#☆ shoh oc

[chouettecrivaine]

dead woman walking

Fandom: @shepherds-of-haven ! A little drabble of my MC who I have grown unexpectedly attached to and now she dances around in my head all of the time

Characters: Trouble/OC

Notes: 1.6k, angst, depressing introspection, the world's most OVERDRAMATIC girl has the most OVERDRAMATIC kiss

Summary: Lark has decided that the best course of action is to go on the mission alone, even if fatality is certain. She plans to leave in the middle of the night when nobody can stop her, but first there are some feelings she needs to put to rest.

Even if the trip from her room to Trouble's was familiar, Lark couldn't help but slow her steps as reticence pulled against her on every step. The magelights lining the hallway, for once, didn't seem as warm and homey as before - instead, Lark could only focus on that one spot of darkness between each fixture. It didn't matter how far the warm light stretched; the shadows always made their way to her.

She stopped just outside the door to Trouble's room, standing perfectly still and taking a deep breath. In the stillness, time didn't exist to her. Lark could pretend that she wasn't heading off to her final battle, a one-woman army marching straight into extinction. Maybe this was the battle she was created for - or maybe she was damning everyone by throwing herself away when she knew her reality couldn't be remade. Either way, the thought hollowed out her body and filled it with ice, the way she had been before. Somehow, Lark always knew she was going to die alone. At least this way, she could save anybody that she had tricked into caring for her from riding straight into the maws of death for her sake.

Lark had made peace with it, as much as she could. Her time in the Shepherds had reminded her all too well how to want to live, but blind hope wasn't something she had been able to afford for a while. This was her last stand, and she could accept that. It was bound to happen eventually in this line of work. There was just one thing she needed to do - one box left to check - before she could leave her loose ends in the hands of others.

Finally composed, Lark turned and knocked on the solid door, each in rapid succession of the last. Her heart thundered in her chest, pounding against her ribcage and rising into her throat with every beat. Her mouth went dry, though she couldn't figure out exactly why. She heard a soft shuffling on the other side of the door and forced herself to swallow, determined to keep up with her own façade. 

Trouble opened the door, more alert than Lark had expected, and gave her a friendly once-over. Despite not being bleary-eyed and half asleep, he still blinked a few times as if to make sure it was Lark in front of him. Easily, he smiled at her, unsuccessful in keeping his gaze covert as it lingered on her untied hair. During the day, Lark kept it in two braids circled around her head and pinned closely to her skull. She only ever kept her hair down when she was sleeping, and the few times Trouble had seen it, he'd been silently fascinated. Without fail, the attention would send a wave of excitement through her body, but now her apprehension was too strong for even that to shine through. Still, she smiled back at him.

"What're you doing here, Birdie?" Trouble asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. He only stood there for a moment before hurrying to make room for Lark. "Oh, I mean, you're welcome to come in. If you want."

Lark shook her head. "No, that's alright. I just needed to tell you something important."

Though he kept the mood light, Lark noticed how Trouble's face immediately softened. She noticed that when he was happy to see her - so, normally - his eyes seemed to sparkle as if the golden rings around his pupils were pure ore. Now, everything was warm seawater and honey. "Of course. You can tell me anything."

Lark's heart stopped beating, only to grow so quickly she thought it might burst out of her chest. God, she wanted to stay. An overwhelming affection flooded her senses, choking her up and forcing her feelings to well behind her eyes. Lark gripped at her nightshirt, trying to blink away the tears before they became too obvious. She thought heartbreak was supposed to be a shattering of glass as someone tossed her heart aside; maybe it could be your own heart tearing at the seams and spilling out all the love you were foolish enough to hide, too.

"Well, I have to tell you the second half later." At the end of her sentence, her voice trembled, and she covered it up with a shaky laugh. Trouble didn't seem to notice.

"Alright, then what's the first half?"

A beat of silence passed.

Then another.

Lark wasn't normally the type to be at a loss for words. She never felt comfortable unless she had a plan at hand to lie her way out of - or into - a situation. But Trouble made her honest, and the truth didn't seem survivable in that moment. Not if it was to be spoken aloud in a voice that would hurt Trouble the most.

So she stepped forward instead, brought her hands to his face, and pulled him down to her height so she could kiss him.

For a brief, terrifying second, Trouble went entirely rigid. Lark couldn't tell if he was staring at her, bewildered, or if his brow was furrowed as he tried to figure out how he got in that position. It didn't matter, because both were endearing, and neither would have stayed for long. His surprise melted away and his arms wrapped around her back, holding her close against his body. Lark almost sagged in relief.

Beneath her gentle hands, she felt his face gradually warm, certainly a few shades darker than before. In fact, she could feel his warmth all over, radiating from him and almost burning where their skin touched. In this moment, she could have anything she wanted, and she could delude herself into thinking it would last. In this moment, Lark was safe. Loved.

She wasn't ready for Trouble to pull away, yet he did. It was only an inch, and the many questions he undoubtedly had died on his tongue, but she could feel it. The ground was fracturing beneath her, and reality was swallowing her whole. Lark could only think of two things, and their certainty dug into her like claws: she loved him, and she was going to die.

So, even if it was selfish, she pressed her lips against his again, desperate and rough and scared. This kind of emotion, passionate and raw, was more up Trouble's alley. He kept her ferocity, yet held her with the care he'd give glass, like she was to be wrapped up and kept safe forever. Maybe he should've. Or maybe he should have kissed her breathless. It would have been a far kinder fate - but her fate was never meant to be kind.

Lark hoped that he could tell in the way she held his face, in the ease with which she leaned into him. If she was worth protecting, he was worth cherishing, and even if she never said it she hoped he knew. Trouble was always dense, but he had his moments. Now that she realized simply wanting him wasn't enough, had never been enough, there was nothing she could do but hope he was getting it now, and ignore her desire to stay ripping through her soul.

When they parted for a second time, neither of them said anything as they tried to catch their breath. Lark kept her lips parted, knowing that if she closed them it would be too obvious that she was trembling. Trouble didn't realize it,but even through his crimson fluster he was positively giddy. It was almost enough to convince Lark to stay.

But that was dangerous thinking. So she slowly untangled herself from him, her fingertips trailing down his shoulders and to his arms until there was nowhere left untouched. As he sorted his thoughts, Trouble's arms fell slack to his sides, a metal filament falling when the magnet attracting it moved away. Lark bit her tongue.

"So, uh…what does…this mean?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck if only for something to do. Bashfulness wasn’t something Trouble was well acquainted with, yet he couldn’t look Lark in the eyes all the same. 

“That’s the second half,” She answered quietly. “I’ll have to tell you later.”

Trouble narrowed his eyes in the way he did when he knew Lark was keeping something from him. Void of any heat or anger, it was more of a way to make her feel guilty than get her to actually admit anything. But he let it go. This was something they had been dancing around for a long time; a little while longer wouldn’t hurt.

Clearing her throat, Lark reluctantly backed away from Trouble and towards the door, keeping her eyes on him. It was difficult to swallow and even harder to breathe, yet she twisted the handle anyway. The hallway air rushed in, cold enough to send goosebumps down her arm. The moment she left this room, it’d be the beginning of the end.

Just before she turned around completely, Trouble interrupted her. Looking at him over her shoulder, Lark could tell that he was worried about her. “You can stay, if you want. You’ve done it before.”

An arrow of regret shot through her chest. “No thanks. I need some time to calm down.”

Trouble chuckled at that, muttering something small and proud about the effect he seemed to have on her. Then, lifting his head, he nodded once and let Lark take two steps backwards, his gaze undeniably fond. “I’ll collect you tomorrow, then. We can go to breakfast together.”

Lark nodded once, firmly, and put on her best, brightest smile. “I’d like that.”

It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. She would like that.

If only she’d be alive to do it.

[aylaaescar]

Whenever I'm alone with you You make me feel like I am home again Whenever I'm alone with you You make me feel like I am whole again

Ayla Aescar ( @shepherds-of-haven ) and my own MC/Brightburner, Tysinno Maratis, as drawn by the wonderful and incredibly talented @serahlink. :') OTP of OTPs at the moment, I could talk about them for days if given half a chance and I'm not afraid to do it

if you're looking for an artist to commission, I can't recommend Link enough! he's amazingly talented and a delight to work with, and the money goes to the worthwhile cause of keeping his family afloat 🖤💕🖤

[snowthornes]

SHEPHERDS OF HAVEN | @shepherds-of-haven HEADSHOT ART | @yuuugay

✦ The Godless Brightburner

— Rend the world in winter's wrath.

The magic of Aetherai relies heavily on energy and emotions to increase the intensity of their spells. Without them, spells would be rendered weak or ineffectual, losing their force and impact; what should be great gusts of wind would become gentle puffs of air. - Notes by Thorne Briers, scribbled on a worn out journal.

On the battlefield, Thorne is akin to a howling blizzard.

The smooth and unfazed demeanor he typically affects is nowhere to be seen. His movements are swift, powerful, and brutally efficient: leaping and dodging with a jagged elegance reminiscent of an icicle broken from a frozen cave mouth. There's a flash of silver as he swiftly drags the bowstring all the way back to his cheek; a sliver of a second; then the silent scream of an arrow hurtling through the air, meeting its target with vicious accuracy.

There's a razor glint of claws and he abruptly rolls back, dodging a near-fatal blow. He springs back to his feet and responds with a barrage of howling magical energy — magic that twists into hurricanes of wind and frost, knife-like icicles that rend the flesh and freeze the limbs. The storm responds to his escalating vehemence, singing with approval as it cuts and dances and destroys, obediently following his every command.

Power and emotion flood his veins like water bursting out of a dam. His blood sings with an almost feral glee. Fury and longing, grief and defiance, silver-bright intelligence and dagger-sharp cunning, a mask always hiding, concealing, performing a one-man masquerade of hollowed music and elegant smiles, shattered faith and deadened hope, sunlight thawing a winter's chill, love and loss and laughter and hands reaching out—

Beneath the blood and dust that cling to his face, storm gray eyes blaze with a sharp, glacial, light.

✦ The Mage's Phantasms

— A thousand colors to a name.

Truth be told, I'm not sure how to feel. I came to Haven hoping to find employment and perhaps enter the merchant trade, but ended up landing in the lap of the Shepherds instead. This is my reality now. While I'm not too thrilled about it, I have no choice but to continue down this path I've inexplicably stepped on — though I have no interest in being a hero and sacrificing myself on the front lines. Perhaps I'll transfer to a non-combatant position in the future. I shall fade safely into the Order's background soon enough. Then, I can return to pursuing my previous ambitions. - Entry by Thorne Briers, scribbled in a worn out journal. Written after his inititation to the Shepherds. Miscellaneous trade and business notes are jotted down on the rest of the page. It's an entry that he often views with a look of both irony and nostalgia.

Notes on Shepherd Thorne Briers, ranging from the startlingly mundane to the undeniably vital. The author is unknown.

➸ Thorne stands at 5'11". He typically carries himself with an air of grace and elegance, mannerisms painstakingly absorbed from the aristocrats and merchants he used to watch from the distance as a child. His movements notably become more erratic and excitable when around those he wholeheartedly trusts — something that he had never found until joining the Shepherds. 🌠

➸ He can be overly apathetic to the plights of strangers. He's seen too much, done too much to be easily moved by compassion or emotion. Though he's capable of giving comfort and reassurance when the situation calls for it, he would rather use detached pragmatism to assess a situation rather than give in to 'pointless' emotions such as pity and distress. One could say that he almost recoils from genuinely emotional displays — though he hides it well.

Only those close to him know of this particular aspect of his nature, however. He usually keeps it well-concealed beneath a gleaming veneer of carefully chosen words and expressions, knowing that his true nature might work against him during missions. Whether or not this makes him insincere is up to the judgement of others. 🌠

➸ Avoids making grand promises or heroic declarations. While Thorne is quite adept at manipulating a situation to his favor, there is something quite odd about him: his aversion to making direct promises. Hope can be such a light, fragile thing, and it can be so easy to give; yet when it is promised to someone only to be taken away, it can break them. He can't. He wont. Thorne doesn't trust himself. He doesn't trust himself to be this so-called hero. He will meander, he will laugh, and he will tell you that he'll be back, in his own roundabout way — but he will never ask you to trust that he'll succeed. Not yet, anyway. 🌠

➸ Possesses a vehement aversion to religion itself. Contrary to what one might think, Thorne actually thinks it's very likely that gods do exist in some shape or form. He just has absolutely no interest in worshiping them; one could even say that he despises the thought of it. It's a stark contrast to his childhood, when he would worship and pray to the One-God with his parents. The very mention of faith and religion — especially that of the One-God — can have him inwardly recoiling as he bites back the scathing words threatening to spill from his lips.

Very, very few know about it, however. Only those he implicitly trusts have been allowed to catch glimpses of the cold vitriol that he holds towards the gods — and even they don't know just how deep it runs. (Yes, he didn't take the kithma revelation very well, and still has very mixed feelings about it. Despite that, he had to grudgingly admit that it made more sense than not.) 🌠

➸ He can be unexpectedly honest when it comes to those he holds dear. Though it clearly takes him some visible effort, Thorne won't shy away from telling a friend all the reasons why he holds them in high regard. If he plucks up the nerve, he'll bluntly tell them of how important they are to him — all while wearing the flat expression of a frog about to leap into boiling water. He'll immediately find an excuse to flee after saying his piece, face prickling with rare heat all the while. 🌠

➸ Loves accessorizing and embellishing his clothes! Before joining the Shepherds, Thorne would diligently set aside a part of his earnings to spend on his more fashionable pursuits. He especially liked embroidering delicate patterns and designs on his clothes, a hobby he continued even after joining the Order. He often tests the bounds of the Order's rules by embroidering subtle yet tasteful patterns onto his Shepherd's cloak, much to Blade's consternation. 🌠

➸ It's ridiculously easy to make him laugh when among friends, a fact that has surprised many — including Thorne himself. Even the saddest joke can coax a snort of laughter from him, though he tries to explain it away with something along the lines of, "the pathetic air of it makes it funny, why are you looking at me like that—". The recruits have long grown accustomed to seeing him doubled over with laughter during breakfast over something Chase had said, sometimes choking on his honeyed milk in the process. 🌠

➸ His moral compass has been slowly (and reluctantly) shifting after joining the Shepherds. Unfortunately, the environment Thorne was given at the Shepherds Order made it all too easy to foster compassion. For the first time, he has allies, confidantes, friends — people he can genuinely trust to watch his back. It was slow, and it was gradual, but the veneer of ice and stone he kept around his heart was softening.

The pivotal moment was in Chapter Five, when Thorne had to choose between following the mission or letting Nathe win. While Thorne could bluff that he'd only allowed Nathe to win because he'd figured that Briony would make for a powerful ally, he knew in his heart of hearts that it was a lie. In that moment, as he stared into Nathe's eyes, he'd simply wanted the elf to reunite with his family. 🌠

➸ He's actually incredibly emotional (and dramatic) despite the way he doggedly conducts himself with an apathetic pragmatism. Thorne can be indifferently cold when it comes to matters of compassion. Overly rational, even. But one could say that it was a steel born out of necessity; an iron will carved out of what was once a gentle heart in order to survive alone in a world teetering on the brink of madness.

To love is to be left; it is what he has learned in his years of wandering the world alone. To rely on faith is weakness. To believe in hope is foolishness. What was once laughter and camarederie will eventually bleed into farewells and betrayals.

To love is to be left. Never again. Never again. 🌠

➸ He is afraid. He is afraid of losing everything. The more he comes to care for the Shepherds (his comrades, friends, family, even), the more terrified he becomes of losing them. The more he grows to love them with all the fierceness and softness and everything in his heart, the more he becomes afraid of driving them away. He is no hero. He is no light. He is a charlatan, full of anger and grief and so much hate that he cannot speak into the world. Hope is a word that burns at his touch. When he looks into the mirror, all he can see is a scarred visage of disappointment — a liar masquerading as a hero. 🌠

✦ Afterword

First of all. If you've actually, somehow, managed to reach the end of this monstrously long post and are somehow reading this. Thank you. So much. So very much. Also I might be on the verge of proposing (🥺🥺🥺💍💍💍) Ahead is a little afterword about Thorne and the Godless Brightburner snippet.

Thorne is a heavily flawed character — and an incredibly emotional one at that. Despite how he usually conducts himself — pragmatic, cunning, calculating, and all that jazz — he feels his every emotion like a raging howl of sleet and storm.

He used to be a child who loved the world and everything in it. He was Westwood's beloved ray of sunshine, the mayor's precocious son. It was the... events of his thirteenth birthday and his experiences as a solitary Diminished that hardened him, that turned him into the reverse of what he once was.

A bleeding heart is a weakness: so Thorne closed his heart and turned the wound into a jagged scar. There were far too many people out there who would use a naive, wide-eyed Diminished for their own gain — he learned this very quickly. He rejected his compassion, despised his own emotions, and turned himself into someone so coldly pragmatic that the boy he once was became naught but another painful memory.

It's why he has so much mixed feelings for the Shepherds, especially in the first half of the story. By then, the only one he was concerned about was himself — or so he claimed. And, if he were to be honest, he didn't consider himself very worthy of living. He didn't even know why he fought so hard to survive; why he was willing to go so far. Perhaps it was anger. Perhaps it was defiance. Or perhaps it was atonement: continuing his hazy existence in exchange for the home he had eradicated so long ago.

You could say that he's very similar to the embittered Hunters that Halek often criticizes. Those who were disillusioned by their banishment so subsequently refused to help with the demon problem. It's why doesn't really get along with the more... openly compassionate members of the order — at least not at first. All the "make the world a better place" and "protect the innocent" talk would only ever earn flatly unimpressed looks from him.

Over the course of the game, he starts to soften. Slowly, hesitantly, his view of the world starts to gentle. He becomes more open to helping others, more willing to express his true emotions instead of hiding them under a veneer of charming smiles and calculated words. He's still wary of promises and heroics, but a part of him is gradually entertaining the thought of a future soaked in sunlight rather than in shadow. Of a future where he could be happy.

Thorne's journey is one of change and new beginnings: of learning to trust others as you learn to trust yourself. He is flawed. He is frustrating. Sometimes even I want to throttle him. He shuns emotions while he drowns in them. He will conflict with the Shepherds in the order. And, yes, he has a massive case of Impostor Syndrome when it comes to his status as Hero of Haven. But he will change, and he will grow. And I'm very, very excited to see it. 🫡✨

Another thing! If the "Godless Brightburner" snippet felt familar to you, then you'd be spot on! That section was actually inspired by something from the SHOH alpha demo — it's one of my favorite passages from the game ever. I've put it just below, so beware of MINOR SPOILERS!!

(I'll be honest: this passage made me cry. Like, I was full on sniffling my heart out. I don't know why. I don't know how. But it felt so regretful. Like the hollow echo of something that once was. Vibrant and brilliant and ephemeral and gone.)

When I first read this passage, I was floored. Sniffling aside, it was just... brimming with so much life. "His essence poured into the ring". Lena had done just that. With one passage alone, the very essence of a man long gone had been given shape in strokes of heartbreaking color.

It stuck with me for a very long time — and still has. The world of SHOH has made me cry many, many, times (I will probably ramble about them in the future as well, I apologize in advance 😔) (also yes the Thurl chapter was a DOOZY) but this just... stuck. It's an incredibly beautiful peace of writing, and I never tire of it no matter how many times I reread it.

Therefore, I was inspired to do something similar for Thorne! His essence — what would it feel like? What song would it sing unto the world, if it could?

The Godless Brightburner is supposed to be about showing Thorne's very essence. The Mage's Phantasms, meanwhile, was only supposed to contain little bits and pieces about Thorne. But I think I got a bit carried away there. That section is nowhere near little. 🗿

Aaaand, that's all. Thank you so much for reading this far, and I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed making it!! The world of SHOH is so breathtakingly crafted, its characters so beautifully alive — I'm glad I got to give Thorne his own special place within its seams.

Thank you very much to Yuki @yuuugay for making Thorne's portrait!! I am very KSDHGJKLSDG about him and everytime I look at him I lose the ability to speech 🥺🥺🥺 You've made him so, so beautiful — thank you! You've made me so incredibly happy!

Lastly, thank you to @shepherds-of-haven for commissioning this template for us: I had a lot of fun wandering through Blest with Thorne! Exploring the world of SHOH was an experience, one with a ton of tears, dismayed yelps, and laughter. Thank you so, so much for sharing it with us. I'm looking forward to seeing how the rest of this journey unfolds together. 🥺💖

Have a very good day, and I hope you all have just as much (if not more) fun as I did on your own playthroughs and template-filling endeavors! Good luck, and thank you again!! 💖🫡💐✨

[tacticallyplaced-chaos]

finished with final exams!! 🎉🎉 and also art/sketch dump from last week and during this week

definitely shouldn’t tried to came up with concept designs for eris’s weapons while studying for exams but it work out i think.

[marzely]

Solie is a workaholic and has passed out on a few occasions due to exhaustion and I know in my heart that the first time Solie passed out in the field Trouble and Briony lied down next to her.

These are characters and my MC from the if @shepherds-of-haven please if you have somehow not heard of or played it before do yourself a favor and play that demo its worth it.

[kris-mage-fics]

1,3, 4, 24 and 25 for Kyrahlise and Blade for the OCxLI OTP asks!

When I saw your ask I had to do a double-take, because I figured that you’d ask about Kyrah and Chase! But Kyrahlise and Blade are fun too! And so frustrating before they get together, lol! Now, without further adieu, here are the answers to the Romance Asks *dramatically gestures towards the answers*

1. What drew your character to their LI and vice versa?

Blade was drawn to Kyrahlise because she’s kind, hardworking, always trying to do what’s right, and keeps improving her combat abilities and magic. She also acts like she feels at ease around him and teases him. (Which gets to my headcanon that he likes it when people aren’t afraid of him and act normal around him.) 

Kyrahlise was drawn to Blade because despite all he’s done and seen, he’s still very kind and considerate. Also he’s incredibly fun to tease! He respects her abilities and knowledge, and she feels safe speaking her mind to him because he gives what she has to say due thought. What seals the deal is in Chapter 4 when he’s so angry about what happened to her. It’s been a long time since anyone has given a shit if she were safe, or wanted to protect her.

3. When they are having a fight, what is it about and how do they deal with it? 

The number one thing these two would fight about is Kyrahlise feeling like Blade is overprotective of her, and Blade feeling like she is too independent and reckless. Once Kyrah understands just how scared he is of losing her, and that he needs to know she’s safe, she’s going to take a long hard look at how she acts. She’ll agree to work on making her safety a higher priority, and communicating better before she runs off. When Blade realizes that she feels a little stifled and like he doesn’t fully trust her, I’m sure he’ll agree to reign in his protectiveness to some degree. Of course it’s something they both have to work on to find a balance, but they will eventually.

The silly thing about this argument is that she likes that he’s protective, and he likes that she’s independent and wants to tackle problems! They just both think the other takes it too far.

4. Their favorite physical feature on each other?

According to Lena, romanced!Blade loves MC’s eyes, hair, and lips (or just face in general), and we know he’s into a nice butt! I change my mind regularly as to which is his favorite, but right now I'm going to say her eyes!

Kyrahlise loves Blade’s smile! It fills her with joy to see him happy and relaxed enough to genuinely smile. She has an internal ‘got the stoic, ex-assassin to smile’ counter! Overall she thinks he’s a very beautiful and handsome man, but his smile is her favorite.

24. Is there any moment that happens between them that you know happens and just makes you melt? 

One time Kyrahlise sat on Blade’s lap briefly as he’s working to tell him something and give him a little kiss before getting up to read. (He’s a head taller than her, so she uses whatever she can to make it easier to kiss him!) But Blade doesn’t want her to go, so she’s like “fine, I’ll just read here” thinking that he’ll eventually get tired of her sitting on his lap. She severely underestimates how much he likes having her close. But he’s warm, and she feels very safe and cozy, so she falls asleep. Since he doesn’t want to wake her up, he stops working. And he’s probably having a hard time not staring at her because he thinks she’s very cute!

25. Share any headcanons about their relationship.

As soon as Blade lets her, Kyrahlise starts cutting his hair. She secretly thinks his haircut is atrocious. Though once she gives him a better haircut she realizes she played herself because now he looks even more handsome! (Kyrah’s been cutting her own hair since her mother died. Most people can’t be trusted to cut curly hair right, and she’s a touch vain about her hair.)

They trade books of poetry with each other and then talk about which ones they like and why. It’s like a little book club with just the two of them!

Blade’s office stops looking quite so bare, because Kyrahlise makes him some art to put up. If anyone dares to criticize it or make any disparaging remarks about it in his presence they get his death glare!

[istanbulite]

its so funny how Trouble offers to carry the mc across river platonically if your stat is high enough I just imagine him running FAST and pushing past Blade like MOVE BITCH n he gets -10 romance flags svxfdcxvfghgc its YOUR FAULT 😭

[yuuugay]

[dulcesiabits]

first crush, second love.

summary: some drabbles for my @shepherds-of-haven MC and Chase involving an animal soulmate au (i-iii), and realizing when they're in love (iv-v). A compilation of some pieces that I like the best out of my recent SHOH works!!!

notes: 2.3k words, drabbles, suggestive content (nothing explicit), soulmate au, depictions of animal injury, introspection

i. The Cat

As was the manner for all creatures of its ilk, the cat had a habit of going wherever it pleased, with no prior warning to Qilan; whatever mythical quality it should have had as the manifestation of her soulmate’s soul meant very little to a cat. It could disappear for days at a time, and then reappear on her window the next day, batting at the glass to be let in. On other occasions, it would leap into her lap, purring loudly until she scritched its chin or behind its ears, lolling for hours in its new spot. 

Qilan, in turn, was content to leave it alone. Chasing the cat would only serve to lose its trust forever. Once, when she was a child, the cat had been more affectionate, more playful; it was a sleek black kitten like a stain of oil that would shadow her steps everywhere she went, clumsy kitten paws that kneaded at her back and mewed until she picked it up. It snuggled with her at night, hissed at the neighborhood bullies for approaching too closely, and licked at her wounds when she scraped her knees running in the forest. 

It had been her only companion when she spoke the unknown word and her village disappeared, and she was left alone with nothing but a knife and her own wits to survive. It slept in the curve of her body, warmed her on the cold winter days, and would nibble on scraps of fish she managed to catch off the coast.

Perhaps her relationship with the cat changed the day the kitten started growing and sporting fresh wounds on the daily, a reflection of her soulmate’s own physical body. Each time, she would mop up the blood, bandage the wounds, and stroke its sleek back as it curled up in pain. Eventually, the wounds stopped, but so did the cat’s affections, and she wondered what that meant for her distant soulmate.

Still. Still, the cat was her constant companion, her only friend, and she would not hold it so tight to her that it ran away. No, better to coolly love it a distance, if that was the only way to love it at all. Soulmates were a pretty fantasy; if she were to meet hers, Qilan wasn’t sure she could give them what they wanted if they expected flowers and romance, when she herself didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like anymore. Perhaps if she rolled the word around on her tongue enough, she could call it back to herself, drawing on that dangerous wellspring of power, bubbling deep within her.

But words, as she had learned, were dangerous. To speak was to give them power. To confess was to give something to the world that you could never take back.

For now, it was just her and the cat, who would only creep close to her when she appeared to have fallen asleep at night, emerald eyes gleaming in the darkness as it held watch. Love, but only if you couldn’t call it such, only if it was at such a distance it could be mistaken for something else.

ii. The Swift

The bird never stopped flying. 

Chase has long gotten used to the way it swooped and soared, wings beating in an eternal rhythm. Most days, he didn’t even notice it, caught up in a new scheme or spot of mischief, the little thing so far out of sight. But sometimes, sometimes, when he looked up at the endless blue of the sky, it was all he could see.

He never put much stock in soulmates or guardian animals: a connection the One-God gave you, someone destined to love you and to be loved by you, their soul manifesting in an animal to watch over you? It sounded like a load of shit, cooked up by the Autarchy to explain away magical creatures that followed people around. Perhaps the closest he had ever come to believing in it when he was little, out on the open sea, among the spray of salt and wind.

Back then, Chase loved the bird. It flew next to him as he balanced along the mast or hopped his way up the crow’s eye, and if he could keep it in sight, he believed he would be safe. It chirped out little songs for him, and he would pretend it was his soulmate sending him messages. Even then, he couldn’t fully believe in the idea of someone out there, born solely to love him. 

Later, the bird felt more like judgment. It watched as he was left behind. It watched as he made his way into the employ of a different father. It watched the blood on his hands. It watched as he made his way back to the sea, and then back to Haven. The bird was his only witness to his gorey past, and through it all, it kept flying.

Soulmates. What a hideous thought. As if he would start letting someone tell him what to do, much less who to love. In defiance, Chase slept with anyone who caught his eye, even when, through the window, he watched the bird soar. He flirted, he dallied, and most of all, he promised himself that if he ran into his soulmate, he wouldn’t love them, if only to spit on the idea that they, a stranger, would somehow be the one for him.

Chase envied the bird sometimes, for its wings and its freedom. The swift was a bird that never stopped flying, even when it slept. Where was his soulmate going? Why did their bird always fly?

What did it matter, though? As long as he could run through the streets of Haven, unbound to anyone but himself, then that would be a type of flying, too.

iii. First Meeting

Her cat bounded along and nipped at her ankles, twining between her legs with an unusual urgency that almost had Qilan trip as she flew down the streets of Haven. Where had the wily thief gone? He had taken her medallion, and without it… if the Inquisitors were to stop her…

Her eyes darted wildly, bouncing from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face as she sped down narrow alleys until slick cobblestoned streets gave way to the weatherbeaten wood of the wharf and the fresh seabreeze rolling off the piers. Qilan slowed, but her cat did not, and it slammed against the wooden door of one of the nearby warehouses, claws leaving deep grooves. 

“What the–” She heard a nearby man say, startled out of his slouching position by the cat’s yowling.

Her cat reacting like that could only mean one thing, but there was no time to think, no time to pause: she called within her and her magic crested, rushing through her as the wooden door exploded inwards.

Both Qilan and the cat slipped in, the man– a guard, she assumed– flustered as he ran in after her.

Smoke. Charred pieces of wood. Confused shouting. A swell of panicked bodies in the aftermath of her spell.

And her cat, dashing through it all, straight at a little fluttering bird. Her cat purred, nuzzling at the bird, their forms melting into the sunlight that fell across the dusty floor.

And behind them, a man, the same insouciant thief who had taken her medallion and ran. He caught her gaze, smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. They assessed each other, his eyes snagging over her uniform, the unmistakable glow of the iladrin, the hilt of her dagger. In turn, she noted the ease in which he held himself, belying the tension coiling under his skin, like a predator ready to pounce.

Briefly, Qilan recalled the old Ket superstition that your soulmate was not someone you were supposed to love, but to kill, your greatest enemy.

“You blew up my hideout,” the thief said mildly.

“My apologies. You can bill it to the Shepherds,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “You stole my medallion.”

The thief tossed the medal in the air casually, a miniature sun glittering, before catching it again with the same hand, all the while never dragging his gaze from hers. Qilan almost relaxed. This, at least, was easier. Violence was a language she could understand: the kiss of cold steel, the dance of two bodies locked in battle like a lover’s embrace. 

“Is it?” he asked, still languid. “Are you sure?”

The Ket thought a soulmate was someone who had seized the weakness of your soul, held it captive as a fragile animal. To protect yourself, to keep yourself safe, you had to strike first. Kill before you are killed. Hurt before you are hurt.

“Why don’t you come closer so I can check?” she said innocently, and her smile was all teeth.

As her father had taught her, strike at a vital point. Incapacitate the foe in one swift movement. First blood drawn.

iv. First Crush   

Qilan doesn’t fall in love.

She knows the right distance to keep with all her flings, knows how to carefully cool the embers of burgeoning passion before they spark into something real. It’s easier to leave in the night than the morning, disentangling herself from warm limbs, as if she was never there in the first place. 

That’s how she prefers it, too. Quick, easy, simple. No time for feelings to bloom, for someone to mistake her courtesy as affection. 

Chase, at least, understands this the most out of any of her previous partners. Lust and passion, admiration and flirtation, but nothing more. Bodies are nothing more than bodies, in the end.

But one night, he stays. 

It’s an accident. There are always lines they were careful not to cross, but people get careless, especially in the middle of warm, drowsy pillowtalk, of legs playfully entwined, of deep green eyes, catlike and grinning, even in the dark.

She trusts him, as she trusts all of her friends. But maybe she trusts him too much, because when she falls asleep in his arms, he’s still there the next morning. 

Qilan doesn’t even have time to be surprised, not with the sun shining gold across his face. His face is open, vulnerable, peaceful. No schemes, no insouciant manner, no tawdry looks. It’s just Chase, not the Prince of Thieves or Captain Trinaeste.

And she smiles to herself, her hand drifting across his forehead to sweep a soft brown curl behind his ear. She could lie here forever, playing with his hair, tracing the curve of his nose with her finger. It’s when her thumb brushes across his lips, no heat, no lust, nothing but naked affection in the gesture, that Qilan freezes.

That’s when she knows she’s fucked. 

And then Chase catches her wrist, sly green eyes opening, expertly flipping her hand to brush his lips across her knuckles, asking if she wants to go for another round. 

And of course, she says yes, because that’s what their relationship is supposed to be. Playful lust and friendly admiration. No love. Nothing like that.

Thankfully, Qilan has always been a good liar.

v. Second Love 

If anyone asks what Chase thought of Qilan, he would feed them stories about the Hero of Haven. 

Tales of her exploits, her courageous deeds and boundless wit and charm, and, to wrap it up, a cheeky wink about how he knows her closely and personally. That’s enough to satisfy most people, if not scandalize the rest. That’s what people want to hear, anyways, about myths and legends and people larger than life.

He’s always been one to keep his card to his chest, so no one has yet to figure out that he only talks about Captain Sun, the Hero of Haven, instead of Qilan. 

They have a good relationship, and it’s nothing other people need to know about or even understand. He tucks away the memories of her hair, a pink sunset around her head on his pillow, and the way she whispers his name when she has a particularly juicy story to share, and how her eyes light up when she makes some ridiculously complicated academic breakthrough he can barely understand. No, those memories, more precious than the jewels he steals, aren’t meant for other people to know. The people can have the Hero of Haven, but Qilan is his. She’s his friend, the partner he likes to sleep with when they both want to blow off steam. Both of them are good about never spending the night. There’s no fuss, no late-night neediness.

But one night, she stays.

He only intends to rest his eyes a bit, to wait until Qilan had slipped into slumber before jumping out her window. Maybe he’d pretend to doze as she slips off, her steps vanishing down the hallway. But when he next opens his eyes, it’s dawn, and it’s too late for anything but regrets.

She stirs, and he stills as she runs a hand through his hair, traces the planes of his face. This is dangerous, and Chase catches her wrist, her thumb burning on his lips like a confession. He feigns innocence, asks for another round, and she agrees, easily slipping into their familiar routine.

He’s royally fucked, though he can’t admit it yet, not when there’s a chance to escape.

Chase doesn’t fall for people. They fall for him, and he leaves behind a trail of stolen hearts and spurned lovers. It’s dangerous to fall, with no guarantee of safety, no backup plan, no shelter in sight. Because he doesn’t make mistakes like falling in love, not anymore.

If he keeps telling himself it’s not love, then one day, he might be able to believe it.

[dearchickadee]

Not every divine creation can have a heart, and even less a heart that beats as erratically as a human's. A godthing shouldn't be any different, and yet the rhythm in your chest beats in half time. Equal part object, equal part shadow; the power within you not yours entirely to yield; that is the life of a holy weapon. One soul divided in two, a fragile circuit that creates an even stronger punch than one could alone. There on this earth is a creature that will always understand you, who will always be yours. She is a mirror, reflecting all your strengths, all your flaws, and all the things you never could be. This is a dangerous world, and the perilous duty isn't yours to uphold alone. The question, then, is this: will you emerge with a whole heart? Or, which piece of yourself will have to die for half a savior to live?

this template was beautiful so I made one for my girl Lark and @dulcesiabits' girl Qilan! Anyway I'm very glad to have an excuse to shove our little au into the world where there are TWO MCs. And they are. Connected. Forever. And yes their powers are stronger when they're holding hands <3 Thank u for letting me edit your girl I love her btw

template (@solasan) // insp // @shepherds-of-haven

[mandoart]

i wanted to see these together :3 my mc in her underwear (still awful at drawing her tattoos...), her outfit to that first ball with Riel and the gladiator dress (my version of it ~) girls been through It

[dragonknightofsummerset]

Constantly thinking about the tent scene & them <3

Thank you @sazanes for drawing this piece & nailing it. I love it so much 😭 (seriously though, go commission Sabrina cause she's super talented & was able to get what I was going for even when I couldn't find perfect references)

[aylaaescar]

I was made for lovin' you, baby You were made for lovin' me And I can't get enough of you, baby Can you get enough of me?

commission #4 for my @shepherds-of-haven pairings, this time my shifter Odelina Payne-Isibis and Briony Stormbreaker! once again, painted by the wonderful and talented @serahlink, who perfectly captured how I imagine them - adorable, playful, and having the time of their lives together :')

if you're looking for an artist to commission, please consider Link! he's wonderful to work with, and the art is amazing!

[snowthornes]

… Nevermind. Forget surviving — he would rather throw himself out the nearest window than swear himself to this wishy washy hogwash. “Problem?” Blade asked mildly, raising an eyebrow. “No.” Thorne intoned. He sounded dead even to his ears. “Hm.” Blade didn’t say any more. Thorne had a feeling that he knew exactly what was going on.

READ ON AO3 HERE

[tacticallyplaced-chaos]

lil eris showing off her brand new tattoo with her dad

[marzely]

Okay I feel like I need to explain myself on this one.

Every time one of the Shepherds says they're not surprised the Hero of Haven comes home with a hoard of new recruits I cant help but see Solie as a walking propaganda poster. I couldn't stop thinking about it so this happened..

Please play @shepherds-of-haven if you have not!