#batman#bruce wayne#dick grayson#batfamily#tim drake#batfam#dc fanart
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The competitors: kiltriks, laksiris, ritas, sevoriks*, skolas*
The referee: variks
The judge: hiskoriks
(*) attendance varies
❤ hiskoris @ kyliskyr
send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse kissing them
His duties for the day, done. No prisoners to interrogate.As far as he knows, the Kell is busy with other things – regarding theGuardians again, repelling them from the territory as well as the Devils andwhatnot – so there isn’t really areason he should be summoned.
Kyliskyr wouldn’t dare question an order so in spite of hisdoubts and slight anxiety of the situation, his feet pave the familiar way toHiskoris’ throne room, eyes directed to the ground as he bypasses othereliksni, shouldering past them with his arms stiffly at his sides. Things intheir house have been busy as of late, and while he and the Kell areoccasionally more than just Kell andCaptain, it really isn’t the time. Not now.
He weaves his way into the room eventually, slowlyapproaching the imposing throne on the far side of the room where the Kell ofKings himself lounges, head bowed and eyes directed on him, even as Kyliskyrslowly lowers himself into a bow on both knees, palms flat and foreheadtouching the ground as he simpers a modest; “My Kell.”
A faint scratch fills the silence of the room before a lowpurr, the claw of Hiskoris’ gauntlet dragging along the metal of his mask ashis fingers stroke his chin. As benevolentto his people as Hiskoris could be regarded as, every bow, every submissive action like this pleases him,and Kyliskyr knows it. Why bow on one knee when two is better?
“You waste no time,” unspoken few words of permission torise from the ground.
“I do not keep my Kell waiting.” The Captain’s voice is lowand pleased as he slowly brings his torso from the ground, remaining on hisknees for a few moments longer before the Kell crooks his finger, bringing himto his feet.
“Good.”
Silence rings out a moment longer before Hiskoris turns hishead, nodding at Arrahis – Captain of the Kells’ Guard – and speaking; “I wishto speak to my Captain alone.”
The guard gives him an almost wary look before tapping thebladed staff against the ground, escorting himself from the room with threeothers in tow, leaving him alone in the room with the massive eliksni. He feelsanother tinge of anxiety, suddenly; his demeanor is so… Serious, maybe. Notangry, not displeased, but not playful.
The door hisses shut, and Kyliskyr keeps his eyes trained onthe Kell as he leans forward in his throne, another pleasant purr filling thesilence of the room.
“Come here.”
Slowly, Kyliskyr approaches him on his throne, having tocrane his head – even standing at seven foot two – upwards just to look at himproperly as his shadow is cast over him. He shifts forward, secondary armsrested on his knees, one primary on the arm of the throne as the other handreaches forward, taking the Captain’s chin in his hand and tilting his head upfurther, those burning blue eyes narrowed mischievously.
“Take off your mask.”
“My Kell…”
Hiskoris’ eyes study him intensely, as if probing for anysign of discomfort or denial and when he finds none, he continues, tone firmerthan before;
“Off.”
Kyliskyr, even with his reputation, even with hisbloodthirstiness and his confidence and bravado, feels as if he could squirmunderneath his gaze. Though even then, he reaches up, removing his maskobediently, watching as Hiskoris does the same.
All at once, the Kings’ Kell reaches forward, the largesecondary hands resting on Kyliskyr’s sides as they pull the Captain forwardeffortlessly, as if he weighed nothing at all, the hand not grasping at hischin reaching up to remove his mask in turn. Another purr resonates through theroom, and only after a few long seconds does he realize it belonged to him. Anyprotest that would’ve been on his tongue dies out. Who would he be to deny his Kell? A pleasant tingle runs throughouthis entire body at the thought. The authority Hiskoris holds over him makeshim feel like a dreg, or a vandal. Like the subordinate he is, at least to him.And he loves it.
Kyliskyr purrs again, dropping his mask and lifting hishands after he hears the clatter, slowly grasping on to the fur around Hiskoris’neck as the other man leans in further, further until he can feel each heatedbreath against his mouth, smelling strongly of ether. He’s nearly half blind, but he can see the wayHiskoris’ mouth curves into a sharp-toothed grin before he leans in, draggingthem along his cheek.
A precious few moments pass again before the hand on hisjawline tightens, nearly forcing his maw open before the larger man leans inabruptly, bringing both their open mouths together in a kiss, one that makesthe nails digging into the skin of his cheek so easy to ignore. He melts into the kiss that so easilyoverpowers him, shoulders shifting upwards; he barely needs the hand thatencourages his jaw apart, mouth stretched open as they kiss until the salivaruns down his chin.
By the time they pull apart he heaves in a breath to catchit again, gripping the fur in his primary hands tighter. It’s ridiculous,honestly, how this makes him feel—so inexperienced, it even makes his kneesweak. Like he can barely stand up. He could crumbleunderneath that gaze that intimidates him so and makes him feel so… delightful. So good. The intimidation he feels for him is natural, and it onlymakes the praise he receives all the better.
Hiskoris moves his hands, unclasping that which keeps thepelt around his neck, tugging it and his cloak off entirely with ease. The nextkiss he receives is one along his bare neck, one that makes him shiver and letout the smallest of sighs he didn’t know he was holding, just before a weak protest;
“Hiskoris—” Hiskoris, in question, shifts his head justslightly, a small, disapproving growl in his throat, “—My Kell… But this—Your throneroom—”
Hiskoris, amused, gives a small chortle, and the Kell givesanother extended drag of his long tongue, one likely intended to make Kyliskyrshiver underneath him.
“I called you here for a reason.”
“Being..?”
“Entertainment,” he says in a voice far too casual for thesituation, the Kings’ nimble hands reaching around to pull off the Captain’shelmet, “Amusement…” Hand returning to his jawline, the Kell forces his head upand to the side, jaws parting for his teeth to drag almost threateningly alonghis throat before he finishes in a low growl; “My pleasure.”
His breath hitches again, clutching that thick pelt tighteras his head lolls backwards, his mouth gaping open.
“What say you, Kyliskyr? Do you want to please your Kell?”
He looks up into Hiskoris’ eyes with his own half lidded;this wasn’t part of the plan, but…
“Yes.”
Hiskoris grins then, letting go of his jawline.
“Get on your knees.”
“Yes, my Kell.”
✘ from Hiskoris
✘ = hugging them
Rhaxis heard him coming, but he pretended like he didn't. The footsteps were much heavier than most of the other Kings, a noticeable and familiar sound as the Kell entered the room, however much Hiskoris tried to be quiet as he did so.
He didn’t stop what he was doing right away, his hands working skillfully as they organized the vials of ether he had gained. Tomorrow, the majority of it would have to go out into the House, separated between their members to keep them alive and well. Their Prime could be considered generous, and between its blessings and the ether provided by the smaller servitors, the House of Kings had a steady supply of the precious ether they needed.
The steps grew barely louder, until Rhaxis could feel the Kell’s looming presence right behind him. He pulled his head up and his hands back from his task just in time to feel the arms wrap around him from behind, both Hiskoris’ primaries and secondaries, coming to hold him tightly.
Even now, years and years after they’d become mates, Rhaxis could feel the warmth in his cheeks from the touch.
“What can I do for you, my Kell?” His words come quietly, though he feels like he already knows the answer. It was already late, many already tucked away in their rooms for the night. The reasons that Hiskoris would come see him at this hour were few.
The Archon felt a chin rest on the top of his head, before he heard the low voice tease.
“Stay with me tonight.” To the point, and yet, still enough to cause an embarrassing shiver to pass through Rhaxis’ body.
He tried to compose himself, though he wouldn’t doubt that his kell took note of the shiver either way. Rhaxis moved his hands forward, closing the containers that held the supplies of ether, pulling hands back once everything was secured.
He shifted under Hiskoris’ touch, turning his body around. The grip on him loosened but didn’t disappear completely, hands resting on his side and his hips as he looked up at the older eliksni, a gentle purr rolling from his throat.
“As you wish.”
⇕ yakal @ mahrvis
send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse holding their hand
Miserable or defeated, any mood he’s in, any emotion hefeels is usually caught between the two in some form or another, mangled orotherwise. As cliché as it seems, happiness is a fleeting feeling for him whenit seems as if everything he knows in this House would sooner have him torndown again and again and again rather than flourish like the rest of them. Itdoesn’t even feel like he’s allowed to sayhe’s miserable, like he doesn’t even deserve to be able to say the wordsresting on his tongue. Like it isn’t as bad as he thinks it is, other peoplehave it worse. He doesn’t really believe himself when he tells himself that,but modesty is his virtue; he doesn’t have much of anything else. Not anythingworth something, not in this House.
Though he’d like to say otherwise, the sheer joy he had feltfrom two nights ago wore away quicker than he’d like to admit, though it isn’tparticularly hard to see that in the way he carries himself. An hour prior tonow he had picked himself up from his place on the floor within a room withinthe Ketch and fled outside to a remote clearing outside though not too far.Somewhere where most are typically too busy to even notice it, and somewherewhere the Hive can’t crawl their way in, just perfect for him.
All of his limbs feel sluggish. His face stings, two longclaw marks made from his jawline to up his cheek to his bleeding nose, bloodcrusted along the scratches and smeared across his face from where he hadrubbed his hands across his face. The day is hardly halfway over and he alreadyfeels exhausted. Another member of his current squad had noticed him walkingthrough the hallways earlier on his way out here, but he hadn’t paid the anymind—he just wants to be left alone.
A small sigh wracks through his body, shakier than he’d liketo admit before he pulls his knees up to his chest – he’s sitting on the hoodof a rusted car half buried in the snow – and presses his face to the cloakheld in his secondary hands, inhaling a deep breath to attempt to settle hisrattled nerves. There’s a crunch in the snow from another footstep, but hedoesn’t look up, only clutches the cloak held in his hands tighter, holding hisbreath and ignoring the way his body shakes just the slightest bit more—from arush of cold wind or fear, he isn’t exactly sure.
“Mahrvis.”
It feels as if he could cry with relief when he hears thevoice belonging to the approaching figure. Yakal. Just Yakal. Nobody else hehas to worry with, not somebody to drag him back inside, not somebody from hissquad and certainly not Kiltriks.Yakal is the only one that knows of how frequently he comes here to be alone –especially when he’s upset – but it doesn’t stop him from being paranoid aboutit.
He doesn’t respond anyway, though. Doesn’t speak nor evenmove a muscle until the vehicle he’s seated on creaks in protest when Yakalsits next to him, Mahrvis turning his head just enough to look at him.
His mate – he can’t even bring himself to feel the slightgiddiness calling him that usually sparks within him – reaches out, resting onehand gently against his face and brushing a thumb across his cheekbone, eyesnarrowed.
“What happened to yourface?”
Mahrvis turns it away again, swallowing the knot in histhroat.
“Nothing.”
“Mahrvis…”
If this was about five or six months ago, Yakal probablywould have told him not to lie to him. But it’s not, and instead he doesn’tpush it, merely brings his hand back and rests it back in his lap. Yakal knowshim enough by now to not push anything he’s probably not going to talk aboutanyway, usually out of fear even in spite of the things Mahrvis has alreadytold him. And by the things he’s told him, it isn’t hard to guess whathappened. It’s the same thing, over and over again. As it always is. At thispoint, it’s probably his own fault. ..Somehow.
Even just thinking about it makes his throat tighten, eyesstinging the moment before he squeezes them shut, unwilling to speak at all oreven look at him. It’s stupid to feel shame even now around somebody who hecalls his mate, but he does. Hewishes he could be somebody who could stand up for himself, even just a littlebit, but he’s not. Already he regrets the words he had said an hour prior tositting here now, the atmosphere of paranoia about him is almost tangible. Whathe said earlier… The blood on his face now seems a petty price to pay for it,and that isn’t the end of it. He knows better.
Mahrvis pulls back from his cloak balled in his lap justlong enough to take in a long breath, hitching and betraying his emotions.
Yakal sighs, and he half expects him to leave before theScribe gingerly reaches out, gently prying one of his smaller hands fromclutching his cloak so tightly and holds it in his own, lacing their fingerstogether. The dreg turns his head just enough to look at him again, reluctantlyopening his glossy golden eyes. He looks sad—Yakal does. Disappointed, maybe?He can’t quite pinpoint his emotions exactly – reading others is not his forte –but he knows he isn’t happy.
“I’m sorry.” Hewhispers, voice so shallow he can scarcely hear it himself as he tries to holdback the hand as tightly as he can. Yakal brings another hand to the smallerone held tightly in his own, looking up just enough to give him a look, one thatclearly says; For what?
For what?
That you have tobother with me.That you’re stuck with somebody like me now.That nobody can even know you like me.That so many people would hate you if they knew just how much you dared tobother with me.
His mouth opens to respond, say one of the many things onhis mind, but nothing leaves his lips. No sound follows beyond that of ashallow sob when he turns his head away to his cloak again. Only two days after Yakal had alreadyclaimed him as his and vice versa and already he regrets it in the sense thathe can’t believe Yakal would be unfortunate enough to be stuck with him.
▄ riksis @ mahrvis (a cruel joke undoubtedly lol)
send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse tellingthem a joke
To say he is not particularly fond of the Archon would be anunderstatement, he thinks.
Not that Mahrvis would ever dare voice his distaste, ofcourse. He has the unfortunate habit of getting noticed by just the wrong people,often high ranking and rather cruel—at least to him, anyway. Maybe he shouldstop attempting to go so unnoticed,since it only ever seems to attract the attention he’s been trying to avoid.
He’s sooner be a wallflower than anything anybody caresabout enough to even look at, or talk to. He just wants to be left alone andforgotten, which isn’t really anything huge to ask for, but he never reallygets his way, despite how meager and how small his requests may be.
The vandal—or dreg, really – stands uncomfortably in thehallway, back pressed to the wall, eyes lingering upon expanse of the hallway, thoughhe doesn’t move even an inch. He wouldn’t, of course, since Riksis is currentlygracing him with his attention andhis voice, but the prospect of being able to twist right around his legs and leave is so very tempting, it couldalmost make him forget his own obedience. Almost.
“…You know, Mahrvis.”The voice he hadn’t been paying attention to says, and Mahrvis snaps his headright back into place, looking up at the Archon as he speaks, fingers laced sotightly his knuckles whiten. He tries not to look as afraid as he feels in his presence, but he doubts it’s anysecret, not that the (much, much) larger Devil would care.
“…” A small pausepasses as he shifts uncomfortably, looking away and then back up. “Yes, sir?”
“Please,” the Archon purrs, voicesickeningly sweet as he leans down, looming further over the small eliksni asMahrvis shrinks away, more of his face hidden underneath his large scarf, “That’s Riksisto you, my friend.”
The sarcasm underlining his voice is heavy in his alreadymocking tone and in spite of Mahrvis’ naivety, he knows he’s only trying tomake him uncomfortable.
And he certainly feels that way; uncomfortable and embarrassed.
“Well?”
“I… I.. Yes, Rik—Riksis?”
“I was thinking tomyself earlier whilst feeding the sacrifices to Sepiks..”
Mahrvis attempts to shrink further away from the formlooming over him.
“And you came to mymind, Mahrvis.” He can’t see the Archon’s eyes through his mask, but by thetone of his voice, he can nearly see the squint in them anyway. “I was wondering if someone as small as you would satisfy it atall. So small, it might just mistakeyou for a child. Just as much ether in youas there are in the seeds.”
Given by the low drawl of laughter, he assumes that wassupposed to be.. a joke. Somehow. He definitely didn’t find it funny.
“Would it even noticesomething as insignificant as you atall?”
He looks down at his hands again, unfolding his fingers towring his wrists, frown increasing. Another beat of silence passes them beforeit’s broken again, the deeper voice more overpowering and forceful than it hadbeen a moment ago.
“Would it?”
“N-No..”
“Speak up. Look at me.I can barely hear you. Would it?”
Mahrvis forces himself to look up then, trying not to lethis wavering voice betray him as he takes in a deeper breath, struggling to speakup loud enough to please him.
“No.”
Satisfied with the answer, the other Devil leans back, butnot before giving him the smallest of pats with the pad of his finger to hischeek, that amused tone returning to his voice, joking but not joking enough for him to be able to tell whether or not he’s serious.
“Perhaps one day wewill find out, little Mahrvis.”
✘xovak @ voriskis
send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse hugging them
Heavy is the head on his shouldersas he rests his forehead to the heel of his palm, eyes sloped shut and backslumped. It’s been exactly one week and three days since he’s last been out ofthe field, let alone out of the Ketch at all. I don’t want to risk anything, his Baron had told him with a firmgrip on his shoulder, right before she forced him to sit back down.
It isn’t unusualfor a Captain’s squad to be reassigned to another, temporary or not, and giventhe situation there isn’t anything to be ashamed about – not in his case,anyway – but he can feel the shame prickle at the back of his throatregardless. As much as he enjoys his free time, being ‘bedridden’ and thus useless, even if only for now, he’d muchrather be out there. With Xovak again. He’d go now if he were allowed to, but he isn’t.
Voriskis riseshis head from his palm, slowly slouching even further down to rest his headentirely against his arm against the metal surface of the table, eyes remainingsqueezed shut. It’s been a week and three days, but the headache he’s felt forall of it remains.
He doesn’tknow how much time passes with him slumped over like that, nor how long it’sbeen since Xovak had returned, so he doesn’t even smell her coming before she’sright behind him and he has naught but even a moment to straighten himself outbefore he feels her arms around him. Voriskis stirs then, slowly bringinghimself up just enough for the (just barely) younger Captain to glance up atthe other, as Xovak’s hands clasp together once they’ve all wrapped entirelyaround him.
“The occasion is, Xovak?”
“I neverthanked you for…” The other eliksni’s voice trails off, and he doesn’t have toguess to know she’s staring at his arm. Or the arm that used to be there,anyway.
One week andthree days since they had gotten ambushed by the machines, Xovak already wounded and himselfalone to cleave through three Vex-- Minotaurs, at that. It ended in success, obviously, butnot without a price to pay, that price being his left dominant arm... one heprobably won’t get back, even though hehad already had it docked. The torch hammers made sure of that, given how badly burned itwas.
Nothing thatisn’t worth her, though. He would dock all his arms a thousand times over if it meant keeping her safe.
Voriskis liftsa hand and rests his single primary against the back of her two, claspedagainst his chest as he leans back to rest his head against her, a low purr rumbling in his chest. “You don’t have to.”
@theynameusfallen
A couple weeks had passed since the day Kiltriks had "officially" become the Kell. He'd slayed the last of his competitors, and no one else had dared rise to challenge him for the title. Others began to bow and respect him, and it was obvious that most Devils had come to accept their new leader.
Of course, there were a few who were against him. He'd already handled a few cases of those ones being too verbal in their dislike. Now that he had the mantle, Kiltriks wasn't about to let it get taken away from him so easily.
The first order of business -- he needed to grow larger. Kiltriks had consumed as much ether as he could get his hands on. It pumped through his veins, making him grow taller and taller at an alarming rate. He could feel the strength coursing through his veins, the borrowed power given to them by their servitors. He loved it; craved it.
But he needed more.
It was very early in the morning when Kiltriks made his way to where Sepiks was kept. The Prime, the most powerful servitor the House had. If he was to be Kell, Kiltriks would have to gain the favor of both the Prime... and it's keeper.
He pushed the great doors open, not knocking or announcing his presence as he did so. The long, open room came into view, and he felt pleased when his eyes fell on the Prime, first, and then shifted to the form that stood with it.
"Riksis," He spoke the name of the Archon. Kiltriks had... very little contact with Riksis so far in his life, never quite needing to interact with the high-standing priest. But now... now everything had changed. "Just who I wanted to see."
Hiskoris: [sends a bouquet of flowers neatly wrapped in torn Devils cloaks to Sevoriks with a note that reads; "Call me. ;;3c"]
Sevoriks stares at the bouquet of flowers, appreciating the detail put into the presentation (the torn Devils cloaks are a nice touch), but he is also internally panicking knowing who they’re from. And the note -- Call me -- well, that doesn’t help either. His palms feel sweaty and his heart races thinking about even just hearing Hiskoris’ voice. Hiskoris, Kell of Kings, the most elusive, powerful, captivating, charming ----
He needs to stop.
He also needs to hide this gift before Kinsis discovers it.
