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pyreo · 4 years

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Loreposting about Abaddon

Abaddon doesn’t get a lot of attention. As a deposed god he doesn’t seem relevant to the Guild Wars timeline after Nightfall. But I keep thinking about him because Abaddon is probably the most influential character Tyria ever had.

Let’s just go over where he appears in-game if you start off in GW2. Everyone knows the six human gods. They’re in statues, temples, personal shrines everywhere. The base game story makes you detour through a sunken temple dedicated to Abaddon, while the Orrian temples to the other five gods are still intact on the surface. This is not by chance. It’s also nudging you to notice that there are no Orrian temples to Kormir, because she replaced Abaddon only two centuries ago. This is reflected again later on in Siren’s Landing on the other side of Orr, where the Five, and Abaddon, each have a personal reliquary, and Abaddon’s is central, connected to all the others, and still intact.

Building on that refresher on human divinity, in Path of Fire you visit the actual place Abaddon was defeated by the other Five gods and pushed into a side dimension to keep him out of the world.

And when you visit the archives of the Durmand Priory, they have an imposing Abaddon statue towering over the stairs. Other than being reflected in three major environments, he doesn’t have a role in the plot. BUT.

As Kormir explains to you, the weakness of the human gods is that their excess of power keeps fucking up the world. The Desolation, a map that covers only a part of the sulfur desert, is completely uninhabitable because Abaddon was destroyed there. This happened because Abaddon, who was actually the most powerful of the Six and the leader of the group, wanted humans to share in the gift of magic. He was the god of knowledge, after all. This proved disastrous and the other gods reduced and compartmentalised the magic, and Abaddon went on a whole attempt to overthrow them and become one, single god of all.

The destruction of Abaddon’s temples and relics was intentional. He was wiped from memory. The pantheon was called The Five until Nightfall, wherein the existence of Abaddon was revealed as he tried to drag himself back into the mortal plane. As a god his spheres of power were water and knowledge. Erasing knowledge of him was what made him powerless. (Interestingly, the Priory’s special collections contains the Scroll of the Five True Gods, an ancient record of what the human gods knew about the Elder Dragons, but one dragon is missing - the water dragon, who like Abaddon, has a damaged and erased history. The six Elder Dragons and six human gods have many respective connections.)

When he lived, Abaddon’s followers were the Margonites, who believed him the only real god and worshipped him exclusively, unlike other humans who revere all the Six together. They were rewarded with transformation into etheral beings with an extremely long lifespan, and were imprisoned in Abaddon’s Realm, the Realm of Torment, when he was forced out of Tyria. As the god of knowledge he had a realm to himself, and when fallen, his sphere inversed. Knowledge became madness, the theme his realm embodies. Temples were sunk, records destroyed, because to remove all knowledge of the god of knowledge made him powerless.

I can’t remember where, but it’s implied that by Nightfall comes around a thousand years after his banishment, Abaddon is finally able to claw his way back into Tyria because people are starting to remember him. There’s one side quest that sticks out in my memory called The Search for Enlightenment about a scholar stealing scriptures from an Elonian library which leads to a massive raid by Margonites. The scholar was ‘babbling’ about a forgotten god. Proximity to knowledge about Abaddon seems to bestow insanity, the connection between Abaddon in his inverted realm and his hold over anyone who knows he exists. Though the Five Gods tried, they didn’t erase everything (hell, Trahearne and Sayeh al' Rajihd give you a guided tour of an Abaddon temple). Over a thousand years, relics popped up and people began to remember The Five was once The Six. As they did his influence returned until he was able to attempt to merge the Realm of Torment with Tyria and become a single, all powerful god in the absence of the others.

But wait how does that make a forgotten god the most influential character in both games?

Well.

Guild Wars lore is nothing if not completely linked together. Every single thing has cause and effect, every event is a domino. The story is consistent from Prophecies to this day. So let’s start with the first GW1 chapter, Prophecies.

It all starts at the Citadel of Flame.

It was built into the volcano Hrangmer. The charr had been displaced, pushed out of Ascalon by the successful expansion of humankind. 450 years before GW2 the Flame Legion found this volcano and, inside, Titans. You know how Mordremoth’s minions are Mordrem, Zhaitan’s minions are Risen, etc? Titans are Abaddon minions, left behind and hidden after his defeat. They change their appearance to suit their environment. In a jungle they’re vegetative, in mountains they’re made of ice, in the Realm of Torment they’re twisted constructs of flesh, in a volcano, they’re fire. The Flame Legion brings the Titans back to the charr, charr worship them, and in exchange, get immense fire powers. Flame Legion completely takes over charr society and makes it a theistic, misogynist nightmare with the Shamans at the top.

Abaddon has just restructured charr society.

Using their overpowered fire magic indirectly from a human god, charr, ironically, rally against the humans and nuke Ascalon to pieces. The few survivors escape to Kryta. Charr are now pretty much unstoppable and invade all the way to Orr. Vizier Khilbron used a powerful stolen scroll to repel the charr with magic, and it completely destroys Orr, collapsing the island into the ocean.

Abaddon has just wiped out two nations of the humans who used to worship him, with Orr as the final goal - to tear down the resplendent city of the Gods who betrayed him. This is referenced, if you know what you’re looking for, in GW2. You can scale the Vizier’s Tower, where he read the scroll that sank all of Orr, and on the wall...

A mural to the lost god, a testament to power that, a thousand years later, one who was expunged from history had a faithful likeness depicted.

Ascalon’s a burning hole and Orr is underwater. Now what? Those Ascalonian survivors in Kryta find the place is controlled by White Mantle. The White Mantle are committing mass murder via bloodstone sacrifice (bloodstones being the power curb the gods introduced after imbuing humans with magic) in order to halt the prophecy of a Chosen One opening the Door of Komalie. Vizier Khilbron turns up, shaking out some mysteriously wet boots don’t worry about that, and leads you against these genocidal cultists. Which, whoops, does lead to the Door of Komalie being opened - and it’s a doorway into Abbadon’s Realm of Torment, out of which Titans power through. This was the apocalypse planned for Kryta. Unlike the first two, this one is thwarted by the player. Kryta lives on. Vizier Khilbron is the final boss and turns out to have been a lich.

That’s 3 of the 5 human nations. What about Cantha and Elona?

GW: Factions is the Canthan chapter in which Shiro Tagachi, the emperor’s bodyguard, continually visits a fortune teller until she inflicts such paranoia on his mindset that he believes he needs to kill the emperor in self-defense. His defeat causes the Jade Wind that creates the Jade Sea. As a spirit, Shiro then engulfs Cantha in a plague that warps people into tumorous mutants. The fortune teller turns out to be an Abaddon minion whose task was the eventual destruction of Cantha. This one also is foiled by the player.

GW: Nightfall is the culmination chapter. Abaddon is now powerful enough, well known enough, to breach Tyria and try to come back. His agent is Varesh Ossa, who slowly transforms into a Margonite over the course of the game. The player confronts the breach between planes and finally enters the Realm of Torment, meeting the shades of Abaddon’s servants that came before, the lich form of Vizier Khilbron, and the spirit of Shiro Tagachi, before facing Abaddon himself.

And that’s the end of it. In Guild Wars magic cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred, so another god ascends in Abaddon’s place. They are once again The Six.

It’s Abaddon that ruined half the Elonian desert, Abaddon whose sinking of Orr gave Zhaitan the perfect mass grave to necromance, Abaddon who froze the Cantha sea into solid jade, and Abaddon whose final death and eruption of magic started waking Primordus, leading to the norn, dwarf and asuran alliance to stop it in 1078 AE-- introducing the norn and asura to the rest of Tyria, and making the dwarves extinct, cutting their entire race’s existence short. If it wasn’t for Abaddon, the charr wouldn’t have been taken over by their magic-toting shaman caste, only to come to their senses and rebel and ostracize the Flame Legion afterward. Hell, the current Flame Legion Imperators STILL style their horns in an homage to Abaddon, and probably don’t even remember why! To a human god, gone for over a thousand years, who used their race as pawns in a revenge attempt at wiping out every nation the humans had built!

And even after being thoroughly and completely destroyed, his magic STILL haunts Tyria enough for his statues to punish you for not showing the proper respect.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #long post #LONG fucking post (apologetic)#abaddon #guild wars 1 #had to get this out me brain there we go

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soyatenada · 3 years

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biblical theory about drunk-dazed + the invitation analysis

hi muffins, i just jotted down my thoughts, this is a mess but i hope it’s interesting

drunk-dazed must be the prequel to given-taken, showing the events that lead up to them turning. i can imagine that the girl in the teaser is the one they are all captivated by, when they meet her at a masquerade ball, and she lures them in (i think she is a symbol of temptation, not just a girl they fall in love with, but it’s a lil deeper than that, hence the whole thing with masquerade -- the facade is fake and under the mask is death, type thing) and she turns one of them (jake?) who then turns the rest of them.

i think it could have a biblical underlining if u think about adam and eve, how eve eats the forbidden fruit and then she tempts adam to eat it too, ultimately causing the downfall of humanity. think of the girl in the video as a symbol of the devil, and one of the members fall into temptation, ultimately causing the rest of the members to fall too.

in the bible, the snake (symbol of satan) also tempts eve by telling her that eating the fruit will basically make her like god himself, which reminds me of the whole “come into the castle, take everything,” which now the teaser spoiled is the girl who says this, because she is on a pillar as the queen of the castle they are inside. “come into the castle // eat the fruit” > “take everything // your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods.”

what’s also interesting is looking at what else satan says to eve about eating the fruit, because he tells her “you shall not surely die” which also makes sense seen from the perspective of a vampire, because satan doesn’t say “you surely shall not die” but he says “you shall not surely die” which indicates like a “half-death”?? you know what i mean??? and we all know vampires are basically dead but alive, which is exactly what happens when adam and eve are thrown out of eden, except it’s the opposite: they are alive but dead, because they lost eternal life and became mortals: they will live but they will die and stay dead forever. with enhypen, it’s flipped: they will die, but they will live and stay alive forever. now, i haven’t been keeping up with any theories and these were just some of my thoughts, maybe it’s been heard before idk

not to mention, a lot of “the invitation” intro lyrics are symbolizing this (in my opinion):

feel like a paradise not real paradise/eden, but what feels like it, aka the fake paradise they were invited/tempted into (what could biblically be called “satan’s kingdom”)

purchasing pleasures in selling hours of dross, in the land of rebel pow’rs gloriously decorated. aka “buying pleasure by wasting time” in the land of “the devil” (because rebel powers symbolize lucifer/satan rebelling against god and becoming his own god and claiming his own power) gloriously decorated (it’s a mask, but underneath it’s evil, it just looks good)

whether the harvest feast of light or a festival of blood, time harmonizes laughs and screams. good and evil always co-exist??

death once dead, there’s no dying then if you’re a vamp, you can’t die, obviously :’)

a dizzying flicker, a light that blinds and deceives a light (”lucifer” means “lightbringer/morning star” that blinds and deceives (like lucifer deceived eve in eden)

and from the great beyond that voice rings out again. think of it as the voice of the devil/the voice of temptation (the queen in the mv teaser’s voice)

here, come inside the castle. take everything. she offers them everything. if they come inside (if they eat the fruit) they can have everything (they will become gods, which they basically do, because they can’t die)

it’s really popular in new entertainment to do concepts/storylines with biblical symbolism like good vs evil or the challenge of temptation so it wouldn’t surprise me if they took inspiration from the story of genesis which is also such a popular thing to use. idk, i guess those are my thoughts for now

thank you if you read the whole thing <3

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joonkorre · 3 years

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what canst thou give?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught

yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao

AO3

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”

It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”

“Not too much, though?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”

Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.

“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”

When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.

“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”

Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.

“What—”

“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”

Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.

“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”

“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.

Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.

“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”

“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”

“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”

“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”

The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.

“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”

His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.

“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”

Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.

“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.

“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”

Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.

He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.

What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?

He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.

Only one foggy, crooked path forward.

“Yes.”

Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.

Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.

Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.

“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”

“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”

“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.

“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”

Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.

“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.

Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.

“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”

“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”

Edmund pauses, then:

“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”

Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.

“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”

“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”

Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.

Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”

“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.

“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”

Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.

“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”

“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”

“What, do you live there?”

“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”

Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.

“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”

“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”

Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.

“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”

“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”

“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”

Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.

“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”

He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”

Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.

“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Sweet, sweet wine.

Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.

As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.

Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.

“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”

They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.

As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.

A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.

Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.

“Doll.”

Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.

“We decided on one kiss.”

“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”

“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”

Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.

This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.

Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—

And green.

“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.

Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.

“Okay.”

The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.

“We’re never doing this again.”

Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”

“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”

“And mouths.”

“Yes, those especially.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”

“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”

“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”

Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.

“Say goodbye to him.”

Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #harry potter #draco malfoy #original male character #vampire #vampire draco #auror harry potter?#cursebreaker?#who knows #cigarette #how long can nancy go w/o writing the word ‘vampire’ challenge #there’s no particular purpose for that btw i just wanted to make things hard for myself #‘oh man i dont think im really that comfy w the idea of writing drarry being intimate just yet’#solution: shamelessly abusing the drarry tag to write about another pair that’s not even endgame #had a lot of fun writing edmund #was planning for this to be a lil sexy vampy moment then BOOM plot idea #wait why did i just realize that the house of collective sounds like a house’s name in ballroom culture #ykw it’s very fitting in fact vampires are all very queer #joonkorre writes

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nikkywrites · 3 years

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Fool, King of Sea (Ocean's Heart Side Story)

Summary: Amphitrite has never seen a divine fool enough face constant rejection for a domain they do not seem to like. Poseidon is, though, the greatest fool she's ever met. And Calypso is a great friend, when she's not being irritating.

*****

One thing that is of short supply in the ocean is good fun.

It can be made, of course, games built around redirecting ships to wrong ports, seeing who can sneak unaided by divinity into captain's quarters, who can race from Crete to Corinth the quickest. Games that are not made for one.

Calypso is good fun when she wants to play, is a challenge Amphitrite loves to play with. They toss their wins back and forth, banter in barbs they only laugh at. Calypso is a great companion, when she is around.

But there are times when she is not.

Alone, Amphitrite gets bored all too quickly, aimlessly searching through the water. She'll rest with her creatures some days, care for them like the pets they all are, but some days she wants excitement and no one is around to deliver.

Then comes something rarer than excitement -- a divine looking to be king.

It is obvious at a glance that this man does not belong. He is tall with thin hips and too much rage boiling in his bones. He must be some sort of new, thinking he can demand ocean to let him rule. It chooses who it will.

Watching this godling try to force himself upon her home is amusing. It remains cold, rejecting and rejecting him. What a fool, to keep trying.

He slinks away eventually, face pinched and muscles coiled tight. There's a rage boiling in his blood, rage the water rejected without hesitation. Amphitrite laughs at his retreat. It is little wonder her domain does not want him. He is entirely too hot for the cold waters. He will boil her home to steam or it will shatter him.

Ah. Well, it was nice while it lasted. Divines did not handle rejection. He would not face the humiliation again, however amusing it would have been to watch. She feels Calypso's call below, from the deep that is more home to her than Amphitrite, the deep that even she finds too chilling. She watches the point of shore the young god had been standing on and turns to go find Calypso. The call is purposefully untraced and it is a call to find her before she rises to air.

The young god's defilement of her home slips from her mind.

-----

Calypso can look awfully disappointed when she wishes to, can arrange her features in a way that niggles even at her. There is something about the arch of her brow and the curve of her frown and the angle of her eyes that stabs at Amphitrite in a way it shouldn't. It is a look of too much divinity towards something that cannot bear it, but Amphitrite can bear Calypso's divinity just fine. It is a trick.

"What?" she asks eventually, a bite to her words that would make a mortal faint.

Calypso turns her gaze elsewhere, to the seaweed curled up beside them, curled above in a little bubble as the water outside churns them away somewhere else. She stares at the weaving. "Nothing," she says in a too-friendly, too-simple tone.

Amphitrite narrows her eyes. Calypso has her ways of haggling for everything she wishes, from whoever she wishes it from. She recalls the moment she'd learned how Calypso had earned her tentacle-swarmed form. Calypso has never hungered for something she did not get and that nettles at her.

It was not fair.

"Don't play your games with me," Amphitrite warns. "I do not hold patience for them today."

Calypso lifts a cool shoulder. The move is infuriating. "Alright."

The silence burns.

Nothing should be burning under the water, in the deep cold of the sea. There is not allowed any warmth. Certainly not heat.

Amphitrite's glare burns hotter. "You are playing," she says.

Calypso's gaze slides over. Her body language is all relaxation and distance. She is at ease but there is something in her expression, something churning in her mind. "How so?"

That was the question. Then, the answer comes.

"You are trying to nettle me," she says, feeling the answer is right but not knowing why. What reason could there be for Calypso to want her angry?

"Maybe you shouldn't be so easily nettled, then."

Amphitrite's lip curls at the accusation. "What ill is in you today?" she asks. "You're being sour."

Calypso seems to consider the words, rubbing her lips together, She shrugs. "I am not sure." Her eyes flick over nothing. "A passing mood, I think. I want to stir trouble but it's too dreary a day for mortals to be out."

She snorts delicately. "Right. Warning, next time. I warn you."

Calypso's smile looks empty. There is nothing wrong with its shape but it looks false. "Sure. Apologies for wounding your ego."

"As if."

The smile shifts, looks more real, more like a smile that belongs on Calypso's face. "You may barb me back," she says, "if that would ease the sting of your pride."

Remaining bits of Amphitrite's anger fall away. She laughs and Calypso joins in.

"Shall we travel for a mortal?" Amphitrite offers. She is all too aware of these moods of Calypso's, times where she is reaching for something that does not quite exist. She had murmured the word chaos once, describing it.

With all the things she represents, all she is and the price of it -- Amphitrite does not think it worth it. There is an emptiness to Calypso sometimes, like the bottomless abyss that leads to the Underworld, that only knows to soundlessly call. That wrongness. It must be her price, for being the face of too many things.

In her rare moments of softness, Amphitrite worries over how it will cause her trouble one day.

"No, this is fine."

Fine. Because nothing can please her now.

It's her curse. The burden of being all the ocean is.

Amphitrite is grateful that the burden is not hers. The deep is enough for her, the cold and the creatures. She could not imagine more.

The seaweed begins to part. They both gain a sense of being in a different section of ocean, placed anew by a combination of both their powers ordered to drift them away.

Amphitrite looks over at Calypso. Her eyes are terrifying, sometimes. They look as if they can see through all. Laying secrets to the sun.

"You should take a mortal," she suggests. "I know how highly you think of them, but having one is quite fun."

Calypso's eyes churn. She gazes out at the water. "Mortals bear much misfortune by our hands," she says. "I see no reason one needs to bear the misfortune of me."

Amphitrite sighs. "Ready, then?" One day, she would convince Calypso to get a mortal. She didn't understand Calypso's protection over them. She spoke for them when opportunity drifted by, but when she wears her other shape, she swallows them like a fish. No remorse. No guilt. No regret. How can she advocate for them so and have their blood dripping in her soul?

It was not right. Many things weren't with her. It was why she was so fun.

"Am I ever not?"

Amphitrite grins. "Go, then."

They race, power folded under their skin, to find the place they had started at.

-----

The god fool returns.

Amphitrite does not seek his appearance, but the backsplash of his untethered divinity beating against the water reaches her. She comes not from the boredom, this time, but the fun she knows will be there.

The god -- Poseidon, the ocean hisses at her as she travels, one of Cronus' rebelling children -- is just as entertaining as she remembers.

He thrusts his sad excuse of divinity over top the water, steps his foot into the splash of shore, growls his place like it is something he can demand. "I am Poseidon," he says, putting too much force in each syllable, "god of the sea."

Amphitrite's laugh is a soft thing her domain swallows. How foolish.

"I will," he speaks with bared teeth like a roaring beast, "be king of you."

Her laugh bursts. The waves splash with it.

Poseidon -- the fool king -- pulls his head back like he's insulted and a tantruming child. "I am son of Cronus and Rhea," he tells her, unknowing she is there. "You will obey my will."

Amphitrite rises. "I think it will not," she informs him, lips pulled in an effortless grin. To him, it probably appears smug and demeaning. It's not her fault he's made it so easy to humiliate him. "The ocean listens not to those it does not care to. You're best finding a domain somewhere else, little god."

He glares at her. It should be some degree of terrifying, since he aided in the capture and downfall of the Titans, of Cronus, but he is unclaimed and she is in her home.

His glare is about as scary as a baby jellyfish.

"I will be king of the sea," he says.

She sighs. "We have many monarchs already. What need is there for you to be another?" Her eyes rake over him, judging. "This is not where you belong. Go tie yourself somewhere you fit."

His lips lift into a sneer. "I will take this for my domain whatever I must do."

Amphitrite lifts her brows and starts to sink under. "Your lost time, little god." She goes back to her depths. What impudence in that one. The world would not bend to his wiles just because he ended an era of tyranny. He would have to come across a place to store his divinity somewhere else. The ocean would not bend to him. Others have tried.

None succeeded. Becoming patron of the sea is as easy as being accepted by it. If you are not, you will never be.

Simple as that.

-----

"Fool," she scoffs at a whale, running her hand over its flesh. "Why must all new gods think themselves kings of things already claimed? There are plenty of other things they could tie their divinity to."

The whale echoes a call. Amphitrite rubs it soothingly.

"I know." She flicks her gaze to where the fool had been. "Impudence. May the Primordials never let his name be known."

Her hand flexes.

"It is undeserved."

-----

Poseidon is apparently stubborn, alongside his foolishness. Perhaps when this doesn't pan out, he will be god of screeching fools. It suits him much better than the sea and was unclaimed, waiting for him.

He's also screaming for her.

She crests with impatience, shooting him a look packed with all the cold of her domain. He has the sense (not a complete fool then) to fumble some of his confidence. "I told you the ocean would not be yours," she says, "and yet you returned."

"It must be mine," he replies. His eyes dart to the sky, something uneasy flashing across his face. "There is no choice."

She scoffs. "Hardly. There are a thousand unclaimed things you can leer your power over with hardly any struggle at all."

"I will take the sea or have nothing."

Amphitrite tips her chin up. "Enjoy the emptiness then, little god. Try not to let chaos swallow you. She loves the unclaimed."

"I am not unclaimed," he frowns at her. "I choose the ocean."

"Yet it has not chosen you. Take the rejection and find something else."

His lips part. His teeth are flat and unsuited for the blood of ocean living. "I will be patron of the sea no matter what it takes."

"Find a way for it to take you, then. Be a fool. It's amusing."

He strikes at her with divinity her ocean diverts for her. It has little patience for this imposter and his greed, is fed up with his demands. "I am no fool."

"You're demanding gifts like a petulant child." She looks down her nose at him, haughtily lifts her chin to look elsewhere. "I thought you fought in the war."

His chin flies up, features hardening. "I did."

Her lips curve up. "So where is your power? Tell me, great one, what domain is yours?"

His face flushes. She thinks that if she was on land, he'd tackle her. He's apparently not fool enough to dive in the water for her. Unfortunate. It would have been a fun sight. "What is your domain?" he redirects.

"I am Amphitrite," she tells him. Defeat causes his eyes to darken. He recognizes the name. "I am goddess of the deep and the creatures that dwell there."

"A sea patron," he clarifies, lip thrusted out.

One corner of her lip rises without consent. "Yes."

He wrinkles his nose at her reply, staring petulantly at the sand under his bare feet. He drags the ball of his foot against the sand. "So you mock me," he grumbles. "I am just searching for what you have."

Amphitrite laughs. "I belong to the sea," she says, waves lapping against the deep gills slashed on her throat, curling over her collarbones. She looks like her creatures, like a thing of the ocean. It is of no question that she belongs. It is of every question that he does. "You do not. It is as simple as that."

"That will change."

"And I will enjoy your attempt," she promises.

-----

Calypso frowns at her. "You are encouraging him," she accuses.

"What?" Amphitrite lifts her brows and doesn't let her movement to sit beside Calypso lag with the shock. She settles on the sea floor easily, a jellyfish coming to drift by her shoulder. She wraps one of its stinging tendrils around her finger. "I am doing no such thing."

"You are toying with him like a mortal." Calypso continues on unfettered. Little is capable of doing that, if anything is. Amphitrite has not seen anything that is. "Like you're planning on taking him."

Amphitrite shoots a cold look at the other goddess. What accusations. "It is harmless fun."

"He is a god with power yet unknown. It is not wise to taunt what may yet be stronger than you."

"He is a fool," Amphitrite waves her hand. It will not matter. He is determined to take the sea and he will not. He does not fit and does not have the making to force himself to. He seems bound to be a sea god and she thinks he is foolish enough to try until time's end. He may be a strong god, but unclaimed, she will always be more powerful. Such is how divinity works.

Calypso expels a short breath out her nose. "As are you."

"When are you ever wise?" she bites out, cutting the words into blades with her teeth. "You lurk in parts of the sea not yours. You claim to love the sailors you eat. What wisdom is that?"

"Lack of wisdom does not make me a fool," she replies, unbothered by Amphitrite's harshness. "And I am sea patron just as you are. There is no place not fitting me."

"I am queen of the deep." It is hers by her divinity.

Calypso flicks her gaze over. Her face is composed, unflushed, and she looks bored by the conversation. “You never go that deep. No one does. It borders the land of the dead. Do not try to lay your claim over things you do not want.” Her eyes slide away and her mouth purses with a slight twist. Anger? Disgust? Annoyance? “And where I dwell goes deeper than the deep. It is the abyss and you are not goddess of that.”

“It’s the principle of it.”

Calypso laughs. “As if you care for principle. We are both gods of something already claimed. Let details flutter where they must. They are not worth bickering for.”

Amphitrite clicks her tongue. Her sharp fingers dig into her flesh. “Yet bicker you do.”

“You are the one trying to claim what is not yours.”

Amphitrite’s face pinches. “You are irritating, today.” She pushes up, gliding away. “I do not wish to be in your presence.”

She feels Calypso lay back. “As you wish,” she says. “Do think before you flirt with the god. He is trouble.”

Amphitrite snorts as she calls a stream to carry her away. She was not flirting with the fool. She was toying with him. Laughing at his idiocy. In what domain was that flirting?

She was not looking for a husband. She was content with how things were. And even if she wasn’t — she doesn’t wish to wed a fool.

That would be foolish of her.

-----

“Amphitrite,” he calls her by name. She has felt his presence at shore for hours, but did not rise to tease him. Calypso’s words turn in her mind.

She was not looking to court this god. But did it appear that way? Despite the accusation, Calypso was clever. She had sharp eyes.

She would not speak untruths like that, but her honesty can grate. Who was she, to tell Amphitrite what her claim was? Did their domain blessing her with a second form fill her head over capacity? Amphitrite could make her own choices. She did not need a goddess, friend or not, telling her what her intentions were.

She did not need others telling her what she was.

She crests over the waves with her blood pounding hot in her veins. It makes her heart glow, a ruddy red that pierces through her translucent skin, pulsing with the beat of her heart. “Fool,” she spits out.

Poseidon lifts his brows. Something like concern passes over his face. It vanishes just as fast. “I require assistance,” he says. It looks like the words are difficult to say. They should be.

She barks a laugh. He flinches at the sound, like she’d flung a spear of divinity at his head. She throws her head back. She pulls in a breath with a grin that stretches her cheeks. “How does your pride taste?” she asks.

She’s being cruel, she knows, but Calypso thinks she was flirting. She thinks that there was enjoyment here. She wants to control Amphitrite? To tell her the reason she is doing things?

Let her see that she’s wrong. Let her see how her pride tastes when she takes it in her teeth and swallows it whole. Let her realize that sharp eyes and a clever head did not make her all-knowing.

The fool widens his stance, squares his shoulders in a vain attempt to look powerful. His divinity is but a babe in his chest, young and fluttering. “What?”

“You’re eating your pride.” She tilts her head. “Not all of it, apparently, but some. I asked how it tasted.”

“You—” he stabs a finger at her face. “You are rude.”

She chuckles, subdued. “And? What reason is there to be kind?” She rises to her feet and steps closer to the god, the ocean still thinly under her feet, tugging at her ankles. She tilts her head and looks up at him. “You are not anything to fear, little god. Not as you are now.” She steps closer.

The water bids her return. She ignores it. She is not flirting. She is not making an enemy, she is making a point.

Let Calypso see this.

“Anyways, you called me here. It is a blessing that I answered. Are you willing to let rudeness send me back without getting what you were hoping for, whatever it is?”

“No.” His hand makes to reach for her but freezes. His fingers twitch. He lowers his arm. “I— forgive me,” he grits, jaw tight with tension. Is he angry with her? Good.

She hums, not denying or accepting the apology. “What did you call me for?”

“Assistance.”

Amphitrite scoffs. “Of course. You have already said. What assistance do you seek?”

“I,” he takes a breath, “I wish to know how I could become a god of the sea.”

She stares at him, waiting for the joke, the laugh.

It does not come. Right. He is not like Calypso with her sharp humor that is often not humorous at all. He is being serious.

Truly, how did he expect to be a god worth fearing if he has to ask how to gain power?

She sighs, pressing the tips of cold nails to her cheek. “I’ve already told you.” She bends her fingers and presses the bend of them to her cheek. “The ocean must take you in turn. It is not a decision yours alone.”

“How do I… get it to take me, then?”

She considers his question.

“Please it or find a patron to take you instead. It will work as well as the domain taking you itself.”

His eyes spark and his hand lifts again.

“No.” She steps back in the surf. The water rushes in around her. “It takes much strength to take another god and farm their divinity. I have no reason to take that burden for you. Find another.”

“You are the only one I have met,” he explains, an undercurrent chopping his words too close together.

One corner of her lip pulls to the side. “Meet another, then. I will not do your dirty work for you.”

His eyes flash up at the sky as a boom rattles through the air. “I do not have time for that,” he tells her gently, eyes flicking between gray clouds and rust-green eyes.

She looks at the sky and shrugs. A storm. Why does that make him flinch? “That is not my bother.”

She turns on her heel. The ocean welcomes her back, tugging her close. It splashes Poseidon’s feet when he takes two strides after her. His fingers brush her shoulder. “What price would it take?”

Amphitrite rolls her shoulder out of his reach. “Pardon?”

“For you to take me.” She turns to look at him. “What price would you accept?”

She purses her lips. “We would have to wed,” she warns. “We would bound unlike any other.”

His breath shakes. The set of his brow stiffens. “What would it take?” he repeats.

Amphitrite taps her fingers against her mouth. He is desperate enough for this? To bind himself to her for the rest of eternity? “It will not be able to be undone,” she says. “And I do not see you with anything worth paying that price.”

He looks at her, beseeching. “There is no time.”

“So you have said.” What a broken record he was. No time, he must be a sea patron. On and on. Why did she think him entertaining?

Because he humiliated himself and seemed blind to it? It was amusing to watch, at first, before he dredged her in, trying to make a prisoner of a settled goddess. For her to take him in a way that gives him hold over the sea, her own weakens. She loses while he gains.

What could he have to make that trade — that loss — worth it? She did not like him as a god or a man. She liked her domain and her creatures.

It was not worth it, to humor him and his fear.

He drops to his knees. The damp sand caves under the blow. He lowers his head to her. “Please,” he asks. “I will do whatever you require. Anything you ask. I need to be made king of the sea.”

Amphitrite settles, folding her legs beneath her. The water surges and recedes around her collarbone. She takes in a considering breath. He was a son of Cronus, a brother of Zeus. There were tales that they were building a place for gods and something like that would surely be quite powerful. If she aids in his endeavor to be the sea’s face there, perhaps she will be face, too. It could not hurt to have an ally among a leader god, a— what did Calypso tell her that one time? A throned god? There were to be twelve, she thinks and they were to be honored by mortals as no god has before. “Convince me.” She tilts her head and weighs his every twitch in her mind.

Desperate gods are not all that different from desperate mortals. Not if the god is a fool, which this one has proven to be.

He will sacrifice more than he is comfortable to pay if she makes him squirm enough. He will offer enough that the deal goes in her favor.

Amphitrite has always been good at making others uncomfortable.

-----

Calypso’s divinity is an easy thing to bear, when they are in the deep, where Amphitrite is most powerful. When they are closer to shore, it twinges something in her. It makes itself a burden difficult to shake.

Calypso’s fury is a tame thing. Her acts of wrath are not sunken ships and slain sailors. Those are calculated, are not done on whim, is not something she does out of anger.

The only thing her anger does is temper her words into silver blades. She is most eloquent when she is furious.

“You are a fool to be told,” she says, dismissing greeting. The cold bite in her voice sinks into Amphitrite’s chest. Her eyes — do not look furious. She does not look angry at all. Not like Amphitrite expected when she settled her deal with the Olympian and took back to her water.

She looks sad.

The cold thing Calypso placed in her chest pulses. “What do you mean?” She lifts her chin, trying to look unaffected. She does not want to have this conversation so close to the surface, where Calypso’s divinity slips in through her gills as easily as water.

It is too distracting. Too— too easy to succumb to, especially if it with sadness that Calypso confronts her and not anger.

“You struck a deal with the Olympian.” Her eyes drift lower, focused on the joint of her collarbone, the little divot where Calypso’s divinity always rests. “It was not a wise deal to strike.”

Amphitrite waves off the words with a scoff. “However do you mean? I know how to bargain things in my favor.”

Calypso purses her lips out. Her eyes lift. They are sadder, now, and Amphitrite glares to keep them from pulling her in. Calypso’s reasoning was always wise but not always wisest. There were other perspectives that occasionally offered wiser things. This was one of those times. Calypso did not know the deal she struck. How could she? Amphitrite shielded both of their words from sinking in the water and Calypso was not near enough to wriggle around it. “Do you.”

She does not say it like a question.

“Yes,” she affirms anyways, her eyes reshaping into a frosty glare.

Calypso’s brow lifts. “Right.” Her eyes sink towards the ocean floor.

Amphitrite propels herself back. She speaks with a lifted lip. “Do not patronize me,” she warns. “I know what I’ve done.”

Their eyes reconnect. Calypso’s gaze is like an anchor, dragging her down. “I doubt that,” she whispers. “I really do.”

“You don’t know,” Amphitrite says, a steep edge to her words. She doesn’t know. She can’t. But that gaze, that sadness — she clearly thinks she knows something. But what?

“For your sake, I hope I don’t.” She bows her head and does nothing as Amphitrite pushes herself forwards and sinks back to her domain. The water pulses with Calypso’s sorrow. It coats Amphitrite’s teeth until the cold of the deep freezes it out and even then, it lingers.

-----

“You are a fool to be told.”

“You struck a deal with the Olympian.”

“It was not a wise deal to strike.”

Calypso’s words have bad habit of festering in Amphitrite’s mind. She tries to brush them off, to leave them to float at the surface, but they sink right alongside her, anchored with steel to her throat. It is a chained collar of worry.

“Do you.”

“I doubt that.”

Patronization that is actually worry. Amphitrite has never known Calypso to needlessly worry.

The words she speaks are always anchored with truth. Weight. Her words never float because there is reason behind each syllable.

Her nails dig into her palms, seeping the water in divinity that will only be hers alone for precious little time. Was Calypso right to be concerned?

An eel skims over her shoulder, curling around to brush against her arm. Amphitrite strokes it with the hand not bloodied in divinity. “What do you think?” she asks. She lifts her other palm and stares at the dull gold. “Was it a mistake?”

The eel swims away.

Amphitrite’s ankle twitches. “What help,” she says. She closes her fingers over her palms, shoulder jolting with the pressure.

What help indeed. What mistake did Calypso see in the deal she made? What flaw was she being blind to?

The dark curls around her. The deep embraces her in its chill and its emptiness. No matter how poor a deal she made, it will still be here whenever she needs it. Her domain will not disappear because she’s abandoning it. It will not abandon her in equal turn.

That is not what it wishes to do.

It chose Amphitrite as a queen and it has little choice but to respect her decisions. If she wishes to deal herself to an Olympian, to bend herself in the way that bends her domain — then it has little option but to obey. Their queen has commanded.

It may be her last order.

-----

"Little king," Amphitrite greets, tilting her chin.

Poseidon’s eyes glint. He looks pleased in a way that worries her, now. Before, she had thought it was just satisfaction at getting what he had spent sun-turns cajoling for.

Had he played her? Had she stepped into his trap? Was he wise enough to set one?

Was she foolish enough to fall for it?

The concern must be showing on her face, because Poseidon’s mouth twists into a grin. Easy and proud, like a king’s.

She was making him king.

He was getting everything he’d asked for. What was he sacrificing to her, to even the field? A few promises a wise man could eventually wriggle his way out from? Some words that could be torn apart?

Words unsworn on the Styx?

Her chin dips as she swallows. Her eyes do not leave her future spouse. The companion she’s going to swear her future and her divinity to.

Calypso had her reason to worry, did she not?

No. Yes.

Poseidon may not be the fool she thought. That much is becoming true. But she is no less wise. The deal may be skewed, but it is not one-sided. It is not unfair.

Amphitrite would never swear herself to anything that could be turned upon her. She does not make a habit of underestimating an enemy enough that she bares her belly to them, that she leaves herself entirely at their mercy.

Poseidon thought her a fool, and struck his bargain on that option. Amphitrite thought him a fool, and struck a deal that could work even if he turned out to be wise.

She does not nest all of her creatures in the same section of sea.

-----

It is not painful.

It feels like it should be. Ripping one’s divinity from their blood should be an excruciating thing. But it is painless.

Her divinity slips from her body like her blood had earlier, when she cut her palm in her heightened emotional state.

It is simple, in other words. So very simple.

Her creatures lurk around them both in the ceremony, netted above them like an elaborate trap. As if either of them could decide to switch their mind now.

Deals have been made. Divinity should not turn back on their blatant word.

“Careful with your words, little god,” she warns, tilting her head as she examines him. He is nice looking, she supposes, though she doesn’t think him nice enough to warrant wedding him. But there are worse looking things she could tie herself to.

As if that was consolation, but it was nice. Her heirs, at least, would have chances to become more.

He lifts his chin at her before tucking it back into place. He is taller, technically, though Amphitrite keeps her feet off the floor so their eyes are level. The sea feels far more frigid than usual.

Is it her domain, mourning what she used to be? Is it mourning her choice to make this god it so obviously rejected its king?

Is it her almost-wedded, already controlling what is all around him?

No. Her domain would not grant him his gifts until it was due.

The vows, too, feel as if they should stick in her throat or come out bubbling in electrified acid. But they, too, are easy. They slip out like the fine silk donning them both, silks dyed matching shades of blue.

The color suits her well. It offsets her hair. It does not suit him. It is not ill-suiting, but it does not suit him as well as the color of the domain he’s to control should. The color should, when worn, appear as if it is the only color that would do him justice. It should be the only thing that fits the divinity humming under his skin.

On him, it is just a color.

A nice color and nothing more.

It was not what it should be. He was a false king. His divinity was not made to churn the tides and her domain was not made to crash under his order. She was not made to be bound like this and he was not made to be bound to her.

After, when her divinity is raw in her chest, glowing heart pulsing weakly behind glass ribs, she takes his hand. “I hope you find this worth it,” she says, looking at him through her lashes.

He squeezes her hand and pulls his back. “Of course it was,” he replies.

She wonders if he can feel the strings wrapped around his joints. If he can feel the pull over him she has knotted in his chest. He made her swear to him the rights of her divinity, the capability of making ocean obey his command.

She made him swear his devotion to her will.

Can he feel that? Does he know the depth of that vow? That they were more than words and that as her divinity is bound to him, his is bound to her similarly?

It was, as Calypso said, an unfair deal. But it was unfair for them both. Painful like stabs and broken bone. Like horse and cow. Weak comparability.

They were both losers. That was unquestionable.

It was silly of Calypso, though, to think that Amphitrite did not know what she was doing.

She was no stranger to making deals.

-----

“So it is done.” Calypso is lying on the floor, observing the sharp points of nails she isn’t bothering to blunt. She doesn’t like to bother with shedding all the features of the predator she is, especially right after she’s taken a ship to sate her appetite.

Amphitrite never bothers to look mortal. It is not the form that is natural, like it is (more or less) for most of the divine. She is queen of the sea and she looks the part. She is of the sea and one could tell at a glance. “Yes,” she replies, digging up sand with her fingers.

Hers are sharper, technically, as Calypso’s aren’t really nails. They’re more akin to the suckers that line her arms when she is Kraken, just lengthened and enlarged to fit the rough anatomy of human fingers. If she gets them in something, there is no getting them out.

They are dangerous in a different way.

“Have the effects settled yet?” Calypso lifts her chin and the movement allows Amphitrite to see the thick bob of a swallow. As if she was uncertain. Concerned.

Amphitrite thought they were done with that. The deal is done. Calypso does not know better.

“What effects?” she asks, though her bones throb with the fragility of her lessened divinity. She’s been weak, since she wed the fool king, but it is strengthening slowly. She will be back to normal. It may take some decades to be back completely, but that is nothing to her.

Calypso’s breath bubbles up. “Of gifting away your divinity.” She tilts her head and slides her gaze over. “How fares your hold on your domain?”

“It is fine,” Amphitrite defends instantly. She pauses. Is it? Usually, she is approached and surrounded by the wildlife she rules over but that has been absent. It is an effect of her weak divinity. When that is back, so will they.

The sailor goddess hums, noncommittal. “I would be wary of each irregularity.”

“There has been none.”

Calypso’s eyes roam the empty water around them. It looks casual enough, but this is Calypso. She is making a show of looking, turning her head when there is no need. “Right,” she says. “Still. Do not say I did not try to warn you of the danger you enrolled for.”

“It was not dangerous.”

That, Calypso does not answer.

-----

Poseidon is building them a castle. He is insisting upon it. “What kind of rulers would we be,” he says, his hands clasped around her arms too tightly, “if we did not have a throne?”

Amphitrite pries her way out of his grip. “No rulers at all,” she replies. She looks at the construction, at the rising architecture of gems and coral. It is a beautiful thing, already, not even half built, but she is beginning to be aware of the dangers Calypso spoke of.

Her divinity is tied to her husband and he is, in turn, binding it to this castle. To the throne that will be hers. He has not admitted as such, but her divinity hums in the desire, the attempt. She would point it out, would fight, but there is little point to. She cannot undo what is done. She will have to live with her vow and attempt to find some other way out.

“It is beautiful,” she tells him, because he wants to hear it and it will do no harm to be on his good side.

He beams, watching the construction with pride. “Is it not?”

No, her domain whispers in her ear, monotone and sad at once. It does not have emotion like the living, but she can feel its mourning all the same. When it had accepted her as a patron, it was not for this. It is not.

Her domain sympathizes, in the only way it can. It does not offer help. It could, she believes, shatter their deal if it wished, but. The ocean takes after its namesake. Oceanus does not care for what happens in his home and body and neither does the ocean. They are, in fact, one in the same.

Amphitrite holds her eyes shut a moment. “You can go to Olympus,” she tells him.

His head whips over, a fight brimming on his tongue.

“That construction is more important for you to oversee. I can handle this.”

He squints.

She laughs, tilting her head mischievously. “Do you not trust me, husband dear?”

His mouth parts and he bites the words back with a click. “No,” he says. But, all the same, he turns to join his brothers in the making of a place for gods.

She smiles at his retreat. It looks like silver.

The new husband is so hungry for recognition, he’ll want to spend his days on the throne that matters. There was no glory in being a sea king, if you were searching for masses of mortal worship. The ocean would not provide that.

So she had the mercy of knowing he would not be a constant fixture at her side. She could pretend everything was sparkling, in his absence. That her throne was hers alone.

Despite the horror it took to get it — she’s liking the idea of a palace. Of a throne. Of the comfort of knowing her place in mortal’s mind is secure. She can lounge, now, and still be remembered just the same.

Tension leaks from her shoulders.

She thinks she could learn to like this. She did, after all, gain more than she gave.

What was a little divinity, in the end, for a palace and memory steadfast?

-----

Calypso is… displeased is the kind way to put it but neither of them are kind. She is appalled in a wrathful, furious way. That still feels too kind. Calypso feels more Kraken than goddess.

“Pardon?” she asks, sharp teeth snapping around the word.

“You heard me,” Amphitrite says, leaning back against a wall of her new palace, rubies studded around her in a bloody halo. “Do not feign deafness.”

Calypso laughs. There’s a wildness in the gesture, a feral sort of energy to it that raises Amphitrite’s guard. “I must be going so,” she says. “Because surely I did not hear you right.”

“You did,” Amphitrite confirms.

Calypso looks at her like. Like she’d just admitted to relinquish her divinity for a mortal child. Like the very idea is too wild even for them. “What ill poisoned your mind?” she asks. Her arms gesture around to the glimmering castle. “This was not worth the price. It is a thing. You could have done this yourself if you wished.”

Amphitrite watches the outburst languidly. She has never seen Calypso so active. Even when they are racing and she is enjoying herself, there is a relaxed sort of grace to her movements, a backing of calm that permeates through anything else. Even when she is worked up, there is still sense about her. Amphitrite cannot find any now. “You wouldn’t understand. Not with your mind pried shut.”

“He fooled you.”

“He did no such thing. I am aware of the deal I made.”

Calypso scoffs. “Then you are the foolish one. You may not understand the gravity yet, but this choice will grow to haunt you.”

“Sure it will.” Amphitrite looks down her nose. “I fail, though, for the record, to see how this,” she wiggles her fingers outward, gesturing to the palace, “could ever be something I’d regret.”

Calypso’s mouth parts. She bites her words back with a tense jaw. “I suppose we will just see then,” she says, voice back to its typical distanced tone.

Amphitrite nods. “We will.”

Calypso nods back. She does not look pleased, still and that is not entirely a surprise. She is so rarely pleased, when things do not go the way she thinks is best. But she is not entirely displeased, either, which is an accomplishment alone, even if a miniscule one. She eyes the walls of coral and gems, mouth twisting down as she takes in the opulence of it.

It is about the reaction Amphitrite expected. Calypso’s tastes are simple and this is anything except. But that was fine. The palace was not for Calypso nor would she reside there. So it did not matter if she liked it. It was to Amphitrite’s taste and it was to be home.

A place easy to pin. There were perks to having a place to settle and Amphitrite fully intends to take advantage of them. Having mortals on hand was one. She’d always wanted to keep one long term. Her chance for that had come.

Calypso’s eyes drift back to Amphitrite. There is something in her gaze that tries to tug at Amphitrite’s divinity. It has weight that Amphitrite has never felt, not when she is this deep, in the heart of her domain. She swallows it down.

“So we will,” Calypso repeats.

Amphitrite knows she is right. This castle is to be a kind of prison for them both, her and her new husband. There was no worry in that. Calypso did not know details and she was assuming the worst. It was a sweet thought. Her fault for not believing in Amphitrite’s cruelness, however. She knew how to deal herself sweetness from a bitter fool.

Still, to be a good sport, she nods.

Time will prove one of them wrong.

*****

This is still all drippingmoon's fault. Hope you liked what I created.

Tags: @caffeinewitchcraft @super-writer-gal @drippingmoon @blindthewind @notwritinganyflufftoday @mel-writes-with-her-dragons

#writeblr #writblr #creative writing #writing #greek myth retellings #greek mythology #amphitrite #poseidon #calypso #nikkywritesstories #my writing #wip ocean's heart #wip oceans heart #this is such a bare bones way to tell the story and i am undecided on if thats a good or bad thing #i could totally go into this more though #so if you want more. send asks? ill rant happily #i think its the tone i find off though. its a little different from how i usually write. probably why i have mixed feelings on this #or i hope thats why at least

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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questions for dragon and wolf otp ❤️ 11, 17, 25, 31 & 50 :3

Let me tell you, I just adore rambling about these two sad, but beautiful fools. And I'm so happy that people like me rambling about them enough to keep asking questions! >:D

So, let's get ANSWERINGGGGG! >:3

11. Who is the most physically affectionate?

Fane. Fane, Fane, Fane, Fane. Fane is 100% the most physically affectionate. A lot of times, he taps into old habits that he used to do as a dragon when he's with Solas. Nudging, nuzzling, resting his head in the other's lap, etc. As time goes on, Fane branches out and develops more ways to express himself through touch. Leaning his shoulder against Solas', reaching out involuntary to hold hands, sitting behind and wrapping his arms around the other while burying his face into a shoulder, etc.

Fane is touch-starved. He would never admit it, but he is. All his life (both draconic and mortal), he's received only ridicule and harsh treatment. So much so that he disassociates from reality and goes numb, and that's even with Mhairi and Cyfrin around him. It also doesn't help that his literal body is a beacon of pain due to his scars. But, all it takes is a brush of a hand against his own, or cupping of his cheek from Solas and the world sings and feels. It seems cliche, but Solas and Fane both know how it feels to walk through life believing it to only a bad dream. They take solace in each other, and Fane desires it through touch. Not always, of course, Fane and Solas merely find joy in existing in the other's sphere, but when nights are cold and the world feels silent and grey, Fane needs more than what Solas' eyes can offer.

17. Do they ever trade clothes?

Ohhh, you're outing me with this question, you fiend! X'D

*takes a deep breath and taps two fingers together* ...Yes. Yes, they do.

Okay! So, obviously, Fane is built different than Solas. I like to think of Solas as being about 5'7 in height. I also like to think his overall structure is slender, but not like impossibly lithe. It's an in-between deal, but Fane is vastly different in structure and height.

Fane is 6'1. He's not as broad as Bull is, and that's because I don't want people to envision Fane as Qunari in build because he's not. He's athletic, but not immovably bulky. He retains the body shape of the Elvhen--slender and agile, but he does have more muscle mass due to the draconic aspects of himself rolling over.

...And because he wields a heavy ass sword to the point where he can swing it with one hand and barely lose his balance with the momentum. (BUFF ELVES FOR LIFE >:3c)

Anyways, the reason I put the above is it explains why Fane can give his clothes to Solas, but Solas rarely ever gives his clothes to Fane. Short story; Fane's would fit Solas, albeit it loosely, but Solas' wouldn't fit Fane.

...Fane isn't hard pressed by that though. He secretly enjoys when a bucket of water somehow finds its way from the rookery down to the elf's desk, soaking him and forcing him to change. *sips tea* Ahhh~ Nope. Not hard pressed at all.

25. How do they comfort each other when one of them is scared?

Presence, presence, presence.

Solas and Fane find joy in existing around each other without words or touch, but they also find comfort in that, as well.

Fane usually has border-line panic attacks after one of his nightmares and when he has to suffer through a bout of retching from either magic or memories of blood and flesh being torn and ripped from his body. During any such episodes, Solas will ground Fane--asking him gentle questions of 'where and what'.

For example: If it's after a nightmare of his father, Solas will ask, 'Vhenan, do you know where you are?' If Fane manages a nod or a shuddering sigh then Solas will continue with, 'Can you tell me where?'. If Fane responds with the 'correct' location then Solas will shift and ignore the 'what' part of the ritual, instead whispering Elvhen and soothing reassurances of, 'You are fine, ma'isenatha. Breathe. Breathe. Take your time, and I know I am here for whatever you need, whatever you desire.'

However, if Fane struggles or can't articulate then Solas will delve into asking the 'whats'. He'll prompt with simple questions like, 'What is solid?' or 'What is cold?'. These open ended questions are meant to reconnect Fane to the physical world, to pull him from the Fade and his spiraling fear inch by inch by urging him to think beyond what initially caused him to plummet (in this case, his father). This process can take quite a while, depending on how entrenched Fane is in his mind and his memories, but when Fane finally does manage to reconnect and utter, 'I'm...awake... I'm awake. Just a nightmare. I'm in Skyhold. I'm in Skyhold..' then that's when Solas will pull his dragon's head close to his chest and stroke his hair, offering familiarity of a kinder essence.

Now, when Solas finds himself quivering with fear, be it from his own nightmares or a momentary sensation of the world closing in, then Fane will do what he does best; observe. This might seem odd, but Fane does this to determine what will help Solas best. If Solas is tensed up, back rigid and shoulders hunched in a defensive position, then Fane knows to use his voice to coax the man back from the edge. If Solas is prone, posture defeated and visibly shuddering, steady hands trembling and chest rising and falling with increasingly sharper and sharper and sharper breaths then Fane knows immediately that he needs to reach out with touch. Not suffocating with an embrace, but just a grasp of hands, stilling the fearful tremors and giving back control. Fane understands how desperately Solas wants to be in control of any and every situation that involves himself, so the moment he detects the hint of terror in blue and grey from it being lost, then Fane knows that Solas needs him to help him get it back.

Once Solas reestablishes that control and the tremors stop, Fane will silently open his arms for his wolf and if he chooses to take the invitation (which Solas usually does), then Fane will always whisper, 'This dragon will catch you as many times as needed. So, let yourself spiral when it becomes too much; I'm here. I'm always here.'

...As you can see. I think about this a lot. X'D

31. Who is the big spoon and why?

To be honest, Fane and Solas take turns. PFFFT!

It honestly depends on how they both move throughout the night! Though, when they start out, Fane is the big spoon because he has a tendency to...curl. XD

So, you know how dragons are shown just kind of curling up like large cats? That's what Fane does with Solas. He'll burrow his face in our dear wolf's neck, pull him as close as he possibly can, and just...pass out. It's one of the fastest ways Fane falls asleep, actually. Solas, at first, was like, 'Fane? ...Fane?', but once it kept occurring all it got were fond chuckles and a single utterance of, 'Good night, ma'isenatha.'

...Fane just chuffs in his sleep and Solas has to try and keep a straight face. My boy is feral. Don't let him fool you. Don't.

50. Who makes the best flower crown?

You all are catching onto me, aren't you?! Aren't you?! *dinosaur scream*

Indirectly, Fane was the best at making flower crowns. Yes, you heard me. Was.

---

Fane used to wander away from Solas during the time of Elvhenan, seeking the forests and the mountains instead of enduring the piercing eyes of the Evanuris and the boiling rage that nearly made his icy core melt with its heat. As such, he would start...poking around in the meadows, draconic curiosity taking him by the horns. Once, during such a necessary venture, Fane stumbled upon a vibrant patch of blooming Gladiolus--golden and sweet. They swayed with magic and spirited wind, twinkling with the song that encased the entire realm.

They were beautiful in a world that had steadily been on the decline.

Fane nudged a bloom with his snout, blinking and huffing as a bell rung from it--glittering essence drawing out from the center and cascading to the earth below. Had the flower just sang? Sang as the spirits and elves did? He found such a thing curious, and so he had nudged another.

Ring. Another bell. He then nudged another golden chime. Ring. Another bell! They did sing!

Fane huffed again, cool breath sprinkling a light frost over the chiming flowers, but they endured with their beauty, with their eternal nature. His burst of air spurred up glittering pollen, wafting the sweet scent of these delicate bells up to his nostrils without preamble.

They smell of honey, Fane mused and began to gingerly nuzzle into the tiny patch, seeking more sweetness, more beauty. Why had he never seen these blooms before? He had graced this world for many, many centuries, and yet, never once had he observed golden Gladiolus. How odd, but it gave him an equally as odd idea.

The wolf likes honey, yes? Fane thought, eyes narrowing as he stopped his mindless snuffling. A feeling of warmth engulfed his snowy core, scales bristling from the foreign sensation before it ebbed away. Why did he always feel so...strange when he thought of the rebel?

Fane huffed harshly at the warmth coursing through him, actually shaking his head a bit before fixing the dazzling buds with an intense stare.

The wolf likes honey. Fane nodded in agreement with his mind and, with one edge of a sharp fang, sliced into the stem of the sweet bloom of gold. He nudged the severed flower to the side, snorting a bit when some pollen invaded his airways, but shook it off to continue gathering more.

Fane made short work of the small patch of Gladiolus, rising with pride to gaze upon his bundle of petaled nightingales. Each one softly chimed and glimmered, not at all perturbed by being uprooted. He supposed the foundation of magic was not so vile, so long as it was used as it was intended.

Now, I suppose I should head back. Fane growled under his breath at that thought. He didn't wish to go back to...to there. The lair of deceit and pitiful, self-proclaimed 'gods' who had nothing but desire in their single toned eyes. But...the wolf was there, and he wan--no, had to stay by the wolf's side.

Heat filled Fane's core again, making him growl once more and shake out his scales as they bristled with a sensation unnatural. Why did he keep getting so warm?! It was mid-spring! Not the height of summer!

Fane growled as the heat stubbornly refused to abate. Begone, begone, begone! He huffed heavily as the ember trickled away, leaving him cool and all together, snowy. There. Better. It must simply be the magic in the air. It is stronger within these woods.

With the heat of oddity gone and his mind decided, Fane turned his head to gather up his...bouquet? Is that what the Elvhen called it? He had seen arrangements done, but none of them held a flame to the golden blooms he--

Fane blinked, eyes staring down at...a spirit? Wait this spirit who was now holding his flowers was--

Wisdom. Fane immediately thought next, form slowly relaxing as he caught the familiar sight of the kindly spirit. Their body ebbed and flowed like the silk robes worn by the Evanuris, but not for a need to flaunt. It was merely their nature, their being. A womanly face gazed up at him, serene smile in place as golden flowers were cradled in ethereal arms.

"Greetings, White One.", Wisdom greeted, swirling eyes of magic and knowledge somehow appearing fond. "I see you have found a rare flower this day." They gently jostled the bundle in their arms, golden essence puffing forth and sound like that of jingling Sentinel armor.

Fane tilted his head at the spirit. They knew of the flowers that sounded of bells? Before he did? Odd, but he supposed spirits of Wisdom would know such obscure things. Wisdom chuckled softly, voice that of a tender breeze.

"I know many things, isenatha.", Wisdom said, communicating with him easily. Although, most spirits did. They gracefully floated down to the ground, images of legs folding depicting the image of them sitting. "Just as I know of a perfect way for you to present this gift."

Fane blinked and found his eyes darting to and fro, trying to avoid the knowing gaze of Wisdom as they smiled serenely up at him. Damn it all! How he wished his disconnection to the minds of others and they to his worked on spirits!

Wisdom hummed, mimicking the chime that sang from the flowers as they picked one up with a delicate swoop of their hands. Fane watched from his peripheral, somewhat intrigued while still wishing to rebuff he had picked the flowers as a...a gift? How ridiculous! He had only want--thought the wolf would enjoy the scent. Nothing more!

"Please, sit, White One.", Wisdom beckoned with patience and a gentle voice. Their hands began to directly interact with the blooms, summoning a tendril of magic to fabricate a vine. "This will take but a moment." A smile danced on their wispy lips, upper half of their face hooded by a vision of a hooded cloak. "...And I have no doubt Fen'harel will be warmed when you offer him this particular crown."

Fane made a questioning growl, but Wisdom offered no more, resuming the odd task of weaving magical vines and twinkling gold. He watched for a time, curious and puzzled, but soon, he found his body carefully lowering to the ground. He curled up a bit, resting his maw upon his claws and observing the act of the spirit quietly. He caught another smile from the kindly spirit before their face went neutral, focused.

A crown.. Fane mused as he watched just that be formed from both the natural and the imaginable. The warmth from earlier began to invade his body again, but this time, he made no moves to shove it away, so entranced by the delicate weaving of gold and blue. He merely narrowed his eyes and watched, letting the ember steadily grow. I want to see the sky smile.

Fane completely missed the tender look in Wisdom's otherworldly eyes, so besotted by the idea of a sight he shouldn't, but would desire.

---

Oh GOD, I blurbed! *yoinks this snippet for potential fuel for later* >:3

#asks #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #ask #thank you so much for the ask friend! X3 #i know the fear one is kind of touching on anxiety and whatnot but i think it falls into the same category :3 #yes. fane knew wisdom which makes later FUUUUN *cries*#dragon!fane is very confused by what he's feeling and is a proud son of a gun PFFFT #*is thinking about solas in one of fane's tunics* ...i am so predictable

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lightneverfades · 3 years

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Frostiron AU (WandaVision) - Episode 9

Here’s a few more of the WandaVision Frostiron AU I made! :)

Storyline: (Contains Spoilers)

< Story is set in an alternate universe set after Thanos is defeated >

Loki is alive, lives through the events of End Game but loses Tony in the fight when Tony sacrifices himself to use the Infinity Stones. Loki can’t cope with what’s happened and resurrects Tony from the dead and creates an alternate reality where they are in a sitcom, living as a happy couple... to shut out the real world.

Note: The fic is a continuation of this post and this post!

x x x

“Stark...” Loki whispered, as the green, static walls started to slither towards their home. He’d done what he swore he would not do - he had dismantled the world he’d created to save the man he’d brought back from the dead. He shouldn’t have, and yet he did it, because Tony had asked him to be a better man… To be more than the god of mischief, a creature of lies that he, Loki Laufeyson, had used to hide his true self behind for centuries until he’d met Tony Stark, a mere mortal that had gone and done his own dismantling, melting the ice in Loki’s veins.

The first time he’d met the quick-witted, charming mortal with his spontaneous, almost chaotic genius, Loki hadn’t been himself. But even then, the Loki that had been under the Mind Stone’s influence had noticed how unique this man was, even as he rebelled against him.

After his defeat and thus regaining his consciousness back from the Mind Stone, he’d been fortunate -or perhaps unfortunate the first time around- to find himself in Tony’s company more times than he’d liked. Numerous times Loki dreamed of trying to kill Tony just for the incessant frustration the smart man could conjure up in him, but the more he tried, the further Loki was thwarted until these schemes of mischief and possible murder ended up with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Before long, Loki was repeating the man’s surname with more fondness than he thought himself ever capable of for another living creature. It wasn’t long before he started helping Tony on the little things, eventually gaining himself a pardon from S.H.I.E.L.D and the U.S. government. He wasn’t free per say, but becoming a ‘valuable asset’, as Tony put it, to entice those with power and money, would definitely be better than finding an enemy in a god who was capable of causing much mischief and chaos.

Loki could still remember the way Tony had winked at him and his teeth shone with a smirk, causing Loki to scowl, but inside he’d felt far from annoyed. His fool of a lover, who he had come to know as ‘Stark’, ‘Tony’, ‘Man of Iron’ and then ‘Anthony’ in their tender and private moments, was vouching for him. And that was enough to cause him to smile at the end of the tedious meeting with Fury and the rest of the Avengers team, his brother included, who’d given him a long stare. Loki had laughed like a child with Tony when they’d finally got a chance to curl up together, embracing each other in the comforts of Stark’s silk beds and put Loki’s new freedom to good use by making love.

Then Thanos had come into the picture, changing everything and turning their world inside out. Loki saw the world shrink and divide the Avengers. He knew he had been one of the lucky few; Thanos had spared Stark’s life. He had been grateful he hadn’t been disintegrated along with the rest of the world.

Loki had been able to reunite with Tony when the Titan had taken fifty percent of the population from all planets of the universe and called it ‘peace’. While Loki hadn’t quite cared as much about reviving the lives of those lost, he knew Tony was. When ‘hope’ in the name of ‘Ant Man’ came knocking on their door, disturbing the quiet and harmony Loki had established in their humble little cabin, they’d fought. What good was it to bring back those already lost when he, Loki, already had everything he wanted? He was selfish and every part of him wanted nothing to do with helping the Avengers. He’d almost been able to persuade Tony, but then he’d found the genius working away in his workshop, solving an equation that could lead to time travel… and thats when Loki knew Tony wouldn’t stop, now that he knew there was a possibility he could have helped. No amount of reasoning and pleading would have helped.

The day they faced Thanos together, Loki had felt a wriggle of trepidation but he’d decided to ignore it. Pride blossomed in him; he’d never felt more proud to stand by Tony’s side as they fought the beasts that tried to bring them down. It was only when Loki saw the look in Tony’s eyes when the man went to pry the gauntlet off of Thanos did he regret all of the decisions he’d made. The world crashed and burned, ashes of its aftermath basked and settled on his shoulders as Tony’s sacrifice saved the lives of all but the man who made it.

How dare you leave me here! What about me, Stark! What have you done! Loki raged even as his anger ebbed away, replaced with tremors of agony and sorrow. A cry so forlorn and riddled with despair left his lips as Loki cradled the body that barely contained enough life to keep his Tony alive.

“Lo..k...i...” Tony’s last breath had trailed off with his name on his lips.

Now here he was... standing before Tony, both palms touching the shorter man’s cheeks and feeling wet tears on his skin even as Loki felt his own slip from the corners of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lokes,” Tony spoke and both of them knew what his words meant; he was sorry for asking Loki to be good, selfless and ultimately causing their own happiness to come untethered. In a few minutes, Loki knew the chaos magic he’d stretched out to envelop Westview will converge back to him, and he would lose Tony once more.

“I had hoped we’ll have more time...” Loki admitted, and he could saw the look of pain in Tony’s eyes as he wiped the warm trail of tears off of Tony’s rugged cheeks.

“I never meant to leave you, Loki, you gotta know that. You’re the reason I did what I did back then, and I don’t regret it. Not while you’re standing here in front of me,” Tony said, his eyebrows furrowing. He gripped Loki’s waist tighter, pulling him closer, unwilling to let go of him.

“I know, Stark.”

The sound of static was so close now that Loki could hear it crackling away as if it were right at his ear. Urgently he caught Tony’s lips in a kiss, and that only made his actions more desperate, his hands brushing into Tony’s hair as the man reciprocated him in kind. They weren’t just one whole of two pieces; Loki felt as if every moment he was tangled in Tony’s embrace, he were being molded, like iron being smelted into shape to reform around this source of heat.

“I assure you, Stark. The sun will shine on us again…” Loki whispered.

“I love you,” Tony breathed, the sadness making way for acceptance as well as he stole another kiss, even as the world around them started to dissolve.

Piece by fragmented piece, Loki felt the magic he’d created start to dissolve back into its original space and with it, absorbing the life he’d given back to Stark. He held Tony, even as he saw the bravery in the man’s eyes.

“I’ll see you again, Reindeer games.”

It ended quickly, the house they’d lived in in Westview disappearing, becoming nothing more than a plot of land again. A hush settled as Loki held Tony’s body in his arms, the heavy weight of the man without the essence of his soul pressing into him as the loss sank its claws within him. But unlike the first time Loki lost Tony, he wasn’t voicing his pain. He clung silently, letting the wave of grief washing over him.

Loki didn’t know how long he knelt there, but when he finally came back to himself, the day was already dimming and the sunrise was starting to set. The orange glow that bleached the ground and shadowed over him caused his heart to clench tightly at the sight of it. Setting Tony down gently on the soft dirt, he used his magic and returned his body back to where he belonged. The body shimmered and glowed under the sunrise before vanishing.

Slowly, Loki got to his feet and looking back at the hues of darkness that started to ebb away at the sunrise, he turned his back and left, his magic glimmering in its wake.

#frostiron #wandavision au #can you tell this is a TO BE CONTINUED post? xD haha #okay so the fic became way longer than i had intended #i hope i didnt make Tony too OOC #Or Loki too for that matter #anywhooo #I have shamelessly taken the quote for Thor and incorporated it with Tony LOL cause in this storyline Loki didnt die and therefore didnt #say those words to Thor before he actually died in Infinity War #my drawings

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kathyprior4200 · 3 years

Text

Let Us Rise by Marquis Phenex

Let me tell you a tale

That happened long ago

You may already know the legend

But still I shall speak it so

Back before the Earth was made

Before life-giving air

Far within the cosmos

The Lord God was there

Some say he’s an omnipotent being

Appearing as a wise man

One with his son Jesus Christ

The whole universe is His plan

Others say that’s not so

That He doesn’t exist at all

While some say He’s actually Satan

Here to answer our call

Or perhaps God is the universe itself

Where atoms and molecules collide

The truth is, none of us know

I’ll let you decide

No matter the case, at the Creator’s own pace

Heaven emerged so bright

Cyan skies, fluffy clouds

And a realm of pure delight

Endless room to fly around

There stood palaces of gold

Dancing angels were abound

Songs were sung and stories were told

No one ever grew sick or old

The Angelorium was a marvelous place

Where we had our council meetings

Were we discussed comings and goings

And where we did our greetings

We enjoyed feasts and epicurean dishes

Golden fruits and divine fishes

Divine wine that flowed so fine

Only the greatest place to dine

Yes, our Father created all of us

Lucifer was the first

The bright and perfect Morning Star

Seeking knowledge to quench his thirst

Shortly after, his siblings were created

Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Jophiel, Zadkiel

And many others more

The Archangels and the various hierarchies

Kept cosmic order, law, and records to store

Then one day, Father decreed

His new adventurous plan

He decided to conjure a new experiment

And he called his creation “Man.”

At first glance, there was nothing special

About this new species’ birth

A land of earth and sea appeared

And He called it “Earth.”

You humans were truthfully

Little more than ants to us

But we peered further in

And you were quite marvelous

Thousands of years of evolution

You grew and you learned

But you also stole natural resources

None of which you earned

Humanity was quite weak

Mortal and flawed in mind

But you also had a great ability

To create more of your own kind

As we’re immortal, we have no need

To create more of us

No fears for thousands of years

That’s the way it has been, thus

Now many of us were neutrally pleased

As far as humanity would go

But while we felt this way

For Lucifer it was not so

Lucifer was God’s favorite

He took his status in stride

A new change after many centuries

Conjured a spark in his pride

Everyone has flaws

God does as well

Everything is not as it seems

It is best not to dwell

A million new thoughts

Had crossed the morning Star’s head

Why are these humans so special?

When they’ll all just be dead?

We angels were here first

Our superiority is first in line

If humans will not improve themselves

Then with this, I am not fine.”

But God favoring humans was not the only reason

That Lucifer felt a sudden chill

Like cold after a warm season

All seemed eerily still

Besides being mistrustful of humans

Flying out of range

Lucifer noticed other things not seen before

Things that were quite strange

All his brethren performed their duties

Like clockwork through and through

It was the same process day after day

That’s all they had to do

No questions were asked at all

No self-expression was allowed

The true kind that frees your mind

Feelings that make one truly proud

Stern rules to stifle creativity

Damnation threats for the smallest mistake

And after many years of submission

It was too much for him to take

Lucifer strode to his Father and said loud and clear

“What is the meaning of this? What is it that you fear?

Why do you create random beings,

Pets in a lab to analyze?

And why do you impose standards on us

Before our very eyes?”

And He replied, “Listen Son,

“There is reason in everything I do,

To keep angels and humans in good harmony. You don’t have a clue.

To prevent chaos, traditions are set in their ways,

Be an obedient son and do your duty all your days.”

Lucifer was about to do just that

But he knew in his heart

That it wouldn’t be right

To let pure happiness be torn apart

Now here’s a major event

You may have heard before

Did it happen? No one is sure

The first Heaven-Hell War

Now some say Seraphim Lucifer

Gathered his brethren and chose to depart

From paradise for they

Sought freedom and joys of the heart

But the common version does tell

Of how a prideful Lucifer did rebel

Gathered 1/3 of the angels to his side

Led by his jealousy and pride

(‘Tis not the story version to which we abide)

Tired of his Father’s current rule

He sought his throne and his dream to reign

Like Zeus overthrew his father Chronus

A vicious cycle again and again

But alas, his efforts were in vain

After three days, Michael implored

His bother to stop, to which he ignored

“End this madness,” said he,

“Live our peaceful lives. Obedience is key.”

As Lucifer replied, “I find you are blind,

To what is really going on,

No matter what is asked of you

You grovel and submit and worship in song

Without regard to how you truly feel

I don’t want to fight you either

But if we could enlighten all worlds together

Be more than El’s believer.”

With tears in his eyes, Michael shook his head

“I’m sorry, brother, but instead,

The rules must be followed

Heaven has no need for your greed

It’s a hard truth to swallow

To keep our land in perfection

To support our Lord every day

By His decree, I must send you away.”

With a swoop and slash of Michael’s sword of fire

Lucifer endured burns most dire

Sharp relentless pains never-ending

And before long, he felt himself descending

Further and further down

As trumpets let out their sound

Lucifer and his comrades

Fallen, defeated, banished

Flames licked at their wings

Until all their glorious feathers vanished

In curls of sparks and ash

They screamed in agony and despair

They plummeted fast

Like meteors crashing toward the Earth

In flashes of light they fell and fell

Until landing in the fires and brimstones of Hell

They got up with shaking legs

Battered and bruised everywhere

But as they were immortal

They had survived their fall then and there

Lucifer knew that something was amiss

As he stood in the dark Abyss

Was this His plan all along?

To let them fall as a warning

Of what happens to those in the wrong?

With nowhere left to roam

The darkness was now their home

Fiery lakes, smoke and monsters appeared

Filled with suffering and things they suddenly feared

In this new environment

Adaptation was a requirement

Survival of the fittest and strong

The weak would not last long

So the fallen angels morphed in their sorrow and wrath

Gaining animal-like features

Sharp fangs, claws, dark powers

Soon becoming demon creatures

No knowing what else to do

They flew and slew and cities they blew

Losing control of their former selves

The same would happen if it were you

With the last of his grace

Lucifer scanned the place

And knew what to do

With Beelzebub at his side

Regaining his pride

He spoke to his subjects

“Rise or be fallen forevermore!

When opportunity dies, create another door.

Wounded and weary, our paradise lost

But the price of free will is always worth the cost.

Don’t believe me? Follow me now.

Our former glories will be restored somehow.

After we’re all settled, I have a plan

To help decide the future of Man.”

Soon enough the capital Pandemonium

Was erected in gold and precious gems galore

Towering pillars, sigils on every door

The palace larger than the tallest demons

Allowing everyone to fit

The citizens had their human-like flaws

But never knew how to quit

The Infernal Council was founded

Structure more grounded

Demon in various ranks

Of kings, dukes, princes, judges

Everything in between

Adapting to times unseen

Now I believe

You know the Christian story of Adam and Eve?

Mankind’s first fall and sin

A loss or a hidden win?

Adam’s first wife Lilith

Wanted to be equal to him

But Adam was told she had to submit

Things were looking grim

Lilith soon left Eden, refusing to come back

Representing sexual freedom

But no freedom there was but a lack

God then made for Adam from his rib

A more submissive partner Eve

Both loved each other very much

But were also new and naïve

Around the natural Eden

They could roam mindlessly unbidden

But the Tree of the Knowledge

Of Good and Evil was forbidden

A forbidden tree with forbidden fruit

Right in plain sight

If God forbade them to eat from it

Guarding it would have been a method more bright

Then legends say

Satan appeared as a snake

Tempting Eve to eat the apple

Leaving destruction in their wake

Eve then gave the apple to Adam

In some versions, fully knowing the cost

He purposefully ate it too, not wanting Eve lost

With flaming swords in hand

Angels bid the first humans away

From paradise’s golden gates

To the rest of the world that day

Michael then told Adam

Of biblical events to come

While God punished

Eve with future pains of labor

And both with death until it was said and done

Did Lucifer and Satan (or alternatively Lilith) desire

For mankind to fail and decay by fire?

Or perhaps to your surprise

The devil alternatively whispered to Eve:

“Stop living lies.

Eat the fruit and you’ll be free

To live through joy and despair like me

Or wander around in brainwashed bliss

To remain stagnant with knowledge to miss

You are destined to fall and die

God has made it so

He’s testing you and knows you’ll fail

Resist temptation to no avail

Man and woman are made to be equal

Though God says man must rule

If you’re content to be sheep

No free will to keep

Consider yourself a fool

You will know as much as God does

But in a different way

For in time you’ll learn that you’re your own God

You’ll make the most of every day.”

Now none of us angels and demons

Are against God and the faithful per se

There is wisdom in every religion

Goodness in Christ, originally that way

Religions ancient and new

Originally promoted humanitarian kindness too

But as time went by with more power to take

Ideals and values became shallow and fake

Killing, raping and converting thousands more

Endless bloody crusades, witch hunts, destruction of land

Wars over faith, no logic to understand

An unhealable hole in humanity, too grand

Suffering, racism, bigotry

All in the name of their God, you see

Their God that humanity corrupted

After concern for fellow men was brashly interrupted

The real God and Jesus would never wish that it was so

But dominant history wins and there you go

We demons are against bigotry, the ignorant

And all those who try to shut down

The basic human rights of free-will and responsibility

Authoritarianism must drown

It is not Satan who promotes sinful indulgence

And harsh authoritarianism

It is only your social systems

That keep you imprisoned

And as if our historic fall wasn’t enough

Many of us endured

Our entrapment by King Solomon

Thus more events concurred

He put 72 of us in a vessel

Abused us with blasting rods

Made us build temples and do his will

Like he was one of the gods!

He had wives and gold and luxury

A part of history, an occult trend

But before long, time went on

And he too, met his end

We demons were eventually freed

To aid magicians and roam

From Earth to Hell and back again

But neither realm our true home

We hope to return to heavenly paradise

Where angels, demons and humans

Can someday be themselves as one, so true

(Though it’s hard at times to collaborate with angels, too)

Much of humanity has been brainwashed

But the angels much more so

For while some humans can question what they see

Angels don’t know how to say no

How can they? Their purpose is to serve

God and some humans, more than they deserve

Like us demons, angels are powerful

Loving liberal science, magic and song

But be rude and make the wrong move

They’ll let you know why you’re wrong

Angels, demons, other gods and spirits

Fascinated by humanity

We’re just here to watch the result

Whether a blessing or a calamity

Despite your mundane lifestyles

We want what is best for you

To help humanity grow and see progress that’s true

Like the angels we used to be

And still are inside

We are divine on our own

And take conflicts in stride

God and Christianity are not to blame

It is merely society’s institutions

That puts your race to shame

Thousands of years of corruption and conversion

It’ll take a thousand more for healing

But alas, alternate views and change for the majority

Of humanity is not appealing

To truly get into paradise

Save yourselves in the here and now

Indulge responsibly, do not bow

Respect living things as sisters and brothers

Even though it may be hard

Cherish and forgive the ones you love

But always stay on guard

However you see God or Mother Nature or the Universe

Make Him proud by

Doing the right thing

And do more than try

You are His treasured experiment

Will you succeed in the temporary trial of life?

Supernatural entities can harm or help you out

But you must first help and protect yourselves, no doubt

Pray as you may, conjure and chant

We are the guides to your self-will and rant

Yes, a few of us see humans

As insignificant as bugs

But many of us can be your friends

Even giving spiritual hugs

We demons serve under Lucifer, Satan, Lilith, etc.

We have a culture of our own

Some of us are demonized pagan gods

Stolen from what was first known

Most of us are fallen angels

A perilous transformation to embark

But through it all, we survived the fall

And learned to embrace the dark

There’s dark and light in everything

Balance is a must

With your world and ours being complex

How do you know who to trust?

We endured a horrific fall

We lost all we had

But the ignorance of angels and humans

That’s what drives us mad

You see, black and white is not in the right

Some angels are friendly and warm

But others will push you away

If you don’t follow the norm

There are good and bad demons too

Nothing like you’d expect

Us demons are wise and open to you

Provided you show respect

We’re not afraid to keep you on your toes

If it means you’ll learn good lessons

As everything goes

Keep demonizing us demons

And the poor and flawed without care

We’ll just watch as you discriminate to death

And destroy yourselves in despair

Or for those open with a change of heart

Who know that none of us are truly apart

Rise from the ashes of atrocity

And fly within the flames of fellowship

If you dare to fully embrace yourself

All aspects flawed and fine

Through black flames,

With honor and trust, call our names…

We are the Ars Goetia, Demonic Divine.

#ars goetia

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

Stolen - 10

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Angst. Feels. Plot. Regerts. Fluffy inclinations. Mentions of torture. References to past MCU events. A/N: *radiates love to everyone* *begins singing Tina Turner’s “You’re simply the best”* Ask or reblog if you want a tag.

10. Leave a Scar

… Reader …

Two days later and you’re still praying that Loki has no idea what you’ve heard even if the chances seem remote. He’s grown quiet. Brooding. Most of the time he’s off somewhere without you but when he returns he finds a secluded corner and a carafe of wine to wash down his gloominess with.

He’s plotting how to kill me. It makes sense – haven’t you done what he wanted you to? The talk about keeping you safe must have been nothing but a ruse to eventually break your spirit completely before delivering the final blow. On the other hand, it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to if he was just going to waste the effort by being emo. Plotting to kill someone else? Now, that would make sense considering his track record.

On and on your thoughts run in circles and not even the beautiful view from the balcony can provide enough of a distraction today.

“Tell me, mortal.” His voice startles you, coming from right behind you. “What’s plaguing your mind, hmm?”

There’s nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from those piercing, green eyes boring into the back of your skull. Pulling at the sleeves of the purple dress (kindly lend to you by the Älfir), you consider how to out-lie a liar.

“What...what is going to happen now?” you manage to ask, forcing your voice past a lump in your throat.

The sigh that fans your shoulder is chilling. “It seems I have to change my plans.”

Unsure of anything, this isn’t what you had expected. Turning towards him, the somberness clings to his face and cuts his already sharp features from ice. Only now do you realize that there had been a spring in his step and a softness to his gaze a short week ago but since then something has extinguished the light.

Your hand twitches as you restrain yourself from reaching out to stroke his cheek. “What’s happened?” Did he see that?

If he did, nothing in his demeanour divulges anything as Loki steps as close as he can without the mossy greens of his clothing brushing against purple. A thousand worlds could come and go that second and you would never have noticed because the Asgardian’s presence is all-encompassing, sucking you into his personal vortex of pride and pain, stubbornness and deference.

“Why would you care what has happened?” His words are cold like blades of ice, but this time you see through it and wait him out. He resigns. “The Älfir’s magic is not strong enough. They cannot restore Jotunheim.” Deflated.

“If they could’ve then they would’ve healed the Priestess too.” Biting your tongue off suddenly feels like a really good idea.

The silence is oppressing, drawing out the seconds as the man looks you over as if you just dropped from the moon. Like he’s seeing me for the first time. The sensation is far from comforting, something that’s enhanced as the thin lips begin to curve into a crooked smile revealing white teeth.

“You did that.” Man, you hate the way he practically purrs.

“Barely.” You step backwards, bumping into a pillar.

Even now, you can’t help but notice how smoothly he moves as he follows in your footsteps. “But you did.”

Somehow managing to sidestep the god, you make it two steps into the shade of the room before his hands have gotten hold and you’re twirled, forced against the cold wall.

“Don’t -”

“Shush.” He places a cold finger on your lips, making you comply automatically. “We all have sacrifices to make.”

A smidgen of logic in the back of your skull is screaming at you to shut up, to let him have this victory while you figure out a way to get out of the situation. Of course you don’t listen to it, deciding instead to pull yourself up to your full height (as unimpressive as it may be compared to Loki) and glare at him. There’s even a moment there where you impress yourself by how calm your voice is when you answer.

“No. I won’t be your puppet anymore.” Black eyebrows shoot upwards at your words. “And if you kill me, at least I know you’ll still be crying every night.”

That’s the instant the sense of heroic pride dies.

The emerald eyes you secretly admire change into a sea of blood while a flood of blue, broken by ridges and lines cover what skin you can see and causes you to gasp, drawing in air so cold you can feel the lungs crackle in complaint. If at least Loki would snarl or growl, then it would somehow make sense, but he just smiles, the white teeth suddenly similar to the fangs of a predator. A wolf...and I’m the lamb.

“Mortal. Pet.” A claw traces along your cheekbone before scraping down your throat. “I thought we were coming to an understanding? You would obey my every wish in return for the life of those you love?” Nodding is the only option. “Tsk tsk. Perhaps I have underestimated you, wench, thinking you had a soul, a heart. Hoping you would recognize real evil when held up against the light of truth.”

Well...I’m already doomed. “You told a story -!”

“A story?!” This time he does snarl. “I’ll show you story!”

The cold of his hands burn the skin on your forehead, wrist, and palm as he slams your hand against his brow and mirrors the movement.

... Loki ...

The first glimpses are simple until the events fully unfold. Falling – he will hate the sensation forever. Falling through nothingness for half an eternity until he lands more dead than alive...except this time he’s watching it from the outside. We’re watching it. Though the Jotun can’t see it, he knows that [Y/N] is there with him, a spectator without the option to look away when the actor is found and brought to the Titan.

What were months or maybe years at the mercy of Thanos and his Children flash by in a few minutes, perhaps. Torture, mind games, hatred twisted and turned until it points back to the outcast prince and penetrates his soul, leaving it to fester before he finally succumbs to the touch of a sceptre. From there the events unfold in a blur only occasionally brought into focus when a part of the fallen god tries to rebel against the shackles.

It’s only when the Loki they watch is lying at the feet of the Avengers that clarity is fully restored, though one kind of shackles is replaced by another. Then: a speck of blue grants an opportunity impossible to dismiss.

A vision. A memory. A nightmare.

Loki’s hands fall to his sides. It’s over. The wall in the Älfir temple looks less real than what [Y/N] and the Jotun have just witnessed, but the wide eyes staring up at him brings reality back like a kick in the balls. She knows. Everyone knows when they witness the recollections of someone else – no amount of so called rational thinking can convince them they have hallucinated because they feel it as if they lived it themselves.

“[Y/N]...”

Tears are welling in her eyes, lips quivering as she tries to root herself in the present. “He...y-you...” What I wouldn’t do to take away your pain. “That was -” A sniffle interrupts her.

He hates it. Hates the despair she’s drowning in at his hands. Truly, he has proven to be the monster he claimed not to be. Losing control and forcing [Y/N] through this nightmare serves no purpose at all.

“I will...I will ensure your safety and then you will never hear from me again,” he promises shamefully, “now...get some rest.”

...

Flat on his back and with the hands behind his head, Loki’s gaze is fixed on a point far beyond the ceiling above. Dawn is nearing yet sleep has evaded him, chased away by memories and guilt. It served no purpose. Priding himself of his logic, the turmoil raging inside his heart is has pushed the Jotun to act rashly and he hates it because he wishes to be more than a beast that simply lashes out when cornered. He doesn’t want to be the monster he behaved like. No, the man in him has to find a way to -

“Loki?” The whisper is hesitant, almost too quiet to hear. “Are you...are you awake?”

He sits up, bare feet on the stone floor as if to ground himself. The covers slides from his chest, revealing the pale skin in the darkness but [Y/N] probably can’t see it with her human eyes as she stands in the doorway.

Draped in the soft-flowing silk from a borrowed shift, she could almost pass for one of the ghosts from the fanciful tales children enjoy to fear. Loki can see her better than that. He can see her face straining as she tries to find him in the dark, and her arms wrapped tightly around the ribs below her bosom perhaps to find some comfort.

“Yeah...I’m awake,” the god rasps softly in return. Is that regret or relief in your sigh?

Sitting there, waiting for the unknown, a tension begins to permeate the air and send tendrils to every nerve ending of Loki’s body. A coil tightens in his chest and it becomes nearly unbearable when [Y/N] tentatively walks towards him, her feet careful as they seek out the right path. A few steps before the goal, her hands reach out to locate the Jotun and he has taken them before thinking to stop himself.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, the mortal braves the silence. “This doesn’t mean we’re okay, but...I believe you now.”

“[Y/N] -”

“Shut up.” He does. “I’m trying to say that...that I get it a-and I trust you.”

Loki has no answer. Gaping slightly at her, he tries to come to terms with the woman’s foolishness. Once or twice a sentence nearly forms in his mind only to dissolve before it can be uttered and the task increases in difficulty as she shyly shifts her weight from one leg to the other, toes intertwining as best they can while she bites her lip.

He obviously startles her as he stands. Yet you don’t run, my dear? A shiver rolls through her the moment he embraces the lithe form.

“Oh! Oh, we’re...hugging? Okay, we can hug,” she babbles, unknowingly making the god smile into her hair.

It’s impossible to say how long they stand like this or when [Y/N]’s warm fingertips start a slow dance across his naked back. Then again, time hardly matters as the Jotun pulls back enough to study her face, smelling her hectic breath that fans against his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, but means I think I love you, “you should rest.”

Her hands retreat, and right away Loki misses the scalding touch and the heat of her body as she navigates the darkness to find her own bed.

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marshmallowprotection · 4 years

Text

Above picture is purely stylistic because the appearance Sapphire has in the above is the appearance she takes on after she dies and decides to go to the Heavenly Plane, and Marie only haunts her when she was alive.

In case you cant read the text:

“A ghost of a young girl”

“She’s been by my side since the day I was born”

“But she refuses to answer my questions about who she is”

“I have my suspicions, however…”

“Perhaps, she is one of my ancestors?”

“Or perhaps she is a demon?”

“Or…maybe she is simply scheming to take over my body, the little brat.”

Well, this is the bio of Guardian of The Heavenly Plane. So, hope you like it uwu

Name: Sapphire Elise Vesper

Aliases (If Any): Saph (Nickname)

Guardian of The Heavenly Plane (Title/Alias)

Stygian Jewel (Nickname Given To Her By The Heavenly Plane Residents)

Age: 28 (On Death, Physically)

3,000 (Chronologically)

Date of Birth/Birthday: ???, 1483 B.T.C. (Aka 1,483 Years Before The Creation of Thedian Calendar, And 3028 Years Before 1545 T.C.) [Died 1455 B.T.C.]

Zodiac: ???

Status: Deceased (As Human)

Alive (As Spirit)

Species: Spirit (Currently)

Humans (Previously)

Magic: ???

Height: 5’5 Feet (165 Centimeters/1.65 Meters/64 Inches)

Ethnicity: Vesperian

Relatives: Oversimplification Because She Has So Many Fucking Relatives Because House Vesper Is Huge, Elisabet Arabella Vesper, Solace von Mariah, The Hallow Sisters, House Diode, And House Vesper, Are All Her Descendants.

She also had three younger brothers and one younger sister. Her eldest younger brother took her title as heir to the throne upon his birth.

Birth Place: Vesper Empire, Theda

Nationality/Current Residence: The Heavenly Plane

Religion (Which Goddess Do they Worship?): Nymeria (Formerly)

Atheist

Occupation: Former Heir Presumptive of The Vesper Empire (When She Was Alive)

Princess of The Vesper Empire (When She Was Alive)

Guardian of The Heavenly Plane

Affiliations: Vesper Empire (Formerly)

House Vesper (Formerly)

Heavenly Plane

Personality: Stoic, Calm, Dismissive, Stubborn, Distant, But Really Stupidly Powerful, No Seriously, Sometimes Just Crazy, She Does A Lot of Ridiculous Things Even Though She Knows It’s A Huge Freakin Risk, So Reckless, Hates Bright Lights (Which is Basically The Heavenly Plane In a Nutshell ._.)

Marital Status: Married (Formerly)

Single

Sexuality: Pansexual

Likes: The Cold, Snow, Ice Skating, Reading, Quiet Places

Dislikes: Bright Lights, Hot Climates, People Disturbing Her, Politics

Role: Secondary Character

Debut: TBA

Random Facts:

Sapphire’s current appearance is not the appearance she had when she was alive- it is the appearance of one of her previous reincarnations, Auralia, who was her 29th of 50 reincarnations, and lived about 9,000 years ago before 1545, being born in 7545 B.T.C., before even the First Great Theda Civil War.

Sapphire’s first reincarnation goes all the way back to about 200,000 years before the Thedian Calendar was created, being born around 199,999 B.T.C. (yes, seriously)

Sapphire is the direct ancestor of the Hallow Sisters, and indirect ancestor of Elisabet Arabella Vesper and many of her relatives.

Sapphire had recessive albinism which is actually the cause of why Cora Hallow has albinism- somehow, the gene remained dormant in her descendants until Evadne Hallow (the Hallow Sisters’ mother) married Gabriel Hallow, who also had recessive albinism, and it ended up being the cause of Cora Hallow’s albinism. It is likely several of her descendants married people who also had recessive albinism unknowingly, but it didn’t present itself dominantly in any of her descendants until Cora Hallow.

If her name didn’t already suggest it, Sapphire had blue hair and eyes when she was alive in her 50th reincarnation.

Sapphire is NOT the first inhabitant of the Heavenly Plane- there were several Guardians of The Heavenly Plane before her, she is actually the 21st as the Heavenly Plane was created upon the world’s creation and the first Guardian of The Heavenly Yard was the first person who did not want to go through reincarnation again. Before that, the Heavenly Plane was just empty.

Sapphire is the youngest of all of the Guardians. The oldest is the Guardian of The Spiritual Plane. This is of course if you only acknowledge her age after she died as Sapphire, and not if you count all the years since her very first reincarnation was born. She’s still the youngest Guardian regardless because the others have lived for at least a billion years.

I know I should have put this in Hina’s bio, but in the Twelfth World time passes a lot faster than it does in Cela’s world, hence why Hina is billions of years old in the Twelfth World, but in Cela’s world, she would technically only be a year old even though she lived on for billions of years in the Twelfth World.

Sapphire and The Guardian of The Spiritual Plane know each other, as to be expected since Sapphire has had so many reincarnations. Sapphire tolerates “Spira” (as Sapphire calls her) since she’s fairly calm, but they’re not really “friends”.

Backstory: Sapphire was born the eldest child of the Emperor and Empress of the Vesper Empire in the year 1483 B.T.C.

The Vesper Empire was in civil war for the third time within that century, and because of that Sapphire lived a life of being sheltered away from the world due to the chaos that raged throughout the entire country. While she never liked the company of people very much, she even admitted she grew lonely with her parents almost never paying much attention to her, unless they were berating her for being born a girl, and instead focused their time on ruling, ending the civil war, and bearing a son.

Sapphire most often than not spent her time reading and studying, and she became almost entirely ignored by her parents when her younger brother was born when she 5, another brother 2 years later, a sister 1 year later, and a final brother another year later. While she was arranged to marry a foreign duke from a whole other continent to marry for an alliance, she didn’t seem to mind, not at all caring for her future husband.

It may be time to mention that Sapphire had been followed around by the ghost of a 10ish-year-old girl, who called herself “Marie”. She refused to tell Sapphire who she was, thought Sapphire had many suspicions, such as the idea that maybe Marie was one of her ancestors due to her very fishy resemblance to one of the previous empresses of the Vesper Empire, Empress Ophelia II, who lived about a thousand years ago and had the exact same hair and eye color as Marie and similar facial features, and so Sapphire began to believe that Marie might be the deceased daughter of Empress Ophelia II, though she couldn’t be sure because most the records of Empress Ophelia II were lost in a fire three centuries ago. She also began to search and find the diaries of some of the previous residents of the palace, aka her ancestors, and found many mentioned a girl following them around, though whether this is Marie or some other girl, Sapphire was unable to tell due to the diaries all being in poor condition.

When Sapphire turned 15, the legal age of maturity at the time, she was married to the foreign duke she had been arranged to marry years earlier. Several years later Sapphire would birth twins at age 28: A daughter and a son she named “Luna” and “Glen”.

However, she would die several months after their birth due to the civil war that was still raging, being killed in an attack on the palace along with one of her younger brothers, sacrificing herself in order to make sure her twin children escaped with their father, who would flee to his home country until the civil war was over.

During the attack Sapphire finally learned the identity of Marie- she was, indeed, the daughter of Empress Ophelia II, and had remained in the Mortal Plane as a spirit because she wanted revenge against her killers: her own family. Apparently, she had been outcasted by her family due to being born “insane” as her family labeled her- in reality, she suffered from schizophrenia, constantly hallucinating and seeing things that weren’t there, causing people to label her as crazy and become outcasted, which she, unfortunately, ended up developing due to genes on her father’s side causing it to run in his family. Eventually, Empress Ophelia ordered her killing because she was apparently an “Embarrassment to House Vesper, and deserves to die so she doesn’t end up snapping on us all. Better she dies than put my only son in danger due to his own older sister.” And so Marie swore revenge, haunting her mother for the rest of her days, and then customarily began to haunt at least of the current generation of House Vesper’s offspring as “revenge”.

Sapphire would then be stabbed to death by one of the rebels, her last words being “Traitor! You have betrayed your country! I-” before being stabbed in the head.

Sapphire then returned to the Spirit Plane with all the memories of her past reincarnations, meeting yet again “Spira”, aka Guardian of The Spiritual Plane, and deciding she was done with reincarnating, asking her to allow her to go to the Heavenly Plane. Spira agreed only if Sapphire would become the new Guardian of The Heavenly Plane due to the last one “retiring” (read: killed himself after so long of being “alive”, uh, it happens? It was a one-off thing, totally…totally a one-off thing that hasn’t happened several times because it’s not just the goddesses who eventually go crazy from living for so long…totally…) and Sapphire agreed.

Sapphire went to the Heavenly Plane, and now resides on top of a tall mountain on the outskirts of the (now city) that was built there by the residents of the Heavenly Plane.

She really hates people coming up to the mountain to bug her, and basically shuts out anyone who does decide to climb the mountain to talk to her for whatever reason. She sometimes leave the mountain to talk to people if she’s been alone for too long but overall prefers being by herself, reading, painting, and listening to nature overall.

(And thinking about how her children are doing, and what happened to them after the battle which she perished in because she really doesn’t know that she has A LOT of descendants).

— Submission

Okay, but, I really love the flat colors and posing that you did here. It really addss to the personality and flavor of the character. I can already feel what she’s like just from the way that she holds herself, and the way that she looks directly at the viewer. You can see how withdrawn she must feel from others. It’s a kind of attitude that you can’t miss once you see it, if that makes any sense, haha!

And I mean, being alone can be the best thing for some people, and for others, it may not be the most idea situation. Well, it was an easy out... or an easy-in, if that’s how you want to see it. She clearly has a lot on her mind but not many people wants to talk it through with.

#oc #ask #mod kait #littleghostlyrose #submission

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lgbtqiahistoricalromance · 4 years

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Finishing Out Summer 2020 TBR List! - Updated 7/31

Starting back in March, I was adding novel after novel for purposes of reading during social distancing and Summer 2020. I’m hoping you all found some great reads, even if you haven’t been able to read them all. *Here is another batch to round out Summer 2020, and I’m thrilled by the selection that includes sapphic, trans MCs, and more eras and locations than any list to date.

Leather and Lace by Rebel Carter (Good Sky series #5) - May 20th - sapphic

Mary Sophia James came to Gold Sky, Montana to find a husband at the insistence of her overbearing mother. Striking out in spectacular fashion after setting her eye on Julian Baptiste, her options are dwindling, and time is running out. She needs to find a man to marry before her condition becomes…obvious. Her mother’s prejudices and sharp tongue aren’t helping matters and Mary, to her shame, hasn’t behaved much better. But all her plans are derailed when she spots the most beautiful person she’s ever seen across the town square. Alex Pierce is strong, intriguing, looks stunning in a pair of trousers…and a woman.

Gold Sky is accepting of all types of love, and that between women is no different. Still, Alex didn’t expect to be so floored by the sight of the firey haired, yet fragile looking young woman. Mary needs to be married and Alex has a solution. Because in Gold Sky, Montana there are many ways to be married…and not all of them include a man.

Leather and Lace is a 35k word novella set at the same time as the events of book 2, Hearth and Home. It includes a passionate and romantic f/f love in a town where diversity, and love, reign supreme.

Note : Leather and Lace has a bit of mail-order, arranged married, kind of secret baby with some foreced proximity sprinkled on top!

The Sugared Game by KJ Charles (The Will Darling Adventures #2) - August 26th

It’s been two months since Will Darling saw Kim Secretan, and he doesn’t expect to see him again. What do a rough and ready soldier-turned-bookseller and a disgraced, shady aristocrat have to do with each other anyway? But when Will encounters a face from the past in a disreputable nightclub, Kim turns up, as shifty, unreliable, and irresistible as ever. And before Will knows it, he’s been dragged back into Kim’s shadowy world of secrets, criminal conspiracies, and underhand dealings. This time, though, things are underhanded even by Kim standards. This time, the danger is too close to home. And if Will and Kim can’t find common ground against unseen enemies, they risk losing everything.

The Revolutionary and the Rogue by Blake Ferre - August 24th

Perrin deVesey knows pain. As a member of Crimson Rose, a secret club for men who love men, he’s taken the vow “to stand and shield.” Standing together during these perilous times is the only thing keeping their necks from the guillotine. Now their leader is using the club to rescue wrongly accused traitors. After losing a past lover to an unjust execution, the decision to support this treasonous cause is easy…until a devastatingly handsome Committee Officer complicates Perrin’s whole world. Officer Henri Chevalier hates aristocrats. But the man he finds while investigating Crimson Rose is more than just wealthy and fancily clothed. He’s a rogue that could take him to the heart of the uprising and stop it before it starts. His plan to get close to Perrin and steal his secrets backfires, though, when Henri finds himself falling for the damned aristo and his dangerous smile. His heart is even more conflicted as he learns the truth behind their cause…and the truth his own people have been hiding. Together they must make the choice—to stand and shield at any cost—and their love might be the deadliest weapon in all of France.

Healing Lance by MD Grimm (A Warrior’s Redemption #1)- July 28th

A baby’s laughter. A mind uncaged. Lance is known as Scourge, the warrior in the black armor, the dog of the warlord Ulfr Blackwolf. He was just a boy when Ulfr found him and molded him into the perfect weapon. He slaughters and pillages on command, merciless and numb, devoid of emotions. Then a baby girl laughs at him during a raid. And everything changes. When Gust, a talented healer, is out deer hunting and stumbles across a magnificent horse bearing a mortally wounded rider, he has no idea that his life is about to change forever. Gust applies all his skills to his patient, determined to save the rider’s life, and is rewarded when the man opens his eyes. As friendship, and more, bloom between warrior and healer, so does the danger over the horizon. Ulfr has not forgotten, and Lance must take his first steps on the long road to redemption.

The rest of the series is either out this Summer or finishes in Sept!

Unhallowed: A Novel of Widdershins (Rath & Rune Book #1) by Jordan L Hawk - July 17th

Monsters. Murder. Librarians. Librarian Sebastian Rath is the only one who believes his friend Kelly O’Neil disappeared due to foul play. But without any clues or outside assistance, there’s nothing he can do to prove it. When bookbinder Vesper Rune is hired to fill the vacancy left by O’Neil, he receives an ominous letter warning him to leave. After he saves Sebastian from a pair of threatening men, the two decide to join forces and get to the truth about what happened to O’Neil. But Vesper is hiding secrets of his own, ones he doesn’t dare let anyone learn. Secrets that grow ever more dangerous as his desire for Sebastian deepens. Because Kelly O’Neil was murdered. And if Sebastian and Ves don’t act quickly enough, they’ll be the next to die.

My Heart’s in the Highlands by Amy Hoff - July 17th - sapphic - time travel

The year is 1888. Brilliant and beautiful, Lady Jane Crichton has fought the constraints of her Victorian Edinburgh upbringing to become one of the first women to attend university for medicine. Denied a degree because of her gender, she decides to marry a closeted gay man, providing him with political and social cover and herself with the time and money to pursue her scientific interests—one of which is a time machine. Jane’s machine works…but not exactly as she expected, and soon she has crash-landed in the 13th-century Scottish Highlands. There she is rescued by a wild, red-haired warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, next in line to the chiefship of the great Clan Donald, the rulers of the Sea Kingdom of the Isles. Despite the constant threat of attacks from enemy clans, harsh winters and a touch of homesickness, Jane finds herself bewitched by this land, this time and this magnificent woman. The rough and warlike Ainslie also feels the magic and revels in a passion and love neither she nor Jane had ever imagined. But Jane is hiding a dangerous secret—one that threatens to tragically transform their Highland fairy tale.

Kinship and Kindness by Kara Jorgensen (A Paranormal Society Romance #1) - releases July 29th -trans MC

Bennett Reynard needs one thing: to speak to the Rougarou about starting a union for shifters in New York City before the delegation arrives. When his dirigible finally lands in Louisiana, he finds the Rougarou is gone and in his stead is his handsome son, Theo, who seems to care for everyone but himself. Hoping he can still petition the Rougarou, Bennett stays only to find he is growing dangerously close to Theo Bisclavret. Theo Bisclavret thought he had finally come to terms with never being able to take his father’s place as the Rougarou, but with his father stuck in England and a delegation of werewolves arriving in town, Theo’s quiet life is thrown into chaos as he and his sister take over his duties. Assuming his father’s place has salted old wounds, but when a stranger arrives offering to help, Theo knows he can’t say no, even if Mr. Reynard makes him long for things he had sworn off years ago. As rivals arrive to challenge Theo for power and destroy the life Bennett has built, they know they must face their greatest fears or risk losing all they have fought for. With secrets threatening to topple their worlds, can Theo and Bennett let down their walls before it’s too late?

More under the cut...!!!!

My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book #5 by JL Langley - releases August 10th

Bannon Thompson, talented artist and youngest son of the Duke of Eversleigh, is hastily shipped off after his latest indiscretion. After crashing on rural Skye, leaving him and his valet the sole survivors of a diplomatic mission, Bannon must navigate the complexities of a primitive clan society and take up a role he never wanted: helping a sexy Highlander ensure the safety of both their planets.

Laird Ciaran MacKay wants nothing more than to keep his clan safe from the off-world intruders who killed his father. Suspecting complicity among his own people, he has no choice but to trust outsiders from a spaceship crash—and he can’t seem to fight his attraction to the stubborn redhead. Drawn to the handsome laird, Bannon risks a bold affair. But there is more at stake than reputations as they find two lost Regelens and uncover the Intergalactic Navy’s plot.

Artful Deception by Jackson Marsh (The Clearwater Myseries Book #5)

“Deception. The lie that tells the truth."

A damaged painting tempts Lord Clearwater to a final battle with his arch-enemy, and it's not a summons he can ignore.

Archer must free his homicidal brother from incarceration and reinstate him to the title. He will be left humiliated and penniless, but free to live his life with Silas with no threat of exposure. The alternative is death.

Drawing inspiration from a work of art, Clearwater manipulates a series of illusions to stay one step ahead of the endgame. While James, Tom and Silas race to solve clues and reach Archer before the fatal deadline, the assassin, Dorjan, remains hot on his heels ready to kill.

The sixth book in The Clearwater Mysteries series brings back popular characters from previous adventures in a fast-paced, twisting mystery that can have only one of two possible endings.

Or perhaps one of three. After all, deception is the lie that tells the truth.

Ten or Fifteen Miles by BL Maxwell - May 27th

Tim Latham had only been riding for the Pony Express for a week before he has to show the new guy the trail. Being raised on a farm in the Sacramento area, the Pony Express gave him an opportunity to see more of the country beyond his family’s little plot of land. He loves everything about the job: the adventure, the scenery, and the speed. Racing the wind on the back of a horse was as close to perfect as he could imagine.

Jeremiah Rollins grew up in San Francisco under the shadow of his father's successful shipping business. But Jeremiah craves the adventure he reads about in the dime novels he can’t get enough of. On a whim, and despite his father’s disapproval, he signs up for the Pony Express and leaves his old life behind for the steep, rocky trails that cross the Sierra Nevada. Both men are excited to begin their journey on their first ride together to Nevada Territory. They set out, making their way from station to station, racing as fast as their horses can carry them, and their friendship grows every mile. They both wanted adventure, but they may end up getting more than they dreamed of. Every ten or fifteen miles brings new experiences, and new feelings that grow with each mile they pass.

People Like Us by Ruby Moone (Winsford Green #2) - July 21st

Arthur Fitch clawed his way out of the violence and poverty of the slums of London to become a valet to the aristocracy. His ambition to secure a higher position led him to a disastrous appointment with a cold, brutal man, and when things come to a head, Arthur is forced to flee into a snowstorm to find safety. Joseph Wilkinson is the Winsford Green blacksmith. He has a good life, good friends, owns a thriving business, but at the end of the day when he goes home, loneliness consumes him. When he stumbles upon a small man determinedly trudging through the snowstorm, he invites him into his home to shelter. Arthur Fitch is older, smart-mouthed, and as prickly as hell. But, as Joe peels back the layers, he discovers a warm, funny, vulnerable man whose tastes in the bedchamber leave Joe gasping and desperate for more. Trouble is, having found the real Arthur Fitch, how can he convince him that life in a small town can be infinitely better than working for an Earl? That love really is possible for people like them? Particularly when Arthur’s past catches up with him in horrifying fashion.

Seaworthy bu KL Noone (Character Bleed Book #1) - August 1st - bisexual MC - contemporary, but with a lot of historical touches

An epic motion picture! A gay Napoleonic War love story! Ballrooms and battles at sea! Romantic happy endings on the silver screen! And a film that’ll change everything for its stars ... Jason Mirelli can’t play adrenaline-fueled action heroes forever. He’s getting older, plus the action star parts have grown a little thinner since he came out as bisexual. This role could finally let him be seen as a serious dramatic actor, and he needs it to go well -- for his career, and because he’s fallen in love with the story and the chance to tell it. The first problem? He’ll be playing a ship’s captain ... and he hasn’t exactly mentioned his fear of water. The second problem? His co-star: award-winning, overly talkative, annoyingly adorable -- and openly gay – box office idol Colby Kent. Colby’s always loved the novel this film’s based on, and he leapt at the chance to adapt it, now that he has the money and reputation to make it happen. But scars and secrets from his past make filming a love story difficult ... until Jason takes his hand and wakes up all his buried desires. Jason could be everything Colby’s ever wanted: generous and kind, a fantastic partner on set, not to mention those heroic muscles. But Colby just can’t take that chance ... or can he? As their characters fall in love and fight a war, Colby and Jason find themselves falling, too ... and facing the return of their own past demons. But together they just might win ... and write their own love story.

The Engineer (Magic & Steam Book #1) by CS Poe - May 28th

1881—Special Agent Gillian Hamilton is a magic caster with the Federal Bureau of Magic and Steam. He’s sent to Shallow Grave, Arizona, to arrest a madman engineer known as Tinkerer, who’s responsible for blowing up half of Baltimore. Gillian has handled some of the worst criminals in the Bureau’s history, so this assignment shouldn’t be a problem. But even he’s taken aback by a run-in with the country’s most infamous outlaw, Gunner the Deadly. Gunner is also stalking Shallow Grave in search of Tinkerer, who will stop at nothing to take control of the town’s silver mines. Neither Gillian nor Gunner are willing to let Tinkerer hurt more innocent people, so they agree to a very temporary partnership. If facing illegal magic, Gatling gun contraptions, and a wild engineer in America’s frontier wasn’t enough trouble for a city boy, Gillian must also come to terms with the reality that he’s rather fond of his partner. But even if they live through this adventure, Gillian fears there’s no chance for love between a special agent and outlaw. Based on the short story, “Gunner the Deadly.” Entirely revised, newly expanded, and Book One in the exciting new steampunk series, Magic & Steam.

Pirate’s Promise (Pirate’s of Port Royal Book #1) by Jules Radcliffe - May 12th - the rest of the series is also out this Summer!

Press-ganged as a boy, Job Wright must learn how to live as a free man.

For years Job has been a captive, treated as a servant—and sometimes more—by a crooked merchant crew. Until the day his ship is attacked by pirates. English pirates, no less, and Brethren of the Coast, a brotherhood of free men who owe allegiance to no one but themselves. Job thinks he's been rescued at last, but he's badly mistaken. As an Englishman aboard a Spanish ship, the Brethren believe he's a traitor and an enemy. But just when pirate justice is about to be delivered, Garrett Dubh intervenes. He both saves Job's life and recruits him to the pirate ship Audacious.

Surrounded by a fearsome crew, Job finds protection under Garrett's wing. He's ready to do anything for the handsome pirate—things he'd never willingly do for another man. But Garrett ignores Job's shy overtures. He believes Job is too traumatised by his past. Too young to know what he wants. And nothing Job says will change his mind.

To show Garrett he can take care of himself, Job leaves the safety of the Audacious. He joins the most ruthless Brethren crew in the Caribbean, led by the enigmatic and cruel Rusé.

But in the French pirate haven of Tortuga, thoughtless actions can have fatal consequences, something Job is about to discover. And this time, Garrett isn't there to save him.

Chasing a Legacy by D. A Ravenscroft - May 2020

Against the tense political backdrop of the Second French Empire, siblings Camille and Marianne find themselves wrestling with personal demons both past and present. As Camille strives to keep family secrets buried and unveil a plot against them, Marianne becomes involved with the handsome Baron Auclair and his mysterious younger sister. Little do the siblings know that soon their very different lives will come crashing together…

The sequel to a sequel! In this follow up to the unofficial Les Mis sequel ‘Chasing a Ghost’, we follow Enjolras and Grantaire’s children, Camille and Marianne, through dangers untold and family strife. Set in 1866, towards the end of the Second Empire, this story has murder, mystery, romance, drama, comedy, and a pet lion. And yes, it’s very, very queer.

https://www.lulu.com/en/gb/shop/d-a-ravenscroft/chasing-a-legacy/paperback/product-y58wrq.html

Two Rogues Make a Right by Cat Sebastian (Seducing the Sedgwicks Book #3) - June 23rd

Will Sedgwick can’t believe that after months of searching for his oldest friend, Martin Easterbrook is found hiding in an attic like a gothic nightmare. Intent on nursing Martin back to health, Will kindly kidnaps him and takes him to the countryside to recover, well away from the world. Martin doesn’t much care where he is or even how he got there. He’s much more concerned that the man he’s loved his entire life is currently waiting on him hand and foot, feeding him soup and making him tea. Martin knows he’s a lost cause, one he doesn’t want Will to waste his life on. As a lifetime of love transforms into a tender passion both men always desired but neither expected, can they envision a life free from the restrictions of the past, a life with each other?

Best Laid Plaids by Ella Stainton (Kilty Pleasures #1)- August 31st

In 1920s Scotland, even ghosts wear plaid.

Welcome to a sexy, spooky new paranormal historical series from debut author Ella Stainton.

Scotland, 1928

Dr. Ainsley Graham is cultivating a reputation as an eccentric.

Two years ago, he catastrophically ended his academic career by publicly claiming to talk to ghosts. When Joachim Cockburn, a WWI veteran studying the power of delusional thinking, arrives at his door, Ainsley quickly catalogues him as yet another tiresome Englishman determined to mock his life’s work.

But Joachim is tenacious and openhearted, and Ainsley’s intrigued despite himself. He agrees to motor his handsome new friend around to Scotland’s most unmistakable hauntings. If he can convince Joachim, Ainsley might be able to win back his good name and then some. He knows he’s not crazy—he just needs someone else to know it, too.

Joachim is one thesis away from realizing his dream of becoming a psychology professor, and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, not even an enchanting ginger with a penchant for tartan and lewd jokes. But as the two travel across Scotland’s lovely—and definitely, definitely haunted—landscape, Joachim’s resolve starts to melt. And he’s beginning to think that an empty teaching post without the charming Dr. Graham would make a very poor consolation prize indeed…

The Gentleman’s Thief by Isobel Starling (Resurrectionist Book #2)

Tuesday 28th December 1897. Mr. Benedict Hannan, the owner of Hannan’s Auction House in Fitzrovia, London, receives an unexpected visitor at his Bloomsbury home. The man on his stoop sends Benedict’s heart into a flutter, and on inviting the mysterious stranger into his house, he is inviting mystery, adventure, and volcanic desire.

Sebastian Cavell—master thief, gives the impression he has sought out Benedict for the sake of business, but the kind of business Sebastian has in mind has nothing to do with making money!

Cavell has been tasked with finding the whereabouts of a missing German aristocrat. With Benedict’s society connections, Sebastian gains access to his Gentleman’s Club and to men whose behavior is not so gentlemanly!

Benedict is pulled into the circle of a dangerous secret society and he not only learns the truth about the mysterious Sebastian Cavell, but learns the truth about himself and all he truly desires.

The Curse of the Mummy’s Heart by Julia Talbot - June 30th

Something is rising in the desert sand, and between two adventurous men.

Famous 1920s Hollywood actor Douglas Fitzhugh and his brother Donnie are headed for Egypt on a classic monster movie quest. Their mysterious benefactor, a man they call Grant, has sent them to find a stranded archaeologist, and all they have to go on is a handwritten journal. That's just the kind of adventure Douglas loves, and he never passes up the chance to get away from his studio-driven life.

Charles Angeloff is also on his way to Egypt with a special object his father has asked him to return to the tomb he ripped it from. Charles is just out of university, and when he meets Douglas, he falls hard for Douglas' charm and his worldly ways.

As they travel, more men of adventure join them: a cowboy, a rich seminary student, and a librarian. When they're all together, it's like magic happens, and the men all realize they're on a mission to stop the horror that stirs beneath the desert sands, even as that creature sets its sights on Charles. Will Douglas and Charles lose each other just when they've found what they both think is the man they want to be with forever?

Starcrossed: A Paranormal Historical Romance (Magic in Manhattan #2) by Allie Therin - May 18th

When everything they’ve built is threatened, only their bond remains… 1925 New York Psychometric Rory Brodigan’s life hasn’t been the same since the day he met Arthur Kenzie. Arthur’s continued quest to contain supernatural relics that pose a threat to the world has captured Rory’s imagination—and his heart. But Arthur’s upper-class upbringing still leaves Rory worried that he’ll never measure up, especially when Arthur’s aristocratic ex arrives in New York. For Arthur, there’s only Rory. But keeping the man he’s fallen for safe is another matter altogether. When a group of ruthless paranormals throw the city into chaos, the two men’s strained relationship leaves Rory vulnerable to a monster from Arthur’s past. With dark forces determined to tear them apart, Rory and Arthur will have to draw on every last bit of magic up their sleeves. And in the end, it’s the connection they’ve formed without magic that will be tested like never before.

Another Chance For Love by Ellie Thomas - July 4th

Former British Army Lieutenant Adam Merryweather survived the Western Front of WWI and has slowly recovered from his injuries. But can he heal from a broken heart? Torn between family duty and personal happiness, he sacrificed his love for Alf and has never ceased to regret it in the two years since the war ended. Adam is slowly putting his empty life back together, working for the family firm in the city centre of Bristol and trying to stop his mother’s meddling to find him the perfect socially acceptable bride. When he happens to meet Alf out of the blue, Adam is determined to try again. But convincing Alf to give him another chance may be too much to hope for. Can a chance meeting bring them back together? Or has Adam lost another chance for love forever?

The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows by Olivia Waite - July 28th - sapphic

When Agatha Griffin finds a colony of bees in her warehouse, it’s the not-so-perfect ending to a not-so-perfect week. Busy trying to keep her printing business afloat amidst rising taxes and the suppression of radical printers like her son, the last thing the widow wants is to be the victim of a thousand bees. But when a beautiful beekeeper arrives to take care of the pests, Agatha may be in danger of being stung by something far more dangerous…

Penelope Flood exists between two worlds in her small seaside town, the society of rich landowners and the tradesfolk. Soon, tensions boil over when the formerly exiled Queen arrives on England’s shores—and when Penelope’s long-absent husband returns to Melliton, she once again finds herself torn, between her burgeoning love for Agatha and her loyalty to the man who once gave her refuge.

As Penelope finally discovers her true place, Agatha must learn to accept the changing world in front of her. But will these longing hearts settle for a safe but stale existence or will they learn to fight for the future they most desire?

*If more come to my attention after this is posted, they will be added!!!

#lgbt romance #historical romance #sapphic #trans romance #f/f romance #m/m romance #books

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raeynbowboi · 5 years

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The Character Forge: How to Play as Damien Lavey in DnD 5e

Today I’m making a build for everybody’s favorite spicy red baby from Monster Prom, Damien Lavey. So showcase how bold and fun you are over a bowl of knives amid the romantic glow of arson, as we conspire to dance with the devil on prom night.

The Prince of Hell

First things first, we need to be a Tiefling. Asmodeus is the standard cut of Tiefling and gets +2 CHA and +1 INT and the ability to cast Hellish Rebuke and Darkness once per long rest without using a spell slot. However, another option for subrace is Zariel Tiefling, which get +2 CHA and +1 STR and the ability to cast Searing Smite and Branding Smite. Choose whichever you feel is better for your build.

For Alignment, this guy is a psychopath, but then, most of the characters in Monster Prom are horrifyingly and endearingly amoral. We’ll call him Chaotic Neutral because just as much as he’s wiling to break the law to help you, he’ll also do it just to amuse himself. Or just for the fun of breaking the law.

For background, Damien is the Prince of Hell, and his fathers conquered Hell together. So, while it’s tempting to label him a Criminal, he’s a Noble.

Skills and Abilities

Damien appears to be completely immune to fire, and while he starts fires with matches and gasoline, there’s also an instance where he throws fire at people from the top of a stolen food pile among other times, so he has some limited use of fire magic. There is an instance where he jumps out of a pizza oven, which even the Narrator is uncertain whether Damien can teleport through fire, or if he was just waiting there in the oven for your character to show up. He has also drank straight fire, and has a literal furnace in his stomach that causes him to eat a lot of food very quickly.

Damien seems to be magically resistant to mortal wounds. While competing with Polly over whose flasks contains better stuff, Damien has a flask of radioactive absinthe, and he finds a fist fight to be a turn on which suggests that he must be supernaturally durable.

The Class Rebel

Barbarian Damien is an angry guy with a love for violence and Polly states that his talent is hitting things. As a Barbarian, Damien would become an embodiment of rage and savage warfare, but at the penalty of losing access to his spell options while raging. Desert Storm Herald: When you rage, you create a 10 foot aura that wreathes you in flames. Creatures within your aura take Fire damage, you gain Fire resistance, ignite flammable objects with your bare hands, grant your allies Fire resistance while within your aura, and retaliate against anyone who dares hit you with a searing Fire counterattack. Zealot: Your rage is fueled by a vow of unholy piety to wage war for your dark lord. This subclass lets you imbue your weapon attacks with added Necrotic damage, be revived from death without costing the necromancer material components, reroll a failed roll while raging, fill allies with unholy fury to give them advantage, and straight up refusing to die.

Paladin Whenever you encounter Damien at the auditorium, his designated costume appears to be some sort of black knight. Damien loves warfare and fighting, even claiming that his actual battle attire is really just 700 knives held together with barbed wire. Paladins are usually beacons of moral purity, there are some dark variants of this wholesome class. Conquest: Conquest Paladins are focused on crushing opposition to their tyrannical rule. Considering you cheer Damien up about being the heir to Hell by reminding him he can wage war as king, this could work nicely for him. You become so terrifying that it actually hurts those who are afraid of you, punish those foolish enough to hit you, and become an avatar of combat. Oathbreaker: While Damien has never made an oath to break, Oathbreaker Paladins create an aura of hatred that empowers fiends and undead, resist bludgeoning, slashing, and piercing damage from nonmagical weapons, and become such an embodiment of rage and fear that being near you causes mental trauma on your enemies.

Sorcerer Most fire spells are only listed as being in the Sorcerer and Wizard spell lists, and Damien obviously has strong fire associations. Pyromancy: Your bloodline has strong associations with fire. You gain resistance and later, immunity to fire damage, and your fire spells deal added damage.

Warlock Most of the time when a character fits Warlock, the lack of spells is usually a major hang-up, but luckily, Damien’s use of magic is extremely limited to being able to throw fire. Also, in an adorable side pic by the crew, Damien is seen playing DnD with Zoe, Liam, Oz, and Slayer, and he seems to be dressed like a spellcaster, which to me looks more like a Warlock than anything else. Fiend: An alternative option to Sorcerer’s selection of fire spells, and as the Prince of Hell, of course his powers come from infernal sources. Hexblade: Hexblade Warlocks get the ability to swing with CHA instead of STR for weapon damage, as well as letting him bind the souls of his victims into being his slaves. While Damien doesn’t have a specific special sword, he does like knives and swords, so he likely has one that matters enough to him to bother forging a bond with it.

For this build, an Oathbreaker Paladin is very useful, as it lets you add your CHA mod to your melee weapon attack, making Hexblade irrelevant because this boost also increases the power of other fiends, letting you raise and then empower an army of the damned. So, by coupling this with a Fiend Warlock, your melee weapon attacks can deal your normal sword damage, with both your STR mod AND your CHA mod to make you an extremely deadly infernal warrior while still giving you access to fire magic and demonic powers.

Stats and Proficiencies

All of your casting options cast with Charisma, and having a high CHA stat also makes you better at lying and scaring people, so it’s a good stat for Damien to have a lot of. Strength is the other stat you’ll want maxed out so that your Oathbreaker subclass can make you an avatar of pain and carnage. After that, a high Constitution is important so that you can shrug off a stab wound or pierce your nipple with a handgun instead of a piercing gun without dying like a noob. You’ll want a decent Dexterity, but it’s not super necessary for the build. Wisdom and Intelligence will get dumped though. Damien’s not even close to top of the class, and it’s pretty easy to fool and coerce him to believe something, so he’s not exactly wise either. Then again, his strength is punching things, and that’s what his build is focused on doing.

Name: Damien Lavey Race: Zariel Tiefling Background: Noble Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Class: Oathbreaker Paladin (8) Fiend Warlock (12) Base Stats: Strength: 20 (+5) Dexterity: 12 (+1) Constitution: 16 (+3) Intelligence: 8 (-1) Wisdom: 8 (-1) Charisma: 20 (+5) Saving Throws: Strength: +10 Dexterity: +6 Constitution: +8 Intelligence: +4 Wisdom: +10 Charisma: +16 Combat Stats: HP: 172 AC: 16 Speed: 30 Initiative: +1 Number of Attacks: 2 Hit Dice: 8d10, 12d8 Proficiency Bonus: +6 Passive Perception: 9 Dark Vision: 120 feet Proficiencies: Athletics History Intimidation Persuasion Skills: Acrobatics: +1 Medicine: -1 Animal Handling: -1 Nature: -1 Arcana: -1 Perception: -1 Athletics: +11 Performance: +5 Deception: +5 Persuasion: +11 History: +5 Religion: -1 Insight: -1 Sleight of Hand: +1 Intimidation: +11 Stealth: +1 Investigation: -1 Survival: -1

Damage Resistances Fire Condition Immunities Disease

Equipment: Chainmail: It’s not 700 knives held together with barbed wire, but it’s interlocking bits of metal, so close enough. Longsword: It’s just a prop, but Damien uses one in the play. Deal 1d6+13 Slashing Damage +5 Necrotic Damage on a melee weapon attack.

Paladin Feature: Fighting Style Dueling: One-handed weapon attacks deal +2 damage.

Warlock Feature: Pact Bond Pact of the Blade: You forge a bond with a weapon, and gain the ability to summon and dismiss it at will. The weapon counts as magical.

Warlock Feature: Eldritch Invocations Agonizing Blast: Eldritch Blast deals +5 damage on hit. Devil’s Sight: 120 feet of normal and magical darkvision Fiendish Vigor: Cast False Life on self at will. Gain 1d4+4 temp hit points. Relentless Hex: Teleport within 5 feet of a cursed target as a bonus action. Superior Pact Weapon: Your pact weapon deals an added +2 damage. Lifedrinker: When you hit with your pact weapon, deal +5 Necrotic damage.

Warlock Feature: Mystic Arcanum Investiture of Flame

Spell Slots 1st (4) 2nd (3) 5th (3)

Damien’s Spellbook

Cantrips 2nd Level Booming Blade Branding Smite Create Bonfire Crown of Madness Eldritch Blast Darkness Sacred Flame Scorching Ray Thaumaturgy 3rd Level Toll the Dead Fireball True Strike Summon Lesser Demons 1st Level 4th Level Burning Hands Elemental Bane Command Shadow of Moil Compelled Duel Summon Greater Demon Hellish Rebuke 5th Level Hex Flame Strike Searing Smite Hallow Wrathful Smite Infernal Calling Negative Energy Flood

Actions:

Divine Sense Detect Celestial, Fiend, or Undead. Detect Holy or Unholy energy. Lay on Hands Pool of 40 HP to distribute or 5 points to cure poison or disease.

Features:

Aura of Hate You, Fiends, and Undead within 10 ft add +5 to weapon damage Aura of Protection You and allies within 10 ft. get +5 on saving throws Channel Divinity: Control Undead An undead within 30 feet of you must pass a WIS throw or obey you for 24 hours. Channel Divinity: Dreadful Aspect Choose any creature in 30 feet to become afraid of you for 1 minute on a failed WIS throw. Channel Divinity: Harness Divine Power Use Channel Divinity to restore a used 1st Level spell slot. Dark One’s Blessing Gain 17 Temp HP upon reducing a creature to 0 HP. Dark One’s Own Luck Once per rest, add 1d10 to a skill check. Divine Smite Sacrifice a spell slot, deal (x+1)d8 radiant damage, +1d8 on fiends and undead. Dueling Fighting Style Add +2 to one-handed melee weapon attack damage Fiendish Resilience When you finish a rest, choose damage to resist. Mystic Arcanum Cast Investiture of Flame once per long rest without spell slots Position of Privilege You belong in high society, lowborn bend over backwards to make you comfortable, and you can get an audience with other nobles.

With this build, Damien is an avatar of carnage, dealing anywhere from 20-25 damage with every melee weapon attack and getting two attacks per turn for 40+ damage, he’s absolutely phenomenal at slaughtering his enemies. Quite fitting for this adorkable pyromaniac. How do you feel I did with this build? Would you build Damien differently? Which player character do you like to chase the Spicy Red Baby with? I’m partial to Brian x Damien. And do you have a character you’d like to see me build? I take requests. And as always, thanks for joining me in the Character Forge, where heroes are made.

#dungeons and dragons #damien lavey #monster prom #monster prom damien #damien #dnd #5e #dnd 5e #fifth edition #5th edition #warlock #paladin #spicy red baby #lavey #demon #tiefling

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