#its symbol is the untouched maiden

[glasscandywitch]

gankutsuou + death and the maiden - egon schiele

[calico-heart]

I know unicorns in modern media are kind of relegated to cutsie, MLP, rainbow plastic toys, or shitting rainbows, 'lets go to candy mountain' but man. I WISH more fantasy media would put them in unironically. There is so much symbolic and narrative potential in a creature that is, depending on your mythology:

A guardian of wild spaces, the embodiment of nature untouched by mankind's industry and greed. Fewer and farther between.

The ideal of "Purity" made manifest, elusive and powerful and hunted for fruitlessly by many a person. To kill. To actually kill. Living symbol of the oh-so-coveted Purity, not treated as a sacred thing to protect, or even predated for food to survive off, but a trophy for knights and lords to boast about.

So absolutely fierce and deadly that no one smart dared to fight it fairly. A gentle maiden had to betray it into resting in her lap so that a man could spear it while its guard was down.

Able to heal any wound no matter how severe - it promised miracles, if you could find one.

A creature who's magic vanished if it was captured or killed. In trying to take control of it, you destroyed it. Some things can only be given by free will, and no amount of personal desire or brute force can change that.

[paganimagevault]

The Princess of Ukok (aka Siberian Ice Maiden & The White Lady) 500 BCE. Tumblr image limit only allows 30 photos, I will include a link to my blog, at bottom, with more photos and more organized descriptions.

"In 1993, Russian archaeologist Natalya Polosmak and her team discovered an ancient tomb at the Ukok Plateau, in the Altai Mountains region of Russia near the border with China.

The ‘Maiden’ belonged to the Pazyryk culture. The Pazyryk people, a congregation of Scythian nomadic tribes, lived in the Altai mountains in the 6th to 3rd centuries B.C.

The woman’s body, carefully embalmed using peat and bark, was laid on its side as if she were asleep. She was young and her hair was shaved, but she wore a wig and a tall hat. She was 167cm tall. Some tribal animal-style tattoos remained on her pale skin: creatures with horns that evolved into floral shapes. Her coffin was made large enough to accommodate the 90cm felt headdress she wore. She was also wearing a long wool skirt with red and white stripes and white felt stockings.

'A mop of hair on top was tightly wrapped around with a woollen cord, which helped this mop to stand upright,' she says. 'On top of this mop was worn a red 'nakosnik' (a braided decoration made from threads), and atop of this structure was a bronze pin with a deer, standing on a sphere. The deer was made from wood, and was covered in golden foil.' Yet it was more intricate, still. 'The wig had another very important detail,' she says. Its crowning glory looked like a giant feather, 68.5 cm long, made from felt and covered with black woollen fabric, with a stick inside it to help it stand straight.' she says. 'This feather had the figures of 15 birds attached to it, which like in modern Russian Matryoshkha dolls with one inside another, were each of smaller size compared to the previous one. The birds had leather wings, tails and legs, and long necks, which most likely meant they were swans. 'This feather can be interpreted as a symbol of the Tree of Life - a healing tree which existed in so many cultures all around the planet. By the roots of the tree there is a wooden figure of a deer with a Capricorn's antlers. 'There was also ... a cap for the wig.... some 84 cm tall. It was found in Princess Ukok's burial chamber.'

The Altai princess became the second mummy found with a tattoo (tattoo had not yet been found on other, earlier mummies in the Hermitage). Kurgan 1, burial ground Ak-Alakha-3 (Ukok Plateau, Altai). Tattoos were inked on both arms from shoulders to hands. The drawings were blue and stood out against the white skin. They were preserved only on the left hand, on the right they were almost completely destroyed. Drawings were also applied to some phalanges of both hands. Archaeologists saw the tattoos during the opening of the wooden sarcophagus, then the mummy's skin began to darken, and the tattoos disappeared, subsequently they were restored in the laboratory. When other Pazyryk mummies were found, the tattoos were not visually noticeable.

The tattoos on the left shoulder of the 'princess' show a fantastical mythological animal: a deer with a griffon's beak and a Capricorn's antlers. The antlers are decorated with the heads of griffons. And the same griffon's head is shown on the back of the animal. The mouth of a spotted panther with a long tail is seen at the legs of a sheep. She also has a deer's head on her wrist, with big antlers. There is a drawing on the animal's body on a thumb on her left hand.

Somehow, many Pazyryk burials in this region were flooded, possibly with underground waters, and then froze – so the organic remains were preserved almost untouched by decay.

The embalmed body was buried at least three months after death. All this time, the mysterious woman continued to play a special role in the life of her tribe — for example, she was put in some chairs, which can be seen from the traces on the body. At the same time, a complex, time-consuming ceremony of embalming is a sign of the extraordinary status of the deceased. However, the scientists deny her status as a ‘Princess.’

“It’s not accurate to call her a ‘princess’. She was not a princess, she was a representative of the middle layer of the Pazyryk society,” archaeologist Vyacheslav Molodin, academician at the Russian Academy of Sciences, and Natalya Polosmak’s husband, told “Expert-Siberia” magazine in 2012.

Studies of the mummified remains extraordinary advances in our understanding of her rich and ingenious Pazyryk culture. The tattoos on her skin are works of great skill and artistry, while her fashion and beauty secrets - from items found in her burial chamber which even included a 'cosmetics bag' - allow her impressive looks to be recreated more than two millennia after her death.

The princess' cosmetic kit included a black horsehair brush with a thin wooden shaft inside, tied with a (disappeared) leather cord, completely studded with cylindrical marble beads, and handfuls of scattered powder of bright blue-green color. There were also the remains of a broken thin rod of flat metal rings filled with the same blue-green substance (that is, in fact, it is a pencil for drawing lines or drawings like our eyeliner).

Analysis showed that it was vivianite (blue iron ore). Such a powder, closer to modern times, was used to obtain green paint. In the Altai Mountains, it is known as a satellite of gold-bearing sands. Perhaps this powder had a sacred meaning. The vivianite pencil may have been used for face painting, possibly for people with special functions or gifts. Among the Pazyryks, face and body painting has not been recorded, partly because not a single mummified face has been found. But among the peoples close to the Pazyryks, such a tradition was recorded, in particular, the painting of the face with two spiral drawings. There is a weak association with the blue-green turquoise Hathor from the Sinaiand numerous Sumerian green cosmetic "shadows" in boxes discovered during excavations in Ur and other cities of Sumer.

It is believed that she was not in fact a royal but that her use of drugs to cope with the symptoms of her illnesses may have given her 'an altered state of mind', leading her kinsmen to the belief that she could communicate with the spirits. Her lavish grave suggests she was someone of singular importance.

The MRI, conducted in Novosibirsk by eminent academics Andrey Letyagin and Andrey Savelov, showed that the 'princess' suffered from osteomyelitis, an infection of the bone or bone marrow, from childhood or adolescence. Close to the end of her life, she was afflicted, too, by injuries consistent with a fall from a horse.

The mystery was solved only in the 2010s with the help of a computed tomography scan. It showed that the maiden suffered from breast cancer that killed her in about three years. She was 25 at the time of her death.

'During the imaging of mammary glands, we paid attention to their asymmetric structure and the varying asymmetry of the MR signal,' stated Dr Letyagin in his analysis. 'We are dealing with a primary tumour in the right breast and right axial lymph nodes with metastases.'

'The three first thoracic vertebrae showed a statistically significant decrease in MR signal and distortion of the contours, which may indicate the metastatic cancer process.' He concluded: 'I am quite sure of the diagnosis - she had cancer.

'She was extremely emaciated. Given her rather high rank in society and the information scientists obtained studying mummies of elite Pazyryks, I do not have any other explanation of her state. Only cancer could have such an impact.'

'When she arrived in winter camp on Ukok in October, she had the fourth stage of breast cancer,' she wrote. 'She had severe pain and the strongest intoxication, which caused the loss of physical strength. 'In such a condition, she could fall from her horse and suffer serious injuries. She obviously fell on her right side, hit the right temple, right shoulder and right hip. Her right hand was not hurt, because it was pressed to the body, probably by this time the hand was already inactive. Though she was alive after her fall, because edemas are seen, which developed due to injuries.

The DNA research performed on the remains showed that the ‘Maiden’ is genetically closely related to contemporary Selkup and Ket peoples – indigenous Siberian tribes still living in Russia.

'There was a moment of gross misunderstanding when a legend came about this mummy being a foremother of people of Altai,' said Molodin.

'The people of Pazyryk belonged to different ethnic group, in no way related to Altaians. Genetic studies showed that the Pazyryks were a part of Samoyedic family, with elements of Iranian-Caucasian substratum.'

So perhaps more Samoyedic than Scythian.

'We tried to overcome the misunderstanding, but sadly it didn't work.'

The Altai authorities have now declared the remote mountain area from where the princess and her kinsmen were buried as a 'zone of peace' where no more excavations will take place, despite the near-certain treasures lying in the permafrost.

Such work amounts to plundering, they believe.

To Molodin, who found the male mummy several years after the princess, this deprives the world of a valuable scientific inheritance. He argues, too, that the issue is critical since global warming means the ancient bodies will decay.

Scientists reckon there are thousands of burial mounds here, hundreds of which date to the Pazyryk period, many of which may contain answers to questions about where we come from.

The ancient mummy of a mysterious young woman, known as the Ukok Princess, is finally returning home to the Altai Republic this month (The Siberian Times, August 2012).

On 19 May 2014, during a speech at the museum, (Alexander) Berdnikov reminded the crowd and media that the renovation and repatriation of the Altai Princess was one of his most important accomplishments, of course aided by Gazprom:

We should be proud that we have such a museum. A great accomplishment; we thank the management of Gazprom. When I was appointed as the Head [of the Altai Republic] one of my main goals and dreams was to have a bright opening of a renovated museum and that we could welcome the “Siberian Ice Maiden” home again. Today our museum is the best one east of the Urals and is the only one that has been restored in Russia in the past twenty years. (Government of the Altai Republic 2014)

The museum, the repatriated Altai Princess, and a vibrant cultural life, all indirectly bankrolled by Gazprom."

-taken from The Siberian Times, Russia Beyond, Taylor & Francis Online, world-jewellery livejournal, and peaceandjustice

[laufire]

yesterday I finally finished my ARC of ✨ "When The Stars Alight"✨, and I have now posted reviews in goodreads and storygraph ^-^

(c&p under the cut)

I had the honour to receive an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.

(this review might contain some very vague spoilers) 

The first thing that merits mentioning in this book is its prose. With an omniscient narrator and lush descriptions of the settings, the characters, and every grand or minute detail, reading it feels like being immersed in a vivid moving painting. I’d recommend the story to those of us who appreciate this kind of writing style; and to those who might be on the fence, I’d ask them to be open-minded, to take their time, and to welcome it in in order to enjoy everything else this story has to offer. I must also commend the artist that illustrated the beautiful cover, as well as the art inside the book, for aiding to the sensory experience. 

As for the book, I’m particularly enamoured with the worldbuilding. WTSA, and the universe it introduces us to as a first installment, can’t be called a typical fantasy story. If, like me, you both love this genre but tragically find yourself disappointed by how repetitive, superficial or conservative some of its examples can be, this book could be just what gets you out of that slump. The world it presents is utterly different from our own, with original fantasy species, each wonderfully distinctive. On the one hand you have Solarites: powerful star maidens fallen from the sky that benevolently rule over humans (some of them with magical abilities of their own) and other races like the sprites (another immortal race of monster slayers with a strong connection to nature); on the other you have the Occassi, a more demonic race in the artic. Here in particular the prose becomes indispensable, presenting two opposing races and their societies, constantly contrasting them with light/dark, life/death symbolism without falling into black and white thinking. From the matriarchal society lead by the Solarites, filled with more subtle (yet still dangerous) political power-plays, to the more patriarchal, militaristic Mortos; the luminosity and abundance of one setting and the more gothic, tenebrous and scarce environment of the other. As the lead travels from one to the other, we discover these differences with her. 

This leads me to the next point: this book puts its money where its mouth is when it comes to a matriarchal society, filling it with outstanding female characters and showing us women in power across all fields: diplomats, scientists, soldiers, etc. 

Laila, the protagonist, is the clear star. She’s delightful, curious, adventurous, with strong morals paired with a deep-seated insecurity. She’s also a political animal; charming, manipulative, with ambition that’s presented as a positive. Her optimism can be a sign of her youth and naivety, but born out of genuine compassion and want for progress. It all comes together into a lovely, complex lead character that I can’t wait to see grow and develop. 

Someone else I found unusual and fascinating was Amira, Laila’s mother. She’s powerful and seemingly untouchable, exacting, and the opposite of nurturing. Her influence over Laila is never-ending, both as her maternal figure and as her monarch, influencing all aspects of her life and looming over all of her relationships. 

Another one with key importance is Lyra, a sprite. She and Laila were past lovers, and in the present have a deep, sometimes difficult friendship that goes beyond most princess/lionheart dynamics. Lyra is irreverent, with a sturdy sense of justice that comes from sympathy for the underdog, and often the blunt warrior to Laila’s diplomat. 

Others that, while less prominent, still tell us a lot about the world are the Odakan scientists (whose part foreshadows what might come in future installments), full of excitement and purpose to change and explore the world; or Dr. Mielette, with a small part, but that offers insight into Solarite culture. We see less of the women in Mortos, so far, but they serve their purpose. In Vasilisa, the Regina, you can see the precarious, risky position of a woman who is ostensibly at the highest one of her kind can come in a misogynistic society. The looming absence of Serafina, the king’s former lover, or of Katerina, another blood sorcerer, both women who sought power outside society’s confines, contrasts with her. 

But Mortos’ most prominent representatives are the men in the Calantis family. Most significantly Darius, the male lead. He’s the king’s bastard and eldest son, resentful of his lesser position in court, and eager to retake the place he thinks he deserves. His more intellectual pursuits (he definitely incarnates the mad scientist archetype, a favourite of mine) haven’t always been of help among Occassi, who value brute force above all. He’s charming and sophisticated, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, which can fool others, audience included, into not fearing his monstrous nature. 

The other members of the family are Lanius, the tyrannical father and king opposing Laila’s diplomatic efforts, a poison in the family and the kingdom; and Dominus, the younger son and reluctant heir. Both brothers do take part in a love triangle with Laila, but it’s not your typical, never-ending F/M/M triangle; as someone who sometimes side-eyes such trope, I must say I appreciated how this one develops, with Laila’s differences in approach, in chemistry, and in the emotional risk she incurs in each relationship. Related to the love story, because I know this will be of interest: the book’s sex scenes are delightfully written, just as beautiful and descriptive as any other, steamy and evocative. 

To finish off, I’ll say that this story was perfectly crafted to appeal to both my baser and higher interests. Its world and its characters have raised quickly in my list of favourites, it makes me think and wonder and speculate about what will come next, and it will stay with me for a long, long time. If you enjoy this book half as much as I did, I recommend checking out the author’s page for any other related stories or materials.

[xxlucyxlolaxx]

Sebastian and Sara reunion (Rewritie)

The words were growled at her with such intensity that Sara couldn't help but whimper, pushing the boy off of her. His eyes, bloodshot with fury, seemed to pierce through her very soul. As his arms stretched out to an unnatural length, resembling that of a monstrous lizard on the prowl, Sara braced herself, fists clenched in preparation for the impending confrontation. The demon let out a piercing screech and lunged towards her, only to be abruptly halted mere inches from her face, writhing in pain.

"Why, my lord Michaelis, why?" The creature's anguished cry filled the air, echoing around them.

Through tear-blurred vision, Sara caught sight of him. A figure of striking presence, tall and slender, with hair as dark as the night sky, billowing in the cool breeze. His complexion was as pale as starlight, his eyes a mesmerizing shade akin to a lunar eclipse. Clad in a dark blue haori, reminiscent of the attire once worn by the esteemed Shinsengumi, though the intent behind this choice remained a mystery. Unreal was the only word that could aptly describe him.

Transfixed, she watched as he drew near.

"Despicable defiance such as yours demands retribution," he declared with chilling calm, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. As his gaze locked onto hers, his smirk widened. "Ah, a village maiden." With a firm grip on her shoulders, he drew her closer.

Sara's eyes widened in disbelief. It couldn't be…

"You are a rare breed, indeed," the man remarked, his gaze seeming to penetrate her very essence. "Scream for me, girl."

Shaking off the trance, Sara lashed out, her hand meeting his cheek with a resounding slap. Taken aback, he recoiled, fingers grazing his stinging skin.

"Do not lay a hand on me. I am not yours to toy with," Sara retorted, her voice laced with defiance.

The man's smile returned, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I merely intervened to save you. Show some gratitude, girl."

Crossing her arms, Sara stepped back, maintaining her resolve. "I had the situation under control. I do not require your assistance."

A brief moment of silence passed as the man scrutinized her, his gaze alight with a subtle gleam before he spoke again. "A delicate creature like you? I highly doubt it." His laughter rang out. "What is it that you seek? If you have come to pledge allegiance to me, your demeanor leaves much to be desired."

It had to be him… Those eyes, that dark hair reminiscent of Kondo. This was not the reunion she had anticipated, yet there he stood, undeniably alive.

"You are Kondo. Son of Chizuru Yukimura," she spoke, causing a flicker of surprise to flash across his features. Veins pulsed beneath his skin, a sign of the power he wielded, ready to be unleashed.

"Any mention of that name warrants punishment," he declared coldly, his voice a chilling whisper. "Choose your words wisely."

That fateful moment revealed the truth she sought. Standing before her was the man she once knew as Kondo. It pained her to witness the transformation he had undergone, a stark contrast to the memories she held dear. A glint in her peripheral vision caught her attention - a pristine white flower, untouched by time, peeking out from his attire.

Drawing her closer with an unsettling grip, he brought their faces in close proximity. "Perhaps a lesson in respect for your king is in order, young lady," he snarled, his forceful grasp causing her garment to tear slightly, exposing her cleavage.

"You've kept my flower," she remarked, her voice trembling with emotion.

Taken aback, he released her and took out the flower from his pocket, its delicate petals now slightly wilted. She stifled the tears that threatened to escape. That flower symbolized their beginning.

"I gave you this flower so you could remember me," she continued. " That day, in the backyard of my home."

His face betraying confusion, he regarded her in silence, studying her features until his visage softened. "Sara?" he whispered.

With tearful eyes, Sara nodded, overcome with emotion. "After all this time, I have finally found you," she sobbed, embracing him with heartfelt warmth.

Unresponsive, he allowed her embrace to linger, resisting the urge to push her away. Upon releasing him, she almost laughed at his towering stature, recalling their comparable heights in the past, he now loomed over her by a considerable margin.

"I am aware of the tragedy that befell your parents, Kondo, and I'm so sorry. My father will welcome you into our family. Please, come back with me. You still have a home." she implored.

Gently disentangling himself, he averted his gaze. Her unexpected appearance in the forest had caught him off guard.

"Kondo died a long time ago," he declared calmly. "My name is Michaelis."

"No," she persisted. "I refuse to accept that. You remain true to yourself."

In a surge of anger, his eyes blazed with crimson intensity as he confronted her. "You know nothing of me. Leave before you witness the wrath of King Michaelis," he bellowed, power pulsing through his veins.

His cutting words struck Sara to the core. "You have someone who cares for you, yet you spurn it?" she challenged.

"I require no care; it is a trivial human sentiment," he retorted, his hands emanating a potent energy. "You, too, are a demon. How can you not understand this?" With a final dismissal, he turned away without further words.

Placing a trembling hand over her heart, Sara suppressed her tears. "I refuse to abandon you," she declared resolutely, though her words failed to sway him.

He stood motionless, wrestling with unfamiliar emotions that stirred within his chest. His thoughts muddled, he dismissed her attempts as feeble human tactics. "You waste your efforts, naïve girl. Depart from my presence," he commanded.

Exhaling a weary sigh, Sara retraced her steps out of the forest, vowing silently to return for Kondo, no matter the obstacles. Despite his rejection, the fact that he kept her flower offered a glimmer of hope. She would persevere in her quest to reach him, no matter the cost.

.....

I think I'm giving them the name Sera (Sebastian x Sara.) nice huh.

Anyways, I'm still looking over things and I guess this is better than the old one. @lilc77

[infjtarot]

Hermit. Mystic Spiral Tarot

Themes and Keywords: The holy man, the wanderer. Internal journey. Journeys of ascent and descent. Illumination. Carrying the light within. The psychopomp. Mastery of speech, action, thought. The heights and the depths. Knowledge as medicine. Light in dark corners: detective, reader of clues and symbols, interpreter, diviner. Astrology/Element When we think of Virgo, the Virgin, we think of the librarian surrounded by books, the nurse serving hospice, or the analyst poring over a spreadsheet. Each in its own way is resourceful and practical, quietly drilling down in service, a solitary seed bringing light. The constellation is a graceful winged goddess holding a shaft of wheat. The wheat shaft is the alpha star Spica, most fortunate and one of the brightest in the sky, and the entire area is ripe with over 500 nebulas, showing the sign’s plenitude and the resources of energy available to the sign. Virgo is a mutable earth sign; at the end of its period we have the September equinox ushering in the change of season. Virgo is the most feminine and receptive of earth signs; a fully ripened harvest, as yet unspoiled. Capricorn is enterprising and climbs, Taurus is consistent, preferring the stable and field, but Virgo is adaptable and modest, tending to go underground. Virgo is the night sign of Mercury while Gemini is the day sign. As such, Virgo has an affinity with chthonic Mercury, the psychopomp.

Virgo’s glyph looks like the letter M with a tail crossing itself, creating a closed loop that represents crossed legs or the untouched female parts. The “virgin” that is fruitful is not such a paradox; it refers to self-sufficiency. The loops of the symbol also refer to the intestines and digestive tract, which Virgo rules. Virgo’s motto is “I analyze,” and its job, like the intestines with food, is to break information down into smaller and smaller pieces until it can be assimilated. Mythology/Alchemy The constellation of Virgo is said to be the goddess Astraea, the last of the immortals to live with mankind, withdrawing to the sky and abandoning Earth as the Golden Age transitioned to the Iron Age. She was, of course, a virgin goddess, associated with themes of justice, precision, purity, and renewal. It is said that her return to Earth will one day trigger a second Golden Age: “Iam redit et virgo, redeunt Saturnia Regna”: Astraea returns, returns old Saturn’s reign. But the most well-known mythical virgin is probably Persephone (Proserpine), the daughter of Demeter (Ceres) and a goddess of vegetation and growing things. She is most often portrayed as a fair maiden carrying a grain sheaf and a torch, presumably to bring light to her time spent beneath Earth’s crust. Persephone was abducted and brought underground by Hades (Pluto), where she ate a single pomegranate seed and was thus doomed to spend half of her time in the underworld. Her mother Demeter withered the earth above with her mourning, causing winter. In time, though, it is told that Persephone came to enjoy her role as Queen of the Underworld. The Orphic Hymn to Chthonic Hermes states “To you indeed Persephone gave the office, throughout wide Tartaros, to lead the way for the eternal souls of men.” Hermes was the only god allowed to visit all three realms: heaven, earth, and the underworld, as his job was not only to be messenger of the gods, but also to lead the souls of the recently deceased to Hades, giving him an all-access pass to wander heights, depths, and everything in between. Susan T. Chang

[sylleblosscm]

XVI Headcanons 3 : The Third One.

The Fleuret line has borne the Eikon of Seraph in its first daughters going back countless generations. While not strictly royalty, the nature of this Eikon afforded the family their own following. As I’ve touched on before, the Fleurets of old were nomadic by circumstance; after all, Seraph’s blessing may only be rendered in person. They’d sleep in towns, and in encampments between, relying on the goodness of strangers and, steadily more over time, the growing community of people who would leave their worldly possessions behind and travel alongside them.

It is these people who made up the first generation of Tenebraeans. Upon deciding to hide Seraph away, the Dominant of the time found an abandoned cliffscape. Well secluded, they built off the remains of ruins that appeared to be old as time itself. Nigh endless tunnels drilled into the cliffside, with pulley elevators to get from level to level. Bridges constructed over dozens of years. Plateaus with small fields, enough to farm their own agriculture. Waterfalls and streams, sun and shade, and of course plenty of room for Seraph to spread her wings in safety. 

The image that once brought comfort far and wide vanished from memory as loyalists worked to remove every trace of their revered Eikon. No longer did mothers of sick children and children of wounded soldiers look out the window, praying for a maiden with pale skin and fair hair, a flowing gown of white stained at the hem with dirt. Still, within the hidden halls of Tenebrae, it is a beloved image which persists.

It leaves a foul taste in Luna’s mouth to carry it forth. Even still, she wears those traditional long dresses, though no longer for travel; often the pure white fabric is indeed stained at the hem, but from leisurely strolls in her garden, not from wandering from place to place, bringing her healing touch to the needy. To covet a symbol that, in her view, no longer stands for anything is anguish. For all light Seraph once shone onto the world, her family has failed to sustain it. 

Considering this, it’s not impossible that more Eikons might exist, lost to time. Hidden, stolen, or simply refusing to choose their Dominant until…

Oh, and speaking of other Eikons.

I’m branching off of @infideliis' idea about Ravus becoming the Eikon of Alexander the Protector, because of-fucking-course I need to talk about how much Luna loves her brother. 

Since their bloodline was chosen by Seraph, not a single boy has been born to it. To call Ravus a surprise would be to understate beyond the telling of it. But of course, of course Sylva loved him. So what if she could not one day pass on her Eikon to him? He was perfect in every way.

Then, of course, Sylva finally gave birth to a daughter. Lunafreya was coveted from a young age; smothered, even. While Tenebrae looked to her, she looked to Ravus. She never sensed a hint of disdain from him. He never seemed to blame her for her circumstances. On the day Sylva died, the entire community held its breath for a new Dominant to awaken.

And awaken the new Dominant did. Only, it wasn’t the one they all expected. 

Alexander the Protector is, by the more devout members of the community, seen as a bad omen. A sign that this happy, untouched corner of the World will be disrupted and Seraph will need the protection. Try as they might, their remaining loyalists scoured Valisthea for any mention of this Eikon, only to return empty-handed. He is believed to be something new.

Even still, this awakening barely raised his baby sister’s brow. To Luna, Ravus was always a protector. Her sword, her shield and her very legs when she couldn’t stand. If there is indeed an Eikon of Protection, he would find no better Dominant in all Valisthea.

[wheelercore]

Wheeler name meanings because I just think they're neat

Karen:

Meaning "pure"

Ironic considering her infidelity and Virginia Creel parallels. Virginia meaning "pure virgin maiden" and her being a possible antithesis to The Virgin Mary. This is all tied closely to the standard of women at the time to remain untouched before marriage and obedient to their husbands, only for women's liberation/ the sexual revolution of the 60s-80s to bring about this idea that women had sexual needs and wants too, and it doesn't make them sinful to desire such things.

Ted:

Ted is just a nickname and correct me if I'm wrong, but we don't know his actual first name. Yet, at least. He could either be Theodore (meaning "Gift of God") or Edward (made of a combination of Ead = "wealthy" "fortune" "prosperous" and Wear= "guardian" "protector").

Edward I think being more fitting given the fact that he sticks aggressively to male gender roles being the breadwinner/provider/protector of the family. However, like Karen the name is very ironic, given that Ted doesn't do much more than that. He is defined by doing the bare minimum as a father based on what a father is expected to do in a traditional society. The name is more of a cliche, an expectation, like Karen's.

Edit: Also Karen's implication that she married Ted for security and money and Edward basically translating to "wealthy protector" so yeah, that's definitely intentional.

Michael:

Meaning "who is like God" or "there is none like God".

Now this doesn't make much sense to me on its own so I did some looking into St. Michael The Archangel (as I've heard a lot of people in the fandom discussing it) and I think it's fascinating that Michael is referred to as "the heart" of the party by Will and the St. Michael is known for as the "great captain" who helped church fight against "attacks of the devil", who is often depicted with a sword as a cleric would usually be.

Nancy:

Meaning "grace" or "favor".

Again, interesting because she's hinted at to be the favored Wheeler sibling, as in up until s1 she didn't get into trouble, got good grades, and didn't need to be chastised as often as Mike over the dinner table by Karen. I don't mean this in a golden child-scapegoat way but in a 'the wheelers live in a conservative society and care about keeping up appearances' way. She's the sibling introduced with "normal" interests as opposed to Mike, that's the cliche she is based upon, however she grows much more beyond that.

Holly:

The name is a reference to the holly tree.

The holly does have Christian significance as it's used to symbolize Christmas, the thorny leaves symbolizing Jesus' crown of thornes and the berries representing his blood.

What's really interesting is that it's often confused for another plant, the mistletoe. Another part of Christmas tradition, whoever kisses under the mistletoe will be "blessed by love". Honestly when I saw a picture of a holly plant I thought to myself 'wait isn't that a mistletoe?' and was surprised to find out that actually the image in my head for what a mistletoe looked like what actually a holly (green thorny leaves with red berries).

I've seen it said a few times that Holly was most likely a child the Karen and Ted had to try to save their marriage, enforced by the fact that often when Karen and Ted are pretending to be a happy family they have Holly with them. It's very funny, maybe even purposeful, that she was named after a Christmas plant that is often confused for the other Christmas plant that actually blesses a couple with love. Karen/Ted is bones y'all 😞

[deathlessathanasia]

“The sacred bath of the goddess or of her cult statue apparently was an important element in early Heraian ritual. The placement of most Heraia in fertile marshy places (Kroton, Metapontum, and Samos), often near the confluence of waters (whether sea water as at Perachora, fresh and sea as at Samos and Metapontum, or rivers and streams as at the ‘thirsty’ Argive Heraion) suggests this. So, too, do all the myths associating Hera with rivers or streams, for instance, at Plataia and at the Argolid's Kanathos spring. Even ‘thirsty’ Argos, famous for its streams long dried up in historic times, earlier abounded in rivers and streams, as the role of Inakhos in Heraian mythology illustrates. But our concern here is with the bath's symbolism. Ernst Buschor interprets the Samian bath as a yearly Jungfraulichkeit der Gottin ‘virginity of the goddess’ which cleansed her of the pollution of previous intercourse in preparation for her yearly remarriage to Zeus. This interpretation receives seeming confirmation from Samos' ancient name Parthenia ‘Maiden’. Perhaps later Greeks may have considered it a revirginification, when explaining why the cult statue had to be bathed annually after they had forgotten the original character of the cult. But this explanation presupposes that parthenos necessarily implied virginity in the sense of one's being physically untouched, an idea exploded in Eugen Fehrle's study of cultic chastity. Parthenos in the early period referred rather to a woman's or goddess' vigor, strength, and potentiality.”

- The Transformation of Hera: A Study of Ritual, Hero, and the Goddess in the Iliad by Joan O'Brien

[silesseti]

Regret and rebirth. The flowers she's gathered for his birthday symbolize such and she hopes they serve to strengthen the bonds that were once between them. She is glad to see the carefree and easygoing look returned to his face instead of the confusion and terror from when she last saw him.

"I hope your birthday is wonderful and my heart sings to know you are able to spend it at your beloved's side."

//via birthday asks, still accepting!

Deirdre. How it must pain her to go to such lengths for others. Lewyn sees her gift, knows how well she means, but can't help the sadness in his smile. She was kidnapped, taken away. Yet she stood there during Belhalla, watching over their destruction like some kind of untouchable god. Not many learned of the underlying forces that caused that event to happen, fewer lived to tell anyone. Lewyn doesn't know the full story, but he knows of that man--of Manfroy--and that is enough. Deirdre owes him no explanation, no effort to rekindle the bond that others broke for them, yet she tries so, so hard.

It is for her sake that she smiles, so that she might be able to find some comfort in the fact that their friendship has never changed.

"Well, when you put it that way, my heart can't help joinin' for a duet." Not a total lie, either. His heart does sing with hers when he sees her flowers, its notes raising an octave the moment he reaches out to take them. "Thanks, Deirdre. I hope you can find some peace, too. Maybe even some happiness."

Lewyn shoots the maiden a friendly wink, and takes but one whiff of his gift. They smell fresh, like extra love and care went into preparing them for him. His grin can widen at that. Even do away with all that has weighed it down, the knowledge that some of this is her way of saying sorry.

"If you ever need a buddy to go picking some with you, you know where to find me. Doesn't matter if we've gotta go to some hundred-foot cliff somewhere, I can get us there."

[unicornsuggestion]

Since there is the question of unicorns and magic, perhaps I should clarify. 

Unicorns are a symbol of the pagan. The untouched. The wild and untamed. We are magic- the world itself, unspoiled and unknowable. The virgin maiden taming the unicorn is a Christian tale. It is a symbol of Christianity conquering paganism. The unicorn captured, a chain and collar around its neck. Fenced in and gawked at by its captors. 

If you want to feel the magic of the unicorn, then let your garden grow wild. Let plants grow wherever seeds fall. Sculpting and corralling and forcing things to do what is unnatural is not the way. Use wands that are worked to a bare minimum. Search for natural crystals. No metals as they need to be mined, smelted and forged. Feel the forest, green and earth as it naturally occurs. Forage. Learn. Be free. Defend when you must. Let no one chain you.

[metvmorqhoses]

i read up on the etymologies for apollo and art's names! so "apollon" apparently means 'destroyer', but placed w'in the context of destroying evil; w art, etymology either comes from the word for 'butcher'/'protector', the difference between the two being one letter, which was interesting. mentioning this as you said something earlier of the twins' destructive natures being discussed less, & after certain versions of the orion & coronis myths. killing each other's lovers in a jealous rage? sEXY

as promised, here i am with the second part of your ask!

indeed your research was quite correct, apollo and artemis’ names have various possible etymologies and therefore meanings - and not innocent ones.

the most famous, and probably the most intriguing, translation of apollon is from the verb απολλυμι, which as you say means “to destroy”, but it’s a common, “modern” misconception to think it had a benign meaning, while it wasn’t really (or anyway only) the case. yes, apollo was one of the most important and worshipped gods of the whole greek pantheon, but he was also one of the most ruthless and therefore feared. apollo destroyed his people’s enemies, but was ready to let his fury unleash upon his very devotees. the scorching light that burned through him cast also impenetrable shadows upon the whole world. it’s funny to think that each and every possible etymology of his name bear the same terrible double connotation, both light and darkness: it was theorized that the name apollon could also come from the noun απειλε‘, which means “promise” but also “threat”; and again from ἀπέλλω, which means “to deliver” but also “to confront with ruthlessness”; from the indoeuropean root -apelo, which means “force”, both in a good and in an evil way; or from απολουσιs, which means “purification” and not simply in a painless way.

as you can see, apollo was far from a docile deity, no matter how rational and orderly his domains. he had a rather dionysian, disturbing side. for example, he was also widely associated with butchering and sacrificial blades (on this topic there’s a great book by marcel detienne, apollon le couteau à la main - apollo with the knife in hand).

i also find particularly interesting one of the less commonly known interpretations of his name, which could simply mean “apple”. this version is wildly suggestive in its simplicity, it immediately reminds of both the apple of discord and the apple of the original sin: the serpent was one of the principal animals sacred to him, one of his very symbols - it immediately makes you think at apollo’s obvious eventual association with lucifer’s figure from the christian times onward (one of apollo’s epithets was Φωσφόρος, “the light bringer”/”the morning star”, also used by the romans in its latin translation, lucifero).

as for artemis, things are more complicated. artemis has always been a mercurial goddess, not easy to analyze or define, especially because she has most definitely pre-greek origins. she’s one of the few deities whose name is certainly identified in cnosso’s linear b. her name can mean both “maiden” and “lady/untouchable/strong” (fortifying her original minoan association with the potnia theoron, the lady of wild beasts and with kore/persephone, the cretan lady of the labyrinth), but her name can also mean “butcher”, as her brother, or can come from the indoeropean root -ar (the best), which in many many languages identifies the meaning of “honorable, best, bright”. it’s also of notice, in both greek and roman mythology, she shared the same “light bringer” epithet of apollo (in rome they were apollo lucifero and diana lucifera).

it’s fun to know (speaking of fierceness!) some scholars associate her name to bears and war and claim king arthur’s name is an open derivation and tribute to hers!

we can safely deduce from all these historical linguistics that we are not dealing with sheeps, but with wolves (and literally! wolves were sacred to them both and wolf-like was the form their mother leto took while pregnant to escape hera’s wrath).

we can also safely say no one ever came out alive from their myths.

[intensitystoner]

Scribble for @sifkiweek

Day 2 - AU

~2,000 words (attempt at lil’ humour)

Jotunheim was nothing but ice on the surface, such a vast layer over the original soil of the planet that most forms of life couldn't survive here. The few cold-bearing pines that arched towards the sky heedless of the chilling storms had been here long before the Jotunn arrived and the winter they brought along killed all other creatures and plants; this was one of the few superfluous facts that Sif knew, besides ways to find food on foreign land or to recognise the enemy.

Instead of lore, she excelled at warfare: this is what brought her here with the golden armies of Asgard, to take over control and gift the land with their culture and technology. She saw this as a great opportunity to prove worthy of her title. Many people had doubts about her, some had the most insulting accusations. She deemed it wise to stabilise her reputation at this opportunity by delivering a few Frost Giant heads back into the camp from the solo scouting mission she volunteered for among others.

That said, there had been no Giants in sight for what felt hours of wandering in the bone-bursting chill. The ever-present snow gnawed its way under the protective layers of her neck-high armour and padded cloak. Valiant Sif soon got bored of the monotonous rows of icebergs, ice valleys, ice canyons and ice plains. She started looking for caves, through the derivation that the giant inhabitants must be hiding away in fear of her. She ventured into a cavity under a cliff, with icicles hanging off from it like a coarse beast's fangs. She crept bravely inwards in the deepening dark, stumbling occasionally as she tried keeping a hand against the wall, determined that such a difficult place must be a hideout, and she would bring back the desired slain heads from here if it killed her. But Norns, how deep were those miserable beasts tucked away?

She startled when a small light flashed into her eyes, but she quickly figured out that it was the end of the corridor beyond a bend, and with breaths eased, she stepped outside.

Almost immediately, splashing of water hit her ears. Frowning at the peculiarly misplaced sound, she turned to observe the thick bundle of mist. Then she recoiled and reached for her sword, although she hesitated to believe what she perceived: there, in the middle of the snow field, was a steaming pool, and in it, a Frost Giant crouching, presumably washing something.

There were so many peculiarities about this that she couldn't enumerate them at once. So she settled with carefully drawing her sword and creeping up on the vile being for a long awaited death match for valour.

Her hand was halfway towards the handle when a crude bellow interrupted:

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing, barging in like that? Can't you see I'm defenceless?"

Astonishment made her hover for a moment, but she quickly remedied it by swinging the blade into an attack stance before her. Encouraged by the comforting metal in her grasp, she responded:

"I will never trust your word or your demeanour, monster! Prepare yourself, for this is the last day you see this meagre sunlight!"

"How dare you?" came the low hiss as an answer.

Vengeful assault it is, then. Her eyes narrowed in preparation for the well expectable offence, her muscles tensed as the figure moved.

When he stood, she noticed three things consecutively: the giant, uniquely, had pitch dark hair of shoulder length; he was but the size of an Aesir, the scrawniest Jotunn she had seen; and – she gasped – he was naked, and his nakedness didn't stop below the hips as he rose, eventually presenting himself in his entire unveiled glory.

"You've got some nerve, pointing that measly stick at me, Asgardian," said the not-so-giant one with hands on his hips like he weren't as bare and plain as a newborn.

Well, plain wasn’t entirely accurate, as he wore the intricate carvings of his kin all over the body, smooth curves following the muscles and other significant features – quite elegantly sculpted, at least for a barbaric Jotunn build, she thought with some untoward warmth throbbing in her temple. In this critical moment when life or death could be decided within a single breath, half of her attention got wasted on not to glance where his fingers on those unbelievably narrow hips were pointing.

"Are you perhaps dull?" mused the creature then and gestured with a full arm towards the cave entrance, forming each word clearly: "Make your way back where you came from, and I'll grant you mercy this one time; solely because I'm past an especially tiresome group hunt with imbeciles."

The insulting tone stirred Sif out of her stun.

"Or better," she spat, "I'll be the one to hunt you down, and we'll see who's dull. I'll let you get armed now and face me properly for the slaying. Move out, be quick about it!"

The measly but impudent Giant – or whatever it was, she was less and less sure – laughed at her soundlessly.

"All right," he said when he regained control over his breaths, "I see how we stand. But I know one even better." With eyes wide, he bent closer to share the excitement. "Getting armed to spar with you would be a waste of time. I'll fight you off unclothed like this."

She could have exploded from the perky glint in his eyes and the spread arms. Though she tried to stay untouched, anger – so she named the sensation – heated up her cheeks.

"You will learn your place soon enough," she promised mostly to herself, but she remained where she was for now, unsure of what to do: a victory against someone exposed and weak like this was not what she could have bragged about at home, and especially not if this was the only thing she brought back today.

"Oh, I’m sure it’ll be an easy win for you. If you climbed this high in the palace of gods, you won't even break a sweat killing someone like me, will you?"

So that’s what the game was about. He knew very well that her honour wouldn't let her fight an unarmed being, and he evaded the battle this way. No wonder he was trying to get away; with his size, he must have been a weak link, probably subject to continuous scorn. And his marks-

Dumbfounded, she lowered her sword and took a step closer for a better look, meanwhile noting how the movement didn’t even break his infinitely bored posture.

"A royalty," she breathed staring at the curved lines on his forehead, symbols for a crown or horns according to Aesir scripts. "You're meant for the throne? How is that possible? You're so-"

"Majestic, indeed," he cut in.

"Well, not quite-"

"I get it, knightess, you're wondering: how can such an eloquent being be found among barbarians?" The tiny Jotunn presented himself with both arms while speaking, in a languid stride towards the side of the steaming pool, undisturbed by Sif as she smoothly followed his procession with relentless steps and keen eyes. "Could the land of Frost Giants ever nurture something as refined, as poised, as glamorous as this? Could they hide something that no codices in the golden halls of Asgard tell about? Let me soothe your wonder: they can't. Yes, I am Laufey's son; yes, I will have the throne of Jotunheim, and then woe to all that have wronged me. But no, these brutes have no mind to hold me as the jewel in the swamps of their miserable existence,” he boasted while heading for a bundle of clothes on a cleared rock. “I have nurtured my own self, my own talents: everything you're ogling now has been grown through sheer discipline-"

He was about to bend down for the leathers when she stepped in; but before her blade would have stirred, his arm whipped towards her, and she grew motionless as something sharp dug into her neck. His face was languid, his eyelids low over his crimson look at her.

"I merely wish to dress, milady," he cooed like he was victim to the threat. "Won't you allow me this one boon?"

"It's Warmaiden for you, beast," she snarled as her breath let loose again. "And you better learn your place before you think again that I'm ogling anything."

She hid her relief over the fact that she had a voice, her skin intact, though the sharp thing was still pressed tight against her throat. And where in the Nine had he been hiding it up to now?

"I may grace you with your name on my lips, if you give mine due respect,” he replied while reaching for his clothes once again. “Namely, I am Loki, third son of Laufey, would-be King of-" His lofty words merged into a quiet snarl as his lowering arm got smoothly replaced with hers, the much longer sword keeping his chin up. "You may address me as Your Highness, shield maiden."

He uttered the title with such contempt that for an insulted moment, his insightful knowledge failed to catch her attention. But the epiphany reached her before she'd have retorted, and her sharp breath turned into a threatening hiss.

"How do you know so much?" she demanded.

And he laughed, once again that modest hissing sound under his breath, as if he weren't even doing it to mock her, and then he continued obtaining his clothes despite the blade grazing his skin.

"By reading. I taught myself runes, carving them into the snow," he admitted, though his tone felt a lot like he was but jesting. "I used the sharpened bones of my slain ancestors."

"You're an outcast, aren't you?" she inquired with her deepest scorn, just to retort.

That seemed to hit the mark.

“I'm a rightful heir of Jotunheim, and I'll live up to it," snapped the annoyingly fine-wired creature while winding the girdle and kilt around his hips with irate movements.

The Jotunn soldiers Sif had seen always settled with this amount of clothing, so she eyed him in mild surprise as he went on throwing the skin of a soft-furred beast around his shoulders, with her blade following the movements in loutish idleness.

"You may not live up to anything your people don't accept," she pointed out meanwhile. "I hear that resilience is power in this realm, which you seem to lack miserably. Your nation has yet to adopt some higher values."

"Higher values," the creature repeated with honest amusement. "You could list a hundred of those in one sitting, I bet."

"Tell me then, if you’ve read so much, what do you hold for one?"

"There is no light I could shed in your head, Asgardian," he said bending towards her to emphasize the statement. "Your mind is already set, the Allfather's teachings too deeply rooted within you since your birth."

"I only first saw Asgard after I came of age," she protested, too quickly before she'd have considered whether she owed him this excuse.

He took it in with a surprised arch of eyebrows. His exhale was audible when he turned to leave.

"Then you may have a glimmer of hope. Don't waste it. The nearest horde is wandering east of here, by the way, full of the dullest-"

"Waste what exactly?" she snapped while hurrying to catch up with him before he could elope or have time to catch her off-guard. "Do you really hold yourself so-"

"Fine, I'll be your guide. You could have just asked nicely, you know. You should be well aware of the benefits of courtesy, since you come here with your people to preach about it."

“I have no need of a guide,” she announced as they walked on side by side.

“Don’t you, now? How long exactly have you been circling around in the area again? Not even noting that you passed the most significant landmarks you’ll ever find here twenty-four times altogether? And this before I grew bored of you and retreated believing to be rid of you for good?”

“I don’t need a blabbering guide, like you,” she corrected, her look challenging.

“And yet here we are,” he announced brightly. “If you’re not attentive, you’ll find yourself my spouse after I obtained the throne.”

“You’ll regret that a thousand times, I’m not marriage material.”

“Challenge accepted.”

An abrupt silence followed as their thoughts caught up to the mutual jest, filled with unintended smiles. Not yet giving it much significance, they carelessly trudged on in the snow on their joint path.

[writinginthedarkwood]

Kitsune Todoroki: A Mischievous Encounter

Your village is starving, you make the journey to the abandoned shrine to plead with the god that may or may not be there...

~Some supernatural smut for ya (also kind of fluffy? idk)~

Kinks for Kinktober! -  Master/ Slave

Shoto Todoroki x Reader Halloween special!

My feet are exhausted, I’ve been walking for too long today. A day’s journey seemed like such an easy task before I actually started the path through this over grown wood. I sighed and tightened my boots, the sole has been wearing thin for months now, but they’re holding up okay. I took a sip from my leather pouch, the tangy flavor of the leather tainted the fresh water, but I couldn’t restrain myself and gulped it down anyway. The tree’s are blowing gently, the sun is shining threw the tree’s and hitting the banks of the river, reflecting off of the exposed stones of the low water. “The drought is effecting the forest all this way west too...” I mumbled into my pouch before taking one last sip.

Something loud moved through the bush behind me, I snapped around and stared at the foliage line. Was something hunting me this whole time? I don’t have a blade to protect me, the biggest predators on this side of the mountain are supposed to be the foxes. My heart pounded in my chest, but nothing appeared. The sound was gone before I fully turned around. I guess I should keep moving, no use sitting around waiting to lose sunlight. I brushed some dirt off of my pants, brother won’t miss these, and besides how would I make this journey in anything else? My family is one of the richest in town, to be caught in these clothes would be embarrassing for my grandparents.

The sun started to die down, it’s that time of day right before sunset. The sky is turning golden, soon it will turn pink and then all of the light will disappear. Panic set in my chest, I took a deep breath. I need to keep my head, I should have reached the shrine an hour ago. The plan was to find the shrine, make the offering, sleep until early morning and head home. “This was so stupid...” I started to curse myself. What made me think I could actually make a difference? I tried everything to help, even learning how to work the fields much to my families disapproval. People are hungry, tired. Live stock are dropping like flies. Even the inn keepers cat got sick and died this week, the gods have forgotten about us.

Tears gathered in my eyes. I swept one off of my cheek, I feel helpless. I walked for what felt like another hour, but judging by the sun its only been a few more minutes. Something peered through the tree’s just up ahead. Is that it? I pulled back a low hanging tree branch and stepped into a clearing. An old, older than anything in our village, building sat run down and falling apart. It was made of crumbling stone. The sloped roof was falling to the ground, the whole place barely standing. I carefully stepped through the doorway, there it was. The shrine! Compared to the building, this fountain looked untouched. It was smooth, made of a stone I didn’t recognize. It might have once flowed with water, the smooth stone was bone dry. A little bonzai tree sat on a pedestal, its roots grew out of its pot, the clay container close to bursting. It was overgrown, but healthy. Is someone taking care of this place? I looked around. Cobwebs and rotting wood indicated nobody had been here for a long time, the tree sat happily here, all alone. I pulled out the tiny statue from your napsack. My families most precious heirloom. A porcelain statue of a bowing dog, my families symbol.  My grandmother will be devastated that its gone, but it will be worth it. I laid the statue down in front of the fountain and closed my eyes. I bowed down and took a deep breath. Please, please help my village. I pleaded silently, the sound of trickling water made me pry my head up off of the floor. It’s much brighter in here now, the floor is less cold. The fountain was running, gently, a stream flowed out of the bonzai’s pedestal. I gasped is a god listening? I shut my eyes tight and clasped my hands in front of me. “I’ll do anything to save our home, I’m pleading to anyone that’s listening!” 

“Deal.” A low, calm voice answered me from behind. I screamed and twisted myself around and fell on my backside. The shrine was lovely now, the walls fixed, the roof hanging in place where it should be. Lanterns hung on the wall, burning with a low red flame. A young man was relaxing at a kotatsu, he wore a white robe, red flowers danced on one side, the other had blue split down the middle. He was lovely, his hair was also split down the middle, red on one side, white on the other. His face is flawless, an angular jaw, clear skin. You noticed a deep scar over his right eye, but it didn’t take away from his impossible beauty. He took a sip of tea, he wasn’t looking up at you. “Who... who are you?” I gathered myself and relaxed on my knee’s, trying to mask how scared I am. How did everything change?

“I should be asking you that question.” He set his cup down and poured himself another drink. “You are the one barging into my home uninvited.” He said plainly. He pointed to the spot beside him at his blanketed table. “Please, have a seat.” I obeyed, standing up and joining him at his tea table. My hands shook slightly as he handed me a cup. It was freezing cold, the tea was barely steeping. The glass had frost along the rim. “Oh, uhm, thank you.” I set the cup down. “My name is “Y/N, of the Y/L/N family. I live in the village at the base of this mountain.” He took a long sip of his tea and then set it down. “This tea is terrible.” He exclaimed, setting the cup down sort of hard. I’m not quite sure how to respond. “Oh no its deliciou-” I grabbed my own cup and took a sip. I swallowed hard and tried to mask my look of disgust. This tea is awful, I’ve never tasted anything so rancid. Besides the fact that its freezing cold. He sighed and shook his head. “Well, hopefully you can make a better cup than I.” You noticed as he bowed his head down slightly, he had two pointed ears atop his head. They were the same color as his hair. His eyes are heterochromic, he peered into yours curiously. “Can you make a decent cup of tea?” He asked.

“My mother and father never complain when I make them a cup. I’ve been known to do well in the kitchen.” I held my hands in my lap, his stare is piercing. A small smile turned the corners of his mouth upward, his teeth were pointed behind his beautiful mouth. “Oh wonderful, you’ll make a perfect servant.” Suddenly fear coursed through every bone in my body, I fell back on my wrist and placed another over my mouth, muffling a scream. He leaned forward, his smile fading. “Where are you going?” He reached for my ankle to pull me back to the table. I pulled myself away, trying to stand up and flee. He moved quicker than me, grabbing my leg and pulling me to him. He hovered over me, his hair falling in his face as he studied mine. “Are you alright, you look a little pale.” One of his ears twitched, and he blinked quickly a few times. “You’re not a human.” I spilled out, my voice shaking. “Ah, I guess that could be intimidating for some. Don’t worry Y/N. You’ll get used to it.” His face stayed serious, but his tone was light. He moved himself off of me and helped me sit up. “My name is Shoto. You may address me as Master.” He thought for a moment. “Or Shoto.” I couldn’t help but crack a smile. He seemed regal, like a prince, but very down to earth at the same time. “I apologize, I’ve never had a servant before.”

I thought for a moment. Putting pieces together that I haven’t quite grasped from our conversation so far. “Wait, I’m not your servant.” I said as light hearted as possible, not wanting to make him upset. He cocked his head at me puzzled. “Did you not just say that you would do anything to save your home, for anyone that was listening?”

I nodded my head yes, not liking where this is going. “Well I was listening. I took you on that deal.” He paused for a moment. “It should be raining now, nothing too harsh.” I stood up and opened the screen door, it was drizzling. The sound of the water hitting the roof with little ‘pings’ was music to my ears. “You did this?” I asked, sticking my hand out to gather some of the drops. It was real, it was really raining after months of harsh sun. “Yes, I can call on rains in times of joy.” He stood up and joined me in the doorway, he’s so much taller than I could tell before. His body is strong, his chest slightly exposed from his robe. “It’s been so long sense I’ve had a visitor. It’s not like I could just let you slip away.” He put a hand on my shoulder, his fingers freezing cold. “Such a lovely face, we’ll have to put you in more fitting attire.” He played with the strings on my tunic. “I can’t be your servant.” I said looking outside and not at him. “My family doesn’t know where I am, I left without telling them.”

“Ah, I understand.” He said sweetly. He snapped his fingers and the rain stopped, the moon shone through the dissipating storm clouds. “Wait! That wasn’t enough rain.”

“I’ve named my price. Your village will prosper, healthy children will be born. Rains will fall, crops will grow. Your village will be taken care of for generations if you just...” He cupped my face with both of his hands so that I was looking him in the eyes. “Stay with me, please.” His voice was so deep and raspy, my heart fluttered. “What kind of responsibilities will I have?” I felt hypnotized by his beautiful eyes, so old and wise. “You’re to take care of all of the shrines needs.” He spoke softer. “Along with all of my needs as well.” He closed any space between us. His chest pressed gently on mine, his right hand traveled to the back of my neck and held me there, the other still resting on my cheek. “I can train you to be my shrine maiden, my mystical woman of the wood.” His breath tickled your face, he spoke so closely to your mouth. “If you just stay here with me... forever.” I closed my eyes, my eyelids heavy and drunk with his seductive words. He spoke warm honey into my ears, I drank him in. “I’ll... I’ll do it.... Master...” I sighed into his kiss. He placed his lips onto mine gently, pressing down and sliding around my mouth. I kissed him back, hungry for more. He hesitated, he started reaching for my tunic, tempted to pull it off of me. He resisted and pulled away, out of breath he staggered further back into the shrine. “I deeply apologize.” He straightened himself out and I stepped away from the door frame and shut it behind me. “I don’t want to hurt you, I just haven’t ever seen anyone so-” He took a deep breath, calming his voice. “So beautiful.” My face burned. “Any other spirit will be feverishly jealous of me, I’ll do everything I can to protect you from any unwanted advances.” He bowed his head slightly, sealing his promise. “You don’t have to be sorry Master Shoto.” I feel lightly embarrassed, losing control of myself and my urges. “I didn’t mind...” I gulped, trying not to seem any less lady like than I already appeared. He put his hand behind his neck and let out a breathy chuckle. “Oh, that makes me feel less monstrous. I try not to be like some of the other more... animalistic creatures of these forests.”

I played with my thumb nail, tempted to picking it off. “What kind of things live out here Master Shoto?” I asked, my curiosity killing me. He’s unlike anything I have ever seen, could other people like him really be out here? “Lot’s of spirits, some a little less wicked than others. We get together for festivities quite a bit... hopefully you’re a good hostess.” My heart pounded at the thought of more spirits coming here. “They’ll be coming here...?” He sat back down with the tea and I joined him. “Of course, this is a regular hot spot for all manners of spirits. tengu, Oni.  Other kitsune.” He put a hand on my lap and rubbed my knuckles. “I wonder how they’ll react when they smell you...” He trailed off in thought for a moment. “What do you mean?” Do I smell bad? I take special attention to my hygiene, I suppose I have been hiking all day. “Well your scent is very intoxicating. I’ve never smelled a human so alluring.” My cheeks flushed again, he compliments so sincerely. “Will they try and hurt me?”

He took no time to think about that. “Oh most definitely, most of the lot takes no consideration for their primal urges.” He said bluntly. “Your scent combined with your raw beauty, I’ll have to beat them off with a broom.” I let out a light squeak, my heart sinking into my stomach. “What should I do to make myself less... desirable?” I never thought I was particularly prettier than any of the other women in the village, just from different status. I’m not callused from hard work, wrinkled from sunshine or bloated from bad food. My mother always calls me beautiful... and my parents had many suitors in line for my marriage. I look in the mirror often, and sometimes I feel insecure.

“There’s nothing you can do, especially sense you’ve never been taken by a man.” He spoke matter of factually. I blushed wildly, completely flustered. “What would you know about that!” I raised my voice and the fox spirit chuckled. “No need to get embarrassed, I can smell it on you.” He leaned toward me and  took a deep breath through his nose. He placed a hand on the floor beside me, I leaned back on my hands as he invaded my personal space. He placed his nose along just below my jaw line and took another deep breath. “I missed the only logical solution to all of our troubles.” He purred, his voice right in my ear. “I’ll just make you smell like me, so that no lusty tengu will try and touch you...” I froze, his entire demeanor changed. His breath grew heavier, he touched my side and used his legs to pry mine open and place himself between my hips. I tried to speak, but my voice came out shaky. “I- I thought that you didn’t want to succumb to your primal... uhm, urges.” He laid me down on my back and pressed his hips firmly onto mine. “Oh don’t worry darling, I’ve thought this over very thoroughly.” He placed soft kisses on my neck, one after the other. His lips just barely touching my skin. “This isn’t just for me... for my needs.” He crooned in my ear. I let out a small moan and clamped a hand over my mouth, horrified. I’ve never made a sound like that before. He pulled my hand off of my mouth and pinned it about my head. He traced his finger tips down my arm and gripped my other hand, forcing both of my wrists into one of his strong hands. “I need to keep my sweet servant girl safe.” He used his free hand to hold himself up off of the floor. He stared down at me, his face held some type of sincere innocence, like taking advantage of me isn’t his intention. “I’ll just mark you as mine.” He pulled my cloth pants down and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes rolled partly back into his head, he looked overwhelmed by me. He let go of my hands and fell on his elbow, smashing his lips onto mine. His hands ran over my body, he ripped my tunic over my head and threw it away from us. Looking down at me with a crazed look in his eye. “How are you this magnificent?” He pulled at the tie around his robe. He exposed himself, his body incredibly toned and hard. I reached out and ran a finger over his abs. I blushed, but I couldn’t look away. “You’ve never seen a man in this state.” He grinned. “What do you think?” He was kneeling, but he was still looming so tall over me. “What do you mean?” I stammered out, partially breathless. “Tell me how much you enjoy looking at my body.” He oozed with confidence now. “My slave.” His sharp teeth flashed, enjoying every moment of this. “I like looking at your body-” He gripped my chin and forced me to look in his eyes. “Say it again.” He spoke almost in a whisper. “I love looking at your body Master Shoto.” I tried to drip my words with as much sweetness as possible. Shoto reacted, pleased with me. He let go of my chin and touched me on the outside of my heat. He swirled his finger around, I whimpered pathetically. My slit grew wetter, I tried to cover my face in embarrassment again. “Stop that, I want to see every look on your face as I claim you.” He took his finger away and put it in his mouth, tasting me. “Tell me what you want Y/N.” I stuttered, not answering him fast enough. He placed two fingers on the most sensitive part of my body. He pressed down on my clit and rubbed up and down, his fingers grew colder. I gasped, his touch so drastic compared to my warmth. My stomach felt nauseous, I craved something. Anything other than this torture. “Master Shoto, I want-” I gasped again, he gathered some of my moisture on the tips of his finger to lubricate his touch. He rubbed even slower, letting the temperature gradient do most of the work. “Tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” It was an empty threat, his want was worse than mine, his member dripping in anticipation. “I want you to claim me Master!” I pleaded gripping onto my own hair and squirming underneath him. “As you wish, Y/N.”

I cried out, his staff’s tip punctured through my innocence. He pressed himself close to me, he held my face close to his, keeping his lips on my cheek for comfort. He moved his hips slowly, gently working his way in through my resistant walls. “You need to breathe Y/N. If you relax it will hurt less...” He whispered so sweetly in my ear. I took a shaky deep breath. “Just like that darling, I can feel you getting wetter...” He moved more of himself in, his whole length filling my entire body. I moaned, every second he’s in me gets better and better. “What a good girl, getting so wet for her master.” He gripped onto my hair at the base of my neck and thrusted in me harder, starting to get an even pace. He couldn’t help himself, groaning in my ear, repeating how much of a good girl I am. My body started to heat up even further, the pressure in my core building up to an unbearable point. “Master... I-” I screamed out, my mouth releasing a lewd sound. This made Shoto smile and chuckle. “You finished on me-” He groaned softly in my ear. “I’m flattered.” My body is shaking, my breath falling out of me in whiny gasps. “Want me to make you do it again?” He said mischievously, his tone almost feeling like he was mocking me. Teasing me for being so inexperienced, or for needing more like a greedy beggar. “Yes master.” I said through chattering teeth. “Beg me...” He kissed my jaw right under my ear. He slowed down, holding his cock in my body completely still. I squirmed, my hips rocking. He gripped my pelvis and pinned me down, forcing me to hold still. “If I sit here still long enough I’ll eventually climax...” He grinned wolfishly, I could feel him twitch. “I want more Master...” I whined like a child begging for more dessert. “Be specific.” He was toying with me, his eyes glazed with pleasure. “I want to feel like that again, please do it again Master Shoto.” I couldn’t care how unlady like it might sound to beg. He pulled himself mostly out, and slammed back into me hard. The sound of our bodies mashing together was almost as loud as my moans. He pounded into me, his hips flailing wildly. I scraped my nails down his back and hid my face on his shoulder. His neck bringing me comfort as I felt my bodies tension build back up again. He effortlessly kept his pace, barely seeming winded. I hadn’t noticed how long it was before he finally came close to his own release. My voice grew hoarse, crying out over and over again every time he brought me to the edge and let me go. My entrance is getting sore, I’m still slick but I’m using muscles I’m not used too. “Can you take anymore of me slave?” Sweat had started to pool on his forehead, just the slightest hint of his stamina dying down. “Y-yes” I said slightly unsure. I can hardly move, my head flat on the floor and my mouth dripping with drool. My clit throbbed, my thigh muscles ached. Tears had been running from my eyes for a bit now, my climax bringing the salty streams out to run down my face. “I think you’re lying my darling...” His voice was shaky, he kissed my forehead and I buried my face in his chest. “I’ve about given you everything I have.” He slammed his hips into me one more time and let out a heavy sigh. He pulsed in my body, he let his weight go onto me. Pressing us flat onto the floor. He held me like that for a moment before pulling out. I closed my shaking legs and my groin muscles thanked me. Being stuck in that position for so long caused my whole body to cramp. “You’re such a good girl, you took me for hours.” He helped sit me up. “Was it really that long?” I leaned onto his shoulder and he rubbed my back. “Time moves a little strange here, but yes its been awhile.” He played with my hair and traced along my spine. I started to doze off in his arms. “Don’t worry I’ll train you to last even longer.” He said sweetly. I couldn’t even respond. “Sleep now love, tomorrow you’ll have to learn all of the shrines duties.” He chuckled at my groan of protest. “Goodnight Y/N...” He talked into my hair. “My darling...”

HEY YOU READING! Hi you should follow me if you liked this story! I’m planning on building other characters in the same world and possibly even doing a part 2 for this one? I think Kaminari Denki is going to be a Tengu... it should be shocking~ (I’ll see myself out for that stupid pun)

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (eventual Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter 4 - the hag’s cabin

SFW, mentions blood and mutilation, around 2K words.

It was like he had snapped out of a bad dream.

A flash of red blinded him for just a moment, hand shooting up to cover his eyes as he stood up straight, fingertips dripping with blood that wasn’t his. He opened his eyes to a much clearer view of the woods, a pressure relieved from his shoulders, and a strange yet friendly face staring down at him with avid curiosity. Blood-tinted eyes watched him closely, an amiable smile on her wrinkled face. The hag’s skin was light enough to glow in the scant moonlight, spindly silver hair wild and framing her face in the most awkward of ways. He was reminded of Mother’s little game of disguise, the unassuming crone of riddles and wisdom.

Maybe it was Mother all along, and in that case, he better be on his best behavior. She was surely capable of it all, confusing him on the path and assuming the form of some horrible abomination; but why would she bother? She did seem genuinely surprised, perhaps even wary. Was this another one of her games to keep them all on their toes? To ensure obedience, another way of displaying her powers to remind him that even at his best, he was not an omniscient near-god. In her eyes, he was a second class citizen with a thing for tinkering that she kept around. A dangerous, homicidally inclined one, but a second class failure nonetheless.

The hag’s dirty clothes fluttered in the wind, the smell of death seeming to emanate from within her bones, strong enough to choke him. For a moment, he expected her to cackle, conjure up a staff made of bones to wave at him while she spoke her nonsense, telling him to repent and surrender to the Black God. Instead she laboriously extended a frail hand to help him up, blackened fingertips offering him no comfort.

“Come closer, dear, let us have a look at you.” She spoke at last, tender, almost motherly, her voice sounding like a legion of disjointed souls pooling together to form a sentence. She took a step in his direction when he did not answer, bones cracking with effort, frame barely supporting her own weight. It looked to him as if her every movement was torture, like she had been living on borrowed time for far too long and the earth had grown tired of waiting to reclaim her to dust. “Let us bathe you, take care of you.” Her words were sweet, her tone malicious. “Everything will be fine.”

Oh, yes, naturally. She looked like she had come straight out of a fairytale book, but surely it would all end up alright. It would all be fine, surely, him being bathed in a large bubbling cauldron with herbs and salt for soap, trapped inside a cage being fattened for later use in culinary endeavors. The fat on his body would be used for tallow, the skin for the shade of some lamp, the heart to power said lamp.

“Think I’ll pass.” Was all he could say through gritted teeth, barely a whisper in the dissonance of his thoughts. Her snicker was low and delighted, form fading away in a cloud of crimson mist.

The terror that had consumed him had disappeared just as quickly as it had taken hold, his racing heart and staggered breathing giving way to the burning rage and overconfidence he usually carried with him. He looked around for the yellow flowers Donna used to trick people’s minds, for any sign that what he had witnessed was an illusion. The snow felt real as he crushed it with his fingers, the wind caressed him just so to keep him alert and awake. Heisenberg looked down at himself to look for anything that might be amiss, a misshaped piece of fabric, a hue that looked off; he counted ten fingers, pulled back his sleeve to look at his wristwatch, numbers crisp and clear. Not a dream, not a hallucination. Sheer terror, like he had not felt in years, adrenaline pumping in his veins to make him feel alive after decades of keeping his nose just above the water. Despite it all, he felt light as a feather. In a way, he felt free.

He rose to his feet to take the path ahead, ducking to miss the arch of the twisted tunnel, holding onto branches and feeling like they held onto him in return. A mere couple of meters away, a crude fence and wooden gate separated him from a clearing he had never seen. Slabs of stone marked the way towards it, visible despite the icy landscape, their surface well-worn and freshly disturbed. Had the hag come this way? Would he meet a series of monsters that made him offers he could not refuse, like the tales Miranda had concocted of him and his siblings?

He knew the mountain held a multitude of paths and clearings, nooks and crannies untouched by man and lost to time, mazes and caves and all manners of things he had only read in old books of fiction. The villagers would always say there was much that surrounded them, not altogether pleasant, older than them, older than the bones of this earth. Monsters and spirits, legends lost just beyond the village gates. Even as a child, swallowing his fear like a bitter pill, he labeled them all fools, pawns in the hands of a cruel bitch who kept them isolated, a flock of tarnished sheep that would never break free of their bonds. And yet it seemed the joke was on him, was it not? Here he was, mother’s prophecy fulfilled, standing alone in the forest deep, lost like the child who ran away to pick berries, having just witnessed something he could not explain.

Heisenberg peered into the trees in silence, breathing labored and pulse too loud in his ears. He watched for eyes in the forest, long fingers that camouflaged in the tree bark. Silver hair mistaken for spider webs, humanoid shadows that tricked the unwary. All he sees is a curious hare that stops to stare at him before going deeper into the woods to find its den, all he hears are the sounds of the night and the forest alive at last.

The smell of rotting carcasses inundated his nostrils as he walked, a series of carefully placed, crusty wooden stakes protruding from the ground like sickly trees that refused to wither. Blood dripped and congealed at its base, the decapitated heads of lycans and samcas and moroaicas neatly impaled, but looking so alive. He could almost hear it, the groaning and stretching of broken jaws as they tried to break free. 

An incredulous smile crept up to his lips as he reached out to touch a nearby lycan’s head, skin soft and clammy underneath his fingers, veins protruding on swollen flesh. Sharp teeth and exposed gums, no doubt a lycan, and he is too slow to react when the creature bites down onto his hand and all but tears the skin between his thumb and index fingers. It tries to finish the job but cannot break free, just enough movement to open and close its jaw, and Heisenberg looks down in disbelief to his bleeding hand, to the monster that should have turned to dust.

He reaches for the hammer in a half-horrified haze, swings with full strength to knock the stake to the ground, amazed when all heads spring to life and groan at him in a last breath that would never end. His morbid curiosity has him bring the hammer over his head and down onto the earth, bones cracking with the impact as the failed experiment finally crumbles to dust beneath the metal. What kind of fuckery was this? The pain in his right hand felt too real to be an illusion, the blood dripping onto his boots too viscous to be a trick of the mind. His mind spun with theories, with curiosity. Before he leaves, he should confiscate one of these for further study at the factory.

Heisenberg could hardly contain his excitement as he vaulted over the fence, anxious for the next chapter of this night full of surprises. He expected a gruesome display; an altar proudly displaying a sacrifice, the hunched over beast he had met before munching on an animal corpse. The hag kneeling by the stream, washing bloody clothes as a presage of war and death. A circle of witches chanting in tongues and cursing his entire, nonexistent bloodline for generations to come. An enchanted maiden with a delicate bosom and sinuous form inviting him to ravage her innocence, only to eat him alive liver first in a fit of madness.

Instead he was greeted by a curious chicken peeking at him from a hole in the trellis of its coop, a tiny goat grazing by his feet. There was a horse, real this time, penned in and cozy for the night, oblivious to his presence. 

The small hoofed animal doesn’t seem bothered when Heisenberg grabs it unceremoniously, inspects its fur and hoofs and horns, pinches at its flesh for any hint of supernatural. On the contrary, the goat seems to enjoy it, tiny tail wagging rapidly as Heisenberg stares it down like one would an annoying baby that is too cute for one to be angry at. It seems almost sad when it is put back down onto the snow, gives Heisenberg a tentative headbutt and walks away in defeat when he ignores it to investigate the rest of the place.

A small cabin stood just beyond, green shingles on the roof and walls covered in clay, narrow porch and swinging front door, a light bleeding out into the night through the narrow window of the attic. Suspiciously innocuous. There were no chicken legs, it was not made of sweets, and instead of decay, what he smelled made his stomach growl in response. He would eat that damn black horse the moment he saw it again, leg first as he moved up his feast.

A delicate wreath of wildflowers adorned the red door, slightly ajar to encourage his exploration. He did not recognize the symbol drawn just beneath his feet at the threshold - was it a warning? A welcome message? Heisenberg made sure to remain perfectly quiet as he stepped inside, taking care that his boots would not squeak against the wooden boards. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, the colorful woven rug a pleasant change from the bleak scenario of ice and death. He pushed the door all the way to reveal a room that was equal parts cozy and mysterious.

To his right was a wood stove, a bucket of firewood resting beside it, white ceramic kettle embellished with blue flowers whistling loudly on top. A shelf stocked with grain and spices stood just beyond, hooks with a multitude of pots and pans beneath it. The small kitchen also had a rustic counter and ceramic sink, cutting board and bone-white knife abandoned halfway through a large carrot. The small dinner table was set for two, a pair of teacups resting at the end of it. There was no sign of electricity, candles and lanterns of wrought iron working double time to ward off the dark of night.

He walked further in to to look at the rest of it, the diminutive living room that was also kitchen and dining area. The couch was a wooden skeleton covered in coarse fabric, cushions looking like they had patched a thousand times over. Somehow, they looked leagues more comfortable than any of Alcina’s fancy armchairs. Dusty tomes fought for space on a wooden stool beside it, candle wax frozen solid halfway over the edge onto the ground. A rickety ladder was almost hidden next to it, woolen socks overhanging one of the steps.

Right in front of him, on the far wall, was a sturdy brick fireplace, cast iron pot hanging over it, the tasty looking stew he had smelled from outside bubbling invitingly. A soft whimper alerted him to the presence of a furry creature curled up in front of the fire, looking compact despite its real size, oblivious to his presence and sound asleep. Heisenberg chuckled as he walked closer and bent down to pet it with a little too much force, the shaggy shepherd hound lifting its head to look at him in annoyance before busying itself with its nap once again, too tired to give a fuck about anything else. Craning his body to the left he peeked at the mezzanine, candle lit but bed empty. No one home, it seemed.

It was difficult to remain quiet when anger bubbled under the first layer of his skin; he was furious at his Mother and sister, at whoever had pulled the stupid prank earlier. He had been sent on a wild goose chase, had gotten lost in the woods, had bled his own blood and now stood inside a poor soul’s shack doubting every single thing that had happened this far. Even a man like himself had limits, however, and if he had simply stumbled upon a well-kept homestead of a peasant trying to live their life alone in the middle of the woods, he would leave just as quietly as he had entered. It was only fair, considering he, too, would do the same if given the chance. Perhaps his prey still wandered somewhere and he had gotten lost along the way, but it was time to go back to the road and hunt down the motherfucker who had almost made him piss his pants.

A couple more minutes and he would leave the forest, march up to Castle Dimitrescu and give Alcina a piece of his mind. Maybe he should climb up to the belfry, call everyone over and proudly display his limp dick as he twirled it around like a helicopter blade. Imagining the look of disgust in his sister’s face brought him some comfort.

“So this is the monster that lives in these woods, huh?” He asked the dog, half expecting an answer, with his back turned to make his way out.

“Oh, I am afraid that would be me,” said a woman’s voice somewhere behind him.

[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Chapter 4: The Ties That Bind

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: Back in Flotilla, Imtura makes a risky move to secure her mother’s fleet.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Imtura had expected a lot of things to happen when the Wraith docked at Flotilla last night. She had expected the Flotillan guards to swamp her ship—which they did—and fuss over her, flinging royal titles left and right as they knelt at her feet like a pack of obedient dogs—which they also did.

She did not, however, expect to find that her mother was gone. 

“What do you mean, ‘she’s not here?’” Imtura snarled, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Behind her, Kraglin and the rest of the crew set about unloading the Wraith’s cargo hold of old supplies and preparing the ship for a few days at port. No one knew how long they would be docked at Flotilla; Imtura supposed it depended on how stubborn her mother decided to be. 

The guards before her stiffened, taken aback by the viciousness of her tone. “Her Majesty is away on business—”

Imtura’s brows lowered. “What kind of business?”

“It is not for us to say, Your High—”

“Then what good are you?” she snapped before the man could eke out that wretched title. She glanced at Kraglin, who stood behind her, then Morrigan, who stood beside him, gazing at the floating city with unmasked wonder.  Imtura sighed, biting at her lip ring. “When will she be back?”

“We don’t know for certain. It could be as late as tomorrow evening,” one of the guards replied cautiously.

“Tomo—” Imtura cut herself off, reining in her anger. She closed her eyes shut and took a deep, steadying breath, reminding herself that these men were not responsible for her mother’s activities. No one was, aside from Ventra herself. When Imtura opened her eyes again, her temper had cooled somewhat, although her irritation remained. She shook her head, unable to stop her gaze from wandering to the eastern horizon. “I can’t wait that long.”

But left with no other options, she had waited.

After a restless sleep on the Wraith, Imtura dedicated the next morning to giving Morrigan a thorough tour of the sprawling maze of floating walkways and retired vessels of Flotilla, tossing out the names of her favorite ships as she went. The Black Spire, the Copper Thief, the Bloodkraken, the Maiden of the Sea… Imtura did not even realize she knew the names of all of these places until the words were spilling out of her mouth, her voice taking on a tinge of excitement every time she urged Morrigan to take notice of something she loved so dearly. 

There was her favorite tavern, the Sailor’s Lament, which had ale that tasted like stale seawater, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t one of the cheapest and strongest drinks in Flotilla. They passed the supply mill that always gave her a few extra bags of salt for meat, not because she was Princess Imtura, but Captain Tal Kaelen, and here in the reaches of Flotilla that knew Imtura better than Ventra—out there on the roiling waves of the Cartesian Sea—she was respected as such. 

Morrigan had gone red with laughter as Imtura pointed out an old, repurposed ship that was charmingly named Taldaro’s Tit, after the legendary orc Vinestra of Clan Taldaro, who was not only known for inventing the modern warship and her incredible prowess in battle, but also her equally incredible prowess in the bedroom. Taldaro’s Tit—yes, tit singular, not plural, and if anyone bothered to ask, the Flotillans swore up and down that it was specifically, “the right tit not the left”—was the best place to go dancing after downing a few drinks in the taverns.

“You must love this place,” Morrigan noted, as she reverently ran her fingertips along the hull of a bobbing ship as they passed, the feathers of her wings whispering in the briny breeze that swept through the city. “Flotilla, I mean.”

Imtura lifted a brow, glancing over her shoulder at Morrigan as she swaggered down the wooden walkways. It was a bit of a strange feeling, to finally have to look up at someone else as she spoke. Morrigan wasn’t built like Imtura, but she did have a good couple of inches on the orc captain, and Imtura knew that her strength wasn’t something to scoff at.

“You think so, birdie?” she questioned.

Morrigan nodded, gazing around. “The way you talk about Flotilla… It’s the same way my brother talks about the Aerie. With such fondness and familiarity.”

Imtura shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets as she ambled along. “I’m fond of it, yeah. And I know the city like the back of my hand. It’s familiar.” 

“Well,” Morrigan said casually, glancing over at Imtura. “Maybe knowing something and loving something aren’t all that different.”

Imtura thought that over for a few moments, then bobbed her head. “Maybe you’ve got a point. I know all about the less than amazing parts of the city, and sometimes… Well, sometimes coming back here bums me out,” she confessed. “Feels a bit like swapping out the sea for some shackles.” She shook her head and shrugged. “But no matter what happens, it’ll always be home.”

Imtura mulled this conversation over as she sat at a rickety, ale-stained table in a cozy corner of the Sailor’s Lament, an untouched stein resting by her elbow. After wrapping up her tour with Morrigan, Imtura spent the next few hours whipping the Wraith into tip top shape. She swabbed the deck, replaced frayed sections of the rigging, and chipped barnacles off the hull—it was menial work, housekeeping chores that Imtura had not done since she herself was a swabbie. 

That must have been…  almost a decade ago, at least. Imtura could not wrap her head around the fact that it had been nearly ten years since that fateful evening, when she had ran away from Flotilla and stowed herself away on the infamous Sea King. But that was another story.

Repairing the Wraith was not stimulating work, but it was distracting, and Imtura was more than happy to take on the tasks, if only so she could have something to do while she waited for her dreaded mother to finally grace her with an appearance. 

But the crew—namely Kraglin, with his damned big heart—put their foot down when Imtura started polishing the Wraith’s hull. 

“What kind of pirate lets their captain do all of the work?” Kraglin had exclaimed jovially before stooping to grab Imtura’s legs while his twin brother, Marglin, grabbed her shoulders and began to haul her, kicking and spewing obscenities, off the ship. “You’ve got to have some fun, boss.” 

They dragged her, and consequently, Morrigan, into the Flotillan nightlife, down the bobbing, uneven avenues, all the way to the Sailor’s Lament, where her quartermaster and boatswain ordered a round of ale for the entire crew, including that yellow-bellied, doe-eyed, Parnassus cabin boy.

“This is coming out of your coin, not mine,” Imtura snarled as they set her down at a booth in the far corner of the tavern and gave her a tankard, much to their merry amusement.

“Sure thing, boss,” Marglin promised placatingly, ordering a platter of roasted octopus, fried fish heads, and seaweed skewers for the table. “Sure thing.”

With a mixture of warmth and amusement, Imtura watched her crewmates guzzle down their rounds from her spot in the secluded booth, ale sloshing over the edges of their tankards, and Morrigan sandwiched in between them. She was glad to see that her crew had quickly taken the winged woman in, treating her like one of their own, and Morrigan, to her credit, had no problem in keeping up with their revelry. 

By the Moon, Morrigan matched Iskra—the Wraith’s navigator—pint for pint without losing her wits, and that woman could drink most orcs under the table. Morrigan also didn’t even bat an eye at the strange array of food. Imtura reckoned that in Rysoth, she’d probably seen stranger.

Imtura wished she could join them, that she could laugh, and dance, and get so irrefutably drunk, she couldn't even remember her own damn name. But for the first time in her swashbuckling life, she did not drink.

She simply couldn’t. There was too much resting on this meeting with Ventra, and even though being a little drunk may have been the only hope she had of getting through said meeting with her sanity intact, it would do no good to anyone for her to show up boozed off her feet. Her mother was already disappointed in her enough.

Imtura watched Morrigan, the members of her crew, and the other Flotillans with a warm sort of contentment that wriggled its way into her anxious heart. She supposed that even if this whole meeting with Ventra went to complete and utter shit, there was one good thing that came out of her return to Flotilla: she got to bring her crew home once more, got to give them this small slice of normalcy before the world went arse up again.

Imtura reached into her pocket and pulled out a single gold doubloon. It was an old piece, dated from before the current Morellian currency was established, and was the first bit of gold Imtura had ever earned as a pirate, a gift from one great captain to another. Only Imtura hadn’t been a captain then. Just a runaway princess, trying to find where she belonged.

Imtura flipped the coin on her thumb and caught it, weighing it thoughtfully in her palm. On one side, it featured a familiar curving symbol. At the bottom, there was a curled arch that looked like a wave poised to crash. Above that was a seashell-like spiral, with two great horns sprouting from the sides. The symbol of her people. The other side featured a crude depiction of land and sea meeting beneath a sky full of stars.

Both faces were worn, both from age and years of Imtura rubbing her thumb against its surface whenever she felt the weight of leadership to be particularly heavy upon her shoulders. She set it on the old, wooden table and spun it on its edge, the lantern lights of the tavern flickering on its golden face.

If I ever find it… I’ll let you know. 

The coin spun and spun, then wobbled and wavered.

Then, you can bring our people home.

It was a foolish plan, a dreamer’s hope. Imtura knew that place was long gone, lost to fire, to the sea, and to time itself. To go looking for it… That was like chasing a child’s fairytale.

But… 

She had seen many impossible things, even before getting involved with this Shadow Realm business. She had seen so many wonders… What was one more?

Imtura caught the doubloon as it fell, swiping her thumb over the surface that featured the landscape. Then, she pocketed it and stood.

After leaving a quick word with Kraglin, Imtura ducked out of the Sailor’s Lament and made her way across the bobbing walkways of Flotilla, acknowledging the passing nods of respect she got as Captain and ignoring the deferential inclinations she received as Princess.

Officially, Flotilla had no temples or shrines dedicated to elements of nature the orcs worshipped: the Skies, the Winds, the Ocean, the Earth, the Sun, the Stars, and the Moon. Unlike the Faith of the Light and the Shared Pantheon, religion among the orcs was decentralized, piety left to the individual. But there were places in the floating city in which Imtura’s people liked to leave their offerings.

The Sea Nymph was one such place. 

Imtura crossed the gangway onto an old, barnacle-covered ship, reaching out to affectionately pat its hull as she boarded. On the bow of the ancient vessel, the name was painted in flowing script, the white paint faded with age. 

Barely an adolescent, Imtura had not been around when Ventra officially won over all of the orc fleets and established Flotilla as her capital. Instead, she had been hidden away on a ship with a few trusted orcs of the Minurva Clan, far away from all of the danger and political turmoil as her mother upended centuries of tradition. 

But Imtura heard that at the time, when Flotilla was little more than a small cluster of old ships and floating shacks, the Sea Nymph had already been stationed here, with a small collection of oddities already hidden inside. There were even rumors that the Sea Nymph was the first ship in Flotilla, the starting point around which the rest of the floating city had been constructed. 

Imtura did not know if those rumors were true, but the Sea Nymph was certainly weathered enough to fit the tale, and in the last decade, no one had ever claimed ownership of the vessel. As such, its wellbeing was left in the collective hands of the Flotillans, which was probably why it had fallen into a state of such disrepair.

As she crossed the deck of the orphaned vessel and descended the stairs that led into its belly, Imtura found herself wishing she could have seen the Sea Nymph in its heyday. Even with all of its rotted wood and the massive holes that gaped in the floors, there were still vestiges of its past glory—faded gold filigree on the bannister, waterlogged wool rugs, chipped carvings of mermaids laid into the creaking walls… 

Once, it must have been beautiful.

But now, Imtura supposed the ship had a different kind of beauty, and if she was being honest, she preferred it. Deep in the vessel’s cargo hold, Imtura was surrounded by the multitude of offerings orcs from all across the Cartesian Sea had left here for the elements. 

Windchimes and sparkling bits of glass hung from the ceiling, tinkling softly with the swaying motion of the ship and the lazy breeze that streamed through the cracks in the hull—offerings to the Skies and the Winds.

An old fur rug sat in the back corner, right in the path of the moonlight that streamed into the room through a hole in the side of the ship. On top of the rug sat precious gemstones and silver dimes, offerings laid out for the Moon and the Stars.

Imtura crossed to the ship’s stern and clambered up a ladder made of rope, hauling herself into what had once been the quarters of the Sea Nymph’s captain. The bedroom was in no better shape than the rest of the ship—the main entrance was obstructed by fallen beams and splintered wood, the velvet canopy of the bed was peppered with holes and coated in dust. But it still held an air of sanctity and whispers of grandeur.

The doors to the balcony had been left open by the last visitor, the tattered curtains flowing like strands of spider silk. Imtura crossed onto the balcony, which served as yet another shrine. Shells, broken bits of coral, and even small pieces of ships—the knob of a wheel, a shredded flag—were balanced atop the railing or laid on the ground. But the majority of the offerings made to the Ocean were dropped over the side of the balustrade, right into the sea itself.

Imtura reached into her pockets, fingers scrounging around for anything she could offer up to the elements. All she had was a bit of lint, a few ribbons to tie her off her braids, and that golden doubloon. For a moment, Imtura contemplated flipping the coin over the side of the ship, but sentimentality—and perhaps a bit of child-like hope—had her pocketing the gold piece once more. Instead, Imtura took her ribbons and tied them around the wooden posts that upheld the railing.

She watched them flutter in the wind for a moment, taking that as a sign nature had accepted her meager offering, and was about to turn when a voice behind her spoke up.

“The tavern wasn’t fun enough, for you?”

Imtura half-turned, bracing her hand against the wooden banister. A single sand dollar was nudged out of the way by her fingers and fell into the gentle waves with a plunk!

“Morrigan.” Imtura relaxed slightly, dropping the hand that had instinctively moved to hover over one of her axes. “Like sneaking up on me, do you?”

Morrigan shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. You were just…” she shrugged, her gaze roaming over Imtura’s head. “Deep into your own thoughts, I suppose. What is this place?” she asked, looking around the captain’s cabin with an unreadable expression. “It’s…”

Imtura half-expected her to say “old” or “a wreck” or perhaps “a rotting shithole” and frankly, she would have been right to do so. 

But instead, Morrigan said, “Incredible.”

Imtura let out a little breath, lips easing into a casual smile. “Isn’t it? This is where we orcs sometimes come to give up offerings to the elements. There’s no other place in Flotilla like it.”

“Give up offerings?” Morrigan asked, joining Imtura on the balcony. She tucked her wings in tight behind her, taking care to avoid knocking over any of the items strewn about. “Is that what you were doing just now? Making an offering?”

“Yeah,” Imtura shrugged, glancing down at the ribbons that danced in the breeze. “S’pose so.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type,” Morrigan noted although there was no judgment or accusation in her voice. 

“I’m not, really,” Imtura admitted, tapping her fingers against the railing. “At least not in the way that the humans, elves, and your folk are. I didn’t even believe in the gods until recently.” She turned away, fixing her attention on the slivers of the dark horizon that were visible in between other ships and bobbing structures. “We orcs don’t have temples or priests or anything like that. These offerings… they’re just meant to give back to what made us. The elements. And maybe get a little good luck along the way.”

“Good luck?” Morrigan asked, lifting a coppery brow. In the moonlight, the freckles that splashed across her cheeks looked like little stars. She smiled slightly, nudging Imtura’s elbow with her own. “What does a fearsome orc captain like you need luck for?”

Imtura huffed through her nose. “Meet my mother and then you’ll understand.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows at Imtura for a moment, then nodded. “Ah. So, it’s like that,” she mused aloud. “You think you’ll have difficulty convincing your mother to send the fleet to Morella’s aid.”

“Without question,” Imtura replied. “She harbors no love for human kings. And as far as she’s concerned, the elves can go right on ahead and isolate themselves into extinction.”

“Harsh,” Morrigan muttered and Imtura shrugged.

“Sometimes, I can’t blame her,” she confessed, nudging aside a few offerings to brace her forearms on the railing. “I don’t agree with her, but… There was a time when my people were thought of as the scum of Morella. By some people, we still are. That’s why you’ll never find an orc east of Port Parnassus. Not just because we can’t live without the sea, but because no town would ever have us.”

Imtura laughed, the sound more harsh and bitter than she had intended it to be. “‘We lay no roots,’” she stated, shaking her head. “That’s our motto. It’s what my people have lived by ever since we lost Kell D’hana. My ancestors promised to never settle, to always seek adventure, and to chase the thrill of conquest. But look at Flotilla. A bunch of stationary ships and floating buildings.”

“By your principles, Flotilla should not exist,” Morrigan said slowly, picking up on Imtura’s line of thought.

“Exactly.” Imtura nodded, sighing heavily. “If you ask me, the reason we’re so proud to be a seafaring race is because it goes against the one thing we want but can��t have.”

“And what’s that?”

“A home,” Imtura stated somberly. “Not just Flotilla, but a real home. A place to belong. One that won’t go up in flames if a single lantern drops.”

She’d never spoken about this before, to anyone. In fact, she rarely ever gave these thoughts any time, for just thinking them felt almost treasonous. Even when she reminisced with the party, she usually only told them about how much she missed sailing and her crew. They’d always understood. But maybe that was why it was easier to talk to Morrigan. Because Morrigan didn’t understand. She didn’t know the orcs like Morellians did, didn’t know what they were and weren’t supposed to be.

“It’s all material, though,” Imtura added, feeling a bit of warmth rush to her cheeks at her confession, the uncomfortable sense of vulnerability she now felt. “I know that as long as I’ve got my crew and my freedom, I’ll be alright. ‘Home is where the heart is’ and all that.”

“Are you trying to make me believe that or are you trying to convince yourself?”

Imtura let out a startled huff, surprised—and a little impressed—by Morrigan’s bluntness. “You’re nosy aren’t you?”

Morrigan shrugged, shaking her head. “You sound like you have some stuff you’ve got to work through. I’m just trying to help you figure out what that is.”

Imtura eyed the other woman cautiously. Morrigan was fun. Fun to flirt with, fun to banter with, and Imtura was certain that there was a great deal of other kinds of fun they could get up to together. But now, Imtura began to wonder if whatever flirtation they had between them could ever be more than just fun.

She could stand to find out.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she confessed softly, tugging at the ends of her hair. “But I feel like there’s a part of me missing. Like I’m searching for a place I’ve never been, a place that I’ve never seen. But deep down, I know it and it knows me. Even though we have never met.”

“A home,” Morrigan said, her voice equally soft.

Imtura nodded, trying not to shy away from Morrigan’s green gaze. “Yeah.”

“Do you think a place like that exists out there?” Morrigan asked.

“I don’t know that, either,” Imtura admitted. She supposed that for an adventurer, there was a lot about the world she did not know. “Maybe. I once…” She shook her head, turning her gaze to stare into the depths of the sea below them, the dark waves reflecting the silver moonlight. “I once knew a woman who planned to find out. I’ll never know if she did.”

“Well, just so you know…” Morrigan said after a few moments had passed in silence. “Whether a place like that exists or not, if you ever decide to quit swashbuckling and settle down, the Aerie would gladly have you.”

Imtura smiled at that, leaning her weight on one elbow as she looked over at Morrigan. “Well, just so you know… You’ll always have a place at my hearth. And on my ship.” Then she winked and added, “In case you ever find a storm you can’t handle.”

Morrigan grinned, shifting a little closer. “I’ve been told that the captain’s quarters are the warmest place on the Wraith. Is that true?”

“I’d say so,” Imtura replied, pushing away from the railing to take a step toward Morrigan. She reached out, fingers brushing aside a coppery strand of Morrigan’s unbound hair from her cheek. It was so rare that the Avian woman wore it outside of a plait, and Imtura was possessed by the sudden urge to run her hands through it. “But you are welcome to find out for yourself any time.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Morrigan whispered, her cheeks rounding against Imtura’s fingertips as she smiled and began to lean in.

“As you should,” Imtura murmured, sliding her hand from Morrigan’s cheek to the back of her neck as she closed her eyes. She felt Morrigan’s breath on her skin and thought faintly that she smelled like a storm, wild and reckless. Imtura wondered if she tasted like one, too.

“Captain?” 

Sunken hells.

Stifling a groan, Imtura turned away, prepared to bite the head off of whoever just interrupted them. But when she saw her quartermaster, Kraglin, standing in the captain’s quarters of the Sea Nymph, his face uncharacteristically sober, she stiffened. She knew why he had come.

Kraglin nodded, catching the look of understanding that crossed Imtura’s face.

“It’s time.”

Read the rest of the chapter on AO3!

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