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Mu11berry last won the day on December 5

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About Mu11berry

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    The Astounded

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    Tear Shrine
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    Everything that is cute

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  1. http://fav.me/dcaynxg 

    This gives me life and I can't use the relevant emoji on DA so :kawaii-love:

  2. Mu11berry

    Mu11berry's Art-ish Looking Things

    Just SEVEN more inktober pieces! So I'll share those all today and then only have all the pieces I did after October to catch up on XD Prickly Stretch Thunder Gift Double Jolt Slice (the last inktober prompt!!!) Yay!! Inktober complete! And it didn't even take me 50 years XD
  3. Mu11berry

    Ahriman's Prophecy (REBOOT)

    Awesome! I'm excited!!
  4. Mu11berry

    Mu11berry's Art-ish Looking Things

    How long is too long for an art thread? Anyway here are more pics because I am really so far behind it's ridiculous: Scorched Breakable Drain Expensive Muddy Chop I think two more posts like this will catch me up. The end is in sight at last XD
  5. egg2.jpg?width=192&height=301

    This egg would probably hatch into something cool if you brought it to Moo Hatchery.

  6. Mu11berry

    In Pieces (RxD oneshots)

    Today is the day of my birth! So I am updating! I'm really fond of this next little piece, actually. And, it is set towards the end of fall, and right now is towards the end of fall, so for once my timing is right! __________________________________________________________________ Innocence First off, tinctura hypericum is a powerful healing item in the game, maybe you remember it Tinctura in real life is a medicinal mixture and hypericum is a flowering plant which actually does have healing properties (which I know because I'm a nerd), and it tends to react badly with other pharmaceuticals. So now when Dameon does his nerd babbling thing, you will know what he's talking about. Which actually isn't necessary to understanding the story but it's nice to not be confused, yeah? This is a story about Rhen's innocence and her trying to reconcile her really very gentle and kind nature with the violence she has seen and done. Sometimes we see these things as mutually exclusive and I think Rhen would have to work through having both in her— and because of Dameon's experiences, he would be able to help. Happens in Thais, before Aesma. ____________________________________________________________________ The problem was, he had very soft lips, like marionbells or apple blossoms, and she had very rough hands, and she didn't understand— of all the places he could have kissed, her forehead, maybe, or her cheeks, or her mouth— but instead he always chose the dirtiest, roughest part of her and it was— was— Bewildering. Ma had always told her to wash her hands. And she had been right, Rhen's hands were always filthy. Rhen had used them to pick apples and catch butterflies and she couldn't remember a time there hadn't been dirt under her nails. When she was a slave she'd scrubbed walls and floors until she didn't have nails anymore. She'd smashed spiders with her palms and got their gooey guts all over her fingers, and nobody had been there to tell her to wash them. She'd rinsed the gore off in muddy streams and dried her hands on her ragged smock and wondered if she'd ever hear Ma's scolding again. And when she'd had to she'd grabbed a stick in her hands and swung it— the splinters she got were for Eddy and she didn't regret them but she knew they weren't beautiful. Violence was never anything but monstrous. Except, maybe— Maybe— She had learned how to make swords sing and she got more than splinters from that; cuts and bruises that faded away and rough calluses that didn't. And it was those which Dameon always kissed with his flower petal lips, like they meant something. I had no idea how skilled you were with a sword. Her skill surprised most people, nobody expected ferocity from her. They didn't know what she'd sacrificed to become like this, they didn't understand she fought because she had to, because no one else would, because somebody had to stand between the monsters and the helpless, and if that made her a monster, too, then— She would be what she must. Deadly and beautiful at the same time. Deadly she had heard before. Beautiful was— Familiar in the same way a bird's song was after a long, cold winter, something she had known once and forgotten. It was winter now, or nearly winter. It might as well always be winter in Thais, there were no birds and the only green things were the carefully kept trees growing in straight lines in the courtyards. They didn't look much older than Rhen was herself; their branches were still spindly and they stood hardly taller than Galahad. Some stubborn gardener had planted them after the demon attack, and had fought all the elements to keep them alive. That sort of fighting was— it wasn't really monstrous, was it? She couldn't bring herself to call it monstrous. There was another word for it. If she was Elini she might know what it was, but she was just Rhen and she didn't know, so instead she stood and watched the stupid trees swaying in the wind and wondered. It was Dameon who finally found her. He was good at that. "Hi, Rhen," he said softly as he came up next to her. "Hi, Dameon." She turned to face him. "Finished shopping already?" He smiled and swung his pack off his shoulder to show her. "We have plenty of cassia leaves now," he said, briefly touching the neat bundle he had wrapped them in, "and they had tinctura hypericum. I don't know where they got the flowers, nothing seems to grow here. We'll have to be careful not to take it with anything else, it can react badly and— Rhen?" he interrupted himself. "Is something wrong?" She had been staring at the trees again. She forced herself to look away from them and tried to smile. "No," she said, in a tone that was meant to be convincing but was mostly tired. "Go on, I'm listening. You were talking about flowers." She had heard something about flowers, and nothing growing, and then she had lost track. "Flowers…" he repeated slowly, looking at her and then at the trees and furrowing his brow. Apparently that hadn't been his main topic. "Well, I— I couldn't find any flowers, but—" he cleared his throat almost nervously, which wasn't exactly the reaction she had expected, and then, "I did find something for you." He was rummaging around in his pack, and he pulled out something small and leather. "I— I noticed your old gloves were wearing out, and these looked like they would fit you. They do have flowers on the ends." His ears were pink as he held them out for her to take. There were little blue asters embroidered along the wrist seams. They were very pretty, which seemed strange for something made for a fighter, but it was sort of— nice. And she had never been eloquent, she wasn't sure what to say, but she managed to stammer out, "Er, thanks, Dameon," and then— He smiled at her, that stupid sappy smile that made her cheeks hot, and he took one of her hands in his and gently pressed it to his stupid soft lips— which was— which was— "Why do you do that?" she asked, searching his face. He tilted his head at her. "Do what?" She was very warm and probably very pink and her heart seemed to have forgotten its regular rhythm and was now inventing its own wild pulse, but she was stubborn and she managed to say, without squeaking, "Why do you kiss my hands?" There was a pause while he thought— his silences were familiar now, his slow and careful ways were soothing, and she found her breath as he brushed her hair back behind her ear. "I guess because— your hands do so much for others— and for— me." He looked at her with those deep brown eyes and that serious little frown and she clutched at the gloves. "I just want to— take care of them." And he took both her hands, and pressed them to his heart the same way she might have pressed a marionbell to hers when she was a small child with dirt under her nails— Deadly and beautiful. He cherished even the parts of her that were frightening, and the word for that was— Was— "Well, you could kiss my mouth, you know." And he did, so, so softly she might have thought it was spring and the flowers had grown again.
  7. Mu11berry

    Mu11berry's Art-ish Looking Things

    Here are some more!! Cruel Whale Guarded Clock Weak Angular Bottle Aaand I should probably be done now, I really don't want to overwhelm anyone's page but I'm so behind on sharing art here, ahaha. Soon. Soon I will be caught up. Maybe,
  8. Mu11berry

    Mu11berry's Art-ish Looking Things

    @Ishti Awww, thank you!! That's such a nice thing to say and I appreciate it a whole heckin lot @NickyLOL48 Thank you!! Frederick is red cuz he's blushing at your compliment _______________________________ Here's the next few! Drooling (very slight AV4 spoiler. Just one kind of silly line but if you haven't played it and like to go in blind then feel free to skip) Exhausted (another av4 one, could be considered another minor spoiler? Not sure but skip if you're so inclined) Star Precious Flowing 1/3 done! Just 21 more to go ahaha
  9. Mu11berry

    In Pieces (RxD oneshots)

    Happy Halloween!! Here is an update that has nothing to do with Halloween!!! (If you're looking for something more in line with the spirit of the day, go reread "Me Too" on the first page, that's all I've got, haha. One day I'll write a oneshot actually meant for Halloween but not today, I've got candy to eat) Before we begin, I wanted to share that this collection is complete on fanfiction.net now and I'm really excited about it Also! This!! Is one of my favorite pieces, I'm very excited to share it. _________________________________ Trembling Happens in the Blasted Lands, probably on the way to the Dark Caverns. I have them camping on the way there and this piece starts in the dark hours of the morning. You don’t know it yet but this is the piece you’ve been waiting for, so enjoy this dameonxrhen okay thanks _____________________________________ It had grown in him so quietly he couldn’t say when it began; maybe yesterday, maybe weeks or even months ago. Parts of it he thought he could trace to that first moment her unconquerable eyes met his. Sometimes it felt like— like it had been growing in him his whole life. But that didn’t make any sense. It was only safe to say that it was growing, and— and it was uprooting his old ideas and fears. It was destroying him and building him over again. He didn’t know how. He wanted to tell her, and that didn’t make any sense either. Already she was stripping him of every defense, and defense was all he knew. Could he survive being that— exposed? Surely it was foolishness to try. And yet— And yet he had tried, so many times, to tell her. The words, if there were any, eluded him. He told her she was deadly and beautiful, and that— didn’t even begin to explain it. He told her about the stars and the rain and the sunrise and every achingly lovely thing he could think of, but none of it compared to— to— He told her she was brave. And wise. He tried to remind her that she was capable, and strong, and worthy of every happiness. And mostly, he just smiled at her and hoped somehow she understood the strange growing thing that was happening to his soul. Sometimes he thought it had something to do with her smile. She had a small thin little mouth but somehow her smile, her real smile, was as big as the crescent moon. He wished she could always have a reason to smile like that, and to sometimes be that reason himself was— was— Dameon shook his head and rolled over on his sleeping mat. He was just going to make it worse— stronger. Better? Sometimes he thought it was the way she laughed. She had two laughs, one muffled and shy like a fairy bell, and one that was startling, loud and happy and unrestrained. More than once, he caught himself telling jokes, real jokes, terrible jokes, and he wasn’t sure if she laughed because he told them or if he told them because she laughed. Her laugh, both laughs, made him want to laugh, and that was— Was— It was time to wake up, and stop— thinking. He pushed the blanket off himself and sat up and immediately regretted everything because it was cold. Too cold to wake up into. He looked up at where Te’ijal was keeping watch. She had the bottle of sunscreen in her lap and was rubbing creamy dollops of it onto her bare arms, apparently unaffected by the frigid air. The fire was dying. He couldn’t blame Te’ijal for not noticing; it wouldn’t make much difference to her. Galahad, on the other hand, had his blanket pulled up over his head and his knees curled into his chest. He looked rather like a very large and very cold and miserable cat, and rather unlike a gallant and fearless knight. Dameon would never tell him that, but he might tell Rhen, and then she might laugh and that would be— Anyway, Elini and Lars also looked cold and miserable. Pirate John’s teeth were chattering and Mad Marge looked— murderous, actually. If he didn’t stoke the fire soon she would probably kill them all. He groggily reached for his boots and pulled them on. They were cold. Everything was cold. He stood up and draped his blanket over his shoulders, and then clumsily stepped over Lars and around Galahad. Te’ijal glanced back at him and then down at the paladin, her mouth curving into a smile that was either fondness or mischief. Dameon was sure he didn’t want to know which. Elini pulled her feet up as he passed her mat. Rhen’s feet were already pulled up. He wouldn’t have known she was even on her mat except the shivering mound at the other end of it. He hesitated, and then— And then he knelt beside her, and put his blanket over hers. It would be warm enough soon with the fire anyway, and— when he pulled the blanket over her she made a little contented noise, like a hum, and he felt warmer already. If he could just tell her. He found the stick designated for coal-stirring and poked at what was left of the fire. Tiny sparks floated up from it like fairy dust. Fairy dust was supposed to reveal the truth, maybe he could just swallow some, and the words would come out. And then— and then— he didn’t know what came next. Maybe she would kill him, like his mother had his father. Maybe that’s how it always went. He pushed more sticks into the coals and watched them smoke and then ignite and slowly, quietly— burn, burn, burn. The sparks travelled up towards the sky, as if trying to join the stars there in infinite space. For once it was not overcast. That would probably change before the morning was over, if the slight but persistent breeze that was playing with the fire had anything to say about it. He might as well make breakfast. He made his way to the brown pack near John, and carefully pulled cooking utensils out of it, trying not to wake the sleeping pirate. John made a sound like a snort and Dameon froze, but then he rolled over and settled back into an easy breathing rhythm and Dameon realized it was just a snore. The oatmeal was in the pack by Elini. Elini was “rather weary” of oatmeal, she had informed them all yesterday morning. But Dameon didn’t know what else to make. He was so tired, and cold. Shivering, he put the oatmeal in a pot over the fire, and poured in water from his pouch. The sun was almost up now; the sky was glowing orange. And there, slowly but steadily approaching, were the gray clouds, painted by the dawn with pink and orange and vivid violet. His mother used to tell him she missed seeing the sun rise. Maybe she was watching the sky now, too. Maybe she didn’t care anymore. “Dameon?” He started, and whirled around to find that Rhen was awake and up, and she was holding her brush out towards him with a hesitating little frown. “Can you help me with my hair today? It’s too cold to do anything.” He nodded, and reached out to close his hand around the brush, but the corners of her mouth curved up and her little calloused fingers wrapped around his hand instead, and she pulled him to her mat to sit. It was easy to follow her. “Rhen—” he began as he bent his knees to sit behind her— he would tell her now, before he lost his nerves— if he could only find the words— he had no idea what to say after her name. “Rhen—” “Yes, Dameon?” she said, picking up his blanket and pulling it around her shoulders. “I— I—” he swallowed. He was shaking and he didn’t want his voice to shake, this was too important. “I— I hope you feel— warmer now.” That— was definitely not what he meant. And he definitely felt warmer now, a strange, trembling warmth that quivered in his stomach. She laughed, the shy, fairy bell laugh. “I do. Thank you for the blanket.” He managed some sort of inarticulate hum in response, and busied himself with untangling her hair. It was so curly in the mornings, twisting and looping over itself and refusing to be separated. It was stubborn. And soft, and— one of his favorite things. That feeling was swelling in his chest again. It had very little to do with her smile or her laugh, really. It was more about— about— something in the way she turned to him to help her. She trusted him, and it was exactly that simple and that perplexing. I think you have a good heart, Dameon. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew that he wanted it to be true. He wanted to be someone she could depend on in this world of inconstancy. There was always a particularly obstinate tangle just at the back of her neck. He held it carefully and tried to separate it with his fingers. He could depend on her. She had proven it more than once. He was used to trusting only himself, he wasn’t sure how to let her in. He shouldn’t let her in— but she fit so softly into the ragged edges of his broken life. He was used to falling. He wasn’t used to the way she caught him, every time. He wanted to tell her. Maybe it was just “thank you,” maybe that’s what all this ridiculous feeling was about. He opened his mouth but the words were sticking to the back of his throat. He swallowed a few times, and what he managed to say was— “You— you’re— you’re still shivering, Rhen. Here, take my cloak.” He put the brush in his lap and swung the cloak off his shoulders and onto hers. She tried to protest, “No, you’ll be cold. Dameon!” She had a very good scolding voice, but he couldn’t have shivered if he tried. His cheeks were burning. “I’m fine. Sun Priest and all that,” he assured her, leaning forward to say it into her ear. She sensed the teasing in his voice and she laughed again even though the joke was stupid. He was getting much better— or maybe much worse— at stupid jokes. He finished brushing through her hair and carefully began separating it into three purple bunches. He remembered he had been surprised to learn braids needed only three sections, they looked more intricate than that, like they had six, maybe seven parts at least. But he had learned that the simplest things were sometimes the strongest. Rhen was the strongest thing he knew. Very strong, physically; she could probably wrestle a dragon and come out on top. But also— There was another sort of strength, a quieter, softer strength that lived not in her arms but in her self. She always— helped. He remembered, she had carried Theodore nearly the whole way to the Gentle Children's School. She didn't have to. The child could walk. But he laughed so hard when she swung him over her shoulders, the little warlock was completely enamored with her. Dameon had taken care of Theodore during battles. He had no idea how children worked, especially witch children. But Theodore hadn't seemed to mind, he just talked to Dameon like a grown-up. A very small, very strange grown-up. He told Dameon once that he used to think it was horribly wicked of him to not be wicked, and that he’d wished for his mother's sake he could be mean just once, but that now he thought, maybe, it was okay to be kind, even if sometimes it was hard. Dameon had nodded and ruffled the boy's hair like he’d seen Rhen do sometimes, and he’d thought to himself that these were heavy subjects for someone so young. Rhen was always kind when it was hard. Maybe especially then. She was fearless, and gentle, and— not really fearless at all, just brave. If he knew courage like that, he could— he could tell her. He was so afraid of what that level of trust could do to him, he remembered how it felt to be destroyed by someone he depended on. He knew what it was to burn to ashes. He was learning what it was to grow from them. Over and under, he weaved her hair around itself as carefully as he could. He wished he had words sufficient to tell her what he was thinking, or— or feeling. There were words, he could feel them burning in his lungs. But he couldn’t get them out through his mouth, any more than he could cough up his ribs. Over, and under— “Dameon,” a tired little voice protested. “You’ve got to braid my hair more tightly than that!” "Oh, Rhen—” "What if we get into a battle, and it comes loose?" "Well, I—" he twirled a lock of lavender around his fingers— it was wispy and fine and soft enough to kiss, and certainly much, much too delicate to pull tight, and— before he could catch himself he had leaned forward and brought the lock up to his mouth— he had been wrong, it was much, much too soft to kiss, and he was drowning in the words that were burning in his lungs— he dropped it onto her back again, and cleared his throat and tried to say lightly, "Then— I suppose I will have to— braid it again." She laughed, because he had made another incredibly stupid joke, and he felt less like drowning and more like floating and he smiled and, carefully, pulled the strands more firmly against her head. She passed him her hair ribbon, and he took it and wrapped it around the end of her braid. He had to tell her. He was going to burst, and spill over everything— it was better to get it over with. His hands were trembling but he had finished tying the ribbon somehow, and she was turning to face him— "Rhen!” She turned wide violet eyes towards him and he tried to compose himself, and continued more softly, “Rhen, I— I have— I—" he didn't know how to communicate what was happening in him, but he had to say it, to tell her, somehow— "I have— an abundance of— feelings— for you—" and they were holding him in place, shaking him— "strong feelings, and you— I am undone." He swallowed, but his voice still wavered like the light of the fire in the wind. "I don't know how to tell you. You're everything. You— I— Rhen," he was pleading now, "do you understand at all?" She looked up at him with her brow furrowed— why, why was he doing this? She was rejecting him, as well she should; she was braver than him, stronger than him, more than him, and he felt himself crumbling under her gaze, could almost hear the pieces of himself falling around him. He wouldn't feel this here, with her right there, he had to get away. He tried to stand but she was leaning towards him, her eyes like two soft lights, and he couldn't move. Her hands were taking his and he was trembling and his cheeks were wet, couldn't she see that she was killing him? "Why are you running from me?" She was saying quietly, but he couldn't speak, didn't know what the answer was except that he hurt, and he didn't want to cry in front of her but he already was— "I'm— sorry, Rhen— I shouldn't have said anything—" She was leaning closer, her little hands trailing up his arms and behind his neck— what was she doing— he could feel his heart pounding through every inch of him— Her quick breaths were tickling his mouth, and he couldn’t breathe, and— And— Oh. He couldn’t feel anything except her, little lips softly saying everything his couldn't, all without making a sound, and slowly, naturally like rain falling or wind blowing he was relaxing into her, his hands found her waist and he cradled her shaking form against his chest. And their fears scattered like shadows in the timid light of the breaking day.
  10. Mu11berry

    Mu11berry's Art-ish Looking Things

    It's the end of October! So here are some inktober drawings! I'm gonna post just a few at a time cuz I don't want to overwhelm anyone's computer trying to load the monstrosity that is all 31 of my pathetic attempts at inking, haha I decided to try to use the "official" prompt list or whatever, and draw Aveyond characters with it. First prompt is poisonous, so here is Frederick le Mew of Ahriman's Prophecy in his slime form. Cuz that's the first thing I thought of when I read poisonous XD Next, Tranquil♥ Roasted Spell Chicken Aaaand I think I should stop myself here before I get carried away, happy Halloween everyone!
  11. Mu11berry


    Hi and welcome! Maybe you've already seen this but just in case, there is a site where you can play Ahriman's Prophecy online if you're interested! It saves your progress and everything (even months later, I just checked, hahaah) Here's the link! https://easy-rpg.org/play/?game=ahrimans_prophecy
  12. Mu11berry

    In Pieces (RxD oneshots)

    Hey look it is autumn in real life and this is a piece where it is autumn in the story, yayy! ______________________________________ Old Songs You can consider this piece a tribute to Aaron Walz’s gorgeous soundtrack. I listen to it while writing a lot . And you can also consider this another introspective piece for Rhen, cuz I do what I want. The lullaby mentioned was meant to be based on the story of the sun priests who sent the demons back to the demon realm and closed the “great schism” in like 4521 d (according to books in AP), and on the story of the sun priests who gave their lives to create agea and defeat Ahriman. I just really love the lore of Aia. Happens sometime after Rhen and co leave Memory Caverns and sometime before they get to Thais again. ________________________________________ She used to sing sometimes. Silly, old songs Ma had taught her, songs about children growing up like apple trees, or cheerful ballads of the druid Armaiti and the harvest. There was a sweet, sad song about a girl who gathered pink marion bells for her lover in the spring, only to lay them on his grave when summer came. Sometimes Rhen had hummed that one to herself as she brushed through her hair in the early mornings, watching while the light crept over her companions and the campsite slowly came alive. Ma’s favorite song had been an ancient lullaby about the coming and going of the sun. At least, that was the best sense Rhen could make of it. The tune was slow and soft, but the words told the story like it was a battle. The sun’s rays were the warriors of light, the shadows were cruel demons. The night fought to keep Aia in cold darkness, the day fought to restore warmth and brightness. There was a verse about the Goddess lamenting the price of sunlight— fire burnt to ashes, flowers from the soot. In the end, the light sealed the dark forces in the ground, and the bravest of the burning warriors closed the schism and burnt out, fire burnt to ashes. The last verse was about how these dead suns lived still in the stars, guarding Aia from the return of total darkness. Rhen used to sing that one to herself as she settled into her dirty bed in Mistress Rona’s house, and again in her room at Shadwood Academy. She had hummed it while lying on her sleeping mat for some months. She used to sing all the time, now that she thought of it. But Lars had always been quick to point out how off-key she was, and Elini would smile politely and tell her maybe she should stick to sword singing. So Rhen didn’t sing any more. The last time had been maybe— maybe last fall, when they were exploring the lowlands. One of the farmers had been humming a harvest song, and she’d joined in until she’d heard Te’ijal’s trilling laugh, and turned to see Elini’s carefully neutral face and Lars’ rolling eyes. It was fall again now. There was a sharp chill in the air, and a certain over-ripeness about the soil. The world was in a state of decay, like those wilted marion bells in the last verse of the song about the girl and her departed lover. Rhen peeked out of her sleeping mat and stared up at stars, and she thought of burnt out fire and flowers growing up from what was left. “Stop—” a hoarse voice choked, jarring the quiet Rhen had been relaxing into. “Why—” It was Dameon, crying brokenly into his blanket, tossing and turning and babbling quick, frightened pleas. He was having a nightmare again. The first time it happened, Te’ijal had watched him curiously, intrigued by this strange human phenomenon called “a bad dream.” Now she barely glanced at him. Elini would sigh sympathetically and pretend not to notice. Lars would roll over and bury his head in his blankets, and Marge would glare, but she never said anything. John slept through everything, and Galahad always resolutely kept his eyes on Te’ijal. Nobody ever tried to wake Dameon, and nobody mentioned it to him in the morning. And he never said anything about it to them. So Rhen had followed this pattern, for months now, for seasons, for almost a year. A year. Had it been that long? Had it been that short? It felt more like a moment, and a decade, all at once. “I— trusted— you,” Dameon sobbed quietly. Could he really be asleep? His eyes were closed, but— “Dameon,” she broke the pattern with a whisper. “Are you all right?” He didn’t answer, he just rolled over again, and his breaths came in small, strangled gasps. "Father—“ "Wake up, Dameon,” she said firmly, quietly. “It's just a dream. You’re okay." “Don’t— no—” She kicked off her covers and crawled over to him. “Wake up,” she said again, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He shuddered and she shook him gently and his eyes flew open, dark lashes blinking away tears. "Rhen—" "Sshh. It's okay, Dameon,” she soothed. “You were having a nightmare." He stared up at her, first bewildered and then embarrassed, his cheeks tinged a soft pink under the starlight and his chest still heaving. She looked away and then reached for his hand; his tossing and turning had uncovered it and it felt cold in her fingers. “Do you want to talk about it?” He breathed in and then out and he shook his head. “No.” So they didn’t. She sat beside him with his hand in hers and he stroked her knuckles with his thumb, and they let the silence of night settle around them. It was cold. “It will be morning soon,” Dameon said suddenly, looking up at the sky. Rhen followed his gaze. It was still dark as Halloween Hills. The air was motionless, not even the birds were awake. But there were the stars, twinkling faintly with the promise of tomorrow. “Yes,” she said softly. The day would come. “Do you remember—” he hesitated. “You used to sing a song. About the morning.” She blushed. “Oh.” The ground suddenly seemed rather hard against her knees. “I sort of hoped you didn’t remember that.” His brow crinkled, and a little line appeared between his eyes. “Why?” “Well, I— er— I didn’t sing it very well.” “Oh.” There was a pause while his thumb stopped stroking her knuckles, and he reached up instead to brush her hair away from her face. The tips of his fingers were cold but his smile was warm. “I— I thought it sounded— nice.” “Nice?” “Yes.” “Oh.” She took his hand again, and clutched it between both of hers. “Would— would it help you sleep if I sang it again?” Her face was burning red like the burning warriors but his was mild and soothing. “If you’d like to sing it, I— I would like it very much.” So she took a long, deep breath, and then she sang the old lullaby, off-key but happily for the first time in— it really had been nearly a year. And slowly like apple blossoms floating in the wind Dameon’s dark eyelashes fluttered and closed, and his breathing evened out and his chest rose and fell gently like the melody, fire burnt to ashes. Flowers from the soot.
  13. Mu11berry

    Mu11berry's Art-ish Looking Things

    @Scrivener Thanks!! _______________________________________________ Here is a piece that took me all month to color. Not cuz it was particularly fancy or difficult in any way, I just had no motivation. It was the fur. The fur killed me. OTP of av4, day 30 of the 31 day challenge (almost... there...) I like MystxRobin because they are best friends and they stand up for each other. Also, they both approach everything with such a sense of wonder, I like to think of them discovering the world together <3 They are in the dragon wastelands because I love the design for that map, it was gorgeous. For @Queen-of-Ice101's birthday, two things I drew plus a link to a tiny drabble which just seemed more appropriate to share with the pic it goes with than separately in my oneshot threads: I'm also doing inktober with an Aveyond theme (and have actually been keeping up so far :O), but I already know I won't log in here every day to share stuff so I'll post everything up at the end of the month (or the beginning of next month). If you'd like to see stuff on the day it's drawn for, I'm keeping up on deviantart (I'm Mu11berry there too) and instagram (I'm aveyond_obsessed there. Honestly, just search aveyond >> most recent in either place. You'll find me XD)
  14. Mu11berry

    In Pieces (RxD oneshots)

    I lost an argument with myself and am sharing this fluff today, welcome to the sappy piece where Rhen has friends. ________________________________________ Rhen’s Shield Originally this was going to be titled “Stupid,” for reasons which will become obvious as you read, but my sister suggested the title I ended up going with and it is so brilliant and metaphorical and much less, uh, stupid than my previous choice, and hopefully you all get it. if not I'll happily rant about it for three centuries Happens after the party tries to go to Time Shrine but finds the way blocked by a fairy. I have them going there right after defeating Agas because otherwise how would they know to go back to Thais to defeat Aesma? So here, have this fluffy thing: _______________________________ It wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t so adorable. He didn’t have to be so tall and lithe, and there wasn’t any good reason for his broad chest— except for her to hide in, but that wasn’t helping his case. And his eyes didn’t need to be so dark and deep and just right for reflecting all the things she had thought she would never find, and those two careful hands, so perfect for holding and soothing and— so utterly, entirely useless when it came to offense— That was another thing. He did try, no one could say he wasn’t trying, but really the only thing she could think when she watched him swinging that silly staff was that it was— well, it was cute. And usually Rhen could deal with this just fine, when they were fighting bigger monsters and he was focused on keeping the shields up and she was focused on death and destruction, but that day— They were in Memory Caverns, the only thing to fight was the overgrown frogs, and they were gross and slimy and they converged on Rhen’s little group like an army, but they were easy enough to deal with if you had a sword or an axe or some simple spell to take them out. But if you had a stick— well, the frogs were swamping Dameon, and he swung his silly staff very patiently, but Rhen— Maybe it was just that she was not patient, or maybe it was because— she’d seen him crumbling after Agas, and felt the pieces of him slipping away from her while his eyes begged her to hold on— she would hold on, she would never ignore those eyes. She had one basic instinct which overrode all the others, which drove her forward even when her spirit was broken, and that instinct was, to protect every helpless thing. And it was silly, but maybe that was why, even though they were only fighting frogs, and the frogs could only barely get to any of them through their armor, and there was literally precisely zero risk of even Dameon getting seriously hurt, even with his stupid stick— despite all of this, she still kept finding herself stepping in front of the druid and taking down everything that leapt at him. And by the way, having frog slime spattered all over her sword was not her favorite thing, and neither was having to wipe it off on her pants for the fifty hundredth time. Nor was she particularly fond of the way Elini kept raising her delicate little eyebrows and tilting her perfectly rounded chin, as if to say, I see, but there was most definitely assuredly not anything to see here, except maybe the bright blush on Rhen’s face, which was really just a flush from the exertion of battle. Obviously. She could tell that Te’ijal believed otherwise, but Te’ijal wasn’t always right, and neither was Lars, with his rolling eyes. And just because Galahad thought something didn’t mean it was true, not even if Pirate John was looking at him with what seemed suspiciously like agreement. The only sane one in this party was Mad Marge. Marge never looked twice at anyone. Except to spit at them. And then there were the fairies, the giggling, sparkling fairies who never told Rhen anything helpful, and— that one on the steps of Time Shrine, who wouldn’t let them pass! That one— she refused every sort of bribery Elini could think up, deflected every argument Lars could make, ignored even the worst of Mad Marge’s glares. She wouldn’t even tell Rhen how to help. All she kept saying was that she had been separated from her family, and she wanted to be alone. That, there, was the worst part. Rhen couldn’t even be mad at her. Well she could be mad, very mad, surpassingly angry, in fact— but she was mad at herself for being mad because— it was just a little lonely fairy, lost in a world too big for her, longing for what she had known before and refusing to let go of it, even when it was so obviously irretrievably gone. Anyway, because of that fairy they were on their way back to Thais. They had found a fairy kettle in Thais, so maybe they’d find fairies there, too, and if not... If not Rhen supposed Ahriman would just wait nicely in whatever hole he was hiding in while they scoured the world for forever, looking for signs of a fairy group that probably had never existed and wearing their boots clean through to their socks— if they all even wore socks, which she rather suspected Mad Marge didn’t. And— Why were there so many frogs in these blasted caverns?!?!?! She swung her sword with a frustrated grunt, dispatching them all in a violent spatter of slime and other icky gooey froggy stuff, and then— She was swinging her sword around to put it back in her scabbard, and she threw her shield arm up for balance and that’s when it happened— she’d forgotten how close she was standing to him, right up until she heard the sickening thud of thick metal hitting flesh. She whirled around in time to see him stumble backwards, his hands pressed to his face— “Dameon!” “Augh—” She shook her shield off her arm and it landed with a clang on the rocky ground— “Are you okay, Dameon? I didn’t mean to, I was stupid—” “I’m fine,” he grunted, “it’s okay, Rhen—” But he was dropping dizzily onto the nearest rock, and she couldn’t believe him— “Here, let me see it,” she knelt next to him, and reached for his wrists— “No—” he protested, leaning away, “No, I just need a minute—” “Leave him alone, you’ll just make it worse,” Lars said, and Rhen wished she could sink straight into the ground, but Dameon shook his head— “That’s not it, I— I’m just dizzy, give me a moment.” Rhen did, a painful anxious moment of her wringing her hands and wondering why she had to be so careless and reckless and stupid, and then he was clumsily reaching for his pack, and she saw the swollen, purpling skin— “You’re bruising!” she yelled, like it was an accusation, as if he had anything to do with her inability to control herself— “I’m sorry, Dameon. Let me help. Please?” “It isn’t bad, you don’t need to worry—” But she was worried, and she felt so far from him lately, and far from everything, she couldn’t do anything, it was all hurtling towards— towards disaster, probably, and she couldn’t get a grip on it— and he was fumbling with the ties on his pack— “Please, Dameon?” She felt her face drooping into a pout, but she couldn’t help it, and she caught his eyes on hers and held them there, and her face was going to burn off— And he looked down, his cheeks pink like hers, and he nodded once. “Okay.” He gave her his pack, and she took it in both hands. Aloe was for bruises, she had learned that fighting the feral oxen near Thornkeep. She hadn’t been in control then, either, but the world had felt smaller. She’d wished for space back then. She crushed the leaf into a paste while everyone stared at her— everyone except Mad Marge, who sat herself down on a rock a few yards away and took out a hunk of venison and chewed loudly. And then— Rhen took Dameon’s face in one hand, and tilted his chin up so she could see his eye— and she didn’t need to look behind her to know that Elini’s eyebrows were up in her hairline again, and Lars was rolling his eyes, and Galahad was pointedly looking away while Te’ijal made that face that meant she was laughing on the inside but was too composed and elegant to laugh out loud, but— she had hit him pretty hard, she could see where the skin was broken, and she pulled his face closer and he meekly closed his eyes as she smeared the paste over the bruise. Her hands were shaking, why couldn’t she do anything right? “Ouch,” he protested, flinching away— “Sorry,” she said quickly, and then— And then— Her stupid— Eyes— “Rhen!” Dameon let out a soft anxious sound, leaning towards her again. “Don’t cry,” he soothed. “I didn’t mean it. You are doing well. Here, you can finish.” He took her hand and pressed it against his tender, bruised face, after she’d hurt it, twice— and she— she— “I c-can’t,” she sniffled, and she tried to ignore Mad Marge snorting and spitting at an enchanted mushroom— “I— I’ll mess it up again—” “It— it’s okay, Rhen,” he said softly, and now he took her face in his hands. “Please don’t cry. You haven’t done anything wrong.” She tried not to cry, but now that she had started she couldn’t stop, and she tore her face from his hands and hid it in his stupid broad chest and he wrapped his stupid gentle arms around her and she cried because she was stupid and little and lost— “It’s all right, sword singer,” Elini’s voice said, and Rhen felt her slender hand on her shoulder. And then— “It’s okay to cry,” Te’ijal said, patting Rhen’s other shoulder. “It seems to be normal for humans.” Rhen had to laugh at that, and then sob, and Dameon’s robes absorbed all of it. “You have many pressing responsibilities weighing on your shoulders,” Galahad said, and he added his heavy gloved hand to that burden, and Rhen felt surrounded in an entirely different way than she had with the frogs. “We all have bad days” Lars said, joining the circle. And then Pirate John, too— “We’re here for you, girl.” She was an idiot, to be feeling sorry for herself when she had so much support, to be crying when she was the one who had hurt someone, and she tried to dry her face on Dameon’s sleeve and she looked up at all of them through red-rimmed eyes and stuttered, “Th-thank you, guys. I’m sorry I’m such a mess lately.” She tried to smile at each of them in turn, even Mad Marge, who was still sitting on her rock, chewing her venison. The barmaid scowled, and swallowed her food, and then she said— “You’re tough enough, for a landlubber.” It was probably the nicest thing she had said in her life, and Rhen— she guessed she could take that, and she laughed. And then started to cry again, and hid it in Dameon’s shoulder, and said, “I’m sorry I mess everything up.” And everyone patted her back, and Dameon stroked her hair, and his lips searched for her ear and he whispered softly, for just her to hear, “It’s okay to make mistakes.” She trembled against him, and she thought of the little lost fairy, and of Thais, and Ahriman, and Agas— and she thought of the way Dameon reached out for her when he was breaking apart, and she tilted her head up and carefully pressed her lips to the broken skin around his eye. Which was a mistake, because it tasted like aloe. But then he smiled at her, and kissed her nose, and Te’ijal really did laugh and so did Pirate John and Lars shook his head and Elini raised her eyebrows. And it was okay.
  15. Mu11berry

    Beginnings (AKA Berry has Too Many Feelings)

    Hello, more angst, sorry. I wrote this one about a year ago I think, when I was replaying AV1 (I'm pretty much always replaying av1 haha) and I was at the final battle and my roommate was watching, and she asked what would happen if I didn't have the fairy dust. So I told her and she told me I should write it so… I did. And it is dramatic and I am sharing it anyway, you're welcome. The longer italicized phrases are a story by themselves (and they make more sense on fanfiction.net cuz I used them in the summary but wleajgwe oh well). If I was a better writer you would understand, but I am still learning so you will just have to deal with this, and I am sorry. ___________________________________________________ "It always began with a change. There was always a choice, there was always a war. There was always a fall. In the end it was death-" The End ________________________________________________ It always began with a change. He had gone to Ahriman, it had really happened, it wasn't a dream— it was a nightmare, a waking nightmare like the ones Talia had warned them about. And then— he'd offered her a choice, a real choice, after all this time, but it wasn't one she could take, she couldn't join him, she couldn't join that— that— thing, standing beside him with a too-satisfied smile, if it could be called a smile— She couldn't join him, but oh! He couldn't really be asking her to fight him, he couldn't mean it. "Come back to me," she pleaded, tears stinging her eyes— she had not expected to cry here, she had thought she would only bleed. He stared back at her, white-faced, and when he spoke it was with a dead voice, not like the one she knew. "I belong to Ahriman now." "Ahriman is evil!" she cried again. "He is using you! Why can't you see it?" Ahriman's laugh was worse than his sneer. "It is pointless to resist, child. Join us or perish." "Dameon," she said, not because he wasn't already looking at her but because she wanted to call back the man she knew, the man who spoke softly and carefully and who listened quietly when she needed him— "Please." "No," Ahriman said sharply, grabbing Dameon's arm with one of his bony, claw-like hands. "Very well then, sword singer. I see you have made your choice. It is time to end this. Sun Priest, take her now!" Dameon looked at her with wide dark eyes, his mouth open in that little o shape she had become so familiar with, and his chest shaking— "Strike her!" the demon hissed again, his eyes flashing now and his gruesome mouth twisting into a snarl. "Master… please," Dameon said in that same dead voice, "she is innocent. She is only confused. The oracle—" "Wretch! How dare you disobey me?" Ahriman rasped. "Do as I say! Fight her!" Dameon was fighting, something in himself, some dark power assaulting his mind— he let out a strangled grunt, clenching his jaw, and then he doubled over and clutched at his head— "Kill her!" Rhen was trembling and Dameon was falling to his knees— "No," he gasped. "No, no—" "Traitor!" Ahriman bellowed, shaking the whole cave— "Coward! You will never be all your father was!" He raised his twisted staff over Dameon's bowed head and swung down— "No!" The Sword of Shadows met the dark staff, and Rhen had chosen to fight the demon— it was her decision, after all, fate had no power in this place. There was always a choice, there was always a war. She swung and he dodged, she thrust and he knocked her sword aside and sparks jumped from their weapons like all the stars of heaven were falling around them. And she danced, the song of the battle was written in her beating heart and the words were the clashing and clanging of a blade drawn to defend the defenseless— she had known the music all her life. The others twirled into the action— Elini and Lars and Te'ijal and Galahad and John and even Marge. Dameon kneeled still on the ground, fighting another battle, the ancient war of truth and error, light and dark, good and evil— If only it could be so simple, if only he could see clearly which was which— In the darkness everyone is blind. Ahriman shot a spell and she twirled out of the way, she sliced and caught his hood in her blade— he wrenched himself free with an awful screech, and he shot at Elini and then Galahad and then— Then— Her sword was singing and she felt the shift in the rhythm, this was not her battle to win; like the ancient sun priests who forged agea, and the fairy guardians of the dreamworld, she, too, was fated to fall before the rising darkness, she, too, would die for defying the natural succession of order to chaos, day to night, life to death. There was always a fall. The sword of shadows was blasted out of her hands, and she watched it skid away. She had made her choice, she did not regret it, even as the demon raised his staff to point it at her and she knew the song was ending. She had fought for her parents, all of them, and for Eddy, and Tiny and the people of Dirkon and of Thais and— Last of all, she fought for Dameon, whether he accepted her or not. She could not regret defending someone who had meant so much to her, and as the spell sped towards her she thought of dark eyes and warm hands and she wished for light— Light— Light. The room was suddenly filling with light, exploding with it, and Rhen was blind and there was screaming, and screaming, Ahriman was screaming, and somehow Rhen was alive still and— When it cleared Dameon was standing, his body shaking but his gaze steady. "No!" Ahriman howled. "You belong to me! Do as I say! Kill the girl, she is of no worth to us now!" Rhen stared at Dameon, and he stared at Ahriman, and said in his quiet, even voice, "She is the chosen one." "Fool!" Ahriman roared. "She will destroy us! Do you think she will take you back after your betrayal?" But Dameon only swallowed, and breathed softly, "I will accept the consequences." Ahriman shrieked, and the ground was quaking and he was raising his staff— "Wretched traitor!" — and Dameon was crying out and stepping back under the force of the spell, and Ahriman was cackling— Rhen's hands searched for the hilt of her sword, and somehow Te'ijal had found it and was passing it to her and Rhen took it and ran and yelled, she raised the blade high over her head and then brought it down— The impact was violent, a tremor ran through her sword and up her arm and through her entire self, Ahriman was frozen with his hands still in the air, his laugh still etched on his face— it was gruesome to watch, how the sword sucked him in and glowed red in the demonic blood, and Rhen knew now why the Oracle called it cursed— she was going to be sick, but the demon was gone— "We— we did it," she panted in disbelief, turning to stare at the others Dameon stared back, his mouth slightly open, his body still shaking. She dropped the cursed blade and stumbled to him— she had thought he was lost— he was safe, he was safe— She buried her face in his chest, stained scarlet where the spell had hit him— "Rhen—" he gasped softly as her forehead pressed into his collarbone. "I— I am a traitor." She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulled him closer— "I am wretched." She tried to say something but her breaths were coming in quick little gasps— His hands settled uncertainly on her back, and he traced warm, soothing circles. "I deserve death." And then the whole world was trembling, and rocks were falling all around them—. "Come on, everyone!" Lars shouted. "Let's get out of here! This place is collapsing!" But instead she collapsed against Dameon's chest, and he picked her up and carried her and her sword through the crumbling caverns. He sent up an earth shield and the rocks bounced off it and he tightened his jaw but he didn't flinch, and— they came at last to the end of the caves and burst into the sunlight— the sunlight, it was still there, after everything. Dameon gently set her on her feet, and then he kneeled in the sand in front of her and held her sword out towards her. "Rhen," he said, in that same dead voice from before. "Take what is yours. Take my life. I cannot be trusted." She reached out and traced the bones of his face, where the tears would have fallen if he had any left. "You came back to me," she said. He took a careful, shaking breath. "He wasn't supposed to hurt anyone." "Your life belongs to me now," she realized, as she took her sword from him. He bowed his head, ready for the blow that would finish everything. In the end it was death— But she sheathed the cursed blade, and tilted his chin up so that he had to look at her. "I choose to set you free. Your mind is yours." She brushed his hair behind his ear and looked into those dark eyes, glittering in the light. "Let your gentle heart guide it." — or forgiveness.