Some really messy sketches on a small little AU with Carmilla as a Fallen Angel Warrior.
Different from the Exorcists who slaughter Sinners, and more dedicated to the actual protection of Heaven against the darker forces. The designs haven't been thought out much, but I like drawing the horns, so I thought it'd be a cool warrior hairdo, like how Exorcists wore demonic masks (I was really bored in class okay-)
Her daughters, Odette and Clara are there too. They looked pretty different even as twins, which were a bit of an oddity at the time. They were often made to dress alike, and act alike. Most viewed them as a package deal rather than taking time to understand their individuality.
Its why they're dressed so freely in hell, relishing in how different they can be whilst still having a great bond.
Her daughters are ultimately what causes her to fall. Drawing the half horn half hair down style looked a lot cooler in my head, but it was fun regardless.
Some secret regarding her daughters get found out, Heaven making her choose to either cast her daughters down or join them. Carmilla didn't hesitate.
More info on the AU/fic in the cut belowww:
I dunno if im ever gonna expand on it, but I loved the idea of making it Zestmilla. Maybe Carmilla met the old Overlord in one of her trips in hell, maybe fighting in a battle there? Or helping establish order? Anyway, she was alone when she met Zestial, and the two were quiet the enemies when they met. They fought, though didn't aim to kill, resulting in a close fight with Carmilla as victor. She wasn't an Exorcist warrior, and saw no need to immediately end this Overlord. She wasn't sent there to do mindless murder, and would like to avoid useless battles if she could. Besides, he was polite enough, and though she didn't trust him, he didn't grate on her nerves either. Zestial was quite taken with her, suspicious and quite murderous towards an angel, but liked her well enough for her wit and level headedness. Her grace and skill in battle was also admirable.
They bump into each other many more times, over the course of Carmilla's visits to hell, and with each meeting, they turn a bit more cordial, even striking an unlikely friendship, that blossoms into much more. It takes them about a hundred or so years(bc i LOVE relationships that REAAAALLLY take the time to develop and build on that trust and love) before they become romantically involved. They seem like the couple who would take it slow, being cautious and not rushing anything less it would harm the other.
And though Carmilla's trips to hell were halted, their love was not for naught as she gave birth to Clara and Odette. Her one regret was not being able to give Zestial the great news, he would've been an amazing father.
She manages to hide their identities for a good while. The two had rather angelic features, wings and all, and humanoid forms unlike their father's. The only thing that pointed to their demonic heritage were their eyes, whose sclera was the same shade of red as her iris. It was easily hidden with simple spells though. The two girls bore quite the resemblance towards her, even with some oddities, and were left fairly alone, being able to remain undetected for decades.
(I just left this post to sketch this out real quick lol, just to get the coloring in mind, not set on the design but I dont mind it.)
The peace couldn't last. After a while with Odette and Clara still being considered young as angels, their secret gets out. Maybe the spells wore off, or by a slip of the tongue, but for some reason or another it gets found out that they're half demons. They were attacked, and the daughters were stripped of their wings and sentenced to be cast down to Hell, left at the mercy of the next Extermination. Carmilla was given a chance to redeem herself and stand back, and let her "mistakes" be washed clean.
Carmilla fought back, her wingless daughters clutching to her own feathers for protection. She scooped them up, flying away to hell, less they get any more damaged. Try as she might, however, they didn't manage to escape unscathed. She plummeted into Hell; feeling the curses and painful burn of magic at her back, nipping at her form.
It was as if Heaven and Hell itself tore her apart with her descent, both pulling with reckless abandon, shaping her into what they wanted.
She couldn't even afford to lose consciousness; she had her daughters to protect after all. Both girls were weak and bleeding, their backs aching from where their wings used to be. Carmilla glanced at her own feathers, and felt her heart break. It looked just as painful as it felt. Her once sleek and razor sharp looking feathers were nearly singed beyond repair. She retracted them, less she attract more enemies with them in display.
She struggled to get up, carrying her daughters with her despite the weakness in her legs. She didn't even have her spear with her, weaponless except for the ballet slippers she'd forged herself with angelic steel. Her hair was down and unruly, all three of them covered in burns and cuts and bruises and bleeding wounds. The attack came out of nowhere. Her daughters weren't even given a chance to defend themselves.
Weaponless. It can't happen again.
She manages to drag her daughters with her, only one place she could think of approaching. Its been decades since she's been to Hell, she hopes the territories didn't change too much. She was hesitant in going to Zestial for help. After all, its been years, and she'd left without being able to say goodbye. He'd be justified in hating her, and she wouldn't hold it against him. At the least, they could hide somewhere in his territory. His lands were one of the best choices, the demons residing under his rule were fairly disciplined. In a place as dangerous as Hell, an environment that was fairly familiar to her gave some bit of comfort. Even if he didn't accept them, even if he was unaware of their existence, Carmilla was satisfied with simply a place to rest.
She needed not worry though. As soon as Zestial heard the slightest news about strangers in his territory, he rushed to meet them himself. He noticed the large crash just some hours before night fell, and couldn't help the spark of hope. He was greeted by the sight of a few dead bodies, 1 or 2 who thought they could get lucky taking advantage of a weakened opponent. He arrived just in time to see a third fall, bloodied heels clicking on the ground below. The figure stood tall, though was clearly tired and heaving deep breaths. He barely noticed the two smaller figures in the distance, his gaze focused solely upon the lone woman, whose silver hair was still so beautiful even with all the dirt and blood matting it. He stepped closer, the sound of it causing the woman to turn and-
It didn't matter how dark it was. It didn't matter how her sclera was now the same shade of red as her iris were, as if it were inverted. He'd recognize her anywhere.
Without caring that he'd get stabbed himself, he rushed to pull her in a tight embrace, feeling her freeze beneath his arms. He buried his face in her hair, nuzzling it even with the blood and dirt, afraid as though she'd disappear if he ever let go.
He felt her large hands wrap around him and for the first time since his existence in Hell, he felt as if he could cry. This was real. This wasn't a figment of his imagination, nor a result of insanity. She was here. After all these years she came back to him. He couldn't be happier.
He immediately takes her and the two girls back to his residence, letting them clean up and helping patch their wounds. When he found out the two were his daughters, he felt as if- yea no, he was crying, this wasn't just a feeling, he couldn't stop the tears from streaming down as he hugged the two as firmly as he could without aggravating their wounds. He felt so angry for them, enraged that heaven could deal out such punishments for something the girls couldn't control.
He took them all in, preparing rooms for everyone. He prepared one for Carmilla too, not wanting to push his luck. It has been years after all, and he didn't want to force himself onto her should she decide she didn't reciprocate anymore. In the end, they all slept in the same room. Carmilla wanted to be with Zestial, feeling safer with someone else in the room to stand guard, and her daughters crawled back to her, far too afraid to sleep in such a new place alone after everything that happened.
So they all snuggled in the same large bed, Zestial keeping a respectful distance from the young girls as to not frighten them, all the while letting his webbed cloak wrap around Carmilla in comfort.
Carmilla fell asleep last, her thoughts running wild. It was all so much, but right now, here with her daughters in her arms and under Zestial's embrace, she felt at peace for the first time in a long while.
Glancing at the mirror across the room, she hummed at the changes in her eyes. The only thing she could think of was how was that she finally matched her daughters. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, she'd think, drifting off into sleep.
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10 Second Elder
The Blonde Boys Club
Daemon Targaryen x Sorceress!Reader, Geralt of Rivia & Sister!Reader
Summary: Yeah, so your twin tried to kill Caraxes and now you have to convince his rider, the mother fucking Prince, that it was all a misunderstanding (it was not).
Word Count: 2k+
Warnings: THE ONLY INCEST IN THIS IS THE CANON TARGARYEN INCEST ALRD IN HOTD OTHERWISE MISS ME WITH THAT BULLSHIT, fem!reader, witcher!twins, reader is kinda a witcher lol, I describe reader's hair and eye color, crack fic, typos, etc.
A/N: I JUST GOT A BUNCH OF IDEAS FOR THESE BLONDES AND OTHER FICTIONAL BLONDES PLEASE IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS ??? SERIES???? (dont quote me on that, idk what it is) ASKFL:AFHALS:F.
AND SHHH whatever plothole you have for the witcher!twins, just, just, roll with it i beg
also I'm tagging @lexi-anastasia HI!! i actually thought of this prompt cos of your display pic. IDK IF YOU EVEN LIKE hotd but i hope you like this for the witcher!twins LOL
I'm also tagging @avaleineandafryingpan because they reblogged my the blonde boys club post T_T (mahal kita)
and of course @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda
P2 "Dry Humor"
Geralt had smelt it in the air before anything else. He had his bow in his hand, drawn and ready. His stance was low. The steps he took against the leaf covered ground barely made a sound.
He straightened himself up when he saw an opening and pulled his arrow all the way.
When a gust of wind blew, he inhaled deeply, now certain of his opponent. A dragon.
Geralt inhaled deeply as the beast shifted in the spot it was laying. He saw the saddle on it, scoffing. Suddenly things were clearer as to why a dragon would be out in the open, so exposed. It was also clear that whoever the rider was did not care about how their ride had ravaged the nearby farm and village.
He knew his arrow would barely injure the creature, if it could pierce its skin at all, and yet he shot at its curled neck anyway.
No avail. The thing didn't even flinch.
Geralt purses his lips as he redraws his weapon. The dragon shifts again and this time, Geralt's golden eyes see an opening, quite literally an opening by the rib, just below the saddle.
The sound of the string tensing fills the witcher's ears. He narrows his eyes as he adjusts in his spot to further assess the wound, as well as to properly get an opening.
He notes how the injury was a not new, and yet it was still healing. He tries to listen in on the heartbeat, but even with how large it was, it was still too far for him to hear anything.
He withdraws a bit of tension from his bow, enough for it to still reach the dragon, but only to cause it discomfort, not really to reopen its wound, to rile the beast up enough for it to want to leave with its rider.
Geralt draws in a deep breath and releases it along with his arrow.
The dragon roars and rises from its place once the arrow hits its side.
Dramatic, if you asked him. Geralt was certain it didn't hurt as much as the thing was making it out to be.
As the dragon whined, Geralt unsheathed his blade and surveyed the area, listening in on the rider that would inevitably come next.
He inches closer to the dragon, by its tail, and soon enough he hears quick footsteps and frantic breathing.
When he turns over his shoulder to the source of the sound, the wound tension in his shoulders relaxes a fraction, then tenses again at the shrill whisper-yell.
"What the fuck did you just do?" I demand, throwing the severed head I had in my grip off to the side as I readied my sword in my hand as I went into a defensive stance, "we came for the monster I already slain."
"This thing is the reason why the village burned."
"And you think you can kill it!?"
"No, but its rider will get the message."
I lower my sword, in utter disbelief of what I was hearing, "you think it has a rider?!"
Geralt narrows his eyes, "It has a rider," he corrects, "I shot at its open wound below its saddle."
"THEN YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!" I seethe, gritting my teeth, raising my sword again. Geralt watches me as I stalk closer to the dragon. I catch the way he knit his brows, and it makes my eyes twitch, "you don't know what it means."
Geralt nears me and I elbow him to the chest, "motherfucker."
All at once, the dragon is alerted by our presence.
The massive creature stands on its legs and growls at us.
I feel him, the dragon. I feel his regality, his tie to his rider, and his distress over the arrow. He knows it was one of us that caused it. He draws in a deep breath, ready to burn us both, along with the entire forest.
I drop my sword and I raise my hand, speaking in the dragon's tongue, "calm yourself."
Geralt measures my reaction and is unconvinced by both the language I am speaking, and the fact I disarmed myself.
"We mean you no harm, your grace," I call out, slowly walking over to the dragon.
He screeches and shakes his head.
"You think it can understand you?" Geralt grunts, tensing his jaw as he brings his weapon higher.
The dragon does not appreciate this one bit.
"Just because you don't doesn't mean he doesn't," I quip.
Geralt does not care and pulls out an elixir from his pocket, quickly downing it.
"You fucking idiot! We are not-"
All at once, a command is shouted, "DRACARYS!"
Without thinking, before fire could leave his jowls, Geralt shoots chaos, causing the dragon's head to shoot up and his fire to burn above overhead.
"LYKIRI!" I repeat the same High Valyrian command to the dragon. As his head downturns, the flames he breathed ceases.
Before I realize what is happening, I hear a man shout out as he charges, "WITCH!"
Geralt blocks my view of the incoming assaulter as well as his sword that was sword meant to slay me, "Witcher."
Their weapons skid against the other's. They are upon each other, attacking aggressively, as though their lives depended on it. The dragon grows, restless in the background.
"GERALT, STOP!" I scream as my brother's silver hair swooshes in the air, as does his equally blonde opponent's. My stomach drops at the sight of him, at the sight of the man who bore all indications of a Targaryen prince.
They charge at each other, stepping forward and back, metal crashing against metal. And for a moment, the long haired prince' anger gave him the upper hand, but I knew how Geralt was evading him; he was pulling his punches, but not for long.
I decide to divert my attention to the distressed dragon, finally seeing his saddle, and the arrow stuck to his side like a thorn he could not get out.
He does not like the fact I am quickly nearing him and snaps his teeth at me.
"Do not be insolent," I quip in High Valyrian at the creature, lifting my head up to him with his hand, "I am here to help you."
I could feel my pulse quicken as I make my way to his side.
I decide it's enough that he has not yet killed me for getting this close to him.
"Calm yourself, boy," I mutter under my breath, as I reach up to the arrow on his side. The dragon does a clicking noise, and I do not have time whether to debate it is a warning or a cry for help.
Without another thought, I pull out the arrow with a grunt. The beast whines then withdraws a long breath. I turn to him as it cranes it neck to do the same to me I drop the arrow coated with his blood in front of him. I raise my hands, "it is done."
"CARAXES, DR-"
"Shut the fuck up."
So that's his name. Now who would be his rider?
I turn to Geralt, whimpering in annoyance and dread. I watch him dig his knee on the man's back as he pulls his arm behind him, causing him to yelp. Caraxes rises at the sight of his overcome rider, screeching just as the prince pants beneath my brother on the ground.
Geralt makes a face and shuts his eyes when dragon spit splatters on his face. He clenches his jaw and mutters, "lyriki, beast."
"You do not even know what that means," I retort, "and get off him."
"You do understand that the only reason why that thing hasn't killed us is because its rider is under my knee."
"FUCK OFF!" the said rider growls.
Caraxes responds to this with yet another ear piercing cry.
Through all this, I suddenly remember the name I was looking for, "Aemon! Aemon. Caraxes' rider is Aemon."
Geralt makes a face, realizing what I meant, "you're telling me this is Aemon Targaryen?"
"Well, do you see anyone else commanding the dra-"
"CARAXES-" breaks into a yelp.
"We are having a discussion," Geralt leans down as he growls.
"Geralt," I quip tightly, "get off him," I step closer to the both of them, "now."
The black of Geralt's eyes begin to fade once I am directly in front of him. I kneel down on his side and meet the telltale violet of the eyes of the prince. They narrow when they meet the violet hue of my own.
"You must forgive my younger brother for his insolence, my prince," I mutter as I swat Geralt by his thigh.
He rolls his eyes and finally gets of his captive, "ah yes, older sister," he mocks.
"Time is time and blood is blood," I retort as I eye him before helping the prince from where he laid.
"I remember," the Witcher mutters, "High Valyrian. An elective."
I smirk as I turn back at him, "one you did not take."
"Yes," he sighs as he stands, motioning to his side, "language of the dragons."
"Old Valyria," I correct as I help the prince, who was catching his breath, rolls over, "the Tar-
"Targaryen," he says, heaving, as he falls to his back. He reaches his hand out to me. I knit my brows at him as his fingers find my cheek.
Geralt looks down at him with contempt, lips curling in disgust, "watch your fingers, prince, or you might lose them."
I grunt, "I've quite had enough of you," I snap, rising to my feet. "You have been insufferable since we got here-"
"You're one to talk, little girl," Geralt eyes me darkly.
I crane towards his, "you do understand the consequences of-" I cut myself off when the prince stands to his feet. I change languages, "he is the prince of the seven kingdoms, heir to the throne."
"You whisper this to me as if I have ever cared, sister," he replies in Elder Speech.
"You should," Aemon responds as he looks between us.
We turn to him.
"You know Elder Speech?" I question, narrowing my brows.
He smirks at me, as he brushes his shoulder off, "an elective," he offers, "though I admit I only understood the word prince and guessed what you were saying." He tilts his head, "it seems my intuition has not failed me yet."
Geralt hums deeply and steps forward, "but it did when you misjudged me and allowed me an opening to strike you."
Aemon lifts his gaze upon my brother, whatever smirk that was on his face fades away.
"Enough!" I grunt, pushing them away with chaos.
A gush of wind rips between them.
My brother, who is used to it, steps back once, but the prince reels back and falls to his hind. I quickly extend my hand out to him and flash a guilty look, "apologies."
He looks at me for a moment before taking my hand, "Daemon."
"What?"
I pull him up as he repeats, "Prince Daemon, son of Prince Baelon, brother of Prince Aemon."
"Ah," I nod as I pull away from him. He steps forward when I do and watches me as I respond, "you are Aemon's nephew. His second rider. I will do well to remember, Prince Daemon."
"Indeed," he mutters with a soft smile.
I am pulled back by my arm and wind up crashing against Geralt's armor.
I look up at him he roughly swats the white streaks of my black hair away from my face that consequently was flying up to his because of the wind. He warns me in Nilfgaardian, "focus."
"Do not speak to me as though it is you who has a plan to get us out of this mess," I quip back in the same tongue.
"It would be easy to kill him and make it look like an accident."
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
"So, you are a witch," Daemon cuts in, making both of us turn to him.
"Witcher."
"Sorceress," I correct as I pull away from my brother.
"And what house do you belong to?" the prince asks, tenting his hands before him.
Just then, the dragon who we seemed to have forgotten, makes himself known and cries out to his master.
Daemon raises a dismissive hand and swats his away, sparing him only a second's glace. My brother and I watch as Caraxes huffs and rolls into himself, closing his eyes without another care.
Interesting.
"Kaer Morhen," I say, although questioningly, as I turn to my brother, "perhaps for me, I suppose, Aretuza."
"But Vesemir gave you your name as well."
"Yes, well, in that case, I do su-"
"And who are your parents?" Daemon interjects, tone less curious, and more impatient.
"Now that is the question indeed," Geralt grunts, then once again when I elbow him roughly.
"He's being serious."
"I know he's being serious, look at him."
"Why do you ask, prince?" I shake my head, stepping towards the said man.
Daemon examines me intently, so much so that, had I not been used to such scrutiny, I would have broken eye contact in discomfort. "Your eyes," he trails off as he peers down upon me, "are Targaryen's."
"Ah," my jaw drops. I find a chuckle leave me. "Much like his white hair is," I say, pointing to Geralt. I snort and slap a hand on his arm, "brother, you never told me we were secretly royalty."
He hums, nostrils flaring, "slipped my mind."
I chuckle to myself as I turn back to the prince. I watch as his jaw clenches and will my amusement to evaporate with my sigh, "tis not royalty that made our features so, prince Daemon, but the cruelty of magic. My own hair burns with white streaks because of his," I say.
"And what good is that knowledge to him?" Geralt makes a face as he turns to me.
"Well," I turn back to him, "he asked, did he not?"
"He did not ask you about your hair, any more than his dragon did."
"This is exactly why you have no friends."
"And you say that as though it is a bad thing."
"And you two are blood siblings?" Daemon cuts yet again.
We turn to him.
A moment passes.
The insinuation of the idea we could be anything else with our dynamic brings the familiar shiver down our spines.
"It gets no less revolting through time," Geralt mutters, "much less, knowing the traditions of his house."
I ignore his comment as I clear my throat, "twins, your grace, and I the el-."
Daemon ignores me, averting his attention to Geralt now, "you mention the traditions my house, and yet it seems you are unaware of how it is in my nature to seek satisfaction."
"Hmm," Geralt's brows quirk, "I would too, if my arse got handed to me."
I step in between them before Daemon could lunge. Because of this, I am trapped between the chests of the two hot headed blondes.
"Move," Geralt warns me, although his eyes do not leave Daemon.
"My prince," I ignore him, grabbing onto the fabric Daemon's arms, "you must forgive my baby brother."
Daemon dryly scoffs, eyes not leaving Geralt, "he'll have to get on his knees, my dear."
"You mean my soft belly-"
I shut him up with a gesture and heave, "it is a misunderstanding that we find ourselves in."
Daemon watches as Geralt struggles; he is unable to open his lips.
The prince's eyes finally turn back to me, they glimmer with mischief, "a misunderstanding, you say."
"I should like to treat you to a pint, if you would allow me the honor, so that I may... explain our predicament," I offer a soft smile. I feel my brother move from behind me, and so I shove him away with chaos, lest he shove me away to batter the prince in silence.
Daemon watches as Geralt propels back and hits a tree. By then, my incantation is lifted and so a string of curses leave his lips.
"That depends on whether or not your twin will be joining us."
"If you would prefer only one of us to drink with you, then I shall make it happen."
"Like hell, you would!"
"Then I will hear your explanation for this terrible altercation."
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