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[katia-dreamer]

cooler version of that last post from the wip stages

[katia-dreamer]

parenting

[katia-dreamer]

Mad with boop power! I felt inspired.

[katia-dreamer]

Architects of our demise: Chapter 6

Breaking News: white academic forced to endure nature. Champion of death comments, 'He's being very brave about it'. More at 6.

“And you’re sure?” Percival presses. 

“Yeah, yeah. Of course!”

She does not ask what he’s not sure of. 

(There are a great many that Percival could list: is she certain this oasis is that way? Can she be sure they can leave the Grey Huntress here unattended? Will they make it there alive?)

The last few days have been uneventful; no signs of even a performative chase by peacekeepers, light rain at worst, and little in the way of stimulating conversation between him and Vex’ahlia. She is certainly friendly, and approachable, but after the last attempt he is happy enough to have his space on the ship. They are partners in this grim and blasphemous business, and little more. 

At least there is enough trust for them to sleep properly, taking shifts in the cabin’s plush bed. Percival finds her sleeping restlessly more often than not, eyes darting beneath her eyelids. When he lays down, the sheets are only faintly warm where she was, and smell of subtle flowers he cannot name.

It has all left room for Percival to drive himself up the wall - or up the mast, as it were - with stress. Because he is throwing himself into the wilderness at the heels of a barely-not-stranger.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, feeling the deed crystal carefully. That accounted for he fingers his holstered guns, flicks his thumb over his palm to assure himself the residuum is charged. (Not the least bit reassured, if that was not obvious.) 

Vex’ahlia seems to catch on. Or, no - she likely picked up on his unease twenty minutes ago and is only now taking pity. She lopes back from inspecting what she claimed is a path. 

“Percy,” she implores, “I trusted you to guide us through Aeor. This is my favored terrain; I’ve been doing this for a hundred years.” Bouncing on her heels, she adds, “Anyways! I can always ask my brother if we’re on the right path. Call it a Champion’s intuition.”

Asking for directions is the opposite of intuition. Percival narrows his eyes. She winks. He narrows them further. “Would he help, though? You said this was your goal, not his.”

Does the Reaper Prince even want to resume mortality? It hadn’t occurred to him to consider this, so wrapped up in Vex’ahlia’s wholehearted dedication to this path. But… if this was wanted, why has the god not helped her? 

“I’m not sure,” she admits. Which, admittedly, lends weight to how sure she is of the rest of this venture. “I mean - maybe he knows and just isn’t stopping me, or maybe he doesn’t. I don’t think he’d let me get lost in the jungle, though.”

… This is going to be even more difficult than anticipated.

Prologue | Keep reading on AO3!

[katia-dreamer]

Architect of our demise: Chapter 5

Scheduling, chores, and discussions of religious desecration over black coffee. Such is the routine aboard a skyship.

The Grey Huntress sighs, as if in awe of the proceedings. The floor tilts beneath their feet as she rocks in the wind.

Percival knots his fingers together. He would like to think about this. He probably does not have nearly as much time to think as much as he would like. Not just yet, with Vex’ahlia watching him in the low light. Despite how still she stands her chest trembles and heaves in turn - trying desperately to keep a lid on her emotions. 

He gives himself until she’s evened out her breathing. Perilous little time, but enough to get to the heart of the issue:

“So,” he says. Her ears twitch. “This is… a lot.”

Vex’ahlia croaks a laugh. “You’re telling me.”

There are so many questions to ask. But Percival has enough tact to know he can only offer a few before she walls up this wound again. Best avoid the painful bits and stick to business.

(Why? Did the ritual go wrong? Why? So she’s over a hundred years old? Why? Is her bond to death strengthened by their relationship? Why? Why achieve godhood only to want to revoke it?)

“If I am, ah, understanding you correctly: you stuck close to me in the hopes I would know how you could undo the Reaper - your brother’s godhood?” She nods. “Without… wiping him from reality, as the ritual did to his predecessor?” Another nod. “And, hm. Putting him in an aeormaton?”

This time she shrugs. “I mean? Not necessarily,” she says. Her voice is weaker than she’d like; it comes out stronger as she continues: “I just want him back. And - well, his body is… a whole thing. So that makes more sense.

“And I understand,” she’s quick to add, “if - you said it can’t be done. Couldn’t, with your family.”

But the god of death is not dead. 

But the god of death is not a nobody, a soul like no other. 

Her optimism is sensible. But Percival keeps himself from flinching nonetheless. 

And yet - and yet! Sore as he may be, he is wired, humming with energy so vicious he might shock himself. Without a spark of magic he carved enchantment into being, leylines writ small. He, a mortal man, is creator of thousands, made not by messy biology or unknowable divinity but his own hand. Five names, a list of people too powerful to touch, and he had killed four and ensured no mage would ever feel so untouchable again.

What would the world look like, without a deity to mind death? Unshackled from fate? What if the Reaper Prince’s iron grip on his loom, cutting frayed threads, was not there to deny his family’s return? 

There is the one snag of his entire laboratory having gone up in smoke. And that he failed, before. But science is a ladder; perhaps this was the one wrung missing to reach his family’s hands and pull them out of the heavens.

They’ve been in the ship’s hold for a time, now. The thought of leaving the wheel unattended unsettles him; Percival stands, brushing dust and metal shavings from his coat. Some sticks. Ugh, he’d forgotten about the blood.

“... I can’t give you an answer just yet.” It comes out more gently than expected. “However, it’s - frankly, this is too tantalizing a prospect to not consider. Will he - the Warden of Ravens - try to stop you? Stop this?”

“I don’t know. But I know him - I know him,” she insists. “He won’t help, because he’s - such a dutiful shit about things. But I have to try.”

He understands that perfectly well.

Prologue | Keep reading on AO3!

[katia-dreamer]

i am trying new stuff

[katia-dreamer]

[ID in Alt Text]

studies of rembrandt peale that turned into this guy

[katia-dreamer]

“Supplicant.”

Or, The Chariot and The Tower.

[katia-dreamer]

Revelation

When Vex dips her hands in the stream, the water is so cold that it almost stings. She ignores the discomfort as she cups her palms and splashes her face. She is about to reach down again when she hears a rustle from the woods behind her. She hastily dries her hands on her tunic and reaches for her bow. 

Percy walks into her line of sight. His pace is brisk and sure. He’s wearing nothing but a white shirt and trousers. Though his holster is on his leg, he still looks vulnerable, and his face looks slightly shocked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

“I needed to get away for a moment,” she says. 

“Ah, I see. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. There’s more than enough water for two.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” He removes his gloves and tucks them into his trouser pockets. “Moments of privacy are rare. I don’t want to interrupt yours.”

“You aren’t.”

Percy gives an affirmative hum as he squats down next to her.  He’s close enough that she can see the stubble on his jaw. To her utter surprise, he unties his shirt just a little. As the fabric falls apart, moonlight dances like fingers of silver on his skin. Then Percy rolls up his sleeves, exposing quite lovely forearms.

Her mouth goes dry, and heat blossoms in her cheeks. She’s blushing! Fucking blushing!

“Are you all right, Percy?” she asks to distract herself. 

“I am. Are you?”

“Of course,” she answers too quickly. 

“Good.”  Percy looks at the stream and then back at her. “Will you hold my glasses for a moment?”

“Yes.”

Percy removes his glasses, and their hands brush as she reaches out to take them. His skin is warm and mostly soft, but there are a few calluses that have utterly delicious potential. Their eyes meet, and she can’t help but notice how much younger he looks like this. Yet the intensity of his gaze and his focus are the same. Her heart skips a beat.

He bends down to the stream and splashes his face. He instantly splutters, “Fuck, that’s cold! Why didn’t you warn me?”

She watches droplets fall down his cheeks, past his jaw, and along his neck. At that moment, something wild flows through her veins, and she reaches into the water and splashes him. It hits him more haphazardly than she intended, getting his shirt and hair wet. 

“Oops.”

Percy blinks once, then wipes his hand across his face. “That’s what I get for trusting you.”

“Sorry,” she hides a small smile. “You can splash me back if you want. I won’t fight back.”

“While that offer is tempting, I have to refuse,” he pauses. “I’ll simply get my revenge when you least expect it.”

“Is that a threat?” 

“It’s a promise.”

She laughs so hard that her shoulders shake and her stomach aches. Percy laughs, too, and the smile looks good on him.

Vox Machina has seen many sides of Percy, but this moment is hers alone.

And it’s a damn revelation.

[katia-dreamer]

Happy Appreciate a Dragon Day!

[katia-dreamer]

no mercy percy ✨️

[katia-dreamer]

The mini dinos are proud of you! ♡

Chibird store | Positive pin club | Instagram

[katia-dreamer]

Night ✨Gown

Just want to paint all the translucent things~

[katia-dreamer]

A huntress sculpture in the forest woven from willow branches

[katia-dreamer]

Ohara Koson,

Flycatcher and Rose Mallow, 1932.

[katia-dreamer]

[katia-dreamer]

she observes my offerings