wrathbites

[wrathbites]

Levi is still in his arms, fingers like claws in his robes, eyes gone wide and dark and void. A viciousness both hers and not, alight in the sparks making maps of the veins clustered in her wrists, her elbows, the sea come calling in one of its children.

"He must die," she says on a hiss, pressing forward. If he were any less grounded he'd yield to her, anyone else and he'd fall to her, the magic swelling within.

"Easy, my heart, easy." He croons to her, cupping a hand to her sealed gills, ever so cautious and tender with such a delicate area. It doesn't calm her, not that he expects it to, but she blinks at last. A momentary reprieve.

"He poisons my home with that machine, Halsin. He must die."

#WrathWIPs #Levi/Halsin #forgot to share this one whoopsie #but I Have Plans mwuahahahahahaha

[wrathbites]

micro prompts, 14 and/or 42? :3c

Send me a number and I'll write a micro story using the word or phrase. Let's go with 42 hehe.

~

Some call Rhys a saviour, hero, a beacon of hope in dark times. Others know him as a murderer, a scourge, a parasite to be killed on sight.

Kaidan calls him friend, partner, a lifetime's companion. Mate, to use the old ones' terminology. Someone to live for, die for, fight for.

His.

He eyes Rahna's barrier, samples the surface of it with phantom fingers. It's unstable, yielding ever so slightly to his touch, a vulnerability she thinks herself safe behind.

"That's where you're wrong," he says, rolling his shoulders, rocking back on his heels —

One breath. Two. Steady. You can do this.

— and slingshots forward, a biotic charge cleaving through the centre she's so sure of, going straight for her throat with his omni-blade.

"No!"

"You don't know me at all."

#sparatus #Mass Effect fanfiction #wrathwrites #Sunlight and Stardust vampire verse #in which the end of the Reaper war isn't the end of life threatening problems for my lads lol

[wrathbites]

There's no hook on the end of his line, no bait. If he were hunting he'd simply shed flesh for fur and go delving in the nearest river.

But it's not fish he's after.

The little wooden lure with light twinkling between its grooves does its job in the end, three sharp tugs to announce another's presence, and then something is catching him about the ankle and yanking him from the docks, down into the shocking cold of the sea below.

Halsin breaks the surface sputtering to find Levi waiting for him, mischief tucked into the sharp curl of her smile, the claws that scratch just so as she sweeps wet hair back from his face. Certainty in the press of her body against his, no harm will come to him here.

"You kept me waiting," he says.

"Mmm. Can you blame me? I had quite the sight to admire first."

#WrathWIPs

[wrathbites]

Random fun fact!

The end of the Reaper war isn't the end of life-threatening situations for Rhys 😈

Anyway have this one bit of dialogue from a wip

"I've lived a hundred lifetimes and died a thousand more. Time holds no sway, age no meaning. Tell me, child, why should I fear you?"

#WrathWIPs

[wrathbites]

"Was I sweet once?"

#art rec #BG3 art #oh my god right in the feels

[wrathbites]

A Happy Feast

So I wrote a BG3 ficlet about my Durge. I'm not tagging it to avoid spoilers, but if you're not expecting some depravity, we're not playing the same game...

AO3 Link

They rolled back into camp near to midday, earlier than expected, but what was expected when a tadpole measured one’s life day by day, anyhow.  Nobody felt good about it.  But all that could currently be said had been aired, at length, and so they deflected into lesser complaints.  Today, it was the menu.

“Not so much as a rabbit track,” Karlach moaned, as she stripped a sapling for tent poles. 

Lae’zel was wiping her face with cool stream water.  “The pleasures of this realm are few, but I would not regret the opportunity to savor a roast.”

“You’d have better luck roasting a stick,” Gale grumbled.  He’d appointed himself keeper of their stores, and knew down to the last dry carrot what they had available to eat.  And it wasn’t as bad as all that, at least not today—if one liked eating vegetarian.

“A stick!” Astarion scoffed, and then made to appear hurt at their suspicious looks.  “What?  I’m as hungry as any, I assure you.”

Nalarin said nothing, herself.  Food was…food.  A necessity and little more.  But these…people hadn’t run.  They didn’t know her, true, not know her, but most others she’d met since their little accident had at least a sense about her, so surely her companions here did as well.  And yet they let her share their fire, travel with them, drew her into conversations, eventually.  Shared their food.  Like they wanted her to live, too.

And so Nalarin quietly took up her bow and headed back out into the wood.

Her errand took some time.  When she returned, she found the others occupied in their own private tasks following a cold lunch, as had become habit on days that ended early. That suited her.  Her task would take some time, with so little experience.

She made the fire away from the camp.  No need for our clothes to stink of cooking, Gale had said, the first time she’d watched him.  If the intensity of her observation had worried him, he hadn’t said.  They were all like that.  Willing to ignore a bit of discomfort for the sake of her company.  It made an unfamiliar curl of warmth in the pit of her stomach, pleased without quite knowing why.  She let that feeling fill her as she fussed over the pots, laboriously scrubbed and chopped and stirred and skewered.  It was good to have something to feel and something to do; it emptied her mind entirely.

By the time the food was ready, Nalarin was thoroughly streaked and speckled with various remnants of her efforts.  She thought she’d got the doneness of everything right, the turnips and carrots in the ash, the meat on the spit, the greens just lightly wilted.  Of the seasoning she was less sure, and the herbs were a certain disaster.  But she could eat it and not make a face, and so she declared it suitable and called everyone over for dinner.

Exclamations of surprise made the warm pool in her belly grow.  “I hunted,” she explained, when they asked how?! 

“If we’d known you were a good tracker, we’d have asked days ago,” Shadowheart declared, plopping down with a loaded plate.  “What else are you hiding?”

Nalarin shrugged, but it hadn’t been a serious accusation.  More pleased, almost teasing.  She drummed her fingertips into the dirt.  Too excited, almost, to eat herself.

After a time, a squirrel crept down from a nearby tree and scampered up her shoulder to shelter in a nest of her thick hair.  She absently reached up to rub its tiny head.  She liked animals; they didn’t make the dreams rise in her, not the way people did, and so it was safe to love them. Self-control with people was so…heavy.  Wearying.  Not having to fight it… bliss itself.

Afraid! it chittered, crowding into her scalp.

Her strokes grew soothing, her thoughts on all the small traps in the forest, designed to break small bodies but not to kill.  The small corpses, pinned into the earth and unmolested by the scavengers, because even animals knew profanity when they smelled it. 

As she cupped the creature in the curve of her palm, across the fire Wyll finished a bite and smiled at her.  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Neither did I.”  Wyll made her want to control herself.  To draw a knife over flesh and barely cut.  He was a monster much like her; one who made what he wished of his monster.

Her eyes narrowed and shifted to Astarion.  There was a monster not like her.  One who leaned into the monster, one who did not realize or perhaps did not care that it devoured him, inch after inch.  One who did not recognize why he could not rid himself of the monster’s hollow feeling.  The sort of monster, in fact, who made her think one day hers might pit itself against his.

Of all of them at this dinner, she thought he might realize.  But he gave his portion a hard stare, shot her a glance she did not answer, and then returned for another bite.  “Wonderful boar,” he declared.

“Really?” Karlach swallowed.  “I thought it was rat!  They can get quite gamey, you know.”

The tempo of Karlach’s mechanized heart never quite left her sensitive ear.  To take it apart, piece by piece, examine its workings closely and their destruction… Little could be sweeter.  Except, perhaps, to hear again her braying laugh, feel her solidity at her side along the road. 

Maybe they were her friends, too.  Nalarin’s memories might be gone, but some deep part of her was immensely certain she’d never had people who were friends.

Her own plate remained empty.  The conversation continued, but they were used to her not talking much, and their sated voices swirling around her, contented by her effort, was food enough.

* * *

Much later, after the pots were cleaned, the cookfire doused, and everyone off to bed, Nalarin bent over the stream to wash her face clean of the last of the soot.  She often stayed up late.  The cool silence of night felt more home than the day. 

“It is a very terrible thing thou hadst wrought,” said Withers, startling her into splashing her clothes.

But she straightened, and looked at him directly.  “I don’t care for onions.  When what we have is onions, Gale disguises them and doesn’t tell me they’re in the food, so I don’t have to think about it.  How is what I did different?”

His wizened face regarded her for long moments, as if weighing her sincerity.  Her honesty never ceased to surprise him.  But in this, she was confident.  How could it be different?

“Perhaps not,” he answered at last, shrugging, all bony eloquence.  “Still, I wonder—how wouldst thy companions respond, if they but knew they partook in roast dwarf?”

Her mind again saw the little traps and the poor broken bodies she had buried in small graves.  “He was a very bad dwarf.”

Withers looked down his nose at her, an impressive feat given he had no nose.  “Thou wouldst know.”

Nalarin’s lips curved in the dark.  Yes.

She would.

#YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #fic rec #fic rec fic rec FIC REC THIS IS AMAZING HOLY SHIT 👀

[wrathbites]

19 - sea change?

Send me a number and I'll write a micro story using the word or phrase

He asked her once, early in their days travelling together, if the sea changes as the land does. If nature has seasons beneath the waves as it does under canopy and shifting skies.

"The sea has no season, only chaos, and change comes to those who answer her call."

Change. Such a simple word for the corruption of some of her people, the twisting of their bodies into something fearsome and monstrous. A cautionary tale to be spoken of only in hushed tones by a fire, windows and doors closed to the howling gales outside.

He's heard the stories, anyone passing through Baldur's Gate has, he's watched the colour drain from many a sailor's face when they speak of the horrors of the deep, impossibly large shadows ripping through ship and person alike, lightning flashing off scales and bone snapping under tooth and claw.

It's a similar violence Levi wields in battle, as quick to draw blood as she is to hurl a spell, a storm unleashed with no care for those caught in its path and it leaves her shaken, sometimes, unsteady as a newborn fawn. Quiet and distant as the death she leaves in her wake.

Halsin does what he can in the aftermath, gathers her into his arms when they rest at camp, tucks her head under his chin and strokes his fingers up and down the length of her spine, ignoring the bunch and release of muscles longing to heed the call, return home, never to be seen again. He winds tendrils of faint green magic around her, coaxing it to seep into her skin and soothe her hurts, anchor her bones.

And when she pulls free of him those nights, hands on his shoulders to lever herself up, he meets that stare gone too dark and dangerous. When she kisses him with lips gone inexplicably cold he doesn't flinch or draw back, threads her hair around his fingers instead and licks into her mouth to sample the sharp sting of her teeth.

She is wild as all seaborn creatures are, destined to leave one day and never return, but until then...

"Stay," his request, and her answer the slide of her body into the space at his side, tucking in close and pressing her hand to his chest, her palm over his heartbeat.

#reboggles because I can #Halsin x Tav #Halsin/Tav #BG3 fanfiction #INHALES so I guess I'm gonna need to do another Levi run solely for fic purposes #gotta get all the inspo for them #ALL OF IT #heck

[wrathbites]

From the number/micro-story prompt list: May I request a #34 (bauble) for Baldur's Gate?

Send me a number and I'll write a micro story using the word or phrase

You certainly can! Ft Halsin and my sea elf storm sorcerer :)

~

"We call them life lures," Levi says, pooling the line of collected oddities into his hand. "They're supposed to remind us of who we are, our way back home."

"Supposed to?"

"Yeah, well. For some the sea is home, and they don't want to leave."

"And what of you? Where is home for you?"

It's a dangerous question to ask, the point of a blade, freely offered to her with the knowledge she can drive it through his chest with but a word, a moment of honesty.

A weighted question, one that brings Levi pause, stormcloud stare dropping to his palm and the baubles clasped there. She maps each one with a lifetime's familiarity, unspooling the line of her own making and — and winding it around his wrist instead, again and again until only the knot remains, trapped in the press of her palm to his, the curl of her fingers between his.

"Wherever my heart is," she says on a whisper, her smile a soft little secret for him alone when he dips to kiss her, when she meets him halfway.

#strongheartmaid #Halsin x Tav #Halsin/Tav #BG3 fanfiction #wrathwrites #think I'm gonna need to rework the Tavs I have for my ships because godDAMN Levi and Halsin are my jam now lol

[wrathbites]

여태까지 그린 거 백업

#art rec #BG3 art rec #oh this is LOVELY

[wrathbites]

I've gone back and forth on whether or not I want to find one because part of me feels *bad* because I write really long stuff.

#absolutely not #not ever no way nuh-uh #the only folk I'd trust to be beta readers are friends and even THEN I don't want a beta reader where there's like #an obligation to read my stuff y'know? #I much prefer the mutual screaming over each other's little bits and pieces #but like I've also had a friend who absolutely HATED #and I mean HATED a piece that I'd written and already thrown out the void #we're talking levels of “you've written this all wrong and I don't enjoy it and I'm gonna tell you WHY” rather than just #either say “not my cup of tea” or not even own up to reading it or KNOWING NOT TO READ IT AND NOT DOING SO based on what I'd mentioned it #was about #so like #lol no that experience wasn't even with a beta it was with someone I considered a friend #it just stresses me out so readers are gonna get fresh off the press from my brain with my own look overs #missed mistakes and all and if they don't like it well hell I guess #of course there are damn fine betas out there (I know a few) and I guess it comes down to trust and laying dowm ground rules and #respecting boundaries on both sides #ymmv of course but if you want a beta then absolutely go for it #*former friend we no longer talk and that whole debacle was just one of the reasons for it

[wrathbites]

Seaside sabotage

Pairing: mShepard/Kaidan Alenko Rating: T Notes: as ever, I’m late to the party with event weeks.  This one’s for day 1 of MERweek (fun in the sun)

Keep reading

#reboggles because I can #oh hey look a thing from back when I was writing Rhys as a human

[wrathbites]

"What do you see?" Kaidan mumbles, face half-mashed into his pillow.

I see what I'm not supposed to - the pulse flutter in your throat - what I'd be killed for if most others knew. The throb at your temple, too, before you rub your forehead. A weakness I'll never exploit. I see the crease of pain in the corner of your left eye and the pinch around your mouth when you resolve to grin and bear it. I hate it. Fuck but I hate it.

I see the hunch of your shoulders loosen in sleep's hold, the tension of every muscle unspooling one drawn out breath at a time as one more migraine recedes. I see the rogue curls you've missed, coming loose with every twist and turn in the sheets.

I see the faintest of smiles, slow and lazy in sleep, in daze, the twitch of your fingers when they loosen from your pillow. The ache still lingering, but less than it was. You'll stay where you are, for another hour yet, weary and sore and heavy, eyes falling shut in too-long blinks and I don't have the heart to wake you proper.

I see my whole world in your life, every minute a gift.

"I see you," Rhys says instead.

#reboggles because I can #and feeling feels aboug my lads

[wrathbites]

Lover’s comfort

There’s no gentle transition from slumber to awareness — not for over a decade — and he misses it most keenly in the initial few moments.  How sweet it would be to stir in Kaidan’s arms one half-hearted squirm and jaw-cracking yawn at a time.  How lovely, to press a dozen tiny kisses in a meandering path over cheek and jaw and chin until he laughs and steals a proper one instead.  How reassuring to bully his way to Kaidan’s side of the bed to hog his pillow and feel his laughter where they’re pressed chest to back.  What he’d give to mumble good morning against his shoulder and have it be so, watch the sun dust him in gold.

But it’s not morning and he’s not stirring, he just is.  Awake, when a second ago he’d been lost to the void of oblivion.

“Hey,” Kaidan says, a sleepy puff of breath almost too faint to hear.  The warmth around him grows a touch tighter as Kaidan scoots closer, and Rhys tips his head to receive the press of a gentle mouth to his throat.

“Hey.”

But this?  This sharing of space and smiles and the skim of feather-light fingers up and down his side?  Kaidan’s gaze sharpening in increments, one lazy blink at a time?  The trust laid bare all over their skin and under his hands when they shift and turn and settle together, Kaidan on his back and Rhys sprawled over him, listening to the steady beat of his heart and feeling his ribs flex with every breath?  He wouldn’t trade this for the world.

#reboggles because I can #reading over some old stuff since I'm in a feelsy mood for my lads

[wrathbites]

"You gonna say something or are we just hovering like a praetorian with anxiety?" Suddenly the urge to punch Moreau...Jeff... in the nose comes rushing back. Kaidan takes a breath. No. He, at least, could do this much. "I can't remember...did I apologize to you? Before Mars?" "Not really." Jeff's hands fly over the haptic and Kaidan catches his little glance to the seat EDI's platform usually takes. It's empty, because apparently, EDI is just polite that way. "Well, then..." Jeff interrupts him, "We did the manly "nod of acknowledgment," Alenko. It's fine. Y'know, there's a war on, no reason to get emotional about it. Anyway, I got my punches in, too. I appreciate 'em being verbal, what with everything."

#likE A PRAETORIAN WITH ANXIETY BAKSJSJSNANSMSNSNSNNSNSMSMSNS #fic rec #oh god okay hold on you can't just send me into a round of wheezing laughter and then grab me by the shoulders and #shake me into ACTUALLY this is serious #that's not fair I hope you realise the WHIPLASH I just had #(do it again do it again please 🥺) #okay no but seriously I love this

[wrathbites]

Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase

(creator note: I recommend 3-10 sentences but go for a longer piece if you really feel it! Replace pronouns as needed for the character / point of view)

don’t leave 

this was a mistake

[I] trusted [you]

one chance

help

illusion

silent fury

sunbathing

falling

righteous

drastic

candles

too loud

overgrown

trembling hands

in dreams

empty

flinders

sea change

alone, finally

collapse

nap

sated

tender

senseless

how dare [you]

hide

something about [them]

sweat

harsh whisper

breeze

dust motes

saccharine

bauble

filthy

total control

defy

soak

accursed

pet

comfort food

savior

undone

cheap

svelte

shimmer

crave

rampage

nightfall

accost

#still doing these hehehe #prompt list

[wrathbites]

20. alone, finally

Send me a number and I'll write a micro story using the word or phrase

He's alone, finally. Or as alone as he can be in the Belfry, Tim asleep on one of the inflatable mattresses, Babs parked in front of the screens and monitoring Dick's progress through a short patrol that's already stretching past four hours, Alfred's return flight due to land in another six, and Bruce —

(If you're watching this)

— Jason catches himself before his feet land on the table. There's nobody in the chair kicking his boots to the floor to spare him Alfred's wrath. There's no newspaper set aside in favour of the crossword book between them like a peace offering. There's no companionable silence settled around them, long sought after and cut so short.

There's no ghost waiting for him, no blame thrown at him, no disappointment or accusation or rage. Nothing at all. Just an absence where there should've been a presence, a sweater discarded where Bruce should be.

He's alone. They're all alone.

(I'm dead)

Bruce isn't coming back. Not this time.

#uraniumwriting #Batman fanfiction #Wrathwrites #I coulda gone a somewhat fluffy route with a different thing entirely #but no this ask slingshot me straight to thinking of Gotham Knights #sorry not sorry whoopsie

[wrathbites]

I know I still have some prompts to answer, rest assured I'll get to them.

There's one I'm looking to answer this week, but to do so I need feels fodder. And it requires I boot up Gotham Knights again and suffer (see: sob into my hot chocolate because the voice acting is fucking SUPERB).

#Wrathrambles