#ebon light fanfiction

[galpalaven]

wip wednesday - part 3

....decided to go ahead and post a snip of the last one i have written bc. reasons. jfklds @thefloweranon

Laoise has never met anyone like Haron.

Though there were men in Edric, and indeed, men who visited Edric that may not have lived there, none of them were quite like him. She’d never once heard the fishermen or the shepherd or any of the pirates speak in that fancy way he has—somehow so formal and yet so open that she feels as if she can see his very soul every time he speaks to her. Neither had any of the men she knew spoken of history and society the way he does, full of knowledge while still bristling at the chance of learning something even more than he already knows.

None of the men she’d ever known had been hungry for more than what life had already given them.

She finds it fascinating, in a way, to speak with him. Watching him flit about her room, hands waving as he tells her about Gha’alian history before his grandfather, is a strange sensation. She is fascinated, of course, by the history of his people—she would be just as interested in her own people’s history, if she knew where to look for it—but it’s the enthusiasm that radiates from him that she’s really drinking in as he paces her bedroom floor.

“I—madralee, you should have stopped me a half hour ago! I must have been boring you to tears,” he says, aghast as he catches a glimpse of the clock sat on one of the dressers.

She chuckles, readjusting her skirt so that her legs are firmly tucked beneath it as she sits criss cross on her bed. “I like listening to you talk, Haron. It’s alright.”

He lights up at that, sitting next to her on the mattress with a bright, eager grin on his lips. “You flatter me. Still, I must insist that you take a turn. Tell me something!”

“About the Cuthintal?” she asks dryly. “I think Andi probably has better—”

“No, no, I meant about you, madralee. Tell me something about you.” 

She doesn’t… understand why he would want that, really. 

“What do you want to know?” she asks, feigning suspicion to cover for the anxiety rising in her chest. 

She likes listening to his stories, but she worries that she’ll say something any day now that will destroy whatever vision of her he’s built up in his head. Worries that she’ll do or say something and that will be it—he’ll be off to the next pretty thing that catches his eye, and she’ll be left picking up the shattered pieces of her heart. She doesn’t even know what that word he’s throwing around means, but she doesn’t want to lose the nickname either. Especially not with the party they’re meant to be attending tomorrow to impress his father (a backup plan of sorts for Duliae and Andromeda’s snooping, but you can never have too many of those when it comes to stopping your own execution, she supposes).

Haron, ever sweet and ever patient, just shrugs, tilting his head a little. 

“Anything,” he says simply. “Everything. Whatever you like, madralee. I want to know everything about you that you are willing to share with me.”

Laoise can feel her face getting hot. Fuck.

She looks away, laughing nervously as she curses her fair skin, surely turning as red as her hair right now. “You and that word, Haron. You’re so… what does it even mean?”

His smile softens. “Madralee?” he asks. When she nods, his smile turns almost bashful, and he too looks away from her face. “It means something like… shining light.”

“Ah.”

Laoise pauses, letting that sink in for a moment…

…and then she snorts with laughter.

The way Haron’s face crumbles is almost comical, and it just makes her laugh a little more, which only feeds his mortification.

“What? What is—what have I said? Does it mean something else in your language?” he asks, bending to try to catch her eye, even as she waves a hand at him, clutching at her mouth to try to stifle her giggles.

It’s not that funny, really. Just wild, but she’s apparently in need of some kind of tension release tonight. She shakes her head at him, giggling, “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just—well, my name has a similar meaning in my native tongue.”

He tilts his head. “...truly?”

She nods. “Lee is the name I go by because the long version feels stuffy, but my full name is Laoise, which means something like light in Kalixin.”

For a moment, he doesn’t seem to register what she’s said. He blinks at her, trying to decipher something maybe, pitch dark eyes darting from one of her eyes to the other. The urge to laugh bubbles up in her chest again as she watches him watch her—and then the most beautiful smile breaks across his face.

“Be still, my heart,” he murmurs, and his eyes look at her much like the pirates she’d known had looked at the sea. “What strange and wonderful machinations of the universe must have brought me to you?”

Something in Lee’s chest squeezes at that, and very suddenly her eyes prick with the telltale sting of tears. Her breath hitches, and she tries to hide how flustered she is as she looks away, clearing her throat in the hopes that it will keep her voice from breaking. Her laugh is weak as she says, “I think you’ll find that the machinations were of the Onyx Chandler and not the universe.”

Haron snorts. “The Onyx Chandler can shove it, though it seems that if he has done one thing that is good, it is bringing you to Gha’alia.”

“You say a lot of grandiose things, Haron,” she says haughtily, rubbing at her eyes to will the tears back in. “It’s a wonder that you are, in fact, unmarried.”

“Happily unmarried,” he murmurs, and the bed shifts as he lays back, propping himself up on an elbow. “Does—does madralee bother you? Would you rather I stop?”

She shakes her head, eyes wide when he manages to say the one thing that would most upset her. “No. No, I—please, don’t. No one has ever… I like it. I do.”

The look on his face is so gentle and so affectionate that it feels like trying to look at the sun.

[schatzii]

I am so starved of Ebon Light content that I'm cooking by myself the worst, the most gut-wrenchig and just plotless piece of faniction. I hope that Duliae nation is ready for this abomination <3

[ladyof1000masks]

Remember the fanfiction I was writing for Arkham Scarecrow? Here's an excerpt from it just in case anyone gives a shit.

She named him Jonathan after the boy she never had. A proper biblical name of Hebrew origin meaning “gift of God.” She named him as though it was an honor to bestowed with. Jonathan didn’t feel honored. He didn’t feel like a gift, at least not one that anyone ever wanted. Like all unwanted gifts he sat in the dark dusty recesses of the closet, hidden behind Granny’s dresses among her worn boots watching shadows crawl to-and-fro past the slit of light peeking beneath the door. He was too afraid to turn the doorknob or test how fast the door was held. It was no use. The old woman always locked the door.

With his knees tucked into his chest Jonathan snuggled further into the closet until he felt the cold toes of shoes dig into his back. He ran a small, calloused hand over “the spot”, his spot, where finish on the floor had long eroded away, dug his worn fingernails into its thready grains, not wincing even as splinters lodged themselves beneath his nails. He bit back a sob. Only pussies cry! Don’t be a pussy! He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the familiar burn between his eyes away. Yet, the tears came anyway.

Like rain his tears could not be fettered for long, falling steadily down the swell of his cheekbones and onto his shirt collar where they were absorbed.  Warmth welled and trickled from his fingertips staining the old, faded planks a rich red. He bit the sleeve of his shirt, grinding it between his teeth to muffle his whimpering as a large shadow blotted out the light beneath the door. Soon sleep fell upon him like a cold, heavy curtain and he drifted away on a troubled sea of dreams. Dreams menaced by bigger more assertive boys like Bo and his friends. Dreams of shrieking murders and the beating of ebon wings.

[crispinablr]

A Stellar Night

After navigating through countless trees and dispatching harpies along the way, I finally arrive at the garden of Lonre’s castle. I carefully climb up to my window, making sure no one catches sight of me. I can't help but wonder if my father-in-law would be impressed or if he'd want to cleave me in two with one of his swords. However, it's a shame I couldn't spend more time in the forest, making the harpies suffer and slicing them into pieces. But I've been preparing for this date since I started dating Haron, and I don’t want to ruin it.

First, I check to make sure Caleryx is ready to take us to the castle. It's situated far away from any civilization and is protected by a magic barrier that renders it invisible to intruders, with the exception of other creatures that inhabit the area. Some of them are native, while others are not, but I've taken it upon myself to protect the castle from any danger. I gather my suitcase with everything we'll need and head down to the entrance where Caleryx is waiting for me. I stow the suitcase behind her saddle, and then I make my way to Haron’s bedroom, expecting to find him either relaxing in bed or perhaps concocting some of his usual suspicious plans. I knock on his door and wait patiently, sensing that he might have been anticipating my arrival because he opens the door just a few seconds later, greeting me with one of his bright, charming smiles.

"Are you finally going to reveal your long-held secret plans, madralee? I've been trying to uncover your little mysteries for a while now, but you're quite adept at keeping them all to yourself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a spy for the masks, just like me," he says with a teasing grin.

"Well, being secretive is part of my job, and now pack some clothes in your suitcase because I have a big surprise for you, but Caleryx needs to take us there," I reply with a sly smile.

"You never cease to surprise me, and that's something I love about you," he says, taking one of my hands and gently pressing it against his cheek, relishing the warmth while closing his eyes. Suddenly, he pulls me closer, and our bodies are so close that I instinctively free my hand and place it on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. I hear a soft chuckle escape from him as he slowly wraps his left arm around my waist and pulls me into a hug.

"I love you so much," he says, releasing my right hand and gently cupping my cheek with his free hand, tenderly caressing it as if he's afraid I'll break or disappear at any moment. He's always so gentle with me that sometimes I wonder what I've done to win the heart of someone so perfect. There are moments when I think about it, and it all seems so surreal, like a dream. But when I look at him, I know that everything is real, and I'm grateful for that. "I'd love to see all the expressions you can make and your various reactions."

"I would love to stay like this with you forever," I reply, freeing myself from his embrace, "but you need to pack everything you'll need for the trip and get your butt outside. I'll be waiting for you with Caleryx, so don't be late."

I quickly bid him farewell before he can say anything, and I head for the entrance where I find Caleryx patiently waiting for our departure. Three minutes later, Haron finally appears, striding confidently toward us with a large suitcase in tow.

"You seem unusually energetic today. Now I'm even more curious about your surprise," he says with a smug smile.

I shrug, remaining silent, as he places his suitcase on top of mine. We mount Caleryx, with Haron settling in behind me, and she prepares to take flight. Soon, we're soaring above the clouds, witnessing the breathtaking scenery below. The moon shines like a precious jewel, small yet dazzling, queen of the night surrounded by countless stars that twinkle like diamonds, adorning the dark sky like attendees at a grand ball. The clouds appear so fluffy that I'm tempted to run my fingers through them, but I know I'd only feel the cold, damp water. So, I content myself with admiring the scenery and enjoying the flight in silence.

Eventually, Caleryx descends, and we spot the island amidst the clouds that enveloped us. The castle stands out amidst the lush forest that blankets the island, except for the beach, where a magnificent waterfall cascades. Dragons soar through the sky, while others rest in their caves, tucked away for the night. We land in the gardens near the palace entrance, and after retrieving our luggage, Caleryx departs to join the other dragons, leaving us alone to proceed to the entrance.

"You certainly have a few tricks up your sleeve. I'm impressed. Would you do me the honor of showing me around, madralee?" Haron asks, admiration evident in his voice.

"Of course, but I'll only tour the castle. I wouldn't want to spoil the pleasure of exploring the surroundings on your own," I reply, giving him a mischievous smile.

"You know me too well," he replies with a sly grin.

"I'd advise against venturing out at night. I know you're clever and elusive, but you won't stand a chance against the creatures that inhabit these lands," I say, giving him a knowing look, fully aware of his penchant for causing chaos while I'm sleeping.

"I'll heed your advice," he concedes, as I take the lead and guide us toward the rooms. "Are you going to tell me why you know about this place, or are you going to keep me in suspense?"

"Haron, you know I love to see you squirm," I say, squeezing his cheeks with one hand while a wicked smile plays on my lips. "I'll stow my luggage in my room, then I'll take a bath before joining you in the dining room for dinner."

I head to my room, carefully unpacking and arranging my clothes on the bed. Wanting to look my best for tonight, I select a dress and accessorize it before admiring my handiwork. After discarding my dirty clothes in the laundry basket, I immerse myself in the warm, fragrant waters of the bathtub, savoring the moment a little longer.

Once my bath is complete, I reach for a jar of body cream from one of the drawers, applying it generously all over my body as I mentally review our plans for the evening. Each thought of Haron brings a smile to my lips, reminding me of how much I care for him. When I met Haron, I was indifferent at first, put off by his repeated displays of affection. However, as time went by, I realized that we shared similar worldviews, and our bond deepened. Despite my initial reluctance to fall in love, I couldn't deny my growing feelings for him. He was different from anyone I'd ever met, and his love was genuine and unwavering.

With the cream applied, I return the jar to its place and proceed to dress for the occasion, satisfied with my choice. This dress was custom-made by Skylar, as

the Gha’lian style, with its preference for black, wasn't exactly to my taste. Skylar and I share a similar fashion sense, which is why I entrusted her with this task.

As I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, pleased with my appearance, I decide it's time to join Haron downstairs. Descending the stairs slowly, I catch Haron's astonished gaze, and his wide-eyed expression tells me he's impressed with the lovely scene before him.

"You look as beautiful as a thousand diamonds shimmering in the night sky. But something tells me this isn’t the end of it, am I right?" he asks, sporting a goofy grin.

"I wanted to show you a special place. Come on, follow me," I say, taking his hand and leading him toward the front door. I know the island like the back of my hand, and I can't wait to share this secret with him.

Finally, we arrive at the cave, its entrance veiled by leaves reminiscent of a weeping willow tree. Carefully parting the leaves, we enter the cave, greeted by a sight that leaves us both speechless. The walls of the cave are adorned with precious stones that shimmer like a galaxy, while a large, crystalline lake occupies the center.

"It's fascinating. I've never seen or heard of such a place," Haron remarks, his eyes darting around in wonder.

I guide him to the flattest area of the cave, where I've prepared a padded blanket, a basket of food and drink, and a sheet to keep us warm.

"Every day, you surprise me more, my shining light. Every moment I spend with you is a new adventure, unique and unexpected," he says, sitting beside me on the blanket as we admire the breathtaking scenery.

Our hands brush lightly as we sit close together, and Haron gently turns his head toward me, his cold hand cupping my cheek as he draws me closer. We close our eyes, allowing ourselves to be swept away by our emotions. I rest my hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat faster with each passing moment as we inch closer to each other. He wraps his arms around my waist, and we share a passionate kiss.

His lips are soft and warm, and I feel my heart racing as we embrace. The taste of berries and cream lingers on my lips, intoxicating me and igniting a desire within me. We part, breathless, and gaze into each other's eyes, smiling slightly at the realization of what just transpired. Haron gently takes my hand and asks, his voice soft and tender:

"Would you honor me with a dance, my shining light?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I reply, jumping up excitedly and standing beside him. "I'm so happy to be here with you, finally able to share this moment, just the two of us."

"For you, madralee, I'd do anything," he says earnestly, slipping his hand around my waist as I place mine on his shoulder. We intertwine our fingers and begin to dance, our eyes locked on each other as if nothing else exists in the world.

During the gentle sway of our dance, I move closer to Haron, resting my head on his chest as we close our eyes and listen to the soft rhythm of our hearts beating in unison. It may seem trivial, but this moment is precious to us, a memory we'll treasure for years to come.

The end.

[queen-asante]

ejucated immigrant

((AUTHOR’S NOTE: @eene-fangirl For the Fanfiction Weekend Challenge! I should probably wait to post this for Rolf Appreciation Month, but there’s a lot of Jonny backstory/headcanons in here, so I thought it would count. Basically, it’s a poem from Rolf’s POV but it’s technically about Jonny, or rather, Jonny was my muse for this.

I haven’t written a poem in Rolf’s ‘’voice’’ since 2014 but believe it or not, that one little line that Edd says in ‘’A Case of Ed’’ inspired the poem (you know, the one), and as I was reading Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf, it produced said result. A turnip for your thoughts? I don’t normally write Rolf like this, it’s actually more like Rolf emulating Ntozake Shange for those familiar with her style. As an Indian Immigrant girl who’s considered suicide, that book changed my life, she’s my idol. Hence, the poem is written in ebonics and all lower case to pay homage to Shange (and I consciously dropped third person redundancies, it wasn’t a mistake). Three non-EEnE characters are briefly mentioned: the first one is Vanessa, my friend who’s half African-American and half Haitian. The second one is Ice, who belongs to my friend, Dani. Ice, in her world, is a black and white cat who becomes Double D’s pet. Rolf fears him because he’s not only black and white, but he shares the name of Immigration and Customs Enforcement by pure coincidence. Dani didn’t plan this, as she created Ice before she met me but she liked the idea of giving Rolf a reason to fear the cat, and so we came up with that story together. The third one is Dr. Feelgood who was my therapist, it’s not her real name, it was an affectionate nickname I coined for her in my years battling Bipolar Disorder Type 3.

As a closing thought, much apologies for the length, also tumblr’s going to mess up the format.))

‘’ejucated immigrant’’

dear gods,

i be 14 wit skin as rough as treebark & hands dat look old

i waz the dark skined immigrant wanting to bathe in bleach

Brown Black / Blue Black / Amber Beige / Bister Brick Bronze / Chestnut Chocolate Cinnamin

Copper / Drab / Dust / Ginger / Fawn / Ochre / Coffe Colourd Caramel

Tawny / Terra-Cotta / Henna / Sepia / Umbre

lookin in the thesurus eddward wit two ds give me when i come to dis country

everything spell Brown but nothing spell White

White sound nice like pearl like snow like milk like golden skined white skined light skined

honey dipped / lemon kissed / but begging for ivory / fair frosted silvery ashen boy jimmy

your white hands on my brown skin

i waz the dark skined immigrant botherin to drag you round

you stand there like a closed mouth statue & you insult my way of life

think you know everythin / rolf just some ignorant third world peasant or somethin

but we be livin dis way longer than the foundin of your land

your country young my country old

numbers & poppy / it just to give you illegitimately born breeds of donkeys

somethin to hee-haw over / science say there no gods either but who know dat

you cannot contain lightning bugs in a jar

i waz the dark skined immigrant dreamin of shakin the mr presidents hand

the former mr president wit eyes like a tired old man & Brown his Brown like a mud bath

it really too bad you know / rolf like your former president

dat black man who dont check dixtionaries for validation of his blackness

he not so bad / he waz sympathetic to the plight of the immigrant but his hands tied

not blame him / he not god he not have all the power in the world to fix dis weather

dis cloud dat hang over your land & who the hell is perfect?

it really such a shame / i dream to see the Hill / see the pearly house painted white the place where he live meet him shake his large brown hand / one brown hand to another

cept i not black / rolf not have to be / not pass / rolf european he is white not bloodless

he not pass he not be white enough for your country

cept i be white on the inside look coloured on the out but i aint no coloured

under my skin i am more than a colour

whoever herd of white passing for person of colour

but suddenly i get to dis country & i be treated no different than jonny

so alls i got is coloured dreams

poor grate nano lived & died on silly dreams / well they not exist

there be only reality & reality not kind to the dark skined indigenous immigrant

no one know what i supposed to be / take a wild guess

indian pakistani mexican romani rolf herd it all & none suppose right

they only looking at my face / the outside the outside not matter

cuz i waz the dark skined immigrant not italian not irish but the other kinds

& no one will see unless rolf cut open his veins & bleed

a Wood Nymph have my colour & if i check off the box dat say caucasian i get a funny look

from the lady sittin behind the counter wit the yellow nail polish & beaded eyeglass

spose if jonny do the same they wont believe him neither

jonny be good

yous see him dancin / wearin his stomach out / dark skined bare feet / swayin his hips

& grate thin arms but he not care dat he gots splinters in his fingertips

his nails turnin all black & blue & those chapped lips look like eyes starin out atchu

the gods make dis child the way he is

wit skinted knees & all & elbows pointed outwards readin you like a map

always wit the label on the left side

but he bootiful & he know it / beauty sometime come in the empty coffee can

not in the paper lillies or plastic pearls

you cant make a silk purse from a sows ear / even if dat ear be made of wood

of wood widda crayon drawn smile

jonnys mother the madwoman in the attic

rolf be certain jonny the wood boy some kind of elf from the passage of Valhöll

the mother of the Tree Sprite she not like rolf / well she not like any child it seems

weepy jimmy-boy & rolf invited to jonny-boys abode for a meeting of the Urban Rangers

& tho his mother never says so we feel she not like us very well

she never ast us to stay for lunch

even tho rolf personally would not eat a morsel of what these people eat

& we always been so polite to her but still she build walls

rolf believe she jealous of us becuz jonny likes us

she come out to the parlour / barefoot / flowers in her wild tangled mess of black raven hair

like yoko ono & wearing a long paisley skirt / she bootiful in an earthy sort of way

but she has a wild look in her eyes like a tigress

a violently insane expression like a german vampire dat make rolf think of bertha mason

she looms over her son like a dark older sister becuz they look so alike

altho her skin much darker / a deep chocolate brown / her complexion remind rolf of vanessa maybe she is haitian / she like the demon in nanas stories the one we all have widdin us

who comes out when we try too hard to be good children

she look at white as snow jimmy & myself like she disprove

either she not like us the uniforms or both

rolf forget tho these hippies wit their anti-establishment

they think every uniform represents what jonny calls ‘’the Man’’ & dats what it is rolf think

she not want jonny in the organisation

becuz she think it goes against their opposition to social norms

rolf could tell she wanted to ast us to leave / she not like jonny spending so much time wit us

becuz then he not at home meditating wit her or whatever it is they do

jonnys family is strange / they not eat meat & walk around shoeless

rolf has been called a gypsy by the children at school but flower child jonny seem to rolf more of a gypsy if there ever waz such a thing

he is almost ethereal / his family must be from a clan of faeries the kind nana warns rolf about but brown-skinned jonny seem harmless enough

i watch his mama put a daisy in the pocket of his jeans

i not know if his daddy be white or black but what difference does dat make

rolf understand it is important for a child to love their family no matter their faults

i know The Giving Tree still love his mother

even if she would prefer him to leave the Urban Rangers

of us three jimmy be the whitest of white jonny the blackest of black & i somewhere in between

but any one of us can walk into a puerto rican bar & start speakin spanish

& no one would know what we are

race too complicated & people too narrow minded / want everything boxed in

one day we waz layin on dat grassy knoll / jonny & i

where the trees whisper to us & we whisper back

cuz you know the boy talk to trees & i listen to his voice / & i be lookin at our hands you see

cuz we waz layin inches apart a flower between us & i tuck it behind his ear

then i look & see my skin only one shade lighter than his

tho the sun make me browner than i really be

out in the sun for hours & hours plowing & plowing the fields

by sundown i roasted coffee bean brown / as black as the inside of a chimney

& if i stumble into town any passing stranger would think i waz Black i mean African

id have to stay out of the sun for days to get my old colour black lest i wander round wit only the whites of my eyes visible on my sun burnt dyed rust brown brown skin

& hair so course youd suppose it come off a horses ass

lookin more like an American Indian than a White

i holdin the back of my hand up to jonnys now

how bout dat two brown hands one dark & one light but whos to say i not be a dark white & he not a light skined brown

dont you dare tell me what i am & am not

bitch dis aint no south africa where yous all can reassign us based on what you think

i aint no sandra laing but sometime i wouldnt mind bein black if it meant for you to leave me be

in fact ill gladly be whatever you want me to be but i am what i am

not black enough for black not white enough for white so what am i?

dont box me into Black & White / cuz in dis world brother dat not exist

im sorry as hell but i gettin real tired of bein called

an illegal / an alien / a wop / a gypsy / a guinea / a brownie whatever you want to call us

all your bigoted slurs clumping us together like we one & the same

dat fine but papers or no papers not define who i am

so uncle sam can take it & shove it

welcome to america!

i be having a long love affair wit your country & people

i also be having a war wit em

mama told me there are limits for dark skined immigrants stuck in dis light skined first world

we come over the border wit all the rest of them

wit all them people from central & south america

wit all them refugees from africa & asia

guess what we blend right in we look no different

look just like any other brown faced ‘’illegal alien’’

border patrol take one look at us & think we just like the rest

cuz yesterdays europeans are todays mexicans & middle easterners

coloured Sons of Shepherds gots few chances

what it like to be bilingual / to speak in two tounge

ah but to be fluent in one & not the other tryin to find any definishun in the dixtionary

in which i drop third person redunduncies cuz i only one person not three

& i only speak two language

you speak spanish?

no habla inglés

you speak english?

i dont speak spanish

one day the hat & head as one edd boy say oh rolf! youre so unejucated!

i think my ears deseeve me but i know what i herd

i wish to strike his milk honey cheeks full of nonsense

& say to him i am the ejucated immigrant you be warned about

dont talk to me bout ejucashun

i sale cross the oshun

i wash up on your shore

i lern another language

it wasnt easy

what you know bout ejucashun

all you know come from books & theories

at least i know where i stand

you are a child & i am old old old my hands notted thick wit veins like the roots of a tree

you say i sound angry / yea i angry but not as angry as you

cuz there nothing they fear more than a minority who knows what up

i used to be fraid but not no more

i used to fear the plainclothes agents in Black & White uniform

of immigration & customes enforecement / of ICE police

of eddwards Black & White cat name Ice on ICE

he must be making fool out of me to call a domesticated beast after homeland security

a cat in uniform because the gods make him so not by choice

like there be some purpose to it / i waz the dark skined immigrant you made fun of

i see what they do to the undocumented immigrant on the telly  

but now i not be fraid / becuz you cant touch me

so the grapefruit widda red ugly mouth & bleached hair sit in office now

damming all them people from ‘’shithole countries’’ / just as well but we here to stay

it not what i ast for but no use fighting it

& i will gladly pull the bookmarks from my english dixtionary

the one double d edd boy give me

no longer will i bathe in bleach / only use to washing dishes & floors

i not some bloody floor

‘’immigrant’’

at least i can spell dat  / i look it up in the dixtionary

websters dixtionary / who the hell is webster?

but now it marked up used copy wit yellow post it notes

i use it a lot to lern your tounge

i not smart but i sho as hell not unejucated / papa can tell me dat

i be in your country in first place to reseeve ‘’best ejucashun’’ like grate nano wanted

grate nano waz an adventurer / a dreamer wit big goals

he travell far & wide seeking fame & fortune

when he a very young boy immigrants from every cesspool in western & eastern europe set sale for The North / it waz always grate nanos dream to travel North

everyone say he more insane than a bovine wit mad cows disease

there no room in dis life for dreams they tell him / he prove our village wrong

when rolf eight years of age grate nano briefly left the Old Country to set sale for america

everyone say he be too old / he never too old for dreams

he wanted to find dat American Dream he hear so often about

spoken wit fondness by the tinkers who visit our land

he returned from his valiant voyage wit stories about what he seen

in the North  he said everyone has cars & money & television & running water

no one listen / The North the North they say dat is all you ever talk about

he waz a man who dreamed of a new life for his family & so he decided to send for us

& make a better life for ourselves after the plagues of the land had haunted our family for years grate nano promised us america he said youll soon be eating apple pie from off a china plate white picket fence / coca cola / santa clause / marilyn monroe / empire state building

it sound like a fairytale he spun a legend dat the streets waz paved wit gold

& we believed him for shining in grate nanos eye waz a dream & so here we are

rest his soul he wanted so much to buy us light & sun & clean wind of the oshun

‘’immigrant’’ waz a new word for rolf when he first come here

did not know after hearing the stories from grate nano dat he would soon be one himself

rolf not know what dat mean & still really dont

the dixtionary definishun say \ ˈi-mə-grənt \ noun. a person who comes to a country to take up permanent residence

\ ˈi-mə-ˌgrāt \ verb. [to go or remove into; in, into, and migrate, to remove.]

to come into a new country, region, or environment in order to settle there: opposed to emigrate.

oh sorry dat definishun not say we unclean people / flea invested vermin

sickly serpents who not speak english / greaser / sheenie

contagions of american society / incredibly dirty tramps fresh off the boat

so pervasive / such nonwhite filth / staring back at pitch black faces

not blonde haired & blue eyed / nonwhite skin only fit for dirt & waste work

mama papa kiss me goodbye i going to haiti

but it is what rolf is now it part of his identity just as much as the colour of his skin

just as much as bein a pagan / just as much as bein a male

just as much as bein the Son of a Shepherd

now rolf a new man living in the New World

i am an immigrant

sometime i wish i waz shug avery / bootiful fictional dark skin harlem singer

half man half woman / wit my large glittering masculine thighs i make an animal of men

maybe i have the courtesan complex

so i ast dr feelgood what my diag-nonsense

& she say poor soul you suffer from Stressed Shepherd Syndrome

okay so we all crazy in one way or another / it alright for some

of a mannequin in tears / of personal prejudices

im an unejucated farm boy from No Mans Land

im a poet who write in english

neisatnaf i isatnaf ne / ttim tetrejh dem gnyalp re lesgnel og gem tolrof nuh

rettenremmos i sirb ne mos rav ed / gem etlatrof nuh dro retsem nadrovh

etted tal eddejks rofrovh? / enneh lit gem trekided gej og enneh teksnø etrejh ttim

senneh enenyoø ås gej etted tla eddejks rofrovh

& this is for Sons of Shepherds who have considered suicide

fin

[ahvie-voidsinger]

Ahvie's Visions of Xal'atath (part 1)

Pretzel Thief's Note: This is a world of wacraft fanfiction not at all canon with my current original characters and the original characters of other treasured friends. What originally began as a what-if scenario should Ahvie be completely corrupted by her other half if the other half decided that Azeroth was their sandbox... well, now is a somewhat fleshed-out theorycraft of lovecraftian proportions. If you don't like horror stories or explicit violence, I'd stop here and stop thinking of ever reading The Dark Tower by Stephen King. Cuz shit be weird from here on out, yo. You have been warned. 

Pretzel Guardian’s Note: This is in no way a reflection of my views and opinions of the characters portrayed within. Ahvie and Perse are very dear to me, as are my friends and the stories their characters continue to include Ahvie in. Whatever happens here, consider it a darker future of an alternate timeline. Enjoying the writing of a villain does not mean I wish my OC to become one.

* * * * *

Chapter 1

Aelakor, or at least the writhing mass of half-incorporeal shadows and opaque bubbling puddle of tar that passed for the void elf youth, feebly struggled in the grasp of oversized and razor-sharp bloody talons framing a crimson claw too big for the woman who wielded it. The gaping maw of the boy's mouth struggled to scream. Or maybe he was gasping for breath when his fight-or-flight instincts were at war with his panicked subconscious. The difference was inconsequential to Perse. The boy had run, and run, and fled and eluded her at every turn for months, tracing a path of hunger and vulnerability through his friends and allies, for all the good they did him. The void siren had fought and devoured each in turn as they tried to stop her or buy the vaporwave elf enough time to escape her clutches.

But it never mattered in the end. Ahvie laughed madly through Perse's bloody jaws, the musical insanity of the bouncy blood elf leaking through the grim arrogance and satisfaction on the voidfiend's face. Writhing tendrils of night snaked out from her skin as though hungrily drinking in the dying gasps and despair of the world around them, just as much the emerald orbs of power that marked Perse's eyes all focused intently on the elusive quarry that they at long last had pinned down.

Ael managed, with some effort she admitted was impressive, to let out a psychic scream more powerful than he should have managed. The discordant screech of notes would have staggered even her blood elf host long enough for the boy to flee before she could even tell what direction. But, that was only if Ahvie and Perse hadn't eaten select members of her crew, the Seventy-Third and the Skyhunters. Now the two of them had grown fat with strength, and they were so much more than they had been now. Now the spearshot of voidlike id merely melted into Perse's mind, absorbed by it. She grinned wider, oozing blood and tarlike saliva dripping onto Ael's face whenever he couldn't manage to keep his body incorporeal. Nothing he did could concern her now. Her claws could grasp anything on Azeroth and the Shadowlands and more in between, even those ethereal and faded. A simple slip of one's essence into a evaporating smoke no longer was a trick that she would be stopped by. Even now, one of Perse's massive bloody claws pierced his throat and shoulder, pinning his ghostly form to her. 

Somehow through some feat of willpower he had yet to show her twisted his face from deathly terror into rage and betrayal.  She didn't give him the chance to hurl his epithets at her. She had pursued him far, far too long to let him spoil the moment with his impish impudence. Let him listen to her poetic voice first.

Perse just laughed alongside the elf's voice that crept up alongside her, the disembodied mind not visible but easily audible.  "Ael, Ael, Ael... Why did you run like that? Do you have any idea how much of your friends' blood and deaths are on your hands? Had you not been such the coward, you could have faced me when I was weak and wounded me enough to give your allies a chance to stop me."

She tsksed in disappointment, almost sounding motherly, and tightened her grip on his bleeding throat. His face still contorted in anger rather than pain. He had passion, she'd give him that.  "Y-YOU... Y-YOU..."  He choked, struggled to cough, then wheezed. "L-LET H-HER..."

She beamed down at him, straightening upright and lifting his fragile and underweight body in that single vice grip. Her other arm and claw trembled despite great effort. This balancing act might have been impossible before she had grown strong.

"LET... HER..."

"Let who, darling? Ahvie let me take over, and we've had SO much fun together ever since! No more rules, no more restrictions, not even fear of your pitiful, mewling flashes of the void you tried to lash out at me with..."

"LET... MY MOTHER... GO!"

Perse grinned proudly at him, as though his defiant anger was something to be admired. It was, really. He was born into corruption and grew determined not to be controlled or influenced or deterred by zealots, paladins, ebons or even herself for that matter. She had infected him once with the intention of protecting his mind from N'Zoth, and to her surprise he had eventually cast off her influence by asserting his own free will of all the old gods. She was going to miss chasing him on a bloody path through all the friends he thought could protect him. She certainly was going to miss the thrill of the hunt. Her other arm tingled with what might once have been pain in another life, and Perse sighed with irritation as she turned to the prey that dangled lifelessly on her other talons.

Or, rather, as lifelessly as vampyr could. Ael's mother, Zay'letta, was impaled through the chest and nearly pried apart by each individual talon, the claw nearly filleting the pale elf like a fish. Oh how fun that fight had been, mother and son combining their talents in a feat of skill and synergy that would have bested any faction leader on either side of the border. But Ahvie had stopped being a mere mortal months ago. And Perse drank in the dying woman's rage as surely as she had Ael's fear. The red-robed siren shuddered in what might have been ecstasy, her eyes lidded briefly by darkness in a half-gaze concealing nothing but carnal pleasure. 

Zay couldn't talk, of course. Perse had ripped out the woman's tongue and stuffed it up where the voidling doubted the vampyr had felt another tongue in centuries. The irony made what was left of Ahvie rolling about on the floor of her mind in laughter, and Perse grinned madly at the memory. Whenever Perse's symbiote was happy, she was even happier. There was a time not so long ago when Perse had been the passenger in Ahvie's body. Azeroth was ripe for the plucking, and those few who knew of her ascended state now were dead. Except perhaps these two, such as they were. 

When eventually the rest of The Seventy-Third would start to notice the absence of their more disagreeable members or those who kept to themselves, Perse would be too strong for them to even tickle with their combined might. Oh how she looked forward to that day when she refounded a sliver of her Mistress' empire where N'Zoth had so plainly and spectacularly failed. THAT irony would be a flavor that wouldn't ever grow old, the mere taste of a dream rich on her tongue.

The exquisite pleasure of that inspiration, that magnum ambition, made Perse's sinewy limbs twitch as she sighed out what might have passed for a a small moan, an orgasm of thought. Then her arms stopped trembling. The siren opened her eyes to look upon an utterly frozen Zay devoid of resistance, save for the twitching eyes that bore crimson hatred and sorrow. Perhaps in her brief loss of control, Perse had snapped part of the woman's spine? Well, no matter. The eyes were worth it. Setting down the broken heap of a vampyr against a tree trunk none too gently, Perse propped Zay'letta upright so she had a full view of what she was about to do to the boy. That loss of hope in a mortal's eyes was just as delicious as a properly-matured void horror, as all this child's friends had once seen him as.

Perse swung her hungry gaze back upon Ael, whose face had become ghostly pale once more as death began to overshadow him. Her jaws elongated beyond their limits, several inlaid rows of serrated teeth spun around hungrily as the gaping maw of her innermost vulnerability tasted the final exhalations of the boy's breath. Bowing her head down, her voice echoed through the forest and in both their minds, her eagerness overpowering her need to voice it with her rippling throat,  "And now, old friend, I regret to inform you that although you once had the skill and power to stop me, I must make use of your shadows to feed my soul. A twinborn goddess needs twice the --"

And she let out an ear-splitting shriek as a spear of blazing light pierced through her backside, parting her impenetrable robes and sliced open a radiant wound up through her chest. Her claws spasmed, trembled, and she continued to scream and wail as the jagged tip of the polearm sprung outward in shining steel before rotating and tearing out a bloody gout from Perse's body. A flooding rush of tar and blood and ooze gushed from the abyss in the void woman's chest as she staggered to stay upright with her powerful legs. Spinning and nearly tripping on the cloak that once had been perfectly unmarred from her battles before, Perse swung around with claws alight with blood magic and void magic alike to face her ambusher.

A quartet of paladins of different species emerged from a thicket at the edge of the clearing, armor and weapons as bright as the sun in full daylight. A human male, greyhaired and sorrow-faced; a human woman whose hair nearly seemed to be on fire as much as her volcano of a greathammer; an elf male whose beard was neatly trimmed despite the hatred and sympathy at war in his otherwise stony expression; and an elf woman with crimson hair so dark it might well have been silver stained thoroughly with blood. 

Perse hissed at first at all of them, heedless of the bodily fluids falling from her mortal form. Just as soon as the viscous viscera bubbled to the ground, her billowing crimson cloak seemed to soak it up, and her gaping chest wound ever so slowly regrew.  The fury on her face grew into a motherly, overconfident grin of what might have been pride. In her campaign of slaughter and corruption, she had warranted herself enough a threat to require even champions of the light to join forces to stop her. Even in their opposition to the Black Empire, these paladins had felt the touch of her inspiration.

"Alesticus, Magdella, Astilaldan and Liniadel,"  she sneered, the laugh of disbelief just on the edge of her mocking tone.  "... what took you so long?"

Astil's face darkened from sympathy to murderous hate, contrasting with Alesticus' pale determination, and Mags looked as though she were on the verge of tears... but Lini's face was contorted with barely contained rage and condemnation.  "Ahvie, it ends here," Lini growled.

Perse tilted her head to the side as the last of her chest cavity healed, and she willed her glistening ooze-like body to form all-too suggestive feminine curves to match her alluring tone. It wasn't to seduce these light-bricks, but to mock.  "Oh? Not going to try to bring her back to the Light? Not going to try to dig the elf child out of my body and cleanse her of my corruption?"

The singsongy smile made Alesticus and Mags grit their teeth beneath misty eyes. Everyone knew the score, even if these humans refused to believe it. They really did hold out hope that Ahvie could be salvaged and saved. Well, maybe all but Astil. Oh how little the mortals of this age understood. Lini held up a warding hand to her side to hold Astil back, but not before the scarred commander herself drew singlehandedly a wicked-looking troll claymore of legendary renown. Perse grinned wider at seeing it once more. She had had a small part in inspiring its creation with her Mistress when the Empire yet held sway over Azeroth. How the woman had pierced her with a spear of Light must have been a skill she had taught herself in her retirement.

"You are beyond hope, beyond the Light, and therefore beyond redemption. You betrayed your friends and your comrades... for... Light, it doesn't fucking matter anymore..."  Lini snarled.

"Of course it matters, dear--"  Perse began, but was cut off as Mags cut in, her tone pleading despite how tightly she gripped her flaming maul.  

"Morgirt is dead. Lashadrik is dead. Zhi is dead. Narcoss is dead,"  Mags said through gritted teeth, eyes watering. Before the paladin woman could go on, Perse laughed. They had not listed the others she devoured last night, and perhaps did not know.

"Narcoss was already dead, fool. I just ended his torture by putting him back to sleep. Why would a paladin mourn a walking corpse?"

"Mayluri," he snarled at her, grip tightening on his sword, "... is also dead." Astil's face darkened further, and his face went a mix of crimson and black Perse wished she could keep that way when she killed him. It would remind Ahvie of how closely his own tabard he resembled.  Ahvie's giggling laughter peeled through the forest again, disembodied but already making Alesticus' stance slump. Lini glared daggers at the man, incredulous. 

"We both know she's dead, grumpyface. Why remind both of us of a past we can do nothing about?"  Perse shook her head, green eyes blinking independently of one another.

"I would have expected you to bring more. Unless you pitiful lot think yourself more than a match for little old me..."  Perse said with a wide, bloody grin. 

Ael's voice, hoarse and ragged but as loud as Ahvie's had been a moment before, interrupted the chatter.  "SHE KILLED ORACULA!"

The trio of orbs rolled their eyes and turned only slightly to snicker at the dying man pinned beneath shrouded feet.  "I didn't kill her, child. I ATE her, there's a distinct difference," to which Perse gestured calmly at the paladins as though this were an explanation of common sense.  "A madman or murderer kills for sport, but wastes so much in the process. I make use of every little molecule of a mortal, so that their lives contribute to the glory of Xal'atath."

"SEWERSPAWN CUNTROACH--"  He wheezed, and she shifted her stance as though leaning harder on Ael. His voice and breath cut off in concert to wildly flailing arms that passed through her robes. Oh, if only the boy had mastered his ability to become ethereal. She grinned back at Mags pointedly.  "Oh, that's right, you didn't know yet. Aldo doesn't know yet. If you run now and save your skin, you might be able to point that loyal guard dog and half the Vampyr Hunters in my direction before the month is out. I'm sure he'll be the picture-perfect model of self-restraint when he learns that the only way he'll join his beloved is in my --"

"Shut. Up. Pretender."

Lini's words briefly stunned Perse through her complacent speech. The other three paladins not named Magdella had drawn their weapons, with the fiery woman looking doubtful.  She glanced to Lini with such fright and uncertainty that it gave the siren another visible shiver.

"You are but a fragment. A thread cast about by the storm of justice. You and your mistress failed in your trickery and were imprisoned, and you barely clawed your way back to a mockery of existence by inhabiting the flesh of a young elf priestess. You can't even form your own body yet, maggot."

Perse curled her jaws up in a silent snarl as Lini's armored shoulders rose and fell in a quickening pace. Astil was right beside the scarred elf, eyes bloody murder.  "You're a parasite playing at god. Your Mistress abandoned you on Azeroth because she knew what was good for her. She's not going to save you or reward you, and you've never had the need to outsmart your opponents when you could just take their strength for your own. You're not even worthy of my disgust, you failed pathetic shadow of an elf. Both of you have --"

And before Lini could get another word in, a lancing bolt of liquid blood shot from Perse's claw and pierced Lini's armor at both breast curves. The woman gasped and coughed, blood sprouting from lips beneath enraged eyes. Astil and Alesticus both charged with a furious cry of vengeance, and Perse soured her grim expression of hate by piercing Lini through the forehead with another bloody spike. Using that method of attack might have been exhausting, even draining for Perse. But she could not stand to be lectured by a mortal any longer. A blood elf, wielding the light, presuming to call her the pretender?

The men who crossed the clearing were agile and enchanted by the Light, and surely would have done irreparable damage to her void-tainted body, perhaps even enough to permanently wound the vulnerable elf brain and heart beneath her oozing midnight shell.

But Perse just sighed and spun in place, taking pressure off Ael's crushed throat long enough to pivot and swing both razor claws about as though to catch both men in her grasp. Alesticus was impaled by the supersonic swipe rather than caught in its palm as Light splashed out around the crimson bones. Perse gritted her teeth and growled through the pain, further frustrated by Astil's amazingly agile duck and jump past her arc and backswing. Perse flashed a triumphant grin at him as his blazing greatsword carved a gaping path through her shoulder and halfway through her body.

Perse couldn't quite remember why she needed to scream so, but wailed like a banshee she did, the weight of her once weightless upper torso no longer upheld by an intact spine. Bent over backwards, Perse sighed in annoyance at what she presumed was pain as one of her lungs was split open with the nearly cleaving strike. Some small part of her bloody body and cloak had tangled his sword and kept it from completing its follow-through, and her green eyes stared up partway at the canopy of leaves above her and the tree trunk behind her. Right into the almost grinning crimson orbs of Ael's mother's eyes.

A tugging at her lower torso confirmed what her omniscient flesh already knew -- Astil was struggling and failing to retrieve his sword from the stump of sludge and cloth and tentacles that made up Perse's torso. With a howl of rage and hatred, the elf man tore at her exposed guts, shoving his plated gauntlets as far into her and grasping for anything to squeeze, crush and claw out of her. With a measure of credit she hadn't given him until now, she realized that he sought her vital elf organs, the few threads of mortal flesh that bonded her to Ahvie and gave her the passport to anchor in this world. His hatred, his passion, his bloodlust was as exquisite as any void elf she had seasoned herself.

Whatever his plated hands sought, they did not find. What sort of anatomy did these mortals think a servant of the old gods would have? Blessedly, she continued to have such mastery over her liquid essence that wherever his grasping, furious hands wriggled, she shifted Ahvie's disembodied brain and beating heart away. She couldn't help but laugh, the musical mockery vibrating through ever fiber of her being, and even her crimson cloak billowed around her as though tentacles writhing with delight.

"FUCKING BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU AHVIE! I'LL BURN YOUR TRAITOROUS HEART FROM ITS HIDING PLACE AND --"

"Astil... stop... she --"  Mags began, but Perse gave the man no chance to capitalize on the growing suspicion she felt through his hesitation and slowing fury.

Using a sliver of her considerable stored-up reserves, Perse reknit her body and cloak in an instant, snapping shut her tarlike body over Astil's arm and trapping it in place. He roared in pain and frustration as his arm stuck limply out just below her shoulderblades, and his other arm tried to fumble angrily with the uncooperative tendrils of her writhing feminine torso. The claw not still pinning a limp Alesticus to her talontips snatched Astil up by the back of his head and cradled it precariously like an egg about to be popped. She grinned in a way Ahvie had taught her, goofily and so unconcernedly, in a way she was sure Astil would recognize.

The horror and fury at war in his face melted away to realization as he ceased struggling against her grasp. He was completely in her power, his greatsword of light and fire ominously sticking out of her side just out of his reach as though she had forgotten it was there, as though she did not feel its purifying touch. Her eyes quirked ever so slightly as Perse nodded faintly in the sword's direction, as though to inform Astil that although she didn't forget about it, she apparently did not care.  

"You should have gone for the head," she sneered at him.

His free hand was lacking purchase or leverage as he was lifted in the air by that insanely oversized claw of blood and sinew, and he cried out as his other shoulder popped by being stretched too far from its prison between her breasts. Those triple green eyes finally caught the attention of his own golden orbs, and a moment of silence passed between them. Mags' distant voice was wracked by despair and sobs, her flames all but gone out.  "ASTIL! ASTIL! DO NOT FORSAKE THE LIGHT! FACE HER WITH --"

"Now, now, we both know you're a good boy, aren't you, child?"  Perse's bloody jaws spat up some viscera from a wound she didn't even feel any longer, but it felt good to soil his grumpyface with her own spittle. He had already forsaken the light.  "You don't need to worry about your place among the Sunwell and Naaru, distant memories that they are."

Astil's face contorted again with rage, memories of all he had lost returning. And foremost of all of them his wife. Whom Ahvie was treasured friends with, for whom Ahvie sewed her wedding dress. Whom Ahvie had tortured in front of him before dunking the woman in the font of a now-corrupted sunwell. And Lor'themar cared not for the name of the monster, only that it was another traitorous void elf. 

"He's not here for vengeance, is he, Mags?" Perse shouted mockingly out to the weeping woman at the edge of the clearing.  "Surely Lini and your brother could just feel the righteousness and justice oozing from his heart..."

And again unbidden but perfectly timed in a way Perse was reinforced in believing that her once-host had surrendered completely to being a passenger, Ahvie's voice giggled out with schoolgirl-like laughter through the dark forest, and then spoke loudly through Perse's bloody sharklike jawline,  "Oh don't look so angry, grumpyface. You'll soon meet the same end May May did, and then you won't have to look so dumb all the time! So cheer up!"

His one free hand clawed at her immaterial jawbone and met only slippery tendrils of dark that melted away the metal of his armored fist.

His quivering lips stared into the widening maw with a smoothly controlled voice of crushed gravel,  "You're not invincible, Ahvie. You're still a shit fighter, and you'll die just like Y'shaarj did -- with your beating heart and brain crushed under our boots."

Perse flinched visibly at that thought, although only for a moment. Her low snarl then peeled into laughter that consumed his senses. Without further preamble, Perse bit Astil's head off with a sickening wet crunch, helmet and all. The limp body sagged in her claw grip, and a single echoing gulp spelled the end of the persistent nuisance in Ahvie's mortal life. Licking her voidstained lips with a slathering tongue of midnight pockmarked with stars of voidlight, Perse tilted back her head and opened her jaws wider, nearly wider than the brim of her hooded cloak would allow. Unceremoniously she dangled Astil's armored corpse above her awaiting maw before dropping the body in whole. And as though the displacement of mass were just a theory, Perse straightened and closed her bloody jawline to paint her face of naught but green glowing eyes hovering in a sea of darkness and framed by red cloth.

Mags was frozen in horror and defeat at the edge of the clearing, kneeling as though having prayed to the Light for her friends. Perse planted both claws on each of her curvaceous hips framed by the brilliant red traveling robe, and she snickered, shaking her head.

"K-kill me... F-finish it..."  Mags muttered, all fire and fuel gone from her demeanor. Perse sighed audibly, almost bored. She could remember a day when the woman had witnessed another such death of explicit insanity before turning herself into a human bonfire that scorched herself to ashes in seconds. Where was this paladin's immortal flame now?

"Mags..."  Came Ahvie's voice, this time devoid of the shifting musical vibrato everpresent in Perse's voidtinged tone.  "I don't want to kill you. I'm kinda fucking full after just him, and I'm not even halfway done with my meal. I have Lini, your brother, Ael and his mother to prepare for the main course. A girl can't just chow down without basting the roast, yknow?"

The woman trembled and cringed at the words, moreso that they came so casually and bouncy from Ahvie's voice. What was left of that endlessly optimistic elf within that heart of darkness, this creature of the unfathomable?

And Magdella had no idea how to answer that. She weakly pushed herself to her feet, and she was vaguely aware of powerful limbs picking up her discard firemaul and slotting back into the sheath at her back. She glared up weakly at the creature.

Perse was looking back almost fondly, sympathetically at Magdella, as though she had not just killed so many people she was dear to, and was about to kill even more. The massive bloody, boney, sinewy claws stroked Mags' unblemished face with a smidgeon of crimson that could have looked like face paint were it not for the smell.  "Blood of your brother, old friend. I'll let you bring back his dog tags and sword to Stormwind. You'll have time to grieve before the end."

What followed nearly sent Mags back to her knees, for the other bloody claw shook and dangled the corpse of a light-forsaken human still pinned greusomly to the edges of Perse's now occupied palm. The empty claw picked with sickening precison and agility at the hanging body, Alesticus' face unreconizable from smushing and mashing and clapping. A bloody sword and a chain of metal trinkets fell to the ground at Mag's weeping form, and Perse shrugged. With an effortless swivel, the claw flung the paladin's lifeless body pitched right at the limp form of Zay'letta. The crumpled heap of pale skin and bones crunched with wet blood and metal. A part of Perse's mind suggested that that might not have been such a good idea, although she couldn't be bothered to interrupt her mental torture with a reason as to why.

Shrugging again with nonchalance, Perse grinned down hungrily at the pain-wracked expression of one of the paladins whom always believed Ahvie would pull through, would choose the Light over the Void and control her urges.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

"W... what? You're letting me...?"

"Go? Yep,"  came Ahvie's voice, adding insult to injury.  "I need Aldo to come hunting me down. And with luck, he'll be too furious to think about bringing half the damn army to even stand a chance against me. Or maybe he will bring the army and I'll have souls enough to feast on until Noblegarden. Eh, either works."

"A-Ahvie... please... please listen... I know you're not this monster," Mags pleaded with her voice and eyes as her fumbling hands found the sword and dogtags.  "I know you're still in there, without anyone else to listen to. You're better than this. You can still walk in the light and defeat this corruption! You're not beyond penance for the crimes of the monster controlling you!”

A smug and surprised expression passed through the slightly parted jaws, and Ahvie exhaled through her shared body's pores. Nothing could ever feel as good as being Perse full-time. Still, even after slaying damn near half the people she loved, Mags was still the best of paladins with a heart of gold. Unfortunately for them, Ahvie thought with a grin, their time had passed long ago.

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. By the time you get back to Stormwind without your gryphon, I'll have SI:7 and His Majesty under my thumb. You're welcome to try to turn the 73rd against me, but... well... you know how Jathrul and Zethos and Seoni wound up, right? Treason is a despicable thing, Mags... Even among my kind we think of some creative punishments specifically for that transgression."

"T-treason?" Mags shakily got to her feet, clinging the last possessions she had of her brother. "You betrayed your family, your friends, your... and you... and you... speak of..."

"I only ever served myself, dear. You just wanted to believe I wasn't a lost cause." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth admonishingly.  "Tsk tsk. Now run along like a good girl before I get hungry after fixing up these morsels for --"

Interrupting Ahvie this time was her own elf-like scream of surprise and pain, still devoid of Perse's corrupted watery accent. Mags' eyes went wide from the sound, and wider still at the naginata of crimson steel piercing Perse's head just below the eyes. The triplet of emerald orbs spun wildly, panicked for several long moments in disbelief, pain and terror... before they squinted shut in concentration. A massive bloody claw shoved Mags away from her hard enough to make the paladin stumbled back into the bushes.

When Mags had gotten to her feet, Perse was trembling in pain and exertion as the massive polearm seemed to tug at the void fiend in a particular direction, as though strung along by a towing line. Dimly, Mags could make out the visage of Zay'letta, bloodied armor glowing with droplets of glistening crimson swirling around her, a vortex of darkened rosy fluid streaming out of Alesticus' crumpled body and through her. Although both of Perse's massive claws flexed and clenched back toward the shaft of the weapon piercing her impaled head, the siren let out a low wail of pain and anguish that had no hint of Ahvie's in it. Magdella had a flash of hope, that perhaps she could help be the finishing blow on whatever tortured remnant of Ahvie remained in the creature... but her flame again went out.

With great effort and a screeching crash of metal on chalk on gods knows what else, the flowing red cloak displaced where Perse's front had once been facing Mags, and the swiveling of the arms suggested to the paladin that somehow the abomination had switched which direction she had been facing albeit still impaled.  The vampyr elf woman radiated even brighter crimson, enough to flood the whole forest in a sea of bloodlight, and shadows pooled and cascaded in around Perse as though to answer the threat.

Hoping against hope, Mags ran in the other direction, hoping to distance herself from the fighting and get to Stormwind before Perse did. Maybe if this fight dragged on long enough or wounded the creature, she'd have time to warn the others.

A battle cry of Quel'Danas echoed through the forest, shrill, defiant and triumphant.  "YOU SHALL NOT HAVE MY SON! BEGONE, BOTTOM FEEDER!"

Perse's responding roar quivered with rage rivalled the san'layn's in ferocity and, with what Mags suspected and hoped, what sounded like a hint of fear.  "NO! N-NOOOO! YOU CANNOT! IT IS MY BODY! M-MY BLOOD! I AM A GODDESS, YOU TRIFLING PUPPET! I... WILL... NOT... BE..."

Suddenly both voices stilled at the same time the woods were thrown back into utter darkness. The red light blazing from the confrontation behind Mags winked out at the same moent that a loud and all-too-familiar CRUNCH of metal preceded the pitch black and deafening silence, as though a brilliant sanguine lighthouse had its singular lamp destroyed beneath the pressure of a giant's fingers. Suddenly Magdella was aware of how loud her own panicked breathing was, how she could hear her pounding heartbeat in her chest.

She knew from the lingering silence the dreadful truth as well what the san'layn's final blaze of defiance meant.

Blessedly, or perhaps eerily, Perse's rasping voice and Ahvie's girlish laughter did not pursue her... at least, not at first. But the faintest of whispers crept into the paladin's mind, as though a kernel of doubt she thought long since scoured from her furnace of a mind. Hearing Ahvie's weakened, raspy but arrogant voice confirmed Mag's fears that she still was scarred by the void.  

"I -am- a goddess, Magdella," Ahvie's voice spoke in concert with Perse's.  "I will not be slain by mere mortals or the dead. Do not forget to tell Aldo, and pray that he can kill me..."

[nighthaunting]

No Sway Over the Damned - a WoW fanfiction!

Darion Mograine's past and future collide as the campaign against the Legion progresses, prompting sex, feelings, and poor decision making as the Knights of the Ebon Blade struggle to protect their Highlord from his own destiny. 

Updated last night with the entirety of the Light’s Hope arc!

Light’s Hope pt. 1, Light’s Hope pt. 2, and The Lich King!

[galpalaven]

New, complete Ebon Light fic over on my AO3!!!

Duliae Laushust/Original Female Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, 6,200+ words

[galpalaven]

“You have bewitched me utterly, Andromeda. I do not wish to fight it.” Her eyes are stinging again. “You’ve been a beacon of light since I came to Gha’alia,” she rasps, turning her head to press another kiss to his knuckles. “To think that I could be so lucky as to have earned your admiration is almost beyond belief. I fear you might be a dream.” He chuckles, pulling her hand to his lips to return the affection, kissing her knuckles reverently. “I hope I am a good dream, at least.” Andromeda laughs, voice thick. “You are the most wonderful dream I’ve ever had, Duliae. I hope I sleep for a thousand years just to stay by your side a little longer.” His eyes are so, so soft as he watches her. After a moment, he huffs quietly and whispers, “Can I kiss you again, my darling?” “Please.”

After being poisoned by her cheaply hired help with a strange substance found in the depths of a dig site, a half-elf and wannabe archaeologist finds her way to Gha'alia - and into the hands of The Onyx Chandler.

Ebon Light, Duliae Laushust / Original Character, 8700+ words

[galpalaven]

wip wednesday - part 2

aaaaand the other fic i feel like i can post a snippet of for @thefloweranon's request ;w; miriam and vadeyn <3

“I’m not so sure you should be out here by yourself, Miriam.”

In the month or so she’s been on this dreary little island, Miriam has started to become unshakeable. She doesn’t even flinch at the new voice murmuring into her ear, instead picking up another piece of fruit to inspect from the stall. The rain had just let up about an hour ago, so she plans to get as much of her shopping done as possible before she has to run back into Duliae’s estate. The frizzy disaster that was her hair in this weather was one thing, but there was a special kind of hell in having to walk with wet glasses that she wasn’t interested in experiencing today.

“Vadeyn,” she greets lightly, dropping the piece of fruit into her basket and picking up another. “It’s always so nice to see you.”

She hears him snort as she pays the merchant before turning to look at him properly, stepping away from the stall in case someone else wanted to look. Immediately, she notes the worried crease between his brows, though his shockingly green eyes are always such a pretty sight, worried or no.

“What are you doing out here without anyone else?” he asks, eyes wandering around the market for a moment.

She laughs. “I wasn’t aware I needed an entourage,” she says, shrugging as she gestures for him to follow her back up the hill. “I wanted to bake something tonight, so I thought it would be best to take advantage of the break in the rain. Andromeda is out with Duliae—checking a shipment, I think—and Lee went with Haron to buy clothes or something.”

“Gha’alia isn’t a safe place,” Vadeyn replies softly, though he falls in step with her easily, offering his hand to carry her basket.

Miriam beams as she passes him her basket of ingredients, clasping her hands behind her back and swaying a little as she looks up at the architecture of the city. She’d grown up surrounded by orchards and the sea, always dreaming of seeing the world but never having any ambition to leave on her own. It’s fascinating still, walking through such alien surroundings.

“I’m not plagued by any ghosts,” she says softly, finally glancing at him. “My neck has never been for the gallows. I can’t believe anyone here is afraid of me.”

“Not afraid, no,” he agrees, shifting the basket to his far hand so that he can walk closer to her. “It doesn’t mean that my kin aren’t interested in causing you trouble, though.”

She snorts. “Oh, Vadeyn, don’t you know how all the stories go? Interesting things only happen to the pretty girls. I’m safe as safe can be.”

He hums as they begin the uphill climb back to Duliae’s estate, though the sound is darker than she thinks she’s heard it in a while. The strange building has just come into view when he finally decides what to say, the back of his hand brushing against hers ever so gently. “If that is true—and I don’t think it is—then you have as much to worry about as Andromeda and Laoise.”

Miriam giggles, cheeks flush with warmth as she grins up at him. Despite how ominous his comment technically was, he smiles back regardless, apparently pleased to have pleased her. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m glad I came with Andromeda to find the answers she wanted.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm,” she hums, plucking a key from her pocket as they reach Duliae’s door. She unlocks it and pushes it open as she shoots him another big, if bashful, grin. “Meeting you has made every close call worth the trouble.”

His face flushes beautifully, and she laughs a little more, leaning back against the open door as he coughs and avoids her gaze as much as he can. “I… that’s… I’m…”

“Would you like to come in for a bit?” she asks, drawing his attention again. “I could teach you to make my father’s favorite cinnamon bread.”

He looks surprised, but the smile that graces his face is the brightest she’s seen on him yet. He nods, enthusiastic, and steps over the threshold with her. 

“Alright.”

[galpalaven]

wip wednesday - part 1

@thefloweranon requested i post more snippets of my ebon light stuff so!! here's a lil snip of ernol and my oc i made for him, noa!

It’s hard to tell much about where she is or how long it’s been, when she finally wakes. 

The first thing that comes to her is the pain—this, at least, is familiar. What isn’t as familiar are the satiny sheets she lays on, the smell of lavender and something like sandalwood filling her nose with the first deep breath she takes. When her eyes flutter open, she finds darkness, half a canopy over the bed she lays in that suggests where she might be. Moonlight floods in from the windows, but no lights are lit in her room. She is grateful for the darkness, as it keeps the throbbing in her head to a minimum.

“You’re awake.”

It’s almost comical, the relief that washes over her at the familiar voice by her bed. She turns her head slightly and finds him there, sitting with his back ramrod straight, eyes sunken and skin even paler than she’s used to. Ernol leans forward hesitantly, resting his arms on the mattress and—after a moment of hesitation, he slides his hand under and into one of hers, squeezing tight like he’s trying to assure himself that she’s really there.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and then deflates a moment later, slouching and running his thumb over the back of her hand.

“...you’re awake.”

She squeezes his hand back with a wry grin. 

“I don’t know. I feel like I must be dreaming if you’re in my bedroom, Ernol.”

Despite the way he scoffs, his lips tug into a rueful grin, eyes darting across her features as he shakes his head. “Must you joke even now, Noa?”

She smirks at him. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

He grins even wider for a brief moment, and she swears the room gets a bit brighter, before his fear breaks through his mask once more, and he sighs, shaky and low. He cradles the hand he holds with both hands now, skin gentle and soft despite his combat training. 

“I have never been so frightened, Noa… I… And—and then the way you were talking before you passed out. I thought…”

Noa laughs softly. “Oh dear. I must have said something ridiculous.”

“You don’t remember?” 

He sounds… upset by the thought. Trying to clear the haze of pain from her mind, she turns to look at him a little more fully, blinking to bring her eyes into focus. She tilts her head as she says, “I remember some of the things I said. Why?”

“You called me…”

“Mysao’ora?”

“Love.”

Ah.

She had done so, hadn’t she?

She smiles ruefully, squeezing his hands and shrugging as best she can. “Is it such a surprise? We’ve been friends for ages. You’re my best friend. Of course, I love you.”

“That…” he starts, brow furrowed, but he shakes his head before he can finish that sentence. “I… have been blind, I think. I have been a blind fool who needed what he had to nearly be stripped from him before he realized what was there.”

Her stomach flips, and she watches him carefully as she asks, “What do you mean?”

“I’m…” He pauses, shifting in his seat to lean in closer, wetting his lips as he tries to find the words. His thumbs still stroke at her hand as if to ground himself instead of her. “I’m in love with you. I love—I love you, Noa. I love you.”

Noa can feel her smile pull painfully at the wound on her cheek, and two tears drip into her hairline as she laughs weakly into the dark. She had never thought to hear those words from his lips. Had never thought—but it feels good all the same. 

When she doesn’t answer right away, his voice comes again, soft and pleading.

“Say something.”

Noa looks over at her best friend—at the man who she has spent nearly all her life with, those dark, fathomless eyes fixed desperately on her face. He looks so different to how he usually looks. Vulnerable, open. Gentle. It makes her ache with the need to reach out and smooth away the worry between his brows, to cup his cheeks in her hands and tell him it’ll all be alright. To be the safe harbor he has always needed.

But she can’t really move with the injuries she has now.

“I love you, too.”

“How?”

She snorts. “How? What do you mean, how, Ernol?”

“How do you mean?” he asks again, leaning forward. “As a friend, or…?”

“Beloved,” she starts, and she smiles as his ears flush with color, “I have been in love with you for a while now.”

He smiles, shifting in his seat as though itching to close the distance between them. “How long?”

“So long that I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t.”

Ernol makes a sound that is somewhere between a laugh and a sob, leaning forward to press his forehead against her hand. “Noa, why didn’t you ever say something?” he groans into the comforter, though his eyes are glittering with happiness when he peeks at her. “You should have told me sooner.”

She shakes her head. “You deserve someone worthy of your pedigree, Ernol. I’m… I’m nothing.”

“Nothing?” he repeats, sounding positively scandalized. “You graduated top of our class from the Academy. You have consistently had the highest scores in every subject we—”

“But I am a halfling, Ernol,” she interrupts gently. “You are already contending with your own diluted blood. Your reputation didn’t need a half-human lover in the mix.”

He scoffs. “You say that as if you are some random barmaid I picked up at port and not one of the best strategic minds to come out of our generation of Gha’alian soldiers.”

She squeezes his hand. “The distinction doesn’t matter as much to people as you think it should, my love.”

Though he flusters at the pet name, he presses forward, adamant now. “Then we will make them see, Noa. I will make them see. It’s not—you are not—not less than anyone else. In fact, you are worth more than most of them combined.” Ernol moves, then, shifting to sit on the side of the bed and reaching out to brush her hair from her face. “I would not care if you were part human or part frog, you know that? I’m… I know it seems all of a sudden, even to me, but I think this isn’t a new feeling at all. I love you. I want you by my side. I want—I want…”

He trails off as he seems to realize the position he is in, hovering over her in a dark bedroom. She smiles, watching as his eyes are drawn to her lips as a moth to a flame. 

“Can I… Can I kiss you?”

Noa laughs. “I shall be very offended if you don’t, I think.”

That pulls a startled laugh out of him, but he doesn’t waste another moment, bending to sink his lips into hers with a quiet groan.

It is, immediately, everything she ever thought it would be—and so much more.

All those years training beside him, learning with him, have prepared her well for this moment. His body language, his movements, his very breath—it is all as clear to her as a picture book. Every move he makes is graceful and elegant, much as he is when he moves on the battlefield. It’s a familiar dance, somehow, despite never having kissed him before, to follow his lead, to mirror his movements until his tongue has slipped between her lips and her brows have furrowed, one hand lifting to tangle into his hair, to hold him right where she wants him. He does nothing but groan into her lips, and the mattress dips as he shifts, breaking the kiss for only a moment to settle on his hands and knees above her before his mouth is back on hers, teeth sinking into her lower lip in his haste.

He presses against her gently as her arms wrap around him to pull him closer, sighing into his lips as the warmth of his body sinks into her bones. The pain of her injuries is something she only barely notices, too overwhelmed with the sensation of his body against her, too lost in the feeling of his lips against hers, of his tongue in her mouth, of his breath on her skin. 

“I love you,” she mumbles into his mouth, nails digging into his back as they pant into each other’s lips. “I love you so much, Ernol. I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t—”