#he was pretty much a normal mortal elf

[offrozenmemoirs]

Seraph De Vinter, Winter's Blade

This is a commission that was done of Seraph during the first arc of the campaign, he's since changed his outfit as well as earrings and hairstyle.

[possamble]

What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

[louwhose]

I love Frieren and Himmel's relationship so much and I mean of course I do there's so much to love. An elf that thinks a human's life passes away in the blink of an eye and human that loves her? I'm already hooked. But add into that he doesn't say anything because he knows nothing will come of it with how she views things when he knows her and is content to just admire her for all she is as she is? The fact that she cares for him in spite of thinking his life is so short and getting to know him in the time they were together but regretting not coming to know him better after he died? I mean she's literally following their journey and remembering him along the way and the end destination is the chance to see him again, but I feel like she'll realize she truly know and loved him even if they never reach heaven.

And there's just. So many tiny details. I will try to recount a lot, but I'm sure I won't get all of them.

Frieren remembers so much about him. Regardless of where they go, it's usually a memory about him more than anyone else. She remembers his favorite flower, and takes the time to find it (though she doesn't consider time a least bit rare commodity). And she remembers it, which means that even though at one point she didn't try to learn about her companions, she afterwards made the point to remember their favorite things. And when she talked with Old Man Voll, who was regretting losing his memories of his late wife and asked if she could still remember her companions clearly, she refused to consider that she ever won't. She considers their memories that precious.

And then there's Himmel. Oh my goodness. Beyond just his initial attraction, the way he's always fascinated by her magic and her making enough of an impression on him at a young age that he sought her out years later for such an important quest is delightful. And did I mention that he just loves her magic? BECAUSE HE DOES!! And it helps her to love collecting her weird spells that much more, so good and supportive, Himmel.

And fear not I shan't neglect to mention the mirrored lotus ring because I am incapable of being normal about that scene. He had Frieren choose a ring (my respectful man there where can I get me a Himmel) and when he saw which one she chose he knew what it meant and chose to present it to her in a way that was sure to be memorable to her. Even though she didn't yet know the meaning of it, once she does, she can look back on the memory of him pledging his love eternally to her, an immortal, in spite of his mortality. He may be content to never say it, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't like her to know.

And now I am going to talk about a manga arc that ends on like. Chapter 118/119? So spoilers if you choose to proceed any further.

Frieren has spent so long now working towards seeing Himmel again and then she. GETS TO SEE HIM AGAIN!!! I am certain that if I scoured this arc I could find soooo many details for them (and I am tempted but instead I will focus on a few details that come to mind and analyzing one very specific thing about it.

Just. Himmel saying he likes who she's become, not having any clue that he was a major influence for her becoming that way. I just love that he appreciates her at every stage she's at it's just so uwu. and then when FRIEREN said he's a ray of light??? omg omg omg omg oomg I die they both just see the best in each other and I live for it.

And Then There's The Wedding. If you read this far on this and didn't expect me to gush over this part here is where I disillusion you. Himmel's feelings for Frieren have been pretty obvious up to this point, but seeing that he would in his ideal world want to marry her and spend his life with her is GRAHHHHHHHHHH there's no words to describe it. and like. Frieren is there too? how am I supposed to interpret that but as her own paradise? even if it's as a looser interpretation of she wanted to spend all of Himmel's life with him??? INSANEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee

and then the fact that Himmel had his dreams presented before him, but he felt something was off, and didn't take advantage of it. Not even for a kiss. THIS RESPECTFUL MAN what is there not to like if anyone is good enough for Frieren it is without a doubt him. and the way they work together to get out of it???? oh man I love it

idk I just love their dynamic I think it's great and full of unfulfilled potential and I hope they get something some kind of closure if Frieren really does make it to see him again I just really love thinking about them thank you for coming to my presentation

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

This Week's Been Nuts So Here's Another WIP

This one features Freya (plus size elf sorcerer) and Astarion, set post-game. I might even be relevant to @dhampling's interests. Veers into NSFW talk pretty quick but nothing happens...yet.

“You’re not coming?” Freya asked, holding out her gloved hand to Astarion. It was the second year in a row they had come to stay a month in the ancestral city of the Wildhearts in the north. They were out at night (of course) with Freya insisting on skating.

“Not tonight, darling, but you go and enjoy. I’ll be right here.” It’s far better to admire her from here and not while wobbling on skates.

She smiled. “Alright, love. Maybe after we can get you some hot spiced wine and something for me.”

He nodded, waving at her as she turned to get onto the frozen river. “Whatever you want, sweetness! I’ll be here!” No matter what, I’ll always be there for her. He sat on a bench and watched her skate along the river. I always take great satisfaction and pleasure from watching her. She’s utterly divine.

Then he saw her helping a child who was about to fall.

Even before their marriage (honestly, before we defeated the Netherbrain), Astarion had researched dhampirs---half-vampires born of a vampire and a mortal. Some books detailed truly horrific experiences of dhampirs who clawed their way out of their mothers. Other tomes stated that those books were salacious nonsense and had accounts of normal dhampir pregnancies. All this information he shared with Freya previously, and her reaction was a simple shrug. “I suppose we can try and see what happens” was what she said. Well, that and “if it doesn’t happen for us that way then we can always adopt.” But I’ve been interested in creating our own little dhampir.

The stirring had grown particularly strong lately. And here it goes again. The urge to…breed her. A not insignificant smirk graced his lips. He knew she loved that kind of talk from him. She melts into our bed each time. What a delectable treat, my sweet is. Astarion was taken out of his increasingly sinful thoughts when he saw her waving at him, skating back to the snow-covered ground. “You done, my love?”

Freya nodded, her freckled cheeks pink. “Yeah. Missed you too much.” She carefully made her way to where he was sitting, a smile on her face. “I can always come during the day tomorrow if I want. I just want to be with you now.” Still smiling, she unlaced her skates.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest?” He cooed. “Coincidentally darling, I was also thinking the same thing.” If the books are correct, then I simply need enough blood. Enough flowing through me to make our little dhampir. Watching her clean the blades of her skates, he could not help but lean close to her ear. “I want to fill you like the most decadent little cream puff. Stuffed full of my seed until you are bursting, my pretty.” When he heard her squeak, he giggled. “Does that get you excited, Freya darling?” Of course it does. Whether she admits it or not is another matter.

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of red. Nearly matches her hair. “I-yes! You know it does! Naughty man!” She stammered, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Why, do you want—”

His lips captured hers in a heated kiss. After a few moments, he tugged on her plump bottom lip with a smirk. “As I said, I want to fill you. And fill you. And fill you. Until…it is certain you are with child.” He gave her a quick kiss before continuing. Oh, her ears are bright red. How adorable! “Well, it might even be ‘children,’ sweetness. Can you imagine having twins?”

Freya’s mouth opened and closed several times. “I…love, we still don’t know if it’s even possible. We’ll try, of course—”

“We will do more than try, darling. We will succeed.” He put the wiped down skates into a leather bag and stood. “In fact, we should succeed and have at least a dozen.” With a toothy grin, he offered his hand.

She sat with her mouth hanging open.

Astarion chuckled, still waiting for her to take his hand. “My love, you said you wanted a large family. A dozen is an…excellent start to making that dream come true.”

[upwards-descent]

Echinacea "Ken" Grace

he/him

Age: 20

Race: Half-elf (half-aasimar)

Class: Barbarian (Wild Magic, Corellon worshipper)

Family: Sarrah Conorelle (mother, high-elf), Kyl'ree (father, aasimar)

Romances: Astarion, Halsin

Aesthetic: Pretty, elegant, pastels

Notable features: Blue bird tattoo on left cheek, 12in long swan wings (incapable of flight), scar down lips and across left side of forehead

Bio:

Ken was born when his mother, a powerful healer bard, saved his father, a mortally wounded aasimar paladin of cosmic light. His father unfortunately passed due to his wounds but the brief passionate romance they shared ended with Ken being born.

Raised in the mountains in a monastery of Corellon, teachings of magic, music, and elven tradition shaped Ken into a young man of great kindness and selflessness. Though his childhood was rather normal despite his fantastical bloodline, he faced much friction with the other bards, clerics, and priests due to his rather chaotic nature. His mother always defended his behavior, swearing that the incredible power within him and the mix of arcane and holy blood filled him with great energy that he struggled to keep a lid on.

In his mid-teens, Ken ran away, leaving a heartfelt note for his mother apologizing for his behavior. Due to his father's passing, he always held a sense of guilt that he couldn't be as focused and clear-headed as stories of his father had claimed. Ashamed and desperate to hone his temperament, Ken sought out warriors like himself; berserkers, barbarians, fighters of great power and speed. He spent a few years training with a pack of orc and half-orc fighters, mainly rangers and barbarians. They taught him how to fight and he taught them manners, etiquette, decorum. It was a perfect trade seeing as the pack's improved manners allowed them better favor and opportunities amongst the greater civilized world.

As Ken was about to embark on the road home, eager to see his mother after being away for a few years, he was snatched up by the Nautiloid and infected.

Ken can be polite but often succumbs to impulse. He can blurt out his innermost thoughts by accident and struggles with biting his tongue. Despite this, he never comes off as nasty or mean, just rather hyper. He loves animals and children and hates those who take advantage of the weak and helpless. Through his worship of Corellon, Ken has fostered a great respect for chaotic shows of goodness and understands that sometimes the morally option can be the best one. He doesn't judge and in fact loves the weird, the freakish, the unnatural, feeling rather weird, freakish, and unnatural himself.

[0rbularb0ys]

Life With Levael: Levael Meets Renyr

Man, I haven’t finished any stories in forever. Feels good to have something done! Of course, the fact that I always get carried away doesn’t help either lol.

This story is about several of my OC’s who live in a modern-ish fantasy setting. Think if there were elves and dwarves back during the 80s lol. I hope you enjoy!

Special thanks to @sacred-dragonair/@brushbrulee on twitter for being my beta reader!

It was a cold and gray afternoon, the sky blocked out by heavy clouds and a chill carried on the wind. The day’s weather was rain, though thankfully it was the sort that was so light, it wasn’t really even a drizzle, but more of a mist. Levael didn’t mind it one bit. It was the perfect weather for a mug of hot chocolate and a nice book. Even if the demon was presently doing neither of those things, instead taking a walk to the downtown art gallery, that was okay. He found a nice mist-rain to be refreshing, and he enjoyed how crisp and clean the air felt in his lungs. If it was a nice day to spend at home, then it was a nice day to spend looking at paintings and sculptures as well. And today, the gallery was promising something special.

It was Mother's Day weekend, and the Metropolitan Gallery of Contemporary Art was holding a special two-day exhibit to honor all parents who carried their children, regardless of gender. (Which was nice, considering the holiday’s antiquated name. Someone really needed to update that.) Today, the subject of the art on display was going to be pregnancy. Tomorrow, on mother’s day proper, the theme was parenthood. Levael was more interested in the former, which would be obvious to anyone who saw him as he walked down the street, cradling his large belly.

Of course, even without his pregnancy, Levael was a very difficult man not to notice. Even when disguised as a mortal, as he presently was, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His magic could hide his ebony horns and matching tail, his sharp teeth and claws. It could turn his inhumanly pink skin to a more natural looking fair color. It could give him normal mortal blue eyes instead of black sclera, white irises, and even whiter pupils. It could turn his long, flowing white locks of hair into black. But it couldn’t hide everything. Chief among the things he couldn’t hide was his height. At seven feet and three inches tall, the only chance he had of blending in was among larger races such as orcs. He couldn’t hide his enormous belly either. Which was a moot point since that was something he’d never do, he quite loved his tummy and would never want to hide it. But it was larger than pretty much any other race could manage. Combined with his pointed-but-less-than-an-elf’s ears, he looked like an unnaturally tall, enormously pregnant half-elf of some sort. 

Thankfully, the average person was too polite to say anything about how odd he looked.

The gallery was crowded today, with couples and families coming to see the pregnancy-themed art on display. Statues, paintings, lighting displays, art of all mediums brought together to create an exhibit honoring the beauty and importance of pregnancy. Smiling, Levael rubbed his belly, feeling the babies inside squirm and kick from all the outside noise, as well as the excitement of the man carrying them. The demon was delighted at all of the pregnant people who were attending the exhibit ─ and when the gallery was allowing all pregnant folks free admission for the day, why wouldn’t they be ─ as it meant a sea of round bellies just like his own. 

Of course, as much as he loved and appreciated pregnant bellies, it wasn’t what Levael was there for. No, today he was here for the art, and the art would be his focus. The first piece he came across was a pregnant female mannequin. Her hands rested on her belly, and the left and right sides of her bump were removed. The vertical center of her belly, where her belly button sat and her linea nigra ran, was the only remaining part of her motherly swell. Internally, this remaining patch separated the left and right parts of her womb. In the right hemisphere of her belly, the part most easily seen to anyone passing by, was half of a model fetus. Walking around to the other side, the left half of her belly contained half of a model of the earth. Looking at the plaque before the sculpture, it read:

“They who carry new life, carry the world within them.”

Standing beside the display was an orcish gentleman, looking rather proud of himself as he spoke with what looked to be a reporter from the city’s newspaper. He must be the artist behind the piece. It was nice to know that local artists were being given a chance to show their skill, and this sculpture certainly deserved to be there, at least in this demon’s opinion. After taking another moment to take in and appreciate the piece, Levael moved on.

As he walked through the exhibit, admiring everything on display, Levael saw a painting which had him enraptured. It was a man, heavily pregnant, laying in bed and giving birth, with his baby beginning to crown. He gripped the sheets of his bed with one hand and his belly with the other, while his mouth hung open, crying out. 

The disguised demon was in awe. He could so easily see himself in it. He’d given birth before. Hundreds of times, in fact. As a high demon, such was his job to ensure the demon population remained healthy. And while demon pregnancies and births were different from those of mortals, he knew what it was like all the same. He had been in that same situation many times before, and would be again soon, as the little ones currently within his womb reminded him with their kicks. 

To look upon a piece of art honoring the creation of life while feeling life growing within his own body was intoxicating. He was lost in the sensations given to him by both the painting and the unborn in his womb.

“Excuse me,” said a voice.

Levael blinked as he was broken from his trance, startling slightly from both the stranger speaking to him and a sudden sharp kick. As he soothingly rubbed the spot where he’d been attacked, he turned to see just who was addressing him. A man was standing beside him, looking up at the demon. A dark elf, no less. The average elf was hardly rare; they were as common as any other race, but dark elves? Most weren’t quite used to the wider world and generally preferred to stay within their home, the Undercity. Or at least the elven kingdom of Aerendyl, or so Levael understood. 

Like most dark elves, his skin was gray, and his hair was a stark black. He spoke with a noticeable elven accent, though clearly different from the sort most people were familiar with. He also spoke a certain way which suggested he was trying to hide it. His eyes were blood red and he was, naturally, short. He was just about the perfect height to rest his chin on Levael’s belly while standing perfectly straight. If Levael had to guess, he was about five feet and four inches tall. Hanging off of his shoulder was one of those tubes people would store rolled up papers in, looking awkward as it bumped against a messenger bag he was also carrying.

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just that I noticed you really seemed to like this piece.” Said the stranger.

“Yes, well… Wait, have you been watching me?” Levael asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No, more people-watching in general,” The stranger reassured him, “And I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but you sort of stand out. It was impossible not to notice that you were standing here for ten minutes staring at the same piece.”

Level felt his face heat up as he cleared his throat. “I uh, hadn’t noticed I’d been appreciating it for so long.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. The painting resonated with you, and that’s something special, isn’t it?”

The disguised demon glanced back at the painting. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Would you mind if I asked you what it is you like about this piece, and the exhibit as a whole? I’m trying to get an idea of what makes the art here today connect with people. But only if it’s no trouble. I don’t want to tag along if it’d be a bother.” 

“Alright. I suppose it would be nice to have someone to discuss the pieces here with. I haven’t had anyone to do that with for a long time.” 

The elf smiled, clearly happy that someone was willing to talk shop with him. “Awesome! So, tell me something about it that spoke to you.”

“Well,” Levael and the elf turned and looked at the painting in question, “I suppose the first thing that caught my attention was that the painting was of a man. I’ll admit I haven’t seen everything in the exhibit yet, but from what I’ve seen so far most of the depictions of pregnancy here either show a woman or someone gender-ambiguous. This one is clearly a man. Like me.”

“And not just that,” Levael continued, “but look what he’s doing. He’s laying in bed, giving birth. I know what that’s like. I’ve been where he is.” He said, absent-mindedly rubbing his belly.

“It’s special to find something that you can see yourself in.” The stranger nodded.

“What about you? Is there anything you like about it?”

“Oh yeah. Look at what he’s doing with his hands. One of them is gripping at his sheets, and you can see his knuckles are turning white. He’s in so much pain. But his other hand is cradling his belly. The artist did a fantastic job; you can really see how gentle he’s being toward his child while still being in so much pain.”

“Yes, I definitely see it.”

“It’s the duality that comes with parenthood; that you have this little thing that makes your life so much harder, yet it means the world to you, and you cherish it to no end. Or maybe duality isn’t the right word, but you know what I mean right?”

“No, I get it completely. Except, birth doesn’t always mean pain. Look at his face here. I can definitely see how someone would see it and say he’s in pain, but look at it differently. He looks as though he’s feeling pleasure. Look again at how he’s gripping his sheets, the way his toes are curled. Doesn’t he look like he could be experiencing rapture?”

The dark elf looked at Levael as he spoke, then looked back at the painting, searching for what he was talking about. “Oohh, I see it. You’re right, he may well be orgasming.” He looked back to the disguised demon, slightly confused. “But birth is painful, isn’t it? Does that really happen during labor?”

Levael felt his face heating up as he realized what had been asked. “Y-Yes, actually,” He said, clearing his throat, “There’s, ah, a lot going on down there. During birth, that is.” He said the last part quickly.

Pregnancy and birth were perfectly normal and routine to Levael, and demons in general. Talking about this normally wouldn’t have him hesitating so, but he wasn’t just talking about a natural fact of the birth process, he was indirectly admitting to having derived pleasure from it. Especially since demon physiology made pregnancy and labor much easier than it was for mortals, reducing the experience from excruciating pain to merely great discomfort and blending it with toe-curling pleasure. Sure, some were more uncomfortable or pleasurable ─ after all every birth is different for demons and mortals both ─ but regardless, for any demon like Levael to deny receiving sexual pleasure from birth would be a bold-faced lie.

“Huh. I never knew that.” The stranger said, rubbing his chin. “Ya learn something new every day, I guess. Makes sense now that I think about it.” 

Levael turned his attention back to the painting. “It’s a beautiful piece. It’s almost a shame there’s so much left of the exhibit to see. I could stand here and get lost in this one forever.” He sighed.

“They’re selling replicas of some of today’s paintings in the gift shop.” The elf said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, like I said it’s some of them, but if the artist gave permission for them to make copies then you can buy one on your way out.”

“Good to know. I’ll have to see what’s for sale before I leave.” Level looked around. “Should we move onto the next piece?”

“If you’d like to. I’m tagging along after you today, so you can set the pace.” The elf said. As the pair walked toward the next piece of the exhibit, he cleared his throat. “I just realized, I never told you my name. You must think I’m some weirdo to ask to follow you around without even giving you my name, huh?”

Levael shook his head. “No, I don’t. You were excited to speak with someone about the art and it slipped your mind. It happens.” 

“I’m glad you understand. Still, it’s pretty rude.” He stopped walking and turned to the pregnant man, extending his hand for a shake. “I’m Renyr.”

“Levi.” Levael said as he shook the offered hand.

The next piece the pair stopped to view was a mannequin of a pregnant female body. A soft light was shining inside the chest, illuminating a heart inside and synced with a light inside the belly, revealing the silhouette of a fetus as the two glows pulsed in time with the beating of a heart.

After that was a marble hewn-statue of a pregnant woman, surrounded with real flowers which grew around her feet and covered her body. Water was also trickling gently from her nipples, nourishing the flowers.

As the two men walked through the gallery, they stopped to discuss the pieces which most caught their attention. Levael never had anyone to discuss his thoughts on art with, not since leaving the underworld. Plus, going through the gallery with someone like this, talking about points of view and sharing the occasional laugh, it kind of felt like a date. The very thought had Levael feeling slightly flustered, the babies inside of him kicking and squirming in response to his racing heart.

“Your lil’ guys are going nuts in there, aren’t they?” Renyr grinned, watching the movements unfolding beneath the fabric of the demon’s shirt. “You and your partner must be excited.”

Levael gulped and rubbed his belly in an attempt to calm the babies inside of him, though his heart rate was keeping them riled up, and it wasn’t exactly slowing. “Ah, I, uh, I don’t have… a partner,” He said, clearing his throat, “I just do surrogate work.” It wasn’t a total lie. The babies didn’t belong to Levael and he wasn’t going to be the one raising them; he was going to be sending them off to a public nursery in the underworld after their birth. He just wasn’t being paid for it, since he wasn’t living in demon society anymore.

“Oh, I see.” Renyr nodded. “That’s kind of you, helping others build families. I’ve always had a lot of respect for folks who do that.” He looked up at Levael with a smile. “Knowledgeable about art and a nice guy to boot. Hard to believe no one’s come along and snatched you up.”

Levael wasn’t sure if it was Renyr’s words or a particularly strong kick to one of his ribs, but either way he felt that he might swoon right where he stood. He tried desperately to spit out some sort of response, but coherent words were beyond his reach. The best he could muster was to keep silent and avoid sputtering out random syllables like a toddler.

Renyr didn’t seem to mind Levael’s sudden silence. Judging by the tiny smirk on his face when his eyes fell on the disguised demon, he was aware of how flustered he’d made him.

“So,” Level said, clearing his throat once he’d calmed down a bit, “This one is rather eye-catching.” He motioned to a painting that the pair were passing. An oil painting of a woman in the middle of giving birth, surrounded by other people tending to her. Wiping her brow of sweat, holding her hand, preparing to handle the baby as it slid out of her, all kinds of little things to offer her support and make birth a little easier. The plaque read It Takes A Village.

As soon as he saw the painting, the elven man was no longer smiling. “Hm. I saw this one while they were setting up the exhibit.”

“You don’t seem to particularly care for it.”

Renyr didn’t deny the statement, merely pursed his lips as he thought. After a moment he opened up his tube and pulled out a rolled-up painting, carefully straightening it out before showing it to Levael. It was a watercolor painting of dark elves crowding around a heavily pregnant man, casting off a divine light and warding off the darkness of their cave. The elves of the crowd were reaching out toward him and trying to feel his belly in the same way that poor, put-upon masses would grasp for salvation.

“Oh my…” Levael breathed. “That’s beautiful.”

“Glad you think so,” Renyr said with a dry and humorless chuckle, the corner of his mouth tilting upward ever so slightly, “I submitted it for the exhibit, but I guess the curators didn’t share your opinion.” Taking a deep breath, he let out a long sigh as he looked back and forth between his own painting and the one on the wall. “These two have the same subject, but they still rejected me.” He looked over to Levael, “That’s why I’ve been asking folks about their thoughts on the art on display today.” He turned his attention back to his painting. “I’m trying to see what mine’s missing.”

“I see.” 

Renyr took a seat on a nearby bench and motioned for Levael to join him. “What do you think?” He asked as the pregnant demon took a seat.

“I’m sure it’s not that your painting is missing anything. The exhibit could only show so many pieces, so there were always going to be artists that had to be turned away, even if their work is as good as yours.” Level suggested.

“So someone was going to get cut either way, and I just happened to draw the short straw, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Renyr grimaced. “I think I like that possibility even less.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if the problem is that my painting is missing something or my technique isn’t good enough, then I can address that. I can practice and improve my skill. That’s on me. I can fix the problem. But if it’s just dumb luck, what can I do about that? I’ve got no control and I’m stuck at someone else’s mercy.”

“I can see how that would be frustrating,” Levael nodded sympathetically, “Let me take another look. Maybe I can find something.” 

Eyes looking hopeful, Renyr nodded and showed his painting to Levael once more. He didn’t say anything, just allowed him to analyze the two pieces. Minutes ticked by, but the elf was patient. If it meant he would get the feedback he was searching for, then he seemed prepared to wait as long as it took.

“I think I see it,” Level said after a pause as pregnant as he was, “Your painting and that one have the same general subject, but the way you approach it is different.”

“Go on.”

“Look at the way the other painting frames the pregnant woman it has as its subject.” The demon said, pointing to the piece on display. “She’s in the center, the main subject, and she’s surrounded by other people, just like yours. Look at the way she’s depicted, and look how the people around her are acting toward her compared to yours. Everyone’s coming together around her to help deliver the baby. Mother and child are pulling the community together.”

Renyr nodded, eagerly awaiting for him to continue.

“Now take a look at yours. Everyone’s coming together because of the pregnant man, but the tone of it is different. He’s portrayed not quite as a part of a community or a family, but as some kind of divine being. He’s above them, and they’re reaching out to him like religious disciples. I can see that your intent was to depict the beauty of pregnancy just like all the other artists here, the problem is you did so in a way that might be missing the point of the exhibit.”

Renyr said nothing, merely studying the painting on the wall before looking back to his own painting. After several minutes of thought, he spoke again. “...son of a bitch, I think you’re right.” He said with a deep sigh. He rolled up his painting and placed it back in the tube before looking up at Levael with a smile. “Thanks, Levi. I don’t think I would have put that together without some outside perspective.” 

“It’s easy to have a bit of tunnel vision when it comes to your own work, isn’t it?” Levael said with a small laugh. 

“You’re preaching to the choir.” The elven man looked around before turning back to Levael. “We’ve pretty much reached the end of the exhibit. There’s a small cafe right by the gift shop, near the exit. Let me treat you to a drink.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Level began to say.

“I insist,” Renyr’s tone of voice was cool, firm yet friendly, “You let me pester you all afternoon and you gave me some really important feedback on my work. Buying you a drink is the absolute least I can do.”

Levael gulped and cradled his belly. Suddenly the kicking inside his womb felt like the babies were trying to push him to accept Renyr’s offer. Was this a date now? Was he trying to turn it into one? “Well, if you’re going to insist…” He quickly checked his watch, hoping that he might have time to enjoy some tea with Renyr. Unfortunately, time was against him, and Levael frowned.

“I’m so sorry. I’d take you up on your offer, but I work nights and I need to be getting ready for my shift.” He sighed.

Renyr didn’t do a very good job of hiding his disappointment, though he was clearly trying to play it cool. “That’s fine, I totally understand. How about tomorrow? I know this nice little place not far from the gallery.”

Levael smiled and blushed slightly, nodding. “I have time tomorrow, yes. Somewhere around the early afternoon works perfectly.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” The elven man said with a nod. He began rifling through his messenger bag, pulling out a pen and a scrap of paper. He wrote out his note and handed it to the pregnant demon. On it was the name and address of the cafe, as well as the time to meet. “Maybe it’s for the best that we put it off for a day. After all,” He said, a smile crossing his face, “A guy needs time to get ready for a proper date.”

Immediately, without fail, Levael’s face went red as he felt his heart trying to beat its way outside of his chest. Holy crap, this was a date! What should he wear? Should he go casual, or with a little more flair? Would this lead to another date? Did Renyr give good belly rubs? Did he like pregnant tummies as much as Levael? What did Renyr kiss like? 

Could Renyr be “the one”? 

“Um, Levi?” Renyr said, reaching up and waving his hand in front of his face. “Are you okay?”

Hundreds of scenarios were running through Levael’s head all at once, branching out into all of the possibilities this date could possibly lead to. When the shorter man’s hand waved in front of his eyes, he snapped out of his daze, then began desperately trying to save face, lest his handsome man rescind his offer. “I’m fine!” He blurted out, unable to stop himself. Renyr flinched at the sudden outburst, and a few heads turned in his direction. 

“You sure? Your face is looking pretty red, and your babies…” He pointed to Levael’s belly, visibly shifting and bulging with the movements of the unborn within. “I mean, that’s gotta hurt. Or at least be uncomfortable.”

“Oh nonono, don’t worry, i-it’s no bother, not at all! I’m used to it! Doesn’t phase me in the slightest!” The pregnant demon said with an awkward laugh. A tiny voice in the back of Levael’s head told him that it was time to leave before he made himself look like an even bigger idiot. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Renyr smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

Levael nodded and hurried off before he could make himself look like an even bigger fool. Though in his hurry, and as flustered and distracted as he was, he wound up bumping his poor belly into several people, at one point knocking over some poor dwarf and nearly falling over himself.

As he waited at the bus stop, giggling and rubbing his belly with the giddy excitement of a teenage girl, Levael took the note out of his pocket and read it over and over again, taking in the curves of Renyr’s handwriting. It would be hard to wait until tomorrow, but hey, good things come to those who wait.

[milkyway-ahoy]

This is my guy Ray. He’s a barbarian and has the hubris and strength to match. He burned his tits off instead of being fucking normal and using the transgender wizard that canonically exists. Or... yknow. Having the legit doctor do something about it.

Why does the style change so much? Don’t worry about it. (I used to draw on my phone which is those first 3 images and then I got a drawing tablet and started getting used to that along with becoming more comfortable with references). Anyway he was a half-elf at the beginning of the campaign but a couple sessions ago, he died and the party had to use reincarnation dust to bring him back so now he’s a high elf. Which is... honestly one of the better options but he’s still having a crisis over this! 

These are all the images I have of him as his half-elf self. I’m gonna make another post for his high elf arc.

More context of the campaign: They’re pirates! Ray used to be on a rival/ally ship (long story short the captains have beef for some reason but they work under the same organized crime ring) called the Firestorm before sorta just forcibly arriving on the Magpie and sticking around. They recently found out from a celestial that they’re supposed to lowkey save the Mortal Plane from completely coming undone in the future. The celestial in the great (times some amount of numbers) grandparents of this little girl named Ada. She’s a Triton-Scourge Aasimar and in the lore of this world, when scourge aasimar’s powers awaken, it’s a real violent sort of process and there’s a pretty high possibility they won’t make it. So we not only have to deal with pirate nonsense, the end of the world, and a child going through the world’s worst puberty, there’s also so so much interpersonal conflict because everyone needs therapy!

We’re having a ton of fun

[cowardly--throwaway]

A Well-Placed Gift Chapter 2

Rated: Explicit ***WARNING: NON-CON, FUCKED-UP MANIPULATIVE POWER DYNAMICS/FORCED RELATIONSHIPS!*** Ao3 link, Chapter 1 on Tumblr, Chapter 1 on Ao3

Nuala hadn't been one of the fae to linger in the mortal world. The queen's court was mercurial, but the rising powers of humanity weren't much better, and they had stomped all over the magics of their own world. Even in this soft sunny clearing, there was tension, a timidness — almost fear. The early spring day was warm, but Nuala shivered as she listened to the gossip of a nearby beehive and the sleepy mutterings of an old oak. The whole world trembled under the advancing mortal powers.

"Well, isn't that pretty."

The man's voice was a low murmur, but it carried easily to Nuala's keen ears. He stood far down the path, stooping over a pile of fallen leaves. A moment later, Queen Titania's broach was glittering in his tanned fingers.

Then his eyes flicked up, sharp and greedy — and landed right on her. 

Nuala had to force herself not to shrink away into the shadows. 

It would be so easy to escape. Mortals were trivial to misguide. Elf-led, they called it. She could easily send him wandering through the forest till he starved. Or else glamor a tree that he might caress it until he was so filled with splinters he'd never get them all out and they'd pain him the rest of his life.

She turned away, hiding her face as though these thoughts might show. Under her long sleeves, her fists were clenched, holding back her magic. Faerie magic was an organic thing, a natural function almost as simple as a sigh or a wish. Not like the harsh orders and rituals that the mortal mages employed — like this Hob Gadling probably wielded to force the world to his will. Nuala had to tamp down on her own instinct to avoid fleeing or fighting.

The footsteps on the path behind her were slow, cautious, his voice little more than a whisper in the grass when he said, "There's a pretty thing, too." Only when he was close did his words rise to a normal volume intended for her ears (now glamoured to a pleasant roundness). "What're you doing out here all alone?" he asked. "In these parts? In these times?"

Fingers brushed the back of Nuala's upper arm, and she spun to face him. Despite her resolve at cooperation, she tensed, and his hand closed harder over her arm. 

"Easy there, girlie." Just like a predator, his eyes fixed on her neck, and Nuala felt Titania's necklace like a brand against her skin.

As he watched the gleaming jewels that hung so close to her pulsing life force, she let her eyes rove and took the measure of him. In the enchanted image that Queen Titania had flashed carelessly in front of Nuala when dooming her to this task, Hob Gadling had just looked blandly mortal. But up close and in the flesh, he looked rather brutish. Though, to be fair, all humans looked a little brutish — it was their nature more than any physical characteristic. This one wore a blade at his side, not a graceful courtier's sword, but a short heavy thing, practical rather than decorative. The kind of thing that spoke of up-close violence, not the practiced, showy fighting of court duels. Under Hob's rough sleeves, his arms were clearly bound in lean muscle. His hair fell like silk about his ears, but his whiskers looked rough.

"Your pardon," Nuala said, feeling the threads of magic thickening under her usual glamor, but she held them back lest she accidentally strike out and fail at her task before it had even begun. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Hob's gaze, which had remained fixed on her throat, flicked toward the trees on either side and up and down the path, as if checking that this truly was a woman alone in the forest. "You can unburden yourself of some of these glittering baubles—"

His eyes finally met hers.

Nuala looked back cooly. No magic was necessary. Her basic courtly glamour was pleasing enough in Faerie; in the human realm it was enough to wrench a man's eye. But she knew it was not just the attractive face or form. Humans were oddly drawn to the fae. Even when they feared them, even when so many fae had abandoned this plane entirely, the mortals still wove them into their tales, warnings, dreams, and superstitions. Perhaps it was the aura of magic — even unused — that drew them in. Or perhaps it was just that humans were always grasping for more and more and more, and so would always be enraptured by that which was just out of reach.

And some humans were particularly grabby. 

Nuala could see the spark of greed alight afresh in Hob Gadling's eye.

She felt no less anxious now than she'd done when Queen Titania first took her aside at the revel and made her orders clear. But somehow, now that he was here and she was here, Nuala felt determination sneak up on her nerves. She could play nice. She'd done so before for her queen, and she could do it again.

She raised a hand to her throat to play with the jewels and the gold chain, drawing his eye back to the necklace. She was about to speak when his fingers tightened on her arm and he began to tug her down the path.

"You'd best get off this spot," he said. "The Lancastrians are rumbling through these parts, and they'll be coming by here before long."

"There is danger here?" she asked innocently, letting him draw her along. 

He laughed. "Aye. Of one sort or another."

A chill ran through her as she noticed that his free hand had come to rest on the handle of his dagger. She wondered if he were laughing at her for not knowing which might be the greater danger in these woods — him or these Lancastrians, whoever they might be.

"What're you called?" Hob asked as he hurried them along the path

"Nuala," she answered as she listened to his steady breath and watched out of the corner of her eye as his gaze flicked between her and the trees on either side as if any shadow might leap out to grasp at his treasure. 

"Got a nice sound to it," he said. "I'm Hob. And if you stick with me and play nice, and you'll be alright."

Nuala had her doubts — nothing about this task felt alright — but she did not argue.

After several minutes, they turned off the path. Hob guided Nuala over a fallen tree, and she accepted his help with grace as though she actually needed assistance navigating the frail and faded forests of the mortal realm. He held back branches so they didn't scratch her face and swept aside spiderwebs (much to the irritation of their inhabitants.)

When they were quite far off the path, Hob stopped and turned to her, his eyes on her throat again. He gestured to the jewels there. "Best let me keep that safe for you, love."

"Yes, thank you," Nuala said, undoing the gold chain and handing it over. For all her faults, Queen Titania knew her mark well. The glittering baubles, as Hob would call them, had done their job. "I would hate for it to be lost."

Hob's smile flashed hungrily under his ragged whiskers as he pocketed the gem.

Nuala knew little about the current state of the mortal world, but she did know that she was marking herself out as a foolish, trusting girl. Well, all the better. This whole task might be far easier than she thought. Perhaps no magic would even be required to draw Hob Gadling's attention.

A little while later, they rustled through a particularly dense wall of bushes and out into a clearing with a fire crackling merrily at its center and filled with the scent of roasted rabbit. Three men sat on logs or patches of grass about the flames. They all looked up. 

"Hobsie, you made it!"

"We were getting worried—"

Their faces had cheered when they saw Hob, but when their eyes landed on Nuala, they slid into bafflement, wariness, perhaps even with a flash of fear.

"Hobsie…?" one greeted him uncertainly.

"Taking prisoners now are we?" another asked.

The third eyed Nuala's cloak where her fine, courtly clothing peaked out from underneath. "She does look like she has people who'd pay."

Hob shot him a dark look. His grip had loosened on her arm — perhaps satisfied that a proper human lady wouldn't be able to escape three men by running through the wild forest — but now his hand closed roughly on her again, and the way he looked at her felt like the gaze of a dragon jealously guarding its hoard. "She's coming with us for the time being. With me."

"I… have no place else to go," Nuala explained, essentially truthfully. And there were, of course, none who'd pay to get her back either, though she thought it best not to specify this. A fresh wave of anger tore through her as she thought of how little Queen Titania would care if Nuala truly were to find herself in dire straits and in need of rescue.

One of the men brushed off a patch of log beside him, and Hob finally released Nuala so she could sit. He planted himself on the ground beside her and reached to tear a chunk of meat off the spitted rabbit.

"Your father fought for this supposed King Edward?" asked the man sharing the log seat with her.

Nuala looked into the fire and didn't answer. The forest whispered of turmoil — games of power to rival those of the fae court — but she could not make enough sense of all the pieces on the board nor know which alliances might doom her in this moment and which would save her. 

The man seemed to take her silence as confirmation. "Aw, it's no concern of ours. We don't care who sits on the throne. Squabbling over drops of royal blood is all this is!" He put an arm around her shoulders in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture, but then dropped it quickly after a look from Hob. "We'll let them wrestle themselves bloody. Then take whatever falls in the fight."

Hob handed her bits of charred rabbit, which Nuala nibbled on politely while the men chatted. 

It was easy to gather that, far from a little squabbling, this was a full on war that Queen Titania had dropped her in the middle of! This fact should not have come as a surprise, seeing as how much of humanity seemed to be at war at any given moment. But it still rankled.

From what she could gather, Hob Gadling and his friends weren't exactly on anyone's side but just taking advantage of the chaos sewn by the significant parties. Hiding their misdeeds under cover of pillaging armies. Or visiting the battlegrounds only to strip them of whatever valuables had fallen with the bodies of men. Fighting was an option, but only for whoever could pay and only if the pay was good enough.

As angry as she was, Nuala wondered if this was good news. 

Truth be told, she could not possibly see what the King of the Dreaming might find appealing about such a mortal — well, a human, at any rate, if not mortal. Hob hardly appeared to be in possession of much power and even less appeal. She sensed no magic on him. Nor any mark of any devil she knew of. The Endless did occasionally play games with those in their domain; perhaps that's all this was. Maybe if she reported the truth back to Titania, then the queen would see the uselessness of this effort and bring her home.

Hob's glance kept flicking toward her, and Nuala had to force the coldness out of her gaze. She had not been relieved of her responsibility yet.

As the day wore on, Hob and the men moved around their camp, checked their packs, gathered water from a nearby stream, and sharpened their weapons. This little glade seemed to be a meeting place they'd used before, and there were stashes of blades and blankets under various shrubs. The men behaved as comfortably as one might in their own home, though they occasionally shot her self-conscious looks. One sniffed at a few blankets before offering her one that might've been the cleanest.

As they went about their business and the light began to fade, Nuala wandered to the edge of the clearing to try and find a night bird willing to carry a whispered message to Queen Titania. But before she could complete this task, Hob's arm was around her middle, holding her fast. 

"You don't want to go out there," he said. "You go anywhere near those armies, you'll taken by a hundred men and likely wind up dead in a bloodied ditch. Tempers are running hot in these parts."

One of his friends, who she'd heard called Harry, looked over. "Truthfully, we don't even want anything to do with them out there."

"And if I stay here?" Nuala asked, even though she hadn't even been trying to run away. She was more fearful of failing the queen of Faerie than of being run down by a bunch of human men.

"Well," Hob said, tugging her back toward the fire, "there's only four of us, and I think I can take those three." He smiled fiercely at her as the others shot him strange, cautious looks. "And we're not planning to kill you."

This was hardly comforting.

"I… do not wish to run away," Nuala said. It was true after a fashion. What she wanted was for the queen of Faerie to decide that her task was futile and call her home. "As I have said, there is nowhere else for me to freely go."

Harry spared her a pitying glance as she curled up on the least dirty blanket.  The two other men — Charlie, she'd heard one named, and the other Artie — kept their distance as if she had some kind of contagion; one kept shooting dark looks at Hob, who steadfastly ignored them. As the men began bedding down for the night around the fire, Nuala struggled to avoid listening to their urgent whispers and instead concentrated on the lament of the rushing stream. 

"Quit your worrying!" Hob hissed at them as he knelt behind Nuala. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he lifted her head and slipped a folded garment underneath like a pillow. "I'll not be untoward," he said as he lay down against her back. "Just keeping you warm, milady."

"I am grateful," she whispered over her shoulder and over her own hammering heart.

"I've got a bed," Hob murmured sleepily against her ear. "Not a fancy thing, and it's in an old shack, but it's got a nice heavy quilt, and you'd have four walls around you. It's down there where they'll be raiding, if they're headed to London. If it's still there in the morning, you can hide out as long as you need. Sorry for the hard ground tonight."

"You are too kind," she whispered politely.

It wasn't, of course, the hard ground that bothered her. 

Hob's arm snaked around her waist and clutched her to him like a child's favorite toy, but his hands didn't stray further or clutch greedily. He wasn't being particularly rough, just… there. 

But Nuala could sense his desire as clearly as the woodsmoke in every breath.

Queen Titania would be pleased.

Many times before, Nuala had spent nights in the arms of courtiers and visiting dignitaries whom the queen believed would benefit from having their hearts softened toward her goals. And Nuala truly might have been sent to the King of Nightmares — Queen Titania's threats were never idle ones. Hob Gadling, Nuala supposed, wasn't all that bad. Yes, she could see his grasping nature. (And if this was his good behavior, she hated to see what he actually considered untoward.) But he hadn't yet been horrid to her. She'd seen far worse even in the Seelie court's games. And she was certain that the mortal realm had much, much worse to offer. She really did have to be grateful that she hadn't been dropped right in the midst of rampaging armies. 

Nuala knew she ought to put in more effort to seduce Hob, to gain his trust — maybe even his love. Mortal fools in love could be turned to any purpose. It was a magic that rivaled the queen of Faerie's spells. But… well, tomorrow she might find a bird to carry her message, and her task might be over before she had to begin. And if Hob was truly undying, there was no rush.

Of course, Queen Titania might just leave her here as a game piece ready to be put into action for her next plot. Or just out of spite.

Nuala shivered — not because of the chill spring night, but Hob shifted anyway and pulled some of his own blanket over her. Then his arm was back around her waist, and he pulled her close again. The thought of being stuck here forever — or for any indefinite period — suddenly struck her so hard she felt like she was falling. It wasn't even the task she hated so much, it was the expulsion! The abrupt loss of her entire world. The mercurial court life of Faerie could be chilling and jarring in equal measure, but it was the life she knew. Queen Titania, for all her callousness and casual cruelty was her queen. Whatever had Nuala done to warrant her removal from everything she knew?

Nothing, she knew.

That was the answer.

And that was worst of all.

She had committed no crime that she could atone for. She'd not been given a sentence she could serve out. She had simply been cast away. She'd lost it all, because she hadn't been useful enough in her own world, in her own life.

She sniffled. And then, too late, she tried to bite back a sob.

Hob's calloused fingers ran over her arm. "It's alright, Nuala," he said in a low voice, his whiskers tickling her ear. "I won't… You'll not be harmed. Just try to rest."

Oh, the kind words landed in her heart like a knife! Even his rough attempt at soothing was more than she'd gotten from her own kind. It was too much — like sand scraped across her open wound. And yet she felt a need to clasp at him, at this one steady body. She reached up and grasped his hand where it had been rubbing against her arm. She guided Hob's arm back around her stomach where now she clutched at it as if it were the rail of a ship and she'd just been flung overboard. She snuggled back into his warmth.

Hob's breath hitched. She could feel his hardness against her arse. He went very still. When his next breath released, it stuttered hot against the back of her neck. His heard beat against her back and she felt his muscles tense all along her body. He pulled her ever so slightly tighter to him, and his hips made a tiny, aborted jerk, sliding his cock against her thin dress. She felt a drop of moisture trapped between their bodies.

"Hob…" she began in a tiny voice, not having any clue what she wanted to say, what she wanted, what she needed, lost here in a strange, dark world. "Just… if you do not harm me… you may do what you like."

Technically, he could do whatever he wanted regardless. It wasn't like she could actually go running back to Queen Titania empty-handed. But Nuala wasn't entirely certain she could stop herself from fighting back if things took a violent turn. 

She slid her hand over Hob's, which rested against her stomach. She twined her fingers with his and held fast. She sought neither pleasure nor comfort, but simply a solid anchor amid the storm of her eviction, something to grab onto in this alien world. Hob had not yet been a nightmare; perhaps it wouldn't be so horrible to let him take some small favor in return.

His breath was rough as his hips rocked slightly against her. "Fuck. You are lovely. I just—" He cut off as one of his friends snored loudly on the other side of the fire, but a moment later silence fell again. "It's nice to have someone warm and soft to share the cold night with." 

Nuala didn't speak, because she was afraid if she opened her mouth, she'd sob. And poor Hob would have only one way to interpret her tears; he couldn't know the wound that truly pained her. She listened again to the rushing stream, letting its voice fill her mind and trying to feel the soothing tendrils of this faint forest. 

"I'll only take a little, love," Hob whispered, so close that the words couldn't hide under the sound of water or the wind in the trees. "Just the tiniest…" He shifted, squeezing his free hand between them and rucking his garments aside. Nuala's dress had ridden up and now she felt him hot against her bare skin. Beads of moisture gathered where his tip rubbed the very base of her back. Hob grunted slightly as his cock slipped more freely between them. "It has been so long… such a long, lonely winter. I just need—ah!"

His seed wet her backside as he panted against her neck. When he finally stilled, his lips found the side of her throat and laid tender kisses against her skin, and he murmured, "I could show you a much better time."

"Sleep now." She resisted putting magic into the words. "You need rest."

His breath was already shifting toward the deep rhythm of sleep, but he shifted again and wiped at the wet patch at her back with some rough fabric, his sleeve perhaps. And when he settled back against her, she was relatively comfortably dry. In her strange, adrift state, she was oddly touched by this shred of consideration. Perhaps tomorrow, if she could conceal it, she would clean his clothes by magic. Maybe, unlike Queen Titania, he would have a place for her in his life and his world.

(Please see Ao3 for a truly inexcusable quantity of historical notes.)

[theelvenhaven]

Elves Reacting To Your Period

Imladris

Elrond

Elrond is an ellon expert knowledge of healing, humans and had a sibling who chose a mortal life. Let alone making Imladris a haven for all races and walks of life- that were peaceful, of course. So you wouldn’t be the first menstruating human he’s been around. He is completely and utterly supportive yet subtle and discreet knowing that this is a delicate time for you. As well as possibly embarrassing to make a tremendous fuss over it.

Elrond discreetly brings you pain relievers, has soothing teas prepared for you, checks in on you when he has the time available. The Healer in him brings him to fret over you some, and should your pain be severe, he is quick to alleviate it. He’s had thousands of years to assist with such things, and you being his partner, he will more than happily help you. He will also make sure any menstrual products are there at your immediate disposal. 

Elrond is very gentle with you, being sure to provide you with the emotional and mental comfort that you might need during the day. Making himself far more available through your period if he can help it, wanting to make sure you have the proper support you need. Saving any physical comforts for later when you two can be alone properly and uninterrupted.

Glorfindel

This warm ball of sunshine isn’t entirely clueless about humans and their menstruation cycles. He has spent little of his time around it or reading about it. While logically he knows you menstruate, it surprises Glorfindel the first time he encounters it with you. Glorfindel is worried he has hurt you somehow or another, even if the placing of blood on your clothes and sheets show that he couldn’t possibly have hurt you.

Glorfindel is quick to try to get you to a healer or a healer to you, wanting to make sure you are in fact okay. Though when you explain to him that partially, you are okay and that the bleeding is normal; he is quick to simmer down. The ease with which you speak of it is what brings him to trust you on it, and he attentively listens to you. Glorfindel also asks you a lot of questions about it, as it is human men he is used to being around, so his knowledge about your reproductive health is not extensive. He is also quick to help you clean up any sheets or clothes that need to be taken care of, or take over gathering the items while you clean and situate yourself.

Glorfindel will do what he can to take some time off during your worst days of menstruation and is unfortunately not exactly tactful about it at first. You will have to tell him if it bothers you, in the event you find it embarrassing, as he has no shame in announcing it. Because he will straightforwardly tell them “Y/N is menstruating I am afraid I am unavailable until further notice.”. Once you tell him, Glorfindel will keep that talk between you, him and the Healers if need be. When he can’t be there with you, he instead sends a healer in to check on you and bring you the things you need.

Erestor

Erestor is extremely knowledgeable and has spent a copious amount of time absorbing everything there is too in the library. Even on healing subjects, no matter how gruesome or unusual they may seem to him. But with dealing with menstruation... Well, that is a completely different story. Erestor won’t make a massive fuss over you being on your period, but he is entirely flustered by what you are going through. 

At first he genuinely doesn’t know what to do. He never imagined he would have to deal with a menstruating human. Even when he started courting you. But Erestor is very technical and by the book- literally here. So he does what he thinks anyone should do, and goes to reference his books quietly and away from prying eyes.Erestor is extremely discreet about helping you, keeping the matter very private. Don’t mistake this for him being ashamed of you, he is far from ashamed of your bodily function. Erestor is just a very private ellon. 

He places a few orders for a dozen or more every month, for pain relievers to be kept in your shared chambers at all times. Stashed away in your desk drawers too so they are readily available and you or him aren’t having to haul off to the Healing Halls all the time. Quietly he will consult Elrond- the only other elf he will tell about it- if he feels like he isn’t doing enough until he gets the hang of helping you. If your pain and discomfort is severe, Erestor- while one for privacy- will go with you to the Healing Halls and explain the matter to them. Diligently sticking by your side and listening intently for care instructions and how to help you further.

Lindir

Lindir is completely and utterly flustered when he discovers that you are menstruating. It is not that he is doing it to make you feel bad- which only makes him feel worse when he sees his embarrassment is distressing you- it’s that he just doesn’t know what to do. Seeing the blood on the sheets and on your clothes makes him feel faint as are you hurt? But then you explain its your period?

Of course he knows what a period is from what he has overheard when coming to see Elrond in the Healing Halls. But that doesn’t make him any less uncomfortable about it. He is stammers and stutters asking questions and is bright cherry red trying to figure out what to do next. Despite all this fuss he has stirred up, Lindir is really supportive. Just the first few times this is what you will encounter. With him profusely apologizing for embarrassing you or distressing you. 

Trying to help somehow, nervously going down to the healers or Elrond for the things you need while you tidy up. Elrond swore the first time he came to him and had to talk to him about it, that he was going to faint over the ordeal. Elrond made him sit an extra ten minutes until he could calm down and send him back to you. On his way back, Lindir sends for someone to fix you your favorite meal and may grab a flower or two as an overly sweet gesture to apologize with the pain reliever in hand. In time, every time you have your period, he gives you a flower with your first meal after he sees how happy it makes you the first time.  

Elrohir

While Elrohir is used to being around humans, them being menstruating humans is a completely different subject. As it is, he is already pretty protective over you and your well being, especially since you’re human and considers you to be more fragile. So when you wake up and are bleeding or have bled through your clothes and maybe even on him, worried is a very simple way of putting it. He certainly makes a fuss over it between you both!

While being such a great healer himself, he is ready to give you an exam from head to toe and figure out why and where you are bleeding. When you tell him what your period is, and its purpose, Elrohir’s visibly relieved that no, it is not life threatening. And grateful that no he didn’t sleep through you getting hurt- as he is a heavy sleeper. Though he voices his concerns that you are now physically uncomfortable. But like his father, Elrohir is quick to use his skills in healing to good use to help ease your pains and discomforts. Making and bringing you tonics and pain relievers and anything you need to ease the nuisance of your menstruation. 

Elrohir will prefer that you take time off from any work and take time off his own duties to be with you when he’s in Imladris. Like this goes without question and there is no making him change his mind, every single month. Without fail Elrohir takes that week off to be with you. Even if you tell him you will be fine, Elrohir is taking the time off regardless and will absolutely even go as far as to delay his leavings with the Rangers until the time has passed. He’s happy to hold you and kiss all over you and lounge around with you if that makes you feel better. He’ll read softly to you, or comfort you through such tough emotional difficulties, and most definitely not skip over any whims you may have for food. 

Elladan

Like Elrohir, he isn’t used to be around menstruating humans at all. Though he is far more laid back compared to his brother. So rather than making a huge fuss about your menstruation, Elladan will ask you seriously if you are okay and carry on as if it were not really a big deal. Making a few light hearted jokes to keep your mood up if he can tell it is negatively affecting you.

Elladan will help you clean things up without question. The sheets are dirty and you’re embarrassed? No big deal, you can’t help it. Elladan just carries on normalizing these instances for you entirely, as he just wants you to be comfortable with him. I headcanon that while Elladan does and can heal, making tonics/pain relievers aren’t his strong suit and he will definitely ask his brother to do so for you. 

Elladan is laid back, so if you need anything from him you can most certainly tell him and he will do it without question. You want alone time because you’re furious? No big deal, he will back in an hour or two. You want him all to yourself all day? You’ve got it. It embarrasses you to go to the healing halls for menstruation products? Say no more, Elladan is already halfway down the hall to get it for you. 

Bonus:

Haldir

Haldir is no stranger to blood or humans and their customs and bodily functions. So when you menstruate the first time while together, he completely and totally expected it to happen. It was inevitable, but that doesn’t mean that he knows everything you need. Haldir knows that pain is something that generally seems to be an issue for menstruating humans and is at least prepared for that much.

He asks you what all you need while bringing you a vial of pain reliever he has stored in talan or on his person specifically for you. Telling you not to fuss with anything other than yourself, if it's like a bedroll or comforter you’ve bled over. The ellon knows how to get blood out of fabric and will first handle the list of things you need and then tend to the stained fabric. Haldir will go and fetch the things you need without batting an eyelash, and he just brushes any of the healer's concerns aside. 

Even if they offer to help, he just shrugs away their words, knowing you’ll go to them if you need it and that there is no sense and making a big deal over something so normal for you. Haldir will listen to all of your woes about it, comforting you even in his more subtle ways however he can. Holding your hand, rubbing your back, and in private holding you close. Haldir though will just tell you flat out to do something that will help you if he knows you are putting it off or have forgotten. Unperturbed by the conversation or needing to help you when he’s around and not on patrol.

* * * 

tags:

@saviorsong​ @lilmelily​ @dicksoutformtl​ @fandomhoe101​ @icarus-fell-in-spring​ @iwenttomordor​ @red-riding​ @elarinya-nailo​

[kaaras-adaar]

// When you put into consideration how elves used to pretty much be immortal and how long dragons live for, then by all accounts, qunari should have longer life spans than humans. Even if the veil ended up making elves age like normal mortals, the dragons are ancient and still live for years so that part shouldn’t be affected.

So what I’m saying is… qunari should still have longer life spans than humans. Thedas is also a place where humans aren’t dying of old age in their 30s like older times here from fevers and whatever else—we’ve seen loads of older humans in the series, as expected considering healing magic and whatever else. There would still be poor stricken places that would suffer of course, and those with money still had the upper hand.

Qunari by default aren’t affected by a load of human diseases either. While they’re not invincible, they have a buffer there that keeps them healthier and stronger.

By all accounts, it would make sense that qunari live longer lives, even without their advanced medicine in Par Vollen. Even if it were hundreds of years ago, having something like dragon blood and elf blood would still give them a good chance at longer lives. Even taking out the elf blood because of the veil, dragon blood would still reside in their veins and genetics.

I’m not saying qunari may have 1000 year life spans, but over 100 could seem perfectly healthy in comparison to a human life being 100. Which, kind of makes it sadder that in Kaaras’ canon life, he dies when he’s in his 50′s (due to the anchor and heart complications). >: 

[ceescedasticity]

(Apparently I'm still on the Silmarillion...)

So. Elwing. I do get why people dislike Elwing, but I think people often judge her without considering all the facts.

Like pretty much everyone else in Beleriand at that point, she's one of a small number of survivors from a violently destroyed community. Not so common was surviving the violent destruction as a very small child.

She's half elf, half whatever Dior counted as. Dior was half human, half whatever Luthien counted as after choosing a mortal fate.

Few if any of her Doriathrim caregivers will have had any experience with human children. Mostly likely haven't even had any experience with humans. I don't know if they're more likely to have tried to fix "problems" which were normal for human children, or ignore actual problems because they think they're normal for human children.

And there's the Silmaril -- possibly cursed jewel set in almost certainly cursed necklace, if not in her immediate possession at least in proximity and more theoretical possession. They say Treelight is hard for mortals to tolerate -- does she find it draining or dangerously captivating? Beren and Dior seem to have done all right (or at least definitely no worse than Thingol!), but Elwing was a child.

And then they make her queen. Well, she's already queen, but they put her forward as a come-of-age queen, to marry Eärendil and wear the Silmaril and do queen things.

(She's younger than her father was, and he didn't have a definitely-elven parent.) (Eärendil is the same age, but he doesn't bear the same burdens.)

There in the Havens of Sirion, with no one standing between them and Angband but the odd pocket of resistance and also the Fëanorians (and if they weren't considering the Fëanorians another threat they damn well should have been). No one thinks this war is winnable anymore -- Cirdan and the Gondolindrim have been sending ship after ship West to beg for help even though all of them die, that's how desperate they are. And the Doriathrim of the Havens don't seem to have been involved in the ship-sending though, so they aren't even striving for that fool's hope.

They appoint her a general in this unwinnable war.

What do they expect Elwing to do? Is wearing the Silmaril supposed to make her awaken some Luthien-like power to save them all?

Is she duty-bound to just keep rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic until they all drown?

Do they not expect her to do anything but die cinematically, a symbol and a sacrifice?

Whatever they wanted her to do, did they tell her?

Eärendil won't stop going to sea. She can't tell him not to go to sea. It's not like he doesn't have reasons. But he is the only person like her, the only one she can relate to as a peer, whether or not the marriage is political he's incredibly important to her and he keeps leaving and she's so alone.

She is now wearing the possibly cursed jewel set in almost certainly cursed necklace basically nonstop.

And then there are children. (She's younger than her father was, and he didn't have a definitely-elven parent.) (Has she ever seen a baby before? Probably only if the Havens dealt closely with humans.) Children are supposed to make you less lonely, right? No, wrong, it doesn't help at all and she's somehow even more exhausted.

(Can anyone see how exhausted she is? Does anyone even look at her or do they just look at the Silmaril?)

And then the Sons of Fëanor are attacking like some apparition from her nightmares, and she doesn't know where the Silmaril stops and she begins anymore, and they're all going to die, and everything she's done as queen is for nothing, and maybe she can at least spite someone, but mostly she just wants it to be over.

Who knows how long the cliff has been calling her name.

And then Ulmo saves her and she and Eärendil help save Middle-earth and they choose the life of the Eldar and Eärendil gets his long term job under much-debated conditions and Elwing doesn't have the possibly cursed jewel and almost certainly cursed necklace anymore, and she has time to think. So much time to think. By the end of the War of Wrath she's twice the age she was at the beginning.

Would this always have worked? If she'd given the Silmaril to Eärendil as a wedding present could he have reached the Valar years ago, preventing so many deaths?

Why were the Valar willing to let the Sindar perish because they were angry at the Noldor?

Why did the Falmari care more that she personally was descended from Elu than that her people were dying? Why was 'making sure everyone knows you're still mad at the Noldor' more important than saving Sindar lives.

(No really obviously the Noldor think they're most important, and they're all such showboating assholes it's no surprise the Enemy thinks they're most important, but why does everyone else think that? Why is sticking it to the Noldor worth more than everyone else in Middle-earth?)

Maybe part of the reason Eärendil had her choose for both of them is that she never really had a lot of real choices, growing up.

[smaidjor]

i know they're losing (Chapter 1)

hi mothers and fuckers of the jury, this fic is a hot mess but so am I, please appreciate it. Also, obligatory disclaimer this is about the characters not the people, all that important stuff.

Some important notes:

1. You will probably hate Scott just a little at points. He has chronic dumb bitch syndrome and there's a whole lot of bullshit going on in his life that you don't see in this fic because it's not his pov. That being said, he's still a bit of a jerk.

2. This has a lot of lord of the rings lore. A LOT. You may be kinda confused if you're not a lord of the rings fan. It's fine, Jimmy's confused too, and all of it will be explained at some point.

3. The chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films. The general title is from I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski.

4. General content warnings: there is a little blood, and a little violence, and a lot of mentioned death and morbid jokes. If you don't do well with themes involving death this fic is probably not for you. There is also possibly going to be referenced emotional abuse and generally unhealthy ways to raise children, though that will be talked about much further down the line. I will also put specific cws at the start of each chapter, don't worry!

5. The alternate title for this was '10k words of flower husbands being sad'. You have been warned.

Title: i know they're losing

Chapter Title: under clouds, beneath the stars

Current Total Wordcount: 3740

Content Warning: referenced/past character death, very frank discussion of death.

Snippet:

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.”

AO3 Link

Actual fic under the cut

Scott’s hands are cold. That’s the first sign, the chill that’s uncharacteristic of an elf.

Scott’s chest hurts. That’s the second sign, the bone-deep ache he can’t seem to quell.

Scott is weaker than normal, and that’s the third sign, the one that confirms what’s happening beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s fading, Scott thinks as he leans against a wall, trying to stop his head from spinning. He can’t say he’s surprised, not after all he’s been through; in fact, he’s more astonished it took so long to start.

-

In another world, it happens like this:

Scott’s hands are cold, and Shubble notices as he shows her around the nether. It’s worrying, a bit, how icy his skin is even in the boiling dimension, but Scott’s empire has always been cold, hasn’t it?

Katherine notices how long it’s been since Scott visited her, one of his few allies, and she worries, a bit. But Scott has always been distant, hasn’t he?

No one notices or worries enough to go check on him, and Scott fades away to nothing, cold and alone in his icy empire.

-

What actually happens is this:

Katherine has gotten word of the demon that haunts the server, and amongst all her worry, one of her thoughts is ‘has anyone checked on Scott?’. The answer is no, and next time she has a free day, she sets out for Rivendell. It’s not a long trip, not with elytra, anyways, and soon she’s at the doors to his keep.

“I need to see Lord Smajor,” she tells the guards.

“He’s not taking visitors right now.” is the response she gets.

“It’s a vital matter to the safety of both our kingdoms.”

They let her in.

Katherine spends far too long looking around the elegantly decorated downstairs and storage area before she realizes he must be up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. She’s never been upstairs in Scott’s house before, which makes her a little nervous, but… this is an urgent matter, so she presses on into what turns out to be a very pretty bedroom. Decorated with bookshelves aplenty and gorgeous lanterns, it practically screams Scott.

The man (elf?) himself is harder to spot. At first, Katherine’s worried he isn’t there at all, but eventually she realizes that he’s still in bed despite the fact that it’s a quarter to one, only his pale face sticking out from under the covers.

“Scott?” She asks, cautious. “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her tiredly. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?”

“No, no, stay.” He waves at the sole chair in the room, which is near-enough to the bed. “I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat hesitantly. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Scott laughs, a little bitter. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.”

She obeys, confused, and finds that Scott’s hands are like ice despite the warmth of the room.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott says. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.”

She gasps a little.

“It usually happens to old elves, world-weary,” Scott continues. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

It takes Katherine a moment to process everything, and once she does, she stares at him in horror. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.”

“Oh.” She struggles for words for a moment, settling on “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.”

Try as she might, there’s nothing she can say to that. “Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?”

Something pained and raw flashes through his eyes. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.”

Katherine nods seriously, absorbing the information. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No,” she tells him firmly. “You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.”

Scott stares at her for a long moment, but eventually he takes her outstretched hand. “Alright.” His hand is frozen cold in hers. “We can try.”

Katherine lets him lead her around Rivendell, pointing out the sights. He’s done an impressive job decorating, like her, and an even more impressive job at uniting the elves and building an empire from the ground up. The people of Rivendell are weary and battle-scarred, for the most part, elves who have seen too much, but the children are bright and happy, and the cyan and gold banners wave proudly in the wind.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

Scott nods. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya- well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?”

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer that one.

Katherine leaves feeling unsettled, with more questions than answers. She has new resolve, though, and a new goal: keep Scott from fading. He’s a good friend, though they don’t know each other that well yet, but more than that, he’s a powerful ally. And Katherine can’t afford to lose allies. So while they’re both rulers and busy in their own right, she promises to visit and drag him outside at least once a week.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scott jokes, but his laugh is weak.

Katherine vows to hold herself to it.

-

The plan works for three entire weeks before Katherine has a week that’s so busy there’s no way she can find the time for a trip to Rivendell. Worse than that, because Scott is so isolated, he has almost no other friends, and many of Katherine’s allies are busy too. She’s a little short of options, to be honest, which is how she finds herself on Jimmy Solidarity’s doorstep that Sunday afternoon.

“Hello?” Jimmy asks as the door swings open. Katherine can see why Lizzie calls him the sweet swamp boy- his confused head tilt is frankly adorable.

“Hi! I know we don’t talk much, but I could use a favor,” she says.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to visit Scott.”

Jimmy looks beyond startled. “What- I mean, he doesn’t even like me! I couldn’t possibly.”

“Please?” She wheedles. “I promised him a visitor every week, but I have meetings all week this time.”

He shakes his head, hesitantly at first and then stronger. “No, Katherine. He’d just throw me right out again. I’m his enemy, for goodness sake!”

“If he hates you so much, why do you have his ring?”

Katherine knows she’s won, watching emotions flit across his face too quickly to catch. Grief is what he settles on, and she feels a little bit bad for the ring comment when his voice comes out wobbly.

“I guess I should return that, huh? Alright, I’ll go.”

“Sorry,” she says.

Jimmy brushes it off, saying there’s no need to worry, but he fiddles with the ring on his finger all the more. It’s on his left ring finger, Katherine notes. She wonders if that truly means what it implies.

“I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Jimmy says.

“I’ll hold you to that!”

-

Jimmy isn’t sure why he agreed to this at all, to be honest. Scott may have given him this ring in another world, another lifetime, but that doesn’t mean Scott doesn’t hate him in this one. What other explanation is there for how all his gifts have been rejected, how cold the elf is? Jimmy would be surprised that Scott’s never tried to take his ring back if it wasn’t for how thoroughly Scott avoids him nowadays. Getting the ring back would require talking to Jimmy, something Scott has made it very clear that he doesn’t want to do. Jimmy doesn’t have another use for it, and try as he might to forget flower fields and warm hands in his, he can’t bear to throw it away. So it’s remained on his hand all this time, a painful reminder of someone who used to love him.

Jimmy tries to avoid looking at it as much as possible, every glimpse bringing back the memory of Scott gently sliding it onto his hand, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and a smile on his lips. Even the faint shimmers in the blue gem remind him of how the starlight seemed to get caught in Scott’s hair when they were out at night. The ring had been one of their most valuable possessions on 3rd Life, the rare silver band and elegant forging more than proof of that. Now, though, the ring has to be one of the least valuable things Jimmy owns; on 3rd Life, they were humble folk in little hobbit holes, their most expensive possessions being their diamond armor and swords, but here, they’re kings and lords. Scott probably has a thousand treasures more valuable in his elven empire, so Jimmy’s not sure why he’s bothering to trek all the way across the world just to return this one.

Then again, it’s not really about the ring, and never has been. It’s about the way starlight used to shine in Scott’s eyes when he smiled, his rare, soft grin that was reserved just for Jimmy, how he gave Jimmy the most valuable thing either of them owned. It’s closure, in a way, giving it back. He won’t have any debt to Scott once this ring is returned, and they can both move on like Scott so clearly wants to.

Shaking off those thoughts, Jimmy slows to a stop in front of Scott’s house. It’s grand, nothing like his old hobbit hole, but still so clearly Scott in the decoration and color schemes. Jimmy would know who built it even if he hadn’t known Scott lived in these mountains.

“I’m here to visit Scott,” he says to the guard stationed outside.

They raise an eyebrow, presumably at the familiar way he refers to Scott. “On formal business or personal?”

“Personal? Sort of? I mean, I don’t have any diplomatic reason for being here.” Truth be told, he has no reason to be here at all, really, but...the ring.

“Then Lord Smajor cannot see you.”

Jimmy grits his teeth, suddenly furious at this whole ordeal. “Then tell Lord Smajor that I need to return his ring.”

“May I see it?”

He sticks his hand out obligingly, and the guard examines the ring, surprise blooming across their face. “I did not realize my Lord had lent you Vilya! My apologies, Lord Codfather, I see the alliance between our kingdoms is stronger than I had assumed. You may pass.”

Vilya? “Thank you, gentle, uh, gentleperson!”

The guard dips their head slightly as he walks by, a gesture of respect that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He shakes off the strangeness of the interaction, though, pushing open the door to Scott’s house.

The inside is beautiful, exactly the kind of decor Scott loves...and empty. There’s no one in the spacious kitchen, the storage room, or anywhere else for that matter. Jimmy’s seconds from giving up and going home when he realizes that there are stairs up to the balcony above. That’s where he goes, finding himself in Scott’s bedroom.

Which is awkward, to say the least. It’s not like they never slept in the same room when they were married, but now that there’s this awkward, painful distance between them, Jimmy feels like he’s intruding. What’s worse is, Scott’s still in bed, laying on his side with his face tilted away from Jimmy’s awkward entrance.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy half-jumps, not expecting that. “How’d you know it was me?”

Scott rolls over to face him, and Jimmy notes that his face is too pale for it to be natural or healthy. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He goes on before Jimmy can answer. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?”

Scott’s laugh is bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks, concerned despite himself.

His (ex?)husband doesn’t reply.

“Save you from what?” Jimmy presses, and gets no answer yet again.

Instead, Scott sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You should go.” He stands, and immediately stumbles, Jimmy rushing to steady him on instinct. Scott’s hands are like ice when he grips Jimmy’s arm to regain his balance, taking several deep breaths, and Jimmy’s instantly struck by how wrong that feels. Scott’s hands were always warm, even on the coldest nights in 3rd life. Some elven thing, probably, that Scott didn’t want to talk about or have time to explain to a silly human like Jimmy.

“Scott, what is going on?”

The elf brushes him off again, heading for the stairs, but the regal effect is ruined by how hard he has to grip the railing.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?”

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.” Scott turns back to the stairs. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

Jimmy follows, reluctantly, trying to think of something to say that isn’t incoherent sputtering with a bit of ‘why do you hate me now’ added in. “You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!”

“You did ask, to be fair.”

Why oh why is he so stupid around Scott? “I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They start along the path, Scott walking far too quickly for Jimmy’s comfort given how terrible the elf’s balance is currently. He nearly has to jog to keep up, irritatingly, but at least they aren’t snapping at each other for a few precious moments.

Of course, Jimmy has to go and ruin that. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?” He has to hear it from Scott’s own lips that he remembers, that it affected him even half as much as it’s affected Jimmy.

“No.”

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .”

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

Scott freezes, face going icy calm in the way Jimmy knows means he’s actually upset. The elf’s hands grip the fabric of his robes tight, his back going rigid. This is a bad idea, Jimmy knows.

He’s in too deep to back out now, though, the pent-up hurt of the past few months all coming out in a rush. “Tell me I’m wrong, Scott! I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott breathes out slowly, fury gradually building on his face. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died? You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy ?”

Jimmy’s name on Scott’s lips punches all the remaining air out of him, sounding so wrong in that angry, bitter tone. Beneath all the rage, Scott sounds wrecked , and the fight leaves Jimmy’s body abruptly. “No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

Silence follows those words, only the faint sound of a waterfall in the distance there to break it.

“I buried you on the hill above our houses,” Scott says finally. “I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

Jimmy swallows hard. “Did he?”

“How would I know?” Scott’s tone softens, just a little. “Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now? I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott turns away again, starting down the path a second time. He’s not looking at Jimmy when he says “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” It’s a shock, honestly, given that this is the first time the two of them have really spoken since the beginning of empires. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott still won’t look at him. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says dryly, and Jimmy doesn’t even realize it’s a joke until he looks over at Scott’s wry little grin.

“Scott! That’s not funny!” He scolds, aghast.

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Scott must hear the genuine distress in Jimmy’s voice because he drops the act. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.”

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy demands.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it? But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

Jimmy wants to argue, wants to fight him on this, but there’s nothing he can say. Instead, he puts a hand on Scott’s arm to stop him walking any further. Scott turns to look at him, seemingly startled, and Jimmy throws his arms around the elf.

Scott stiffens before slowly relaxing, arms coming up to wrap around Jimmy in return. It’s not as natural a gesture as it used to be, but it’s warm, gentle in a way Jimmy thought he’d never get again. It reminds him of the soft, starry-eyed boy who put flowers in his hair and laughed at him over a cake. Scott will never be that soft again and Jimmy will never be unscarred, but they’re here. They’re alive, that has to count for something.

Scott pulls back, his expression so achingly tender and heartbroken all at once. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” His voice is raw, a little shaky. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

He’s cut off by Scott shaking his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.”

Jimmy’s in too much shock to speak, the ache in his heart returning tenfold as Scott turns back towards the house.

“Goodbye, Jimmy.” He sweeps away, elegant as ever, but stumbles and nearly falls as he reaches the door. Jimmy’s not there to catch him.

Jimmy stumbles home in a daze. It's somewhat of a miracle that no mob manages to kill him, honestly. To be so close to a resolution, to have the person he wanted most right there in his arms, and then to have all that ripped away- he can’t think of anything that could have hurt more. Even his deaths were less painful than this- at least an arrow through the throat is quicker than feeling like your heart is being ripped out through your ribs, Jimmy thinks, a little bitter. He throws Scott’s stupid ring in a pool in the swamp, watching as it sinks to the bottom of the shallow water with hardly a bubble.

Wait.

The ring.

It’s significant, somehow, according to a Rivendell guard, and more than that, it’s an excuse to see Scott again. One last chance to change his mind about the stupid plan that’s literally killing him.

Jimmy dives in without thinking, scrabbling around until his fingers close around the smooth stone and thin band. When he pulls it out, the gem glitters in the starlight even under the layers of dirt, and it looks like something special. It looks like hope.

[ellaofoakhill]

Why You Should Read...

Haven’t done one of these in a while; I was gonna do them more regularly, but I figured I’d put them together a) when a story enthralls me, and b) when a story is more obscure, and could really benefit from more discussion.

Anyway, Red from Overly Sarcastic Productions has been working on a webcomic over the past few years called Aurora. On initial read I was a bit meh about it, but I re-read it in the last few days, and found it to have really grown on me. It’s also ongoing, but Red updates every MWF, so I wouldn’t worry much about long hiatuses or anything.

The Premise: We start out in the city of Vash, besieged by an army of monsters. The city god--also Vash--takes corporeal form and lays a serious beatdown on the monsters, only to be mortally wounded by the mysterious woman who led the monster army, who then annihilates the city and sucks Vash’s soul out of his body.

This would’ve been quite a short comic, actually, if Vash’s body hadn’t gotten up on its own & seemingly developed its own consciousness. After a nice elf-lady with plant powers named Alinua finds & heals Vashn’t (not canonically his name, just what the fandom called him for a while) and shenanigans ensue, Kendal (his canonical name after he finally picks it) and Alinua leave the remains of the city behind to rescue Vash. On the way, they assemble meet such notable others as:

Erin- pompous intelligent mage dude who’s Red answer to Aang from ATLA (archetypally not emotionally), and who... has a thing in his head.

Falst- cynical snarky catboi, and somehow the most normal member of the team.

Tess- unflappably nice buff lady with just the smoothest, shiniest skin except for that one spot, with a charming predilection for only punching monsters in the face.

Dainix- technically not on the team yet, but guys, c’mon, a victim of the entertainment industry, but wants to branch out into other fields. Has crummy depth perception.

Why you should read it:

Multifaceted characters who are properly explored, light and dark, without going ham on the grim & gritty so often associated with “serious” stories these days.

Kendal is simultaneously the most unconventional demigod I’ve ever seen, incredibly powerful, and doing pretty well considering he’s at most a few weeks old.

On that topic YES KENDAL YOU NEED TO SLEEP TOO NO PULLING YOUR SWORD OUT IN THAT DIPLOMATIC MEETING WAS PROBABLY A BAD IDEA NO IT IS NOT NORMAL TO SNAP CHAINS AND SPEARHAFTS LIKE GLOWSTICKS

The humour is well-placed, fits the characters and the story, and has never yet taken away from a scene or impactful moment.

Thoughtful explorations of trauma, slavery, and the management of negative emotions.

There is nothing more beautiful than Erin making assumptions and flipping his sh#t when those assumptions are brusquely shattered when any and all confusion could have been averted by a simple question

The artwork is a shade rough, but the way the colours pop make the style really stand out; while it looks somewhat like anime, it is DEFINITELY its own thing.

“HOW DARE YOU CALL YOURSELF A GOD!”

Nobody’s a dick for the sake of being a dick; they all have reasons for their dickishness.

Zurrith is, in all honesty, just The Worst.

Conversely, Shrike is Best Bounty Hunter.

The worldbuilding is interesting (I’ve always loved the animism angle), and the magic system(s?) manages to hit that sweet sweet balance between systematic and organic

Turns out Erin can be a real Kerin sometimes.

And the Three-Way Tie for Best Hair Goes to: Kendal, Alinua, and Dainix; Shrike is runner-up, and I strongly suspect she hates it.

Anyway, it’s a fun fantasy romp with a ton of classic tropes used in interesting ways (I mean, it’s Red; why’re you surprised?). Check it out, it has its own website (comicaurora.com), and if you haven’t heard of OSP’s work and love history, myths, and stories in general, go watch their videos on youtube.

Ta!

[christinesficrecs]

I love your blog! Do you know any fics similar to “Don’t you wanna be my sky?”

Thank you! 💜  Here are some supernatural!stiles fics.

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Touch!starved!Derek/incubus!Stiles.

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Derek Hale decides to become a hermit before he reaches 25. Too bad he picked Beacon Hills as his retirement home.

(Or the one where Stiles is a wood nymph/pixie/human hybrid who falls in love with his new grumpy werewolf neighbour)

Fantasy Realism by LadyDrace | 4.3K | Explicit

Stiles is a mermaid, Derek is a werewolf, and they've been best friends for years. Stiles is in love with Lydia, and Derek... accepts it, and shoves his own affection for Stiles down deep. Until one day when Stiles makes a surprising announcement, and leaves Derek to deal with a lot of emotional turmoil.

He Blinded Me With Library Science by mklutz | 6.5K | Explicit

Stiles blinks. “Right, the reading room. Do you have your, uh ...library card?” he asks. He’s never been able to make that sound normal and not vaguely dirty when he actually means wand.

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Except for the Alpha that is never where he should be.

A Story of A Selkie & An Unintentional Proposal by ajeepandleather | 4.8K

For the prompt of Person A accidentally proposing to Person B (who is a selkie) by returning their pelt

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Every firehouse needs a Dalmatian, right? It just so happens that the Dalmatian adored by the men and women at engine 603 isn't quite what he seems.

Veils and Moonbeams by kaistrex (weishen) | 2.6K

Because if anyone would become an (illegal) Animagus to surprise the boy they liked, it would be Stiles Stilinski.

I've been the archer (I've been the prey) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie) | 16.4K

Stiles is usually pretty good at being a Cupid - not as good as Allison, she’s much better with a bow. His targets fall in love naturally, with just a little nudge or a visit from a mischievous Cupid to make them see what’s already there. Derek Hale, however? Seems to be immune. And that’s just unacceptable - Stiles has to do something about that.

Agent Halewinkle and the Stilinski Cheer Initiative by WhoNatural | 6.8K

Derek is an elf sent to the "mortal world" to bring Christmas spirit back into the Stilinski family and accidentally falls in love with Stiles

He’s a senior Agent of Cheer, decorated numerous times by the Candy Cane Council for his work in bringing joy to the many jovially-challenged families during the jolly season. His attention to detail has been heralded as ‘heartwarming’, ‘inspiring’ and ‘hella swell’ by several respected trade publications.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

The Debauchery Continues..

The next installment in the mini short story of Fane and Solas’s general angst and their devotion to one another! Now with more smutty purpose! *waggles eyebrows* These will be going up on Ao3, eventually! I’m comprising a collection of all my drabbles under Dragon Drabbles!

Beware: There is NSFW content within this section! The next installment with have full blown smut, but this is a prelude to it! Oh, and yes, Solas is a bottom in this fic, but him and Fane switch throughout their relationship.

****

It had taken Fane a total of ten minutes to get him and Solas to his quarters. Why? Well, the elven mage had made it incredibly difficult for Fane to think with the way he had been laying barely perceivable kisses along his jaw and neck, so much so that he had been able to slip from Fane’s embrace with a cheeky smirk of satisfaction before slowly guiding the two of them up the various flights of stairs that dared to exist. Fane enjoyed the height, usually, but in this situation, he cursed the layout of Skyhold. 

“Never have I wished for wings more than during that tortuous ascent.”, Fane grumbled as he and Solas arrived at his quarters, the two just outside the door that led to the - blessedly - last set of stairs. 

Solas gave him a fond smile, coming over to stand next to where Fane currently rummaging through a pouch at his hip. “Indeed. Though, it would have quite possibly been less ‘tortuous’ if you had kept your mind focused on climbing rather than stopping to enjoy the view.” The elven man’s tone was infuriating to Fane because of how knowing it was. 

Fane let out a scoff as he continued to search within the depths of his pouch. “I can’t help that you decided to take the lead. It was only natural that I’d get distracted. You have a very specific gait that makes my mind slam into a wall.”

“Is that so? Tell me; what is so distracting about how I walk?” Solas’s fond smile morphing into a playful smirk. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grumbled half heartedly before letting out a growl of annoyance. “Oh for fuck’s sake, where the hell is it?”

Solas raised an eyebrow at his words. “What are you searching for, vhenan?” The elven god came closer to him to inspect what he was doing with curious eyes. 

“My damn key.” Fane growled again as he still continued to dig. Of all times for him to not be able to locate something, it had to be now! Typical! 

Solas blinked in minor surprise. “You lock the door?” 

Fane paused in his search to look up at Solas, raising a snowy eyebrow. Was Solas seriously questioning something as mundane as a locked door? Judging by the genuine curiosity donning the mage’s face, that would be a yes. Of course it was a yes.

“I..do.”, he said slowly, confused. “Why is that so shocking?”

“I wouldn’t say it was ‘shocking’, just intriguing.” Solas said, his face slowly morphing back to the mage’s normal expression of quiet observation. “There are not many people who come up here, correct? So, I merely wish to understand the reasoning behind the act.”

Fane couldn’t help but let out a faint chuckle at Solas’s common habit of questioning everything. His sky was full of both trivial and in depth knowledge about magic, the Fade, spirits, the connection between the two, the overall correlation they each have with the waking world, but such things as another’s habits was seemingly foreign to the man. It was intoxicatingly endearing to Fane’s own questioning nature. However, he supposed Solas’s curiosity wasn’t so trivial when it came to this, since the reason behind it was..complex. Then again, everything about him was ‘complex’.

Fane let out a quiet sigh before turning his gaze downwards to resume his search for his key, far more subdued this time. “..I want privacy. That’s the simplistic answer.” He paused once more in his gestures to glance up at Solas, the elf patiently watching him. “..I just..don’t like the thought of someone coming and going as they please, rummaging through my possessions like it’s an auction. I like to have control over what’s mine. I..haven’t really been afforded that in the past..” 

Fane noticed Solas’s demeanor shift at his words as the mage came even closer to place a hand over the one hovering by his pouch. The touch had Fane relaxing his body, not even realizing it had become stiff with subconscious defense. 

“I..apologize. I should not have prodded you like that, especially since I am aware of..what occurred. That was thoughtless on my part..” Solas apologized with a sad smile, stormy eyes a deep blue as they connected with his own. 

Fane shook his head with a small smile of his own. “It’s in the past, even if it still haunts me into the present, but I’m enduring. I’ll always endure, so it’s fine.. ” He assured Solas with a soft voice before leaning in to give the mage a tender kiss to his temple, murmuring against it with a seductive smirk. “..You can prod me in a different way, though.” Attempting to ease the heavy tension born of bitter memories.

As the words tumbled from his lips, Fane felt a firm hand come up to cup his jaw, meeting Solas’s fiery, desire filled glare. Fane merely smirked at the action, letting out a satisfied purr at Solas’s fierce grip. That sparked the fire of lust again - violently so. 

“You will have to unlock the door first, ma’isenatha.” Solas purred out before releasing his jaw slowly, taking a step back to motion towards the door with a tiny smirk. “Or is that too difficult a task for you?” 

Anyone else, Fane would have taken that jab as an insult, but from the look in Solas’s eye, he could tell it was anything but that. A wolfish smirk graced Fane’s lips as he calmly, slowly closed the flap of his pouch to turn his back to the door. He watched as Solas’s gaze became calculating, predatory, the apostate putting his arms behind his back with a raised eyebrow, waiting. 

“Perhaps you should unlock the door, then.” Fane offered, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed. “Since you’re so impatient.”

“I would not wish to invade your privacy, vhenan, nor would I deign to take control from you.” A smirk slowly starting to form on Solas’s blank face. 

“Take control? Ohh, no, no, no.” Fane laughed out the statement deeply, darkly, his voice a delicious timbre before he saw gold tint the edges of his vision - signaling the rush of emotions within him having changed his eye color. “..You would be giving me control. Again, the room above is mine, so anything within it is mine.” He insinuated enticingly, tapping a finger idly against a crossed, muscled arm - the tap, tap, tap of delicate leather stimulating his senses even further.     

Keen gold eyes watched as a light shudder coursed through Solas’s body from his insinuation before the elven man carefully, calmly, closed the distance between them once more, stormy eyes blown wide with poorly restrained lust. Fane tilted his head slightly, still smirking as he gazed down at Solas. This was endlessly fun, and Fane was generally unaccustomed to ‘fun’.

“I would have you know, I do not submit easily. It may be a near fruitless battle if you do not act soon..” Solas whispered out, his own voice deep and challenging before it uttered a single word with silky seduction. “..Aterian.” 

The pale gold tint dispersed as Fane’s eyes morphed and solidified into solid amber before he brought a single elbow down to smash in the door’s handle - the wood cracking with a satisfying crunch before it slowly opened. His chest was heaving with overwhelming emotions and anticipation as he saw Solas barely even flinch at his display of raw strength, deep blue eyes seeming to narrow with pure want from it instead. Ohhh, the sky was vast, and how Fane wished to fly in it.

“Come now, my dragon..” Solas practically growled as he took another tentative step forward, almost bringing them chest to chest. “..you can surely show me more than that. I wish to see the force behind centuries of yearning, of desire, of love. Be not ashamed of what you feel. Show me, as only you can.” An irresistible challenge hanging between them as all encompassing gold drowned in fathomless blue. 

Fane felt himself clench and unclench his hands, digging into the material of his leather wraps as his tightly bound control began to fray at the seams. Everything that he was hearing, seeing, and feeling was making it incredibly difficult to think, to focus, but for some reason, it only made him desire more. He desired to rip and tear into pathetic cloth, shedding both him and Solas of a suffocating barrier that dared separate them further. He desired to pin and bind the god, who was looking at him with both love and lust, and make him scream in ecstasy. He desired to lose himself in what would be an undeniable frenzy of sensations and emotions, allowing himself to bask in heat and wanton bliss. He desired the touch of skin as it became soaked in sweat, as it quivered with the yearning to come undone. He desired.. He desired everything. 

Fane let his eyes slip shut as his chest heaved from both Solas’s words and his own frenzied thoughts before opening trembling lips to speak.

“I..I..cannot..” He tried to deny, his draconic nature combating his mortal wants. 

“You can, emma’lath.” Solas whispered to him encouragingly, carefully placing his hands on Fane’s now deeply flushed face to hold it tenderly like a precious keepsake. “Let us both relinquish our mantles for a night, if only to make their weight come morning a touch easier to bear.” Solas’s thumbs reverently caressing his face as an uncommon smile of pure joy graced the mage’s lips. 

Fane couldn’t help but let out a tiny, albeit shaky, chuckle as he leaned into Solas’s touch. He was losing his mind, wasn’t he?

“It’s unlike you to be so..optimistic.” He stated with a tiny smile, shuddering lightly as another wave of emotions coursed through a muscled frame. “Or will you leave me in the morning when doubt rears it ugly head again? Are pretty words just to soften the inevitable blow?” A surge of fear and worry shuffling into the mix of wayward emotions. 

Fane watched as Solas let out a saddened chuckle of his own before pulling his face down to lay a tender, chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back to gaze at him seriously. “If you were anyone else, I would say ‘yes’, albeit with great anguish. However..” The mage trailing off as he closed in again to murmuring against Fane’s lips. “..you are not ‘anyone else’, nor will you ever be. You are my dragon. You have seen me at my lowest and greatest, and never once turned your back on me. You trusted me when you could have just as easily killed me, solely on the fact of what I was, who I was. You know everything about me, as I know everything about you.” Solas pressed their lips together just a bit more. “..There is nothing to hide, so I have no need to run from you. I only hope you do not fall because of my own mistakes again. My heart would not be able to endure another crushing blow like that, so please, ma’isenatha, I want you to at least promise that you will turn your back on me if I fall too far for even your wings to follow.. Please..” 

That single, but heavy statement had the rope that was Fane’s restraint snapping like a flail as he surged forward to seal their lips together desperately, barely registering the quiet sound of shock from Solas as the force nearly sent the two of them into the frame of the partially destroyed door. He felt Solas grip his face more desperately as the two began to naturally fight for dominance, Fane lifting an arm to slam a hand into the door frame as he felt Solas’s tongue swipe beckoningly along his bottom lip. He kept his lips firmly sealed in an act of defiance, Solas merely redoubling his efforts by harshly nipping at the supple flesh before soothing it with another sweet caress. He let out a deep hum as the routine continued exactly the same - steadfast in his refusal to allow entry - before Fane tilted his head slightly to throw the mage off, the two beginning anew with more sensual, and languid movements as their lips moved in perfect unison with each other. A brush of a thigh against his own had Fane letting out a deep growl, the force behind it making his chest rumble dangerously.  

Shit, I’m losing it. I want him, I want him, I want him, I want him..! I will not leave him, I will not, I will not..! His mind frantically reiterated before the thigh that had brushed against his own shifted to touch at a far more sensitive area. Fane’s body went stiff at the sensation before he felt his entire body quiver, even as he felt Solas continue to peck at his lips softly. 

Yes--Fane wanted everything Solas had to offer, and he would claim it as only a dragon could. 

The hand that had been beginning to dig into stone and wood flew down to take Solas by the neck firmly, as Fane let an ancient instinct take hold of him, momentarily registering the shocked, but pleased gasp that Solas let out around their lips at the action. Fane could barely hear himself think as he began to lay feverish kisses along Solas’s jaw, the hand around the mage’s neck tightening for a moment before relaxing slightly. 

I desire him, I need him, I wish to claim him.. Let me have him, please, please.. Just for tonight, if nothing else. I will desire no more than this.. No more, so please.. His mind and soul begged to the ghosts of his past, as memories of brilliant eyes turning grey threatened to ruin the moment for him. 

“Aterian..” Solas whispered his name with a loving smile gracing his features, the reverent tone throwing off Fane’s depressive thoughts. “Do not allow your mind to leash you. Break those shackles for me, my dragon. Break them..”

Fane merely narrowed his eyes as the heavy double meaning of Solas’s words sank in - a feeling like someone swinging a hammer down on him causing him to surge forward once more to take advantage of Solas’s momentary weakness, shoving his tongue into the mage’s slightly agape mouth deeply.

“Ngh..!” He heard Solas let out a quiet, but surprised noise before the mage sighed through his nose pleasantly. 

Hands that had been once holding his freckled face came up to fist into his snowy hair as Solas attempted to bring him in closer, even as Fane practically had him pinned against the doorway by his neck alone. Fane brought his other arm up to wrap around Solas’s body tightly, pulling the man’s body flush against his own as their kiss became more frantic, their tongues pushing, pulling, dancing to an invisible rhythm as promises of bliss and sorrow lingered in the electrified air. He slid a leg between both of Solas’s, releasing the choke hold he had on the mage to ghost his hand upwards to tease at a sharp jawline. The gesture had Solas letting out a quiet hum before Fane pulled back slowly, the length and ferocity of the kiss nearly making him collapse from a lack of oxygen, as well as the flushed appearance of the man in front of him who looked equally as overwhelmed.

“Fuck.. Fuck..” He cursed out harshly between gasping breaths, eyes hooded with pure desire as he took in Solas’s equally as gasping appearance. “Fenedhis..” The elven slipping out without him even thinking about it as emotions began to cloud his mind from their potency. This was bad. He was slipping, but why didn’t he care?

He watched as Solas merely nodded quickly, chest heaving harshly as the elven god shut his eyes to reign in his breathing, a weakened hand coming down to rest on a broad chest. Despite the well of emotions surging through him Fane couldn’t help, but lean down a bit more to lay several tender kisses upon Solas’s neck, aiming for the mage’s rapidly fluttering pulse point without much thought. He desired more, even though he could barely breathe..

As if on cue, Solas’s hands gave his hair a firm yank as he practically arched into Fane’s body, only letting out a quiet, choked gasp in approval of the kisses despite the way his chest still heaved uncontrollably. The sound and harsh treatment only made Fane intensify the strength of his kisses as he began to nip and teasingly lick at warm flesh, relishing in the way Solas practically tensed and then melted in his arms with heated sighs.  

“Aterian.. E..Easy, v..vhenan.. I--!” Solas attempted to steady him with a light push before Fane latched onto the butterfly of a pulse, harshly sinking his teeth into the soft patch. “Aghk..!” Solas bit out around another choked sound, his body practically trembling with ruinous abandon. 

Fane firmly worried the tender flesh between his teeth before releasing it to slowly run the flat of his tongue along the abused spot, the delicate tang of blood sending a throb downwards as he slowly pulled back to inspect the damage. The sight of a forming love mark had Fane snarling in satisfaction before he gazed down tenderly at the quivering mess of his lover, one of Solas’s hands braced back against the door while the other was now tightly fisted into Fane’s tunic.

Gold eyes roamed over Solas’s form, taking in the way the mage’s body heaved and lightly shuddered before a hung head slowly rose to level Fane with a truly dangerous, but lust addled glare. Fane could only smirk wickedly at the hue of crimson adorning the elven god’s face in conjunction to the slightly bleeding mark on his neck. 

This was delightful in its wickedness. Why had he and Solas held off on this for so long again?

“Hmm..” Fane hummed, ghosting the hand that was upon Solas’s jaw downwards to stroke his thumb across the mark he had made, swiping the small pool of blood to then bring it to his lips with an even more devilish smirk. “A dragon’s stirring, my sky. Do you wish for it merely to observe you? Or..” The ideology of his kin twisting deliciously as he dragged his tongue along his thumb, narrowing his eyes as he watched Solas’s stormy eyes blow wide with want. “..do you wish for it to ruin you?” 

As the unexpected words tumbled from behind his thumb, Fane watched as Solas steadily stood himself up straight, a rough chuckle rumbling from a now lightly heaving chest. Fane raised a snowy eyebrow at the sound before his eyes went wide at the glint of indigo in Solas’s eyes, the mage’s face spreading into a wicked smirk before arms came up to wrap around his neck tightly.

Oh no, was the only thing Fane could think of as he took in the deepened hue of Solas’s eyes more closely.

Solas leaned in to him fully, boldly swiping his tongue against Fane’s lips to catch the faint remnants of blood left behind before purring against them deeply. 

“I wish for it to stop stalling with tepid attempts.” The words are a hot stab to Fane’s decaying restraint with how much challenge they held. 

“Hmph. Says the one currently rutting against my thigh like a halla in heat..” Fane growled out, the challenges from Solas making his blood boil with lust.

“It is performing where you..ngh..refuse to.” Solas attempted to bite back, but his voice faltered from the sensation of friction that was born from where he was teasingly dragging himself along Fane’s thigh - intentionally missing where Fane desired him most.

“Ohhhh, you better stop, wolf.. Or we won’t make it upstairs..” Their eyes connecting with nearly tangible fire threatening to set them ablaze before Solas closed the distance between their hips - the pure tingling surging up Fane’s body and back down to his nether regions ripping the air from his lungs harshly with a loud gasp. 

“So many words, so little action..” Solas purred, a few fingers tapping against one of Fane’s shoulders.

Fane let out a dark snarl as the words set a smouldering fire ablaze within his soul, pushing Solas away with a firm shove, and watching raptly as the elven god never once took his eyes off of him - stormy like a true monsoon as they bore piercing holes into him. They gazed into each other’s souls before Solas crossed the threshold with one. single. step. 

The silent recognition of his earlier words were not lost on Fane as he watched Solas shuffle into the opening completely, the man’s smirk softening into a warm smile before he held out a hand to him - eyes laden with sultry promise as they never once left his own.

“From this point on, I am yours, correct?”

Fane’s eyes went wide before he gave Solas a slow nod of his head, a small smile momentarily cooling him, even as his whole body sang with want. Solas..was giving him control where normally the mage would be hesitant to do. It was a sign of trust, of devotion, of vulnerability, of..love. It made Fane’s mind turn hazy as even more wayward emotions slammed into him - his labored breathing beginning anew with soft pants. 

“You..would be. You’re willing to give that to me?” He asked softly, despite his body beginning to tremble with restraint.

“I am.” Solas said without missing a beat, eyes serious despite the softness they held for him.

Fane faltered at the immediate response before hanging his head in defeat, chuckling quietly as he rested a bent arm against the ruined doorway. This elf would be the death of him. To give him everything so easily, as if it were a simple truth of the world, made Fane truly believe, for the moment, that everything he was, was a blessing after all.

With a quiet, shaky breath, Fane lifted his head slowly to level Solas with a predatory gaze, the mage faintly biting into his bottom lip at the sight. The action had Fane’s smirk returning as the roaring inferno within him blazed anew with incandescent purpose. 

“You are mine.” He snarled out deeply, pushing himself off the doorway with his arm to stalk towards the elf.

“I always have been.” Solas merely smiled at him, reaching up to touch his cheek delicately before leaning up to lay a tender kiss to his lips, quietly murmuring against them. “So, take me as you wish. Take me, my dragon..”, the Elvhen dripping off of Solas’s tongue like wicked honey. 

That was all the incentive Fane needed as he surged forward to grab Solas by an arm, the mage merely smiling as he followed Fane up the stairs without fuss, even as the door of privacy laid in splinters at the bottom.

There was no shame, no sin in what they had. That was all Fane could reiterate in his mind as they ascended the last stairway to blessed bliss.

****

That’s right! You funny bunnies have to wait even longer for the full smutty effect! *laughs manically* This is my first time writing smut, so forgive me my inexperience!

Note: Just a little insight in to why I tend to write Solas the way that I do. A lot of it is gentle conforming to slot his personality in response to Fane’s. I know that Solas is generally reserved, quiet, observing, calculated, and overall aloof and sorrowful - weighed down by duty and guilt, but if you were to place a character that knew him and bonded with him, then he would take on a softer persona. At least, that’s how I feel. I like exploring Solas’s softer sides, whereas the game explores those only minimally. I also just like to reaffirm (to myself) that Solas does have emotions, they’re simply hidden because he has to keep a lot of things hidden in Inquisition. However, with Fane and my AU, he doesn’t have to hide from him. So, when they’re alone, Solas is far more pliable and responsive to opening up, as is Fane. It’s simply a different perspective of the character, and by no means am I trying to bash Solas’s original demeanor; I’m just exploring things that I would have liked to experience with him while attempting to keep him in character. I don’t know if I’m succeeding sometimes, but it’s a learning process!

[darkmist111]

Phantom Thieves Play Dungeons and Dragons

The Wander and the Worker

Akira had faced many trials, both legally and spiritually. He had also been a master of organization, stuffing as much activity as he could into a single year.

Yet this challenge nearly brought him to his knees.

“So you only add 2 to armor class?”

“No that's only for medium armor your un-armored right now.”

“Shit I should've picked a race with more dexterity.”

It was like herding cat's, without Morgana’s help.

“You guys ready? It's almost 5.” Akira said know that this group could double a session’s play time.

“Hold on I’m trying to memorize our modifiers.” Ann said squinting as she had forgot her glasses at home.

“Don't worry just remember your crap at everything not dexterity and charisma.” Ryuji said nonchalantly.

The plan was to get all the players to level 2 before they got to the main campaign, so Akira did this little mini session with 2 characters first so the players could slip into their roles.

“Alright are we ready to play?”

Ryuji had finally gotten Ann to stop fusing over her papers.

“As we’ll ever be I guess *sigh* I really hope I don't die at level 1 again.” Ann groaned.

“Hell yeah let's kick some ass!”

“Alright close your eyes and listen.” Akira took a deep breath and his voice changed.

“This is the world of Exceeden”

Akira peaked and caught the grins on his two friends faces.

“Unlike our world with disconnected planets, the world of Exceeden is but one layer stacked in-between other realms, but different from the other realms Exceeden did not occur naturally but was created by 20 core gods. The gods were once one shared in their love of their creation, however what they didn't know was it would grant them more power than even their unparalleled minds could imagine.

Jealousy, anger, spite, and rage broke them apart each believing their creation should go the way they decided and the 20 became 5. 6 of Law, 6 of Chaos, 2 of Good, 2 of Evil, and 4 to keep the balance.

While the realm has no supreme rule the cycles of mortals carry on. Empires rise and fall, stories are told and forgotten, until finally the sands of time cycle towards something or someone that can shatter the heavens despite their humble beginnings.

The year is 997 A.I.(After Invasion) and our story takes place on the continent of Almoria. While not the largest continent it houses a wide array of People and Cultures in no small part due to the many differences environments.

In the far north in the icy tundras Orc and Goliath tribes war against the Tiefling Solos Empire and their Minotaur allies even further north in the Shadow Lands.

Below that are the eternal plans of Sparks where wild magic hum and fae slip into our world. Bands of Centaur and Satyr dance across the fields, unknowingly starting war with the Leonin Clans.

On the east of the Great Sezali Desert a new and ambitious clan of HobGoblins are gathering their forces of Goblin and Bugbear.

This makes the Elven Allied Council to the west nervous and the desert has become a sort of cold war, but also a hive of activity for trade and merchants.

On the West Coast the Aarakocra war against the Triton and the East Coast, the legendary Tortle Cleric Genbu brokers peace between the Locathah and the Grung.

In the Mountains Kobold, Lizardmen and Dragonborn War against a unfathomable threat as the Chromatic dragons and Metal Dragons have united to control the Arcane Canyons.

With the fall of Tyrant Human King Rexanik, many flee to the peaceful mountains city of Eternix. The city, nicknamed the city of small folk, was almost completely Gnomes, Halfling, Dwarfs, as well as the Black Wing Monastery, suddenly has possibly the highest human density in the continent.

Humans have also tried their luck in the chaotic Forest of Nayan only to be never heard from again.

In the south peace is almost a certainty as the brotherhood between the Loxodon and Gith remains just a strong as a century ago. Their city Omniox hold the Verdan trading Guild the only constant in these turbulent times

Not all is so clear though, hidden in the desert are rumors of cults who use arcane, scientific, and religious methods to create inhuman monsters that stalk the night.

However it is that Desert where we start our story in the town of Ixyana. Ixyana is a port town to the sea of sand, willing to offer weary travelers any pleasure they require... for the right price. Ixyana has always been self governed but with escalating tensions between the Elven and HobGoblin armies, the town is being pressured to pick a loyalty. But today neither a Goblin nor Elf is the new stranger in town.”

“Ryuji please introduce your character.”

“I’m just a guy who looks like an average traveler, I’m wearing normal cloths and using a spear like a walking stick, the only unusual thing about me is that have blue skin and white “Hair”. I’m a Fighter but only because you get in fights when you wander as much as I do, but it's clear I’m not formally trained.”

The wanderer enters the town carrying a satchel over his back midday. He makes his way towards a inn looking to rest for the night. He hears a commotion and see several HobGoblin warriors speaking angrily toward each other, before rushing off. The young man enters into a alley to avoid crossing their path, as he steps out he sees another beautiful HobGoblin women in revealing clothes dart out from behind a stack of boxes. Before his eyes she begins to shift form before becoming a striking dark haired Elven women and quickly entering the Inn.

“Well That's a Flag if I’ve ever seen one.”

The man is overcome with curiosity and follows her. He enter the inn and sees the first floor is a diner/bar.

At this time of day not many people are drinking and lunch is already over so the inn is uncrowded.

The blue man sees the former HobGoblin women now Elven sit in the corner of the bar skillfully blending in for those not looking.

As he walks up to her she glances before biting her lip.

“Sorry I’m not working right now.”

You realize from her statement and her outfit that this women is one of the courtesans of the towns most powerful group in place of a formal government, The Desert Respite, worshipers of Bast one of the 20 original Gods and practitioners of the arts of pleasure both of a sexual nature and of entertainment.

“I still can believe your playing a Prostitute.” Ryuji says teasing.

“For your information I’m a high class escort. And let's see if you’ll be laughing in a few minutes.”

“Sorry it's not that I... I just... saw you change.”

The woman tenses her eyes narrowing and grits her teeth.

“So what?”

“Are... Are you a Spirit.”

The women slowly turns her head, seeing the nervous young man though in her eyes he's more of a boy shift his weight nervously.

“Perception check!”

“Roll for it.”

“...!!!! Natural 20!”

“Heh, yeah he's a pretty easy mark.”

“Hey!”

She smirks before tipping her drink back and gesturing to the seat across from her.

“From out of town.”

“Out from... everywhere.”

She changes her posture, trained but attractive.

“The desert must've been quite the ordeal, I didn't notice a Caravan enter town. Is your group somewhere else?”

“No, I’ve been traveling alone.”

“Alone?”

“Yes I am quite skilled at traveling, born and raised doing it in fact.”

“Incredible, you must be strong.”

The women bit her lip while the blue skinned man sweat feeling nervous from the shapeshifters forward flirtations.

“You know I have a certain need for a strong man.”

“Role Wisdom Ryuji.”

“What! She hasn't even cast anything.”

“Your mouth was dropped.” Ann teased. “Let's hope your character isn't a simp.”

“No way!”

Ryuji rolled.

“Shit! 6, 7 total.”

“Simp”

“Shut up!”

“What did- What do you need. I’m always looking to help out.”

“You see a girl can only stay in one town for so long before she needs a change of pace. I’m thinking you’ve been to plenty of places, why don't you and I go on adventure.”

The spearman let out a yelp as he felt her leg delicately trace his own.

“And I’ll be sure your thoroughly compensated.”

“Roll Perception against Ann’s Persuasion.”

“Yes!”

“Shit”

Ann rolled and grinned which caused Ryuji to hang his head.

“21 total Persuasion!”

“Goddamnit, 14 total.”

“Yeah she has you wrapped around her finger.”

“*Gulp* There’s no need for that ma’am, I'd be happy to guide you wherever you desire.”

The man saw her smile turn victorious and her leg rubbed a little higher.

“Don’t worry it's no trouble, when we stop for the night I can give you a nice and long compensating.”

_______________________________________

The pair quickly gather their things the shapeshifter, changing again into a stunning Yuan-Ti. They walked through the town. Some men stared at the shabby looking Traveler and the beautiful courtesan, leering at her exposed cleavage, open thighs, and toned belly, others smirked and gave respecting nods. He glared and the former while that latter made him feel like a scumbag.

She insisted they walk on foot so not to draw attention. The man frowned but didn't say anything.

As they walked they chatted.

“My names Zap by the way.”

“Nais of the Desert Respite.”

“So Nais, are you wondering what I am?”

“Probably not as much as your wondering what I am.”

“Well I don't know, I’ve never seen someone change what they look like except my dad.”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah, he’s a Genie.”

“...”

“...”

“...You're not joking?”

“Nope. A Lightning Genie to be specific.”

“Insight Check... 11?”

“He seems to be pretty honest.”

“So you can grant wishes?”

“He could, not me. I’m only half genie, my other half is Human from my mom. Dad said my type of people are called Genasi.”

“Where’s you dad now?”

“He’s only allowed to stay in the material plane for 20 years at a time. He left on my 10th birthday, I’m 22, so he’ll be back in 8 years. Though he’ll probably see my mom before me.”

“... You know that is a really weird story right?”

“I actually didn't know until later in life. For a long time it was just the 3 of us, then the 2, now me.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You can change into other things, is it magic?”

Nias looked away not wanting to meet Zap’s eyes.

“It's not magic it's just something I’m able to do, as well as my mother and her mother before her. She said that we might be descended from Doppelgängers.”

“That's amazing.” Zap said with awe.

“Perception Check!” Ann yelled out.

“Zap doesn't lie. He's a open book.”

“19!”

“Zap really does think your amazing.”

“Geez he doesn't have to try so hard I already said I’d fuck him.”

“Excuse me! But Zap is a gentleman he doesn't only think about sex.”

“Unlike his player.”