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mae-i-scribble · 4 years

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Random mdzs daemon au notes

In honor of the fic I’m going to be posting next week for the mxtx mini big bang I’m throwing out various worldbuilding notes about the daemon au I’ve had in the works for a hot minute because I love daemon aus so much. Can’t say anything about the actual fic I’ve written but I’m really looking forward to posting it! Worldbuilding tidbits:

-daemons can only travel about 20ft from their person before it starts to get painful, although the distance can be furthered to about 40ft with training. -swords are given the same day as courtesy names, so that the cultivator and daemon get their public titles at the same time -cultivator’s daemons maintain the ability to transform into several forms by using spiritual energy while people without a developed golden core settle into one form when they are 17-20 years old. Transforming uses spiritual energy so usually the daemon remains in their settled form. Most often transformations are used as an intimidation tactic and when attacking another’s daemon.

-daemons are used on night hunts, but it’s considered gross and dangerous to let them come in direct contact with things such as fierce corpses. Since daemons are seen as a representation of the soul, contact with resentful energy is kept to a minimum. Some sects uphold this more strictly than others *cough the lan sect *cough, while others are more lax (the nie sect, wen sect). -daemons have a connection to golden cores but are not made with spiritual energy, hence when jiang cheng’s core is destroyed his daemon does not disappear but it’s severely weakened, unable to transform outside of it’s settled form.

-daemons can interact with the world and with people, however touching someone’s daemon without permission is like, the biggest taboo and is likely to get the offending part cut off via sword or the daemon’s intervention.

-daemons occupy this weird space in between being there and not quite there, they follow the size and movements of animals but also they're very floaty. Aquatic animals don’t need water they can just kinda fly around. All cultivator daemons have a golden glow to them, due to their connection to golden cores. -daemons usually choose their own names and take on the last name of their person, wei ying’s daemon uses cangse due to an agreement they made after wei ying was orphaned, so that both his parents could be honored.

-daemons don’t take on any gender in this, remaining completely neutral

-Separation is possible but it is considered the greatest tragedy, and the people affected kinda get avoided out of fear bc what kind of person could you be if part of your soul was cut out (wei ying and his daemon get separated at the burial mounds out of necessity, needless to say it is very painful :))) How separation happens is generally unknown, but is often associated with large amounts of resentful energy. There are also legends that if a person and daemon are physically separated, the pair will spiritually separate as well. A separated daemon is no longer bound to one form, but they lose the golden shine (if they were a cultivator’s daemon). It’s well known that a separated pair usually dies young out of heartbreak. Daemons and their humans: (putting a keep reading bar here bc I went overboard in thinking of daemons for everyone)

Wei ying- daemon takes the form of a vulture after the burial grounds, settled form was of a swift before. When in mxy’s body, they return to being unsettled before settling as a magpie Name: Cangse Yin Jiang cheng- settled as a crocodile, but also really likes to take dog forms. Name: Jiang Yi Madame Yu- Pit viper. Name: Yu Fang Jiang Fengmian- porpoise Name: Jiang Bo Jiang Yanli- otter. Name: Jiang Lian

Lan Zhan- settled as a clouded leopard, prefers a snowy owl form when flying. Name: Lan He

Lan Xichen- tibetan antelope. Name: Lan Bai

Lan Qiren- siberian ibex (i’ll name them at some point)

Lan Sizhui- unsettled, prefers smaller forms to avoid attention even if it feels really nice turning into a bear. Name: Lan Nuan

Nie Huaisang- Shrike as settled form, can’t transform for long bc of huaisang’s low cultivation level when it does transform, often chooses small, unassuming forms, most notably a weasel. Name: Nie Zhi

Nie Mingjue- settled as an ox, also loved to take a tiger form. Name: Nie Kai Jin Guangyao- is widely believed to have settled as a raven but actually settled as a fox, they simply stay transformed when in public. Xichen is the only one that knows outside of Qin Su. Adopted the Jin name with Guangyao. Name: Jin Li

Jin Zixuan- crane. Name: Jin Xiang

Jin Ling- unsettled, likes to take wolf form to match fairy Name: Jin Chen

Jin Guangshan- eagle. Name: Jin Fu

Jin Zixun: carp

Wen Ning- sambar (type of deer), after being brought back by wei ying his daemon remains unsettled, although often takes a tiger form out of remembrance. Is very protective of wen ning. The two were also separated upon wen ning’s death, his daemon goes into hiding when wen ning is captured so that it can’t be used to hurt wen ning. The two kinda have a distance between them after wei ying comes back but they still would do anything for the other. Name: Wen Su

Wen Qing- tiger Name: Wen Tai

Wen Chao- crow

Su She- Tufted deer, but likes to take big cat forms out of jealousy for you know who.

#mdzs #cql #wei ying #lan zhan #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #not me shamelessly throwing my content out there #not me #feel free to give me thoughts i like interaction #daemon au #maely writes

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laflenkenway · 3 years

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💡what inspires your fic ideas? 🕶canonverse or au? 📒any fics planned? 🎁 have a quote from a WIP?

💡most often I think it's either lost potential or mischaracterizations. Sometimes it's wanting to illustrate a message to the audience.

🕶️ AU, about the only thing strictly canon fics have to offer are character studies, and while I do enjoy those, there's only so much you can do within the limits of canon.

📒 yes, I have a PJO rewrite that I've been planning for years, and more recently I've been tossing around the idea of a Mossflower SIOC now that @dosbysilverqueen has proven that it is actually possible to write a good one.

🎁 Another ferret, Rustclaw, for his reddish brown paws, ducked into the tent upon command and began his report. "My Lord, we found an abandoned castle, it's in terrible condition, but the base structure is still standing and across the river about two days from it is a quarry to make repairs. The area is definitely inhabited by the usual preybeasts and an otter tribe but we couldn't get a better idea of what they're like without giving it away." Rustclaw paused. "The bad news, and the reason we're back this early, is that we think Kano the Shrike is headed for the same prize coming from the west."

I'll be honest, the second he said 'abandoned castle' I nearly snapped my quill and had to scramble to keep up. My second thought was "Kano the Shrike? You're sure?"

He turned to me, and judging by the look on Verdauga's face and the rest of the captains, I had only barely beat them to the punch.

"I'd bet a silver candlestick, my Lord. We, uh, hired a bird to scout out west, seeing as we figured you'd like to know about the castle, and it said that it encountered a horde with blue painted foxes with black eye bands and beasts impaled on the perimeter fence. That sounds like Kano to me, and there's no reason that robin would know details like that. He's about two weeks behind us and the ruin is south east for a week and a half."

#writing stuff #ask me

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irisbleufic · 4 years

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Gotham ships as gods from greek or whatever mythology you'd like.

Hello, anon! Finally, I feel like I have my thoughts organized enough to respond to this. I didn’t forget about you; your patience has been exemplary.

When I first got your ask, I attempted to find 1:1 correspondences from Greek mythology. This only worked for about 2 or 3 of my Gotham pairings; thereafter, I got aggravated and set it aside for about a week. I don’t like to do anything by halves. During the second week I was holding onto this, I realized that it was easier to answer than I thought, as some of the Gotham writing I’ve done already has my takes on mythologies built in!

For just a few broad-strokes answers that don’t appear in any of my fic, I can say that Oswald and Edward have personality traits and relationship features that make me think of Hades and Persephone. My 3 favorite ladies, Selina and Ivy and Bridgit, make me think of the Moirai (the Fates, Lachesis and Clotho and Atropos respectively, if you’re wondering which one is which). Tabitha and Barbara make me think of Ceyx and Halcyon. And, stepping a bit outside the Greek paradigm, Bruce and Jeremiah unquestionably make me think of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Thinking about Jim and Harv just vaults me into some of the sadder brothers-in-arms options out there, maybe Euryalus and Nisus.

Now, I mentioned that I’ve already written some fic that takes mythic/folkloric elements and correspondences (with regard to characterization and relationship dynamics) into account—just not necessarily from Greek or Roman sources:

When You Find It, Run, as the longest installment and one of the initial 4 kick-off stories in DDO, was always going to be a retelling of Tam Lin. It’s one of the stories in that series that can be read as a stand-alone (it accounts for 132,000 words in a series that is cumulatively 320,000 words long). I built that particular plot thread gradually, and it’s really in the final chapters that it becomes obvious what I built up throughout the narrative. Oswald and Edward made an excellent Janet and Tam Lin, and I was pleased that a number of readers who were unfamiliar with the traditional ballad in its many forms were inspired to go look it up.

Gold Dust, one of the rare stand-alone projects in my overall backlog of Gotham fic, is a fusion with the world of His Dark Materials, in that the characters have daemons that operate more or less like daemons do in those novels (in no way is it a crossover; HDM characters do not appear in it). Dust is a thing that’s known and present, as it’s a more “modern” take on the world of HDM by default. There are some extensions and theories I’ve implemented; I never got around to writing HDM fic in order to test them, so this seemed like as good a place as any. I pulled the names of the Gotham characters’ daemons from world mythologies, folklore, and literature, casting my net a lot broader than HDM’s naming conventions for daemons. Oswald’s kingfisher daemon has a Hungarian name, Eszter; Edward’s raven daemon is named Desdemona (yes, that’s a somewhat dark-humored reference to Othello, if you consider Ed’s first major canonical crime). Gertrud’s daemon is revealed, via Oswald’s ruminations, to have been a greenfinch named Álmos (also drawing on her Hungarian origins); similarly, via Ed’s POV, we learn Kristen’s daemon was a red admiral butterfly named Nestor. Tabitha has a species of spider-killing wasp (Abernessia capixaba) named Tybalt; Barbara has a damselfly named Eimar. Butch has a horned toad, Mira. Selina has an Abyssinian cat called Ovinnik, which is a reference to Slavic folklore. Ivy has a perpetually unsettled daemon due to what happened to her in the aging-up debacle, but she and her daemon have made piece with this shapeshifting; Damaris usually appears as a luna moth, but takes some other shapes in the fic (such as a Siamese cat, in order to taunt Ovinnik). Harv has an Irish terrier named Cara; Jim has a German shepherd named Sigyn. Fish has a jaguar known as Tezcatlipoca, Tez for short. Hugo Strange has a water monitor (lizard) named Gan. Zsasz has a wolf, name not given. Caroline and Vee, two of my OCs from DDO, have a passenger pigeon named Laetitia and a grasshopper mouse named Bechor (this name is Hebrew, since Vee comes from a Hispanic/Sephardic Jewish background). Olga has a tundra swan named Bogdan, about as Russian as you can get. Bruce’s daemon settled the night his parents died, which was more traumatic than cause for celebration; she’s a barn owl named Taalumah (also Hebrew, since I write Bruce as Jewish), Taalu for short. Alfred has a red fox named Mathilde. The names of the Valeska twins’ daemons do come from Greek mythology, which is why I wanted to end on these two. Jeremiah’s burrowing owl is named Theia, and Jerome’s shrike is named Tethys (Theia and Tethys are both Titânes, Titans, in Greek mythology). I also cover the twins’ parents’ daemons, Paul Cicero with a pallid bat, Galatea, and Lila Valeska with her black-tailed python (a literal snake in canon, transformed here into a daemon) named Sheba. Lila’s daemon is the only one with a name pulled from show canon.

#gotham #mythology #nygmobblepot #wayleska #gotham sirens

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luzial · 4 years

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are you still doing song recs for ruins chapters or did i miss that?

OMG I completely forgot I had done this, haha! I’ve gotten in the habit recently of listening to a couple songs per chapter that “feel” right but sometimes it literally is just the feel and the lyrics can’t be warped in any way to sound like they’re about either my fic specifically or the romance generally. But I absolutely do still have song recs for the chapters, and I also went through my enormous Ruins playlist recently to put the entire thing in story order. (That was on an “I’m obviously avoiding writing” kind of day.)

Anyway, I went back and found the list from an older post and have added song recs for chapters 17 and 18 (also maybe made a few of other changes cause I’ve accumulated a lot more songs in the last couple years <.<).

Chapter 1. Dark Doo Wop - MSMR Chapter 2. I Will Follow You Into The Dark (Cover) - Daniela Andrade Chapter 3. Your Bones - Of Monsters And Men Chapter 4. Shrike - Hozier Chapter 5. Wolf & I - Oh Land Chapter 6. Modest Mountains - Field Division Chapter 7. Better Man - Rosie Carney Chapter 8. Electric Indigo - The Paper Kites Chapter 9. Young - Vallis Alps Chapter 10. Psyche (Flash Treatment) - Massive Attack Chapter 11. North - Sleeping at Last Chapter 12. Coming Down - Halsey Chapter 13. Glorious - Foxes / Stardust - Helen Humes Chapter 14. Mars - Sleeping at Last Chapter 15. Youth - Daughter Chapter 16. Bloom - The Paper Kites Chapter 17. Bare - WILDES / Eleven - yMusic Chapter 18. Forever Bound - Von Grey

#asks #ruins by luzial #luzial writes #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #solas #lavellan #solavellan #solas x lavellan #ruins music

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flyingflesheater · 5 years

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Hozier asks: "In the Woods Somewhere" (have you had a supernatural experience?) and "Shrike" (favorite bird. I mainly wanted to ask that because I wondered if Alice's birds in Simple Parts were on account of being your favorite. That was her name right? Alice? Still love that fic so much.

In the Woods Somewhere

yes, many. I have seen several spirits. Most recently, my mother’s house is “haunted” by some sort of creature that most often appears as a cat but is sometimes a fox. You can see it out of the corner of your eye sometimes and her dog flips out at it a lot. I believe 100% that my cat can see ghosts.

also i’ve seen a ufo once when i was in undergrad

Shrike

No lie, I am def a bird person. i love birds so much. My url is a bird reference, my blog is named The Nest, etc.

I def love Cordon Bleu Finches, which were the finches that Alice had. But Cut Throat Finches are my favorite finches.

My all time favorite bird is ravens though

#quatorz

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pyrriax · 3 months

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hi utopia :] hrrmm what can i ask you. what’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written

hi scooter!! thats a tough question, ooo.....

in terms of true fanfic, i'd have to say thats asomatous . that fic absolutely reconstructed how i go about writing, since it really just turned out Right.

but, if i bend it a little to include some of my more. original-but-still-inherently-fannish works, then i mean. i have to point to where the dust settles (which i swear im working on its not abandoned ive just been plagued by terralith)

#ask a ghost #asker: sunnyscooter #man has it really been five months since i last posted a fic. what the hell #<- voice of a guy who has had the art & oc brainworms for that span of time... genuinely blame me getting super into terralith #((terralith is the name of the project ive been working on. for context!))#genuinely i need to write more fic but also i have. not felt like writing as much! ive chipped away at small oc pieces but #that doesnt really count as fic in the traditional sense. i was actually thinking abt working on something in the s27 canon but.#i havent gotten around to that quite yet.... but who knows! maybe i'll do that :D #both of the fics mentioned are. very heavy on the paranoia... they are just drenched in my paranoid Dread and its interesting to me #ANYWAYS thats enough from me i saw the email for this and was like 'ok well now i have to get up so i can answer that'#honestly i was going to say 'the shrike & the fox (to consume the stars)' but ik you dont like cannibalism so. ya #most of my recent fic work has been. heavy on the gore/cannibalism/dark themes... ive found myself fascinated by the macabre #praying i havent gotten the 'person who doesnt like cannibalism' mixed up... i THINK that was you. i think...#ough i need to finish working on deathconsciousness... i started writing that but had to pivot to work on other stuff

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theherocomplex · 7 years

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Senticous, Aloy/Erend

Senticous: prickly; thorny.

Note: This could be read as a companion fic to those wings in your spine, but you don’t need to read that for this to make sense.

Warnings for some violence/body horror, and mentions of death (human and animal, nothing graphic).

[recommended listening]

**********

You wait out a winter storm in yet another set of ruins, and while the world is buried in snow drifts half again as tall as you are, you manage to wake ARTEMIS from its long sleep.

Half-wake, really. Without GAIA, you’re lucky to get anything out of the subordinate functions, but you’ve been riding the thin grey edge of hope for so long that even this shred of life is cause for celebration.

(It’d be better if there were someone to celebrate with, and even you know this, Aloy, the Seeker, the forever-wanderer; joy is meant to be shared, not because it’s too heavy but because it’s too fragile to live on its own.)

Still, you grin and punch the air when the AI core lights up and an interface blooms before you. ARTEMIS, the interface whispers through your Focus, was an ancient goddess of the hunt, and she – impossible to think of the AI as it, now – is responsible for the strange and wild life that should have filled your world.

Do you remember, Aloy, when you first thought your world teeming with life? The boars, the foxes, the dragonflies darting in bright shimmers over the water – everywhere you looked, there was life, in endless abundance.

How wrong, how young you were.

You parcel out your time with the database, even though your hands cramp with the need to know. There’s so much you could bring back, so much more life to set free – but ARTEMIS is weak, and one misstep now could mean disaster.

Take your time, Aloy. They’ve waited this long to be born. They can wait a little longer.

You start with the birds, and mouth the unfamiliar names as a riot of colored feathers and song fills the room around you. Cardinal. Cedar Waxwing. Heron. Loon. Sandpiper. Shrike.

The last one catches your eye, so you open the full entry, and feel your mouth go dry. The shrike, you read, would impale its prey – insects, mice, other birds – on thorns, or spikes, and then tear them apart.

It’s not cruelty, you tell yourself, as you close the window and turn off your Focus. It’s just the way of the world. Only humans are cruel by choice.

It’s still a long time before you sleep.

***

You dream.

In them, you die, over and over again: Helis’ hand on your throat, his blade in your belly, smiling as he pins you to the ground. You struggle, you scream, but what comes out of your mouth isn’t a voice but the vicious shriek of a Glinthawk.

That’s right, Helis tells you, smiling ever wider. He pulls the blade free, and with his bare hand digs into the hole in your belly. You feels a great shattering beneath your ribs, and then his hand comes free, full of wires and metal, sparks darting fitfully back and forth before dying. You’re just another made thing, one that outlived its usefulness. And now, you will be broken.

He crushes your metal heart in his hand, and Aloy goes out, a candle in a sudden wind, snow gusting off a mountaintop.

You wake up, gasping, feeling under your clothes for a hole you know isn’t there, for a warm flesh heart, but the words rattle on and on in your head: you’re just another made thing.

Helis is dead, HADES is broken. Behind you and out of sight, Meridian lives, and the world is green around you. You wait until the dream loosens its hold, then lie back, press your fingers into your chest till they leave bruises. Outside and above you, the stars wheel on, their old names forgotten. You breathe slowly in the dark until you stop tasting iron and it feels safe to close your eyes.

***

There’s another dream, but it comes so rarely you only remember snatches of it on waking. It’s after the battle, when you stood among the green, rustling leaves and whispered, I’m alive, I’m alive, we did it, to yourself. But this time, Varl doesn’t appear, and the city is empty. It’s just you on the rise, alone, and far below is Erend, shielding his eyes from the sun, calling your name.

You want to go to him, but there’s no way down. No ledges, no ladders, just a wall of thorns, and a thousand small creatures dying upon them. You can only climb up, toward the cold Spire as it pierces the sky.

If you called to him, Aloy, what would your voice sound like?

The dream makes it hard to think of him — no, it makes it hurt to think of him, your chest coiled so tight around the pang it might burst, so you don’t, until you come back to Meridian and he’s there, with the same awful jokes, the same bright smile.

“I got a priest waiting, you know,” he tells you. “Any time you’re ready.”

It’s just a joke, you tell yourself, as you let the question roll off your back. Even so, every time you dream of him, you look for a safe way down.

***

Erend’s careful not to get drunk around you, not that he’s ever pointed it out. He just…doesn’t, and while the fumes may cling to his clothes, his breath is clean, his eyes clear. You’re not sure how you feel about that — you’re glad he’s drinking less, mostly because he couldn’t really drink more — but feeling like he’s trying to prove something to you by doing it makes your back tight. If he’s going to do this for anyone besides himself, it should be for Ersa, shouldn’t it?

You’re in Meridian unexpectedly on a spring night after your Strider overloads during a brief but vicious sandstorm. So you wander the city, looking for a familiar face to pass the time until the next herd of something rideable comes by, and run into Erend.

A very, very drunk Erend.

Your path took you by the alehouse accidentally; you never have reason to come here, so you’re not sure why your feet steered you this way, and you’re about to turn around when someone lumbers out the door, roaring. Then the someone catches sight of you, and staggers forward, one arm raised in your direction.

Instinct takes over. When someone sounds like that, there’s blood in the not-too-distant future, and it’s good to have a spear in your hand if you can’t get out of sight fast enough. You’ve handled more than your share of fools who decided to test a woman traveling alone, and are ready to put this one down just like all the others when he passes into the light.

“Erend.” You lowers your spear, fighting not to turn your heel and leave when Erend gets in arms-reach, reeking of old ale and stale sweat. You’ve never seen him like this, hair matted by sweat, food spilled down his chest plate and crusted in his beard. It’s a fight not to show your disgust on her face.

Not that you think Erend can actually see your face, given how he can’t seem to focus on you at all.

“Aloy.” He must think he’s whispering, but it comes out as a hoarse shout. “You’re — you’re here, heh, and ’m here, and —” He weaves on his feet, then falls against a pillar. “’S a good night, with you here.”

Oh, no. No. Not like this. You back away, your hands up, warding off whatever’s coming next. “You need to get home, Erend,” you say, still backing away. “Looks like you’ve had a long night.”

This is a thousand times worse than when he met you drunk at the gates. You could understand that — if you could have drunk your way through the worst days after losing Rost, you probably would have — but this, the soppy way he’s looking up at you, and the smell —

You want to be anywhere but here, anywhere, so long as you don’t have to see this.

Erend gives himself a hard shake and clears his throat. You take another step away in case it’s a prelude to vomit, but when he looks back up at you, there’s an unexpected clarity in his eyes.

It quickly gives way to horror, then shame, and then a sullen kind of resignation. On a face that you’re used to see smiling, and laughing — a face that seems made for both those things — the changes make you nauseous.

“You shouldn’t —” He swallows, a thick, heavy sound. “Shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t see this. Dammit, shouldn’t —” He pushes off the pillar and wheels away, toward the dark street. “Sorry,” he says, without turning around. “This isn't…isn’t how I wanted —”

And that’s when Erend trips over a loose stone and goes sprawling facedown in the street. It would have been hilarious, you decide, if he hadn’t just laid there for a few seconds, like the weight of his shame had pinned him to the ground, the way Sawtooths take down unwary hunters. The way a shrike pins its meal.

In an instant, your disgust turns to pity, and uncertain, wry affection. “Hey,” you say, stepping closer, pitching your voice so only Erend can hear. “Let me walk you home, all right? Just this once.”

Erend’s back on his feet before you’re done asking, still unsteady but obviously trying to stay upright on his own. “’S fine,” he says. “I’ll be fine. Night, Aloy.”

“Oh, I insist.” You slip neatly under his arm and sling it over your shoulders. He stinks up close, and he’s so heavy in all his armor you’re now the one staggering, but you manage to steer him home without disaster. He stops apologizing after the first ten paces — a lucky thing, because if you have to hear him slurring sorry, sorry one more time, you’ll throw him over the city wall.

Erend’s house isn’t quite what you expected. Of course there’s armor everywhere, in various stages of repair, and a pile of misshapen metal in one corner, but the floor is swept clean, and the dozen or so empty ale bottles are arranged in a neat wedge on the floor.

“Cozy,” you tell him. Erend’s head lolls against yours, but he doesn’t reply. “All right, Captain, let’s get you to bed.” He sighs in your face. “Eucch. Right. So attractive, Erend.”

He lets you manhandle him up the stairs and onto his bed, and then sighs through you puzzling out how to take off the largest bits of armor. What’s with the Oseram and their obsession with buckles, honestly?

“There,” you say, tugging off his boots and finally escaping the stench-cloud — yes, you know that’s uncalled for, but you just dragged the man up two flights of stairs in full armor — hanging all around him. You shove him onto his side, and prop him up against the wall with a pillow against his belly. “Well, I don’t think you’ll die in your sleep…just as long as you don’t try to go down the stairs until you’re seeing straight.”

Erend begins to snore lightly. It’s actually not a horrible sound, just a warm, human one.

You hate Erend’s drinking. You’d tear it out with your nails and teeth if you could, then skewer it on the ground, but he’d have to want that — and he doesn’t. Not yet, and maybe never.

Is the drinking a kind of armor, or slow suicide? Or is it just the thorn he twists on, the way love is yours?

“If you think I’m ever doing this again,” you tell him, fists clenched, “you deserve to fall down the stairs.”

Erend’s mouth falls open a little, his face falling into slack, unworried lines. He looks as young as you do — but then, you’re not as young as you were. The miles are long, and they show up in strange ways. But he looks so peaceful you can almost imagine that he’s not falling-down drunk, and that you just happened on him napping when you came home after a long journey.

Oh, that’s dangerous, thinking of him as home. You don’t, can’t, have that, not while the work’s undone. By this time tomorrow, you’ll have left Meridian far behind, again, and Erend won’t remember this at all.

You have no excuse for what you do next. You’re just so tired of wanting, and he’d forgive you for this, the same way you’ll forgive him for this last hour.

So you kneel next to the bed, close enough to see the line of his teeth behind his lips, and touch his throat with just the tips of your fingers, where his pulse jumps under his skin. A shock runs up your arm, startling you so badly you almost fall on your rear. How long has it been, since you touched anyone?

Long enough that you’re shaking now, your fingertips poised just above his ear.

“Be safe,” you tell him, because you always do. Then you run one finger along the line of his jaw, a little afraid of the force of your longing. “Please. I’ll be back.”

Erend sighs, eyes moving slowly under their lids. You back away slowly, not wanting to wake him, and then slip out into the cool night, your fingertips buzzing.

***

What it comes down to, you realize, is fear. A far more slippery version than you’ve encountered before, but fear nonetheless. You’ve faced down cultists with their Deathbringers spitting bits of metal hate at you, you’ve stood your ground in the path of a Bellowback’s charge. No matter what else they say about you (and they say a great deal, Aloy, your name is like wine in the mouths of half the world, and poison in all the rest), no one can claim you’re afraid of death.

You fear loss. Rost’s last and darkest lesson.

Not for yourself; if you die, well, the world will go on without you. It will take time, but someone — someone you hope isn’t Sylens — will come along to finish what you started.

(What you continued, you think, in your more waspish moments.)

The world won’t stop. Meridian may crumble, the walls of the Embrace may be shattered in war, and the Banuk may fall, one by one, in the hunt, but the world will keep blooming, keep breathing. And so you refuse to fear death, because it would only be the end for you.

But loss.

You loved Rost. He died. Vala smiled at you and when you won the Proving she was glad, she was laughing, so you loved her, too. She died. Even Bast — spiteful little Bast — didn’t hesitate when you needed his help, and you loved him a little for that. And he died.

They all die. Your name may be a song or curse, depending on who’s speaking, but your love is a blade that never dulls, an arrow that always flies true. If you love someone, they will die.

So you keep your distance, inviolate, your solitude not just efficient but compassionate. You move faster on your own.

***

You’re in the square, picking through a plate of over-spiced (over-priced, you think) boar and peppers while Erend methodically makes his way through his second helping of the same. It’s just before mid-morning, and though the haggling is almost at its loudest pitch, it’s easy to focus on his voice, the way his arm twists when he cuts his meat, and ignore the rest.

Later, you try to remember what he said that made your stomach drop so, and the blood drain from your face, but all you recall are the last words of a sentence: …maybe like Rost.

You set down your knife.

Erend looks up from his food. “What?”

“Rost already had a daughter,” you say, because if you carry this within you any longer you’re going to tear yourself open with just your nails and teeth. “Her name was Alana. She was…she died. So did his wife. I was just…a replacement.” You stare down at your hands, the scars beaded across your knuckles, and can’t say anything else for a long moment.

Erend starts to reach out — slowly, so you have time to back away, and you’re abruptly furious with him, for always being so patient, so careful, like you’re something fragile.

Or someone that matters, comes a totally unwanted thought. You pull away.

“I don’t know why it was such a shock,” you hear yourself saying in a thin, dry voice you barely recognize. You’re tired of the truth being a series of slow cuts. “I started out as a replacement for — for Elisabet. Why not be one for Rost, too?”

“Aloy.” Erend leans across the table, more intent than you’ve ever seen him outside of the search for Ersa. He has the edge of the table in a white-knuckle grip, and at first you think he’s had too much to drink — as usual — and is just trying to keep his balance, but then you remember: he ordered the food, and the tea with it. He hasn’t had a drop all night. Judging by the clarity in his gaze, his clean breath — he hasn’t had one in a while.

Whatever he’s about to say, he means it. And now you’re wrong-footed, knocked off-center by this intense, clear-eyed man, who holds your gaze without flinching — and without pity.

“I never met him,” Erend says, “and I get it, you haven’t wanted to talk about him. I’m not going to push, it’s not my place. But what you have said — Rost loved you. You. Not because of what he didn’t have or why you were born.” His throat works as he swallows. “Just you.”

He smells like road dust and sweat, like oiled leather and the strange powder the Carja use on their spears. You’ve never see him like this before, and you’re ashamed of yourself, for whining like a child when Erend has finally, finally grown up.

In the space between breathing in and breathing out, you let yourself imagine what it would feel like to reach out and touch his cheek. You remember with agonizing clarity how his skin felt the night you dragged him home, when you allowed yourself that one furtive touch — but then you exhale, and you just smile.

“Thank you,” you say.

Erend grins back, and reaches for the tea jug. “Hey, sometimes I get it right. Just don’t go depending on it, okay?”

You laugh, and something inside you unclenches. More and more, being near Erend is like an old knot coming undone beneath your ribs. Look at you, giving up half a day’s traveling time just to share a meal with him.

The thought threatens to slip toward deeper waters, so you brush your hands on your trousers and see, out of the corner of your eye, his smile slip a few notches. He knows what’s coming and you watch him not quite harden, but steady himself, for your goodbye.

One of these days, Aloy, he’s going to ask you to stay. It’s a matter of time. What scares you more: that he’s going to ask, or that you might say yes?

“Where to this time?” Erend asks, as he pushes his plate away.

The thorn pierces you again. Pain never grows familiar. “North. North this time.”

Erend nods, still so clearly armored against watching you leave, and tells you to be safe. He always does.

Then he hauls out the old joke — so, Aloy, the priest’ll give me a discount if we get hitched by noon. You roll your eyes and pay for your meal, and keep yourself to just one touch, one, on the curve of his elbow. And if you linger for an extra second, as long as you’re the only one who knows, what’s the harm?

***

Helis spits blood between his teeth and grins at you. A made thing. Made for sorrow, made for grief. You are a curse made flesh.

You cry out, and now yours is the voice of something small and weak, something driven from cover to die pierced and drained, to become food for something stronger. Your heart, when he tears it from you, is a knot of thorns.

His teeth are metal when he sinks them into your flesh. You scream, and wake alone.

***

The number of people in Meridian who know — or care — about what a Nora Seeker can do can be numbered on one hand. Here, they care that you’re Thrush to Sunhawk Talanah, that the Sun-King smiles when you pass into his sight and that he trusts you with his life. They care that you brought Itamen and Nasadi home. They care that you brought justice to Ersa.

You saved their city. To them, you’ve never been an outcast, or an echo. You’ve always been Aloy, complete unto yourself.

To Erend, you’ve always meant hope.

“It sounds like you’re talking about someone else,” you tell him, when he’s done with the latest batch of flattery and terrible flirting. You can barely meet his eyes. “I know I did all of these things, but at the time —”

“At the time you were too busy trying not to die?” He smirks when you glance at him sidelong. “Trust me. As someone who was there? It was all you. We’re still standing because of you.”

The sick skin-urge washes over you in a blinding wave. He’s so close you can feel the warmth of his body, the heavy wall of his presence, and if you reached out for his hand, his bones would feel like iron against your fingers. He’s bedrock, as immovable as a boulder. You could rest against him, for a little while.

You clench your fists till your nails bite your skin, and when a runner calls Erend to the Sun-King’s throne, you hide down by the cisterns until the heat bleeds out of your skin and you can pretend you’re whole, and don’t want for anything.

***

How long, Aloy, do you think those trapped birds and mice struggled, once the shrike impaled them on the thorns?

***

Erend touches you once, the night before you make your way back to GAIA Prime. You’ve allowed yourself one touch, just on his shoulder — any more and you’ll do something you’ll regret — and while you linger he reaches up and grasps your hand.

The longing nearly pulls you under. He’s going to ask you to stay, and you’re so tired you feel it through your bones. How long has it been since your dreams showed you a beating heart?

You’re going to say yes. The thought terrifies you.

“Be safe,” he says instead, without looking at you.

He understands so well, Aloy. He will never try to keep you here, never try to pin you down. Erend will never ask for more than you want to give.

When you come back, you’ll tell him. So you think, as you ride away without risking a backwards look at Meridian.

***

You’re gone for three years.

***

Halfway through the second year, you stop dreaming of Erend. Or maybe you still do dream of him, and you just forget as soon as you wake.

That’s worse, you decide, than if you just stopped dreaming of him altogether. It’s one thing if the dreams are gone, it’s another for them to be just out of reach.

***

The irony doesn’t escape you; after all those years of searching for Elisabet — because that’s what you’ve been doing, since you were old enough to understand just what was missing, what made you outcast — you almost hate the woman, just for leaving such a steep path to follow. You might have saved the world, but Elisabet had already saved it first, and you were only born to fix her great work.

In the end, you think, you’re no better than ARTEMIS, or HADES. You’re just a subordinate part, and Elisabet is the architect of the greater whole.

Not just a made thing, then, but a lesser echo, a song with half its verses missing.

But you’re the best the world’s got, so you keep walking. Alone, and ever-farther from Meridian.

***

It takes you three years of wandering, your voice gathering dust in your throat while you work toward resurrection, for you to understand: desire is no sin, loneliness is not armor, and love is not a thorn upon which you twist, slowly dying.

Love is a bulwark.

Elisabet knew it, and so did the countless dead who endured, and who, through you, are victorious at last.

Rost knew it. Talanah knows it. She will never abandon her Thrush. Varl knows it. You are more than the Anointed, you are a dear friend, and his spear is forever yours.

Avad, Vanasha, Elida. Sona, Teersa, Teb.

Erend.

(It hasn’t surprised you in years that his name comes last, comes brightest.)

There is no god in your dreams. There is no All-Mother. You have never prayed. But, in the warm fastness of your heart, you speak their names. You love them.

You may still lose them, Aloy, but to wander alone, to refuse to let yourself want — you already have.

***

The world is not consciously cruel, but people are, and you have made yourself suffer for too long without cause. Take the thorn from your heart and go home, Aloy.

The shrike’s time will come again. To everything, as the ancient song goes, there is a season. Let this one be yours.

***

Helis comes to you in dreams, for the last time. A made thing. Nothing more.

I know, you scream back in your own voice, as your metal heart turns to flesh in his hand. You’re burning and singing, all at once. We all are. You, me, all of us. But you didn’t kill me. I’m still here. Still here.

Then you wake up, alone, your heart still beating, still alive. Your heart, Aloy, no one else’s. You were made, but so was the world. Find comfort in that, and remember: Helis did not win, HADES is broken, and Erend will be in Meridian when you, battered but unbowed, at last make your way back home.

#horizon zero dawn #horizon zero dawn spoilers #hzd spoilers #Ereloy #Aloy #Erend #beefic #meme replies #this got away from me in the worst way #and I blended a few little pieces into it that I had written before #so it's a disjointed mess #long post #Anonymous

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pyrriax · 9 months

Text

i love waking up four hours after deciding to go to sleep and realizing i am not falling back asleep. a little writing before my first alarm today goes off i guess!

#haunted ecosystem #i'm not gonna have a lot of time to write today since i'm going to a family thing. looking forward to seeing my cousins though #love those kids theyre great. and maybe this time i wont make social blunders and only mention my Acceptable interests #(last time i saw my aunt i made the mistake of mentioning my bone & pelt collection. that was awkward)#(note to self: most people don't think death is nearly as interesting or cool as you think it is. most people think its sad & gross)#ANYWHO time to work some more on (y)our road to joy then maybe dedicate some time to the shrike & the fox?#i have one more fic i really need to wrap my head around but i'm not sure how to Execute it #we'll see! and pray!#i am not letting any fic for this batch go over 5k or have more than one chapter. mark my words.

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pyrriax · 9 months

Text

im back in the fucking building (this may or may not be pseudo-set in the same thread as asomatous)

#haunted ecosystem #haunted bookshelf #im so tired but im writing this fic today because i dont have Time #its ok i can do this #fic: the shrike & the fox

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aftgficrec · 3 years

Note

Hi !

I’m looking for very graphic fics of Neil killing and torturing Nathan if you can find any

Thank you !!

Neil kills Nathan here with varying degrees of violence and gore. Some fics don’t draw out Nathan’s death to the degree you want, but I think you will still find satisfaction. -A

Also see:

‘Die Free or Die a Failure’ and ‘Night is the Raven, Day is the Fox’ (on hiatus) here

‘what it takes to survive’ here

‘Neil Josten’s Vendetta,’ ‘You Don't Even Know Me (It's Only A Feeling),’ and ‘The Nameless Monster’ (also below) here

‘Shinigami’* and ‘Shake My Tomb’ here (*abandoned, see author’s note on chapter 3)

‘tokyo drifting’ here

‘Bad News From A Bad Friend’ here

‘lucid prayers’ here

‘The Real Folk Blues’ here

‘Sent to Drain’ here

‘Desperate and Broken (The Sound of a Fight)’ here

‘Iron and Ember’ here

Andrew kills Nathan:

‘Comeback’ here

‘Martyrs, Monsters, and Madness’ here (updated)

‘Andrew Joseph’ here

‘The Martyr Card’ here

‘It seems you've set it running free’ here

‘running with the wolves’ here

‘Armies’ here

Red Right Hand by hazey_sloths [Rated T (we say M), 11392 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2019]

Nathaniel Wesninski has been trained to follow in his father's footsteps as the next Butcher of Baltimore. When leadership changes hands, Ichirou Moriyama orders a clean house and forces Nathaniel to help him. In the weeks that follow, it is discovered that Riko Moriyama's pet has run away to Palmetto State University.

When Nathaniel is sent to investiage what happened, he thinks he's just being sent to collect Kevin Day. He doesn't realize he'll have to deal with Kevin's guard dog.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: torture, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

Appendages by autisticandrewminyard [Rated M, 37496 Words, Complete, 2017]

Nathaniel Wesninski grapples with his life as the heir to a criminal empire, as the vice captain to the Edgar Allan Ravens, and as the person he wants to be seen as.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death, tw: drug use, tw: alcohol, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Shrike by Leteel6 [Rated E, 13870 Words, Complete, 2021]

Neil never ends up going back to Baltimore. Instead, his father comes to Palmetto.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: dissociation, tw: gun violence, tw: knife violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: referenced animal torture, tw: murder, tw: corpse desecration, tw: canonical character death

The Nameless Monster by kanekicure [Rated M, 108199 Words, Complete, 2020]

Part 1 of the The Nameless series, part 2 here

Nathaniel Wesninski wants nothing more than to see his father dead and buried. But when his father promises him the title of The Butcher, Nathaniel quickly realizes that his destiny of following in his father's footsteps is closer than ever before.

So of course, when he gets forced to go undercover for the Baltimore police, he start's seeing what living could truly be.

tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: violence, tw: ptsd, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

WIPs to watch

The Moriyama's Dog by JellyTits_Hoe [Rated E, 22655 Words, Incomplete, Updated August 2021]

Nathaniel can’t move a muscle and he doesn't even know if he would if he could. He’s in such a petrified state that he could barely even hear his father's words. All he can hear and feel is his heart beating in his chest. Lola giggles so loud Nathaniel knows she did it so he could hear her loud and clear. The screaming stopped a while ago. Nathaniel can’t really point out when. Perhaps it was when he started to go numb all over.

In which Nathaniel Wesninski never escaped and instead became Ichirou Moriyama's personal dog.

tw: dark, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: referenced gang rape, tw: graphic torture, tw: maiming, tw: murder, tw: gun violence, tw: trained killer dogs, tw: knife violence, tw: abuse, tw: child abuse, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: depression, tw: hallucinations, tw: homophobia, tw: drugs

Retribution by hausofcloud [Rated M, 11023 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2022]

Exploring the "what if" after Mary's death. Instead of continuing on to Arizona, Nathaniel makes his way back to Stuart and in his grief, trains to exact his revenge on Nathan and his inner circle.

tw: graphic depiction of violence, tw: canonical character death, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: knife violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: murder, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

in consequence by sheskyripa [Not Rated, 3383 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2021]

Part 2 of the in secret series, part 1 here

Ichirou gave Nathaniel a choice: become the new Butcher or continue play Exy. He chooses Exy, but for that, he has to eliminate his father.

Or Andrew and Nathaniel plan Nathan's death

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: internalized homophobia

Fractures by JayJFox [Rated M, 15902 Words, Incomplete, Updated May 2021]

Neil never planned to break Andrew's heart.

But Nathan Wesninski is alive and breathing down their necks, and Neil will do anything to keep Andrew safe from him even if it means pushing him away.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: abuse, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: urge to self harm

trivial questions about a triple murder (with answers) by Leocante [Rated T, 20690 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2022]

Nathan Wesninsky was dead. And so was Lola Malcolm. Romero Malcolm. They were all dead, their bodies scattered over the floors tainted with blood, with the prospect of peace. Baltimore could start healing.

Nathan Wesninsky was dead, but his killer was smiling, and Andrew couldn't shake off the feeling that it wasn't the end of anything. The city thrived off crime, and the crime itself was so much bigger than a triple murder. So much more important in the bright white of the interrogation room.

The killer was smiling. Andrew sat into a chair across him.

Cameras stayed off.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: murder, tw: homophobia

Art

butcher neil moodboard by @shiggyduster

Neil with knives art by @emry-stars-art

a butcher neil doodle art by @xeyoaa

Nathan moodboard by @murder-nerd-nina-blog

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aftgficrec · 3 years

Note

Any fics where someone new (other than freshmen) meets the foxes and sees everyone (especially Andreil). I once read a fic with Aaron’s and Andrews dad meeting them for the first time and reacting to Andreil so something like that maybe?

How about Mary, Nathan, Butcher of Baltimore groupies, and people from Neil’s past? - A

also see:

twinyards dad here (‘O, Father Of Mine’ is referenced in the ask)

Stuart and the Foxes/Andrew here

Andrew interacts with Nathan here

Foxes attacked by Nathan’s men here

Baltimore divergence here

‘The Martyr Card,’ ‘To Protect,’ and ‘Baltimore Divergence-Lola kidnaps Andrew and Neil’ here

‘Pinky Promises; or, MOM, Holy FUCK,’ ‘Through A Glass Darkly,’ and ‘I’m going to make this place your home’ here (Mary)

‘Forever Isn't Long Enough’ here (Riko)

‘Comeback’ here (Lola kidnaps Andrew)

‘After Time’ here (Kayleigh Day)

‘Sophomore Slump’ here (updated, Nathan’s men)

‘Weight of Living’ here (Stuart Hatford)

Some Things You Just Can't Bury by permanentchaos for Dancyon [Rated T, 7492 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange 2017]

There are memories. Things that flood his subconscious, overwhelming him until he can no longer work out the fact from fiction. Neil Josten was never just Neil Josten, he has been any number of people starting with Nathaniel Wesninski.

Nathaniel Wesninski is dead, or so he likes to think. There are no more lies, or truths for that matter, that connect him to this reality. Except one. Nathaniel Wesninski swore he would take it to his grave, and he passed that mantle on to Neil Josten. Secrets, lies...truths, they all have a cost. Some things you just can’t bury.

tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture

Shrike by Leteel6 [Rated E, 13870 Words, Complete, 2021]

Time’s up, Junior.

Indeed. Indeed it was. For who though, Nathaniel was unsure. All he knew for certain that the blood on the wall was still wet, not yet tacky which meant that he wasn't too far behind his fathers trail. He would catch up to him, this he knew with single-minded determination and it would either end in his death or his fathers. Maybe both. One way or another though, he would finish this.

Or, Neil never ends up going back to Baltimore. Instead, his father comes to Palmetto.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: gun violence, tw: knife violence, tw: blood/gore, tw: referenced animal torture, tw: dissociation, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

You Are So Much More Than Your Father's Son by phan_taloon [Rated T, 3143 Words, Complete, 2021]

It wasn’t rare for Neil to end up at the library, taking up an entire table all by himself with piles of books and half-finished assignments. It turns out, he doesn’t do a very good job of finishing his homework at the dorm now that he lives with Andrew and Kevin. Between talking exy with Kevin, and hanging out with Andrew (more of the latter obviously), he had too many distractions. The best way to get shit done is to come to the library where the other Foxes rarely come (except for Aaron but they aren’t really friends yet, although not for lack of trying, they just didn’t click), so he’s safe from distractions.

But this time he can’t focus, not with the two guys a few tables to his right, talking softly amongst themselves and giggling and nervously looking Neil’s way.

---

In which Nathan Wesninski has fanboys and Neil Josten doesn't want to deal with them, but Aaron is there to save the day. I suck at summaries I'm sorry.

Title comes from Heirloom by Sleeping At Last.

tw: panic attacks, tw: flashbacks

Neil's Forgotten Marriage by Luludino [Rated T, 4184 Words, Complete, 2021]

Neil's day is interrupted when someone from his past shows up. Its not that he forgot about them.

He just forgot about the arrangement they had and how it might be important to inform them he is in fact not dead.

tw: violence

The Foxes vs. The Grimms series by Intezaar_club [Not Rated, Collection, 2 Complete Works, Updated June 2021]

Part 1: Come on baby, don't fear the reaper [1794 Words]

The Foxes practice is interrupted by someone from Neil's past.

tw: gun violence

Part 2: Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper [2763 Words]

The aftermath of a visit from a Wesninski.

tw: knife violence, tw: blood

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