#oc pursuit

[orion-archives]

Working on concepts for my 3-headed Transformers OC, Pursuit (general name, but each head has an individual name, personality and procesor).

They are reformed Decepticons that now work with the Autobots.

Based of a motorbike I saw in real life after a hospital visit.

[lambment]

your heket design is so pretty I need her so bad

Tryna flirt with your himbo chef coworker in the worst way possible

[kavalyera]

prince stop fucking ur primogen challenge

[cressidagrey]

New Pursuits - Chapter 6: Knitting

Summary:

The shadows decide that Azriel needs a hobby.

5 times when said hobby-related shenanigans didn’t end so well…and the one time where it may end up better than Azriel could ever have imagined.

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Mention of a Forced Marriage, Mention of Miscarriage, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of child murder

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

By the time he managed to wrangle another free day to visit his mother at Rosehall…it was winter. 

A day before her birthday to be exact…just before Winter Solstice and Feyre’s birthday. 

Regardless of what else was going on… he tried to at least see her around that time, even if not the day of. He would bring flowers that the shadows managed to acquire from the Spring Court and a gift…

Brightly Pink died wool this year…he always brought her something for her craft. She was a seamstress after all. That had always been what she had done. 

And while she had never been allowed to provide for him as she had wished, it didn’t stop her from trying to do it now. 

Didn’t stop her from knitting him sweaters and socks and sewing him finely tailored jackets if he as so much let her near him with a measuring tape…

She tried and he tried to, to bridge the time that had been taken from them. 

Rosehall had been…When Rhys had become High Lord and he had finally been able to get his mother free of the clutches of his father…when he had gotten her out of there…Rosehall had been nothing but a cottage. 

These days, Rosehall was a bustling little hamlet tucked beneath the outskirts of the mountains. Protected by wards and magic…and filled with Illyrians that were unwelcome in the warcamps for one reason and another. 

Protected and sheltered and able to live their lives unbothered. 

 They had trade relations with some of the more liberal warcamps, some of the High Fae villages surrounding them and nowadays even with Velaris, but they were mostly self-sufficient these days. It had taken a long time until they were that. 

But they were there now. 

Not the least because his mother had taken it in hand and made sure that it was flourishing. 

Azriel flew to Rosehall, a trip that took less than an hour from Velaris and he managed to land on the outskirts of the little village. It was just as bustling now as it had ever been, and he couldn’t help but bite back a small smile as he saw a couple of younglings run around, doing their best to pelt each other with snowballs. 

The boys were old enough that he knew they would have already been thrown into the sparring rings in any war camp, but here…here they were allowed to be kids a little while longer. 

It wasn’t like they weren’t trained. Azriel had made sure of that. There were veterans of wars in the ranks of the Illyrians living in Rosehall and the ones that wanted, the ones that felt able…they trained all the kids in self-defence, and the ones that wanted…they were also trained in more. 

But clearly, right now, they were allowed to just be kids. 

He trudged through the snow, letting his shadows out to investigate, knowing that one of them would be able to tell him where his mother was. 

She’s at home, Master! 

A part of him was surprised that she wasn’t in her dressmaker shop, but then, maybe she had finally taken his advice and started to give some of the work over to the females she hired. 

“Azriel!” came a voice from his right and he stopped in place, turning around to find Garvan limp towards him quickly. 

“Garvan,” he greeted him warmly, concentrating not on the scars that trailed down the side of his face, or the one sole wing that laid limply at his side, but on the warm smile on his face. He had been one of the first inhabitants of Rosehall. An old friend of his mother. 

Or maybe he was even more than that. Azriel had never dared to prod. But the man, still muscular even through all the hardship his life had thrown at him, smiled brightly. 

 “Everything alright around here?” Azriel asked. It went unspoken that if they needed somebody to get one of the inhabitants to behave…he would gladly take that job. If only so that Rosehall could continue to flourish as it had. As it had for centuries. Even through the years of Amarantha’s reign of terror. 

“Of course, of course,” Garvan waved him off. “The worst thing we had was a brawl at the village hall last week,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You coming to visit Esmeray?”

“Always,” he responded easily. 

“Essie will be so happy to see you,”  Garvan told him brightly. “See you around.” 

And off he went, dragging after him some sort of rolling cart contraption piled high with wood from the surrounding forest. 

It was easy enough to find his mother’s cottage, a charming grey-stoned little thing. 

In the summer and spring the windows would be decorated with heaving marigolds that his mother doted on and it would be cheery and bright. 

But now it was winter, and he could see the chimney happily puffing away as he went to knock at the door. 

It was opened just moments later by his mother, long black hair, just so starting to grey at the roots, pulled back into one long braid…a surprised expression on her face until she saw him. 

Then she launched herself at him, a bright smile on her face and he grinned at the impact of her small form. She only reached the middle of his chest and still, she hugged him so tightly that there was no question about how much she loved him. 

“Azriel!” she exclaimed, so pleased by only his presence. 

“Happy Birthday, Ma,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and she stepped back. 

“That’s not until tomorrow,” she corrected him, still smiling brightly “Thank you for coming, sweetheart. Let me look at you!”

She took him in, clearly checking for new scars he had received. “You look well,” she told him, patting his cheeks. “But you need to eat more.” And she dragged him into her little cottage, fire happily burning away in the oven. He could smell that she was making bread, but right now a teakettle went on the stove, filled with water and he sat at his usual seat, surprised to find a knitted sweater stretched over the back of it. 

“So what brings you here? Besides my birthday?” she asked him as he put the bag containing her wool on the table. 

“Can you teach me how to knit?” He asked her and his mother‘s eyebrows rose. 

“You want to learn how to knit ?” She asked him incredulously. He nodded. To his surprise, he found a tendril of shadows already playing with some wool that his mother kept stashed next to her couch in a basket. He gave it a pointed look and the shadow came slinking back to him before accidentally unravelling any of his mother‘s hard work. 

“Yes,“ he agreed. Knitting. Why not. Knitting needles promised to be less dangerous than going hiking or accidentally slicing off his thumb while wood carving. 

“Of course. Never thought I would get to teach you anything anymore, sweetheart,” she agreed with a bright smile as she put a cup of tea before him and then sat down next to him. “What brought that on?” She asked curiously. 

“The shadows think I need a hobby,” he told her drily, making her laugh loudly. 

“And knitting is their first choice?” She asked, sounding doubtful. 

“Oh no, I have already gone through…a few dozen different things,” he assured her. “I was surprisingly talented at wood carving,” he told her brightly, making her laugh 

“I am sure Garvan would be willing to teach you anything you want to learn about that,” she promised him. Maybe he would take him up on that one day. 

Only then Azriel noticed a third cup of tea on the table…not the one his mother usually used, a chipped green one, but another one, light blue, standing next to a closed book, both laid carelessly away at the kitchen table like somebody was just gone for a moment but would return for it. 

“You had a visitor?” he asked his mother, wondering if it had been Garvan but a deep breath, his nostrils flaring told him that it had been a female…a few lost traces of Nutmeg, where there…maybe clementine? Or oranges? 

“Yes,” his mother agreed. “You know how I take on strays,” she said with a smile.

Yes, he did indeed know that. there hadn't yet been any poor animal that his mother hadn't yet tried to save. He still remembered a particularly snappy three-legged cat that had hissed at him for existing. 

“And you never thought to mention it in any letters you wrote me?” he asked, somewhere between exasperated and amused by it. 

His mother hesitated for just a moment.

That didn’t bode well. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked her, sharpness edging his voice, and she sighed. 

“Because I know how you would have reacted,” she gave back drily. “Exactly like that, Azriel. She has not done anything to deserve that kind of scrutiny.”

Right. 

“Where did you find your stray?” he asked with a long-suffering sigh. How high were the chances that it was…truly nothing he needed to worry about? Nothing that would put his mother or Rosehall in any danger. 

Why didn’t you tell me? he hissed at the shadows. 

There was nothing to tell, they gave back, placating him…not worried in the slightest. He could feel his temper flare. She has done nothing. 

“Garvan and I pulled her out of the snow near the mountain a few months ago,” his mother said at that moment. He could just stare at her. They had pulled her from the snow? Where had she come from? “We don’t know where she came from.”

Well, that answered that question. Not. 

“You don’t know where she came from,” he echoed unbelievingly. By the cauldron, had his mother lost all good sense? 

She could be anybody! A spy perhaps, or sent by one of the worse war-camps or supposed to take revenge on him or…

“She had a head injury when she came here. Her memory was spotty. She still can’t even remember her name ,” his mother told him tightly. 

Or so she said. 

“And you believed that?” Azriel asked, doubtfully. “Ma, did you even think about the risk?” He asked her sharply. 

“The risk of what?” His mother asked him with a snort, not taking it seriously at all.  “Of giving a traumatised young girl a home? Yes, Azriel, I have thought about that risk,” she told him, sarcasm bleeding out of every word. “What else was I supposed to do? Just let her freeze to death laying in that snow? Broken and Bruised and…You didn’t see her, Azriel,” she said, hands tightening around her teacup. “You weren’t there. We thought she was going to die. And if she wasn’t, then at least…” she trailed off, shaking her head. 

Be that as it may, it was still a fucking risk. 

“Where is she?” he asked his mother, crossing his arms. “If she has nothing to hide then she can come talk to me.” 

His mother stared at him for a moment. 

“No,” she said drily.

He opened his mouth to respond, but then he could hear a key jiggle in the lock. 

“Esmeray?” called a bright voice, “I brought lunch! Granya made too many Meat Pies so we are…” 

He could only stare. 

The voice belonged to a young female, with olive skin, dark hair, and the usual set of Illyrian wings on her back, as she closed the door…Though they clearly hadn’t been clipped. She had been spared that at least. He wondered if she had been born into Rosehall, if she had never seen the cruelty of the warcamps…

And then she turned around, and suddenly everything else ceased to exist. 

Mate , something inside him sang. Mate. Mate. Mate. 

Nothing else seemed to matter, as his whole life, his whole world, narrowed down to her . 

To the female with dark hair and wide hazel eyes that stared at him.

To her. 

She was…She was everything. He knew nothing about her, but he felt like he was choking with his want, his need for her. He needed…He shot to his feet. 

“Azriel. You are terrifying the poor girl,” his mother hissed at him suddenly, and he stared at her, wide-eyed and wild, watched as she stumbled backwards, before coming to a standstill, her eyes locking into his. 

“Oh. Oh .” The shock was clearly written all over her face. 

And then his mate seemingly crumbled forward. 

“Ciara!” his mother was quicker than him, out of her chair and at her, at Ciara’s side. 

Ciara. Ciara. Ciara. Ciara.

She had caught herself against the wall of the hallway, one hand pressed to her midsection…his eyes snapped towards it, and only now he realised that…

It was swollen, distended from her slight frame…pregnant. 

She was pregnant. 

He swallowed. The ground underneath him threatened to give as instincts warred.

His mate. His. Pregnant by another male. Bred by another male. She was…She was with somebody else. He had no chance. it didn’t matter what he did, He had…no…She was his but she wasn’t. He had spent centuries waiting for her but she had found love before she had ever met him and now it was…

Master, Stop! the shadows hissed sharply, stopping him from spiralling, as his mother helped her to the table. Nutmeg and Clementines. It was all over him with every breath he took.  She doesn’t have a male. 

Yes, she does, otherwise she…she wouldn’t be in this… state! he thought lightly hysterical. 

She was already in this state before she ever even came here, the shadows told him long sufferingly. She’s your mother’s stray. She was pregnant when she was found. 

What?

“Azriel, sit,” his mother said sharply. “I can’t have you fainting either.” He collapsed back onto the chair. It creaked with his sudden weight. 

His mother helped her into the chair across from him, taking the coat she had worn that was soggy with snow and ice. It left her in a grey woollen dress, that stretched over her bump, one hand still pressed against the side of it. 

He was startled at the sudden movement beneath her skin, a near-violent jumble as the babe shifted within her. 

“Is everything alright?” his mother asked quietly, as she bustled to the stove. He startled once again as she harshly put a bottle of whiskey in front of him. “Drink,” she told him, not unkindly, before she went back to doting on his mate.

“She’s kicking?” she asked, a hand gently joining Ciara’s on top of the bump. 

“It’s fine. Just took me by surprise,” her voice was quiet but melodious.  

“I bet,” his mother said with a soft smile, nudging a mug of tea in her direction. “Drink that, alright? Nora did tell you to take it easy.”  

He could just watch the whole interaction, the whiskey bottle forgotten near his elbow. 

It wasn’t…anything that he ever thought he would have. 

“At least, you won’t interrogate her now, Azriel. Or at least, I hope you won’t,” his mother told him drily. “She’s your mate, I take it. The Mating Bond snapped for both of you?”

He could just manage to nod.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. 

“Clearly, introductions are in order,” his mother said drily. “Azriel. Ciara, my stray,” his mother said with some amusement. “Ciara. Azriel, my son. Who can be a tad overprotective, but he tends to mean well,” A pointed look was levelled his way. 

“Esmeray talks a lot about you,” Ciara said hesitantly, addressing him for the first time. 

He swallowed again. 

“I wish I could say the same, but she hasn’t mentioned you with a single word,” he blurted. What was wrong with him? Why did he say that? 

“A female is allowed some secrets,” his mother saved him with a grin. “How about, I’ll warm up those meat pies for lunch?”

Right. 

The awkward silence was the worst part, and he couldn’t help but stare as she still rubbed her belly, the expression on her face tightening with…something. 

“Are you…alright?” he asked hesitantly. “You are…wincing,” he hurried to add at her startled, wide-eyed stare in his direction. 

“Yes, of course,” she hurried to assure him, even when she still seemed so…hesitant. “The Baby got a foot stuck in my ribs,” she added quietly. 

That didn’t sound…

“Does it hurt?” he asked her, curiosity taking over. Granted, he hadn’t really been around that much during Feyre’s pregnancy, but he couldn’t remember that having happened to her.

“No, it’s just not particularly comfortable,” she admitted quietly. 

“It should be any day now,” his mother said brightly.

Any day now. The baby would be born soon. 

He thought back to what the shadows had said, how they had insisted that she didn’t have a… 

“She isn’t married, Azriel,” his mother told him drily and he startled once again, staring at her wide-eyed. She laughed at his expression. “You were wondering it,” she said with a shake of her head and a smile. “There is no male you need to worry about.”

“I…” 

Only because he had a mating bond didn’t mean that he had any fucking right to the female sitting across from him. He wasn’t that kind of Asshole. 

He would never force her to have anything to do with him if she didn’t want it. And he could very much understand if she didn’t want to. 

Even if it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that she should be concentrating on her baby that would be sure to make its entrance into the world quite soon.

“Esmeray,” Ciara said quietly. “Please. I doubt this was what he…wanted.” The way she said that made it very clear that she expected him to…if not turn her down, get angry with her for something or…refuse to have anything to do with. 

He understood why. 

For most Illyrians, the fact that she was carrying another male’s child would have been an absolute dealbreaker. Some kind of hit to their male pride, regardless of how ridiculous it was. 

Azriel…Azriel didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care one bit. 

His mother just sighed. “Ciara…tell him, why you came here,” she said pointedly. “It’s alright. Tell him,” she assured his mate who stared at her wide-eyed. “He won’t be angry,” she said the last bit pointedly, staring at him. 

He steeled himself, trying to put a neutral expression on his face…and then utterly failed. 

“I think I killed him,” she blurted out, tears immediately threatening to pour over her cheeks and he blinked. 

What?

“You think you killed who ?” he asked, his voice harsher than he wanted to. 

She had killed who? 

She was a slight thing, tall but thin and there didn’t seem to be any muscle on her whatsoever. Or fat for that matter. So for her to have killed somebody…he mustered her, for the life of him unable to imagine her with a sword. And what did she mean with she thought?

“My husband,” Ciara whispered. “I...I don’t remember all but…I think I was married. And he wasn’t…very nice…I lost a baby…because he…he hurt me,” every word seemed to make her shake with feelings, seemed to make her withdraw. “I…I found out I was pregnant again and I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t. He had already done it once. He was going to do it again…I think he caught me sneaking out…I stabbed him. It’s spotty. I don’t…I don’t know if I am telling the truth, because I can only tell what I…what’s in my mind but...”

Fuck. 

If she had truly killed her husband for doing that to her…she had every fucking right to it as far as he was concerned. 

“I am sorry,” she apologised to him and he couldn’t stand it. 

“You don’t need to apologise to me,” he cut her off. Not now. Not ever. 

She was telling the truth. Even if maybe his thoughts were laid over with the fact that she was his mate, the shadows agreed. In his line of work, being able to suss out the truth…that was pure survival instincts. 

At the very least, she believed that she had killed her husband and that the story she was telling him was true. 

She has not done anything since she has been in Rosehall, the shadows assured him. Nothing but tried her best to pull her weight in the community, nothing but being grateful to your mother, Master. She is kind. 

If she was out to hurt any of the people living here, this was a stupid way to go on about it. Especially with her pregnant. 

“Do you hate me?” she asked him at that moment and he could just stare at him. She looked at him like she was waiting for her judgement, long slender fingers curled around her tea mug, hazel eyes still impossibly wide and filled with tears. 

“For maybe killing your abusive husband?” he asked her seriously. “No. It would be utterly and completely ridiculous to hate you for killing him for what he did to you. I have killed for much less. You killed to protect yourself and your unborn child,” he told her honestly. 

She swallowed, her hands slightly unfurling. 

“Does…Does it bother you?” Ciara asked him, a hand going back to rest on top of her swollen belly. Like she couldn’t wait to cradle her baby. 

He thought about it for seconds, but he could already feel the answer deep in his bones.  

“The baby?” he asked, making sure, waiting until she nodded. “No,” he promised her. “The baby is yours. That’s all that matters to me.  There are only very few things that you could do that would bother me, I imagine. And your child doesn’t even come close to any of them.”

“She’s not yours,” she pointed out evenly, mustering him. It was a test of some sort, he was quite sure. 

“I don’t care,” he gave back, still matching her gaze. And then he hesitated for a moment. “You think it’s a girl?” he asked her. Curious, beside himself. A girl? 

“I have…a feeling,” Ciara answered quietly. Mother’s intuition. “I won’t give her up,” she told him, fiercely, her eyes glowing brightly with the love she already had for that baby. 

“And I would never expect that of you.” He would never put a child through what he had gone through. And he would gleefully slaughter anybody who stood in Ciara’s way to take care of her baby. “The only thing I want is to protect you both.”

[cconfusedkat]

Hi! I exert too much time and energy into very unnecessary things, and So this happens to be One of those things,

This post will cover the following; the ancestors/the six sheep of sanheim, paloma & mystic seller, and an abrupt timeline summary :> here is my bishop refs post

Year -1000, a Rise of Meliora and early beginnings of Columbidae

These people we are looking at are considered Archangelic Lambs, Six Sheep of Sanheim, or simply just Archangelo. They all try to compliment one another regarding each individual God's personality.

Archangelo, God of Courage & Freedom, they/them. Algerian sheep

Balam, God of Cunning & Past/Present, she/they. Braunes Bergschaf sheep

Callicantzaros, God of Feast & Festival, they/them. Valais Blackneck goat

Decarabia, Demigod of Singing & Drinking, he/they. Bizet sheep

Gaap, God of Love/Hatred & Tides, she/her. Bergamasca sheep

Zagan, God of Witt, they/them. Askanian sheep

Lastly, they're all inspired off of demons from demonology :-) hence the repeating number of 6 and the name "Archangelo" in reference to Satan before being damned (since he was an archangel)

Year -600, the death of two beloved rulers, yet the rise of a new one

Paloma, who took over her kingdom after her parents died to old age, was a God of Tranquil & Grain (or vice versa). Columbidae is an independent nation, unlike Meliora who is ruled by walking Gods

Though, in rough times, Paloma couldn't cope properly with the loss of her parents. Archangelo and Paloma stumbled across each other in -600, the lamb being there for the dove for as long as possible.

However, a Particular shadow-being didn't like the closeness of their relationship, of whom we talk of;

Mystic Seller, who once was known as Mystique, a shadow who ran away from their old home (Mystici) to pursue being a disciple under Paloma.

Mystic had been Paloma's disciple ever since -1000. When they saw Archangelo and Paloma get closer and closer to their almost engagement, Mystic had a major issue with it.

And so, they would do anything to prevent them getting engaged ,,, which did cause the butterfly effect of the lamb genocide 😭😭 lamdalcjskc i like how im srs with everything else and then here Its Just. Yeah the development of paloma and archangelo uniting nations as both lambs & doves lead to an eventual lamb genocide- yep- Yeah Man,

Soooo Essentially for a better summary of timelines rather than my excessive yapping, here's a little something I've gathered over their history: (of course other major events happened but Still)

-1000 ； Beginning of Lamb (Archangelo) and that's mainly the true species for some time

-900 ； Thriving country of Meliora, Mystici's (the country Mystic is from/shadow being's lurk) begins to form due to the Gods Boundary Line of there needing to be other species

-800 ； Rise of Columbidae's Empire which eventually is a nation lead by doves and a couple of other leading land animals

-700 ； War breaks out for a couple of years between Columbidae, The Lands of the Old Faith (which are a five state colony), and Archangelo trying to make peace

-600 ； Monarch and Queen of Columbidae, now leaving the entire nation of Columbidae under Monarch Paloma. She had yet to ascend to Godhood, and she still didn't know how to continue running her parents cult after they pass away from old age. Archangelo offers his hand to working with Paloma and combining their countries as well as cults ++ religions, thus Paloma ascends to Godhood as a former Bishop.

(The Lands of the Old Faith are still beefing with both Meliora and Columbidae. The colonies chose to leave Mystici alone)

-500 ；Everything in society is about to collapse. The Betrayal happens (where Narinder gives his siblings his injuries and gets sent to Below), Mystic killed all the Archangelics and saved Archangelo for last (ripping off their horns), and Paloma falls into another deep depression.

-500 — -20 ； Lamb Genocide. Each and every Lamb is now almost gone, leaving Allure and Zainab to be the only lambs left, who ran away for so long.

Year 0 ； Allure and Zainab are captured by the colonies. Zainab gets executed first, Allure gets executed a day after, but the twist is of course Allure being able to bare the Red Crown with the help of TOWW/Narinder. Year 0 is the beginning of- get ready- Cult of the Lamb YEAHHHHHHHH🗣🗣🗣 or also their cult is called Alluring/Allureable Lamb lmaoxaldjdkm

And with that, Mystic had already set everything into place. They outright planned the lamb genocide, they told Shamura about Narinder betraying them, they got Paloma killed by Shamura, and now all they had to do was visit the little lamb five years into their cult. Not even Ratau knew about Mystic's existence.

Mystic Pursuit!! An eventful AU that is all under Mystic's control of a silly little butterfly effect !!!! Yayyyy

Next post will be Allure lore with a liiiitttle animatic and their own refs again C:<< I have yet to cover the three witnesses (i still havent drawn them) but they have loads of lore as well :-]

[pursuit-of-adoration]

College still kicking my ass enjoy these shitpost drawings of Opal Hat divorce <3

[the-starling-files]

A Royal Problem

(Closed RP thread for @queen-of-prophecy)

Detective Starling gripped the wheel of her department cruiser tightly, her knuckles pale as she sped through the chaotic streets of Pride. The siren wailed, cutting through the air thick with dust and smoke, but it barely registered over the sounds of devastation.

The roads were cracked and uneven, the aftermath of the supercell storm and the violent quake that followed. Massive fissures scarred the asphalt, some deep enough to reveal glowing rivers of molten rock far below. She swerved around fallen debris—chunks of stone, glass, and twisted metal—that littered the streets like the remnants of a battlefield.

Buildings leaned precariously, their foundations fractured, and others had collapsed entirely.

The ruins of a once-bustling apartment complex loomed to her left, its upper floors pancaked onto the lower levels. Screams and cries for help echoed from within. She spotted a few demons desperately clawing at the rubble, trying to dig out loved ones or neighbors.

"Dammit."

Juniper muttered under her breath, her heart clenching.

She forced herself to keep driving, eyes darting between the devastation and the road ahead. Every turn revealed more destruction. A diner she frequented on late-night shifts was now a pile of rubble, its neon sign flickering weakly beneath fallen beams. Smoke rose from a distant fire, and a frantic imp woman was running down the street, clutching a crying child to her chest.

The quake hadn’t discriminated—Sinners and Hellborns alike were caught in the chaos. Families sat huddled on the sidewalks, their homes reduced to ruins behind them. Some were bloody and bruised, others just stunned, staring blankly at the destruction.

Juniper hit the brakes as a massive crack in the road appeared ahead, forcing her to skid to a stop. She leaned out the window, scanning the path. Across the fissure, a group of imps were waving frantically, trying to flag her down.

"Hang on! Rescue is coming!"

She shouted, reversing to find another route. She hated herself for not stopping to help more, but her gut told her Witchholm’s disappearance was the key to all of this. If she didn’t figure it out fast, there’d be no one left to save.

She turned sharply down an alley, narrowly avoiding a toppled streetlight. Her cruiser’s tires crunched over shards of broken glass as she emerged back onto the main road. A fallen billboard dangled above her, its wires sparking ominously.

Juniper’s sharp eyes caught the faces of those she passed—fear, anger, despair, and a haunting sense of helplessness. She swallowed hard, steeling herself. This wasn’t just another disaster in Hell.

This was different.

Bigger.

And if Witchholm’s vanishing was responsible, then whatever came next could be worse.

Slamming her foot on the gas, she raced toward the precinct, the weight of the devastation pressing heavily on her chest. There were too many unanswered questions, too many lives on the line.

But Juniper Starling wasn’t about to let Pride fall without a fight.

[ruepellie]

decided to make eve a lil redesign before sleeping :D !!

evening tide is/was my first ever iterator design for rain world; and I've always thought that because of that, making them a senior iterator was like, the most practical,,, now it just has the most story potential for her gbfdjkbgsdkfn

they are an iterator for a city who's culture stretched to meteorology, astronomy, and general environmental science. her city was and still is rather impressive and advanced for her time.

she does not exactly produce the same harsh weather seen in Five Pebbles / Looks to the Moon's region, having much more tamer weather that the residences and ecosystem grown used to. This ranges from simple rain to the occasional cyclone.

because of the safety she provides due to her structure and effective use / redirection of power and exhaust, her city is grounded. To protect from outside threats, there's just a giant ass fortified wall and a BIG lush forest surrounding the actual city; becoming more and more developed, safe, and urbanized towards the center until you come across Eve's actual superstructure.

It's seen as a giant dome, almost like a glorified observatory. most of her inner workings and so on are meshed into the surrounding buildings around the dome and thus are easily accessed and maintained by her supervisors and other inhabitants that help provide maintenance.

by help, eve is also designed to be able to leave her structure... going off of rain world logic; she's pretty big in game, going off of sprite size. twice the size of pebbles standing. so despite her puppet chamber being made to kinda accommodate that, she has the ability to detach from her rig; with all kinds of systems in place letting her roam independent of her structure while stripping her of most processing power (not all, in fact, some abilities of hers are solely within her puppet,, but most of these modules are things akin to our sense of touch and so on)

with that being said, if needed, she usually can leave her structure to check on her own modules and physical superstructure. personally she doesn't like looking at it from the outside because seeing how big she, herself, is kind of freaks her out.

autism infodump done i may draw her more when i get the chance :]

[thebeingmerf]

Pins!

[theanonymouscosmos]

A lil comfort for a big gorl from another big gorl

[eurekq]

started replaying the series again because what the fuck else am i gonna do until veilguard comes out. my new surana, aeron. hes romancing morrigan. plus bonus rhiannon and zevran bc they happened to be on this canvas

[adriartts]

more side character designs now to the tune of the Kil sisters

[kavalyera]

self sabatoging

a slip of paper - louise glück | i’m your man - mitski | diaries - franz kafka | albert camus | bouquet of narcissus - laura robb | oh no! - marina | oscar wilde | i and i - bayside | anne sexton | a certain hunger - chelsea g summers

[cressidagrey]

New Pursuits - Chapter 3: Wood carving

Summary:

The shadows decide that Azriel needs a hobby.

5 times when said hobby-related shenanigans didn’t end so well…and the one time where it may end up better than Azriel could ever have imagined.

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, the shadows steal some stuff, Cassian has no skill in wood carving.

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

The shadows had more ideas for him over the following weeks. 

It was a rather wide range:

Sometimes he had outright said no. (He was not going to buy himself a doll house. That was just creepy…also what exactly was he supposed to do with these dolls? Play? Play what?)

Sometimes it was completely impractical (He was not going to travel to the Winter Court only to try out riding on a reindeer. He didn’t care if the shadows thought it sounded like a grand old time…)

Sometimes it just didn’t work out (Most card games only worked if there was more than one person, and no, the shadows didn’t count, especially not when they snuck behind him to see his cards…Dirty cheaters, they were) 

Sometimes they just reminded him of something he didn’t want to be reminded himself of (He was not going to start a flower garden on his balcony. That was Ela…no. He was not going down that route.) 

Sometimes it was too fucking dangerous. (Journaling. He didn’t even need to explain why it maybe wasn’t a good idea for the fucking Spymaster of the Night Court to have a diary.) 

And sometimes he had tried it out and very quickly realised that it was doing absolutely nothing for him. (One evening spent in the park bird watching. He was never going to get that time back.) 

Though to be honest…the shadows had been right about one thing. 

He was no longer moping. 

They had gotten him out of his funk. If only to playfully argue with them about whatever new suggestion they had for him. 

And so, even when Elain and Lucien spent the summer growing closer, and Rhys kept him ridiculously busy with the kind of work that he  could  delegate if Rhys would just fucking let him…

It was fine. Azriel was fine. At least he liked to pretend that. 

Wasn’t it something like “Don’t cry over spilt milk”?  

The milk had been spilt that Solstice. And Az wasn’t going to cry over it. It was fine. He would get over himself. 

Rhys would get what he wanted, Elain would be happy…and Azriel…Azriel was going to find something to do. 

What’s your next suggestion?  He asked the shadows that morning as he dressed for another full day of…work. 

What would you like to do?  The shadows asked curiously, obviously pleased with his request. 

Something with my hands,  he requested after a moment. 

Hands. He would like something with his hands.  

He stared at them for a moment, at the horrendous, gnarly scars that covered them, that wrapped around them until there was no normal skin anywhere in sight.

He could pretend that they weren’t covered in blood…that they were good for something other than giving unfathomable pain…

Wood carving?  came the suggestion just seconds later. 

Huh. 

Sure.  Azriel agreed. Wood carving. Why not. 

So that evening, he came to his room in the House of Wind only to find his desk set with a couple of blocks of wood…and a pretty set of carving knives. 

He had seen knives like these used before. When he visited his mother at Rosehall and she in turn visited an old friend of hers, Garvan. 

Garvan had a little shop at the market of Rosehall, selling all the things he whittled and carved…spoons and bowls and whatever other wooden object anybody wanted to buy…sometimes he even carved furniture. He also had an intricately carved wooden leg, which was the reason why he had even made it to Rosehall in the first place. 

That reminded him, he should write his mother a letter. She had been quiet over the last few months, but that wasn’t out of the usual. He was sure she had found something to occupy her time. She always kept busy. And the one shadow that he kept with her, that never told him anything more than that she was fine…well, that always calming. 

Do I want to know from where you stole the knives?   He asked with a sigh. 

No…

Alright. What am I supposed to make?  Azriel asked as he sat down at the table. 

Linden Wood is easiest for beginners,  the shadows explained.  And all the books suggest you should start with something easy! Like a sheep! 

He wasn’t quite sure in what world a sheep could be considered to be something easy to carve but…oh well. What could go wrong? 

A lot…like the sheep having legs of three different lengths and toppling over anytime he tried to get it to stand on its own…That was sheep number 1. By the time Sheep Number 3 rolled around, it actually could stand. And if he narrowed his eyes, he could pretend that it actually looked like a sheep. And not like a misshapen blob of wood.

Quite frankly, of all the hobbies he had yet tried out…this one seemed to be the most successful. There was just one problem...

What am I supposed to do with them, once I am finished?  he asked. He had 3 sheep. None of them was good enough that he could give them to anybody as a gift without it resulting in laughter. And even if they were good enough, who wanted a carved sheep out of wood as a gift? Maybe Baby Nyx? Though he would probably gnaw at it. 

Or he would have a whole nursery shelf with intricately carved wooden animal toys made by some artisan in the Rainbow of Velaris. That was probably more likely. 

Put them on your shelves to display!  The shadows suggested brightly. Right.   

So you want me to make a whole shelf of misshapen farm animals?  He asked drily. He already had 3 sheep. Now he just needed a couple of cows, a donkey and a chicken and he had a whole farm.  

If it makes you happy, Master!  Always enthusiastic.  Make a donkey next!

There was a knock at the door. 

“It’s open!” he called, fully well knowing that it was going to be Cassian, who strolled into the room, blinked twice and then came to investigate. 

“So we are whittling now?“ he asked with a bright grin, picking up one of the sheep Azriel had made. 

“Yes.  Would you like one?” Azriel asked him, only half joking. “I don’t think I have room to display all of them."

“Is that a sheep?” Cassian asked, cocking his head to the side.

He just nodded, surprised that it was actually recognisable. 

“Is that the first time you have done this?”  Cassian asked curiously. They had…learned to whittle in the way that they had learned how to fashion spears from sticks to spit a poor rabbits so that they weren’t gonna starve. But that was it. They had never learned…art in that way. Illyirans weren’t the most artistic folk in any sense of the imagination. 

They were outliers of course…Like Rhys’ mother, like his mother…but everything soft and beautiful these two had loved had been snuffed out of them during their times in the warcamps. 

“Yes.”

“You are good at it,” Cassian complimented him. “I don’t think I would be able to make anything that’s actually recognisable. Let me try.” 

And so his brother came to sit beside him and the two of them spent the better part of an hour adding to Azriel’s collection of misshapen farm animals. 

Cassian had absolutely zero talent at it. Repeatedly and accidentally knicking a finger with the sharp knives and making a sheep that had a distinct similarity to a potato. 

“…What are you two doing?” Nesta’s voice came from the door, and he looked up to find her standing there, her arms crossed, wearing one of these silky robes she was partial to. Even her hair wasn't intricately braided into a crown for once but fell to her waist in caramel-coloured waves. She raised an eyebrow at her mate

“Wood carving,” Cassian said proudly. “Do you want a sheep, Nes?” he asked, holding out the wooden lump to her. 

Nesta stared at him. “No, Cassian, I do not want a sheep,”  she said with a sigh. “You could come to bed though…I want that.” 

Azriel already settled in for a long and sleepless night only because these two were never going to learn how to be quiet. Though…if he got to carve a cow to go with his sheep and donkeys…maybe that wasn’t all too bad. 

“So, is this hobby going to stick around?” Cassian asked as he rose to meet his mate at the door. 

Azriel shrugged. “Maybe it is.” Granted there were only so many animal figurines he could make but…well. It was something. 

 Even when the only thing he was good at was using a knife. 

So he kept on carving…until he nearly carved off his finger, as he tried to remove one stubborn bit of wood with too much enthusiasm.

Maybe it wasn't going to stick around after all.

[phs-animations]

Illustration for my fanfic, The Grapple-Pursuit. You can read it on the PHB: https://poptropi.ca/2024/12/11/grapple-pursuit-1/

[pursuit-of-adoration]

"Go forth. Show them your greatness."