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stories-and-chaos · 9 months ago

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Shrike: 2582 Days of Purgatory

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[Word count: 2588 Cw: mild cursing, soul deals]

——————

Alastor traded blows and insults with Vox. The screen faced demon launched both electricity and fists at his opponent. Alastor responded with his shadows and dodging the physical blows. His jovial taunts goaded Vox into wilder attacks, fueled by decades of simmering anger.

But some of Vox’s jolts were getting through. Not only did they hurt, they left a numbing sensation whenever they hit. Alastor noticed that the bolts hitting him had another energy added to them. Something subtle, a greenish swirl that blended into the blue of Vox’s lightning. It didn’t belong to anyone he knew, but it added power and aimed the attacks straight at the Radio Demon.

In addition, some of his shadows were enhanced and directed by a reddish power. He saw curving lines and hints of music notes. Something about it tickled his memory but he had too much going on to pursue the thought. He needed to beat Vox down hard enough that the wannabe wouldn’t dare challenge him again (if he didn’t kill him) in addition to defending against this third party.

He launched a mass of tentacles at the other Overlord. They crackled with the extra energy he poured in, sending them faster than before. Just before they hit, Vox retaliated with a column of lightning. Both shows of power were enhanced by whoever was interfering.

It was almost a given that both strikes would hit, with enough force to knock both Alastor and Vox out of their full demonic forms. The television demon changed into a spark to retreat through a drone camera nearby. Alastor called up his shadows, letting them envelope him to make his own way out.

He intended to reform in either his broadcast station or the home he shared with Y/N. Except for the first time in his afterlife, someone was following his shadow. And they were close. He could only put on so much speed after that fight and every twist and turn he made was matched by his pursuer.

Angry and exhausted, he exited the shadows in an area outside of the Pentagram. He used his microphone cane to support himself, determined to appear unflappable.

The other emerged from their own shadows. A tall, statuesque woman, light gold hair flowing in an eternal breeze, dark horns arching in graceful curves over her head. Slightly behind her, revealed as her hair waved, was another woman. She was practically the double of the first, albeit without the horns and a softer, sweeter aura.

Of course, that’s why the magic interfering with his looked so familiar. “Queen Lilith.” Alastor’s voice crackled as he made the effort to remain steady. “To what do I owe the pleasure, your majesty?”

“Alastor.” Her lyrical voice dripped with amusement. “Have you met my dear sister yet? Eve, this is one of our Overlords, Alastor the Radio Demon. Alastor, this is my counterpart, Eve.”

“Ah yes, the Mother of All. A pleasure to meet you my dear, quite the pleasure.” He gave a sharp toothed smile, ignoring the lingering numbness and increasing pain. “Although I doubt you chased me down simply to introduce us, your majesty.”

She gave a refined laugh, Eve joining in. “You did say he was perceptive Lily,” she remarked, coming to stand next to the queen of Hell. Her voice had an identical cadence to Lilith’s, but an octave higher. “We have a proposal for you, Alastor.”

Then she explained what the pair wanted. The ever growing evil that hooked itself into all of humanity, the worsening exterminations and what the first two women intended to do about it. How Alastor was going to play a part. The proposal was really if he was going to be kept in the know about his role.

Cornered between the two of them and the pressure of what was coming, he agreed. Ears laid back, with a snarl in his voice he said, “It’s a deal.” Surprisingly, it wasn’t Lilith that held out her hand to close the deal for his soul.

No, it was Eve, not a demon, not quite an angel, that extended her hand. “Are you certain Eve?” Lilith asked with clear concern.

“Absolutely. You and Luci have taught me a lot; I can handle him. Not to mention you’re going to be occupied for the foreseeable future.” With a sweet smile, she held her other hand out to the demonic queen. “Some of your help would be appreciated however.” Lilith took it and they both focused on the injured Overlord.

The fight and his attempt to race away took more out of him than he realized. Vision blurring, Alastor took Eve’s hand. Instantly, vibrant green vines scrolled around them. Eve’s power? It must have been her messing with Vox’s attacks. Her smile gained an edge as she saw him put the pieces together. It was too late though, the deal was in process. Lilith’s magick, red musical bars, flowed through Eve. The notes fused into the swirling vines, giving them a ruddy hue.

Then, as he had done to so many others, the power formed into chains. Collar and shackles locked around his neck and wrists. The chains latched on, with Eve holding his new leash. She clapped her hands and the bindings became intangible. At the same time, all Alastor’s injuries were healed and his exhaustion wiped away.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Y/N is never going to forgive me for today. First he let Vox provoke a fight, battled until he was forced to retreat, then sold his soul to another. Incoming destruction of existence or not, his wife was not going to be happy with him.

“Best we get started,” Eve said as she turned, spreading her hands to open a portal. “Come along, no time to waste.” Best to put on a good act. Alastor twirled his cane and walked confidently through it.

It didn’t lead to Pentagram City. Or anywhere in the Pride Ring, much less the rest of Hell. This wasn’t Heaven or the living world either.

“Welcome to Purgatory!” the pair said in harmony. “It’s terribly boring here!” Eve added. She was correct; there was a vast spread of nothingness. No buildings or beings as far as he could see. In the distance he could see faint hazes of colors, but that could have just been his imagination.

“The benefit of course being it’s an excellent place to hide,” Lilith added. She took the lead, strolling in a seemingly random direction.

“Really?” Alastor drawled. He expected his voice to echo back, but there was nothing here to bounce sound off of. “I would have thought a realm of nothing at all would make it easier to find someone.”

Eve walked alongside him, easily keeping up. “Ah, but there is an entire realm to look through. A realm that not even the angels know about. Or if they do, they haven’t cared about it for longer than we’ve existed.”

Alastor didn’t know how long they walked for. He did start humming, if only to calm his nerves. But at some point there was a change in the landscape; a modest building about the size of his home on Earth. The faded siding and roof shingles blended into its surroundings. Even if you knew where it was, you’d have trouble noticing it.

“Oh good, I’m getting better at portalling,” Eve said as she skipped ahead to open the door.

“That was much closer than usual dear. Well done.” Alastor followed them inside. He was greeted with an abundance of greenery. Thriving plants were everywhere, their leaves and flowers almost eyeburning after the dullness outside. Was Eve recreating the Garden here?

“You should get going, Lily. You know how he gets,” Eve said wryly as she headed toward the kitchen.

With a sigh Lilith agreed. “May I borrow something a bit less regal? I doubt this will be appropriate.”

“Of course! I’ve raided your closet enough times after all. Would you like some tea, Alastor? Or coffee?”

“Tea would be appreciated, cher.” He followed her as Lilith headed upstairs to change. When Lilith returned, he and Eve were just adding sugar and cream to their first cups. Hell’s queen had exchanged the long dark gown for a lightweight sundress. It was still a deep purple color but much less sumptuous than what she’d had on. Her horns were hidden and she had on a wide brimmed sun hat and dark sunglasses. “Well?”

“You look lovely, your majesty,” Alastor said truthfully as Eve nodded. “You have to keep that one, it just suits you so well,” the other woman added.

Lilith smiled slightly before her expression turned pensive. “I suppose it’s time.” She pulled a phone out of her tote bag and handed it to Eve. “Don’t respond to any messages but forward Charlie and Lucifer’s to the new number please.” With a shaky hand, she removed her wedding ring and placed it in a cushioned box. Eve took that as well, promising to keep it safe.

Holding both the phone and ring box, Eve created another portal in her kitchen. This one had the golden light of Heaven pouring out. Lilith gave Eve a peck on the cheek and said, “Best of luck dears!” with a forced cheerfulness.

Eve settled into her chair and sipped her tea once the portal closed. “She’ll be in touch regularly but we won’t see each other for some time. And we’ve got work to do in the meantime.”

Alastor’s smile turned sardonic. “I’m at your command my dear.”

“Indeed you are.” With that she retrieved a packet of papers. Opening it, she started detailing what needed to be done in a professional manner at odds with her sweet demeanor. After hours of discussion, multiple pots of tea and dinner, she let him retire to a guest room.

‘Guest room’ was probably inaccurate now. There was no telling how long he’d be here. Alastor went through his usual nighttime routine as best he could. The repetitive actions only soothed him so much. He already missed the light banter with you. Niffty’s skittering as she finished little tasks and the soft drone from the bayou. He was a creature of habit in the end and this was so at odds to his norm.

Agitated, he sat awake on the bed. In one hand were the cufflinks you’d given him decades ago. Even clenched in his palm, they were cool to the touch. A soothing breeze that brought to mind the gusts from your wings and your voice lifted in song.

“I’m sorry my dear,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back when I can.” He pressed the hand holding the eighth note shaped cufflinks to his lips and said, “Bonne nuit, cher.”

After a couple weeks, he couldn’t take it anymore. First, this jungle needed at least a bit of taming. Second, Eve just needed some help with domestic tasks. Third, he needed some sense of normalcy. So he summoned Niffty to Purgatory.

It was difficult to call a soul across realms. He felt as tired as he had after that fight with Vox. Niffty, for her part, squealed in joy. She hugged his leg before climbing up to his shoulder. “Alastor! You look messy sir! What happened to you? And where are we? Y/N’s been so worried you know.”

“Ah Niffty, you even make Purgatory brighter.” He gave Niffty a brief overview as he brought her to Eve.

The woman did like the idea of some help around the place, but at his suggestion to send Niffty back to you was met with instant fury.

“Absolutely NOT!” Vines exploded into existence all around her, forming into his chains. A quick tug had the Radio Demon on his knees. His eyes shifted to glowing dials as his antlers grew. But he couldn’t summon his shadow to fight back. He glared up at his captor with equal fury.

Eve gave his chain another tug to haul him up, face to face. All the sweetness in her demeanor was gone. Now she had the aura of an enraged parent, dealing with a stupidly dangerous mistake from her child. “You are forbidden from sending your little maid back or trying to contact your wife in any way. If any hint gets out of where we are, everything we’re working for goes to shit. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” She bit off each word of the last question with another pull on his leash.

Alastor snarled, “Crystal clear.” They stared each other down for a moment before she released him. He dropped back to the ground, gasping for breath.

“Excellent. Now get to work.” She returned to her coffee and the paperwork for their plan.

With effort, Alastor got to his feet and headed to the room that had been changed to his study. Niffty kept pace with him for once. “Sir?” she asked, the concern on her voice evident as he collapsed in the desk chair.

Alastor took a few deep breaths before replying. “Once this is all over, those bitches are going to pay.”

The following 2,500+ days were filled with the tasks Eve (and by extension Lilith) ordered. Alastor knew why they had him working, but it didn’t make him any less furious at the situation. Niffty took to snuggling up with him on occasion, the little maid being one of the few he was comfortable touching him unprompted.

He wore the music note cufflinks everyday. Not that he had any other sets at the moment, but he needed the tiny fragment of you with him. He spoke to them almost nightly as if you could hear. Eve dutifully forwarded messages to Lilith, who occasionally called for updates and to exchange news.

Then, Lilith’s daughter Charlie left a series of messages that made them shift focus. She wanted to stop the exterminations…by rehabilitating Sinners. She was converting one of the old Morningstar hotels into her facility. She had recruited an infamous porn star to be the first attempt.

She was also adrift, scared, and desperate for her parents approval. Lilith couldn’t respond nor could Eve. They couldn’t contact Lucifer about it. Alastor refused to even touch any modern technology that could put him in contact with someone in Hell. Regardless, he didn’t know Charlie or Lucifer personally.

Yet.

“We’re going to have to send him,” Lilith said on speakerphone. “I know my girl, she’s going to try this with or without help.”

“And what about everything he’s doing here Lily? Are we just supposed to give up on the past seven years?” Eve asked back, clearly frustrated at this unexpected turn.

“Eve, with Charlie meddling in souls and the exterminations, it’s going to throw all our plans into disarray. Whether she succeeds or not, I think this is going to get the fight started.”

Eve sighed. “You’re probably right. Alastor, I’m sending you to Hell. You need to assist Charlie with her hotel and protect her as best you can.”

He couldn’t help lighting up at the prospect. “Gladly my dear. When do I leave?”

“Now.” She opened a portal and the red gloom of Pentagram City bathed her houseplants in its hellish glow. “And Alastor?” He paused at the portal’s entrance. She looked uncomfortable as she continued, “You’re allowed to be with your wife in Hell. But only tell her what we’ve agreed on.”

“As you wish.” With a mocking bow and a twirl of his cane, he stepped through. “Niffty, keep up dear! We’re going home.”

——————

Taglist: @whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

A/N: I know there’s a lot of vagueness about what Alastor has been doing but we’re entering the realm of pure speculation on my part.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #asexual #asexual alastor #ace representation #asexual reader #acespec #hazbin lilith #hazbin eve #hazbin niffty

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biowhore · 3 months ago

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Shrike

Solavellan angst, ~3100 words (i think that's the longest one i've done so far!)

Excerpt:

"You chase a dead dream, Fen'Harel," she murmured, closing her weary eyes, "If you'd only wake, you might see the world for what it is now. Appreciate what it has become." "Please, not that name. Not from you." She heard snow crunching underfoot. She felt cold fingers against her cheek. Her heart lurched in her burdened chest, but she refused to open her eyes. "I saw you," he spoke softly, with a longing sort of affection, struggling to stay distant, "And I see you now. Stretching yourself thin, exhausted to your very bones, putting yourself at great risk."

It was always Haven.

Her dreams always took her back there, back to when it was all brand new and she and her friends had no idea what they were doing. Every decision was a guess, a leap of faith, a shaky gamble. But she had loved it. Had loved getting to know everyone, had loved being a source of hope, even if she had little of it herself. She had been held together by wit and snow, getting away with being Herald by the skin of her teeth.

When she dreamed, Haven was empty. There was no birdsong, no chatter, no clank of armor. No footprints, except those of a large wolf, and not always present. She followed them when they appeared in the snow, but they always faded, as if the wolf simply ceased to exist.

The Chantry was hollow, and the wind sang through its bones in a way that almost felt real. Over the years she had wandered through every inch of it slowly, savoring each snowflake, each supply barrel, each speck of dust. All of it was so detailed, but ever so slightly off. As if one were looking though warped glass.

Tonight, she was more exhausted than usual, with her work over the last 9 years expected to be coming to a head very soon. Rather than wander, she sat wearily on part of the stone half-wall that surrounded the chantry and stared up at the memory of the Breach.

Her stump tingled. Strangely, despite returning to Haven as it had been, her arm never returned to what it was. She supposed dreams couldn't give one everything, but a little reprieve from the phantom limb would have been nice. It itched more intensely here. Her right hand closed around the stump, squeezing in a pattern, trying to remind her body yet again of its new form. Malloria sighed, closed her eyes, and listened to the false wind.

With her eyes closed, she felt the snowflakes speckle her dark skin, leaving brief pinpricks of icy cold on her warm face. At times, she reveled in the silence and peace here, and at others she mourned. Tonight, with how tired she was, she was grateful for the somewhat eerie simplicity of the place.

As it often did while she was here, her mind remembered quick flashes of an easy conversation, of surprised kisses, and hands grabbing for more. Her memories were of her senses; the taste of his lips, the timbre of his voice, the feel of his tunic between her fingers, the smell of his skin, and the color of his eyes.

Her face still upturned, and her eyes still closed, her pointed ears flickered at the sound of snow being compacted underfoot. Under four feet, to be exact. Other than the footprints, she had encountered no other sign of this wolf until now. Too tired to hunt, she hoped it might settle for a chat.

She listened to it, turning her head to follow the sound, but it seemed to trickle in from all around her. Pat pat pat, it barely made any sound in the snow, but the hollow and contradictory nature of this version of Haven had anything other than the wind amplified by magnitudes.

"I hope to skip a long line of questioning and ask you directly why you only show yourself now, Hunter," Malloria called out.

There came no answer. She didn't know what she expected. She sighed when the sounds of the wolf trampling the snow morphed into growls that filtered in from all directions, bouncing off the stone of the Chantry and echoing into the ether.

"You're doing to make me get up, aren't you."

The growling faded, as did the sound of the wolf's feet. Suddenly Haven was silent. The false wind had even ceased.

Malloria briefly closed her eyes, steeling herself. When she opened them, the wolf stood directly in her line of sight, perhaps 30 feet away. It was massive and many-eyed, pelt as dark as the night and producing a faint smoke. The eyes did not blink and were of no color. It stood unnervingly still, those many unblinking eyes locked onto her.

She stood, realizing she could feel her heartbeat in her pointed ears. Her hand tensed, preparing to pull for a magical blade.

"Well, Beast?" she asked, low and calm. There was no point in trying to attack it immediately. She wasn't even sure what it was. Its wolf form was dredging up feelings she would rather not address, especially with how tired she was. She needed to focus. If she couldn't do that, she needed to wake up, but her head was starting to feel like it was swimming.

The only reaction she received was that the wolf began walking a wide perimeter around her. The giant paws padded a slow, deliberate rhythm, its head swiveling to keep its monstrous eyes focused upon her. It taunted her openly, trying to intimidate her to run as if she were an anxious doe.

Except Malloria did not run. Not anymore.

She reached into the Fade for a blade to defend herself. Her feet planted into the stone and snow, her whole body tensing in anticipation. The blade came so easily here, in her dreams. It shone like bright cold flame, energy crackling away from it in frenzy. She held it low, as a warning that she was prepared but would allow the creature to leave if it finally thought better of it. The wolf paced behind her now, slowly coming around to her right periphery and her weapon. Her fingers gripped the hilt of the sword like a lifeline – her instincts screaming at her so loudly it was affecting her focus. Her heart raced, her blood ran cold, and her breath quickened to quiet, shallow, pants. She had a terrible feeling about this.

It finally entered her peripheral vision again, dumbfoundedly choosing not to attack within her blind spots. Her ears picked up a sizzling sound as it continued its circuit – acidic saliva was dripping into the snow from its maw, poison steam rising in small tendrils from the ground as it walked. A growl grew within its chest anew, as if it were agitated by something. It continued walking, its eyes still focused on her.

The beast halted in front of her, back at the beginning, hackles raised high, and grinned at her with all its poisoned teeth, "May the Dread Wolf take you." It cursed her with a voice of tumbling stone, bouncing through the Fade like a nightmare.

With an echoing cackle, its body melted and disintegrated into a smoky, ashy, pool, the mess evaporating slowly into the ether of the Fade.

Malloria disengaged, confused, dismissing her sword and flexing her fingers. She blinked slowly at the darkened snow where the thing had been. Her instincts were screaming at her again, that she knew what it was, but her mind fought it. It couldn’t be… she was too strong for that. And then a slow awareness prickled up her spine, spreading across her shoulders as they tensed. Malloria turned slowly, stiffly.

The Dread Wolf was there, standing calmly in the middle of the yard. She surveyed him from feet to ears - he wore the same wolf pelt as last they met, but he had exchanged armor for robes of a dark material she could not name. There were gold embellishments throughout, and a rather important looking dagger secured at his hip. His posture was deceptively guarded, his hands behind his back, as always, but shoulders lax and stance casual. She arrived at his face, and it too was lined in deceit. Feigning calm and collectedness - disinterest, even - but his eyes told her his sorrow, his regret.

Her mind viewed the Dread Wolf as an enemy. She didn't recognize this person, but she saw Solas's eyes. She would always know them, no matter their form.

Malloria blinked, and her Solas stood before her. The dagger and pelt remained, but he now wore the same humble hedge mage robes as when they first met. He bore no other weapons, only himself.

"Hello, Inquisitor," he greeted. He sounded so formal, so foreign. He briefly looked down at himself, keeping his hands behind his back, "Remembering me as I was?"

"Some version of you, anyway. Whatever that may be," it was hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, "You could have changed yourself to suit me better, for all I know."

"This is your dream. You have... most… of the power here." He spoke carefully.

"If that is true then how are you even here?"

"I said most, not all. And you are weakened, as evidenced by the demon that sought to take you over.”

"Ah. Demon..." She knew her instincts had been right. Her guard was down, and a demon had walked right in. She wondered if it had been scouting her all this time, stalking her, leaving its footprints in the snow as some sort of taunt. All the endless work she had been doing over the years was catching up to her. Little rest, little time for contemplation, as she liked it. It wasn’t safe. She had to shove down the shock that was threatening to overtake her with this realization. Focus. She needed to focus. The Dread Wolf was here.

Malloria slowly looked Solas over, from the placid expression on his face, to his casual stance, and back up again. Stopping at his eyes, she asked, "Did you come here just for that? Just to drive it off?"

"Did I enter your dream just to save you?" he asked softly. His gaze fell to the ground, his head turning to the side. "Yes, I did." He turned to face the Breach, giving her his back. His right hand clasped his left wrist behind his back, still so formal after that confession. For a several moments he said nothing, and Malloria allowed it. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the questions. She didn’t think she wanted to know the answers.

"Why Haven, with the Breach?" he asked, almost casually.

Now it was her turn to pause. To stare at the blasted thing that started them all down this cursed journey.

"Hope," she finally said. Back when it was brightest. Back when there was only one problem to solve, and she was the one who could do it. Her dreams used to be more exciting or fantastical. Faraway lands, distant pasts, incredible adventures. Now, she just wanted peace, even if only for a moment. She hadn't been one for hope at the time. More inclined toward a dark sense of humor. Inside, she had always clung to it though, the thought that she could be something, do something, so much greater than herself. That was what she was supposed to believe, anyway.

He turned his head toward her, then slowly faced her, taking her in again anew, "You've changed."

"People do that, Solas." She took slow steps toward him, circling him and coming to stand at his front. Closer, but not too close. Her hand brushed the pelt mantle just slightly as she passed him; she was amazed at how real it felt, "Change is the nature of the world."

"It didn't use to be."

"So you've said. But it's been many, many ages since your time. Since your people's time.

"Our people."

"My people are not yours," she said with all the conviction of the Inquisitor, the Herald. "You don't even recognize them."

"That is why-" he cut himself off, shaking his head, "You know my path. I will not stray from it. I've done what I came here to do, there is no reason to stay and continue a pointless argument."

"Are you just keeping me alive for some machination of yours?"

He looked at her again and actually appeared wounded, his eyebrows drawn in, his jaw clenched.

"If only I were so detached from you."

If only she could believe that. Malloria sighed with all the weight of over 10 years of separation, of never truly understanding why. And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Even now she didn't understand. Why? Why? Why had she not been enough? Had she ever been?

"You chase a dead dream, Fen'Harel," she murmured, closing her weary eyes, "If you'd only wake, you might see the world for what it is now. Appreciate what it has become."

"Please, not that name. Not from you."

She heard snow crunching underfoot. She felt cold fingers against her cheek. Her heart lurched in her burdened chest, but she refused to open her eyes.

"I saw you," he spoke softly, with a longing sort of affection, struggling to stay distant, "And I see you now. Stretching yourself thin, exhausted to your very bones, putting yourself at great risk."

His thumb brushed across the high arch of her cheekbone, where part of her vallaslin had been, and she lost her battle against looking at him. Her eyes fluttered open and flooded with his gaze. She felt his intake of breath when she looked at him, obviously as affected by her as she was of him. There was nothing she could say that she had not already said. He would not come home, he would not stop. She had to be the one to stop him. She had to stand against him. She had to build a network. She had to move, and scheme, and toil, and work and work and work... She was tired. But he would not come home.

“Do you know what it was?” she asked, trying weakly to steer the conversation away from the vast void between them.

Solas sighed, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers. “It is a more complex demon… attracted to and influenced by your mind.” Again his thumb ran across her cheekbone, as if to emphasize the point, “But, you know this.”

Did she? Did she truly understand the depth and gravity of her inner emotions? Or had she been shoving them away into a dark corner of her mind, focusing only on what lay in front of her.

Solas’s eyes bore into her, looking at her like he could read everything about her that she wanted to ignore. See all the hard parts of her that she tried to file down into softness. He saw the raw heart beyond the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. He saw Malloria, and she wished he did not.

Her jaw ached with a rising wave of acceptance. That she had opened the door for this spirit and let it through, to become the thing she couldn’t acknowledge in herself.

“Duty.” Solas named it softly, “Resentment.”

She closed her eyes with the weight of it given life through his words. It was true. She was no longer Malloria, she was a symbol. An idea. She could not hide from it no matter how she longed to. She would chase Solas across Thedas to keep her world alive, and she would forever resent the events that started her on this path.

“I’m so tired, Solas.”

“I know.”

Malloria stared into his eyes, her hand coming up to his own cheek, her bare fingertips roving over the cold skin. His face had begun to blur in her mind over the years, but she always knew the shape and colors of his eyes. Sometimes stormy, melancholic blue, sometimes sensual, prideful purple. But always the same, always Solas.

"Aren't you as well?" she whispered after a moment, "Are you not weary?"

"As I have ever been, ma vhenan."

“And yet…”

“And yet,” he acknowledged. And yet he would continue. And yet she would chase him. And yet they would go on and on in this game of cat and mouse, until the bitter end, whatever shape that took.

Malloria’s composure chipped, her face crumpling briefly with the power of her sorrow threatening to overtake her. Small tears built in the corners of her eyes and she attempted to blink them away.

“Ir abelas, vhenan.” Solas whispered, brushing his thumb under her eye, anticipating the tear that fell there.

She nodded, trying and failing to say the words without choking, more tears spilling onto her cheeks, “Ir abelas, ma vhenan.”

Solas’s other hand came up to her face and pulled her forward, bridging the small gap between them. The kiss was just as she remembered them, but laced with salt from her tears, and the bitterness of his regret. Their lips still danced together as she remembered, brushing softly, then taking great sips of each other, trying to communicate the incommunicable, trying to take from one another, trying to give to one another what they each thought they needed. His hands fell away from her face and his arms came around her, as if his body would not accept leaving without her. For the moment of their kiss, their souls tangled together and cried out, attempting to fight a fate neither of their hearts would abandon.

They parted slowly, foreheads touching, bodies pressed together, reluctant to return to their respective paths. Solas marching forward and she trailing behind, as a hunter, trying to head him off. For this impossibly small window of time, they could exist outside of those roles they had built for themselves.

Malloira tried to catch her breath, but she felt her heart breaking all over again. She could see nothing but him; not her plans, not her friends, not her life. Only him. She thought she might perish the moment she had to be thrust back into reality. And she knew he knew what she was thinking. How she did didn’t think she could let him go again, even in the Fade. She couldn’t end this, but he could. He could always do the hard things.

"You used tongue again," she whispered onto his lips.

The faintest, lightest little bemused laugh on his lips, a smile, then the echo of his voice as he commanded her, "Wake up."

Malloria sat up straight in her bed, her breaths short and shallow, her heart racing in her chest, her stump on fire. Cold sweat ran in rivulets down her back as her mind caught up with her body. She gripped her stump with her hand, trying to massage it, trying to distract herself from the incessant pain. Her room was dark and cold, as empty as it had ever been.

She still tasted him on her tongue, and somehow, she knew it would be the last piece of him she would ever have.

#solas x lavellan #solasmance #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #DAI #da:i

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wordsandrobots · 8 months ago

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You know, watching play-throughs of the Iron-Blooded Orphans DLC for Super Robot Wars, I am struck by how slightly *off* the characterisation is. I suspect that's a natural consequence something like this, throwing so many characters into the mix that you can't help render them down a bit (and then there's translation on top of that), but it feels very weird to have Shino saying:

Shino: When you're as smart and skilled as me, you can get used to anything. Akihiro: "Smart and skilled", my ass. First thing you did was try to steal some food, and I had to save you from an angry mob. Shino: Shush, you! That was just, uh...a bit of a blooper. Happens to the best of us.

This reads to me more like something written for Eugene (in fact, this whole exchange feels like something you'd see between Eugene and *Shino*, not Shino and Akihiro). It's one of those quirks that I have perhaps spent too long dwelling on, but in the anime, Shino's boasting is almost exclusively about Tekkadan as a group and rarely if ever about himself. If anything, he tends to own being a goof more readily, laughing off his own missteps (with a couple of amusing exceptions) despite an obvious ego regarding his fighting skills and a preoccupation with not appearing 'lame'.

(I do think Shino would be 100% down for stealing food if necessary, although given his in-canon attention to stocking his mobile suit with ration bars, it's just a generally weird situation to gesture at.)

That said, the flirting with Gundam Victory's all-women mobile suit squad feels on-point. Possibly that's just because this is the only official-ish example we have of what Shino is *actually* like when he's flirting. It all happens off-screen otherwise, so it's fun to see someone attempt to portray the kind of crashing and burning that got Lafter calling him a 'pierced idiot'.

Shino: ...So what I'm saying is, we should all go downtown and have some fun! Kite: Only if it's your treat. Shino: Yeah, sure, it's all on me! But ALL of you Shrikes gotta come! Come on? Pretty please? Peggy: You seriously can't take a hint, can you? Helen: I mean, he definitely can't, but... c'mon, free drinks! Franny: Let's just make this clear: you're just a walking wallet to us. Shino: Y'know what? I'm okay with that. Shino: Love is a journey, and it's gotta start somewhere. Ain't that right, Junko? Junko: Hah! You've got guts, I'll give you that. Keep it up, Shino. Shino: Yeah, baby! I can hear the door to your heart unlocking! Miliera: He's actually going after Junko? He's either very brave, or very, very dumb. Mahalia: He'll have to go through all of us before he gets anywhere near her. Shino: ALL of you? Whoa, mama! Cony: Wow, he really can't take a hint. It's kind of impressive, really. Juca: Honestly? I don't mind it. It means he's fitting in well with the team.

(I still haven't seen Victory but I know what happens to these ladies, so there is a layer at which this is . . . a choice in terms of character match-ups. Seems like that's half the fun of these games, though.)

But yeah. Given that this feeling of it not being quite on the money with characterisation extends to what I've seen of both Lelouch and Char too, I do think it's kind of inevitable with what this thing is -- broad-strokes and all that. The only bit that genuinely annoyed me was the site of Biscuit's death being changed; they have Orga reacting as if Biscuit was killed at Edmonton and saying he never expected to be back there, which is really bad example of cludging a whole heap of different stuff together for the sake of a condensed emotional beat.

Still, I can't deny it's highly amusing to have McGillis rocking up to get advice from his peers in scheming bastardry while Orga is sitting in the corner wondering why this is his life now. And Akihiro and Shino engaging in one-up-manship with the Ultramen is fun (even if I do not get along with that anime AT ALL).

#gundam iron blooded orphans #gundam ibo #g tekketsu #tekketsu no orphans #super robot wars #super robot wars 30 #not sure I'll look up more of SRW #the game itself doesn't especially interest me #I was just hunting extra IBO content #because you know #obsession and all that #norba shino #akihiro altland #shirke team #victory gundam #spoilers #gundam

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dasnercaret · 5 months ago

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LOTTA TAGS LMAO

putting my thoughts under a readmore for isat spoilers!!

siffrin treats his wings very nicely in acts 4 and 5 i think. verrrrrry nicely. yes. definitely. absolutely. (he puts so much craft into them they turn pitch black and remain so. i don't think he outright loses his flight capabilities but his feathers are severely damaged until their next moult. it also hurts, but i don't think act 5 siffrin minds that all too much.)

i have a vague idea in mind that siffrin's wings become permanently shifted to starling wings post vs friends battle but that's kind of on the backburner for now

the party reacts... interestingly to siffrin's craft wings! (think tutorial event.) thankfully though they're used to siffrin keeping his wings pretty tightly under wraps (literally, since normally siffrin's wings are tightly hidden under his cloak) so they're not too surprised by the sudden appearance of the black wings. siffrin is also careful to generally keep them hidden as a whole, though, and explains their sudden color change off as a secret craft spell to make them usable in battle. which is, surprisingly, the truth!

i have a lot of thoughts about how the party would use wings in battle. i think siffrin probably turns into like a spinning top of sorts, with his feathers sharp enough to slice through sadnesses when they're covered in piercing craft (black). isabeau would probably be able to whack enemies with his wings, though i don't think he'd do it much since his fists do a lot more damage with a lot less risk. the others mostly use their wings for flight rather than anything physical, though mirabelle does have the 'glowing wings' thing that happens when she uses her blessing, as mentioned previously.

they can all fly! except for bonnie and loop

bonnie just has baby seagull down with a ton of pinfeathers. they are very annoyed about this all the time, but isabeau makes up for it by carrying them around / taking them flying.

side note, i think isabeau is the only flyer strong enough to carry another person without struggling, especially if it's someone small like bonnie or siffrin.

loop spends a lot of time staring at the sky. it's very ironic that they're literally a star and yet denied the same thing that the mortals on earth get to have. they are excruciatingly aware of this irony.

it would be extremely cool for siffrin to be a shrike..... ... if a bit. on the nose. looks at his dagger

PREENING PREENING PREENING!!!! i have a lot of thoughts about preening but suffice to say i think the entire party generally preens each other fairly regularly as a bonding thing. siffrin is, of course, unintentionally excluded from this since he flinches so badly any time someone tries to touch him and he never lets anyone touch his wings.

so overall pre-loops siffrin preens himself, which goes... about as well as you'd expect. thankfully, it's easy to hide unpreened or half-preened wings under his cloak, and the party is worried about him but not worried enough to sit him down and forcefully preen him

he stops caring about preening in the loops. thank the stars for his cloak, because his party would be horrified at the mess his wings have become.

loop helps, occasionally, or tries to.

post-loops, his party sits him down and goes 'okay we need to fix your wings RIGHT NOW they are a MESS this is HORRID' and then siffrin turns into a puddle from all the touch and everything is fluffy and nothing hurts yippee!!

some silly goofy thoughts i had on wings

some notes on them under the cut:

siffrin can shapeshift their wings :3 they also have talons on their fingers instead of nails (another reason to wear gloves, most people don't have actual talons but rather normal hands). they hide their wings under their cloak the vast majority of the time

the people of the Country have birdlike hands / talons and can generally shift their wings (it's not quite outright shifting but they can do stuff like change the color or cover them with craft to aid in battle - for instance, siffrin can coat his wings in Piercing Craft and use them as giant knives on his back. i'm sure repeated use of this won't have consequences)

mirabelle used to have gray pigeon wings but after getting blessed now have pure white dove wings. her wings shine from the inside out when she's tapping into the blessing she has

odile has a tail! it's not super common in my au (most everyone has wings but not everyone has the rest of the bird, so to speak) but it does set her apart a little in ka bue. it also makes her a better flyer though, so she counts the difference as an overall win even if some people judge her weirdly for it

odile is also really good at kicking / fast and highly precise strikes by virtue of being a secretary bird hybrid.

siffrin specializes in fast bursts of flight, using their wings to make themselves move faster on / near the ground. odile and isabeau tend towards longer gliding, able to use thermals to travel for fairly long distances. isabeau's wings in particular are extremely strong and able to whack stuff along with his fists. mirabelle is a good all-round flyer.

#isat spoilers #isat #in stars and time #wings au #dasner art

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frgdstars · 2 years ago

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for: open ( @shrikestart ) location: outside one of shrike mall’s side entrances

change was a feeling that herself and those that resided in shrike heights, colorado were all too familiar with. things in shrike heights were frequently changing, hell, half the time she swore things magically either disappeared or appear in the middle of the night. but the one thing that hasn’t changed for her since she arrived to the town was her job at the sunset theatre & drive in and the routines she has gotten herself into while on the job. depending on what station she was working that day, lexi had different things she did throughout the day to help the time go by more quickly. one of them was stragically planning out a smoke break, but it’s not like her boss hasn’t caught her doing it a couple of times on the job anyway. how she hasn’t gotten fired yet was beyond her, but she was also thankful for the chances given to her. still, it didn’t stop her from taking said smoke breaks. today was no different, except this time she had decided to go the side of the mall rather than smoke up alone in the projector room of the theatre (although that was kind of a blast as she got to see various bits of movies while she toked).

‘you’re not smoking out here, are you?’

the voice of lexi’s boss at the sunset theatre & drive in rang out behind the building, where lexi was taking an indulgently long break. the back door opened and the manager poked their head out, looking between their employee and the person standing with them. “no one’s smoking out here, boss dude. we’re like, zero percent interested in that stuff. swear on my life,” she assured her manager, who gave them the ol’ stink eye after hearing lexi’s strained voice, but still went back inside. the cloud of smoke that exploded out of lexi was thick and potent, leaving her coughing, laughing, and extending the joint she’d been hiding behind her back to their partner in crime, “i swear some people need to stop being so uptight about this. the world is going to shit, you’d think they’d want us to be as relaxed as possible. not to mention my shift ends in like thirty anyway,” she scoffed, shaking her head, “anyway, thanks for not blowin’ up my spot. you want a hit? and don’t think i’ve forgotten..i’m still going to sneak up to the projector room before i clock off today. yeah, yeah, the boss would be pissed if they found out. but, what’s the point of working at a theatre if i can’t show off the cooler bits of the job once in a while, hm?”

#shrikestart #drugs tw #drug use tw #hey guys!#let me know if this doesn't work for you #i will happily work on a closed on <3 #i suck at opens lol #also please feel free to assume connections!!

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twilit-hyrule · 4 years ago

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So I feel bad cuz I’m pretty bad at actually drawing my ideas and uploading them... I have a bunch of doodles and concepts on my ipad that I haven’t finished yet 😅. Pokemon teams, superhero AU, some angst etc. (I have a lot of notes and stuff but comparatively few drawings).

So I decided to just upload some wing designs I have for the boys since I’ve seen some Wingfic stuff going around again! (The writing in-between is just a small info dump on which birds inspired me/what I based their wings on for anyone who is curious! So feel free to skip it or guess the birds before reading (it’s always two bird species per Link btw.)).

(I’m begging, pls ignore the akward standing pose I used for all of them. And the face markings! They look weird...)

I based Sky’s wings on a golden pheasant, and a red macaw. Felt fitting to give him red wings! And I couldn’t miss up the opportunity to add some master sword coloration with the purple and blue hues.

Four is obviously based on a hummingbird (long-tailed sylph to be more specific!), but the second bird I used as inspiration was the quetzal. It added the red underside and the long green feathers that would trail after Four (they would also be a bit longer than they are here).

Both him and Sky (and the hylians in their worlds) are very colourful compared to the others, because the bright feathers wouldn’t attract danger in their eras (the monsters were sealed away (Four) or couldn’t reach them above the clouds (Sky).

Time’s wing structure is based on owls, so he is also the most silent during flight! I wanted his wings to be gold-ish in colour so I based him on a barn owl, but I also wanted something more dangerous for him (barn owls are surprisingly small). So I added some golden eagle into the mix.

(His wings are also the most plain(?) I guess, since I had trouble imagining him with something more decorative/complicated)

I’d imagine when he turns into the feirce deity the wings grow in size and turn snow-white (like a snow owl, maybe with reflective silver instead of black markings?). Maybe grow some white peacock feathers for the tail too, he can afford to be flashy XD.

Twilight has the biggest wingspan of them all. I based him on a bearded vulture (they have the 6th biggest wingspan of all birds! Well, according to one lazy google search at least...), since I thought it fitting that he is a bird with a lot of negative stigma attached (like with his wolf transformation, vultures are rarely -if ever- considered good). They also eat bones, which also matches! And yes, their eyes are red which looks pretty damn cool.

The second bird that inspired me was the turquoise browed motmot (long tail feathers), but I’m still fighting with myself about whether I should make the feathers on the outside turquoise or not... either way I really like the sunset colours :)

For Wild I chose an osprey, I wanted a bird that mostly ate fish and lived near bodies of water because of Mipha.

...admittedly that reasoning made more sense in my head.

However! I was also inspired by magpies. Wild will absolutely pick up and keep any shiny object that he finds! Hurray for scavengers!

Eagle-ish wings! I based him on the secretary bird, it seemed extra enough for him. Though I just really like the look of those birds (really pretty!). Mixed with some major mitchell’s cockatoo for the beautiful fade from pink/light red to white.

(I’d imagine he’s low-key jealous of Sky and Four because their wings are so colourful.)

Again, like with Four, I went with the obvious choice; a seagull. Though I also sprinkled in some bluejay for the beautiful feather coloration.

Wind really likes how closely his wings match those from Warrior (since he looks up to him) both their wings have a softly fading colour on the inside and feathers darkening in layers on their backs. He just thinks it’s neat.

The first bird I looked at for Legend was the southern carmine bee eater, it has a pink-ish body and a blue/green crown of feathers on it’s head. I mean, that just screamed Legend to me.

The second bird I chose was the peregrine falcon, the fastest bird in the sky! After all, Legend is the only one of the chain to always wears his pegasus boots.

One of my personal favourite wing designs! Hyrule was mostly inspired by a starling, I wanted him to appear more... magical? And the white spots remind me of stars (well, it’s a starling). The inside of his wings is very loosely based on the great grey shrike, a slightly brutal bird, which fits well with the consensus that he lives in the grittiest Hyrule.

(They impale their live prey on on thorns for anyone who is curious.)

———

If any of them look kinda strange, it’s probably because I tried to make them all look unique. With the exception of Twilight. I wanted him to look slightly similar to both Wild and Time (main reason why I am contemplating adding some blue-ish colour). Brown and yellow/gold from time, and that dark border on the edge of his primary feathers was inspired by Wild (like Twi he is also mainly brown).

I also actively avoided making their wings green because most of them already wear green tunics, and that’s just too much.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu sky #lu four #lu time #lu twilight #lu wild #lu warriors #lu wind #lu legend #lu hyrule #making the first three was fun!#everything after made me hate myself :)#they all wear grey because they got a visit from duchess rowena #she is teaching them how to behave more like civil people #and less like forest gremlins #and if you know who I’m talking about you deserve a seniors discount

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suzukiblu · 4 years ago

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One of my fandom talents is daemons but I am oddly clueless on what daemons I would give the Leverage crew. 🤔 Possibly this is partially because of the nature of their jobs involving going undercover so often but that just really makes me want them to, like . . . swap daemons as necessary, I just love that mental image. Obvi it would only really work if they were all separated but still.

(Parker and Eliot probably ARE separated from their daemons, and Sophie might be a witch, except of course no one would actually know if she was a witch or not.)

Probably they'd need very flexible daemons, probably that would have to be the trick.

I have ZERO idea what I'd give Nate, maybe a dog or something similar. Something very loyal that WILL bite you if you kick it. Sophie miiight have a bird or an insect. And I really like the idea of Hardison with a big tough-looking daemon that is of course a total softie and nerd and Parker and Eliot having, like . . . tiny vicious murder-creatures that are of course ALSO actually total softies and nerds.

For each other, at least.

Sorta tempted to say shrike or falcon for Parker, she'd probably do best with a bird. Eliot I might wanna do something REAL tiny and have him skeeving people out when they don't immediately see his daemon, but then it's actually incredibly venomous or something. Wait, no, skeeving people out with appearing not to have a daemon is way more Parker than Eliot.

And Hardison's is . . . hmmm, I really don't know, but probably a cuddler.

GOD it is so hard to pick things that fit their personas AND personalities.

Will I actually write a fic with any of this meta? Who knows, but the team going from standoffish and suspicious to ride-or-die found family being communicated via daemon-swapping for a con is SO tempting. And, like, OT3 daemon-touching, for SURE.

/end ramble

#leverage #meta ecetera

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shrub-jay · 5 months ago

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Robin Pokémon

The Robbin evolutions are also all flying type! Except for Thrashin, who is Fighting/Dark.

Nitewin: The Thundercloud Pokémon

This electric bird Pokémon lives in storm clouds! The jagged streak of blue wax secreted on its wing becomes charged with electricity from lightning strikes! Nitewin are gentler than they might appear. Their down is said to be as soft as clouds.

Their design is inspired by the steller’s jay, a west coast bird with a charcoal crest and a dazzling blue body. The use of soft curves and dark gray is meant to evoke a storm cloud.

Hawntin: The Martyr Pokémon

Hawntin have an ambiguous moral compass— However, once they become attached to someone, they will protect them with their life. The sheet that Hawntin wear on their head is said to cover their battle scars from battles lost. If you take it off, the Hawntin will seemingly disappear…

The design of Hawntin is inspired by bald eagles and classic sheet ghosts.

Thrashin: The Crime Lord Pokémon

Thrashin are prone to placing themselves at the top of the pecking order. Other bird type Pokémon must fall in line, or they will quickly be shown their place. Thrashin do not get along with Drakin or bat type Pokemon in particular. Their heads are always pointed down, head ready to charge. They are highly protective of their necks and will flash their striped wings to scare predators and prey alike.

The design of Thrashin is inspired by turkey vultures, boxing gloves, and northern mockingbirds. Northern mockingbirds have white wing patches they rapidly display in a behavior called wing flashing— It is thought to startled their prey into movement for easier detection. The wing stripes are also intended to resemble the knuckle wrappings of boxers. The name Thrashin is a combination of thrasher (the bird), thrashing (the verb), rash, and robin.

Shurikin: The Undercover Pokémon

Shurikin is not a bird, but in fact, an insect disguised as a bird. Shurikin are known to infiltrate flocks of bird type Pokemon, impaling their prey on their sword like, chitinous tail. However, if they grow close to the birds of a particular flock, they have been known to change their diet and lifestyle to fit in with their new family.

Shurikin is inspired by the great grey shrike, a species of shrike native to Eurasia. Shrikes are known to impale their prey on sharp branches. Other inspirations included stained glass. Their name is derived from shrike, shuriken, and robin.

Carryin: The Slingshot Pokémon

Carryin are often seen carrying roughly hewn spheres of rock in imitation of the Darknite Pokémon’s pearl! These powerful Pokémon are known to lob rocks at their enemies using their slingshot like tail. Should a Pokémon get crushed by their rock attack, Carryin have no problem eating their remains. Despite their apparent brutish nature, Carryin are clever, and have a great understanding of volume. They have been documented using stones to raise the level of water. When they are young, the corner of their mouth is a bright pink that fades with age.

Inspirations for Carryin included slingshots, clay colored thrushes, crows, and Aesop’s fable The Crow and the Pitcher. Their name comes from carry (verb), Carrie (Carrie Kelley), and carrion.

Drakin: The Detective Pokémon

Drakin were long thought to be adept swimmers, but they are deceptively heavy. It is thought they use their psychic powers to float at the surface of the water in lieu of being buoyant. In addition to their psychic powers, Drakin have a very keen sense of smell. If you treat a Drakin well, it may lead you to buried treasure or lost belongings.

The Drakin is loosely inspired by male Mallard ducks and the common goldeneye.

Illumin: The Shining Pokémon

According to Gotham legend, Illumin are the offspring of an unknown god. Able to bend light and shadow at will, these Pokémon are known to blind their pursuers. Gaze upon them at your own risk, but those who have seen them say they are the most beautiful color they have ever seen. Research indicates that Illumin can see a greater spectrum of light than humans, and that Illumin are sexually dimorphic in ways the human eye cannot detect. Illumin eggs are a delicacy but terrible for heart health.

Inspired by quails, rubber ducks, and light bulbs. I kept turning him into a lightbulb, I’m sorry Duke fans, I can’t help it.

(Some missing Robins are slated to get their own evolutionary line, but I’m not done with those yet. These ones will probably get a polished redesign, this is just draft one.)

*steeples fingers* I went off the deep end. Everything can be Batman if you try hard enough.

#Fakemon #Carrie Kelley #Duke Thomas #Lance Bruner #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Damian Al Ghul #Tim Drake #Robin #Batman Fakemon #Pokemon #DC #fanart

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daringyounggrayson · 4 years ago

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I’m sure you all ready have a ton but 59 with Bruce and Dick?

59: “Do you ever regret it?”

AO3

As much as Dick wants to idealize the early days, when he really thinks about it, he and Bruce have always had their problems. They’ve had shouting matches and misunderstandings and disappointments since Dick’s first year at the manor. Nothing has ever been perfect, not even close. So why is he so surprised that things have gotten worse? He shouldn’t be surprised that the distance has grown. He shouldn’t be surprised that their silences have become loud and thick and uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be surprised that he wants to leave.

“I’m almost eighteen,” Dick says. They had a stake-out tonight, and aside from a few necessary sentences regarding the case, the two hadn’t said a single word to each other.

Bruce makes a sharp left. “You’re sixteen.”

There’s a pause.

“I got my SAT scores back today.” Dick had been waiting for Bruce to ask him about it—the man had known he’d gotten them, after all; Bruce had sifted through the mail before leaving for work—and when he hadn’t, Dick decided to keep quiet about the whole thing. He’d decided that he would apply to the farthest college from here and leave without ever telling Bruce a single thing. He’d live a whole life without Bruce and he’d be happy.

Except, that’s not what he wants. He wants Bruce to ask him about his SAT scores. He wants Bruce to care.

“And?” Bruce asks.

“2200." Then, knowing Bruce will ask, he adds, "That's in the 98th percentile.”

“That’s great. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I could go pretty much anywhere I want.” Especially with Bruce’s name behind him, but Dick likes to know that he can stand on his own too.

“. . . Are there any schools you’re considering?”

Dick shrugs. “Maybe somewhere on the west coast.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. Dick’s telling him he’s going to run to the other side of the country and he has nothing to say about it, positive or negative. One of Dick’s friends wants to go to UCLA, and her parents are proud and happy to send her, but she also said they got all teary-eyed when they mentioned the distance.

His parents would’ve done that, he’s sure. But with Bruce, Dick could leave the planet, the galaxy even, and he probably wouldn’t even notice until he tried to give Dick an order and didn’t get a response.

They pull into the cave and get out in silence.

Soon Alfred appears with cookies. “To celebrate your SAT results, as well as the end of studying for and worrying over that dreadful exam.”

Dick smiles, accepting the plate of cookies and popping one in his mouth. “Thanks,” he says through a mouthful.

Alfred tsks at him and shakes his head, but then he sighs and places a hand on Dick’s head, smiling softly at him for a moment before going back to whatever he’d been doing before they arrived.

It’s clear that Alfred will miss Dick when he leaves, that he’ll care about the distance. It hurt Alfred the last time Dick left, it’s something that makes Dick hesitate to leave again, especially without a proper goodbye.

When Dick glances up to look for Bruce, he finds that he’s already at the computer, typing up a report.

Dick walks over and sets down the plate of cookies on the desk, then leans against the chair. “Need help?”

Bruce pauses his typing, then continues. “If you want something to do, you can run inventory. Otherwise, get some sleep. You seemed slow tonight.”

Dick scowls, pushes off the chair. “We were on a stake-out all night. What? Should I have watched nothing happen faster?”

The typing stops. “I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever.”

The chair turns, and then Bruce is looking at him. “I’m glad you did well on the exam. I’m, I’m proud of you, Dick. I apologize if I didn’t make that clear earlier.”

Dick looks away and feels like California is far too close to Gotham. Maybe he should apply somewhere out of the country, maybe Australia.

“Do you remember when I ran away? After Two-Face almost killed me.”

Bruce flinches, but Dick doesn’t feel bad about his word choice in the slightest.

“Yes.”

“I wrote you a letter. Do you remember that?” They’d never talked about the letter and what was inside. When Dick came back, it was to reclaim Robin and nothing else. Bruce didn’t want him to come home to be a son, he wanted him to come back to the manor, the cave, to be a good soldier. And now that Dick is failing to do that, he isn’t needed. Isn’t wanted.

“I . . . Yes. Why are you bringing it up now?”

“You never looked for me.” He hadn’t been sure, not really, but Bruce doesn’t deny it. “If I hadn’t told you about Shrike, you never would’ve—” Dick stops himself. “Do you ever regret it? Not coming after me?”

“I thought you needed space. I thought you would come back.”

Dick curls his hands into tight fists. “I was gone for weeks! Commissioner Gordon was more concerned about where I was than you were!”

“Dick—”

“Two-Face nearly killed me”—Bruce flinches—“That must’ve been fresh in your mind, but you didn’t seem to care at all that something like that could’ve happened again. Easily.” At one point when he’d been away, three different people wanted Dick dead. And Bruce hadn’t cared. And Dick had been a kid, he’d just been a kid whose so-called guardian hadn’t bothered to look for him.

“I should’ve looked for you.” Bruce’s hands are on Dick’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. You were my child, and I should've done everything in my power to bring you home.”

Dick’s eyes are hot but he refuses to cry. Quietly he asks, “Do you ever regret it?” Dick isn’t sure if he’s asking about Bruce not chasing after him or Bruce letting Dick come home. Maybe neither, maybe both.

Bruce is looking him over carefully. He cups Dick’s cheeks with both of his hands. “I’ll never stop regretting all the ways I've failed you.”

Dick steps back, pulling himself out of Bruce’s hold. He sniffs, nods several times. He looks back at Bruce and realizes that if Dick left right now, Bruce wouldn’t come after him. Bruce might eventually regret that too, given enough time, but regret would only lead to brooding and brooding always seems to lead to distance.

“I’m tired.”

Dick leaves and Bruce says nothing. He doesn’t chase after Dick like Dick stupidly hopes he will; he just goes back to writing his stupid report.

Fifteen minutes later, Alfred appears in Dick’s room and sits next to him on the bed. They don’t talk much, but Alfred does tuck Dick’s head under his chin and rub his back until Dick’s half-asleep. It’s enough to keep Dick in the manor that night, but Dick’s not sure how much longer that will be the case.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #nightwing #batman #batfamily #elizabeth writes

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the-broken-truth · 4 years ago

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The Queen’s Claim Part 1 - Kamilah Sayeed x Roxanne Wolf (Bloodbound MC)

Summary: Roxanne is - just as her surname - a lone wolf; she keeps her friend circle small and doesn’t trust anyone but that doesn’t mean she won’t have a little fun every now and then to relief stress from her job at Raines Corporation. But what happens when she finds out that her latest one night stand was with Kamilah Sayeed - CEO of Ahmanet Financial & her boss’s closest friend? And not just that - What happens when Roxanne learns of Kamilah’s Claim to her? After all - The Queen Doesn’t Share.

Warning: Futa MC - Don't Like Then Please Don't Read.

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Roxanne groaned as she reached from under her blankets and reached for the ringing touchscreen phone that rested on her nightstand to the left of her bed. Once it was in her grasp, she lifted her aching head before opening one eye to look at the contact of the person who was calling her on her day off; while she was having a massive fucking hangover.

Calling: Adrian Raines

'Why is Mr. Raines calling me on my day off?' Roxanne growled in her mind before she accepted the call on the 4th ring, placing the phone to ear but making sure her cheek didn't touch the screen.

"Hello?" Roxanne asked in a very tired and slurred voice.

"Good morning, Roxanne. I apologize for waking you up on your day off but I am in dire need of your help at the moment." Mr. Raines greeted her.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Raines?" Roxanne asked after she cleared her throat to speak clearly to her boss.

"The Assistant that was supposed to work today had a sudden emergency and called in at the last minute and I need help with the meeting I have with the CEO of Ahmanet Financial & a few others today. Can you please come in for the duration of the meeting? I'll pay you for your time." Mr. Raines explained. As much as she wanted to remain in bed and sleep away from her hangover, she knew she could use the extra money.

"Of course, Mr. Raines. I can be there in 30 minutes. There just one problem, I don't have any professional attire to wear for the time I'm there." Roxanne explained.

"That's quite alright, Roxanne. You won't be working the entire day so you can come in classic attire if that's better. I will see you in 30 minutes." With that, Adrian hung up on his end.

Roxanne sat up in her bed, causing her long back hair to fall in front of her face. She moves her black locks from her eyes - letting them adjust to the sunlight - before she got out of bed and started getting ready: she took a quick shower, got dressed in her black jeans, white t-shirt with a tribal wolf howling over her heart, her black boots, and her black leather jacket with metal spikes on her shoulders. She watched herself in the mirror as she tied her hair in a bun on the top of her head. Opening the cabinet, she took two hangover relief pills before she walked back to her nightstand to get her phone and her car keys, leaving her bedroom; only to run into her roommate and best friend - Lily Spencer - in the living room.

"Hey, Roxy Wolf! Where you off to in such a hurry?" Lily asked as she looked up from her game.

"My boss called and asked me to come in to help with a meeting with some big-time CEOs or council members since the assistant that was supposed to help today didn't come in." Roxanne said as she looked at her purple-haired friend.

"Anyway, what happened last night? I thought you went out drinking." Lily asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I did. Had a little fun and came back home." Roxanne said.

"Damn - Roxy Wolf Strikes Again! Breaking hearts and minds with her incredible dick game!" Lily announced.

"Damn it, Lily. You didn't have to say that." Roxanne said through locked teeth.

"It's not my fault you have more one-night stands than you do leather jackets. Honestly, you should be careful; not every girl is going to accept you hitting and quitting them." Lily warned.

"You tell me that every time, I'm always careful. I don't do love - I just need stress relief from time to time." Roxanne said as she made her way to the door. She bid Lily goodbye before she left her apartment.

[About 25 Minutes Later]

Roxanne made it through the doors of Raines Corporation with five minutes to spares; that was a small victory in her mind. She smiled to herself as she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to the meeting floor. After the ride up, Roxanne plopped a mint in her mouth in hopes to remove any trace of alcohol from her breath; once she was certain that there was none, she stepped over to the large white double doors and knocked firmly but respectively upon the wooden surface.

"Who is it?" The voice of Adrian Raines called out from the other side.

"It's Roxanne, Mr. Raines." Roxanne answered in a clear voice. She waited for a while until the door open and the smiling face of Adrian Raines appeared in the threshold.

"Roxanne, thanks again for this. Please, come in a meet the other Council Members." Adrian said as he moved aside and allowed Roxanne to come into the room behind him where 5 other people were waiting.

"Roxanne - I would like you to meet the Council." He began as he gestured to the closest person to him. "This is Adam Vega - He is the U.S. Senate." Adrian explained as he gestured at a tall tan man with black hair gelled back with a matching goatee in a tan suit with a white undershirt.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir." Roxanne said with a respectful bow of her head.

"Pleasure is mine, Ms. Wolf. Adrian speaks highly of you and I can see why seeing as you arrived here earlier than you were expected." Adam said with a small smile upon his face. Adrian continued with the introductions.

"This is Cecil Romano IV - also known as the Baron. He's the Owner of the Shrike and has much influence in the community." Adrian said as he pointed at a rather fat man in a purple suit with vertical white lines, a grey vest with a white undershirt, and a blue tie. He had grey hair with a mustache - for some reason, the more Roxanne looked at him, all she saw was a fat mafia boss that ate too much pasta for dinner...and breakfast.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Romano." Roxanne said, biting her tongue in hopes to not laugh at this fat man.

"Hmph." That was all he said - maybe his throat was too clogged with pasta sauce to give a proper introduction. Adrian moved on.

"This is Lester Castellanos - The CEO of Castellanos Meats." Adrian introduced the man - He has brown skin and brown eyes. He has black curly hair and a beard that is graying. He wears a beige business suit with a white shirt underneath. Something about him made Roxanne's blood curl.

"Hello, Mr. Castellanos." Roxanne began, only to be cut off by the laughter of this weird man.

"Please, call me Lester. Or Daddy. Whichever you prefer." Lester gave his best 'gentleman' smile but all he looked like was a pedo.

"I...don't think I will be calling you either." Roxanne said as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"And why not, sweetie?" Lester asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Because I'm pretty sure I have more girls calling me 'Daddy' than you do." Roxanne said with a smirk; making everyone else in the room chuckle at what she said but Lester just looked confused.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked but before Roxanne could answer, a slim light brown hand got in Lester's face and pushed him away from Roxanne as a rather alluring female voice called out.

"It means she has a bigger dick than yours, Lester. I know I can see it." A woman with light brown skin, long, wavy, dark brown hair, and brown eyes said as she looked into Roxanne's silver eyes - this woman...she was dangerous, in both a good and bad way.

"Nice to meet you, Sexy. I'm Priya Lacroix - I'm a world-class fashion designer. I'm sure you've heard of me." Priya asked with a voice a smooth as honey but as sharp as a dagger's edge but Roxanne just looked into her eyes with a smirk as she took Priya's hand into hers and brought it to her lips.

"That I have, Ms. Lacroix. Only a fool would not know you." Roxanne smirked as she placed a kiss on the back of Priya's hand, making the woman smile even wider.

"I like you and I'd like to get to know you better, once this meeting is over and done with." Priya purred as her hand turned upright in Roxanne's hand, her nails grazing under to black-haired woman's chin with the most dangerous of touches. Before Roxanne could speak, another voice rang out into the air.

"Get your hands off her, Priya." This voice was angry...offended...and...

'Familiar? Where have I heard that voice before?' Roxanne asked herself as she looked in the direction of the voice - her eyes widened as they met familiar brown eyes.

The woman that stood before them was around 5'3'' - She had light brown skin, straight brown hair, and brown eyes. She wore a purple jacket over a white shirt, dark purple pants, and a necklace - That necklace was one that Roxanne had seen before.

"Geez, Kamilah. What's wrong with you?" Adrian asked. Before turning back to Roxanne. "Oh, Roxanne. This is Kamilah Sayeed - She's the CEO of Ahmanet Financial & my closest friend." Adrian smiled but the horrified look on Roxanne's face made him look worried. "Roxanne, is something wrong?" He asked.

"She knows who I am, Adrian." Kamilah said as she began walking closer to Roxanne while Priya moved away to get a better look.

"She does?" Adrian asked. "How?"

"Because..." The intimidating Egyptian CEO looked down the into wide silver eyes of Roxanne, who could have sworn the eyes of the woman before her were turning red. " She shared my bed last night...and I claimed her body." Kamilah said with a dangerous smirk on her face. Everyone looked shocked at this information - except Priya, she looked pissed. While all this was going on, all Roxanne could think was...

'MY LAST ONE-NIGHT STAND WAS MY BOSS'S FRIEND?!! WAIT...WHAT DID SHE MEAN WHEN SHE SAID SHE CLAIMED ME?!!'

"So..." Kamilah began as she leaned in closer to Roxanne's ear. " Did you really think that I would let you get away from me?" She purred as the tip of her tongue grazed the shell of Roxanne's ear, making her shutter.

'Ah, shit. Lily was right...I'm in trouble.'

[End of Part One - To Be Continued]

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bloodbound

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greaterspawnislands · 3 years ago

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the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn | of the seed and the sickle

their first meeting

(or, hades and persephone, i suppose that’s one way to look at it)

links in the notes/reblogs :)

In the center of a valley, past evergreen trees that border a rushing, bubbling river, past tall, spindly aspen trees with leaves that are just starting to turn sunset shades of orange and yellow, is a small farmhouse. Bordered by fields with crops ready for harvest and the forest beyond, the idyllic house crafted of spruce and stone sits alone. The dwelling is still and silent, save for one restless being, who stands at the kitchen window and stares at the stars.

Phil exhales lightly from the counter, fingers tapping alone the smooth-cut stone. The house is quiet. Tommy is fast asleep, the nine-year-old tired out from another day of running through fields and forests on another adventure. Wilbur, not much older at thirteen, is just as tuckered out from keeping up with the younger blond, though whether he's actually asleep or using the moonlight to read books by is hardly Phil's concern.

Humans exist to fail by trial and error, after all, by consequence or natural progression. In the end it doesn't matter in the slightest, as mortal lifespans pass in the blink of an eye. Little changes from one life to the next, absolutely unchanging when it comes to books read by moonlight and heavy eyes refusing to sleep.

Children learn, and change, and learn, and change, and die.

Phil sighs again, wings fluttering behind him with a never-ending restlessness. His mind is a cycle of endless, meaningless thoughts that swirl like the clouds in the sky above him, parting briefly to reveal unconnected constellations that span across the dark sky.

The kitchen is barely big enough to fit his wingspan but Phil extends his extra limbs anyways, wings trembling as they brush against cabinet doors and pass the open doorway to touch upon the main room. Some of the moonlight catches on his feathers, glossy cream feathers dappled with the floral hues of light green, pink, and blue, the colors of a clear spring sky over a field of campions.

He wants nothing more than to take flight, now, soar until he finds a field exactly like that, but there will be no flowers blooming this late in the year, not without his coaxing. It is the time for deciduous trees to change the colors of their leaves from a summer green to a display of fire without the heat. A burning, brilliant showcase of shades before winter winds sweep in to douse the flames and bring bare branches and bright white snow to cover the ground completely.

Spring can not come early, nor disrupt the flow of the seasons that mortals so desperately rely upon to track the course of their lives until they no longer make it to the next turn of temperature. The Winter-Bringer flies the skies now, with his wings made of dark, opaque ice and endlessly calm disposition, for fall and winter move slowly, relentless yet patient in their arrival. Phil, in great contrast, is scattered and hasty, ready to melt snowdrifts with a flap of his wings at any second to watch bright flowers bloom under his gaze.

He has lived far too many centuries now to try and disrupt this cycle that he and Bad have fallen into, not willing to push his luck with The Balance any more than he does already.

Phil folds his wings and steps outside, pausing carefully to listen for either of his human sons' movements in the dead of night. There is silence, and so he steps outside, shivering as a cool autumn breeze rushes at him from the forest beyond. Hours left until they wake and he can fill another day with the love and care he has set aside for them, but now is no longer that time.

Outside, standing on the porch and looking out over his fields that he coaxed from the earth with careful hands, his fingers twitch. The knife sits in its sheath against his side, and he knows how trivially easy it would be to call upon Technoblade. Centuries ago, now, he could have flown into battle over Techno's head, landing his own blow as the Blood God took what was within his name to do.

Phil held his tongue to keep from cursing out The Balance aloud. It wouldn't give him anything except a visit that would fucking terrify his kids, which is the last thing he wanted. Now, he knows, that when he calls upon Technoblade that all he'll receive is a sorrowful look hidden behind the gentle smile given to the two mortal children who crowd his legs and beg for stories of grandeur and glory.

His wings catch the breeze a little as he steps out into the fields, barefoot, and he flaps them once, twice, watching the grain ripple out like the waves of the ocean. It shimmers, briefly, before settling, and Phil casts his eyes to the skies, wishing for something he can do nothing about except wait for.

Waiting, that's all a god's existence is, these days. Waiting for the moment of allowance when what was within a domain could be used or brought upon the world. Order, it was called. Balance, it was decreed. Chaos, dosed out in controlled segments, punished for being overused on a whim.

Bullshit, Phil sometimes privately thinks, when selfish thoughts crowd his mind.

He reaches the edge of the forest, casting a backwards glance at the house before departing into the treeline, forced to bend his wings to accommodate the interspersed tree trunks and bushes that crowded the forest floor. His fingers snatched leaves from the sky and scooped them up along the forest floor, feeling the cool plant matter against his fingers before he released it back to the rest of the rotting leaves along the floor. A trail of freshly green leaves followed him, from his footsteps and fingertips, turning in wandering circles until he is entirely surrounded by trees that are slowly blossoming to life again underneath his touch. They are the same leaves that thread throughout his hair, an array of flora blossoming along his scalp, intertwining with his blond locks. His coat, too, is made of those same spring-green leaves, shifting in dappled sunlight, sadly stagnant so late at night.

Around him, the animals that haven't already found shelter for slumber scamper across the forest floor, looking for a place undisturbed by a deity and his widespread wings. Crickets chirp in the undergrowth, and a few curious birds flutter along the treetops, wings beating among the leaves as they settle on branches to peer down at him from their perches above.

Soon, Phil stops underneath the stars, a spot where the trees have pulled back from each other just far enough that when he tips his head back, he can see the clouds clearing to display the stars, and when he looks around again, he can see no fields just beyond.

"Oh, shit," Phil mutters aloud, slowly realizing how far into the forest he's walked. "Where the fuck have I wandered to?"

He isn't answered so much as heard by a single crow, hopping down a few branches to perch upon a limb just a few feet taller than him. Phil meets the bird's gaze, and the two winged beings look curiously at each other for a moment, searching for more than what might meet the eye.

The crow takes flight in a blur, brushing right past Phil's cheek in a brush of wing that makes him yelp in surprise, turning his head to follow the crow's movements. "Hey!"

A few paces away, the bird waits on another perch in a different tree, still staring dead in his eyes, head tilted in clear expectancy.

Two more crows join the first, hopping on branches and the knots that jut out from various trunks of aspen trees. Phil continues to follow the first crow even further into the forest, a sense of uneasiness curling within him as more and more birds populate the trees around him, all staring down at him with the exact same inquisitive eyes, staring, watching, waiting.

It would be easy to turn around, or to fly out of here in an instant, back to the safety and stillness of the farmhouse and the two safe children that sleep within it. It would be easy to shake off the curiosity and excitement that mingles with this nervous feeling, to return to a routine of simplicity and ease.

But there is not much that Phil would consider to be beyond his knowing, these days. Now, hundreds of crows stare down at him from the trees that stretch high in the sky, nearly blocking out the orange leaves entirely as their round black bodies press together and their wings fluff out, all identical and yet Phil is certain he knows exactly which crow is the first one to appear to him, the one continuing to hop between branches as he follows, nearly dashing across the forest floor. Even more crows flutter around him as he moves, wings brushing against his own and landing on top of his striped hat or resting on his arm for a moment before taking flight again.

It's overwhelming, it's overbearing, and it's exciting. A wide, wild grin stretches across Phil's face as he spreads his arms, turning and laughing as the crows fly around him in a blur, hiding even the trunks of the trees from him now as he spins with them.

And then they're gone, off in a mass of beating wings and flurrying feathers, and Phil stands at the mouth of a large, dark cave, watching as the murder descends down into the darkness that lies below.

"Wait!" he calls, but the crows do not answer. They move as if they had never pressed their wings close to his cheeks, they move as if direct by something else entirely, they move as one.

Phil analyzes the structure of the cave, the width and angle of descent in a few quick glances. The cave is wide, and he cannot remember if he had been able to see the walls of it before, but when he looks at it again the slope is more than wide enough to accommodate his wingspan, walls consumed with shadow. The calls of the crows are growing fainter, and Phil does not spare a glance back to the forest and what rests outside of it.

His wings snap out, pastel coloring swallowed by dark shadow, and he flies, wings carrying him down in a quick descent as he takes off after the murder of crows who had led him here.

A breathless laugh leaves him as he flies again, wings maneuvering through the wide tunnels and closing to dart between smaller spaces held up by pillars of dirt and stone. He can barely see, and yet instinct takes over, following the distant cries of the crows through turns and tunnels and pausing, once, in a wide open space where a pool of water opens over a great cavern. Phil stays aloft there for a moment, marveling at the dark water he cannot see the bottom of and the ceiling he cannot reach, before taking off after the crows he can still hear, though deep inside him he knows they should be so much farther now, and he knows that they are waiting for him.

The tunnels narrow the more he flies, and soon Phil is struggling to keep his wings from brushing harshly against the sides of the tunnels, wincing as he dives through narrow gaps and struggles to keep aloft. He can no longer hear the crows, but he continues to fly anyways, pushing himself through the ever-narrowing tunnels until he can no longer flap his wings. Phil tumbles to the ground, pulling his wings against his back before standing again, staring at tunnel that waits ahead for him, barely taller than he is, and just as dark as everything before him.

Phil frowns, the sense of adventure draining from him as the mobility of his wings is restricted again. He scoffs lightly, listens out for the crows and hears nothing, and turns to find his way back out again.

The tunnel shakes, and rocks begin to fall around him.

#philza #zablr #philza fanfiction #c!kristin #trixtin #mumza as goddess of death #my writing #hhh.writing #otsats

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skymagpie · 4 years ago

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Rank your favorite daedric princes from best to worst? At the top of my personal list is Peryite mostly because of those 2 cultists in Summerset who panic when you accept their offer to join their Peryite cult.

Actually those are the only valid cultists in the game, I hope we get to see them again in Blackwood because that legit made me cry laugh when I saw them appear in Summerset and then in Elsweyr too 😭

Okay but I think I more or less separate the Daedric Princes in two categories: Bad and Molag Bal. Everyone goes into Bad because they all suck, Molag Bal sucks so severely he gets his own category. If I had to rank them based on who I like for various reasons, from most liked to least, it would be something like this (also WARNING for various spoilers below):

1. Meridia - I think Meridia is actually pretty bad. Like she is against free will, she was fine with the Ayleid owning slaves and her purification is basically enslaving people by wiping their free will, dreams and desires and leaving them only serving her as they say "body and mind". She is 10/10 Bad. She is also a weird fav of mine because I would love to see her fail? I would love her to be the big bad villain in ESO because I love light-themed villains. Like with her entire fall from grace lore you can even argue she would be a tragic villain. I exist in this space of simultaneously loving and hating Meridia. I have OCs who are followers of hers and who hate her too. Like I really love villains who think they are good and serve the greater good and are saving humanity from itself but are actually very evil in doing so. Great concept. Want more Meridia content in general.

2. Azura - everyone that thinks the Tribunal sucks is my friend. I have nothing against the Tribunal, I love them in the same way I love Meridia. Also the moon and star theme is 10/10. I mean she looks like prime 2015 tumblr aesthetic with the flower crown and all. I don't know what she even does? She sounds like your shady aunt that definitely killed someone but would come pick you up from a club at 4 am. She should've ranked higher.

3. Nocturnal - NOCTURNAL USED TO RANK 1st! SHE USED TO BE MY FAV! SHE WAS MY FAV IN SKYRIM! She is down here because she killed one of my favourite characters in ESO and I can't forgive that. I love her Blackfeather Court, I love her Shrikes just being these naked topless feral women, I love her goth woods. She is a whole Nightwish song. And Nightwish is my fav band. Everything about her is made for me to stan her. But I just can't forgive her stupid Summerset arc. I hate it. She was good in CWC though.

4. Jyggalag - Now listen. I just really like light/order/"good" themed bad guys. Bad guys justifying being shitheads with doing "good" or bringing "order" or just looking like knights and paladins in shiny armor? Yes!

5. Sheogorath - I am basic okay, of course I like Sheo. And I really like what he has going on with Jyggalag. Like their whole 15th century knight and nobility act they have going on. Really great aesthetic. Love the Alice in Wonderland feel. Love the sexy lady warriors. It's that kind of wacky movie concept I can appreciate. Not a big fan of your character becoming Sheogorath, I feel like it's a huge burden to bear as good as that DLC is, kinda hate the outcome. I hate him in ESO and steal his stupid hammer in PvP.

6. Mephala - She sucks. But she is a huge sexy spider lady. I still think she sucks but I have an OC that has this love-hate relationship with her so I have to rank her up high like this.

7. Peryite - So far he has done nothing serious except having Zaan the Scalecaller serve him in ESO and I don't know about the other games but he is like a skinny dragon. And his followers are funny. Like some king of plague Timon and Pumba. So he gets a pass.

8. Clavicus Vile - Like a annoying little dude with his dog? It's funny, I give him that. I have a Clavicus Vile demi-prince in ESO actually, used to be a joke character but I am now serious. I think he is mostly harmless too, except for the whole Morrowind - Summerset thing but they kinda had it coming there.

9. Mehrunes Dagon - He sucks. He will cause me a lot of grief in this new ESO chapter. Generally evil demon guy. But-- them back muscles tho. 👀

10. Sanguine - His like Skyrim quest is funny and I like it. I don't know what he does actually? One of my friends used to have him in their url on here. I've been told he is as bad as Molag Bal, but I can't say I remember what specifically. So might reevaluate this.

11. Hermaeus Mora - Had to copy his name from the UESP. Anyway he is cool I guess, I love those knowledge type of bad guys. Though when it comes to floating eyes and knowledge, I do prefer Vel'koz from LoL. But still 11 is high ranking in my book.

12. Namira - Because one of my friends loves her. I don't know much about her so she really is getting ranked low here because I just don't know the lore. She seems to like the outcasts and the ugly and I fit right in there so that's pretty cool, someone will care for me. If she is recruiting I think I am qualified for the job.

13. Vaermina - I honestly mix her up with Namira and Boethiah. I thought they are the same till like few months ago. Anyway I don't know her but I will play the ESO Stormhaven quests soon and I heard she is the Daedric Prince of Nightmares so it might be fun!

14. Boethiah - I hate Dragonstar Arena. That's it. Sorry you are ranked this low because I hate farming that motherfuck-

15. Hircine - Yes I know. I am one of the rare people ranking him this low. People usually like Hircine. He seems to be pretty cool. Actually he isn't all that bad? He is one of the better daedra. You deal with him and you know what you are in for. I love werewolves. I just got really pissed off that he turned Vykosa in ESO into a werewolf against her will. I know Daedric Princes are like this, but I really like Vykosa and I have an OC who was turned by her experiments so in honor of my character, I rank him this low. He looks cool. Like Herne the Hunter. I like that.

16. Malacath - I will be honest I actually don't know anything about him. Orc lore isn't my forte. The orcs are mad about him so I guess he is their local town boy playing in the big leagues? I don't know, I am sorry I didn't rank you higher.

17. Molag Bal...I guess - I hate Bal. His voice in ESO is really good though, kudos to the voice actor. But I hate him. Who doesn't? Even if ESO tried to sugarcoat his shit he is still like an entirely different brand of evil from all the others. I would vibe with any Daedric Prince but him. I have a Xivkyn OC and he hates him too. -1/10 I hope he stays dad after I anime slashed him in ESO xoxo

#phew that was long #the elder scrolls #thank you for the question tho i love answering!

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hoodedicequeen · 4 years ago

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Rewritten 3 - Helene x Avitas

There will be a Helvitas happy ending - it’s just a little... misleading

This fic contains an excerpt from one of my previous fics.

***

Helene Aquilla could rely on only one soul to push her through the aftermath of the war. She had no one left but two friends who valued each other far more than her, an infant who could barely walk, let alone console her, and him.

Musa of Adisa’s friendship was the only thing that held together the thin strands of willpower she had left. Not her will to serve the Empire; she had that in copious amounts, but her will to live.

She spent much of her spare time with him, riding through the countryside, laughing in the moonlight, reminiscing over the lost. Musa never allowed her to forget those she had loved. He urged her instead to think of all that they had brought to the world, the fire that they had ignited within her that raged on still, alive and strong. His view of the world gave her hope, his friendship slowly remaking her. And yet, it never seemed to be quite enough.

After dancing with him at the Moon Festival, she felt that it should be something more.

As the two of them strolled through the palace gardens weeks after the occasion, Helene stopped abruptly, meriting a questioning glance from the Beekeeper.

“Do you ever regret loving her?”

Musa’s expression grew pained. “I will never regret loving her. I only regret not loving her enough.”

Helene placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, remembering their conversation from a year before; shortly after they had taken back Antium. You will regret it for all your years. She understood him now. Understood him so clearly it hurt. “I never want to make that mistake again.”

Musa turned to face her, grabbing her hand in his. His smile was more beautiful and true than any of the ones he’d offered her before. “What are you implying, Empress?” He stepped closer to her.

Their lips were suddenly just a hairsbreadth apart. She could feel his breath mingling with hers.

“You are a bleeding idiot,” she said, closing that miniscule distance, and crossing an endless sea of emotions and doubts in the process.

***

Avitas Harper was dead. He knew it with utmost certainty and acceptance. No one could have survived such an injury as the one that had been inflicted upon him. No healer nor singer could have altered his fate. Yet he wasn’t in the Waiting Place, and he certainly wasn’t on the other side.

An odd figure lingered by his head, barely visible, as if it were a reflection of a reflection. Almost nothing at all. The figure disappeared a second later, and then reappeared, slightly more solid than before.

“I am Rehmat.”

Rehmat. The jinn queen who lived inside Laia. But what was she doing with him, in death?

“You are not dead, child. You are being given a choice.” Rehmat’s voice was as faint as her form. “In death, awaits your mother and father. Your lost comrades in arms. In life, awaits Helene Aquilla.”

Harper stared at Rehmat disbelievingly. “Why are you here? You should be with Laia. You should be aiding her in battle.”

“Most of my power lies with her. But a small fragment, activated a year ago when you defied the Nightbringer, lies within you still. I am a projection of that fragment.”

Rehmat immerses him in the memory:

“Set her down, Captain.” He enters Helene’s quarters, and the Nightbringer gestures to her bed. “And then leave.” He settles her onto the bed. He tries to do so carefully, but her grimace displays that he could not prevent an inevitable strain from falling upon her wound. The expression pains him deeply. He backs away. “I will not leave her,” he says. He straightens and looks the Nightbringer in the face without flinching.

The moment seemed like so long ago, and yet he remembered it clearly. He could recall every detail of every moment he’d shared with Helene, good and bad. His choice between life and death, between Helene and whatever lay on the other side, had been made from the moment Rehmat proposed it.

“If what you say is true, then I can go back to her.” He felt like crying out in joy.

“Yes. But as I said, you carry only a fragment of my power. The withdrawal process from your current middle state will take time. Months. Up to a year. But if you wish to return to life, I will send you directly to Helene Aquilla.”

“Yes.” Avitas had never been so sure about anything ever before. Well, except for his love for Helene. “Please give her back to me. I wish for nothing more. I will wish for nothing more for the rest of my existence.”

“Humans have never been wantless creatures.” Rehmat chuckled darkly.

“Goodbye, Avitas Harper.”

***

Harper awoke suddenly to find himself standing in the palace gardens of Antium.

Further down the garden path stood two figures - lovers - sharing an embrace. Musa, and a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Helene. The way her body curved, the color of her hair, the gentle clash of beauty and ferocity in her form, features he knew and loved with utmost clarity. But Helene would never fall for Musa’s shallow charms, his obviously fake smiles.

Avitas had never thought of Musa as a bad person, but quite suddenly, the man’s very existence irritated him.

It was then that he realized that he was deluding himself. That it was, indeed, Helene who stood with Musa.

Harper knew he should be nothing short of grateful that Helene had found love, that she was happy. But all he felt then was a heart-wrenching sorrow.

Had Helene moved on days after he had gone into the middle state, or had it been weeks? Months? He knew that she had loved him, that he loved her, but it was possible that her love had been born simply from the desperation of war, a need for companionship. He could clearly see that she was no longer burdened by that need.

If he interfered, and Helene did have lingering feelings for him, he would hurt both her and Musa. And if her love for him was naught, then he could only hurt himself.

Harper turned away and began walking out of the garden.

Humans have never been wantless creatures.

Rehmat was right. For though he had been given another chance at life, though he had gotten to see the woman he loved, he still wanted more.

***

Helene removed her lips from Musa’s at the sound of leaves rustling behind her. There had been no winds, not even the slightest of breezes.

She regarded Musa’s hurt expression for only a split second before turning and bounding silently towards the intruder. He was a fool if he thought he’d be able to assassinate her that easily.

It was only when she’d tackled him to the ground and held a knife to his throat that she realized that his back had been turned to her, that he had not seemed to have any intention to harm her at all.

It was but a moment later that she realized who he was.

“Av- Avitas?”

“Helene.” He allowed himself a weak smile, his eyes, for once, revealing everything that he felt.

“No. Avitas Harper is dead.” She pressed her knife to his throat; he made no attempt to resist her. “What are you?”

“Emifal Firdaant, Shrike.”

No unholy fey creature could possibly know of the words they’d shared. She had whispered them to Harper and Harper alone. And he had whispered them back to her with his dying breath.

“But I saw you....” No. She didn’t care what she had seen. Avitas was here. Her Avitas.

She kissed him. Kissed him with all of the pain she’d felt in losing him. Kissed him with the passion of all the kisses they should have shared in the past year.

But he didn’t kiss her back.

And when she followed his gaze to Musa, to the Beekeper’s pain at the thought of all that could have been had Harper not returned, she understood.

“Musa...” She understood, and still, she could do nothing.

The Beekeper walked away.

***

The next morning, a small scroll appeared in the palm of Helene’s hand. She saw but a glimmer of wings upon receiving it.

Consider your favor to me fulfilled, as you have granted me a six month leave to Adisa to assist with rebuilding. Spend time with Avitas Harper. If I was given a second chance with Nikla, I would let nothing get in my way. I know you are a much better person than I, and would not be so eager as to do so. Therefore I am removing myself from your path. Best wishes.

***

Musa,

I doubt I will ever be able to thank you enough for all you have done for me over the past year. Your hope, your kindness, and your irritating disposition are signs that the Skies have yet to completely condemn me. You deserve all the happiness in all the worlds, and we both know that it does not lie with me. You deserve much more than to be an unwilling Empress’s second choice. But our time together was much too short, and I desperately wish that we can remain friends. I will be damned by the ten bleeding hells if you run away forever without so much as a goodbye.

Empress Regent,

Helene Aquilla

***

Upon the completion of her letter, Helene began wandering the palace in search of Harper.

She found him in the baths.

“Where is Musa? Why are you here?” His expression gave away nothing. But his eyes - they told a story all their own. They were laced with unending desire, and an equally deep abyss of sorrow.

Instead of giving him an explanation, she found herself pulling her hair free of its crown and stepping towards him ever so slowly. “You know why I’m here.”

The words were an echo. The start to a conversation they’d had there before.

“But I need you to say it. Please.”

“I’m here because it’s been a year since you’ve kissed me, since you’ve held me, since I’ve seen you at all. And when I saw the light fade from your eyes, I knew that I’d never love the same way again.”

“Helene.” He stepped closer, and whispered her name in her ear. He whispered it again and again, falling into sobs as he did, for he had thought that what they were starting would never be possible again.

She replied with his name, a mere breath falling from her lips. Filled with sorrow and endless joy alike.

“Avitas.”

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mordoriscalling · 4 years ago

Text

The Shrike and the Lark (pt. 5)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3) (Pt. 4)

Creyden, 1237

On the tenth day of the Warlord’s stay in Creyden, a famous travelling troupe of musicians performs after dinner, for the enjoyment of the King, the Queen, their court, as well as the White Wolf and his entourage. The group came on King Julian’s invitation, for he is a great patron of arts. Ever since he ascended the throne, he’s actively encouraged artists to visit and create under his sponsorship. As a result, the royal court of Creyden has become one of the cultural centres of the North, which silenced at least those who condemned the Black Sun monarchs as barbarians with no care for the finer elements of life.

The evening’s music is splendid and people take to the dancefloor eagerly. King Julian and Queen Renfri dance first four dances together – with the Queen as the lead and the King as the led, for the twin monarchs have been criticised for their non-traditionality so many times that, out of spite, they have made it their mission to shove it in everyone’s faces – but then King Julian leaves his sister’s side to ask Eskel to join him.

As King Julian and Eskel dance, their gazes do not stray from each other for a second, and smiles do not leave their faces. Too taken with each other, they do not take not of the scrutiny of the whole room falls upon them. After all, the Lark has never taken a lover so peculiar. The bulky, scarred monster hunter is a far cry from the noblewomen and occasional noblemen not rejecting the King’s advances in fear of consequences. Eskel is at ease, appearing somehow dismissive of their difference in station, which does not endear him to many in the royal court.

Their affair has not been received with the same disapproval by other witchers, with the glaring exception of the Warlord himself. It has been noticed, of course, that the White Wolf seems to bear a grudge towards the King. The witcher’s attitude towards the Lark has been frosty, especially during the negotiation talks. Yet, even then, the Warlord does not show his dislike as openly as he does now – his glower directed at King Julian could bring death to a lesser man.

The King, however, is no ordinary man in this regard. He is known to love proudly, no matter who holds his affections at a given time. And so, he answers the White Wolf’s glares with challenging stares of his own as he dances with his witcher lover.

The situation eventually reaches its climax. After their third dance together, Eskel and King Julian leave the dance floor and make their way towards the high table, chattering happily. The White Wolf raises from his seat and strides towards them, meeting them halfway.

The King’s good humour vanishes as the Warlord, who scowls formidably, stands before him. The room seems to hold a breath.

“May I request a moment in private, Your Majesty?” the White Wolf grinds out.

“You may,” the King permits coldly.

Julian leaves Eskel with a kiss on the cheek and a murmured promise of swift return, then heads out of the hall with the Warlord silently following in his footsteps. The two renew their conversation only when the door of the nearby war room closes behind them. As soon as no ears can hear them, the White Wolf lays the problem on the line.

“Put a stop to your dalliance with Eskel,” he demands. King Julian sputters but the White Wolf does not give him the chance to answer. “Either this,” he goes on, “Or court him properly and marry him. Do right by him. He doesn’t deserve any less.”

“That is true,” King Julian agrees, then falls silent. Eventually, he speaks again, his response measured, “You charged me with not being the same irresponsible man I once had been, but you weren’t entirely right. There remains one responsibility that I will dodge until my dying breath or else it will take away the rest of the air I breathe. My duties stifle me enough already.”

“Jaskier,” the Warlord sighs, exasperated. “Put it bluntly.”

“I will not marry, Geralt.”

Anger sparks in Geralt’s gaze at the statement. “So what are you even doing with Eskel?” he growls, “Toying with him to your amusement? Does the prospect of the ruin you’ll bring to his heart entertain you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, his eyes narrowed.

“You are the same with all your lovers, aren’t you?” Geralt asks. “You look into their core so that not a single vulnerability remains hidden from you. Then, you embrace them as completely as only you can – ” Soul-deep hurt unfurls in Geralt’s tone as he says this, seeping from in between the syllables until his voice is hoarse. “ – and then, you love them like they’ve never been loved before, just to walk away, leaving them forever aching for the fullness of your love.”

The accusations – so lashed out and yet so carefully structured – leave ringing silence in their wake. The White Wolf, vulnerable after having bared his heart, shifts away. Jaskier may now only look upon the witcher’s back. He attempts to form a reply but fails to make a sound. When he finally succeeds, he manages just one word.

“Geralt,” he rasps, shocked, pained and pleading all at once.

Geralt does not answer the call; he clenches his fists but stands still.

Jaskier swallows thickly. “There hasn’t been a day since that I don’t regret leaving you,” he confesses, sorrow making his own voice waver, “I’m so sorry, but I had to. I had to find – ”

Geralt turns to Jaskier with a huff, baring his teeth in a derisive smile. “Don’t bother,” he says, then moves to leave the room.

“But I promised,” Jaskier insists, standing in his way.

“Fuck your promise,” the witcher snaps. “Fuck that, and the rest of your lies.”

“I did not lie,” Jaskier counters, now furious too, “The Jaskier you got to know is all real. Julian was concealed underneath, yes, I did not lie when I befriended you because you’re a good man, nor when loved you with every breath I drew – ”

“Shut up,” the White Wolf snarls, “Don’t you fucking dare say such things to me, not after you avoided all my questions –”

“I was too afraid! I was never sure if Stregobor was still after me or not, I was too afraid to be discovered. I never revealed my lineage to anyone!”

“You didn’t trust me, then.”

“I trust you with my life!” Jaskier cries.

The statement and the emotion behind it dance on the verge of saying too much. Geralt’s answer dies on his tongue and he stares at his former lover, stunned.

Jaskier goes to sit down at the table, covering his face with his hands. When he stops hiding his face, he does not look at Geralt. “The way you can’t speak of the Trails,” he says quietly, “just the same, I couldn’t utter a word of what Stregobor has done to my sister – my twin, the very half of my soul – or of how he made me submit to his tortures. Or of how I lived on the run, whoring myself, lying and stealing, until I finally turned the corner. I couldn’t face how that fucking mage shaped me into a wreck that I am.”

Geralt sighs, his anger faltering. “You saw me for the wreck that I was, that I am,” he replies. “All of it, and you didn’t flinch away. Why didn’t you allow me a single glimpse in return? You must’ve known that you had no rejection to fear from me.”

“And yet, I was a coward,” Jaskier admits. “I’m so sorry –”

“I don’t wish to speak of it anymore,” the witcher dismisses, measuring Jaskier with a hard stare. “Just be warned, Your Majesty: if you break my brother’s heart, there will be consequences.”

“Understood,” King Julian grinds out and raises from his seat. Then, he looks deep into the White Wolf’s eyes, bows his head and murmurs, “My lord.”

The Warlord clenches his jaw and storms out of the room.

The King returns to the feast alone, which is a fact not overlooked by anyone in the hall, including those seated at the high table.

“I wonder,” Lady Yennefer says to the Queen, “What’s happened between them?”

The chair separating the sorceress and Queen Renfri has been vacated. Without the Warlord in the way, the two women are now able to converse freely.

Queen Renfri looks at Lady Yennefer sharply. “Why is that of interest to you?” she demands.

“Your Majesty doesn’t have to distrust me so,” the sorceress reassures, “I have no ill-willed intentions. It’s just curiosity.”

Renfri accepts the answer, inclining her head just a touch. Her watchful gaze does not stray from White Wolf’s left hand for a moment. “You must excuse my distrust of mages, Lady Yennefer” she says, “It’s a result of what one of your kind put me through.”

“I understand,” Lady Yennefer replies smoothly, “Stregobor did take it way too far, but he was very fond of the influence which instigating fear of the Curse granted him.” She snorts. “I can’t say I miss his bullshit.”

“Damn right,” Renfri agrees, “The world’s better without him. His life is the only one I pride myself in taking.”

“It is an achievement of a sort,” the sorceress affirms. “Though, I must admit that I’m... cautious, facing a person who managed to kill one of my own kind.”

Queen Renfri smirks smugly but then schools her face into a neutral expression. “Mutual wariness suits fine with me,” she answers, reaching for her goblet of wine.

Lady Yennefer takes a sip from her drink as well. The two ladies are silent for some time, listening to the music and surveying the surroundings. They both chuckle upon witnessing King Julian quite literally dragging Eskel out of the hall.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t settle for mutual wariness,” Lady Yennefer suggests then. At the Queen’s questioning gaze, she explains, “One grows the most powerful by conquering their own fears.”

Queen Renfri regards the sorceress intently but the purple-eyed mage does not seem bothered by the intense scrutiny - she stares right back with a similar interest.

“I shall consider this thought,” the Queen says at last.

Lady Yennefer’s smile is sharp and satisfied as she replies, “Then I am awaiting your answer.”

Renfri lifts her goblet up and drinks to that.

Read the rest on AO3

#myfic #geraskier #jaskier/eskel #the accidental warlord and his pack #jaskier & renfri are disaster twins

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