ pairing: Cazador Szarr/f!high elf reader

⫸ tags: no y/n used etc, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, choking, smut, extreme dubocn, rough sex, anal, painful sex, biting, masturbation, graphic depictions of violence, severe injury, angst.

⫸ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Cazador makes his way to the Sylven mansion and he has one goal in mind. One task that he has failed at before, but failures are not allowed anymore. Not to him.

⫸ word count: 7,154

⫸ author note: really happy with this chapter and how it turned out!

⫸ chapter list: [link] | on AO3

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Maya Angelou

1204DR

It was like a dream- No, like a nightmare.

That’s all Cazador knows now. A nightmare. A never ending horror that at last he knows he has no way to escape from. He tried. Oh how he tried. His mother, her lover, her spawn. Those that she made hers and those that now, at last, he made his. Cazador was just another property in the schemes of those stronger than he. What can he do if not lament what could’ve been when instead he has…

Doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he looks into the night sky and the stars above. It doesn’t… matter. Not anymore.

Tonight he’s here to do one last favor.

Tonight he has to be stronger than he thinks he is. He tried this before and failed. He cannot fail now. Not again. Not when things have shifted so drastically.

Cazador tears his eyes from the sky and pulls up his coat’s collar. It’s windy tonight, cold. Gusts of drizzle make everything humid and uncomfortably wet. But through the passing clouds stars shine and that’s one thing that draws his attention. Not the heaviness of his cloak, soaked in light rain, and not the dampness of his clothes, the leather long coat not fully saving from humidity that seems to cling to his very skin. No, it’s that shine, so far away and yet appearing so close as if he can reach and touch the glimmer above him.

He doesn’t, of course. Even though it’s late, there are still people milling about. Herb sellers and wizards with scrolls under their arms, hurrying to protect their precious texts; tavern goers and messenger boys, running barefoot through the mud and puddles; couples that are laughing and trying to escape the drizzle that’s more annoying than a true inconvenience. Cazador stands and observes it all and makes sure that his collar is up before beginning walking again.

As he makes way through the streets, illuminated by lampposts with magically enhanced candles inside, some avoid him. Some see him as a dangerous figure because he’s cloaked against the chilliness of the night. Some get out his way because of the imposing figure that they see before them. Cazador doesn’t care what those lesser than he think of him, whether they perceive him as danger, a criminal or simply someone not to cross. All work just fine for him. He doesn’t bother to concern himself with opinions of cattle.

Unlike most of them, Cazador has a goal tonight. Not to get drunk or fuck or kill, some of which he passes clearly are in a mood for all three. Tonight the Szarr heir is making his way to the Sylven mansion. Failing to find you in your office and with soldiers there being of no use in locating your whereabouts, Cazador has decided that if you’re not on duty, then you must be home. That is only because he didn’t hear of you or your army leaving Baldur’s Gate. And that is enough for him.

“Move!” Someone tries to shove Cazador and he stops, looking down at whoever dared to touch him, to push at his form, cloaked in black. Through the hair, sticking to his wet face, he looks down at the figure, suddenly too scared to say another word. It’s a young man, a human and his curly brown hair is weighted by the drizzle. But his eyes, glazed from wine or ale, which - is impossible to tell, suddenly clear from fear and he stumbles backwards a step, then another, rising his hands before him in surrender or defense. Amber eyes cannot look away, do not dare to look away and Cazador affixes the offending male with a look that make his knees near buckle. The only reason curly doesn’t collapse is because he grabs upon a fence nearby, giving himself much needed support.

“You move.” Cazador says and a smirk begins to pull at his lips. A gleeful, cruel joy shines in his eyes and that’s all the man sees. Those eyes, merciless just as much as they are daring. Daring him to make a stupid move, maybe to attack, maybe to try and argue. Elf’s eyes are telling the man ‘be brave and be an idiot, show me what you are capable of’.

He does none of these things. The oppressing and dangerous presence that Cazador exudes makes the curly mortal step backwards after finally finding strength in his legs and one more wide-eyed second passes before he turns around and bolts away, nearly falling after tripping over a rock, hands cartwheeling, and then he’s gone, pushing others out of his way and making everyone murmur.

Cazador tells himself not to react, but a cruel smile etches itself onto his face. One that he hides behind the collar of his coat, and then he proceeds upon this path.

Thinking of all that happened, of the handful of years that have passed since he walked this very same path, following the procession of the former General during his funeral. He knew the casket was empty and as Donnela succinctly put – former General Sylven was long digested and shat out by some gnoll that might not even be alive anymore. In response to what happened to you father, he heard that you ordered brutal hunts as far as Waterdeep, Sunset Mountains and Forest of Tethir. Cazador adores the ruthlessness with which he heard that you hunted down every gnoll, in person when possible, sparing no soldier or expense to practically eradicate them.

A woman’s furry, Cazador scoffs to himself, is a sight to behold. He knew this with his mother, now he heard that of you. But he’s not worrying as he walks towards the mansion, now coming closer and closer, its roof tall and intricate when it begins appearing over the rooftops of other houses around it. It’s not going to be easy, he is sure of it, but it’s something that has to be done. For himself, Cazador repeats this over and over, not for you but for himself.

Lies.

Donnela’s own voice hisses at Cazador at the back of his mind, but he ignores it, mentally brushing it away like one would brush away a cobweb out of their path. Another voice comes to him, sickly sweet in a way poisonous apple looks. It whispers too and his lip curls in a barely suppressed sneer.

You’re mine now.

He does not want these disembodied voices to haunt him. Fragments of conversations resurface in Cazador’s mind but these too he shoves away from his mind. He has something that needs to be done and he won’t allow malicious ghosts tear away at him from the inside of his skull. They can have that chance later, when he’s back at palace Szarr with nothing for company but his own thoughts.

Finally, the entry of the mansion gets closer and closer, the gate open and welcoming him. Not only him, of course, but anyone who might need their General. Regular people won’t cross the threshold, but there are two soldiers, posted at each side of the entrance. He doesn’t recognize the men despite their visors being up. There was a time when he knew almost every soldier but that time has long passed. With longevity such as his, and yours, many of those with shorter lifespans perish like a blink in a skies of time.

Stopping by the soldiers, Cazador looks at the front door, illuminated by the candles encased in glass that are nailed on each side, and he exhales slowly.

“General is not seeing visitors tonight, citizen.” One of the dutiful men say in curt, chopped manner and Cazador’s eyes snap to him, a frown appearing on his sharp features.

“I am Cazador Szarr and I demand entrance.”

A moment of silence as soldiers exchange glances and then look at Cazador again. He’s not sure if they heard of the marriage arrangement but who could not have heard of it. When Donnela finally began with preparations she made sure that entire Gate knew of it or heard of it in some sort of way. She even issued flyers, now only few of them remaining nailed to the wooden walls throughout the city, most of them torn by those wanting one as a memento, but others worn down by elements. How long has it been since then? Two years?

“It’s late, my Lord.” One of the soldiers begin slowly and Cazador affixes the man with a sharp look, making him pause. “General instructed not to let anyone through unless the Duke himself has showed up.” There’s something apologetic in the man’s voice but Cazador still has to reign in his temper.

“I’m more important than the Duke, soldier.” The force with which he says that makes the soldiers look at each other again, but finally it seems they buckle under the intense presence of Cazador and one of them, the one that spoke less, finally nods, slowly.

“This way, my Lord.” He gestures for Cazador to enter and triumphant, the elf smirks and follows the armored human, which he now sees is a human after starting to walk behind him, towards the entrance of the mansion.

For Cazador’s benefit he knocks on the door and after only a short while a maid opens, eyes lively and not laced with sleep. Too early for sleep when so much needs to be done while serving one of the most influential people in Baldur’s Gate. But she looks at Cazador, upturning her fair face, and blue eyes of the woman widen.

“Master Cazador!” She exclaims and throws the door wide open. “It’s been far too long, Master!” Then she gives a glare to the soldier. “I hope you didn’t keep him out for long, it’s raining!”

“It’s merely drizzling, Elyriane.” The soldier scoffs, but Cazador can hear the tension in his voice.

“Oh you-“ It looks like Elyriane is about to start ranting but she stops herself and just steps aside from the door, bowing to Cazador. “Welcome, welcome, Master Cazador. I’m sure Lady will be delighted.”

How little she knows, Cazador muses but smiles, not willing to hide the sharp edge in the expression and walks in. “You go back to your post. When you’re done with your shift - we have soup in the kitchen.” Elyriane tells the soldier.

“Aye, ma’am.” Cazador hears the soldier respond and even salute the maid because his armor makes sounds that indicate as much, but he doesn’t look back. Instead he unties the cord of his cloak and listens how Elyriane shuts the door behind him.

“It’s a tad late, Master, but Lady should be in her study or her chambers.” Rushing to serve him, the maid takes his wet cloak and hangs it on a nearby cloak rack, then begins to brush at it with a towel that she seems to have procured from her apron. He watches her for a moment, then without a word walks off towards the staircase.

Cazador takes his time climbing it, remembering the times he has been here before. Not as many as the times he visited the Fortress after he was pulled from the army. Still, he is familiar with the mansion and he knows that your study is on the second floor while master bedroom is on a third. Easy choice is made to check out the study first and so he walks there, footsteps quiet over the carpeted floor. The rain outside increases, pebbling the windows and disguising the sounds Cazador is making even further.

There was a time when he imagined walking between these walls as their owner. When Donnela surprised both you and him with the marriage proposal he truly believed she meant it. Not only his mother meticulously began arranging the wedding, she also made sure everyone heard of it. It was happening, or so Cazador thought. Sure, it was for her benefit and that of the House Szarr, but what did he care about Donnela’s motives if their goals lined up? A week later, after the funeral, he even sought you out to discuss it further.

First you accused him of lying to you and Cazador only had to scoff. He lied to you plenty of times, too many to count, but this was not one of those careful lies meant to protect you. No, this one blindsided him the same way it did you. But still, you argued, you demanded to know what happened and then both of you spent hours sifting through your father’s correspondence until finally, at last, you ran into a letter that Donnela sent in response to Cradith. It confirmed that what she said was true, even if the tone of her letter was mocking: “…you really assume our Houses should merge? How bold of you…”, “…this daughter of yours is more of an ogre than a lady, does she even know how to behave without a sword in her hand?”, “…precious as he is, Cazador is high born with a tendency to act out, surely you do not wish for your daughter…”. All in all, it appeared that Donnela didn’t want this marriage.

But things changed. Cradith died and you, the last of your bloodline and one meant to inherit his title as a protector of Baldur’s Gate, became an alluring prospect of a partner, a force to be reckoned with, a beast which Donnela wished to leash. It’s not something he told you, but back at the palace Cazador fought his mother, demanded to know her plans, and when she gave him a slightest of glimpses into them – he threw caution to the wind and opposed Donnela. He said he’s not going to do it, the marriage is off, not happening, ever.

He woke up three days later in his room, chained to the bed and with his bedroom door locked with three locks. Vellioth mocked him outside of it, asking if it was worth it. Worth the broken bones and the blood he shed for your sake. It was worth it, Cazador thought then as he laid painfully in the crusted with blood sheets, unable to open his swollen from the beating eyes. It was worth it.

But it didn’t last. Eventually the pain, and the threats of harm, not to himself but to you, made Cazador relent and obey. Thinking that if you’re close, next to him, it will be easier to protect you. He accepted Donnela’s terms for what they were. But that didn’t last long either.

Opening the door into your study, Cazador glances inside but finds it empty and dark. Not a single candle is alit to illuminate the shelves, stuffed with heavy tomes and rolls of papers. Desk, currently missing its mistress, has letters and envelopes strewn over it, but that’s it and Cazador closes the door as quickly as he opened it. To the master bedroom then.

The upside of agreeing with Donnela was that he didn’t need to hide anymore to visit you, Cazador reminds himself as he makes his way towards the staircase and begins climbing it again. Those have been some great months after years of needing to be secretive. After his father called him home, pulled him from the army, that’s what you two had to do, but with the wedding in progress of happening, Donnela allowed Cazador go to you as much as he wished. Of course, she still saddled him with nearly endless tasks, but he stole away as much time as he could to see you, allowing the relationship that was becoming strained - to flourish again.

Sleepless nights of you in his arms, body warm and damp with sweat, lips parted and moans echoing in the room. Lazy mornings when he watched you sleep upon his chest and in his arms. Days when you two took walks or trained or sparred, shedding more sweat and sometimes even blood, reminiscing about the very day when you two got entangled beyond just comrades. Those were happy days. Cazador… felt happy. And despite his mother’s plans looming over you both like a heavy cloud, full of acid ready to rain down, he was… you both were… happy.

With a sad smile Cazador remembers one of the last conversations you two had. It was some six months ago, probably less, but he was here, in this very mansion. You two were sharing drinks by the fireplace. You laid in his lap while he sat on a wide couch and sipped your wine while looking at him with eyes full of feeling and love. “We should have children, you know.” You said then and in present Cazador stops, his fingers gripping the handrail with strength that makes the wood whine. “I love protecting Baldur’s Gate, but I want to see what we, you and me, can create together.” With a smile you watched him. “Would our son have dark hair? Your eyes? My chin?” Chuckling you sipped on a wine while Cazador smiled and stroked your hair.

The memory disappears because he forces it away. He dreamed of those things too, once.

Before Vellioth killed Donnela.

A stony expression replaces the sad smile and Cazador resumes his ascend into the wing of personal rooms of your mansion.

He killed his mother and Cazador helped him.

That was the bitter truth. The grave mistake that he has made.

And now he’s here, knowing that where he failed last time, he needs to succeed tonight. Donnela was brutal, but she was logical. Vellioth… there’s only cruelty in Vellioth. Cazador experienced it before, countless times, but now with no mistress to stop him, Vellioth coined himself The Martinet, and decided he rules House Szarr. And he made sure that Cazador has no say in Vellioth’s decisions from that point on.

He has given you silence since then, except for one letter, asking you to be patient. Back when Cazador still thought that he can make this work, this relationship to work. Those delusions are gone now. And if he thought it was bad before, the reality was much darker than he has ever anticipated. Because Vellioth promised Cazador freedom to rule his House, to rule the family name, to help him. And naively Cazador allowed himself to believe and to hope. That was his mistake. One he cannot take back.

He trusted a beast not to devour him and paid the price.

One thing he can do now is try to protect the last remnant of past that led nowhere. To protect you. That’s the least he owes to you and the decades shared together through war and quiet moments. And he knows you won’t take it well. You didn’t take well his first attempt. But this time it will be different. This time he won’t back down.

So when Cazador stops by the door that he knows one to be of the master bedroom’s, without hesitation he knocks and waits. He hears, too well than what he is normally used to, how you shuffle something inside, maybe closing a book and getting out of the bed. Then bare footsteps over the carpet, followed by a gentle click of a door handle when you grasp it and turn it down, opening entrance to your sanctuary wider and wider.

“Cazador?” You squint slightly because the shadow cast upon his face makes it difficult to see, but you recognize the shape of him, the hair, even the pointed ears. And the red glowing eyes.

It’s not something you’ve seen often, only when Cazador used magic that he inherited from his family, the type that runs through his blood rather than one to be taught. And the type of magic that he has been taught… Well, that he kept secret too. But the visage of him now, standing tall as he always does with nothing else to draw your eye except for the crimson twin glow, unnerves you slightly.

Without a word he pushes past you into the room and you barely manage to get out of his way before Cazador slams the door shut, making you flinch by how unexpected that is. “What’s wrong?” You can’t help but ask and he whirls around, the tails of his long leather coat lifting with the motion and then you’re slammed against the door, Cazador’s body pressed upon you.

You gasp and look up, your arms moving on instinct and need, finding his waist and the dampness of his coat. His face, emotionless but somehow tense at the same time, looks down upon you. Without a warning and while keeping you pinned with his chest, Cazador grabs at your wrists and slams them against the wall above your head, making you wince.

“Cazador, hold on, what’s going on?” You try to ask, but the moment he grips your wrists in one hand of his, the elf uses his free hand to wrap his fingers around your throat and immediately squeezes, cutting off air. Your eyes widen and you gasp, more out of habit rather than out of real hope to inhale, but you don’t have a chance to protest or to fight back, because next moment his mouth is on yours.

Your parted for air lips give Cazador all the access he needs and he kisses you, tastes your mouth with his tongue, and in your strange distress you fail to notice how cold he feels. Even his wet muscle, moving around yours, is cold as if he’s dead.

Yet you make a sound of protest. You always knew him to be rash and sometimes even reckless, but you have questions that need answering. Why, for example, he hasn’t written to you more besides one letter in almost half a year! But then he releases your throat and you inhale through your nose, feeling slightly dizzy all of a sudden. You yelp when next Cazador’s once more free hand yanks your nightgown up and he pushes his fingers between your legs, tracing the outline of your pussy and pressing onto the clit, the sharp tip of his long nail, something that you never saw him have before, presses inside of you. And you stiffen with the fear of pain, the promise of hurt, but Cazador doesn’t push in his nail deeper and instead pulls away his hand entirely just as his lips part from yours.

“Cazador, give me a minute-“ You try to protest, but with your wrists still in his grasp, he grabs your neck again and lifts you off the floor.

Eyes wide and shocked, you stare at him and the features that you love, but they tell no story of what he is actually feeling or thinking. It’s just his red eyes that rake over your face as if trying to chisel it into the marble of his memory, and then he turns with you, your feet swinging in the air.

Unable to either claw at his grasp on your throat or even beg him to stop, you are reduced to an observer of his might over you, the power so much stronger than what you remember. Three steps, four at most and he’s by your bed, throwing you upon it like you weight absolutely nothing. Bouncing on the thick mattress among the sheets in which you sat earlier with a book, you inhale and let out a small cough.

“What is the matter with you?” You try to rise your voice despite your throat feeling uncomfortable, but then your hips are gripped and you’re flipped over onto your stomach. “Cazador!” Shouting this time you try to make him stop, to give you a godsdamned moment to at least figure out why he’s suddenly so in a mood without saying a single word to you, but it’s a lost cause, clearly, because your nightgown is thrown over your back, exposing your rear and thighs at the same time because you’re wearing nothing underneath.

Clawing at the bedsheets, you try to escape. Not because he terrifies you, that’s far from the truth, you’ve experienced Cazador’s rough passions before, but because you first want to ask at least one question, to ask what happened, but you’re no closer to answers than you have been when you opened the bedroom door. Instead you hear buckles of his leather coat become unfastened and another grip on your hip, this time with sharp nails breaking your skin, you gasp with pain and look over your shoulder.

Cazador is not even looking at you, his eyes focused on undoing laces of his dark pants in swift, annoyed tugs, like he has no patience for his own garments. You spend a moment to catch your breath and watch him slip a hand inside the pants and bring out his cock, ready and eager for you already. The nails with which he has dug into your hip press even further and you hiss with an ache, feeling like an animal caught in a trap. “You’re hurting me.”

You think your words will fall on deaf ears, but no, Cazador gives you a brief glance, then releases your hip and when you think that he will be gentler now, he instead grips a fistful of your hair and grips it tightly, pushing your face into the sheets. You yell, your angry scream muffled almost completely, and try to claw at his hand this time instead of the bed, trying to get him let go of your hair and the merciless grasp he has on your head, but even when you draw blood, and you know that you are by how quickly his hand becomes slick, nothing changes.

Without a hope to be released, you still rake your short nails over his hand, but pause when you feel one side of the mattress dip by your sore hip, then same happens on the other side. Cazador’s knees squeeze you tightly between them, halting your squirming, and then he moves just a little lower, pressing your thighs together. You growl into the sheets again, struggling to breathe properly and kick your feet in vain. And yet despite your struggle and your anger at his manhandling of you, you feel the flames of desire begin to rise higher inside of you, between your legs, preparing you for the coupling that you are always eager for when it comes to him.

Yet Cazador, even seeing your pussy growing wetter the longer this is continuing, ignores it to grab a handful of your ass and squish it painfully between his fingers. He hears you yelp into the sheets and sneers with satisfaction, then repeats it, drawing another whine out of you. He gives your sore mound a harsh slap and you jump, as much as you can, letting out yet another noise, but this time of surprise, and you give up clawing at his hand, gripping the sheets where your hands meet over your head. Pressed into the bed and unable to move, you have no choice but take what comes next.

And next does come when Cazador takes a grip of his shaft giving few slaps to the same throbbing patch of skin that he spanked. You whine quieter this time but it still stings when he does it, yet the torture doesn’t last long because with eyes that gleam victoriously, and with a wide smirk that shows cruelty, one that you cannot see right now, Cazador begins pushing inside of you. But not to use your ready for him pussy or the wetness there. No, he only swipes the tip of his cock over it, smearing it in your arousal and then he pushes into the part of you that did not expect the intrusion.

You try to shout, to tell him to slow down. You’re not ready for this but only thing you can do is cry out and bite onto the sheets when he pushes in deeper, inch by painful inch, and your body stiffens. You’ve been through this before, albeit maybe in more playful scenarios than this, but you know what to do, how to respond and you force yourself to relax even when tears gather in your eyes only to be soaked into the bed. And still, despite the pain and the sharp stretch of your body around his cock, you still lift your hips if ever so slightly, to grant him a better angle and smoother entry.

Cazador snarls with satisfaction and pauses for a second, his fingers twitching slightly in your hair and you think he will relent, breathing a sigh of relief when the pain stops and then you shout when he shoves himself deep inside of you, filling your ass agonizingly deeply. You scream again, sob partially when your body makes your lungs contract with stress and tension, but you’re not given reprieve. He starts thrusting.

You only hear a snarl behind you as Cazador mounts you like a beast. A thrust, your whine, his snarl. And it goes like this, again and again, except his pumps steadily become faster and harder. Your body adjusts to him quite quickly and the pain recedes but doesn’t disappear completely. Yet your eyes roll to the back of your head as you gasp and mark his every violating thrust with a pathetic cry. You want him to stop, no, you want him to keep going, but no, it’s too much, it’s too-

Another smack on your rear and your body tenses, squeezing his cock tightly inside and you hear a breathy chuckle before he brings his palm down again just to get the same reaction out of you. And you don’t know if your tears stopped rolling or if they are just constantly being soaked into the sheets. Your nails rip at the fabric, you know that by how you tear at them with trembling fingers, and then there’s another hit, to which this time you respond by rising your hips even higher, near kneeling now.

With your cooperation Cazador fucks into your body even faster. Between thrusting he sees your wet pussy, dripping and empty, begging to be filled too, but he doesn’t care, he’s here to have what’s his and to teach you a lesson. One that he hopes you won’t forget. But there’s another allure. Allure besides your cries and your tense body, and how your ass yields to his cock like a perfectly trained body of a whore. No, he feels your pulse throbbing through your body. From your very toes, to your clit, to your nipples that are rubbing against the bedsheets, to your neck and head. Blood is being pumped throughout you with fast, heavy beats as you find your own pleasure in this whole situation. He knows this, he knows you.

He leans over your body, moving his knees so that he can do it so comfortably and without the need to slow his pumps or stop them entirely, he tugs on your hair, exposing the back of your neck. Gleaming eyes focus on the skin that’s softer than he remembers, but no less inviting. Then his gaze caresses the pulse point that he sees throbbing with each thrum of your heart. And he can’t take it anymore.

Cazador dips his head down and you cry out loudly again when you feel him bite you. It’s not new to you, but this time it’s a bite that is harder than ever before and you whimper with pain, this time stemming not from your body being invaded, but from the merciless grind of his teeth upon your muscle. You try to moan his name, to say something, but nothing comes out beyond pathetic, weak whines and you take it. You take what he gives you. The brutal fucking that feels like he’s about to make you bleed and the bite that you are sure will leave bloodied bruises on your neck that you will have trouble explaining to your soldiers.

But you don’t mind, you don’t even care. He’s here, with you, and whatever got Cazador in a mood such as this, you will ask about it later. Right now you lean into the pain, find your enjoyment in it and while your lover is busy to remain latched onto your skin with his teeth, you move one hand from above your head and then between your legs where you rub your swollen clit, making your whole body shudder. Cazador knows what you’re doing and he lets you, finally releasing your hair so that he can support his own weight with both arms while he fucks you.

For a moment his teeth leave your sore neck only to bite down just a fraction lower and you moan again, but keep rubbing, keep circling your fingers over your throbbing clit that has been soaked in your arousal, leaking downwards your slit. You moan louder and with more satisfaction in your voice. Quite quickly Cazador’s cock feels pleasurable rather than agonizing as it keeps pumping into your ass. You know he will fill it too, he never missed a chance to come inside your holes and you don’t expect this time to be different. By Gods, how much you missed him, even like this.

Allowing yourself to turn your face slightly to the side so that you can breathe easier, you let your mewls fill the room together with slaps of skin against skin. Your fingers work faster, harder and you’re so close. Another bite, this time on the crook of your neck and with a cry you come undone before even you expected that. Your body shudders, your fingers keep circling and you spasm over the sheets and around Cazador’s body, helping him reach his own climax in a matter of seconds.

You hear him growl like a beast with a mouthful of your flesh but then his thrusts become erratic and you moan softly when strange coldness fills your insides. His pumps slow and his hips jerk out of rhythm, but then he stops and you hear heavy breaths mingling with yours in the relative quiet of the bedroom.

“That… That hurt.” You say, but you say this with a smile and wince slightly when Cazador releases your skin and draws back, pulling out of you and, strangely, stepping out of the bed.

You collapse into the sheets and rest for a second, thinking he’s getting some water or maybe a towel for you. But no, you just hear clasps and buckles being handled again, indicating that he’s fixing his clothes. Sore but pleasantly full, you manage to lift yourself on your arms and turn, sitting up to observe the tall elf lacing his pants back as they should be. “Cazador?”

Not knowing what to think, you observe him for a moment longer, seeing how he buckles back his leather coat as if ready to leave and you slip out of the bed, grimacing when your rear hurts upon movement, but you still grab a robe from the chair nearby and cover your naked, bruised and in places bloody body, then turn to him. “Can you speak to me?” You demand now, finally looking somewhat presentable despite your disheveled hair, but Cazador only spares you a short glance and turns to leave.

Why… Why is he leaving? You stare at him in confusion but when Cazador reaches for the door handle you swiftly grab a dagger from the table and throw it, making it pierce the door right where his face would be if you waited just a second. A calculated throw and you both know it. But at last he stops and turns to you, red eyes ablaze with a warning.

“We’re over.”

And at first you just stare at him, eyes widening in shock, but then immediately you frown. “This again? We’re almost married, Cazador, what are you even talking about.”

“Donnela’s dead, my dear.” He smirks with nothing but cruel mockery on his face. “And I’m cancelling the wedding. This is the last time you will see me.”

You see him now as he stands in the dim candlelight of the room. Tall and unyielding, dark leather coat to the floor, and his hair, slightly messy but still mainly combed back properly, but his face… His face that startles you the most. Not the red, glowing eyes, not the piercings in his ears that you never got used to and not the expression itself that speaks of nothing but hatred. No, it’s the blood on his mouth and chin, on his lips that Cazador licks slowly as if he enjoys the taste. Your blood.

He smirks and it’s a terrible sight with him bloodied like this. Without realizing you lift your hand to touch the bites, still throbbing painfully at the side of your neck, and your fingers come away smeared in crimson too. You look at them, then back at Cazador. “What happened to you?” Your voice sounds weaker than you try to make it but he never so viciously attacked you before. Sure, rough sex was a given half the time, but this? This… feral nature? He looks like an animal, like a beast.

A monster.

“Nothing happened to me, dear.” He suddenly laughs and makes a step towards you, which in response makes you step backwards and bump into the table behind you. There are two daggers there, separated from the one you threw, and they rattle slightly. “Things simply changed.” Cazador adds and makes another step.

“Don’t come any closer.” You warn him, gripping the edge of the desk behind you but Cazador doesn’t stop. Instead he wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, not doing much in removing the blood from his face, and keeps coming. Is this how the master of House Szarr is now? The man you know for decades now, your lover, your godsdamned betrothed.

No, it can’t be the same person. Whatever happened in these past few months, it changed him. Changed him in a way you don’t recognize. And your eyes widen instead of narrowing, like they usually do when you prepare for a fight. They widen because as Cazador draws closer, as your eyes sweep over the beloved features now twisted with arrogance and viciousness, you notice fangs that weren’t there before. And you know, you just know that whatever magic is flowing through his veins, that did this to him. He always said that his blood was cursed, he always mentioned how it is stronger than whatever oaths he makes, past or future, but you never expected them to… to… to twist the very body that you held for countless nights.

“What are you?” You breathe the question but you’re not sure that you want an answer. First thought that comes to your mind is undead. A vampire. But they don’t exist, so what has become of him now? What curse twists a man so much that he loses the sight of self? What beast needs fangs this sharp and drive so brutal as to hurt the one he loves?

“I am who I always was meant to be.” Cazador stops before you and hesitates for just a fraction of a second before he rises his hand and gently strokes the side of your face. But you don’t see anything in his eyes that you recognize. “It was my destiny, my future. Didn’t I tell you?” Here is that mockery again, like you’re just a dumb little elven girl frolicking among flowers and know nothing.

You don’t know how to answer, not right away, and the longer you remain quiet, the more impatient Cazador grows. His touch stops being gentle, becoming an increasingly more brutal grip and you know, somehow you know, that if you don’t push him away you will get hurt far worse than what just a rough coupling already brought you.

Without thinking but simply reacting, you move your hand backwards and snatch the handle of a dagger, swinging it back and then at him, at the man you love, at the man who doesn’t seem to love you back anymore. Teeth clenched and with a grunt you put all of the strength you have in you to bring the weapon down, aiming not for his heart or neck or face, but for the shoulder, hoping that it will make Cazador back off. But before you hit your mark, your wrist is snatched, grasped and held in the air. Your hand trembles and you look at Cazador, blood painting his lips unnaturally scarlet.

“Cazador…” You whisper and tears fill your eyes again. For some reason, in this frozen moment of time, you hear the rain outside so loud like it’s pouring down from the ceiling of the bedroom. Cazador just looks at you, like you’re some pathetic warrior that has fallen beneath his blade and he begins squeezing your wrist so hard that you muscles begin to tremble. And then-

Snap.

With a cry you drop the dagger and Cazador releases your wrist, letting you cradle it and the broken bones against your chest. Tears of pain stream down your face but your eyes become furious and agonized at the same time. The betrayal hurts more than a broken wrist. It would probably hurt less if he drove your very own dagger into your heart.

“This is the last time you will see me.” Suddenly Cazador repeats, watching your hunched, tense yet fragile looking form hold your throbbing hand to your chest, with tears glistening upon your face. “Be grateful for that.”

He turns, stepping over the dagger on the floor and walks away.

“Cazador!” You call after him. Nothing makes sense and the pain begins to cloud your mind. You barely see through the tears in your eyes and you don’t know anymore if you’re crying because of pain in your wrist or in your very soul. “Cazador talk to me!” You rise your voice but the door still opens and he leaves, not even bothering to close it after him.

And you stand there, in the empty room with candles still gently flickering and the rain still hitting the windows, with your wrist hurting like hells and with your vision swimming from tears. You stand there and you call after him again. “Cazador!”

But no reply comes and the footsteps quickly fade as they descend down the staircase. You inhale with a sob and then lower your head, clenching your teeth. This time not because your broken bones are aflame with agony, not because your body hurts or your neck, but because your broken heart feels like it just split in two.

You stand and you sob, letting your tears drop onto the carpet beneath your feet. You sob.

And then you scream.

[tropicalsteppe]

sylven

[eclipian]

Sylveon Headmates

pt: sylveon headmates

reminder beings will almost definitely not turn out exactly as described, and these can be edited and changed as needed.

divider credit + divider credit

Name: Sylveon , Pink , Rose , Idoline , Oliva , Indie , Star , Nova

Age: ChronoPoké High Level

Pronouns: She/Her , Shu/Hur , Shy/Hyr , Sha/Har , Shx/Hxr , They/Them , Thy/Thym , Thuy/Thum , Thxy/Thxm , Thay/Tham , It/Its , Ix/Ixs , Iz/Izs , Xe/Xem , Ae/Aer , Cae/Caer , Dae/Daer , Thon/Thons , One/Ones , Lvl/Lvls , Evo/Evolution , Pink/Pinks , Idol/Idols , Pop/Pops

Gender: Transfem/Evofem , Kit , Strawberry Milk , Pokémongender , Exemgender , Pidgeyhoarder , Sylveonfuckoff , Sylvefem , Sylveonial , Sylvenic , Sylveonthing , Sylveonlexic , Sylveic , Sylveonlike , Sylveoncute , Pinkcute , PinkBluLovic , Pipaletten , Pokecomfic , Phosfairitypial , Ulosagender , Contestpokeic , Idolish , Idolcutie , Idolfem , Pinkidolic , Idolbeing

Attraction: Gaybian , Alteraffectis , Pokéffectis , Petaffectis

Other IDs: Pokemate , Pokepectic , Pokébased , Dissopokémon , Pokémon Hearthic , Pokeperspesque , Pokélovi , Alderpink , DissoAMABTransfem , Pokémon Team , Pokédomus , Dissoidol , Idolvalper , Idolsensus , Idolvior

Species: Sylveon

Role: Sister Figure , Celebrity , Socializer

Aesthetics: Kidcore , Nostalgiacore , Pastel

Name: Sylveon , Blue , Ocean , Boutique , Fashion , Oliver , Ollie , Charlie , Coco

Age: ChronoPoké High Level

Pronouns: He/Him , Hy/Hym , Hu/Hum , Ha/Hay , Hx/Hxm , They/Them , Thy/Thym , Thuy/Thum , Thxy/Thxm , Thay/Tham , It/Its , Ix/Ixs , Iz/Izs , Xe/Xem , Ae/Aer , Cae/Caer , Dae/Daer , Thon/Thons , One/Ones , Lvl/Lvls , Evo/Evolution , Blue/Blues , Fashion/Fashions , Style/Styles

Gender: Transmasc/Evomasc , Lotus , Blue Raspberry Soda , Pokémongender , Exemgender , Pidgeyhoarder , Sylveonfuckoff , Sylvemasc , Sylveonial , Sylvenic , Sylveonthing , Sykveonlexic , Sylveic , Sylveonlike , Sylveoncute , ShinySylveric , Bluecute , PinkBluLovic , Blupaletten , Bluelexic , Lightbluegender , Pokecomfic , Phosfairitypial , Ulosagender , Invipinkskirtbow , Femfashionstar

Attraction: Gaybian , Alteraffectis , Pokéffectis , Petaffectis

Other IDs: Pokemate , Pokepectic , Pokébased , Dissopokémon , Pokémon Hearthic , Pokeperspesque , Pokélovi , Alderblue , DissoAFABTransmasc , Pokémon Team , Pokédomus , Fashion Designer Occuden , Dissoclothes

Species: Shiny Sylveon

Role: Brother Figure , Set Decorator , Socializer

Aesthetics: Kidcore , Nostalgiacore , Pastel

pt: name , age , pronouns , gender , attraction , other ids , species , role , aesthetics

artist credit + tag: @bahtive

[cillyscribbles]

hello, cousin

[velvetalliances-if]

House Marleaux

House Marleaux holds a strategic geographical position , found in the center of the empire the province is a hub for merchants and traders of all kinds, this along with their vast fertile land makes them an incredibly wealthy province.

Oraince Marleaux:

Lady Oraine Marleaux is practical where others seek power through force or flattery, Oriane traffics in leverage. She knows the value of a season’s yield, a sealed contract, or a well-placed whisper far better than she knows the warmth of a public embrace. Her success is rooted in subtlety: fostering loyalty through patronage, silence through favors, and peace through pressure.

She knows her position as ruler of one of the empire's most prosperous provinces is a position of great honor but even more so responsibility. Every action made by her house will always be looked at through a more critical lens, and expects her children to carry on a legacy of greatness.

Renard Marleaux:

Renard Marleaux is a man shaped by legacy, born to a powerful merchant family he provided house Marleaux, no alliances but plants of gold and even more trading partners. He is gentle where Oriane is cunning, warm where she is cool, and devoted without ever being docile.

He knows the world sees him as the consort, the steward, the banker. And he is content with that. His strength lies in connection with people, their land, their needs, and most of all their money. He walks their holdings often, learns names, soothes disputes, and listens more than he speaks.

Sylven Marleaux, 26:

Trained from birth Sylven was raised to be the perfect gentleman, he speaks multiple languages, has studied diplomacy under imperial scholars, and knows how to smile through anything. Sylven is calculated in all he does, he knows how to be kind, how to be desirable, how to twist a truth with just enough sincerity to get into peoples good graces. He plays the long game, and he plays it well. 

Céline Marleaux, 21 - RO:

Céline has mastered the art of smiling through the storm. The second born of House Marleaux, she is the emotional caretaker of her busy family. She is warm, generous, and always first to offer a solution, a shoulder, or a soothing white lie to smooth things over.

You have met her on a number of occasions and you will be able to set your previous attitude towards her. No matter how your MC treats her she will always even in the worst of times attempt to extend an olive branch with a soft smile.

Physical Description

Lucien Marleaux. 19:

Lucien feels most alive on horseback, in duels, or lost in the company of people who don’t know his name. He’s had conflict with stable hands and nobles alike, and while he rarely means to cause scandal, he rarely avoids it either.

Bastien Marleaux, 13:

Bastien is small, clever, and utterly disarming. With his wide eyes and sticky fingers, he is the source of mischief on the estate, responsible for everything from jam-smeared treaties to accidentally locking foreign dignitaries in pantries.

Old Lady Mirelle Marleaux:

Lady Mirelle Marleaux is all charm and laughter on the outside, but those who’ve crossed her know better. Now well into her twilight years, Mirelle has retired from public life, mostly. She spends her days among her orchard trees, “advising” from a wicker chair that somehow holds more political weight than most council thrones.

Her rivalry with Lady Maerena Rovathar is the stuff of court legend, a long-standing cold war of sharp-tongued banter, public one-upmanship, and cutting remarks over tea. Mirelle calls it “a lively correspondence between two wise women.” Maerena, famously, refers to her as “that painted vulture in the orchard.”