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Fantasy Writers Inn - a community for fantasy writers
Heya! I'm happy to announce that I've created a community for those of us who write in the fantasy genre. A place for sharing drafts, illustrations, ideas, and memes - welcome to the Fantasy Writers Inn! Join for inspiration, support, and warm soup. See you there!
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A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH
Prince Ahzrak x reader
Warnings: Hell in itself is a warning, Doomguy too, a little bit of angst, some mentions of demon corpses, reader’s injuries. Your relationship with Doomguy is platonic but not specified: you can be a relative, a friend, a rival, anything! Serrat lives in this one because I legit screamed when Ahzrak killed him. Doomguy is a bit OOC (SPOILER: he decides not to kill Ahzrak, finding a fate far worse for him) but come on, we all know we’re here for Ahzrak
Notes: there are three movie references in this story. Try and find them all :) So sorry for the wait but I'm very satisfied with how it turned out!
Tags: @inkegg, @fettyyyyyy, @ghosthat88, @misslancel0t, @skiesartsanddoom, @jan-cool-bro, @flug-zeug-furer, @averageapplejuicelover, @ghostmoonfire, @vendettapandav, @mask-knife-is-scarecrows-wife
Hell was far from a pleasant place. The darkness, the blood, and the bodies of demons you always tripped over – but that was made it interesting, right? Well, for you, at least.
You had followed the Slayer into the fiery pits of Hell for a purpose it took you a few moments to understand. He just showed up at your doorstep one day, all armored and silent, shoved a gun in your hands and raised his own. You stared at him in something like shock and amusement at the same time, expecting him to show you were he wanted to duel – but he wasn’t about to do that. No, he turned around and led you towards the very entrance of Hell.
And that’s how you ended up here, with barely any resources, confused, but damn it if you weren’t having fun shooting demons and saving the world. But what you didn’t expect was how much you would have to climb up ladders and large stones.
You honestly didn’t know why he decided to drag you along. You soon learned how to wield that strange gun (BFG, as you so lovingly started calling it), and traveling with that silent mountain of a man was pretty cool. But still, you couldn’t quite grasp how the Slayer made it all look so easy. You did have some fighting experience (be it beating bushes with a stick or serving in the army), but killing demons? That was something straight out of an action movie. It made you wonder if he knew you’d been raised to worship Lucifer. You were panting by the time you two got to Ahzrak, Prince of Hell – who had earned the title of “That handsome devil” from you (which in turn earned you a glare from the Slayer that in its intensity alone could kill demons and destroy civilizations) – and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. The area was in ruins, the sky a dark shade of gray that you knew you’d never be able to erase from your memory. The sight was as horrifying as it was captivating. And that was when you saw him. The demon of your dreams. The one whose words you remembered clearly: “Just what is this? Is this a pet of some sort? Somehow, it looks… more pathetic than a regular human. Are you certain it is healthy, Slayer?” Yeah, you were pretty sure those were the words that got you so attached to him in the first place. If not those muscles and that cute “mean cat” face. He descended from the skies like some kind of god, and stars, he was- “Shirtless!” you peeped, holding your fists to your face in excitement. You felt another glare from the Slayer but promptly ignored it. “His horns have grown bigger, don’t you think? He must be compensating for something-” Your companion shoved a rifle in your hands, interrupting your speech. The demon prince stepped forward, and you forgot how to breathe. He was everything your twisted mind had ever wanted in a man – strong, demonic, eerily attractive. The memories of your parents’ teachings, of your local church’s strange preachers, had all been long buried beneath layers of loneliness and trauma. But tonight… Tonight, they resurfaced. “I can never rule as king,” Ahzrak spoke slowly, “so long as you are the only one they fear.” A weapon appeared in his hand out of thin air, and you felt the Slayer shifting next to you, preparing himself for the battle to come. One blow, two- Ahzrak’s weapon turned into a sword, glowing a menacing green! He swung it at the Slayer, who blocked it with his shield. Ahzrak jumped, swinging his sword full-force, revealing a hint of his toned legs. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes fixed on the demon’s wonderful form, but the Slayer interrupted your thoughts, throwing a small stone your way that seemed to scream: focus!
However, when Ahzrak suddenly grew wings (“Out of his HEAD?! Doomguy, he has wings on his head!!”), your fascination turned to horror. It was enough for you that he was naked (you weren’t sure if you wanted to stare or to turn away, giving he didn’t have… yeah), but now he seemed to have become even more powerful. “How the hell are we going to beat that?!” you wanted to scream, but your companion’s unwavering determination made you clench your fists and forget your fear. Urgh, would that it were so simple. You were fighting against the Prince of Demons – one that you both hated and adored. You’d give anything to end up in his arms instead of the battlefield – you ducked another swing! - and you just noticed that he was avoiding you. He kept focusing on Doomguy, delivering his hardest hits and strongest swings, all the while completely ignoring you. Did you really matter that little to him? It stung for some reason.
The world seemed to stop as you turned your head to see the Slayer impaled on Ahzrak’s sword. Tears stung your eyes, and all the attraction you had towards the demon dissipated momentarily. You watched as Hell’s greatest fear pulled the sword out of his stomach, watched as he stumbled back.
And then, a deafening roar pierced the sky. Your head snapped back, just in time to see Serrat engulfing Ahzrak in flames. The demon prince covered himself with his wings, and you hopped onto Serrat’s back as he landed on the ground. Your face was split by a large smile, your eyes shining with adoration. “Good boy,” you whispered to the dragon, panting heavily as you looked around.
Ahzrak flew up in one strong flap of his massive wings, his sword at the ready – but something stopped him. It was the sight of you clinging to the creature’s back, staring up at him with those wide, frightened eyes, your hand clutching the gun at the ready.
“You get your chicken wings away from my friend’s dragon,” your eyes seemed to scream.
In the passing moment in which you stared at each other, he realized one thing: if you could kill him, you would. Not that you could, he added to himself before being knocked back to the ground by Serrat. Another hit from the Slayer followed.
One final blow seemed to have finished the demon prince’s life. You stumbled towards him, clutching your side: you must have broken a couple ribs.
“Is he…?”
The Slayer kicked Ahzrak in his side, turning him over onto his back. You saw that the latter was still breathing. And then, a flash of light – and he was gone. But something in the Slayer’s posture told you it wasn’t over yet.
By God, you hated stairs. But right now, you’d prefer a thousand of those to climbing aboard a hellish ship while carrying a demon-killing gun and having your ribs broken. Your companion seemed impassive.
Ahzrak seemed enraged this time. You stood next to Doomguy, panting, clutching your side and knee, seeming even weaker to the prince than you had before. And now, there were two of them – that witch of which you were absolutely terrified stood there too. “Kill him!” Ahzrak spoke to the latter. “Avenge your god.” Okay, you could understand why the prince was so obsessed with the Slayer. He was a danger to Hell, to Ahzrak himself. But weren’t you a danger too? Weren’t you a threat to at least his status?! You had killed demons too, like… five of them!
But you knew it was something more than simple lust for battle. It was jealousy, hot and bitter, because you thought you deserved his attention. You were taught you would be chosen if you acted a certain way, if you worshiped your demons like gods – which you did! Why, why didn’t he see you were special?
Your exhaustion started to show when you were tasked with taking down the witch. She was too quick, too nimble, and you could barely focus on your surroundings as it is. Perhaps the Slayer knew you wouldn’t be able to defeat her, but you were doing a great job at distracting her. Again, Ahzrak paid you no mind, and you were doing god’s work here by taking half of the Slayer’s load.
Jealousy soon turned to rage. You cursed everything: your upbringing, the people around you, the demons you’ve met and murdered along the way. You cursed yourself as you fought the witch, your body acting on its own as your mind shut down.
Your breath was knocked out of your chest as you heard a loud THUD, turning your head to see Doomguy kicking the prince in the chest. The Witch momentarily forgot about you, aiming her magic at your companion, who simply reflected it with his shield (which had too many uses for you to count) and sent his attacker into the wall.
When the Slayer wasn’t looking, you sneaked up to Ahzrak, turning him over to see the damage. You thought you saw a moment of fear in his glare as your eyes met, but he didn’t move to stop you. Perhaps he was too injured. You reached out a trembling hand. “Prince of Hell,” you whispered, the sound of the Witch’s hisses drowned out by your own screaming thoughts. “You… you are…” Utterly majestic, you would have said, or utterly insufferable, you weren’t yet sure, but you would have said something if it weren’t for the explosion that deafened you before you could.
The words seemed to freeze in place. You stared in front of yourself, ruins of the giant ship stilling in their position. Something was pressing down on you, you supposed it used to be a wall. You were lying on something hot and stiff, and you realized too slow it was a person. You lay on Prince Ahzrak himself, who seemed to be a minute from passing out. His torn clothes revealed scraps of broken skin and burned flesh beneath. He crawled forward a bit, taking you both halfway from under the ruins, before letting out a roar so deep and furious it shuddered your very heart. “Ahzrak…” you whispered brokenly, years of worship coming back and flashing before your eyes. “D-do you…” You couldn’t finish once more. Footsteps were heard, and you craned your aching neck to see Doomguy – no. The Slayer. There was no mercy in his stride, just pure, unadulterated rage. You closed your eyes. You were tired.
Ahzrak breathed faster beneath you. You prepared to witness the inevitable.
But the Slayer stilled. He held his flail above his head, seemingly contemplating. And then, you felt the heavy ruins lifted off your limp body. Your eyes shut tighter when you heard a broken yell from the prince, and then it all went black.
You would later find that two months had passed since the fateful night. You stood in front of your old house, your backpack thrown over your shoulder. A short coma and an operation on your body had left you exhausted without you realizing it. You entered the building.
Inside, it was worse than how you’d left it. Covered in dust, broken, burnt things greeted you when you stepped inside. Your bed was still made. You approached it. You pressed a calloused palm against the mattress, feeling its softness. The bed broke beneath it. The mattress fell on the floor. Dust flew in the air, making you cough. You’d have to sleep on the couch tonight.
The thought of renting a more-or-less undamaged motel room crossed your mind. But it was quickly discarded as you saw something on the floor of your second room. It was a coffin, or at least it looked like it. It had a glass lid, and you leaned closer to see who was inside. Ahzrak. A single note lay on top of the coffin: "For you," it said. "Give him a fate worse than death." You probably should have jumped back in horror. Should have called the Slayer and demanded to know why the hell he would leave you something like this. But you didn’t. You opened the lid, slid it off the golden coffin. You sat next to it, reaching a hand to touch Ahzrak’s cheek. It was cold. His eyes were closed.
“Demons of Hell…” you remembered your mother chanting. “Bless my daughter with your presence, grant her your guideness.”
"That night in Hell," you whispered to him, not knowing it he could hear you, "I wanted to ask if you even knew my name."
Every person around you seemed to worship Hell. You couldn’t have turned out normal after this. Was it too bad if you wanted to keep him here, in your warm embrace, and soothe his worries? He must have a lot of them after being defeated by a mere human – by two mere humans. Well, the others helped too but…
Your heart skipped a beat when he opened his eyes.
...Part two?
#seva over#seva's spaceship#doom the dark ages#doom: the dark ages#doom#prince ahzrak#prince ahzrak x reader#doomguy
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MY HAND, MY HEART, MY SOUL
Dagoth Ur x reader (romantic) Warnings: mentions of death, murder, corprus, depression, identity crisis, loneliness, reader is Nerevarine and very stressed about it, short appearance of a Dark Brotherhood assassin is a warning too because they are SCARY
Tags: @ramshead-shackles
Notes: I tried going for something more ambiguous this time, leaving the ending pretty much to your interpretation. You're free to choose what I meant by 'your real name' here :)
You stood in a large chamber, its walls the color red. On either side of you, two crowds of people stood, their faces shining with mirth and what seemed like recognition – no, it didn’t seem like it; they did recognize you. They called out your name. Nerevar.
Was it even your name?
A tall man in gold appeared by your side. He took your arm, his hold so tender but cold, it made you want to pull away – he wouldn’t let you. He led you through the chamber, towards some kind of an altar. A reddish-pink altar, you figured – and it moved. It hung from the ceiling, a big, pulsating mass, and pulsated above the ground. You felt the urge to vomit. You turned to look at the man, whose masked gaze remaining facing forward; you tried to scream, but you found there was no air. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish’s, your chest fluttering in vain as you struggled to mimic the process of breathing, hoping against hope that it would work.
But it never did.
The masked figure stopped you in front of the altar, you could see now that it was a heart. A large, beating heart. The man turned to face you, and as you turned your head to look at the crowd, you saw their faces were now decaying. They stared at nothing in particular, the flowers they held falling from their hands. It felt as though you were standing in a field of corpses – and it sure felt as though you were becoming one yourself. The man pulled you out of your thoughts by pulling you closer, three red eyes meeting your own terrified ones. There was something so familiar about this man, about his touch and…
“Sweet Nerevar…” …his voice.
“Sweet, sweet Nerevar…” the man repeated, one hand going up from your waist to cup your cheek. “Come back to me, my friend. Come back, and we shall know no pain!” His voice. You remembered it from… from where? Were you even alive when he first talked to you? Were you even you?
“Nerevar…” he said again, his voice fading away. Or were you fading away? “Nerevar, come back to me… come back…” You awoke to the feeling of a cold presense in your small room. Your trembling hand reached down to your hip, pulling an old, rusty dagger out of your pocket. You opened your eye just wide enough to see someone raising his weapon at you, and in a flash, you threw yourself at the man, slicing and stabbing and tearing at his armor. It wasn’t the first time an assassin had woken you up – but it was the first time you were glad to be pulled out of your nightmare. The Red Mountain stood before you in your next dream. You fell on your knees in front of it, your hands reaching out as if to embrace it. Tears were frozen on your cheeks, your throat fluttering in vain as you tried to scream. You wanted to call out to someone, to someone you knew or you thought you knew. Your body trembled, and the world was silent. Suddenly, a cacophony of noises deafened you, coming from everywhere at once; the sounds seemed to emerge from within you, threatening to tear you apart. A dark figure clad in gold started descending the mountain, and the noises grew louder the closer it got – and then your dream ended.
You woke up, the morning light shining right at your face through the window. Shouts and hushed whispers came from outside, further awaking you from your restless sleep. But it was a voice from outside that made you sit up in bed and your heart beat faster.
“Open the door, outlander,” the unmistakable voice of an ordinator rasped through the door. “By the decision of the Tribunal, you are sentenced to death as the false Nerevarine. Open the door this instant.”
You bit your tongue to hold back a curse, your gaze snapping to the window. You grabbed what little things you had, your hands beginning to sweat as you heard the door shake and rattle. You opened the window, threw out your backpack, and squeezed yourself out afterwards. Thankfully, the ordinators seemed to only be outside your door. You ran without turning back, your legs aching and your lungs burning. You heard your door finally giving in to the force of the ordinators, and it shattered, sending splinters everywhere; the men rushed inside, but they didn’t see you anywhere. “Find the false Nerevarine!” one of them barked, and the men ran back out of the tiny building, spreading out to find you. And you, meanwhile, kept running. Something pulled you to the Red Mountain. It wasn’t curiosity or the need for adventures – it was something deeper. Something ancient, something older than you. It wanted you, bled for you, and painted a way to itself with its blood - it breathed for you. It was ready to die for you.
The road to the Red Mountain was long and exhausting. The people just seemed to get crazier the closer you got to it, and the beginning storm didn’t make it any better. The rare people that you bumped into would tell you to either get out of there or come see the mountain. A terrifying cacophony of pleas and screams and laughter filled the air, and you could feel your mind coming apart from the sheer intensity of the pain surrounding you.
But a single voice cut through the overwhelming surroundings of yours, whispering your name: Nerevar. Your name… since when was it your name? Who even were you at this point?
The voice grew louder when you stopped in front of the mountain. You fell to your knees, your vision growing dark and blurry. You tried to remember a name, a familiar one. It felt on the tip of your tongue, made your head spin and your body ache. “V… Voryn!” you cried out finally. “Voryn! I’m here! I’m back!”
And the skies fell down. They swallowed you whole, devouring your mind and body and leaving naught behind but dust and memory. You now remembered.
You stood in a large chamber, its walls the color red. On either side of you, two crowds of people stood, their faces shining with mirth and recognition. They called out your name.
A tall man in gold appeared by your side. He took your arm, his hold so tender and firm. He made you feel safe. He led you through the chamber, towards the Heart. You turned your head to the figure, trying to read his bottomless eyes – they shone with happiness.
The masked figure stopped you in front of the Heart. The man turned to face you, and as you turned your head to look at the crowd, you saw them frowing flowers at you. You finally felt like you belonged. The man pulled you towards himself, three red eyes meeting your own.
“My dear one,” he whispered, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “My friend.” He fell to his knees, his hands wrapping around your own. “My love. I offer you my hand,” his mask began melting, the gold leaking down his face and onto the floor, “my heart,” his face, revealed, now shone with a layer of thick molten gold, “my soul.”
His cold, gentle lips pressed against your hands, and the crowd called out your name. Your real name. You were home.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#tesblr#the elder scrolls#Dagoth Ur x reader#Dagoth Ur#morrowind#tes morrowind#dagoth ur x nerevarine
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Favorite ship/x reader dynamic?
🪐 Heya! The spaceship management needs your response to the following question: which one of these ship dynamics is your favorite? Feel free to add any examples in media, comments are always greatly appreciated! 🪐
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Alright, I'm confused now.
So... Prince Ahzrak x reader, anyone? Just me?
🪐 Hi! The spaceship management needs your opinion on a Prince Ahzrak x reader fanfic. Art by yours truly - I've been wanting to experiment with Krita brushes for a while now. 🪐
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So... Prince Ahzrak x reader, anyone? Just me?
🪐 Hi! The spaceship management needs your opinion on a Prince Ahzrak x reader fanfic. Art by yours truly - I've been wanting to experiment with Krita brushes for a while now. 🪐
#seva over#seva's spaceship#doom#doom the dark ages#prince ahzrak#prince ahzrak x reader#artists on tumblr
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MORE THAN AN EMPEROR
Martin Septim x reader (romantic)
Warnings: alcohol mention (skooma) and hangover (brief), Martin and Reader are confused with their feelings for each other
🪐 Hey, hey, hey! The poll's results are in, and Martin is our winner! Don't worry, I'm planning on writing the other characters too - the poll mostly determines the order in which I write and release them. Comments are greatly appreciated! 🪐
Three horses stood on a vast field, drinking from a river. The flowers looked like they were shining as the light of the rising sun fell upon them, painting the expanse in different shades of purple, red, and blue.
You sat on the cool ground, your hands feeling the grass, still wet with morning dew. You had your head leaned back, your eyes half-closed as you enjoyed the scenery. You didn’t really remember when was the last time you saw a sunrise. Two, three years ago? Maybe four. You had to spend the night crawling into houses through open windows, stealing what you could, and you used the day to move from one city to another, selling what you’d stolen.
When the Imperials caught you, it felt like the end of the world. No fresh air, no rush of excitement as you traveled the night. Just a cold little cell and a strange neighbor to keep you company.
“We should continue on our way,” a soft voice pulled you our of your thoughts. You turned to see Martin standing near his horse, feeding it an apple. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and you fought back a smile at the thought of him being so serious about feeding an animal – until he glanced at you and you realized it wasn’t the horse he was worried about.
You furrowed your brows at the concern and uncertainty you saw in his eyes; he hadn't shown himself as the most confident man so far, and in the short time that you had known him, you learned that there was nothing that could convince him he was more than he thought. “We will,” you replied to him, waving your hand a little too light-heartedly. “Jauffre still hasn’t woken up from his nap, has he? We still have time before he does.”
“What ever happened to him?” Martin asked quietly, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. “He’s been sleeping for a good few hours…”
“Skooma,” you replied simply, shrugging your shoulders and leaning back. “He’s been stressed, you know. The death of the Emperor and the search for you… even if it was me who had to find you, close the gates of Oblivions, and escort you to Weynon Priory, he’s still tired.”
“I know, I know,” Martin sighed, finally sitting down on the ground next to you. He hugged his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them loosely. A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again, “I wanted to thank you. For saving those people back in Kvatch and for… telling me the truth about my life.”
You stared at the sky as he spoke, your brows furrowing in thought. He was thanking you – for what? All you did was tell him he was the Emperor’s son – that, and escort him to Weynon Priory and the Cloud Ruler Temple (which was a still ongoing quest because someone had decided to binge skooma and sleep for three hours straight in broad daylight). “There’s nothing for you to thank me for, Majesty,” you said, turning on your side to face him. “I’m just doing what’s right, I suppose. All I really did was seek you out and convince your sorry butt to come with me.” You shot a smile, and the look he gave you was one of utter bewinderment. “Do you really believe that- that is all you’ve done?” he asked, and your expression turned into one of confusion.
“Well, yes-” “So you don’t realize what you have done for the world?!” Martin cried out, making you flinch; you opened your mouth, about to respond, but he beat you to it. He jolted to his feet, and you had to sit up to look a little bit more presentable before his glory. “Don’t you remember the way you saved all those people who sat hopeless in the Church of Akatosh, praying for a quick death? You became their savior when the Gods turned away from them! Or the way you walked into the Church, coated in blood and wielding a Daedric weapon, looked me in the eyes, and said ‘You have to come with me, son of Emperor’? Don’t you understand what I felt in that moment, what I
But you weren’t listening. Your gaze was glued to the way he stood before you, face distorted in a mask of rage and utter despair, his eyes shining with what could only be admiration. His regal posture hid the sun, and you didn’t notice how it had set.
Was this really true? Did he truly believe that you, the thief, the criminal, were worth as much - if not more than - him? The son of the Emperor, his bastardy be damned!
Your brows furrowed in anger; all this time, he had believed you were the hero in his story. Your hands clenched into fists, the soft grass getting between your fingers.
But then he frowned, his shouting stopped; he sighed, staring at a point on the ground somewhere near you. “Don’t you understand what you do to me?”
His whispered question snapped you out of your stupor. You turned your head to see where he was looking, and were met a strange sight just to your left. Those were two flowers, their stems entwined, their white petals spread out in a way that the two pants were facing each other. You stared at the flowers, your mind going over what Marin just said. You felt his gaze shift to you, his silent plea for you to look up. And when you did, when your gazes finally met, you opened your mouth to respond, to tell him that yes, you felt like that too…
Jauffre jolted awake.
“Ey, ay, I’m up, I’m up!” he shouted, rubbing the side of his head as the hangover kicked in. “It’s been how many- It’s night already?! Martin, come! Mount the horses, my friends, we have little time…” The old man kept mumbling as he crawled onto his horse, not noticing the unfamiliar tension between you and the Emperor’s son. Martin stared at you in a stupor, his eyes filled with despair, before turning away and going to mount his horse. You didn’t look up as he went – but you knew he didn’t turn around.
That night, you didn’t speak to him. You led the way, and Jauffre was focursed on keeping the wolves away from the Emperor’s son. The man himself rode between you both. The road was silent, long, and boring. But eventually, as the three of you reached the Cloud Ruler Temple, you heard Martin call out your name. Turning back, you saw that he had already gotten off his horse and was now standing near yours. You looked away. He repeated your name. “I want you… to be there with me, when they introduce me,” he said, his voice trembling just slightly. “I want to tell them about you. About what you’ve done for Kvatch.” “Martin,” you started reluctantly, but he cut you off. “For me,” he added, his eyes finally meeting yours. “It’s my first order as the Emperor.”
You stared at him for a couple moments, your heart beating loud in your chest. The Emperor…
“I…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ll… be there,” you managed finally, and you felt a heavy weight lifting off your shoulders – and your soul. “I’ll be there with you.” Martin smiled silently, his face relaxing, and you saw a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks. You got off your horse as the Temple gates opened, your hand reaching out for his; you quickly pulled it away though, realizing it must be inappropriate – but his fingers too twitched in your direction.
You followed him up the gray stairs, towards the crowd of Blades waiting for his command. Jauffre spoke of him so highly, like Martin was more than a farmer’s son and a priest of Akatosh. And then the man stepped forward, and oh how his eyes shone as he spoke of you.
No. You realized right then and there, as you listened to Martin thank the Blades and yourself for everything, that he’d be more to you than that. More than a farmer’s son, or the Empreror’s bastard. More than Father Martin, the priest of Akatosh, and more than Martin Septim, the Emperor. He’d be simply Martin to you. And that was enough. He was enough. You were happy to be at his side - and if you had to be his hero, the one to make him happy like he made you, then you didn't mind.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#tesblr#the elder scrolls#Martin Septim#tes oblivion#oblivion remaster#Martin Septim x reader#martin septim x hero of kvatch#martin septim x hok
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Hi! The spaceship management needs to know which one of these characters you'd like me to write an x reader with. These are the characters I see little x readers with, so I thought I'd just add my own! It can be platonic or romantic.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#miraak#dagoth ur#voryn dagoth#mannimarco#martin septim#lucien lachance#the elder scrolls#tesblr#thalmor#ancano#ondolemar
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WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?
Colonel Autumn x OC (platonic)
Warnings: angst with a (mostly) happy ending, hurt/comfort, OC is the Lone Wanderer’s sister, OC is not a good person in this (lawful evil), abandonment issues, family issues, mentions of depression, mentions of bullying, canon character death, god that’s a lot.
It hurt. Eileen stared at the two words on the tablet in her hand: paternity confirmed. She didn’t know why her captor felt it was obligatory to check if they were related, but the result was in her hands. God, how much it hurt. It hurt because she knew it was true from the very start. It hurt because everyone thought low of her for that. It hurt especially because her father never bothered to tell her that. And… it hurt because Eileen knew he wasn’t her father. James never was - he never tried to be. Eileen threw the tablet against the metal wall, the screen shattering into a million pieces. Her chest heaved with each breath, her heart stinging with an unfamiliar pain.
As soon as she set foot out of the Vault, Eileen made herself a name of a cold-blooded, borderline cruel sister of the Lone Wanderer. That was all she ever was… her sister. She was never seen as her own person, not even back in the Vault - especially not there. Every time Eileen protected her dear sister from the bullies, they’d bring up her parentage. With drunk tongues and disapproving snarls, the adults all said Eileen wasn’t James’ daughter; their kids repeated after them, not truly understanding what it meant, or what pain and humiliation it brought to Eileen. And James could only patch up her wounds with his eyes downcast, a guilty glint in his gaze. They both knew the truth, yet neither of them said anything. Eileen thought there was nothing to be said.
But how could he not have known that? Eileen had so many questions, so many “why”’s and “why not”’s. But James wasn’t there to answer that. The very time she needed him the most, the man decided to die. The only reason she was still holding on, despite Three Dog’s mockery and the Capital Wasteland’s hatred for her, was her sister. Her dear younger sister.
April was the sweetest girl. Only nineteen years old, she didn’t deserve to be thrown into the cold and cruel Wasteland like that. Eileen wanted the best for her, even if it meant sacrificing herself. The need to protect her was borderline obsessive, the need to know April was safe was driving Eileen insane. She felt both comforted and strangely hurt by the fact that most wastelanders seemed to enjoy her company. Some even found her a hero. Why couldn’t she be one?
Eileen did what was necessary. She didn’t bother hiding her dislike for the monstrous people of the Wasteland – raiders, mutants, the riches from Tenpenny Tower, and all the other people who dared to stand in her way. She protected the innocent. She helped her sister get the G.E.C.K. even after she and James left her in the Vault. She wasn’t worse. So why not her?
Grabbing her 10-mm gun – the only thing keeping her grounded – Eileen stormed out of the lab. This was not the time for crying: she had a sister to rescue.
Eileen’s pale hand was gripping the gun tightly as her eyes searched Raven Rock for any potential danger. Her mind, however, was elsewhere. Her thoughts were all of her father – her real father, – even as she shot down the all-too-annoying Enclave soldiers. Eileen wondered if he knew. She wondered if he cared. But at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Being a few years older than her sister, Eileen was too old to need the support of a parent. Or she just wanted to believe so.
Eileen passed by a room that was bigger than the others. She entered it warily, closing the door behind herself. Her calculating gaze scanned the surroundings: a bed, a few lockers, a desk… a framed photograph. That was strange. A photo in his room? Eileen took it in her hand, her breath hitching when she saw who was smiling up at her from it. Eileen hadn’t seen her since she was four. Since her little sister was born… She set the picture aside, her shoulders trembling with barely repressed emotions.
Eileen looked around the room once more, a bobblehead on the desk catching her attention. It was a small figurine of the Vault Boy holding an energy weapon. As if in a trance, she gently traced her finger over its plastic hair. Eileen always had a soft spot for those trinkets…
Snapping out of her state when the door opened, Eileen grabbed the bobblehead and aimed her gun at the Enclave soldiers entering.
After dealing with the soldiers, Eileen made her way to Eden’s room. Up the stairs, up some more stairs, and to the big computer. She wasn’t as surprised as April to find out that Eden was a robot; she was more intrigued by the mysterious virus he had given her. Approaching the younger woman with steady steps and clenched fists, Eileen spoke up.
"Give it to me, April."
When April noticed her sister, she stumbled over her words, her eyes widening in shock as she looked into Eileen’s cold green eyes. She saw it now: his eyes. His features. Even his temper. She was his daughter, not James’. Eileen saw it in her eyes: April was scared of her now.
The older sister was enraged. How dare she be scared of her, the one who had protected her, who had dedicated her whole life to her? Eileen clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to yell at April. But that was not the time. Then again, when had there ever been the time for her to let out all those years of pent-up pain and frustration?
Eileen opened her mouth to speak, but got interrupted by Eden.
“Initiating self-destruction protocol,” the computer muttered in its now emotionless tone.
God, she wanted to curse.
“Come on, April, let’s go,” she said in a harsh tone, closing the distance between the two in a few long strides. Eileen’s heart was filled with both fear and determination. She reached out to take April’s hand, but she flinched away.
Eileen stared at her sister, her heart sinking. Her sister’s eyes – James’ eyes – were filled with fear. Eileen felt her fists clenching tightly, her gloves being the only thing protecting her palms from bleeding. She wanted to scream, but she didn’t. She wanted to cry, but she wasn’t sure if she was capable of doing so anymore. She wanted to run and never be seen again. And so she did.
She walked past April, her jaw tight and her footsteps heavy. She heard April let out a shaky breath before the alarms blared. Eileen’s legs carried her fast, her gun clutched tight in her hand. She didn’t care for the Enclave soldiers now, not that they paid her any mind: everyone was too busy trying to save their lives.
Eileen was only came back to her senses when she was already outside, watching Raven Rock burn. She watched April escape through the main gate, the Super mutant they had saved greeting her and offering her companionship.
A vertibird landed behind the pale woman. She felt a studying gaze on her back, but didn’t dare turn around. She knew who it was anyway. She turned away from the sight of her sister and stormed off, her hands in her pockets. A single tear, the first in many years, rolled down her cheek.
It wasn’t until weeks later that Eileen saw her father again. Now that Raven Rock was destroyed, he looked… broken. He still had that air of superiority to himself, but he was certainly more worn down now. Eileen barely cast a glance his way, but he seemed to be studying her. Just as she was about to turn around the corner and disappear, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
Her name came from his lips like both a curse and a plea. She turned around, and colonel Autumn’s tired green eyes were staring right back into hers.
“Father,” Eileen greeted, her lip trembling as she fought to keep up her cold facade. She tried to make her voice sound firm, unfeeling, but it was useless. She was trembling.
“Daughter,” Autumn whispered, and the second the word left his lips, the woman's eyes filled with tears.
Autumn didn’t hesitate to catch Eileen in his arms when she broke down crying, her sobs echoing throughout the empty city. She clutched his leather coat like she would clutch her mother’s skirt when she was little, she sobbed into his shoulder, pouring out years and years of pain. Right now, she wasn't the cruel, heartless sister of the Lone Wanderer - she was a kid, a kid who had made too many mistakes, who had been through too much. She just wanted to cry, and it felt so damn *good* to do so.
And Autumn didn’t judge her. He didn’t try to get her to quiet down, he didn’t push her away. She could finally let go. And it felt so good to finally cry. As he held her close, she felt human again. Eileen knew for sure that she wouldn’t lose him again. And honestly? So did he.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#fallout oc#fallout 3#fallout fanfic#original character#OC: Eileen McGregor#platonic
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HIS VERY HEART
Joshua Graham x reader (romantic)
Warnings: (unresolved?) romantic tension, Joshua having doubts about himself, (a tiny bit of) religious themes, angst with a (kinda) happy ending.
-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-
You must have been an angel. With your sharp wit and your burning desire to help, your beautiful eyes and your voice. With the way you’d play your guitar and the way your hair would flow in the wind. The way you’d splash in the water had his heart racing. You were an angel. At least to Joshua.
To say that Joshua was enamored by you would be an understatement. He loved you with every fiber of his being, though he thought himself to be unworthy of you. Every time you spoke to him, it was like he suddenly forgot the constant pain of his burns. You were so sweet and patient with him. The silence between you was always comfortable.
You loved sitting next to him and playing relaxing tunes while he read the Bible or cleaned his many guns. He wanted you to share his last name. He wanted to look at you and see the same love he felt for you in your eyes. Joshua was ashamed of how many times he’d almost called you “wife”.
Radiant. It was one of the many words Joshua could use to describe you. You were the total opposite of the man – sweet, enthusiastic, lively, optimistic. Joshua had never taken himself as the optimistic type. He was a warrior, a leader, a prophet, anything, but not the sweet man you needed. He was not the man you deserved. Or so he wanted to think.
Surely, he realized that your kind gestures – offering to help with his burns, bringing him trinkets because they made you think of him, cleaning the Angel cave – weren’t made to gain his favor. And even though he refused your help most of the time – not out of distrust, but out of fear, – he still respected you. Sometimes, in the dark of the night, he couldn’t help imagining your gentle hands changing his bandages instead of his own rough and calloused ones.
You were so precious to him. He loved the silent company you’d keep him late at night, when most of the Dead Horses were asleep. He could swear you shone every time he spoke to you. Or maybe it was the lighting...
It was a rainy morning when you came to the Angel cave with a full bag slung over your shoulder. You had just gotten a message from your companions, saying you had to return to Mojave quickly. Still, you weren’t one to leave without saying goodbye first. You took off your hat and shook it lightly, the raindrops falling from it onto the cave wall with a soft sound. Fixing your hat back on your head, you made your way further inside. You were met with the comforting sight of Joshua’s residence, but found his usual spot empty. You hummed to yourself and called out his name. No reply. You sighed to yourself.
“Dammit,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Why did he have to disappear now?”
You decided to ask the others about Joshua’s whereabouts. The most you had gotten out of them was “He’s away on an important mission”, and it wasn’t anywhere near enough.
Eventually, you had to go. Your Pip-Boy beeped with another message, Arcade and Veronica rushing you. You clenched your jaw as your said your goodbyes, your eyes darting around in hope to catch any sight of Joshua. But he never appeared to say goodbye. You felt tears building up in your eyes. You wanted to believe that he was just really busy, but something in the back of your mind kept telling you he just couldn’t wait to get rid of you. After all, you were just an annoying courier, bothering him with your unneeded advice.
And so, after bidding farewell to the tribes, you made your way out of Zion. You had to move on.
-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-
Just a few hours later, Joshua returned to the Angel’s cave. He was holding a handmade bag, one of your many gifts, filled with flowers. He entered the cave and set the flowers out to dry next to a small lamp, but paused once he noticed something on his workbench. He approached it curiously to find a note. Slowly, he unfolded it, and a small object fell out. Joshua was quick to catch it, and his eyes widened when he saw what the object was.
It was an intricately detailed pendant – your pendant. He opened it with trembling fingers to find a tiny picture inside. It was the one you took of you both. You were smiling in the picture while Joshua sat at his workbench; the way his eyes twinkled when you took the photo told you he was enjoying your company. As Joshua looked at the photo, he remembered your camera. You would always carry it around and take photos of the most absurd things – it was just one of the many things he loved about you. His eyes burned with an unfamiliar sting.
Joshua clutched the pendant tightly as he read the note. It said that you were going back to the Mojave desert and that you were sorry for not being able to say a proper goodbye. It all made sense now. Normally, you’d be at the cave at that time already, telling him stories and playing your guitar. But now, your guitar was examined by the always curious Dead Horses, and you were nowhere to be seen. You were gone.
His gaze traveled to the drying flowers in the corner. He had picked them for you, knowing that you’d love them for your little traveling journal. Joshua closed his eyes. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t look at either gift because he knew you’d left and he wasn’t there to bid you farewell. And so he stood there, clutching the pendant with his eyes shut and his heart aching.
-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-
A couple days later, you were surprised to be met with a fellow courier. He smiled as he noticed your clothes – you were just as he was told you’d look. You accepted a small package from him with suspicion. Who could it have been from? When the courier was gone, you headed to the nearest safe building to open the gift.
You entered an empty store, your only source of light being your Pip-Boy. You sat down on the counter and slowly unwrapped the packaging. What you saw inside made you cover your mouth with a gasp.
You were met with the sight of a worn-down Bible. It was old but obviously loved, and you knew whose gift it was. You picked it up with a shaky hand, tears building up in your eyes. The very idea that Joshua would give you his Bible, his very heart… You sobbed quietly, hugging the precious book to yourself. You knew at that moment: he cared. He cared more than any words could ever describe. You were precious to him, and so was he for you. That was when you felt something falling out of the Bible and onto your lap. Confused, you looked down. A dry flower. You opened the book and sure enough, you saw a collection of dry flowers inside. You carefully took one in your hand – a white hollyhock. You wondered to yourself where he could have gotten them, but didn’t dwell on it for too long. The thought that he had gotten those for you was both painful and heart-warming.
Soon enough, you were making your way out of the store. Your expression remained weary, your hands clutching your rifle, but a small tear was drying on your cheek. The Bible was safe in your bag, along with the flowers inside it. You knew now where you’d be going the moment the Second Battle of Hoover Dam was over. But now you had to focus on your task to bring down the Legion and NCR, and free New Vegas.
After all, you couldn’t expect God to do all the work.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#fallout x reader#fallout new vegas#joshua graham#joshua graham fnv#joshua graham x reader
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Dunmer Dovahkiin - Dilvene Felder
Hey there, spaceship crew! Captain Seva speaking. I'm so sorry for the delay, but it was so worth it: all A's and B's on my exams! I'm sick right now, practically haven't left the bed in two days, so it's a perfect opportunity to finally finish my Dovahkiin's story.
The amazing f2u dividers made by @submarine-06!
Picture of Dilvene made by me.
Enjoy!
Dilvene was born under the sign of the Mage, on 20th of Rain’s Hand (The Day of Shame in Hammerfell. Curious, isn’t it?). She's the daughter of a huntress by the name of Nephelle Felder and an unnamed Nord. Honestly, I never even bothered to name or design him: he's not even in the story lol.
Nephelle always made sure they had food to eat, while Dilvene was responsible for housework (cooking, cleaning, chopping wood, etc). Dilvene loves cooking – she even has a cookbook full of her own unique recipes, each one crafted to perfection. Despite getting embarrassed when complimented on her food, she knows her cooking is spectacular (to no surprise! It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to learn to cook so well). When Dilvene was a young adult, she would often work in a forge or mine (which often resulted in some kind of trauma).
She used to work on a farm when she was a young teen. She had a Breton friend who would steal vegetables and fruits from the farm, and would often encourage Dilvene to steal too. But before Dilvene could try it, driven by desperation and adrenaline, she found out her friend had been punished and thrown out of the farm for stealing. Dilvene never saw the girl again, and she promised to herself that day that she would never, ever steal.
She never learned how to swim. During her teenage years, her peers threw her into a river. The seconds she was under the water felt like hours, with fish tickling her feet and water filling her lungs. When she finally got out, she had to walk all the way back home while soaked to the bone. Ever since that fateful day, Dilvene has been afraid of water.
During her journey, Dilvene slowly learns to fear the water less and less. Her friends (whom we'll talk about later) teach her to find new ways to get through the seemingly unending rivers of Skyrim.
Many bad things happened to Dilvene while her mother was away. Nearly drowning is not the worst of them by far. So when the Dunmer grew up, she packed her things and attempted to flee Skyrim, in hopes of getting to Morrowind and starting a new life. However, we all know how that one went.
Sometimes, more often than not, Dilvene has hallucinations of dragons. She often sees a shadow right over herself but when she turns, there’s no one there. (Totally not based off my own experience in Skyrim of expecting a dragon and only seeing a bird. No way)
Dilvene openly dislikes Helende. The woman is just so annoying to her for a few reasons: first, she’s arrogant; second, she’s impossibly egotistical; and third – she’s an arrogant, impossibly egotistical Altmer! Dilvene had to learn the hard way that the Altmer are not to be trusted (but we all know she’ll change her mind by the end of the story).
Pafirra. Oh, Pafirra. If Dilvene wrote a book on how much she hates being in the same room as the Khajiit, it would take a lifetime to finish it. Pafirra just can’t seem to keep her paws out of Dilvene’s pockets, stealing everything she can find, everything she’s worked so hard to earn. Pafirra’s paws must be red by now with how many times Dilvene has slapped them away.
To Casfina, well… Casfina is confusing. Dilvene is uncomfortable with the blind Bosmer, be it because she’s a Daedra worshiper or for other reasons. There’s something strangely off with Casfina that Dilvene just can’t ignore, and she has a feeling it has to do with the Daedra. However, it was her idea to tie a rope around Casfina’s waist so she wouldn’t fall or get lost while they travel.
Fun fact: Dilvene has eyes that are smaller than an average Dunmer's eyes. She got those eyes from her Nord father and hides that fact with a lot of black eye shadow.
Hmm... Now I want to make a "Meet the team" post with Helende, Pafirra, and Casfina. How does that sound?
Thank you for reading, I hope you come to love Dilvene as much as I do. Leave your suggestions in the comments, I'm always up for discussion. Hope you had a great Christmas/New Year, stay safe!
#seva over#seva's spaceship#skyrim#the elder scrolls skyrim#lbd#artists on tumblr#oc: Dilvene Felder#last dragonborn oc#last dragonborn
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What would you like to know about my Last Dragonborn?
Heya! The spaceship management needs to know what you'd like to know about my Last Dragonborn, Dilvene.
There will be a lot of family drama angst in her backstory, and a lot of struggling in her present life. Still, she'll get a happy ending. She'll meet a lot of people, make friends, have a family… and save the world a couple times as a bonus.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#skyrim#the elder scrolls skyrim#lbd#last dragonborn#dunmer oc#last dragonborn oc
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A COZY NIGHT
Husband!Miraak x wife!reader, feat. Sofie and Lucia (found family)
Warnings: reader is tired, some mentions of reader’s usual battles, and that’s about it. Pure comfort for reader and her little family. Also this fanfic’s kinda short.
You came home well past midnight. You’d made the mistake of wearing lighter armor earlier today, not expecting anyone to try and attack you. Turned out the local bandits weren’t smart enough to realize that you were, in fact, the Dragonborn, and that a single shout from you could send them all flying to Elsweyr. Still, a few arrows had managed to catch your unprepared body off guard. With a few potions and some magic, you were able to heal yourself; that didn’t mean you were any less angry, though.
As you set your bag filled with ingredients and food for your daughters, you let out a groan of exhaustion. Oh, how you’d missed the comfort of your home. You were a tired soul, not even wanting to eat before plopping right into bed. Sitting down, you took off your shoes, then your dirty armor. You’d clean that tomorrow. You looked around the living room and sighed heavily. The lights were still on. Great. So your husband didn't care enough to put your kids to bed. You stood up straight again and strode into Sofie’s and Lucia’s room. The door was open, and the girls were nowhere to be seen. You growled to yourself. You hated when your girls stayed up too late. It wasn’t healthy for the youngsters!
"They'll start appreciating a good night's sleep once they're older," you mumbled to yourself, closing the door again.
You turned around to go upstairs, but stopped in your tracks when you saw your husband standing at the stairs. He was dressed in a thin nightgown, his hair slicked back, his mask off to reveal his unnatural yet handsome features. He stared at you silently, his thin lips forming a small smile. But you wouldn’t be swayed by his beauty. Not this time. You crossed your arms.
“Not even gonna say hello?” you asked bitterly. The pain and exhaustion of the night’s ordeal weren’t making you feel any less bitter about your husband’s carefree attitude. You took a step towards Miraak, opening your mouth to say another sharp remark, but he silenced you with a chaste kiss. Even though you’d promised to yourself to stay mad at him, you couldn’t help but melt a little. You closed your eyes with a soft exhale, your tense shoulders finally relaxing.
“Hush, my dear” Miraak whispered as he pulled away, gently taking your hand and leading you upstairs. You followed him obediently, your footsteps quiet on the wooden floor. As you walked, you could feel your legs aching with fatigue. You wished for nothing more than your warm bed…
Soon, you reached your bedroom, and your brows furrowed in confusion.
“Where are the kids?” you asked quietly, but your husband paid your question no mind. You sighed. They were probably playing near the lake again. You just wanted to sleep, so you guessed you could leave the kids to Miraak… He gently pushed the door open, and the sight that greeted you warmed your heart.
Your dear girls were sound asleep on your bed. There was a book in Sofie’s hand and a doll in Lucia’s. You stepped inside the room quietly, your hand reaching to stroke your daughters’ hair. The action made them mumble something incoherently, but they remained asleep. You gently took the book from Lucia and put it on the nightstand. You stared at the sight for a few moments, exhaustion giving way to motherly love. Then you sighed and got into bed as well. You hugged your daughters close, feeling Miraak climb into the bed as well. He pulled the three of you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head. Your eyes closed slowly. You could get used to it.
“I love you,” you heard your husband whisper, but you had no strength to reply. You hummed in response, your arms securely wrapped around Lucia and Sofie. Miraak chuckled lowly and closed his eyes as well. He didn’t need to hear you say it to know it was true: you loved him and your daughters more than anything in this life. And they loved you just as much.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#skyrim#lbd#the elder scrolls skyrim#miraak#miraak x ldb#miraak x dragonborn#miraak x reader
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RECOVERING
Batfam x reader (platonic)
Warnings: light descriptions of Scarecrow’s fear gas induced nightmares (but nothing drastic, mostly pure comfort), reader wears glasses. Divider made by me!
Being a teen wasn’t easy. Aside from the noisy classmates, angry teachers, and overall difficulties growing through that age, there was work. If asked, you'd always tell everyone that you worked in a coffee shop or a library, but the truth was… you were a Robin. The second Robin, to be exact. Which really wasn’t easier.
Sure, you weren’t as experienced as Dick was in ‘the Robin-ing’, as you called it, but you were quick to learn and, most importantly, enthusiastic. The small nods you got from Bruce and the wide smiles Dick gave you told you everything you needed to know: you were great at your job. Those were the moments that made you feel like you could defeat any villain.
Like that night. You, Bruce, and Dick were all on top of a rooftop, fighting Scarecrow. You managed to land a good punch and turned to Dick for appreciation with a spark in your eyes. Scarecrow recoiled from the hit, his eyes widened under the mask. Then, as you turned to Dick, the rogue smiled. You saw Dick flashing you a thumbs up, then his mouth opening to warn you as his face paled. You heard a soft hiss, your lungs filling with the fear gas, and that was when the nightmares began.
The world around you crumbled, images of Bruce and Dick and all your other friends and family, all distorted to the point of barely remaining recognizable. All shouting at you, taking off their masks and hoods to reveal their horrifying faces. It was too much. A gasp, two, three – you felt yourself passing out.
When you woke up in your bed, it was raining outside. Groaning, you put a hand on your aching head and stood up. You tried to remember what had happened to make you so dizzy, keeping your eyes closed to shield them from the light. That was when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, pushing you back on the bed. You finally opened your eyes to see…
"Selina?" you questioned, a light blush tainting your ears as you realized your mistake. You were so used to calling her by her first name when she wasn't around – Bruce always did – that you forgot about your own unfamiliarity with her. "I mean, ms.Kyle. What are you doing here?"
Selina’s eyes twinkled as you called her by her name. Knowing the reason for it, she smiled slyly to herself. She was wearing a rather casual outfit compared to her usual ones, consisting only of high heels, dress pants, and a sweater. Selina leaned back in her armchair – your armchair – and replied.
"Why, I came to check on you," she said, putting her arms on the armrests gracefully.
Her attitude didn’t impress you. You were sure by then: Bruce had definitely invited her to watch over you. But why her? Why not Alfred? Why not Dick? Why not a doctor, for god’s sake?! You rubbed your tired eyes, reaching for your glasses. That’s not a good explanation, you wanted to say.
"I see," you said instead, fixing the glasses on your face. "Where’s Bruce?"
Selina chuckled.
"He’s downstairs," she said, toying with a strand of her blonde hair. "He asked me to tell him when you wake up. But… I suppose you can tell him yourself."
You furrowed your brows, trying to guess what she meant, when you heard a soft call of your name from the doorway. Turning your head, you saw Bruce. His usually stoic expression had a mixture of relief and worry in it as he looked down at you.
"Hey, Bruce," you said, waving your hand lazily.
Bruce nodded, and you could see his face relaxing again. He approached the bed and sat down on the edge.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his black eyes scanning your face for any injury that he may not have noticed before.
"I’m fine," you replied, attempting to sit up again. "What happened?"
Bruce sighed. A spark of melancholy flashed in his eyes before disappearing again. He was about to speak when the door opened again, revealing a very worried Dick. The first Robin's eyes lit up the moment he saw that you were awake, and he dropped his backpack onto the nearest chair, running up to you as he exclaimed your name.
"Are you alright?" the teen questioned, kneeling down next to your bed. "How’s your head? Do you see me clearly? How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Dick," Bruce interrupted him with a rare smile. "Let her speak."
Dick’s ears turned a light shade of pink. He averted his eyes.
“Right…” he muttered, glancing up at you again. He seemed to not mind Selina sitting in your room at all.
You leaned back against the headboard, gathering your thoughts.
"I don’t think I remember what happened," you said slowly, running a hand through your hair (neatly brushed, to your surprise). "We were fighting Scarecrow and then… oh, god." You covered your face with your hands, realizing just what had happened. "Oh god, I'm so sorry..." you muttered in a resigned tone. "I messed up..."
The image of Crane’s masked face flooded your mind once more. He was laughing at you, pitying you, studying you like a fascinating specimen, all the while you were crying and struggling to breathe. You could almost feel the fear gas on your face, instinctively reaching to scratch it. It was horrible. But the worst feeling was shame. You couldn't believe that you'd been so reckless. You were desperate enough for validation to let yourself be fear gassed.
"You did," Bruce mumbled solemnly, making you shudder. "You got distracted. You could have gotten yourself or the civilians hurt."
Each word was like a stab to the heart. God, you knew you messed up. Why did he have to say it like that?
"You’d been screaming for an hour before passing out," Dick said, looking up at you with a worried gaze. "But... Scarecrow was fascinated by your reaction. He was so focused on you that he didn't notice us approaching until it was too late."
An hour? Well, that was one way to make you feel better.
"I'm sorry," you managed to say eventually, looking up at the three people in your room with guilty eyes.
Bruce’s gaze softened a bit, and he placed a gentle hand on top of yours. Dick let out a quiet breath – you didn’t know if it was one of disappointment or relief, but it sounded like both. Selina, who had been keeping quiet for the last few minutes, spoke once more.
"I believe we should let the little Robin rest," she said, and you could read a hint of concern in her bright green eyes.
Bruce nodded, leaning back a bit. He let his shoulders relax a little, closing his eyes.
"I suppose we should," he said slowly, nodding.
Dick smiled, ruffling your hair. Selina crossed her arms.
"Careful, boy, I brushed that," she warned, though there was no real bite to her words.
The boy chuckled quietly, a gleam in his eyes. You felt yourself letting out a sigh. Your surroundings felt like home. Your family was with you, you could hear Alfred cooking something downstairs, you were in a nice, warm bed… Your eyelids felt heavy, your body relaxing…
"Wait, you brushed my hair?"
Just like I promised, here is a Batman fic! I hope you liked it, comments are greatly appreciated.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#batman#batfam#batfam x reader#batfam x you#batfam x y/n#batman the animated series#btas#selina kyle#selina x bruce#<- kinda#dick grayson#batman x reader#selina kyle x reader#dick grayson x reader#dc scarecrow
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My "Harpy Hare" interpretation is... thoughts.
Just recently got into Yaelokre's amazing music. I have a few ideas regarding the possible meaning of "Harpy Hare". I know there's probably a bigger story of the characters and Yaelokre's universe in general, so I may be wrong in my interpretation. Still, art is art, and everyone understands it differently.
As an artist, I believe this song is about thoughts and feelings.
A Harpy symbolizes fear and obsession. A hare symbolizes good fortune, abundance, even resurrection. Perhaps, Harpy Hare is a person believing that they're alright, they're better off their way, when in reality, they're just shutting everyone else out.
"Where have you buried all your children?" Where have you buried all your thoughts and feelings and ideas? Why aren't you telling anyone of what you think and feel?
"Like your heart that was so eager to be hid." This reminds me of a natural reaction people have: you tell someone how you feel, you get hurt (rejected, laughed at, etc.), you bury your feelings, 'hide your heart'.
"You can't keep them all caged, they will fight and run away." You can't hide yourself from the world forever. 'They' are your feelings that will find a way out one way or another.
"Barren curtains that you're weaving, like the stories that you keep inside your head." Your stories, precious memories, ideas, are all barren. You don't share them with anyone, and they're slowly fading away.
"She can't keep them all safe, they will die and be afraid." Thoughts and ideas. Like if you're scared to tell anyone of your thoughts on the matter or your ideas, believing that they're safer in your head, you will eventually forget them yourself.
"Mother, tell me you will stay, we'll be far and fly away." The people close to you notice how you shut them out and keep to yourself. They're begging you to 'stay', to let them in again, to become yourself once more, because they feel like they're growing farther and farther away from you every day.
🪐 And that's about it! Please, tell me what you think of this meaning. I'll be glad to read your own interpretations. 🪐
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I'm quite surprised so many people voted for "The Painter" in my analog horror poll.
Personally, I think that "The Painter" has a lot of potential. I feel like its main problem is the repetitiveness of what happens from episode to episode, and the format. For example, I'd definitely watch a full-length film about Mona and her accomplice. I feel like it just misses the point of analog horror, and would have been better of as a film. Of course, it's easier said than done.
What I like about "The Painter" is its main antagonist. Mona is cruel just because, and it makes her character very refreshing. She's not the typical "I'm evil because nobody loves me", and I genuinely want to see more of her in the future.
🪐 If you have anything to say about this analog horror, be my guest in the comments! 🪐
(Also this was one of my most 'trust the process' drawings in a while)
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Meet my Skyrim OC, Dilvene! The template was made by @connortheconceded, go check him out!
This little ball of anger and distrust truly wants to be better for her family. She's been ashamed of her paternity and treated like a halfling her whole life. She's not entirely happy to find out she's the Dragonborn, since all she wants is a nice warm bath and a fluffy bed. But she learns to accept her role as the Dovahkiin, and decides that the sooner she defeats Alduin, the sooner she'll be back home and the more rest she'll get.
Dilvene has never met her father, but she knows he's a Nord. Her mother, Nephelle, marries an ex-Thalmor Altmer named Mitran (much to Dilvene's misery) and refuses to answer any of Dilvene's questions regarding her father.
Dilvene's health is quite weak, so she prefers to spend her time at home with her adopted daughters - Sofie and Lucia. The little family lives in Whiterun. She'll also try to save Miraak because sending cultists/assassins after her is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for her.
Dilvene loves makeup. She likes experimenting with different colors, but her favorites are definitely white face paint and black eye shadow.
Her ears are naturally expressive and she can't control them at all. Her face structure is more human-like, though she still has such Elven details as a long nose.
She's the type of person to go slowly but surely, despite the fact that she'll be extremely indignant about it. She just feels like she has no one to do all that Dovahkiin work for her, which is... actually kinda true.
Please, let me know what you think! I'll be happy to read any suggestions and opinions.
#seva over#seva's spaceship#skyrim#the elder scrolls skyrim#tesblr#oc#original character#lbd#artists on tumblr#connortheconceded#tes art#dunmer oc
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