I indulged myself a little yesterday (motivated by some simping over Sevatar) and used the opportunity to practice drawing kissing scenes (more or less successfully).
Stryga Horváth is my RP character in a Warhammer 30k game I am currently playing and a Night Lord. He enjoys arts & crafts, reading and romantic walks on active battlefields (one of these statements is not true)
what if to the weaver she and feyre are married now bc of feyre's wedding band coming from stryga and feyre sending her ianthe as mating bond food (stryga ate her just not in the murder way) and then ianthe gave stryga her crown making them married as well and all that's missing is feyre and ianthe exchanging food or jewellery to become a beautiful three way lesbian marriage
Spreading a bit of festive spirit with Astartes who have to wear ugly sweaters. 😆
Stryga (my NL RP character) and Azgareth ( @vlka-fenryka WE RP character) are the first victims out of 5. They tried to run, but there is no escaping the panda 🐼
Just as the door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the cottage, I saw the ball of faelight that Ianthe lifted to illuminate the room.
Saw the horrible face of the Weaver, that mouth of stumped teeth opening wide with delight and unholy hunger. A death-god of old—starved for life. With a beautiful priestess before her.
A Court of Wings and Ruin
This is the story of what happens next.
for @eatsbooks because this is basically making our favorite dolls kiss <3
thank u for being my friend and making me laugh and talking about characters with me. I think it's been about a year now which was definitely planned and is not incidental at all. here's some weird smut I wrote that you've already read.
sloppiest kisses for the aforementioned sabrina as well as beautiful geniuses @olenvasynyt @tovibeornottovibe and @jon-snows-man-bun for beta reading
snippet is under the cut; read on ao3 here but mind the tags!
“I would serve you,” the priestess says, “if you would have me.”
Have me, have me. That voice, sensuous with desperation, caresses Stryga's ears. An offer of service, freely given. It echoes through her and into her.
Stryga used to command temples and shrines. Great swaths of this continent once sought her favor, willing and devoted and filled with life to give.
How long has it been since she was met with words rather than screams?
Stryga reaches her hand out to see the offering on her fingertips. A fine-boned face, delicate in its makings. Full lips, tapered nose. Hair soft as down. The quality of her features is of a superior sort—far better than the typical material Stryga works with.
All this, and yet her god would let her stray.
"You would defy the one you have served?" Stryga asks. "You would turn heretic?"
"I offered her everything." The sting of rejection bitters her voice. "But she did not want it."
"That one has always had her favorites." No doubt Stryga had been the same once. She threads a hand through the priestess's hair. Runs the strands through her fingers. Delights when the priestess arches into her palm. "It is power you seek?"
"Not power," she says. "Purpose."
Purpose. What does a god know of purpose? A god simply is.