#so i went with ram horns on a whim

[kifu]

A little bit of character design. ;) For a comic! That may never leave the brain.

[victorsandvanquishers]

#29 and #41 for Asta and anybody really,,,,, please

This is my first attempt at a full-length AsuYuno fic; I hope you enjoy it! (ᵔᴥᵔ)

----

“SORRY I'M LATE!”

Asta barreled into the Golden Dawn's medical bay, nearly throwing Owen off of his stool as various members of the kingdom's most popular squad gave him wary looks. Mimosa was the only one who smiled hesitantly, while Owen fixed his glasses, took a deep breath, and resumed treating his patient.

Yuno merely blinked at the intrusion.

Despite the broken ankle, the taller of the Hage orphans sat still and proper on the bed, nary a hair out of place as the court's best doctor worked on finishing the cast for his leg. Owen had been putting on the finishing touches before Asta had barged in.

“Why are you even here!?” Belle followed up with a screech, while Klaus's stress levels steadily increased. “Just because you married him doesn't mean you have to come running here every time!”

“Miss Belle, I think marriage is exactly that,” Mimosa said sheepishly, trying to soothe the tiny sprite and doing the exact opposite. Belle blushed hard as fumes began steaming out of her ears.

Before all hell could break loose, and more ankles could be broken, William Vangeance most graciously made an appearance. By then, Asta was beside Yuno, firmly holding one of his hands as Owen finally finished the cast and wiped his brow with a sigh of relief.

“All done, now keep off your feet for the next few days. I'll have the crutches delivered by the end of the week. Until then,” Owen moved his gaze to Asta, “don't do anything stupid.”

Asta nodded vigorously while Yuno merely blinked, as if bored stiff by the whole affair. Before Belle could break into another tirade, William cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him.

“I believe we should give Asta and Yuno a few minutes. If the rest of you could follow me into the courtyard, I'd greatly appreciate it.”

The other members followed swiftly behind their captain, while Belle took some nudging, and finally threats of being banned from Yuno's bedside, before finally turning away. Owen waved as he portal'd out, and finally, Asta and Yuno were alone.

Asta still held Yuno's hand.

“I want tatoes,” Yuno said softly. “Take me to that diner you like to eat at – the one owned by your friend.”

Asta blinked, and immediately began to frown. “Owen-san just said to stay off your feet. I'll ask Finral-senpai to get you some.”

“No,” Yuno huffed, “I want to go to the diner.”

“But you just broke your ankle!” Asta all but screeched.

“Then carry me,” and Asta saw the smile before he realized that Yuno found all of this less troublesome than a mouse skittering across the kitchen floor.

Asta huffed and puffed, but secured one arm underneath Yuno's legs and the other supporting his back before hoisting the taller man up off the bed and into his arms. Yuno barely made a sound, and simply wrapped both arms around Asta's shoulders before tucking his head into the crook of Asta's neck despite being a foot and some inches taller. Asta sighed and began walking, knowing full well that Belle, Owen, Klaus, and even Mimosa would chew him out for catering to Yuno's unreasonable whims.

They were in the air, quietly surfing on the black sword as they neared Rebecca Scarlet's diner in Nean when Yuno finally grumbled irritably into his ear. “Stop brooding, or I'll jump off and fly myself to the diner.”

Asta huffed again, but held the man tighter than before. He could feel Yuno smile into his skin and snuggle into his neck. Asta's face burned red and he found himself blushing and pouting so hard, Yuno started to chuckle.

“'s not funny,” Asta grumbled, chewing on his cheek. Yuno should've been tucked into the hospital bed while Asta held one of his hands, hands bound forever while Noelle yelled at him from the comms device about being late to his own husband's foot casting party in the Golden Dawn's medical bay.

But instead, they were flying towards a small diner in a city miles from the Golden Dawn headquarters, and Asta was doing it for Yuno.

Just like Yuno had once done it for him.

How many years had it been since half his body had transformed into a cross between a demon and a human, once he'd finalized the deal with the demon residing in his grimoire? He counted three, no five years since the demon took one arm, a leg, half of Asta's head, and finished with a portion of his torso before declaring Asta fifty percent demon. Today, at the tender age of twenty-two, he sported rough black and red skin where the demon had taken possession, a horn that curved like a ram's, one eye whose sclera was black and pupil red, and leathery black skin with red cracks that inked half of his face, the base of his throat, and a part of his chest.

When the transformation was first complete, people feared him as much as they loathed him, but he'd done the deed anyway. It had been five years since they took on Spade and won, and it had only happened because Asta had succumbed to the demon crooning in his ear, promising him all the power he'd ever need to protect his loved ones. And he'd turned – he'd turned into a screeching bat out of Hell, and he'd fought, and he'd won.

It was a cost he'd been willing to pay, and he had. Afterwards, his execution order had turned into an exile order, and he'd been cast out – with the rest of the Black Bulls and Yuno following him in tow.

And then it had been the rest of Golden Dawn, the Green Mantis, Dorothy and her Peacocks, every other knight and foot soldier of Clover Kingdom who rose against Damnatio's decree, and finally, Julius Novachrono himself. What was a Wizard King without one of his most trusted knights? Asta had never meant to start a civil war, but that was what had happened, and it was a war that ended within hours, when House Vermillion and House Silva called for Kira to step down, to declare a new king for a new age, a king who wouldn't exile the peasant who saved the land.

Asta had never asked for that much. He'd only wanted to save the lives of the ones he loved the most. He'd wanted to make it long enough to ask Sister Lily to marry him again, for him to return home to Hage as a hero, and to sleep underneath the stars again. He'd never asked for Yuno and others to do what they did, had never asked them to put themselves in danger for his sake, and to bring their world into a new age.

But they had – and Yuno had led the front. A son of Spade who'd denounced his heritage and remained loyal to the small village called Hage, Yuno had effortlessly shed the secret of his birth and moved on. Yuno could have become king, could have written his own story without the burden Asta carried on his shoulders, but he'd stayed.

He'd stayed, held Asta's hand while Asta cried in pain because of the transformation, held him when he bled from the black and red cracks, and loved him when Asta had believed no one would ever love him again.

And when all was said and done, Yuno had married him in the same church they grew up in. He still remembered the day, almost a year ago now, when it finally dawned on him that he was marrying his childhood best friend, the one who was always his other half, from the basket they'd both been abandoned in. Up until that moment, he'd truly believed it would be Sister Lily opposite him at the altar, but she'd been in the front row with Father Orsi and the rest of the orphans that day, wiping away tears from her watery eyes while Yuno held both his hands – the human's and the demon's.

So who was Asta to deny a man asking for some tatoes, after he'd just broken his ankle?

“Honestly, how did you even do it?” Asta yelled out loud, the wind rushing in his ears. “Did you land wrong or something?”

Yuno took a minute to answer. “... I actually fell out of an apple tree,” he said hesitantly. “I was trying to pick some for a pie tonight, but my foot went through a branch, and I was on the ground before I knew it.”

Asta would have facepalmed if he could. “Seriously!?”

“I don't wanna hear anything out of your mouth, Hands McBreaky,” Yuno grumbled.

Asta grumbled back at him, and they kept grumbling at each other until they eventually dissolved into peals of laughter. Yuno kissed the leathery black skin of the right side of his face, and breathed deeply into his neck. Asta decreased his speed as they neared the diner, holding Yuno as close as he could without crushing him. The familiar scent, the warmth the taller man emanated quelled any unease he had left.

Once they were close enough, Asta lowered the sword, hopped off, and walked the remaining paces to the diner. The meal itself was simple, baked tatoes and some brandy to wash it down, but Yuno was happy, and Rebecca was endearing as always, and Asta knew then, knew forever, that it didn't matter how late they were to get to each other's side – at the end of the day, they'd still carry each other home. Broken arms and ankles aside, the tatoes were delicious and Asta was happy.

On their way back, Yuno fell asleep in the crook of his neck, and Asta hummed contently as the black sword took them home.

[pokenimagines]

MY FAVORITE AUTHOR OPENED REQUESTS YESSSSSS!!! I saw the notification and my heart went BOOOM!!! Just like that!!!! So may I ask for some headcanons with demon!Piers x reader/s/o? I know I asked for the demon Raihan as well but you just wrote it so well (and in general) that I can't help myself :)))) completely fine if you don't want to tho!!!!! SENDING LOVE YOUR WAYYYYY!!!

Headcanons for a demon version of Piers…oh yes. Yes, I can do that. Actually, I kinda wanna write a proper drabble because hnnnnnng gimme demons plz thnx. Also, I dunno how well I wrote Piers but I mean I see demon him being a bit cockier? BTW this is unedited because I’m far too tired to read it over, so please forgive any grammatical errors!

Discord - Request Info

Piers x Reader: Demon Treat

He had two horns that curled like a ram’s around his long and pointed ears. His eyes were engulfed in black, making the glowing baby blue iris stand out even more. The sharp teeth that were smiling at you sent a small shiver down your spine, but you weren’t about to relent. He reached a hand, the sharp claws grazing at your wrist, but he knew the amount of pressure that would hurt you and avidly avoided it.

“Piers…I said no.” You warned him, glaring at him and his Cheshire grin just spread. Despite how most people would find him to be rather creepy in this form, you were used to it. Those bags around his eye sockets only increased how demonic he looked as he got closer. His breath ghosted over your neck as he moved your hair out of his way.

“Please?” He asked and you groaned while putting put hand son his lanky chest. You used just enough pressure to let him know you didn’t want him getting any closer. He still looked at you with those hungry eyes of his and you had to hold back the gasp as his nails dragged alongside your jugular.

“I told you if you wanted ice cream you needed to speak up at the store. This is on you. I’m not sharing.” You managed to knee him in the stomach and he let out a fake groan as you rolled over on the couch and went back to your delicious bowl of cold cream, “You can’t just expect me to give in to your every whim whenever you give me those puppy dog eyes.” You said, taking a spoonful into your mouth.

“You summon me from hell and won’t even share your ice cream, that’s pretty lame of you.” He now sat crossed-legged on the couch, leaning on his fist while staring at you. The horrible slasher film in the background illuminated his form in the otherwise dark room.

“I never summoned you directly. I summoned a demon to help me and I got stuck with you.” You reminded him while relaxing a bit finally. The attractive demon shot a glare in your direction, not understanding why it was such a bad thing to get stuck with him.

“It’s not my fault you summoned a demon to kill a fuckin angel. Don’t know what fantasy you’re reading where demons are stronger than some benevolent moth, but it isn’t this one.” He murmured and you chuckled while rolling your eyes. You took another bite of ice cream before replying.

“Okay first off, didn’t realize my boss was an angel. Second off, I was hoping for a high ranking demon to drag him to hell for promoting that other asshole at work and not me.” You stated simply and Piers rolled his eyes while going to lay down. His head fell into your lap that was currently being covered by an electric blanket.

“Well, now you’re stuck with me until I figure out how to do that. Both of us got screwed over…mainly me.” His bored voice was annoying you and you were tempted to drop some ice cream right onto his face. You fought the urge, knowing he’d probably catch it in his mouth.

“You should’ve done a background check on your clients before accepting the contract.” You explained, not feeling any remorse for what you did. You were lucky you ended up with this demon, actually. If they had done a background check and were smart about it, you wouldn’t be able to ever make a contract again. That would’ve been horrid.

“The thing was I did your little request and I got your soul for all of eternity. You didn’t tell me you literally didn’t have a soul.” He said, flicking your forehead and making you scrunch up your nose. You huffed in response as you stuck out your tongue. He stuck his forked tongue out as well, making you blush a bit.

“Not my fault. Now we’re stuck since you can’t go back with an unfinished contract.” You said as you put your bowl down and began running your hands through his dual-colored hair. It was pretty soft, despite its looks, and you could’ve sworn you heard him purr a bit. Your hand wandered as your nails gently scratched as the base of his horns. He melted into the touch, giving you a dopey smile and you chuckled. You honestly were happy he was stuck with you.

“Now you gotta deal with me.” Piers said as he sat up. His lanky form towered over yours as he leaned his mouth closer to yours. You once again blushed as one hand went up in case you had to push him away, “Not that I think you mind much.” He said and went and kissed your cheek. You let out a small squeak in surprise as he stole the ice cream bowl and began eating the cold treat.

You went to grab it when his foot shot out and kept you at bay. He actually laughed at your pathetic self trying to fight him before you finally gave up. You just scooted over to him and leaned your head against his shoulder and began watching the movie. You were sure as hell happy you tricked this demon, probably one of your best choices to date.

[mdelpin]

In Search of a Dream - Chapter 2

Slayers Week 2020 Prompt: Magic / Adventure Pairing: Gray x Natsu AO3 | Prev: Ch 1

Like many others, I’m not a huge fan of the Daphne arc, so I figured while I was messing with canon (yes, I know it’s anime only), I might as well change this up a bit.

Summary: Gray goes off in search of Igneel. After several months of chasing leads that get him nowhere, he happens upon a girl who claims she’s seen a dragon.

0-0

Gray figured the best way to start his search was to go to the place where Natsu had been found by Gramps all those years ago. Taking advantage of the fact that the dragon slayer had left on a job with Lucy and Happy, Gray had cornered the guild master and plied him with drinks.

He hadn’t missed the curious way Gramps had stared at him once he’d understood what Gray wanted, his brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what Gray was up to and how it tied into his never-ending rivalry with Natsu. Eventually, he recounted everything he remembered and even marked the spot on a map.

Having acquired all the information he needed, Gray decided to leave the next morning. It had been a while since he’d gone off on his own, and he was looking forward to it — the promise of a new adventure exciting him as it always did.

It took him three days of walking to find the forest Gramps had marked on the map. He examined his surroundings, but nothing really caught his attention, it looked like any number of forests he’d visited over the years. Gray explored as much of it as he could, trying to find anything that could be considered a clue to how Natsu had ended up there by himself so many years earlier.

He decided to camp for the night, carefully lighting a fire to cook his food. He found himself staring into the flames, his thoughts straying to Natsu. What must it have felt like for him to find himself here all alone? Had he been scared?

Gramps had mentioned that Natsu had refused to leave this spot, determined that Igneel would return at any moment, even though by his own admission, the dragon slayer had already been waiting for weeks.

He couldn’t help but be glad that the old man had worked his usual magic, convincing the stubborn boy to give guild life a chance. Gray didn’t even want to imagine how different his life would have been if Natsu hadn’t been a part of Fairy Tail, how different he would be if the annoying fire-breather hadn’t been there to challenge him at every opportunity.

Gray thought that was part of what his need to find Igneel was, Natsu had done so much for him over the years, and he’d never been able to repay him in any way that mattered.

He put out the fire, encasing himself in a dome of ice for protection while he slept. In the morning, he got ready to leave. On a whim, he used his ice to lift himself up in the air and look around, hoping to find something that maybe Gramps had missed, but there was nothing but trees everywhere he looked.

Disappointed that the forest had been a bust, he decided to walk to the next town to see if anyone remembered anything from when Natsu had been found or had heard about any dragons in the area.

He traveled to town after town, visiting libraries, searching official records, and talking to anyone he could find, following any lead that came his way regardless of how insignificant it seemed. But no matter how much he searched or how hard he tried, everything turned out to be a dead-end, or easily explained away.

Gray was beginning to understand Natsu’s frustration. Everywhere he went, he was ridiculed for his questions. It had only been a few months since he’d started his journey, but the constant disappointment was already getting to him.

Maybe the real question wasn’t whether Natsu should give up or not, but rather how he’d been able to continue his search for so long. More than ever, Gray wanted to find Igneel for his friend, but he was running out of ideas, and there hadn’t been a lead to follow in days.

He was currently in the city of Malba, eating lunch at a local cafe and considering his options. He wanted to keep going, but the truth was that he was almost out of jewels. He’d have to go home soon.

He also hadn’t exactly told anyone what he was doing or where he was going. Knowing Fairy Tail, they’d be sending out a search party soon, and he could just imagine who would be on it. As much as he wanted to see Natsu again, he was determined to have something to tell him first. Anything that would return that fire back into Natsu’s eyes.

Frustrated by his lack of progress, he decided to walk around and explore the city for a while. The idea of giving up didn’t sit well with him, but Gray didn’t know what else to do. He was surprised to find a magic shop tucked away in an area of the city that had clearly seen better days.

Gray had never really been to a magic shop before. He was a caster mage, and from what he’d understood, these places mostly sold magical items. With nothing better to do and welcoming a distraction, he decided to enter. If nothing else, maybe he could find Natsu a present for his birthday, which was coming up in about two weeks.

As he’d suspected, there were a lot of charms and magic potions, devices that could change your clothes or hair color, but outside of some prime prank material for Natsu, there wasn’t really much there to hold his interest.

Until he came across an area of the shop that seemed to thrum with magical energy. Figuring he had nothing to lose, he pushed the curtains aside and walked through. This room was much more interesting. Even though it was dimly lit, Gray could feel the power emanating from some of the objects encased in the display cases. The man who stood behind the counter nodded at him as he entered, but he was already deep in conversation with a woman.

Gray continued to explore the small room, fascinated by the displays. The case he was currently examining contained many trinkets - rings and lockets, masks that seemed to pulsate with dark energy - as well as different items that purported to be from mythical creatures. A feather from a phoenix, a horn from a unicorn, a stinger from the tail of a manticore, and many others that Gray had never even heard of.

“Daphne, we’ve been through this before, I can’t buy that from you,” the shopkeeper’s voice was laced with irritation, but he seemed to be trying to keep it in check.

“But it’s a dragon scale!” Daphne protested, “It must have some value. They were one of the strongest magical creatures, weren’t they?”

“There hasn’t been a confirmed dragon sighting in hundreds of years, I’m sorry for what happened to your city, but I can’t just buy an item I know is fake.”

“But I’ve seen it with my own eyes!”

“You saw a dragon?” Gray interrupted, excited by the prospect of another lead, “When was this?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Daphne turned to him, her eyes alive with excitement, “It was-”

“No, she didn’t,” the shopkeeper interrupted, “If you’re looking for magical items, I’m sure I can help you find something here that will suit your needs.”

Gray ignored him in favor of examining the woman. She looked to be about his age, with medium length black hair and big brown eyes that hid behind glasses. He couldn’t sense any magic power coming from her, but more importantly, he didn’t get the sense that she was lying.

“Can I see the scale?”

Daphne handed it to him, and Gray could barely contain his excitement. It was a large white scale that looked and felt incredibly similar to those that made up Natsu’s scarf.

“It was red at first,” she informed him, “but it lost all it’s coloring soon after.”

Gray could hear the shopkeeper muttering behind them and made a quick decision. “Can you take me to where you found this?”

” Yeah, sure.”

0-0

They left the magic store behind, then the city, walking towards the field where Daphne claimed to have seen a dragon in the sky some years earlier. Along the way she told Gray a story that he had trouble believing, but made more sense than anything else he’d heard during the last few months.

Daphne claimed she had been playing by herself in the field when she’d heard a loud noise coming from above. Surprised, she’d looked up only to see a large creature flying overhead. It had seemed ghostly, but she’d had no trouble identifying it as a dragon nonetheless.

The extraordinary thing was that she claimed that the dragon seemed to be trying to ram into something. Its terrifying roars rang louder with every failed attempt until suddenly it just disappeared from sight. She’d found several scales in the grass and had grabbed them to show her family, but when she’d arrived home, everyone in the city had disappeared. Well, everyone with magic anyway, Daphne had none.

She’d run to the next town to ask for help, but they hadn’t believed her. Everyone she’d told had made fun of her, calling her crazy and suggesting that maybe everyone in the city had left to get away from her.

Regardless, no one could explain what had happened to the people in her city, and soon it was nicknamed the City Without Sound. People would come to explore it, fascinated by the idea of a ghost town in modern times. Daphne had been left with nothing but the dragon scales, surviving on the jewels she got from selling items she found in the empty houses.

“Are you sure this is where you saw it?” Gray asked, not sensing anything out of the ordinary about the field.

“Of course, I’m sure!” Daphne snapped, “Do you really think I’d forget after what happened?”

“Right, sorry,” Gray excused himself, then he had a thought. “Do you remember what date it was?”

“July 7th of 778,” Daphne replied, peering at him curiously, “Why does it matter?”

Gray startled at the date, it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence, could it? Natsu had been abandoned on that same day a year earlier. He held the dragon scale in his hand and stared at it. It had to mean something, it just had to.

“I have a friend who was raised by a dragon. He was abandoned on that same day in 777, he’s been looking for his dragon ever since,” Gray admitted, handing the scale back. “I’m trying to help him find it.”

“I’ve seen it more than once,” Daphne suddenly admitted.

“What?! Why didn’t you say so before?”

“People already think I’m crazy,” Daphne shrugged, lying down on the grass and staring up at the clouds. “The first year after it happened, I came back here every day, but I never saw anything. When July 7th came around again, I was determined the dragon would show up. I managed to convince a few people to come so I could prove I wasn’t crazy, but when it didn’t show, things got worse for me. But I knew I would see it again, and I was right. The following year I heard the same sound and looked up to see the dragon once again. Everything was the same as before.”

“I raced home, hoping that everyone had returned, but - uhm, they were still gone,” Daphne’s pained chuckle tore at Gray’s heart.

He felt a strange kinship with this girl, he’d lost everyone in the blink of an eye too, and it had been horrible, but at least he’d known what had happened. Whatever took place here on that day had caused her to lose everyone without any explanation, which had to be worse. Still, there was something about what she had said that nagged at him.

And that’s when it hit him, she’d said everyone in the village had had magic, except for her. That was unusual. In general, only about ten percent of people on Earthland had magic.

“Take me to your village,” Gray demanded, determined that there had to be something there that would have caused this to happen.

Daphne considered him for a moment and then got up, shaking off the dirt from her clothes, “What is it you expect to find?”

“I don’t know yet,” Gray admitted, “but I get the feeling I’ll recognize it when I see it.”

“Do you think you can help me get them back?” The hope in her eyes made him pause, he didn’t want to make things worse for her if there was nothing he could do, but he could feel it in his bones. He was on to something.

0-0

He was right.

Even before reaching the city entrance, he could feel it. There was an enormous concentration of ethernano in the air surrounding them, more than what could be considered normal. His magic was buzzing inside him, begging to be let out.

“Daphne, do you think I could have one of those scales to show my friend?”

“I have no idea what’s going on, but you believed me when no one else did, and for that, you may have one with my thanks,” she handed him one of the scales. She looked down at the floor, her voice quivering as she asked, “Do you think they’ll ever come back?”

He didn’t want to give her any false hope, but he knew that if there was one person who knew a lot about dragons, it was Natsu Dragneel, and when they both set their minds to something, nothing ever stood in their way.

The dragon had first been sighted in 778, and Daphne had said that it returned every other year, which meant that if she was telling the truth - and Gray was convinced that she was - it was scheduled to return in a little over a week’s time.

And when it did, he and Natsu would be waiting.

@ao3feed-gratsu​

[not-him-someone-else]

Well im board so I'm gonna write the oldest dream I can remember (I was 5-7 at the time but I remember I seemed older in the dream) in the form of a found note

Who ever is reading this, I hope it is under better circumstance than I'm writeing it in.

But know that I only write this for my own sake. I need to clear my head and put my story somewhere.

Allow me to start from the beginning

Myself and a few freinds came to this park at the bid of a ranger. who would give us free lodging in some of the cabins if we searched for his missing daughter for an hour everyday for our weeklong stay. He asked us because he was desprit. the police had already deamed that she was dead. but he knew deep down she was out there somewhere. The first few nights seemed normal. we would search for her in the morning then go about the rest of our day.

That is until the forth night when we walked into the office to ask the ranger for something. He was talking to a hiker who looked terified. The hiker was rambaling about something they saw in the woods near the mountain. And could not be consoled by the ranger no mater how much he tried.

Seeing this I stept in and asked where they saw whatever had them so shook and offered to check it out. The hiker panicked and shouted "no! No it will get you to! It will get you too!"

I asked what they saw. "It was the dragon!"

The dragon? I asked curios. "There's a rumor recently running around" the ranger said obviously done with this hikers panic. "Peopole clameing to have seen something flying overhead around the mountain."

The ranger sat down behind his desk and began filling a report. "I will organize a search party for your friend." He said adresing the hiker again. Then he turned to us. "I'm asumeing your willing to help?" We nodded and went to our cabins for supplies.

We were to search the woods west of the mountain because the area was closer to our cabins. We searched until we came upon a clearing near the mounta. which is when we heard the beating of wings.

With a heavy thud the dragon landed in front of us and let out a a roar swipeing at my friend in front sending him flying into the woods with a sickaning snap. We panicked as it lunged at us separating me from the others and snapping up one of us along the way. Panicking I ran the only way I could deaper into the woods, and tword the mountain my way lit by a spark of electricity behind me.

The steep unforgiving clifface in frount of me and loud roaring an wingbeats behind me I began huridly scanning the stone wall searching for any means of escape. My eyes quickly falling on a somewhat hiden crack in the rocks just large enough for a person. It was a foolish decision but I had no other choice but to crawl in if I wanted to get out of this alive.

Behind it was a large room murals covered the walls depicting dragons and knights locked in battle. The only furnishing the room had was a large bookshelf packed with old books which despite the fact I could read them I knew were written in some long forgotten language. I now realise this should have been my first sign that something was wrong.

I pushed deeper into the cave most rooms were empty execpt for the murals on the wall. The first had a young girl flanked by shadowy figures. The second hand an older man standing tall against an unknown threat, and the third had a older woman pushing a branch aside for an unknown figure. They all had writeing under them but I couldn't have been bothered to read it. That is until the forth room. Which depicted a familiar dragon swirling around a young woman who dispite the crude drawing. I knew was who my group had come looking for. Quickly I read the text below it "the 1st cursed waiting sorowfuly for her savior"

I quickly turned and ran back into the first room headed straight for the book shelf. When I gave it a passing glance I thought I saw something about curses on one of the titles. I quickly found my book and began filling trough it. Had I known my own sercomstaces i would have gone faster. Finaly I found the page I was looking for and ran off in search of the dragon.

Fortunately I managed to get a glimpse of her just as she landed above the cave I just left. I quickly pulled some climbing gear out if my pack and chased after her as quickly as i could.

Reaching where I saw her land I was imeaditly greated by a cave. But hey this wasn't the first time I entered a unknown cave on a whim. As I entered I saw a figure in the back hunched over and loudly sobing. It was the Rangers daughter but she was difrent. Her arms and legs were covered in blue and light grey scales and on her head was a set of ram like horns she had a pair of wings on her back and a tail curled around her. She must have heard me enter because she turned around and shouted at me. "Leave me alone!" I ignored her and pulled out the book I took from the cave and began reciteing the spell.

"Blessing and curse intertwine-" as I was speaking a light begain circling us. And she got a look of hope in her eyes as I continued. "An unknown force has crossed the line-" her horns get enveloped in light as I continued. "but be-" as the last line was about to leave my mouth something beat them to it as a gout of flame enveloped the book "nooooo!" The Rangers daughter roared as she lunged for the book witch I had droped as I also fell to the ground In aggany. The last thing I remeber is a set of antelope like horns began to grow from me head as i fell unconsos.

I awoke to an empty cave to find that the sun had risen looking down I saw that my hands were enveloped in red and black scales. With a pair of bladed wings on my back and a long thin tail with sharp spines running down it. Quickly a quietly I ran down to were I saw the first cave trying not to be seen. As I moved to the entrace it was more difficult now but I managed. I quickly ran to the bookshelf and searched for hours but I found no other book capable of helping me. I ran through the rooms searching for anything to help. And as I did I walked into the final room and saw. A final mural of myself drawn simalerly to the one of the Rangers daughter and below was the words

"The 2nd cursed the lamenting failed hero"

And realised it was all for nothing

I am fleeing the park at nightfall and I leave this note as a warning.

Do not look for me

Do not go near the montain

And do not enter that cave

[awildhanmonster]

Character Ramblings for Wyrd!

At Wyrd’s behest, I’m trying to write down a little master post of some recent characters she bullied— I mean enabled— me to create.  This is for our casual Loserverse world— i.e. the fast-and-loose All The Myths Are True low fantasy trope where a bunch of well intentioned idiots try to get by in an apartment complex for largely mythical creatures.  I’ve accidentally made up a lot of new side characters in the past month and it’s getting hard to keep track of them, so here we go!

THE HOMESTEADING SHAPESHIFTER TRIO: AKA NELL, LEONORA AND BARNES

I’m listing these three together on their own because they are an active “couple” (… trio? I’m not sure what the right polyamory term is) who all live together in a more rural part of the county on some acreage generationally owned and tended by Nora’s family line.  Their personal plot is pretty manageable (just a few acres) and a small portion of the entire property.  They have a little flock of maybe 2 dozen combined sheep and goats, some chickens, and possibly an alpaca.  The land is woodsy and picturesque with an old country house they share.  

Nell J. Harriet, aka Nell: approximately 32 years old, born intersex, happily nonbinary (pronouns are ‘they’).  The tallest of the bunch at around 6’ even, with a pale wiry frame and knobby, angular corners all over.  Jet black hair with a striking chunk of white smack dab at the front of the widow’s peak like the trail of a dog’s blaze, one solid brown eye, one split tweaky blue/brown mess.  Shifted form is a black and white border collie with (surprise!) heterochromia and a chunky white blaze cutting through the forehead right at the widow’s peak.  

Despite being born to a mother with a long family history of (gene-recessive) shifters cropping up every generation, Nell was still a surprise to everyone involved, given that their father had presumably been human.  Their mother— who I’ll call Meryl for now— comes from a fairly mundane lineage of canine shifter (while being a non-shifter Rr carrier herself) which typically manifests in early childhood and has a certain period of semi-conscious malleability during the formative years in which things like coat color, length, ear set, and other minor (external) features can be changed through great effort and trial/error before eventually “settling” into a constant, unique physical identity with time.  They heal several times faster than average humans, scar less, and tend to show greater physical resilience, taking a few seconds to painlessly and more-or-less fluidly change shape, but lack any kind of “burst healing” mechanic or unusual magical attributes.

Everyone else in the family before Nell had turned out some kind of pleasantly functional “mutt” shape in the end, but Nell erupted onto the scene as a full blown black-and-white border collie looking thing from day 1 of the change as a bouncy toddler.  Meryl could only guess that the father (long since vanished from their lives with no hard feelings, the affair was brief) was a similar, incidentally compatible shapeshifter himself, but that’s about as well as anyone can guess since he’s not around to ask.  

Nell, for their part, is exactly the kind of plucky, sunshiny, high-energy velcro person you would expect from a border collie on two legs.  They struggled in early childhood with some rough ADHD and OCD type tendencies, but managed to get through public schooling with the help of family support/tutoring, and wound up not pursuing college in favor of trying out a more rural living, instead.  They met Leonora while bouncing around odd jobs a couple years after high school and the rest is history.  They’re much happier now with a largely outdoor existence and animals to tend to, burning off the excess energy that plagued them for years without a direction prior to homesteading.  They’re one of those types who thrives with an outlet for physical and mental stimulation but loses their mind for lack of it.  As one would expect from any good BC.  The farming life is an ideal fit.  

Leonora Basso: aka Nora, but only if you’re close to her.  Approximately 34-ish, a shameless bohemian woman from a long line of shifters almost functionally identical to Raiker/Nicky’s species, with the exception of taking on the form of giant (thanks, conservation of mass) white maremma type guardian dogs instead of akbash.  Built square, stocky, and a little short (probably around 5’4’’), with olive/bronze-y skin, brown eyes, and a giant fluffy mess of fluffy, platinum white-blond hair the exact color and texture of maremma fur.  

She’s chill, with admirable patience for things that warrant it and a long fuse for small annoyances, though she’s also the only member of the three to ever knock someone’s teeth out, so take that with a grain of salt.  Like any good guardian dog, she’s placid until you start messing with her flock— literally or metaphorically.  Then she’ll be the one to quietly walk across the bar and slam your head into the table.  She met Nell during a trip to the inner city by complete happenstance when the two hit it off over conversation, during which she invited them to come visit her farm over a public touring weekend, and within weeks wound up dating.  Their relationship was exclusive up until Barnes came along  and none of them are quite sure how it happened, but they’ve never been in a better place.  

Chancellor Barneston Augustine-Kingslay, aka Barnes: and ONLY Barnes, okay.  Repeat his full name N E V E R or he’ll just, seriously, die.  Of embarrassment.  The youngest of the bunch at around 27-28 or so, Barnes was adopted by his (human) parents as a (human, presumably) infant, and had a perfectly normal (human, presumably) childhood until one day when his mother came in and found that her napping four year old was suddenly a napping 40 pound maine coon cat— or at least, what LOOKED a whole lot like one.  Needless to say, the following week was a scramble of buying every “Help!  My Child is a Shapeshifter, What Do I Do!” parenting book off Amazon and learning how to cope with a toddler who could suddenly vault over double stacked safety gates unaided, but they learned how to adapt, and life continued on happily for the little family anyway.  He’s an average sort, and arguably handsome to some: about 5’8’’, not especially pale or tan, hazel eyed, and sporting what looks like perpetually dark-ticked mouse brown hair, cut short.  He performed well enough in public school with a mostly human peer group who went largely unaware of his “talents” and even went on to earn a bachelor’s in business/finances/something akin, which seemed like the thing to do.  He wouldn’t describe himself as unhappy in his accomplishments; by every metric he was doing fine in life, and could easily figure out a career in some white collar job that paid his bills well enough.

He just couldn’t shake a certain feeling of restlessness and dissatisfaction about the idea, and wound up making a habit of weekend demos and classes to see what else was out there in the world: one of which happened to be a sheep shearing weekend out at the Basso Homestead.  On a whim, Barnes attended a demo headed by none other than Leonora while she was using a feisty ram (named Ramses) to walk visitors through the shearing process, Ramses was being fighty, Nell wasn’t around to help wrangle him, and Barnes, thinking he was capable, volunteered (despite Nora warning him repeatedly that rams were pretty feisty) to help hold him down.

… Needless to say he earned a spectacular nut shot via ram horns in the groin and wound up sitting out the rest of the day with an ice pack and a lot of sympathy, but it got him talking to Nora, and then Nell, and the three of them just gelled in a way that kept bringing them back together.  He’s realized in hindsight that he’s much happier in the suburbs than the big city, and enjoys putting his schooling to use by handling the home taxes and business numbers.  

(Fun fact: years later, when it Ramses got too big for his britches and was sent to the abattoir, they were given part of him by the Basso family and cooked a roast to celebrate the asshole sheep that brought them all together.  Ramses was delicious.)

Barnes, incidentally, still has no idea just WHAT kind of shifter he actually is thanks to being a doorstep baby/anonymous adoption acquisition by the foster folks— aside from a giant 100+ pound country cat, that is.  He’s observed that his shift is nearly as swift as Leonora’s, though there are queer persistences that he seems to have (pierced ears not healing instantly or trying to close after a change) that she lacks.  Coupled with the fact that he seems to be a magnet for comically mundane/irritating paranormal activity, he’s put in his research (mostly as a boredom hobby, not a necessary pursuit) but keeps drawing blanks on potential labels for his identity.  The TRUTH of the matter (which he’ll probably never know in canon) is that he’s actually a cait sith— born in the form of a cat, rather than a human, and bewitched by his mother to retain a human form as long as possible in the hopes that it would get him a better chance at finding loving parents.  His shifting has a much heavier magical component to it than his SOs, though he has no real sense for it, and it’ll probably just be a mystery the rest of his life.

Wow, yeah, this got super long!  I’ll make a separate post for the other losers I’ve made up lately, though these three are the most fleshed out so far.  

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Guard-Recruit pt2

Chapter 1

word count 3.7k

Because it would have been your day off even if you hadn’t quit the Guard – the thought still made you scowl at Dwalin’s memory – Kíli showed up bright and early next morning as usual, eager to get some target practice in. He might be almost thirty years your junior and a mischief-maker to boot, but you’d found a fondness for each other as the only ones in Ered Luin who used a bow as your main weapon.

“Impressive,” Kíli whistled when you opened the door. You looked at him, not comprehending his meaning. With a sigh, the young prince gestured at the drying warg skins left on racks beside your house. You smiled.

“I’m making stock with the meat,” you said. Warg did not make good eating, the meat was stringy and oddly textured, but you could make surprisingly flavourful stock from the meat and bones with just a few herbs. It’d keep for ages in wax-sealed jars, too, so you’d have a ready supply for making stews and soups come winter.

“Really?” Kíli frowned, “Amadel tried that once, but it was horrid.”

“My adad had a trick for it,” you shrugged. Living in the middle of nowhere, you learned to get by, after all, and it had been a desperate winter the first time you tried warg-soup.

“Invite me over when you make food with it!” Kíli said, suddenly excited. You laughed fondly.

“Sure,” you promised, making him beam at you before he pulled you off towards the archery range where Álfífa would be waiting to teach her class. Neither of you really needed the class, but it was a tradition by now that you went and had a friendly competition. You almost wished that Álfífa had been your instructor in the Guard – she was Dwalin’s second in command and they traded training duties – perhaps then you’d still want to be in the Guard? You might have quit in a rage – how dare he call you not good enough, you were more than good enough! – but it didn’t make your desire to never see or speak to Dwalin again any less fervent. You firmly told yourself that had nothing to do with the disrupted kiss whatsoever.

 “I heard there was a small fracas yesterday, Arnfrith,” Álfífa said calmly. You envied her serenity; nothing ever seemed to fluster Álfífa or shake her calm.

“Arnfrith killed two wargs with Dwalin’s war-hammer,” Kíli piped up, proudly. You elbowed him, blushing redder than Álfífa’s hair. “They destroyed a pack of wandering orcs!”

“Shut up, Kíli!” you hissed, but Álfífa just smiled and waved you over to take your place in the line of archers. You breathed deeply, letting go of everything beside the bow and the target, feeling the longed-for serenity fill you. No matter if you were shooting targets or hunting, having the bow in your hand reminded you of quiet hunts with adad, of sitting by the fire and fletching arrows while amad knitted you a pair of new winter mittens. This was your peace.

  That night, you set about implementing the plan you’d concocted during the day on the archery range. Feeling a little bad about not saying goodbye to Kíli in person, you agonized for an hour about what to write him, sure that Kíli would be the only one to come looking for you. When you were finished with the letter, adding the recipe for warg-stock soup on a whim, you packed in silence. You didn’t own much you’d have to leave behind, but you had asked your friend to keep safe what was left in your small house, not knowing if or when you’d return.

 “Arnfrith’s gone!” Kíli shouted, running into their house and brandishing a letter at Dwalin. “She writes that she doesn’t want to stay in a place where surface-born Dwarrow are discriminated against,” he said, wincing at the thunderous rage that contorted Dwalin’s face.

“What?!” Dwalin roared. His fist slammed down on the thick oak table hard enough Kíli worried there’d be a dent. The noise brought Dís and Thorin running from other parts of the building, as Kíli sheepishly repeated his news.

“Guess you waited too long, Dwalin,” Thorin sighed, putting a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. Dwalin shook it off furiously.

“I’m going after her, bringing her home,” he growled. Kíli blocked the doorway.

“You shouldn’t, Dwalin,” he mumbled, adding something in an unintelligible whisper no one heard.

“Out of my way, lad,” Dwalin snarled, anger and fear sparking his temper. She might have died no more than two days ago, how could he let her go without at least making sure she was properly armed – preferably escorted by himself, of course.

“She doesn’t want you!” Kíli cried out, making Dwalin freeze in place. “She writes that she’s tired of you and others constantly telling her she’s not good enough… THAT’S why she left!”

“But..” Dwalin was flummoxed. He didn’t feel Dís’ hand guiding him back to his chair, falling heavily into the seat.

“I’m sorry,” Kíli whispered, feeling terrible. He had only been half-joking about marrying Arnfrith, but he’d miss her friendship deeply either way.

  “So, you trained under Dwalin Fundinul Shumrozbid, aye?” the burly Dwarf with the bushy beard asked. You nodded. You half wondered what had possessed you to think that joining Dáin’s army was a good plan, but you had tried sparring with the guard and it had quickly become clear to the Training Master that you were skilled enough to be a proper soldier. The ‘Uzkhas smiled broadly. “Well, that explains a lot,” he laughed, making a note on a piece of paper. “I know Dwalin from way back, of course, and his recruits are among our best soldiers and officers. You’ll do well with us, lass, wait and see.” You just nodded, vindictively pleased that you could use the name of the Dwarf who’d spent the most time belittling your skill to further your advancement in an area he’d obviously considered you unsuited for. “I’m Thekk, ‘Uzkhas for the third maznakkâ of Dáin Uzbad’s personal gangbuh. Welcome to the army of the Iron Hills, Arnfrith.”

  Watching from the back of your ram, your bow tied to the saddle like the other 6 mounted archers in your group, the Elven army looked like they outnumbered you three to one if not more. Lord Dáin, who’d been far kinder to a nameless orphan than you’d expected, called for the charge. A lot of this part was showing off, you knew, making the pointy-ears understand that you wouldn’t back off without a fight. Erebor was your people’s legacy and you’d defend it from any invaders. Bellowing war cries, you gave Gulla his head, raising your bow high.

The ground trembled.

Staring in horror at the far slopes, watching the Orcs break through the earth like an eruption of darkness, you tightened your grip on the reins, the Elven army forgotten as you faced the new foe. Controlling Gulla with your legs, you pulled your bow, in sync with the 6 other archers in the third maznakkâ and let loose a volley in tandem with the archers in the other 9 maznakkâ. The vanguard was forming a shield wall in front of you, while the battlefield engineers were scrambling to aim the spear whirlers and the portable ballistae in the direction of this new enemy. Half a war-cry drifted through the air from the mountain; turning your head, you could barely make out dark hair that could only be Kíli’s. You chuckled grimly. This wasn’t the way you’d wanted to meet your friend again after five years absence. Firing again and again, suddenly with aid from the Elven archers, you plucked off Orc after Orc, not even caring to watch your shot land before firing the next.

 A roar sounded, a horn being blown with power that could only come from a Dwarf’s lungs. A bell tolled, which was a bit peculiar, but you had little time to care about it, letting your mount have its head as it charged the orcs now in range of his deadly horns.

“DU BEKAR! BARUK KHAZÂD!” you heard, and for a brief moment you were back in a clearing in a mountain forest five years ago, hearing that same voice and calling it safety. You scowled, stabbing your long sword into the throat of a nearby orc. Now was not the time to be thinking about Dwalin… or that blasted kiss that still haunted your dreams from time to time. Whirling around, perfectly in tune with Gulla as you worked together to defend each other, you dealt death to any enemy daft enough to get in range. “KHAZÂD AI-MENU!!”

“Retreat!!” Thekk shouted, but you had no time to follow him back to the line, the Orcs coming at you thick and fast. For the first time in five years, you were afraid that you were staring at oncoming death. With a snarl, you threw yourself into the struggle to live, not willing to give the Orcs the satisfaction and hoping you might buy young Hrefn time to get back to the line while you held them off. He shouldn’t have been in your maznakkâ, really, he was not even of age, but you’d needed a 7th archer and Hrefn was the best among the younger recruits. “ARNFRITH, GET YOUR BONY ARSE BACK HERE!” You wanted to laugh. Thekk had taken you under his wing, almost a pseudo-parent ever since you’d arrived in the Iron Hills and you knew he wouldn’t forgive you for dying here.

“Arnfrith!!” Another voice screamed. Your swing faltered in surprise, hearing a voice you’d not heard in so long, his voice. And then Dwalin was there, having apparently stolen one of the ballistic wagons and shooting as though he’d been born to do so. His aim was shoddy at best, you thought, slightly smug, but the constant rate of fire meant accuracy only mattered in the Trials. You’d won in a wagon just like it for the last four years. Gulla headbutted another orc and finally you had time to draw a proper breath, once more aware of more than your immediate surroundings. You’d taken a hit to the head, you realised, feeling your helmet pressing uncomfortably against your skull. Taking it off, you inspected the damage. A sizable dent met your eyes, but you simply tossed the armour away, launching yourself from Gulla’s saddle and pushing Dwalin away from the Double Curve Bolter.

“I’ll do that, you fire!” you snapped, amazed that Dwalin actually listened. “Kíli!” you exclaimed next, finally recognizing his dark hair.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he replied, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Gulla, Gulla, Innikh!” you cried, watching as your ram turned with a snort, galloping back towards the Mountain, kicking a few Orcs on his way for good measure. You didn’t know the names of the rams that pulled the B-Wag, but they’d know the general commands. “Ihkirruki!” you barked, and the rams obeyed, putting on a burst of speed as you skilfully aimed the Bolter at the oncoming foes. “Where are we going?” you asked, your voice tight.

“Ravenhill!” Someone shouted, trying to be heard over the noise of the hooves on the frozen river. You nodded.

“Naibnisi!” you commanded. In the front of the B-Wag, you recognized the white hair of Balin, whose hands were tight on the reins though he seemed relieved to give command of the beasts over to your voice. The rams turned, dragging you up a small incline. “I’khizi!” you shouted, making the wagon come to a halt as you swivelled the Bolter around. “Ravenhill is behind us. I’ll keep them from following you,” you bit out between clenched teeth. Fíli was the first to jump from the wagon. Kíli followed him, a fond squeeze to your shoulder that you returned with a smile.

“Arnfrith,” Dwalin said, plaintive. Surprise made you look at him questioningly. “Please don’t hate me for trying to keep you safe,” he whispered, and suddenly you found yourself in the exact same position you’d been in five years ago. Only this time, the kiss had a hard edge of desperation, and ended far too quickly for your taste, staring up at blue eyes once again. You growled.

“We WILL talk about this, later,” you snarled, pulling him back to your lips for one more kiss, your hand fisted in the harness that crossed his chest. When you let him go this time, he grinned boyishly at you before jumping from the wagon and following the princes up the path. Balin took his place.

“You’d better not hurt him again,” he said placidly, before he began winding the crank that fired the arrows once more. You gaped silently. Dwalin wasn’t the one who’d been hurt the last time! With a scowl, you returned your attention to your task, taking out your rage and frustration on the Orcs that seemed almost innumerable.

  You woke up with no memory of having gone to bed. The room was dark, only a single candle burning. You blinked sleepily. Feeling surprisingly well, if a bit stiff, you slowly got to your feet. Your armour was gone, and you were dressed in a shift, but the lack of proper hurts told you that you hadn’t been wounded. Even the bump to the head you’d taken seemed to have healed. A chair creaked.

“Dwalin?” you asked, recognizing the shiny dome of his head. “What are you doing here?” You wrapped the fur blanket closer around yourself, moving toward the chair that held your dwarf – yes, yours, you weren’t about to let those kisses be forgotten too.

“Arnfrith?” Dwalin mumbled sleepily. You smiled, reaching out to cup his face.

“Hey, you,” you whispered. Before you’d realised he was reaching for you, you found yourself seated on his lap, straddling his strong thighs as he crushed you against his chest. Dwalin’s low sobs echoed in the darkness. You hummed soothingly, pressing kisses against his bearded jaw as you wrapped your arms around shoulders that were just as wide as you remembered. His lips found yours, in the softest of kisses as his large hands rubbed your back, making you moan and arch against him. Dwalin chuckled. You swallowed the sound as the kiss grew more passionate. You hadn’t remembered it being this good, but you couldn’t hold back a moan when his thick fingers squeezed your arse firmly.

“Arnfrith,” Dwalin nipped at your lips. Your eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness, making you able to see the whirl of emotion in his eyes. Pulling away slightly, you pressed a kiss to his nose.

“Yes?” You didn’t think he was entirely aware of the way he was moving your hips, but it felt so good to be pressed tight against him that you hoped he’d continue forever.

“Marry me.” You froze. Dwalin bit his lip, staring down at your face as that sadness began to seep into his eyes once more with your silence.

“But…” you tried to object, but he simply shook his head.

“Marry me,” he said, the words nearly a demand.

“You don’t want me,” you protested sadly, sighing as you prepared to move off him. Dwalin made a strangled sound of incredulity.

“I want you!” he nearly shouted. “Mahal wept, lass, I just asked you to be my Lady-wife!” You shook your head dumbly; he couldn’t mean it, didn’t mean it? “I want you now, just as I wanted you five years ago when you broke my heart running away, as I wanted you six years ago when you joined my class! I WANT you!” he almost roared the last part, claiming your mouth again as he pressed you hard against the evidence of his truth. For a long moment you lost yourself in his kiss; slowly beginning to believe. Those feelings your been denying for long years burst free in your chest, melting your resistance from the inside. Dwalin kissed you again.

“Dwaliiiiin,” you moaned, a needy sound you’d never uttered before. Biting his lip and snaking your tongue into his mouth when he gasped in surprise, you tightened your grip on his tunic. Pressing yourself harder against him, you rubbed yourself against the hard proof of his arousal. “Ask me,” you begged, feeling desperate to hear him again; convince yourself it wasn’t a dream. One of his hands found its way beneath your shift, the other tearing the loose fabric off your shoulder and baring your breast to his gaze.

“Marry me,” he begged, hoarsely, making you cry out in frustration when he simply breathed across your heated flesh.

“Yes, yes, Dwalin,” you moaned, one hand moving to grip the hair at the back of his head and guide his mouth where you wanted it. The soft beard on his chin stroked your sensitive flesh as he bent his head to draw your nipple into his mouth, his hands kneading your arse. “Yes!” you cried, only to moan it over and over as he systematically began to undo you.

“Say my name,” he demanded in a growl that reverberated through your bones as he increased the pressure against your core, rubbing rhythmically against him. You moaned. As your head fell forward, you turned slightly, catching his ear with your mouth.

“Dwaaaliin,” you moaned breathily, running your tongue along the shell and tugging on the cuffs with your lips. Your fingers travelled down his broad chest, undoing the laces at his throat. “Off!” you demanded, slightly petulant. With a screech of tortured fabric, Dwalin ripped off his tunic, letting your fingers dance across his naked skin, tracing the patterns of his tattoos. Trailing your fingers down to tug innefectually at his waistband, you smiled against his neck, suckling at his pulse to make him jump when you wrapped your hand around him.

“Mahal, lass,” he groaned, tilting his head to give you more room. Patience worn thin, he ripped your shift apart too, leaving the linen to float gently to the ground beside the chair. You shuddered, the warmth of his hands on your arse almost sensory overload. Keening into his skin, you panted harshly, chasing that peak you could feel coming with the force of an avalanche. Dwalin caught your mouth once more, a breathless kiss filled with tongue and teeth, and suddenly you exploded in pleasure.

 When you returned to your body, Dwalin was stroking along your back, still hard and throbbing beneath you. Pressing kisses against your tangled hair, his low chuckle rumbled through his chest when you sighed happily, leaning against his solid bulk.

“Bed, Dwalin,” you demanded, still floating blissfully. With little apparent effort, he picked you up, and once again you wrapped your legs around his waist. Sliding your arms around his neck, you pulled him down for another kiss, playfully duelling his tongue with your own. Dwalin groaned, thrusting lightly against you with each step.

“I want to have you like this, my Arnfrith,” he whispered, an admission, “just like this, against a pine tree with the thrill of battle setting my blood afire.” You could only moan in reply as you tightened your legs, rubbing shamelessly against him.

“I would have had you,” you admitted, hiding a blush against his bare shoulder. Your tongue darted out to taste his skin, “five years ago, I would have had you in that forest.” You nipped his shoulder, hard enough to be felt, though not to bruise. Dwalin moaned, his arms firmly around you.

“Please, amrâlimê, don’t say things like that if you want this to last,” he begged. You smirked, running one hand lightly down his chest until you could toy with the laces on his breeches.

“Did you want that, Dwalin?” you whispered, teasing, “want to lay me down next to our slain enemies and have your wicked way with me?” He shuddered in response and suddenly you found yourself bouncing on the mattress where he’d thrown you. Dwalin grinned darkly down at you, the sight making you shiver. Slowly, he untied his breeches, kicking off his boots and drawing the fabric down his powerful legs. Your mouth watered, staring at the corded muscles and the very obvious picture of arousal he presented.

“You’re a wee minx,” he claimed, his accent notably thicker. It did funny things to your insides, listening to his voice that low and husky. “Like tha’, is it, my wee lassie,” he crooned, moving to hover just above you on the bed. “Give me your pleasure, lass,” he commanded. You nodded fervently, moaning lightly when you felt him press against you, hard and wanting. Curling your hands around strong shoulders, you pulled him down on top of you for another kiss, sighing deeply into his mouth. Dwalin pulled your unresisting leg up, hitching it over his hip as he pressed against you, drawing back and pressing forth again without actually going where you needed him. You growled.

“Dwalin!” you pouted, trying to move him with the leg wrapped around his hip. “Come to me,” you whispered, enjoying the sound of his deep moan in your ear.

“Give me your heart,” he said, but you just nodded at the demand. One of his arms was holding his weight slightly off you, giving him space to stare down at your face. You smiled wickedly.

“Give me yours,” you demanded in return, making him laugh. Your chuckle turned into a broken moan when he surged forwards, trapping you against the mattress with his bulk in the best way. Bucking up to meet his every thrust was bliss. You weren’t aware of the way you moaned his name, the way he cursed you for being so tight he was ready to lose it already. Instead, you simply claimed his mouth in a kiss of pure passion, scoring your nails down his back at a particularly pleasurable move. Dwalin groaned. You distantly realised that he liked a lick of pain and did it again. Dwalin shuddered above you, but regained his iron self-control with a smirk you didn’t see.

“You’re mine,” he growled, nipping at your ear.

“Yours,” you agreed, nodding breathlessly as his clever hands roamed your responsive flesh, “all yours, my Dwalin, oh, Maker, yes!” you screeched, thrashing beneath his touch. “Please, amrâlimê,” you begged, “my Dwalin…” the rest of your words were lost in bliss. Dwalin smirked, feeling you shatter around him.

“Mine!” he roared, finding his own completion.

[eosforge]

The Laipougsa Revolution (Part One - Laura) Prologue

Hello to all guys, gals, and nonbinary pals! This is an original work, inspired by this post (thank you, OP, and all contributers, even if I can’t see what you posted). I ask that you do not repost to another site; if you do, I expect that you credit me properly. In a few days’ time this will be cross-posted to ao3 under Original Works (I will put a link to my a03 account then). I intend to continue this with one-shots centered around each character’s attributes (which will be regarded as peculiarities and in numerical order), and when I have enough I will begin to compile a master post (to be linked to when created).

Alright, let’s jump in! Welcome to part one of The Laipougsa Revolution!

Prologue: Laura Is Not A Laipougsa

She was on her back - torso straight and diagonal, neck curved against the cold stone wall. There was nowhere to go; her knee had buckled when she had turned to run away, and her left leg was turned in a way it shouldn’t have been able to turn. Her entire body was trembling and throbbing with pain. Her left arm - the one not braced against the ground - raised to protect her front, fist clenching.

Did Laura know how to throw a punch properly? She couldn’t remember.

The sound of hooves and claws, along with the click of boots, made the hair on her arms stand up. Those were the creatures chasing her. One may have been human once - as they were a biped - but certainly wasn’t anymore. The humanoid had a strange amalgam of human and unnatural features; there was the sleek black pixie cut, human clothes (including a face mask that covered the area where the nose, mouth, chin, and neck would be on a human), and almond shaped eyes; there was also the pointed ears and the horns, which grew out of their temples (the skin there surrounded the base of their horns, which were bony white and ridged) and arced around their skull; at the base of their neck the horns turned outwards and abruptly tapered into a sharp point.

The other creature, something that was not a deer and probably never was, walked on four legs. The front set had hooves, while the back had paws with claws. It had a scaly tail that tapered into a blade-like bony point. Its head and neck were that of a deer, and it had the antlers to match, but its eyes... the sclera, irises, and pupils were dark blue, and there were no veins that she could see. The entire creature was furry (with the exception of the tail, the hooves, and the antlers) and dark brown in color.

Laura had seen the thing that was not a deer easily smash through a concrete wall, first driving the tail tip into the wall to make a weak point and then battering it twice with the tail. Laura had seen both the biped and the thing that was not a deer ram through bulletproof windows with their horns. Laura had seen the biped’s horn ridges glow pink, had seen the pink energy expand and arc around the biped, had seen that energy change whatever it touched into something else. It has to be magic, Laura had thought, because it had taken time for it to affect her and then stopped affecting her entirely once she got out of range; that magic had changed her mind, changed what her eyes were seeing, into something that wasn’t really there.

Her stomach dropped at the creatures’ increased volume, chilly anxiety thrumming through her. Her eyes filled with tears, weighing her lashes down; they slid down her cheeks, unnoticed. She was going to die here.

The creatures got closer, slowing as they approached. Laura flinched, shutting her eyes and leaning into the wall. Her heartbeat pulsed through her body; the clicking of the creatures’ feet stopped right in front of her. Heat - humid heat, the type that New Yorkers experience in summer when it’s about to rain - washed over her. “Please don’t kill me,” Laura gasped, the sentence strangled because she had started to sob softly. The anxiety was choking her by this point, her medicine being the only thing that was preventing her from having a panic attack.

Nearly everyone she loved had died at the whims of these creatures - they had told her to run, which she had, and then she had heard the sounds of fighting. Those sounds were snuffed out all too suddenly, and then the biped and not-deer walking had been all that remained.

Warm air that was weighed down with power hit her face. Laura flinched back and let out a shriek, curling into a ball, trembling, whining pitifully as the motion jostled her broken leg. The biped’s boots clicked as they walked around her; the power - because that was the source of the heat, it had to be - pressed down on her more. Oddly enough, it became easier to breathe. The girl felt like she would pass out when she felt a tap on the shoulder.

Laura stayed curled up, trembling. There was another tap, this one harder. The not-deer snorted into her face, nudging her temple with its wet - and soft - nose. The not-deer nudged her again, firm and insistent.

Why weren’t they killing her?

Laura cautiously tilted her head up and cracked an eye open. The not-deer’s face was inches away from hers; the creature was staring at her curiously, blinking every couple seconds, breathing into her face. It was actually kind of cute. She let her eyes flit right.

The biped was crouched next to her, hands on their thighs, staring at Laura was an exasperated look. Once they had her attention, their eyes lit up; they lifted their hands so their palms were facing outwards and Laura flinched, curling into herself again but keeping her eyes open.

The biped paused, then looked to the not-deer for help. The not-deer bent its knees and slowly sank to the floor, as if the action took a lot of effort and would hurt if it went too fast. It nudged Laura’s neck with its nose now that it was at a better height to do so, putting pressure against Laura’s neck to make her turn her head towards the biped. Laura had no choice but to oblige.

When she didn’t open her eyes, the not-deer leaned over farther and licked her eyelids. It had a warm, wet tongue. Laura flinched, shaking her head; the not-deer drew back, thankfully, allowing Laura to swipe her hand over her eyelids to get rid of the slobber. “Hey!” She protested, sounding like she was scolding a dog. Laura uncurled, letting her legs slump sideways and ignoring the throb of pain from her broken one. She braced her right hand against the ground. “That was uncalled for!” She twisted so she could point a finger in the creature’s face. “Bad not-deer!”

The not-deer leaned back a little, ears pinned back against its skull, and had the decency to look ashamed - well, as much as an eldritch abomination could look ashamed.

Laura turned back to the biped; their hands were in their lap again. “And you - “ she snarled, only to cut herself off when they raised their hands again. Laura flinched back, but didn’t curl into a ball this time.

Then they began to sign. “Can’t talk, no mouth,” they imparted. Laura’s eyebrows shot up; it was a good thing she knew ASL. And the biped was disabled, just like her, albeit in a different way. “Sorry about...” Their hands clenched, eyes flitting right as they searched for the right words. “...that,” they finally settled on. “I didn’t kill them, but I did have him” - the biped turned towards the not-deer and gestured with their chin - “freeze them. They’ll be okay, but unable to move, and nothing will happen to their bodies while they’re in that state. I don’t regret doing so; to get to you it needed to be done.” A pause. “They’ve been hunting my people for months. I wanted to kill them, you know, but then you wouldn’t have let me sign.”

Well, they weren’t wrong. Laura would have fought them if her leg wasn’t broken and if she wasn’t scared out of her mind. She would have called for help had her phone been charged.

Get to me? Why would they need to get to me?

Their eyes locked onto Laura’s; their sclera were white, irises magenta, pupils black but lined with a ring of bubblegum pink. Their skin was dark, but not that dark, reminding Laura of the color of red clay. Their short hair, sleek and bubblegum pink - hadn’t it been black before? - was now mussed and sticking straight up in places. Their column shaped lean muscled body was covered by utilitarian clothes; the outfit consisted of a white round-neck t-shirt, gunmetal gray cargo pants, and black laced-up military boots. It was the type of outfit the family and Laura normally wore, and now the fabric were dirty as well; there was a smattering of blood against the part of the shirt that arced around their small chest.

So the outfit - and that magic, Laura presumed, which made sense considering what she had seen that day - was how the biped got in here. Odds were that magic extended to the not-deer - which was easily the size of a Thoroughbred horse.

“I’m Illieris,” they continued, when it became obvious that Laura wasn’t going to reply. They had to spell out the name, and they did so in 5 seconds. “Pronounced ILL-ear-US. I use she/her pronouns.”

Laura blinked. The biped was female. She had a name: Illierus. Laura had no clue what exactly Illierus was - she may have been human once, but wasn’t anymore, if she had ever been - so Laura decided to refer to her by name instead of the biped.

And Laura’s family had been hunting Illierus’s people for months? She had to have interpreted that bit of Illierus’s sign wrong. Laura’s family were the kindest people around - maybe a bit too prideful and a bit too traditionalist and a bit too insistent that unchangeable things could be changed, but still kind.

Remember the emotional abuse? And the overprotection, how someone in the family always follows you everywhere, how your laptop and phone are constantly invaded? And their reaction to most of the things you do that’s natural? Her brain reminded her.

Okay, so that would explain why Illierus had her not-deer freeze them. Her family wasn’t the greatest; that was just a lie she told herself, fearful of the consequences if she had addressed all of the above. Laura now wanted to get away from them more than anything, which would be easy because now they were all frozen. That still doesn’t explain why she wants me, though.

Illierus gestured to the not-deer, whose head swung around to look at its owner. Then she snapped her fingers to get Laura’s attention; both Laura and the not-deer focused on her. “This is Korien,” Illierus signed, spelling the not-deer’s name out as well. “Pronounced core-e-an.” Korien snorted, drawing Laura’s attention, then opened its - his? Her?- mouth and cheeped, entire body jerking as it did so. Laura’s eyes widened at the unexpected noise.

What the hell? It sounds like a cheetah. Is it a chimera?

Illierus snapped her fingers, drawing Laura’s attention again. “He’s a good boy, don’t worry, he just looks scary,” she signed, letting her hands fall. She braced her weight on her right hand, then leaned forward and let her left curve around Korien’s furry check. The not-deer let out the mrr noise that cats sometimes do when regarding a human that startled them, then produced a smaller cheep and closed his eyes, leaning into Illierus’s hand. Korien’s eyelids were translucent; like his and Illierus’s horns and his tail it was probably a defensive measure.

Laura’s eyebrows furrowed, but she nodded along all the same. She was the most frightened she had ever been, but at least she was getting an explanation. Illierus sat up straight, fingers still stroking Korien’s fur, and raised her right hand to begin signing single-handedly. “We’re here to get you, unwitting Laipougsa” - this word was spelled out, a pronunciation (Lie-po-g-sa) given  - “out of this horrible place and bring you home.”

What the hell was a Laipougsa? And why did Illierus - the person with the fucking horns and pointed ears - think Laura - the one who was completely human, if a little strange - was one? Laura was black-sheep Laura, intersex-biologically-but-a-girl-gender-wise Laura, developed-mostly-female-secondary-and-tertiary-sexual-characteristics Laura, likes-practical-sneakers-and-boots-with-simple-dresses Laura, black-kid-adopted-into-a-white-family Laura, dark-skinned-long-kinky-hair-in-an-afro-brown-eyed Laura, hourglass-shaped-body Laura, short-and-chubby-but-the-weight-is-distributed-evenly-so-it’s-not-a-problem Laura, unnaturally-strong Laura, actually-really-honestly-panromantic-and-demisexual Laura, shame-of-the-family Laura, you’re-odder-than-we-thought Laura, punished-every-time-she-instinctively-did-something-that-didn’t-align-with-family-values Laura, naturally-flexible Laura, behave-like-a-proper-lady Laura, likes-the-outdoors-and-the-heat Laura, are-you-sure-she’s-not-one-of-them Laura, she-experienced-and-heard-and-saw-something-that-no-one-else-did Laura, she-hit-the-top-of-her-head-against-the-door-but-that’s-impossible-because-she’s-not-that-tall Laura, are-you-sure-she-doesn’t-have-a-fever Laura, constantly-running-hot Laura, (mis)diagnosed-with-schizophrenia Laura, put-on-antipsychotic-medication Laura, never-ever-left-alone Laura, always-being-watched Laura, never-had-privacy Laura, weird-ass-brat Laura, oh-so-that’s-why-that-happened Laura, not-schizophrenic-and-taken-off-the-antipsychotics Laura, constantly-dismissed Laura, mentally-ill-with-an-anxiety-disorder Laura, she-needs-to-be-tamed-and-molded-so-she-shines Laura, friendless-because-of-her-weirdness Laura, don’t-come-here-again-she’s-not-something-to-gawk-at Laura, takes-antidepressants-to-manage-her-anxiety-disorder Laura, here’s-something-so-you-can-stim-covertly Laura, don’t-do-that-honey-someone-will-hurt-you-do-this-instead Laura, nearly-18-with-little-independence Laura - 

Okay, so she didn’t want to stay with her family anymore. There would be no one to stop her from leaving; everyone in the building sans the three of them were frozen, after all. She was a senior in high school; she was set to go to college in several months’ time. (If anyone asked, she had graduated early.) Some out-of-state colleges and universities had already accepted her, but the start of the autumn semester was several months away and she had yet to decide on where she was going. And she didn’t have any relatives outside of this house. So where would she go?

...oh, right. Illierus had offered to give her a place to stay - ”to bring you home” she had signed. But where was Illierus’s home? Laura would never fit in there. Because there was no way Laura was a Laipougsa; she was completely human, if a little strange.

...right?

Oh, who was she kidding? Laura being a Laipougsa sounded more plausible than her being human. That was probably the reason she never fit in.

[imagine-loki]

Dragons Don't Just Take Princesses

TITLE: Dragons Don’t Just Take Princesses CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 AUTHOR: land-of-dragons-and-frogs ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being the leader of a (rather large and powerful) hidden nation of shape-shifters. You are one of the few who can shape-shift into a dragon as you happen to have two true forms–your usual appearance and that of a dragon… RATING: E for Everyone (rating may change in later chapters, stay tuned!!) NOTES/WARNINGS: Kidnapping, bloody battles. Also dragons, if that’s your thing ;3c

“Highness, I don’t think it’s a good idea…” You roll your eyes, feathered wings guiding you in circles over the battle raging several hundred feet below you. “What if you get hurt? Or killed? Or caught?”

“Then we’ll worry about it when it happens.” Your general, a crow like yourself, sighs wearily, flying next to you as you ceased circling and flew behind a nearby hill.

“If this backfires, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal.” You slip into a more natural shape, one intended to strike fear into the hearts of men. Your talons sink into the soft earth, leathery wings expanding and stretching for the hasty fight and flight maneuver you intend to complete. “Meet me in the stronghold as soon as you can. If I spot you as I go, I’ll give you a lift.” Before he can complain, you take to the air, soaring back to the battlefield.

You hear the screams, the clashes and clangs, the thwap of arrows, before you land your first attack. You spot him—the green one, bathed in a powerful aura of green and blue with flecks of black and gold—before launching a fireball at the opposing army. You feel arrows clink off your True Silver scales, a growly chuckle escaping your scraggle-tooth maw as you circle back and launch another fireball. This time you dip down and mow down some of the soldiers, taking out a catapult on your way.

Once you circle back for a third run, you align your path differently. You send off two fireballs, this time flying low over the green one’s army; arrows plink against your scales, fire roars in your ears.

You lazily extend a clawed hand down, plucking the green one straight from his place on the ground. You feel him trying to cast spells on you, hitting your claws with his fists, cursing at you with what you can only assume is Asgardian—your grip doesn’t budge. True Silver is magic-proof, after all.

You extend a farewell gift of a catapult-destroying gust of flame towards the green one’s opposing army before flying off towards your stronghold.

Your stronghold was a three day’s flight for all. Well, all except a dragon. The trip takes you about an hour, though you pause in the first few minutes to collect your pouting general mid-flight; the raven perches on one of your secondary sets of horns, protected from the wind.

The Green One went quiet within the first ten minutes of flight; that, or you were going fast enough that the wind took his words. You weren’t sure which, though he was quiet when you began to slow down for your landing.

You touched down carefully, paw containing your captive held off the ground so that you did not crush him under your weight. You gathered ancient draconic magic within yourself, willing it to take the shape you wished; when you released him, a thin silver chain and collar appeared. The collar was designed to block all forms of the green one’s magic while fitting snugly, allowing for proper air flow and without impeding speech or food intake. The chain would hold wherever your placed it without risk of a link snapping or shattering; currently, said chain was wrapped around your claws. You did not bother checking for concealed weapons; you knew he more than likely had them, but right now you were untouchable.

The Green One looked stunned and confused, eyeing you with what appeared to be a healthy sense of fear and concern. You sat on your haunches, peering down at him, assessing the man sat in front of you. His raven-black, dark blue in the right lighting, long hair was tousled from the wind, a knotted mess in the back. His skin was a soft cream color, yet not overly pale; something told you that this hue was not a reality. The green and gold-embroidered cloth that sat under the polished gold-link chainmail suited the man, especially with what was obviously specialty-made thick breeches. The man lost a boot mid-flight; the puppy-covered sock pattern was more amusing than you’d admit.

A lanky black cat settled on your claws, looking up at you with bright brown eyes. Yes, that’s right. You had no way to explain the situation to the man. Your general was right—what were you thinking?

Time to rip the band aid off.

You shift your focus from the man to the cat, shifting your claws; your general hopped off of them and sauntered over to your captive, settling in the man’s lap. Lazy bastard.

You fill your being with magic, imagining the form you wished to take. Wings shrank into nothingness, replaced with your usual appearance—a clean red Midgardian hoodie, nice jeans, sneakers, and a soft fluffy cat tail with a fur color that matched your hair. You had ears to match, but those were currently hidden under the hood of your jacket.

“Welcome.”

—————

The battlefield was like any other. Hack, slash, spell here, speed heal, block an arrow from killing Thor, stab an enemy soldier or three, rinse and repeat. Sometimes Loki would argue with his brother, but today the fighting was too thick for that. In fact, he thought they’d have to withdraw before the beast showed up.

One second he’d been fighting three men at once, and the next there was a fiery explosion and a large shadow soaring over the battleground. A glance upwards confirmed the source of the shadow: a giant silver dragon. One that was apparently fighting on his side.

It took out more of the enemy, sending them into pandemonium as their opponents ran to seek cover from the aerial onslaught. The creature even took out a catapult, though that might have been to protect itself from the army.

It fired off more fire, and then suddenly he wasn’t fighting anymore. His ribs were constricted, he’d been jerked off his feet, his stomach dropped to what felt like his feet; he’d have thought he’d been hit by a battering ram were it not for the claws trapping him in an iron grip, keeping him from falling to the ground.

He saw Thor shout something at him, fear apparent in his brother’s eyes; he could only watch as the battlefield quickly faded from view, spells and knives useless against the beast.

He fought against its grip for a short while, wind snatching the words he screamed at the beast. He demanded to be released, to be let go and freed. His boot slipped off of his foot from the sheer force of the wind; he watched it tumble into the clouds below. Swallowing nervously, he opted not to fight his captor. Asgardian or not, he wouldn’t survive a fall from this height if he was caught unaware.

Eventually the beast landed in a wooded clearing, holding him a few inches in the air to not crush him. The clearing might have been a designated landing space, but the tall grass and blooming flowers suggested otherwise. Somewhere nearby, water was flowing—a stream or creek of some sort, he supposed absently.

He kept his eyes on the silver dragon, its piercing eyes scanning him over before dropping him to the ground. He winced, tailbone throbbing where it had hit a rock. The ground was cool and gentle under his sock, kept springy and soft from a layer of moss.

A weight settled around his throat, blocking his sensation the local magical aura. The weight was not uncomfortable nor was it too tight on his throat; it was the implication of the object that frightened him more than he was willing to admit. He was defenseless, save for the knife he had stashed in his remaining boot. In his panicked state, he noticed that a slim silver chain connected from his throat to the claws of the dragon.

A cat, a black one that he had not noticed before (which in itself was odd—where did it come from?), sauntered off of the dragon’s claws and onto his lap. He went to pet it out of habit only to find that he was unable to move. Was it the dragon’s magic, or was it the cat’s? He wasn’t sure. Quite frankly, it didn’t matter. His heartbeat quickened, ingrained fear making it difficult to think clearly.

And then, the dragon changed.

It shrank, diminishing in size and shape until it became something almost Asgardian in form. It was smaller than himself, only coming up to his chest, in clothes he’d never seen before. Perhaps the clothing came from a different realm? What caught his attention was the long, soft-looking tail that seemed to protrude from your rear. If he had to guess, you had a matching set of ears on your head. The dragon-creature radiated an authority and power he had never felt before; it was calming in a strange sort of way. It made him feel… oddly safe. He did not drop his guard—he didn’t wish to be killed—but it reassured him that nothing would happen to him just yet.

“Welcome.” The voice carried the same authority, strong and secure and fully of what he could only describe as honey-smooth calmness. This individual could turn into a dragon at a whim, so he was sure nothing he could do would harm them.

“Who…” His voice was rough, throat raw and painful after screaming at them during the flight. The way their eyes pierced him, as if looking straight into his soul after he spoke… A shiver ran down his spine.

“I go by many names. You may call me Y/N.” They do not mince words, their tone of voice still as calm and in control as it had been before. “What, pray tell, is your name?”

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard.” He found himself speaking without thinking, voice shaky and confused. It was as if something inside of him told him that his captor already knew who he was. “Why did you take me?”

They do not answer his question. They merely cock their head to the side, watching him as if he were an interesting item for them to observe. The silence is crushing, overbearing; he looks away as if that would protect him from the silence of the surrounding area. Why was he acting so… defenseless?

“General, allow Loki to get up.” They spoke, shattering the silence. The cat seemed to sigh and get off of him, only to turn into a rather tall and thin man with strawberry-blonde hair. This man was also in strange clothing: a black top similar to the one word by your captor, but with a purple wave-like symbol on the chest; shorts with what seemed to be a million full pockets; and sturdy shoes that had seen better days.

“Highness, I still don’t think this is a good idea…” General grumbled, eyeing him as if he would strike at any given moment.

“Hush, you. He’s mine, and therefore not your problem.” His heart stopped in his chest, icy-cold fear dragging it’s claws down his back and into his lungs. He’d heard Fandral speak of some of the women he’d bedded in a similar fashion; was he…

Was he a slave now?

[arcanacouncilrp]

      “ Addiction to substances or material pleasures can also       be the reason for your feelings of powerlessness and       entrapment.”

Upright: Materialism, Playfulness, Luxury Reversed: Freedom, Release, Establishment Astrology: Capricorn ♑︎ Element: Earth 🜃 Power: Summoning

Faceclaim Suggestions: Amber Rose Revah, Michael Trevino, Megan Fox, Sidharth Malhotra Name: UTP Gender: UTP Age Range: 32-36 Years with Council: 8 Council Role: Supplier

FIRST - Frenzied fiddle music filled the midnight air as The Devil roused a tavern into wild dancing and laughter. It was tame for one of their revels; their more hedonistic pleasures had become stale with overuse. As autumn approached, what was better than a lively party? Perhaps their fancifully magicked ram’s horns were a bit much, but it wasn’t as if anyone there was oblivious to who they were. One look at those eyes and anyone would be hypnotized, drawn into the dangerous freedom The Devil promised. At first they were content to play and party with humanity, but that lack of inhibition quickly spiraled out of control, further and further until all of life became a fun little game to them. Indulging their every desire became their only goal. The Ambitious Three rose with their perilous whims and fell with their treacherous hunger. The beguiling music they had given the world was silenced for a time, all because they, like their most misguided followers, pretended they could not remove the lead guiding them down their path to destruction.

FROM THE WORLD’S JOURNAL - The Devil was, in many ways, everything I was not. Our priorities were aligned on different axes from the very beginning. That in itself is not a judgment of their character—when we were young and still green, they did more for humans than I knew how to do. They let people indulge themselves without shame, at least for a time, and taught the value of knowing one’s limits. They simply forgot their own lesson after a while, pushing the limits of their power until they decided they could take it all. Knowing that, every time their new iteration has been someone without easy access to the world’s many luxuries, I’ve been relieved. Perhaps I should feel guilty about hoping they suffer just enough misfortune to strengthen their common sense, but can you really blame me? After the Cataclysm, it’s a blessing we aren’t all suffering in perpetuity. This Devil is not so well-grounded, though they seem open to learning how to be. They have their old talent for music. That does make me truly nostalgic; it transports me back in time for a little while, like we are all still happy and stable, with no darkness lurking in corners around us.

NOW - You’re not washed up. Some people might say that these days, and maybe a few entertainment news outlets too, but they’re all wrong. You’ve still got plenty of that musical spark in you that made you such a hit when you were still practically a kid. You’re just older now, with other things on your mind, and new responsibilities to think about. After all, magic doesn’t just come to no-talent hacks! In fact, all this Council business has been a great way to channel the energy that would otherwise go toward fretting over your career rut. The music will come back to you when it does. Probably. Right? Until then, you’ve got money and charm and a little innovative flair. You sort of wish you could do more for the Council, in fact. You feel a little sidelined. Could you be more useful, or are they just waiting for the perfect moment to let you shine? You’re not used to being ordinary or sharing the spotlight—not that you need to be the boss or anything. God knows you’re aware of how that went the first time around. It’s just…  Who are you if you aren’t the star?

Connections

THE MAGICIAN - You felt threatened when they first arrived, but that very quickly faded.  When they bared teeth towards you, all you could do was laugh and play their game.  You’re too valuable, too smart to waste time on things like grudges and hatred.  So you indulge in their little rivalry.  It pays off though.  While they’re pushing themselves to out-do you, you’re getting a challenge out of it as well.  You wouldn’t be half as good without them around, and sometimes you even tell them so— but they never believe you.  They don’t play into your smirks or fallacies like some of the others, so for that you can at least admire them.

THE EMPEROR - Proof that you have friends in high places sometimes comes in hilarious irony. You never expected them to be involved in this mess, but you're glad that they are. You never were one to go into things blind. They gave you their insight and you kept their secret. There are few that would call you loyal, but for them you feel a sort of kinship. They may not understand your motives but they certainly understand your desires. You appreciate having someone on your level by your side, even if they weren't necessarily your first choice.

THE HIEROPHANT - It may or may not be true that you find excuses ranging from insignificant to outrageous to go visit your resident physician. When your doctor looks like they do, acts as cute as they do, though? Who can blame you? It’s no secret you’re into them. Frankly it would make things a lot easier if they just admitted they notice, but they seem determined to pretend like you don’t spend half your time coming onto them. It’s fine, you enjoy the chase, and they haven’t said they want you to stop--and you’ve definitely asked on several occasions. Maybe it’s time to ask again. Or, maybe, they like being chased as much as you like chasing… You can hope, anyway. 

[create-ninety]

Tuesday 1st January, 2019

I’ll admit I was nervous about travelling to Morocco. I didn’t know what to expect. There’s only so much you can read about before you simply need to experience it to make up your own mind. But our trip to Fes has been one of my favourite cities that I have visited – ever.

On the way to the riad from the airport, I tried to gauge what the general vibe was. But it was dark and we couldn’t see a lot. Glimpsing various buildings, I was reminded of bits of Spain. My anxieties had been quelled slightly; I liked the driver and didn’t feel unsafe. And soon I was even grinning for a moment - I noticed a guy sitting in the back of a swerving white van ahead of us, the back door wide open and flailing about with each twist and turn of the driver’s whim. I thought maybe the door was broken but Lucie pointed it out – the guy was smoking a cigarette, and looked completely nonplussed.

But then I felt my heat sink not long after. While pulled up at some lights, a small child darted around the side of our van. The driver waved his finger at the kid who was probably no older than nine. Rejected, he made his way to the vehicle on the other side of us and I saw what he was holding: a brush and bottle of water. A sight not uncommon in parts of New Zealand – but I’d certainly never seen a child working for probably nothing more than a Durham at a time.

When we got to the riad, my anxieties weren’t quite quelled. There were groups of teenage boys gathered around, leaning against walls and listening to music. The buildings were high and chipped, and if there were windows, they were protected by bars.  Almost immediately a homeless looking man rushed forward with a trolley in the hopes of wheeling our luggage, but he was also dismissed by our driver. Tall, hands buried in his jacket pockets, he lead us  through narrow, winding alleyways for at least five minutes. If he had merely dropped us off, we would haven’t have had a clue. If I was nervous then I’m sure Lucie would have been too. But soon we stopped outside a big wooden door with an iron knocker and a thin slit at eye level. The driver knocked. And when a woman answered and let us inside, it almost took our breath away – a dazzling hallway and then open space came into view, with a ceiling so high you had to crane your neck to see the ornate detailing at the top. Doors with painted gold, green and red stars and shapes stood tall, framed by windows looking in on our bedroom. Our host Elodie showed us the room and gave us the key. She spoke in a hush voice and in the morning I knew why: the layout of the Riad places the rooms around and above the communal area.

We curled up in bed, grateful to finally be able to rest, in awe. The room had been decorated with such impeccable detail that it almost seemed rude to disturb the bed. Paintings of African women were hung beside the elaborate door; ivory elephants lined up in size order on a shelf; a Moroccan guitar; white and green tiled floors; painted shutters. A traditional bathroom. I couldn’t believe that such a grand and beautiful house was there, hidden amongst those intimidating alleys we had walked through. We fell asleep in pure darkness and I was completely at ease.

Elodie greeted us for breakfast in the morning. The tables had been laid out with the same effort and care as our bedroom, and we were pleased to spot an elegant long-haired cat. Elodie said her name was Amira, which is Arabic for princess, a name Lucie particularly liked.  We hurriedly ate a breakfast of bread, freshly squeezed orange juice, and coffee, and then got a very quick explanation of the Medina from Elodie. We had a deadline to be at the Post Office to meet our Medina tour guide – our first activity of our trip. Thankfully Elodie kindly agreed to take us to our meeting point so that we weren’t swallowed by the Medina before we even started.

Our guide was friendly, tall, Moroccan, and was wearing a traditional robe with a peaked hood – I came to realise that peaked hoods, which I’d only seen in Harry Potter, were a common occurrence in the Medina. And he excitedly led us to the Blue Door and into the thick of it all, and I found myself falling in love with the strange city.

Thin alleyways but bursting with colour, delicious smells, the sounds of accents and language I couldn’t identify. The cobbled ground underneath was uneven and well worn; this was a city with the most interesting history, and its inhabitants seemed all at once otherworldly and familiar.

We visited one of the three tanneries of Fes, and I was chosen by one of the salesmen as an easy target. And he had selected well. I was a bumbling mess as, after I announced quietly to Lucie that I liked one of the bags on display, the man darted forward and started (in his opinion, likely) humerously trying to sell me the bag. I was awkward and uncomfortable as the rest of the group were watching me fail – I can only describe it as being more of a ‘guess the price’ game, because I kept saying low numbers even though I knew there was no way we’d be buying it. But every time I said no he persisted. By the time we left the tannery I was red-faced and thinking there’s no way I’d be stepping foot back in there, even though the view from the top of the factory was truly a stunning sight to behold.

We carried on, and I adored the rest of the sights. The ceramics, the leather goods, and the rugs… all on display in the most vibrant waves of colour. People were in most cases far more polite than they were pushy, a pleasant surprise which kept me calm. And when we stopped off towards the end of the tour at a tiny roofed stall, just off the copper square, our tour group got to taste – in my opinion – some of the most delicious tea and coffee that I had ever tasted. It was served by a man who had almost no knowledge of English, and who stood behind a tiny counter covered in fresh herbs, and who twiddled the knobs and taps of a gigantic copper vat. We sat and drank and I grinned. How beautiful, to be surrounded by people so interesting, different to me, and who were just going about the business of their every day life, not knowing that I was in awe of someone merely making coffee. The man had a permanent smile on his face and the guide mentioned in passing he’d been there since the sixties. I turned to Lucie: “I’m going to find this place tomorrow. We’re going to come back.”

“I’d be very impressed if you manage to find this again!”

By the time the tour was over, we were hungry and tired, and ate a tagine meal at the ‘Cinema Café’ not far from our Riad. And then we picked up a blue pouffe and some beautiful hand painted plates from a shop. I have some lovely pictures of Lucie crouched down on the floor as we were choosing which ones we liked the best. Along with a little copper pot we’d bought on the tour, we excitedly dropped our goods off and headed back out into the Medina by ourselves. On that excursion we found another pouffe we liked – this time a mustard one – and I made a fool of myself for a second time that day, accidentally low-balling the shop keeper because I was convinced we had paid less for the exact same thing up the street. Only after he denied our offer and we’d left did we realise that his pouffe was bigger than the one we’d bought earlier; we turned around and went back, paying his lowest price.

New Year’s dinner was divine. Elodie and her mother, and perhaps others, had prepared a three-course meal for us. We were so full at the end we could barely fit the dessert in too. All the guests staying were French speakers, and I found myself desperately trying to understand the conversations as we joined them in the lead-up to midnight. I picked up a kids book on a shelf and did some reading, surprised with how much I was able to remember, but a little frustrated that my listening and understanding skills weren’t as sharp.

Midnight ticked over and suddenly it was 2019, and with a clink of champagne glasses and a chorus of ‘happy new year!’, we stood around drinking for a while longer before bidding each other goodnight. Lucie and I collapsed into bed totally full, a tad drunk, and trying to stifle a fit of giggles: we’d been laughing most the day, and at times during dinner, had struggled to contain ourselves.

The next day I looked at the map. And then I boldly declared to Lucie that I would find that coffee shop – that I was determined. And I did! Somehow I was able to identify stalls we had passed, instinctively knowing what we had seen and what was unfamiliar. At one point I paused and listened: sure enough, I could hear the clanking of mallets on copper, and knew that if I could find that square, then I would know how to get to the coffee. Connecting those dots in my mind was of the greatest satisfaction, and as we entered the little stall, the man behind the counter exclaimed excitedly something in Arabic. Lucie was beyond surprised, and the coffee tasted extra sweet.

From there I was confident I could navigate us around places we’d seen on the tour. After then it didn’t really matter where we went, so long as we could get back to the copper square. And after a couple of turns, me making metal notes, we found a narrow street that was home to knives and other metal work. At one of the stalls a man with blue eyes and an array of hand made knives set out in front of him caught my attention; picking up one of the small objects, he told me proudly he’d made it himself, and that the handle was from ram’s horn. We had a conversation in French and when he told me that the knife I liked was twenty Durhams, or the equivalent of £2, my jaw dropped and I handed over the money without even trying to negotiate. Bursting with glee, imagining making my books with the knife, I lead us back to the copper square. There we picked up four small copper pots and four small glasses to go inside; it was as close to the way the man in the coffee stall served it to us, and we wanted to recreate it. There we watched as another man polished the pots so that they shined bright in the sun – it was the most magical day, seeing people creating things with their hands, with such care and pride, with such ease and creativity. I looked at all the items and saw them, in a sense, as art: sculpted, cut, melted, bent, forged, painted… all by the hands of people with a story to tell.

We started hunting for lunch, and discovered a terraced restaurant overlooking the Medina. We ate another tagine, with vegetables on the side, and a cat circled the table. The sky was blue except for a few scatterings of clouds. Lucie revelled being in the warmth of the sun, and when the call to prayer rang out over the city, I hit record on my phone to capture it. I felt so happy. I was with the woman I loved. We were getting lost somewhere beautiful. It was the first day of the new year; a new chapter, a new beginning.

Leaving the restaurant, I thought I knew where to go. But I realised quickly that we must have gone too far, or not taken a turn; the stalls were unfamiliar. We turned around to head back the other way and Lucie spotted a bright orange rug with embroidered detail. And to my surprise (she hadn’t liked many of the rugs we’d seen), she engaged in a price battle with the shop keeper. He dropped his price, but we agreed it was still too much, and we didn’t have the cash anyway. I was anxious because I must’ve made a wrong turn but couldn’t work out where we had made the mistake… and even after we left the rug shop, I still couldn’t catch my bearings. But when the shop keeper came running after us shouting, “okay, okay, I can do 1900, but that’s as low as I can go!”, we excitedly went back with him. That worked out to be £180. We got it. And the men in the shop wrapped it up for us, and scrawled the name of the place it had come from: somewhere in the Atlas mountains, made by one of the Berber tribes.

Thankfully, the men also told us how to get back to the Blue Door. From there I could navigate easily. And we were close – I worked out that we had indeed missed a turn off down a non-descript alley I hadn’t thought to remember, as I had actually thought we’d be taking a taxi back. But we made it back, thrilled, and dropped all the stuff off. We had a sleep and then went out and found some dinner: skewered meat, rice, and chips. Normally I’d not like being caught up at a table by the river of passers-by. But I didn’t mind it in this context. Even though I’m sure I stood out with my red hair, and did attract a few curious stares, I felt anonymous enough. People went on about their days, and so did we, and I loved it.