underfiends

[underfiends]

[underfiends]

day of devotion struggles

[underfiends]

Behind Closed Doors

Hi, I'm back. This is another addition to the Killing Time series, set in a hypothetical world where the lovely librarian Mandus ends up...not so lovely. This is more of an origin story, but I intend to write more for this because it has invaded my brain. Mandus belongs to @hannrenn. I've added tags for the trigger warnings in this, so please heed those. I don't know is this is the heaviest short story I've posted, but it's certainly not my lightest. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

I turn my head as a raised voice snaps through the air. Gazing across a wooden fence, my eyes travel over to my neighbours’ house. In the mud of the street before a crooked, unpainted door, a man and woman bear down upon someone far smaller.

“-you useless thing! I should have thrown you into the well as a babe! Our lives would have been better for it.” The man marches forward and grabs onto a small arm. Olive skin bulges and whitens around thick fingers; no doubt it will redden before long. “Get up! You will learn what happens when you cross me. Mark my words, you won’t dare do it again.”

The woman watches with a smooth brow as her husband drags the child through that crooked, unpainted door. Her gaze drifts to mine. Her cheeks alight, hurried steps splashing through the mud as she scurries to the fence.

“Many apologies for the disturbance. Our son, he is well prone to mischief.” She looks back at the house, brows smoothing again when she catches glimpse of the small shape being dragged deeper in.

I look over. A small head turns, and pale brown hair turns into an even paler face. Small, wide eyes catch mine. I can see the liquid sheen from here, red already puffing lower eyelids, cheeks ruddy in anticipation.

I look away. A shard of ice pricks my chest as a door slams closed.

“I understand, truly. Children can be such fickle things, especially those with…deformities. I wish you luck in teaching those pesky tendencies away.”

The woman droops, hands clasping before her, breathing out a relieved sigh. “Yes, thank you so much. It has been such a hardship, as I am sure you have witnessed, living close as you do.”

I ignore the painful lump in my throat. I think of a child crouched in the dirt, hands pulling at tiny, fuzzy horns, completely ignoring the darkening skin of his cheek. My chest constricts as I recall muffled sobs drifting from a window crack, interspersed with pained whimpers. 

I shake my head to dislodge the images, smile now strained. “It has been no hardship. Please do ask for assistance should you ever need it. A friend of mine is a priest; perhaps he could cure your child of his affliction.”

“If only it were so easy. A church was the first place we went after he was born. Though I thank you again for your kindness. I must be going; dinner will not prepare itself!” She gives a small wave, then turns back to that crooked, unpainted door.

I do not watch her leave. My skirt flutters around my ankles, steps so hurried that I nearly expose myself. The moment I press my palm against rough wood, the creak of a door behind me lets chilling cries pierce the air.

I throw myself into my home, slamming the door shut behind me. The sun-worn wood does not block out the aching scream torn from tiny lungs. A salty trail cuts through the dirt on my cheek.

Oh how I wish I could help that poor child. With parents such as that, who would find every fault simply for the way he was born, he truly never stood a chance. Perhaps the world will be kind and allow him to be taken away to the gods. They have interfered in mortal affairs before; I pray they will again.

I shuffle into my kitchen and set about cutting potatoes. I too have a dinner to prepare, no matter how my hands shake.

Later, when the cries stop, I let myself believe that everything is now right. Nothing has happened. I am sure that small child was only throwing a tantrum at being sent to his room. There is no reason for the sharp inhale and rush of dizziness that passes over me when I see the child exit his prison that evening. I am relieved only that he has stayed out of trouble long enough to be once again allowed to play.

When night falls, I climb in bed next to my husband. He has been so sweet to me this evening. Perhaps he could sense the guilt that clung to my bones, or perhaps he simply had a long day and was pleased to see me again. A bloom of warmth spreads over my chest at the thought. My eyes drift closed, content now to sleep and allow today’s events to fall from my mind as they always do.

Screams are what I awaken to. I shoot up in bed, my husband already on his feet and rushing across the room.

It is dark; the moon’s light barely penetrates the thin curtains over our bedroom’s window. I pull the sheet from the bed, clutching it to my chest in a tight grip as I shuffle in the direction my husband went. I peek out into the front room. The door is open, letting in the cool night air; the hinges creak as the door moves in the wind.

I can hear the crunch of dirt under boots. No doubt my husband has gone outside to investigate those awful noises. As his steps fade, my mind drifts.

I had heard screams already earlier today; the screams of a small child, surely accompanied by the sound of fists hitting flesh, though I could not hear it at the time. These screams had not sounded like those ones. They were… I shudder when the night air finally reaches me, cooling my skin with ease despite the bedsheet around my shoulders. My nightgown is not meant for the outside air; it is only for sleeping in, next to a warm body.

A scream rips through the air.

I race to the door, heart in my throat. That had sounded so familiar, but never before have I heard this voice sound that way. It is meant to be soft and sweet, rumbling deep and low in gentle tones as it tells me of its owner’s day. This sound was raw, high and terrified. Like a pig squealing as its belly is cut open.

My bare feet touch cold mud. The filth is quick to cover my skin and the hem of my nightgown. I stare across the wooden fence surrounding my house, to the next one over.

That crooked, unpainted door hangs open. The opening is dark. I have not heard another scream since the one that ran my blood cold.

My hands pull the bedsheet tighter around myself and slowly walk forward. Wet fabric brushes against my ankles. I will need to wash my gown and sheet before returning to bed. I am sure my husband will attempt to stay up with me, and I will need to send him to bed so that he is able to go to work in the morning.

Cold mud turns to cold wood under my feet as I pass the threshold of my neighbours’ doorway. Without the moonlight, my eyes are able to adjust to the darkness. There is a scent in the air. One I cannot place. It is so thick that my eyes begin to water; it clings to my tongue and pools in my lungs.

I nearly choke, then clap a hand over my mouth in an attempt to filter the stench. My breath comes quicker. I gasp and gag in the doorway, eyes drifting over the front room as I try to find the source of this smell.

My breath stops altogether when I see it. A pair of muddy boots, one turned to the side. White sleep pants extending past a wall; I do not need to see the sleep shirt to know that it is white as well, or the hair to know that it is shaggy and unkempt from sleep. There is a darkness spreading across the parts of the legs I can see. I am sure the source is from the pool on the ground.

The image before me blurs. I take a stumbling step forward. My heart is beating so loud I can feel it in my ears. A sob punches out of my throat and my knees slam into the wood floor. I care not for the ache of bruises forming, my only thought is of the man facedown before me. Numb fingers drop the bedsheet and instead grip onto still warm skin.

I press my face into the lower abdomen of the one I had been sleeping with not ten minutes before. I cannot fathom this, cannot understand how this could happen.

Screams.

We were woken by screams. My husband screamed.

My breath catches, eyes snapping open wide, freezing in place. I can still hear breathing.

Slowly, throat tightening and panic running like blood through me, I lift my head. I am kneeling in the opening to a living room. There are curtains halfway parted from the windows. Someone is standing in the middle of the room.

A step forward, and moonlight catches a face twisted in rage. There is a dark bruise covering half of his face. He has dark speckles on his cheeks and down his front, more of the same covering the hand clutching a splitting axe. I looked away from this face earlier today, and yet now I could not look away if I tried.

His arms raises, lips curling over sharp canines, eyes flashing the colour this room will be come morning. I recall the prayer I had made against my closed door. An axe strikes down.

The gods have finally interfered.

[underfiends]

More dnd doodles I shoulda posted a long time ago. In order of events: soveliss being a shit hunter and his friend Aiden ( @underfiends )trying to help him, soveliss being a dick while running from thugs trying to capture him, soveliss being possessed and made to say Very Mean things to his bestie Mandus ( @hannrenn ) about how they protect him. ‘Twas a session for the books…esp cause it ended with Mandus dying and Soveliss barely beating death saving throws. (It’s okay we’re good ish now)

[underfiends]

He sure made some.....interesting choices. Of his own volition too!

To be fair though, his night vision did get fixed

Misc d&d doodles from back when my character decided to allow himself to be experimented on and gained retractable claws, small fangs, the necessity of eating raw meat and drinking blood once a day, insane base speed bump, and even better dexterity, oh and periodic short term memory loss. All unplanned for side effects by the way he was under the impression the evil scientist was just going to fix his lack of night vision from being resurrected a while ago. He…doesn’t think things through.

[underfiends]

@hannrenn @peppermintpinklemonade

Good news, fellow artists! Nightshade has finally been released by the UChicago team! If you aren't aware of what Nightshade is, it's a tool that helps poison AI datasets so that the model "sees" something different from what an image actually depicts. It's the same team that released Glaze, which helps protect art against style mimicry (aka those finetuned models that try to rip off a specific artist). As they show in their paper, even a hundred poisoned concepts make a huge difference.

(Reminder that glazing your art is more important than nighshading it, as they mention in their tweets above, so when you're uploading your art, try to glaze it at the very least.)

[underfiends]

quick little dmlx for mimi’s bday!!!

[underfiends]

WOO wet cat, truly such a wet cat

cringe-ass 5’2 blood cleric experiences a modicum of freedom for the first time in their life & immediately goes mad w power

[underfiends]

Tweety Bird

I told you there'd be more of these guys. Have another blurb of Ramal from the D&D campaign that @peppermintpinklemonade is DMing. There's just a small cameo of @hannrenn's little guy, but they're there. Couple triggers in this, so be careful and enjoy!

I’m making camp when the sound starts up: a steady chirp, high pitched and three in a row. My hands pause the familiar motions of starting a fire, ears straining to hear it sound again. There’s nothing for a while, just the silence of the forest. The hoot of an owl, but that’s not what I’m waiting for.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I swivel my head, trying to locate where it’s coming from. The sound is odd, echoing strangely. It isn’t a voice, or the squeak of a rusty cart wheel. It could be a monster of some sort, and in that case I need to be ready for when it attacks. I slowly put away the shard of flint I’d been about to use. I gather up my belongings into the small sack I’ve been using for the past few months. The bottom is beginning to strain; I need to replace it soon.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I whip around, teeth bared in a snarl, claws out and ready to swipe at anything that lumbers out of the dark. It really is dark, even with my natural ability to see everything in a brighter light. The shadows of the trees shift and stretch, yawning out towards me. Their bare branches reach out for me like grasping fingers. They curl towards my armour, and I feel a sharp sting where black touches leather. I scramble back, nearly falling over as I trip over my feet in my haste.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Something is wrong, so very wrong. This isn’t right. The trees are sharp, dark, dangerous things, reaching for me, trying to get their branches caught in my clothes and pull me towards them. Towards the ever growing black that makes up their trunks, a horrible gnashing of teeth made of bark. The world starts to spin, panic nearly blinding me. My breath comes in short, quick gasps, and a haze settles over my mind.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I pull on the warm magic in my bones, summoning a sword made of obsidian and rivers of magma. The red glow should light up the area around me, allowing me to see what it is I’m fighting. This must be some sort of magical darkness, and if I could just see where it’s coming from I can dispel it. My hand closes over nothing. Ice settles in my veins; I don’t need to look down to see that there is no longsword in my palm, no magic rushing to my fingertips at my command. I feel cold, so very cold. There is no hot breath in my ear, no warm touches dancing over my arms and shoulders.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

She’s abandoned me.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

My patron, my companion; the one who promised to be mine as I was hers. She’s gone. She left me, just like-

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

“SHUT UP!” I roar into the trees, fighting back the sting of tears. I feel choked, breathless, constricted, constrained. My claws dig into the skin of my palms.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

This time, I clench my teeth until I hear something crack. I don’t feel the pain, everything far too muffled and distant. My eyes dart among the darkness as it closes in. Black ink spills out between the trees and swallows them up, dripping towards me. The thick liquid pools around me until I have nowhere to go, my frantic scrambling useless when a step in any direction would mean a step right into the waiting pool.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

A hand lashes out of the darkness and I cry out in fear, flinching back; back right into the ink. My foot sinks right down to the knee, bringing me crashing down onto the only free bit of ground. More hands dart out in front of me, reaching for me. Sharp fingers stretch and strain as I lean back, barely an inch from my face. One of them grabs onto my wrist, sending shards of ice through the point of contact. As I try to pull away, another hand grasps onto my other wrist. A hand grabs my shoulder, and another latches onto the collar of my shirt. They grasp and they hurt, and they start to pull me towards the trees. The ink around my foot trails as I’m slowly dragged through the dirt towards the shadows. A scream tears from my throat as I thrash, throwing myself any way I can, and yet still the hands pull.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Something grabs onto the leg still submerged in the ink. In a blink, I’m ripped from the hands’ grasp, their nails tearing into my skin. And then I’m falling, thrown away from the safe ground, down into the black inky void. I can’t see anything; the dark far too oppressive. Wind whistles past, whipping my hair all around and tearing at my dress.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Impact with something hard and solid forces the breath from my lungs. I lay there, wheezing, staring up into a dimly lit ceiling of gold decorated with crystal chandeliers. A hand reaches for me and I flinch back, scrambling to my feet and looking around. I’m in a giant ballroom, surrounded by people in masquerade masks and fine clothes. The floor is sparkling marble, and the walls and ceiling are shining gold. There are round tables scattered about, draped with white tablecloths. Everyone is dancing.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

A hand takes mine, and another settles on my hip. I turn to see a man of portly presence, tall and well built. His upper face hidden by a violet mask with light pink gems, a perfectly trimmed brown goatee framing grinning lips. My free hand settles on his shoulder. I stare into his green eyes and feel sick. I smile back at him.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

He spins us right as a fast song begins. It’s one meant for one of the man’s clubs, not a ballroom. The people around us continue to sway in slow circles as we spin and step around them. He pulls me in close, until I can smell his rosey perfume and the pink fur of his collar tickles my nose. When he lets me pull back, he has his teeth bared. The sharp white needles send a spike of fear down my spine.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

He leans in close, until his nose is pressed against mine. We are only spinning now, like a child’s top. His eyes are staring into mine. They’re green, so green. Green is all I can see, that vibrant green that makes bile rise in my throat and makes my lungs clench around the gaping nothingness in my chest. There is a necklace around my throat, something made of crystal and covering all of my throat and upper chest. It’s like a hand around my throat, squeezing. All of the air is sucked out of the room, and still all I see is green.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Quick as a snake, he pulls back and spins me. I turn into that child’s top, spinning round and round. The world melts, music warping and warbling into laughter and screams. The gold spins and warms. It gets hotter and hotter until it's dripping down and down, turning nearly red from the heat. I plant my feet to stop the spinning, and the room is on fire. The man is gone, and so are the dancers. I look behind me, see those white tablecloths charred to black as the flames rise higher and higher, licking up the walls and dancing across the crystal chandeliers.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

I turn back around. There are figures in the flames. They are the ones screaming. I stumble back, and they lurch forward. Their screams rise, turning into howls and snarls. They reach towards me, faces long and mouths gaping as the flames melt the skin from their bones. Once again, I turn, this time to run, and slam right into the waiting arms of a corpse.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

Its skin is blackened and peeling, clothes and hair long burned off, all distinguishing features lost to the fire. Its fingers are nothing but bone, grasping my face. I grab one of the hands, bare my teeth in a snarl, and surge forward to bite down on the burnt digits. A crunch and a crack, and warm blood fills my mouth. I rip and tear into flesh, spilling more and more red over the marble floor. I swallow it down, gulping greedily and snapping the bones that get in my way.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

There’s a gasp and a gurgle. I freeze, the blood settling in my stomach like a rock and turning to ash in my mouth. The skin under my hands is pale, smeared with blood, but free of even a single speck of soot. My heart pounds harder, nearly bursting from my chest. I can feel the ice moving sluggishly through my veins as my eyes are drawn up. I stare into the terrified face of a child. White-blonde hair frames a familiar face.

Chirp-

I shoot up, then crash to the ground as restraints tangle around my arms and legs. I thrash around in a blind panic, ripping and tearing fabric shackles to pieces. I scramble against the hardwood floors, wide eyes darting around and panting breaths making far too much noise in the quiet room. I see walls painted a soft brown, and a maple side table with an unlit oil lamp on it. There’s a bed in front of me, black sheets tossed about and scattered on the floor in shredded strips. The room is a light grey, the light of dawn trying to stream in through the curtains that are drawn over the windows.

There is a pause as I stand there heaving, then a far too familiar twittering chirp. My breath stutters, mind going blank in panic. It came from outside.

I throw the curtains back, hissing and recoiling as light assaults my eyes. Blinking away the spots, I squint through it and desperately search for what’s making those noises. There, just outside the window of my room at Magnus’s tavern, is a tree whose leaves are still growing back from the winter that has just let up. Sitting among the branches is a small brown and grey bird.

I sigh and run a hand over my face, then press the heels of my palms against my eyes. I take a moment to breathe, then draw the curtains back over the windows and start the process of cleaning up my mess. It was just a stupid dream. It was nothing, only my mind playing tricks on me. And as I leave my room to go find new sheets, slamming the door in the process, I lock away the lingering images of green eyes and white-blonde hair.

[underfiends]

<333

[underfiends]

Watch Me Breathe

Posting an actual story for the first time in months. The muses and I have been engaging in extreme combat and we have finally begun peace talks. Next we will band together to torment my friends with more angst. For now, have a fluff fic of yet another batch of D&D characters. Ramal is mine, Val is @hannrenn, and the DM for these two lovely dumpster fires is @peppermintpinklemonade. Hope y'all enjoy!

There’s a chill in the air; the softest of nips on an otherwise gentle breeze. A cloud shifts, golden light chasing away those cold touches, dappling ashen grey skin with a rare brush of colour. Oranges and reds bloom in the dark of closed eyelids, so much softer than the brilliant burn of flame.

A breath in, lungs filled to burst. A breath out, and with it goes a lingering tension through corded muscle. Fingers of warmth run over dark skin and chase the breeze through even darker hair. A puff of hot air against a pointed ear; a soft tap on one arm, then the other; an echo of laughter meant only for one person, only for them, just here in this moment of calm.

When their eyes open, there is only red. A red mirrored by the petals of scarlet catchfly scattered about, bundles of leaves and flowers growing on cracked boulders at the base of a rocky cliff. The hot breath and warm fingers turn into the press of hands on their shoulders, a constant companion showing that she is still here.

The wind picks up, whistling through the trees that have grown and thrived in this deep ravine between two mountains. The cold is more apparent now, raising goosebumps on their arms. They could don their leather armour, cover up to trap the heat against their skin, but it is peaceful here. The presence of an armoured warrior is not needed among the vibrant greens and browns of maple trees and buckthorn. There is no danger beneath the strangling vines twisting over wet earth.

Red eyes drift back to red petals. There is one patch of flowers close enough to touch, close enough to see the sticky hairs all up the stem. A memory floats to the surface, of a roughened voice one hot summer day.

“See those hairs, kid? They’ll sting you if you touch them, and your hand will hurt for days.” They remember Magnus had been crouched down next to a shallow riverbed, the heels of his boots dug firmly into the rocky ground as he pointed out the vibrant red flowers. Then, as if summoned through sheer outrage, a hand had smacked him upside the head.

“You idiot! That’s stinging nettle. They’re completely different, how could you have fucked that up?” Rhetta glared down at the man now rubbing his head, hands posted sharply upon her hips. Suddenly, like the flip of a switch, she looked over at them with soft eyes and a kind smile. She folded herself to hover at their height with her eyes trained on the flower. “This is a fire pink, Ramalek. Also known as a scarlet catchfly. Don’t worry, it’s safe to touch, however the stem is a bit sticky. That’s why people call it ‘catchfly’, because it catches flies on its stem and leaves to protect its nectar.” She reached out to brush against a petal, pulling it back just enough for them to see the sheen of liquid hidden in the flower. Then Magnus had said something–the words lost to time–that had left her sputtering indignantly, and the two bickered all the way back to Magnus’s tavern.

That had been years ago, back before they’d taken their new names by the blood of the slain. Before a ghost from their past had resurfaced, had turned out to be alive. Just the thought has them feeling winded and wrong-footed; as though the world is going to slip from underneath them and they’ll wake up to find it was all a dream. Panic begins to swirl just below their skin, prickling their mind. Their fingers twitch, and then a warm hand intertwines with their own, and heat presses all up their side.

A breath in, until lungs are fit to burst. A breath out, and with it the wave of panic settles.

They know where their travel companion is; the one who is a miracle. When they return, red eyes will fight off a swell of tears. The creature of dark grey skin and black hair will don their leather armour and settle back into the role of a savage beast. But for now, Valentine is off in the distance, crouched beside a small pool of algae-choked water, touching the surface every minute or so to watch the tiny tadpoles scurry away. Ramalavikfeng can stay where they are, and their armour can stay on the ground beside them.

There is no place for anything other than peace and calm here, among the green and brown and red. At the base of a cliff, backed by a forest growing in the ravine between two mountains, looking at a brilliant red flower that is close enough to touch with a sticky stem and leaves. Here, where the wind has eased back down to a gentle breeze.

There is a nip in the air. Summer is fading, and autumn is on its way. Perhaps Valentine would be willing to visit Magnus and Rhetta.

[underfiends]

character growth

[underfiends]

Claude von Riegan in heartaches?? Please <3

a claude 4 u :-) plus a bonus wyvern

(i’m taking colour palette requests!)

[underfiends]

if you're still doing requests... dimilix in carousel waltz?

lifelong besties <3

[underfiends]

more d&d stuff :-) ft. soveliss and mandus going for a normal, relaxing drive! soveliss crying himself to sleep after the violent death of his best friend! and a main trio modern au fashion test :3

[underfiends]

goodbye/hello

[underfiends]

THEM

THEY

bad night