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sekhisadventures · 11 months

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Time for Tea

The Shadowlands, Revendreth, a Few Weeks After the Defeat of Sire Denathrius

Revendreth, the realm where the penitent were sent to be scourged of their sins. Sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. A dreary gothic realm with dark buildings, darker groves, and even darker residents. The vampire-like Venthyr were the rulers of this domain and, until recently, had served under one of the eternals, first-created of the Shadowlands.

Sire Denathrius, a powerful and charismatic leader, had fallen to the combined might of the Alliance and Horde alongside the Ember Court rebels led by Prince Renethal. Sealed away within his own sentient blade Remoria and trapped by the Naaru in the Ember Ward, the sire’s fate seemed sealed.

For now however, we focus on one who has allied themselves with the Ember Court… or at least pretends to have done so.

Dissonantia, the Witch of Blackwald Forest, walked through the light-blasted grounds of the Ember Ward towards a specific cave, the worgen accompanied as always by her monstrous companion Az’arad the Wrathguard.

“Hmph… Anima… oi can sense th’ power in th’ bleedin’ stuff… but how th’ feck do I use it?” she grumbled. Anima was a potent resource, but she was not a denizen of the Shadowlands herself and she had no way of actually consuming it. She had seen the power it held though, a vital resource for any existence in this world, if Quzgup was right it could be the missing key to her true immortality that she had long sought.

Az’arad shrugged at his mistress’ words. Unlike the imp, he cared little for ritual and magic. Give him a foe and a weapon and he was happy. Anything else… well… it could at least be mildly amusing to watch perhaps.

Still, Dissonantia had heard of someone in the Ember Ward who may be able to help her… or at least, who she might be able to scare some answers out of.

She, Nelen, and Grimo had wound up throwing their lot in with the Venthyr when they arrived in the Shadowlands. Nelen had considered Maldraxxus, but their similarities to the Scourge turned the wizard off quite a bit. He had however been making friends with some of the more scholarly Venthyr and was learning much about the nature of death… he was considering penning a few tomes on the subject himself when this was all over and they returned to Azeroth.

Grimo had immediately fallen in with the dredgers, the sort of working underclass of Revendreth. He found them sympathetic to some degree, and had even been teaching them a few tricks for (ahem) ‘skimming a little bonus off where it won’t be missed.’ Really, he fit in rather well…

Dissonantia, as always, was the outsider. She rebuffed any invitations to Renethal’s courtly get-togethers and spent her time focused on her true task. Learning how to use Anima to restore her youth. Quzgup had been certain, and the imp was far smarter than he seemed…

As she padded along through the canyon she sniffed at the air, her sensitive worgen nose picking up something… strangely familiar.

She raised her eyebrow, following the scent closely. There were a few mad Venthyr here and there, the ones who had been in the Light for so long that it had warped them into near feral ghoul-like monsters… but they hung back. Dissonantia had been this way before, and even the more insane ones knew to avoid the wolf-like horned woman and her giant companion. They were mad, not suicidal.

She came to a half-crumbled archway, an outcropping of rock shielding it from the ever-burning Light in the region, then walked into the shade and rapped her knuckles on the doorframe. “Knock knock?” she smirked. May as well pretend to be polite until she got what she wanted.

Inside the room two dredgers were hard at work at a large cauldron, the room hanging with various herbs, plants, and other things. There was a table set up with a tattered white cloth on it, and sitting at one end was a Venthyr man with wide eyes and a bit of a too-cheerful smile.

“Ah! Hello! You must be one of those Maw Walkers I’ve heard so much about from dear Renethal!” he giggled, standing up and waving her in. “Welcome welcome, come in my dear! You’re just in time for tea!” he grinned toothily.

“Is I?” she asked, walking in with Az’arad behind her, “Well… oi suppose I could use a cuppa. Bit thirsty aye.” she nodded, “Whats in it?” she asked.

The man cocked his head, “Oh? You… really wish to know? Oh my! Most Maw Walkers just leave or ignore me when I offer them tea!” he gasped, looking positively delighted. “Finally! An outsider with culture and refinement! I was beginning to despair I tell you!” he squealed, clapping his hands, “Oh, but where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself oh dear oh dear how rude of me! Do forgive me please Maw Walker…” he pouted, then stood straight up and gave a surprisingly graceful bow.

“I am the Duke of the Ember Ward, Theotar! Delighted to meet you Miss…” he glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow.

Dissonantia rolled her eyes, the worgen deciding to play along as she took her robes and bobbed a curtsy back. “Dissonantia, sorceress of Azeroth ‘n powerful queen of magicks.” she grinned, straightening up. “Nice ta meet someone wot knows their manners too… usually gotta have me boy Azzy show ‘em how ta behave ‘round me.” she chuckled as Az’arad snorted, a smirk flickering across the demon’s face.

Theotar nodded, “Delightful… ah but you were asking about the tea! Well… it’s a special secret, but myself and my two companions Gubbins and Tubbins have devised a way to distill raw anima itself into a delicious liquid that can be used as a base for tea!” he giggled, gesturing to the table, “Infact, it should be ready any minute now… please, have a seat! It will be so nice to have someone to share a cup with!” he smiled.

Dissonantia snickered, then sat down at the table. ‘This'll be too bloody easy,’ she thought, ‘This loon is more cracked in the head than Az’arad’s last six victims put together…’

Theotar took a seat as the two dredgers carried over a large pot of tea and two mugs, then poured a glass for each of them, the mad duke taking his own cup with a smile, sniffing at the steam. “Ah, lovely… a mixture of bloodmoss with an infusion of batshade if I am not mistaken…” he sighed wistfully, taking a sip.

Dissonantia raised her eyebrow, sniffing it herself, then took a small sip. “Huh… not bad actually.” she admitted under her breath. She could taste something else too, a strange sort of… nostalgic taste. As if she was suddenly remembering something from very very long ago. A sort of strange déjà vu… she got that sometimes when she devoured a soul, glimpsing it’s memories, but this was less sudden. It was almost pleasant.

“Ah, I am glad you like it! Not many of the Maw Walkers do sadly… bunch of coffee drinkers.” he sniffed in annoyance. “Oh but you must have such stories and tea time is a lovely time to share! What sort of land is Azeroth? I’m afraid in my mortal life I wasn’t from that particular world…” he simpered.

Dissonantia shrugged, “Well, if yez really wanna know… lemme tell yez about a place called Gilneas…” she replied, taking another sip. She could feel something alright, but she couldn’t put her finger on what…

A few weeks later…

Dissonantia had wound up meeting Theotar regularly for tea, the warlock wanting to be sure before she did anything risky. Theotar was apparently known to Prince Renethal, and she had to be sure she had either the means to make him silent or a way to hide the body should she decide to take what he knew of this anima distillation technique.

She had told him stories of Azeroth, though most of what she told him was either entirely made up or heavily embellished. She had outright lied about how she and Az’arad had met, the demon actually having a difficult time keeping a straight face when she spun a tale of him rescuing her from a fanatical knight and evil shapeshifting monster who wanted to force her to give up her magical ways. She had laughed herself sick afterwards imagining the faces of Dareley and Shalandrae should they ever hear the tale themselves.

This particular morning she awoke in her private quarters in the Ember Court’s headquarters… and found she felt a bit… odd.

She stood up and stretched, then blinked and paused. “… wait…” she muttered, stretching again. Even in her worgen form she’d often wake up stiff as a board from the infirmaries of old age… but, no popping, no creaking, not even a tightness in her back.

She felt over her body through the long black nightdress she wore… then walked to a large polished mirror in the corner and looked at herself. Black fur, eyes like glowing red spotlights, curling horns… same face she’d been seeing for ages now.

She frowned, then walked to the door and checked to be sure it was firmly locked before walking back to the mirror. “Roight… lessee wots under th’ fur coat then…” she frowned. She hated changing back into a human. She only ever did it in private and every time all the aches and pains of advanced age hit her all at once. Her spine twisted like the last banana at the grocer’s, her hands curled into Arthritis-ravaged claws, and her teeth ached while her cataracts seemed to grow back spontaneously.

She shivered all over as she willed the change, closing her eyes… then hesitated. “… wots this… it dun hurt?” she muttered, then after a moment peeked open one eye and peered into the mirror.

A young woman with long crimson hair and deep hazel eyes peeked back at her.

Dissonantia almost fell flat on her rear as she saw this, the witch catching herself on the dresser as she looked down at herself, examining her hands, then feeling over her face. “No wrinkles… no liver spots…” she gasped, then ducked to the mirror and looked closely at her head. “… not even a bleedin’ grey hair…” she said as she straightened up, eyes wide as she looked at herself. “… bloody feckin’ fel… anima actually did it!” she cackled, grinning widely as a mouth full of shiny pearlescent white teeth grinned back. “Quzgup was right! It worked! It bleedin' worked! I…” she hesitated, looking down at herself.

“… but this is th’ same as souls… I need to have anima to stay like this else I’ll turn back inta that ol’ crone…” she frowned, thinking. “Hmph…” she grumbled, looking at her reflection. Her human form looked totally different from her worgen self. Even her demonic horns were gone, vanished into her skull as if they never were.

“Hmm… Theotar keeps babblin’ on about it bein’ a ‘trade secret’ or some rubbish…” she growled, “Didn’t they say they had somefin’ ta keep each other in line in this place?” she thought, looking upwards thoughtfully, a grin spreading across her face. Yes, they did. She’d need to find it somehow, but she was a warlock, and she had her ways…

A couple weeks later…

Theotar sighed as he sipped his tea alone, the Venthyr man wondering where his new teatime friend had gotten to. “Those Maw Wakers do dangerous things… oh I hope nothing has happened to poor Dissonantia…” he pouted as Gubbins and Tubbins busied themselves with the next batch.

As he was thinking this however he heard a knock and sat up, then his face broke into a wide smile as he saw the worgen’s familiar form in the doorway.

“MY FRIEND!” he cried out in delight, “I had feared that one of those nasty impolite Mawsworn had gotten you! Oh it is so SO good to see you again! Gubbins! Tubbins! The tea! Quickly!”

“Eh, yeah… gonna stop yez right there Theotar…” she grinned, walking into the room with Az’arad in tow. “Ain’t here ta swap stories over a cuppa today. I’m here ta get th’ recipe as it were.” she nodded.

Theotar paused, looking back at her, “Oh? Oh Dissonantia I am so sad…” he sniffled, “But you know I can’t tell you… it is a special secret! Only Gubbins, Tubbins, and I know how to brew this tea. We can’t just give it out, even to a friend.” he pouted apologetically.

Dissonantia glanced at Az’arad, then back at him. “… well, if yez can’t give it to a friend…” she said, then her hand flew to her belt as she drew her dagger, the Wrathguard unsheathing his axe with a sneer. “Then yez gonna get it taken by a bleedin’ enemy!” she roared, “AZZY! KEEP TH’ DREDGERS BUSY!” she commanded as the demon charged, clearing the table in one leap and landing with a thunderous crash as Gubbins and Tubbins dove for cover in opposite directions with a cry of alarm.

Theotar’s jaw dropped, the Venthyr man stumbling backwards as he raised his hands infront of him. “M-my friend? What are you doing?! Have I offended you somehow?” he asked, confusion clear on his face. “I… I am sorry! Whatever it was please allow me to make amends! I do not want to lose my only teatime friend!” he begged.

Dissonantia stalked forward as she slit a hole in the air, a dozen imps clambering out of the portal to the Twisting Nether she’d cut as she reached into her pouch. “Friend? Boyo, yez got a lot ta learn ‘bout warlocks if yez think I was yer friend… yez just had somefin I wanted is all.” she sneered, her hand coming out of her bag as Theotar saw what she was holding, the Venthyr man letting out a shriek of horror.

In Dissonantia’s hand was a stone tablet about the size of a large book, and etched into it was a name and a list of misdeeds. Sinful acts in life that had consigned a soul to the dark realm of Revendreth… a sin stone.

Theotar quailed, backpedaling until he was against the wall, sweat beading on his forehead. “That stone… oh no no no… please Dissonantia! Not that! Anything but that!” he wailed.

The worgen grinned, “I wanna know how yez make anima inta tea. Talk… or else I start readin'…” she threatened as around her the imps cackled, grinning up at the Venthyr man.

“P-please… I can’t… please…” he whimpered, unable to take his eyes off the stone.

She tutted, “Not th’ feckin’ answer I wanted Theotar.” she smirked, then she held the stone up and began to read. First the true name of the sin stone’s owner, then their sins, one by one… slowly… drawing each one out.

Theotar cried out as he clutched at his ears, falling to his knees as tears ran down his cheeks. “NO! PLEASE DISSONANTIA! I DO NOT WANT TO REMEMBER! PLEASE STOP! IT HURTS! IT HUUUUUURTS!” he screamed, his body shaking all over as his sins in life were laid bare, each one like a lash across his mind and soul!

Dissonantia snorted, “Yez want me ta stop, yez know how ta get me ta do it…” she replied.

Theotar wailed, curling up on the ground in as he bawled, his mind wracked with agony and shame at the stone’s reading. “Please… w-we were friends… we shared tea and stories… w-why are you doing this?” he sobbed.

“Tell me how ta make drinkable anima… or I keep bloody readin’.” she snarled, holding the stone ready.

Theotar trembled, “But… m-my lands are in ruins… my subjects maddened by the Light… my tea… it is all I have left… please… please Dissonantia… do not… please…” he gasped out.

Dissonantia didn’t even flinch, she just held the stone ready, and continued. Theotar screamed out again, his body shaking all over as if he was having a fit as she kept going. Even the Accuser herself would allow a soul respite after such torment, but Dissonantia had no such compulsion. Truly, she relished the feeling of power this gave her over the Venthyr. She considered seeking out a few more, just to see what they would do to their owners…

After a few more sins however, Theotar could bear no more. “MERCY! MERCY! NO MORE! I-I WILL TELL YOU! PLEASE JUST STOP!” he cried out, curled into a ball on the ground before her, his face soaked with tears.

Dissonantia scowled, “Get talkin’.” she grunted.

Theotar sat up slowly, wiping his eyes with the flat of his hands like a child might, then looked to Gubbins and Tubbins who were cornered in the far end of the room by Az’arad. “G-gubbins! Give her… give her the book…” he whimpered, covering his face with his hands.

The dredger looked to Az’arad who grunted and jerked his head in the direction of Dissonantia. The diminutive creature scurried away and opened a trunk in the corner, digging through it until he came up with a handwritten journal bound in gorgon hide. He brought it over to Dissonantia, holding it out tentatively, and the second the warlock took it he ran next to Theotar.

Dissonantia opened it and looked through it. The book contained several recipes, techniques on anima channeling, and even plans for an unfinished tea engine… “Hmm, yeh I can use this…” she grinned. “Right, I got wut I wanted. Azzy! Wez leavin’.” she called back to her demon as he grunted and sheathed his axe, walking back to her as Tubbins collapsed in a heap.

She looked at Theotar as she held his sin stone close to her. “THIS stays with me boyo. Yez tell anyone wot happened here today ‘n I’ll read it from th’ top o’ th’ Ember Court’s battlements with a bleedin’ megaphone!” she growled in warning.

Theotar whimpered, looking up at her fearfully, and gave a small, resigned nod. The duke was totally beaten, and he knew it. No Venthyr could stand against one who had their sin stone. It was their weakness. The one thing that could harm them in a way they could not resist. It would be possible that Renethal and his allies could defeat her and reclaim it without her carrying out such a dire threat… but he couldn’t be sure, and he was terrified of the risk.

Dissonantia turned to leave, then smirked, “Fer wot it’s worth tho, yer tea was rather tasty.” she sneered, then the pair left the ruined building as Gubbins and Tubbins tried to comfort their master. Theotar sat on the floor with his face in his hands, crying softly as the memory of a lifetime of sin that had caused him to come to Revendreth was suddenly fresh and raw once more…

That Evening, at the Ember Court

Dissonantia sat in her quarters, the door locked so she could be back in her human form, as she looked over the plans for Theotar’s tea engine. “Hrmph… can’t make bleedin’ heads or tails o’ this.” she grumbled, “I’m a feckin’ witch, not an engineer… ‘n I sure as shite ain’t gonna ask Grimo ta build it.”

She frowned, snapping the book shut, “Nuffin for it then… gotta hire out. I’ll hafta put out th’ word to th’ Mo’arg or somefin…” she sighed, “Ah well, at least I can make small batches here… but if I wanna stockpile th’ bleedin’ stuff I’ll need that machine.” she smirked. “Still… this is exactly wot I needed… just gotta hope that loon keeps his bleedin’ mouth shut.”

Theotar, however, would never whisper a word of what happened until well after the Maw Walkers left the Shadowlands. Fear of the use of his sin stone keeping his silence. Few things scared one of the Venthyr more than the reveal of their past. While the lords and ladies of Revendreth put penitent souls to the lash and scoured away their sins for the hope of redemption, the sin stones were rock hard proof of the truth of things. At their core, they were all sinners and they had all done terrible things in their mortal lives.

Back in his hovel Theotar curled up on his bed under a threadbare blanket, then let out a small sob. Alone once more, the poor Mad Duke, with nobody to share the simple pleasure of a cup of tea.

#adventures in azeroth #warcraft roleplay #warcraft fanfiction #world of warcraft #shadowlands

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bigmeandragonlady · 5 months

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combining one of my favorite things and my current fixation! gw2 + shepherds of haven! we're putting the cast into gw2!

Note: I dont remember all of the specializations within the classes and have played the asura background like. once.

Blade- Charr from the Ash legion. The Charr are primarily run by military organizations. Can even have a failed assassination plot b/c of human/charr relations! anyway, he ends up joining the Vigil and later the Pact. I'll be predictable: He's a Warrior.

Trouble - Human Thief with the Deadeye specialization. I thought about making him Charr b/c I thought it was interesting, but the human origin in game even has an option that fits him super well. Joins the Vigil as well, through Blade.

Tallys - Norn Ranger, revers Owl or Snow Leopard. Was very tempted to make her Sylvari (and it would still work) for ties with Briony and the plant thing BUT they are a super young race (like they started popping up about 30 years ago, i think) and the general vibe of the Sylvari don't really match her. The Norn are still connected to the land, spiritual, and long lived- they have also been driven out of their homelands by Jormag. It wouldn't be hard at all to give her the same kind of backstory as her canon one.

Could also lean into her 'I hate human government for killing my people' and make her Charr. It would be fun to make her super long lived via some magic/mists bullshit so she was around for Ascalon.

Shery - Either a human or asura, leaning towards human. Born and raised in Lion's arch, and is part of the Priory as of Scarlet's invasion. I could see her learning a bit of the mesmer art. Devout of the six, particularly Dwayna.

Riel - Asura and would be an engineer if had to enter combat. Stationed in Lion's Arch (it's the best place of the leader of the Merchant's guild as a bustling port town). Works primarily with the Priory and Order of Whispers, but is not part of either.

Chase - Human thief (daredevil). I can't bring myself to change his 'a normal human but kind of a freak' thing. Starts part of a thieves guild but eventually gets recruited by the Order of Whispers and takes a bunch of his thieves with him.

Alya - Human Elementalist. Either Tempest or Weaver would work, b/c gw2 doesn't have a 'you're focused in one element' class. I'm not sure where she'd be from but my first instinct is that her parents fled Joko's reign/invasion in Elonia and ended up in Tyria. Or she managed to escape on her own later in life.

Red - Human (although Asura could also work) Revenant. Revenants channel powers from the Mists and anything to so with the mists seem to be in line with Red's 'I mess with dangerous shit.' The mists are where the realms of the gods are, the afterlife, time loops, fractals of time and space, endless wars, and people go insane there. He would definitely work with the Priory.

Halek - Norn warrior, wolf or bear would fit. Fun fact about the Norn is that they're like 9ft tall :) Would join the pact as soon as he could find a good reason to get away from his obligations that mirror his canonical ones.

Briony - Sylvari warrior or guardian, cycle of noon. She is from the Magumma tree, rather then the pale tree but washed up somewhere with no memory so no one would probably ever know. Did she answer Mordemoth's call? No one knows, not even her. She's generally seen as a brand new sylvari who just came out of her pod.

Lavinet- Human, part of the Divinity's Reach nobility (in the area of Lake Doric) Starts working with the Pact after the bloodstone explodes in bloodstone fen but doesn't actually join until 'Head of the Snake' in living world season 3.

#shoh #gw2 #sorry got brainworms last night and this probably doesn't mean anything to anyone but me lol #shoh posting

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yumpty-dumpty-inactive · 3 years

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C H I L D

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LISTS: ANON LIST, MASTERLIST, RULES

Knight's of Favonius' thoughts on having children with their s/o!

a/n: it is currently 2:22 in the morning. this took so long, somehow came out short, did not come out good for some characters, so I’ll probably re-write soon fgirjgirgiuhuwireusf-

*EDITED PARTS: AETHER*

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*GENDER NEUTRAL READER*

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Includes: Aether, Albedo, Amber, Eula, Jean, Kaeya, Lisa, Lumine, Noelle, Sucrose

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AETHER:

AW, YES HE DOES!

REGARDLESS OF YOUR GENDER/SEXUALITY, HE WANTS CHILDREN

he definitely wants 3 kids

he thinks back to when him and Lumine were little, and how they had always wanted a little sibling!

at first he wasn’t sure about it, and wasn’t sure he’d have enough time to love them, however you used your magical Aether taming powers to convince him :D

you would eventually end up with two little girls, and a little boy!

the first to come were you’re girls, you had/adopted twins :D!

what a coincidence

the one who’s older (by 2 minutes but whatever) was named Lumi after Lumine, she was very gentle and loving, and always looked out for her sister and brother :)

she had a dream of healing others after seeing her Auntie Barbara heal her father’s wounds from a battle with the Fatui

she spent lots of time with Barbara as a little girl, which led to her eventually meeting Rosaria, who took a liking to her

Rosaria was surprised she took such a big interest in your child, considering she usually found people like her annoying

Rosaria had seen she was better with her smarts rather than physical capabilities, and so she taught Lumi to fight :>

Lumi’s weapon of choice is a catalyst, and her weapon is a spellbook named the “Book of Dawn”

Lumi was granted a Geo vision, and her skill creates an extremely durable shield of Geo rocks, and after the shield is activated, all her attacks until it disappears with heal her party members up to 5000 HP per attack :0

her burst creates 5 GIANT rock pillars that cover different areas and deal continuous Geo damage while healing your other party members!

she would eventually grow up to move to Inazuma and open her own medical clinic, helping children all over Teyvat!

the younger one you two named Vira, because she is very strong and feisty, and she’s also fiercely protective of those who she loves, not for specific reason, but she’s just naturally like that

Vira has insane physical capabilities, and was granted a PYRO vision for her passion of saving others

she has dreamed of becoming a Knight of Favonius ever since seeing your father in battle

after she poured her dreams to you two, you were both hesitant to let her follow her dreams due to how dangerous it was but after quite a bit of resistance from her, you both caved

Aether decided to ask Diluc to meet her, in hopes of them getting along

little did he know, they would become inseperable

when she was older, he would let her intern at the tavern

he trained her to fight, and her weapon of choice also became a claymore

her ultimate move infuses her weapon with Pyro and every time she hits her opponent, it creates an explosion

her skill creates a small pyro lion similar to Xiangling’s Gouba :D

she would eventually grow up to become a strong captain in the Knights Of Favonius!

now for your son :>

he is two years younger than the girls, and you two named him Liam!

Liam is sadly mute due to an Abyss Mage accident when he was young, however he’s okay!

at the age of 8, he was granted a CRYO vision after being bullied by some towns children :(

of course Aether showed ‘em

Liam was always fascinated by the history of visions, and spent a lot of time in the library with Lisa!

Lisa eventually taught him to fight, and his weapon of choice is a spear!

he is a mix of his sisters, very sweet and loving but he also had a very strong and fierce side!

his elemental skill creates an ice turret that deals continues Cryo damage to his surrounding opponents!

his burst creates a second vision made of Cryo energy, and it bursts all of his abilities (HP, speed, damage, etc.) for the duration of his burst :D!

he would eventually grow up to be a professer of vision history at Sumeru Acadamia!

KAEYA:

he’s kind of neutral towards having a child

isn’t against it, but if you want one he’ll be okay with that !

but no more than 2

he doesn’t really know why, he just doesn’t really want a big family

which is why....

you two ended up with a daughter !

she is stunningly beautiful btw

you ended up naming her Riley

she unfortunately picked up some of her fathers habits and now is a tiny female Kaeya

at the age of 7, she was granted an electro vision, for her different styles!

people often thought she was weird due to the way she dressed, but after a certain outburst about how she was allowed to do and dress as she pleased she was granted her vision!

Riley gets along best with: Auntie Rosaria, Aunt Amber, and Ms. Jean

she would eventually grow up to follow in her Aunts’ footsteps, becoming the captain of the Outrider Regiment (which she revived!!!)

LUMINE:

U H

sorry but i don’t really think she’d really want children :(

instead of children, you guys would have mannnnny pets

like over 5 dogs, 3 cats, and more.

so a lot-

your dogs’ names are: Aeth, rufus, miles, ben, porky, meatball, pinky, rosalinda, and muggs

LISA:

she rather likes the idea!

now this was not planned at all,

however, you two ended up with a son!

you ended up naming him..

MARCO!!!

he’s a very kind and proper child!

he’s an avid reader, and spends days with his mother in the library reading while she “works”! (yes I put the “” I had to-)

he is insanely smart, however he has a weak body and often becomes ill :(

however, he was determined to become a great wind glider after seeing his Auntie Amber glide!

because of his determination, he was granted an Anemo vision!

thx venti

Marco gets along best with: Auntie Amber (ofc-), Ms. Barbara, and Ms. Sucrose!

Marco would eventually grow up to be an outrider! he would also become Mondstadt’s next gliding champion!

good for marco

NOELLE:

Noelle is not against it one bit!

she loves the idea of starting a family with you! and you two do!

you end up being blessed with two wonderful sons and a daughter!

your first son was named Noah, and he was granted a PYRO vision after realizing his passion for adventuring!!

your second child was your daughter, who was blessed with a HYDRO vision for her dedication to her helping people! she was named Lillith

your last son was named Aiden, but unfortunately he never received a vision :(

he had passed away at the age of 4 from terrible sickness it broke everyone’s hearts, but sadly the truth had to be faced

anyways, Noah gets along best with: Mr. Bennett, Ms. Fischl and Oz, and Ms. Amber!!

he would eventually grow up to become the grand master of the Adventurers Guild!

Lillith on the other hand, gets along best with: Ms. Amber, Ms. Barbara, and Uncle Aether!!

she would grow up to become a maid of the Knights of Favonius!

SUCROSE:

Our shy alchemist is.... neutral

it’s not like she doesn’t want one its just, she worries

she worries that because she’s so busy all the time, she won’t have enough time for the child

HOWEVER, after some convincing on your end, our alchemist agreed!

you two ended up having one son, named Arrow!

Arrow is a very curious child, and learned this from Sucrose!

he took an interest to something, however instead of alchemy, it was music!

like Sucrose, he has a passion for his special hobby!

however, his music was rejected by most people, and called weird and stupid

but he never gave up, and kept pushing

eventually, he pushed hard enough to earn himself an ELECTRO vision!

Arrow gets along best with: Deaconess Barbara, Mr. Aether, and Ms. Lisa!

eventually his music would be loved by all, and he would start a professional music career :D

JEAN:

Jean is... not against it!

in fact, the grand master loves the idea!

she knows she can protect her children, and she will

however, she was concerned about a few things

1, she is concerned she won’t have time for the kiddos, considering her role within the Knights

2, she is concerned she won’t be a good mother

of course, you are quick to shut these worries down, saying:

“Oh Jean, dear, I’m sure you’ll have time for them! If not, it’s okay! It happens, and also, you’ll be a fantastic mother! I’m sure of it.”

“Really..?”

“Of course really!” you said giving her a light peck on the cheek

you two ended up with three children, all girls!

your first daughter was named Vanessa, after the savior of Mondstadt

she was granted a DENDRO vision at age 10 for showing here true thirst for knowledge!

she has a personality very similar to Jean’s, except she is exceptionally smart and very skilled in battle

her weapon of choice is a claymore, and oh boy does she know how to use it

she gets along well with: Mr. Albedo, Aunt LIsa, and Auntie Barbara!

she would eventually grow up to be the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonious

your second daughter was named Ellie, and she had a very bubbly and bright personality! she always shows compassion to those around her, and she is basically an angel sent from heaven

she was granted a PYRO vision at the age of 6 for her passion of helping others!

she gets along best with: Auntie Barbara and Ms. Noelle!

she would eventually become a sister at the church!

your last daughter was named Adley, and she was a very passionate and leading child

she was very extroverted and her speeches were beyond inspirational

because of this, she was made a Knight Of Favonious and with her ANEMO vision, and her and her catalyst easily rose the ranks

she would eventually become an Outrider, and revived it from its previous state of death

EULA:

Eula doesn’t mind the thought of children, which is why you two end up having/adopting twins!

One girl and one boy, named Mia and Luca!

Mia took up Eula’s love for dancing, and Luca took up cooking!

They both received visions, Mia received an Electro one at age 9 for persevering even though people didn’t like her dancing style

Luca received a Geo one at ago 8 because of his goal to become the best chef in Mondstadt

They both get along really well with everyone however get along best with: Ms. Amber, Ms. Noelle, and Ms. Fischl!

Mia would eventually grow up to become a dancer, and Luca a chef!

AMBER:

Amber loves the idea of have a kid!

yes

I said A KID

not KIDS

yea she doesn’t feel ready or up for 2 or more :(

so you two end up having one child, a son named Daniel!

He inherites Amber’s personality, and at the age of 7, received a Geo vision for his goal of reviving the Outrider Regiment!

Amber was literally so proud of him oml

he gets along best with : Uncle Aether, Mr. Kaeya, and Ms. Noelle!

eventually he would grow up to become the Captain of the Outriders regiment!! (yes he revived it-)

ALBEDO:

Albedo would in fact love a smaller family, which is why the two of you ended up with one daughter!

She was named Silver, and had a natural gift when it came to alchemey, much like her father

she was very reserved, and picked up lots of her behaviors from Albedo

however even though she was reserved, she had an angry side

no one ever wanted to see her angry due to that side

eventually however, for her dedication to her family and alchemey, she was granted a HYDRO vision

She gets along best with: Ms. Sucrose, Ms. Kaeya, and Auntie Klee!

she would eventually graduate from Sumeru Acadamia and become a Knight of Favonious, taking her fathers’ place as Chief Alchemist

627 notes · View notes

vidalinav · 3 years

Text

Life’s a Beach (1)

I underestimated how long this fic was, so I smashed them together. I will continue just posting snippets and writing it like that (and then smashing them together), but since most of you will already have read it, I will include a bonus scene at the end. My thank you for putting up with my unconventional writing process.

Summary: Tarquin comes to town and Cassian is jealous.

Cassian doesn’t like when Tarquin visits.

Never mind the ban from the Summer Court or that at one point, blood rubies pilfer their court. Never mind that Summer crowns him holier than the seas and the sun. Cassian doesn’t like the ease in which he walks. He may not have his usual royal garb, but he glides along the Sidra. The mighty king out for a stroll.

Nesta looks like his queen.

His mate is bright and beaming, huffing laughs and smiling wide as she praises his ideas. Cassian has ideas, too.

But Nesta isn’t interested in his ideas as he follows them around. Nesta just continues smiling. Her skin glows with the sun, the apples of her cheeks turning a pretty shade of apricot as Tarquin notes the dying rays. Are you a poet Tarquin? Cassian wants to ask, but knowing the High Lord, he just might be and Nesta fucking loves poetry.

Her cheeks remain pink and Cassian resists grabbing her hand and dragging her back to the house. You’ll die of heatstroke; he might say if she protests. But no.

He won’t.

He promises to be on his best behavior.

Even so, Cassian can’t help eyeing buildings as they pass. Just break one, he urges. One and we can ban you from the Night Court. But that might mean, Nesta spending some time in Summer, with her good friend Tarquin, who makes Nesta beam like that, make her cheeks red like that.

All Cassian sees is red.

All Nesta looks at is Tarquin.

“You know, I never thought someone as young as you would be so conniving.”

Conniving? Cassian isn’t paying attention, but at the word, he’s ready to deem it insulting enough to fight Tarquin if Nesta so much as gives him a look. But Nesta only listens as Tarquin speaks. Cassian can’t even read her expression. It’s blank as she stares.

“I admire that quality,” The little high lord says.

Admire someone else, buddy.

Nesta only snorts, the words making her laugh.

The light plays with her eyes as she smirks. They look bluer today. Less silver. Cassian has to think that it has something to do with Tarquin. Tarquin who brings out the blue in Nesta’s eyes, who brings pink to her cheeks. Never mind that it probably has more to do with how bright it is today.

“You’re too smart,” he remarks, and Cassian wants to roll his eyes. Nesta is too smart, too smart to be hanging around with some pompous flatterer. “No wonder you’re good at this game.”

“What game?” She asks, lightly, but even Cassian can hear the caution. Her voice slowing as if coaxing an answer from his lips.

“The game we all play. These situations that have us playing with life whether we want to or not.” Nesta lilts her head curiously, waiting for further explanation and Cassian waits too, because he’s not sure he understands. Tarquin looks like he’d rather not speak of it, but he continues even so.

“Fae are good at games–invented them really. Court politics, morality, marriage, and bargains. I have to believe you’re good at them. Not just because I’ve seen you, but because I know what Eris offered as soon as he had you in his arms… It’s always the smart ones who win these games–the most clever.”

Nesta rolls her eyes as if his words offer no great importance, “It’s never the smart ones who win.” She counters. “Not the ones who are strongest or the most magically gifted or the one who smiles the sweetest while she glides across the floor. There is no game that you can win by being the most beautiful person in the room… No game I’d want to play anyways.”

“Then who does win?” He urges. Tarquin almost sounds desperate for the answer, and Cassian has to wonder if Nesta has woven a spell around him too just as much as Eris.

“Whoever’s luckiest,” Nesta shrugs simply, “So there’s no point in trying so hard… We all end up in the exact place we were always supposed to be in.”

She doesn’t sound happy about that either, and something about the tone makes Cassian want to hold her close. Make her remember that it’s a joy to be here. To be together, even if it is with another male who skin beams with the summer sun.

I’m lucky to have you.

He hopes she knows.

“Then you’re lucky,” Tarquin notes, “And blessed. You’re blessed and lucky. Smart and clever.” He laughs as if brushing the seriousness off, “Is that why you’re so good at cards? Azriel was moping last night. I thought that had something to do with you.”

Nesta lifts a casual shoulder, a soft smile playing on her lips. Cassian thinks even that is a play–some move she knows will help her counter his attack. “Azriel loses because he wants to win and it’s easy to win against someone who’s already shown their cards.”

“Motivations are everything.”

“Yes,” Nesta nods frankly, “so why are you here?”

Cassian wants to know, too.

Actually, Cassian wants to push him into the Sidra and see if pretty fishman can float, but he’ll take Nesta’s verbal spar in any case. If he runs back to the House with his tail between his legs, Cassian will consider it a win for the both of them. His lovely strategist.

But Tarquin doesn’t run. Cassian doesn’t think Tarquin will ever run from Nesta and that simple fact makes him furious. That there is another male in this world who will see Nesta and not balk, who will know Nesta and not grimace.

Cassian is not the only male who stays. Not for the power or the beauty or the poise, but because underneath all of that is a female who can conquer as much as she can tame. Whose voice sounds like the sea, whose eyes are crystal clear waters, whose mind rages against the tide.

Tarquin breathes in ocean air.

Every morning, he fishes on the coast. Every evening, he sleeps to the humming sea. Who would know Nesta better than someone who dreams of waves?

So, it doesn’t come as any surprise when Tarquin looks to him, as she asks her question. Why are you here?

“Because I want to know you.”

A fool’s choice.

“I’m not foolish enough to claim you,” He adds, “and I’m not foolish enough to think you’ll ever be claimed, even if you have a mate. No offense, Cassian.”

Offense taken.

“I’m not even foolish enough to think I can even begin to know who you are or what you’ve been through… But when you looked at me that day in the Summer Court, and asked me to help your family, offered me anything that you could give me alone.”

What? Cassian looks to Nesta, but she promptly ignores him, staring at Pompous Prince Tarquin.

“I’d never seen anyone want so badly. I wanted to know what that felt like. Know what stirred so deeply in your heart that you looked at me like you’d give me the entire world for just one yes.”

Tarquin raises a shoulder and Cassian tries not to swallow so loudly. He thinks he might have to shove a fist down his throat to stop his screaming, “You’re a question I keep mulling over and I’ve yet to figure out what the answer is. I don’t even know if I could know the answer if it stared me in the eyes, but I would like to learn. To feel half of what you feel, to learn how to love so truly.”

Cassian replays her answer as he sleeps. He goes over it and over it and over it again. At some point, he wakes her up in the middle of the night, shaking her shoulder.

“Nesta,” he whispers, “Nesta? What did you mean?”

His mate only groans, her brows furrowing, as she burrows further into blankets. Cassian knows he’s playing in dangerous territory, but he can’t stop thinking about. It’s driving him insane.

“Nesta, what did you mean?”

He says it once louder, shaking her again. Nesta only juts out her elbow, hitting him in the rib. Cassian holds in the heavy moan as he clutches his chest, and Nesta settles in her sleep.

Still, Cassian can’t give up now. “When you told Tarquin you’d think about it, what did you mean? Nesta?”

Cassian grasps her shoulder, shaking her lightly, “Nesta!”

“What?” Nesta yells, leaning up so fast, she almost hits her head on his chin. “What do you keep yelling about? I’m trying to sleep!”

Even furious and half-asleep, she looks beautiful. The strap of her nightgown slips down one shoulder, and he trails the movement as if his own fingers push it down. Nesta crosses her arms, and he swallows down the want. Not an appropriate time, Cassian.

She raises a brow, “Well?”

“I wanted to talk,” he says simply.

Nesta looks to the clock on the wall, glaring at him exasperated. “At two in the morning?”

“Good a time as any.”

She looks mad that much is true, and Cassian wishes to appease.

His mate is tired, so he’ll fluff her pillows, rub her shoulders while she relaxes enough to tell him exactly what she means when she tells Tarquin she’ll think about it. As if his I want to get to know you is an offer she can’t refuse.

But as he fluffs her pillows, Cassian can only think of Tarquin.

He would have waited to speak to her, prioritizing Nesta’s health over his wants. Just this morning… or yesterday morning, the High Lord of Summer makes sure to ask Nesta if she’s eaten as she reads her book on the couch–a fact he finds rude to say the least–and when she says no, he offers to make breakfast for her. Oh, so generous of him. Never mind that they have a House who cooks their meals.

Cassian scoffs as he thinks about it. What High Lord plays chef? And who is he to ask if Nesta’s eaten as if his mate isn’t being taken care of?

He yanks at the pillow, beats at it, punches it. He can’t help but imagine Tarquin’s face. He can see feathers jutting from the cushion, and still he hits. The cloth lays in the cinders on the bed before he stops.

Nesta sighs at the mess, grabbing one of the pillows from his side, clasping it to her head.

“What are you doing?” Cassian asks.

“Hoping I suffocate enough to pass out.”

Her voice is muffled, and he grasps at the pillow. Her hair is a ruffled mess. It splays out on the pillow in waves. Cassian can’t help but breathe at the sight of her and the sound is a sigh of relief.

She’s his… Or as much as Nesta can be his.

She chose him.

Nesta with her matted hair, the side of her cheek pink from where she pushes up against the pillow, her silver nightgown making her skin glow in the light of the moon, chooses him.

Shouldn’t that be enough?

Cassian rubs at his face, feeling all too shameful. “I’m sorry. I just–” He takes in their bed, feathers littering the duvet. Suddenly, he feels like a little kid. What was he doing beating a pillow like that? Waking Nesta in the middle of the night?

“You’re jealous,” Nesta says.

Her voice echoes in the room, and Cassian frowns at the words. Of course, he’s jealous. That much is obvious. He’s always jealous.

Nesta is beautiful and powerful and smiles like she grants the sun its light, and males flock to her like moths. Not just any males either but stupid princes and arrogant High Lords and stupid, arrogant Tarquin!

Nesta only grabs at the pillow in his hands, setting it under her head as she closes her eyes. He waits for her to speak, but he can only hear the ticking of the clock, on and on as time passes.

Nesta doesn’t say a thing.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say. You’re jealous and you go back to sleep.”

The pretty pink of her lips purse, but she doesn’t even open her eyes as she says, “If you were looking for comfort, you shouldn’t have woken me up at two in the morning.”

Well… damn.

Cassian settles back at his side, crossing his arms as he stares at the ceiling. He’s one less pillow down, but that doesn’t bother him much. It’s the thoughts that don’t quiet even for a second. Stupid mating bond.

That thought though has him looking to Nesta. No, he loves that mating bond. He loves her. And even if Tarquin wants to impede himself like a wall between them, Cassian will still love Nesta Archeron.

He closes his eyes repeating those words as if they’re a lullaby that will let him drift off to sleep. I love Nesta Archeron. I love Nesta Archeron. I love Nesta Archeron.

The words don’t comfort him even a little.

But Nesta sets her head on his chest. She tucks herself in to the crook of his arm and Cassian squeezes gently–he tries not to hold on too tight.

She must sense his surprise. Whether that be from the bond or because Nesta knows him like that back of her hand, he doesn’t know. But she blinks one eye open, looking at him with bright grey and all his fears are assuaged.

“You should hold me since you woke me up.”

Cassian can only blink, nodding his head as she wraps his arms around her, and he settles in. He can hear her heart beating and he can hear her soft breathing and Cassian can go to sleep to this. He can.

Cassian will hold her until she tells him let go. Cassian will not let go.

Still… he can’t help it.

“I bet Tarquin can’t hold you like this.”

Cassian only gets mouth full of feathers.

Tarquin tells Rhys that he’s going to stay for two weeks. During this time, they’ll talk of treaties, draw up some plan of trade, some easy comings and goings of Night Court and Summer Court residences. Cassian tells Rhys that they don’t need a treaty. Throw him out now, he thinks.

“Is something going on with you?” Rhys asks, leaning back in his chair, ever the High Lord. Cassian is starting to hate High Lords.

Cassian crosses his arms, grinding his teeth. He’s in the sitting room in the estate. Amren solves a puzzle as if nothing about this meeting is important at all. Mor talks to Feyre by the dining room, gossiping rather than listening to Rhys moan about Tarquin and peace treaties. Nesta, not that she goes to these meetings, is out doing gods know what with Tarquin who wants to view the city.

Take me to all your favorite places, he says. Cassian rolls his eyes just thinking about the way Nesta’s light up. Bookstores and restaurants and museums. She knows them all. Nesta goes with him, first. Why does Tarquin care? Is he planning on buying a winter house in Velaris?

Cassian’s blood runs cold at the thought.

“He’s jealous,” Azriel says, throwing a scroll at Rhys which he easily catches.

Mor’s head jerks up at the word, even Feyre smirks with interest.

“No,” Cassian dismisses, but he’s never been a good liar. His voice pitches high and Rhys eyes him with humor, “I… just think that we don’t need Summer Court resources, when we have an abundance of them already.”

“You’re also banned,” Amren comments helpfully, “I would say that makes you the most biased towards these dealings.”

“Your boyfriend is from the Summer Court; wouldn’t that make you the most biased?” Mor asks. Amren simply shrugs.

“I mean have we considered that. That male banned me and now we’re opening our borders?”

“Our borders have always been open,” Feyre says, not so helpfully. The look she gives him has him sinking in his seat. “Also, you wrecked the central magistrate.”

“They’ve rebuilt it,” Cassian argues.

“You mates are all the same,” Amren groans loudly, “She’s not going to fuck Tarquin.”

“Shut up Amren!”

“That’s the best you can do? I’m sure Tarquin’s more eloquent.”

“Amren,” Feyre says, giving her that motherly reprimanding look. An expression that Cassian supposes comes with the motherhood package.

It does the trick.

Amren sneers, but she settles back where she sits on the floor, picking at her puzzle. Cassian has the sudden urge to knock the pieces off the table, just for the comment alone.

“Nesta loves you, Cassian,” Feyre says, her voice light and calming. Too bad it doesn’t calm him, and he doesn’t want to talk about this now even if she goads. “What’s there to be jealous of?”

Cassian already knows this answer. He knows this answer this morning, the other night, the minute summer enters Velaris spring. It’s not that Nesta loves him. Cassian knows Nesta loves him. It’s that he lets his guard down. He forgets the most crucial information of all–

Nesta is easily lovable.

Sure, she might give a sneer or two at someone who annoys her well enough or beat the living daylights out of someone who threatens those she loves, but Nesta is an easily lovable dork.

She laughs at stupid things and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s a goofball! He swears she knows every book in that library. She absorbs information like a sponge, will rant for hours about everything she learns. Her thoughtfulness knows no bounds. They’ll be off at the market and if she sees something that looks like Gwyn or Emerie or himself or whoever, she has to have it. She has to give it to them. They go to get cinnamon buns and she orders enough for the priestesses. She remembers everyone’s birthday. She learns the name of every patron and their families and their language and their holidays. It’s not hard to love Nesta.

Who would not love Nesta?

So yes, he has something to be jealous of.

“You look stressed,” Mor notes, her eyebrows raising.

Amren nods, “You look like you’re going to fight someone.”

“Or puke,” Azriel adds.

“Just don’t fight Tarquin,” Rhys concludes, “I can’t ban you from the court, but I can certainly make sure you’re away in Illyria while he’s here.”

“You guys are really supportive, you know that?”

“Well at least we’re not trying to steal you’re girl,” Mor teases.

“Yet.”

Cassian gives her a glare, but she only laughs a bright sound.

“I’ve never seen you jealous,” she says.

“I’m not jealous.”

Azriel raises a pointed finger, “what about that one time you threw that rock at that window?”

“Or when you broke that male’s nose,” Rhys suggests.

Amren rolls her eyes, setting down a piece of her puzzle, “How about the last time we all went to a bar.”

Mor, Azriel, and Rhys look to each other, contemplating the words. Cassian watches as they nod their heads slowly.

“Oh yeah.”

“You’re right.”

“You were jealous then, too.”

“I was not jealous,” Cassian insists.

Thankfully, Feyre–sweet Feyre offers him relief. She raises her hands, and Cassian thinks he’s glad to have such a loyal sister-in-law. “Guys, he was not jealous.”

Thank you, Feyre.

“He was territorial.”

The others voice their agreement before Cassian has a chance to speak–to defend himself from this defamation of character.

Not that he can defend himself.

He remembers that day all too well…

It’s the first Nesta goes to a bar with them. The first time she goes to a bar in a while, and she’s nervous. But she looks beautiful. So damn beautiful that he thinks he might suggest staying in. She has on a black dress with these tiny straps and a necklace that makes him want to trace her neck with his tongue until she’s mewling and soft and pliant. But she’s nervous, so he only kisses her forehead.

We don’t have to drink he says. I won’t drink either, he promises.

Cassian turns out to be a bold-faced liar.

He’s drunk by the time the first band plays. He keeps gobbling down the drinks. Nesta gets them for free. Martinis, vodka sodas, gin, and whiskey. All manners of shots. Every alcohol keeps floating her way. The males seem to think they only need to find the right one. The one Nesta prefers and they take it as a challenge. He remembers asking if she even needed their money all those months ago, and she only shrugs a shoulder. Haughty and much, much too beautiful.

Nesta offers to send them back, but Cassian gulps them down one by one before she can even call over the waitress. I can take it, he says.

Once again, Cassian is made a liar.

They have to carry him out of that bar. At some point, he remembers flying over the city as Rhys and Azriel chase him through the streets.

The only way they get him down is by Nesta calling for him. An easy trick, he thinks. If they asked him, they should have tried that first. Of course, he answers his mate when she calls.

When he meets her, crawling back with his wings drooping to the concrete, Nesta only opens her arms as if she wants him to hug her. Cassian hugs her. He… climbs on top of her, really.

But she combs her fingers through his hair and Cassian hunches over to lay his head on her shoulder and the next thing he knows… he’s lying in bed, a glass of water and some headache powder on the side table.

She’d hit that nerve in his neck.

Cassian wants to scoff just thinking about it.

“Where is Nesta anyway?”

The question has Cassian grinding his teeth, he can hear the noise in his ears. With fucking Tarquin.

“She’s out,” he says instead.

“Out where?”

“Out to museums,” He lists thinking of all the places Nesta enjoys. “Or picnics.” All the places that Nesta will smile at. “Or restaurants.” All places Nesta will bubble up with laughter, that she’ll blush with glee, that she’ll gaze at wistfully with that bastard Tarquin. “Or maybe romantic boat rides. The one in that fucking swan.”

Cassian doesn’t even know he grabs on to the throw pillow, but the next thing he knows the cushion is torn in half and the stuffing falls out like billowing snow.

The others look at him strangely, but it’s Feyre who takes a cautious step towards him, taking the pillow from his hands.

“And when will they be done?”

Cassian rolls his eyes, looking to the clock. “I meet them in a half an hour. We’re getting lunch,” he mocks in a voice that doesn’t sound anything like the High Lord of Summer.

Feyre hums in answer, her eyes widening innocently. Cassian stares in suspicion.

He watches as the others look to each other, too. Azriel to Mor. Mor to Rhys. Rhys to Feyre. Feyre to Amren. And then all of them look back to him.

It’s Mor who bounces brightly, “I want to go!”

“I’m going, too,” Rhys announces.

Feyre crosses her arms, “You can’t go. I’m going! Someone has to watch the baby.”

“Let Nuala and Cerridwen watch the baby! I’m supporting my brother.”

“I’m supporting my sister!”

“Oh, for cauldron’s sake,” Amren groans, “just bring the boy!”

Cassian frowns as they start packing up around him, yelling at each other for their coats and… baby carriers.

Amren only pauses to laugh at the look on his face.

“It could be worse, you know,” She says, her voice something she probably thinks sounds soft and comforting, “Tarquin could have already made some move. What do males say these days? Oh right, I want to get to know you or something equally as vomit inducing.”

Cassian simply picks up the throw pillow to his left and screams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS SCENE 1:

The evening of their first outing, Cassian can’t button his shirt. He should've taken that as his first sign that things would inevitably go wrong.

“Are the buttons winning?” Nesta asks lightly. Cassian huffs a curse, hiking the shirt over his head. It gets stuck around his neck and he groans out a response.

Fine, he thinks. I give up.

Nesta laughs at his slumping shoulders.

“It’s the wings,” He says, muffled through the cloth. His wings drift up and down as if huffing themselves, showing her that they too are thoroughly annoyed. “This shirt isn’t made for Illyrians.”

That’s a lie, but Nesta only hums.

“Well... as much as I like you topless and I do like you topless.” Cassian can feel her hands trailing up his ribs and he squirms at the ticklish touch. “I don’t think it would be appropriate for public outings.”

“You mean you’d be jealous,” He breaths. Nesta pulls the shirt down, unbuttoning and buttoning it again. His mate makes it seem far too easy, and she smirks up at him when the shirt is fully on. Her lips painted in red.

The fresh air is cool in his lungs without the noose of dress ware, and he winds his arms around her, breathing in her scent. “All those females looking. Males too. What would you do if they propositioned me?” He urges, holding her closer, bringing her hips to his. “Cassian, Cassian, take me in your arms.”

He dips her low as if they’ve finished some waltz, and lifts her high until her leg is around his waist. That’s when he notices the slit in her gown, running all the way up her thigh.

“They’ll chase me through the streets, you know. I’m a very hot commodity.”

Nesta doesn’t even laugh. In fact, she merely lifts her eyes, her expression blank in that very Nesta way of hers.

She fingers the collar of his shirt and Cassian can’t help but follow her hands. He thinks of every place those fingers can touch. “You wouldn’t be so difficult to catch. All it’d take is some buttons.”

Cassian roars with laughter and Nesta smiles at that. A small turn of her lips.

She turns back to the vanity, though he can’t say she’s not already perfect. He’s about to say so too, but that’s when he notices the dress.

It’s hugs her every curve... the way Cassian only wishes to hug her. The black brings out the gold in her hair, in her sun-kissed skin. There’s a slit, Cassian knows, and tiny, tiny straps.

Cassian moves towards her without a second thought. How anyone can think when they look at Nesta Archeron, he doesn’t know. He grasps her arms, dipping his head low. He places a reverent kiss on her shoulder and Nesta looks at him through the mirror, blinking up at him with those big, magnificent eyes.

They’ve never fucked in front of mirror before.

Cassian makes a note.

“You know, we can always skip this... thing. Who would even notice if we're gone?”

“Considering it’s for us, I’d say plenty.”

She says the words with enough disdain that Cassian frowns at the tone. She looks away as he catches her eyes.

“Do you not want to go?” He asks, dropping his hands.

“I want to get this night over with,” she says, with a certain bite that has him backtracking. He runs over the day and all things she can be mad at him for, but he finds nothing, so he doesn’t understand.

The night is for them.

To celebrate her more than anyone. There’s been so many celebrations for her these past months as if they’re making up for lost time. Cassian doesn’t mind. Nesta should be celebrated. And Nesta doesn’t seem to mind, though she’s rather quiet during those outings.

That’s not unusual.

He used to think Azriel was the most introverted of them all. But Nesta beats him by miles.

“Why--”

“I just don’t like that we always have these. Why can’t everyone just leave us alone?”

Cassian stares at her reddening skin. The way her eyes dart back and forth, trying not to look to him. His frown deepens at the way she hides.

He thought they were past this.

Cassian is the first person to admit that he doesn’t know Nesta. Not in the way he wants to and Nesta seldom tells him much. But he at least knows her well enough to know that when she gets upset, it’s rarely what she says it is.

So Cassian takes inventory.

They’re going to a get-together. They’ve done that before. They’re wearing formal clothes. They’ve done that before. They’re meeting the same people. Yes, that’s correct. The only thing that’s different is... the location?

“You have a problem with the restaurant,” he guesses.

Nesta merely lies her chin on her palm.

“It’s new... they have good food... so I hear. It’s got great music, which you like. It’s got a bar,” Cassian’s gaze whips to her, “Is it the bar?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but he can see the way her cheeks flush a bright pink. The color softens something inside of him, makes him want to hug her and hold her and get rid of every bad thought in her head.

The bar. Of course. He sees the way she cringes at alcohol, the way she shifts in her seat when a dinner turns into an after party. She doesn’t even like most of their holidays for that reason, because they all get drunk and she sits in the corner not knowing what to do. Nesta hates being embarrassed.

She can drink if she wants, he tells her, it’s her choice. They won’t judge her for it, he affirms, but... Cassian can’t guarantee that and Nesta knows that’s a lie. Nesta doesn’t even touch liquor.

Cassian feels his chest start to sink and he must show it on his face, because she scoffs.

It’s bad enough she doesn’t want to go to the city most days. She’s told him it’s because she’s scared to face who she was, afraid that she’ll be back there soon enough. Cassian can’t reassure her well enough. We can face it together, he says. We can face it all. But it’s been baby steps and these outings are the only times she pushes her limits.

Cassian shifts her around, laying his hands on her cheeks, rubbing at the heated skin. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want.”

“I don’t want to be a coward.”

Cassian shakes his head, “you’re not going to be one if you go and you’re not going to be one if you stay.”

Nesta sighs, and Cassian kisses her forehead because he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how to instill in Nesta that she’s the strongest, bravest person he knows. How does he convince her of a truth that’s so obvious?

She isn’t going to change her mind that much he knows, but damn him if he let’s her wallow alone.

“I won’t drink,” He offers, “We can play cards, dance a little... I promise I’ll try not to step on your toes again.”

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” She says, her lips pouting in that way that makes him want to kiss her nose and her cheek and every place that he can touch. “To have fun.”

“You are fun and I enjoy myself plenty with you.”

Little does Cassian know that the enjoyment of the night is him knocking back barrels of drinks, stripping to his underwear, and running head first through the streets.

To be continued...

LOL. This fic is insane. Because not only do you get snippets before you get the final chapter, you get snippets in the final chapters. Snip-ception.

Tagged: @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, @angelicvoice19, @bo0kmaster69, @drielecarla, @generalnesta

I think that’s it. Also know that if you asked to be tagged on snippets, I am going to tag you MANY TIME throughout the day... so be cautious about that.

#Life's a Beach #my generic a** title #whatever I had to move on from it #nessian #nessian fanfiction #cassian #vidalinav writes #vidalinav #Nesta archeron #Tarquin #my Tarquin fic

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pumpkincentaur · 2 years

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NANOWRIMO 2021 PROJECT INTRODUCTION || BLOOD SPORT FOR COWARDS

MORDA LUCAN-AVASTIER is damaged goods. You aren't the same after you overload, even if you're lucky enough to survive. Even if your mind survives, your magic changes. Most survivors can never use their magic again. But Morda is different. Morda has seen the light on the other side. The accident didn't ruin her potential. Instead it shattered her limits. And now, she's going to be the greatest goddamn Ignisite this world has ever fucking seen.

KAHALI, SON OF AHARA shouldn't even be here. How he got here doesn't matter. What matters is that he's here, now, and it's going to be worth it. All the scars, all the pain—it's all going to be worth it in the end. Kahali is strong. He's spent his whole life struggling to become strong, going against everything he's ever known, and now, it's finally going to start paying off.

STERLING SILVERBLADE is a waste of breath. Compared to his younger twin brother, Sterling is worse in just about every way. He's standoffish rather than charming, an average student rather than a natural genius, an average mage rather than a magical marvel... and in the prestigious and powerful Silverblade family, that just won't do. He's tried to go his own way, but he can't put down the aching desire to prove that he's just as good. So he's not going to be just as good. He's going to be better.

JAEHAN LEAR is a freak of nature. Born with a rare, troubling form of magic, he's been an outcast his whole life—a mage discouraged from using his magic for the comfort of others. He is used to it. It's hard to have lived for nineteen years like this without being used to it. Getting involved with the Ignis Games is only natural for him. In a world where anything goes, even monsters are welcome. But nobody loves a monster, not even in an Ignis ring... right?

Every year, mages from all of Taralon's arcane colleges form teams of four and compete in the IGNIS GAMES, a nine-month-long series of magical duelling tournaments fought to the death. But in Taralon, even death is not permanent, and for the sake of spectacle (and TV ratings), the players are resurrected at the end of every match.

The rules are simple. The first team to die loses. The other side wins. At the end of the season, each member of the winning four-man team gets granted a wish—a wish without any sort of restrictions. Jaehan, Sterling, Kahali, and Morda are going to WIN—and die a whole lot trying.

WIP INFORMATION

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Dark Comedy/Sports Drama (is that even a thing?)

Series or Standalone: Intended to eventually be a web serial, actually!

Expected Word Count: Who knows? I don’t.

WIP Page: here (also linked in the title above)

WIP Tag: #bsfc

Themes and Tropes: sports anime character development but make it wizards and also completely bonkers | university coming-of-age stories | wrestling influences in that the main cast is an all-heel team | insane sports rivalries | the drawbacks of intensely competitive environments | strict & disapproving parents | found family | soft magic systems | I mean EXTREMELY soft magic systems | everything is bullshit and the points don’t matter

Blood Sport for Cowards is an ongoing project. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, please let me know! More info under the cut.

Hoh boy. What do I say about Blood Sport for Cowards? Where do I even begin?

This one’s a bit of an oddball. I’ve actually had the concept for it in mind since 2016 (came up with it while I was in Japan, before this blog existed), but I haven’t actually done anything with it... until now, that is. I think it’s a really neat idea that deserves some attention, but...

...It’s weird. Obviously. It’s quite offbeat in a way that I feel is a little bit too funky to seek traditional publishing for. So, depending on how it develops, I intend on publishing it as a web serial. I should stress that this is a very exploratory draft zero, so the project may change enough to fit into a traditional novel format. Who knows! We’ll figure it out.

Anyways, it’s going to be very fun to write in a very different way from how UHT is fun to write, and I’m looking forward to it.

(Side note--UHT is NOT going away! I’m just taking a bit of a break from it for Nano, considering my personal life at the moment does not lend well to continuing work on UHT. I’ll get back on that bandwagon again soon.)

#bsfc #myedits #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #novels on tumblr #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2021 #thinking i'll post weekly updates too! i'm ready to get involved with this one hardcore #blood //

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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years

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Power recognizes power

A little power training gwynriel fic that came from me writing “if you find me at the edge, we’ll jump together.” and I was like this sentence deserves to be the title of something. plus throw everything (and by everything I mean that one sentence in the book) that you know about lightsingers away I’m just using the cute name. and yk there may or may not be some smut at the end.

She was glowing.

She was glowing and Azriel did not mean she looked radiant or that she was overcome with joy, although she did and she was. Gwyneth Berdara was a living, breathing star. As if the spring equinox had come early this year.

Her skin lit up against the blackness of the sky and her hair burned bright with the ferocity of the hearth.

Gwyneth Berdara had stopped singing, the crowd was silent. All eyes were on her but she was looking at him, her light, a beacon to his darkness.

His shadows yearned to go to her, he yearned to go to her. Instead, they both stayed stagnant, watching, waiting.

Azriel was had had enough, he dissolved from view and reappeared on the stage. Startled, Gwyn, took a step back and he stayed right with her, matching her step for step.

He gently tucked a stray piece of lit-up auburn hair behind her here, whispering, “It appears you glow, my love.”

Gwyn, ultimately getting over her initial shock lightly pushed him on the shoulder, “Don’t do that.” She scowled.

Chuckling, he pressed his mouth to hers, in a soft, soothing kiss, forgetful of the audience behind them. As she relaxed beneath his touch, the glow became dimmer and dimmer until it ceased to be. Darkness returned and he stepped back. Gwyn took a breath and stilled. The nervous, passionate energy, that arouse when she sang, calmed for now.

Azriel turned to the crowd, “Due to the events that occurred here tonight, the performance will have to be cut short.” A soft boo drew his attention and immediately he isolated the noise. “Do you want to boo my mate again?” Azriel threatened coolly, his eyes narrowing.

Annoyed, she sighed and spoke to the crowd, “Oh ignore him, I truly am sorry for this interruption but I want to give nothing more than my best and right now I feel as if I can’t do that. the show will be rescheduled sometime next month, letters will be sent out with more information.”

He watched as the stunned and irritated faces slowly began disappearing. Some winnowing away, others taking the slightly more traditional door. Gwyn held her hand out to him. He took it, “So you’re a living lamp?”

“An astute observation.”

“Is there any way I can convince you to rest now and figure this out later?”

She sighed, “It has been an especially long night.”

Azriel stared at her in disbelief, “did you just agree that you should rest?”

“Oh close your mouth, you’ll swallow a fly.” He responded by grinning at her and winnowing them away to their shared home.

Taking off his shirt he yawned not realizing how tired he actually was. It was still strange to him, being able to sleep so freely, without the looming fear of the past and what he couldn’t control. He stopped, realizing Gwyn had not moved from the door.

Gently he asked, “Are you coming?”

She looked at him blankly, lost in thought for a moment before she responded, “Um-yeah-later.” He was unconvinced so she tried again. “I think I’m going to stay out here and make some tea, maybe read a book.”

Azriel gave her a knowing look but did not push, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Az.” He tenderly kissed her cheek and walked to their room, immediately passing out on the bed.

—————————————————–

Azriel awoke at dawn and turned, unsurprisingly, to find the left side of the bed cold and empty. He sighed as he got out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants, mumbling. “Gwyneth berdara, you are going to be the death of me.”

Knowing there was no way she would be in the house but believing he probably should, he checked regardless and when he determined that she was in fact not in the house, he closed his eyes. When he opened them once again he found himself at the house of wind.

He nodded in acknowledgment, “Clotho,”

Shadowsinger. “The one and only.”

Is there something you require? “Just looking for that mate of mine. Any chance she’s here”

You know she is, and you know precisely where to find her. Ask what you truly want to ask. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “How long has she been here?”

Since 11 pm. Exhaling, he muttered, “Why can’t that damn woman ever rest.”

Over excursion out of only stubborn will seems to be a similarity between the two of you. Azriel frowned slightly before smiling pleasantly, “It’s been a pleasure as always, thank you for your help.”

Clotho only nodded and Azriel began the stairs to the 7th floor.

It took a moment for him to find her, the shadowsinger was a trained spy, forced to observe and retain even the smallest of details, yet he couldn’t find a bubbly redhead in a room full of texts and stories.

Ah, no wonder he hadn’t seen her. Gwyn was surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of books. She was drowning in literature, her hair was tied loosely in a braid with quite a few pieces falling out, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she was sporting the slightly insane look that came from a lack of sleep.

“Gwyn.” Her head jerked up in surprise to see him.

“Oh Az, Ok Ok, I promise I will go to sleep soon I just need 5 more minutes. I’m so so so close. I think I’m going to skip training today. Ok how about 2 minutes. 10. No that’s more. 10 sets of 1 minute. I just need 10 sets of 1 minute. I’m fine how are you?”

“Gwyn, my love, you’re delirious.”

She brushed him off, “What no I’m fine. I’m fine. Did I already say that? I can’t remember.”

Logic was never the way to deal with her insane stubbornness, so he tried a different approach. He pushed down his worry for her, and curled his mouth into a smirk, “I bet,” She perked up like a dog about to be fed, “that you can’t summarize everything you learned last night into,” he checked the clock. “15 minutes.”

“I could do it in 10.”

“Prove it.”

“And when I win?”

“I leave you to research. But if you can’t you have to go to bed.”

“Time starts now.”

Gwyn took a deep breath and began. “First I looked into where light magic is supposed to originate: the day court. Their magic is described as warm and comforting. Every single text I read described the magic the same way, as a sort of yellowish-brown light, like the sun. But the magic that came from me was more of an icy blinding light, like the lights from the stars rather than the sun. Also, as far as I know, I don’t have family from the day court so I looked into the family I do have. My family from the autumn court. However, we know that autumn court magic is fire, and what manifested in me was light not heat. My grandmother was a nymph so I thought well what type of magic do nymphs have. And the answer was severely disappointing, with basic plant magic being the most a nymph was able to do. I was stumped for a few hours before I realized. I’m basing my research on what I believe to be true not what I know to be true. I was told that I am a quarter nymph and because that heritage would explain my non-high fae-like features I believed that, for there was no reason for me not to. But what if my nymph grandmother was not a nymph at all. I flipped through dozens of books on faeries that have similar features, light magic, and/or can live on land and water. For the most part, I could not find anything, but then out of the corner of my eye I found a small tome on the history of light magic, the majority being all things I’d seen a million times before on the day court, but a passage no more than a page long, referenced ‘the lightsinger.’ Now what is a Lightsinger, you may ask? Honestly, I had no idea what or who they were so I found every book and story I could on them. The lightsinger’s, instead of being a title for a way to manipulate magic, like shadowsingers or daemati, were a race. A long-lost fae race said to be able to bend and create light with their voices and song. It’s said that they died out due to a conflict with the shadowsingers but every so often there are sightings of unknown nymph-like creatures in you’ll never believe where. The autumn court. Now I would only have 25% of lightsinger blood but magic is a fickle thing and some sources believe that when bred with high fae blood the magic intensifies.” Gwyn exhaled.

Azriel grinned victoriously, “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Goddamn it, I didn’t even get to the interactions between shadowsingers and lightsingers.”

Now he was intrigued. “Well if you want to continue I certainly won’t stop you.”

“No no,” she yawned, “I lost which means I will be going to bed. But I do want to alter our deal slightly.”

“Oh?”

“I sleep now, you train me tomorrow.” The set of her chin and the look in her eye were enough to assure him of how serious she was.

“You want a male who specializes in darkness to help you master your light?”

“Certain theories believe that the mother gifted the light and shadowsingers their gifts to balance each other out and to remain harmonious.” She reasoned. “So yes there is no one I would want more to teach me.”

“I will not take it easy on you.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“Alright Berdara, we meet Sunday at dawn, do not be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

——————————————————————————————————–

Sunday arrived and Azriel watched as Gwyn came down to the training ring in her leathers, with a white ribbon tied in her hair.

“Good morning Gwyneth.”

“So formal.” He shot her a look. “Oh alright ok my turn. Good morning Azriel, shadowsinger, spymaster of the night court, mate of the most amazing female to grace this planet.”

“Training is serious.”

“Of course it is. Shall we begin?”

“I want you to light up the room.”

“What? is it not already lit?”

He smirked and let his shadows paint the room black. Azriel himself became smoke, nothing more than a voice in the darkness.

“Az, az come on this is not funny.”

“Good, because it’s not a joke.” His voice came from every direction and every way Gwyn turned she was surrounded by endless nothing. “You must learn to sing the song of light the way I learned the language of shadow.”

“Speaking in vague melodrama feels like it’s not going to be that effective.”

Gwyn tried to back up only to find what was once the training ring now bled together with the depth of the sky.

“Let the light speak to you. Coax it, nurture it. Burn through the darkness and find the light.”

“How am I supposed to do that.”

Gwyn thought of the way Nesta harnessed her silver fire, the way her eyes became the flame itself. She concentrated and searched deep within herself, searching and looking for the light she knew she possessed.

All she saw was a hallowed chamber.

“No.” The word echoed throughout the room. “Our magic is not like others, we do not create out of nothing, we manipulate what is already there.”

“How am I supposed to manipulate if I’m in a room with no light?” Gwyn huffed frustrated.

“Just because the shadows are masking it, does not mean it is not there.”

He was so damn infuriating. She tried calling the light to her, she flexed her hands, she even tried speaking to it, all to no avail.

“As you said, magic is fickle and our elements especially. Light and darkness do not want to be bound or controlled, let the light be a friend, a companion, let it want to help, let it want to be influenced by your will.”

But how the fuck was she supposed to do that.

“Think of the first time it came to your call.” He whispered ominously. “What were you thinking. What were you feeling? Power often manifests through emotion.”

Singing. She had been singing. Was it really so easy that all she had to do was sing?

Turns out it wasn’t.

For hours she sang hundreds of songs. From songs in the old fae language that she sang at the priestess services to ones she had written herself. Nothing worked. Azriel had let her have a singular break when she desperately needed to pee and even then he was skeptical.

He had left her to her own devices leaving his shadows to watch over her progress. When he returned he found Gwyn clutching her knees, rocking in the shadows. Her gaze was unfocused and she was humming to herself.

“You have officially broken me. I’m done.” She wanted nothing more than to sit in the library with her sisters and a book.

“No.”

Gwyn’s eyes snapped into focus, her breathing steadied, and she went predatorily still. “Excuse me.”

“You heard me. No.” Azriel laughed, a cold vicious laugh. “You asked me to train you. Gwyneth Berdara has never quit before and she certainly won’t start now.”

Gwyn was seething, but she remained quiet. “What?” He was toying with her. “A little darkness too much for you. Light up the room and we won’t have a problem.”

“Oh that’s right you can’t. 10 hours in and no light in sight. You’re pathetic.”

Her anger cleared her mind and in that moment of clarity a memory, buried deep within her, resurfaced as if it was resting, snoozing until its moment of need.

Gwyn was in her mother's lap, a black-haired girl sat across from her. Her voice pulled her attention. “My girls, Catrin,” She tickled her, resulting in a giggle from her lost sister, before she turned her head, “Gwyneth.” And also tickled her. Gwyn's small hands clutched at their mother, desperately trying to hold on. “My two beautiful daughters.” She sighed. “Your lives will be filled with so much darkness, darkness that you do not deserve. But I need you two to be strong, to stay with each other, and to find strength in the other.” ‘I don’t get it,” Gwyn whined.

“We are a part of a glorious and lost people, a people of light and song. But they fear us because they do not understand us.”

Gwyn and Catrin looked up at her, confused and innocent.

“It’s ok, you will. You know the song I sing to you every night before you go to sleep?” Gwyn and Catrin cheered, “Yeah.”

“I want you to sing it with me, and I don’t want you to ever forget it. Can you do that for me?”

Their voices came together in a melodic lullaby. It was captivating and cold, those who heard could not look away. The song demanded to be heard, to be sung.

The words came tumbling out of Gwyn, they twisted around her tongue and lips as if finally home. Lost but not forgotten. Lost but born anew. Through the shadow and darkness, her eyes found the light, it heard her call and from every direction it found her. She pulled the brilliance of the stars to her and let the light paint the dark white.

The shadows retreated to Azriel who stood just two feet in front of her. Their eyes locked and he smiled, “there she is.”

The light flowed and flowed, and the room lit up in a blaze of pearlescent radiance. Her pale skin lit and she had once again become one with the stars.

But while the call came from her, there was another that drew her light forward. His shadows and her light curiously answered the pull. Finding each other between Azriel and Gwyn. One did not dissolve into the other like it should but instead mingled, swirling around each other in an almost playful manner. They became one from two opposites that never should have met.

As they blended together she felt a pounding in her chest and a throbbing somewhere lower. Her toes curled and she craved more. Their power was its own entity and yet connected to them. A push and pull, a desire to be close.

Azriel bridged the gap between them breathing heavily, pulling her against him as he’d never felt her before. “Az.” she gasped.

His eyes were on her lips as he licked his own, smiling, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so alive.”

“You’re the worst,” She said between breaths.

“I know.” And their lips met in a furious burst of passion.

He kissed her with a fiery hunger, a male starving. Her hands weaved through his hair, her fingers getting lost in the darkness. Gwyn wanted nothing more then to be lost in his darkness, as he wanted to drown in her light. Azriel gripped her waist, grinding his hardness into her causing her to moan.

“You make such pretty sounds for me.” He chuckled, ripping her shirt off.

“Fuck me.” It was an order, not a request.

“Gladly.” Their clothes were gone moments later. His kisses moved down her neck as he sucked and his fingers dipped to her cunt as he felt her. “Always so wet and ready for me.”

She wrapped her hand around his cock, “Always so hard for me.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” He laid her down in the middle of the training ring and stroked his cock up and down her folds, pressing against her clit. “oh my god-fuck.”

With that, his control snapped and he buried himself to the hilt in her. Stroking once, twice.

He smirked, crooning, “look how perfectly we fit.”

His thrusts were slow and shallow, edging her on, basking in the feel of him in her, of her around him.

He then went harder, hitting her in the right spot every time, but Gwyn needed more.

“Faster.”

“Your wish is my command.” Azriel fucked her hard and fast, and with every thrust she moaned in ecstasy, driving her hips forward, meeting him step for step.

“Oh my god fuck me.”

“Such a good girl, taking it so well.” He captured a moan on her lips, devouring her.

“yes, yes fuck.”

Where the light met the dark, was where Gwyn met Azriel. They were cocooned in a shell of power flowing between and all around them. They were a storm of blinding light and depthless shadow, the lines of what were and were not, blurred to just the other.

“Gwyn.” He groaned, nothing existed but them.

“Az I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, my love, cum for me.”

Every thrust became sporadic and uncontrolled as if his pleasure had taken a mind of its own. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and ground her clit with his fingers.

It was all too much, Gwyn cried out as she came, her back arching, toes curling. Her cunt tightened around his cock as he fucked her past completion. She was everything and watching her cum was enough to send him over the edge as he emptied himself in her, collapsing on the ground next to her.

For a moment they were silent before Gwyn spoke, “would you like to hear what I learned about the interactions between Lightsinger’s and Shadowsinger’s” She smirked, “Apparently the sex is unlike even mate sex.”

“I can vouch for that.”

Gwyn laughed, and if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyn x azriel #one shot #gwynriel one shot #smut #Gwynriel fanfiction

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yakumtsaki · 3 years

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Welcome, dear readers, to part 1 of the finale to the BackupKingdom2 saga! We’re in our final ambition now, let’s check how Liz’s post-divorce-bloodbath is going..

Oh yes, excellent. Our path to death-achievement-glory has been paved with so many executions that wherever I look I see npcs crying..

..comforting each other..

..and in Agnes' case, coming straight to Liz to.. ask for mercy for the populace I guess?? Bruh. I can't believe we even brought down AGNES, truly this is the saddest kingdom on earth. Amazing job, Liz, you've definitely earned your place in the tyrant hall of fame!

Now a lesser player would be like "oh, maybe we should chill a little on the insane tyrant thing, finish the Pirate/Noble arc cause we've been dragging this war out so the pirates/guildsmen would keep spawning and it should have ended like 20 quests ago" and true, we could just end it, we ran a very effective operation around here, shoutout to MVPs Donius and Bellinda and their 'seductive' legendary traits:

They bedded them and Liz beheaded them, the power of teamwork! So one could say that we should consider raising kingdom morale now because everyone is so depressed but I think, if anything, now is the time to ramp it up and go for some of the other morally questionable achievements! Like Machiavelli said, you should commit all your atrocities at once! What do you think, Liz? Ready to get atrocious?

-OH FUCK YEA, I’M ENRAGED, I DROPPED MY FIDDLE IN THE PIT AND NOW I HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE SERVANT TO GET ME A NEW ONE!! WHY DOES EVERYTHING ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME >:(

Aw I’m sorry Liz, but I’m sure you the upcoming suffering of your subjects will cheer you up!

-Ok motherfuckers, by order of the Crown aka ME -you hear that Rae?? ME, NOT YOU. God I want to execute you so bad, fucking ingrate, do you remember what rags you were wearing when I hired you??

Let’s get this back on track, Liz.

-Right, so by order of the Crown, Magus Olivia and Spymaster Spainot are given COMPLETE LEGAL IMMUNITY to do whatever the fuck they want in the interest of earning achievements, so don’t you people come crying to me cause I don’t give one tiny chinchilla crap about your health and livelihoods. If you need me for something actually important, I'll be at the gates, executing anyone who doesn't like my fiddle playing.

-Oh man, this folksy peasant hat isn’t protecting my ears enough.

-THOUGHT I WOULDN’T HEAR YOUR LITTLE MURMUR, DID YOU -YOUR MAJESTY NO I ONLY MEANT MY EARS WERE COLD -WELL ALL OF YOUR BODY’S ABOUT TO BE COLD NOW! CONSTABLE, THROW THIS PEASANT IN THE PIT

-Death marker? I hardly know 'er!

So the Constable npc has this little Billy Elliot subplot going, I'm pretty sure he has the 'drunkard' fatal flaw because he was always at the tavern so I had Bellinda try to hire him to perform in one of her plays just to see what would happen and it actually worked, and now he moonlights as an actor! It's cute but it also takes forever for him to come arrest people.

-THEY LOVE ME ❤️😁 -CONSTABLE WHATSYOURNAME, COME OVER HERE AND DO YOUR FUCKING JOB OR YOU'RE NEXT FOR THE PIT

-No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man, when someone dies😢

In the background you can see that Bellinda just got a pregnancy bump, it’s her lovechild with Donius, I for real can’t keep these two apart. Anyway, the time has come..

..to unleash Magus Olivia onto the populace.

-You know what, I'd rather not, this book is finally getting good and I'm sick of cursing peasants, it doesn't even drop their mood that much..

Oh no, Olivia my beloved, we're not cursing them, we're going for the 'Well Done' achievement!

-NO WAY.

WAY.

-Won't I be executed??

You have immunity! You can do whatever you want!! And, AND, once you complete it, because I know it's tiring, I'll give you a magic skeletal parrot as a gift!! Edward got all the materials for it while treasure-hunting, you'd think I'd let him keep it but that's not the kind of shop I'm running here.

-This is my face of pure, childlike happiness!

Good lord, it’s terrifying, please don’t look at me like that.

-Alright, time to roll down my sleeves so they look more sinister and do this thing.

You can do it, Olivia!

-Of course I can, save your reassurance for the flops that need it.

-I.. cast.. INFERNO!

...

-What?

I mean really, those are the words, "I cast inferno"? Can't you say something with more evil magical flair?

-Not when I have to cast it 80 fucking times I can't.

-IT BURNS, IT BURNSSSSS

Oh how the tables have turned, usually it's the witch that gets burned, huhu! Did you hear that, Olivia? Did you like my joke??

-Oh, it's beautiful!

Well it wasn't one of my best-

-Not you, you needy moron, the sight of burning flesh! I can't wait to do this 79 more times!

Alright, so everyone in the tavern has been turned into a chicken nugget, time to get some rest and check in with Spainot!

-Amazing news, Rodolfo, I just got royal permission to unlawfully lock up and interrogate whoever I want for the achievements!!!

-Darling, no offense, but aren't you a bit too shit at your job for that? -WHAT????

-FUCK YOU RODOLFO YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS OF MY SUCCESS -I WISH I WAS JEALOUS OF YOUR SUCCESS, THEN YOU'D BE SUCCESSFUL AND I WOULDN'T BE MARRIED TO A BROKE LOSER

-And then he says the only reason he hasn't dumped me is he doesn't wanna be a rando npc while Batshit Liz is on an execution spree, can you believe this bullshit? How can anyone be so hurtful??

-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NO NO PLEASE DON'T HAVE THIS CHINCHILLA MAUL ME I'LL GIVE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT

-How about you give me some marital advice, are you even listening?! Ugh.

That's right, while Olivia is inferno-ing the peasants, I've sicced Spainot on the nobility, specifically all those foreign diplomats that are always hanging in the reception hall, lagging up the place. We're going for the 100 interrogations achievement and we’ve installed a nice spiky torture chair right in the middle of the hall to save time! Now this is how we keep every stratum of society terrified enough to not realize that the person in charge is.. uh.. well you know:

-DANCE TO MY FIDDLE, PIRATE, DANCE!

-I AM!!!!!

-DANCE MORE ENTHUSIASTICALLY. ALL THE WAY TO THE PIT

After a couple days and several locations I feel we’re pretty close to 80 infernos!

I’d say we’ve burned a good 50-60% of the population at this point, everywhere I look I see singed townies-

-so we take this little barbecue to the palace because we’ve ran out of peasants and it’s time to start burning the foreign dignitaries. And it’s a good thing we do, because Olivia meets Nyrexis the Dragon!!!!

Nyrexis is the human form of the dragon from a hilar quest where there’s a dragon in the kingdom and you can either befriend it or slay it, I had Bellinda befriend it:

So if you complete the befriend route of the quest, the human form of the dragon appears in town and is in love with whoever did the quest, in this case Bellinda. I am of course not about to waste Dragonfu on Bellinda’s basic ass, plus I feel Olivia is kind of a dragon with all the people she’s been burning so they have a lot in common!

We dazzle Dragonfu with a coin trick! True magic at work.

-OMG IT WAS BEHIND MY EAR THE WHOLE TIME -I KNOW!

Good God, all of Olivia’s ‘happy’ expressions are terrifying, just don’t smile ever again, you’re too evil for it, you’re gonna scare the dragon away!

Or not!!!!

AWWWWW 🐲❤️🔮

You know what, fuck it, let’s lock it down, when it’s right it’s right!

-Burn stuff with me forever?? -I WILL!!!!

-We are gathered here today, under threat of fiery death, to join two unholy abominations in holy matrimony. Yes, the irony is not lost on me.

AW CONGRATS GUYS <3333 The wizard tower is so small and family un-friendly and Olivia is so unmaternal but come on, like I’m not gonna have her reproduce with a fucking dragon.

Back to Spainot, we’ve hit a slight bump, mainly that this Snordwich lord is proving fucking impossible to torture.

-Um.. Are you enjoying this??? -Sure am, bad boy, but why don’t we take this somewhere more private already?

Wtf, stop sexually harassing the innocent person who’s torturing you! Does no one around here have any sense of humanity anymore??

-Come on, Spainot, throw some flesh-eating rodents at him! -I’M BUILDING UP TO IT, RAE, GAWD. No one likes a back-seat torturer!

-HA, who’s the loser now, Rodolfo? Rodolfo?? RODOLFO

Ya Spai I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure he left while you were interrogating, I haven’t seen him in like 3 days.

-WHAT. So Olivia completes one achievement and gets a dragon wife and a magic skeletal bird and I complete three and get dumped?!

Well what do you want from me, I don’t make the rules!

-YES YOU DO

Can we move on, please? And Olivia had a very rough go of it-

-she got burned in some rando quest and looked positively karma-stricken after, inferno-ing left and right while sporting this look! She deserves a magic bird!

Congrats on your success and 4 kids, Olivia!

-I love this skeleton bird more than I thought it possible to ever love something.

-Gee, thanks mom.

We had leftover bones so here, Spainot, you get a magic bird too.

-A bone parrot is little comfort when you’ve lost the only bone that matters! Why Rodolfo, whyyyyy!!!!!!!!!

Oh I don’t know, probably because you challenged him to duels 3 times a day?

-No, that can’t be it.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but you look like a man who has nothing to live for?

-Yea, I certainly don’t.

So you wouldn’t mind like, jumping into the pit multiple times so you can get the parts we need for the hardest achievement in game aka Legendary Doomsword?

-Rodolfo had one of those too, it was legendary and now that it’s gone I’m doomed!!!

Ok ya ENOUGH metaphors about Rodolfo’s absent penis, although they really are writing themselves. We’ll get him back! If you survive all the pit jumping that is. Join us next time for part 2: Legendary Doomsword!

#tsm

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misterewrites · 3 years

Text

Mystery at the Salt-Irons

Hey everyone! E here with a new chapter! kept you waiting huh? Haha sorry it's been a busy few weeks. Nothing serious but I had to keep starting and stopping this chapter so it threw me off but it's here, it's ready and I hope you enjoy it!

I have some special guests in this story, some ocs made by my friends because you know what I can so I will and honestly, they were really great oc ideas guys. so keep an eye out for @hains-mae and Biz_fantasist OC(I don’t know if she has a tumblr but it’s late so I’ll edit it later)

That's it for me! I hope you are all stay safe, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, push to give everyone the vaccine cuz this is getting ridiculous. I hope you have a great week, thank you for reading. I deeply appreciate and feel free to share it with your friends, give me feedback. Reblog and comments all that fun stuff! Thanks and I'll see you soon!

Here’s the chapter over at Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/85394095

Here’s the story from the beginning if you’re curious what this is about

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

and here’s a list of all my work both original and the various fandoms I write for

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary: Finnrick is called to solve a mysterious case as per his job as the city's only Private Investigator wizard but as he sinks deeper into the case, the more it seems that something is happening behind the scenes. Of course with an old friend in town and dark magic surrounding the case, Finnrick is as busy as ever. Ain't no rest for the wicked.

-----

The Salt-Iron Flats weren’t anything special on the surface: An unassuming apartment complex on the north side of Newton Haven, the only thing most people remembered about the place was how the price tag hurt their souls.

Of course, unlike the general housing market, the Salt-Irons (affectionately referred to by the locals) actually had a very reasonable reason for fetching such a high rate: The salt and cold iron baked into every single brick that formed the building.

If you weren’t in the magical know, you’d think it utterly insane that you’d be forced to pay such a large amount of cash because some weirdo decided to make a new age artistic statement with bricks. Of course, if you are aware of the greater community at large, you’d knew you were paying the insanely large sum because someone decided to make the Salt-Irons the single most protective location in the city.

Most mortals have forgotten their history, their lore and collective knowledge passed down throughout the generations: Why their ancestors used to place lines of salt in front of the door and windows, why the elders always suggested to the braver, recklessly youthful family members to carry iron whenever they ventured through the wild.

Outer beings were repelled by salt and iron. No one really had an idea why fae, angels and demons weren’t fond of salt or iron and there's been plenty of arguing about the subject but all in all the fact remained they did not do well when faced with either.

That was the main reason Finnrick didn’t find himself in the north side of town often.

Well that and the zealous Gate Keepers. Those guys were freaks but between them and the Salt-Irons being the only supernatural community up here, Finn never got a case from the area.

Until today.

The Salt-Irons were great at protecting you from any outside threats that wished you ill will: It didn’t protect you from anything you decided to bring in with you.

It was five in the morning when Finnrick got the call. The M.R.R.D representative didn’t have much to offer beyond the address and floor but he thanked her all the same.

Finnrick yawned tiredly, stretching the tension out of his neck while he sipped his coffee. He let out a sigh of relief as the sun slowly rose into the sky.

The Salt-Irons was a twelve story tall building painted a ghastly pale green that made Finnrick sick just looking at it.

“People are paying how much to live in that shade? I’d ask for discount if I were them.” Finnrick laughing to himself, making his way into the apartment complex.

Luckily the interior was much nicer than the outside: Everything was well kept and cleaned. Not a single speck of dust in sight and the wooden stairs didn’t creak when Finnrick placed his foot on them.

Which was good given Finnrick needed to go up seven flights of stairs.

Finnrick wheezed a little, wiping the sweat from his brow when he reached the seventh floor. He glanced down the hall one way then the other as he began to search for room 707 which basic deductive reasoning suggested should be around the corner.

Finnrick crushed the empty foam cup and tucked it into his coat pocket as he made his way to 707. It was a simple wooden door and immaculately spotless just like the rest of the place. He rose his hand and gently rapped on the door.

No response.

He frowned, checking if he was still alone in the empty hallway and rose his hand towards the door frame.

His eyes glowed with a blue energy as he whispered softly “Revelis”

The door gleamed with a bluish hue for a moment before fading away without a trace.

No protective spells laced over the frame so the only thing Finn had to worry about now if it was locked.

He tried the knob, unsurprised when it swung open silently.

“It’s not breaking and entering if someone’s expecting you” Finnrick justified to himself as he pushed the door in.

He nearly staggered backwards: The air tasted thick and foul like something had been left rotting inside. His skin prickled with anxiety, a chill running down his spine with each step he took further in.

Finnrick took deep, calming breathes while doing his best to ignore the bitter taste that seem to cling the air within.

He noticed the trail of footsteps, perfectly preserved in what appeared to be black dust leading deeper into the living room.

“Hey da! You here?” Finnrick called out, carefully stepping closer “You and ma still married?”

There was a deep grunt of acknowledgment before a voice responded “Sorry son, we’re divorced now. She got custody of you.”

“Well fuck. I guess I’m going to be eating kale and poorly cooked spinach for the rest of my life.”

Garrus Valka was not in fact Finnrick’s father, adoptive or otherwise. He was actually one of the highest ranked officers of the Magical Rapid Response Department: An elf clocking in at 200 years old with richly tanned skin. His bluish gray hair was slicked back in his preferred style. Garrus’s had his back turned to the detective but Finn knew his sliverish gray eyes were deep in concentration as he took down notes about the surroundings. His beautifully inhuman features were marred with a scar on the right side of his face: burnt skin on his cheek, healed by time and various surgeries. An old war wound though Finn never got the full story.

He was dressed in typical M.R.R.D fashion: Dark blue windbreaker, jeans and a blue shirt with the words “Powered by coffee and spite” splashed across the front. His Winchester rifle was slung across his back, ready for any action that may befall the elf.

“Drift.” Garrus greeted teasingly while offering a hand.

Finnrick gave it a playful shake “Da. So is mom here or she trying to smite pigeons again?”

“THEY TRIED TO STEAL MY HOTDOG!” Garrus’s partner Eden screamed from another room “I SHALL BRING MY GOD’S WRATH UPON THEM!”

“You know when they mean justice.” Finnrick called out “I don’t think they mean against winged rats.”

Eden chuckled darkly “You know not their sins.”

“Okay.” Finnrick nodded despite the fact she couldn’t see him “If you say so. What happened Da? Aside powerful necromancy.”

“Powerful necromancy” Garrus replied cheekily “and missing persons.”

Finnrick rose an eyebrow “Persons? More than one?”

“Two: A father and son. Richard Charles and his son Richard Jr. Recluses it seems. Neighbors hardly saw them. Mostly kept to themselves.”

Finnrick pursed his lips thoughtfully “Any magical abilities?”

“They’re not on records if that’s what you mean.” Garrus answered “Never signed up in the academy, not registered with The Council. If they were practitioners they didn’t tell anyone.”

“So what was the spell? I just smell the remnants of spookiness.”

“Hadn’t noticed the rest of the room huh?”

Finnrick frowned before finally getting a good look at the rest of the room: Every inch of the apartment was blanketed with the same black dust that he found in the entrance way. Inches and inches of the substance and that wasn’t the strangest part.

Everything was bent at different and odd angles: chair with crooked legs, the wall clock warped and twisted, the fridge leaning like someone folded it in half. Floorboard reached for the sky and walls split inward.

There was a common misconception about magic. Most people thought spell casters, especially wizards, could command reality to their wills. That magic was capable of impossible feats and it was as simple as snapping your fingers.

The truth was all magic, ranging from divinity to free range nature, was performed on a micro scale. Practitioners did not alter reality but rather shortcut it. Throwing fireballs was as simple as rapidly heating the air until it combusted. Turning invisible was less about vanishing completely as it was bending the light around you to not be seen. Magic was rooted in reality and imagination. If you had the magical strength to perform the magic, the magic often followed your lead.

Of course there were spells that required much more than magical hand and willpower. Powerful magic, like summoning outer beings or raising an army of zombies, required both time and materials. Magic was like any other energy: you needed enough of it to perform what you wanted. The human body could only generate so much magic without dying and resting was necessary to replace any expended in the use of spells. Materials were guidelines for the spell. Feathers for anything with flight, ash for fireballs etc etc.

The other thing needed was to gather energy and store it for the spell’s use. There were different ways to achieve this: Wands, talismans, potions were basically magic soups. The most efficient way to gather energy was the wizards preferred way: Circles.

Finnrick eyed the room closely this time, murmuring under his breath about angles and trajectory. Garrus paid him no mind, well familiar with the private investigators methods.

“If this went like that” he gestured to the wall clock “and that went here.”

Finnrick glanced about, carefully walking about as if worried he was going to step on a landmine.

“Here.” Finnrick found himself staring at a spot in the middle of the room “Ventus.”

He gestured with a hand and light breeze filled the room. It brushed away some of the dust covering floor, revealing the outline of a half melted metal ring.

“What is it?” Garrus turned curiously

“Spell circle. The source of the explosion. I’m willing to bet it’s custom made. Copper, steel. Maybe some bits of tin couldn’t stand the surge.”

“No iron or sliver?”

Finnrick shook his head “That’s for containing or repelling monsters. Necromancy is more about drawing in the evil entities. Or sucking out life.”

Garrus sighed tiredly “Don’t touch?”

“Only if you want to live to see retirement. Might have some pent up magic ready to blow outwards.”

“Understood. I’ll call in our guys. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

Finn nodded gratefully while pulling out a vial and motioning to the elf “Mind if I do?”

“Be my guest, you might find something we’d miss.”

Finnrick smiled gratefully before scooping up some of the dust and sealing it within the vial.

“Take care Garrus, stop fighting birds Ma!”

“Flying rats!”

-----

The cafe was lively despite being early but that was no surprise given it was Mother’s. Mother’s was the single best food establishment in all Newton Haven and if anyone disagreed, they were allowed to have their opinions.

They were also allowed to be wrong.

Finnrick paused in the doorway, breathing in the scent of well cooked eggs and sweet lemonade. The pop and sizzle of heated grease brought a sense of comfort to the hard working private investigator.

“Finny Drift!” Maddie Copperstone called from behind the counter “How’s my favorite customer holding up?”

Maddie was 40 years young with tastefully curled dark brown hair. Human, little on the short side but fierce. She wore a simple red blouse and jeans, both stained with flour that the apron around her waist did not prevent.

Finnrick bounced over cheerfully, reaching over the counter to give the matron the biggest hug he could muster “I’m good Maddie. Working a case.”

Maddie’s brown eyes searched his face carefully “You always working Finny. You resting as much?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Maddie let out a disbelieving chuckle “You weren’t ever a Scout.”

“Honorary scout after I stopped that bear from eating them.”

“Thought it was a giant raccoon.”

“Yes but people don’t take giant raccoon seriously. He here?”

Maddie clicked her tongue disappointingly but motioned to the booth at the far end of the establishment “Rest.”

Finnrick rose his hand in surrender “After.”

“Never you mean!” Maddie shouted after him.

Amos Frye hadn’t changed much since last he was roaming around Finnrick’s neck of the woods: Handsome with soft gray eyes that reminded Finn of gathering storm clouds. His long black hair was tied in a messy bun held up by a golden pin, a braided strand hung loosely near his face. His beard was much shorter than what Finnrick remembered though he noted the unkempt split ends indicated that Amos hadn’t trimmed it in a few weeks. His iconic dark red sleeveless jerkin and black jean combination would look ridiculous on a lesser man but had allowed the monster hunter to show off his muscular frame. His brown skin was a bit more pale than usual so no doubt Amos had been operating at night lately.

“Finnrick, you cheeky bastard! I am so glad you came!” Amos beamed happily, his various bangles and bracelets clinking together in equally joyous celebration as the two shook hands.

“Amos! Happy to see you.” Finn beamed brightly as he slid into the booth across his old friend “Why though? Family trouble?”

Amos’s joyfully gleam turned dark for a moment.

“No. Have you…?”

Finnrick shook his head quickly “Not a word. Sorry, I hadn’t meant to…”

Amos waved the apology away “No worries cuz. I understand why you’d think that. Coming across the pond isn’t a spur of the moment thing and Os has always been the black sheep of the family. I suppose no news is good news.”

“Right.” Finnrick cleared his throat awkwardly “So what’s the trouble? I doubt you’d call me up for a nip and chat.”

“Rightly so.” Amos confirmed, reaching into the bag at his side and pulling out a folder “Hunting business as usual cuz.”

That made sense: Amos was the latest of a long family whose specialized business was monster hunting. The Fryes had been striking at things that went bump in the night for centuries ever since the first Frye defended the folk of some underground society.

Amos was an average wizard if Finnrick was being generous. That was not a slight against his old friend, it was a matter of fact: Amos spent most of his time honing the physical aspects of his profession which was obvious given the size of his arms. Any spells he knew were purely for defensive or preventive measures so he often communicated with Finnrick for higher quality and complex spellwork.

Finnrick took the folder from Amos and began pouring over its contents.

Most were quickly scrawled notes Amos had noticed about his quarry: Long sliver hairs, canine in nature. Large paw prints found in the areas it had been sighted, far too big to any natural wolf. Wulfvur and werewolf were hastily written and as quickly crossed out. A pattern of hanging out in wild areas, often forests and swamps.

There were pictures too: flashes of sliver, blurs of fangs and muzzles darting in and out of camera frame. It was always a distance away, sprinting deeper into the wildness. It was hard to tell from the photos but Finn guessed it might’ve been 10 feet tall at the very least.

“Why we hunting wolves now?” Finnrick asked curiously.

Amos flagged down the waitress “Contract given to my pa. It was hanging around the marsh lands of the jolly old isles. Someone wanted it gone.”

Something wasn’t clicking with Finn “and you followed it here? From England?”

“Nah cuz” Amos gave a cheeky grin “I tackled it through a portal and found I illegally crossed into America.”

“Ah.” Finnrick nodded in understanding “Fae.”

“Fae?” Amos frowned thoughtfully “I thought that too but I never heard of any snarling wolfie breaking into homes and snatching out wee younglings in them old folktales.”

“Fae are weird.” Finnrick shrugged “Their whole shtick is not making any sense. I had to expel a cat the size of a bus once. Double decker tall.”

Amos whistled in appreciation as he scratched his bread “So fae. Slippy fellow as you can tell. Whatcha recommend?”

“What’s the contract?”

“Banishment. It’s looking like wolfie ended up in the wrong part of town.”

“I think you mean next town over. Fixed a pattern yet?”

“Not yet but I wasn’t looking for one.” Amos admitted “Thought I was tracking some mutant. Fae changes a lot. Magical circles?”

“Easiest way to catch it.” Finnrick agreed “Sliver for sure. Iron would hurt it and based on your files, it hasn’t done anything than thin the local wildlife population. No need to anger mister big bad wolf.”

“Good call. I got some talent to handle a few circles but tracking is not really my speed.”

“I’m on a case but if you swing by the M.R.R.D, maybe they’ll loan you a wizard.”

Amos let out a disappointed sigh “I need to take care this sometime this year Finny. Bloody bureaucracy probably set me back a month at least.”

“There’s always Jaime but she’s pretty busy at work.”

“Jaime huh?” Amos smiled mischievously “I haven’t talked to your sister in a long time.”

“I will curse you.” Finnrick playfully threatened “And not no simple hex either. I’ll make you bald.”

Amos gasped dramatically, clutching at his hair protectively “You wouldn’t dare mate.”

“Shinier than the sun.”

“Okay, okay” Amos conceded “I’m kidding. She’s with Casey anyway. Good couple. Cute couple. He still hopelessly selfless and she still trying to fast track her way to power?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna fix that?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s their lives. Their choices.”

“Idiots.” Amos chuckled “the lot of them.”

“All you need is love?”

“Spoken true the gospel of my land.”

-----

A few hours later with a brainstorm session completed and a promise to help out the next day, Finnrick left Amos to his work and continued with his own.

It was noon now and as the sun rose high in the sky, Finnrick found himself at the Grimyard.

The Grimyard was the premiere spot for all things magical in Newton Haven: Rows and rows of shops specifically catering to the magic community. The streets were paved with century old cobblestone and the buildings here were various hues of faded brick and mortar. It was easy to get lost in the Grimyard if it was your first time as the Grimyard did not spread out, it stacked downward. Layers upon layers of the Grimyard were actually underground to allow those with issues against the sun to sell their goods and services at all times of the day. Don’t let the dark fool you, anyone with worthy talent or product was here in the Grimyard.

Normally Finnrick would wander around a bit, checking out the various businesses and protective wards around the mile long patch of land but he was on the clock and the sooner he began to figure out what was going on, the sooner he could stop it.

Luckily for him, his destination was right here on the top floor of the marketplace. Specifically furthest back corner.

Knightly Ore was ran by the Knight family. Originally they only sold rare metals and ores which were necessary components for some of the more complicated magicks. At some point the owners expanded into selling more alchemical materials and eventually brewing potions, salves and such for a fee.

Despite decent business, it was the most rundown building in this part of the Grimyard: Broken window shudders with the paint faded down to the original shade when the business first opened decades ago. The humble black door was crooked and creaked whenever it moved

Finnrick knew the owners fairly well but here wasn’t here for them. He was here to see their son.

He pushed past the building, ducking into the alley that led to the lot directly behind the shop.

“Halt!” A voice called out “Who seeks the Brewmaster of the Grimyard?”

“It is I, Finnrick the detective. I got money and I need work done”

The Brewmaster was Theodore Knight, an incredibly talented alchemist who didn’t have the same opportunities Finnrick did: He was pretty tall for his age (14 or 15, Finnrick lost track once or twice) but clearly a teenager given his short lavender hair had a few strands dyed red. His eyes were an unnatural pale blue, paler than the blue of the sky. He wore the usual attire Finn often found him in: A sleeveless dark blue hoodie with a fist sized red gem clasped in front just under his neck and a lighter shade blue t-shirt. He wore black finger-less gloves gripping his brown messenger bag slung around his shoulder. A matching brown pouch hung around the waist of his gray cargo shorts and his brown boots were kept clean despite his place of business was in an alley behind his parents shop.

Theo jumped out from a hidden shadowy corner of the lot “Finn, whatcha got for me now?”

Finnrick reached into his pocket, showing the eager teen the vial that held blacken dust within.

“That’s it?” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes “I was expecting something…...cooler.”

He took the vial and raised it to the sun. Theo gave it a rough shake and watched it carefully for any properties the strange substance would display.

Theo frowned, clearly unsatisfied by what he saw “You brought me ash? Plain ash? It’s your money but even I think it’s a waste.”

“It’s ash?”

Theo shot the detective a look that screamed how obvious it should’ve been “Yes, ash. Thicker than what I’ve seen but ash all the same.”

Finnrick bit his cheek thoughtfully.

“Look Finn, you know my rates. I dunno what you want me to do but standard fees apply.”

“I’ll paying double.”

The Brewmaster’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “Double for ash? What’s so special about it?”

“Oh nothing." Finnrick pretended to look disinterested “Aside it was taken directly from a crime scene: Necromancy and cast via a half melted spell circle.”

It took Theo a minute to allow the implications of what Finnrick said to sink in. His eyes shifted from suspicion to wild excitement.

“Really?!” Theo clutched the vial like it was his first born child “Necromancy really doesn’t like many alchemy processes. It’s not going to be easy for me.”

“I know right?” Finnrick grinned impishly “It’s almost like I’m going to have to pay double for it.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to….” Theo pouted unhappily “Ha freaking ha. Okay smart guy, pay up.”

Finnrick handed over 50 gold. Theo took it eagerly, his eyes lightening up with glee.

Theo paused for a moment, his face turning oddly serious for a teenager.

“It might take me awhile depending on what you want.”

“I want to know what’s in it. Necromancy requires specific ingredients. After that it’ll be easier to track the seller.”

“And the buyer!” Theo blurted out excitedly “Smart.”

Finnrick ruffled his hair playfully “I wish I thought of it. You keep this up and you’re going to run me out of business.”

“I’ll text you when I have something.”

“Pleasure as always Theo.”

“It’s Brewmaster.”

-----

It was 2 in the afternoon when Finnrick made his way back to the Salt-Iron. He stood outside the complex, tossing the remains of his pizza into his waiting maw and crumpling the can of soda he was drinking before tucking into his coat pocket.

“What’s this?” Finnrick asked, utterly confused by the crushed foam cup he pulled from within “Oh right my coffee. I’ve been really at today.”

Finnrick wiped his hands clean and made his way inside the Salt-Iron once more, mulling over the details of the case as he ascended up the stairway.

Blacken ash cast by a spell circle. Both father and son missing with no indication where they went too. Recluses and rarely seen. Necromancy within a threshold.

It was hard to tell how deeply the father and son were involved in spell. Someone who had access to the apartment was behind it no doubt. Spell circles were the most consistent way to cast magic but they took time to build, set and channel energy. You didn’t build a spell circle without knowing exactly what you plan to do with it.

The nature of the magic was also a mystery: Dark magic had various applications and not a single one was good. Finnrick hadn’t much experience with that branch of magic but there was nothing logical about the aftereffects: Ash spread throughout the apartment, clinging to everything like a second skin. There was no signs of an outward blast given that nothing bent in the same direction. Everything in that room decided to twist in whatever wayit felt like. If the spell was supposed to draw in something then chair legs and wall tiles would’ve been pulled directly towards the circle.

“Curiouser and curiouser Alice” Finnrick spoke to no one in particular.

He was on the fifth floor when he noticed something odd.

Finnrick raised an eyebrow as the skies outside the window darken, black and stormy.

A thunderstorm it seems.

Finnrick peered out the window, glancing upwards to see what was going on.

Dark clouds swirled directly overhead. Rain began to lightly drizzle as the skies boomed. Thunder and a moment later lightning trailing across the gathering storm.

A thunderstorm that formed directly above this building.

Without warning.

“Well that’s not ominous.”

Finnrick made the mistake of leaning closer to the window, peering around to see if he could see where exactly the storm was coming from when it happened.

“Watch out below!”

Finnrick noticed three things in that moment: First, was of course, someone shouting to watch out below. Second was the distant sound of claws scratching something wooden, the walls perhaps. Lastly was the thudding of something falling down quickly and towards him.

Finnrick rose his hand, pivoting on his heels in time to see something crash into him.

It wasn’t much of a contest: Both Finnrick and whatever slammed into him broke through the fifth story window and went sprawling into a freefall.

#My story #Mirror's Edge #Original Work #original story

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picwew · 3 years

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SQUAD UP! It’s time for Yuna and his crew of miscreant demons!

(Picrews are here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here!)

The characters are, top to bottom, left to right--

Nakajima, Yuna: A human with unusually high magical potential. His specialty is the binding of demons into servitude, which he utilizes to stop particularly troublesome demons from threatening human populations across the globe. Most of the demons under his care were seduced by him, as he has quite a knack for making men want him. As such, several of his servants are vying for his favor, but, in his own words, “I don’t play favorites~”

Obviously, Yuna is a bit of a flirt. His tastes extend well beyond demons, into just about any non-human he can get his hands on. He has a ravenous appetite for handsome men, but no plans to settle down any time soon. It isn’t that romance doesn’t appeal to him, more that he’s still young and a little too free-spirited for anything permanent. The way he dotes on his servants, though, you’d certainly think he was in love with them, Nihil in particular.

Mourning Dove: Affectionately referred to by his coworkers as “Dovey”, this little fellow was the first of Yuna’s servants, and is therefore his most staunch defender. The details of his past are hazy, even in his own mind, but he was born into the slave trade, nameless, nothing, the psychological toll of which would not become apparent until his eventual escape. He was full of hatred for the humans who had callously treated him as property, and claimed many lives before Yuna was able to soothe his aching heart. “You’re pretty as a mourning dove,” Yuna told him. From that moment on, he decided that this would be his name.

Dovey is, above all, an empath. Much of his time recovering from a life of slavery was spent learning to feel again. Once he got the hang of it, however, he found that he felt a little too much, so much so that he’s become somewhat of a crybaby. When others are in pain, he is often the one to comfort them. His sweet disposition and cute appearance have earned him his coworkers’ love, although they still get a bit miffed with him whenever he tries to hog Yuna’s attention.

Dr. Callaway: An interesting case, and a tough nut to crack. Only Yuna knows his full name; no one knows his story. All he’s shared is that he was fingered for human experimentation, and that, no, he has neither learned his lesson nor wishes to. Still, he behaves himself well enough, perhaps because he is entirely obsessed with Yuna in the most unhealthy way. While most of his coworkers consider one another family, Dr. Callaway is detached and often mocking of their sentimentality.

As expected, Dr. Callaway is a terrible sadist. He takes great pleasure in hurting others in any way he can. Nowadays, this is limited almost entirely to insults and threats, but he has been known to get physical with others when Yuna isn’t looking. It doesn’t help that nothing seems to bother him in return. You could beat the man senseless, and he’d come out of it grinning like a jackal.

Corvo: This one was a misunderstanding--or, rather, a case of cultures clashing in a very gruesome manner. Corvo is a hybrid of demon and crowkin. Beastkin are not true demons, but are often lumped in with them, so mixed-race families are not uncommon. Unfortunately, this can lead to some problematic offspring, particularly when one or both of the parents are detached from human society. Corvo, like many crowkin, was taught that food is food, and that human meat is the most delicious of all. He bore no ill will toward humans, but his view of them as, essentially, cattle culminated in a visit from Yuna.

Following his binding, Corvo began the lengthy process of finding something he liked more than human flesh. This, as it turned out, was sweets--all sweets, from pastries, to ice cream, to candy. He had never had sweets before, and everyone agreed that they suited his bubbly, affectionate personality more than human flesh anyway. He is certainly the gentlest of all of Yuna’s servants, dedicated to his family and to protecting those in need. He’s especially fond of cats.

Erebus: Known by those who worship him as the Master of Crows, Erebus is an ill-understood being. He is ancient, but has had little to do with his own kind since time out of mind. Instead, he appears to have become so entwined with his worshipers that he can no longer live without their faith to sustain him. During the Northern Crusades, a great many of them were persecuted for their faith, and Erebus fell into a centuries-long slumber. Only when his followers began to grow in number again did he wake--and command those loyal to him to seek vengeance for their fallen brethren. Naturally, Yuna had a thing or two to say about that.

Erebus is highly asocial, but does not dislike his coworkers. It would be a stretch to say he views them as family; even so, he gets along well with them on the rare occasion Yuna can talk him out of his comfortable pocket of darkness. As the oldest of his colleagues, he is respected and even admired, but he cares little for the love of his own kind. He desires mortal love, which he receives through his worshipers. Due to their number still being relatively low, you’ll rarely catch him awake. Only Yuna seems able to rouse him, and only because Yuna is his “most cherished one”.

Mage: A troublemaker with a bark worse than his bite--but he can and will bite, so mind your fingers. Like Dr. Callaway, his true name is known only to Yuna. His coworkers know him as Mage, taken from Magenta, the name of the rather nasty chemical he produces to draw in his prey. He doesn’t harm them, but he has seduced many a married man away from his wife. Causing strife among couples is what he does best. As an incubus, he finds the taste of a married man’s energy too sweet to resist. So, of course, when he found himself seduced by Yuna, he was completely baffled--and absolutely obsessed. He still toys with married men now and then, when he gets the chance, but spends most of his time trying to talk Yuna back into bed.

Though rare, Mage can be persuaded to bust heads, and does so with the best of ‘em. He’s highly territorial, meaning that although he rather likes his colleagues, he often tangles up with them over Yuna’s affection. He is particularly hostile toward Nihil, who rather delights in teasing Mage with his closeness to their master. Outside of his romantic conflicts with his housemates, he tends to be rather lackadaisical, spending much of his free time lounging on every comfortable surface available. People find his presence enjoyable due to his easygoing disposition and passion for mischief.

Nihil: Of all the demons under Yuna’s employ, Nihil is the one who has come closest to winning his heart. Theirs is a strangely intimate relationship, one which Yuna insists is platonic--and yet, Nihil is at his side always, his obedient shadow. Of course, they weren’t always so close. Nihil is an inherently violent, cruel man whose sole purpose in life is to cause as much pain and grief as he possibly can. He is absolutely, positively insane, for no other reason than this is how he believes a demon should be. This is his aesthetic, and a demon’s aesthetic is absolute. He minds his P’s and Q’s now that he’s bound to Yuna, but never lets his “family” forget what he is, Yuna least of all.

Nihil loves no being, except, by his own admission, Yuna. He teases his master constantly, always pushing his limits, always pushing his buttons. “I am your loyal dog,” is a favorite line of his, spoken, with a pointed smile, whenever Yuna asks something of him. For some reason, it never fails to fluster Yuna, which allows Nihil to worm himself further into his darling’s heart. Unlike his colleagues, he is not afraid to get physical with Yuna, and many of their more heated arguments have ended in the bedroom. Whether Nihil actually enjoys servitude remains to be seen, but for Yuna, he would pull the moon from the sky.

Pox: The general consensus on Pox is “unfriendly, but not unbearable”. A life of self-isolation has made him difficult to approach, even more difficult to befriend, especially given that everyone he’s ever loved, he has killed. He is a demon of sickness, of plague and of rot, of suffering so old as to be carved into the bones of the earth. When he was young, he could not control the disease that spread from him. Though his mortal mother tried desperately to guide him, eventually, she was overcome, and Pox left the village he had once called home, now populated only by the dead and dying. He learned then that he could not live among his mother’s people, but he knew nothing of his father’s. Rather than seek them out and put them at risk as well, he exiled himself to the outskirts of human society, interacting with it only when necessary. With time, he came to understand his power, and was able to control it--but his peaceful life came to an end when one of the few humans he had allowed himself to love was killed in a botched robbery. Pox designated himself judge, jury, and executioner, and it wasn’t long before Yuna showed up on his doorstep.

Pox hides his self-loathing under a cold, hard outer shell. His mask is flawless, perfected through a lifetime of guilt, and he allows no one near enough to break it. His coworkers believe that they are despised by him, but in truth, he loves each of them with every inch of himself. Saying so is difficult, though, and such an admission would only encourage them to endanger themselves. He may be in complete control of his magic most days, but there are times even now when he catches himself slipping. He is desperate to protect Yuna and the strange family they have all built together, so much so that he would rather suffer in silence than risk their lives asking for help.

Seta Sericum: The peculiarity of his name has led to his coworkers calling him Silky, a moniker which he has accepted only begrudgingly. Silky is a Nephalem, the product of a love between angel and demon. Typically, his fathers’ love for one another would have ended in tragedy, but the two stayed together even after their angelic half was cast from divinity. Silky was raised in a happy home, albeit a mobile one; his fathers couldn’t risk staying in one place for too long, lest the Church track them down. Ultimately, it was the Church, their greatest fear, that was their end. They were cut down while protecting Silky, who was forced to flee in the vain hope that his absence might somehow save his fathers. The Church searched for him, but he had hidden himself well. Now an orphan, he swore vengeance on his parents’ murderers--and he got it too, once he was old enough to control his immense magical power. He despises the Church, but killed only those among its ranks who had directly harmed him. Regardless, Yuna came for him, and he submitted to servitude as recompense.

Silky’s demonic father was a real fop of a man, and his son is no different now that he’s had a chance to adjust to a normal life. He insists that everyone pull their own weight, that everything be in its place at all times, and has a fondness for indulgences such as expensive wine and imported chocolates. Without these little luxuries, he would surely have gone mad, for both his mischievous master and his trouble-making housemates frustrate him to no end. He has tried, with mixed success, to serve as a role model for them, but, oh, they are all such children. Dovey is far too naive, Dr. Callaway is far too sadistic, Corvo is far too oblivious, Mage is far too flirtatious, Nihil is far too violent, Pox is far too cold, and Vincent is far too reclusive. Erebus, at least, is well-behaved, though Silky thinks he could stand to mingle more with the group.

Vincent Blythe: On the forefront of medical progress during the Victorian Era, Dr. Vincent Blythe has become little more than a shell of his former self. When his prostitute mother was murdered by one of her stags, something snapped in him. He began targeting, torturing, and finally killing any man who frequented brothels or whom he had seen with street-walkers, believing himself to be the protector of his mother’s people. It was only then when he realized he was something more than human. His father, it turned out, had been a demon who had fallen terribly in love with his mother, but whose feelings had been spurned by her. After receiving a near-fatal wound in a skirmish with a prominent vampire hunter of the day, Vincent tucked himself away in a dark corner of London to heal. He slept for over a century, and when he woke, attempted to pick up where he’d left off. Confused, his trauma still fresh in his mind, he killed all who drew near. Phone calls were made, flights were booked, and Yuna arrived on scene to bring him back to his senses.

Vincent is terribly withdrawn. On the one hand, he is distrustful of all humans, and men in particular frighten him. On the other hand, he has had little to no experience with his own kind, and so struggles to fit in among them. He finds himself at an impasse, unable to shake the trauma of his mother’s murder, and equally unable to bond with his father’s kin. Because of this, he is prone to bouts of violent madness when he feels that he is being threatened, or when he wakes from particularly vivid nightmares, in which he witnesses his mother’s murder and can do nothing to stop it. Dr. Callaway has oft remarked that Vincent is a genius, a true medical prodigy, and that it is too bad he’s so “broken”.

#picrew #male ocs #demon ocs

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officialsporkintheroad · 3 years

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“How long have you been standing there?” “Longer then you’d like” -Tomione

(A/N: it's only been, you know, over a whole ass year since I received this ask, but THANK YOU Kyoki again for such wonderful inspiration <3 hope you enjoy)

please feel free to send me prompts

She didn’t have long. Most of the students and professors were still in the Great Hall for lunch, but there was always a chance Riddle would leave early. It was risky, breaking into his office—the defense professor’s office, no less—and in the middle of the day, too, but it was the only real hole in the man’s schedule.

He was a notoriously early riser: among the first to arrive at breakfast and among the first to leave. Then he’d spend the rest of the morning either in his office or in his classroom. In the afternoons, he had back-to-back classes half the week and office hours the rest of the time. Weekends were spent catching up on grading, research, and paperwork, and he rotated between the library, his office, and the courtyard with enough spontaneity that Hermione couldn’t reliably tell where he’d be and when.

Except for during lunch.

It had been easy enough to fake a mild stomachache to get away from Harry and Ron. They wouldn’t understand—they liked Riddle. He’d wooed the majority of the Hogwarts population with flashy spells and displays of power, with his classic good looks and cool, mysterious demeanor. And true, there was no denying the man was brilliant.

But he made her skin crawl.

It wasn’t the sort of thing that had been apparent at first. Like the rest of the school, she’d been awed by him. The sheer breadth of knowledge he possessed was incredible enough, but to be able to utilize it so efficiently in a duel…to be able to flow from one spell to the next without so much as blinking, without a single uttered word. It was mesmerizing, like nothing she’d ever seen before. And on top of that, he’d been a good teacher: thorough and invested, tough but fair. Respectable.

It was just…there was something off about him. The more Hermione watched, the more certain she was. Maybe this suspicion had started when he had dispassionately demonstrated the unforgivables, face blank except for a raised brow as he cursed the beetle with the cruciatus. Or maybe it was before that, when he’d nearly smiled at a particularly brutal hex Malfoy had thrown at Hannah Abbot during a duel. Or maybe it was the emptiness in his eyes as he assessed them.

“You’re just pissed he gave you an Exceeds Expectations on last week’s essay rather than an Outstanding,” Ron had accused, and when she’d turned to Harry to see if he thought the same, he’d only shrugged.

She hadn’t argued it further with them. It was, after all, just a hunch. That’s why she needed proof. Which led her here.

Riddle’s office was unextraordinary. The walls were lined with bookshelves, packed with his own personal collection of academic texts. A large, flat stone sat off to the side—a resting place for his snake familiar—while the majority of the room was occupied by a hefty desk. On the whole, the room was simple, largely unadorned, and yet it still spoke to his character.

Intelligent with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. She quickly glanced through his bookshelves. They were organized by subject and then by author, and the topics spanned everything from runic warding to dark creatures to blood curses. Nothing particularly out of place for a man of his profession, though she noted there seemed to be an obvious preference for books of a darker nature.

Which is his job, a voice in her head that sounded annoyingly like Harry pointed out.

The presence of the warming stone seemed to indicate some care for the comfort of others, though Hermione had a hard time fitting that with the image of Riddle she had in her head. In fact, based on her observations, he seemed far more likely to revel in someone’s discomfort. She frowned. Perhaps his familiar is an exception. Still, he didn’t seem particularly…doting on the snake.

Not a matter of kindness or consideration, but of practicality. Yes, that fit better. The entire office was designed for efficiency. There was nothing extraneous: no texts that did not assist in academic research, no unnecessary wall décor or portraiture, no furniture aside from the desk and the two chairs—one for him, and one for visitors.

Even the chair is designed to be uncomfortable, she thought, almost a little amused. It looked new and to be in good condition, but it was narrow and thinly padded. Not the kind of seat you’d want to linger in. Encourages quick meetings.

And then the desk itself. A small calendar sat upon it—color coordinated, organized—alongside an inkwell and several freshly sharpened quills. A stack of graded essays was tucked off in the upper left corner. The rest of the desktop was cleared. Neat. Possibly intolerant of messes?

Hermione waved her wand over the desk, murmuring a slew of spells designed to reveal wards, barriers, and alarms. There were a few minor protections but nothing insidious. Of course not. He’s clever, too, and cautious. Nothing dangerous or truly secret is going to be kept in his office.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d known that this was a long shot, but she’d been hoping for…something. Something she could take back to the boys and use as leverage to launch a more in-depth investigation on Professor Riddle. Though she supposed it was difficult to find incriminating evidence when she wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for.

Quickly, she undid the easiest of the locking charms on the first desk drawer and peered inside. Ungraded classwork. Next. The second drawer contained sheet after sheet of handwritten notes. That’s better. Except that they were…complex, difficult to follow. One looked like half a potions recipe—some sort of…sleep potion, perhaps?—while another was filled with dozens of questions about the function of wand movements and what they added to spells, and yet another was a highly detailed theory on human transfiguration.

Hermione mentally revised her assessment of Riddle from brilliantto genius. It was one thing to acknowledge that Riddle was an expert—a prodigy, even—in defense against the dark arts and combative magic, but this…this suggested he was just as knowledgeable in a wide range of subjects. She flipped to the next page of notes and her brows raised even higher. Adding runic elements to potion-making to help negate the contradictory herbal effects…is that even possible?

Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat. If she was right about him—if her gut instinct was true—then Riddle was a phenomenally dangerous person. Detached, efficient, insanely smart, and strong, too. Combined with potentially questionable morals…She didn’t even really want to think about it.

A throat cleared, and Hermione’s head snapped up. She knew, even before she saw him, that it would be Riddle standing there, and her stomach churned.

“Granger.”

“Professor,” she returned, proud that her voice didn’t shake even if her hands did. He arched a single dark brow, the rest of his stupidly handsome face terrifyingly impassive, a silent demand for an explanation. “I was just—” She trailed off, realizing his notes were still in her hand. She wet her lips nervously. “How long have you been standing there?”

Stupid question. Stupid question. Stupid question.

He hummed. “Longer than you’d like, I’m sure.”

Slowly, gracefully, he stepped further into the room. And then, with little more than the flick of his hand, the door clicked shut, lock sliding into place.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

His eyes—dark, emotionless, bottomless—locked onto hers, and a jagged smile so unlike the practiced ones he wore around the castle cracked his mouth.

“Oh Hermione,” he tutted, voice mocking. “What am I going to do with you?”

#tomione #tom riddle #hermione granger #minific #harry potter #professor tom riddle

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