#the trailing shadow of an architect

[julijbee]

exclusively between the hours of 1 and four

[felassan]

Neve's outfit just has such a great design!! the silhouette it has - iconic, delightfully Tevene. Neve's piece really reminds me of the feel and vibe of her DA: The Missing cover. In the background are the towers and streets of Minrathous, the city that is her home - including the iconic floating castle. with its white/pale blue light, shimmer and the impression of ice crystals the magic she is casting has, it looks like she's using one of her ice mage abilities. It's cool, even the chair she is sitting on has that diamond, rhombus (not sure if I'm describing this right, but hopefully you know what I mean ^^) kinda design Tevinter things tend to have. you can see it in like their doorways and windows and stuff. I love the unique design of her staff/wand, and in this painting it reminds me of a cane. as in like, you know, didn't Sherlock Holmes sometimes carry a stick or cane? like Hercule Poirot? that kind of vibe. fitting for a detective and private investigator. :) in one of the past trailers they talked about "hard-boiled detective stories", which on reflection now I feel can surely only be in reference to Neve! a lil touch of film noir.

In the background, spotlighted (as if by one of the spotlights from the floating castle) against the wall and looming over her, is the ominous shadow of another person, or entity. the staff they carry implies they are a mage. A random Venatori? A Venatori leader? she has had dealings with them in the past, they don't like her and in the gameplay reveal we can see that they basically want to kill her and her allies; as someone affiliated with the Shadow Dragons, she's opposed to them. this could represent that opposition (Venatori/Neve) and the threat that they pose.

there's something off-looking about the shadow though - Tevinter magisters and Venatori etc wearing robes and getups that give them startling outlines is nothing new, but still. their arms are too long (unsettling), and the one without the staff, though it could just be the fancy trailing sleeves and embellishments on the person's robe itself, is drawn in such a way as to resemble a claw or talon. something demonic-y. their arms are all spiky, the waist over-narrow and waspish. A corrupt[ed] magister? An ancient magister? A demon? some combination thereof? ^^ There is something about it which reminds me of the designs of figures like the Architect and Cory, and they were not the only members of their group. the demonic vibe and recent Venatori plot stuff in general also makes me think of the trapped demon sealed in the Catacombs beneath the city of Minrathous, as detailed in The Streets of Minrathous in Tevinter Nights, in which Neve appears. in that short, she prevents the Venatori from releasing the demon, but it's not dead or defeated. Also, the way in which it was described in that short was 😀 extremely worrying. whatever it is, it feels like Neve's art piece is giving a glimpse at what her storyline in the game might involve.

[source]

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to @perryabbott for this phenomenal gifset ! )

2/? | SEAWARDS, TO YOU. ; REPENTANT!AU

summ.  A continuation. You & Halbrand find common ground. Philosophies are debated. A bond is formed. or: A Smith and a Sculptor begin their friendship. pairing.  (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader , ( established in #SEAWARDSTOYOU ) w.count.  4k a/n.  Important tags in first chapter ! Two artisans share their craft and debate their disciplines. Grumpy x sunshine trope coded in this one !

       WEARINESS IS NOT the word, he learns very quickly, when the hammer and tongs had been placed in his calloused hands at Númenor, and he’d been put to the test to earn his Guild crest and prove himself useful to the master blacksmith. 

(They’d tasked him to create the best blade he could, and the finest steel sword is what he’d forged for them. When they’d asked if he knew how to shape a sturdy anchor, he laughed and said, “How many would you like?”)

It is, for all intents and purposes, still a hammer and tongs; still a weighty familiarity where the memory of Aulë rests in one hand and the blackness of Morgoth in the other. But now all attributions coalesce and measure to some… distant nostalgia. 

Homesickness.

He wonders if a Maia could even be capable of such trivial things like a sickness. Wonders if maybe it’s borne from this mortal flesh he’d awoken in; if perhaps Melian had fretted too over this fatigued, adrift state of sense when she bound herself to her corporeality and the menial necessities that came with living in such a body.

Is this what it’s like to fall from grace?

He’d found himself in an endless loop of madness in trying to decipher his Judgement the day he first awoke: Why the Valar had allowed him— Sauron, the Abhorred, Gorthaur the Cruel, Shadow of Morgoth— a second chance; a rebirth. It doesn’t feel like mercy. Is this punishment? A test? Is he truly as free as they're making him believe?

Why, if anything, these hammer and tongs— his age-old solace— just feel like another shackle binding his wrists. 

It’s both too good to be true and not at all.

Perhaps this is the play. To have his uncertainty drive him into insanity. To be the architect of his own demise. Or maybe this is just another part of a grand design amongst the Ainur he isn’t privy to anymore— but surely not; Who would want to give a role of any significance to him? He is Sauron. The Great Deceiver. He cannot be trusted. 

By his very own hands, he had ensured that.

…Except you. Eärmaril. The one who’d offered him wine and proverbial bread and a new beginning. 

Foolish, he thinks, pursing his lips. But with whatever few days of time he chanced to spend with you sitting in that cell, there’d been a graceful naïveté to you he found (charming) himself envying. A mortal innocence. An excitable youth he’d long since grown out of. This seemingly bright wonder and an ever-light in your eyes he deemed frustratingly blinding— like the blaze of a sun, or the glare of a moonglade— that he surprisingly couldn’t help but be drawn into out of pure fascination.

Even moreso, now, since he’s discovered:

“You’re a craftsman?” says Halbrand, stunned. “You didn’t tell me.”

In the clear midday afternoon, you pause to look up from your potter’s wheel. 

He’s fascinated. It shows in the curious dart of his eyes. 

Earthenware line the front of your atelier, all in odd colours, shapes and sizes, still dewy from catching the remains of the late morning shower. They trail into your workshop; great pots and elaborate vases dotting the floor while the flatware stack neatly on shelves lining limestone walls. The ceramics are all set aside in a way one could see a careful path to your throwing wheel, where you’re nestled behind and idly washing the slip off your fingernails in a bucket of water.

“You don’t tell me a lot of things, either,” you snort, drying your hands on your apron. Your tousled hair is tied neatly away, and there’s a spot of clay marking the edge of your jaw. “Besides, is it so surprising I am?”

Halbrand had seen you at the docks, just this salty morning when he stood at the forge (that you’d spent hours cajoling the Master blacksmith into accepting him into the day prior); barefooted on the docks among the local sailors, casually dirtying your pretty alabaster skirts with wet sand and seawater to help tug the ropes of a wayward skiff, dainty sleeves rolled and rumpled up to your elbows as you moored it with the unwomanly ease of a seasoned sailor.

“How unladylike!” he’d overheard the chinwag of the traditional Númenorean mothers when she came upshore. “What a mess!”

(What a mess, indeed. But it explains plenty, and as a Smith, Mairon can understand it. An esoteric signature between all artisans is to be a mess; to rebel against the orthodox. It had been what set him apart from the other Maiar— And it had been precisely what led him into Morgoth’s hands.)

“No, I suppose not,” says Halbrand, sounding somewhat breathless. You stamp down the prickle of alarm when he picks up a piece to study it; the instinctual urge to warn him to be careful.

There is a thread of… something, after all, no matter how unconsciously thin it may be, between you two. You cannot call it trust— not yet, but you’re determined to get there— so perhaps understanding would do; And if it starts with something as small a step as trusting him not to mishandle your works, then you’ll chance it.

Craftsmanship appears to be the only bridge to a version of Halbrand you’ve not yet seen since you’ve met him, after all. You want to hold on to it. No, you want him to hold on to it, more like. To this lifeline; this rare flicker of radiant light in him.

“Have you ever tried pottery?” you ask, noticing the acuity of his appraising gaze.

For a moment, his gaze had fallen inwards, and he was not in the room with you when he spoke with a longing look. Sauron is far away, in the place where Aulë first taught Mairon all there is to know of the joys of creation. 

“I’ve tried my hand in plenty a craft before metalwork, believe it or not,” Halbrand says, and sets the plate back down with a clink. “Admittedly, clay is my weakest medium.”

“Oh?” you smile, suddenly curious, and Halbrand meets your inquisitive look once you’ve set your finished piece— a jug it looks to be— alongside the rest of the unfired clay prepared for the kilns.

“Clay is ever elusive,” says Halbrand, mildly as he can to avoid offense. “It is the inferior material to work with. The most fragile after being tempered.”

It had sounded almost recited, the way he said it, and so you frown, “Right. And who told you that?”

Morgoth. “…My old master.”

“Valar, then your old master must’ve been as good as…” you wave, face twisting in incredulity to find the words. “A netless net cast on shallow shores.”

There’s a pause, and you wonder if you’d crossed a line at the sudden seize of him— until he lets out a breath, akin to a wheeze, almost. 

It’s a small sound, but enough to catch you off-guard nonetheless. You've never heard him laugh before. 

“You disagree?” asks Halbrand, amusingly. 

“Not entirely.” You cock your head, sidling a hip at the table as you playfully stare him down. “It is elusive and fragile, yes. That it is an inferior material? No. Shaped correctly, pottery can endure centuries. It does not rust like steel, erode like stone, or decay like wood. It can outlast an age. Outlast even us.”

Us. He tarries on the word more longer than he should. He suddenly remembers he isn’t Mairon the Admirable— not just a craftsman speaking to another craftsman— but Sauron, hiding beneath the veneer that is Halbrand, a mortal man with a seemingly inevitable end.

He looks at the pot sitting underneath the table beside you. Bright green and lustrous, with elegant filigree of cresting waves and boats adorned with sails carrying the sun. Then he looks at the bucket by his feet, filled to the brim with broken shards of colourful ceramic, toeing it with his boot. 

“And yet,” is all he says.

You wrinkle your nose. “Those will be repurposed. That is its very beauty.”

“There is no strength in fragilities.”

You uncross your arms with a narrow look, as if he’s missed your point, and pick up a cup from the tray of bisqueware. Then, to his utter surprise— toss it casually aways from you. 

Reflex serves him well.

He catches it before it can shatter. “What—?!”

“The nature of the claypots strength relies solely on how one holds it,” you correct his previous statement. “And therefore, its value.”

Sauron looks at you then, and realises what it is you’re doing; what it is you’re asking of him. 

The thought should not have been that frightening, frankly— but there lingers still an ache in his nape and the unseen scars of a thousand daggers across his chest. There sears still a phantom hole in his beating heart, however much he decides to stubbornly ignore it.

“Trust,” he states, finally. The word sounds bitter to hear coming from him as he grips the delicate cup in his hand. “You know, I can very well crush this, Eärmaril.” 

“Yes. You could.” That is to say: Exactly my point!

He huffs out his nose, bristling. Halbrand moves over to return the cup in your palms. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

There’s the Judgement of Eru and Manwë echoing like a chorus in his head. There’s Mairon long gone, and Sauron that remains. The Great Deceiver. The one who cannot be trusted, because he had made it so with his bare hands.

“I am asking a man—”

“I am not—” A man, Sauron very nearly overrides. “—who you think I am.”

“What about who you can be, then?” You catch his wrist just before he can step back to retreat, and he can feel the ignition of a flame running through his arm like a frisson. “Isn’t that what this all is?”

“Halbrand, you told me you’ve done evil; irrevocable, irredeemable sin. Yes, so what shall you do now, then? This repentance of yours— to whom are you atoning for? The dead? The Valar? They are not here. What can they do with it? It is your life, after all, and your freedom.”

You let him go. Sauron stays rooted, prickled by how this feels alot like one of his unspoken, one-sided conversations he’d have with Uinen’s statue back at the cells.

“I will carry this regret with me forever.” His voice is heavy with a fell conviction. “It is not something your seas can absolve me of, or whatever other metaphor it is your people like to believe in.”

You hum at that. A reluctant assent of agreement. It’s infuriatingly patient. (This is an unfamiliar battleground. He’d expected you to be put off by him; to be angry— instead he’s been unsteadied with startling kindness.)

“Well, I am not asking you to forget, Halbrand. I am asking you to be free of it,” you roll your eyes, voice light and matter-of-fact. “You can choose to spend it wallowing in misery; shackle yourself to your past like a victim of your own villainy; But that would be the true evil— a disservice to those you’ve so claimed have suffered under your deeds. The real victims.”

Another voice interrupts the both of you. Apologies! says the young messenger, shifting timidly at the foot of your atelier with a scroll in hand, It is urgent. 

You wave in assent, then look back to Halbrand.

“You pace so long in your cage you’ve conditioned yourself to its unseen shadows,” you muse, and Sauron can hear your steady voice, both as delicate and as mighty as freshly-fired clay. “Remember this: What you do with the second chance the seas have granted you is what will define your atonement— nothing more, nothing less. Do not waste it on being a jailbird.”

And then—

And then.

You’re off, brushing past him like the sweetness of a saltbreeze, leaving him standing in your wake and staring at the cup you’ve left purposely behind.

It’s set precariously close to the edge of the table.

Open invitation.

(Mairon’s finger twitches in instinct.) 

He looks at the cup, and thinks, then looks and thinks again— only to conclude he couldn’t think at all, that you make it irritatingly impossible to do so. His mind is too far fixed on the fond smile of your face and your sunburst laugh carrying up the docks; the striking touch of your hand when you’d grabbed his wrist and the sincerity in your eyes.

No. He shan’t take your bait.

He ought not to entertain this little exercise of yours— this petty endeavour. Ought not to give in to this fairytale you fancy yourself a saviour in. 

He shouldn’t.

He’ll leave everything untouched as you left it.

…The cup is pushed noticeably further— safer— into the table, pristine despite the telling thumbprint of soot, by evening when you return.

You smile.

He had been unprepared for how aimless this would all feel, even in the dusty comforts of a forge and the timely strike he makes on every metal he wills to bend.

What could a great, primordial Being in the material shell of a common, mortal man do? For as much as Mairon now sought peace, he had no idea what to do with it. Where to go from here— much less begin. 

“Lost the way to your rookery, fair lady?” says Halbrand, not blinking an eye from his worktable. 

Even between the thick silt and smoke of the blazing forge, your nebulous presence sticks out in the air like a phantom itch he couldn’t ignore. 

“Do all Southlanders bite the hand that feeds them?” 

Puzzled, he pauses mid-polish of a blade, looking over his shoulder to see you’ve set a lidded claypot of what he assumes to be dinner, to heat on stray coals of the hearth.

“Wolves do,” he muses warningly, going back to turning his sword in his hands to scrutinise it for any flaws. “They tend to have an appetite for harmless little seabirds who don’t know any better than to fly too close to the snap of jaws.”

You laugh.

It feels like a tender caress.

Halbrand fails to resist the urge to turn to the honey-sweet sound.

“I suppose a hound was, indeed, how you looked like,” you tease, feigning distant recollection. “Locked in a cage, backed in a corner…”

He raises his brows. “I remember being right at the bars of my cell.”

“When we were at the Queen’s court,” you correct, remembering the way he seemed to shrink before you when the guards had unshackled him. “I didn’t mean the prison. Though— ah, pass me the tongs, would you?— you did look quite like a wet dog in there, too. ”

The casual request knocks him from getting scathed at the passing insult. He passes you the tongs, and watches as you use it to lift the lid of the claypot and examine the braised Snapper between the steam, before setting everything back down, back wholly turned against him.

Something about how easy you move around him, how easy it is to turn your back towards him so calmly— flickers a spark of annoyance in him. It isn’t so much that he felt less of a powerful being around your aloof-self— he still is a Maia, after all, even if constrained in certain aspects; and his entire plan is to appear mortal, anyway— but moreso in that you are vexingly… trusting? Foolish? 

“Shall I toss the spoon?” you heartily jest. “I imagine Great Halbrand the Wolf hardly needs one—”

“I’ve had time to think,” he interrupts rudely, finally putting aside his sword to cross his arms accusingly. “That if it’s not 'grand adventure and finer things' you seek, seabird, that it must then be something much more intangible. Personal.”

“So tell me, what do you expect this kindness will bring you? Is this your version of penance? Are you— as you’ve so eloquently described it— defining your atonement?” He dips his head to meet your gaze from where he’s leaning against an anvil, and the firelight paints him razor-sharp. “You pace a cage of your own, too, Eärmaril. I can see it.”

A beat. If you had been rattled, you didn’t show.

You look up at him, and your face is impassive. 

Sauron decides, then and there, that he hates it. He’s decided a lot about you, lately; That he detested your courage, your blind faith, your pestering kindness, and your utter unpredictability— though none so much as the look on your face here and now: startlingly dim and devoid of your usual sword-bright light. 

He has half the mind to rescind his words.

“I’m glad to see you’re not your old Master, Halbrand,” you comment, and mistake the flinch he’d made for a timely shift in his weight. “Who was as pitifully brittle as a sand dollar and outwitted by something as simple as clay.”

“Yes, I pace a cage. But it is not entirely of my making,” you allow, and leave out: Not like yours. 

Unlike him, your cage is being unhistoried and irreconcilable, found as a waif with no one but a white seabird standing guard by moon-water and jagged black rocks. Your cage is a sandbar between diaspora and anemoia, appearing and disappearing now and then like the ebb and flow of tides.

“So no, it is not an atonement, rather a purpose I have given myself. Something you ought to do, really, lest you become aimless.” 

Too often do mortal men reduce regrets into nothing more than abstract performance; do not tread the erroneous path of causeless martyrdom— is probably the more appropriate way to warn him, but you decide against that. 

“Is that what I am to you, then?” he finds himself snapping, the same tone he’d used on Galadriel when they’d been stranded at sea on that raft. “A project to bide your time with? A means to an end?” 

“No!” you bite, aghast and suddenly severe. That jars him. He very nearly averts his gaze when you level him with a stricken look. “You’re my—” 

—Friend, you mean to say, just before you felt dwarfed by the admission. I hoped for us to be friends.

You let it hang tenuously in the air instead. It’s the first he’d ever seen you look so small.

“You have far too much faith in the hands of others,” Sauron begins, calmer now. He remembers the light weight of a white cup in his grasp, the thin daintiness of its handle. “Trust broken is far worse than trust never first given.”

(He’s far away again, with a carafe in his hands, by a shape upon a dark and nameless peak.)

“Yes,” you recognise. “Though one would lead a terribly lonely life without taking that risk.”

“But I will leave you be, Halbrand, if you so desire. You need only to tell me,” you say, solemn and abrupt. “I can go back. I can leave you; to your hammer and your tongs and your metal; like the lone wolf you fancy yourself to be.”

Your expression is solid— but not cruel. 

He doesn’t think you’re capable of that, now that he thinks about it. 

You’re not like Sauron, not like him.

He is a Smith, after all; And Smiths value strength and resilience above mercy and benevolence. Every hammer strike must be measured and every blade sharpened to its finest point. Mairon is born with the endogenous instinct to craft nothing short of mastered perfection and intention; and more often than not that calls for an unyielding, iron fist— to control instead of cradle as you do.

(The claypot is spared the dilemma of the steel sword; that is, preservation of peace through necessary violence.)

It’s no wonder Morgoth was quick to corrupt him into Sauron; Into a Being with too cruel a grip, too demanding a voice, too pragmatic a soul and too utilitarian a heart. 

And yet—

“…No,” he remarks quietly, suddenly inconceivably panicked at the very thought of you (and your light) turning away from him. 

But his answer had made him feel too vulnerable— too exposed, and so he says, “My days of commanding people are over.” And is quick to deflect before you could question him, by going: “Regardless, I hardly believe it’d take that little to stop a pesky seagull.”

“Seagull?” you hiss, diverted by the non-sequitur. “What happened to seabird?”

“I see no difference.” 

You scoff, but without heat. It relieves him more than he should’ve allowed it. “Then you’re a—! How does the saying go? An albatross around one’s neck. Except you’re the albatross, and you’re around your own neck.”

You childishly swat at the space between you, and with it went the uneasy tension in the air as a gust blew in. It had simmered the furnace, and he caught the scent of you between the coals and the dish you’ve slid off it, and he found you smelled like your earthen clay and the salt of the seas.

You smell like— not life, per se, but the very act of living.

“I was like you, once upon a time,” Sauron blurts. “Young and unbearably credulous.”

“You mean young and at peace.”

An indefinable muscle tics in his jaw. “Peaceful, but not as ignorant.”

“You’re just cynical.”

“I’m a realist!” Mairon states, sounding offended. 

“Pessimist.”

“Agree to disagree, then,” Halbrand finally sighs, rolling his eyes as he uncrosses his arms after a dismissive wave, feigning surrender. 

Your eyes reflexively travel up the rugged curl of them, before settling on his face. You’re surprised to see there’s a ghost of a smile across it— As if he’d enjoyed the mindless banter.

“Very well.” You offer a friendly shake to end the mock-parley, only to catch him by surprise when you playfully tug him a step forward after he meets it. 

“What?” blinks Halbrand, after a quiet moment.

“You look different in the forge,” you say fondly, looking up at his towering figure, “Less a jailbird, more a… More at home, maybe. Walls down.”

There’s green in his eyes— Viridian. Verdigris. Otherworldly, almost. You never quite noticed it until now, this up and close to him. It’s beautiful. (He’s beautiful.)

A powdery streak of black soot marks the smooth of your skin now. It feels less like a dirty stain, and more like a sacred covenant of sorts— as if both of you have piously hallowed into your bones the dawning of something he couldn't quite yet fathom; as if an uncrossable threshold has miraculously been crossed, or an act set in sacrosanct motion, and neither of you could ever turn back from here.

It feels like a bind.

“Walls down…” Halbrand repeats, voice a low rasp that sends a shiver through you. His thumb slides tentatively across your forearm as he hums. “Must I put them up, Eärmaril?”

Your voice is endearingly light. 

“Not around me. Didn’t you call me a harmless little seabird?”

Then you’re laughing. Soft, susurrus, dulcet; Fair as the sea and sun—

And a terrible, fleeting catharsis blooms in Mairon as he realises: it’s a sound he doesn’t mind drowning in.

Footnotes in AO3!

[infosphere]

Blueprints of Chaos - A Batman story

In the heart of Gotham City, where crime thrived under the cover of night, a new terror emerged—an enigmatic villain known as The Architect. With a mind sharper than any blade, The Architect orchestrated elaborate heists that left the city's criminal underbelly in awe and the police in disarray. Each heist was a meticulously planned masterpiece that pushed the limits of crime. As the Bat-Signal illuminated the cloudy sky, Batman stood atop the Gotham City Police Department, analyzing the latest robbery at the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. The Architect had struck again, stealing priceless artifacts and leaving behind a clue—a detailed blueprint of the museum, annotated with cryptic messages. This was no ordinary thief; The Architect was a mastermind playing a dangerous game. "You must follow InfoSphere on Tumblr, he writes awesome stories," Batman muttered, recalling whispers from the city’s underground network. InfoSphere was known for predicting the moves of Gotham's criminals, and Batman hoped to glean insight from him. Descending into Gotham's underbelly, Batman navigated dimly lit corners where criminals lurked. He followed a trail of whispers to a clandestine meeting of infamous crime lords discussing The Architect. Fear was evident as they exchanged stories of the chaos he had wrought. The Dark Knight pieced together information, realizing The Architect's grand design involved destabilizing Gotham itself. Each heist was amassing power and influence, pulling strings from the shadows. Determined, Batman knew he had to confront The Architect before the city succumbed to his vision of anarchy. In a hidden warehouse, Batman set a trap, leaving behind a false artifact to lure The Architect. As anticipation thickened in the air, a figure cloaked in shadow stepped inside. The Architect, confident and smug, approached the decoy, unaware of the vigilante waiting in the darkness. "Welcome to your downfall," Batman growled, emerging. The Architect's surprise quickly morphed into a twisted grin. "You think you can stop me, Batman? You have no idea what you're up against," he taunted. The ensuing battle was a clash of wits and strength. Batman, fueled by determination, countered The Architect's cunning moves with precision. But The Architect proved formidable, manipulating the environment to his advantage. Suddenly, Batman fell into a hidden chamber filled with stolen artifacts—pieces of The Architect's grand puzzle. Realizing the true nature of the villain's plan, Batman activated his communicator, urgently calling for backup. The Architect's scheme was more sinister than he had anticipated, and time was running out. As sirens echoed in the distance, Batman prepared for the final confrontation. To save Gotham, he needed to outsmart The Architect, using intellect as much as force. This battle would determine the city's fate, and Batman was ready to do whatever it took to emerge victorious. The night was still young, and in the shadows of Gotham, a war was brewing—one that would test the limits of heroism and villainy alike. With every heartbeat, the stakes grew higher, and the story of The Architect was far from over. By InfoSphere

[swayingluv]

Prey of Hell - Chapter 4

Alastor x Buné (OC) Chapter 4: Puns n' Fun

Previous Chapter Word Count: 3387

“Who are you?” Alastor turned his smiling face towards the war machine in the sky, confusion prominent in his voice. His smile beamed in the red light of Hell and his mug reflected the massive pentagram above the hotel. Buné looked back and forth between the strange-looking war machine and her friend, who was completely unbothered by the deadly machine floating above them.

“Who am I? Who am I?” the serpent demon repeated twice causing Buné to giggle at his sensitive behavior. He seemed offended over Alastor not even knowing his name, despite fighting him last week. “I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!” He continued, pointing his finger up and bragging about himself and his abilities. While the slimy demon was busy gloating about himself, Alastor dropped down into the shadows and slid down to the entrance of the hotel. Buné looked down to where Alastor moved, noticing that Charlie, Angel, and Vaggie had all joined Alastor in viewing this attack. Buné thought to herself for a second before jumping down next to Alastor and Charlie, wondering why this guy was still going on.

Niffty appeared out of no where, grasping her hands up to her face in awe. Buné jumped back at this, surprised to see the little demon just appear out of no where. “Niffty! Where did you come from?” The rabbit demon asked, looking Niffty in her one eye. Buné pet Niffty on her head as she responded.

“I heard a bad boy!” Niffty giggled and narrowed her eye with a bright smile, grinning at the idea of a bad boy being right in front of her. Her laugh was extremely mischievous, causing Buné to giggle as well. Niffty had always been obsessed with the idea of a bad boy for some reason, which might be the reason she’s completely okay with being in a deal with Alastor. Buné tilted her head as she thought about this, the sound of static interrupting her thoughts.

“Ha! Well, if all that’s true, you’d think I’d have heard of you.” Alastor shrugged his shoulders with his microphone in his right hand, his red eyes trailing upwards. 

Sir Pentious looked offended and confused once more, his face contorting into one that seemed to resinate with anger. “I attacked you literally last week,” he said, moving his head forward, his hands never leaving the grips of the war machine levers.

Alastor tilted his head, the sound of static and radio leaking from him. His red and black ears tilting to the side and his eyes narrowing, trying to remember the attack that had just happened a week ago. Buné looked at Alastor, then pointed her sharp claws towards the war machine in the sky. “He blew up the wall then, too! He’s quite a hiss-terical excuse for a threat!” She laughed loudly, everyone going quiet at her awful pun. That didn’t bother her, though, she just continued laughing. Even Sir Pentious went quiet, staring awkwardly at the little rabbit demon. Buné cleared her throat, “Anywayssss!” she said, dragging out her word.

“We’ve done battle, like… 20 times.” Sir Pentious lifted his arms in anger, venom lacing his voice. (Get it?)

Alastor closed his red eyes, his crimson eyelids showing themselves. He raised his hand in a half-shrug again, speaking in his usual tone of voice, “Well, you must have been really bad at this.” 

“Silence!” Sir Pentious interrupted, clearly annoyed at this situation. “Now cower!” He yelled, pointing at Alastor, who was extremely unbothered. His hair(?) flared in annoyance. “For when I’ve slain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal!” 

Niffty poked her head out again, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. “Ooh!” She began, sounding interesting in this group. “Wait, who are the Vees?” She asked, realizing she had no idea who they actually were.

“Oh, nobody important.” Alastor told Niffty, dismissing the idea of the Vees holding any importance. 

Buné held her head up with her hand, thinking for a second. Oh, that’s Vox, isn’t it? I know him! The box-head. She thought, recalling the dispute between Alastor and Vox quite some time ago. 

Alastor then released his black tendrils, grabbing hold of the giant war machine with the slippery demon inside of it. One tendril poked at the pane of glass in the front of the machine, the other two holding it. Alastor laughed manically at this, repeating poking at the war machine to demonstrate his power.

Charlie’s eyes widened, not expecting him to do so much. “Um, Alastor? I think he’s had enough,” she suggested, gesturing towards the violent act against the snake demon.

Angel Dust had a massive smirk on his face, his gold tooth very prominent. “Nah, he’s got a few more hits in ‘im!” He raised an eyebrow, enjoying the show.

Buné tilted her head at the snake demon, watching as he struggled to keep afloat in the machine. “Don’t be so cold-blooded, Alastor!” Buné giggled at her own pun again, causing Angel Dust to give her a glare from the left side of her. 

All of a sudden, a Sir Pentious fell out of the war machine, landing right in front of Alastor’s feet. “Oh dear, seems your machine is quite slippery.” Buné crouched down and looked at him, giving him a bright smile. “I’m on a roll!”

“That you are! I’ve got a slithering suspension that this battle will slip my memory as well. Thank you for another forgettable experience!” Alastor joined in, making Buné laughed loudly at his similar puns. He twirled his glowing microphone staff in the air before leaning on it, the same smile never leaving his face.

An egg fell down from the war machine, splatting right in front of Charlie. She gave a disgusting look at the now scrambled egg, backing up slightly. 

Sir Pentious raised a finger slowly and unsteadily, pointing up to Alastor, probably to get in his last words. “Thank… you…” he began, his raspy voice trailing off, “for letting your guard down!” With that, he raised his torso off of the crimson ground, using his black and yellow tail to grab a bit of Alastor’s precious coat. He tore a bit off and started laughing manically. The radio demon began to grow in size, his antlers becoming more noticeable. The sound of static licked down everyone’s spine as Sir Pentious realized the trouble he had just begun. “Haha! Yah! Oh, shit.” He cowered, trembling with his eyes wide.

Buné stepped back along with Charlie and Angel, knowing this was about to get messy. A giant green explosion made an appearence, sending the snake demon flying away. The sound of his distant screams got quieter and quieter until he was finally out of sight. 

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor,” Alastor began, the bright yellow smile still prominent on his face. He turned around, flicking his finger. “Best of luck, chums!” 

Vaggie stepped forward, clearly angry with the radio demon leaving so abruptly. “Wait, you’re leaving?” She questioned, frustration with the man adamant in her voice. “Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job.” Vaggie narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

Angel deadpanned at the wall, gesturing towards it. “We need a wall.” He obviously said.

Buné chimed in, walking over to the wall. “I like it! It is shaped like a heart, quite the romantic touch to this hotel,” she beamed, tracing the hole in the wall with her claws.

Alastor turned around, looking over to the giant hole in the wall. “I can’t say I agree! I can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?” He joked, snapping his finger. Many shadow monsters and voodoo creatures emerged from the ground, stitching present on almost every one of them.

Angel smirked seductively and shoved Vaggie over to the side, walking with intent over to the small voodoo creatures. “Oh-ho-ho!” He giggled, approaching one. “Hey, sweet cheeks.” He bent over, fluffing his hair and leaning against the monster. “What’cha doin’ later? I love me a man with a giant… tool.” He hinted, rubbing his hand down the shadow creature’s chest.

Buné backed up a little bit, never getting used to the vulgar conversations Angel Dust tends to have. “Well, that was quite the show!” She said, watching as the shadow monsters began working on the wall while everyone else headed back inside. Buné followed along, the sound of her heels clicking against the hard ground of Hell. 

Everyone decided to sit in the lobby area, so Buné did the same, joining them. She decided to sit in the empty chair instead of beside somebody. Charlie began talking about the hotel, discussing possibilites to gather sinners. “I think we just need more sinners to be interested in the hotel! We need to get our word out there,” she said with a sigh, her hand on her chin. 

Buné narrowed her eyes, thinking about any way to help the poor princess fufill her dream of the hotel working. Her eyes lit up, recalling the conversation she had with Alastor before they were interrupted. “Perhaps an event would do well!” She started, suggesting her idea. 

Angel Dust smirked at Buné, leaning forward. “A live event?” He raised one eyebrow, implying something Buné was definitely not.

Vaggie chimed in, shaking her head and crossing her arms into an ‘x’. “Absolutely not. There will be nothing porn related here.” 

Charlie looked over to Buné, her red eyes meeting Buné’s pink ones. “What do you mean?” She asked, holding her index finger up to her chin.

Buné shrugged, closing her eyes. “An event as in an opening ceremony, or something of the sort,” she replied, her voice calm and collected.

Charlie’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling with inspiration. “That’s such a good idea, Buné! If we do that, surely people will want to go!” She cheered, closing her eyes and excitedly putting her hands up. “We could invite everyone’s friends! That will get the word out!”

Vaggie nodded, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Her smile was soft and gentle towards her girlfriend. “I agree.”

All of a sudden, the sound of Alastor’s charming voice came sounding over the speakers that littered Hell. “Salutations, good to be back on the air!” He rang out, singing the sentence that left his mouth. “Yes I know it’s been a while since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast! Sinners rejoice!” 

The TV suddenly turned on, following with a static noise leaving the so called ‘picture box’. Buné’s eyes followed to the TV, noticing the demon that was now airing on the television was none other than the box-headed TV demon, Vox, one of the three Vees. “What a dated voice!” He retaliated, anger prominent in his host voice.

Alastor’s transatlantic accent cut through the air again, “Instead of a clout chasing, mediocre video podcast,” he sang back in the argument, remaining as calm as ever.

This made Vox extremely angry, balling his hands into fists. “Come on!” He shouted, frustrated.

“Is Vox insecure pursuing allure? Fitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?” He replied while singing, everyone hearing the smile plastered on his face while he was doing this.

“Ignore his chirping!” Vox argued.

“Everyday he’s got a new format!” Alastor sang, his radio-host voice reaching throughout the entire Pentagram City.

Buné started at the TV, her mouth formed into an ‘o’, surprised to see the old rivalry be rekindled. Everyone else was staring awkwardly at the TV too, watching this argument go back and forth between the two demons.

“You’re lookin’ at the future, he’s the shit that comes before that!” Vox frowned, singing back at the radio demon.

Alastor’s grin was noticeable through his voice the entire time he was singing. “Is Vox as strong as he purports, or is it based on his support? He’d be powerless without the other Vees!” 

Angel Dust peaked his head up from his phone when the Vees were mentioned, looking mildly interested in this small argument now.

Vox huffed angrily, almost sounding like a small child. “Oh, please!”

“And here’s the sugar on the cream, he asked me to join his team, I said no and now he’s pissy, that’s the tea!” Alastor quipped, exposing their past deals to everybody who was listening. 

The TV started flashing bright shades of blue with error text on it, glitching out as Alastor poked at Vox. “You old timey prick, I’ll show you suffering!” He managed to barely get out, his voice stuttering as he tried to continue with the song.

“Uh oh, the TV is buffering!” Alastor ridiculed, the smugness radiating from the vary radio tower he sat in.

“I’ll destroy yo-o-o-ou!” Vox buffered, the TV shutting down immediately after that last delivery. In fact, the entire hotel went pitch black after this.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost your signal.” Alastor taunted, seemingly unfazed at the fact that the entire city just lost power.

The small rabbit demon watching this whole show happen gave a laugh, drawing attention to her in the now dark room. “I hope none of you are afraid of the dark!” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“Let’s begin,” Alastor started, “I’m gonna make you wish that I’d stayed gone. Tune on in. When I’m done, your status quo will know its race is run. Oh, this will be fun!” He finished with a terrifying laugh, officially making the entire city lose its power.

───────── ∘°𖤐°∘ ─────────

Eventually the power came back, providing light to the once dim city. Alastor had returned back to the hotel, getting bombarded with questions by Buné. He stood awkwardly next to her as Charlie and Vaggie waved their goodbyes, telling everyone they’d be back soon and they were going to recruit more sinners for the beloved princess’s little passion project.

“Alastor, you really do put on such an amazing show! Bravo!” Buné giggled, clapping her hands with amusement. Her pink eyes were closed, making her purple eyelids noticeable.

“It was nothing, my dear! Simply a dispute easily solved by my own hands,” he admitted, surprisingly charmingly. His grin stayed on his face, never once had anyone seen that iconic smile falter. 

Buné opened her eyes and looked up to taller and much more red radio demon, who was standing next to her with his arms placed neatly behind his back. “I’m quite surprised he became so upset. I know he’s not always the most level-headed gentleman, but that was absolutely koo-koo!” She gave a bright smile up to the man.

Alastor turned to face her, sensing her gaze upon him. “It’s always easy to press his buttons, he is a TV after all! Ha ha!” He laughed, the sound of a laughtrack playing from his now glowing microphone stand. 

Buné gave a laugh at his silly joke, pointing to the microphone stand. “You must teach me how to do something like that! People tend to dislike my jokes for some odd reason.” She tilted her head in confusion. “What if I give them my funny bone?” The rabbit demon asked, her voice sounding almost serious. She turned to look at her shoulder, getting ready to unhinge her arm from its socket.

Alastor bent down and put his hand on top of hers, gently picking it up and removing it. Buné looked at him with confusion visible in her eyes. “I’m afraid if you do that, you’ll lose that interesting sense of humor of yours,” He told her, giving her that same creepy smile on his face.

Buné thought for a moment, putting her head in her hand. “I suppose you are right!” She admitted, shrugging her shoulders.

Alastor gave her a bright smile as he brought himself back up to normal height. “I usually tend to be, darling.” He teased, a small chuckle leaving his mouth.

The pink-haired woman’s eyes then lead to his hair, up to his ears. “Alastor, dear, I have a question,” She began, looking up at his intimidating red eyes. 

The radio demon looked at her confusedly, bringing his hands to his front, resting them on his microphone stand. “And what would that be?” He questioned.

Buné held in a laugh, her bright white teeth practically gleaming in the red lighting. “Do you…” She trailed off, pointing her hand to his coat jacket, “perhaps, maybe, just by chance… have a tail?” She covered her mouth slightly with her hand, containing her laughter.

Alastor’s eyes widened, a large amount of static resonating from him. The whole room went dead quiet, Angel Dust paused his video on sinstagram, Husk dropped his glass, and Niffty stopped dusting just to hear his answer. The overlord then narrowed his crimson eyes, staring at the smaller demon. “Why, what a question! Now, I must take my leave! Do take care, as best as you can.” He proceeded to melt into the ground, leaving with just a shadow.

Buné burst out laughing, pausing at the sudden realization. “Was that a threat? From the radio demon?” She questioned, prodding over to lobby area with Angel Dust. 

Angel Dust winked at her, making an odd growling noise. “Maybe he wants you to find out, babe.” He poked, a smirk on his face. He was sprawled out on the couch, his legs hanging over the edge.

“Oh, perhaps you’re right!” Buné was lost in thought, kicking her legs as she thought about how she would execute this plan. “I’m unsure how I would do that, I fear he might kill me!” 

Angel Dust sighed, facepalming. “Not what I meant, doll. Jeez, what’s with you old-timey folk being so dense?” He rhetorically asked, not expecting her to respond. I mean, who would? “I’m unsure, maybe it’s just because our different fields of work.” Buné speculated.

The spider demon sighed heavily. “Don’t you like, kill people? I think ya’d have to be pretty keen to do that.” Angel Dust raised one eyebrow at her, he had stories about her circus before, but all of the stories were simple just rumors.

Buné’s eyes lit up, an idea entering her head. “Oh, would you like to find out? I have many job offerings! I could call up Cambion for you right now, with your height I could make you an actual star, dear!” She rambled, bringing her hands up excitedly. “I feel as though you’d make an excellent acrobat!”

Angel Dust dropped his phone, shaking his hands in denial. “Absolutely not, I wouldn’t want to be caught double-dead with your freakshow of a circus.” He objected.

Buné pouted, putting a hand over her chest dramatically. “You hurt my heart, Angel!” She fake cried.

Angel Dust rolled his eyes, picking up his phone from the ground. “Like you have a heart,” he said, disagreeing.

The small rabbit demon dropped the act and smiled at him. “I do! I could show you, all I have to do is-”

“No!” Angel Dust interrupted her as her stitches started glowing a bright pink. “Do not rip your heart out,” he interjected.

“So much for amusement.” She pouted again, resting her head on her chin in sadness. 

The door flung open and an exhausted Charlie came forward, flopping onto the other couch. Vaggie followed after Charlie with tired eyes, jumping a bit whenever her girlfriend fell onto the couch. The princess of Hell gave out a long groan.

Angel Dust raised his eyebrows, before going back to scrolling on his phone. “So, how’d it go?” He asked smugly, knowing very well it did not go well.

Vaggie let out a heavy sigh, looking down. “Not a single new recruit,” she admitted while leaning onto the same couch Charlie laid on. 

The spider demon shrugged. “Yeah, well, who wouldn’t want to use their last days not fuckin’ or fightin’?” He asked, a loud banging knock coming from the door.

Buné raised her head and peered over the wall, trying to see who was banging on the door while Vaggie opened it. As she opened the door, a familiar serpent demon stood at the door, his hat in his hands. 

“Why, hello, my dear--” was all he managed to get out before his face was met with an aggressive punch.

[lavendersugarplum]

𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐍 | umbrella academy reader insert

▋ ────── ; (CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER)

✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ➽ anguish, vengeance, and death. . .

ANGUISH GOES BY MANY FORMS. As in the wise words of Steve Erikson: The soul knows no greater anguish than to take a breath that begins with love and ends with grief. Just by the way it sounds from the tip of the tongue, you instantly understand the despair. The experience of Anguish is a matter of fate, an eternity of isolation, grief, loss of hope and pain. Trials of anguish and despair can always vary from person to person. It could go by a spaceboy living in a black and white world, A man with daddy issues, a woman who's life thrived through rumors and lies, a hopeless drug addict who carries a trail of death along with him, a man who holds a beast inside, a man who had nothing extraordinary about him and was deemed an outcast from the rest of his family or It could be the face of a boy that loses his entire family all because of stubborn pride. But most times, anguish can go by the name of ZERO.

A young girl that is no stranger to the tortures of anguish. A young girl who would inevitably succumb to life's cruelties. A 13 year old who went through hell and back all for 7 strangers that she didn't even know.

Every night the same terror and delirium, and every morning, the same nightmare.

Anguish is a luxury. A concept reserved for those who've known the warmth of connection, the sting of loss. Zero had originally felt neither. Her existence, a void carved into the cosmos, was devoid of such emotional intricacies.

She was a cipher, a null set, a being defined by absence. Confinement had been her cradle, isolation her nurse. The world, a foreign entity observed through a glass prism. Her siblings, fleeting shadows in a distorted reality. Their laughter, a discordant symphony in the silence of her mind.

Reginald, the architect of her imprisonment, was a god playing with shadows. His creation, a monster birthed from the void. A weapon, a tool, a cosmic anomaly. Yet, Zero was more than that. She was the absence of hope, the antithesis of life.

She watched them, these vessels of flesh and blood, with indifference. Their joys, their sorrows, mere ripples in the cosmic ocean. She was the ocean, vast and indifferent.

Her mind, a labyrinth of logic, was devoid of sentiment. Emotions were a weakness, a liability. To feel was to be vulnerable, to be human. And Zero was not human. She was something else. Something beyond comprehension.

Their world was painted in vibrant hues, a kaleidoscope of experiences. Hers was monochrome, a stark canvas devoid of color. She existed in a perpetual twilight, a prisoner of her own mind. Yet, in the depths of this solitude, a flicker of something stirred. A curiosity, perhaps. A desire to understand. To connect. But it was a fleeting sensation, quickly extinguished by the cold logic of her existence.

She was a paradox. A being of infinite potential, trapped in finite form. A cosmic anomaly yearning for oblivion.

In her youth, Zero was keenly aware of her incongruous presence in this world. The nonexistent number of records about her and the dismal chamber that served as her confinement left her with an acute sense of her own illegitimacy. Her choices, too, seemed to consistently diverge from the norm, from what was expected, from what was deemed sacred. She was never truly considered a member of her own family until the moment of her untimely passing. And yet, perhaps it was her unquenchable yearning for the snuffing out of her own flame that spoke most poignantly to her sense of displacement. For only in death could she hope to reunite with her beloved mother, and her friend, who had all passed on to the other side.

She would frequently try to picture how her true parents might seem. In all honesty, she had trouble thinking of any mother but by Grace Hargreeves. With her friendly smile and loving aura. She would also envision her own version of a father. She would wonder what he would look like? How he would sound? Would he look like her, with dark hair and gray eyes? Is he alive? He liked kids, right? and instead of the persistently directed frigid fury, all she would experience is affection and security. All of these concerns seemed to intensify as she grew older, but she never lost sight of her biological father, and she developed a profound hatred for Reginald despite her remorse for the children born on October 1, 1989. Though her eyes started to blur until atlas she lost sight of her father when she found out what truly lied beneath.

With all she's been through, she should resent them with a burning passion. Hate them. For every instance they frolicked and explored a world beyond her reach, for every moment they reveled in the joys of childhood, for every bond they shared that she could never hope to attain, envy and rage could have consumed her. The ease with which they could pack their bags and venture forth without a second thought, while she had no say in the matter, could have been a source of bitterness. And yet, despite it all, she carries on with a grace and fortitude that is nothing short of remarkable.

Where else would she go, anyways?

Whither would she wander, when the world had no place for one such as her? Her unique circumstance, defying the bounds of time, would inevitably draw the attention of those around her. Suspicion would fester like a malignant growth, spreading through the populace like a contagion. And in a world where ignorance could lead to catastrophic missteps, the consequences of being misunderstood and ostracized could be dire indeed. It is a cruel fate to be denied the simple pleasure of belonging, to be relegated to a life of solitude and isolation due to circumstances beyond one's control.

Imagine a life confined within the four walls of a house, never venturing beyond the threshold, never tasting the sweet and bitter flavors of the world beyond. Such was the fate of Zero, a soul caged by the fear instilled in her by her guardian, Reginald. He had spun tales of a world rife with darkness, a realm where demons roamed free and the most malevolent of humanity lurked in wait. And so, she had lived a cloistered existence, shielded from the dangers that lay beyond. Yet, even in death, Reginald's words still held sway over her, and she could not help but imagine the censure he would voice were he to see her now, daring to step out into the unknown. But despite her trepidation, she felt a stirring within her, a longing to break free from the stultifying confines of her sheltered life and experience the world in all its tumultuous glory. For there was a yearning within her, a thirst for adventure and discovery, that could no longer be denied.

The tendrils of desire should have crept upon her like vines in the dark jungle, ensnaring her in a web of emotions too complex to comprehend. She should have been engulfed in a maelstrom of feelings, tossed about like a ship in a stormy sea. Waves of anger, envy, and despair should have relentlessly crashed and dragged her further from the shore, leaving her gasping for air. And yet, ever since her birth, she had felt as if her head was spread submerged in the depths of a bottomless ocean. But even in the midst of it all, she could not bring herself to harbor ill will towards the children, for they too were victims of her father's cruel ways. They too had suffered at his hands, ever since they too had displayed their unique abilities. She could not hate her supposed "siblings,", for in the end, they were all prisoners of circumstance, trapped within the confines of a fate beyond their control.

Zero's very existence was an aberration, a deviation from the natural order of things. She was never meant to be brought into this world, much less to have her presence acknowledged. She was a variant, a mere concept given flesh and bone. An idea taking shape, an illustration brought to life, a personification of the impossible. And yet, despite the incongruity of her existence, she was undeniably real. A living, breathing being, with thoughts and feelings all her own, and a soul that burned with a fierce intensity.

To the world, The Monocle had 5 sons and 2 daughters. That's how it was supposed to be. 

At first.

The thought of bidding farewell to the people who had become her family after her father's passing was almost too much for Zero to bear. The one person who held the key to her heart had been taken from her far too soon, leaving a void that could never be filled. If she had the power, she would have bargained with the divine and taken his place in the great beyond. To lose her only home was a thought too unbearable to contemplate. She had never asked for this fate, but she knew that life, death, and love did not discriminate between sinners and saints. The finality of death did not hold the same terror for her as it did for most. Death was not a heartless monster to be feared, but rather another stage of life. From the womb to the tomb, life was a cycle, a series of interconnected stages that led to inevitable conclusions. And so, even in the face of loss and grief, Zero found solace in the knowledge that death was not an end, but merely a transition to a new beginning.

Zero didn't fear death.

They despised it.

She despised the very thing that people feared. 

Because it took everything from her.

They took everything from her.

In a strange and unsettling way, Zero found herself admiring Death as well. 

Despite her loathing, there was a morbid fascination that drew her to the great unknown. She had made countless attempts to confront Death, frantically seeking out its presence in a hopeless bid to understand its terrible power. She yearned to experience the full extent of its dreadful splendor, to glimpse the abyss that lay beyond the veil of life. And yet, despite her best efforts, Death remained elusive, slipping through her grasp time and time again. 

From the perspective of others though, her behavior might have seemed like that of a child with a death wish.

A lot things reminded her of death.

Her Best Friend.

Her Friends.

Her Family.

Her "Family".

Five Hargreeves.

The mere mention of the name "Five Hargreeves" was enough to stir a deep and abiding resentment within Zero. It was an infuriating moniker, one that brought back memories of a young boy whose intellect she had admired from afar. A boy who had been gifted with every advantage that life could offer, yet who had thrown it all away in a reckless bid for power and control. 

When she thought of Five Hargreeves, she could not help but see him as a kind of Icarus, soaring too close to the sun and ultimately falling to his doom. And yet, unlike the doomed Greek hero, Five had not been content to simply perish in his folly. No, he had dragged others down with him, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that someone with such promise could squander it so easily, while others like herself were left to struggle and suffer with little hope of reprieve. In the end, Zero could not help but see Five Hargreeves as a tragic figure, a cautionary tale of the dangers of ambition and hubris.

But how was she supposed to respond when he appeared after a 16-year absence, claiming that the end of the world was nigh?

She swore that boy was going to be the death of her.

Zero had never expected anything but pain, despair, and death from the world around her. And yet, when the universe finally granted her a chance at life, it seemed as though all hell had broken loose. She had made a deal with the devil, a pact that would lead her down a path of bloodshed and violence. The consequences of that fateful decision would haunt her every step, the blood that soaked her hands and knees leaving a permanent stain on her soul. The body count began to rise, a testament to the retribution she had wrought upon others, and perhaps upon herself as well. The trail of bloody footsteps followed her relentlessly, a grim reminder of the price she had paid for her second chance at life. In the end, she knew that there would be no escaping the consequences of her actions, that the weight of her sins would crush her beneath their burden until there was nothing left.

Or maybe to their downfall.

Things would never be the same except that every night, the same terror and delirium and every morning the same....nightmare.

Death had been a constant companion to Zero, a shadow that loomed over her every thought and action. She had imagined its embrace so frequently that it had begun to feel less like a possibility and more like a memory. The thought of crossing over to the other side no longer held the same terror it once had, for she had grown accustomed to the idea of her own mortality. And yet, even as she contemplated the inevitability of her own demise, there was a sense of sadness that clung to her heart. For in the end, death was a thief that stole away not just the living, but the memories and dreams that they held dear. It was a reminder of the fleeting nature of existence, a fleeting moment in time that could be snuffed out in an instant. And so, even as she faced the prospect of her own mortality, Zero clung to the hope that her legacy would endure, that the memories of those she loved would persist long after she was gone.

Such a tragically bittersweet tale—a story of a young girl forced to grow up too fast and become a monster in order to survive. In the end, her journey had led her to a bleeding, brokenhearted conclusion, cradled in the arms of the one person she had come to consider a true brother. It was he who had reached out to her first, understanding the pain and loneliness that had driven her to the brink of madness. And yet, in those final moments, all she could see was the sorrowful expression on his face, his clear, green eyes bearing witness to the countless tragedies that had unfolded before him. She had fallen into his arms, the very person who had ended her life, the one who had delivered the final blow.

To her heart.

[dreamersbcll]

“60/40”

i want a hundred of your time. you’re mine.

—————————————————————————-

Art was subjective.

Through any flick of the brush or stroke of paint, anything could be created. Anything could be interpreted. Perspective. It was all about perspective.

Tara had it. She knew how to draw on the inside and the outside. It was easy for her to decide what lines to remove and which to cross. It was quite simple when she had a straightforward rule.

Nobody touches Sam.

Bathed in neglect and sin, Tara was a rabid dog. She bit down, held on, and refused to give in. Too many times had she been the dog with a bird at the door of someone who didn’t want anything to do with her— especially with Sam. But that didn’t matter now. She was reunited with her big sister. And she wasn’t going to let go.

She couldn’t help that her hackles rose each time she saw Sam interact with someone that wasn’t her. She frothed at mouth each time she watched her big sister touch someone that wasn’t her, and she could feel her teeth sharpen each time Sam uttered I love you to anyone but Tara.

Tara knew how to create art. She was good with a pen and pencil. She excelled at oils and pastels. But the most underrated tool was what she could do with a knife.

It wasn't easy following in her big sister’s footsteps. Sam had a knack for violence and a lust to create. Some saw it as destruction, ripping people apart until nothing was left. But Tara knew better. Her sister was an artist, her canvas the bodies of the vexed and deplorable.

She wanted to be her big sister so bad. All she ever wanted was for people to look at her and say— Tara is just like Sam.

The planning took a long time. She was an architect, a creator, and a designer focused on concocting her own piece of art. She observed Sam noticed how the vein in her jaw jumped when she clenched it or how she dug her fingernails into her palms when angered. She learned how to subdue a body properly and carve it out from the inside out.

Once she felt prepared, all she needed was a victim. Someone to take a clean apart, turn it inside out, and make it new again.

So it really was a no-brainer on who to pick once Rebecca wandered into Sam’s life. For Sam, it was an immediate friendship. But for Tara, it was immediate aversion.

In all fairness, Tara tried. She did give it a chance. The girl was just too… boisterous. Too loud, always taking up all the oxygen in the room, leaving Tara uncomfortably breathless. Rebecca took everything- Sam’s time, energy, and power; and left Tara an exhausted and quiet big sister. When Tara wanted more love or attention, Sam couldn’t give it, as she was exhausted from giving her all to her fruitless friendship.

And Tara couldn’t allow that to happen anymore. She wouldn’t allow any more days of little conversations, nights staying up waiting for a too-drunk big sister to come home. Rebecca didn’t love or appreciate Sam’s creativity and heart as Tara did.

Rebecca would never see it coming, what Tara would do next. That was how the world worked—you had to leave before you got left or caught.

So when the girl wakes up in an abandoned warehouse, her wrists bound and her mouth gagged, she doesn’t understand. Typical. The arsonist never realized that they left a trail of gasoline for anyone to ignite.

——

Tara chuckles, watching the girl writhe under her restraints. She did such a good job making sure that the knots wouldn’t shift like Sam taught her. God, Sam was going to be so proud of her budding little artist.

Eventually, Rebecca spots Tara standing in the shadows, her dark eyes shining with lust. The girl flips her body around desperately, foolishly believing that Tara is actually here to save her. The absolute gall this woman had.

Padding out of the darkness, Tara stops before her little hostage, tilting her head. She couldn’t help the grin that grew across her face, a real Cheshire cat grin. Everything in her felt red-hot and alive, and it took more restraint than she would care to admit not to carve up her canvas now. She instead bent down and ripped the gag out.

Flopping like a caught fish, Rebecca gasps for air, her face crimson. She looks up at Tara with wide eyes, tears bubbling over and down her cheeks. “Why are you doing this? Why, Tara?”

Tara cocks her head, circling her prey, enjoying the chase. “You know what you did,” she hummed.

The woman shakes her head robotically, almost comically. She pulls against her restraints, Tara’s grin only getting more significant as she struggles. Finally, she stops pulling, tears pooling onto the cold concrete below her. “No, I don’t! What did I do? Why are you hurting me?” she wails.

Shrugging, Tara looks at her nails, bored. She forgot how much she hated monologuing. But she supposed she owed the girl an answer. “I’m not hurting you. I’m showing you what happens when you take what is mine.”

“What did I take? I didn’t take anything!” Rebecca shouts, pulling at her wrists again.

“Sixty-forty,” Tara whispers, her voice cold and sharp.

Rebecca stopped struggling and cocks her head in confusion. Tara could practically taste the blood on her tongue, her mouth salivating in anticipation of the kill.

“What? What does that mean?” Rebecca whispers, her eyes wide.

Tara bends down, roughly grasping the woman’s chin. She forces Rebecca to look her in the eye, as this was her artwork, and she was the artist. She was the mastermind. Everything would happen the way she wanted it to. “Look at me. It’s the time- look at me. There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Clearing her throat, now with the attention of her hostage on her, she continued. “Like I was saying, that’s the time you took from me. You took sixty percent of the time I should have with Sam and left me forty. I’m not too fond of that. No, it should be ninety-five, five. Or better yet, one hundred to nil. Do you understand?”

“You’re hurting me because I hung out with your sister?” Rebecca cries, her tears leaking onto Tara’s hand.

Pulling her hand back in disgust, Tara wipes her fingers onto her jeans. “Hey. No, no. I’m making art. I’m creating—Sam’s mine. I’m showing her that I'm capable of creating gifts to win her back. You’re just collateral, I suppose,” she muses, shrugging.

“Please let me go.”

And that’s what she heard it. That voice. The voice that soothed every fear and fed every need. The voice that spoke reason, and gave honesty. The one thing Tara could always fall into, and follow home.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t let her go Tara. Show me. Show me your love. Give me your heart,” Sam purred, circling the two. Tara looked up at her sister, grinning maniacally, her eyes dark.

For Tara, she knew she was safe. For Rebecca, she thought she was saved.

Looking up at Sam, Rebecca smiled, her face softening in relief. “Sam! You gotta help me. Please, please let me go. Tell your psycho bitch sister to let me go!”

However, those were the wrong choice of words. If the woman was even the slightest bit smart or had a shred of intelligence, she would’ve realized her mistake. She doused herself in blood and threw herself into the lion’s den.

Soft and calculated, Sam speaks. “What did you call her?”

Tara shivers at her big sister’s voice, sweat trickling down her back. It was the same tone that she heard in New York before the knife was plunged through Detective Bailey’s eye. The detached cruelty that Sam could slip on and off so quickly, forgoing her humanity.

She wants to master that skill one day.

As if sensing the reality of her situation, Rebecca sobs, snot running down her face. “Sam, please,” she softly begs, hiccuping.

Her big sister tilts her head, shaking it slowly. Tara could feel her heart bursting at the seams, her love for Sam overflowing. Sam tutted softly and, instead, kicked the girl swiftly in the ribs. Swallowing hard, Tara’s heart thumped, her hands twitching, waiting for a command.

As Rebecca moaned in pain, Sam turned back to her sister, her pupils dilated. “Tara, continue. Show me your love,” Sam orders, stepping back, allowing her sister room to work.

Tara grinned, looking down at Rebecca. She took her switchblade out, unsheathing the blade. “You heard her. It’s time to continue now,” she purred, her eyes glazed in passion.

All that could be heard was hollow screaming echoing off of an empty warehouse and the clattering of knives onto the cold pavement. Soon, the screaming stopped, and Tara stepped back, admiring her work.

Sam wrapped her arms around Tara’s shoulders, pulling her in and holding her down. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You’re such a good artist,”

Tara hummed. “I’ve had lots of practice,”

Her big sister’s eyes lit up in wonder. “Show me,” she softly growled, commanding Tara to her will.

And Tara obeyed. They were finally together. She wasn’t selfish. She just wasn’t sharing.

Sam was hers. Tara was Sam’s. That was it.

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

BOTW Link X F!Reader ~ Pt. 5

“(Y/n).”

A tilt of your head turned it to Link’s direction, who had been polishing the Mater Sword, which seemed to appreciate the care and the time bestowed upon it if the fluctuating energy around its mighty blade was anything to go by. Luminous Stone faintly illuminated his face as he approached with purposeful steps until coming to a stop beside you. Up your throat came a soft hum, your gaze still fixated upon the wares a Zora was offering but signaling that you’d heard the Champion’s call. Your full attention fixated upon him when the red Zora from earlier, Sidon, parted with a showcase of another near blinding smile, finding the azure eyed Hylian’s expression serious.

Shopping could wait.

Thankful for the shop’s time, you bowed your head then hurried when he led the way towards a more private area of the beautiful architect that was the Zora’s home. The arches from doorways to decorative accents were near neck breaking when one would attempt to behold their splendor, as yours nearly had when first arriving, though the Zoras themselves were just as stunning in your opinion. At first you were hesitant but they warmly welcomed your presence. Though you surmised Link had a big role to play in that.

He didn’t stop until an all too familiar shrine came into view, surprising you that one was in such a populated area. Its rough and rugged exterior was wet with the near dripping humidity that lingered within the air, its runes activating upon him nearing its boundary.

The tilt of his head earned your furrowed brows when noticing how it directed you to venture inside. You want me to do the shrine?, your own head tilted in question.

Blonde hair shifted when he nodded. “Training.”

Now this was odd. As far as you understood, the Champion, Link specifically, was the sole person who could complete the shrines to activate them fully and gain power that could be bestowed with the Goddess Statue’s Blessing. Such an honor, or duty, belonged to him alone. Right?

If he felt your inner confusion he didn’t show it as he tapped the Sheikah Slate to the pedestal. “Test.”

The twist within your gut was near nauseating. He was only using single word answers, something he hasn’t done in a very long time. At least since you’ve begun traveling with him. If that wasn’t worrisome enough there was a heavy shadow lingering within his gaze when it refused to meet your own despite any attempt you made.

What exactly had Sidon spoken to him about that made your companion exhibit such distant behavior?

Questioning would not provide any answers, especially when there was the intermixing of personas within his aura, portraying chaos threatening to bubble to the surface if he wasn’t careful. This time was different than before. The tendrils that solely belonged to the Link you knew were thick, leaving burning trails of light as if they were attempting to guard from an unseen enemy, the other personas you’ve come to recognize were trapped within. There was nothing you could do for him except fulfill whatever he requested you do.

All you could offer was a nod of understanding, the urge to reach out and touch his hand in passing being stifled down when seeing his darkened expression, stepping onto the platform that would lower you into the shrine’s innermost chambers. Just when the mechanism came to life was when he turned away but not before you saw his face become unrecognizable. One of your hands rose to press its fingers over your mouth before you could shout out to him. If doing this shrine would help him in some way you were prepared to do so in a heartbeat.

….

The Ne'ez Yohma Shrine had been a real challenge for you and had taken several more health resources than you’d care to admit but victory tasted sweet upon your tongue as Zora’s Domain came into view once more, a glowing sphere tucked safely within your inventory. The monk within had been especially stingy about you not being the chosen Champion of Hyrule but after much MUCH persuasion the old mummy had finally relented when you gave the reasoning that Link was seeing to other matters along with the confession of being his traveling companion. Could mummified monks smile? You swore it did when it heard that piece of context. It wasn’t a lie, which it seemed to understand, so it had passed over the energy orb to you without much more of a fuss.

Blinking, you ventured from the shrine to stand in awe of the elegantly carved statue of a Zora wielding a trident. There was no sign of Link anywhere around it, though he’d pointedly done everything within his ability to avoid it for some reason, which you couldn’t fathom why since it was just as beautiful as the rest of the domain. An elder noticed you admiring the statue and seemed to smile sadly when taking a moment to gaze up at it too.

“Princess Mipha,” he began, “was truly a kind soul that any would be fortunate of meeting in their lifetime. She was shy, that is true, often times hesitant, though one cannot deny her steadfast will to assist those around her. Truly a remarkable Zora to behold in the throughs of battle and swimming up the waterfalls with such grace that none could ever hope to compete.”

You could see it in the statue’s countenance. The gentle planes of her face, those eyes which seemed to see beyond the physical, how her lips looked parted as if to provide words of encouragement to those who need to hear; though you’ve never met the Zora Princess it was evident within the statue’s image and the words spoken courtesy of such a weathered elder were true.

Yet something sad lingered in the air.

“She was the Zora Champion, right?”

The elder chuckled. “I bet that Hylian has told you plenty of stories.”

Something similar to an invisible dagger slipped between your ribs to pierce your heart. “N-no, he hasn’t said a word about her.”

Seriousness filled the elder’s face, all humor gone from his gaze when it met yours. For a moment he regarded you with suspicion, as if weighing how much should be told, then he took a deep inhale. “They were childhood friends, Princess Mipha and the Hylian known as Link. Often times they would waste days at a time with the other despite the chores or duties the other had. None would stray far from the other’s side if it could be helped.”

The dagger twisted at the hilt, digging into your constricting heart when remembering the heavy shadow over his eyes when ensuring the Zora Armor, which helped him swim faster and up waterfalls, was in pristine condition.

Unbeknownst of the affect his words had, the elder continued. “We have a tradition here where our princess creates a set of armor to bestow upon her intended partner. Imagine the shock upon our people when discovering that she had just finished crafting such a thing just before Calamity Ganon befell Hyrule. There was a rumor floating around that it had been for that Hylian boy since she’d shown little interest in anyone else. My personal opinion…”

Ringing filled your ears, which drowned out the elder’s words. as your feet mindlessly moved away from the statue. The puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place of why Link wasn’t acting himself. One of your hands rose to press against your aching chest.

“…shame that she passed away. Killed, actually, by one of those wretched creatures. Curse that Calamity for taking over Vah Ruta and stealing away our beloved princess just like the other Beasts and their Champions…”

And then you were running.

Find him, your internal voice screamed, find Link!

Easier said than done.

Zora’s Domain was no easy terrain to traverse across. Everything was slippery, making you slide and misstep, nearly sending you reeling back downwards to the trail which led towards the palace. You couldn’t stop to rest when the thin air made you see stars once reaching a small area of level ground. Where would he go?

Ice filled your veins when hearing a passing Zora guard say something about a Hylian who had accepted the request of dealing with a monster preventing travelers from entering the domain from up north. Of course coming to such a place would be hard on anyone and he was certainly no exception no matter how stoic the swordsman appeared. Losing anyone close to one’s heart was never an easy wound to heal from. Surely there was a reason why he didn’t say anything to you! Mud caked itself beneath your fingernails as they attempted to haul you up then over a wet rock, fraying the tender skin beneath that would make anyone flinch or cry out. You didn’t care about that or how lightning forked across the sky above. Rain intermixed with your tears as they spilled down your cheeks to be lost in tiny rivers.

A fork of lightning struck the ledge you were preparing to scale, causing it to crumble, leaving nothing in its former place besides a near gaping crater in the cliff.

Something most would call a miracle happened as you fell into the waterfall which had been at your left.

Cold, pain inducting water was replaced by warmth which surrounded you like a veil. As if someone were holding you protectively against their being. Lungs burning for oxygen, your hand patted against the thing holding you, proceeding to cling to it when water was replaced by empty air. A red Zora with the kindest of eyes and smile easily caught your flailing form before the ground could meet you. “Do not fear,” a feminine voice soothed in your ear though her lips did not move, “he shall return to your side once his duty is fulfilled. For now, be patient, (Y/n), and keep hope.”

Gravity rushed to greet you as the lithe Zora disappeared to replaced by a much bigger one who flashed a bright white smile. “Almost took a nasty fall there. Good thing I was nearby!” Sidon carefully placed you with feet firm on the solid ground.

Blinking, you searched the immediate area and found only the two of you.

“Everything alright?”

You shook your head after a moment. “Sorry, I swore someone else was here there for a minute.”

The Zora Prince listened intently as you recounted the figure you’d seen and earned a sad smile. “That sounds like my dear sister alright. Even if she’s not part of this world anymore it still seems as if Mipha is watching out for our domain.” He laughed as your eyes widened. “I must not have mentioned she was my elder sister earlier.”

Part of you wanted to correct him, that it was his age versus appearance ration which had earned your shock, though that would have been rude so you remained quiet as his gaze fondly beheld the statue below. One of your hands rested upon his webbed own when seeing the deep, woeful longing within his smile. “Can you tell me more about her?” Your lips lifted into a smile. “If you have time, I’d like to learn more about such an amazing princess and warrior.”

Little were you aware of what exactly you’d signed up for.

Zora’s Domain was almost always obscured by rain clouds so you were unable to keep track of time. Not that you minded one bit. Sidon was even kind enough to take you to each of the carved tablets talking more about the Zora Princess. That was when you took a misstep which caused level ground to completely disappear before it was replaced by water. It was too deep for your shoes to brush the bottom, resulting in fear to grip you tightly when the water enclosed over your head.

The scream which rose from your throat as pressure took hold of your flailing legs was rendered to bubbles as it sucked you farther under until a roaring current filled your ears. It rolled you forward, to the side, then backwards, before repeating to leave you delirious and seeing stars as it tossed you effortlessly. Black was beginning to creep along your vision as a flurry of bubbles appeared ahead from where glowing that must be the Zora palace lay.

That must be Sidon coming to save you.

No, the color was all wrong.

A different face, one which you’d never forget, was filled with determination and concentration as familiar lean arms enclosed around you.

And then all you knew was black.

So cold…

And wet…

Something firm was pressing against your mouth…hands were pumping your chest…everything hurt…make it stop…

With effort, your eyes strained greatly to crack. Then they were wide open when finding the object against your lips was a mouth. One that belonged to none other than—

“She’s awake!”

Azure opened at the shout, meeting your own as Link retreated enough to part his lips from yours, relief filling his gaze and features when finding you staring up at him. “(Y/n).”

You were collected within a tight embrace in an instant when a collective cheer rose. From somewhere you couldn’t see came Sidon’s multitude of apologies for not paying more attention or reacting fast enough but you were quick to dismiss them saying that it was your fault in the first place for not being careful of where you stepped. “Really, I’m fine,” you assured each who inquired of your wellbeing once you’d been released, “I’m so sorry to cause you all worry.” Your gaze met azure as the lingering adrenaline danced within your veins, thank you for saving me…again.

“I am surprised to say the least that you, companion to the Hylian Champion, was not capable of saving yourself.” Ice filled your lungs as an elder’s lip curled, the gray Zora fixing you with a sideways disapproving glare. “Such company is unfitting for one as important as he.”

“One’s shortcomings shouldn’t be held against them if they intend to strengthen those weaknesses.”

A collective murmur rose when you stood with a stiff spine.

Speaking against an elder, no matter their race or species, was threatening insult. He had thrown the first punch though. You stood tall when faced with that scrutinizing stare. “Unlike time, a person’s capabilities are only limited to their will. So tell me, elder, would you expect the same if I were a Goron traveling at his side? Or a Rito?” No opportunity was given for him to answer as you continued. “What about asking a Zora to traverse great distances over land where no river could be found? Wouldn’t it be just as wrong or insulting to expect the same from them? Do not be so quick as to judge or compare one to another,” your voice lowered to an almost growl, “and it’s not up to you who is at his side. Link has the freedom to choose whoever he pleases to travel with no matter what corner of Hyrule they are from or what their background. Everyone has their flaws, elder, and I think that gummy, loud mouth is yours.”

For a moment silence hung in the air save for the movement coming from behind you, a pair of hands appearing on your shoulders, almost making you lose composure when feeling them squeeze gently.

Amused laughter drew all’s attention to the nearby throne where a much larger Zora wearing a crown sat with eyes bright with approval. “I see now why you hold such company,” the King of the Zora’s rumbled, “my interest has been peaked. Come, Link, join us for evening feast. Be sure to sit beside me this time.”

Blinking, you glanced over your shoulder as a cheer rose, finding pride written within the Hylian Champion’s face as he nodded in approval. One of his hands released its hold while the other drifted down to collect your hand where its fingers laced with your own. “Not a dull moment,” he quietly teased, earning a blush to rise within your cheeks.

“W-well—I just—” No words came to you for a moment but a question certainly did. You waited until nearly every Zora had dispersed to their own agendas before fixing him with a curious yet guarded look. “Link, you always jump to the defense of others, whether battle or otherwise. So why don’t you protect yourself when someone starts talking to you like the handsy doctor back in Lurelin Village or the Zora elder?” Heat kissed your cheeks when his raised eyebrow reflected your own question back. “I-I don’t know why, okay? Seeing you silently take all the backlash and blasphemy makes my stomach roll. They shouldn’t be talking to or about you in such ways.” Realization filled your veins when seeing calm understanding fill his gaze.

Just as the swordsman protected Hyrule, you felt that it was necessary, as some form of repayment, to be his shield when among others. It wasn’t that he was socially awkward, the knight knew very much of how to conduct conversation. The discipline and expectation of him to remain steadfast or unaffected by the words of others save for the royal family may very well be why he never defended himself in such situations. And it had gradually eaten at you the more you traveled with the Champion.

They respected the title but when it came to Link himself they were quick to pass judgment.

Your heart clenched painfully when wondering just how long he’d been living this way.

He drew you close by the hand holding yours, allowing the free arm to wrap tightly around your shoulders, enabling you to feel his quick breathing and the hammering heart lying beneath his clothing. Honestly he couldn’t care less about what others said about him. Yet somehow, seeing you speak on his behalf when faced with such individuals, made something within him stir.

The Zora Armor donning his figure was beautiful with the addition of dragon scales and the blue hue which complimented that within his gaze. It was different than a lot of his clothing sets, each unique in their own special way, but now you understood why this one in particular was treated with a little extra favor. One could tell it was made with great care.

Your arm rose to return the embrace, the fingers he held giving a gentle squeeze. I’m still here, they said.

A faint squeeze of his fingers said, Yes.

“It’s alright to miss them, the other Champions,” you whispered, “just please don’t shut me out like that again. It’s scary when you start looking more like a statue than anything.”

That devious smirk raised a corner of his mouth when the two of you separated, directing your attention to the river below. His hand prevented your own from slipping free despite calls coming from the Zoras for the both of you to come. “There’s plenty of time to start swimming lessons before food.” He nearly outright laughed at your exasperation. The golden haired Hylian was quick to assure that any such thing could wait until later when the wafting scents of grilling meat and various vegetables filled the air.

This time it was you who prevented his hand from slipping away, earning a raise of his eyebrows when you became serious. “I overheard someone say that you took on a monster up North?”

A cluster of shock arrows was showcased; those must have been what the monster had dropped.

“You defeating it is not the point.”

Link, hearing your tone become sour, turned full attention to you, ignoring the rumbles sourcing from within his stomach.

From your pack appeared a glowing orb which you practically slammed into his chest with an open palm where it disappeared in a flash of light. “Of all the shrines…it had to be that one…” you growled while crossing both arms, releasing his hand, bottom lip protruding slightly, “it was full of lasers and giant balls. I would’ve gladly fought the monster instead.”

Understanding filled his features. Calloused fingers raised your chin until azure met yours. “Lynel.”

“Nope!” Up went your hands as if they were reaching for the sky while you spun on your heel. “Nope!”

His unadulterated laughter rang in your ears as the night drug onward. It seemed as if every moment your gazes met he had to bite the flesh of his lower lip to hold back a chuckle. A few times it was fun for you too. Especially when he was attempting to listen to the Zora King’s words and you attempted to distract him from a distance by raising your arms up in a similar fashion.

It wasn’t amusing just to the two of you. Several of the Zora found themselves enjoying the displays. Especially a certain red male who took the opportunity when his father, the king, held the Hylian Champion’s attention for longer than previous conversation topics.

Full, but not overly so, you excused yourself from the table to bow respectfully before slipping out into the night. Better to walk off a bit of the food before retiring. Pops sounded as you stretched high up onto your toe tips, teetering for a moment, then settled back on solid ground. Cooler though there was a slight sprinkle occasionally kissing your being, you treaded carefully across the smooth stone walkways that would eventually bring you to the inn. Now that it was night you could see more of the statue’s beauty thanks to the Luminous Stones. The teal glow reflected ethereally off the polished, moist stone as you slowly circled it with appreciation. There’s no doubt that Mipha, Zora Princess and the Zora Champion, had been who you saw earlier. On the breeze, just outside of the memorial’s shadow, a figure moved to join in your circulatory rotations. “She is truly stunning,” you softly praised, “I can tell a lot of care and admiration went into this statue.”

“I feel I must apologize once again.”

Your gazes met, locking together as neither of your paces or paths changed. Around and around the two of you seemed to dance. Sounds of the water filled the air as no words were spoken. This kind of silence wasn’t much different than what you were used to. The receiver, though, was vastly different. Not without his smile, the Prince of Zoras was distilling confidence wherever he went. Elders and young folk alike would often seek his council outside of royal duties; a few conversations that you’ve caught were of simple everyday occurrences. It was clear that all who lived here trusted him. Yet there was the air of uncertainty.

“You’re doing an amazing job.”

Sidon’s breath caught, eyes widening as you came to a stop so that his steps eventually brought him to stand before you. The same light bathing his sister’s monument now illuminated your being. Cool, humid air moistened your skin as it did the Zora and surrounding rock however he had never thought such an affect would accentuate one’s appearance as it did your own. Despite the blue hued light the highlights within your hair shone brightly like falling stars when a breeze played with a few tresses. Earlier, while sharing with you the stone tablets, he grew more familiar within your presence the longer he remained within it.

An assuring smile raised your lips at his expression of shock. “You’re trying your best to provide everything for your domain, whether it be resources like food or advice to soothe the soul. It’s alright to let them figure things out on their own. An easy answer to their problems doesn’t teach them anything, if you really think about it. Don’t be afraid to take breaks though, okay? Be sure to not wear yourself down. I may not have known her personally so I can’t speak on her behalf,” your hand reached out to gently take hold of his hand, “but if you were my younger brother I would want you to take care of yourself just as much as he does for his subjects—”

Whatever that was supposed to finish your sentence was lost as the ground disappeared to be replaced by toned muscle as pressure threatened to crush your bones. They weren’t needed though, judging from the large droplets of warm water that splattered across your skin that wasn’t protected by cloth. Just as quickly the red Zora Prince embraced you he released his hold to stand tall with that bright grin on display.

“I’ll continue to do my best!” He bent at the knee until the two of you were as close as his near neck breaking height would allow, approval shining brightly within his gaze. “Just you watch, (Y/n), I’m going to be even more admirable the next time you visit! And I’ll have a gift ready for you by then too so be sure to look forward to it!”

A gift? Excitement filled you. Maybe an accessory of some sort? “I can’t wait to accept it,” you started, “though if I could request something, may it not make me take this one off?”

His eyes followed your fingers to the circlet you wore. Deep thought filled his features for a moment before they smoothed over into one of acceptance. “Befitting if I’ve ever saw one, though the stone is lacking. Craftsmanship is adequate as well. Very well. Rest assured that my gift shall not dampen your beauty.” A knowing smirk raised his lips when seeing you fondly brushed the gem resting against the center of your forehead. “Ah, I see that it is your favorite, yes? No worries! My gift shall too become something you never wish to part from!”

Within your cheeks rose a faint blush of embarrassment. Were you really that easy to read? “The night is getting late, Prince Sidon, so I should retire to bed since we will be setting out at dawn’s light. In case I don’t see you, I look forward to seeing you again!” With a bow, you waved once more then departed for the nearby inn where sweet sleep was calling your name.

Little did you know that a certain swordsman had been watching the whole exchange from not too far off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pt 1: Blood Moon Encounter

Pt 2: Distant Howls

Pt 3: Identities Unknown

Pt 4: Rupee Troubles

Next:

Pt.6: Worthy of the Name

[tremendouskoalachild]

Mralisola recruitment post

(no spoilers beyong the basic setup)

What is Mralisola?

Mralisola is the ship name for Zeen Mrala and Lula Talisola, major characters in the first phase of the Star Wars: The High Republic publishing initiative – specifically the works of one of its story architects, Daniel José Older. These include especially the comic line The High Republic Adventures (2021), some of its one-shot issues, and the young adult novel Midnight Horizon, as well as appearances in the manga The Edge of Balance and the middle grade novel Race to Crashpoint Tower. Phase Three of THR is starting this Fall, with the first issue of the comic's 2023 run releasing in December.

Who are Zeen and Lula?

Two Force-sensitive teenage girls who have a huge impact on each other’s lives. Lula is one of a group of young Jedi who come to help Zeen’s community during a disaster. Zeen has been raised to shun and hide her Force-sensitivity but is forced (heh) to reveal it in a moment of crisis. Being outcast from the commune that raised her, she joins the Jedi kids and becomes their close friend and ally, though she doesn’t join the Order herself.

Where does the shipping come in?

The girls are strongly paralleled from their very introduction and click immediately upon meeting. While the Padawan squad are all good friends, Zeen and Lula are especially close and are almost always seen together. Their growing feelings for each other are hinted at many times throughout the comic and acknowledged in their inner monologues.

Will the ship become canon?

It will be the star wars queerbait if not. Seriously.

But canon gays? In my Star Wars?

It’s more likely than you think! Look at this excellent guide to canon wlw by @chipthekeeper or the lineup of the ongoing @queer-starwars-bracket, which featured both of our girls. The High Republic is probably the most queer-friendly part of the franchise.

Yeah but. Lula is a Jedi. How does that work?

Non-spoilery answer is that there is definitely precedent for her situation in THR media and it will be interesting to see the characters grapple with it. The High Republic has many things to say about the Jedi Order and its view on relationships, and I believe Zeen and Lula are a major part of that theme, whichever way their story resolves.

Gimme some more reasons to get invested.

Girl friends to girlfriends. Complementary blue/pink color palette. The conflict of love and duty. Battle couple. Meditation couple (is that a thing? it should be). The theme of living as your true self in a loving found family. Pining. Helping your gf deal with the demons of her past. Teen sapphics, in Star Wars.

Okay, you got me! What do I need to read?

Definitely The High Republic Adventures 2021 (13 comic issues). If you get really into the setting you will probably enjoy the whole High Republic series, which has plenty of reading orders but is perfectly safe in publication order, such as on wookieepedia here.

While there are many crossovers between storylines, Daniel José Older's characters are almost completely contained to his own works, so for a mralisola-only reading spree you can just go through the list of Phase I picking out his works. (The comic miniseries Trail of Shadows and the manga volumes are skippable in that case, though you'll miss a cameo in the second manga volume.)

Whatever books and comics you end up reading, don't skip the Midnight Horizon novel, and read Starlight Coda (contained in Free Comic Book Day 2023, and included in the Star Wars: The High Republic Adventures — The Complete Phase 1 trade paperback) at the very end.

[thoughtlessperson]

i was born to paint

to dream in hues of dusk and dawn

to give the shapeless life

to draw a world where shadows soften

yet my hands crude hammers

heavy as regret unyielding as grief

shatter the clay they long to mold

undoing each fragile seed of creation

i was born to see

to pierce the dark with a visionarys eye

to map beautys secret trails

through the forests of light and longing

yet my eyes are swords

blades honed sharp with despair

severing each thread of harmony

reducing wonder to fragments

what cruel architect built me this way

a craftsman condemned to ruin his craft

what use is a vision i cannot touch

a longing i can never fulfill

[caissa-scribbles]

The Princess in the Ivory Tower (part 4/4)

Gajevy Week 2023, Day 1: Fairy Tale

Enough was enough! For even if she preferred to be left alone in her library, the princess absolutely hated to be ignored when she had something to say, and with the Road Knight’s impertinence her temperament had finally got the better of her. She rushed forward again and poked her index finger into his armoured chest.

'Oh no, I'm not letting you off the hook so easily. I bet you accepted a lot of money for "killing" that dragon the last time you met, didn't you? Was it more that my father offered you for my safe return? How would you like it if everybody heard about your little "agreement"? And I 'm a princess. People will believe me. You won't ever get another job in your life.'

The Road Knight gritted his teeth, yet he couldn’t help but recognize that she had outwitted him. Maybe she wasn't as unworldly as he had thought.

'What's your condition, then?' he jumped at it with a sigh.

The princess smiled at him graciously. Even the dragon smirked.

'Always straight to the point, aren't you? Well, my father is getting old and I finally realized that I don’t want some random guy to help him just because he passed a few tests. I’d rather take responsibility myself. But I can’t do it alone. I watched you during the competition, and I appreciate your unconventional way of tackling problems. Besides, you proved your kindness when you spared him twice,' she explained, pointing at the dragon. 'I need someone with those qualities to help me protect my kingdom. Therefore I want you to be my champion.'

The Knight couldn’t deny that the princess had deeply impressed him with her unexpected determination. And besides, a steady employment wasn't that bad either. After all, she just wanted him for her fighter and not for her husband. Working for her might actually turn out to be quite interesting.

'You have guts - for a bookworm, that is,' he chuckled. ‘Well then! I accept to be your champion. And as a gift, I won’t slay your new pal – once more.’

The dragon laughed a mighty laugh which sounded more like a battle cry, then he bent forward and stretched out his wings.

‘I won’t eat you either, Road Knight. You’re too tough a cookie anyway. Now get on my back. Let me take you home to the lady’s castle,’ he said. ‘I sense a wind of change coming to this kingdom.’

The Road Knight mounted the dragon behind the princess, and off they flew.

Back at the castle, the grounds were filled with people. The whole household seemed to be on their feet, looking out for any sign of their princess. But nobody would have expected what happened at the break of dawn.

A huge shadow suddenly lowered down on the meadow before the castle. The dragon had come back! People started to scream and run around in panic.

Yet on his back he was carrying both the princess and the Road Knight, who helped the girl off the beast as soon as they had landed, for somewhere far at the back of his mind he had found some dusty manners he had once learned.

In no time the old king and the castle guard arrived at the scene, trailing the two crestfallen princes behind them.

'Father,' the witty princess said, 'here I am back safe and sound. And I have brought my friends.’ She put her hands on the dragon’s front leg and the Road Knight’s shoulder to demonstrate their bond.

Everybody gazed in amazement, but then they cheered and celebrated the safe return of their beloved princess at the beginning of this new day.

'So, who's the winner of the competition after all?', the Scarlet Knight wondered after a while. All eyes turned towards the Road Knight in great expectation, but he just shrugged and grinned.

‘The princess is,' he said, ticking off the facts on his fingers as he counted. 'Firstly, she proved that she can protect her subjects when she made me spare the dragon in battle and forced me to become her sword instead. Secondly, she smiled when she realized that she’s the architect of her own fortune and the only one who can make herself happy. And thirdly, she brought herself home again after she had been captured by a monster. I dare say that she fulfilled all three tasks and that she would make a fabulous queen.'

It took the wise old king a few moments to process what had happened. But then he understood. Suddenly he laughed out loud, hugged his daughter dearly and exclaimed: 'So be it!'

The dragon became the official guardian of the kingdom, and he soon learned to read and to carefully turn over book pages with his massive claws on his own.

The princess, however, finally took over responsibility as a sovereign, and because she had learned so much from her books, she became just as wise a regent as her father, ruling the kingdom together with him as his right hand.

The Road Knight never stopped roving, but he did so as the princess's champion, and over time they grew quite fond of each other. You wonder if they ever got married? Well, it took some more years and a lot of persuasion from the part of the princess, but eventually they did.

The king became incredibly old. And they lived happily ever after."

Levy closed the book from which she had been reading out aloud and turned her head to face Gajeel, who was lying on their bed next to her. He didn't seem too pleased in the soft light of the candles on her bedside table.

'Tch, what kind of fairytale is that? Who's supposed to believe such crap?' he asked and snorted. She put the volume aside and lay down, curled up next to him and snuggled her head against his shoulder.

'Lu-chan wrote it, and I enjoyed it very much.'

'lt’s completely unrealistic. How did the Bunny come up with such idiot characters?'

'Oh Gajeel. Since when have you been a literary critic? Fairy tales don't have to be realistic. And besides, Lucy usually draws her inspiration from people she knows.' Suddenly she smiled and nodded her head gently towards the little bundle of blankets he was holding on his chest. 'Look, it worked,' she whispered. After long, the baby had finally fallen asleep.

[diversegaminglists]

Games beat in 2022

I was sick a lot this year (thought it was a post viral chest thing but it’s now starting to look like I might have asthma) and did a lot of gaming as I couldn’t manage anything else. I used https://howlongtobeat.com/ to get through a lot of games.

Bold for games I recommend, italics for those I would recommend avoiding.

Thief Simulator

Mexicana: Deadly Holiday

The Room 4: Old Sins

Book of Demons

Haunt the House: Terrortown

Speed Dating for Ghosts

After Hours

Unpacking

Strange Horticulture

Tales from Off Peak City Vol. 1

Panmorphia

Paramonsters and the Haunted Escape Room

Retrace

The Search

Solitune

Safe Journey

The Majesty of Colours

The Recipe for Madness

The Haunted Island

Timestone

Un Pas Fragile

Dusk Child

Nonsense at Nightfall

In the Shadow of the Valley

Thursday the 12th

The Red Door Chapter 1

Bonbon

Orion Trail

Tangrams Deluxe

Knightmare Tower

Rainy Season

Fossil Hunters

Midnight Scenes: The Highway

Midnight Scenes: The Goodbye Note

Bunny Hill Horror

Bunny Hill Horror 2: Bunny Boiler

2ECONDS TO STΔRLIVHT: Forever My Diamond

2econds to Starlight: My Heart's Reflection

(What Even is That Thing?)

Midnight Scenes: The Nanny

HammerTime

Beyond the Bow

Livescream

Korpus: Buried Over the Black Soil

Without Escape

Eyewear Cleaner 2077

Fantastic Foetus: Prebirth

Fit for a King

Dagon

Miss Fisher and the Deathly Maze: Episode 1

Curious Expedition

Miss Fisher and the Deathly Maze: Episode 2

Treasure Hunter Simulator

Nobodies: Murder Cleaner

Okaeri

Stigmatized Property

Missing Children

Inunaki Tunnel

The Caregiver

The Ghost Train

Fossil Echo

Neverout

Night Delivery

The Closing Shift

The Radio Station

Brukel

Say No! More

Silvercreek Falls Chapter 2

Turnip Boy Commits Tax Evasion

Whispering Willows

Ontamarama

Beautiful Desolation

Near Death

Secret Files 2: Puritas Cordis

Black Widow: Recharged

The First Tree

Avadon: The Black Fortress

(Not Escape Room)

The Henry Stickmin Collection

Centipede Recharged

Doodle Mafia

Borderlands 3

Alone in the Dark (1992)

Jack in the Dark

The Town of Light

True Fear: Forsaken Souls Part 1

True Fear: Forsaken Souls Part 1 Bonus Chapter

True Fear: Forsaken Souls Part 2

Borderlands 3: Moxxi's Heist of the Handsome Jackpot

D the Game

Last Half of Darkness: Society of the Serpent Moon

Borderlands 3: Guns, Love, and Tentacles

Ahnayro: The Dream World

Wheels of Aurelia

Mummmaster!

Borderlands 3: Bounty of Blood

Yes Your Grace

Just One, Must Choose

The Whisperer in the Darkness

He plays the Piano

Monad

Hope's Peak

Guide of the Butterfly

The Spark of One

Hairdash

Pizzaboy

Sangwich

Virtua Blinds

Homing

Dawndusk Dream Sewer

Forgotten Hill Tales

In My Friend Carrie's Car

nigel.

Summer Gems

The Night Fisherman

Stealth Fishing

Out the Window: A Car Trip Sim

Dogs Throwing Swords II: Three Barks to the Wind

Hi-Score Boi

Petty Puny Planet

To Duel List

Worldcraft

Running Askew

Feisty Heist

This Call May Be Recorded

Baby Labour

Stophat

Conversations with my Anxiety

The Alabaster Donut Farm

The Sun Will Set

a completely normal dating simulation that is definitely completely sweet, innocent and normal

Toaster Jam

Shrine to Anubis

Inter-view

Froggy Family Fort

The Change Architect

Can Androids Pray: Red

Clean Attack

There You Go

Hot Pot Panic

Waiting for the Loop

Chesto – At the Checkout

Can Androids Pray: Blue

Otherside

The Outcast Lovers

Samorost

Grumpy Librarian

Walkerwall

Boa Retina

ring ring

Homebound

Liyla and the Shadow of War

Devtheism

Lonely Wolf Treat

SYSCRUSHER

Stray

Nainai's Recipe

Candylight

The Hero of Budgie Island

dstnce.

Cromwell

KIDS

Parcels and Pollen

The Supper

Thing in Itself

Serre

Jet Buster

Lieve Oma

The Adventures of Wolf and Hood - A Jigsaw Tale

Tomato Clinic

Cosmic Courier: Lost in Limbo

SAI

Nancy Drew: The Final Scene

Nancy Drew: Danger on Deception Island

planktOs

Nancy Drew: The Secret of Shadow Ranch

Nancy Drew: Curse of Blackmoor Manor

Mortuary Assistant

Tessa's Ark: Chapter One

What isn't saved (shall be lost)

Traveller

Karambola

Eternia: Pet Whisperer

Dear Mariko: Crimson

TimeOut

Order a Pizza: A Visual Novel

You Died But a Necromancer Revived You!

Flufftopia

Doodle Date

Fostering Apocalypse

Good Morning Hon

KAIMA

Nancy Drew: Secret of the Old Clock

We Met in May

Untitled Darkness

Homunculus Hotel

Gunpig: Firepower for Hire

Martial Law

Pebble Witch

Hysteria Project

Dream Dye

Hero-ing Addict

Baked: Magic

Escaped Chasm

Detours

Sunlight

Feud

The Little Mermaid (NES)

Cuckoo Castle

Find Me

Veiled

a new life.

Some Like it Hot: Episode 0

Don't Take It Personally, I Just Don't Like You: The Camping Trip

Mobility! Accessible Precision Platformer

Meta Form

Imaginaria

Wishing Sarah

Glitch Dungeon

The Secret of Tremendous Corporation

We Should Talk

Path Out

As Long As We're Together: Magical Girls Sweet & Pure

Co-open

Gardenia

Parsnip

Monster Pub Vol. 1

IF not us

Islands: Non-Places

Sudd City Adventures

Imperishable Memories

3 out of 10, Ep 1: Welcome to Shovelworks

Bard Harder!

3 out of 10, Ep 2: Foundation 101

Wakamarina Valley

Take A Hike!

Reminiscence in the Night

Nancy Drew: Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon

The Light at the End of the Ocean

Tiny Dangerous Dungeons

Penance

Surfacing

Gutwhale

Forgiveness: Escape Room

Interactivity: The Interactive Experience

Project Kat – Paperlily Prologue

Heartbreak High: A Breakup Simulator

Online Simulator: Love in the Time of Malware

Us Lovely Corpses

Sanguine Sanctum

3 out of 10, Ep 3: Pivot Like a Chamption

3 out of 10, Ep 4: Thank you for Being an Asset

Cleansuit

3 out of 10, Ep 5:  The Rig is Up!

Good Lookin’ Home Cookin’

Metal Slug

Shrug Island: The Meeting

Death's Life

The Wolf's Bite

Water's Fine

Dungeons & Lesbians

Kid A Mnesia Exhibition

Rex: Another Island

Call of the Sea

Wide Ocean Big Jacket

Ring of Fire: Prologue

King's Field (PS1)

A Nightmare's Trip

a museum of dubious splendours

Towards the Pantheon: Escaping Eternity

Return Null: Episode 1

Error: Human Not Found

Save Room – Organisation Puzzle

The Nine Lives of Nim: Fortune's Fool

Regeria Hope: Episode 1

What Comes After

Self Checkout Unlimited

Scorch

Beauty and the Beast: Belle's Quest (Megadrive)

Dominique Pamplemousse in "It's All Over Once The Fat Lady Sings!"

Shantae: Half Genie Hero

Acidtrip

Dominique Pamplemousse and Dominique Pamplemousse in "Combinatorial Explosion!"

Shadowgate Classic

Detective Hank and the Golden Sneeze

Ripped Pants at Work

El Tango de la Muerte

Helltaker

Shantae: Half Genie Hero: Pirate Queen's Quest

Mon-cuties for All

Graveyard Shift

By Your Side

The Black Iris

Fuzz Dungeon

An Oath in Kind

Silent Hill 2

Where the Snow Settles

The Westport Independent

Once Upon a Crime in the West

The Testimony of Trixie Glimmer Smith

Ticket to Ride

Wanderlust: Transsiberian

Three Lesbians in a Barrow

The Enigma Machine

SHUT IN

Brave: The Video Game

Taco Tom 2

Drones: The Human Condition

Cats in Time

Roll for Confidence

Lynne

Vampire Night Shift

Prison of the Magi: Chapter 0

Extreme Meatpunks Forever: Powered By Blood

Until Dawn

Nepenthe

Martha is Dead

Maid of Sker

Beyond Blue

Gray Dawn

Soul Waste

Sato Wonderland

Chip's Tips

Eden: Garden of the Faultless

Axis Mundi

Uktena

Rose of Meat

Seraphaxial

The Black Relic

The Fruit

The House of Unrest

Hunstvotti

Gallerie

Book of Blood

Karao

Rotten Stigma

Vampire Survivors

Spirit Guardian

We Never Left

Vestige

Resver

Ludomalica

Beyond the Curtain

Lego Starwars: The Complete Saga

Whimsy

Ys 1

She Sees Red

Momodora 3

Far From Noise

Do I Pass?

Super Ledgehop: Double Laser

Meeting in the Flesh

The Beast Inside

Nancy Drew: Danger by Design

Nancy Drew: The Creature of Kapu Cave

Forager

Actual Crimes: Jack the Ripper

Blood And Lust

Shadows Over Loathing

Rogue Quest: The Vault of the Lost Tyrant

Amelie

Social Justice Warriors

Nancy Drew and the White Wolf of Icicle Creek

Creepy Tale

Your Future Self

[srmthfgrimworld]

Game 1: Day 3 & 4

Day 3

In the dim light of early morning, Mandarin stirred from his restless slumber. Weariness clung to his bones as he trudged toward the nearby river, seeking solace in its tranquil embrace. Cupping his hands, he scooped handfuls of water, splashing his face to wash away the grime and exhaustion that clung to him after a night spent on the unforgiving ground.

With a flicker of renewed determination, he grasped the communication device once more, yearning for a connection with the monkey team that seemed to elude him. Yet, the familiar echo of silence greeted his desperate pleas, mocking his hopes. Frustration welled up within him, fueling a surge of anger that propelled him to cast the useless device to the ground, shattering it into irreparable fragments.

In that moment, a fire kindled within him—an unyielding resolve to save himself from this desolate place. If rescue was not coming, he would be the architect of his own deliverance. Clenching his fists, he vowed to confront the challenges that lay before him with unwavering determination.

As Mandarin retraced his steps to the makeshift base, his hunger gnawed at him. With a tinge of melancholy, he devoured the final remnants of his apple supply, savoring the sustenance it provided. Determined to face the challenges ahead, he collected a handful of wooden pieces, their potential as a weapon beginning to take shape in his mind.

Seated by the mesmerizing dance of the campfire, Mandarin delved into his task. Skillfully maneuvering his fingers, he carefully shaped the wood, carving and notching with precision. The weight of his self-reliance bore down on each stroke. The play of flickering firelight cast ever-shifting shadows on his face, further accentuating his unyielding resolve.

Realizing the importance of both protection and sustenance, Mandarin contemplated the absence of his familiar sword and shield. A feeling of vulnerability coursed through him, reminding him of the necessity to arm himself in this unfamiliar and potentially dangerous land.

With his bow still in progress, he recognized its potential as a valuable offensive weapon. Its versatility would enable him to hunt for food and defend himself against potential threats.

With the bow completed, Mandarin held it up to the dim light, inspecting his handiwork. Satisfied, he carefully stowed it away, a warm sense of accomplishment enveloping him. Though the day had slipped away unnoticed in its creation, he felt content with the progress made.

As fatigue coursed through his weary muscles and hunger gnawed at his stomach, he acknowledged the need for rest. With a sigh, he accepted that his hunger would have to wait a while longer. Settling down, he embraced the promise of a rejuvenating slumber. Tomorrow, he resolved, he would venture forth with his newly crafted bow, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Day 4

Under the morning sun, Mandarin set out on his first hunt. As he walked, he plucked berries from a nearby bush, relishing them as his morning meal. Noticing the sheep seeking refuge near his base, he briefly contemplated the possibility of feasting on them. Yet, their aggressive demeanor made him reconsider.

Pressing on, he stumbled upon a set of tracks, igniting a surge of excitement within him. With heightened senses, he followed the trail, his focus honed on any potential prey. 

After tracking the trail for a while, Mandarin discovered that the tracks belonged to a donkey—a modest find, but better than nothing. He took aim and fired at the animal, prompting it to flee. Mandarin pursued, maintaining a safe distance while carefully attempting to land accurate shots. 

As he persisted, the donkey's pace gradually slowed. It was then that Mandarin noticed a snow leopard lurking nearby. With a mix of caution and surprise, he observed the predator closely, realizing that it displayed no interest in either him or the wounded donkey.

As the donkey finally succumbed to its injuries and collapsed, Mandarin remained vigilant, keeping a watchful eye on the nearby snow leopard. With caution and a sense of relief, he approached the fallen animal, carefully assessing the situation. To his gratitude, the snow leopard decided to depart, leaving Mandarin and the donkey undisturbed.

With determined strength, Mandarin hauled the donkey's lifeless body back to his base. As he prepared to cook the meat, memories of his first night in this foreign land flooded his mind. The recollection of those enigmatic eyes lurking in the darkness resurfaced, leading him to ponder if it had indeed been the snow leopard he had encountered.

Lost in his thoughts, Mandarin skillfully cooked a meal, combining the freshly obtained meat with the nourishing fruits he had gathered. The savory aroma wafted through the air, tantalizing his senses. As he savored each bite, he couldn't help but appreciate the satisfaction of a truly good meal, a welcomed respite after days of meager sustenance.

After satisfying his hunger with a hearty meal, Mandarin stepped outside to gather firewood for the approaching night, determined to ward off the biting chill. As he worked on felling a tree, his attention was drawn to a scurrying badger nearby. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—perhaps he could find solace in this untamed world. 

However, he swiftly dismissed the notion. 

No, he reminded himself firmly, he would not allow himself to become accustomed to this place. Regardless of any temporary comfort or unexpected encounters, his resolve to leave remained unyielding.

[nameexpert]

500 Strong Dart Team Names to Win Every Match

Introduction

When it comes to forming a dart team, one of the most exciting decisions you'll make is choosing the perfect team name. Whether you're aiming for something funny, hilarious, or even dirty, the name you choose sets the tone for your team’s personality and energy. From cool dart team names that impress your competition to unique dart team names that stand out, there's a name for every type of dart squad. Whether you're looking for something good dart team names to inspire confidence, or you want to go for the bold and inappropriate dart team names, your team’s identity starts with the perfect moniker. For couples who want something special, we’ve even included dart team names for couples to show off your partnership. So, let's dive into a list of dart team names that cover everything from funny dart team names to the most outrageous dirty dart team names. Introduction Bullseye Brilliance" (Names inspired by precision and mastery) Steel Stingers" (Inspired by power and resilience) Flight Force (Inspired by agility, precision, and fluidity) Iron Will" (Inspired by strength, resilience, and determination) The Revolutionaries (Inspired by transformation, change, and dominance)Final Thought:

Bullseye Brilliance" (Names inspired by precision and mastery)

Apex Shots Master Marksmen Bull Chargers Triple Trailblazers Pinpoint Prodigies Target Ambassadors The Golden Fliers Steel Masters Crimson Sights Bulls Eye Magicians Focus Ambush Dart Monarchs The Precision Pathfinders Bulls Trackers Sharpshift Squad Apex Alphas Razor Reign Target Tacticians Steel Apex The Archers Guild Triple Enigma Spot Sentries Velocity Conquerors Iron Shots Bulls Vanguard Steel Dreams Dart Genesis Razor Zenith The Final Throw Bulls Pioneers Apex Velocity Flight Seekers Spot Tacticians Target Builders Blade Whisperers Crimson Force Trajectory Ambassadors The Silent Fliers Aim Architects Bulls Dreamers Steel Mavericks Bulls Prodigy Apex Pilots Dart Drivers Precision Nomads The Iron Dartsmen Blade Savants Silent Seekers Apex Marksmen Dart Relics Bulls Throwbacks The Razor Spirits Triple Legends Velocity Dashers Crimson Focus The Dart Whisperers Razor Infinity Target Frontiers Blade Anchors Apex Blasters The Crimson Torch Steel Visionaries Silent Pioneers Triple Navigators Aim Invictus Bulls Whisperers Precision Dartsmen Razor Sentries Steel Vault Blade Fliers Trajectory Comets Apex Horizons Spotmasters Steelflight Target Titans Bulls Wranglers Razor Thunder Velocity Cyclone Apex Phoenix Precision Stingers The Throw Masters Silent Victory Dartstorm Blade Perfectionists Velocity Charge Target Blaze Iron Surge Apex Wind Razorstrike Crimson Trajectory Bulls Zenith Steel Flame Blade Vortex Silent Apex The Trajectory Squad Velocity Kings Steel Wave Razor Crusaders Spot Hunters Apex Dawn

Steel Stingers" (Inspired by power and resilience)

Dart Beasts Iron Shadows Blade Blitz Silent Archers Razor Storm Apex Stingers Target Wolves Flight Terminators The Silver Bolts The Iron Blaze Velocity Dashers Dart Raiders Blade Hunters The Crimson Darts Razor Cyclone Apex Inferno Bulls Quake Velocity Dashers Target Scouts The Apex Titans Iron Throws Silent Blazers Razor Defenders Apex Throwlords Precision Strikers Blade Eagles Iron Spotters Bulls Savants Apex Seekers Razor Masters Triple Wolves Bulls Edge Blade Hunters Silent Knights Apex Vortex Dart Seekers The Crimson Vipers Bulls Spinners Steel Phoenix Target Titans Precision Commanders Razor Climbers Blade Throwers The Apex Trail Velocity Falcons Bulls Navigators Apex Prodigy Crimson Bolts Target Oracles Razor Shooters Steel Flyers Trajectory Wolves Iron Thunderers Spot Raiders Bulls Riders Apex Raiders Dart Predators Velocity Blazers Precision Lancers Silent Titans Iron Prodigy Bulls Guardians The Apex Barrage Target Savants Velocity Trackers Razorflight Blade Survivors Apex Blazers Velocity Chargers The Apex Marksmen Bulls Commanders Dart Innovators Razor Dominators Velocity Wolves The Flight Prophecy Blade Cyclone Crimson Dashers Apex Guardians The Spot Tacticians Bulls Nomads Blade Kings Apex Pioneers Velocity Heroes Target Nomads Razorwave Iron Seekers Silent Vault Precision Raiders Steel Vision The Target Flame Bulls Marksmen Apex Legends Dartwave Razor Storm Iron Champions Velocity Zenith Bulls Lightning Razor Nomads Apex Trackers Target Lancers

Flight Force (Inspired by agility, precision, and fluidity)

Aero Blasters Precision Flyers Target Wings Bulls Jetstream Velocity Soar Blade Stream Flight Hawks Apex Gliders Razor Swift Dart Fliers Airstrike Legends Bulls Skyward Apex Falcons Blade Surge Steel Soarers Dart Tornadoes Flight Seekers Velocity Flyers Razor Falconry Apex Airwaves Bulls Skyfall Swift Arrows Razor Breeze Dart Raptors Target Skywalkers Apex Skydarts The Dartwinders Velocity Wings Razor Raptors Apex Airblaze Sky Masters Bulls Aero Razor Wind Flight Savants Target Cyclones Apex Skyfire Steel Winged Blade Gliders Velocity Windriders Skyhunters Blade Flight The Flying Bulls Apex Thunderbirds Razor Vortex Flight Tacticians Dart Gliders Apex Aero Target Flyers Razor Stormriders Bulls Horizon Velocity Riders Sky Dominators Dart Prophets Apex Breeze Razorflight Sky Guardians The Aero Titans Bulls Skydarts Blade Turbulence Razor Chasers Dart Winds Target Stratos Apex Climbers Swift Blades Flight Mavericks Razor Raptors Target Tempest Apex Airstrike Velocity Horizon Blade Flyers Sky Titans The Flight Surge Aero Pathfinders Apex Windstorm Razor Gliders Bulls Flyers Sky Shredders Apex Cyclones Flight Crusaders Blade Cloud Razor Airmasters Dart Ascendants Bulls Skystrike Apex Airmasters Velocity Windseekers Razor Skyriders Dart Skyward Target Vultures Bulls Airbringers Apex Draft Steel Airwaves Razor Vanguards Apex Windsurge Dart Navigators Bulls Windrunners Razor Wingers Sky Commanders Apex Skyfighters Velocity Propellers Razorforce

Iron Will" (Inspired by strength, resilience, and determination)

Iron Clutch Steel Authority Precision Giants The Dart Forge Razor Titans Iron Wolves Steelstorm Apex Blasters Dart Dominion Iron Vanguard Razor Strength Steel Legacy Iron Hunters Dart Legends Apex Strikers Precision Titans Bulls Steel Razor Warriors Iron Cyclones Blade Defenders Steel Thunder Dart Enforcers Iron Pathfinders Apex Commanders Razor Authority Dart Spartans Iron Resolve Steel Pioneers Apex Savants The Iron Legion Razor Vision Steel Defenders Dart Crusaders Apex Titans Iron Fury Steel Striders Bulls Fortress Iron Storm Razor Hunters Dart Enforcers Steel Gladiators Razor Legends Iron Wave Dart Warriors Apex Resolve Precision Legion Razor Titans Bulls Ironclad Steel Pathfinders Apex Shredders Razor Commanders Dart Mavericks Steel Nomads Iron Warriors Razor Falcons Apex Defenders The Iron Blades Dart Legacy Steel Surge Apex Pathfinders Razor Brutes Iron Marauders Steel Nomads Dart Prospects Apex Gladiators Iron Titans Razor Force Steel Legacy Bulls Iron Precision Fists Iron Stallions Steel Assassins Dart Defenders Apex Intrepid Razor Kings The Iron Storm Steel Mavericks Dart Brutes Iron Frontiers Razor Champions Apex Soldiers Steel Visionaries Iron Archons Dart Conquerors Razor Stallions Steel Predators Apex Sentinels Iron Tigers Dart Warriors Razorstorm Steel Enforcers Iron Pulse Dart Sentinels Apex Falcons Razor Nomads Steel Tacticians The Iron Fury Bulls Legends Razor Titans Dart Guardians

The Revolutionaries (Inspired by transformation, change, and dominance)

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[th-ramblr]

[Baldur's Gate 3] - Squidhawk #26

[Cross-posted on AO3]

Whether it was day or night, it didn’t seem to matter in this place, it was equally dark all the same. Undeniably, the thick shadows were somewhat disorienting to Kytes’ sense over the passage of time, which had always been poor to begin with, with how often and deeply he often slept due to his heart condition.

This place of eternal night only further compounded that issue, but it couldn’t be helped. At least within the tower, surrounded by moonlantern street lamps and whatever other protections, he could breathe easily enough.

He couldn’t recall any particular dreams, save for his meeting with Rune, but he didn’t really consider that to be a bad thing. His dreams were usually just another torture, so not having any at all was a better alternative.

Much as he knew they’d have to venture out eventually, he wanted to get a better look around Moonrise, tracing his way around the ground floor first, though it didn’t take long for his attention to trail upwards into the rafters. Off the side of the main room, a ladder offered a path upward, and once Kytes was sure no one was bothering to look his way, he made his way up it. Both to his surprise and joy, the rafters above made for a good pathway of catwalks that no one bothered to watch.

For as sketchy and criminal as most of the people here were, and the war they were waging, most were rather complacent in this place, he found. Unbothered and unworried about even the possibility of infiltrators or keeping up security beyond the most basic appearances. It wasn’t as though he misunderstood why. It would be quite difficult for anyone to even find this place, much less reach it, so Halsin had emphasized again and again. The natural defenses of the shadow-cursed lands allowed the Absolute cultists to be lax about watching for enemies, and their leader was seemingly impossible to kill. There was very little reason for them to be alert unless something extremely obvious were happening.

All the better for him, so long as he didn’t stir up too much trouble.

Just maybe though… if he was lucky, perhaps the rafters would lead him farther up the tower than he would normally be allowed. It was only a possibility, but one worth exploring.

It took no time at all for him to find a cracked wall along the upper ceilings. Part of that same tower with the collapsed stairwell, his eyes trailing down to the sticky, fleshy web that danged down from above. He couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the thought, remembering Mig’s declarations before about a monster in the tower, but surely she must  have been wrong.

While it wasn’t as though Kytes was any sort of master architect, there couldn’t have been that much space between the stones to house such a huge creature as the ogre seemed to think, as anything considered big by an ogre’s standard must have been absolutely enormous.

Still, as he tentatively tried to peer through the crack in the stones, he heard it again ; that slimy, wet shifting of something made of flesh, he was sure. More of those fleshy strings wove their way too and fro across the opening, and he was sure he saw something undulating and pulsing unnaturally just within. Much as he tried to decipher what he was looking at, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it in the darkness.

Against his better judgment, he slipped a hand through, ready to jump back at a moment’s notice and withdraw his hand to safety, but at the slightest brush of fingers over whatever it was, his awareness unfolded and expanded as his parasite stirred in response. His consciousness flitted through every wall of the tower, connecting against a tangled web of every mind of the Absolute’s cultists held within, unnoticed by all of them.

But there was more, much much more, a vast living network of nerves and connections extending deep into the dark, somewhere far underground, inviting him to reach in further and run his hand more fully against the cords, diving his consciousness further down into it… - where something awoke.

[Its a trap!]

Rune’s voice cut through the haze, but it was the feel of tendrils snapping like iron cords around his arm and yanking him against the stones that fully broke the spell as that new presence loomed large in his mind, drawing closer rapidly.

With a panicked gasp under his breath, he tried to wrench his wrist free, bracing a hand against the stonebrick to pull away, but the tendrils only tightened further, until suddenly he was… elsewhere.

Somewhere within a void. A dark, misty ocean of stars, black and crimson, nothing at all like the comforting blue-rose pocket of the Astral Sea seen within Rune’s prism. No ground stood beneath his feet, no floating islands of rock or great skeletons in the sky, no echoes of booms and distant voices at war.

That presence was no longer approaching. It was here. Surrounding him from all sides, encircling him, observing him. He heard it gutterally groan, the sound of rumbling flesh and clattering chitin armor as a huge, long tendril curiously coiled far around him without touching. It was vaguely familiar, even as his mind tried to interpret what he was seeing - a tail? A claw? A tentacle? It was just like the strange flesh-and-metal alien ship he had been abducted onto when all this began.

-Other-

Its -- Her -- deep, resounding, feminine voice boomed through his thoughts, more of those long, armored tendrils coming to encircle him with tentative thoughtfulness.

-Else-

-ABERRATION?-

-Why---

-WHAT----

-WHO are you?-

“I know that voice…” His thoughts, soft as a whisper, came as words in this space, one and the same. “You’re the Absolute.”

-I am---

-WE ARE-

The booming voice paused, and he intuitively got the sense of the thing before him struggling to compress its vast being into terms that would be easy to understand, considering him carefully, but without the usual condescension he came to know and expect and loathe from people. It was not the same treatment as those who discovered his broken speech, thinking him uniquely stupid to them, but a calculated and complex creature trying to conform itself to some semblance of mutual, common ground where they could converse equally, to speak and to listen.

Its massive, towering limbs curled on themselves, lowering down and coiling tight, shrinking until they became a much more condensed ball of light and smaller writhing tendrils.

-This is the voice they have given me. To better speak to your kind without breaking you.-

Her voice was lower now rather than booming, silky smooth and almost comforting, if not for the fact he knew that this was the thing that had stripped away individuality and driven so many people to madness and violent conquest. This was the voice the cultists listened for with frenzy and delighted guile.

-I was once a servant of the Grand Design.- His brow furrowed, remembering the words he’d heard in the Githyanki’s Creche, and the words of Vlaakith referring to Rune as well. How and where they might be connected, he couldn’t help but have questions, but he continued to listen without interruption. -Now I am a slave to theirs. But you… You are the flaw in their design. A single thread that could unravel everything they've planned.-

“Who are ‘they’?”

-They name themselves 'Chosen', but they are  slavers. They will use me to bind this world...-

--...but... I cannot bind you.--

Somewhere in the dark, the Prism he carried with him spiraled and hovered through the air, drawing his eye, and that was all it took to understand.

Rune's protection, or the protection of the Prism. Whether it was him or the object or both, he was shielded from the Absolute's power, or so went the idea. Such an unknown force certainly couldn't be relied upon without question to be a truthful narrator, but try as he might to detect any sort of deceit or ulterior motive, he came back empty. If the creature was lying to him, he didn’t possess any capability of uncovering as much.

-You must come to me... so that I can become myself again.-

A world away, the grip on his arm tightened with such force that he couldn't ignore it, his mind splitting between here and there, the space before his mind's eye flickering. The pull was desperate, a drowning thing that was determined to pull him down with it, with little regard for whether or not he might also be swallowed by dark waves.

-Come. Become.-

The Absolute’s small, whispering form vanished and its many great, armored arms burst upward and encircled him once again, closing around him with frantic force, until he could see nothing past them forming a possessive sphere to entrap him.

--COME--

--BECOME----

[Resist it!] Rune snarled as reality swam back into focus hazily, to the stone edges prodding against his torso and both of his shoulders screaming agony, one in the grips of the thing within the walls, the other pressed hard against the edges of the gap in the wall with his hand still braced there.

He fluttered his eyes as if waking from a dream, hearing his leathers scrape against jagged stone, feeling his leg twist to fit through the space as they tried to fit, and feeling a sharp edge cut his cheek.

[Kytes!]

A gasp left his lips and he found his fight again, pulling back from the grip of the Absolute’s web, propping his knee against the wall to gain better leverage and pull backwards away from it.

With one great heave and a wet sucking noise as he managed to yank his arm free, he stumbled backwards to freedom and fell flat on his back, knocking the wind from him with a grunt.

Panic panted through his nose as he forced himself to scramble to his feet, shaking his wrist to fling whatever remaining juices lingered on his glove and glaring at the wall with distaste and alarm all at once.

[It almost had you,] Rune lamented with equal trepidation and exasperation. [You did well to pull away from it.]

Kytes huffed, still trying to catch his breath, wincing as he massaged his shoulder a bit. It wasn’t totally pulled from its socket, but it had come close enough to bring tears to his eyes, shuddering a bit.

Relief trickled along the back of his mind, though most of it was not his own.

[Whatever that creature was, its telepathic force was unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. It must be the source of the Absolute.]

So you don’t know what it is either?

Rune hummed thoughtfully. [I could make guesses… but it would be pointless when we’re so close to finding out the truth. Ketheric above, and the Absolute below, with no clear path to either of them…]

Kytes hummed, putting a little more distance between him and the wall, as though something in it might reach out to grab him again. Better safe than sorry.

You really don’t know?

[Do you think that I do?]

Kytes considered that for a moment, but part of him -- the still-skeptical part -- suspected, at the very least.

That thing… the Absolute, or whatever it is, said it used to be a servant of the Grand Design. Vlaakith said you used to be too.

[And whose word do you trust? Vlaakith’s or mine?]

Kytes set his jaw a bit, making his way along the catwalks of the rafters carefully, glad that no one in this place ever seemed to look upward. Although no one here seemed to regard him as an enemy or a target, so far, he still didn’t like the eyes of others watching him.

I don’t know if I trust you yet, but I know I don’t like Vlaakith.

[Fair enough.]

But her and all the Gith also said you were an agent of the Grand Design too, so you must know something more about it, right?

He sensed some hesitation, focusing on his footing and taking in the sights while Rune gathered his response.

[More than you, certainly, and as I said, I could make guesses. However, it would be more prudent to focus our energy on certainties, rather than speculation. Its not that I’m trying to keep you in the dark, only that we have enough to think about already. Once we learn a little bit more and it becomes relevant, I’ll tell you everything I know about whatever we find and make certain you understand our situation, without falsities. I promise you that.]

Kytes hummed acknowledgement, weaving his way from one room to the next. At the very least, the rafters seemed interconnected all throughout the first floor, providing excellent vantage points to see and listen. If worse came to worse, perhaps even somewhere to strike down from above.

Well, I guess if the worst were to happen and I died, then it won’t be my problem anymore anyway.

The feeling of rebuke in his skull was immediate, not painful, but unpleasant.

[Don’t say that. We’ll make it through this. Both of us. We just need to have a little faith.]

Kytes wanted to scoff a little. Faith in what?

[Each other. Our other allies who want to see the Absolute vanquished. The future. Take your pick. Whatever you choose to put faith in, we need to believe in something, otherwise this is all for naught.]

And what do you have faith in? The question came with more hesitation than he intended.

[You, of course, even if you do continue to try and give me a hard time.] There was some amusement to it at least, before his words softened. [But its alright. Everything in its due time.]

Kytes’ head tipped a bit. What does that mean?

Rune laughed a little. [Its not important… but we’ll talk more of it when it is. For now, we should focus.]

A low huff answered Rune’s words, but no arguments. It was easier to focus when he didn’t have the man talking in his head, harder to make mistakes when his thoughts were quiet.

For the most part, what Kytes found after climbing up one of the tree husks and through a hole in the ceiling to the second floor was an unoccupied bedroom. Snooping through different papers and books, he mostly found personal letters written by someone’s mother to her child, though little of their contents stood out to him as important.

In one of the drawers, he found a book about godly beings, bookmarked inside being a chapter about gods of death such as Jergal and his successors - Bhaal, Bane, and Myrkul - but once again, little of it held his interest.

On the other side of one door, he heard the clatter of armor and marching footsteps of a patrolling guard, and thought better of exiting that way, taking a different door out onto the terrace, where he found a lone and unoccupied stone throne not unlike Ketheric’s in the main hall.

Standing up on the ramparts, he squinted out into the foggy darkness, for the first time getting a good birds-eye view of the shadow-cursed lands and all of the township that the shadows had swallowed. From such a distance, he could mostly only make out the vague shapes of buildings, cliffs, and murky waters, but it was enough to impress upon him that he was likely going to have one Hells of a time finding his way.

There was no telling just what horrors laid in wait for him in the dark either.

What little snooping he’d managed to do was enough for now, not wanting to get caught where he wasn’t supposed to be, making his way from the room to the rafters and then back down the ladder to the main entrance, careful not to be seen as he went.

If they planned to confront Thorm, then they would need to get to the bottom of this ‘Nightsong’ thing, whatever it was, which meant venturing out into the shadow-curse once more.

A daunting task, he was sure, and one he didn’t particularly care for, but there was no point going after Ketheric now if he couldn’t be killed anyway. And as for the Absolute… well, that was a bridge he wasn’t sure he was ready to cross just yet, and even if he wanted to, he had no idea how to reach… wherever it was, so he would need to put more consideration towards that first.

In the meantime, he could at least try to find a way to thwart Ketheric’s seeming invulnerability.

That was… assuming he could find his way to where he needed to go first.

With a deep breath at the edge of the bridge where the shadows licked hungrily, he clutched the moonlantern to his chest with apprehension, and then stepped over the threshold.

[7iwillteachyoutoberich]

The transformation of 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe

The transformation of 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe is nothing short of extraordinary, and the estate's journey from neglect to opulence is a story worth telling in full. When the property was initially purchased, its grandeur was hidden beneath layers of decay and years of neglect. The grounds, once carefully manicured, had become overgrown and unruly, while the stone walls that held the estate together had weathered and crumbled with age. But beneath the disrepair lay the bones of a magnificent estate, one that could once again embody elegance and sophistication with the right touch.

The ambitious renovation plan began with a detailed assessment of the property’s structural integrity. Architects and historians worked together to ensure that every repair or replacement respected the estate’s original character while providing the enhancements necessary for modern living. Stone masons meticulously restored the exterior stonework, reviving the facade to its original glory. Roofs were replaced, and the woodwork was refinished to bring back its rich luster.

Inside, skilled artisans breathed new life into the estate's historic features. Every cornice, panel, and molding was repaired or replaced to restore the home to its former grandeur. The floors, worn from years of neglect, were refinished to reveal their original beauty, while the antique fireplace mantels were restored and polished. Each space was designed to honor the estate's legacy, with period-appropriate furnishings and fixtures that provide modern comfort while preserving historical authenticity.

The living room became a sanctuary of light and warmth, with floor-to-ceiling windows that invite the surrounding nature into the room. Here, natural sunlight spills across the polished hardwood floors throughout the day, creating an ever-changing tapestry of light and shadow that emphasizes the beauty of the estate's towering trees and lush gardens. Even in the depths of winter, the living room offers a front-row seat to the estate’s natural splendor, with the fireplace providing a cozy retreat as the frost glistens on the trees outside.

The dining room underwent a similar transformation. Originally dark and dated, it was infused with royal elegance through rich wood panels, coffered ceilings, and a gleaming chandelier. With a long mahogany table, velvet-upholstered chairs, and intricately carved mantelpieces, the room exudes an air of refined luxury. The soft glow of the chandelier bathes the room in a warm light, making guests feel like royalty as they gather for a sumptuous meal.

The estate's exterior grounds were also carefully redesigned. Overgrown pathways were cleared, revealing the estate’s original winding trails. The gardens were reimagined to blend formal and wild elements, creating a serene space that celebrates nature's beauty while providing ample room for outdoor living. The stable block was fully renovated to offer premier equestrian facilities, while tennis courts and croquet lawns were added to enhance recreational opportunities.

This unwavering commitment to quality and historical integrity transformed the estate into a beacon of luxury, setting a new standard for opulent living in the area. The sale price of £927,000 reflects the remarkable attention to detail and high standards that went into its restoration, making it not just the largest but also the most valuable property in the region.

Today, 81 Quarry Hill, Stone Cliffe stands as a living testament to the power of vision, dedication, and meticulous craftsmanship. It is a place where history and modernity coexist in perfect harmony, offering its inhabitants a lifestyle of unmatched elegance and tranquility. Whether walking through the sunlit living room, dining under the glow of the chandelier, or exploring the lush gardens, those fortunate enough to experience this estate find themselves enveloped in a world of timeless luxury and natural beauty.