— Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

Some banter between Valencia and Symone, perhaps, if you are still doing prompts x

“What are YOU doing here?”

Valencia narrowed her eyes at the familiar annoying voice, and rose from where she was crouched at the hidden entrance to the cave. “I have a reliable source that tells me this cave has remnants of the hoard of the rock drake Callan. Now I could ask YOU the same question!”

Symone glowered slightly, adjusting the rope on her hip. “I have my own reliable source that says a pack of night creatures have taken up residence in this cave, biding their time before they attack the nearest village. Stand aside, treasure hunter, they must be slain!”

“Not so fast, monster hunter!” Valencia drew herself up to her full height and rested her hand on the pommel of her blade. “If there is treasure in there, it’s highly fragile and I will NOT have you DESTROY it with your clumsy stomping around!”

“Clumsy?! I’ll have you know that the ways of the Shadowhunter have been passed down through generations of the DuBellmount line! Besides, are you REALLY willing to risk the lives of innocents for some mere trinkets?!”

“Trinkets?! I don’t have time to tell you how wrong you are, but at least I preserve! You destroy!”

“And how many items that you’ve ‘preserved’ have ended up being cursed?!”

“That’s neither here nor there! Besides, I’ve found far more hidden tombs than you!”

“Finding tombs is not my priority, Valtrith aside! And I can do more press-ups than you!”

“Can not!”

“Can too!”

The battle lines declared, both women dropped to the floor, determined to prove her press-up superiority, and thus neither of them noticed the Hero exiting the cave’s front entrance, having clearly come from a fight as they sheathed their weapons, Draco happily curled round their shoulders sporting a shiny new crown.

Spotting Valencia and Symone in their heated competition, the Hero promptly turned around and walked off very quickly in the opposite direction.

Lady Stoneheart and the Little Night Wolf

Inspired by @agentrouka-blog’s thoughts of Arya and Catelyn potentially reuniting in the books. <3

[#plantober2024] Thyme ║ [#goretober] Sharp Objects ║ [#spooktober] Hunt

In Need of Thyme

Apothecaries regularly engage in gardening or trade in order to procure their ingredients. However, when a recipe calls for special consideration, a call to action goes out to hunters to gather along the lit areas of the sunless lands.

Older Edric & Arya 

He’s asking for a dance and she’s asking to spar 🥰!

Amit Elor & Mica Galvao

Commissions for @lucennia

A spread I made a few months ago of every SoulWeaver element. Poison <3

The Swiftfoot Maid | Chapter 1, a snippet

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“You’re a good dancer,” she said suddenly, eyes darting away too quickly as he startled and missed a step.

Edric caught her gaze, then swept them back into rhythm. “Thank you, my lady. I spent many years in King’s Landing, where even squires are expected to know their steps.”

“Grace-footed, then,” she acknowledged with a lift of her sharp chin. “But does that make you swift-footed?”

“No, my lady. I have never been the swiftest, nor the strongest.”

A crease came between her dark brows. “Then how is it you expect to defeat me?”

You were right, he scolded himself. You are a fool. But he only smiled lightly. “Fortune, perhaps.”

“I’ll not be shamed by defeat at the hands of fortune,” Arya scoffed. “No, I’ll not be shamed by defeat at all.”

Edric didn’t speak for a moment. He only moved in time with the music, with her. For all her steel and storm, she felt rather slight in his arms. It was almost enough to forget she’d speared a man through the heart that very morning. Up close, he could see the faintest powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Soft, like a kiss the sun forgot to take back.

He imagined she liked to spend her days beneath the sun.

“If I may be so bold,” he said at last, pivoting them through a swell of harp strings, “if fortune fails to favor you, how could it shame you to be bested? There are many great men vying for your hand. Sons of the kraken and the flayed man—warriors in their own right.”

“Courteous of you, to call them great,” she muttered. She searched his face, curious and sharp, her stormcloud stare pinning him in place. “And what of you, Lord Dayne? Are you a great man?”

“I…” Edric faltered, searching himself for the answer. The hearthfire roared at his back, swallowing the clangor into its molten breath. The moment nearly slipped—but he caught it. Remembered. Fallen and Reborn. He straightened. “I am Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall. Descendant of the Kings of the Torrentine. Kin to the great Ser Arthur Dayne. Blood of those named Sword of the Morning, wielders of Dawn.”

Just for a heartbeat, he thought he saw a flash of surprise cross her eyes. But it vanished quick as lightning. Then she struck with a smirk.

“Ah, but you are not Dawn’s wielder, are you?”

Bran!!

Whoever can hold My husband's old sword And take down 12 dragons...

Artist Note: I was actually making a different animatic with a song in EPIC, but I went on a side quest and finished this one first because I was getting burnt out on the other one. I suppose this can be considered as a Liddle's love interest reveal. This animatic was based off of the idea that after Galanoth slew the Dragon of Time (Liddle's dragon child, Nefri), as per the events shown in AQW in order to save the world, the universe reset, separating him and Liddle to different planes, as she was already the Avatar of Time. (I'll elaborate on this....someday...)

Liddle's Avatar of Time Concept Sketch

Artist's Note : As per usual, I hope you enjoy!

The night was black and starless, Gem’s only guide a small oil lantern as she stalked through the empty stone halls of Edelia’s residential wing. Truly, she was growing sick of seeking him out.

Sleep had evaded her, slipping from her grasp like a vengeful lover, cruelly indifferent to her desperate tossing and turning. Her sheets had tangled about her limbs as she chased the elusive salvation of slumber, and coming away empty-handed at the end of each dragging hour had nearly brought her to a scream. Several, in fact.

We shouldn’t have. You leave tomorrow. Your mission—it comes first.

The words swirled in Gem’s mind on an endless, unbearable loop. It was driving her to madness. She had to do something.

And yet, staring upon his door now, a sudden doubt took hold of her. The hour was late, well past midnight. Surely he would be asleep. Not to mention, gods be damned, these were his private quarters. But the thought clung to her like a shadow, impossible to shake. If not now, then when?

She knocked softly.

For the longest moment, there was no sound. Gem leaned forward, straining to hear, almost pressing her ear to the wood. Still nothing. Then, with a sudden jolt, the door swung open, and she toppled face forward into a hard chest. Danyel caught her by the shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The headmaster’s voice was flat and cold as he released his grip on her. It seemed she was not the only one sleep had forsaken. Gem flushed, righting herself with what scraps remained of her dignity—but still holding her ground. His mouth thinned when he saw she wouldn’t be deterred. “What is it, Gem?”

“We need to talk.”

“When I said we’d discuss it later, I didn’t mean today.” The hollows of his eyes were dark, and his mood darker still—nearly as black as the sky outside.

Gem glared. “When else?”

They locked eyes, tension wound tighter than a drawn bowstring. The steel in Danyel’s gaze was freshly edged tonight, daring her to back down, but Gem stood firm. Neither moved, neither blinked. The air itself seemed to crackle, ready to snap at any second. Then, at last, he exhaled—a heavy swooshing breath of vexation and surrender all at once. Without breaking eye contact, he stepped aside, welcoming her in with a mocking sweep of his arm.

The room was sparsely furnished. All that filled the place was a narrow writing desk, a padded couch, and a deep indigo banner stitched with the Edelia insignia in silver thread. A weak fire smoldered in the runestone hearth, reduced to embers, casting the space in a sullen red glare. This was his solar, Gem realized, adjoined to his bedchamber at the far end, shrouded in shadow. She felt her courage waver. Swallowing, she hung her lantern from an iron hook in the wall. Danyel hovered before the lone window on the other side of the room, his arms crossed stiffly against his chest.

“Well? What is it you want to talk about so badly?”

Gem’s nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. “Earlier. What you said… or didn’t say—you owe me an explanation.”

“Do I? I thought I made myself clear. This… whatever this is, it can’t continue.”

This had to be a joke, and a cruel one at that. “You didn’t make anything clear. You—” Gem sucked in a sharp breath. “You ran.”

“I did no such thing. I was doing the right thing.”

“Right for who? You, or me? Or is this about your precious duty again?” The word tasted of the foulest condemnation on her tongue.

Danyel scoffed. “It’s not so simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

His jaw was clenched, his face taut. “Forget it,” he muttered at last, turning away from her.

Gem froze. For a heartbeat, it wasn’t Danyel at all. Colors inverted all around her; ash-brown hair washed to white, and gray eyes gleamed golden. Even the red cast of the room melted into Void-purple. A misty wraith, turning his back and slipping like rain through her fingers. Bile surged at the back of her throat. Then she blinked, and it was only the headmaster again, his face averted. 

“No. No. You can’t do this.” Not again. Not like this. Was she always meant to be left behind? Gem could feel hot tears stinging her eyes. “You—you’re just like Tomix.”

Danyel whirled. “I am nothing like Tomix,” he spat. The dying firelight danced across his face, making him look like a wrathful revenant, risen from the ashes. “This is why nothing can happen. You were his.”

She recoiled, her own fury forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me." His eyes were haunted, his voice thick with bitter loathing. "He loved you. Perhaps not in the way most would understand, but he did in his own way. I won’t be the replacement for someone you—someone I—lost.”

Something tightened inside Gem's chest. “Is that what you think this is?”

“You’re chasing ghosts, Gem.”

“That’s not true," she whispered. It wasn't, she told herself. It wasn't. "I know he’s gone. He’s been gone. Maybe... maybe it's true I’ll never be free of him entirely, but I’m not chasing him. This has nothing to do with him.”

Danyel raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?” His words were cruel, knowing, wielded like a knife—like he wanted to slice her right open. He had always been good at that. “You’re not thinking about what this means. About what happens after. You never do.”

“I don’t care what happens after!” Gem cried out. “Why can’t I just have something for myself for once? Why does the past matter? Why does the future matter? Is now not enough? Must everything have some secret, veiled meaning behind it? What’s right, what’s wrong, what’s dutiful—I don’t care!" She almost choked on the words, on the sheer force of them. On the selfish, shameful truth of them. "I don't care," she echoed softly, after a pause, "I want this.”

His eyes flickered with something dark. But there was also something else—some thing else, lurking just beneath the liquid gray surface. It writhed like a twisted creature, alive and ravenous, struggling to drag itself from his resolve with its razored claws. Would he let it take him? Danyel remained silent for another moment, staring at her as though measuring her, as if weighing her against some phantom consequence only he could see.

“If you’re so sure,” he murmured, his voice dropping, a challenge on his tongue—it took him—“then come here.”

And so she went to him.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A secret deleted scene from Storm's Breath. The rest is on AO3. Warning for shameless filth ahead. Locked because... yeah.

Said I was done with this story but I couldn't help myself.

Also name change because an online friend said my childhood username sounded like a discord groomer.