#arcane's hall of shame

[twstbookclub]

Slowly, Surely, Sadly

Summary: Who would've thought one smile could make you like someone? Of all people, you never expected to fall for Riddle—not after his overblot. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Slow Burn, Minor ADeuce Shenanigans again, Unrequited (maybe not, who knows?) Feelings, Spoilers for Book 1 if yall haven't finished it Word Count: 3, 304 This is my first time writing full-on angst. I already had this plot in mind last April, but this was my only chance to finally write it all down. I hope I did my job, and I'm sorry also not sorry for the feels. I was running on 5 hours of sleep and a hopeless romantic playlist when I wrote this. I hope yall enjoy, though 💕

Whenever you looked at Riddle, the memory of his swollen cheek and tear-brimmed eyes overlapped with his stern expression. Even with the constant lectures and helicopter parenting becoming less frequent, you could never forget his ruthless reign over Heartslabyul. His first impression was that of a tyrannical and merciless ruler, and you’d never forget that.

Yet, you could never forget how he looked like a lost child in a garden of roses when Ace punched him that day.

“Would you like to sample one of our teatime treats, Prefect?”

Riddle’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts. Your eyes darted from your teacup to the housewarden. An expectant yet patient smile curled his lips, which was a stark contrast to his natural frown. Your eyes lingered on the smile on his cherubic face.

“Sure,” you answered, somewhat in a daze. You took a sip of your tea, before your nose scrunched a little. Before Riddle noticed your grimace, you put the teacup down and dropped three sugar cubes in your drink.

You didn’t miss the amused twitch of Riddle’s lips from the corner of your eyes. This action would have earned you a reprimand and a lecture on one of hundreds of Heartslabyul’s rules. After his overblot and the incident in the rose garden, Riddle was becoming more lenient.

“You should mind your sugar intake—” Well, he’s still working on the leniency, but he’s trying— “Do you prefer a tart, a cupcake, or a cookie? Maybe you’d like to try a slice of today’s cake?”

You gave Riddle your preferred dessert, then you watched him reach over the table. Dainty, gloved fingers curled around the dish, before he brought it to you. You gave a brief nod and a mumble of thanks, before you took a bite of the treat.

“...!” You quietly moaned from the sweet taste that melted on your tongue. With a hand on your cheek, you slowly chewed to savor the sugar that graced your tastebuds. Your eyes seemed to sparkle as you dug into more of the dessert.

“It’s so good!”

You didn’t miss the satisfied smile on Riddle’s face, still cherubic and radiant. Amidst the chatter and raucous noise in this week’s Unbirthday party, you somehow heard the hint of pride in the red-haired sophomore’s words.

“Of course, that’s to be expected. Trey’s baking skills are the best in Heartslabyul—possibly in the entirety of Night Raven College.” Riddle paused, before softly adding, “I prefer his strawberry tarts, though. It’s a shame he couldn’t make any for today.”

The wistfulness in that tone of his made you pause. As Riddle took his own sip of tea, you couldn’t look away from him.

One afternoon, you marched through the silent corridors of the arcane academy. Heavy footfalls echoed in your ears, as if to mock you. The reminder of why you were wandering the halls alone made you frown.

“Where the hell are you, Grim?” You mumbled, head turning left and right, as you stomped. All the doors were closed shut, and voices could be heard through them. You doubt this area had an empty classroom at the moment.

Professor Crewel’s scowl and his whip flashed in your mind. As much as you loved Grim and his snark, you’d rather not face the wrath of the dog-loving professor. Brows furrowing, you grumbled again, “If he skips alchemy lessons again, I’m going to wring his neck and—”

“Prefect?” The gentle voice forced you to a halt, and you blinked at Heartslabyul’s warden in front of you. Riddle looked at you with a raised brow, before he crossed his arms and tapped his heel on the floor.

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you, but…” He paused, eyes roaming your face. “You don’t seem to be in a good mood, and your class is about to start. I passed by Ace and Deuce heading towards Professor Crewel’s classroom earlier.”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and sighed. You were already on good terms with the housewarden, and you’d rather not get collared for misdirecting your annoyance.

“Hi Riddle,” you greeted with a small, strained smile to be polite. “I’m actually looking for Grim. I lost him in the crowd during the lunch rush, and well…”

You tried so hard not to curse the lovable, annoying puffball. Another heavy sigh left your lips with a shake of your head. The strained smile became an apologetic one. Riddle stared at you, most likely scrutinizing something about you. Maybe he was judging you for letting Grim get away.

“I shouldn’t be keeping you here. It’s nice to see you, though—”

“Hold on,” Riddle stepped closer and reached for your tie, “your tie is crooked. Let me fix it for you.”

You held your breath, biting your tongue to stifle any surprised noises. The red-haired sophomore was too focused on fixing your tie to notice your reaction. His knuckles brushed your chest as he tightened the knot, and you tensed. He didn’t even ask for permission. He just took initiative, and it reminded you of a doting yet strict mother for some reason.

“You should be more conscious of your appearance,” Riddle reminded kindly while smoothing the creases of your uniform coat. He stepped back and seemed satisfied with his intervention. His lips stretched into a satisfied smile again, and you couldn’t look away.

“Now, off you go. Professor Crewel isn’t forgiving when it comes to tardiness.”

“R-right,” you stuttered with a faint warmth on your cheeks. You were tempted to slap yourself for losing composure like this, but you wanted to keep your dignity. Riddle would think you lost your mind if you did.

“Thanks, Riddle.”

His smile softened, yet it grew wider. The sharp and scrutinizing gaze melted into one of appreciation. Your heart skipped a beat. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Something fuzzy and warm filled your chest as you stared at Riddle. Your fingers twitched, as if longing to touch Riddle in some way.

It was ridiculous, but you didn’t dislike the feeling either.

“You’re welcome. If you’ll excuse me, I should be heading to my own class. I wish you luck, Prefect.”

He skirted around you in one, fluid motion. The click of his heels echoed in the empty corridor as you watched him go. His short figure carried a sense of dignity and pride, something that used to terrify and annoy his wards in Heartslabyul.

It used to intimidate you, but you couldn’t look away from him now. Even when Riddle turned a corner and disappeared, you couldn’t stop staring.

Ever since that day, you couldn’t stop noticing these things about Riddle. His entire face brightened, eyes glittering and cheeks flushing pink, when presented with a strawberry tart. Whenever he smiled, his gray irises seemed to hide behind the chub of his cheeks. He always looked red in the face whenever he was embarrassed, but the addition of a scowl and wide eyes showed his anger instead. His voice always raised in pitch, becoming less gentle and more crazed, whenever he became agitated and enraged. He even lost his formality and courteousness at that point: language becoming more crude yet still refined.

One day, while preparing for a game of croquet, you pointed out how happy Riddle seemed when he took care of the hedgehogs. Ace shot you a weird look. Deuce looked perplexed, lost even, when his eyes darted to you.

“Really?” He asked, looking between Riddle crouched on the ground and you who looked surprised. “He doesn’t look any different. How could you tell?”

Brows furrowed in confusion, you told them, “It’s not obvious, but he’s smiling. See? His eyes look brighter when he looked at the hedgehogs, too. Oh, and there’s the fact that he gently pets their heads with a finger. He’s avoiding touching their quills, and he’s trying not to agitate the tiny things.”

There was a long, uneasy stretch of silence that followed your answer. After a moment, Ace’s stunned look shifted into a mischievous grin. Deuce mirrored his expression, and it reminded you of that one time he lost his composure and beat up a pair of upperclassmen.

“Huh, really?” There was an intrigued and knowing tone in the redhead’s voice. Meanwhile, Deuce turned to look at Riddle as if to verify your observation. Although, the ravenette was still grinning, as if he knew something you didn’t.

In that moment, you realized you were screwed—so, so screwed.

Upon seeing your confusion warp into a crestfallen and horrified realization, Deuce clapped a hand on your shoulder with a snicker.

“Looks like the Prefect has a crush,” he teased, but you wanted none of it. Ace followed with an incredulous yet amused, “Really? Housewarden Riddle? Strict and overbearing Housewarden Riddle? Oh, your standards are buried six feet under, Prefect.”

A hand smacked Deuce’s own off your person, and you began to stumble over your words. Both lovable yet annoying idiots laughed it off, while you half-heartedly threatened them with a raised fist.

“Shut up, or I swear to the Seven—!”

Ace and Deuce laughed louder, nearly howling and sniggering in delight. As they clutched their stomachs and you grabbed the collars of their uniforms, Riddle’s confused and curious stare was left unnoticed.

Riddle continued to invite you to their weekly Unbirthday parties as an honorary guest. He still offered you desserts with little to no comment on your sweet tooth. He still fussed over your appearance whenever you two passed each other in the halls. He always gave you a subtle smile, despite his stern demeanor. The more you spent time around the housewarden, the more dread weighed in your stomach.

You couldn’t ignore the flutters of your heart, how it flipped and did cartwheels whenever Riddle treated you kindly. No matter what he did, you always felt like you were floating and walking on clouds.

You still longed to touch him—maybe brush back a stray strand that fell over his forehead. You wanted to know how it felt to hold his hand. Maybe even take a stroll in Heartslabyul’s rose maze with him, hand-in-hand and talking about anything. You wanted to spend teatime alone with him. You wanted to see him smile after taking a bite of a strawberry tart you made for him. You wanted to gaze at the moon and the stars with him in the comfort of Riddle’s dorm room, just sitting together in that window alcove with pillows and blankets.

You wanted to do so much more with Riddle, but the large mirror before you spelled the end of your hopes and dreams.

“Well, Prefect,” Crowley began with a jovial tone, which was a stark contrast to the despair that gripped your heart, “I found a way for you to return to your world. After long, grueling hours of searching for the solution, I fulfilled my promise to you, and I even gathered your friends here for a heartfelt farewell.”

You called bullshit on that, but you still appreciated Crowley’s effort. True to his word, all of the people you befriended surrounded you in the Mirror Chamber. The occasion was treated as a formal one, if their dorm uniforms didn’t make a statement already. Everyone had varying degrees of restrained emotion, as you stood before the mirror that led to your home dimension.

Grim stood behind you with clenched paws and glassy eyes. You spotted Ace and Deuce grinning, but there was a hint of a strain in their smiles. Kalim was close to bursting into tears. Leona stared at you with a neutral look and a hand on his hip, but the harsh dig of his fingers told you otherwise. Azul wore his usual smile, one reserved for business, and Jade had a polite smile as well. Floyd didn’t share the same sentiment. The more capricious Leech brother scowled as if he ate Lilia’s cooking after being promised a tasty meal.

You didn’t dare look at Riddle. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You can’t.

Crowley spread his arms with a self-satisfied smile that both irked and endeared you to him. “Aren’t I a magnanimous and gracious headmaster to do something like this for you?”

He made a show of spinning on his heel and walking towards the doors to the Mirror Chamber. With a flamboyant wave of his hand, he exclaimed, “I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes and well-wishes. However…”

Crowley looked at you from over his shoulder, and your throat tightened at the soft smile that curled his lips.

“It was a pleasure to have you here, Prefect. I would’ve loved for you to stay until graduation, but alas. I wish you all the best once you return home.”

The last thing you saw was a swish of his cape, before a heavy weight nearly toppled you to the ground. Tan, bejeweled arms hugged your waist as a loud bawl harshly rang in the room. You didn’t even need to look to see that it was Kalim blubbering through his tears. Jamil’s alarmed voice echoed in your ears, and that seemed to be everyone’s cue to surround you.

Tearful farewells, wistful wishes, and unfulfilled promises filled the enclosed space. Grim clung to you all this time, all the while mewling and whining about how he’d lose his henchman.  Still, he was crying his eyes out. The large mirror was obscured from your sight, as if the unusual group of friends you made during your time here intended this. You couldn’t help but laugh—a bittersweet sound—as everyone tried to get a word in with you. Even Malleus came to say his goodbyes, though he seemed more reserved than usual.

Then the dreaded moment came: Riddle approached you with that same smile, the gentle and subtle one he always graced you with. Everyone who noticed the shift in mood somehow left space for you and the Heartslabyul housewarden to talk. You almost giggled when you overheard Jade scold Floyd for whining about this.

You forced your smile to widen, even if your eyes stung and your throat tightened again. Your voice cracked at the end, but that could be mistaken for holding back tears.

“Hi, Riddle,” you whispered as you felt your throat tighten more, “I guess I’m leaving before I could have another Unbirthday party with all of you. I was so excited to try the macarons, too.”

The gentle smile became forlorn, and it reminded you of that time he lamented over not having strawberry tarts in that one Unbirthday party. A twinge in your heart made your breath hitch, but you hoped Riddle wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really,” he told you with a falter in his smile. The corners of his lips hitched up, as if that never happened in the first place. “I wanted you to try some tea from the Queendom of Roses as well, but… that may never happen now.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, finding it hard to breathe. The sting in your eyes worsened. Some invisible hand squeezed your heart, as if threatening to puncture the fragile thing with its talons. You maintained your composure as much as you can.

You couldn’t help but admit, “I wish I could have more time with all of you.”

I wish I had more time with you.

“I wish I could watch the third-years graduate. I wish I could see all of us graduate here, even if I don’t have magic.” You chuckled, and you found yourself with loose lips around Riddle.

“I want to have more Unbirthday parties with everyone in Heartslabyul. I want to have lunch with everyone in Mostro Lounge. I want to watch the next interdorm Spelldrive tournament and cheer for your guys. I want to spend Christmas and welcome the New Year with everyone. I want a lot of things, but… Well, I’m going home.”

Riddle’s smile slipped, and you watched him visibly swallow with a subtle frown. Even when he wasn’t smiling, he still had a gentle look on him.

“Who knows, Prefect? Maybe there will come a time when we find a way for you to visit and vice versa.” Riddle sounded so unsure, so hesitant, in his reassurance. Still, you appreciated it.

You ignored how much your heart hurt and your jaw clenched when he said that.

“I hope so.” Chuckling, you kept your arms to yourself as you smiled at Riddle. He was becoming a blur of red, white, and gold. Warm tears already spilled down your cheeks, before you even realized what was happening.

You couldn’t see his reaction, but you raised a hand to wipe away your tears. While the heel of your palm rubbed your cheek, you mumbled, “Sorry. I just…”

A white handkerchief was offered to you, and you took it with murmured gratitude. Your eyes were drawn to the embroidered initials of Riddle’s name on the corner. The cloth felt soft on your skin, and you found some comfort in that.

“Keep it,” Riddle told you with that smile again, “so that you would remember me every time you see it.”

Your mind blanked at his words. Riddle referred to himself rather than everyone in Heartslabyul, even everyone in NRC. Heart fluttering and throat tightening, you resisted the urge to sob. Hope came as a surge of warmth and the weight of dread in your chest.

Not now. Not when I’m leaving.

With a smile, melancholic yet bright, you dabbed away the last of your tears and tucked the handkerchief into your uniform pocket. A burst of courage let you wrap your arms around Riddle in a hug with a whispered, “Thank you. I’m going to miss you—all of you.”

I’m going to miss you more.

Normally, Riddle would be flustered at the sudden gesture of affection. You expected a loud stutter and an indignant scolding, but he simply returned the hug. His face was buried in your shoulder, and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“You’re welcome.” You heard him whisper, followed by a faint sniff. Something warm and wet soaked through the coat and into your shoulder. You hugged Riddle tighter, as if to hide him from the rest of the world at that moment.

Too brief for your liking, Riddle pulled away with that same smile. His eyes appeared to be glassy, reflecting your tearful expression and wobbly grin. Your heart twinged again, and your jaw clenched.

It was that smile that damned you the moment Riddle fixed your tie for the first time.

“I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?” You asked, laughing off your dread and despair. Riddle seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Your heart stuttered as you watched him open his mouth with reluctance.

Something held him back. He shook his head and merely smiled at you again.

“Of course,” he murmured, eyes hiding behind his cheeks again. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Prefect.”

In that moment, you’d have stolen the stars from the sky if Riddle wanted to make a wish. You’d bake tarts and cakes in the Heartslabyul kitchen, even if it ended in a mess of flour, if he wanted sweets. You’d stay past curfew in his dorm room to stargaze, if he was willing to break the rules just this once. You’d shower him in kisses, hugs, and cuddles if he hesitated to spell out his desire for affection.

You’d stay in Twisted Wonderland if he asked you to.

Swallowing your heartache, you forced a smile—bright and brilliant, putting the sun to shame. Your gaze never left Riddle, while unspoken feelings laid heavy on the tip of your tongue. Reality crushed your daydreams and wishes, reduced to rubble and dust. The next words felt final and absolute.

“Goodbye, Riddle.”

What remained was the handkerchief with his stitched initials in your pocket.

[astarionfreak]

The lick of poison

// Astarion x Named Fem!Tav

The spores burst into Naenia’s face, clouded her vision, and without thinking — she breathed them in. The first thing she felt was fear. The next thing she felt was warmth. Desire.

She grabbed Astarion, covered his nose and mouth with her hand, and warned him not to breathe. It was too late for her, but maybe he could be spared.

She hadn’t recognized the mushroom by sight. But now she recognized it by sensation. A powerful, and often deadly aphrodisiac. She had a long night ahead of her. If she were to survive . . .

18+ • NSFW • 4.9K words (1/1) • Read on AO3 (or below)

Tags: Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Dubious Consent, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Overstimulation, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Consent Issues

“Remind me why we had to return to this vile place?” Astarion gestured to the halls of the Arcane Tower with a flourish.

“Timmask Spores and Tongue of Madness. For Omeluum,” Naenia said. “I’m certain I saw some here. We won’t be long.”

“Mm. Right.” Astarion followed close behind her. “And why did you decide to drag me along and not the wizard?”

She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. “What? Maybe I just enjoy your company?”

Astarion scoffed. “There’s always an ulterior motive with you. Which, in all honesty, I respect.”

“No ulterior motive this time, Astarion. I just thought it would be more efficient with just the two of us.”

“A shame. And here I was hoping you were looking for an excuse to get me all to yourself,” he teased.

Naenia laughed softly and spun around to face him. “There are easier ways for me to get you alone, Astarion. Besides, if I wanted something from you I’d just ask.”

Astarion locked his eyes with hers and stepped forward, closing the gap between them. 

Naenia caught a glimpse of his fangs when he smiled. A perfectly composed smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Too perfect.

“Oh, but, darling, you do want something from me, don’t you?” Astarion stepped past her and Naenia’s body instinctively turned to continue facing him.

“What makes you think —”

He grabbed her hips and pushed her back, trapping her between his body and the cold wall.

“You can’t hide anything from me,” he purred. “Your heart gives you away. It’s always racing. In fact, it’s racing right now.”

Naenia stared up at him and licked her lips. “What could I possibly want from you?”

His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into her flesh. “Have you already forgotten, dear? I’ve been privy to your fantasies. I know exactly what you want.”

“And what exactly is that?”

Astarion trailed gentle kisses along her jawline and down to her neck. Naenia tilted her head to offer him more space.

He laughed, lips ghosting against her skin. “You want to be well, and truly taken.”

Naenia choked back a moan, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled his body closer to hers. “We really shouldn’t linger here. The others will worry.”

“Ah, I doubt it.” Astarion nipped at her neck and dragged his fangs across her skin. “If we’re too long they’ll just assume you’re on your knees for me.”

“Other way around, darling,” Naenia teased. “Surely they’d know that it’s you on your knees for me.” Naenia tried to roll her hips, but his grip kept her tight against the wall. 

Astarion leaned back to meet her eyes. “I can be versatile. If that’s what you want?” He released his grip on her hips and in one quick, fluid motion he undid her pants. 

Naenia smirked. “Oh, can you now?”

He nodded and gracefully dropped to his knees. He tugged her pants down ever so slightly, exposing her hips and some of her stomach.

This view of him was positively exquisite. Naenia bit down on her lower lip and watched as he pressed a soft kiss to her hip.

Her heart thrummed quickly against her chest. She knew he could hear it and wondered how it made him feel. He was right, her heart seemed to do that every time she looked at him lately.

She sighed and let her head fall back against the wall. She didn’t have time to bother with feelings. Not hers. Especially not his.

She could let him bring her to ecstasy time and time again, but it would only make things worse. She was falling for him, and that was completely unacceptable. Naenia had no room in her heart for love.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name and stared up at the ceiling.

He kissed his way across her body and to her other hip. He was starting to tug her pants down even further when she made the decision to stop him.

She grabbed his chin and tilted his head up to look at her. “As much as we’d both enjoy this, I do think we should focus on the task at hand.”

Weak. Bringing him here, alone, of all things was a mistake. He made her weak. What had she been thinking?

“Are you sure?” Astarion asked.

Naenia nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t mask the hurt in his eyes — but it almost didn’t look real. Before the hurt, she’d seen a flash of something else in his expression — frustration and then fear? Naenia wasn’t sure what that meant.

Astarion stood, tugging her pants back up as he did. “Very well. Another time, eh?” He buttoned her pants and then took a step back. “So, where are these mushrooms we need to find?”

Naenia took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “They should be somewhere over —”

Her eyes scanned the room until she found what she was looking for. “Yes. Right there.”

Naenia steadied herself before she leaned away from the wall and walked toward the mushrooms. She reached for the Tongue of Madness when something caught her eye.

It was a mushroom the likes of which she’d never seen before. Naenia was familiar with many species, but this one — this one she didn’t recognize.

“What’s wrong?” Astarion asked.

“Nothing. It’s just —”

It was the most beautiful mushroom she’d ever seen. Completely captivating.

Purple and violet danced across the skin. The edges of the cap were stamped with gold. The colors twisted and shimmered — almost like it was calling out to her.”

“It’s just what?” Astarion asked. He stood right behind her, but his voice was so distant.

Naenia knew she shouldn’t touch the mushroom, but she couldn’t help herself. She leaned in closer to get a better look. The colors continued to swirl.

She reached out towards the mushroom and as soon as her fingers graced the skin she knew she’d made a mistake.

It exploded.

Spores from the unfamiliar mushroom burst up into her face, clouded her vision, and without thinking — she breathed them in.

The first thing she felt was fear.

The next thing she felt was a rush of warmth as the spores infiltrated her lungs. Heat branched out through her body, followed by a pleasant buzzing.

She hadn’t recognized the mushroom by sight. But now she recognized it by sensation. She’d heard others call it Saranae’s Kiss. A powerful, and often deadly aphrodisiac.

Naenia spun on her heels, grabbed Astarion, and covered his mouth and nose with her hand. Maybe she was fast enough. Maybe he would be spared.

He curled his fingers around her wrist in protest and tried to pull her away, but she held steady.

“Don’t breathe,” Naenia hissed.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed.

Then she felt that familiar squirm in her head as their tadpoles formed a connection.

What about you?

“It’s too late for me,” Naenia said.

His concern was touching, if, a bit out of place. Her feelings for him ran deep, but she’d never admit that. And if he felt the same, he kept that to himself as well.

What was it?

She heard his question in her head but ignored it. Just another minute and the spores should settle and then —

Gods. Her skin burned. No, not just her skin, but everything just beneath it. That pleasant buzzing sensation had been replaced with more heat and the temperature was rapidly rising.

A fever was settling in. That shouldn’t happen this fast. She should have had more time.

But Astarion. He felt nice. Cold even. She leaned against him and got as close as she could with her hand still covering his mouth.

It wasn’t enough. Naenia stood on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead against his. She sighed and closed her eyes. His cold skin brought much-needed relief. She would kiss him if she didn’t have her hand firmly clasped against his mouth.

Ahem. Do you mind?

“Hm? What?” Naenia slowly opened her eyes.

I know I don’t need to breathe, but this is still unpleasant.

Too close. She was too close.

Naenia pulled away from him and looked around one final time to make sure the spores had dissipated. Once satisfied, she removed her hand from his face and took two steps back.

“Well? What was that?” Astarion asked.

Gods. He was just so beautiful, wasn’t he? She could admire him for hours. His angular features took her breath away, especially in the dim light of this tower.

Why had she told him to stop earlier? That was stupid. She imagined pushing him onto the floor and straddling him. She could use his body to chase her pleasure. Rutting against his thigh like a bitch in heat.

Was he still in her head? Could he hear all that? She tried to check, but her control over herself was weak. She couldn’t tell.

“Naenia. I asked you a question.”

Had he? Naenia couldn’t remember. She was too busy drifting into the memory of the night they’d shared. One night of life-changing sex. Now she wanted to beg him for more. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? He liked it when she begged.

“Naenia.” Her name was a warning. Astarion’s voice was sharp, pointed, angry.

Angry? Why was he angry? What had she done? She didn’t know. But she could make him happy. She knew how to do that. She was good at that.

Naenia brushed her hair to the side and tilted her head, exposing her neck to him. Surely he wouldn’t be angry if he was well-fed.

His eyes flitted to her neck, only momentarily before locking onto hers. She’d hoped for a bigger reaction.

“What’s happening to you?” he asked.

Oh. The mushroom. The spores. Poison. Oh, right. This was bad.

Her stomach lurched. For a second she was back in her body. Then she slipped back into her fantasies.

Naenia stepped closer to him. In a daze, she stroked his jawline with the back of her hand.

He snatched her wrist and pinned it to her side. That’s fine. She had two hands.

Her other hand tugged at the bottom of his shirt, loosening it so she could feel the cool skin hidden beneath the fabric.

That didn’t last long. Astarion grabbed that hand and pinned it to her side as well.

“Something is very, very wrong with you, darling,” Astarion said. “I need you to tell me what to do.” His voice remained even, low. She was used to flirting, a playful lilt. This was serious. The danger was real.

The fear in his eyes was enough to snap her out of the fog, at least for a moment. But escaping the fog came with a cost.

A sharp pain drove through her stomach. Ice cut through the fire that was burning her from the inside. Her body’s way of demanding she succumb to her desires.

“It’s the spores,” she said. “Do you feel any different?”

“Obviously it’s the spores. I’m not an idiot,” Astarion said. “I’m fine. Tell me what’s happening to you.”

Another wave of pain, this round nearly doubled her over. Astarion released her wrists and placed a hand on her hip and another on her shoulder to help her remain steady.

“I’ll get you to camp. Shadowheart, or Gale, they’ll be able to help.” There was a hint of disgust in his voice when he said Gale’s name.

Naenia shook her head. “No. There’s nothing they can do. What happens next — I don’t want them to see.”

“And what is it that happens next?” Astarion asked.

“The spores were toxic. An aphrodisiac. Incredibly rare. Fun at large parties in very small doses. Exploding in your face — well, I will spend the next few hours feverish, delusional, and insatiable. Orgasms will keep me alive.”

“I’m taking you to camp,” Astarion growled.

Desperation. Fear. Panic. “No. Please, Astarion. Please. I don’t want the others to see me like this. They’ll lose all respect for me.”

“That must be the delusions speaking, darling. We both know they lost all respect for you the night you came crawling to my bedroll.” Astarion started walking her toward the exit.

“Hilarious,” Naenia said. She didn’t have the energy for their usual banter. “Just tie me up here and leave me. I’ll get through this.”

“I’m not leaving you, Naenia. We’re going back to camp. Both of us,” Astarion said.

“Fine,” Naenia whimpered. Maybe it was the right decision.

She thought of her companions waiting at camp. Heat pooled between her legs. Yes, yes, camp was the right choice. Surely one of them would help bring her temperature down.

“Do you think Gale would fuck me?” Naenia asked, almost absentmindedly.

She was starting to drift again. Losing her mind to the desire burning under her skin.

“What?” Astarion growled.

“I know Lae’zel won’t. She would have, but she sees me as tainted after I let you have me. I’m certain Shadowheart is a good kisser, but I don’t think she’d fuck me. Not while I’m in this state. But, Gale. I might be able to convince him to fuck me. A pity fuck.”

“Is that what you want, Naenia? Do you want Gale to fuck you?” He sounded so angry again. Naenia liked that. Maybe he’d punish her.

“Would it make you jealous?” she asked.

“No.”

Naenia placed her hand on his chest and curled her fingers around the fabric of his shirt. “Then why did we stop walking?”

“I didn’t . . . We . . . Fine. We’ll stay here.”

“Thank you. Thank you,” she mumbled. Her vision started to swim. Her legs threatened to give out.

Astarion held her upright and shifted to look her directly in the eyes. She struggled to hold eye contact.

“Naenia. Stay with me. I need to know how bad this is going to get. You said orgasms will keep you alive. Will you need my help?”

Naenia tried to kiss him, but he leaned away from her. “Need. Want. Need. Want. Maybe, maybe not,” she mumbled incoherently.

Astarion sighed. “There was a bed. We’ll get you there.”

Then, her legs did give out. Astarion scooped her up with an amount of ease that surprised her. She threw her arms around his neck. “You would fuck me, right?”

“If that’s what you want.” Even through the fog, she could tell he didn’t sound like himself. It made her stomach hurt.

“Don’t want to die,” she whispered.

“You won’t die. I won’t let you,” Astarion said.

Then she blacked out.

***

Naenia came to her senses in a dusty bed, with one hand tied to the bedpost. She’d been stripped down to her underwear, which had been pushed halfway down her thighs. The hand that wasn’t tied to the bed was lying limp between her legs.

She had clearly been masturbating. Sweat clung to her body, her thighs were slick and sticky with desire.

Her limbs were heavy, her skin still burned. She had only vague memories of being dropped onto the bed, begging Astarion to tie her up — and then violent orgasms crashing over her. Pleasure and pain so tightly intertwined.

How long had it been since her last climax? Heat coiled up in her core like a snake prepared to strike. An unbearable tension.

Her fever was rising once again. She inhaled sharply and braced herself to continue. She found her clit with two fingers, but the moment she made contact she wretched and her body shuddered.

Oversensitive. Swollen. Wet. So fucking wet.

She managed a few slow, light circles around her clit, but it was too much. It hurt. Her hand was too hot. Her entire body was too hot.

Her underwear should come off. Yes. Yes, that would help. She began to squirm, trying to push her underwear off the rest of the way. She turned her head and caught a glimpse of Astarion.

How had she forgotten he was there? Just sitting in a chair just a few feet from the bed. Staring down at the floor. He should be so much closer. She needed him to be closer.

His fingers. Fuck. His fingers would feel so good against her clit, inside her. He was the solution.

“Astarion.” His name fell from her lips like a prayer. “I need your help.”

“What do you need?” Astarion asked. His voice low. On edge.

“I’m too hot. My underwear. I need them off. Please,” Naenia said with a whimper.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Something was wrong.

He shouldn’t be here. What had she been thinking? Asking him to watch over her like this? Selfish.

She pushed back against her desires and the shard of ice in her stomach lashed out, twisting, causing the most intense pain she’d ever felt in her life.

“Astarion. If this is —”

She whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Her heart beat out of control. She inhaled sharply and then tried to speak again. “If this is too much. You can go.”

It felt like an eternity before he spoke.

Naenia’s body moved, part of her trying to adjust to the pain — the other part trying to lure her back into the haze.

“It gets worse when you fight it, doesn’t it?” Astarion asked.

Naenia nodded. She struggled to remain lucid.

“Sex would help, yes?” Astarion asked.

Yes. Her body was furious. She didn’t just need sex, her body demanded it.

The pain was too much. She couldn’t get the words out. She could only nod.

Astarion could ease the stress, soothe her fever, and save her life. But knowing his past, how could she ask that of him?

For the first time in a long time, she felt true fear. She needed to orgasm to keep the fever down, but she couldn’t do it herself. It was all too much. She would certainly die if he didn’t help her.

“Do you need me?” Astarion asked.

Yes, please, Gods, yes. I need you, Astarion. Please. I want you to. But only if you want to. Only if it won’t hurt you. But those words wouldn’t come. Instead, all she managed was a small whimper and a final nod.

Astarion stood and walked to the edge of the bed. A thrill ran up her spine at the image of him towering over her.

“Touch yourself for me, Naenia.”

She swallowed thickly and stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “I’m so hot. My underwear. Take them off me, please.”

“You know that’s not why you’re hot, darling. Do this for me, and then I’ll help you. Understand?” He crouched down beside the bed and positioned his face just inches from hers. She squirmed, unable to move closer to him with her wrist tied to the bed.

Naenia sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and began running small circles around her clit.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl,” Astarion purred.

It didn’t take much to bring her to the cusp of another orgasm. Her toes curled, her muscles tensed as she leaned over the edge — and then her fingers stopped moving. “I can’t,” she whimpered. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes. Yes, you can. Let go. Come for me,” Astarion demanded.

She ground her teeth, threw her head back, and circled her swollen clit again — harder this time.

Her ministrations pulled a soft sob from her throat. She whimpered and squirmed. “I can’t.”

Then Astarion captured her mouth in a kiss so sweet and soft it made her head spin. The feel of him sent electric sparks across her body. Enough to help her over the edge.

She moaned up into his mouth. Her back arched and her body shook as she found her release. “F-fuck. Gods. Fuck. It hurts,” she whimpered.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Astarion whispered against her mouth. “You’re doing so good.”

When the orgasm passed she noted how much cooler she felt. How much easier it was to think.

She sank into the bed, exhausted. “H-how long before I have to go again?”

“Not long. I do believe you’re through the worst of it though,” Astarion said.

She took a deep breath and turned to meet his eyes. “I can’t do it myself anymore, Astarion. Please help me.”

“I will. I just need to know you’re okay with this. That it isn’t the poison talking.”

“I’m okay. I trust you. Just take care of me, please.” Naenia felt her mind start to slip again. Whether or not that was the truth was irrelevant. She just hoped it was enough to convince him.

“Okay,” Astarion said.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He pulled her underwear off her body and dropped it to the floor. Then he crawled onto the bed, the old mattress groaned under his weight.

“Untie me?” Naenia asked.

He nodded and leaned across her to undo the fabric holding her wrist to the bed.

Naenia shifted on the bed, positioning herself directly underneath him. “Kiss me again, please? Like before?”

His lips found hers with saccharine reverence. Naenia wasn’t used to kisses that were so kind, gentle.

All the times she’d given into her most base desires had been rough, unforgiving — detached. She thought she preferred it that way. But this, this was nice.

Her body remained mostly limp, exhausted as they kissed. While the contact brought some relief, she could feel the heat twisting in her core again — demanding more.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name between kisses.

“I know. The fever’s returning,” he said.

She felt complete panic when he pulled away from her. He must have seen the panic in her eyes because he pressed his hands to her skin as he moved toward the foot of the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere. Just breathe,” he reassured her.

Naenia melted back into the mattress and closed her eyes. He dragged his hands along her sides, squeezed her hips, and then settled himself between her legs.

She watched with rapt attention as he placed one hand on her stomach to pin her to the bed.

“Ready, darling?” Astarion murmured. His other hand settled at the apex of her thighs.

Naenia nodded. Every time he lay his hands on her brought relief. She needed this.

He slid two fingers through her slick and entered her weeping cunt.

“Gods. Oh —”

Naenia panted, her chest heaving as the intrusion pulled a strangled moan from her throat. He was pure relief, but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s a good girl,” Astarion cooed.

As if sensing her need he slid a third finger in and curled them. He worked his fingers in and out of her in slow, thoughtful motions.

Her breaths came in ragged, hot bursts as she drew closer to another orgasm. Her clit throbbed and begged for attention. She used what little strength she had left, groaning as she found her clit with two fingers.

Astarion pulled out of her. Fear. She began to reach for his hand. He couldn’t stop. It would hurt if he stopped. “Please —”

“Hush, dear. Let me take care of you,” he murmured. He kissed her stomach before he settled further down on the mattress and nestled his face between her thighs.

“Oh —”

Naenia moaned and rolled her hips up against his face. He licked up through her slit, tongue teasing her entrance before moving up and settling on her clit. He found the perfect pace -- sucking and licking — pulling her right up to the edge.

Then his fingers entered her again. No warning this time. She cried out, back arching as bliss and agony danced over every inch of her worn-out body.

She carded her fingers through Astarion’s hair and felt him moan against her cunt. “I’m close,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

She ran her fingers through his hair again. This was normally when she would grab, pull, demand — but not this time. Now she just wanted to feel him. Her heart ached in an unfamiliar way.

Her orgasm claimed her. Unforgiving. Her expression twisted into one of agony, her body shook and trembled with desperate ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure and pain crashed over her.

Astarion continued his work with absolute devotion. He carried her through not one, not two, not three —

Naenia lost count after three orgasms. Tears welled in her eyes and burned as they rolled down her face. “Please —”

Please stop. Is what she wanted to say. But somewhere, the logical side of her knew he couldn’t. Her fever hadn’t broken. The more times he brought her to the edge and sent her crashing over the safer she would be.

Finally, when Naenia knew she could take no more — he stopped to look up at her. She met his eyes, dizzy and disoriented. His chin and lips were wet with her slick.

“One more, Naenia. I need you to come again for me.” He curled his fingers again.

“No,” she whimpered. “Please. No. I can’t. Please.”

He pushed his fingers deeper inside of her and continued his slow, agonizing rhythm.

“Yes. You can and you will,” he murmured.

Naenia shook her head, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

She tried to squirm away from him, but he kept her pressed against the mattress. She was too weak to fight him.

“Please. Please, no more. I can’t. I don’t want to —”

Pain flashed across his face. True pain. “I’m sorry,” Astarion murmured before his mouth found her clit again.

Naenia thought she’d experienced the most violent orgasm of her life earlier in the night. She was wrong.

This one shook her to her core. Blinded her. She came screaming his name, clenched around his fingers. Her body twitched and spasmed. Ecstasy and agony battled for superiority.

Then, for the second time that night, she blacked out.

***

This time, when Naenia came to she was still naked, sweaty — but she was being held tight in Astarion’s arms. His fingers traced lazy circles on her shoulder.

“Astarion.” She stumbled over his name. Her throat raw from screaming, body still so fucking weak. Her mind though, at least that was clear.

She turned her head and met his eyes. He was watching her with so much concern. It felt — strange. “I need water,” she rasped.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and slipped her out of his arms. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have found it odd that he was still fully clothed after everything.

He found his bag and dug out water for her. She had just enough energy to take it from him. She downed a few slow, careful sips and then handed it back. That’s when she noticed his erection straining against his pants.

“Ah, that. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he said. Astarion put the water down on the floor. “It should resolve itself soon.”

“Fuck me,” she whispered. Naenia didn’t want to come again. But she wanted to feel him. Needed him inside her.

Astarion furrowed his brow. “Your fever is gone. Do you still —”

“I’m fine,” Naenia whispered. “I’m me. I just want to feel you.”

She watched with quiet approval as he removed his pants and underwear, freeing his cock. His shirt stayed on as he crawled over her.

He pressed a kiss to her stomach, her chest, and the top of her breast before nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

“Are you sure?” Astarion whispered into her ear.

Naenia nodded. “I want to. Do you want to?”

“Yes.” Astarion ghosted kisses across her neck as his hips settled over hers.

“Astarion?” she whispered his name shyly. So unlike her.

“Yes?” He kissed her jaw and then pressed himself up to meet her eyes.

“Will you kiss me? Like you did before.” She trembled with anticipation, heart racing. Only calming when his lips met hers. He captivated her with practiced kisses so calm, and sweet.

“Fuck me, Astarion,” she pleaded.

He obliged. His cock entered her slowly, stretching her out in the most delicious way.

Astarion moaned into her mouth as he set a slow, languid pace. “Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes. Yes. It’s perfect,” she hummed.

She placed her hands on either side of his face, cradling him as gently as he had held her before.

Naenia didn’t do gentle sex. So, that on its own was a strange sensation. But even stranger than that was getting fucked and not chasing her own release.

She couldn’t come again, even if she wanted to. All she could do was feel him, inside her, on top of her — and breathe him in.

It almost made the agony worth it. She wondered if she’d ever experience anything like this again.

Astarion nipped at her lower lip and pressed a final kiss to her lips. “Naenia. I’m close. Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” she whispered, letting her hands fall away from his face.

The pace quickened, and then his hips stuttered. Astarion pressed his face into the crook of her neck. Almost instinctively she wrapped her arms around him, holding him so close as he found his release inside her.

He groaned against her hot skin. She loosely ran her fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head. There was that unfamiliar ache again in her chest. She didn’t like that feeling, but she liked this.

Slow movements. He pulled out and collapsed on his side next to her. Naenia turned her head to study him.

Naenia often found people easy to read, but not him. Astarion kept so much hidden behind that mask of his. It rarely broke, and when it did, she could only catch glimpses of truths she couldn’t quite understand.

What Naenia said next. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Is this what people in love feel like all the time?”

Astarion studied her face. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Me neither.”

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Meet me at midnight to see how dark we can take this crackship

Only, not as dark as I thought it could be? Oh well, @elder-dragon-reposes REALLY liked it! I mean really.

ao3 | masterlist

Her footsteps on the stair were not the first inkling he had of her presence in his tomb.

There was a shift in the air, a whisper through the stagnant corridors hissing of a presence that had not been in the halls of Forelhost since the Traitor was a young acolyte in the Order. But as alike as her presence was to that lir, there was something light that was entirely this being, this volaan that was all her own.

He would handle her. Did he not handle the Nordic invaders long ago?

"You know how you dealt with the last wave of volaan."

Froda's ghost sneers in his hollow ear, a draft that persisted in invading his chamber even after millennia. He snarls into the darkness, and silence falls again.

Tremors worble through the air, sometimes brushing the stones and at others, pressing against his ears. The volaan's encroachment into the catacombs was neither explosive nor vivid. If he weren't so attuned to the wards and runes of Forelhost, he would not have known she was there until it was too late.

Time passes. It creeps forward, frost covering the ground with the advancing winter. A chill curls down his withered spine, coiling in his chest with the harshness of a cold drake. He could taste the blizzard building in the air the closer the volaan came. He would last through her winter, just as he did others before.

"You call this outlasting the winter? It has broken you, wuth jul."

The whisper dissipates, but the growing chill does not. It permeates the stone so that frostbite threatens the dead nerves of his skin. The temperture continues to drop.

Hours pass.

Then, with a gust of icy wind, the doors open. The volaan arrives.

"Will you kill her, then?" Yes. "What a shame."

He prepared to rise, to release the ward sealing his sarcophagus, and burst into the room in a blaze of glory. But then Froda's words touched him. Why was it a shame?

Power coiled in the air, the crick shrrr hiss of ice crystals drifting through the air and shattering on the dusty stone. Dusty stones in a broken temple at the heart of a fallen city, dedicated to dead gods and a forgotten religion. Long ago, was Forelhost not the last remnant of the Dragon Cult's power? And now what was left, but dust and bone and shattered stone? Yes, yes, it would be a shame. It would be a great shame to meet such power, only to incinerate it.

Rahgot would not join the ashes on the altar to his god.

He feels her skirt the room, her chill pushing back against the heat of his wards. Closer and closer she came to him. What to do when she arrived?

Her hand on the lid was a shard of arctic ice. In life, he was familiar with the clever men and mages' magic lurking under their skin, leaving tell tale signs of each person's strngths--and weakness--in the arcane. But hers was not subtle; it was a raging storm.

IF he concentrates hard enough, he can recall a similar potency in the Traitor's presence, electric and biting in its intensity.

Both are a storm.

Dovahkiin . . .

His whisper is kiss of warmth through the coolness. He can feel her hesitate above him, and he thinks he moved in error. She was leaving. He should have remained silent.

But then the lid is sliding, solid and heavy, to the floor. Snowflakes flutter into his sarcophagus, and Rahgot sees the Dovahkiin for the first time.

He is struck by her resemblance to the Traitor, chestnut curls framing an almost golden face, wherein sat a pair of eyes so blue that the sky would weep with envy.

But yet, there is a softness in her face that wasn't present in the Traitor's, a light in the eye and draw of the mouth that spoke of exhaustion and perseverance. Where the Traitor was full of pride, this woman, this fahlil was patiance.

Where the Traitor came and went with the flash of a summer storm, hers was the long cold that seized Atmora and threatened to outlast the world.

"She'll outlast you."

But Froda's warning goes ignored.

Her hand is on the staff. Though he has not wielded it since beyond the reach of mortal memory, its heart of flame still burns like an inferno. Her mouth purses when her hand grips the stave, its heat daring to thaw the permafrost under her skin.

It is as she draws her hand back, steam curling around her finger tips, that he takes the staff in familiar hands and rises from the grave.

The Dovahkiin stumbles back, her ring-clad hand held to her chest as his presence looms before her. He can taste the power trailing from his staff to her hand.

It is quick. It is almost easy. Vahlok did not have such a fortunate confrontation. Rahgot is up and over her in a vengeful blaze.

She drops to the floor, not in defeat, but to escape his fire, and Rahgot descends--

--but she is not there. In a whirl of smoke, he turns to find her poised on the side of his coffin, ice gathered in her hands. Her face is hard, her eyes frozen.

YOL TOR SHUL! "FO KRAH DIIN!"

The songs of fire and ice meet and burst against each other, dousing the chamber in a blanket of steam. He hears her gasp at the heavy air.

But a lich does not need air, nor does he need to see.

As she stumbles backward into his sarcophagus, Rahgot falls on her, a smothering shadow. She screams when his spidery hands find the collar of her armor and the pillar of golden skin above it.

"FEIM—"

But his hand crushes her windpipe, silencing the Thu'um in her mouth. Her eyes are blown wide, sightless in the dark.

How simple, how exquisite it was to have a creature so full of power within his hands.

She is bound up in a hard shell of silver ice, but Rahgot would see to that later. His hand still on her throat, he traces the other over her face, cresting over sharp elven bones and soft mannish cheeks. He reaches her ear, and feels a tremor in her throat when his finger catches on the leaftip.

Long ago, they said Traitor's power was born from dovah sos in his veins. At the time, Rahgot did not, would not believe such a blasphemy to the gods. But over the long ages in rumination with nothing but Froda's ghost and the mountain winds to haunt his ears, he pondered the possibility of a true Dovahkiin.

Now he believed, and now he holds one in his hands. A goddess in a mortal's skin. The power of the gods could be, would be his!

"You are a fool, Rahgot."

His hiss is ghastly, banishing Froda's ghost to the fringes and washing over the Dovahkiin's face in a cloud of decay. She gags beneath him. In retaliation, he pinches her ear between two bony fingers, and she chokes, gasping.

But it wouldn't do to kill the goddess of his new religion before he's preached his message. He would seal her in his own coffin as he prepared his ascension to a new priesthood.

His wards hold the lid in place, sealing the Dovahkiin without suffocating her. He would return for her soon, but first—

There is a gasp, a brush of frost, and then from the confines of the coffin, a whispy voice Shouts, her Thu'um penetrating through stone and death.

Rahgot rounds on the tomb, pivoting from his place on the stairs from his funerary dias. But it is too late. The Shout has burst from the air into the bones of Nirn itself.

"OD AH VIING!"

Odahviing tugs at a distant thread in the long tapestry of Rahgot's memory with the strength of iron tongs pulling teeth.

Odahviing. His old master.

But how did—?

"You've sworn fealty to your own doom."

Froda's taunting voice dances in his ears as thunder rumbles in the distance. The sarcophagus on the dias is still, but dust and debris fall from the ceiling like rain. Rahgot draws back, his staff raised to meet whatever new being threatened his sanctum.

"You know what's coming."

There was a crack! followed by a heavy crash. Dust choked the air, bitter in the cold and lingering smoke steam. Then, early morning light filters in, thin and golden. In its midst is a horned head and sharpened claw. Claws that would destroy Forelhost.

"Rahgot, mey! My teeth to your neck!"

THe roof was gone, and morning sun flooded the chambers, catching on the dust motes like magicka in the air. The smoke and steam dispersed quickly, and Rahgot, for the first time in nearly five thousand years, saw his god face to face.

Of all the dov, Odahviing was always a fierce and active ruler. Always quick to action and swift to speak his thoughts. Rahgot always knew his recklessness was why he fell in the war with the Nords. But before, Odahviing was a stalwart supporter of Alduin Thuri. His priesthood followed the example set by the High Priests in Bromjunaar. He sent lesser dov to heed Alduin's call against the Traitor.

Yet here he was, heeding the call of a weak fahlil with the blood of the gods. Why—?

But Rahgot could not ponder it any longer. His master was in the chamber. A large, brilliantly formed dovah, Odahviing's size forced Rahgot to sweep back across the cracked floor, all too aware of the heat and strength of a dragon's body. But his god did not look at him.

Odahviing's claws were prying open the lid. It fell away and he lowered his snout. Rahgot could just see small golden hands grasp at the crimson scales.

"Odahviing, I can't breathe—"

Her voice, faint, speaks a language Rahgot doesn't know. But whatever she says to the dovah turns the horned head in his direction. Odahviing is snarling.

"Mey lir, Rahgot! Ruth hi!" Odahviing, thur—

But the jaws are on him. As his bones are broken by his god's teeth, Rahgot sees the Dovahkiin sitting up. in his coffin, her arms draped over the side as she tries to catch her breath. Her hair is a whirlwind and her eyes crystal. What a ravishing goddess she would have made!

Her eyes catch his through the slits of his mask. Her face is as green as the cold orichalcum. But then her mouth turns up, a sneer, and she resembles the Traitor so utterly that Rahgot, for the first time in countless ages, grew truly cold.

"Save his mask for me, won't you, darling?" "Geh, Judsedov."

Rahgot doesn't know what the Dovahkiin says to Odahviing, but his god calls the fahlil the Queen of the Dov. The Queen.

His last thought was that she was already a goddess, and Odahviing, a god in his own right, was her loyal priest.

Froda's laughter is the last thing Rahgot hears over the rumble of the dovah's throat and the crunch of his own bones.

When the mask falls to the floor, bereft of its priest, it is several long minutes before Leara can muster the strength to retrieve it. Even then, Odahviing offers his head to help support her, and he guides her across the floor.

Picking it up, Leara fingers the cold orichalcum, tired.

"What happened?" "Well . . ."

She trailed off, warm and comfortable against Odahviing but embarrassed to continue. At Odahviing's gentle huff, she relents.

"He caught me off guard. I tried to stand on the coffin for leverage, and then the bloody lich tripped me up." "Lech." "What was that?" "Nothing, Kunziiyol."

Sighing, Leara turns her face into the warmth of Odahviing's snout.

"Let's go home."

Guiding the Dragonborn to the safe hollow at the base of his neck, Odahviing takes flight, leaving the ruins of Forelhost and the Dragon Cult behind.

"Drat, I forgot about the Word Wall!" "Ruth, vahdin."

fin

[astrology-bf]

May DWC Day 4: Celebration

@daily-writing-challenge

(CW: Death Mention, PTSD, Mild Spoilers for A Realm Reborn)

The success of Operation Archon was nothing short of miraculous. Still struggling to recover from the Calamity and barely united in the face of internal and international disputes, Eorzea nonetheless stood free in the face of both Garlean and Ascian machinations. There was every reason to celebrate.

And yet…

Y’shtola’s face was somewhat pensive as she made her way through the halls of the Waking Sands. Much like Eorzea herself, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn struggled to rebuild in the aftermath of tragedy; the demands on their organization were proving a bottleneck to replenishing the ranks, so their desert headquarters remained uncomfortably empty. Truth be told, Y’shtola herself had business elsewhere were there not a more pressing concern demanding her attention.

There was every reason to celebrate. And yet, the hero of the hour, the man who rode out of the burning ruins of the Praetorium on the back of a magitek reaper after having defeated van Baelsar, the Ultima Weapon, and Lahabrea himself… seemed not to care.

Ifan had wasted not a moment in celebration before immediately returning to work. He seemed disinclined to spare time for socializing, let alone revelry, and Y’shtola had begun to notice a distinct pattern of Ifan being conspicuously elsewhere whenever Thancred was around.

All of that bothered her. Ifan was a hard worker, yes, but this recent display of ascetic diligence would have put a Studium valedictorian to shame: it was unlike him to forgo his indulgences, Thancred included. But what bothered her the most was his incuriosity about the more arcane aspects of his encounter with the Ultima Weapon and Lahabrea. He was disinterested in discussing the subject outside of formal meetings, and even during those he largely stayed silent beyond answering direct questions. Not a single insight, nor even idle speculation. Very unlike him, indeed.

Her ears perked as she heard a door open and close from the corridor ahead of her. Sure enough, Ifan rounded the corner a moment later. He stiffened briefly as he caught sight of Y’shtola, then smiled and gave the sorceress a wave that was too casual by half. “Hey, ‘Shtola. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” he greeted.

“I had heard you were due to stop by here. It is good to see you, Ifan.” Y’shtola replied with a graceful nod. ”Might we have a word, if you’ve the time to spare?” she asked.

“For you, always. What’s up?” Ifan answered brightly, crossing his arms. 

“That was my question, actually.” stated Y’shtola, watching Ifan carefully. “Is aught amiss?”

The magician failed to hide a momentary flag in his expression. “Amiss with…?” he asked, only for her gaze to provide all the clarification needed. “Ah. Do I give that impression?” Ifan hummed as his smile became sheepishly sedate.

“I feel I know you well enough by now to say that you are not the sort to spurn chance to celebrate a victory. And lately you have achieved a triumph beyond what any of us could dare hope.” she said. Her voice was gentle, and her expression softened as she stepped forward to close the distance between them. “Ifan. If my perspective on things is skewed, you needn’t feel like you can’t correct it.” 

Ifan’s smile cracked. He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes, expression twisting. “...I can’t get anything past you, can I?” he let out in a strangely tense tone, as if breathing pained him.

The sorceress’ expression grew more serious as the tips of her ears lowered slightly in concern. She reached forward and placed her fingers over Ifan’s, feeling his digits twitch at the contact. “Do you remember the Navel?” she asked as she peered up at him. “You confided in me about you being a black mage, and then bade me promise to check your ambition. I should think that includes reminding you that you have people willing to help shoulder your burdens.” 

There was a long and ugly silence. Then Ifan opened his eyes and let out a choked noise like he’d been struck in the chest, his other hand gripping his shirt. “Lahabrea, he k-... I died...” he forced out, tilting his head to hide his eyes behind his hair as if unable to close them of his own volition. The confession itself was almost inaudible.

Y’shtola’s ears twitched as if uncertain they’d heard him correctly. “You d-” She leaned back slightly, looking him up and down as her hand tightened around his. Then her lips pursed as she bit back all but the most relevant questions. “...You live now, yes?” she asked, leaning forward to peer at Ifan’s face again.

Ifan’s face was twisted up, teeth bared in a grimace and eyes fixed on a memory. “I don’t… I don’t know. Maybe? I…” he mumbled, hand trembling against hers. He took in a choked breath, fighting back tears. “T-thought it was Thancred, that he’d got control back, and I… I hesitated…” 

Y’shtola’s ears fell flat upon realizing what it was Ifan was implying: how Lahabrea had gotten the best of him. A faintly horrified gaze broke through her usual composure, and she reached up to cup his cheek with her free hand. “But you were returned to us? How c–" A breath escaped her.  "Ah. Hydaelyn. I see.” The sorceress lowered her eyes to Ifan’s chest where his other hand was wrenched into his shirt so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was hunched over slightly, and he seemed to labor for breath: the very image of a man remembering being impaled through the chest. Y'shtola placed both her hands over the straining knuckles, her fingers gently coaxing him to release his death grip on the white fabric and take a breath. 

Ifan's fingers laxed, his eyes slowly closed, and he inhaled shakily. “...’Shtola, what if I’m a…” he whispered, then trailed off. He seemed unwilling to finish the sentence.

“Even assuming that is true, what are you afraid would change?” she asked.

Ifan took a while to answer. He tensed repeatedly, as if struggling physically with the question. Then, at last, he spoke. “I don’t want to have to fight my friends again. Every time Thancred laughs, or even just reaches for me, I’m back there. It’s not even his fault, it’s m…” His hand left his shirt, moving instead to cover his face as the tears began to fall. “I ca… I don’t want to do it again. Can’t. Sorry. Y’shtola, I’m sorry…”

He was still speaking as Y’shtola stepped forward and threaded her arms around his chest, a hand placing itself opposite where he’d clutched his chest and rubbing in soothing circles. “You needn’t apologize, Ifan.” she said quietly. “I merely grieve for you, having had to endure something so…” She grimaced and shook her head. “I cannot imagine."

Watery hisses escaped between Ifan’s teeth as he stifled his weeping in an effort not to attract the attention of passersby within the Waking Sands. His face remained hidden behind his hand as his other arm clung tightly to the sorceress embracing him. “Don’t tell the others. Please.” he managed, his jaw resting against Y’shtola’s temple. “Hurts too much right now, I can’t… When does it stop hurting?”

“I’m uncertain.” she answered quietly. Her voice remained even, but the sorceress was privately grateful that the fabric of Ifan’s shirt quickly wicked away the moisture from her eyes. “But you have my word that I will still be here for you even after it does.”

[thecomfywriter]

🎆Find the Word Tag 2🎆

I'm doing it again because I got tagged again by @frostedlemonwriter and the game is super fun :) Thank you for the tag!

I'll be doing excerpts from my wip, 'Throne of Vengeance'. You can learn more about ToV here, here, and read the first 10 chapters here.

My words: Steam, king soul, tough

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Steam:

Dragging a person encapsulated in ice down a hall and through a door frame was a lot harder than it looked. It wouldn’t have been such a challenge if said person wasn’t actively resisting being dragged by using magic to rapidly melt themselves and maneuver their ice-cage down the stairs. He had nearly toppled down the entire flight and smashed himself free had I not called Zella out. With a lunge and strike, she sunk her teeth into Alan’s unfrosted shoulder, reforming the icicles all over his skin. With her hold secure, Zella slithered back to my arm, this time doing all the heavy lifting for me. When we arrived in my room, I instructed Zella to drop his cage into the river, which split my room into two halves. As she did, I locked the door behind us, then used frost to seal every window and possible exit shut. “You do not have to lock me in like this,” he grumbled from behind me. I turned around to find him soaking wet, but entirely melted, with steam coming off his defrosted body. “I will stay.” I smiled at him, at how much he reminded me of Red when he pouted in anger. “That’s not what your stunt at the stairs said.” He crossed his arms and turned away from me but did not exit the river. His clothes floated upwards in the water, revealing some nasty scars and bruises all up his torso. They decorated his body worse than his anger had decorated Jervee Revenold and Morreial’s face. Amongst his scars, there were also new muscles and corded veins. Rolling my pants up to my knees, I took a seat by the riverbed, dipping my legs in and playfully swinging them alongside the gentle current.

King:

[not the word itself, but contained within a word]

‘Why does the seaman sail the sea? When her waters are lethal and unforgiving, brutal to all? There is a joy in mystery, Alan. An excitement to adventure. That is how our ancestors saw it. They did not have the resources nor science to explain the true causality of their thrill. You know of ley lines, and you should be caught up on your Arcanic Scriptures studies. Tell me— why do you suppose we stay and raise a kingdom in a land as lethal as she?’

Soul:

I flicked my fingers, causing the orb to swing open and two thin streams of water to silk out and slither against my flesh. I let out a cool breath, feeling the water harden to ice as frost decorated them into the shape of glass-like serpents that wrapped around my neck. The one Hilbert had destroyed had returned to me in broken fragments which took forever to reanimate. But Zella and Dilla were bright as ever, slithering down my arms and resting their heads innocently on the back of my hands. I offered them out for Alan to touch. Trepidatiously, he accepted, using a single finger to pet Zella on her tiny head. “I used these twins to steal,” I told him. He looked up through his lashes, clearly intrigued. I’m not surprised. I never talked about my Pixie days. While I liked to indulge in the past, it was in my privacy, and not in the shame of my criminality. “I would let them loose in the stalls we wanted to steal from as a distraction. My little angels scared a lot of souls, back in the day.” Alan’s lips curved into a crescent smile. “You have a whole secret life, Cara. I wish you would tell me more.” Morreial had said something similar, a while back. But how does a person confess an entire ledger of shame like that? How does someone bear their soul like opening a diary of their deepest confessions? I didn’t think either boy would judge me, but I also didn’t trust anyone except for myself to indulge in the pain of these memories. They hurt as much as they satisfied me, and it was a therapy I couldn’t bear anyone to witness.

Tough:

I nodded uselessly before clothing myself in his guards. When I sat by him, it felt like watching a master within his craft. He worked silently and diligently, which made it hard to follow along. His hands were tough but gently, sanding and grooving the length of the stone into the perfect shaft. The only sounds of the workshop were of his chisel against the crystal, and the screech of the metal tools. But as we carved and sanded down the crystal with delicacy, I admired the blacksmith’s son, who did not realize how integral his craft was to turning the tide of this battle.

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Literally why were 3/4 of these excerpts from Cara chapters. Our girl got her feature today lol.

I'll be tagging the TCW tag crew for this post. If you want to be on the TCW tag crew, interact with this post here! If you want to be removed, let me know!

TCW Tag Crew: @satohqbanana @mysticstarlightduck @harps-for-days @the-golden-comet

@did-i-do-this-write @aalinaaaaaaand @drchenquill @honeybewrites

@paeliae-occasionally @illarian-rambling @hidden-dreamland

Your words are: help, advice, connection, burden

Happy Writing!

[defnotjarlaxle]

My Drider NPC Khel'zor already makes me sad, I love him

Let's see if my party decides to adopt his stupid ass.

Khel'zor was born into House Xarzith in Menzoberranzan, the infamous Drow city of treachery and intrigue. From a young age, Khel'zor displayed an uncanny affinity for magic, drawing the attention of the house's matron, Lady Illyndra Xarzith. She saw potential in him and sent him to Sorcere, the academy of magic, with grand aspirations of him becoming a powerful mage and bringing glory to House Xarzith.

Life at Sorcere was harsh and competitive, with the constant threat of betrayal lurking in the shadows. Khel'zor quickly excelled in his magical studies, mastering spells that even elder Drow would struggle to comprehend. However, as he climbed the ranks of the academy, he became increasingly arrogant and dismissive of his peers. He believed himself to be the chosen one, destined for greatness, and this hubris would ultimately seal his fate.

Lolth, the capricious and malevolent Spider Queen, took notice of Khel'zor's arrogance and decided to test his loyalty. One fateful night, as he delved into forbidden arcane rituals, Lolth appeared to him in a horrifying vision. She offered him immense power in exchange for his complete devotion to her. Khel'zor, consumed by his own ego and ambition, dared to reject the Spider Queen's offer, believing that his own magic surpassed that of any god.

Infuriated by his defiance, Lolth unleashed her wrath upon Khel'zor. With a wave of her divine power, she transformed him into a Drider, a horrific half-drow, half-spider creature. The pain and torment of the transformation were unbearable, and Khel'zor's agonized screams echoed through Sorcere's halls.

Banished from Menzoberranzan by Lady Illyndra, who saw him as a disgrace to House Xarzith, Khel'zor was cast out into the treacherous tunnels of the Underdark. Alone, shunned by his family and his people, he roamed the dark and dangerous depths, a twisted and tormented creature.

Over the next five years, Khel'zor struggled to come to terms with his new form and the weight of his failure. The isolation, the constant fear of predators, and the haunting memories of his past life took a toll on his mind. He began to refer to himself in the third person as a way to distance himself from the shame and guilt that plagued him. It was as if he could not bear to acknowledge the person he once was.

Khel'zor's mental problems also manifested in other ways. He became paranoid, believing that Lolth's spies were still watching him, waiting for an opportunity to exact further punishment. He had fits of rage, lashing out at anyone or anything that crossed his path, as if trying to release the pent-up anger he felt toward himself and the world.

But amid the darkness and madness, there flickered a glimmer of hope within Khel'zor. He yearned for redemption, a chance to prove himself worthy of the power he once sought. Perhaps, deep in the Underdark, he would find a way to atone for his arrogance and seek a path to reclaim his lost magic and body. Khel'zor's journey was far from over, and the Underdark held both danger and opportunity for him.

[eclipsecrowned]

general freyja muse lore bc i am Thinking about her:

largely lore-built with @luxsclaris. like a majority of my mythology muses, subscribes to the sandman concept of 'all myths are true, belief makes gods' cosmology.

speaking of... daughter of njord, true. her mother was actually one of the seven. the gold in her and her twin's eyes, plus their unearthly beauty, tells you which one was their dam.

was always the more rational of the twins, the more exacting, the one who stood up to the world. rebuked the aesir upon her arrival to their hall and curses her brother's sentimental nature for how it damns him. she is not without kindness or charm, but she is definitely not the starry-eyed maiden that many believe a goddess of love and beauty should be.

love is not an impulse. love is a choice. beauty is not what popular consensus agrees upon. beauty has myriad descriptions. magic is neither good nor evil. magic is a powerful force of neutrality. war is not about who is right or wrong. war is about power. and gold? gold cares for none.

had a husband. loved him. lost him. is wise to how she was played by her host in this affair, and keeps her grey-eyed daughters close rather than flaunting them before his court. though they are his shame, they are not pawns, not to be used to hurt the man who aided in their creation. she's the better parent than odin by that alone.

popular consensus among the loki-aligned muses i play is aside from them, freyja is the only one with the right to strike at odin where it hurts. everyone else has only superficial wounds from his scheming and warmongering. freyja has been chained to his hall for generations just as they have been locked out of it, and he broke her heart besides.

hella talented mage. i have it she was mentored in the arcane and the shaping of magic by her parent's elder brother. one of the few beings in creation that can be said to be truly fond of my dream.

does not want to work with the aesir. is generally showing up for free food and a chance to watch the idiots do their idiot tasks. whenever someone rolls up to sessrumnir without being invited she does the otherworldly equivalent of turning on the sprinklers as they're coming up to the door. get fucked.

[heavenzscent]

Mikasa Ackerman

Circe

A Greek Myth Retelling about the goddess of witchcraft and transformation Circe.

Circe due to a scandal she is involved in is exiled to the island of Aiaia due to the gods being intimated by her power and potential. This is where she learns more about herself and grows more powerful then she ever could have within her fathers halls.

The Daughters of Ys

An ancient Breton folktale/ Graphic Novel

Rozenn is a lover of wild things and lonely places while her younger sister, Dahut has a love for wonders. But after the loss of their mother the girls retreat into two different worlds.

Lion Cross Point

Literary Fiction

A shy and traumatized boy is beginning a new chapter in his life with a new group of people to call family. As he gets used to his new environment he grapples with the shame, anger and sadness that has silenced him.

Quiver

Greek Myth Retelling about the huntress Atalanta.

Atalanta is cast to die as an infant. The goddess of the hunt Artemis sends a she bear to nurse her and a band of hunters discover her and raise her up. It comes to light that the cruel father was in fact a king and now wants to claim her to use her for politics. Although Atalanta has a plan to stay a free woman and continue to honor her patron Artemis.

Monstress

Fantasy/horror/ Graphic Novel Series

Maika Halfwolf is a survivor of the war between the Federation of Man and the Arcanic mixed race led by the race of nearly immortal individuals known as the ancients. Maika faces oppression and the cruelty of the world while the goal of finding answers about her mysterious past keeps her moving forward.

Never Let Me Go

Literary Fiction/ Sci-Fi Elements

Kathy attempts to come to terms with her childhood and how its idllyic atmosphere at Hailsham School contrasts the fate that awaits her and her loved ones. She begins to come to terms with the fragility of life as she dives into her memories of love, friendship and loss.

The Hunger Games

Fiction/Dystopian/ Young Adult

Katniss in an attempt to save her sister who she views as one of the great unsoiled goods in this world and who she loves dearly is whisked into a world of opulence and stardom through the cruel competition the hunger games.

[sabraeal]

I posted 24,543 times in 2022

That's 2,898 more posts than 2021!

88 posts created (0%)

24,455 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bubblesthemonsterartist

@ponyregrets

@infinitelystrangemachinex

@akai-vampire

@ninox-ios

I tagged 4,603 of my posts in 2022

#ans - 586 posts

#arcane - 572 posts

#spy x family - 547 posts

#fmab - 476 posts

#twisted wonderland - 317 posts

#obiyuki - 270 posts

#hakuouki - 158 posts

#akatsuki no yona - 154 posts

#a:tla - 115 posts

#bnha - 110 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#also i love the look obi and shirayuki give each other when she's like you must find your vocation. it's two adults just being like 🙄kids

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

WFB, Tanbarun arc: Obi meets the real reason she had to leave everything behind.

[Read on AO3]

Obi can admit: even after spending the day with Umbrella Corp’s heir apparent, even after knowing that Richie Rich couldn’t find his ass with both hands-- but in a nice way-- he hears the tiny tyrant’s little proclamation and thinks, what’s his game?

He may not be on the fast track to Summa Cum Laude, not like Doc-- and apparently this kid, if Daddy keeps paying out that Big Pharma money to keep his grades at the top of the curve-- but Obi doesn’t need any fancy academic distinction to suss out that Raj’s celebratory kegger idea belongs straight in the ‘godawful stupid’ pile. And with the quick way Doc goes bloodless at the offer, the air’s got that tangy Calculated Insult taste to it.

That is until he squares up right in front of this Timothée Chalamet looking motherfucker and is blind-sided by his bright-eyed, dummy wide smile. Despite the vibe in this room reading like the end of a slow-burn thriller’s first act, this idiot thinks he’s doing everyone a favor. The kid somehow took one look at Annie Hall here and thought that her brand says vomits Pabst Blue Ribbon as an extracurricular. There are times where Obi considers his past gold star failures and thinks he’s nature’s worst clown, but Shenezard-- Shenezard could fill a whole car.

“Raj,” Doc chokes out, looking like she’s two steps from a body bag. “That’s very...generous of you, but you don’t really--”

“No, no.” Between blinks, Raj springs forward, seizing her hand. “Shirayuki, you are the generous one, coming here after all this time to make amends--”

“I’m not,” she reminds him, steely, like the tooth of a bear trap. Or maybe the blade of a guillotine. “I’m here to present a paper.”

“--So you must give me the opportunity to be likewise magnanimous.” One hand may be taken, but the other’s free to snap, loud as a gunshot in the empty foyer. “Sakaki, see to it.”

His lawyer ventures a weary glance, closing his briefcase with a final snap. “Mr Shenezard, you know I can’t be party to providing alcoholic beverages to underage students.”

“Right.” His fingers snap again; the brothers passing by flinch. “Brian will take care of it.”

One of them-- the tall one, built like a linebacker with boat shoes that earn the name-- sighs. “Aw man, not again.”

“I told you, dude,” the other one mutters, pushing him through the doorway. “You can’t make eye contact.”

Raj doesn’t even bat an eye, just stares down at Doc, flushed with victory. “See? Simple. Get yourself ready, Shirayuki,” he warns warmly, “for tonight you will be fêted!”

*

Between Princess and Prez’s egos, there’s no elbow room for any other opinions on the frat’s event committee, but even still, Obi knows there’s some logistical issues to putting together a kegger in barely five hours. It’s the sort of thing he’d worry over if he thought for one second that Doc wanted anything to do with this half-assed excuse for a hook up, but she flees the scene the moment Raj gets distracted enough to drop her hand. It’d be a shame to get all heated when she’s already hanging out a window, escaping the only way she knows how: dangerously.

Real kind of Doc to save him the hassle; if he had to concern himself with her tender feelings, why, he’d barely have time to agonizing over what to wear. Since that’s apparently how he’s going to spend the hours between dinner and drunk o’clock: staring at his backpack full of clothes and hating every stitch on them.

It’s not like he didn’t bring nice stuff; Chief had briefed him-- and Big Guy, and His Lordship, plus a hastily emailed primer from the Big Boss with a rubric for sartorial formalities-- but he can’t exactly wear a sports coat to a keg stand. Maybe CEO Barbie could wear her designer pantsuit and not get a drop on it, but Obi doesn’t have the sort of face that can wear business formal like gym shorts. And the rest of it...

Well sure, jeans and tees would match the vibe; certainly be a step up from the early December board shorts he’s sure will be in fashion tonight, but it’s not-- not--

Hot. His Majesty said this trip would only be four days, a quick jaunt over state lines to see to it that Kihal’s momentary expulsion wasn’t in vain. Packing light seemed smart. He didn’t need to bait the hook when the only item on his itinerary was a poster session and an academic dinner.

He still doesn’t need to; his whole job here is to make sure Doc isn’t eyeing any third-story windows, not his ass. She’s six inches of leg and a drawer full of Victoria Secret away from being his type anyway, and he only came here because-- because--

Her hand had look so pale against the checkered tablecloth, so limp, like it hadn’t been held in years. Like she’d given up on someone being there to take it. He’d held it in the car-- still wet and clammy, a complete accident-- and even now it burns in his memory, the first warmth he’d felt since someone put five inches of cold steel beneath his rib cage. And stupidly, his first thought was, Doc deserves someone who would.

His second is, I’d like to be that someone.

It’s a fucking mystery why. Sure, he-- he likes her, in a real Disney Channel Original, baby’s first crush way, but this whole situation he has at Wistal is a glass shoe, set to shatter the moment he has a diploma in his hands. The last thing he needs is a reason to cling to the shards, expecting more than anyone wants to give him. Besides, he knows by now-- they could hug him and squeeze him and call hims George, but Obi’s the kind of guy who sees and open door and runs through it. There’s no point to being more friend than the job entails. Not unless he wants someone putting up flyers to find their lost Obi, at least. It’d certainly be a first.

“Right.” His palm scrub over his face, muffling out the rest of the world for just a second. That’s all he needs to remember what’s important here. “Just put something on, asshole.”

It’s a stupid thing to worry about. If these clothes didn’t smell like musty library, he wouldn’t even--

Something flutters, right at the corner of his eye. Not big enough to be a threat-- he can tell that right off, but it definitely didn’t come from his stuff. No, looks like it blew out of the trash, pushed along by the sudden burst of hot air from the vents. His mouth tilts, sliding right into a smirk. Speaking of flyers...

Phi Sigma Pi Crunch Time Kegger, this one reads; he has to squint to see the grainy oval in the center is just a photo-realistic barrel. $5 at the door. 8pm on December--

Ha, well. Look at that. It’s today. What a coincidence. Seems he’s not the only one concerned about what’s covering his ass.

*

See the full post

27 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

#4

The Opposite of Shame

[Read on AO3]

It should be easy.

That’s what Zen had said they paddled the last few yards into the canals, a stream of water curled onto his palm, shaping itself into a pearl, too precious to even touch. At least, easier than what you were doing, he’d laughed, letting it splash back down into the water, splattering into Mitsuhide’s lap. After squeezing water out of vines, a whole city of it should be nothing.

And yet sweat beads at her brow when she tries to coax a trickle from its slow currents, dripping from her fingers like a recalcitrant cat. Her boots brace against the ice, and she hauls, the way laborers would, pulling and straining and still-- it flops back down to the surface, swallowed up by ripples like it never left at all.

Shirayuki sprawls right back onto her rear with a huff. That’s what she gets, bending with only half her head. Maybe if she was still ho-- where she came from, she might have managed it. There was something about knowing every vine curled around her window and every plant in the streets of Ba Sing Se that made the motions come easier to her, that made bending nearly mindless. But here...

Ba Sing Se may have been raised from stone, but there were trees there, gardens. Little window boxes where grannies raised their kitchen herbs and children tended their mother’s flowers. In Agna Qel’a, it’s all...ice. Ice and snow and water a shade warmer than freezing; a paradise for a waterbender like her, one who had always hidden her skills lest some neighbor suspect she was the Avatar. Water was next in the cycle, after all, and to see a child with green eyes bend something besides stone would bring her before of the Fire Lord faster than the Earth prince could snap. Even the ancestors would be hard pressed to say what would happen to her when he found out she was simply mixed-blood, a waterbender wearing an earthbender’s face.

And yet this is not the safe haven she imagined, the home she had yet to find. Instead it’s barren, as cold and uninviting as Master Haruka. A woman need draw no more than a dram, he’d said, voice cracking like a whip in the temple. Any more risks being unseemly.

Unseemly. She gets her feet beneath her, letting her attention slide alongside a likely stream. Haruka’s voice echoes in the confines of her skull, What does a healer need that couldn’t fit in a skein?

Healer, he said; woman, he meant. How Kiki could come from a place like this, her bending honed to a blade’s edge, and yet its Master Bender could still say to her face-- impossible.

Her teeth grit, cheeks flushed. Zen might have warned her at least. He’d made this place seem like a refuge, like heaven, like home, and now not only does she have to worry after Haruka, but even Raj--

She can’t think about that. That’s the whole purpose of this: to not think about it. Another thing that’s supposed to be easy. After all, Shirayuki forgets things all the time. Meetings, meals, sleep-- it all fades away under the sinuous stretch of leaf and vine, her fingers reaching and stems rising to meet the motion, as easy as putting on a glove.

But that’s not what it’s like here. Not when it’s so cold that algae barely blooms. Hard to lose herself when every surface reflects her face.

“Lookin’ pretty serious there.”

Shirayuki concentration shatters, easy as a plate on a pub floor. The stream of water she’s pulled-- larger than she’s ever managed before, even if it still wiggles and drips against her control-- drops, tumbling back into the canal with a plop, big enough to soak her boots.

No, both their boots.

“Ah, uh...” She doesn’t know his name; a realization that pulls her up screeching a moment too late. They’ve only met twice, after all-- once when he tried to scare her off, and again when he caught her at Laxdo. Each time he’s appeared like fog off the water, disappearing just the same way, intangible and unannounced. “Sorry.”

Satisfaction glints like a knife’s edge in that man’s eyes, as if he suspected he might get this reaction. Or worse, meant to do it.

Well, that’s what he gets, anyway, coming up on her all unaware like this, a strange man in a strange city. He’s lucky she doesn’t have her plants, otherwise he wouldn’t have much room to be giving her smirks and sly eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss.” His shoulders twitch, a distant cousin to a shrug, as he shakes off his feet. “I was asking for it sneaking up on a lady all alone like that.”

It mollifies her to hear him admit it. Just a little. “Here, let me at least--”

Her hand flicks out, ready to wick the water off him-- it’d be rude not to-- but he shuffles away with a laugh, his own warding her off.

“I said don’t worry about it.” His smile is wide, if not a little lop-sided. “You barely got me. It’ll dry off on its own.”

She frowns down, eyeing the waterline on his boots, wet splotches climbing all the way to his knees. He can say what he likes, but it’s freezing at the poles, and even dry he’ll still be cold. She should really--

Her teeth clamp down, keeping her protest locked behind them. There’s no reason for her to worry about a man that only shows up to cause her trouble. “What are you doing here?”

His grin sharpens to a point, through strangely, she’s sure it isn’t aimed at her. “My my, young miss. You may not wear a necklace like these water folk, but that question has teeth.”

She lifts her chin, stubbornly meeting his eyes. “Should it not?”

For a moment, he’s still. Not the way a person is, all hitched movements and stifled breaths, but the way eel hound does before they strike-- motionless. More like a statue than a living being.

And then his mouth splits in a grin, tongue clucking against his teeth. “And after I caught you in my arms, too. Folks just aren’t as grateful as they used to be.”

Shirayuki stares, confused. “Used to--?”

See the full post

28 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

#3

900 Followers: Pick Your Adventure

The pairings have been chosen, and now it is time for you to choose what you would like to see! Each pairing has four options, let me know which fic you like most for your holiday gift. Voting is open from today, 8/25, to Friday evening, 8/26!

VOTE HERE

30 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

#2

At Your Command

[Read on AO3]

Written for @kaedix‘s birthday! Kimber requested an Ella Enchanted AU, and I originally set out to write a canon universe one where Obi had the obedience curse...and I made something close to that, and yet entirely new as well...

The carriage pulls up right outside the alley; even in the street’s shadow it shimmers with shellac, like wet cobbles on a dark night. With all the hansoms that clog Port City’s arteries, it’s unremarkable, just another box among many. Save that it’s here, where no one with the money to hire a cab would be caught. And save that it’s arrived right on time, just as he’s been told it would.

A boot hedges out of the shadow, followed by a narrow limb, stretched enough to be part shade itself. The carriage merely waits, hunkering down at the alley’s mouth with all the gravitas of a fat tabby used to table scraps. It could play this game all day, its hefty shape says; could he?

He edges out the barest bit more, letting the light from The Beggar’s Barrel fall across the knife-sharp planes of his jaw. A tilt of his head sets one eyes to flash like a coin, stark beneath the low-slung band of his cap. A dangerous look, he’s been told, the kind that keeps bigger boys from trying to roll the one who’s skin and bones. That’s the thing about being skinny; all it takes is a good, feral grin, and only fools want to feel out your edges.

It gets the job done too; he’s hardly got his chin up from his collarbone when the door swings open, revealing an even deeper dark inside. “Get in.”

It strikes like a whip’s lash, the air knocked clean out of him. “Me, milord?” He gives a hearty laugh, making a good show of peering around the narrow alley. Good thing there’s not enough light to show him sweat. “You’re sure you have the right pl--?”

“You are Nanaki, aren’t you?”

His soles itch as he shuffles closer, trying to stave off the burn. Another breath or two and he’d find a long walk over hot coals more pleasant than standing here. “Today I am. Though maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like someone else...”

A shadow shifts in the dim of the cab, not small. “I have little patience for mummery. Hurry up.”

He’d likened those words once to a goad to an ass, but tonight-- tonight he has to catch himself before he stumbles. There’s not much pride in him, but what’s left refuses to meet his client on hands and knees, crawling up the steps like a cur. He’s got a reputation to keep, after all.

“Your wish,” he grits out through clenched teeth, taking those stairs in a single bound, “is my command.”

The inside is black as pitch and just as sticky, the shadows clinging to the corners as stubbornly as a stain. Still, he catches velvet beneath his palms, the cushion plump as any young miss, not the aching black lacquer benches of one of the city’s hansoms. Plain it might have looked from the outside, but this is no jumped-up merchant’s night out. Whatever money bought this is old, like the quarter itself.

He’d stretch his other senses to the task, but there’s no need; once the carriage has clopped and swayed itself to smoother cobbles, the shade snaps up. Lamp light pours in, painting the cab in gold.

Hardly necessary; this man is made of it. His business has never extended much to textiles-- too much speculation for his blood-- but the fine weave on that wool coat alone would fence enough to keep him well fed and warmly housed for a year, fingers firmly in pockets. That doesn’t even account for the linen of his shirt, or the brocade of his waist.

His fingers scour runnels through velvet. This man isn’t money, he’s a noble. No wonder even the barest command from that mouth sets him scrambling.

It’s not the first time a man more title than name has sought him out-- he’s got a reputation after all, a good one. A knife with legs, a man called him once, and he’d liked that just fine. A tidy little image; one that keeps the unsavory types from trying to stiff him. But this man-- this man looks nothing like those small, sniveling lordlings looking for a sure answer. No this one, this one--

This one could be a killer himself. If the calluses on his hands are a hint, he already was. Men don’t get ones like those from playing around in the training yard. This was a man used to fighting.

No, a man used to winning, unless he mistakes his guess. A dangerous sort to get in bed with, and a lethal one to get in business.

Well, let it never be said he passed up a bad idea when it sat itself in front of him. “Nice ride.”

The lord grunts, displeased. “Tell me how this works.”

His mouth itches the minute the words hit air. It’s not like this with everyone; most times he’s got a few moments-- maybe even a few minutes-- to dance around, to let them replace a strict order with a weaker one, maybe even slip the lead on the whole thing altogether. But his lordship here wields commands like a rider holds his reins, and oh, he’s not in the habit of letting a bucking stallion keep his head free.

“Well, I’m not sure of the mechanics.” His teeth flash, an effect lessened by the glare of the lamplight. Hard to seem so dangerous when all of him can be seen, black washed out to gray. “But the hitch the horses up front, you see, and then the driver--”

“Not the carriage,” his lordship snaps, brow furrowing like a thunderhead on a horizon. “They say you’ll do anything a man asks. Tell me how it works.”

There it is; the trap closes, and it’s steel teeth as far as the eye can see.

“Command me, mister,” he drawls, stretching his legs as long as they’ll go. It’s enough to pass beneath the bench on the other side, his lordship giving a censorious sniff. “And I must obey. That’s my gift.”

At once, the storm breaks, and with a terrible certainty, his lordship grates out, “No, boy. That’s your curse.”

It’s not that he expected business to be concluded in a rattling carriage-- that’s the sort of thing one of those merchants might do, the ones that want to curry favor with the First Prince by aping one step up on the food chain-- but he’s got to say, he doesn’t see the palace coming. A clandestine location sure, maybe even the guy’s townhouse if he’s got a misplaced sense of confidence, but most blue-bloods seem to know that you don’t flaunt your private problem solve right under the royal’s nose.

Then again, His Highness has been up wooing the North for the past few months. Turns out all those old ladies were right: when the cat’s away the mice will play. These ones just dress nicer and aim a little higher than stealing cheese.

See the full post

33 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

900 Followers & Holiday Gifts!

Way, WAY back in the early months of 2022, I got quite the influx of followers and this happened:

Which means that, as is traditional, I will be posting every Friday in December with fics of my followers’ choosing! And since last year was obiyuki focused, this year will be about non-Obiyuki pairings, including those from other fandoms! Which means I’m going to let you guys tell me what pairings you’d like to see!

From today, 8/21 to Tuesday, 8/23, I will be collecting pairing suggestions via ask! I will pick the pairings I am most interested in writing, and on 8/24 I will put those to a vote!

ASK AWAY!

33 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[laurenstraka]

Patience.

Have I ever given you a reason to doubt?

What we seek will reveal itself in time.

The elegant script of the message begins to disappear moments after it darkens the page, but I snap the small black book closed before it can vanish entirely. There's no sense in arguing, I never have the last word.

I've not shadow-stepped such a great distance in some time, and I realise quickly I have materialised behind the outer gates, beyond a dimly-lit path to large wooden doors set into the face of a grand cathedral that towers before me like a great beast. I glance at the ancient plaque on the gate, Avernus University of Arcana. Trying to step again and reappear closer to the doors feels like smashing into an unseen wall, a bracing reminder the grounds are warded and I couldn’t have arrived any closer even if I had been more precise. Through the gate then. It screeches hideously as I push through.

The night is black as pitch tonight. The stars have been blotted out by a teasing storm that hides the cathedral’s sharp spires and stained-glass windows, though I remember them well enough, even in the dark.

I walk swiftly along the neat cobblestone path as rain begins to fall, sharp and icy. I don’t bother to raise my hood as I near the doors, savouring the small refreshing stings on my face. As I approach I am greeted by a crest, an ashen engraving of an inverted triangle overlaid with the alchemical symbol for brimstone. Underneath the crest reads Astra inclinant, sed non obligant. The stars incline us, they do not bind us. A phrase drilled into the mind of every impressionable student, including my own more than a decade ago. One of the few pieces of dogma imparted that wasn’t complete nonsense.

The engraving glows a mute red as I whisper, “Intrar.”

I feel the soft brush of the school’s protective magic wash over me, probing to ensure that I am friend and not foe. A precaution that has perturbed others I have known, but one that I have always thought prudent and necessary. The American burnings seemed to have somehow vanished from many minds since we began cursing the inanis to forget our existence. Now we punish any who reveal their arcane nature, risking the exposure of our people. The great lie that protects us all is one I have little faith in.

Two circular black eyes open on the engraving and a low, rumbling lament signals a familiar greeting as the heavy doors swing open to admit me. I enter with haste, what was an initially refreshing mist has turned into a deluge, and I wish to avoid becoming completely soaked through. Inside I am greeted by an empty chamber. It appears naught has changed in my absence. Bleached antler chandeliers cradling dozens of blazing candles hover far above me, bathing the room in a sumptuous warmth and bright light. At the centre of the room is an ancient, gnarled tree with thick roots that curl and knot before disappearing beneath the stone floor. I move closer to examine the leaves and am pleased to see that there are many more white leaves than black. A small half-smile steals across my face, and then a door to my right is thrown open.

“Had I known you were going to make a dramatically late entrance, I would never have agreed to come greet you. You’re interrupting the Headmaster’s welcome speech I’ll have you know.”

My half-smile turns broad. “Did you knock anyone down volunteering to rush out and meet me? You barely have any thunder left to steal as it is without my making a grand entrance into the Great Hall halfway through mealtime.”

He rolls his eyes in response as we move towards one another and embrace tightly, my hands reaching around his neck as I bury my face in his long, wavy white hair. It is as fragrant as I remember, smelling of lavender and vanilla.

“It is so good to see you Schazeraade,” his arms remain on my shoulders as he leans back, his face twisting into a dramatic scowl. “Shame on you for not coming to visit me more often, though I dare say I shall quickly tire of you now that you’ll be teaching here.”

“Yes, well obviously I accepted for precisely that reason, you shall never be rid of me now.”

“Hmm,” His delicate features become more serious, “you will tell me why you really came back here, won’t you?”

“I will,” I hope my voice is sufficiently reassuring, “but not tonight.” I have not decided what I will say. It's unlikely it will be the truth, but perhaps a taste of it. “You’ve kept me from tea and food long enough I think, surely we can make an acceptably dramatic entrance by now?“

His expression softens and he offers me his arm, which I gladly accept. As we pass the tree I barely open my mouth before Dorian snaps at me.

“I don’t want to hear word about the damned tree. There was nothing special about Corvus House when you were sorted into it, and there isn’t anything special about it now, least of all its lacklustre pupils. Domiating the tree from high scores off one lucky round of final examinations does not a dynasty make.”

“Touchy,” I grin, “Could the whispers be true? Could the worst student in the history of House Cerberus become Head of House?”

Dorian scoffs in feigned outrage. “That’s utterly ridiculous. I have it on good authority that there was a Cerberus who failed their Compositions exam two years in a row in the seventies.”

Our echoing voices are drowned out completely by the raucous laughter as he opens the doors he came through and we walk into the Great Hall. A few of the younger students turn to look at me curiously as we pass but most are engrossed in their conversations or meal. I hear snippets of friends recounting their summers apart and discussions of the latest martial duelling matches. For a moment, the wave of nostalgia that moves through me is painful, and I yearn for a time and place that no longer exists, a simplicity of life that I can barely recall. My right hand has remained in the deep folds of my long verdant coat, and my fingers brush the small book that rests there.

A grander hall there may be, but I've yet to see one in the decade since I left, and if I put aside humility for a moment, I am well-travelled. The cavernous ceiling is a alternating construction of rounded arches of immaculate white stone and stained glass, the tops of richly patterned black and white windows that reach from the floor and curve softly into the arches. When there is light the intricately detailed glass tells a story, a great war between two arcane patrons believed to have granted the gift of magic to our forebearers. Our histories say there were many such patrons once and one by one they disappeared without explanation. Supposedly this is why we are so few. Despite the storm and darkness, I can still make out the three-headed beast Cerberus and the thousand-wing moth Corvus twisting and crawling along the walls, rendered beautifully in eternal conflict.

Avernus sorts their students based on affinity with the patrons, the brightest to the House of the all-seeing Corvus, the bravest to the House of the relentless force Cerberus. A divisive and antiquated tradition that I detested from the outset, but one that was frighteningly successful in creating heated rivalries that pushed our magical accomplishments to dangerous and impressive heights. It was inevitable that out of my greatest rivalry would emerge my closest friend, Dorian Voss. A nightmare student whose practical command was unmatched, he complemented my dizzying ability to compose new elixirs and later, curses. His friendship has remained a rare constant in my life since graduation. I would trust him with my life.

You may have need of such a requirement soon.

I can see the sharp script in my mind so clearly I feel tempted to pull the book out and see if it is written. I resist, with difficultly and pull my attention back to Dorian.

"- utter disbelief that Deliaj retired, let alone they hire the most gorgeous man I've ever seen as her replacement!"

"She was at least 200 years ago when we were students, I'm suprised she didn't retire earlier. Please let me come with you when you visit the library though... that place is literally an enchanted maze and I would hate to lose you forever, we've only just reunited. I know for a fact you've never been in there, unless you stumbled in by accident when you were drunk and never mentioned it to me."

"Ha! I've already been to introduce myself, and Gale was kind enough to offer me a tour later this week."

"Gale is it? First name terms already, nice to see some things never change."

"Hardly. An hour in my presence and all I get is a name, some drivel about the school's rare book selection and an offer for a tour? My magnetic charm is clearly dwindling."

We're nearing the Head Table, and at first I don't recognise anyone. A handsome older woman with long, beautiful silver hair and a long, aristocratic nose sits in the middle, the new Headmistress I presume.

My eyes travel along the table to the end where I feel a small jolt through my body when my eyes meet the gaze of a dark-haired man I recognise very well. Severus Kier, Master of compositions and malediction. My study principal while I worked towards my own Masters, before I left abruptly twelve years earlier. I don't look away, and we inspect one another without expression. He's aged well. Pitch-black, shoulder length hair is pulled back into a knot at the base of his neck, a touch of silver at his temples. I remember him clean shaven, but he wears a very short, trimmed beard.

I look away when Dorian tugs me towards two open seats at the other end of the table. He sits down next to a tiny, cherubic woman with a warm smile, and I sit next to him.

"You must be our new Professor," She leans over Dorian and beams, tight curls bouncing as she turns my way, " Welcome! I'm Alina Lumine!"

"Oh.. thank you very much, what do you teach?"

"I'm the Vatican's Divining fellow! I'm quite new myself actually, I was invited to lecture as a guest a few years ago, and I suppose I must have been rather well received because the Headmaster at the time asked if I'd be interested in staying on permanently, and of course I agreed, Avernus is a wonderful-"

She launches into a detailed description of her preferences for teaching rather than the pursuit of pure academia under the Vatican's ever-watchful and occasionally excessive supervision. I nod at the appropriate intervals but I'm so tired I can feel my attention slipping. I am very impressed that the school has attracted a practicing Diviner. I don't know many who are proficient in the theory of Divining, let alone the practice of it. Such an art requires a true believer, and they have never been many.

"- and I bought the most wonderful flat just a few blocks away, the trees turn the most lovely orange in the fall!"

"That sounds lovely." I smile as broadly as I am able. It's uncomfortable, but she's so earnest I don't wish for my exhaustion to be mistaken for being aloof. I could do with more friends. "Tell me Alina, is the Vatican archives as glorious and illicit as we all imagine?"

She giggles, and this makes me smile for real. She's an endearing little thing. She tells me a grand tale of her experiences with rare books and lewd sculptures, and I lapse into an attentive silence. We eat and drink and I tell her of my travels and work as a Seneschal, always an undeserved point of interest from new acquaintances. I trail off when I realise the Headmistress has made her way over to us and is politely waiting for a lull in our conversation.

"Apologies for interrupting, I only wished to introduce myself quickly before I turn in for the evening, its been a frightfully long day welcoming the new students. We've written enough that I feel I already know you quite well, but I thought I should observe formalities regardless." Her voice is smooth and quiet. She has strange eyes, with irises so pale blue they almost seem colourless. She pulls a very plain, but unusually long wand from her satiny robes and offers it with her palm down in traditional greeting. " As you well know, I am Headmistress Augusta Stel, and I warmly welcome you back to Avernus."

I stand and draw my wand from inside the folds of my cloak, a long twist of lilactree whitewood with a translucent glass hilt and present it similarly. She smiles and nods, creasing the many lines around her eyes and mouth.

"Enjoy your evening Professor Black, we'll speak further in the morning." She excuses herself and disappears through a dark doorway at the back of the hall behind our table. I expect to carry on speaking with Alina, but she has become engaged in an animated conversation with a bespeckled man next to her.

"What do you make of her?" I ask Dorian, intentionally speaking softly so as not to be overhead.

"Augusta? Your guess is as good as mine." His mouth is full, muffling his words, but I get the gist of it. "She was a curse-breaker during the war, so obviously the woman is formidable. Or she was once at least. She's been easy to work with, doesn't seem to ask many questions or monitor the staff to closely. I know she's keen to have you help us with martial duelling, I've heard she likes to bet on the National League matches. I suspect you and her will get along just fine."

Dorian casually fills my glass with a rich-looking red wine and soon it is late and I am far from sober. The hall has mostly emptied of all but the oldest students, though most of the instructors remain at our table. Alina returned to our conversation some time later, and I wait for her to finish telling me about the apparently common mistake of mistaking an seraphim for a cherubim before motioning to Dorian.

"Alina, it has been a pleasure to meet you, but I think I should probably be shown to my room before Dorian has to carry me."

He snorts. "It wouldn't be the first time. It wouldn't even be the tenth time."

"Yes, well, let's make it through my first evening back here without adding to the tally."

I'm gratified by Alina's continuing peals of giggling as we rise, and a bit unsteady on my feet. Dorian gracefully holds out his arm once again and I lean into him as we step down from the long table. It feels as natural as breathing. I don't deserve such loyalty.

"I should have visited more… I'm sorry."

"You should have done a lot of things my dear, though prioritising visiting me shows you still have excellent instincts." His voice is playful, but I know better. "I'm not sure why you've come back here, but I know it isn't because of your sudden passion to impart knowledge to the magical youth."

"Presumptuous of you. Perhaps you don't know me anymore."

"I'm certain I don't, but I believe equally that there is no version of you that has a great love of teaching."

As we leave the hall Kier meets my eyes for only a moment before he looks away, and I feel a distant sinking feeling in my chest, numbed by the alcohol. He's owed an explanation just as much as Dorian, if not more, after dedicating so much time to my instruction only for me to abandon him.

Everything seems so easy to justify when you are young. Only time reveals the true cost of decisions that once seemed inconsequential to any but yourself.

We re-emerge in the entry chamber and pass the tree across to a solid span of wall, where Dorian draws a familiar gold-hilted wand from inside his robes.

"Intar operaius."

The wall slowly opens inward and a deep, plushly decorated hallway with a number of doors on each side.

"Staff quarters I presume? Did we not break in here once? I can't quite remember…"

"We did. We were so impressed with ourselves we left without going any further. A unexpectedly wise decision now that I know exactly how badly someone is hexed if they try to force their way into a professor's quarters."

Moonlight spills through another stained-glass window at the end of the corridor. The storm must have cleared. I sigh in disappointment. The sound of rain always lulls me to sleep... though I suppose the wine should have a similar effect. Dorian stops at the last door on the left, and digs around in his pocket before handing me a small key.

"This is enchanted, please don't lose it. The replacement takes an age to re-enchant." He gives me a wink before making his way back to the wall and, I presume, returning to the Great Hall.

I use the key and let myself into a plain room with a dark wood floor. The only furniture in the room is a large four-poster bed, two small bedside stands and an enormous armoire that fills the entire wall across from the bed.

From inside my coat I retrieve my wand, a small leather satchel and the book. I finger the black ribbon that marks a page within and pull, and the book falls open. Turning towards the satchel, I wave my wand with far more flourish than is necessary.

"Recuparrrrrreeee record player. Magna." The alcohol slurs my words and warms my body, but my magic is sure and precise. A small object rises out of the satchel and with a swift motion positions itself on the closest bedside table and begins to grow, becoming a weathered black record-player. I shed my coat and it falls to the floor in a heap, exposing my simple corset and skirt. I position the record-player's needle over the record and with a whisper it begins playing a comfortingly familiar ballad, soft and slow. I collapse onto the bed without undressing and am asleep almost immediately, the wine softening the sharp edges of the memories and thoughts that would have otherwise kept sleep at bay.

I am already softly snoring when the black ink appears in the book lying open next to me.

I think I've come to like this one... thank you for the music. Sleep well.

[dozsu]

Pains and Truths

Of Endless Blue—Chapter 2

Kova woke up in a chamber she had only seen a couple of times. When you grew as the only daughter of a council member you had few reasons to end up in a hospital room.

She was on a bed made for a regular adult sized dragon. Which meant it was way too big for Kova. She tried to get up and check for any wounds, but froze when she found a shackle on her ankle. The visage brought a flash of memories to Kova. An ember of panic burnt her chest for a moment, but she would overcome any memories. They couldn’t hurt her if she could ignore and forget them.

Her family knew that physical restrains would be useless at this point, so it was either a message that said "don't try to get out of the room" or a decision made by a third party, either of those were troublesome, specially because she couldn't recall what she had done to deserve it.

She recalled teleporting, but she had used her breath and instinct instead of a spell and beacon. But why? She examined the room, searching for some extra info. But maybe it was just a whim of her uncontrolled self. That was the great problem with her curse, it was like a drunkness, all ideas felt the most logical and sensible at the time. Then she would "woke up" and find utter nonsense in her actions.

Explanations would come later, first she had to check herself, her right wing was aching, but didn't seemed like a teleport injury, most likely she rolled and slept over it, which was weird, could she already been growing unfamiliar with her natural body? Kova decided to use her blessing to free herself.

Dragons sometimes were born with special blessings that represented something to be proud of: powerful breaths, sturdier wings, beautiful scales, mighty horns, undisturbable minds, or the innate control of magic and some more.

Most dragons thought of it as destiny, like divine indication to dedicate their lives to something. She always thought it was just a streak of genetic luck, nothing to be really "proud" of. But then, she really found confort in the ability of morphing her body to command.

Scales turned to skin and wings to cloth, horns to hair and claw to nails. Her blessing had grown along with her mastery of the arcane, allowing her to reduce her size and weight. The smaller humanoid form let her pull free of the shackle, then she decided to revert back.

Kova's family wasn't happy with the use she gave to her blessing, that's why she only did it when alone. It was also unpractical to have the size of a wyrmling in the main quarters of the NSC.

Lurking around, Kova found her clinical record. Seems like she actually got injured by a ten meter high fall. She was unconscious, so she couldn't stop herself, and accounting the frail condition she was born with, it was enough to break some stuff inside her.

"But why would i... Oh... Right"—Memories of her ruthless decisions started flowing back at the moment the door opened—"Oh no"

Kova's doom illuminated the room with purple light, her executioner wore a shiny amethyst and silver necklace that matched her scales and wings. Violet looked visibly angry, which meant Kova was in real troubles. 

"What is wrong with you?! Everyone is speaking about the daughter of the new head of the NSC crashing with a ship in the middle of the conference hall"—Violet voice was kept low in a snarl of contempt—“I need an explanation, and i need it now”

“No, it’s just that i, well...“— Kova felt an immense sense of panic and shame that was soonly shut down, this time not by herself. Kova had learned to recognize the touch of Violet over her emotions. It was an awful feeling, and sadly, the best way to keep Kova’s curse on control — “I...got angry“

“Anger?”—Violet made a snarky snort and started checking the shackles—”That is something i would have forgiven to the tiny lady Kova, but you are no longer a Wyrmling. You know the damage you did?”

“I... am sorry“—Kova always thought the Violet only left the shameful and sorrowful emotions, making her speak with weakness in her voice— “I wasn’t expecting to get back so soon, and it all caught me by surprise... I didn’t wanted to make a mess“

“Dont you get it? You will eventually make a mess, that’s why you need to be here, where we can keep you under control“—She had the shackles in her claw—”I know that you are better than this. Or at least you should be...”

Violet’s words went back to her usual soft tone, and that was the worst part, sometimes she thought that Violet truly wanted to protect her. But there was something else, Violet never lost the opportunity to remind Kova the truth.

Among dragonkind there were many ideas and philosphies that tried to explain where the value of a Dragon was found. And Kova was represented in none of them.

She was the only daughter her mother ever had. But born with a frail body and ill of mind, the only ones who didn’t give up on her were her parents. Still, everyone already knew the truth. She wasn’t a daughter to be proud of.

Kova knew the truth, it was carved in her mind as in steel. She had learned to live accepting the truth without pain. But Violet presence made her feel angsty, her words accompanied with her psychic touch had a weird effect, leaving only those sad emotions that weren’t enough strong enough to ignite her curse, but also weren’t weak enough for her to just ignore.

“...anyway, you need to present a formal apology“—Kova had let her mind wander around all the awful things she was feeling, and had already lost half of the lecture Violet was giving her, Kova didn't care anynore — “Are you listening to me? Are you... whWhat are you doing?“

Her family was right, shifting that much had broken her, tears were for humanoids, not for dragons.

"It's nothing, a minor symptom of manual teleport"—Kova steadying her voice as she could—"I'll have the apology later, just... Let me alone, please"

Violet sighed, but she didn't seemed to have the humor to keep tormenting her— "I'll need it in 5 hours, you may leave"

Kova wanted to cry and roll in her bed. She wanted to become tiny, tiny enough to disappear from the world. But emotions had to wait, she had work to do.

And so, she jumped, appearing in a bed she hadn't seen in many years.

[arcaneranger]

Final Thoughts - BNA

Alright, Trigger. Let’s you and me have some words.

BNA is a clusterfuck, and I’m not going to mince words about it. It is a show that is, at the same time, way too ambitious - trying to cram in every possible social issue it can muster, into a twelve-episode runtime - and absolutely self-indulgent, claiming a prestigious Netflix spot right next to BEASTARS while being almost a parody of Trigger shows.

Did I say twelve episodes? Let’s start there. I lied about that. BNA is functionally an entirely different show in the first half, especially when it comes to even the slightest tonal consistency. Is this a city where life is valuable and all beastkind are welcome, or is it one where the slums are so comically hellish that they play baseball where every match is expected to be lethal for half the players? Are the police corrupt enough to let slumlords sell kids into slavery, or so uncorrupt that they go after the vigilante hero as soon as he breaks the law?

Well, it’s both. Anima City is a confusing, heavily ripped-off setting that only makes less sense the more serious the story gets in the second half, and I place that squarely on the writers. The plot only really starts in episode six, up to which point the show has basically been spinning its wheels while recycling what I’m sure were junked scripts from Kill la Kill, and the entirety of the actual story happens in just seven episodes. It makes the sudden shift in tone absolutely jarring, things going completely serialized from that point after being totally episodic beforehand, and this effectively-halved runtime leaves us with multiple baffling plot twists each episode that pile higher and higher on top of each other until the show completely collapses under the weight of its contrivances in the final episode. Once again for Trigger, the villain is a Hitler allegory attempting genocide, and his motivations make no sense because this version of Hitler is not just Jewish, he’s the most Jewish, a pureblood Jew (he even says it like Draco Malfoy), which somehow makes him better than all the others and means that he gets to spare himself from the great reckoning, except all of this is also mixed in with a massive message about how racism and segregation are bad in which his plan effectively translates into turning all of the black people into white people, and also apparently all of the Beastmen are prone to turning into massive, violent monsters if they get too emotionally overloaded. That’s got nothing to do with the villain, that’s just how they are, so in this show, the racists are right!

Look. You guys made Kill la Kill, and Promare, and Gurren Lagann. It seems fairly obvious that you’re tapped entirely out of profound things to say about society. But pulling something completely out of your ass like this and pretending that it should be emotional and uplifting and even vaguely consistent with itself?

That’s insulting to your audience.

2/10.

[ampleappleamble]

—

And Caed Nua received her gladly.

As the weary little group of adventurers had made their way back east, Axa's condition had slowly but certainly improved– although she'd been understandably quiet and sullen when they'd stopped to stay the night in Dyrford again ("It's funny– just after y'all left, who'd we find but Lord Harond, dead in his room," the innkeeper had stated, a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye. "Terrible loss. Tragic, really. More ale? On the house.") But by the time they'd set foot on the road leading up to Caed Nua, the little Watcher had been smiling again, cracking jokes with her companions, even singing a bit here and there, and the Steward had been quite happy to welcome her Lady back home in such high spirits.

In Axa's absence, the Steward had continued commissioning work on the keep, bankrolling the construction mostly with favors owed by allies and credit backed by Axa's good reputation– and aided, as ever, by Engrim's audacious, stubborn wheedling. First, in the main keep: a barracks to house guards that could keep the castle safe from invaders (from within as much as from without) and to patrol the surrounding roads, thus preventing the new thaynu from losing all of her subjects' taxes to bandits. And once that steady source of revenue had been secured, the stone matron had turned her attentions toward restoring a few core locations scattered across the premises: the western barbican, the training grounds, the towers, the chapel. And, of course, Brighthollow.

The last time they'd been inside the once stately manor, Axa and her crew had found it so vermin-infested and dilapidated that they'd been forced to set up camp on the floor in the keep's main hall instead. The pool in the courtyard had been a dried-up, crumbling mess of ruined marble and corroded metal; the stench of mold and rot from the kitchen hearth had repelled them so fiercely as to make it nearly impossible to cross the threshold. The upper floor had not even been accessible back then much less livable, the stairs having been splintered to uselessness and the stairwell clogged with debris. But now Brighthollow truly lived up to its name again, a shining beacon of class and comfort nestled in the very heart of Caed Nua: the fountain in the courtyard pool burbled melodiously, arcane torchlight glinting off the polished marble as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out from the kitchen and drifted up the pristine stairwell to the comfortable, fully furnished bedchambers above.

Edér had whistled in awe upon first seeing the renovations. "Careful now. You start gettin' too fancy, throwin' dinner parties and whatnot, I don't know if we can be friends anymore," he'd quipped, throwing a wry grin Axa's way.

"My, what a terrible shame that would be," Aloth had retorted, rolling his eyes even as they twinkled with awe at the manor's fresh splendor. "Rest assured, Edér: should Axa's couth rise to unacceptable levels, your esteemed company will be sorely missed."

But Axa hadn't returned to Caed Nua to host any swanky soirées, nor to referee slapfights between her friends over the Steward's choice of decor. She'd come back home to rest, to rejuvenate her badly frayed nerves, to compose her thoughts and gather the courage to do what work still remained ahead of her. And rest she did– as best she could, anyway. For although her masterfully refurbished chambers kept the Dyrwood's weather and wildlife out, they did very little to protect her from herself, and the nightmares were getting worse. She awoke on the floor more often than in her bed, and according to her companions, the moaning and whimpering she'd exhibited before had graduated to screaming as of late. On one occasion, to her great embarrassment, she'd apparently been loud enough to not only wake some of her companions in the middle of the night, but also to compel them to rush to her side.

And as Kana had helped her back into bed that night, his hand warm on her shoulder as Aloth fidgeted in the doorway, that was when she'd announced her decision to return to the Endless Paths. Taking a little time to oneself to rest and recuperate was all well and good, but Axa knew herself to be the type of person who'd be driven to madness by simply sitting around doing nothing, not acting on her feelings, struggling against her oppressors. And fulfilling her promise to Kana while also hopefully shedding some light on the strange and dangerous state of affairs in her basement had seemed as good an opportunity to get back into her boots as any.

Kana had been thrilled, of course. Aloth had knitted his brow in concern. "You're... quite certain that's what you want to do? Our last foray into the Paths almost ended very badly, and you're– forgive me for saying so, but you're not exactly at your best right now. Perhaps we could escort Kana down, and you could remain up here, where it's–"

"I don't need to be coddled, Aloth," she'd interrupted. "What I need is to quit moping and get off my ass so I can actually do something that at least makes me feel like I still have a little control over my life." She'd smiled up at Kana, then, had gently laid her hand atop his, still loosely gripping her shoulder. "Besides, Kana's been a great help to me– to all of us. And I gave him my word that I'd help him find what he's looking for. Plus, we're all much more capable now than we were the last time we went down there, and with a better idea of what we'll be up against, too. We can finish the job this time, I'm sure of it."

Kana had enthusiastically agreed, prattling away about camaraderie and determination as his grin had grown ever wider. Aloth had said nothing, but he'd gritted his teeth so hard Axa could hear it from across the room.

She thought back on that moment now as she sat beneath the adra pillars encircling Caed Nua's newly restored chapel, staring up into the clear night sky. It was hard to believe that conversation had taken place only just last night– the twenty-some-odd hours following it had seemed to fly by, and so much had happened. The tablet had been there, just as Kana had predicted, but of course it hadn't been as simple a task as just strolling down and claiming it. They'd first had to fight through the hoards of darguls and giant beetles that infested the ancient halls, and the deadly blights produced by the bizarre machines that dominated the ancient Engwithan laboratory. And after they'd gotten the door to Gabrannos' personal study open, they'd had the author of the tablet himself to deal with, his own arcane depravities having transformed the once revered scholar into a crazed, decrepit skeleton that had attacked Axa and her crew on sight.

And after all that, it turned out that dispatching Gabrannos and his abominations had been the easy part. What came after, discovering the fate of the tablet itself and the aftermath, that had been difficult. Kana had been devastated to find what had become of his long-sought prize, and understandably so. He'd struggled through years of intensive research and months of wearisome travel, pitted his life against beasts and spirits and Leaden Key assassins, only to have it all lead up to this– some useless, scattered chunks of rock, worn smooth by time and smashed to illegibility by the madman who'd authored them. Axa had tried her best to cheer him, reminding him of the unprecedented anthropological, historical, and archeological discoveries they'd made possible by even progessing this far into the Endless Paths, and his response had made it seem to her that she'd helped ease his disappointment, at least a little bit. She hoped she'd helped. Kana was a good man, intelligent and passionate and loyal, and he deserved some sort small consolation from all this.

Getting rather fond of him, aren't we?

The thought took her by surprise, and she felt a smirk tug at her quickly warming cheeks even as her brow furrowed. No, no, we're... it's not like that.

Why not? He's fond of you.

The image of the aumaua's smiling face sprung up suddenly in her mind's eye, followed closely by some other, more specific memories: Kana's voice ringing out as he sang a song he knew to be a favorite of hers, Axa passing him her pipe for a toke and getting it back warm and damp from his mouth, the bead of water that had rolled slowly across his collarbone and down his chest as he'd strolled about shirtless in his room at the Goose and Fox. Her smirk broadened into a goofy grin. It all made her feel... not exactly aroused, but something adjacent to it. Giddy, perhaps, or eager.

Well, alright, fine. Maybe it is like that. A bit. And so what if it is?

Aloth's face popped into her mind, his long, slender ears and his high cheekbones. What about him?

She blinked, frowned, her face growing uncomfortably hot. What about him? She thought of him on their first night together in Gilded Vale, just standing there wringing his hands while she wept on the floor, and then last night, clinging to the doorjamb and looking at his feet while Kana sat with her on her bed. He's not interested. Or if he is, he certainly hasn't tried to make it known.

But other memories drifted back to her– Aloth holding the door for her at the Black Hound Inn; his hand gripping hers, warm and trembling, as she guided him through his memories in the animancer's office; that shy little smile he only ever seemed to show to her. She glared at her knees, flustered and conflicted.

Just because I happen to find him attractive– just because I'm helping him through a personal problem, that doesn't mean– and after what Vaargys put me through, don't I–

"So here you are!"

The sudden bellowing of Kana's voice nearly made the little woman jump out of her fur, although she still couldn't help but smile up at him as he approached, even as her heart hammered in her throat. He smiled back. "I thought you'd gone to bed already. I was about to settle down for the night myself, but..."

"Too wound up to sleep?" She scooted to one side, inviting him to sit next to her. "I've been there. Many times."

He chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling in the light of the waxing moon as he lowered himself to the ground. "I'll bet you have," he replied, making himself comfortable as he leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Even before you became a Watcher, I imagine. Truly, the life of a scholar is one rife with hardship and adversity, much more so than the average layman would ever expect of us soft-fingered page-flippers."

Axa laughed, an uncharacteristically coquettish giggle that actually shocked her a bit to hear coming from herself. "True enough! Although with this adventuring lifestyle I've adopted as of late, I expect my fingers will have calluses to rival Edér's before too long." She brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear, glanced down at his hand lying flat against the ground between them. "Um. How are you holding up? You seem to be taking all this rather well, I have to say. Not that it's surprising– nothing seems to dampen your spirits for very long."

Kana's smile broadened even as he winced. "Oh, I'm... I'm coming to terms with it, I think. Slowly. Don't get me wrong, your encouragement has helped a great deal, and I certainly have some ideas about what to tell the lore college when I return to Tâkowa, but... to think that the true, original message of the Tanvii ora Toha must forever remain a mystery..." He shook his head slowly, the thick, dark coils of his hair bouncing gently against his jaw.

She looked again at his hand on the ground, a hair's breadth from her hip, and before she could talk herself out of it, she laid her own hand atop his, squeezing gently. "The true message of the Tanvii ora Toha is what the people of Rauatai have made of it, the lessons they've taken from it and applied to their lives and the lives of those around them every day. Whatever that old tablet actually happened to say, it could never change the impact it's already made." Her voice was warm and steady and reassuring, even as her stomach fluttered and flipped inside her. She squeezed his hand again. "You could offer it up to Wael, if you think it'd help. It can be Their mystery, Their secret to keep."

He laughed, soft and warm and sweet, and Axa's heart skipped a beat as the huge hand turned over in her grip and squeezed back. "Oh, Axa," he murmured, fixing his eyes on the little woman. "You always know just what to say. It helps that you're always right, too, of course."

"Yes, well..." She tried to meet his gaze but found it impossible, so she stared at her knees instead. "It probably also helps that I've a good deal of personal experience with losing years' worth of hard work to what was essentially nothing more than–"

–his hands were much smaller, delicate despite the scars, always cool to the touch–

"–than a bout of extraordinarily bad luck." It left a bad taste in her mouth to reduce her former fiancé to that, even after all the trouble he'd caused her, but she said it all the same.

"Vaargys, you mean?" Kana's ever-present smile drooped, his demeanor turning solemn. "I'm sorry. It must have been so much more difficult for you, losing so much in one fell swoop like that. Your research, your career, your lover... And now, when you should be healing from all that and focusing on your new life here in the Dyrwood, instead you have the Leaden Key and your Awakening to contend with." He turned his whole body toward her, then, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering as his gaze flitted from her hair to her face to her eyes to her lips. "And you've still found the time to lend me your aid, too, just out of the kindness of your heart! If... if there's ever anything I can do to help you..."

"I think–" Her breath quickened suddenly as something wild and reckless rose up inside her, seized her, made her look hard into his eyes, her gaze bold and hungry. "I think there may be something you can do for me, yes. If you're willing."

"I am." He was already leaning toward her, his eyes drifting shut. "You need only ask–"

"Alright then," she purred, reaching up and pulling him closer. "Come here."

Axa had never considered herself to be particularly well versed in the ways of love. She'd learned from a young age to guard her heart closely, and so far only two men had ever managed to earn a place in it– Rhys, a farm boy from Readceras who she'd met near the start of her college career, and of course, later on, Vaargys. The first time Rhys had kissed her, they had just spent the whole afternoon playing hooky by the riverbank on the outskirts of town, talking and laughing and flirting, and as he'd brushed his lips shyly against hers, she'd felt a great surge of pleasure and warmth that had seemed to expand and burst inside of her, scattering throughout her mind and body like the rays of the setting sun on the river's choppy surface. The first time she'd kissed Vaargys, she had just finished bandaging an old scar on his brow that had reopened, and as she'd gently swept a curl of blue-white hair from his temple, he'd looked up at her with such reverence and adoration and longing that when she'd inevitably pressed her mouth into his, she'd felt almost heroic, as though she were fulfilling some grand and holy destiny.

But when her lips met Kana's, all she felt was a jolt of confusion followed by profound disappointment– as though she'd popped a piece of her favorite honeycake into her mouth only to find that the baker had forgotten to put any honey in it.

What frustrated her most was that she didn't have any particular reason for feeling the way she did. It had all felt so right at first, she and Kana pairing up like this. It wasn't as though he'd done or said something to repel her, and she certainly didn't dislike him all of a sudden. But all the same, as soon as their lips had touched, any amorous inclinations she'd built up in her mind toward him were dashed asunder in an instant, gone, like a puff of smoke in a gust of wind. And now here she was, still locked into this ridiculous farce of a kiss with him. Only now did she really notice how awkwardly she'd had to position herself in order for her face to reach all the way up to his, and her body was starting to protest. The breath from his nose tickled her cheek. His hand was clammy against her jaw. She wondered how long this would have to go on before she could pull away while still sparing his feelings, wondered if sparing his feelings would even still be possible after this. Eventually, mercifully, the moment passed, and the two of them eased back, eyes still half-lidded, cheeks flushed, regarding one another for a very long, very uncomfortable moment.

She spoke first, quietly, carefully. "I... Kana, I'm– that was–"

"Horrible," he blurted.

Axa blinked at him in shock, and then they both burst out laughing.

"Yes!" she cried finally, struggling to catch her breath. "Yes! Oh, thank the gods you thought so too!"

He rubbed at his mouth, still giggling madly. "Ondra's teeth, how could I not? We were– that was–"

"Awful!" Her hands flailed, gesticulating wildly. "There was nothing there, no fire, no spark, just–"

"I know!" he whooped. "Like kissing my pillow! Like kissing one of my sisters!"

She cackled. "Like kissing a good book!"

That did it. The two of them practically collapsed with laughter, doubling over and clutching at their bellies, rolling about on the cool, wet grass. It had been a long time since Axa had laughed like this, and although her midsection quickly grew sore, she was so relieved to be done with the whole mess that she hardly even noticed.

"Oh, Kana, I'm– I'm sorry," she sighed at last, still hitching and snorting here and there, wiping tears from her cheeks. "This can't be how you thought this was going to go."

"Well, no, but–" He sat back up quickly, eyes wide. "No, no! None of that! You've nothing to apologize for! If anything, I ought to be apologizing to you!"

"You didn't do anything I didn't invite you to do," she replied, patting his arm reassuringly. "And honestly, I should have known better than to try something like this here, now. I'm in absolutely no state of mind to be pursuing any kind of romantic relationship at the moment, what with all the going mad and chasing down a cult..."

"All the more reason, really, to try and find some small avenue of escape for yourself, some pleasurable distraction. No shame in that. I, on the other hand..." He heaved a heavy sigh, turned to look up at the sky again. "I think, perhaps, I was still hoping for some sort of fantastic storybook ending to the Tale of Kana Rua and his Search for the Lost Tablet." He chuckled ruefully. "If our hero can't get the treasure, he should at least get the girl, right? But..."

"But life doesn't always go the way the old tales would have us believe it should," Axa finished for him. She remembered Rhys, staring at the ground with his fists clenched as he told her he had to drop out and return to Readceras, to assist his ailing uncles on his family's meager farm. She remembered Vaargys, his back slowly retreating from her as her books burned behind her.

She remembered Aloth standing in the doorway, grinding his teeth.

"Exactly. And anyway, I don't think this is my story anymore, if it ever even truly was." Kana smiled down at her thoughtfully, gently placing a hand between her shoulder blades. "I think it's your story. And it's nowhere near finished yet."

She grimaced. "If that's the case, I've a Hel of a bone to pick with the author."

"It's a thorny plot they've saddled you with, you'll get no argument from me there." Sympathy shone in his obsidian eyes even as his smile grew huge again. "But I'm right here alongside you, your loyal supporting character! And I intend on seeing you through to the very last chapter."

Axa chuckled wryly, a much more familiar sound to her ears than the ditzy giggle that had burbled out of her earlier. "I appreciate it, Kana, truly. I can always count on your undying optimism, can't I? Even after relegating you from love interest to deuteragonist."

"Oh, that's not such a bad role to play. Less dangerous than protagonist, at any rate." He peeked at her from the corner of his eye, his grin turning sly. "Besides, Aloth makes a much better love interest than I. Don't you agree?"

"I– wh–" Axa would have been less shocked if he'd kissed her again. "Gods, Kana! What are you– D-did he say...?"

Kana threw his head back and laughed, a hearty, throaty bark of pure delight. "Oh-ho! Oh, Axa, your face! You poor woman!" He chuckled a fair bit longer, even as she squirmed with embarrassment beside him, her face burning. "Forgive me, but– did you really not know? Our little rivalry over you? He's not exactly subtle about it! He thinks he is, mind you–"

"Kana–" Her voice came out a bit sharper than she'd really intended it to, but he fell silent all the same. "...Please. I meant what I said earlier, about not being in a good place to try and start a romance right now. And frankly, I don't think he is, either. We both have too much work to do on ourselves to be good partners to anyone right now, let alone to one another." She sighed wistfully, surprised at how depressing it felt to actually admit it, before cocking an eyebrow at the other Chanter. "I'm trusting you to keep this to yourself, you understand."

Kana held his huge hands up in front of himself, presenting his palms in a clear show of surrender. "Of course, of course. You have my word." He gave her a cheeky wink before hoisting himself to his feet with a soft grunt. "Well! I'm certainly ready for a good night's sleep now. And maybe a cold bath as well. Shall I help you up? It's a long day ahead of us tomorrow, trekking back to Defiance Bay, and it'd be in your best interest to get in as much sleep as you can."

Axa shook her head, her thick burgundy curls falling in front of her face. "Don't worry about me," she murmured. "I'll be in soon. For now, I think I'd just like a moment to myself."

She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her tightly folded legs, and she waited until Kana's footsteps faded into the distance, until she heard Brighthollow's front door open and close again, waited until she knew she was truly alone. Then, only then, did she let herself have it.

Fool.

You fool. You fool. You stupid, foolish, fucking idiot girl. You knew something like this was going to happen. It happened before, too, when you ran off to the Land. You ran away from your home, from your family, from everything you'd ever known, and what did it get you? Vaargys, that's what. And as soon as that blew up in your face– despite a robust campaign of denial and willful ignorance on your part– you ran away again, here, to the Dyrwood, trying to escape the consequences of your own stupid mistakes. And for what? So you can do it all over again somewhere new? Fall in love with an emotionally unstable liar again, get your heart broken again, fuck up your whole life and then run away from it again? Well, there's nowhere left to run now, girl. If you don't start taking this seriously and stop wasting what precious little time and energy you have left getting yourself tangled up in the lives of others, you'll lose your mind, or you'll fuck up on one of your ridiculous little people-pleasing side jobs, or one of your many new enemies will find you while you're weak and vulnerable, and you'll end up dead.

What's it going to take, Axa? What's it going to take for you to learn your fucking lesson?

And finally, the tears came. And she buried her face in her knees, powerless to stop them.

—

[dailycharacteroption]

Augur (Skald Archetype)

 As long as people have believed in soothsaying, prognostication, and any other such synonym of telling the future, there have been people, particularly emperors, generals, and the like who wish to gain some surety that in the battle tomorrow, they will emerged victorious and not on the end of a pike or captured and ransomed back to their own people.

It only makes sense, particularly in a fantasy setting, for someone to cut out the middleman and blend warrior traditions with divination, giving rise to the augur skalds that we will be focusing on today.

Now, while their specific context of this archetype from Arcane Anthology mentions a Mwangi-native warrior lady learning divination from the mystical nation of Nex, this archetype could easily appear anywhere where divination is widely practiced as well as warfare, be it burgeoning empires, survivalist cultures that sometimes stay alive by raiding, and so on.

These skalds, in addition to their normal duties, have a knack for reading the future both in the long term, and in the immediate short term, making them very well informed about what might happen even when they don’t know the details, giving them an edge beyond their prowess, magic, and inspiring performances.

 The most basic of abilities associated with these warriors is a sort of second sight, preternatural awareness, or other sense that identifies the strengths and weaknesses of their foes, but still requires the augur to interpret them.

Channeling their magic and oracular talents, these skalds can glimpse the future to answer questions about upcoming events. As they grow in power, their prophetic power expands, and can even contact higher powers to ask questions.

They can even use their awareness in combat, able to read the future actions of a foe to identify an upcoming gap in their defenses that they can exploit, though they can only do so a few times a day.

Enjoy the skald but with you had access to some thematic divination utility and knowledge gathering? This archetype might be for you. You lose some skill utility and resistance to certain effects, as well as some of the versatility of the spell kenning feature, but you make up for it for being able to regularly get a good vibe for upcoming events and the occasional big buff to an attack when it really counts. With this in mind, I’d build this skald with some flexibility in mind to adapt to what you learn, and go from there, but you’re free to build them how you wish.

 Given their role as both warriors and prophets that are specifically called upon in times of war, these skalds can often be war oriented, but more importantly, they are likely more concerned than most for more practical aspects of prophecy and wisdom rather than the esoteric stuff that often alienates wizardly or divine diviners from others. After all, putting yourself in harms way very often tends to give a certain perspective on the fragility of life and how quickly a thread can be cut short, possibly even destroying a destined path as a consequence, which is a whole other bag of worms.

  When the skald Yavnir warned his jarl that invading would only lead ruin to their civilization, the jarl, whose name has been stricken in shame, had the augur executed for treason in a fit of arrogant fury. Now, the ghost of Yavnir still lingers in the ruins of that abandoned hall, waiting to deliver a prophecy to a new prospective jarl.

 Created in the image of a mighty general, the shabti Savnet had a knack for combat and tactics, but her interest in the nature of predestination has also allowed her do apply her divinatory skills to her combat training. She can’t help but sense that some element of destiny is preparing her for something she cannot see yet.

 Nobody enters the Shrieking Trees portion of the Genshaa Rainforest for fear of the baykoks that hunt mortals that wander in. Supposedly a hunting party that reveled in mastering every hunt presented to them, it is said the leader of this undead band has an uncanny ability to predict and prepare for new prey.

[natalieironside]

(x)

25/30:  Self-promo time! Share a snippet from your main WIP that you’re proud of. 

Aw yeah, let’s get self-indulgent

Here’s a bit from the first chapter of Voidsong: Rise of the Warbringer, the which follows Voidsong: The Witchling.  TFW when you need go visit the regional magistrate to settle a claim on some property but the regional magistrate is a complete asshole who hates everyone and also he’s your dad.  Fortunately the rest of the family hates him too.

“How could you allow that to happen?  Whether you come to me as my son or my daughter, I will not tolerate such a display of permissive weakness.  I name you unmanly, indeed.”

All assembled gasped in shock, save for Helga.  A dark look crossed her face, a look that Saoirse and Nirtovi both recognized and knew what it portended.  Helga rose calmly to her feet and held up her right hand, and arcane power arced between her fingers.

Erik Gothi was unfazed.  He met her eyes and said, “Striking down your own father would be a worthy finisher to add to your growing list of transgressions, rassragr.”

“Be you my father or be you the All-Father, I will not tolerate such talk as this.  Nor will I tolerate a man calling me a killing word.”

“You’ve admitted to my face this day that you’ll tolerate far worse than that.”

Helga took a step forward, but before any of them could act, the tension was broken by a sudden silence as the clacking of the old woman’s loom ceased at once.  All eyes turned to her, and, with a look of naked hatred on her face, she growled, “You will stop this shameful talk at once, Erik Kveldulfson.”

“This does not concern you, you old bissom.”

“That which concerns my son and my granddaughter concerns me," she said, rising shakily to her feet, “and I wonder what transgression I’ve committed for the gods to curse me with such a stupid, ungrateful son as you.  You must take after Old Kveldulf, for you certainly don’t get that from me.  I thought I raised you better than to speak so shamefully to your very daughter.”

“So you take it at face value, that this strange and unmanly thing calls itself my daughter?”

Helga started to take another step forward, but before she could move, Toki’s right hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Erik Gothi’s beard, and Toki hissed, “You will stop this this instant, old man, or I will not give Helga time enough to break the peace of this hall before I’ve done it for her.  Disrespect my sister again, and I will rip the gothorth out of your arse.”

“So it’s treason, is it, boy?”

While the others were distracted, Nirtovi leaned over and whispered to Saoirse, “See?  It’s as I told you.  Isans are all completely insane.”

Saoirse could only nod.

[vixlenxe]

Morgan le Fay | The Dark Enchantress

Tales are spun & the soft murmurs of the name Morgan le Fay are whispered in groves, villages, & kingdoms alike. The dark enchantress of ill repute was not always so, her story matured in the great kingdom of Camelot itself.

Morgan le Fay roamed the courts of Camelot inspiring awe & drawing many a knight’s gaze in her direction. In the libraries, she was found tutoring under the master wizard, Merlin. It was in those dusty halls, filled with arcane grimoires, tomes & parchments littered with enchantments, that she learned to hone in on her talents as a sorceress, revealing new avenues of power that were previously hidden.

King Arthur & Morgan le Fay grew closer over their time together in Camelot, frequently seen hand-in-hand at the royal dances, side-by-side in the war room discussing strategies & plans of attack. There was another, however, that did not enjoy how close the two were getting. Queen Guinevere lurked those same hallways, quiet & frustrated to be seemingly left behind & forgotten. In those moments alone that she still maintained with the King, she sowed seeds of distrust in Arthur’s mind & from Arthur in turn to Merlin.

The schemes were brought to fruition after a heated exchange took place between Morgan le Fay, King Arthur & Merlin. Angered at being shamed for trivial reasons in full view of his loyal subjects, Arthur used the arsenal of thoughts provided by the Queen & brandished them as a weapon against Morgan le Fay. She was accused of insubordination & conspiracy to usurp the throne, when in truth at the time, she had no such desire for Camelot. Abashed at the groundless allegations and bitter that not even her mentor would come to her aid, Morgan le Fay’s sorrow transformed into utter fury as she condemned the royal pair. Turning away, she blast open the doors of the throne room, leaving them broken & charred as she walked away from Camelot, making a decision at that moment only to return when she was prepared to truly take the throne.

It has been centuries since that day, the years spent perfecting her dark crafts, including a wicked blade that corrupts one’s very soul, & that time has finally come. Only now, she aims not just for Camelot, but the world as a whole, & whatever else might be beyond it.