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cherubfae · 3 months

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"you take me so well" || arcane x reader

With Silco, Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Caitlyn, & Jinx

I don't accept NSFW requests!

tags: fem!reader, female anatomy, smut, established relationships, reader is implied late 20s (Vik), late 20s-early 30s firelight reader (Silco), toy use, vik's reader also uses a cane!!, pet names

a/n: lmao me writing these like I don't have my bestie and I in mind for our faves <3

Silco

Smoke from his snuffed out cigar lingers in the air, mixed so sweetly with his fine cologne and aftershave. It's one of the few things you can focus on as Silco drills his drooling cock deep into your pussy. You grip the edge of his desk, your board tossed in the corner of his office, legs hooked loosely around his waist gasping with every drag of his pelvic bone against your achy clit. His grunts are wild, unhinged. His blunt nails leave crescent-shaped marks on your skin as he yanks you deeper onto his cock, his balls making a wet pap pap pap with every delicious thrust. "Such a good girl for me, darling. What would your poor leader think of you sleeping with the enemy? Being fucked so tenderly on the Eye of Zaun's cock? Oh my love--! My cock was truly made for you, hmm? Utterly divine." His lips smash to yours, fingers intertwined together.

Viktor

Ever the gentleman, at first, Viktor slowly lowers you down onto his thick cock. His large hands shift from your thighs to grip your hips, pressing you down gently til he bottoms out. "There, love, see? You always take me much better when you're amply prepped for my dick. You're such a sweetheart for me, I must reward your patience." His smirk curls, lips finding your neck. Viktor's hand gently strokes your leg, easing what pain and discomfort he could. He wouldn't move until you told him to. He knows how much you enjoy cock warming him. <3

Jayce

A soft whimper bubbles in the back of his throat, his cock head breaching your lubed, velvet walls with a gentle push. So warm and inviting, the intoxicating feeling of you wrapped around is just what he needs after a long, stressful day in the lab. His girth is impossibly thick, it's taken a lot of practice and prep for your tiny cunt to be able to take him. Jayce is always gentle with you, big thumb circling your clit in hopes to chase away any discomfort. "Shh, shh, I know it's big, baby, you're taking me so damn well. Want to stop? No? Okay, okay. Let me get some more lube, yeah? Oh, fuck, pretty girl. I felt you clench. God, I ache for you, baby."

"Fuck baby," she hisses, sinking you down further on her pink strap. Her hips stutter, raw muscle flexing beneath the strap's harness pressing into the meat of her thighs. She rears herself back, until the pink head of the dildo is almost entirely exposed before pushing back in with her hips flushed to yours. "You're so stretched out on my cock, lovely. So fuckin' perfect." Vi purrs, swallowing your moan with her lips.

Caitlyn

Tender kisses are peppered all over your face, her long hair falling in front of her face. She's smiling down at you, looking like an angel sprawled against her pillow. Your pretty lips drawn open into a wanton gasp, hips jumping up as her deep blue strap sinks into you fully. The strap buzzes to life, Caitlyn giggles at your little yelp. It melts into desperate pants and eager rolls of your hips. She's more than happy to oblige as she pins your knees to your chest and fucks you into her mattress. "That's it, love. You look so pretty taking my cock like a good girl. Oh, does that feel good, baby? I'm glad. You look so lovely, all fucked out and flushed. Such a pretty little thing."

Jinx

Her face hides at the back of your neck, hips pounding against your ass. Her lithe fingers curl around the messy sheets, her other hand curled at your hip. Glancing down at where you two meet, Jinx all but snarls out a moan, picking up the pace. The way the electric blue strap buries itself deep within your pussy is such an addicting site. One that makes her froth at the mouth, nails biting into your skin. "You should see how fuckin' well you take me, princess. Fits like a fuckin' dream, your cunt is practically drooling f'me!"

|| please don't repost, reuse, or edit my works in any way! I do not give permission. Tumblr is the only site where I post. All characters belong to their rightful owner and the story belongs to me © CHERUBFAE 2024 ||

#arcane imagines #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane smut #silco x reader #viktor x reader #jayce x reader #vi x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn x reader #jinx x reader #cherubfae 2024

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iviarellereads · 1 year

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Harrow the Ninth, Chapter 44

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one!)

(Herald icon) In which an old friend is back... sort of.(1)

THAT SAME NIGHT BEFORE THE EMPEROR'S MURDER

There's some description, in second-person, of the stabbing inflicted upon her in the prologue.

You'd been stabbed from behind, and you'd collapsed backward onto the rapier's hilt. Its foible(2) pointed upward where it protruded from your torso. And you'd gone and left me behind.

Our unnamed but obviously identified(3) body-animation algorithm pushes the rapier back out of Harrow's body, and she plans to make whoever stabbed Harrow sorry for the act. Her hands can't quite grip the rapier the way she wants to, because her hands aren't her hands, they're Harrow's. Gideon swears vengeance on whoever stabbed her Harrow, in the corridor so hot the air is shimmering.

Pool of blood: check. Air so hot: check. Surrounded by big and illicit bones: check. Looking at your hand to keep this tally--what hand there was, beneath the blood, and your fingers, and your small palms, and their absolute lack of thenar(4) muscle--reality went through me. Kind of like a big iron railing, now that I think about it.(5) You were gone. You'd left me behind.(6) Inside you. "Fuck," I said. It wasn't my voice. "Fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Help. Yuck. Aaaargh."

Gideon encounters a herald in the corridor, and several paragraphs are spent describing its horror.

I lined up your front foot with your back ankle, thumb wrapped low around the hilt of your sword, which proves that you can put the swordfighter into the necromancer but you can't, wait, hang on.(7) And I said, "Goddamn it, I told you to lift weights."

After an encounter that goes badly for Gideon and Harrow's body, she manages to squeeze past it and into Harrow's bedroom.

I burst into the nearest room. The bedroom. I kind of knew the layout, but I'd never really been able to use your eyes. Living inside you--if I start I'll never stop,(8) so we have to move on--was like living in a well, and every time I bobbed to the surface I kind of got clotheslined(9) back down to the bottom. I'm not complaining, I just want you to know.

There, she retrieves her old two-hander. Looking at it, she gets cranky at Harrow for not understanding how to care for a sword.(10) Then she gets cranky at Harrow for doing her own brain surgery rather than be beholden to anyone, for taking Gideon's sacrifice and throwing it away. Then she gets cranky at Harrow AGAIN for not doing a single fucking squat or star jump(11) in ten months.

As I stood with that sword grasped between your hands, the hilt of the two-hander bit our(12) skin, but not fatally. There were a couple of callouses now on those soft necromancer's palms, and I was proud of you.(13)

Gideon engages the Herald, and some sort of healing process is definitely happening for her in a way it never did for Harrow, "probably because [Gideon is] a good girl and [Harrow is] an evil nun".(14)

She takes out the Herald, and catches a glance at herself in the mirror, seeing Harrow's face, with her own golden eyes so foreign to it. She tries different facial expressions, but they don't feel right in Harrow's musculature. It's Harrow's body, "but it was all filled up with me."

I said hoarsely: "Get back here. Get back here right now, or I'll make you say the worst shit I can think of. Just mean and gross. Beneath even me, is what I'm saying." No response. "Oooooh, Palamedes. I am measurably less intelligent than you. Put your tongue in my mouth, and I'll flop my tongue against it." Nothing. "I think bones are mediocre." Maybe you were dead. "Ohhhhhrr, Gideon, I was so dumb to think a tub of ancient freezer meat was my girlfriend. Please show me how to do a press-up. Also, I'm very obviously attracted to y--no, damn it, this is just sad.(15) This is garbage." My temper was going. Maybe your temper was going. "Come back. I hate this. Eat me, and let's go full Lyctor. I didn't fall on a fence for this, Nonagesimus."

More Heralds start to show up. Gideon realizes that she now has access to Harrow's memories, though she has to actively look for something to know it, as she realizes more were always going to come. She hopes and wants and practically prays for Harrow to return, but no luck.

"Whenever you're ready," I said. "Don't worry, honey. I'll keep the home fires burning."(16)

=====

(1) In this, the first chapter in Harrow the Ninth in which Harrow does not appear! I keep my tags for the book in a pinned entry in my Windows clipboard and it was so strange to have to delete #Harrowhark Nonagesimus from the tags after pasting, and then type #Gideon Nav (2) Foible - in fencing, the part of the sword between the middle of the blade and the tip, one of the weakest points in the sword. (3) Gideon! (4) The thenar muscles are the ones that make up the meat below your thumb, on your palm. (5) Gideon, you cheeky lass. You remembered! (6) Somehow Gideon has been witness to everything that's happened to Harrow, and still believes that Harrow doesn't want her. She can't read Harrow's thoughts, she can only see through her senses, just like Harrow couldn't read Gideon's thoughts in the Lyctor chamber at Canaan House. She can't see the motivation, and she has eighteen years, a lifetime's worth, of memories that say Harrow opposite-of-cares about her. The last few weeks of connection doesn't quite overpower the things Gideon still believes about herself, thanks to a lifetime of traumatic conditioning. (7) Ah, a classic phrase. For real though, I don't think there's a single origin, but more or less, you can take the thing out of its element but you can't make it change its nature. See examples like "you can take the mathematician out of the classroom but you can't make them stop calculating the golden ratio in the garden flowers" (not a thing I've ever heard before but given how many videos and essays there are about the golden ratio in nature, it felt appropriate). Not to be mistaken for "you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink", which is more about not being able to force someone to do something they're uncomfortable with even when it would be good for them. (8) Laughing, crying, making jokes? All of the above? (9) It's kind of a wrestling move. Someone's running at you, you stick out an arm, run toward them, catch them in the neck, and bowl them backward with your and their combined momentum. Do not attempt at home without professional wrestling trainer supervision! (10) You never actually told her, and even if someone tried to teach her, she'd just have started throwing up and bleeding from her brain at the thought of caring for the sword that she thought hated her. (11) Jumping jacks, for those of us in the sort of North American region. (12) The jump back and forth between "your" and "our", between Harrow as an individual and Gideon as a part of her… My heart can't take it. (13) And this. Gideon believes that Harrow has abandoned her intentionally, but she's still proud of her. I just. MY EMOTIONS! (14) Or perhaps Gideon's return means that the Lyctoral process continues, making Harrow a full Lyctor, and the healing factor is what she was supposed to have had all along but had to actively fake. (See: when Ianthe stabbed herself and then Harrow at the beginning of the book.) (15) Gideon can't even let herself believe that Harrow cared about her. Never mind that Harrow put Gideon on what she thought was the easy mission (walking the Fourth kids through the facility) so that Harrow took the dangerous one (possibly confronting Palamedes and "Dulcinea" about being the killers) at Canaan House. Never mind all the other things. Again, a lifetime of conditioning compared to a few weeks of honesty and connection. (16) And even believing that Harrow has abandoned her, has wasted her gift and sacrifice, and outright doesn't care about her wellbeing... Gideon still does this. She still makes flirty, too-emotionally-revealing statements like this. She still loves Harrow so much.

#the locked tomb #tlt #harrow the ninth #htn #harrow the ninth spoilers #htn spoilers #gideon nav

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ezra-iolite · 2 years

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Pirateformers Asya: A Study on Dragon Teeth

Just fancied doing a quick doodle and some headcanon ideas, mainly for how Asya's dragon genetics gave her a set of hunter worthy teeth and a tongue that makes anyone blush (and you damn well know why, @tigracespace ¬w¬, hehehe~) I'm no biology expert or really a person with any idea on how teeth work, so..... I just did what I could for the sake of doing my best effort, ok? XD

So, time to ramble!!

Asya lives on a omnivorous diet, but due to her monthly requirement of a boost in meat to sate her predatory desires, she mainly lives off of raw meat, including fish, Deep Dwellers, rodents and once a month... human flesh. Because of her desire for human prey, Asya will either hunt Deep Dwellers alongside Elbent on the full moon, or be locked up and forced to starve for the week until she is given animal meat to sustain her regular nutritional needs.

Instead of having two pairs of large canines like the standard predator, Asya has two thick and large upper canines and two thinner but equally long bottom ones, with the rest of her front teeth consisting of thick but short fangs on top, and needle like ones on the bottom, the rest towards the back then consisting of molars for grinding food with. This is due to her species, the Dragonkin, having a hunting style that is based on quick movement and immediate gripping and tearing to kill their prey. Hence, her upper teeth are thick enough to break bone with a single bite, while her lower teeth act like hooks that pierce flesh and grip it tight and deep to draw more blood or cause more harm, as the upper fangs cut the flesh within their grip and immediately tear chunks with every bite a Dragonkin can land.

Asya's tongue is the most eye-catching part of her anatomy, and she knows it and will happily flaunt it. This is because it measures roughly 19 inches in length, going from the base that touches her fangs when fully extended, to the very end of its forked tip. To ensure that those of Asya's kind never choke on their own tongue due to its length in a humanoid body, it has evolved to be exactly half human and half Draconic, the upper half being wide like a human's while the lower half is thinner and more flexible. The inhumanly long muscle also evolved with cat-like barbs that cover the whole length of the tongue, to pair up with the Dragonkin's hunting needs to help grip the flesh of its prey within its teeth. Outside of hunting, they are soft enough to be used on skin for grooming and bonding reasons, to which it may feel like a small toothed comb against bare skin.

Whether it's a dragon thing or a thing only Asya does, we'll never know... But either way, Asya tends to blep whenever she's sleepy, happy but not experiencing any thoughts, or is feeling playful. The length of the tongue being flashed when the blep occurs will usually hint at what she's feeling in that moment. For example...

Small blep/forked tip only: Very sleepy

Small blep + Purring: No thoughts, only love and happiness

Tip reaches chin + Big irises: Zoomies about to occur

Tip reaches chin + Smirk but normal eyes: Ready to prank someone or is about to be a cheeky little chaos gremlin

Full length that reaches chest: Is yawning, which may spook those who don't know Asya, or is teasing Elbent and/or Kevin.

In short.... TEEEEEETH.

#pirateformers au #tigracespace #dragon teeth #ezra iolite og work

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mollymauktealeef · 3 years

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for geraskier prompts, write a scene with the phrase “What am I going to do with you?” please.

be gentle with me i haven't written in quite some time so i'm a wee bit rusty, also this is my first time writing in the witcher fandom, hope you enjoy!

(ao3)

The inn is stuffy and just on the side of uncomfortably hot, it's packed full of the townspeople celebrating the end of their blight thanks to the Witcher set up in the far corner.

Nobody approaches him or seeks to offer their thanks in any way but Geralt wasn’t expecting them to, nor would he want them to. It’s enough that they let him stay the night, a few years ago that would have been little more than a fool’s hope but thanks to Jaskier’s stubborn determination much of the attitude towards his kind has changed.

Not everything mind you and Geralt’s certainly not ‘one of the people’ but enough has changed that he can rest a night or two after a hard hunt instead of being run out of town with barely any coin for his efforts.

Geralt tunes out most of the hustle and bustle of the busy inn, picking at his meal as he lets his muscles loosen tucked safely into a corner with a good view of anybody approaching. He lets his mind wander aimlessly as he eats slowly, eyes glancing over the crowd and occasionally spending a moment or two more on the colourful bard in their midst. The occasional word or phrase will bring his world back into focus as he easily pinpoints the conversation hushed or otherwise that drew his attention. Best to keep an eye on the mood of the crowd in case it changes from jovial to something less welcoming. But otherwise most of the mindless chatter washes over him like gentle waves accompanied by the pluck of cords as Jaskier spins and twirls around the room charming most people into a chorus or two or to part with a few extra coins before they move on.

Geralt lets his shoulders fall as he washes down the bland meat with even blander ale. It's the closest to relaxed as he’ll allow himself in unfamiliar territory which is, naturally, when things change abruptly. He has about half a second to recognise the raised voice of his bard before Jaskier is launching himself at a barely educated farm hand twice his size across the room.

Geralt is up and moving swiftly through the stunned crowd before the local man hits the floor. The relaxed air and acceptable meal quickly forgotten. The sharp crack of a bone breaking echoes in Geralt’s ears but Jaskier shows no sign of pain as he continues to curse the man slumped between the tables so Geralt doesn’t panic...much.

Geralt assesses the scene before him; one fool with his gong rung hard, a few swaying friends blinking stupidly at the frothing bard and, of course, one raging bard. With a roll of his eyes Geralt quickly snakes an arm around Jaskier’s waist and hoists him up off of the ground with ease whilst Jaskier continues to yell and insult the fool who earned his wrath. Best to remove Jaskier before the situation goes from minor scrap to full blown fight and perhaps later - if they’re particularly unlucky, which they usually are - a torch lit mob baying for their blood.

Geralt sighs and carries Jaskier away, heading for the narrow stairwell that leads upstairs, hoping that the space will allow Jaskier to calm down and for the local townspeople to forget what just happened with a few more sips of ale. His bard pays him no mind, twisting in Geralt’s grasp and practically climbing his armour to better yell from Geralt’s shoulder as the Witcher forces a retreat. He doesn’t stop cursing out the man below until the door is shut and they’re alone in their small damp room and Jaskier is gently dropped back on the ground. Geralt’s hands linger on Jaskier’s hips, ostensibly to allow him to find his footing again.

“-AND YOUR MOTHER- really Geralt I had everything under control,” Jaskier chides switching effortlessly from barely contained rage to his usual soft fondness whenever he speaks with Geralt.

“It’s going to rain,” Geralt sighs.

“And?” Jaskier asks as he rights his clothes.

“And I prefer to stay in the inn,” Geralt points out and Jaskier rolls his eyes with a harsh snort as he settles his beloved lute next to the bed carefully.

“We’re hardly going to get kicked out over a disagreement.”

“We might if you keep breaking noses.”

“Unlikely my dear Geralt. The innkeeper, Maurice, likes me and knows well the power of a bard in such an establishment, he won’t risk losing that over one broken nose,” Jaskier waves away the worry as he flops down on the end of the bed, all loose limbs and pouty. Like Geralt had snatched the last sweet dessert rather than plucked him from a fight. It's oddly endearing but Geralt doesn’t let himself show that least Jaskier use it to his advantage.

“‘The power of a bard’? You mean making punters buy more ale after their throats get dry singing along to your songs?” Geralt smirks.

“Exactly!”

Geralt shakes his head, trying and failing to hide the amusement he felt, “What was the argument about anyway?”

Suddenly the wall is far more interesting to Jaskier as his cheeks turn ruddy, “How uneducated the farmhands in the middle of bumfuck nowhere are?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt says warningly, already suspecting the heart of the problem. Jaskier tries to keep up the pretence of innocence for a moment longer before giving up with a sigh and a slump in his shoulders, his voice when he finds it is gentle but touched with a bitter sadness.

“He suggested you were as monstrous as the ghouls you’d dispatched for this town earlier.”

“Something most would agree with,” Geralt says tiredly.

It's hardly a new thought but Jaskier takes offence every time like it's the first time he’s heard such an insult regardless of the consequences of his ire, like angry nobles or mobs. Geralt hates the mobs. He’s used to such small mindedness and baseless rumours about his kind, they no longer bother him all that much. Except perhaps on the worst nights when the cold and dark push inwards and his chest feels like a cathedral, an empty space full of promise that never seems to come to fruition. Those nights, when the moon is high and the forest around them offers no calming lullaby, Geralt focuses on Jaskier tucked safely against his side and breathes in the comfort he offers with his mere presence.

Times like those are few and far between, even more so the longer Jaskier is at his side. So the pain such old wives tales caused once upon a time is more of an old ache that he can ignore like any other he carries. What does bother him now is the way it upsets Jaskier, who seems to have made it his personal mission to change the way the world views Witchers no matter how foolhardy a task it is.

“Hardly darling, I’ve done a great deal to change such ridiculous falsehoods in the minds of the masses. No, I feel like his insults stemmed more from his lady love and her friends finding you quite appealing. Didn’t you notice they couldn’t take their eyes off of you, hardly spared the local boys so much as a glimpse most of the night. Jealousy, that’s all.” Jaskier shrugs loosely. Geralt hadn’t noticed but then he rarely notices such things now-a-days, too concerned with watching a particular bard with probably the same amount of interest as the aforementioned ladies had with him.

“Then why not leave it be?”

Jaskier huffs loudly, “Because jealous petty men mixed with ale and questioning their own manhood leads to fools trying something in the dark against a Witcher who won’t give them the thrashing they deserve!”

Geralt breathes in deeply, Jaskier isn't wrong. Of course he isn’t, there’s always some fool who thinks he can take on a Witcher. Usually the fool has a gut full of ale or a few friends to cheer him on but there’s always one who has it in his head that he can defeat the ‘monster’ like some knight cutting down a fearsome dragon to spare a maiden. Geralt doesn’t kill them - even if sometimes he wants to - but they usually walk away with more than a bruised ego and sometimes more than a few bruises if they’re angry and determined enough.

The point Jaskier always seems to ignore is that the fools in question don’t simply disappear when he throws a punch though, they in fact turn their sights on the much easier target (or at least seemingly easier target) of the bard before them. And for all the training Geralt has given Jaskier and his own natural flair for brawls he’s still human and fragile and Geralt doubts there will ever come a day when he doesn’t worry over Jaskier.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“I have a few suggestions dear,” Jaskier offers as he teasingly runs his fingers over the edge of Geralt’s belt, licking his lips tantalisingly as he stares up at Geralt through his eyelashes. Geralt lets Jaskier tug him closer with just a quirk of finger around the supple leather, “but first perhaps a meal and a bath, you still have guts in your hair.”

Jaskier pats Geralt’s stomach patronisingly with a smug smile and devilish twinkle in his eyes.

“Fine plan.” Geralt says, clearing his throat roughly.

“I’ll fetch -” Jaskier starts as he pushes himself up with a little bounce.

“Not a chance, you’ll just find trouble,” Geralt says as he pushes Jaskier back down on the bed with a touch more force than usual. Jaskier lets himself fall with a chuckle, bouncing off of the straw happily. He leverages himself up onto his elbows as Geralt heads to the door but stays laying in the spot he’s fallen completely relaxed and stretched out like an indecent meal fully aware of the aura he’s projecting and the effect it has on Geralt.

“Stay out of trouble yourself,” he shouts after Geralt and the Witcher snorts, giving Jaskier a pointed look that has the man chuckling again.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #jask writes #nessie

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frivery · 3 years

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Tomas' 4th birthday was on January the 1st! I didn't have him back then but I have him now so here is his brithday prompt. Happy late Birthday to him!

POV of Tomas with supporting cast of Von and Youta.

Tomas' leg pains wont let him sleep, so he goes to the group's healer for some help. A fair-sized piece with some banter.

Gasping awake from the pain radiating up his body, the tiefling's whole form felt electrified. Like all of his nerves where going off and were on fire, but the sharp shocks originated from what felt like the bones in his legs. He was trying to sleep, Gods was he trying, but almost as soon as his mind would start to drift into unconsciousness his pains would renew and drag him back to the world of the living just short of writhing in pain.

The man closed his eyes, flexing his fingers into the thick fabric of the blankets that separated him from the cold iced ground, focusing his attention on breathing through the stabbing sensation. It felt like ages before the pain began to recede again, though it had reasonably only been a few minutes, releasing Tomas from its hold and allowing him to slowly sit up in his bed roll. Blankets falling away to crumple at his waist.

"Can' sleep again, boss?" he glanced briefly over at the man in the bed roll several feet away from his. Von, the Gith's form covered in bandages, ripped fabrics, and mismatched armor sets. Like most Giths who were raised in their roving bands instead of towns, Von's humanoid form still retained his extra set of wind-green eyes and his skin was a dark desaturated blood-red with his dragon-form scales still appearing in patches. Smaller than himself by almost a foot. that was not uncommon for Gith, his lighter-colored hair a bed-head mess as the two stared at each other.

"Not tonight, I thought Mimsy was on guard?" Tomas responded to the other man's question, fighting the urge to stretch as another nausea-inducing crackle of pain tore through his legs.

"She 'es." the gith gesturing over the top of the ice dune, the vague outline of the orc's familiar form settled there. She was the only orc he had ever met that never completely took her humanoid form, her excessive pairs of wings spread out behind her as she stood guard. An imposing figure she cut in the dark, though kind she was.

"You can't sleep either, then?"

"How coul' I sleep wit' my boss 'en pain?" Oh, he had woken Von up. "Youti's been pacin' 'ost o' the night wit' how much whimperin' an' cryin' ya've been makin'." Tomas frowned at the Gith's continued words, glancing around the camp to the healer's tent. Youta, was an elf so he had probably felt the pain radiating off him like a torch. There was candles lighting up the pale blue fabric, announcing that the elf was, in fact, awake.

"Sorry." he commented dryly, it was almost shameful but it wasn't something he could help. The deep, twisted, scars in his legs felt like they were lit up red with burning.

"Yous should go see Youti, if only ta' put his mind ta' rest." The tiefling sighed, wincing and biting his lip as he moved to get up from his bed. He could feel the sharp eyes of Von watching his every movement, and after a pained gasp and the taste of blood on his tongue he managed to get to his feet. This was not unusual, he was lucky to still have his legs after all, but the pain was always mind-numbing. While the tent was merely a few feet away from the campfire it was still laborious to get to. Youta must have sensed him, as just as Tomas attempted to reach for the tent's flap it was hastily pulled aside by the elf who lived within it.

The shorter man's hair was a mess, stress and sleep deprivation lining the space under his light eyes. Youta was an interesting man, to say the least, one eye of dark shadow and the other of pale light, like he had been born on the border between lands and it had left the Gods quarreling over who he belonged to. His hair was similarly split, a light blond in color with streaks of gold, purple, and steel-grey hightlighting in seemingly random patches.

"Oh, Lightbinder's heart, let me help you." he quickly offered, stepping out of the slight warmth of his tent to wrap an arm around Tomas' waist and taking some of the weight off of the tiefling's pained legs. While there was only so much Youta could do, even this much felt like almost tear-inducingly amazing when it came to pain reduction. The elf quickly assisting Tomas into sitting down on the edge of his bed.

Most people didn't get the privilege of sitting on Youta's bed, this much he was very aware of, the elf usually having people sit down on the fur-covered chair on the other side of the tent... but then again Youta didn't have a painfully obvious crush on most people. The healer quickly moved across the tent to his alchemy chest, a small box of many different storage drawers and vials, pulling out a thick glass bottle with a vicious green liquid inside. Tomas wasn't entirely sure what was inside that thing, he never bothered to really ask, all that mattered was that it helped ease the sharpening and shocking pains that raced up and down his nerves like it was a contest.

The tiefling winced as another pang started in him anew, the pain-causing him to bite his already bloodied tongue to prevent from gasping again. Not that he could hide any amount of pain from Youta, elves could feel things on the air and the mismatched elf was eyeing him with a deeply sad look.

"I am sorry, boss."

"Don't be, it's not your fault." he hadn't even known Youta when the accident happened, nor had he met Von or Mimsy yet. Yohav was the only one in the guild still around from back then and the contaminated Gith would often eye him with pity since.

Youta crossed the tent again, vial in hand, pulling his small healer's chair over with him to sit in front of Tomas. The healer didn't waste time or mince words with it, carefully taking the tiefling's right leg in his hands and removing the tall leather boot with as much care as he could... didn't stop him from hissing. The boot was placed on the ground, not an uncommon occurrence, and the woolen sock quickly followed baring his scarred skin. It looked like his leg had been put through a meat grinder, skin covered in tears and rips that twisted the muscles and made his leg a dune-filled tragedy to look upon. He could still tell where claws had met him, and where it had actually been long and deep teeth biting into his skin to the bone. Could still feel when those gorges in his flesh were still filled by hostilility and blood.

"I can not believe that Von just let you walk here without even offering you any help." A soft clinking of glass drew his eyes away from the gut-wrenching sight of his leg and to the much calmer one of Youta's hands. The elf pulling the glass-topped dropped away from the rest of the vial and carefully dripping the liquid onto his leg. He was trying to be gentle, Youta always was, but even the air touching him hurt and the gentle touch to rub the medicine into his tore leg caused him to grimace his eyes closed.

"You know how Gith can be, they don't tend to be the helpful sort."

"And yet we have two of them." the elf continued to whinge.

The accident had been years ago, what felt like a lifetime even, and the pain didn't seem to ever go away for long. It was something he just had to try to work with.

"Do you ever regret it?" Youta's voice was soft, gentle, as he spoke. Low. Tomas opened his eyes to slits to look at the elf but the healer was not looking at him.

"Regret-" a deep breath as another shock wracked his body. "Regret what?" he managed the second time.

"Not taking his advice." a glance through eyelashes, Tomas looking away quickly and sinking his nails into the plush bedding for a reason besides pain. His advice. Youta could only mean one thing, Ethereal's advice.

The name left a sour taste in his mouth, a bitterness creeping over his mind as distaste and longing settled on him in equal parts. He had refused to work with any Deepscorchers ever since then, not even Amor who also lived in the Southern Icefield had been offered a word, ever since they... had broken up. A large part of his heart still ached for Ethereal, the rare smile from the other tiefling still lingering like treasured jewels in his mind, but he still couldn't forgive him for that fight after his accident. For what Ethereal had insisted they do.

"No." Tomas answered, pulling his leg away from the healer's kindly-meaning hands. "Why would I? That was never an option."

"Tomas-" Youta attempted, the tiefling taking up his sock to put it back on. Youta knew about that conversation, he had been the healer that had saved Tomas' legs in the first place so he had been there for the start of the fight, but he didn't know what Ethreal had been to him. He might suspect, but he didn't know.

"Thank you, Youta, I'm going to go lay back down." he went to stand, the elf moving with him standing in his way with a confused, shocked, and somewhat upset, expression on his face.

"I meant no offense, I am sorry, please just let me finish this. I will not bring it up again." Tomas stared down at the mismatched elf, the room going quiet for a long moment as he weighed his options. If his heart was not still so stuck on his ex he might be interested in returning the kind of interest that Youta had. Youta was, afterall, a very kind soul... and someone who didn't flinch away from the deep rifts in his skin... but... as lovely as the elf was he felt sick at the idea of replacing Ethereal with anyone else. Anyone else. Years later and he still had it bad, even with how much he loathed that man now.

The tense silence remained several moments longer before Tomas sighed and sat back down on the edge of the bed, allowing Youta to return to treating the bone-deep pains in his legs.

"You know, I don't think you've ever told us why you have one light eye and one shadow, Youta." he commented, steering them towards a more comfortable and friendly air than the confused and hurt one that was hanging around the elf at current.

"Oh, Boss must think he is very slick! I do believe I have told you before that it is secret and that I would not be telling you, or anyone else in the guild, the reason." the healer responded back, though his tone was light and carefree. It was unlikely Youta would ever explain the reason why, but that wouldn't stop Tomas from continuing to ask.

#ivery birthday prompt

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sarahreesbrennan · 7 years

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Congratulations on your new book! I'm so excited to read it. :) Although, I also wanted to ask, will any of the extras for Turn of the Story, such as Adara's side story, be left up? I want to know so I make sure to save it ahead of time.

Thank you so much for the congratulations, my sweet! I so hope you will like IN OTHER LANDS.

Any side dishes I prepared are generally left at the table for my beloved guests of the mind to nibble at! Definitely the side story about Adara, one of Elliot’s classmates and a beautiful warrior lady born in lands fantastical, is still up. I have located it and put it right her for you!

LOVE FROM BOTH SIDES

“You’re so pretty,” her mother said to Adara when she was five, six, seven, and eight, learning how much she wanted and every way she could think of to get it all. “The world’s going to be handed to you on a silver platter, darling.”When the Border guard came recruiting Adara said she wanted to go, like her brothers had before her, to serve in warrior training. She’d always beaten every boy at games, at foot-racing. She thought it seemed a good idea. She didn’t expect them to laugh at her. “What, those golden curls make you think you’re one of those fighting Sunborn women?” asked her uncle, pulling her hair a fraction too hard to be playful.She went, just the same. She did not think, until later, about how quickly the world she was promised had boundaries set on it.On the first day of Border camp there were so many other kids, more than Adara had ever dreamed of in her little village. And she couldn’t help but notice there were more boys than girls, and most of the girls seemed destined for the council course. There was a girl who definitely had dwarf blood: Adara didn’t see how she could hold her own in a fight.Most of the girls that there were, were from the other side of the Border, and looking very uncertain about staying. Some short otherlands idiot had been running his mouth and putting everybody off.If Adara was one of the few girls from a Borderlands family, she was the best representative the Borderlands could possibly have. She approached a girl who was looking unsure but tempted, a girl almost as pretty as Adara was herself, her eyes sparkling even as she bit her lip and said: “Fighting? I don’t know.”“You’ll know once I teach you,” Adara told her, and they linked elbows and were best friends, easy as two cherries with a joined stem.“My name’s Natalie Ventura,” said Natalie, and Adara laughed, delighted: she’d never heard a name like that before.That evening, eating meat off the bone around a roaring fire, she saw all the boys forming little groups, and no girls allowed in any of them. She told her new friend Natalie that Natalie could ask that girl, and that girl, and that one, to sit and eat with them. She formed her own group.After her group were all sitting comfortably, laughing and feeling chosen, Adara noticed one boy sitting apart from all the others, talking to a tall girl with her dark hair ruffling gently in the night breeze to display the curve of elven ears. Her face did not show any emotion, but his did. He was leaning close to her, listening to what she had to say: his face was attentive, interested, intent. His hair was chased gold and his tanned skin darkened by the firelight, so he looked burnished and brilliant. “I know,” said one of the girls Adara had chosen, seeing where she was looking and sighing. “That’s Luke Sunborn.”Those fighting Sunborn women.Adara thought: of course it was.*Adara did very well at the Border camp. She was the best of the girls, everyone acknowledged that, and even though fewer people mentioned it she was better than most of the boys, too.Sometimes the elf Chaos-of-Battle edged her out, but that didn’t count. Everyone knew she was getting help from Luke Sunborn. Natalie invited her to come stay over the summer, if she could cross the Border. Adara climbed the stone steps into the clouds and then spread her arms wide and looked down at her first city, laid out before her like an open jewelry box, and felt that it was absolutely right that she should have the power to cross, that she should have two worlds ready for the taking.*

Luke Sunborn wasn’t perfect. He had the bad taste to pal around with Chaos-of-Battle and Schafer, that supercilious elf who thought she was better than everyone, who never even had to try, and the short guy from the council course who kept saying he disapproved of violence and then driving people to it. But he seemed made to be happy, so beloved that he could afford to always be kind, like a victory statue made flesh. His attention was a gift everybody craved: to have it permanently would be like having a piece of high steady ground to stand on, to be never questioned again.Adara tried to talk to him, in class, at practice, down by the lake when everyone was stripped down and casting each other shy glances. The leaves caught sunlight in a net overhead, and dappled light slid down the delicate brown curve of Natalie’s back, cast green-tinted shadows in Dale Wavechaser’s glorious eyes, and almost every girl around the brimming waters was looking at Luke Sunborn with his shirt off. No other boy his age had shoulders like that, muscled as if they were meant to bear any weight put on them.Look at me, Adara thought, but he never did. *Adara’s first kiss was with Dale Wavechaser, who was definitely the second-best-looking boy in their year—Adara’s group had discussed it many times and were absolutely sure—and was almost never a jerk.It happened down by the lake. They came down early, when the morning was still pale gray and the lake looked like a pearl. Dale’s hair was soft and his arms hard under her fingers, and it was nice.It was less nice when Dale’s friends surprised them kissing and one of them gave Dale a high five as if he’d won at Trigon. Adara felt better the next day, when she came top in history and Dale came dead last, and she made fun of him. Dale got his fun handed to him on silver platters, as it turned out: Adara had to make her own.But she could, so what did it matter?“You don’t have to be so mean,” said Dale, looking upset.“I know,” said Adara. “I enjoy it.”*Adara went home with Natalie every summer. She liked it there, everything so strange and different, with so many rules changed. Adara learned the rules of that place, too, so she could win over there.She stopped jumping when cars went by after a few days, and it only took her a day more to accept it when the boys in the cars hooted or honked their horns. It was just something boys did, when they could make you nothing but a pretty picture in their rear-view mirrors. Adara made sure it was never a picture of someone caught off guard, even for a moment.She learned to dress exactly right, dance exactly right, and use the internet so she never had to ask anyone what she wanted to learn.The rules were so different that what happened on one of their late nights, lying on the carpet for hours in a pool of orange light like no light in Adara’s world, seemed natural. “I mean, they say everyone’s a little bit capable of liking both,” Natalie said slowly. “Like, if you were on a desert island, obviously. Or… some people are just so hot that anyone would, right?”She was lying with one arm propping her up, chin against her palm, but then she drifted down to where Adara lay flat on the carpet. Her eyes were illuminated, turning the strange light soft.And it all made so much sense to Adara, as much sense as Natalie’s arm linked through hers on their very first day.But Natalie wouldn’t look at her that way in the daylight, any more than Luke Sunborn would.*Louise Sunborn was only a few years older than Adara, and she was leading a troop of soldiers into battle. She rode better and fought better than any man, laughed loudest and longest, talked and expected everybody to listen. All the men watched her, all the men wanted her, and all the men obeyed her.She was the most beautiful person Adara had ever seen.

War was different than Adara had thought, a chaos in which all the skills she had painfully learned seemed worse than useless more than half the time. War was worth it for two things: the few brief shining moments of triumph, and the quiet nights around the campfire when she could sit, hold Natalie’s hand and listen to Louise Sunborn reading out Schafer’s ridiculous and over-the-top love letters to Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle.Wartime meant they were all desperate to grow up, drink as deep as they could from the cup of life before it was snatched away. One day when Louise was reading the latest letter, Natalie bagged a Sunborn called Neal, and Chaos-of-Battle allowed herself to be kissed by Darius Winterchild. Serene always acted as if she was indulging the pretty things, as if she might laugh about them with her friends later rather than the other way around, and it annoyed Adara deeply.But it provided Adara with the perfect opportunity to drift over to where Luke Sunborn sat watching his sister.“You’re looking lonely,” she said, and it was true.“I’m trying to listen,” said Luke, an edge in his voice.Then Louise Sunborn was wounded and carried off the battlefield, in the same battle where Darius Winterchild was killed, and without her to look to Adara felt so impossibly lost, so terrified. There was only Luke left, now, and surely they were all too young to prevail.Unbelievably, Luke Sunborn carried the day. Adara had always been good with the sword, but never more than on the last day of her first war, when she moved like a dancer and brought all down before her, when the sound of her sword striking was the precursor to trumpets and bells and she knew that they had won, and winning meant they were going to live.When the battle was done and the cheering began she held Natalie’s hand, their fingers slippery with blood, and Adara was grateful enough to acknowledge that Serene had even helped Luke lead.Victory was so sweet. Adara wanted nothing more than to taste it again, and again, and again.*The month Natalie chose a Borderlands surname was the same month Adara became involved in the school plays. She always got chosen to be the leading lady, the love interest: who wouldn’t choose her? She loved being chosen, and she loved the sound of applause, every person who clapped another one choosing her.She got Natalie into it as well, but unlike Natalie she never went and sat at the table with all the council trainees who were involved in drama. Adara could like it: but she knew not to like it enough.*Sometimes when Adara visited Natalie’s house she used the computer to look up things she never wanted Natalie to know she was curious about. She learned a lot of new words she never told Natalie about.Even still, she was surprised to see a parade go down the street one day when they were eating doughnuts in a café. Adara thought doughnuts were marvelous, the jam inside, the sugar dusting them: it was all so clever. The tops of these were stale, stiff in her mouth, but she was still eating hers happily when the parade went by, the windows filling with rainbow colors, and Mrs Ventura’s mouth went flat behind her teacup.Adara wanted to ask what was going on, but she did not because she was not like Schafer, socially inappropriate and demanding words that nobody wanted to give and making sure nobody liked him.“These are so good,” she said. “Thank you for taking us out, Mrs Ventura.”And Mrs Ventura, who was afraid of losing Natalie altogether and with good reason, smiled a smile that softened her whole face and put her teacup down.“You can have mine, too,” said Natalie. “I don’t fancy it, somehow.”Adara took it.

The next year, she heard Chaos-of-Battle talking with Schafer about pamphlets from somebody called a guidance counselor, and Adara thought those words, strange when put together, sounded wonderful: someone to guide and advise, someone who knew the right words and could put them in your hands.“I’ll give them to you, but I honestly don’t know if they’ll be any help,” said Schafer. “I’m telling you, this guidance counselor was useless and rubbish.”Adara thought: at least he’d had the choice, to take or reject guidance. He and Serene were so utterly ungrateful about everything.Why they had been discussing the matter at all came clear later, when Luke Sunborn caused a sensation in class by announcing he liked boys.Adara was not unduly disturbed. She remembered Natalie saying: everyone likes both, and how it had made absolute, perfect, total sense, how it had seemed so shiningly obvious. That didn’t mean you messed up your whole life. It did mean that Luke was not mad about Serene, as everyone had assumed for years. So Dale could stop walking around looking as if he’d already won a beautiful shining trophy: he hadn’t won anything yet.It must have been a nasty shock for Chaos-of-Battle, since she then apparently lost all self-respect and began courting with Schafer. That didn’t last, of course, but it proved what Adara had always known: that Chaos-of-Battle was not so great after all, that Adara was better.*The next year a perfect opportunity was delivered to Adara, like a world on a silver platter.Luke Sunborn got involved in the school play, and Adara was the star: he was cast to be her love interest.That meant that Adara was given a great deal of time to spend with Luke, such as when Schafer was occupied dancing attendance on the dwarf girl Myra who did the scenery, in the same relentless way he’d pursued Chaos-of-Battle. He showered endearments, made jokes, threw himself into the school play like he’d attended every Trigon game to sit beside the elf. He did everything he could short of just serenading them with a song that went ‘Love me, love me, love me.’As soon as Adara thought that, Schafer actually began to sing a love song: something terrible from the otherlands, about making love wearing a cape. Possibly a song about superheroes: Adara knew about those.Schafer wasn’t terrible-looking, now that he’d grown up and filled out a bit, stopped giving the impression of a short stick with a huge pile of out-of-control hair on top, a sharp nose poking out of the mess, and an opinion everyone had to hear. Myra was not even fully human. He didn’t have to try so hard, and if you asked Adara trying so hard was what would mess everything up for him. It was pathetic.“Here we are, cast as the leads in a play,” said Adara, twinkling up at Luke. “Think the world’s trying to tell us something?”That they would be perfect together, that nobody would ever question them and only admire them.Just listen, Adara thought, but he wasn’t.“I have to… be over there,” said Luke. “Who knows what Elliot could be saying to poor Myra?”He smiled at Adara, the engaging smile that made it impossible for her to be really angry with him. She wished she could have that charm for her own, but it didn’t work for her: its appeal was based on Luke’s absolute sincerity, and she did not know how to reproduce that.She could only watch Luke’s back, departing in the direction of Schafer and Myra.“Hey, loser,” said Schafer, demeanor changing at Luke’s approach, calmer and happier and acting as if that was an appropriate way to talk to Luke. “Do you think you could use your severely limited musical ability to hum a tune so I can show Myra some dance moves?”“Nope, I am not going to do that, thanks for asking so politely,” said Luke, and smiled at Myra. “I’m afraid I’m not very musical.”

Adara saw how Myra’s dark eyes lit up, talking to Luke. So many people looked at Luke that way, as if his regard could touch them with gold.“What’s a piney collider?” Luke continued, which was a fair question.Schafer frowned at him as if he was stupid. “Pina coladas,” he said testily, but then grinned because he was a weirdo. “ ‘If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain, if you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain’—well, that lets you out, obviously…”He rattled on, alternately insulting and singing, making a very sad spectacle of himself as per usual. In spite of how hard he was trying, Adara noticed, Myra was not really paying the least bit of attention to Schafer. Myra was looking at Luke. Too bad for Schafer.*Too bad for Adara, as it turned out.It happened on the night of the school play, when she was feeling as if all triumphs were certain and anyone trying to bring her down might as well be shooting a crossbow at some distant star.She had been dancing, whirling with Schafer across a stage and to the sound of music and sighs and applause. She was the main character of the story, the lead of the whole play, and everybody watching wanted her, believed in her, wished for her victory.So when she grabbed Luke Sunborn for the big kiss scene, it seemed natural to kiss him: it seemed certain to her that this was the moment pretence would become real.Except that it wasn’t the moment she’d thought it would be: the fact he looked the part of the hero didn’t mean that he acted right. Luke’s big bronzed shoulders stayed stiff in her hands, his mouth unyielding under hers as if she’d kissed a beautiful statue.She’d been taught all her life the only way to get what she wanted was to push past all limits, but someone else’s boundaries were limits you were not meant to push against.Adara left the party and the congratulations as far behind her as she could, went out to the burning fires where she’d first seen Luke Sunborn, and sat on a log with her head in her hands, and had to face it all. She’d been chasing someone with no interest in her, pushing the way boys she wasn’t even slightly interested in pushed at her. She’d been so desperate she hadn’t seen it.Luke hadn’t wanted her, not ever, and nor had Natalie. Neither of them, and neither of them were going to change their minds, no matter how shiningly brilliant she made herself out to be.She was pathetic, as pathetic as Schafer.She was just thinking that when she spotted Schafer, and he apologized for kissing her, for ignoring her boundaries. She didn’t even know why that made her want to kiss him. It was against all reason.She told herself it was just about having a good time and blotting out all the bad feelings of the night, until Schafer told her he’d slept with men. (Adara was prepared to bet just one man, because even though she was currently doing it, she refused to accept a world in which all that many people would willingly go to bed with Schafer.)And it was like being told the most important secret in the world, like having someone draw you close and whisper it to you. Maybe not everyone, but you, and me too: you are not alone. Being as pathetic as Elliot did not seem, for a little while, like a death sentence.Besides, Schafer was shockingly competent in the sack.*

“Did I—when we kissed, when we were younger, was that all right?” Adara asked Dale Wavechaser, months later.Dale blinked. “Oh, sure,” he said. “I mean—no offence, Adara, but I was younger and still working things out. I was maybe a little confused, but I’m not confused any more.”“Confused, huh?” Adara asked, and felt that dart of pained guilt, the feeling that she should have boundaries worked out like Sunborn and Natalie and Dale and the most certain and self-assured person in the world, Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-goddamn-Battle. But she thought of Schafer: she clung to the thought of him some days, though she did not even like him. He hadn’t seemed confused.“Don’t be in love with me, okay?” Dale asked anxiously.“Don’t worry,” said Adara, rolling her eyes.It was the closest she could come to apologizing to Luke Sunborn, she supposed, since he clearly did not care what she did or how she felt about him. He hardly ever registered when she was there, but when he did notice her he frowned slightly, and she edged away, removing the presence that dimmed his light. She made him able to forget her.That was another apology, even if he never realized. *“I’m done, done with it all,” said Natalie on the very first day of their very last year in the Border camp. “I’m never going back.”And Adara lay out in front of her very own cabin, where she could have anyone she wanted spend the night and nobody would ever know unless she chose. She thought about the little village she’d grown up in, thought about the Border camp and the clean singing energy of winning, being so gifted at dancing or fighting that there was no need for words. She thought of the chaos of war with trolls roaring and the bright shapes of harpies overhead like stars in a daytime sky. She thought of cities laid out before her like open jewelry boxes, full of new words to be learned and opportunities to be taken.Two worlds for the taking, even if they did not come on silver platters.“Never’s a strong word,” Adara said. “Why limit yourself?”

#in other lands #sarah rees brennan #turn of the story #the turn of the story #adara cornripe #luke sunborn #serene heart in the chaos of battle #elliot schafer #lgbtq #free fiction #natalie lowlands

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