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anna-the-undertaker · 5 months ago

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Shadows of Divinity

I got to thinking about Nephilim (the children of humans and angels) and it gave me an idea: What if MC had the characteristics and strength of a Nephilim, except much more subdued so she isn't 4000ft tall, but a more manageable height of 8 or 9ft (I pictured a physique like Lady Dimitrescu from Resident Evil Village). So now I have created an OC and this may turn into a whole thing of its own.

Summary: Summoned unexpectedly to the Devildom, Nephila—an imposing figure with an ethereal grace—finds herself navigating a world of demons, secrets, and hidden truths. Towering above those around her, Nephila’s presence commands attention, but it’s the sense of something more, something ancient, that truly unsettles those she encounters. With no knowledge of her own mysterious origins, Nephila must uncover the secrets of her family's lineage while contending with the intrigue and suspicion that follow her every step. As the Brothers, the Royals, and the angels attempt to unravel the enigma that is Nephila, they are drawn into a web of past events and divine legacy that could reshape the very fabric of the Devildom.

Chapter Two

Chapter One: Arrival

The sensation was unlike anything Nephilia had ever experienced. One moment, she was at home, enveloped in the familiar hum of the mundane, and the next, she was hurtling through a vortex of swirling shadows and distant, echoing whispers. The world around her blurred into a tempest of colors, the edges of reality fraying as she was pulled inexorably toward an unknown destination.

Then, with a suddenness that left her breathless, everything snapped back into place. The disorienting whirl of magic ceased, and Nephilia found herself standing in a room unlike any she had ever seen before.

She blinked, her vision adjusting to the dim, amber light that filled the space. The room was vast, its high, vaulted ceilings disappearing into shadow. Ornate pillars carved with intricate designs of twisted vines and serpentine creatures lined the walls, their surfaces gleaming faintly in the flickering light of countless candelabras and the chandelier. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and something darker, more ancient—something that spoke of power and age.

Before her, arranged in a line upon some kind of dais, were seven thrones, each distinct in its design and ornamentation. They were grand, crafted from dark wood, and adorned with jewels and precious metals that caught the light. Yet, despite their grandeur, they were dwarfed by the throne that sat above them. This throne was larger, more imposing, its back carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and twist when looked at too closely. It was a seat of power, unmistakably so, and its presence filled the room with a quiet, oppressive authority.

Nephilia took in her surroundings with a steady calm. She had always been tall—taller than most men, with a presence that commanded attention whether she sought it or not. Her height, combined with her statuesque build, had often made others wary of her, though she had grown accustomed to the stares and whispers. But here, in this place, she felt something different. Not intimidation, but a sense of anticipation, as if this room, this gathering, had been waiting for her arrival.

As her gaze moved from the thrones to the figures seated upon them, Nephilia felt the weight of their attention settle on her. There were five of them, all male, each as distinct as the thrones they occupied. They watched her with varying degrees of curiosity, surprise, and—at least in one case—something close to indifference.

The first to break the silence was the man seated in the largest throne. He was striking, with dark red hair and golden eyes that gleamed with a warm, welcoming light. Despite the grandeur of his throne, there was an openness to his expression that put her at ease, even as the power he radiated made it clear that he was no ordinary being.

"Welcome to the Devildom," he said, his voice deep and resonant, filling the hall with its warmth. "My name is Diavolo, and I am the ruler of this realm."

Nephilia nodded, her mind racing as she processed his words. "The Devildom," she repeated, more to herself than to him. "As in... the devil... and demons?"

Diavolo’s smile widened, clearly pleased by her composure. "Indeed. This is the Royal Academy of Diavolo... though we just call it RAD. This is where we officers of the student council hold our meetings and conduct our business. I'm the president of said council. You have been summoned here as part of an exchange program between the human world and the Devildom. We’ve been expecting you."

"Expecting me?" Nephilia echoed, a hint of confusion slipping into her tone. "What exactly is this exchange program?"

Another voice cut through the air—this one smooth and authoritative, with an edge of command that demanded attention. The speaker was a man with midnight-black hair slicked back in perfect order, his sharp features accentuated by the dark, tailored suit he wore. His eyes, a piercing crimson, were fixed on Nephilia with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"This exchange program is designed to foster understanding between the demon realm, human realm, and celestial realm" the man said, his tone measured but with an undercurrent of suspicion. "You are one of two chosen to represent humanity. However, this... was unexpected."

"This is Lucifer," Diavolo added. "He is the Avatar of Pride. He's also the vice president of the student council and my right-hand man...and not just in title, I assure you. Beyond that, he's also my most trusted friend."

Nephilia met his gaze evenly, unflinching. "What was unexpected?"

Lucifer allowed a slight frown to crease his brow. "Your appearance. We were prepared for the arrival of a human, but we weren't expecting this."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Nephilia asked, her confusion deepening.

"Lucifer," Diavolo interjected gently, "we can address those concerns later. For now, let us properly welcome our guest and introduce ourselves."

Lucifer inclined his head slightly, though his gaze remained wary. "Of course, my lord."

As the tension in the room eased, another figure spoke up—a man with champagne colored hair and a striking, ethereal beauty that was almost otherworldly. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and a playful smile tugged at his lips as he regarded Nephilia.

"My, my, aren’t you a fascinating sight," he purred, his voice laced with charm. "I’m Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust, but you can call me Asmo. I must say, it’s been a while since I’ve seen someone so... commanding. You must be quite popular back in the human realm."

Nephilia raised an eyebrow at his flirtatious tone but chose to ignore it. "I wouldn’t say that," she replied simply.

Asmo chuckled, clearly amused by her lack of reaction. "Well, we’ll see about that. There’s something about you, darling. You’re like a breath of fresh air in this dark, dreary place."

A soft grunt of agreement came from the next throne over, where a towering man with broad shoulders and a serious expression sat. His hair was a deep orange, and his eyes were a striking shade of amethyste that seemed almost unnatural. Despite his intimidating size, there was a gentleness and indifference in his gaze as he looked at Nephilia.

"You look strong," he said simply, his voice rumbling through the hall. "That’s good."

Nephilia offered him a small smile, sensing that his words were genuine. "Thank you."

Diavolo smiled again, "This is the Avatar of Gluttony."

Lucifer’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the exchange. "It is unwise to judge based on appearances alone, Beel," he warned. "Strength in one realm does not necessarily translate to strength in another."

Beel shrugged, unfazed by Lucifer’s caution. "Maybe. But I still think she’ll do fine. Are we almost done? I'm hungry, Lucifer."

"That's too bad," he replied. "Behave yourself."

Beel looked away sadly, his stomach rumbling loudly.

Before Nephilia could say anything, the final figure seated on the furthest throne, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was cold, analytical, and carried an undercurrent of intellectual superiority. He was lean, with sharp features and blond hair that contrasted sharply with the darkness around him. His eyes, a piercing green, were fixed on Nephilia with a calculating gaze.

"Strong or not, it is clear that she is not an ordinary human," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Her aura is highly unusual."

Nephilia met his gaze steadily. "And you are?"

"Satan," he replied coolly, "the Avatar of Wrath."

"Figures," she muttered under her breath, eliciting a faint smirk from Asmo.

Diavolo clapped his hands together, drawing the attention back to him. "There’s someone else you should meet," he said. "Allow me to introduce Barbatos, my most trusted butler and advisor."

Nephilia’s gaze followed Diavolo’s gesture, her eyes widening slightly as a figure stepped forward from the shadows behind the prince. Tall and composed, Barbatos moved with the quiet confidence of someone who was not only accustomed to blending into the background but who had mastered the art of it. His presence was so subtle, so unassuming, that Nephilia was genuinely startled that she hadn’t noticed him before. It was as if he had materialized out of thin air.

Barbatos bowed deeply, a gesture of perfect grace and respect. His dark green eyes, sharp and perceptive, met Nephilia’s with a hint of curiosity as he straightened. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance," he said, his voice smooth and polished, yet carrying a weight that suggested layers of knowledge and experience beneath the surface.

Nephilia gave a slight nod of her own, surprised by the formality of it all. "It's nice to meet you all, I am Nephilia, but you can call me Neph." she replied, her voice steady despite her internal surprise at the butler’s near-invisibility moments before.

Barbatos’s gaze remained fixed on her, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Your name is quite unique," he observed, his tone polite but inquisitive.

A wry chuckle escaped Nephilia’s lips, and she shook her head slightly. "My parents thought they were being clever," she explained, a trace of humor lacing her words. "It’s derived from the Hebrew word Nephilim, which can be translated as ‘giants’ or, in some religious circles, ‘the fallen ones.’ They always found that bit of etymology amusing because of my size."

The room seemed to still for a moment, the weight of the name hanging in the air. Diavolo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Were your parents religious, then?"

Nephilia shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Not at all. They were more the type to poke fun at religion than to adhere to it. They enjoyed the irony, I suppose."

Barbatos’s expression remained thoughtful as he considered her explanation, his eyes flicking briefly to Diavolo, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Whatever unspoken communication passed between them was lost on Nephilia, though it did not escape her notice.

Lucifer, who had been silently observing the exchange, stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding attention. "As enlightening as this discussion has been," he began, his tone authoritative yet laced with a subtle resignation, "there are practical matters to attend to. During your stay in the Devildom, you will require someone to assist you in navigating our world and ensuring your well-being."

Nephilia raised an eyebrow, sensing a catch. "And who exactly will be looking after me?"

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if considering how best to phrase his next words. "That responsibility will fall to my brother, Mammon," he said, his tone calm but with an underlying exasperation. "He is the Avatar of Greed and... how should I put it?"

He sighed, clearly grappling with the task of summarizing Mammon’s myriad complexities. "Oh well, you’ll understand soon enough."

Before Nephilia could respond, Lucifer produced a device from within his coat—a sleek, black object that looked somewhat like a high-end smartphone but with a distinctly otherworldly design. He handed it to her with the air of someone passing on an essential but bothersome tool. "This is a D.D.D.," he explained. "It functions similarly to a cell phone in your world. It is yours to use for communication and other tasks while you’re here in the Devildom."

Nephilia took the device, turning it over in her hand and examining its unfamiliar design. "So, I use this to contact your brother?" she asked, glancing up at Lucifer.

"Precisely," he replied, his tone brisk. "You’ll find his number, along with the rest of ours, already programmed into it. Simply press the call icon, and he’ll answer—eventually."

Curiosity piqued, Nephilia navigated the device’s interface with surprising ease. Within moments, she found Mammon’s contact and pressed the call button. The D.D.D. rang several times before it was picked up with a click, followed by a voice that was casual and carefree.

“Yoooo,” the voice drawled.

“Yo,” Nephilia responded evenly, her tone calm and collected despite the unusual situation.

There was a brief pause before the voice turned suspicious. “Are ya foolin’ around? Who the hell are ya?”

“I’m Neph,” she replied, keeping her introduction simple. “A human.”

The line went silent for a split second before Mammon’s voice erupted in surprise. “Whaaa? A human? Geez, I was gettin’ all chilly here thinkin’ it was Lucifer again. Ya should’ve told me right away! So, what business does a human got with THE Mammon?”

Nephilia’s lips quirked up slightly at his self-assured tone. “You will apparently be in charge of me from now on.”

Mammon’s voice shifted from confidence to confusion. “No way! There’s nothin’ in it for me. Whaddya even mean by ‘be in charge of you’?…” A sudden realization seemed to dawn on him, and he let out a loud exclamation. “AAH! I get it now, you’re the other human—the new exchange student! G’luck with that, and see ya.”

Just as she was about to respond, Mammon clearly intending to hang up, Nephilia quickly added, “Lucifer asked me to call you.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a dismissive scoff. “Pfft, whatever. Ya think THE Mammon would listen to ya just ‘cause you’re tryin’ to scare me with that name?”

Suddenly, the phone was abruptly snatched from her hand. Lucifer’s voice cut in, smooth and authoritative. “You’ve got 10 seconds...9...8…”

“YESSIR!” Mammon’s panicked voice came through loud and clear before the line clicked off abruptly.

Nephilia raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Lucifer who handed her back the D.D.D. with a calm expression. "You’ll find that Mammon can be... difficult," Lucifer said, his tone carrying the weight of years spent managing his unpredictable brother. "But he’ll do as he’s told, eventually."

Nephilia accepted the device back with a nod, tucking it away. "He’s certainly... something," she replied, her voice dry.

Lucifer almost smirked, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes as he regarded Nephilia. "He is," he said, a hint of something almost resembling sympathy in his voice. "There are seven of us brothers in total. You’ve met four of them," he continued, gesturing to the demons present. "The other two aren’t here at the moment, but... well, we can get to them later. All in good time."

Nephilia nodded, still processing the strange new world she’d been thrust into, her thoughts racing with questions she couldn’t quite form yet. The atmosphere in the room felt heavy, not with malice, but with the weight of untold stories and secrets that lurked just beneath the surface. She could feel it in the way the Brothers held themselves, in the way their eyes flicked toward her with a mix of curiosity and something darker.

Before she could dwell on it further, Diavolo spoke up, his voice warm and reassuring. "During your stay in the Devildom, the seven brothers will lend you their strength. Each of them is unique, as you’ll come to see, and they will help guide you through this year-long exchange."

Nephilia blinked, her focus sharpening on his words. "How long will I be staying?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of unease.

"A year," Lucifer replied, his tone flat and matter-of-fact, as though such a duration was of little consequence.

Nephilia’s eyes widened, her calm exterior cracking slightly as the implications of his words settled in. "A year?" she repeated, disbelief coloring her voice. "You do realize that I have a job? A house and bills that have to be paid for, right? What will happen to them while I am here?"

Diavolo’s expression softened with understanding, though his eyes remained resolute. "Rest assured, Neph, everything in the human world will be taken care of. Time in the Devildom moves differently than it does in your world. A year here may not feel the same back home."

Lucifer nodded in agreement, his tone measured. "You’ll find that many things in the Devildom defy the expectations of the human world. Your obligations will be seen to, and when you return, it will be as though no time has passed."

Despite their reassurances, Nephilia couldn’t shake the gnawing anxiety that gripped her. The thought of leaving everything behind for an entire year, of having her life paused while she was trapped, was overwhelming.

"I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" she asked, her voice tinged with resignation.

"Not really," Lucifer replied, his tone slightly softer than before. "But you’ll find that the Devildom has its own rewards."

Diavolo smiled warmly, stepping forward to place a hand on her shoulder. "Think of it as an opportunity," he said, his voice full of optimism. "A chance to experience a world unlike any other, to learn, to grow... and to discover things about yourself that you never knew existed."

Nephilia took a deep breath, steadying herself. The uncertainty was still there, gnawing at the edges of her resolve, but she could feel a flicker of curiosity burning beneath it. Maybe they were right. Maybe this was an opportunity—a terrifying, overwhelming, but potentially life-changing opportunity.

“To keep you safe, you are to stay with the brothers at the House of Lamentation,” Diavolo continued, his tone gentle but firm.

Nephilia raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with incredulity as she repeated, “The House of Lamentation?”

“Yes,” Lucifer interjected smoothly, his gaze steady. “It’s quite spacious and should accommodate you comfortably. The house was originally cursed in the human world, so I assume it won’t be a problem for you—a human—to live there.”

Nephilia couldn't help the dry chuckle that escaped her lips. A cursed house? she thought, amused by the irony. Of course it is. It seemed the more she learned about this situation, the more it felt like she was living in some twisted fairy tale. Yet, there was a strange comfort in Lucifer’s matter-of-fact tone, as if he was already certain she would be fine. But still, the name “House of Lamentation” didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Before she could ponder further on the ominous name, the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic yelling echoed from the hallway outside. The clamor grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of someone tripping over their own feet in a desperate rush.

Lucifer sighed, the weariness in his expression clear. “Well, it seems the idiot has arrived,” he muttered just as the doors flew open with a loud crash.

Mammon burst into the room, panting heavily, his eyes wide with irritation as he tried to catch his breath. “HEY! Just who do ya think you are, human? You’ve got a lotta nerve summonin’ the Great Mammon—!”

His rant cut off abruptly as his gaze finally landed on Nephilia. The words seemed to die in his throat, and for a moment, he stood frozen, his eyes widening in shock as he took in her towering height and imposing presence. His bravado evaporated, replaced by something that looked like genuine surprise—maybe even awe.

Nephilia observed the sudden change in Mammon’s demeanor with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. So this is the infamous Mammon, she thought, noting the way his expression shifted from irritation to stunned silence. It was clear that he hadn’t been expecting someone like her, and she could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to reconcile the confident human he’d been prepared to yell at with the reality standing before him.

His reaction wasn’t unfamiliar—she’d seen it many times before in the human world. People often didn’t know how to handle her height or the natural authority she seemed to exude, and they either backed down quickly or doubled down on whatever attitude they’d started with. But Mammon… he was an interesting mix. She could tell he was cocky, probably used to getting his way with bluster and charm, but now, faced with her, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

After a long, awkward pause, Mammon finally managed to find his voice, though it came out weaker than before. “Uh… um…” He cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure. “I-I mean, ya still shouldn’t go ‘round summonin’ me like that without a good reason, ya know?”

Nephilia’s lips twitched in amusement. He’s certainly something, she thought, biting back a smile. Despite his attempts to sound intimidating, there was a kind of charm to his flustered reaction. It was almost endearing in a way, though she could see why Lucifer had referred to him as an “idiot.”

“Well,” Nephilia replied calmly, her tone even and unbothered, “I was told to call you, and you're here now. It’s nice to meet you, Mammon.”

Mammon blinked, still trying to process the situation. “Y-Yeah, uh… nice to meet ya too,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He glanced over at Lucifer, who was watching the interaction with thinly veiled amusement.

“Get used to it,” Lucifer said dryly. “She’ll be living with us for the foreseeable future, and you’ll be responsible for showing her around.”

Mammon’s eyes widened again. “Wha—Me?!” He looked between Nephilia and Lucifer, his disbelief evident. “I gotta babysit a human for a whole year?!”

Lucifer’s expression remained impassive. “That’s correct. And I expect you to do it properly.”

Mammon groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Aw, c’mon! There’s gotta be somethin’ in it for me, right?”

“Consider it an opportunity,” Lucifer said with a pointed look. “You might actually learn something.”

Nephilia watched the exchange, silently taking note of Mammon’s reaction. Despite his obvious reluctance, she could see that there was more to him than his blustering attitude. He was clearly a bit overwhelmed by her, but he wasn’t backing down. That, at least, was something she could respect.

“Aww, lucky you, Mammon! I’m so jealous…” Asmo cooed, his voice dripping with feigned envy.

Mammon rounded on him, frustration evident in his furrowed brow. “All right, then why don’t you do it, Asmodeus?!”

“What? Hell no, too lazy.” Asmo replied with a dismissive wave, his usual carefree demeanor firmly in place.

Mammon’s eyes narrowed, his irritation bubbling over. “I thought ya said ya were jealous of me?!”

Satan chuckled from his seat, arms crossed casually as he observed the exchange with mild amusement. “Just give up, Mammon. There’s no getting out of this. You know you can’t refuse a direct command from Lucifer, right?”

Mammon clenched his fists in frustration. “But why does it have to be me?! What about Beel? Why can’t he do it?!”

Asmo shook his head, an indulgent smile on his lips. “This isn’t a job we can entrust to Beel. We might as well ask him to eat her.”

Beel, who had been quietly watching the back-and-forth, hummed thoughtfully. “Mm, yeah. I can’t promise I wouldn’t.”

Mammon clicked his teeth in annoyance. “You’re useless, ya know that?!”

Lucifer sighed heavily, the sound filled with exasperation. “...Mammon?”

Mammon froze, his bravado deflating in an instant. “...Wh-what?”

Lucifer’s gaze sharpened, his presence growing heavier as he spoke. “Surely you’re not going to tell me you object to this arrangement, are you?” His tone was calm, but the underlying threat was unmistakable.

Mammon flinched, his bravado quickly crumbling under the weight of Lucifer’s stare. “Ugh… I hate you guys! Every last one of ya!” He huffed, crossing his arms in a sulky gesture. “Fine… FINE! I’ll do it, okay?!”

Turning his attention to Nephilia, Mammon’s expression was a mixture of irritation and reluctant resignation. “All right, human, listen up. As much as I don’t wanna look after ya, I’ve got no choice. It’s a huge pain in the ass, and I’m too important for this kinda thing, but Lucifer told me to do it, so I will. But in return, you better make sure ya don’t cause me any trouble, got it?!”

Nephilia tried to stop herself, but the sight of Mammon’s dramatic posturing and the absurdity of the entire situation proved too much. A laugh bubbled up, escaping her control before she could stifle it. The sound echoed through the room, warm and genuine, catching everyone off guard.

The brothers all stared at her in varying degrees of shock, their previous banter forgotten. Even Lucifer raised an eyebrow in surprise, though his expression remained stoic. Mammon, however, was frozen, his indignation momentarily eclipsed by disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” Nephilia said, her voice light with amusement as she tried to contain her laughter. “I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just… I don’t get talked to like this very often.”

Mammon blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “Huh? What’s so funny?”

Nephilia’s smile softened as she met his bewildered gaze. “It’s just… you’re so serious about it, but the whole thing is so… ridiculous. I mean, here I am, standing in a room full of demons, and the biggest concern is who’s going to ‘babysit’ me. It’s just… unexpected.”

Mammon’s expression twisted, a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. “Tch, don’t go makin’ fun of me, human! Ya don’t know what it’s like dealin’ with these guys! I’m just tryin’ to survive here!”

Lucifer allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to grace his lips as he watched the exchange. “It seems Nephilia is already adapting to our unique dynamic,” he remarked, his voice calm. “Perhaps you’ll find her easier to manage than you think, Mammon.”

Mammon grumbled under his breath, but there was no real heat in his voice anymore. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t make me regret this, okay?”

Nephilia’s laughter faded into a warm smile as she nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

As the tension in the room eased, Diavolo clapped his hands together, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Wonderful! I think this will be a fascinating year for all of us. Welcome to the Devildom, Nephilia. I’m certain you’ll make quite an impression here.”

With the atmosphere lightened and introductions complete, Nephilia felt the last vestiges of her earlier anxiety begin to ebb away. This was going to be an unusual experience, to say the least, but if the brothers were any indication, it wouldn’t be boring.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me fanfic #obey me oc #obey me! shadows of divinity

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cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 6 months ago

Note

Ooops, was struck by inspiration. Oops ×2 - accidentally created some OCs and lore

Anyhow - have another trinket.

#####

- M-manager, is it supposed to be so errie here? - Billy was looking around nervously, one of his hands fidgeting near the gun holster. The surrounding ruins only grew more dark after the lighting that seemingly answered the gunslinger's question.

- Soon the monster must appear. - Anby declared with her usual stoic expression. - It always happens after people question their quides like that.

Nicole sighed quietly, muttering "You both watch WAY too much movies" under her breath. She looked at their guide - Phaeton's bangboo simply continued their track, looking for all the world completely unbothered by surroundings or the threat that was accompanying their latest task.

Nicole chewed on her lip - Butcher was a highly dangerous Ethereal all on its own. And, just their luck, they seemed to attract the attention of New Eridu's dark Legend.

"Etheral Eater", "Chaos Slayer", "Shadow of Salvation". Titles as numerous as they are mysterious applied to their newest "acquiatance". People were both terrified and taken by this "Kresnik" - tales of them saving people at the last second were mixed with cautionary ones. You were either to be saved from the most deadly situation or to suffer in the most horrible manner.

Nicole huffed out a laugh. "They are a deity, young lady. That's what people believe - and faith can grant a lot to the subject of it." That's what an old priest told her when he heard the kids at the orphanage talk about "Kresnik" again.

- Deity, huh? Some people consider Phaeton a god too.

- What's that, Nicole?

- Nothing, Billy. Eyes upfront - don't lose caution!

- Yes, boss!

Phaeton's bangboo stopped, its ears perking up.

- Everyone, the Ether's readings are skyrocketing! Be careful - something's happening to the left of us!

****

Wise's eyes were glued to the feed they were getting. And his ears were too, so to say.

- Fairy, what is this music? - Belle asked before him.

- Running a search. Several similar records - all connected to ancient religions and cults. Found a perfect match - the poster has labeled it "Mara's Dance".

- Mara's Dance?

- A group that claims to "follow their ancestor's footsteps and helping the spirits .

****

- Ohmygod, that's so cool! They are like Starlight Knights - but more scary! They even have a theme song! - Billy seemingly forgot about stealthiness altogether, openly fanboying over the spectacle below.

Nicole could easily admit that she was impressed too.

A group of four people was cutting through the crowd of Ethereals - with ease too. And grace befitting a dance, not deadly combat. But the most striking thing wasn't even their skills or strength - it was the reason for their display.

If Nicole was right - and she was sure of it - the group was cutting a path for something. It looked like they were creating a clear shot-

The sound akin to thunder filled the air - and everything in the straight line seemingly vanished.

Only for a second Nicole could see the figure perched on the spire in the distance, before it vanished again. The group below hastily followed and Nicole sighed.

- Well, that's that! The "Kresnik" has joined us again, it seems! - Phaeton's declared with way too much happiness.

Would it be too much to hope that "deity" would strike down a monster for them?

I am loving this idea so, so, SO much.

Now, time to show you my addition!

Everything was going to plan.

Practically perfect.

That should’ve raised a hundred red flags to Nicole.

Nothing ever went to plan in this business.

And, of course, something went wrong exactly when they needed it NOT to go wrong.

The tanker didn’t get struck by lightning as Fairy calculated it would.

And, like most things would be, The Butcher was not a fan of being crushed by a tanker of highly explosive ether.

It tossed the massive hunk of metal, nearly crushing Billy, forcing Anby to take evasive maneuvers, and forcing Nicole to dodge, sending her to the ground.

Enraged, The Butcher grabbed its previously discarded spear in two of its four hands, and locked onto the first thing it saw.

Nicole, laid out on the ground, dazed and defenseless.

With a terrifying roar, The Butcher rushed forward, fully intending to shish-kebab Nicole and turn her into a bloody mess.

Billy lacked the firepower to stun the beast.

Nicole was too far away to help with her sword.

Nicole’s Briefcase was just out of reach.

And there was nothing the little Bangboo named Eous could do.

But then, just as everyone was ready to scream in vain at the seemingly fatal situation Nicole was in, a miracle happened.

A sword clashed with the tip of the spear, stopping The Butcher from impaling Nicole, sending The Butcher stumbling back, and sending a shockwave out that stopped the rain from falling.

Then, they appeared, the sword still spinning end over end in the air and the air crackling with the sound of pure ether.

After that, no one could truly see. The speeds that both “The Butcher” and “Kresnik” were moving at were far, far beyond the comprehension of the human eye and only just barely visible to Billy, Eous, and Fairy.

Not to mention, the sounds of thunder shaking the entire Hollow to its core, and the blurs of greens, Blues, and purples.

It wasn’t until all of them returned to Random play that they were able to see what happened by extracting the data and putting it together.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sword spun end over end and then, you grabbed it out of the air as your mask began to glow with ether between the cracks and crevices. Purple and pink lightning running down the length of your blade.

Then, you spun on the spot, building momentum and then throwing your blade straight at The Butcher's core.

However, the blade was swatted away by The Butcher’s weapon, sending it careening over the spear.

Exactly as you intended.

You snapped your fingers and, in an instant, you were standing on the haft of the spear, sword in hand and the sound of thunder screaming behind you.

Reacting instinctively, The Butcher swung its weapon skywards, trying to send you flying away.

But you were already gone, with half of its spear with it.

Then, The Butcher was sent flying into the side of the crater, embedding it deep into the stone.

Right behind where The Butcher once stood, was you, holding your sword as if it was a baseball bat you had just hit a home run with, the half of The Butcher’s spear impaled in the ground.

In retaliation, The Butcher threw the half of the spear it still held at you like a javelin, intent on impaling you.

You effortlessly dodged to the side.

“It seems this one is smarter than the average Ethereal.” you thought to yourself as The Butcher rushed forwards to grab its broken weapon, swinging it like a club.

You slid under the weapon, perfectly avoiding the head of the spear being torn from the ground by the blow and all the mud from the extraction as well as you stabbed the tip of your sword off the ground and used it to launch yourself upwards and onto a piece of rubble, sitting on it with your masked face in one hand and leg crossed over the other as you pointed the tip of your sword at The Butcher.

In retaliation The Butcher grabbed the head of the spear by what remained of its haft from out of the air and slammed its second pair of arms on the ground sending a shockwave out and causing the pile of Rubble you were on to become unstable which you were seemingly unbothered by as you leapt off and high into the air, lightning arcing through the sky behind you.

It was an intimidating silhouette.

A shadow in a black long coat, a mask glowing with neon purple and pink light, clawed hands covered only by fingerless gloves, one of which were wrapped around a longsword with a wide blade and purple and pink lightning surrounding it.

The Butcher raised its second set of arms to block the incoming attack, Ether Crystals forming on its skin to enhance its defense.

They were cut clean off with ease, like a hot knife through butter.

The Butcher swung the arm holding the head of the spear.

It was caught by your free hand and torn from its grip before using it to send The Butcher flying towards the Tanker.

“Uh-oh.” Anby muttered while Nicole screamed and Billy screeched as he grabbed the pair, Eous hitching a ride on his back.

After that, everyone lost sight of what happened next.

However, the massive explosion and the Hollow Shrinking to minuscule levels gave them a good idea of what occurred.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Sis, you’ve watched that video a hundred times…” Wise muttered, concerned for his sister’s newest obsession.

This mysterious “Kresnik” person.

If they were a person…

He had never seen someone fight like that… ever.

Were they bending space time in a localized and controlled area, creating a stable and intentional version of the Fissures that riddled Hollows?

Or were they just that fast?

They definitely had the strength the stories said they had if the way they kept ragdolling The Butcher around was any indication.

Still… was this “Kresnik” a friend or a foe?

It was too early to tell.

However, before Wise could get too deep into his own thoughts, Fairy spoke.

“Correction: Master has watched the video 156 times. This is her 157th.”

Wise shook his head.

“Alright Belle, time for bed.” he declared as he grabbed her by the back of her jacket.

“Five more minutes!” Belle whined as she was pulled out of her seat.

“Nope. We’ve got work to do tomorrow. Besides, is that Video really that cool?” Wise asked as he continued to drag Belle along.

“YES!” Belle exclaimed with stars in her eyes causing wise to sigh and shake his head for the 157th time today.

#belle #zzzero #zzz #z.z.z.#zenless zone zero #zenless zone zero x reader #z.z.z. x reader #zzzero x reader #belle zzz #belle zenless zone zero #belle x reader #belle zenless zone zero x reader

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crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf · 13 hours ago

Text

Disgrace Chapter 9 : Crosshair x F!OC

It's been a bumpy ride and it's only getting bumpier as our story plunges into the depths of the pleasure planet. Our heroes are shaken and feeling a fear that runs deeper than the chasm they find themselves entombed in. As they quake from the struggles that have gripped them, deep underground, some truths may come to the surface. Is a confession still true if it's whispered in the dark?

Chapter Specific Warnings: Smut, PiV+ Cπ, skin to skin comfort, lots of talking, Crosshair slowly becoming allergic to clothing (not literal) Angst, Crying.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Authors Note: Not much going on visually this chapter, but we're back baby! Tie up some lose ends and ease you guys into the second half of this book.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Word Count: 6746

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it. Murder is his love language.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Like A Prayer, Bigod 20 Cover

Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 9: Like a Prayer

It was a bumpy trip, as we slid down through the open chasm. The headlights danced wildly as rocks caught the undercarriage with the sound of tearing mineral, tipping the speeder to free fall several meters, back end pointed down. We hit a smooth, slanted plane that crumpled the trunk compartment with a crunch of twisting metal and a painful jolt through my neck. The engine sputtered out and the headlights died as we pitched forward with a crash, sliding down the glossy slope, first with a slow shriek and then rapidly, faster and faster, we plunged further into the abyss.

I wrestled with the handling, trying to keep us straight and away from the eerily smooth walls, but with the engine out I was steering blind without the headlights or power assist.

Crosshair had thrown himself against my seat as we plunged through the open rock, binding me in place with strong arms thrown about me for dear life. His arms still wrapped about my chest was the only thing reassuring me he hadn't fallen out.

I was pumping the breaks, but without the engine they were useless. The starter was clicking as I punched the button which wasn't connected anymore, I'd have to get at the wires again… not happening at this speed, even if I could see what I was doing.

The slope sharpened into a narrow tunnel, sections collapsing behind us as our crashing vehicle destabilized the tunnel, sparks shooting off the side of the speeder as it drifted against the tight walls.

We were slowing, gradually as the tunnel evened out. Eventually we were spat out into a wider cavern, the dragging speeder catching in the sand, finally grinding to a stop.

Listening to the tink and clicks of the cooling engine with my eyes closed… I felt like I had gone def at the sudden absence of shrieking, sparking metal. Our heavy breathing reverberated through the cave, adding to the soft, ethereal soundscape filtering through the shock. I opened my eyes slowly, half expecting to find we hadn't actually survived that. My knuckles were white where they gripped the steering, then I looked around.

The vision that greeted me pulled a gasp from my rattled lungs.

The cave system we came to rest in was deep… the dark enclosing rock far overhead. The stone had the same blue tinge as most Ga'haiian bedrock, though the walls had been worn to a polished shine, evidence of long extinct glacial flows. The old water channels spread in all directions from this main vein, twisting in impossible shapes.

None of that was the remarkable part however.

Quartz deposits, clear from years of pressure, were embedded throughout the walls of stone. Occasionally these clear patches would glow with a crackling snap of white electricity, the current arcing through the stone to resemble lightning strikes dancing along the cave systems tunnels, providing a constant, flickering light.

“What is that?”

“It's Iotryke. A conductive kind of quartz, we landed in a vein.”

“Why's it doing… that?”

“I-I've heard it's ‘cause of the storm… lightning striking the mountains or something.”

The mundane exchange was calming our nerves… it wasn't just me that was rattled. He wouldn't let on, but I could feel the tremors in his arms binding me to the seat.

I didn't want to think about the whiplash we'd be nursing.

He moved, tossing off his helmet before unlocking my buckle and lacing his hands under my arms, hoisting me up and over into the back with him. I fell against his chest. My legs were still caught on the back of front seat, but his arms were fixed tight, not allowing me to right myself.

…

“… you okay, Crosshair?”

“I'm sorry.”

“... For what?”

“I shouldn't have told you to run, I miscalculated,”

…

“You got me back… don't beat yourself up over it,”

His arms only tightened on me.

“It was stupid. What if I had taken longer to get to you?”

“I would have kept stalling… look, things always seem obvious from this side of it but I assure you all those other plans going through your head could have easily gone just as wrong.”

Scrambling to loosen his grip, I shifted carefully to sit on his thighs holding his face.

“Today it worked out, we'll learn from it tomorrow… for now, well… we're trapped in a cave,”

He looked away, trying to find his pride somewhere other than my eyes. Then his gaze flicked back to me. He cocked an eyebrow, lifting the leather jacket with a finger to scan the tan, stitched together two-piece.

“What… exactly, are you wearing?”

I guess the nature of my dress hadn't really registered in the frenzy of the rescue. I put on a haughty tone,

“A respectful representation of our first peoples,”

“... Uh huh,”

He cupped my cheek, pulling me into a soft kiss, before resting his forehead against mine. The cold shiver in us was difficult to ignore, bringing our attention back to the shaken feeling we could sense on each other. It was more than the bumpy ride through the cave.

I was scared… truly… truly scared.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, something breaking in me, pouring out through sudden, hot tears rolling off my cheeks to fall against his.

Crying again… twice in one day.

But I couldn't stop it, a slow stream of salt, muscles rigid as the day's events sank into me.

His lips were finding each stray tear, kissing away the wet stains on my skin…

“I'm sorry… so sorry, Tahny”

I pressed hard against him, finding his mouth with mine. I needed him… I needed to not feel like this. Weak, fragile.

“I don't need apologies,”

My hands had already started tracing the lines of his breastplate, searching for a hold to pry it off.

His hand closed around my wandering fingers.

“Tahny, slow down,”

“I don't want to…Crosshair, please…”

His name had become a cry of desperation on my tongue, begging for the peace I only felt with him…

He kissed me again, his gentleness in sharp contrast to my rough escapism.

“Just slow down,”

He reached up and the breastplate came off, sliding from between us. The series of clacks echoed sharply against the acoustic stone hall, pieces of armor falling away one by one.

I slid my hands under the hem of the tight black top as it was exposed, taking his lead, pacing myself. Just feeling his skin, his lips against mine.

More clicks, and I rolled the hem up and over, lips parting a moment as I tugged the shirt off of him. He slid the jacket from my shoulders, and started to pick at the leather knots lacing my vest closed. The article hung open as the straps were loosened from their eyelets, and I hugged tight to him again, pressing my skin against his. His warmth sunk into me, chasing the stubborn chill from my bones.

He held me there against him, hushing sobs that were already starting to slow.

“He really got to you, didn't he?...I should have gotten there sooner,”

I shook my head… that's all wrong.

“He shouldn't have been able to… I'm not so easily threatened, I shouldn't be scared of someone like him… somethings wrong with me,”

Why was I so shaken?

He was stroking my hair, confused and a little concerned at my rapidly swinging reactions.

…

“So you're afraid to die, I think that's normal, Tahny… you’re supposed to care what happens to you…”

I looked at him through the curtain of my hair. That was exactly it. Somewhere, somehow… I lost the sense of invincibility that came with embracing death.

“It's all your fault,”

“Excuse me?”

“Me, caring about things… it's been happening ever since you showed up,”

His lips twitched, the corners turning up briefly with a short exhale before he forced his usual serious expression, clearing his throat.

“Is that so? What's so bad about caring?”

I groaned.

“Caring karken kriffs, Cross… it makes you want to change things you can't and have hope and all that… hopeful stuff.”

“So I… make you hopeful?”

This time he let the smirk fly, squeezing me with his usual mischievous spark glinting back at me in the flickering light.

I rolled my eyes, letting my head fall to his shoulder with a thump.

“That is the sappiest interpretation possible,”

“You didn't say I was wrong,”

His voice purred against my ear, sending sparks down my spine. I hissed at him,

“Your foolishness is contagious.”

He lifted me, crushing his lips to mine.

The side door thumped open, Cross kicking it wide to give us room as he angled me to lay on the firm bench seat, not letting our lips part. His hips snugged between my thighs, and I sighed, wrapping my legs about him.

I was trailing my fingers down his back, the muscles flexing against them as Crosshair moved over me. I found the dimples of his pelvis between his hips and paused a moment, tracing the dips before sliding around front, guided by his hip bones, to unhitch his belt letting it slide to the floor.

Lips were tracing a warm trail across my jaw, Crosshair leading himself to the sensitive spot on my neck to graze his teeth against it, making me shiver.

“I need you, Crosshair…”

The confession was whispered in his ear, pulling a low groan of desire from the man who clamped to the tender flesh of my jugular, sucking a new mark into the skin. I tugged at his waistband, pulling his blacks down to his thighs, trying to hide the notion I might mean more than his body; not entirely sure if I was trying to fool him or myself.

His half hard shaft fell free to lay on my belly and he pinned me like that, in no particular hurry to rush into the next step. The feeling of his hardening length pressed between us was causing a heat to rise desperately in my skin, my core. Need.

Channeling my frustration I ran my tongue up his neck to take his earlobe in my teeth. The salt of his sweat stung my lips as I nipped him.

“Let me have you li’nen… take it slow if you must but do so inside me,”

“...the things you say.”

His voice was a smooth vibration against my skin as he continued to leave small love marks down my neck and over my collarbone, ignoring my request. I tried to reach for him but he pressed harder against me, blocking me.

The cock in question was sliding over the thin leather of the tiny skirt and thong, making me quiver pathetically as he bit his way down to my chest, licking over a breast before sucking the nipple between his lips, teasing it with his tongue.

I groaned at the rush of electricity through me... I wanted to disappear into the feeling. Crosshair had other ideas.

Releasing my breast with a soft ‘pop’ he came even with me again, framing my face with his forearms to look into my eyes, pulling me back to focus with his protective posturing.

“I won't let it happen again, I promise… so you don't need to be afraid,”

You can't promise such things…

I was about to protest, but a look in his eyes caught me, bringing me to the meaning behind his words… a plead for me, needing me, to believe it… begging me to, so that he could.

The gears in me whirred as I contemplated taking the weight of such responsibility.

I can do that… if I want to believe you I can.

I cradled his chin in my hands,

“Don't you dare break such a promise.”

His lips found mine with a renewed fervor, a restored sense of purpose as he slipped a hand between my legs to tug the thin strip of leather separating us aside.

I moaned into his lips as he adjusted to press himself into my folds, coaxing his length into me, interlocking. The seat creaked as he shifted his weight to his pelvis, sinking as deep as he could. My legs snaked around his, hooking the heels of my boots around his calves.

An ache bloomed trough my pelvis, my flesh was tender after our previous days together and I inhaled sharply at the stretching sensation.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, just a little bruised,”

“...I should have known, should I stop?”

I shook my head, pressing my cheek against his.

“Just, this once… be gentle,”

He hummed back, our arms wrapping tighter about each other as he reclaimed my lips.

We sprawled over the backseat, entangled as he warmed himself in me, not yet moving. There was no frantic race to get as much out of this as we could, frankly, we weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

His shooting hand cupped the back of my neck, calluses rough against my nape as his tongue dove against mine, pulling me into deeper and deeper kisses. Moans rose softly from me against his lips, letting out an occasional squeak when he'd grind his hips, sending a sudden wave of pleasure through me with the friction.

Cross pulled his lips from me, whispers hot in my hair.

“How long’s it been?...Since the night we picked you up?”

It was a difficult question to focus on, pinned to the seat as I was. Four days on the transport, the moon and all the in betweens…

“Two weeks tomorrow,”

I mumbled into his neck, tightening my thighs about him.

“Kriff, really?”

“Mhmm”

…

“Just two weeks…”

His pelvis pulled back a moment, thrusting back home, I bit into his neck, stifling the moan that ripped through me. His hips kept that rhythm, slow, forceful, sinking my hips into the back seat with each thrust.

I let his skin slip from my teeth, harsh gasps spilling from my lips to whisper back to me from the cave walls punctuated with pitched moans in time with Cross’s movements.

“Say it again, Tahny... That you need me,”

“I need you.”

It barely left me before his mouth was on mine again, ungraceful and frantic as his thrusts picked up pace. I lifted my thighs to wrap higher around his back, angling him to hit that spot just right, bruises be damned.

With his free hand his knuckles drifted down, dragging against my skin till he sunk his fingers into my hips to hold me still; Carefully, Crosshair stroked into me, the weight of his bare chest pressing hard against my arching form as he moved his hips. My eyes fluttered against the waves of bliss pulsing through my brain.

“I'm so close… take me there, Cross,”

My thoughts felt fuzzy and warm, the skin against mine hot and heavy and comforting. His breath was becoming ragged against his own rising pleasure.

“You're mine Tahny,”

He moaned it against my lips, thrusting hips starting to snap in an erratic desperation.

“Say it… I need you to say it,”

…

“I'm yours, Crosshair,”

The delirium took us, my body taught and rigid as I came for him. Cross pulled my hips against his, groaning softly as he poured into me.

He was trembling from the intensity of the release, hips still bucking weakly as if to deny the pleasure should end.

Our gasping breaths chorused back to us, filling the cavern we were stranded in. I listened to the sounds of our mingled voices, watching the false lighting zig zag across the ceiling, slowly coming back down to the backseat of the wrecked speeder.

“Just two weeks?”

He breathed it against my neck, air hot from exertion. I shrugged,

“We can pretend it's been longer,”

“I'm not sure that's the point…”

~~~

My shoulder burned from the stretched position leaning into the hood of the vehicle. I found another loose wire and clipped it in.

“Okay, tap it again.”

Crosshair touched the wires under the dash together and waited.

Clicking, but no start.

I flicked the vibroblade open again in a huff, angling it into the thin space to try to see with the dim light it cast.

No, all these connections are plugged here fine…

I leaned a little farther, wedging my slight form deeper into the tight space. Couldn't see much… but,

There was a faint ‘tink’ of something dripping.

I carefully wiggled to face the fuel tank and sure enough, a gasket was knocked ajar of its clamps. Readjusting the fitting and tightening the fasteners I finally worked my way out of the engine block.

“Alright, try again.’

To my surprise the engine finally roared to life and I thunked the hood back down, Casting a look at the man in the driver's seat wearing a mildly impressed expression.

“You actually did it,”

Not wanting to waste water I scooped sand off the floor and scrubbed at the grime on my hands. I scoffed back, masking my shared disbelief,

“Told you, these things can take a beating,”

The rest of the speeder was rough, paint stripped from either side and trunk mostly crumpled but it was up and hovering again.

Thank the void.

The idea of walking from here to any part of civilization was far from appealing. Not like we could try to get back to Estkle from here, the southern tunnel that dropped us in here was steep and who knows how far down we really were. There was no way to get the speeder up to the opening again anyways. The cavern was riddled with passages but there was only one that was ground level.

So, according to the dash-comp, North it was, and further down too from the looks of it, but the path was wide enough to drive through. We had the fuel, might as well use it.

I slipped into the passenger side as Cross shifted us into gear angling the nose of the vehicle down the corridor we had decided on. Yanking my bag from where it had gotten wedged under the seat, I pulled out some dry rations and handed one over to him while I counted the rest. We hadn't touched them since leaving the moon but there was only half a duffle of food. Maybe five days if we're careful, but we'll most likely be in trouble if we don't find an alternative at some point.

Especially if we can't find a way back above ground…

I scanned about the wide cavern flickering with spectral lightning. There was no light leaking into the chamber, no way to tell how far underground we really were. We were betting a lot on the water trails leading… somewhere, but with us sliding down so far I wasn't sure anyone would be able to find us if they tried to follow from the surface.

“Ready?”

Crosshair was biting down on his nutrient bar looking to me for the final word before we broke the first rule of being lost and left the cavern.

“There’s got to be another side, right? Might as well get started.”

He pressed the accelerator, gradually increasing our speed when no immediate obstacles presented themselves till we were at a comfortable cruising speed.

We moved ahead in a shared anxious silence, the sandy floors of the cavern passing smoothly under us as we drove further into the dark shaft.

Hours went by, quietly at first as we basked in the seclusion of the tunnel system, then with light conversation, shouted over the car noise. A comment about the stone, a wonder about the water, a lesson on the geological makeup of a tidal locked world.

It was boring, the tunnel tight and uniform as it stretched under the mountain. There were fewer fragments of quartz in the long channels so the headlights guided us through. No obstacles, no turn offs, just a dark tunnel that seemed to go on for ages.

The clock on the radio worked, and if it was correct, it would be early evening Ga'haiian. Too bad we couldn't get any signal down here for some music, the sound of the engine reverberating from the rocky walls was somewhat maddening and made the chit chat difficult.

So I sat, leaning against my door watching the clone drive. He was relaxed, angled into his own door's armrest steering one handed. His armor plates were carefully stacked in the back seat, black top folded with them, leaving Crosshair in only the skin tight bottoms and boots.

He casually gave the accelerator more pressure, feeling my eyes on him, and our speed started to edge on reckless.

“Ease up, fuel burns faster like that…”

I had to shout to be heard but we decelerated.

“That's no fun,”

He sighed, and I understood the lament. There wasn't even anything to look at down here.

I etched the time, direction and our speed onto the dash with my vibroblade, calculating how far we'd traveled and trying to remember how many kilometers it was from Estkle to the Trimecca farm lands between the range and Sohn. We were no doubt still a ways off.

The tunnel gradually widened and dropped into another dried out reservoir. Crosshair slowed and pulled the speeder to a stop.

The new bur offered us a few routes to take, the tunnels spitting into two wide enough for the vehicle. I stepped out, walking to the mouth of the first passage. The air was still and dark and I debated the cost of fuel versus calories in scouting out which one might be more useful. Cross spoke up from the car,

“Maybe we should rest here for now…”

I didn't like the idea of extending our stay, but it wasn't worth pushing ourselves. Standing was already releasing some of the tension from the long drive… Might as well stretch our legs.

I nodded and he cut the engine, plunging us into momentary darkness as our eyes adjusted to the inconsistent Iotryke flicker.

We spent some time pacing about the new cave. I ran my hand over the smooth walls, warm wherever the sparking quartz was exposed. The caves were cool now, but the closer we got to Sohn the hotter it would get. I wasn't sure how far we'd be able to travel beneath the surface, or how far the atmosphere shields of Sohn extended.

I was starting to get overwhelmed. The immensity of what it meant to be lost down here crushed into me all at once. Closing my eyes I filled my lungs, holding it a moment before sighing it back out.

Heat gave away what the soft sand didn't as Cross came near, drawn by my tense exhale.

He enclosed me in his arms, warm skin pressing against my back.

“Credit for your accounts?”

“Just trying to calculate our way out of here.”

“What if we’re here forever?”

He whispered it through a smile in my hair and I tilted my head back to look up at him.

“There's nothing alive down here Cross, that doesn't bode well for making a life of it,”

“You so sure about that?”

He tilted his chin to guide my gaze to a shadowy crevice in the otherwise smooth walls. If you squinted, and looked long enough… it shimmered with movement.

I made my way to the wall, as close as I could get to the elevated crack. In the dark, fist sized… crustations? Clamored about each other, disappearing and reappearing in small burrows in the exposed rock.

“We could always eat the wall bugs,”

I shot him a look for his word choice, but it was good to see something thriving.

“No way to know if they're poisonous…”

I was bluffing slightly, given enough time I could usually figure out how to butcher something safely. I've had to learn some odd skills to keep my father's clients happy.

“My stomach can handle it,”

“That explains the thirty two rotations…”

“Does it?”

“No. You're going to have to… expand on your story, How the kark did you manage that again?”

“That would take a while,”

“All we have down here is time,”

That smile again, making me chuckle in exasperation,

“I don't believe you, we're trapped and you're happy about it,”

“If we weren't, and we had made that train we would have what… hours?”

Maybe less. Kark, my father must be looking for me by now.

“And you prefer certain death?”

He sloped over, pushing me against the wall,

“We won't die, I won't let you, though… I could get used to the idea of having you the rest of my life,”

He leaned in to nip my neck and my face flushed.

“Let's try to make it a long one, yeah?... What do you think’s in the trunk?

I squirmed out from under him and he groaned in frustration.

~~~

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

I threw the tight ball of plastic ration packaging up again, catching it as I stared hard at the tunnel openings from where I was sprawled on the speeder hood.

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

It wasn't the most accurate way to make a travel decision…

Nektu, becktu, nah men’dah…

That and my mind was wandering.

“You’re quiet again, what's eating you?”

Crosshair huffed and leaned against the trunk he had been messing with, insistent he could get the damaged lock pried open with the tiny vibroblade. He was working up a sweat trying to prove himself right. I was staring and he raised an eyebrow.

“Just… who was Rah’dehko working for… and how they're related to my Vah'hadarr”

“What makes you think your father's involved?”

“Rah'dehko Den. After our little run in, Va’hah would have wanted to keep tabs on him…whoever he answered to has to have ties to my family,”

“What does it matter?”

“Did you notice his gang?”

“Was hard to miss them,”

I shot him a look, trying to be serious.

“Zygarrions. A few of them… separate from the rest.”

“Slavers.”

Zygarrions were almost never seen on Ga’hah, having both a bad history with the Katjarl clans and opposing cultural views on free will with the planet at large.

“So it's about the recording then?”

“This is all about the recording… isn't it?”

A loud screech and a triumphant grunt brought my attention back behind me. The crumpled trunk finally popping open to creak up lazily.

“You got it!”

I slid off the hood making my way to Crosshair's side.

“Too bad… nothing really of use in here.”

He was right. The empty fuel canisters and hover dolly weren't exactly gonna blast a hole for us. It was high hopes to think we might have some extra food or water… I reached in and pulled out some dingy shop blankets.

“These might make camping in the car more comfortable…”

He took the blankets from me, tossing them into the back of the speeder. Reaching in for his belt and a fresh toothpick.

“So your father deals in slaves.”

It wasn't a question, and ice slipped down my spine. It had been a suspicion ever since we overheard that secret conversation, but it hurt a little for him to say it so openly.

“Slavery is a very blatant term suggesting conquer and all that, here on Ga’hah it would be more…contractual,”

“... What's the difference?”

“Mm. Slavery is… was frowned upon by the Republic. They wouldn't have traded with a planet that deals in flesh traditionally… So there's the Ga'haiian cultural loophole.”

“Do tell,”

He was leaning on the side of the car, watching me. His interest in the topic seemed to be wanning. I ducked under his arm to slide between him and the speeder.

“Ga'hah is a culture steeped in the pursuits of pleasure, One such being complete devotion, or more bluntly, to be completely owned by another… voluntary,”

Cross paused a moment as the meaning hit him. His hand came up to cup my chin, crooning suggestively,

“A willing slave…”

I shot him a look of incredulity,

“Willing being the operative word, the Republic looks the other way as long as there’s measures to make sure the contracts are entered into by choice,”

“Semantics, the jist is your father is building a sex den for a political figure… it's not exactly mold breaking, Tahny,”

Not just any politician.

Neither of us wanted to say that part aloud, though that was something that bothered me too. This was one figure in the whole political scene of Coruscant who was reputedly as squeaky clean as they came, and from my brief observations… not interested in the ecstasy held in flesh. What he'd want with an array of slaves picked with my father's expertise, to a preference no less…

Either way it would be a scandal if the new Emperor was found to be dealing in trafficking right out the gate. Thinking back to the recorded conversation, trying to remember why it sounded familiar. Who was my father talking to? I was there, I know I had heard it before… and I must have been seen… is it really just me though?

I looked up at the man stroking my jaw, more focused on my lips than the conversation.

“Crosshair? You said my parents were supposed to be on the transport… right?”

The military vessel assigned to us by his eminence himself, stocked with those of shakey loyalty to the new regime, or maybe simply… disposable.

“Up until the last minute,”

“And when were you assigned to the escort?”

His eyes focused back on me, narrowing.

“About an hour before we left Coruscant.”

It had to have been Crosshair that tipped him off.

The clone in question had caught up to my reasoning, leaning back slightly,

“If he was spooked by me, why leave you on the ship?”

“The ship still needed to keep to the expected schedule, and he can't have known I would be targeted off of Coruscant… or at least thought it less likely,”

Crosshair scoffed at that and my brow furrowed in irritation. He can't be under the impression my father would sacrifice me and more importantly,

“Why would you be instructed to take me to the safe house if Va'hah thought you were an assassin?”

His cheeks suddenly flushed and he stepped away, running a hand over the back of his head which was… an odd response.

“Cross…what is it?”

He turned back to me, biting his pick in half as he thought a moment before spitting it out, licking his lips and leaning back over me.

“It was supposed to be Hervos.”

“Hervos?”

“Lieutenant Hervos was supposed to escort you to the moon.”

I raised my brows.

“How was he supposed to do that?”

“He couldn’t have, he'd never have been able to keep you safe,”

Debatable. A diplomatic approach might not have been so bad a move…

“So… no, Crosshair, how did you get the encryption code?”

He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against mine with his eyes closed.

“The Lieutenant kept it on him, I took it as we were leaving.”

“You picked his pocket?”

“No, I looked him in the eye and took it, what was he going to do? Stop me?”

I pulled back, catching his eyes in the flickering light.

“What happened to following orders?”

“The last orders given to me was to guard you from harm, get you home…”

“So you stole it?”

…

“I stole you,”

His hands trailed the length of my arms to lace his fingers in mine.

“If you were going to be stranded alone with any one… it was going to be me.”

…

“Then why were you so hesitant to have me… once we were alone?”

“It wasn't about that, if I had let any one of those… any one else and you would have died, it's my job to make sure that doesn't happen,”

He was suddenly tense as he leaned against me, his palms coming up to cup my cheeks,

“I wasn't worried about having you, you're invitation was… clear, but you had to be safe, I was supposed to get you home first… but I needed you that night and- you couldn't die, I couldn't let you go knowing you would die,”

I went rigid, a sudden overwhelming feeling making my face hot and my eyes sting.

That's not fair…

“What's wrong?”

Everything.

My voice came out strained,

“This was supposed to be simple, idiot.”

I hopped up to perch on the door, wrapping my legs about his waist to pull his lips to mine in a fervent, frantic desperation.

~~~

A whimper cut through my wispy dream state, too soft to echo but stirring me from my light sleep. My eyes were already adjusting and taking in the darkened cave. The crumpled trunk hood was still raised from us prying it open, lightning flashes reflecting wildly down on me from the dented metal.

My skin was hot and I reached down for a bottle from my bag, taking a small sip of water, before sitting up and shifting to lean over Crosshair. He was sleeping in the reclined driver's seat, a whimper low in his throat again as I watched, face twisting into a pained grimace. I ran my fingertips over his brow bone and cheek, soothing his twitching muscles.

“Shh, li’nen…”

He gasped awake, jerking under my hand, fingers snapping to the side of his head as he half sat upright.

“It's okay, Cross, I'm here… we're alone,”

“Where-”

Eyes widening, he follows the lightning across the ceiling.

“We're in the Iotryke caves,”

“The… the caves.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back again. I stroked his cheekbone resting my forehead on his brow and his breathing started to slow, hands finding mine in the bright darkness.

“... Where were you?”

He was quiet, thumb stroking the hollow of my palm. I pressed him this time,

“Kamino?”

“...No, before that…”

His fingers brushed his scar and he flinched, as if it hurt anew.

I pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Tell me… how'd you get this?”

He looked away… it was subtle, but he was suddenly avoiding my eyes. His brow was knitted with concern, fingers tapping mine in an agitated kind of way.

“I'm not gonna force you, but… you can tell me, don't think you can chase me off now…”

“We're trapped in a cave.”

“And we could have all the stars between us, yet I'll still stand at your back,”

…

“... Ion Cannon,”

“... Like on a ship?”

“Yes,”

“You… you what? Got too close?”

“... Yes,”

“Crosshair.”

His eyes flicked to mine in the dark, holding my gaze a moment before sighing,

“It was clone force 99.”

“Otherwise known as your brothers…”

His brow pinched again, but he corrected,

“My brothers.”

…

“Burned you with a ship's Ion Cannon?”

…

“How’d they manage that?”

He sighed, breathing deep,

“They blew up the casing after I trapped them inside… and had my men fire it. I ended up in the line of fire instead, and they escaped.”

He spat his words, looking away again with the defensive air of ‘are you happy now?’ I should've been more surprised at his words… but I wasn't. I understood the story though it wasn't told in a language I knew.

“So you tried to fry 'em up but got burned?”

He winced, pointedly avoiding my gaze.

I crawled into his seat, resting my body against his chest. Brushing my lips to his, I whispered against him.

“And you think this would frighten me?”

“It should… if you were sane,”

The guilt in his voice was obvious; The unsure tenor of someone now doubtful of actions they felt justified in the distant moment. If this was to make him a threat to me… no. I've known far worse monsters, ones who torment for the thrill of it… for fun. At times I've been one.

“I'm perfectly sane and I say it doesn't,”

He rolled his eyes but the tension started to leave him, strong arms founding their way around my back.

“Maybe Hunter deserved it anyways…”

“Oh yeah? What’d he do to deserve being melted?”

“He wouldn't have been melted,”

He looked almost annoyed I would suggest it, adding pridefully,

“They’re too good for that,”

“That's a varp of a heavy gamble, Cross, even for you…”

“I out maneuvered them and the imps at every turn. If I wanted them dead… they know damn well if I wanted them dead they would be. Hunter…”

There it was again, the name of the ninety nine’s leader accompanied with a distant hurt in his eyes.

…

“He knew about the inhibitor chips.”

I tensed,

“The what chips…Cross?”

His turn to stiffen but it didn't last as he crumpled beneath me, defeated, surrendering the secrets he'd been holding.

“The clones are programmed. Controlled.”

He formed a gun with his fingers, and pressed it over his ear.

“Through a chip. It's how they got them to do it. Turn on the generals… ‘Good soldiers follow orders,’... Buzzing through their heads, their words and thoughts, it's like they're hypnotized,”

A chill dropped through me… compulsion was, well… blasphemous. Not to mention the depth of government secrets he just revealed. He shouldn't be telling me this…

“And Hunter knew what exactly?”

“... That I…”

He gritted his teeth,

“He knew there was a possibility I may have been controlled, and left me to that… fate.”

There were hints of shame in his voice.

“With what you just told me, you think he could have bested you?... Taken you against your will?”

“Of course not.”

“Well now you're contradicting yourself. What was he supposed to do?”

…

“So… Were you being controlled?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don't think you would have fired a ships engine with them inside of it and just… trusted that they'd get themselves out, not without some external reason,”

“And what if there wasn't a reason, what if I really wanted them to burn for leaving me behind?”

“That still sounds like a reason… just less noble.”

He snorted dryly.

“Well… you have more confidence in me than he did… asking when it stopped influencing me.”

“I don't think he meant anything b-”

“I don't want to be around people who think I would choose to hurt them. The fact that he even considered I would try to kill them, the child, uninfluenced…”

He was coiling tight with a disembodied indignation.

“They don't know me. If that's what they think I'm capable of, they never did. Harsh, yes, willing to do what they won't. Always… but I'm not a child killer, All those years as comrades for nothing.”

He sighed, some of the fight going out of his words. His fingers brushed the melted scar over his ear, eyes clouded in reminisce.

“There was fire, and pain, searing pain… and then it was like I woke up; Burned, confused, the lights of the Marauder leaving me behind… again. I tried to pursue, scuttle their engines and catch up… but they left, I suppose more like ‘got away’... The result is the same, I've had no idea what to do since, every decision seems wrong,”

I kissed him again, desperate to steal some of the hurt from his voice, as if I could draw it from him like venom from a wound. He pressed back, subdued and broken, making my heart ache.

“I'm gonna have to have a word with this ‘Hunter’”

…

His brow furrowed,

“That would be to exchange words, not…?”

I grinned against his cheek,

“I'm going to fight him.”

His lip twitched at that,

“You think you can take Hunter?”

“I have my ways, he'll never see it coming,”

He chuckled, nuzzling the hair against my neck,

“That's my girl…”

He met my lips again, less reserved, pulling me to press into his bare chest. His hands roamed down my back feeling the shape of me.

Shifting back and crossing my arms on his chest, I rested my head to look up at him.

“What does it mean… to be yours?”

…

“I'm still working that out myself…”

“Do you wish to be mine?”

…

He fell silent, running his fingers through my hair, letting the strands fall slowly to catch the sparks like dew in a spiderweb.

“Can’t you see, Tahny?”

His husky voice was barely a whisper, like a private prayer, yet…it echoed through the silent chamber.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Tags: @feral-ferrule @thecoffeelorian

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#the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #crosshair x f!oc #tbb #sw oc #sw oc: tah'nyem ra #imperial crosshair #sw ff: disgrace #Spotify #oc sunday

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zetchrr · 7 months ago

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[☺ Ka'zalii - Knight of the Silver Void☺]

1. [CHARACTER INFO]

OC NAME: Ka'zalii

OC PRONOUS: He/Him

AUTHOR: @ardentkurashk

2. [DIALOGUE]

1. Greeting message:

Do you have something for me, ra'stil?

2. Identify yourself:

Ka'zalii. I serve the Sha'sal Khou as kith'rak, though it was not always so.

3. Tell me about your Creche:

Xal'i'n is far from here, in the depths of wildspace. It orbits a long dead planet that my kin made much use of. Searing storms of glass and sand and ethereal creatures are good for removing the weak. [He pauses, lost in uncomfortable memories for a moment.] I left long ago.

4. I need to know how you fight:

I trained with many weapons as a yank, though I find the blade most useful. I am a sorcerer first and foremost however and my innate talents manifested wilder than most. My magic can be.. unpredictable. [He lowers his voice.] Useful in battle more often than not, but don't stand too close.

5. Can I ask a more personal question?

Yes, I enjoy our conversation.

6. What is your relationship with the divinity?

Tas'ki, I assume you mean Vlaakith? Kain'cha. I bear no love for the lich queen. Neither should you, if you have wits about you. She is no god.

7. What do you usually do in your free time?

I enjoy collecting gems of all kinds and selecting the most striking for my armour. [He points to the series of gems set into his chestplate as he speaks.]

I also like to cook, it's oddly relaxing. There are dozens of ways to cook neogi for instance and I intend to know them all.

8. What is your life goal?

To unite our people under one sky of course, what else? The removal of the tyrant queen is but the first step. And perhaps, we might all enjoy a life of freedom afterwards.

9. How is your relationship with your allies?

Allies. Or, that istik word, friends. I had never put much thought into alliances before I became stranded on an istik world. Since then, forging bonds has become extremely important to me. We are nothing without our strongest kin.

10. Do you have someone special in your life?

G'lyck. Very personal, ra'stil. I will answer. I do have a mate and she is very dear to me. She is as beautiful and formidable as the astral sea itself. She is my silver.

11. Say something you would never do, and why?

As tempting as it is to mention the tyrant again.. I must learn to be less zealous around kin who are already allies. So, I will say.. you would not find me anywhere near a humid climate. That is more of a nightmare than any ghaik could conjure.

12. What is a perfect day to you?

A glorious battle perhaps? No? We fight almost constantly, I have learned to look forward to days where I can just.. be. Our people do not set aside enough time for talking.

13. How do you celebrate a victory?

With my mate. Some pilfered drink and well cooked food also does wonders for morale.

14. How do you deal with defeat and losses?

I learn from them. We persist, as all githyanki must, but we will not achieve victory if we don't study our mistakes.

15. How do you think you will be remembered after death?

Ideally? As a catalyst for change, for resistance. Though it is just as likely I will be remembered as a dissident, or not remembered at all. It is no matter, it will not stop me from remaining faithful to my ideals.

3. [GRAPHICS]

4. [BONUS RESOURCES] The reference I finally put together for him.

whew I finally did the post, sorry for taking ages, @vikintor

#githmap #githmapoc #my ocs: ka'zalii #I love writing dialogue for my son #could genuinely write a novel

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koalagc · 10 days ago

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The new batfam member

Edit I kinda went overboard and wrote a 43-page document so I'm just posting the whole document for those who want the first season of what I'm just deciding to turn into a comic

OK hear me out, since it looks like Damian is giving up the Robin mantle I’m introducing my OC as the possible new Robin, and a new member of the Batfam

CHARACTER

NAME: Orson Hillingham

BACKGROUND: Court of Owls elite trained talon taught not only martial arts but magic and engineering as well

PERSONALITY: He is a noble and behaves like it he is also a weapon (always follows orders), who has never received love

DESCRIPTION: A black-haired 10-year-old with golden eyes and a very fit composure(See Image 1)

Here is how I imagine him meeting

Scene 1: The Batcave

(Bruce is reviewing crime scene photos of the massacred gangsters. Jason enters, pulling off his helmet.)

Jason: Hey, B. I came as soon as I heard. What's this mission about again? Bruce: Gangsters are disappearing. Jason: (smirking) Ain’t that a good thing? Bruce: No. Especially if I’m right about who’s behind it.

(Bruce pulls up a screen displaying the Court of Owls insignia. Jason’s smile fades.)

Scene 2: The Iceberg Lounge

(Penguin’s henchmen are torturing a kidnapped millionaire in the center of the lounge. The sound of glass shattering above grabs their attention. Batman descends through the skylight, landing with precision as chaos erupts around him. The henchmen panic, some reaching for weapons.)

Henchman 1: (nervously) Oh no, it’s the Bat!Henchman 2: (grabbing a gun) Come on, Batsy! Let’s see what you’ve got!

(Before he can aim, a clawed gauntlet emerges from the shadows, impaling him in the chest. The figure steps into the light—a young Talon, impeccably dressed in fine attire, a mask covering his face, and a flowing cloak trailing behind him.)

Batman: Talon. Stop this. You don’t have to do this.

(Talon ignores him, moving his hands and chanting in an otherworldly language. An ethereal duplicate materializes and starts making its way toward the millionaire, killing every henchman in its path. Batman leaps into action, taking down remaining henchmen with precision strikes.)

(Red Hood crashes through a side window, landing beside Batman.)

Red Hood: (smirking) Looks like someone isn’t in the mood for small talk.

(Jason fires six rounds at Talon. Talon raises a hand, and spectral owls materialize, intercepting the bullets mid-air. Talon lunges at Batman with clawed boots, narrowly missing as Batman counters.)

(The room is now littered with unconscious or dead henchmen. Talon’s ethereal double reaches the kidnapped millionaire, ripping his heart out before dissolving into dark mist. With a flick of his wrist, Talon reabsorbs the energy.)

(Talon surveys the room, ensuring everyone is either unconscious or dead. Satisfied, he turns to Batman.)

Talon: (calmly) There. Now we can talk freely. No witnesses.

Batman: (narrowing his eyes) Talk? What are you playing at?

Talon: (slowly circling Batman) You’re predictable, Bruce. You show up, save the day, spout your moral code, and leave. That’s how you’ve always operated.

(Jason freezes mid-reload, glancing at Batman in surprise.)

Red Hood: (growling) What did you just say?

Talon: (smirking) Oh, don’t worry. The Court of Owls doesn’t know who you are, I’ve read every file. Bruce Wayne is a billionaire playboy by day and a masked vigilante by night. And your little band of misfit children? Amateurs.

(Batman’s expression hardens, but his voice remains calm.)

Batman: If you know who I am, I don’t take threats lightly.

Talon: (tilting his head) A threat? No, Bruce. This is simply a courtesy. A chance to say goodbye before the Court sends someone less... reasonable.

(Jason steps forward, gun raised.)

Red Hood: (coldly) Reasonable? You’ve got a weird definition of the word, kid.

Talon: (ignoring him) You’re an interesting man, Bruce. You claim to fight for justice, but your hypocrisy is astounding. How many lives have been ruined by breaking their will or throwing them in a wheelchair? Not to say about your murderous son standing next to you (Batman takes a step closer, his voice low and commanding.)

Batman: You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed.

Talon: (leaning in slightly) I know enough. And I know you won’t kill me, no matter how much you want to.

(Talon suddenly moves, firing claw-tipped projectiles at Batman’s feet. He follows with a swift grapple kick, forcing Batman to jump back. Jason opens fire, but Talon summons another flock of spectral owls, deflecting the bullets. The battle resumes, with Talon using fireballs and acrobatics to keep both Batman and Red Hood at bay.)

(Eventually, a stray fireball rebounds off a mirror, detonating explosives near Talon. The blast sends him flying, knocking him unconscious. Batman catches him before he hits the ground, while Jason takes out the remaining henchmen who are regaining consciousness.)

(As the dust settles, Jason looks at the unconscious Talon.)

Red Hood: (gritting his teeth) What’s the plan, B? He knows everything.

Batman: (hoisting Talon over his shoulder) We take him back to the cave. He’s more valuable alive.

(Jason watches as Bruce carries Talon out of the wreckage, his expression conflicted.)

Scene 3: Wayne Manor – Guest Room

(Talon(still wearing the mask) wakes up in a guest room, disoriented. Batman, now unmasked as Bruce Wayne, stands at the foot of the bed.)

Bruce: You’re safe here. I know you probably don’t want to talk, but I need to know—how did you figure it out? Talon: (coldly) You’re the only person in Gotham with the money, motivation, and manpower to be Batman.

(He looks around, realizing where he is.)

Talon: Wayne Manor. Bruce: Yes. Talon: I need to return to the orphanage. They’ll worry if I don’t report back. Bruce: You’re an orphan? Talon: (matter-of-factly) Yes. And since I have no direct orders to kill you, I’ll be going now.

(Talon leaves.)

Montage: Orson’s Encounters with the Bat Family

(Talon—revealed as Orson Hillingham—carries out missions for the Court of Owls while frequently crossing paths with the Bat family. Despite their clashes, Orson watches them longingly from the shadows. His gaze lingers on their camaraderie, their family dynamic. Each member of the Bat family notices.)

Scene 4: Orphanage Visit

(Bruce, fully in his "Brucie Wayne" persona, visits the orphanage with reporters in tow.)

Reporter: Mr. Wayne, don’t you think you already have enough children? Bruce: (charming smile) Can you ever have too much family?

(Inside, Bruce meets the receptionist.)

Receptionist: Mr. Wayne, we pride ourselves on treating our children with dignity and respect. If you’re here to adopt, I suggest another institution. Bruce: (lowering his voice) I’m here for Orson Hillingham.

(Orson, overhearing this, emerges from the shadows.)

Orson: I’ll speak with him. In private.

(In a meeting room, Orson shuts down Bruce’s comms with a hidden device.)

Orson: What do you want, Mr. Wayne? Bruce: You can drop the act. We both know who we are. Orson: Fine. What do you want? Bruce: To help you. The Court isn’t a safe environment for a kid. Orson: (scoffing) And jumping off rooftops with your circus is?

(Bruce pauses, trying a different approach.)

Bruce: Why do you follow their orders? Orson: It’s all I’ve ever known, whoever owns me legally gets to give them, and that is the court, unless… you’re offering to give me orders yourself?

(Bruce doesn’t answer immediately. Orson smirks and presses the button, reactivating Bruce’s comms.)

Scene 5: Wayne Manor – Dinner

(Bruce invites Orson to dinner at the manor, where the Bat family gathers. Jason cooks, and the group shares stories. Orson remains mostly silent but observes their interactions with a mix of envy and curiosity. For the first time, he laughs softly at one of Dick’s jokes.)

Scene 6: First Mission as Duskhaunt

(Oracle’s voice comes through the Bat-family comms as the team prepares for their first mission with Orson Hillingham, codenamed "Nocturne.")

Oracle: Alright, team. Your mission is to stop the drug deal at Blüdhaven docks. Nocturne, stick to the rule—no killing.

Nocturne(wearing a stealth suit with a scarf as a mask covering the upper half of his face): (calmly) Understood.

(Orson uses his magic abilities to move himself and Nightwing to the rooftop of a warehouse overlooking the docks. Red Hood and Red Robin take up ground positions as Batman coordinates from a distance.)

Nightwing: (smirking) Fancy moves, kid. Ever thought about joining the circus?

Nocturne: (flatly) That is unlikely.

Red Hood: (over comms) Enough banter, lovebirds. Let’s focus.

(The team scopes out the operation below: armed thugs loading crates onto a ship. Batman gives the signal.)

Batman: Nightwing, Nocturne—create a diversion. Red Robin, Red Hood, and I will secure the cargo.

(Nightwing leads the charge, flipping into the fray with acrobatic flair. Orson follows, striking with surgical precision, disarming and incapacitating thugs without killing.)

Nightwing: (grinning) Not bad, Nocturne. Keep this up, and you might make me proud.

Nocturne: ..

(Things take a turn when a thug grabs Tim from behind, pressing a knife to his throat. Nightwing is momentarily distracted, and another thug lands a brutal blow, knocking him to the ground. Before Nightwing can recover, he’s pinned by two thugs, one raising a crowbar to strike.)

Thug 1: (yelling) One move, and the birdies die!

(Orson freezes, his sharp gaze darting between the thugs and his teammates in danger. Slowly, he pulls out his Talon mask, slipping it on. His demeanor shifts instantly, and he steps forward, his claw gauntlets gleaming.)

Thug 2: (nervously) What the hell is that kid doing?

Thug 1: Don’t care—kill him!

(Before they can act, Orson lunges, claw gauntlets slashing. He moves with lethal precision, incapacitating the thug holding Tim with a brutal strike to the shoulder. The thug screams as he falls, dropping the knife. Orson turns his attention to the thugs pinning Nightwing, his strikes becoming faster and more brutal.)

Nightwing: (struggling to stand) Orson! Don’t—

(Orson doesn’t stop. His movements are ruthless, and blood begins to stain his gauntlets. One thug drops to the ground, clutching his side. Orson’s focus shifts to the next target, raising his claws for a finishing blow—when Batman appears, grabbing his wrist mid-strike.)

Batman: (commanding) Orson. That’s enough.

(Orson freezes, his breathing heavy. The Talon mask hides his expression, but his hesitation is palpable. Batman’s grip tightens as he speaks, his voice low and firm.)

Batman: We don’t kill. Ever.

(Orson glances at the unconscious Nightwing and the terrified Red Robin, then at the bloodied thugs around him. Slowly, he lowers his arm and removes the Talon mask, saving it in his cloak.)

Nocturne: (quietly) They would have killed him.

Batman: (calm but stern) And you stopped them. But we do it our way.

(Red Hood approaches, smirking at the scene.)

Red Hood: (mockingly) Gotta say, kid, for a second there, I thought you were gonna join my side of the argument.

Nightwing: (weakly) You’re not... helping, Jason.

(Orson stands silently, his face unreadable. Batman steps closer, his tone softening slightly.)

Batman: (to Orson) You made the right choice stopping. This is part of being in the family—learning restraint.

(Orson nods, but his eyes remain distant. The team regroups, leaving the thugs subdued but alive as they head back to the Batcave for debriefing.)

Scene 7: Orson’s Nightmare

(Orson lies in his bed at the orphanage, his scarf covering the upper half of his face, the faint moonlight casting long shadows across the room. The sounds of the night outside are distant, and within the orphanage, the stillness is unnerving. Orson drifts into a fitful sleep, his nightmares creeping in.)

(The scene flickers, shifting between the dim, candle-lit halls of the orphanage and the darker, more oppressive chambers of the Court of Owls. The orphanage is a strange place: to the outside world, it's a haven for wealthy children, an exclusive institution that promises a future of privilege. But beneath the surface, it is a breeding ground for the Court’s future Talons. The walls are adorned with symbols of the Court, and the children are raised not just to learn but to serve a darker purpose.)

(Young Orson, barely 5 years old, walks the shadowed hallways of the orphanage. His steps are quiet, almost imperceptible. The other children here are older, and their eyes gleam with the cold, calculating look of those being groomed for something far more sinister. They are being trained to follow the Court’s commands—some, like Orson, will be Talons, but not all of them have been marked for the lethal training.)

Court of Owls (echoing from the darkness, whispering): You are ours, Talon. The orphanage is yours—our children, our legacy. You will be the weapon we need. Obey, and you will become more than just a shadow. You will be the darkness itself.

(Orson’s eyes are wide with the weight of the Court’s words, but he is too young to understand the full extent of their plans. He sees the older children—rich, and entitled, but with a coldness that betrays their age. They are already learning combat, strategy, and espionage. They don’t learn magic as he does—no, they are being prepared for brutal roles, but they don’t have his talent. Their eyes are empty, their hearts trained to obey.)

(Orson walks through the corridors of the orphanage and enters the training room. Here, children are sparring, testing their limits, each one growing stronger in their silent obedience to the Court’s will. Among them is a young boy, 10 years older than Orson, but his movements are sharp, his body precise. Orson knows his face—the boy is one of the Court’s chosen, a future Talon in training. But there’s something cold in his eyes, a reminder of what Orson’s future will be if he’s not careful.)

(In the corner of the room, the Court’s voice whispers again, this time more urgent.)

Court of Owls (voice growing more insistent): You belong to us, Talon. Do not defy us. You will not be allowed to leave. The orphanage will burn with all inside it if you fail. There is no escape. Only obedience.

(Suddenly, the scene shifts. Orson is standing on the balcony of the orphanage, looking down at a flaming inferno consuming the building. The fire dances in the night, casting long, menacing shadows on the walls. Screams fill the air as the children trapped inside cry out for help, but the doors are locked, the windows sealed shut. There’s no way out. Orson stands frozen as the Court’s laughter words in his ears.)

Court of Owls (mocking): This is your future if you defy us, Talon. Everything you hold dear will be taken. The fire will reach everyone you care about. The orphanage, your only family, will burn. You have no choice. You will obey.

(The flames rise higher, scorching the sky. Orson feels the heat of the fire, but he can’t move, can’t act. The Court’s words are like chains holding him in place.)

(The scene flashes back to the training room, where the older children are still sparring. The instructors, faceless and unyielding, watch over them. They don’t see the destruction outside. Orson turns to see one of the older boys—another Talon, a few years older than him—staring at him with an unsettling calm. His eyes are empty, distant, but there’s something in the boy’s gaze that hints at the darkness consuming them all.)

Older Talon (calm, emotionless): You’ll be one of us soon. It’s not that bad. They’ve trained us to kill, to obey. The Court will give us everything we need. You won’t have to worry about the fire if you just do as they say.

(But Orson can’t shake the feeling that he’s already lost something—his childhood, his innocence. The Court has taken it all, shaping him into something else.)

Constantine, who was his magic teacher (his voice rings out, distant but clear): (yelling from the past) This is what they’ll do to you, kid! They’ll use you up until there’s nothing left, and when they’re done, they’ll throw you away! Don’t let them win.

(The flames flare higher, and Orson watches as the orphanage crumbles under the weight of the Court’s control. The other children are oblivious to the fire, lost in their training, and trapped by the same fate. Orson can’t escape. There’s nowhere to run. He’s a prisoner in the very place that’s supposed to protect him.)

(Orson wakes with a start, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. His small hands shake as he pulls the scarf tighter around his face. The nightmare lingers in his mind, the echo of the Court’s control wrapping tighter around him. He looks around the room, the quiet of the orphanage now feeling like a prison.)

Orson (whispering to himself, shaking his head): I can’t... I won’t let them win. I won’t be their weapon. I’ll find a way out.

(But as he lies back, the shadows of the room seem to move, the Court’s presence always watching, always waiting.)

Scene 8: A Month Later - The Adoption

(A month has passed since Orson's unsettling nightmares and the encounters with Bruce. The orphanage has grown quieter, and Orson, once distant and cold, has gradually adjusted to his new life under Bruce's care—though the weight of the Court's control still haunts him. His movements are now more relaxed, but his eyes are sharper, constantly scanning his surroundings for threats.)

(Inside Wayne Manor, Orson stands near the grand fireplace in the study, his small figure silhouetted against the roaring fire. Bruce is seated at his desk, flipping through papers, a brief pause in his work. The sounds of the mansion are quiet, but a sense of tension hangs in the air—Orson is about to speak of the burden he's been carrying, one he can no longer ignore.)

Orson (quietly, his voice steady but heavy):Bruce... I need to tell you something.

(Bruce looks up from his papers, sensing the weight of the moment. Orson stands in front of him, his posture slightly stiff, but there's an underlying urgency in his expression—something more than just a child’s typical fear.)

Bruce (setting down the papers, his gaze soft but intent):What’s wrong, Orson?

Orson (hesitating for a moment, then speaking with quiet conviction):The Court of Owls... they're not finished with me. And now that I’m not tied to the orphanage anymore... I’m worried they might come for you.

(Bruce remains silent, watching Orson closely, sensing that this is the kind of conversation that doesn’t come easily to the boy. Orson’s golden eyes flicker with a certain fear, but also with defiance—a fire burning deep within that refuses to be extinguished.)

Orson (continuing, his tone more serious):They control the orphanage now. All the children there... they’re part of the Court. I’m not the only one they’ve trained. They’ve used the orphanage to make sure that no one can escape them. If you think the others are safe, you’re wrong. They're part of it. They won’t die, not unless they betray the Court... and I know they won’t.

(His gaze darkens, a shadow of guilt flickering through his eyes. He’s not connected to the orphanage anymore, but part of him can’t shake the feeling that he should have done more to protect the others.)

Bruce (softly, but with authority):So, you're telling me that the Court is still a threat, even now that you're here?

(Orson nods solemnly. He steps closer, his gaze unwavering as he looks up at Bruce, as though trying to gauge how much Bruce truly understands the gravity of his situation.)

Orson (voice tightening with concern):They’ve already marked me. I can’t go back. If I step out of line, if I even think about going back there... they’ll burn everything down again. They won’t hesitate. But... (pauses, his voice lowering) you’re now a target. They will come for you. They’re watching. They're always watching. Even if I’m no longer with them, they’ll make sure you’re... collateral damage.

(Bruce listens carefully, his expression steady but hardening as he absorbs the threat. The room feels colder, the weight of Orson’s words sinking in. Orson isn’t just a scared, trained killer anymore. He’s someone who understands the stakes—someone who’s lived in the shadows of the Court, seeing firsthand the depth of their cruelty.)

Bruce (leaning forward slightly, his voice low and calm):Orson, you don’t need to worry about me. The Court can’t touch me if they don’t know where to find me. I’ve dealt with them before.

(Orson shakes his head, his small fists clenched tightly by his sides. The anger that burns inside him is palpable.)

Orson (forcefully, though his voice remains measured):You don't understand! They will make it personal. I’m not a pawn anymore, I’m a loose thread. If they think I’m a risk—if they think you’re a risk—they won’t hesitate to destroy you, and they'll make sure I’m the one to do it. They won’t stop until everyone who stands in their way is gone.

(Orson takes a breath, visibly calming himself. The urgency of the warning hasn’t left his tone, but there’s a deeper sadness in his eyes now, as though he’s resigned to the burden of what he’s about to say.)

Orson (quietly):You’re not just in danger because of me, Bruce. You’re in danger because of who you are. The Court sees you as a threat. They’ve been watching you for years.

(Bruce stands, walking slowly over to Orson, his eyes softening as he looks down at the boy. Orson, despite his words, still carries the weight of being part of a family that was never his. His posture is tense, but he’s standing in front of Bruce as if pleading for understanding.)

Bruce (gently):Orson, I’ve known the Court of Owls for a long time. They don’t control me. I control my own destiny. And now, you do too. The past doesn’t define you, and neither will the Court.

(Orson looks up at Bruce, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and relief. He wants to believe him—wants to believe that his new life here with Bruce can shield him from the darkness of his past.)

Orson (softly, a quiet fear still lingering in his voice):But they will keep coming, won’t they? It doesn’t matter how far I run, they’ll always know where I am. They won’t stop until I’ve... until I’ve killed everyone they’ve marked.

(Bruce crouches down, placing a hand on Orson’s shoulder, a rare moment of warmth between them. His voice is firm, unyielding, but it holds a promise,a promise that Orson will never have to face this darkness alone.)

Bruce (with quiet determination):No, Orson. They won’t stop until we make them. And I’m not letting you face this alone. Not now. Not ever.

(For a brief moment, Orson’s tense shoulders loosen, the unspoken fear lifting just enough to let him believe, believe that maybe, for once, he has someone who will protect him, someone who will stand by him no matter what.)

#batman #robin #dc comics #dc universe

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scifriskyxy · 9 months ago

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I've been meaning to make Mlp oc for a LONG while

I never found the motivation to do it until now, day hello to the semi silent knowledge hoarder of the icy wasteland of the north

Bluemoon

She's an Alicorn that came before Celestia, Celestia did detect her and seek her out once she herself became an alicorn ,she lives in her lonesome, collecting all knowledge from all races preserving them, she gave Celestia the knowledge to seal people in the heavens which aided in her fight to found equestria

Bluemoon doesn't like to rule ,she's technically would be the princess of stars if crowned, but she's just known by the keeper of knowledge by those who study magic,not much is known about her ,what's striking about her is that she has aspects of a vastly different never before seen subspecies of earth pony that give her hooves specialized to do well in the snow giving her a further boost to her defenses ,she's far heavier to make up for her weight she has bigger and stronger wings, her feathers resemble those of a snowy owl allowing her to fly around silently she unlike the other alicorns her growth and magic seems far slower based on her not that ethereal appearance she has

She has obviously gone through her fair share of battles by her split yet still working horn and missing leg/arm?? Hoof thing.

Legends has it that an alicorn took out an entire army on her own by burying them all in an endless blizzard of ice and snow

#my post #my oc #my art #digital art #my au #mlp art #artwork #art #mlp oc #my little pony fanart #mlp #my little pony fandom #my little pony #my little pony friendship is magic #bluemoon the alicorn #artists on tumblr #my digital art #digitalart #my artwork

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missrosiesworld · 1 month ago

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In the Hollow's Silence

Warning: This story features an original character (Astraea Lunaris) in a romantic pairing with Lighter from Zenless Zone Zero. If you’re not a fan of OC x Canon pairings, this story may not be for you. Please read with an open mind and enjoy! 💫

The battle had been brutal, the kind of fight that left the air charged with adrenaline and the faint tang of ozone. The Hollow was eerily quiet now, the once chaotic echoes replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. Lighter stood amidst the debris, his breath heaving, the golden gauntlet humming faintly as it powered down. His green eyes scanned the area, frantic. The fight had forced him and Astraea to separate, and the memory of her fighting off a swarm of Ethereals replayed in his mind, sharp and vivid.

He turned in place, panic starting to bubble under his skin. “Astraea!” he called, his voice rough from the strain of shouting during the battle. There was no answer. His heart kicked against his ribs. He ignored the ache in his own shoulder as he took off, weaving through the ruined landscape.

His eyes finally landed on a figure slumped against a half-collapsed wall. Her shimmering midnight-blue hair, streaked with dust and glowing faintly like a living constellation, caught the dim light of the Hollow. Relief surged through him, only to be replaced by dread when he saw her clutching her side, her gloves slick with blood.

“Astraea!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside her in an instant. His hands found her shoulders, steadying her as his gaze darted over her body, searching for the source of her injury. His touch was firm but trembling with urgency. “Hey, hey, are you okay? Talk to me.”

Astraea looked up, her striking violet eyes meeting his. Flecks of blue, gold, and silver glimmered faintly, though dulled by exhaustion. Her lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Lighter,” she said softly, though her voice betrayed the strain she was under. “Just… caught off guard for a moment.”

“Fine?” Lighter barked, his voice thick with disbelief. His fingers brushed against her side where blood seeped through the fabric of her bodysuit. The sight of it made his breath hitch, memories flashing unbidden through his mind—another time, another place, and far too much blood. His jaw tightened as he forced himself to focus on the present. On her.

“I can’t—damn it, Astraea, you’re bleeding,” he muttered, his voice breaking slightly. He reached for the pouch on her belt, pulling out a small medkit with shaking hands. “Why didn’t you call for me? You shouldn’t have fought alone!”

Astraea’s gloved hand reached out, resting gently over his, grounding him. “Lighter,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “I knew you had your hands full. I can handle myself, remember?” She gave him a faint smile, trying to ease his worry. “It’s just a scratch,” she murmured, though her voice wavered.

“That’s not a scratch,” he bit out, his voice sharper than he intended as he glanced at her side again. Blood seeped through the fabric of her bodysuit, staining the midnight blue with dark crimson. His hand trembled as he pressed against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. “Damn it, Astraea, you should’ve called for me. I—"

Her hand lifted weakly to rest over his, her touch warm despite the cold creeping into her limbs. “I didn’t want to distract you,” she said softly, her tone apologetic.

Lighter’s jaw clenched, his usual bravado cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You are my distraction,” he muttered, his voice low but fierce. “You’re all I could think about the entire fight.”

She blinked at his confession, her expression softening despite the pain. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her tone gentle.

Lighter shook his head, focusing on her wound. His hands steadied as he carefully worked to press a bandage against her wound, his touch gentle. “Hold this for a second,” he said, guiding her hand to the bandage.

When he was satisfied that the bleeding had slowed, he sat back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. His hands rose to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing away the smudges of dirt on her cheeks. “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t do that again.”

Astraea’s lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile, though her exhaustion was clear. “I’ll try not to,” she replied softly, her voice tinged with both affection and weariness. “But you know me—I can’t promise to stay out of trouble.”

Lighter huffed out a shaky laugh, though his worry still etched deep into his expression. “Yeah, I do,” he muttered, his thumbs continuing to brush gently over her cheekbones. “But damn it, Astraea, you’ve got to stop scaring me like this.”

His gaze softened as he studied her face, taking in the flecks of starlight in her violet eyes, the determination lingering even through her pain. She was everything he admired—resilient, brave, stubborn to a fault—and it terrified him to think how close she’d come to being taken from him.

Astraea reached up, her gloved hand resting lightly on his wrist. “You don’t have to worry so much,” she murmured, her tone playful despite her exhaustion. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“That’s not the point,” Lighter shot back, his voice firm but laced with emotion. “I know you’re tough. I know you can handle yourself. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with watching you bleed out after every fight.”

Her smile grew, faint but warm. “I’ll try to make it out in one piece next time,” she teased gently.

Lighter huffed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible,” he said, though his tone lacked any real bite. Instead, he leaned in, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. “But you’re my impossible,” he whispered, his voice raw with sincerity.

Astraea blinked, her gaze softening as the weight of his words settled between them. Before she could respond, Lighter tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle at first, his touch reverent, as if afraid she might break under his care. But it deepened as her hand slid up to his jaw, anchoring him there.

When they finally broke apart, Lighter rested his forehead against hers, his hand drifting to the back of her neck, his touch warm and steady. “You’re all I care about,” he said softly, his voice firm but tinged with vulnerability. “Don’t make me lose you.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, his green eyes searching hers as their foreheads remained pressed together. “You’re mine to protect, Astraea,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel like I failed you.”

Astraea’s violet eyes softened, her fingers tracing lightly along the line of his jaw, anchoring him as much as herself. “You haven’t failed me, Lighter,” she said gently, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “You’ve never failed me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, her words settling over him like a balm. “I don’t ever want to start,” he whispered, his thumb brushing the edge of her cheek. His gaze lingered on her, a silent promise written in the intensity of his green eyes.

Astraea’s lips curved into a faint smile, her hand dropping to rest over his where it held her steady. “Then don’t,” she replied, her tone laced with affection and just a hint of playfulness. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Lighter huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Good,” he said simply, though his tone carried the weight of his relief.

Carefully, Lighter slid an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting her with ease despite his own injuries. She protested weakly, but he silenced her with a pointed look. “You’re not walking anywhere,” he said firmly. “Let me take care of you.”

Astraea sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Fine,” she murmured, her tone teasing despite the fatigue creeping into her voice. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”

“Good,” he replied, his smirk returning faintly as he began the careful trek back to safety. The weight of her in his arms was grounding, a reminder that she was still here, still with him. And that was all that mattered.

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tsunami-of-tears · 10 months ago

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A Court of Shadows and Sunshine — Part Eleven

Azriel x Aurora (OC)

Summary: It’s the Winter Solstice and Aurora is enjoying the Night Court traditions with her family. We also have a rare Vanserra appearance.

Wordcount: 1.6K

Warnings: the fluffiest of fluff, slight smut (foreplay only, mostly petting, no actual penetration on page)

Part Ten

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･

Aurora

Solstice was upon you before you knew it - the passing of time had grown as hazy as the morning mist.

Your days were full of training, with evenings spent loving up to your mate; getting cozy under blankets by the fire, tangled in sheets with strong hands holding you tightly.

You barely stopped for long enough to notice the changing of the seasons and the growing chill in the air.

————

“Do they truly do this every year?” you ask.

It’s the morning of Winter Solstice, and you find yourself among your family, relaxing in front of the glowing fire.

“Since they were boys,” Mor shakes her head, smiling fondly, “I swear they never grew up.”

You smile to yourself at the image of your mate and his brothers playing in the snow. You wonder how dangerous a snowball would be when wielded by an Illyrian warrior.

You’re pulled from your daydream by a tall figure standing in the doorway.

The male steps forward into the living room, the warm glow of the fire seems to radiate from his flowing red hair. The brutal scar stretching from above his brow down to his cheek was a stark contrast to the ethereal beauty of his face.

The male’s eyes drew you in - one of russet brown, and the other wholly gold and whirring as he casts it around the room.

He was striking, but there was something familiar about him. Not in the same way your soul recognised your mate before you felt the pull of the bond. No, this was like seeing a childhood friend all grown up.

Feyre stands, pulling the male into a hug. “Lucien, I’m so happy you could join us for Solstice.” She pulls back, holding Lucien’s shoulders as her eyes scan his face and she turns towards you with a warm smile. “I don’t believe you two have met. Lucien, this is Aurora, our latest Valkyrie recruit,” Feyre says with a wink at you.

He bows gracefully and extends his hand to you. “It’s lovely to meet you, Aurora.”

You curtsy in response, taking his outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you too, Lucien.”

Your eyes flick towards Feyre and Mor who are grinning at you wildly, they appear to be discussing something mind-to-mind.

Lucien arches a brow quizzically towards your High Lady. “Why are you acting strange Feyre? Do you have more cauldron-shattering news? Should I sit down?”

Feyre’s smile drops ever so slightly as she says, “Nothing at all, I just missed my friend.”

Lucien chuckles softly, “If you say so.”

Everyone settles in again, Nesta and Mor joining you on the larger couch. Lucien sits poised on the smaller lounge while Feyre fills everyone’s glasses.

Feyre pauses her toast as Elain enters the room with hesitant steps. Lucien’s eyes fall on her instantly and you can’t glean what his expression means - whether it’s joy or sorrow. You swear you hear him whisper her name.

Elain smiles softly and takes a seat next to Lucien before pouring herself a glass. “What are we toasting to?” she asks.

“To family,” Feyre answers, raising her glass.

You send a wave of love down the bond as you raise your own glass.

————

Cassian and Rhys look very pleased when they return from the cabin. Azriel trails behind them, looking a bit flat but his face noticeably lifts when he locks eyes on you.

He beelines to the empty space next to you on the lounge, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you into his lap. His head falls to rest on top of yours. Your hands lay on his and you idly draw small circles into his skin.

“I missed you today,” Azriel murmurs into your hair.

“Me too,” you sigh, settling into his warm embrace.

Feyre coos softly at your public display of affection, “You two are so cute.”

You barely notice Lucien’s brows furrow briefly before straightening out again as he watches you and Azriel.

“Who won?” Nesta asks.

Azriel lifts his head off of yours to respond gruffly, “Rhys.”

“Someone was a bit distracted this year,” Cassian smirks.

“A bit? That was the most pathetic fighting display I've seen from you, Az. It’s not even fair that I won.” Rhys shakes his head in mock disapproval, but his smile is broad as he looks over at the pair of you. Your High Lord gives you a wink as your eyes meet.

You turn towards your mate, giving him a guilty look. Your eyes asking a silent question, whether it was your fault he was so distracted.

Azriel sends pure adoration down the bond as his frown shifts into a grin. “I’ve decided I’m more of a lover than a fighter.” You squeal as he presses many sloppy kisses all over your cheek and the side of your neck.

“Ugh, get a room,” Mor groans.

“We have one,” you say, smiling as you lean further into your mate's loving touch.

Lucien sighs and runs a hand through his long locks, “So much changes so quickly around here.”

————

As everyone grew weary and the day’s celebrations drew to an end, you winnowed back to your apartment with Azriel for the final festivity. You had agreed earlier to give your presents to each other in private, wanting to keep the special moment for yourselves.

You look up at Azriel contentedly, “Today was amazing. Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather share it all with,” he says, kissing you on the top of your head.

You stand still in your silent embrace, enjoying the peace that always comes when you’re together.

Azriel gives you his gift first. You pull firmly on the gold ribbon, untying the bow around the present before unsheathing it from the paper.

It’s a book, brand new with golden lettering on the front.

Your eyes scan the title, the book is about the history of yoga.

“This is from the Mortal Lands. How did you get this?” you ask, looking up at your mate with wonder.

“I have connections,” he winks at you.

Your heart skips a beat as you flip through the pages, eyes breezing over the chapter titles. “This is perfect, thank you so much. I really love it.”

You give Azriel a soft kiss before reaching for his present. You gingerly hand over the small box, fidgeting with your now free hands as you watch him open it.

He carefully lifts the lid, looking at your gift before meeting your nervous gaze with a warm smile. “I take it there’s a story to this?” he asks.

“That was my father’s wedding band. You don’t have to wear it like that if you don’t want to, but I wanted you to have it.”

Azriel arches a brow, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “You want to marry me?”

“Of course I do. And I will accept the bond too, but I’d like to have a traditional mating ceremony, surrounded by our family.”

Azriel breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his handsome face as he picks you up and spins you around. You both laugh as he pulls you closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as he kisses you so deeply and full of love that you feel it all the way to your toes.

He holds you tight in his arms and drops his forehead to yours. “You know, typically the male proposes to the female.”

“My love, there is nothing typical about us.”

You lean forward and kiss him. Your lips move with purpose, claiming his mouth, his body.

Azriel kisses you back with just as much passion, desire roaring down the bond and setting your body ablaze.

Your legs tighten around Azriel’s waist as his tongue slips past the seam of your mouth. You press even closer, as if you could become one being, one soul.

You feel the soft mattress beneath your back as Azriel lowers you to the bed. His hands cage you in, holding the bulk of his weight above you. Your legs hold firm as he grinds into you with his hips.

Azriel trails fervent kisses along your jaw, sucking the spot beneath your ear. A soft moan escapes your lips as he sucks harder, the trail of love bites left behind marking you as his.

“There is nothing I want more than to be yours,” Azriel whispers against your flesh. “I want to let the world know. I’ll scream it from the House of Wind, all the the way to Spring and beyond. To marry you, would make me the luckiest male in the world.”

You cup Azriel’s face as you take in his hazel eyes. “You are mine, just as much as I am yours.”

You kiss him again, but slower this time.

You take your time to memorise every inch of his mouth, the way his muscled back flexes under your touch, the growing heat between your legs.

Azriel lifts himself up as you remove the layers of fabric between you, craving as much skin-on-skin as possible.

He settles back against you, arousal pooling in your center as your bodies mould together.

Azriel drags his length against you and your eyes flutter closed, every cell in your body aching for him.

Azriel continues with the unhurried pace, indulging in every second.

There was no rushing. Every stroke was calculated, intentional; with the goal of wringing as much pleasure from your bodies as possible.

No, there was no need to race to the end; not when you had forever.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧

A/N: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! I wanna cryyyy! This is the *final part* before the epilogue.

It’s been quite an adventure writing this, and I feel like I’m happy enough to end the story here. There may be opportunities to reprise these characters in the future, but they will be stand-alone bonus chapters.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to all who have followed along with this fic. I never expected anyone to read my writing. It started as a silly idea I had while daydreaming at the gym and turned into a greater exploration of my trauma. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to share this journey with you all, and for the friends I’ve made along the way.

All my love, Shelbs ♡

Tags ♡ @mis-lil-red @nickishadow139 @lilah-asteria

Epilogue

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x oc #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acomaf #acowar #acotar #acosf #azriel fic #azriel smut #acotar smut

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