#the pristine sanctum

[bluebelledmoon]

several years after the events of twilight princess, the great spirits inexplicably disappear. they vanish from their great springs, leaving the hylians, gorons, and zora confused and worried for their protectors.

the zora soon find abundant amounts of luminous stone within their walls, amounts unfathomable. they take it as a sign from their light spirit, lanayru, as a goodbye, and as a parting gift, still letting them know the spirits will always watch over them.

they begin to build up their domain with this new stone, and it looks beautiful. they keep the water flowing in the domain with multiple sources of running waterfalls, as it is the source of life for them.

With lanayrus spring empty, they decide to also build a new sanctuary from it, a place to remember and honor the light spirit lanayru. A place where the water would always run clean, a fresh source that would never run dry. a pristine sanctuary, one that would be a safe haven for the zora.

the pristine sanctum

[blueskittlesart]

if dark link was in totk how do u think he'd be handled ?

badly

sigh ok hold on ill be serious. i don't really think a dark link in totk would ever be necessary because totk is already doing everything that dark link did in oot, just via different methods. environmental things like the silent princess memorials and the spirits of dead soldiers offering up weapons in the depths give us a sense of the guilt link must feel over his past actions, as well as the fact that the inciting incident of the game is a similarly-framed failure in the face of an enemy which takes zelda and causes widespread destruction to hyrule. i've said it before, but link literally carries proof of that mistake and the guilt from it with him for the entire game in the form of rauru's arm--a reminder that his OWN arm wasn't good enough to prevent all this.

I think there are a few fights which cumulatively have similar narrative weight for totk link to the oot dark link fight, one of them being the gloom hands/phantom ganon (and yes, there is at least one required instance of this fight in order to get the true ending of the game, it's in korok forest.) the gloom hands are imo representative specifically of link's fear of failure and his guilt over his past failures. there's a reason they manifest initially as hands, and when they chase him they perform that reaching motion that's so reminiscent of him reaching for zelda and ultimately failing to catch her. they also cause a "midday blood moon" effect when link approaches them, which is strikingly similar to the way the sky changes when you approach calamity ganon in botw--his first major failure. once you fight and defeat the gloom hands, they reveal their true form--phantom ganon. if the hands themselves are symbolic of link's guilt and percieved failure, phatom ganon is the truth behind it--it was never link's fault in the first place. ganon is the cause of the destruction. link is blaming himself for something that he is not at fault for, and only after he faces his own guilt and fear head-on will the actual truth (phantom ganon) be revealed.

the other fight that i think sort of occupies the same narrative space as dark link in oot is the puppet zelda/phantom ganon fight in the castle sanctum. similarly, this fight deals with illusion and memory, and is explicitly ganon manipulating link using his trauma and guilt. There's a reason ganon leads link up into the sanctum, a place which obviously holds a crazy amount of significance for him. there's a reason puppet zelda turns the ruined room pristine again, and there's a reason she specifically mentions "memories" multiple times as she does it. ganon is attempting to break link down by poking at what he knows are sore spots--link's guilt over the way that hyrule was destroyed during his hundred-year absence, the fact that he doesn't remember much of his life pre-calamity (if you watch his face during that cutscene when she says 'memories'... agh. anyways.) his guilt over specifically what happened to zelda. All of this comes together so that ganon can force a vulnerable and unprepared link into a difficult battle in the hopes of taking him out. When link defeats phantom ganon, the sanctum returns to its ruined state, and puppet zelda disappears completely from hyrule. she's not even in the blood moon cutscenes anymore. Metaphorically, this is link coming to terms with the fact that she's really gone, and that he has to keep going anyway.

[kaixserzz]

The Fox, the Crow, and the Bunny.

ੈ♡˳ Il Dottore and Gn!Child!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 2.4k words ┊ Fluff *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist | JLM Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

something sweet. dedicated to @idyllic-affections thanks for writing my kaveh rq n this series is inspired by ur acc.. realized i strayed from the real purpose of this fic and made it too long, so just think of it as a 2 in 1 special lol,, (also hi sorry for using dottore he's like my muse and i love writing him) also i hope yall get the meaning of this shit lmao (ref to the scara quest tale)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: strictly platonic/familial, reader is 8 years old, basic dottore warnings, mentions of death, dissecting animals and injuries, implied dottolone (barely), a little ooc but it's canon to me

Dottore's office was once a sacred chamber inside the Fatui headquarters.

While not relatively as pristine as his laboratory, amidst the chaos, there was order. Everything was in its designated place, even though his desk was a nightmare to whoever laid eyes on it (spilled coffee too busy to clean, now dried onto the wood of his table, piles, and piles of documents and papers stacked haphazardly on one another, a disarray of pens and pencils occupying every available niche, and vials filled with who-knows-what dangerously teetering on the edge).

Hazards lurked at every turn within his office, presenting a far-from-presentable façade that seemingly clashed with his position as the 2nd of the 11th Fatui Harbingers. Yet, one might ponder, does the doctor truly concern himself with such matters?

No, not at all. He doesn't have the time to clean everything or keep them in such an organized state. He simply knows everything is in place, and the mess scarcely holds him back (he hires maids once in a while, when the mess gets too much, and in 1 out of 5 maids he hires only makes it out alive).

Yet, what truly imbued this room with a sense of sanctity? For within these walls, he unearthed his genuine solace and tranquility.

In this space, silence reigned supreme. Isolation was his companion, a cherished serenity he embraced. Here, his thoughts danced, inventions took form, and ideas flowed onto paper alongside intricate equations. Occasionally, he'd pass out on his desk and drool all over his papers. This room stood as a shelter inviolable, reserved solely for those few instances of urgency or the presence of a fellow Harbinger.

All other members of the Fatui instinctively bid their time, patiently awaiting his emergence from the sanctum of his office before venturing to approach him. For within its confines, the Doctor was impervious to disruption. No one disturbs the Doctor.

That was before you came along, of course.

The office, ill-suited for a child of your tender years, harbored a minefield of hazards. Within its walls lay various artifacts, concoctions, and intricate machinery, a perilous realm unfit for the innocent curiosity of youth. Regrettably, your presence inadvertently disrupted the serene harmony that had long enveloped this space, unsettling the Doctor who, by nature, dislikes abrupt shifts and deviations from what he was used to.

When you first arrived in his office (he didn't want you inside of it, after all, he wasn't exactly fond of children, but he had no choice) you were immediately injured after stepping onto a shard of glass that Dottore has completely ignored. You tried your very best not to cry for the sake of not irritating Dottore further, but he wasn't very gentle with your wound either.

He took note of keeping his vials away from the edge of his table.

Then a bunch of books topples over you. He puts them into the shelves now, and you helped him organize by using the Dewey Decimal System, to which you had read from a book.

Then, while he was explaining his recent idea (rather enthusiastically) to you, his hand accidentally slammed against his files and flew straight to your face. You also helped him organize his papers.

And then it was cleaning his desk, offering him DIY pencil holders you've made just for him. You've also invented a mug that prevents the liquid inside from spilling (he thinks it was a rather brilliant invention, he no longer has to worry about spilling on his desk).

And then it was putting his rather precarious possessions somewhere else, outside the vicinity of his office and far away from your grasp.

You were very eager to help him in any way possible, and for a child, you quite enjoyed receiving chores. Yet, your contentment was uncomplicated, drawn from the privilege of being granted entry to his treasure trove of knowledge, replete with a limitless collection of books, materials, and tools.

Dottore always thought that you'd be such a nuisance to him once you entered his office and sully the peace he has always known within his office's enclosed haven.

But he didn't expect to welcome your presence at all, on such short notice, too. (Deep inside, he felt a strange warmth in his chest whenever you'd tug on his coat, asking if he needed any assistance with organizing his office. He wonders what it was, though.)

So, here you were, amidst the symphony of pen strokes etching against paper, a solitary melody resonating within the confines of his office.

Contrary to his expectations, the calmness he believed would dissipate upon your arrival had, in fact, been amplified by leaps and bounds. As he observed from the corner of his eye, you reclined on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, immersed in a world of creativity. Strewn across the floor, an assortment of crayons bore testament to your artistic endeavors, while he diligently attended to the papers handed by the Fatui.

Then, as if hesitant to break the comfortable silence, you tried to catch his attention with a soft 'psst!', then covered your mouth with your tiny hand to suppress your childish giggles.

The corners of his lips twitch in irritance amusement as he turns his head toward you, his pen on the desk. You broke into a much bigger grin and held your drawing close to your chest, not wanting to expose it just yet. "Hey, Dotdot!" You whispered to him, and he can't help but roll his eyes smile at the nickname you've given him. "Can I show you what I drew?"

Dottore emitted a contemplative hum as if grappling with the decision of whether to engage or remain absorbed in his thoughts. Your evident impatience manifested in a pout, prompting his response. "Well, fine," He yielded, beckoning you forth. You beamed brightly as you swiftly rose to your feet and bounded toward him, your landing generating a muted grunt from him. A steadying hand rested on the desk, enabling him to regain his composure, after which he settled your giggling form comfortably within the space between his legs. "Now then," He put his hands on your shoulder, "What is it you wished to share?"

With another giggle from your ceaseless childish amusement, you gave him the piece of paper. Big, round eyes sparkling against the light of the room looked up at him expectantly. Dottore received the drawing from you, his gaze lingering over its details, drawn into a moment of shared curiosity and wonder.

It was him, and you, holding hands, depicted with earnest effort and the imaginative touch of your youthful artistry. Around you were a bunch of other versions of him, his segments, though you've only drawn five (since they were the only ones who have interacted with you so far). Each had their names labeled beneath them, but Dottore absolutely adores that you've labeled him as 'Dotdot' instead (you've also drawn Pantalone holding your other hand and labeled him as 'Pants', adorned both figures with encircling hearts).

"Truly remarkable artwork," He stated with a smile, his words accompanied by the sound of your jubilant cheers, "This masterpiece deserves a place of honor, a spot where all can admire it. I can already imagine the joy it will bring to the other segments once they lay eyes on it."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I do believe they enjoy your company, little bunny."

As he carefully set the drawing on his table, your inquisitive gaze caught his attention. With a tilt of your head, a gesture he knew all too well, you asked him a question, "Why do you call me that?"

"Hm? Call you what?" Dottore grabbed you gently and settled you onto his desk. Positioned face to face, at eye level, his intent was clear—to engage with you as both an adult and a child, a balance you seemed to relish.

"Bunny! You call me bunny lots,"

"Oh? Do you not like it?"

You vigorously shook your head, "No no, I love it! I get called nicknames, but they're all mean." You furrow your brow as you reminisced, pouting at the awful memories. But then you broke into a big smile again, "But yours is new and cute! So, why do you call me that?"

Dottore's grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth, a sight that enthralled you. Your hands instinctively moved to his cheeks, your eyes filled with wonder, and he welcomed the touch wholeheartedly. "Ahh, ever so curious, aren't you, little bun?" He teased playfully, giving your nose a gentle boop! with his finger, and your giggles were a delightful response. "You see, I call you bunny because you embody its spirit—small, swift, and an endless source of vibrant energy.

You also love to hop onto people a lot."

"I love giving surprise hugs! I'm too small, so a jump, so I can wrap my arms around them a bit higher!" You huffed as he chuckled at your explanation. "What are you, then? What animal?"

"Oh? I've never thought about what kind of animal I'd be... Hmmm..." Dottore mused for a while, his expression thoughtful. Eventually, he arrived at a decision. "A fox, I think. Crafty, shrewd, and sly. A creature that prowls with a purpose and possesses those distinct, sharp teeth." As he said that, he grins once more to show his sharp teeth, then lunges for your finger, mimicking a bite, prompting you to gasp and pull back with a joyful squeal.

"And speaking of bunnies..." His tone took on a mischievous edge, causing your eyes to widen in anticipation. Suddenly, he swooped in, grabbing your legs and lifting you high into the air. "I might just gobble you up!" Dottore's playful pretense of chomping down on you elicited a cascade of laughter from you. You pushed at his head, trying to escape his 'gobbling' jaws, your legs kicking playfully as you enjoyed the moment.

"I don't think you're a fox, Dotdot!" You quipped, retaking your seat on his desk. Playfully swinging your legs, you mused aloud, a soft humming accompanying your contemplation.

Dottore raised an intrigued eyebrow, "Oh? And what am I in the eyes of my little bunny? Perhaps something more fearsome?" He inquired, looming over you in an effort to intimidate you.

Instead, your eyes lit up brightly, and you joyfully clapped your hands together. "Oh, I've got it! A crow!" You exclaimed with a triumphant smile.

A bemused frown replaced his grin as he processed your unexpected response. "...A crow?" He echoed, clearly puzzled by your choice. "Of all animals?"

And you merely smile at him, giggling at his confused reaction, "Mhm! Yeah! A crow that talks on and on and on." Your hands followed your words, almost hitting him in the face, "A crow that is death and prey over rotting corpses, but a crow that saved me! I thought Dotdot was an angel, but angels don't have black feathers, scary smiles, or red eyes."

Your words painted a vivid picture of your perception, a whimsical and deeply personal perspective on his nature. Dottore nods along, intrigued, as you rambled your thoughts to him, not even chastising you for grabbing the beak of his mask and playing with it.

"You're a crow! You're very smart, and clever, and creative! You're scary to other people, but not to me! I love corvids, I used to feed them bits of animal after I dissect them, and they always bring me something shiny. They were my only friends, and now you're my friend too!"

He doesn't understand the gentle warmth that began to unfurl within his chest as he remained attentive to your words. While unfamiliar, this sensation wasn't entirely unwelcome... "I beg to differ, my dear bunny. I am unmistakably a fox,"

"Then you're a crow pretending to be a fox!" You pout, stubbornly crossing your arms. "I think crows are way cooler than foxes. They can fly! Plus, you can't call yourself a fox when you resemble a crow more than a fox!" You pointed out, a triumphant smirk on your lips.

Well, you do have a point. He does wear a beaked mask, coupled with a bird-like shoulder embellishment bedecked in exquisite black feathers.

"Should I then consider donning attire that better befits a fox?"

At the notion, you fixed him with a mock glare, your cheeks puffing out in an adorable display of discontent. "Nooooo! I prefer Mr. Crow!" you protested with a playful whine, punctuating your words by delivering gentle punches to his shoulders with your tiny hands.

He chuckles at your small tantrum, and he swiftly gathers you into his embrace. Your arms naturally encircled his neck as he rose from his seat, carrying you toward the door, your precious drawing clutched in your hands. "Very well, very well, my dear Mr. Crow it shall remain," He conceded with a playful tone, his steps filled with an easy camaraderie.

Victoriously, you shot him a smug grin, to which he rolled his eyes at.

"Do you wanna know something, Mr. Crow?" You mutter in his ear as he walks past one of his segments.

"Hm? What is it?"

You made sure to whisper it very quietly, hoping the other segments won't hear you. "Between you and me, I think that your younger segments are like rats!"

He didn't know what came over him, he released a hearty, resounding laugh, its volume surprising not just you but also the other segments who happened to be present, each momentarily taken aback by their own affairs. Such an outpouring of mirth was rare for him (only when he was inside his dark, cool lab, alone with experiments).

A sense of pride swelled in your chest as you grinned widely, his laughter infectious as you burst into a fit of giggles. It was a scary laugh, maybe it was just naturally like that, but to you, it sounded very happy. "They bit me once! I was just poking their face."

"Perhaps give them a treat before you approach them," He says, calming down as he continues his trek toward your room. "This gesture might just soften their demeanor."

"What, like cheese?"

"Oh, little bun, that'll drive them even more mad once they found out you called them rats."

You share another grin with him, finding a cozy spot to rest your chin upon his shoulder in contentment, "Good! I think they're funny when their faces turn red."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I’ll appreciate it very very much! Don’t repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 30th

Body Worship, Papa Emeritus II x Catholic!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 4.1k.

Warnings: Body Worship (okay, turned out less body worship and more just worship in general but fuck it, I wanted to write it this way lmao); fingering; vaginal fingering; cunnilingus; marking; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; praise kink; y’all this is soft soft, and I love it; religious symbolism; corruption kink; hair pulling; multiple orgasms;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog @saturnhas82moons

Author's Note: This is a continuation of October 3rd, so if you haven’t read that, please go and do so before you read this! Thanks!

Recommended listening: Chase Atlantic with their self-titled 2017 album.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Under the cloak of night, he crept through the ancient cobblestone streets of Rome, heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat of impending doom. The Vatican’s towering walls loomed before him, a fortress of faith and secrets. Driven by a love forbidden by both church and society, he had come to breach the sanctum’s impenetrable defenses.

His leather-soled shoes barely made a sound as he approached the towering stone wall that guarded the Vatican’s secrets. In the moon’s pale glow, he could make out the shadows of security guards patrolling the perimeter. He crouched low, his heart racing with each passing second, and carefully assessed their movements.

Timing was everything. With the precision of a cat, he found his moment when two guards turned their backs, engaged in hushed conversation. In one swift, heart-pounding motion, he scaled the wall, fingers gripping the rough stone edges, and muscles straining with urgency. His breath held, he cleared the top, dropping silently to the other side, where the hallowed ground of Vatican City stretched out before him. It was almost as if he could feel the soles of his feet burning as it touched the hallowed ground, and forced him to move forward quickly.

Silent as a whisper, he navigated the maze of corridors of the Vatican’s residential quarters. The opulence and history that surrounded him seemed at odds with the clandestine nature of his mission. Portraits of pontiffs from centuries past stared down at him from gilded frames, their judgmental eyes seemingly aware of his transgressions.

He moved with caution, avoiding the gaze of any servants or clergy members who might cross his path, clutching onto his Grucifix pendant in his thick hand in an attempt to shield his true identity. His knowledge of the Vatican’s layout was limited, but the urgency of his desire propelled him forward.

Finally, he found himself outside a front door, familiar to him only by the number he’d been given. He knew this was where you resided, his forbidden lover, a cardinal of the church with all the responsibilities but none of the titles or accolades. With trembling hands, he reached for the doorknob, his heart pounding louder than the sacred hymns echoing through the Vatican’s hallowed halls.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting dancing shadows on the richly adorned tapestries that lined the walls. He had finally found your apartments, and with a mixture of apprehension and longing, he pushed the door open, revealing the inner sanctum of the Pope’s daughter.

Inside, you sat at a writing desk, the dim light revealing the weariness etched into your features. Your modest dress hung off your frame just as pristine as you liked it. You looked up from your work, your eyes widening in shock and disbelief as they met his.

Time seemed to stand still as your gazes locked. Words failed you both, as the weight of your forbidden rendezvous hung heavy in the air. You stood from your seat slowly eyes fixed on the now cocky Secondo whose arms were outstretched as though he wanted you to run to him and welcome him into your home. Run to him you did, but no words of welcome were exchanged.

Your palms reached his shoulders and with a force, you pushed him, anger now taking hold of your body. “What are you doing here!?” You hissed, clearly livid by his intrusion. This was not how he wanted things to go. “My father will be here any minute! What do you think he’d do if he found a Cardinal of the Satanic Church in his daughter’s room?”

Secondo grinned, his black upper lip stretching into a lacivious smile. “Hopefully he’d understand my intensions and close the door behind him.”

Your hand connected with his cheek, a red mark forming instantly. Just as you were about to lay into him, you heard a familiar voice sounding from the entryway. “___?” Your father had arrived.

Secondo’s eyes widened, now understanding the gravity of the situation. Though the Catholic church was supposed to be a pinnacle of moral upstanding, it wasn’t uncommon for Popes to take drastic measures to protect their Papacy, even if it meant defying their God’s wishes. Thou shalt not murder - unless of course they pose a threat to your power and need to be eradicated. Secondo knew that given he was a footsoldier of the Devil, a Satanic rat sent to plague the people with “immorality”, your father would have no problem crucifying him on the steps of St. Peter’s Basilica.

“Hide!” You shout-whispered, your panic even greater than Secondo’s.

Secondo wasted no more time, diving into your bedroom and throwing himself under your bed, thankful that you didn’t use it as storage. He did so at just the right time, because while he couldn’t see your father from his position, he could hear him and he was right where Secondo had stood just thirty seconds prior.

“What are you doing in here?” Your father asked, his tone certainly suspicious. “Why didn’t you come when I called?”

“Sorry, father, I was doing some work. Correspondances.”

Your father hummed in acknowledgement. “There’s a meeting tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. We’re gathering officials to discuss how we’re going to remove the vermin.”

Secondo didn’t need to visit the Vatican often to know that the vermin your father was referring to was the Satanic Church. He rolled his eyes and contorted his face to childishly mimic and mock your father - though he knew no one could see him, it was a knee-jerk reaction and he thought it was funny.

You hesitated before you spoke. “Yes, father.”

“Something you want to say?”

There were, in fact, several things you wanted to say to your father and none of them were kind. After spending as much time as you did with Secondo, you had grown to understand that they weren’t the monsters you used to fear and that the way your father and other members of your church talked about them was terrifying. You wanted to yell at your father for not treating you as you deserved, as well. How you were always promoted within the church, but could never retain the title as “women didn’t hold powerful positions”. But he had no problem using you to benefit his politics and Papacy. But all your thoughts would fall on deaf ears, and so you settled on a, “No, father.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

As the Pope finally left the room, you sank back against the door you had closed behind him, your emotions in turmoil. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. That was the moment Secondo had been waiting for. He emerged from his hiding spot, his presence a comfort and a promise in the midst of your forbidden… whatever this was. The silence between you was palpable, broken only by the flickering candles and the distant echoes of Vatican life outside your apartment. He watched as you composed yourself, trying to calm yourself of the anger your father had left you with only to feel it flare up when you saw the Satanic Cardinal standing in your bedroom doorway.

“Why did you come here?” You quietly shouted at him, anger ever present in your voice. “You know what would happen to you if someone saw you - what would happen to me, too!”

You stood there, lecturing him about his behaviour, hands flailing about the room in your frustration and a small amount of hatred dancing in your eyes. As you unleashed your fury, your words cutting through the air like a storm, he couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the raw beauty of your anger. Your eyes blazed with intensity, your voice resonated with passion, and your fierce determination only made you more captivating. In that moment, your rage seemed to enhance your allure, and he found himself irresistibly drawn to you. Never had he seen a woman before so beautiful than you in that moment.

He thought back to when he first met you, how your anger and hatred towards him had fuelled his lust, and how it forced him to act against his better judgement to take your virginity on a desk that didn’t belong to him in the bowls of the Ministry.

Caught between the tumultuous emotions swirling around them, he took a step closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your presence. Your anger had laid bare the depth of your relationship, and he knew that your illicit connection was a flame that refused to be extinguished. As you continued to vent your frustrations, he reached out, gently taking your face into his hands and pressing his lips against yours, silencing you, a fervent promise that he would stand with you against all odds, consequences be damned.

You pushed against him at first, not because you didn’t want to kiss him, but because he had the nerve to silence you when you were talking. But the more you melted into his arms, the less resistance you put up, and allowed yourself to be caught by him as you began to fall from grace. Though your descent from righteousness started when you gave yourself to him, it was that kiss that solidified your feelings, and made you realise that however much you loved your God, you were sure you loved Secondo more.

Passions grew when he pressed you against your door, trapping you between him and the wood. His hands moved from your face, down your arms, and tickled at the bare skin until he finally settled at your hips. Your hands gripped at his cassock, holding on tightly and pulling him as close as he could possibly be to you, but even then that wasn’t close enough. His kisses ignited a fire in you that shouldn’t have been lit in the first place, and had you submitting and bending to his wishes willingly. When his fingers tightened on your hips and began lifting your dress, you let him. When his tongue begged for entrance to your mouth, you let it. When his hand found the gusset of your panties, you spread your legs to allow him easy access. When he dipped below the waistband, and stroked a tentative finger over your clit, you moaned into his mouth to encourage him to do it again.

In this moment, he wasn’t a servant of Satan. He was yours. Your ardent and eager slave, a genie sent to grant all of your wishes even if you didn’t know that he had them. His lips travelled South from yours, roaming over vast expanses of your body in search of a single destination. He moved to your jaw, your neck, your clothed dress, your stomach, hips, thighs. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his glove-covered fingers pulling your panties down with him as he knelt before you. You watched him hesitate for a moment, before wide eyes stared up at you as if to plead with you to grant him permission. His eyes were mismatched and popped against his Cardinal paints, a gentle yet emblazoned fire in his eyes as he waited for you. You couldn’t say no; you simply didn’t want to. You needed him probably more than he needed you. You nodded.

He gently lifted your leg in his hands and kissed it from ankle to knee. The higher up his lips went, the more passionately he kissed, and once more he played using his tongue. But now, in addition to kissing, he started sucking, leaving a trail of numerous dark brown hickeys on your thigh. No one would be able to see them here, but every time you caught a glimpse of your naked body, you would be reminded of them. Of him. Of what he did to you and the shame that was supposed to come with it. Shame that you refused to feel because that would imply you regretted letting him have his way with you. But even when you were worshipping your Lord, when you were in the confessional booth, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your actions.

He immediately dove in and started licking and sucking at your clit. He forgot to take it easy and instead allowed himself to just take from you what he wanted because he was so desperate and needy for your taste. He was encouraged to continue his movements by the faint and low whimpers that escaped from your partially opened mouth.

“Yes! Just like that!” Due to the strong suction he applied, you whispered, ending your sentence with a particularly breathy moan.

One of your hands flew to his head, gripping onto his hat and throwing it to the side allowing you to rest your hand there, pushing his face into your heat. Your hips bucked in pleasure, riding his tongue and taking what you needed from him. “Secondo!” The hand that wasn’t resting on his head flew up to your mouth, covering your exceptionally desperate moans as you came on his tongue, silencing yourself as much as you could so the Clergy wouldn’t hear your pleasure from the other side of the door.

When your orgasm had completely subsided, Secondo released you from his suctioned hold, his chin glistening with your juices and a small grin on his face. That grin altered your brain chemistry and instilled a confidence in you that you didn’t know you had. You pulled him by his cassock back to his feet and crashed your lips against his, kissing him much harder than before. You could taste yourself in his mouth, your own essence moving onto your tastebuds and heightening your arousal. Your hand gripped onto his and pulled off the first glove, still with your lips attached to his, and once it was off his hand, you threw it somewhere in the room. The second glove met the same fate.

You pushed him away from you and pulled at your zipper, undoing the dress and letting it pool around your feet. Your bra was the next to go, falling to the floor and exposing your breasts to him. You stood completely bare in front of him, looking at his face as his eyes ran over your body, drinking in every part of you he could see and committing it to memory. You then took his hand and walked him to the bedroom.

Before today, all your secret meetings had taken place after or during official meetings between your churches, sneaking off while representatives met to discuss peace or something redundant that both sides would ignore. Your meetings had been limited, but over the course of that week had been frequent. Yet for each of your encounters together, Secondo had taken charge. Despite how much he degraded you, how disrespectful his words were, you had grown to trust him entirely. He would never push you passed your limits, or do something to deliberately hurt you that you hadn’t already asked for or expressed your wish to try. Though he always used his experience to heighten yours, you were very much the pace-setter.

This was never more evident by his willingness for you to push him down onto the bed once his cassock and underwear was on your bedroom floor. How he happily lay on his back and watched you crawl up his body, tongue laving over his hairy stomach and chest and driving you further upwards. In your hubris, as your mouths connected in a passionate kiss, you took his length into your hands and lined him up with your sopping entrance, preparing both of you for the stretch you were about to experience. You felt Secondo’s hands move to your hips, supporting you as you sunk down onto him, taking him inside you in one fell swoop. This motion had you both breaking the kiss, mouths falling open in a perfect ‘o’ and your eyebrows raising while his furrowed, darkening his eyes.

You sat up, taking him even further down, and when you bounced for the first time, you ripped a growl from his throat. His back arched, his fingers tightened their grip on your hips. “Fuck!” He gasped when you did it again.

Your inexperience made it difficult for you to find a rhythm, your hands falling to his stomach to support you but failing to give you both the pleasure you needed. Secondo changed your motions for you, instead of helping you bounce, he used his hands to move you back and forth. “No, grind on me, little lamb.” He told you. You found a rhythm pretty quickly. “Just like that. Good girl.”

This position had your clit rubbing against his pubic mound and his cock moving inside you perfectly. The slight upwards curvature of him meant that each time you moved back, he hit that sweet spot inside you and caused you to cry out.

The more you moved, the more confident you became in your ability and allowed you to relax and just feel him - feeling the way he felt inside you, hitting your walls with each movement, his hands gripping onto you tight enough to leave more marks for you to admire later. While your eyes were closed in pleasure, his were wide open, drinking in every inch of your body and admiring you from below. He got to see you in your full glory, breasts bouncing with each thrust, thighs jiggling, mouth agape in ecstasy. The placement of your bed in the room in contrast with the overhead light created an ethereal glow, almost giving you a perfect halo around your head.

An angel.

You were an angel - you were his angel. The once good, Catholic girl who he loathed to look at, who made his life Hell in all the wrong ways. The righteous child who preached to those who didn’t want it, who was so sure in her decisions being the right one, now warmly accepting her mortal enemy into her body without much of a second thought. Now giving into temptation and pleasuring herself, against the will of her Lord, with the very man her book warned her about. The daughter of God using the son of Lucifer to commit sin after sin within the walls of the most hallowed building. It was almost as if he could feel your soul tainting with each thrust of your hips, your purity disintegrating along with his willpower each time a moan fell from your lips.

“Please,” you whimpered, “talk to me. Like you normally would.”

Degrade you? Now? He couldn’t possibly. He couldn’t find it within himself to tear you apart when you looked as you did: red-faced, sweating, panting and gasping for air as you felt him all the way up in your stomach. “I can’t.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Why?” He didn’t answer at first, hoping you’d drop this crusade. But you were determined to get what you wanted and so, you stopped moving. “Why?”

“Little lamb, move.”

“Why?”

He lifted your hips a little more and tried to thrust into you, but you fought against him. “For fuck sake!” He sat up, his nose mere centimetres from yours, his eyes burning with anger and lust, pupils blown so far out the colour had disappeared entirely. His hand moved to the back of your head and pulled at the roots of your hair, lips brushing against your neck as he spoke, “Because you are divine. Move, please.” When he lay back down you picked the pace back up exactly how you did before you stopped, working towards your orgasm. His eyes remained on you the whole time. “You want me to tell you how sinful you are, hm? How much of a bad girl you are for defying your Lord?”

“Yes!”

“I won’t. I won’t use the same words that they do. Fucking shit! I can’t use those words when Lilith herself blessed you with ethereal beauty. When she placed her most beautiful creation on this Earth to walk amongst the mortals; art amongst the rats. I will not degrade one who was made to conquer men.”

You were breathless, both from the exertion and his words. “I c-conquered you?”

“Body, mind, soul,” he gripped hold of your hand and pulled it to his rest on chest, “and heart.” Your eyes met his in surprise, and your body shook as though electricity was running through it. “Conquered and enslaved. I will forever be yours, and worship you like the goddess you are.”

His large hand that had completely covered yours moved up your arm and began to rub both of his around your body, gripping onto pieces and stroking gently.

“Secondo!”

By the way your walls were fluttering around him, he knew you were almost at your peak. “Cum for me, little lamb. Bless me with your holy water.”

This orgasm was much more intense than your first, your body shaking and your eyes glazing over. Your back arched as it washed over you, your fingers digging into his arms and leaving half-moon prints in his skin. “Fuck!” You screamed softly, like your body had just been plunged into cold water.

“That’s it. That’s right. Give it to me.”

“Secondo! Oh my God!”

He pushed you off his cock and put you on the bed beside him, turning you to lie flat on your stomach. Your hips were lifted just enough for a pillow to sit below you, then you felt him mount you from behind, draping his entire body over you. His lips found their way to your ear as his cock lined up with your hole once more. “Your God doesn’t deserve you.” He told you as he entered you again, pressing you against the mattress. His hand found yours and interlocked his fingers with yours as he began to thrust into you, moving at a similar pace to when he usually fucked you. Hard, fast, dirty. But this time there was something new, something tender in the way he touched you, the way his other hand rested atop your hip.

“I will forever get on my knees for you,” he told you between grunts, “and worship between these hallowed walls.” He kissed your shoulder blades. “I will thank you for all that you give me. I am yours.”

“I’m yours, Secondo.” You turned your head to capture his lips and give him a deep kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his cock continued to slide in and out of your tight, wet heat.

He surrounded you, every inch of his body running against yours and trapping you between him and the mattress in a way you’d never felt before - making you feel safe. His words told you that you were loved, despite the violent speed they ran through your head as he occupied every inch of your mind. His scent, woody and musky, filled your nose. His grunts and growls swallowed by your mouth in your unbroken, needy kiss. He loved you. He’d risen to catch you as you’d fallen for him. In that moment, nothing else mattered. God and Satan be damned. They’d ruled your lives too much, you both deserved this.

“Cum for me.” You whispered into his lips. “Give it to me, give me everything.”

“Where can I cum?”

“Inside me. I wanna feel you inside me.”

“Fucking hell!”

His hips snapped faster and more erratically until eventually he pushed himself as far as he could inside you, painting your walls with his cum. His eyes were tightly shut and a growl escaped him. He could feel his heart in his throat. His fingers tightened around yours when he came, gripping onto you and never wanting to let go.

As he came down from his high, he peppered your skin with kisses, black Cardinal paints very much wiped away at this point and his body exhausted from the exertion. He stayed inside you, softening with each passing second but not wanting to leave the warmth of your body just yet. You didn’t want him to, either. But it had to happen eventually. He rolled off you, but kept his hand on your hip as he did and rolled you with him, wrapping you up in his capable arms and holding you close.

The later into the night it got, he knew he’d have to leave the Vatican and wait to see you for who knew how long, and that thought hurt him more than he could possibly. He did everything he could to commit you to memory; how you looked, felt, smelled. He needed something to see him through until the next time you managed to see him. And so, he held you close, doing his best to fight off sleep.

That was until your voice broke the silence. “How would the Ministry feel if I left with you tonight?”

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[horeformilfs]

Mistakes

Bela Dimitrescu x Fem! Reader

TW: Blood, Violence, Fainting

------------------------------------------

Y/N treaded softly through the opulent halls of Castle Dimitrescu, trying her best to remain inconspicuous as she attended to her maid duties. The imposing presence of Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters made her nervous, prompting her to keep a respectful distance. Tonight, however, fate had other plans.

As the grand dinner unfolded in the lavish dining hall, Y/N found herself near the elegant table, carefully serving the family. Lady Dimitrescu sat regally at the head, flanked by her daughters, Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. Y/N's heart raced as she navigated the room, avoiding eye contact and aiming to be as unobtrusive as possible.

During a moment of unfortunate clumsiness, Y/N fumbled a crystal glass, the sound of shattering echoing through the hall. The delicate chime of breaking glass drew the attention of everyone, especially Cassandra, whose predatory instincts were awakened by a scent that quickened her undead heart – the unmistakable aroma of fresh blood.

As Y/N desperately tried to clean up the mess, a sliver of glass cut into her hand, crimson droplets staining the pristine floor. The metallic scent hung in the air, an irresistible allure to the vampiric senses of Cassandra. Her eyes fixed on Y/N, she moved with feline grace, seizing the opportunity presented by the accidental spill.

Cassandra lunged at Y/N, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh of her neck. Panic seized Y/N as she felt the sharp sting, attempting to plead with Cassandra between gasps. "Please, stop... let me go," Y/N implored, the room spinning as she lost more and more blood.

Cassandra, momentarily sated, pushed Y/N away. Bela, the eldest of the daughters, acted swiftly, catching the semi-conscious maiden before she could collapse to the ground. Lady Dimitrescu, towering over the scene, commanded her daughters to cease their actions.

"Enough, Cassandra. Release the maiden," Lady Dimitrescu's voice carried authority. Bela, ever obedient, cradled Y/N in her arms. "Attend to her wounds, Bela," Lady Dimitrescu instructed, her eyes never leaving Cassandra's.

As Bela carried Y/N to a more secluded room, the maiden, still conscious but weakening, apologized softly. "I'm sorry, Bela," Y/N whispered, her vision fading.

"Don't worry, my pet," Bela replied, her voice a soothing melody. "Rest now, I'll take care of you." Y/N's head nestled into Bela's chest as they ventured into the quiet sanctum of the castle, leaving the aftermath of the unexpected encounter behind.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open to find herself in a bedroom, the surroundings markedly different from her own quarters. Lady Dimitrescu and Bela were seated on a plush couch, engrossed in their respective books. The air was thick with anticipation, suggesting they had been waiting for her awakening.

A groan escaped Y/N's lips as she winced, the pain in her neck a persistent reminder of the unsettling events during dinner. Her hand instinctively moved to her neck, discovering the careful wrapping of gauze. Lady Dimitrescu, perceptive as ever, noticed Y/N's stirring and lowered her book.

The imposing figure of Lady Dimitrescu addressed Y/N, her voice carrying a regal calmness. Y/N, feeling a mix of fear and gratitude, hastily apologized for the chaos she had unintentionally unleashed during dinner. Her words rushed out in a desperate plea for forgiveness, vowing that such an incident would never occur again. She begged Lady Dimitrescu not to end her life.

The room fell into a momentary silence, Lady Dimitrescu and Bela exchanging a meaningful glance before refocusing on Y/N. Bela, breaking the quietude, spoke with unexpected warmth. "Darling," she said, using the affectionate term once more, "you are an exceptional maid. This is your first misstep, and we understand."

Lady Dimitrescu rose from the couch, excusing herself to leave Y/N and Bela alone. As the towering figure departed, Bela shifted closer to Y/N, a gentle expression softening her features. "You need not fear for your life," she assured, her hand reaching out to rest on Y/N's.

Bela continued, her tone sincere, "You've proven yourself to be diligent and capable. We value your presence here, and this incident, though unfortunate, doesn't define you. Learn from it, but do not dwell excessively. We all make mistakes."

Relieved yet still overwhelmed, Y/N listened to Bela's comforting words, the weight of her earlier panic beginning to lift. As Lady Dimitrescu gracefully exited, leaving them in the room, the castle's mysterious aura enveloped them once more, leaving Y/N to contemplate the unexpected twists of fate that had brought her into this household.

Bela, sensing Y/N's apprehension, gracefully stood from the couch and approached Y/N's bedside with a measured step. She intended to offer comfort, but as her hand extended to cup Y/N's cheek, the flinch did not escape her notice. A faint frown creased Bela's brow, concern replacing the warmth in her eyes.

"Is it alright for me to touch you?" Bela inquired softly, her tone carrying a genuine worry. Y/N, realizing her own reaction, nodded with a sheepish smile, granting permission. Tentatively, she leaned into Bela's touch, feeling the cool reassurance of the vampire's hand against her warm skin.

With a tender smile, Bela suggested, "You should rest, my dear. You've been through quite an ordeal." Y/N, her vulnerability on display, gathered the courage to make a request. "Could you... stay with me?" she asked, her eyes reflecting a mix of hesitation and hope.

Bela found Y/N's shyness endearing. "Of course, Darling," she responded, gracefully joining Y/N on the bed. As Y/N settled against the pillows, Bela enveloped her in a gentle embrace, the softness of the bed providing a haven of comfort. Y/N's head found a natural resting place on Bela's chest as the vampire tenderly carded her fingers through Y/N's hair.

In the quiet of the room, Bela spoke with a soothing cadence. "You're safe here, Y/N. No need to worry." Y/N, feeling the genuine care in Bela's words, let herself relax, the tension gradually melting away. "Thank you," Y/N whispered, the vulnerability in her voice met with a reassuring squeeze from Bela.

The castle's mysterious ambiance seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the warmth of the moment shared between the unlikely pair. As Y/N drifted into a more peaceful slumber, she couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of belonging in this world.

[littlefreakelio]

prompt: water magic

redrew one of my first tries on sidlink 🥹🩷 sidon is using his cool sage powers to nap with link in the pristine sanctum

[pursuitseternal]

“Stealing:” the Raven and the Ascendant at it again in “Our Blood is Thicker”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 4K

🎨 by @marimosalad full more NSFW ON X and below the cut

Summary: Returning home, Cordhelia gets her hands on Astarion’s old tunic. What better way to tease him, just like she used to… by stealing his stuff.

CW: busty!Cordy, the Raven and the Ascendant’s continuing journey, dirty talk, taunting, and praise, marriage bond flashback, floor riding smut.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 22… Stealing

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Love?” Cordehlia called as she trudged her way up the stairs of the Palace. Her hand left a few streaks of blood on the handrail as she climbed higher towards their chambers. She rolled her eyes as the new colors he had chosen for the Palace, intimidating darks and burning scarlets and burnished golds. Everything the world expected of the Vampire Ascendant as he made his new domain on the ashes of his former Master and tormentor.

She huffed through her nose. The Crimson Palace. Of course he’d take that literally.

Cordehlia couldn’t even look at the massive sprawling portraits of his face that dotted the place. She, more than anyone, knew his ego could rage if unchecked, shaking her head, she recalled all that dripping arrogance as the young lording of their people. Now add wealth, unparalleled power, and the title of Hero of the Gate…. Cordehlia sighed as she reached the master bedroom.

The sunset’s light poured into the room through the colored windows, a wash of blues and greens and goldens like the forests of their youth. For as bloodied as the rest of the Palace had been made, this… this was their sanctum. Their private retreat from the demands of power and expectation. A place where the Vampire Ascendant and his Consort were just… them. Walls, bedding, decor, it all was burnished in golds and colored in verdancy. Airy and light and simple. A breath of fresh forest air in the throes of the City.

“Astarion?” Cordehlia called once more, starting to unlace her bloodied black leather armor. Those Bhaalists had been easy. Too many to dispatch quickly, but easy. She slipped off each piece to set it carefully by the door. The blood collected and dried in the little carved feathers all along her armor. For as fearsome as she looked as the Raven, it sure was hell to clean after each night she went out. Fortunately they had servants now. A palace full.

Besides, he liked the way she looked in the armor he had bought her, when she was covered in black leather and cape, face half concealed beneath her new helm. His little harbinger of death, his own fierce Right Hand to work in the shadows.

The fall of the Netherbrain had only been a beginning, the rest of those tendrils… or tentacles… of the Dead Three’s power still needed dismantling. By day, they rebuilt the City, funding projects and attending galas, by night they crept in the dark to finish what had begun months before….

When they weren’t here, in this bedchamber, still making up for centuries apart from one another.

She smiled, still looking around the room for any traces he was home. But given the pristine cleanliness, the answer was a resounding negative. His meetings must have run late, she concluded, heading to the bathing chamber to draw a warm bath. Bhaalist blood, she had learned, tasted worse than it smelled, and she was eager to be free of it.

Today had been a special battle, one opportunity to try to cut the Bhaalists off at the root, and it had taken her nearly all day. As she sank into the warm and soapy water, she felt the tension leaving her muscled frame. A few moments to herself sounded like balm to her weariness. After all, if she truly needed him she could simply tug gently at that new bond that connected them mind to mind, not just soul to soul. No, for now, she could enjoy herself alone.

Maybe it was her lost in the scent of the perfumed soaps, of moss and sweet grass and wildflowers that wafted on the steam. Maybe it was her, lost as she wandered through her memories of times before, of their young, carefree and bloodless days.

Whatever it was, Cordehlia’s heart brimmed with nostalgia.

As the sun lowered, it slatted through the cool colored stained glass of their rooms, bathing her in a flood of green and blue light. Cordehlia smiled, remembering the mossy banks of their youth in the forests of the Yuirwood. So far away, and so long ago, she could feel the same longing for nature and the open air. The water had grown cold, the only sign of how long she had been soaking away the sweat and blood of her day. Stepping out carefully, she dried her cool and pale skin, heading into their bed chamber to find something comfortable for the evening.

She took a deep breath as she crossed their large chamber. Her hand ran over the leaves and scrollwork of the patterns on their wardrobes. For all the comforts she had at the tips of her fingers now, she missed those days on the road, fucking in his tent, falling in love with him all over again for the man he was now, the reflection of her own inner darkness made sharper inside him.

The door opened easily, her elegant gowns and lingerie hanging perfectly inside. Such finery. Too fine for her. She glanced at the bloodied leather armor across the room, grappling with that lingering pain in her heart at the darkness she was trying to use for good, for justice… for cleansing the City. Still, her heart longed to go back to simpler days, innocent days. She craved those moments when Astarion was with her, making her heal from that demanding darkness that was her nature.

Her hands searched the bottom of the wardrobe, a pile of their old clothing from their adventures on the road pushed into the darkest, furthest corner. Carefully, she fished out her old flowing tunic, the bell shaped sleeves still forever stained from dirt and blood and Illithid slime. The nostalgia was so great, her heart thrumming with the memories of joy and angst of it all. Another pale, stained linen shirt laid beside it.

Those ruffles, that deep v cut and lacing sent a thrill of recognition instantly to her heart, and her core. Soft as she remembered, she held the shirt in her hands, reverent almost, as she pressed it to her face. Breathing deeply, her heart thumped slowly but steadily with the rush of joy it gave her.

His. His shirt. Old and repaired countless times and eccentric. Just like him.

A tug of a smirk at her lips, and she settled it over her body. She had grown a little rounder, fuller, and curvier since their days on the road and in battle. Well-fed, cared for, adored, her curves strained against the narrow cuts of his shirt. Her breasts nearly poured out from that deep v of his collar. An embrace of his shirt all over her torso.

She smiled. Oh, he would be livid to see her in this, she smirked. Not that she liked irritating him or inciting him to be annoyed. She didn’t like doing that… she loved it.

Just as she was imagining that irritated furrow to his brow and his nasally and whiny voice, his near-silent footsteps climbed up the center stair. Her stomach leapt, oh, she would taunt him mercilessly in this. She glanced over her shoulder, impish as she bent down to rummage more in the bottom of their wardrobe. She made sure the hem of his shirt rested on the crest of her hips as she bent forward.

Giving him a sight to behold as he entered.

Reckless, mischievous, Cordehlia held her breath to savor the sounds of him. The click of the door, the sharp inhale into his undead lungs, the softer gritting of his teeth and racing of his pulse as he took in the display of his Bride as she presented herself so… lewdly. So perfectly.

“My…” he couldn't even get out a pet name without his voice cracking at the sight of her bent over like that. He could smell her bloodied, discarded armor beside him as he closed the door. “A successful raid against the Bhaalists, it would seem, my little Raven.”

Cordehlia smirked, her face the perfect picture of startled and breathless. Too perfect. “Oh, my love,” she turned completely around and stood strength, a hand on her heaving bosom as if she had to catch her breath. “I didn’t know you were home…”

His eyes narrowed, an irritated smirk on his thick and sensual lips. “Yes you did, my little minx,” he rasped. “You’re senses are too sharp for that excuse, they always were,” he grunted as he crossed to her. Crimson eyes scanned her body, taking in the sight of her shirt.

His shirt.

“Where did you find these old rags?” he purred, that privileged, judgmental tone cooling his voice as he crossed over towards her. His finger picked at the ruffles as if they offended him. “I’ve bought you dresses, exotic silks and shifts and gowns for the bedroom, and this…” he sneers a bit naughtily, “you pick my old shirt?”

“I did,” she smiled back, so haughty and taunting. “For as… nice as your gifts are…” she trailed off, making her eyes big and innocent and teary, “they just don’t smell or feel like you against my skin…”

His eyes dilated as he watched her hand against her skin, watching as she teased his shirt over her body. “It’s a little snug, however,” she chuckled, picking at the collar that her breasts were positively spilling out from.

All fangs and breath, he kissed her, consuming her. Hands clawed at those full and supple breasts she couldn’t stop mentioning. His fingers squeezed like a vice, a moment of aggression followed by long and sensuous caressing. Cordehlia groaned, arching against him, trying to lift the shift from her body.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted in mock chastisement. “You made your choice of apparel. And I must say, I might even look better on you than me, my love. But now, you’re going to have to live with the consequences of your choice.”

“You mean, getting fucked is the consequence of my choice, don’t you?”

Astarion only gave that low, reverberating chuckle. “Now, I liked the sight of you before, why don’t you bend over again, my bride, and I’ll give you what you were clearly seeking?”

She looked so innocent as she smiled up at him. As if she hadn’t just been bent over to taunt him, as if she hadn’t been caked in the blood of their enemies before that. “I don’t know what you mean, she replied so calmly. “I was just looking for a little something comfortable to slip into.” She tried to back away, eyes darting as he started to unfasted the clasps of his ornate jacket before it landed on the floor for him to step over. “You’ll never believe…” she smirked, impish as she backed up some more, “I thought it was my tunic, it felt so familiar until I put this old thing on.” Letting out a small giggle, she only smirked harder as he closed that distance she kept insisting on making.

His ravenous smirk only widened. “You always did like games of chase as a girl,” he replied, voice like gravel from his growing desire for her. “And you always were such a tease and a horrible liar.”

Cordehlia let out a giggle as she turned to dart away. But he was all the faster, too many decades of these same kinds of games to not know her every next little move. Swiftly and suddenly, her vision was filled with bright blues and greens of the stained glass windows as he caught her and pinned her tightly beneath him. “I think I’ve won, my darling,” he rasped in her ear, his body pressing against her back and his hands running up and down her bare legs.

“For now…” she purred as she pushed away from the window just a bit.

“How about, for now, you let me enjoy the sight of you in my shirt, you adorable thief,” he chuckled, a hand reaching around her waist, the other pinning her hands above her head and against the cool glass of the windows. The bare skin of his chest radiated heat, his temperature seeming to burn hotter the more his hand slunk over her belly, the more it teased the ancient fabric of his old shirt. “Little light fingered Cordehlia, always getting in trouble…”

She huffed a laugh, hiding the groan in her voice as his fingers found their way between her legs. “Usually getting caught because of something you made me do with you, little lordling.” He tried to lift her head away from the window, but his hand just squashed her harder, pressing her breasts against the cool glass harder, making her shiver where her skin touched it from the cut of his shirt.

“Now, now,” he groaned, grinding his hardened cock against her bare ass, “you got me into trouble just as much, from what I can recall.”

Cordehlia gave that low and musical laugh, her mirth broken by a few pants as his fingers determinedly sought out her clit. “From what I

remember, you loved it…”

Astarion hissed, his cock aching to be so confined, but that feeling and scent of her own arousal was too delicious to pull away from. Closing his eyes, he felt her mind, her memories tickling in his own brain, an invitation to join her. The blue and green light of the room faded from reality, the sun of the Yuirwood bathing their youthful faces as her memories came to life….

“You give that back!” Astarion’s voice called after her, that red-haired terror he loved to be around. Loved to be around… until she did something utterly irritating, like stealing his new book from his mother.

“I’m not going to break it,” she taunted back over her shoulder, her rosy lips turned in a teasing, impish grin. “Not like you need another book for your massive collection, Astarion, you spoiled brat.”

That made him grind his teeth and sprint all the faster after her. Reaching one hand, he caught the trailing ends of her hair, pulling her up short and making her tumble into the mossy forest floor.

“Fuck you!” Cordehlia hissed, barely breathing as the wind got knocked from her lungs. Astarion towered over her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Doubly naughty,” his voice creaked from thirst and exertion. “Stealing my book,” he snatched it from her hands as she laid in the dirt, “and using such foul language for a she-elf of breeding.”

She sneered a smile, her fist landing at the back of his knee making him crumple to the dirt beside her. Swift and graceful, she pinned him down. “You’d think you would know, by your age, I am not just some she-elf of breeding…”

“By our age, you should know that it’s unbecoming and unattractive to steal things from your closest of friends. We aren’t just little elflings anymore.” He grunted, his face growing pink as he fought against her hands that braced his fists at his side, as he tried to throw her off from how she straddled him.

“You know I hate when you do this?” He spat.

“Do what?” Cordehlia pouted, holding on to him tightly. “When I beat you? When I outsmart you?” She taunted, reaching for the book from his side to flaunt it in his face.

“I hate when you pin me like this, like some little brat of a she-elf,” he grumbles. But Cordehlia only held on harder, pushing him to the earth more beneath her legs. She moved to toss the book away when…

“Astarion, is something the matter?” She looked at him, his eyes were dark, his face was flushed. “You don’t look right…” As she moved to set the book down, she felt something under her. “Something wrong with your stomach? You have a bump…”

He hissed and threw her off. “I said I don’t like it,” he grumbled, grabbing his book and holding it over his lower stomach. “Stop taking my things, Cordehlia, and maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll share them with you instead.” He sniffed and turned to stride away.

Her laughter broke the spell, their memories fading as the palace’s walls and colored windows took shape again. She rammed him backwards, sending Astarion flying most ungracefully to the carpet behind him. Sprawled out, he caught his breath, opening his eyes to see her feral, cunning leering face descend on him to pin him down. “Little did I know then just how much you actually loved when I was pressed against you,” she purred, sitting astride him the same as in the past, her hips grinding down on his confined cock, hands splayed on his bare chest.

He groaned under her, teeth bared and hands tight on her hips.

“Don’t look so cross with me,” she panted, grinding her slick folds on the velvet of his breeches. “How can you be angry when I look so adorable in my purloined shirt?”

“Because…” he grunted, “one, it’s my shirt, and two…” he slid his hands to the band of his trousers, forcing them down to let his cock finally free, “if I don’t do now what I wanted to do with you then, I’m afraid you’ll find me far worse off than… cross…” he smirks up at her, fangs glinting with mischief.

“Oh, you can be so much worse than cross,” Cordehlia teased, “spoiled for instance, annoying…” that smooth, hard skin of his cock pressed deliciously beneath her, and biting her lip, she tilted herself to catch it. Sinking on to it, groaning to be finally filled and satisfied to have him under her power.

Astarion bucked beneath her, a pleased, arrogant grin on his lips as his eyes closed. “Well, at least I’ve learned over the centuries how to play nicely with one person.”

“Ha! Barely,” Cordehlia scoffed as she slowed down on him. Sitting perfectly, frustratingly still, she teased his shirt on her body. Her strong and lithe fingers brushing her skin where her breasts pushed up through the cut of his collar. Lifting up its hem, she brought that ivory fabric to her face and breathed in deep. Astarion’s eyes went wide, dark and dilated as he watched her own pale belly and the curves of her breasts slowly come into view. Every breath she took, he could feel her muscles expand and relax around his cock. And then she sighed, “Still smells like you, my love. Like your salt and sweat and musk… like how you smelled after a long day of fighting and killing and…” she dropped the shirt and grinded on his length again suddenly, “fucking.”

He sat up with so much strength, wrapping her body in his arms, face nuzzled into her shoulder. His breath flowed over the crook of her neck, sending shivers to scatter down her spine. “Honestly, darling, now it smells like you… mouthwatering and fresh and fierce.” He smirked at her, slowly lifting his head to brush noses with his love. “And I think I like it better that way…”

Fangs sank gently into her neck, making Cordehlia buck erratically on his lap, the sudden movement making him pull away quickly with a snarl. Blood on his chin, dripping down her neck, he looked her over with lust-blown eyes. Lips pressed against his gently, her breath sweeter than meadowgrass as she slowly rode him. A steady tempo, a rocking of their union as she took her sweet time to buck on his cock. Craving every inch, every ridge and vein of him single her, she wanted to feel, to remind her that they had made it.

They had won.

Her undead heart palpitated in her chest, or maybe it was his own heart beating so hard beneath his ribs it resonated in her very bones. He bent in worship of her, giving her the very air from his lungs and blood from his veins to sustain her as they moved like water over rocks, so pure and fluid. Warm touch and strong fingers clung into her hair, tugging her head back, angling her mouth just right for his tongue to delve deep inside, to skate over her fangs and feast on her taste. Breath growing short, her aching muscles flooded with the need to finish, to chase that release he always, always gave. Arms hugged her tight, a gesture that was once so innocent between them now something so full-blooded and thick with heavy desire. Her own two arms, capable of so much violence and strength, clutched around his neck, pulling his mouth to fasten against her own.

The fading daylight bathed them in the softer blues and greens through the windows of the palace. It warmed their skin from without, even as the slow friction of their coupling warmed them quickly from within. His breath grew harsh and stilted, his teeth biting hard on themselves, jaw tight, and every muscle drawn tense; it was enough to shove Cordehlia into her own wave of climax in the same breath as him.

Her lungs burned as all the air disappeared, her aching muscles bunched and fluttered, all she could do was gasp to fill her empty lungs with air. Every breath was laden with his scent, ancient and familiar from his shirt caressing her body, and that all-too-familiar perfume of elegance, of citrus and herbs and brandy.

Catching her breath, she felt his head fall against her bosom, the Ascendant laid low as he caught a second wind cradled against his love’s body. “To bed?” he whispered softly. Drenched, Cordehlia slid off his lap, locking eyes with him as looked up at last.

His eyes might have been kohl-lined now and crimson, his teeth like weapons, and his back forever scared by his torment, but in the bath of blue-green light, he stole her breath. This mighty Ascendant, and yet still the same cocky elven boy who smirked, stealing her heart… he looked up at her with wide loving eyes.

Astarion, even more lithe and sleek since his ascension, stood and pulled his trousers all the way off. Without warning, he swept her in his arms, catching her back in his grip and her lips in his kiss. Their bed caught her as he slipped in beside her, on her, everywhere at once.

Attentive, lusty, and passionate—just as he always had been since he first laid claim to her heart, and then her body, and now her future. Finally.

The room darkened as the sun set, verdant greens and lush blues turning to black again as night fell outside their little haven of a bedroom. But they were far from finished.

Pants and sighs and the slaps of flesh filled their room for hours, but even the undead eventually end up collapsed in a pile of bliss. Resting her head on his chest, the pounding of his heart was her lullaby, that ancient pattern that had soothed her to sleep for years, and Cordehlia drifted off into sleep, still hugged tightly in his old shirt.

Hand in hand, he held her body, not just in his arms in their palace, but in their minds. In their dreams, he found her, bathed in the real soft greens of the Yuirwood. Her confident face looked at him with all the love she had preserved for him for centuries, her eyes a mix of silver and crimson, the oneness of who she had always been and who she was now. His bride, his beloved, and his Raven. Bringing her dream-lips against his, he could taste her breath again on his real tongue.

Lost in his touch, Cordehlia clung to his body and soul. For that moment, even among the dream-like trees, she could smell him, feel him, that boy that stole her and became her everything.

💞💞💞���💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Just a bit nsfw… so we post it here, by @marimosalad

Hope you loved these menaces 💞

[satureja13]

Kiyoshi and Jack are on their way to the Tower to meet the others. Jack is worried what they might say about the latest news from behind that closet door ö.Ö' And he really hopes his great idea will distract Sai from killing him for defiling minor diety Kiyoshi... Jack: "You would have never asked me to open that door if I hadn't had such a bad influence on you - never!" Kiyoshi: "Jack, even Ms Coombes is convinced that you're the very reason why I was able to escape from that tree. You have no idea how boring and depressing 60 years can be with nothing to do. Just pondering about all I did wrong and how much I hurt you. And how lonely I've been. My life before meeting you ... guys hasn't been easy either. I gave everything for my family, the Resistance and the Temple. And I won't let anyone blame me for living my life now - and having a bit of fun. And giving everything I have to... my friends." He wanted to say '...to you', but he doesn't want to coax Jack into something he can't handle - right now. Jack: "I really hope you won't have to leave ... us again." He wanted to say '... me', but that's wishful thinking and he does not want to promise something he can't handle - right now. He didn't tell Kiyoshi - and won't tell this no one else either (maybe he'll tell Vlad, though), but he still feels the aftermaths of that lightning stroke. It just does not feel that devastating anymore. Maybe it will stop once they left this place beyond the Veil?

Eventually they entered the tops' bedroom where the others were just about to discuss some new ideas for their strategy to remove that spell from Ji Ho. Jeb was just explaining his idea: Since Jeb is able to sense Vestigia, remnants of once cast magic, he could try to find out if - and which kind of - magic had been cast on Ji Ho. This would help them to prepare to face Ji Ho's grandfather - and prabably the Council - to somehow make him remove that spell or - if he refuses - to resort to drastic measures ö.Ö' Which will be still deadly dangerous...

Kiyoshi and Jack entered, took seat and listened. Gladly the others came up with some useful ideas, the mood had been subdued after their first fruitless meeting. Jack dreaded to speak, but he can't hide the fact the last spot is gone from the others anyway - so he just thought he'd spit it out and hopes that Sai will just tell him to run and chase him up and down the beach for a few hours - until he calmed down... Jack told them what happened: "... and so my good mate Kiyoshi helped me out and now I'm finally painless and that damn heat is also gone! The Super Soldier is fully operational again!" Even though he sounds confident, everyone who knows Jack knows it's just his puppy strategy to distract. After he finished his speech, he ducked his head and waited for the storm to come...

No one said a word, no reaction either ö.ö Is this the calm before the storm? Kiyoshi stood up and reassured the others that no harm had been done and that it meant nothing and that they surely won't 'go down that road again', as Sai called it. Sai: "Please don't say you did it in the basin and contaminated the holy water again." Kiyoshi: "What? No! No. The water is blessed and pure. The Sanctum pristine and flawless." Sai: "And the heat is gone?" Kiyoshi: "Eh - yes." Sai: "And Jeb and Vlad won't be attracted towards Jack anymore?" Kiyoshi: "Eh - no." Luckily Sai didn't ask about him ö.Ö' Sai huffed: "Ouf - that's a relief! And the pain is gone too! *Sai slapped his hands on his thighs* Now let's see what Jeb can find out about that spell!" That's it? Jack can't believe he got away - that easily, at that! - with woohooing Kiyoshi! Maybe Sai will kill him after the meeting - in a dark corner - when the others are not around - making it look like an unhappy little accident ö.ö

They let Ji Ho lay on the bed and Jeb built up his magic to prepare to enter him - to search for the Vestigia. He never cast this special spell on a living being - just objects. Jeb reassured Ji Ho: "I'll be careful. Don't tense up, it will make it harder for me to penetrate you and search for the remnants of that spell." Jeb looked at Ji Ho, who hadn't answered and gritted his teeth. Did Ji Ho understand what he just said? Ji Ho wriggled nervously and wasn't able to lay still. Jeb's magic already stroked across Ji Ho's body, looking for the opening to enter him. Jeb: "Are you ok, Ji Ho? Did you hear me? Keep still." Ji Ho flinched, pulled his legs further upwards to his chest and hissed: "O - ok." Jeb's magic eventually found the opening, nudged Ji Ho a few times before it slid in Ji Ho's tight body. Jeb doesn't want to hurt him, so he proceeded slowly. Never before had Jeb been inside someone elses body. He was just as nervous and wound up as Ji Ho. Jeb: "Still ok?" Ji Ho looked at him with hooded eyes: "Keep going. Just feels ... eh ...uncommon." He croaked. Jeb nodded and reached deeper, inch by inch. Vlad growled. He can't stand seeing Ji Ho like this. So ... vulnerable and exposed beneath Jeb. And Sai hissed. He already witnessed Jeb searching for Vestigia and he didn't expect this to be so intimate when he does it with Ji Ho. He wants this to end. Sai just got back together with Jeb and again they are in an unbearable situation. How are they supposed to have a relationship in an environment like this? Being that close and intimate with others?

Jeb was fully concentrated on Ji Ho, sweat on his forehead: "Try to hang on and relax, I'm almost there." Ji Ho was finally able to get adjusted to Jeb's probing deep inside of him. Jeb breathed heavily from the strain: "There we go." Ji Ho felt Jeb getting nearer to the source of the spell: "Oh! I - I think that's the spot, Jeb! Just a bit deeper... Ah!" Ji Ho's head rolled back and he closed his eyes. Finally Jeb hit the right spot, rubbed over it a few times and let his magic spill inside Ji Ho to get to the Vestigia. Kiyoshi sensed that Sai and Vlad are on the edge. Witnessing Ji Ho and Jeb in an intimate situation like this is upsetting them beyond measure: "Don't worry. He's not hurting Ji Ho. They are almost done." Ji Ho looked to the side - embarrassed. He doesn't think they are worried Jeb is hurting him... more of the opposite...

But it was worth the trouble. Jeb found the spell! And he now has an idea what this spell is made of and how to deal with it. Problem is: Ji Ho really was imprecated to seduce Vlad! To strip him from his powers or to kill him they don't know. Is all they feel for each other a lie then? We will know more when the spell is removed. But - will it also remove the Bond - and their love?

Before they went down to the dungeons of the Tower for further investigations and preparations, Jeb and Ji Ho tried to recover and Kiyoshi and Jack told the others about Jack's idea. Inspired by their reflection he saw in the mirror. If they'd find a way - maybe they wouldn't have to face the Council and Ji Ho's grandfather in person. They could reflect the spell back to sender! Of course none of them knows how to accomplish this. If it were that easy, they could just pull the spell out of Ji Ho and destroy it. Ji Ho's grandfather is no inexperienced novice - like them. But it's better than what they had so far so it's worth following that idea and make something out of it. And for this, they started in the Potions Classroom. They also experimented with the meteorites of Ji Ho and Vlad, which made all that teleportation and travel to the otherworld stuff possible. Good they are all distracted for now. None of them wants to think about what this all means for their future - and what would have happened if they didn't find the spell and went back to the mundane world - oblivious. And Ji Ho's grandfather and the Council would have let Ji Ho attack Vlad. This time without preparation and protection spells. What a nightmare!

'I was born in a cross-fire hurricane And I howled at the morning driving rain But it's all right now, in fact, it's a gas But it's all right, I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash It's a gas, gas, gas'

I was raised by a toothless, bearded hag (I wouldn't call Uncle Stefan toothless ^^') I was schooled with a strap right across my back But it's all right now, in fact, it's a gas But it's all right, I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash It's a gas, gas, gas (ooh)

I was drowned, I was washed up and left for dead I fell down to my feet and I saw they bled, yeah, yeah I frowned at the crumbs of a crust of bread (or pizza ;) Yeah, yeah, yeah

Jumpin' Jack Flash - The Rolling Stones MV was recorded 1968! TMI: There is also a movie from 1986 with the same name (starring Whoopie Goldberg) which I love so much <3

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[chimeramoth]

Sidon: Link, my dearest! How wonderful it is to see you! Please, won't you stay a little a while? Would you like to stay and rest for a night? Come, you must tell me what places and treasures you have seen since our last visit!

Link: Sidon, my treasure! I was hoping you'd have the time to visit. I have so much to share with you! I've traveled through scorching hot deserts and frigid mountains and dank caves, and even through the clouds of a lightning storm! I'm so excited to show you what I've found!! ... Can we...go somewhere private?

Sidon, lightly blushing: Why, of course. I would understand that perhaps you would like to show me one-of-a-kind treasures away from curious or nefarious eyes and ears... Anything for my dear friend, the Champion.

Link and Sidon go to visit Pristine Sanctum, only accompanied by a guard who is ordered to stand watch at the entrance.

Here, Link proceeds to throw down his luggage case, throw it open, and give Sidon a fashion show of all the bedazzling, sleek, chic, and fierce outfits he has found from skies above and depths below.

[maggotknight]

A vignette novelization of Lilith von Valancius finding Pasqal in Commorragh.

tw tags: mild depictions of gore, body horror, blood and injury

link to post on ao3

"No-- Oh, no no no."

Lilith von Valancius staggered towards a familiar heap of red fabric, cast aside atop a pile of half rotted corpses. Cursing and praying under her breath that the Magos Explorator, Pasqal Haeneumann, was still alive. She completely forgot the presence of Sister Argenta and Yrliet, who stood only a few paces behind. Her attention was focused soly on the tech priest, abandoned like organic waste.

Hatred for this accursed place rose in her throat as bile, burning and bitter. She attempted to swallow, but could only stifle a gag at the sight of the Magos' defiled form. Wires and tubing, once pristine and glittering with sacred unguents, now appeared as writhing maggots under waxen flesh. Pasqal groped at his open abdomen, a futile attempt to comprehend what had been done to his True Flesh. How that thing that stalked the Anatomical Opera ruined him.

Lilith knelt and cradled the back of Pasqal's head and torso, a small comfort more for her sake than his.

"What have those things done to you?" She murmured, unable to comprehend what she was seeing, but just as unwilling to look away.

The Magos shuddered an incense scented breath, his vox pricked with an undercurrent of panic, "Defilement… This unit was subject to a profane invasion."

As Pasqal fed his fingers through his chest, small mewlings escaped the machine spirits within his battered body. His mechadendrites struggled against their tech brother's will to rid himself of the blight forced upon him. A language unfamiliar to Lilith was inscribed into the pieces of alien metal nesting within Pasqal's open sternum. Beholding the accursed symbols made the worm behind her eye squirm. It was almost as if everything those reprobates touched turned into something twisted. Even something as sacred as steel.

Pasqal's vox filtered voice crackled, it's own machine spirit's resolve wavering, "A xenos touched my Ferrum Sanctum. Removed parts and… changed other parts. Branded my True Flesh with ulcers of forbidden metal."

Keep it together.

Lilith chided herself, knowing full well if she were to crack, they may as well throw themselves off the edge of The Chasm. Though, she would be lying to herself to say the idea of death wasn't a comfort. The edge was just a few paces away… Pleading Binharic hymns tugged Lilith back to reality, her gaze returning to the metal festering within Pasqal. There was no way she could extract the cancerous metal without it killing Pasqal.

"Pasqal.. please." The Rogue Trader choked back a sob, pleading with the Explorator who's attention was only half with her. "We need to keep goin'. Leave the xeno metals until we can get you to a proper chirugeon."

"Request Denied due to: Violation of the Ninth Universal Law: The Alien Mechanism is a Perversion of the True Path." The Magos, finally, lifts his gaze to meet Lilith's. A note of Binharic resounds from his vox-implant, a message only she could understand: resignation. Pasqal Haneumann was going to rid himself of the anathema, and will surely die trying. The metalic sweet taste of blood coated her tongue as Lilith bit into her lower lip. She was beginning to think what few mercies He had granted her had all but run out. And her retinue were the ones who would truly pay for it.

"You ca--" Lilith began but was interrupted by a hard, painful lump forming in her throat; weak flesh betraying her. Warm liquid traced down her cheeks, a mix of tears and blood bit at the open wounds on her face.

"You. You are a warrior of comprehension-!" She chokes out between stifling sobs, "Remember the 7th Law, damn it! Survive then Comprehend!" Her bitten lips quivered, unable to find the steadfast, confident Commissar that she once was. She holds the Magos to her chest; Red robes bunched between her fingers, seeking any kind of security.

"You can't leave me now.. it's an order.." Lilith whispers.

"This statement is.. true." Pasqal's voice rises, as if finding it for the first time. "I am a warrior of Comprehension. Comprehension is the Key to all things. I will comprehend the anathema and, in doing so, I will not yield." Magos Haneumann pointedly states, regaining the righteous determination that was almost bled from him entirely. Lilith reached out, taking a metallic hand in hers, aiding the tech priest to his feet. His balance momentarily unsteady and, regrettably, unreliable. But he was standing. "This unit is ready to serve. Omnissiah have mercy upon me." He rounds his fingers into the symbol of the Cog and Lilith returns the gesture in kind.

She suddenly became painfully aware of her surroundings and, more importantly, just how disgusting her hands were. Covered in dirt, caked blood and Emperor knows what else. She sniffs down a blood clot (or, quite possibly, maybe, it was an egg from that thing burrowed in her brain), and wipes away the tear stains from her cheeks. Spare what little dignity she had left-- and it was a miracle she had any at all.

"Come on, then." The Lord Captain turned to face the radiant Argenta and battered Yrliet, "We're not getting out of this cesspool by standing here staring at each other like a bunch of arseholes." She waved them over before continuing through the dim streets of Commorragh. The thought of Cassia and Heinrix wriggles at the dark part of her mind. Premature visions of what state she may find Heinrix in produces another rise of bile. Lilith swallows, stuffing down the release her body so desperately needs.

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Want to say thank you to @lovelivingmydreams not only for being my beta, but actually transforming my simple draft into this beautiful story

Chapter 1: The arch mage's tower

Next

Summary: When investigating the dissapearance of the arch mage, a trio of mages stumble upon a long kept secret that will throw their lives into complete dissaray.

The tower of the arch mage was old, abandoned and yet still breathtakingly majestic.

Moss and vines were creeping up the stone weeds had overrun the once pristinely kept front yard. But stainglass whindows, while covered in dust, still held gorgeous art pieces depicting mind boggling feats. The collored tiles on the damaged roof had faded but still held their eye catching pattern.

The reason it was in such a sorry state is because it’s owner had disappeared nearly 30 years ago. None had dared to enter it for fear of the dangers it might hold.

But finally the consulate had produced three mages powerful and brave enough to face the dangers and discover what had happened.

Arch Mage Noctora had been the most powerful mage to ever grace the magical community. He was an icon, a true legend.

Someone who sacrificed his own health to research the most dangerous brands of magic and teach the magical world about the horrid consequences of dark magic and did whatever he could to protect the public from it’s evils.

Potentially his kindness had finally cost him his life.

Today three of his adherents stood in front of his tower, barely containing their excitement.

They felt truly blessed to be given the honor to enter the great Mage’s home, it was a boyhood dream come true.

“Here we are. About to set eyes on the sanctum of the wisest man to ever wield magic,” the mage dressed in blue robes dotted with silver stars mused.

“The bravest man in recent history,” the man in red robes adorned with golden flowers agreed.

“The kindest soul to grace this planet,” the last of them, wearing lighter blue robes embroidered with bronze animal footprints, sighed.

The trio had been friends ever since they could remember and had been excited to find they all passed the test to find magical potential getting them all a place at the school for magic. And ever since first hearing about the Arch Mage and his great deeds they all agreed they’d be just as great one day.

When they learned off the mystery of his disappearance they wanted nothing more than to be the ones to find him. And now, it seemed that that dream would truly come true.

“Well, no mystery has ever been solved by just standing around. Let’s go!” the red mage insisted, leading the way across the overgrown path, frowning a little bit at the types of plants growing there. They carefully made their way up the stairwell, passing living quarters without a second glance. Agreeing that those should be left for last, and only if the study yielded absolutely no answers.

When they came to the study, they found a right mess. The walls were covered in cabinets and shelves and all were overly full, crates were strewn across the floor also overflowing with trinkets and herbs and scrolls and all sorts of things.

The cleanest place was the desk surprisingly. It stood there covered in dust near the one window in the room. A burnt out candle on the right hand side, along with a dried up inkwell, a mostly finished map an open box with herbs and a verry deliberately closed box right in the middle that pretty much sang “I am important look at me”.

It looked verry old, the wood had a crack running across the length of the lid which was once intricately decorated, but the chipped paint and the rusted chains made it hard to really see what the decoration was meant to represent.

Clearly this was the last thing that had held the arch mage’s attention in this tower, which meant it could be a vital clue to their quest.

The trio looked at each other and gave a determined nod. They had to know what was inside.

Of course the box looked very suspicious and chains rarely meant anything good so they opted to try a hands off method first.

Which meant Logan, in his stary blue robe, stepped forward and used his divination magic to tell him what they would find.

The box glowed blue and then elegant blue letters appeared in the air above it.

“Essence of the mage of a thousand lives,” Logan read out loud.

“Why are these things always so vague?” The red mage sighed impatiently.

Logan ignored his friend and frowned. “Mage of a thousand lives… That has to be the arch mage. It probably refers to the thousands of lives he saved. And essence… The essence of what he was doing…? One thing is for sure. This has to hold a clue. We have to open it no matter the danger. There is far to much to be gained here!” Logan stated determinedly.

“Wow, that was quick,” Patton, their martial caster in light blue, giggled. “Can I?” he offered. His friends both made room for him. He took a breath, focused and with a swift symbol in the air and a focused push towards the box the chains snapped and fell to the side.

Roman, their redclad herbalist stepped forward and opened the box to find a white powder. A lot of it actually. He held it in the light, a bit annoyed at the stained glass window right now.

As an herbalist he could recognize most herbs, minerals and even most finished medicine and potions with just a quick look. But not if the only light he was offered was filtered through reds and greens and blues. Nevermind, he could probably rule out most things by the texture, though he kept a cleansing spell ready just in case it turned out toxic to touch…

The second he ran his fingers through it though he wanted to throw the box away.

The box held no herbs, no minerals, no. Roman knew what these were.

Ashes.

Them being kept in such a box told him that these couldn’t possibly be remnants of burning herbs either. Which meant animal or even more disturbing human remains were in here.

The very act of making such a thing was considered practicing dark magic.

The Arch Mage had banned certain brands of magic or ingredients for the safety of their casters.

Such as changing your body to enhance it or to resemble someone else, both on ethical grounds and the fact that such changes could do irreparable damage to you in the long run.

Animal shifting was allowed so long as these were non magical creatures, again trying to encapsulate the primal magic of such creatures was incredibly dangerous.

The practice of chronomancy was ended mostly because it always required some form of ashes to be used.

Ashes, among other pieces of an animal or human were forbidden.

Anything that lives contains mana, that’s where the magic comes from. And that mana does not perish with the body. When it comes to animals and even certain plants, unleashing that mana by using it in a spell was dangerous. Weak minded mages had lost limbs trying to use a fishbone. The corruption it caused could be lethal!

That was what the Arch Mage’s research had unveiled. That was how he compiled a list of ingredients that were too harmful to the body to be considered to be used.

That was what had weakened his health. What possibly caused his demise.

Roman shook his hand desperately trying to get the ashes off, setting off his cleansing spell.

He felt a tingling sensation, almost warm and pleasant, spread across his fingers. Oh no. Oh no the ashes were reacting to his magic, he was activating the mana…

“We need to get rid of it!” he yelled closing the box and sprinting towards the stairs, whatever he’d just done, he couldn’t let it go off in an enclosed space near his friends.

“What is it!?” his friends called after him sounding confused.

“Ashes!” Roman called heading down the stairs, praying he wouldn’t fall down.

“Sweet stars above, let me survive this,” he whispered under his breath as he almost tripped on the last step and headed outside. The flowers, the ashes could go and fertilize the flowers.

He kicked open the door and shook out the box, watching with a breath of relief as the wind caught them and kindly spread them amongst the flowers.

He was catching his breath as he heard his friends join him.

He tossed the box to the side and let out a laugh. Well he had never gone through so many emotions in such a short amount of time.

“Roman, your hands,” he heard Patton say, his voice soft and trembling with worry.

Roman caught his friend’s eyes and then followed their horrified gaze.

There was still ash on his hand and it was glowing purple.

“Nope, no. I don’t want to hold onto you, go!” he pleaded, shaking his hand again.

He felt a strange pull on his hand toward the field, he let it guide him and watched with horrified fascination as the field where the ashes had landed was alit with a same glow.

What was going on?

A new gust of wind, this one definitely not natural whipped around them and made the ashes rise up in the air in a cloud it spun around and around and Roman felt his hand being pulled forward, in his shock he was powerless to stop himself from following until he was in the middle of it. Roman didn’t like this. The cloud felt alive, he could feel it connecting to him, little specks of his own signature red magic appearing in the purple shine. No. No this was definitely too much magic for him to play with. He was cocky, not crazy.

Roman finally got his bearings and made to step away from the mass, losing his balance in the process and falling backwards. As he looked up he was just in time to see the process come to a close. With a mighty cry that shook Roman and his friends to his core a majestic bird they’d only ever seen pictures off spread it’s wings where the ashes had been. It had gorgeous purple feathers and it looked absolutely heartbreakingly beautiful backlit by the afternoon sun.

“Is that…” Logan whispered.

“It has to be,” Patton agreed.

Roman was at a loss for words. The creature looked down upon him as the last bits of magic faded away, little sparks of red and purple disappearing at last and then it glided towards him and landed on his chest. Amethyst eyes judging him severely.

What the heck?

[sombersummerskies]

A Sage's Regret: Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Pristine Sanctum

Word Count: 5033

CW: None

Want all the chapters? -> Masterlist

~~~ <> ~~~

Stand upon the land of the sky fish, and behold its lofty view. Among the floating rocks you see, a droplet waits for you. Through this droplet shoot an arrow with the mark of the king. Do this task and you shall reveal a most wondrous thing. See the watery bridge’s resting spot with your own two eyes… that which connects the Zora to the people of the skies.’

These were the words carved into a stone slate near Toto Lake. You’d had to assist Jiahto in repairing it, as when the Upheaval occurred the stone had shattered. He’d encouraged you to seek out King Dorephan and request his assistance, although he mentioned something about the king ‘investigating’ the sludge from the sky.

As you returned to the palace of Zora’s Domain, your thoughts were swirling. The slate had only given you more questions than answers. A sky fish? A droplet? The mark of the king? Clearly, this was some sort of puzzle, but you feared that you lacked the pieces to make up the whole.

You silently wander through the domain. Everywhere you looked there was muck from the sky staining the once pristine architecture. The Zora people all seemed exhausted, and the sight saddened you greatly. While the children seemed in relatively high spirits, the adults within the palace were constantly having hushed conversations and sharing worried looks.

The fear and apprehension were tangible, and you longed to be of assistance to them. Yes, looking for Princess Zelda was your main priority- but you would never be able to rest knowing people were in need and that you could help them but didn’t. No matter what it takes, you were determined to solve this sludge problem.

An immediate roadblock stood in your path, however: King Dorephan was nowhere to be found.

The throne room which was typically graced by the patriarch’s presence was empty, aside from a few kids who were playing in the pool at the foot of the throne. Anxiety nagged at the back of your mind. ‘Something’s not right,’ you think, recalling your conversation atop the mountain, ‘shit, didn’t Sidon say something about his father being unwell?’

As you retreated down the staircase you tried to think of a plan going forward. Who could you speak to that would help you track the king’s location? If you returned to Mipha Court you could perhaps ask Sidon, but the thought of facing him again so soon made your stomach flip. Maybe you could seek out a council member- although if you were being honest with yourself, the last thing you wanted to do was speak with an elder.

You sigh when you realize what you’re going to have to do. You’ll have to speak with Lady Yona.

The tide pools beneath the throne room trickle gently as you approach them. Each of the three pools of fresh water has Zora lying within them, and you instantly realize that this area is being used as a makeshift medical ward. The ill Zora, sickened from the sludge, are being cared for by the palace nurses. The operation is being overseen by Yona, as well as her two ladies-in-waiting Chroma and Khira. This makes sense, considering all three possess healing abilities through the manipulation of water.

Your boots pad against the smooth stone as you approach, and it draws Khira’s attention as she glances over her shoulder toward you.

You can hear Yona speak, though it’s mostly to herself. Her palms glow blue as she hovers her hands over one of the ill Zora. “Phew. This sludge really is quite stubborn. I dearly hope our patients recover soon,” she sighs, a dejected expression on her face.

“Lady Yona,” Khira pipes up, “the Hylian knight is here at last.”

‘At last? Have they been waiting for me?’

Yona pauses and turns, her eyes lighting up with recognition as she meets your gaze. “Oh! You really came! How fortuitous,” she beams, “I was hoping to speak with you about an item of great importance.”

Your head tilts to the side in confusion. “Oh? I actually came to ask some questions, but…”

As you trail off awkwardly, Yona steps out of the tide pool and walks beside you. Gently, she guides you away from everyone else, and you realize that this is a conversation she’d rather not have overheard. You sense apprehension from her before she continues, her eyes flicking to the side before she whispers, “it’s about… an item which you entrusted to the domain. Your Zora armor.”

It’s difficult for you to hide the reaction this pulls from you. Your eyes widen and your breathing stutters. “The Zora armor?” you repeat, nervously clenching your hands together.

Yona nods, and though a small smile graces her face you can see the pity in her eyes, “the repair is complete, so it’s prepared to be bestowed upon you once more.”

“I, um… I don’t recall requesting that the armor be repaired,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. In fact, you can perfectly recall what you had said the last time you held that armor in your hands. You had begged Sidon to take it from you, you couldn’t bear to keep it because it reminded you far too much of him.

She glances away from you momentarily, and you quickly realize that she is looking up toward Ploymus Mountain. As though choosing her words, she slowly explains, “there was some… insistence, er, someone advocating in your stead that the armor be repaired and returned to its rightful owner.”

Surely, she must have been talking about the prince. The revelation caused an odd mixture of emotions to surge through you; joy that he was thinking of you, sadness that he felt compelled to return the armor, anger that he was going against your wishes. Rather than forcing an answer out of you, Yona gives you some mercy by instead continuing the conversation.

“If you’ll follow me, we can retrieve the armor from the workshop,” she smiles, pointing toward the stairs.

“I- uh-” you stammer, and your hesitation is obvious. You were conflicted, on the one hand, you knew that regaining the ability to ascend waterfalls would no doubt be incredibly useful for your journey. On the other hand, this armor was imbued with so much emotional baggage that it made your head spin. You had to make a decision though, and quickly, not wanting your indecision to be visible.

So you relent and say, “alright, let’s go.”

You trail behind the princess, anxiety eating away at you. A small, nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke venomous words into existence. What if this was some kind of cruel trick? What if she sought to make a fool out of you? What if this was all a lie, and there was no Zora armor to speak of?

Could she be stringing you along? Was this an attempt at humiliation? After all, her marriage was a rather important one, and you were likely the only person in all of Hyrule who posed a threat to her. Your rushing thoughts come crashing to a halt once you enter the doorway to the workshop.

“I’m so honored to reunite you with this item, dear Champion,” Yona says, holding the clothing in front of you, “your armor is as good as new! Please, take this along with our well-wishes. I am so happy that I was able to return it to its pristine state. It is a… precious piece of armor, after all. Please use this well for your investigation into Princess Zelda’s whereabouts!”

You take the armor into your hands and gently run your fingers over the scales and metal. She was right, it looked brand new, just as it had years ago when you’d first been gifted it. You feel rather ashamed for having assumed the worst of her. You painted a picture in your mind that saw her as a vindictive and spiteful woman when she truly seemed to be anything but. Perhaps you were the one who’d been vindictive and spiteful.

“... why are you doing this?” you ask her in a quiet voice, not wanting to be overheard.

Her smile drops momentarily.

“I’m sure you’re well aware of the circumstances under which I returned this item to the prince,” you continue with a sad sigh, “I’m sure you must be aware of everything, I don’t think he would have hidden anything from you. So why treat me this way? Why be so kind to me when I’m nothing but a threat to your union?”

Yona takes in a deep breath and shakes her head, before gesturing for you to walk with her. You carefully fold the armor and tuck it beneath your arm, walking beside her as she guides you to the upper level once more. There’s a look of contemplation on her face before she nods and speaks her mind.

“It saddens me to hear you speak so lowly of yourself,” she says, and it thoroughly catches you off guard. She must see the confusion on your face as she continues, “before I arrived here, I had heard nothing but good things about you- from Prince Sidon, of course. But even here in the palace, if your name is spoken it is because the people of this domain sing your praises. You’re a hero, not just to them, but to many of Hyrule’s citizens. I won’t let my, er, arrangement impact the way that I view you.”

The pair of you arrive in front of the goddess statue and you mull over her words. It hadn’t occurred to you that she would have taken any of this into consideration. You knew that in reality, you’d been allowing your jealousy of her engagement cloud your thinking.

Lady Yona glances around, hesitating for just a moment before she explains, “as for your… unique relationship with Prince Sidon… if either of us should be feeling any semblance of guilt, it should be me. I’m well aware of his affection for you- he is madly in love with you. This whole business with the arranged marriage has caused him so much pain, and as his friend, I see it as my duty to aid him where I can. This includes assisting you and ensuring that you still feel welcome.”

“It’s not like it’s your fault either,” you quickly interject, “you didn’t plan the arrangement, neither of you had a say.”

She smiles, though it’s rueful, “well, I suppose, but that doesn’t make it any more fair to you.”

Her words make you flinch and you cast your gaze aside. It wasn’t fair. Nothing had been.

“Now, you said you had a question for me?” she reminds you.

“Oh, yes,” you perk up, gladly accepting the distraction from your confused emotions, “I need to locate King Dorephan, it’s about the investigation into the sludge. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

At the mention of the king, Yona visibly falters. “Ah, he is… indisposed right now,” she answers cautiously, “though I must apologize, I am not at liberty to share his exact location.”

“... oh,” you mutter, disappointed by her response.

“But,” she continues, “if you wanted to learn in a more roundabout way, I would recommend seeking out the children. They can’t help but overhear everything the adults say, after all.”

Your brow furrows. Of course, the kids playing in the throne room. Perhaps they would know something about the king’s whereabouts.

You thank Yona for help and begin to turn on your heel, but the princess suddenly calling out your name calls your attention back to her.

“Ah, before you go, there is someone who would like to see you,” she says with a grin.

Confused, you allow yourself to be guided back to the tide pool infirmary. Yona leads you toward the back of the room where you see a nurse sitting with a much smaller Zora in the water. Your eyes widen when you realize that it’s the young boy you’d found in the lake.

The little Zora makes an excited babbling noise when he spots you, stretching his arms out of the water and reaching his hands toward you. You ask for the nurse’s permission before sitting at the water’s edge, smiling as you reach your left hand out to the boy. He wraps his smaller palm around one of your fingers and giggles at you.

“We believe he’s going to make a full recovery,” the nurse explains to you, “he’s showing signs of a healthy appetite already and has responded well to all of our cognitive tests, so we do not think he has any internal damage. Both you and Prince Sidon were able to help him just in time.”

Your heart swells with relief as she gives you this news. The young boy slaps the water playfully, his golden eyes focused on your other hand as well. Allowing him to examine you, you bring both your hands in front of his face. He stares at them intensely, his gaze flicking back and forth between each palm, clearly confused by the stark difference between your arms.

Deciding to entertain his curiosity, you fish through your small travel pack and pull a piece of flint out. You hold the rock in your left palm and watch as your right arm begins to glow. The little boy’s eyes widen in surprise, and only more so when you use your Ultrahand ability to lift the stone into the air. He squeals with excitement as you move the flint around, and you can’t help but grin. Even if your new arm gives you a lot of grief, at least it can make him laugh.

Lady Yona, who had been watching with a smile on her face, speaks up behind you, “he’s been rather talkative, though he can’t quite say words yet, he’s still rather young. But we thought you might’ve liked to see him since you were the one who found him. The squad of guards is still searching for his parents, but no word from them yet.”

“I see,” you mumble, setting the flint aside and putting your hand in the water (to which the young boy excitedly paddles over and starts to play with your palms). “I’m just happy he’s safe. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I couldn’t have saved him…”

Yona kneels beside you and thoughtfully nods her head, “yes, I understand. He seems to have become quite attached to you. Gaddison said he got rather fussy when you tried to hand him over.”

This pulls a small laugh out of you.

“As you can see, we do not yet have a name for him,” the princess continues, “we were hoping for the boy’s parents to be found, but since there are no signs yet we thought it might be a good idea to choose a temporary name for the time being. I wanted to ask if you have any ideas for a name.”

You sputter, whipping your head around to look at her, “wh- huh- me?”

She nods politely as if this is at all normal.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you ask, flicking your gaze to the little boy (who is now blowing bubbles in the water), “I wouldn’t want to impose. I- I don’t even know the first thing about the tradition of Zora names.”

“I trust you to pick a good name,” she responds with a genuine tone.

You focus your attention back to the boy and give him a smile. A name… it was a request you’d never been given before- and frankly, it felt like a heavy responsibility. Names were incredibly important, they had meaning and history behind them. You didn’t want to pick anything plain or foolish. You racked your mind for ideas until your train of thought landed on Sidon and his family.

The Zora royal family had a long lineage of having names selected from music. You decided that you would choose something which reflected the same.

“Allegro,” you answer after a moment of silence. You lift a hand and pat his head, an action which pulls a laugh from him.

Yona hums and repeats the name, as though testing it, “Allegro… yes, I quite like that, I’ll make a note of it for the nurses.”

You huff out a sigh of relief, glad that you’d received approval. “Can you say Allegro?” you ask him with a grin.

The young boy seems concentrated as he focuses on what you say. You repeat the name a few times, splitting up the syllables. Though it takes a few times, eventually he mumbles something akin to ‘Awehgo’ and you decide that it’s close enough. It’s only once you glance up and see that the sun is beginning to set on the horizon that you realize quite some time has passed.

Although you’d love to continue to keep an eye on the young Zora, you knew you still had a job to do. You try not to let yourself be too sad as you step away from the tide pool. You give him one last pat on the head and say your goodbye, to which he excitedly says “bye!” in return. Yona bids you a farewell as you walk away, Zora armor held tight in your arms.

It was time to find the king.

…

“A spot with clear water?” “Somewhere between Ploymus Mountain and the domain!” “Behind the waterfall-” “A secret entrance!”

These were all snippets of a conversation you’d overheard from the older Zora children. They’d been playing a game, though to you it seemed as if they were playing out the events of a battle King Dorephan had fought. Regardless, the outcome of the battle didn’t seem favorable, so you pieced together the words of the children and it led your next destination.

Mikau Lake. The lake had a large waterfall flowing into it, one of a series of falls that flowed from the top of the mountain. You stared at the water fondly, recalling a time during Sidon’s Divine Beast trials. Both of you had ascended these waterfalls together and you start to fondly remember it- before a sinking feeling settles in your stomach once more. That was in the past. You could not- would not do it ever again.

With a sigh you look down at yourself, examining your new- or, perhaps, old armor. The Zora armor sat snug on your body, perfectly fitted to your figure. The scales along your arms were a familiar texture, and the silver cuffs were almost nostalgic. The armor came with gloves for both hands and though you considered covering your right hand for the sake of your insecurities, you realized it would impede your abilities. So your right hand would have to stay uncovered, but at least the rest of your arm was hidden from prying eyes.

You catch your reflection in the water of the lake and stare. Something seemed missing about the armor, and you weren’t sure what. You had the gloves, the shoulder pads, the cuffs, the tunic, the belt- but you gasp when you realize what you were looking for. The silver armband, the one Sidon had gifted you so long ago, the one that always used to sit snug on your bicep. Of course, you had lost it during the ambush from the Yiga Clan, but you had worn it so often that seeing the Zora armor without it felt off to you.

With a groan you shake your head and begin to wade through the water. Now wasn’t the time for ridiculous thinking. The waterfall roars around you, the sound of the water becoming louder than your thoughts. You squeeze your eyes shut and walk through, hoping that this was the sanctum the children had been whispering about.

When you step out on the other side the sight before you is astounding. Brilliantly carved columns stretch high above you and luminous stones light the way further into the cave. The water and architecture were spotless, untainted by the sludge from the sky. It had been protected not only by Sidon’s efforts in Mipha Court but also due to the benefit of being sheltered by the cave.

You progress through the cave, using the armor to ascend a short waterfall. The feeling was odd, it had been so long since you’d had to do so that you’d forgotten the feeling. It was no less invigorating, however. You land upon a staircase and make your way further, trickling water and condensation causing a rhythmic pitter-patter. However, your admiring of the sanctum is quickly cut short once you arrive at the top of the steps.

King Dorephan is sitting before you in a large chair, not unlike his throne in the palace. Though you’re relieved to have found him, that relief quickly turns to horror as you realize the state that he’s in. His body is littered with bruises and scars and his scales are tainted with the muck from above. His breathing was haggard and he seemed to barely be able to keep his eyes open. The sludge glows and shifts along his form with an ominous purple glow.

He was sick.

“King Dorephan!” you exclaim in a panic as you rush forward, and you realize that Muzu, his faithful advisor, is standing by his side.

“Is that you?” the councilman questions with an air of suspicion, “so it is… how did you find this place? What cruel ploy are you plotting?”

You’re stunned by his accusation, so much so that you stumble backward. It was so unlike him- while many of the elders looked down on you with disdain, you thought that surely Muzu had grown to have a better opinion of you over the years. But perhaps you’d thought wrong…

From his seat, the king speaks up, though his voice is strained, “hold, my ever-loyal Muzu. If you speak in such a way without explanation, the champion here will only be confused as to what is going on.”

You swallow nervously. Clearly, there was something that you weren’t aware of.

Dorephan attempts to sit up straight, but you can tell the action causes him pain. There’s a pang in your heart as you watch, unable to do anything to help him. Surely there must have been attempts to heal him already- if he was stuck here like this, then the poison must have already afflicted him.

“Hello, _____. It has been some time since we last spoke,” he sighs, and though his eyes are softened you can see a hint of sadness in his expression, “I had received word that you went missing along with Princess Zelda. Why have you come here?”

You give an explanation of all that had happened to you, though this time it is significantly shortened- you fear that if you take too much time, his illness will only grow worse. He nods his head as he listens, a grim frown settling on his face.

“Well, well… to think that such a thing should transpire for the hero of Hyrule and Princess Zelda…” the king trails off.

Muzu, on the other hand, scoffs, “you expect us to believe that Princess Zelda simply disappeared, just like that. Do not sully our ears with your lies! I saw Princess Zelda with my own eyes just days after the phenomenon at Hyrule Castle took place!”

Your brow furrows with confusion. ‘What in Hylia’s name is he talking about? He couldn’t possibly have seen Zelda… unless… unless it was like the incident at the castle when she disappeared into a flash of light…’

“Calm yourself, Muzu,” Dorephan gently chastises his advisor, “her eyes betray no hint of deception. She remains a trusted friend of the Zora. There must be an explanation. I will now tell you what happened when we last saw Princess Zelda, as well as the reason behind my seclusion here in the Pristine Sanctum.”

“We encountered Princess Zelda days after Hyrule Castle ascended into the sky. Floating islands appeared as if from nowhere… sludge and fragments of ruins began raining down. Muzu and I had left the domain to investigate these strange occurrences. That is when it happened. Princess Zelda descended from the sky accompanied by a sludge monster. What happened next took us by surprise… she then unleashed the beast upon us.”

You were completely stunned by this. It made no sense. Not only had they seen the princess, but she had attacked them? This couldn’t be right- surely, surely there must have been something else. Someone else? Anything else? You were sure that Zelda would never do such a thing.

“King Dorephan valiantly vanquished the threat. However… he was gravely injured by the sludge during the battle,” Muzu continued, casting his gaze to the floor, “as for Princess Zelda, she vanished without a trace. If word got out that Princess Zelda lost her mind and harmed the Zora king… the resulting turmoil would be devastating. That is why we are temporarily remaining hidden within this sanctum.”

He was right. If anyone thought that the princess of Hyrule had attacked another leader it would spawn untold amounts of chaos. And it seemed that, until now, no one but the two of them had been aware. Not even Prince Sidon- he had only been informed that his father was sick.

“According to your story, Princess Zelda disappeared suddenly in the depths beneath Hyrule Castle,” Dorephan said softly, “on the other hand, she suddenly appeared near Zora’s Domain and unleashed a monster upon us. The waters of truth have become murkier still, but from the Zora perspective, one thing is clear.”

“It all leads back to the sky. The disaster, the sludge, the monster, even Princess Zelda. It may well be that the answer to these riddles can only be found skyward… Sidon ordered Jiahto to investigate, I wonder if any progress has been made…”

“He has!” you quickly pipe up, “we were able to uncover a stone slate near Toto Lake with mentions of a relationship between the Zora and the people of the skies. It says something about the ‘mark of the king’, which is why I came looking for you.”

At this, the king smiles, “ah! So you have already spoken with Jiahto! The mark of the king, you say… indeed, I do know of it. This refers to a Zora king’s scale. One of my scales, in other words. I have heard it called by the name you mentioned in an ancient ritual. However, none remain who know how it was used… If this particular scale of mine may prove useful to you, by all means, take a few.”

You watch as he lifts a shaky hand to his arm and plucks a few small scales from his bicep. You wince at the motion, cautiously approaching him as he holds his arm out to you. The scales are a brilliant blue with a pointed tip, faintly shimmering in the light from the luminous stones.

He notices your apprehension and chuckles, a genuine hearty laugh, “there is no need for restraint! This is nothing to me. If you run out, simply return and acquire more.”

You bow your head respectfully and utter your thanks, gently tucking the scales away into your bag.

“After all that has transpired, and after much reflection, I have come to a realization,” Dorephan sighs as he settles back in his chair, “I must truly be getting on in years to have allowed a mere monster to catch me off guard. Perhaps… the time is nearing for me to pass the title of king on to Sidon.”

Your eyes widen at this, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. If the prince were to ascend to the throne then… then that would only mean that his engagement to Yona would be certified as well, for she would become the queen the moment that he became king. You’re sure that your expression must be betraying you, you look away before either of them can see your shock.

“King Dorephan…” Muzu says gently.

“In any case, that is a matter for another day, after the chaos surrounding the sludge has quieted,” the king continues, turning his attention to you, “please inform Sidon about my situation and about the king’s scale. Tell him there is no need to worry about me. Tell him that he must go forth and do what needs to be done.”

You face him once more and nod firmly. Just as you begin to step away, though, the king utters one last thing.

“If I may…” he starts, his expression drawn into one of concern, “I do want to say that… I am sorry for how everything has transpired. I did not once want any harm to befall you or my son, but… it seems this arrangement has caused both of you a substantial amount of pain. I regret that I could not have been of more assistance…”

You open your mouth to respond, but quickly shut it tight. You do not trust yourself to speak wisely, nor do you trust your voice to remain unwavering. Instead, you politely bow, whisper a quick farewell, and then retreat from the sanctum as fast as your legs will carry you. Your heart pounds as you rush through the waterfall, and a quiet sob racks through you as you kneel in the water of the lake.

That apology from Dorephan threatened to be your breaking point. You allow yourself a matter of seconds to feel the rush of emotions. A wave of sadness washes over you, tightening your throat.

“Dammit,” you hiss under your breath, weakly hitting your fist against the lake bed, “... king. He’s going to be king. I should be happy for him- why can’t I be happy for him?”

You groan as you force yourself back to your feet. You splash your face with cool water, you double-check your supplies, and then you turn your attention to the mountaintop above you. It was time to return to Mipha Court.

You were going to have to face Sidon again.

~~~ <> ~~~

This took a little bit longer to get out than I was planning, sorry about that

You might be wondering, why, and the answer is uhhhh I was writing my first JJBA fanfic and it was supposed to be a one-shot and then it became 40k words long. So. Ahem. That's posted if you'd like to check it out (it's a Polnareff/reader) (I like the Frenchman a lot, he's silly)

Link to that fic

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[miguelswifey04]

Oh! Can I ask for a fic of LYLA and [Gender Neutral] Spider![Reader] [Platonic] having a mini Karaoke Night back in Miguel’s lair while he’s trying to work late at night?

[Note]: Spider![Reader] and Miguel are romantically involved which is why they’re allowed inside his lab/office/monitoring room.

lyla & spider!gn! reader x miguel o’hara

karaoke night!! (fluff)

late into the night, as miguel tirelessly worked in his lair, LYLA and you, were allowed inside his lab. your relationship with miguel granted you access to his inner sanctum, a privilege that you both cherished. as you settled into the room, an idea sparked in your mischievous mind.

“hey LYLA, what do you say we have a mini karaoke night to keep miguel company?" you suggested, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. LYLA, always up for fun and looking to lighten the mood, responded in her melodious AI voice, "that sounds delightful! let’s give miguel a surprise he won't forget."

you both rummaged through miguel’s collection of gadgets until you found a small karaoke machine. setting it up with enthusiasm, you selected a few of his favorite songs, eager to immerse yourselves in an impromptu jam session. as the music started to play, you and LYLA took turns belting out the tunes with gusto. your nimble voice soared through the air, filling the lab with an infectious energy. LYLA's pristine tones harmonized effortlessly, creating a delightful duet that complemented your lively spirit.

miguel, engrossed in his work, couldn't help but glance towards the commotion in his lab. the sight that greeted him brought a wide smile to his face as he watched you and LYLA immersed in a spontaneous karaoke performance. his heart swelled with affection for both of you, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your joyous energy.

with an amused chuckle, miguel approached you, his eyes dancing with delight. "i thought i was working late, but it seems i’ve stumbled upon the best show in the city," he teased, his voice filled with warmth.

you flashed him a mischievous smile, putting on an exaggerated performance as you sang a particularly lively tune. LYLA joined in, her voice perfectly synchronized with yours. the room was filled with laughter, a soundtrack of sheer happiness.

as the night wore on, the impromptu karaoke session grew louder and more energetic. miguel, unable to resist any longer, joined in the fun, his voice blending seamlessly with yours. together, the three of you sang, laughing and cheering each other on, creating a magical atmosphere that transcended the mundane.

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @meeom @sabcandoit @emiemiemiii

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Do you want your house to be a popular place for friends and family to flock to? Well, this home brings “Be Our Guest” to a whole new level. For $1.1M this 2016 4bd. 4ba. home in Thornton, Colorado w/the best guest suite ever can be yours. You gotta see this.

You, as the owner, gets a nice, pristine modern home. Nice fireplace, shiny floors, sliding doors to a covered deck. Very nice.

Lovely modern dining room. This home has been kept in pristine condition. 

I don’t know why, but I prefer dark cabinets to all white- maybe w/the dogs and all, it’s just more practical. But, I like the contrast of the white island.

This room is the perfect size for a home office.

Main bd. has a large en-suite and a walk-in closet.

Beautiful large rec room. 

Now, enter the inner sanctum. 

Hello...but wait. We’re not to the guest room yet.

More than likely, this was done for a grandchild, b/c this is a 55+ community.

Note the loft behind the castle. 

Matching en-suite bath.

And, out back is a double decker covered patio.

There’s this water body in the back of the homes that creates a nice scene.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/7779-Spruce-Ct-Thornton-CO-80602/103001031_zpid/

[kazylgon]

Today i finished running an adventure for some friends in the Heart: The City Beneath roleplaying game, which was an absolute wild ride from start to finish.

First of all, the system fucking SLAPS, and if you like lightweight systems which still enable honestly a lot of tension, your character suffering a LOT like seriously your little guy is going to have such a bad time, tragedy, horror, and tragic horror you should give it a go.

But Oh Boy, the shenanigans which were got up to. Extended summary below but this barely scratches the surface of everything that happened and the context for it all so if you're curious or what to know more about the system or setting send and ask or message me because I'd love to provide more context.

Our cast consists of Horizon, a mage, addicted to magic, microdosing on corruption, desperately trying to find a cure for the affliction of feebleness plaguing their entire race. Shay, a walking corpse who came back wrong, with the whispers of their possibly dead girlfriend in their brain urging them to delve greedier and deeper. And Zaktan, a surgeon made of wasps, seeking to impose perfect order on the world.

They travelled deep beneath the ground, all seeking some elusive, vague font of power, capable of granting whoever finds it whatever their soul desires, called The Heart.

The very first settlement they came across quickly disappeared, drowned by waterlogged corpses spewing salt water from their mouths. Horizon accidentally opened their soul up to the master of these creatures with a particularly unlucky roll, and left them retching up salt water for a brief moment before everyone could escape to the Temple of the Moon.

Here they meet the high priestess Airelle, who apparently can't die, because she's the moon's favourite. She tells them that the walking corpses are vassals of the Drowned Queen, a deep god of everything beneath the water, including drowned corpses. She tells them that if they fetch a collection of runes from deeper down, she can perform a ritual to banish the queen and save all the nearby settlements that she's trying to drown. She'll offer a reward, of course, but Zaktan doesn't trust her one bit, and refuses her offer to he can break into her room to snoop around instead.

The first step on this quest is to sneak through a junkyard filled with cultists obsessed with death. Here they find a beast of metal and Heartflesh. Shay frees it, as the voice in their head encouraged them to do, devours some of its flesh, and in its gratitude it devours some of the cultists in their way.

The next destination is an ancient train station with vibrating crystals hanging from the ceiling, threatening to fall if any loud noise shakes them free. Here Zaktan becomes fascinated with the wreck of a magical train, being studied by Knights of the Rail, Horizon seeks treatment from the knight's surgeon (nasty little goblin who thinks Horizon's entire race are a lost cause because of the curse of feebleness they bear), and Shay immediately sets about collapsing the ceiling of the place to break the floor and open a tunnel deeper. This frees an angel of convulsing, raw flesh and sinew which proceeds to destroy the entire station, forcing the group to flee.

The group accepts Shay's actions after they calmly explain themselves.

Just kidding Zaktan slices Shay's face off. Shay doesn't care in the slightest because they brought the love of the Heart to the station and everyone in it.

From here it's a straight shot down to the sanctum of the mages keeping the protective runes.

Just kidding again. The Drowned Queen has taken up residence here. In person. All ten feet of her perfect, pristine, divine body, clad in jellyfish and kelp. The whole area is flooded, but Horizon, having opened up their soul to her (accidentally, but she's so lonely she doesn't realise that) and so sweet talks into letting them explore the tower. They find a vault at the base, with the runes inside, along with a victim of the mage's experiments: a person having been infused with the magic of the Heart and turned into a strange, warped creature of warping flesh. Shay free it, it attacks Horizon, and Zaktan does literally nothing to help until Horizon misses a spell to defend themselves and accidentally hits Zaktan, exposing the fact that Horizon is capable of drawing on the Drowned Queen's power.

This doesn't go down well with Zaktan, who has been shaken by an unlucky roll and is now deeply terrified of the queen, despite his disdain for all things godly. He insists on Horizon telling him exactly what is going on, and the two do so, over a completely amicable exchange of notes which doesn't result in any more faces being sliced off.

They all rest here, and Horizon is unnerved by the Queen watching them with a burning intensity the entire time.

On the way back up, with the runes in hand, they encounter a Knight of the Rail, the only survivor of what Shay did to the station. The knight attempts to bombard with with his cannon, but Shay practically skips up to him, and shoves him into the netherworld with naught but a boop on the nose.

Getting back through the station isn't as easy, as the angel has transformed into a massive tree of meat and pulsing veins, supporting the ceiling while its roots writhe across the floor seeking flesh to devour. Shay doesn't care and just walks through, the tendrils seemingly ignoring them. Zaktan and Horizon are less lucky, and Zaktan loses his notebook, his most prized possession, becoming convinced that Horizon stole it when exchanging notes. Horizon would have made it through fine, if they weren't distracted by the desire to collect a sample, which leads them stranded, surrounded, blood from the weird angel flesh tree right in their eyes, and needing to be rescued by Shay.

Back through the junkyard, they confront the bishop leading the death cult. He reveals that he and Airelle came here together, before she betrayed and abandoned him. Shay then suplexes him off of the raised platform of his throne, Zaktan injects him with a sample of a horrid virus, and Horizon calls upon the power of the queen once more to drown him.

This clears the final obstacle back to the temple where they can begin the ritual to banish the queen. Zaktan refuses to give up the runes unless he is the one to perform the ritual however, even though it draws on the power of the moon goddess. He's convinced he knows her better than one of her high priestesses, and he's convinced said high priestess is keeping something from him. Shay mans the barricades to keep the queen and her vassals out when she inevitably attacks, and Horizon...is conflicted.

The queen does indeed attack. Her form has changed. She now resembles a drowned corpse clad in a rotting, waterlogged gown, hollow eye sockets filled with nothing but worms and small crustaceans picking at the flesh, suspended in the air by a fleshy tendril connected to some massive creature concealed in the tunnel behind her. She blows past Shay, angered that this group promised to spread her influence only to turn on her, slaughtering everything in her wake. Until Horizon rolls ridiculously well on a roll to distract her, approaches her, kisses her...giving just enough time to Zaktan to finish the ritual to banish her.

She looks at Horizon, not angry. Just sad, and betrayed. She could have given them everything, she says, moments before being yanked back down into the deep.

The group were heroes. The people living in and around the temple celebrate.

Zaktan however, heads upstairs to Airelle's room and murders her, searching for the secrets she was keeping. He doesn't get much though, not even a scream or a struggle, just a cryptic message that "She's really not going to like that, you know."

And that ends the pre-written adventure that all of this came from. Next few sessions are going to be off the edge of the map and I am so disgustingly excited as to what horrors this lot are going to get themselves into next.

[nearen]

Prompt #4: Reticent

Down in the depths of their sunless sanctum, there was no way to know what hour the bell was tolling without consulting a chronometer. Nights rolled into sunrise, noon, and beyond, unheralded. Not even the rain or its precipitous pattering reached him this far below, nor did the wind’s caress, his birthright, find him.

The steps that carried him briskly down the dim corridor parted the stale air, carving a path for his presence. The echo of his footfalls usurped the reign silence lay claim to.

Okhi’to had always felt like the facility was insulated not only from aetheric influence, but time itself. The flow stagnated and festered, a temporal mire.

It was one of those absent thoughts that strikes you when you’re going through the motions, performing a rote task, and you start to see the poetry in mundanity. The medicus had traced this route countless times by then. If he didn’t latch onto a new thought to muse over on each occasion, he’d start contemplating other questions.

Tending to the welfare of his squadron was his purpose. It had been since he was assigned to Decurion Severan’s command as a fresh graduate of the academy. It had become a compulsion of compassion over time.

Yuyuno was his first port of call. She spent more time asking after his welfare than providing insight into her own. She asked often about the Farsent, indulged his interest in their antics.

It had taken time to find a way to synthesise the treatment she required out here in the field, but when they were able to administer a consistent dose, she’d been as well as he’d ever known her to be.

There was no salve or tonic for what ailed her heart, but work kept her from listlessness.

J’nairoh was next. They’d done this often enough that his routine had become part of hers, or something like that. Her door opened as he reached for it.

The brash, brusque, abrasive Jackal had no rightful reason to pre-empt Okhi’to’s intentions as often as she did, finish his thoughts for him, or intuit his needs. She wouldn’t know empathy if it slapped her across the face. But they’d never discussed why, and they never would.

Examinations centred around identifying areas of weakness or damage incurred during training, maintenance of the physical form. She was perhaps the only one who followed his orders to the letter.

He had his role, and she had hers.

Each part its place.

And when he left her with a fresh set of instructions, he advanced to his final port of call.

Light wanly illuminated the Decurion’s quarters, spilling out into the corridor. The sliding door was always set open. They were welcome, encouraged, to approach him at any bell for any reason. His availability was assured, though his perpetually dour demeanour deterred frivolous visits.

His chambers were pristine, if bald and bare. A workstation, immaculate. Research filed away in folders, and the codices their project was inscribed upon, neatly shelved behind. His cot in the corner, the linens ironed smooth, unwrinkled. Nothing more.

Okhi’to wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he’d never slept there.

Never was his superior anything but painfully present, alert and entirely in attendance for every moment shared in the company of others. He was indefatigable, always sharpened keen enough to cut. The medicus had never seen him flagging. He’d never let him, or any of them.

“I’ve—” He withdrew from the phonetic precipice of his next word with a soft inhalation and closed his mouth as he entered. Cadmus was draped over his desk, his cheek resting against the report he’d been penning. The quill had slipped from his fingers.

It was the first time he’d ever seen the Decurion’s features unguarded, at peace.

A knot of embarrassment twisted in his stomach. Retreating out of sight, he paused a beat, then rapped his knuckles on the door and waited one breath more.

“Decurion. I’ve come to—”

“Come in.”

Cadmus was upright, statuesque and stiff. A flickering, disoriented glance scattered across his station, then up at Okhi’to. His gaze quickly developed an accusatory edge. He knew. Licking his lips, he raked in a breath through his teeth.

“This moon’s figures,” Okhi’to explained curtly, walking the sheet pinched between his fingers over to the desk. Cadmus took it. “While I’m here, I’d like to review your physical condition if you’ve the time.”

“I haven’t.”

The same answer as ever.

“Less than last moon. Fourteen percent. We can’t afford to fall behind,” he reminded the medicus sharply as his cold stare scanned the page. “Rations have been consistently depleting for the past quarter, as well.” A questioning look pierced Okhi’to’s eyes.

“The salvagers caught sight of Wood Wailer patrols close to the ruins. They’ve had to keep a low profile.”

“Have them scout northeast. The pickings are slim and farther afield, but it’s essential that recovery proceeds apace. Essential,” he emphasised flatly. “And our stores?”

Okhi’to issued a hum of assent. “Our requisitions team has been taken ill. We welcomed a newcomer who came to us unwell and passed on her ailment to some of the others. I’m treating them, and they’ll recover, but my own supplies are dwindling as well.”

The Decurion exhaled.

“In future, quarantine new arrivals. I’ll accept halved portions until we’re in the black again.”

“Decurion. Sir. That isn’t going to go over well, and as for that, you’re already—”

“See it done. My medication?”

Okhi’to hesitated.

Before they deserted, Cadmus had been supplied himself through official channels, but as with Yuyuno, Okhi’to had been forced to find a way to synthesise what his superior required when they cut contact with the Empire.

That had meant analysing the ingredients of his remaining supply closely to source appropriate alternatives. The aetheric suppressants were a recent and understandable addition to his charts, but from a medical perspective, the medicus had never been able to determine why there was any need for Cadmus to consume such a potent cocktail of stimulants with such regularity.

If anything, he looked better in himself when availability was scarce.

“This is the last of the batch. I’ve lowered the dosage to account for—”

Rising from his chair, Cadmus approached to take the container from the medicus’ reluctant hand. It rattled, and four pills tumbled into his palm. Twice the recommended. He brought them to his lips, and washed the mouthful down with the last of the cold coffee sitting half-finished on his desk.

“Will that be all?” the Decurion asked with his back to Okhi’to.

A salute concluded his business. “Yes, sir.” He lingered, but Cadmus didn’t turn, and he left with a twinge of unease in his gut.