#beloved pain bringers

[leo-interactive-fiction]

RO's Pokémon Teams (Expanded)

Reverse ask. I will now infodump about what each pokémon teams the ROs would have. I know you answered it similarly before, but I want to do this in-depth. For additional flavor I gave everyone a pokémon that evolves by trade, which would happen in game as them trading it with MC, and a route specific pokémon.

R:

Their starter is a shiny Meowth/Persian, since it can use its payday move to generate free money, plus it was a pokémon heavily associated with the main crime organization in the anime (Team Rocket and Giovanni). R’s luck manifested by giving them a shiny, shame it is one of the worst shinies available…

Next up: Super Luck Absol, a pokémon that can sense natural disasters and tries to warn others, and is seen as a doom-bringer as a result. Reclamation R uses it to intimidate their opponents, joking that they are *both* doom-bringers. Rebellion R is much more critical of the rumors and laments their inability to stop the disasters.

Third is Murkrow. Its signature ability is Super Luck, BUT R’s would have Prankster (an ability it loses upon evolving). Prankster!Murkrow works well as a setter in competitive, which means it sets up buffs and debuffs. Reclamation R teaches it Perish Song.

Fourth is Togekiss with Serene Grace. R has been raising it since it was an egg and is very happy to abuse its ability to make their opponents flinch (essentially lose a turn).

Number five is the trade pokémon. R has a Feebas, an ugly little fish that evolves into the regal Milotic. They hardly use it and regret being unable to find anyone they trust enough to trade it back. They eventually trade it with MC as “something to remember them by” and claim Milotic looks better on MC’s team anyway.

Sixth and final pokémon on their team is route specific, although both are rock types due to R’s interest in rocks. Rebellion R gets Sableye, a pokémon that lives a quiet life in caves and eats crystals, the rumors about Sableye stealing souls would synergize well with R being framed for a crime they didn’t commit. Reclamation R would get Glimmora, a pretty flower made out of crystals… of course, said crystals are made out of poison, but R would never use them for evil, how could you even think otherwise?

E:

For a starter, E got Pawmot. Electric/Fighting pika-clone that evolves from Pawmo after walking 1000 steps alongside its trainer. This one is the most spoiled little thing.

Following that, E has a Fidough, their beloved puppy that helps them with cooking. It evolves into Dachsbun after E gets more confidence. Also, it has the Well-Baked Body ability (P hates it. Dachsbun is resistant or immune to almost everything on their team).

Third one is a Bewear, a big and fluffy friend that is ridiculously strong, to the point of accidentally killing its friends with bone-shattering hugs. Fitting with E’s power.

Fourth in line is Hitmonlee. Fighting type with a focus on legs. Fast boy. E goes on runs with it.

Their trade pokémon is a Swirlix. A cutie-patootie fairy goofball of a pokémon that they eventually trade with MC so that it can evolve and grow stronger. E keeps whatever pokémon MC trades them as a reminder to be strong.

Finally, their route specific puppies. Good Influence E gets a Boltund, a good doggie that can run for three days straight, easily break 50 mhp at top speed, and zap its enemies with electricity. Bad Influence E gets a Houndoom, a bad doggo that can give someone eternal, burning pain and chooses its leader via combat.

V:

Their starter is an Inteleon with the Sniper ability, they have been together since before V was made a soldier. To quote the dex entry: “Its nictitating membranes let it pick out foes’ weak points so it can precisely blast them with water that shoots from its fingertips at Mach 3.” This pokémon has finger guns, V has a real gun, they are perfect.

Second is a well-trained Rockruff puppy that evolves differently depending on what route V is on. Civilian V gets midday Lycanroc, an extremely loyal pup with a calm demeanor, representing V healing from the trauma and learning how to form bonds. Soldier V gets midnight Lycanroc, who will happily sustain injuries for the sake of taking down its opponent, V’s just a soldier and their life belongs to their commander, why should their pokémon be any different?

Hatterene takes number three. This pokémon’s evolutionary line HATES strong emotions, so no wonder one of them would like having a trainer as emotionless as V.

Frosmoth is next for two reasons. First, I wanted V to have an ice type since they grew up in a cold region. Second, Frosmoth is a friendship evolution and it signalizes that V is not fully emotionless.

Their trade pokémon is none other than Pumpkaboo. Its dex entry mentions that Pumpkaboo are said to be the product of areas where lost souls lingered, so odds are V has seen their fair share of Pumpkaboo and had plenty of opportunities to catch one. This trade happens fairly late in V’s path and comes with V realizing that Pumpkaboo wants to be with MC, signaling that V is becoming more aware of other people’s emotions.

Lastly, V’s route specific pokémon are either a therapy dog or the brutal pokémon. Stoutland, a dog that can keep someone warm overnight in the wintry mountains, is taken in by Civilian V, being a friendly pokémon known for rescuing people, it seems fitting that Civilian V would end up with one for support. Soldier V catches Hydreigon, a pseudo-legendary with destruction as its main goal, the perfect weapon for a soldier.

L:

Espeon is their starter. Little L was given an Eevee to keep them company, Little L got attached, and now L can be seen with an Espeon curled up on their lap while they read.

Second one is Luvdisc, because it is heart-shaped and L is a romantic.

Third down is Xatu, a pokémon that can see both the past and future. Fitting with L’s power. Also, bird!

Pidove is on their team and nobody can convince me otherwise. L, nerd that they are, struggling to dumb down their words so that their cutesy widdle pigeon buddy can understand. Pidove is friendly and sincere, and evolves into the intelligent and proud Unfezant. L wants to evolve it, but this process takes way longer than it should thanks to Pidove being their weakest pokémon and hardly seeing any combat until later in the story.

Kadabra is their trade pokémon. They spent a long time planning how they’d ask a possible future friend to trade with them so that their Kadabra could finally evolve. They end up shyly asking MC if they’d be up for a trade so that “they’d never be fully apart” due to having each other’s pokémon.

Time for their route exclusive pokémon, both psychic. Peace L gets Gardevoir, a pokémon that can see the future and is ready to summon a black whole to protect its trainer, everyone is lucky L keeps it under control. Resolve L gets Metagross, a pokémon with four brains and smart enough to rival a supercomputer, everyone better pray L doesn’t Mega Evolve it since its dex entries state, “Mega Evolution stimulated its brain. It emerged as a ruthless Pokémon that will clutch at any means of ensuring its victories.” and “When it knows it can’t win, it digs the claws on its legs into its opponent and starts the countdown to a big explosion.” Yikes.

Raven:

Their starter, Banette, is a doll that became a pokémon over its grudge of being thrown away. Sounds familiar? Raven found it roaming at night during their first week on the streets and the two have been together since.

Next up, Trubbish/Garbodor, a friend that Raven made years ago when they frequented the same dumpsters. Yes, it is sentient, poisonous garbage. Yes, Raven will cuddle it.

Bisharp takes third for being very sharp and stabby. Insanity Raven goes through the work of evolving it into Kingambit. Therapy Raven keeps it a Bisharp.

Number four is Doublade. Why have one stabby sword when they can have two? Insanity Raven keeps Doublade that way, happy to watch the twin blades slash foes to ribbons. Therapy Raven evolves it into Aegislash, deciding that more defense is worth slightly less stabbing.

Their trade pokémon is Haunter. Raven raised it fully planning on trading with MC. This pokémon is almost as clingy towards MC as Raven. Keeping up with both of them is an exercise in patience.

And finally their route specific pokémon. Insanity Raven gets Spiritomb, 108 spirits trapped into a stone as punishment for their misdeeds, with Raven often making cryptic comments about “making” a new Spiritomb. Therapy Raven, for their part, gets a Maushold to remind them of their goal to have their own family with MC.

S:

S’s starter is Sandaconda. Ground types are common in the desert and its Sand Spit ability turns out to be way more viable when their opponents aren’t used to dealing with sandstorms.

Revavroom is a must for S. A motor pokémon that canonically gets used to power up vehicles? S has built a dozen starmobiles for their Revavroom.

Cyclizar looks like a bike, of course S would have one. It is their main ride when Sandrider is not available. S makes it wear Safety Goggles to protect it from sandstorms.

Their fourth pokémon is Vanillite, because ice cream jokes. S only got it after coming to the academy, which is why it is not evolved and low level. It grows into a Vanilluxe eventually.

For their trade pokémon, S has a Rhydon. They did not originally plan to trade it, nor where they interested in evolving it further. MC is the one to suggest a trade and S ends up deciding that Rhydon is the one they should trade away.

Now, both of their path exclusive pokémon are pseudo-legendaries, because S deserves it. Speed Devil S goes for Garchomp, a land shark capable of going at speeds equal to a jet fighter plane, the perfect Ground-type for a speed devil. Troublemaker S, for their part, gets Tyranitar, an insolent mobile disaster and their best partner in crime after MC.

P:

P’s starter is obviously Blaziken. Fire/Fighting, solid ability in Speed Boost, and an overall solid starter choice. P has trained it since it was a Torchic, maxing out its speed and attack stats.

P gets Ninetales to match with their twin. P caught it as a Vulpix and was very quick to evolve it via Fire Stone.

To represent P’s interest in cooking, they get Garganacl, the rock salt pokémon. Its Purifying Salt ability makes it immune to status conditions, while its signature move, Salt Cure, helps ensure its opponent will not last long on the battlefield. P doesn’t use it much, not being used to its typing, so Garganacl often comes as a surprise to their opponents.

Annihilape takes fourth. A pokémon that got so angry that it died and came back angrier. P and their Annihilape act so similar, it is funny. Rage buddies refuse to chill until they kill one (1) shitty dad.

Their trade pokémon is Gurdurr. They insist they hate it and only traded it with MC to get rid of the damn thing. It has maxed out affection. Regardless of what MC trades back, P will act underwhelmed and mentions it will takes ages to train it up to their standards.

Path exclusive time, with two sword-themed pokémon to distance P from their father’s spears. Competition P has Ceruledge, representing their growing resentment, its dex entries state, “The fiery blades on its arms burn fiercely with the lingering resentment of a sword wielder who fell before accomplishing their goal.” and “An old set of armor steeped in grudges caused this Pokémon’s evolution. Ceruledge cuts its enemies to pieces without mercy.”. Cooperation P gets Scrappy Sirfetch’d, a chivalrous knight with a versatile movepool, which can make it a viable choice in both double and single battles.

M:

Spheal is M’s lovable starter. Their father was hoping M would dominate the battlefield with Walrein, but Spheal has refused to evolve so far. It stays small and cute on Alt M’s path. It finally evolves all the way into Walrein in Maso M’s path.

M gets Alolan Ninetales to match with their twin. They didn’t catch it and instead got it as a gift (from a relative? a suitor? who knows). Took ages for them to evolve it, even though they could have easily gotten an Ice Stone.

Their Komala is next, a pokémon that stays asleep its entire life. They are nap buddies.

Their trade pokémon is Dusclops. It evolves when traded while holding a Reaper Cloth, a nod to M’s planned use of scythes.

Path exclusives are both bangers. Maso M gets Baxcalibur, a pseudo-legendary Ice/Dragon; its signature ability, Thermal Exchange, boosts its attack when it is hit by a Fire-type move, which parallels Maso M needing to be hurt to be at their most effective. Alt M, for their part, nets Slaking, a ridiculously strong pokémon with attack and HP on par with legendaries, but held back by its Truant ability that forces it to only act every other turn; this matches M’s own strength being held back by their sleepiness and forces them to plan around it.

F:

Their starter pokémon is Serperior, a Grass-type that can stop its opponents’ movements with just a glare from its noble eyes. A smug grass snake for the smug forest royal.

Scolipede takes second. F likes to harvest its deadly poison to use in assassinations. It is a soft baby when it comes to F, though, happy to curl up at their feet while they are working.

Third is Drapion. It produces potent poison yet prefers using its physical strength to overpower foes. F’s loyal bodyguard that uses its force to intimidate anyone who might pose a threat to their trainer.

Next up is Parasect. Parastic mushrooms that take control over their host until it is nothing but an empty shell with nothing more to take. F loves their fungus zombie.

Their trade pokémon is Phantump. A child who died while lost in the forest and possessed a stump. F caught it during a rare moment of pity, they trade it with MC, claiming they got tired of babysitting. They will occasionally mention missing their Phantump, only to immediately scoff and pretend they never said that, what are you talking about?

For their route specific we have two interesting options. Royal F catches Tsareena, embodying F’s own cruel heart, with its dex entry stating, “In victory, it shows off by kicking the defeated, laughing boisterously.” Royal F loves when it does that. Peasant F gets Volcarona, a pokémon said to be the rage of the sun, a deity of fire, made to save people and pokémon from cold, and symbolic of F’s more heroic role in the Peasant path.

BONUS:

While it would be impossible to plan a whole team for MC, I believe their father would determine the available starters.

Papa Strom took MC to a military daycare center and had his kid choose from a hand-picked selection of starters. The options are:

Oshawott (Water): its final evolution, Samurott, is based off samurai. Since a Storm MC can have a katana, this seemed fitting.

Chespin (Grass): its final evolution, Chesnaught, is based off the concept of knights and armor.

Charmander (Fire): it seems fitting for a STORM MC to have a starter that can actually fly later on, not to mention how knights and dragons often appear side by side in stories.

Razor didn’t get to give his kid a pokémon. Luckily MC managed to steal one from a totally-not-fake pokémon professor that just so happened to wander on a poorly lit part of town with three starters on his belt. The options are:

Froakie (Water): ninja pokémon, perfect for a sneaky thief.

Rowlet (Grass/Flying): ghost archer with a Robin Hood theme, fitting for a more heroic Razor MC.

Tepig (Fire): its final evolution is based off a man who was assassinated by his own subordinates, foreshadowing MC’s own connection to assassins.

Dad Xero brought home a trio of pokémon he had been considering training for use in his lab. MC bonded particularly well with one of them and Xero decided to let his kid keep it. The options are:

Piplup (Water): evolves into a Water/Steel type, which is immune to poison. Having a pokémon with poison immunity is essential to many lab setting with dangerous chemicals abound.

Bulbasaur (Grass/Poison): the other side of the coin, a Grass/Poison type. Greatly useful for studying both antidotes and bio weapons.

Cyndaquil (Fire): its official category is the fire mouse pokémon, so it makes sense one would end up a lab rat.

Pops Scurra just sent a pokéball via mail one day, alongside a handful of trinkets. E’s mom may or may not have *gently* convinced him that his kid was old enough to get their own pokémom and mentioned a particular one she was sure MC would like. The options are:

Popplio (Water): a darling singer to provide musical accompaniment to MC’s performances.

Sprigatito (Grass): a magician ready to provide an enchanting performance alongside its trainer.

Scorbunny (Fire): its final evolution, Cinderace, has this tidbit on its pokédex entry, “It gets pumped up when cheered on. But if it starts showboating, it could put itself in a tough spot.” A good reminder for any performer.

#submission #This is too great to not post #bravo to whoever took the time and thought to make this

[probablyaseamonster]

She was not a canary.

She was feathered not in the red of blood and desperation but in the white of bleached coral, formed from the stars of the end dimension, her dimension, the world she'd tricked and failed to trick people into venturing to, a world she'd lived in many lifetimes ago. She had fallen, and now she would fly, unlike her brother, doomed to die in caves, unable to spread his wings.

She was not a canary. She would rather be one than what she was now, would rather be a martyr of death and destruction than a martyr of peace and love. She would rather forever have red-stained eyes than die as she had; unaccomplished and barely mourned, the grief of her husband drowned out by the masses' elation over the breaking of a curse - the short-lived liberty of a brother she had forgotten she'd made the promise to protect.

She had had no real friends, nobody who rooted for her. On her last life she was hurt, consumed by revenge, not even her beloved husband escaping her wrath. She was dangerous - it was better for everyone else that she'd died. The world would be safer without her presence.

All she'd wanted was to harm others. But not even in death was she allowed to haunt alongside the ghosts of pain and suffering, war and strife. She was to be a bringer of unity, an abolisher of danger. An avian spirit of peace.

But hey, at least white would match her outfit.

#lizzie ldshadowlady #secret life lizzie #secret life jimmy #seablings #lizzie the dove #an unwilling peacemaker #i am so unwell about session 6 can you tell?

[trashprinceward]

A New Vessel - A FAITH Fic (NSFW)

I may as well get this out the way! This was a fic I wrote last year not long after completing the Unholy Trinity. It's kinda ass and real cheesy, but it's the first smut I've written in like 5 years, so I'm kinda rusty.

Summary: Post Profane Sabbath ending. After John loses all faith, he is taken by the cult of The Unspeakable, to be offered up as a new vessel. However, the ritual is a little more intimate than John expected.

Contains: Nudity/sex, crisis of faith, dubcon, "communion" with an eldritch being, trans!John (with possible dysphoria), corruption, slow build due to villain gloating omg. GaryxJohn, UnspeakablexJohn.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by the characters are not necessarily mine. Some minor liberties are taken for the purposes of the story, the plot demands what it must. I'm not a GaryxJohn shipper personally, but it was necessary for the story so if that's your bag, enjoy!

John kneeled before the two broken mannequins, effigies of the lost children he had chased for so long. The children who never were. A symbol of his failure and delusion. On his knees, in supplication and submission, he accepted his fate as he raised his hands towards them. A final plea for mercy. Denied. Instead, each hand was grasped by a demon wearing the forms of the children he had failed. Micheal and Amy, once those who depended on his faith, now the bringers of his judgement. And they judged him to be unforgivable. There was a moment of pain, as he felt the gaze of The Unspeakable upon him. And then, darkness.

_____________

The sound of shuffling feet slowly roused him to the cool air of the room. His feet flinched on the cold, stone floor as the scent of blood filled the air around him. His body ached with stiffness, and a sharp pain that pulsed through his neck. His arms were raised, suspended by restraints above his head. Slowly, his eyes opened as he awoke, taking in the darkened room around him, barely illuminated by torches flickering on the walls. As his eyes focused, he took in the form of a red-robed figure stood before him.

"Hello, John." A dark voice addressed him from beneath the hood. "It's so nice to finally meet you." "Gary…?" He responded, identifying the figure before him as the cult leader who had pursued him for so long. "Correct, priest." Gary nodded as he observed John. "You had been quite a thorn in my side this past month. Only to disappear entirely at this most crucial moment. We were so worried that you had already succumbed to your despair…" He stepped forwards beginning to circle his captive. "We thought all was lost when you took the girl from us. Our beloved vessel, mangled by a murderer." John sneered in retort, though no words came to his defence. How could they, when he knew he was responsible for the deaths of so many? "We thought our progress lost…" Gary continued. "The second death beyond our grasp. Until we realised the perfect vessel had walked right up to us." He snickered, spreading his arms wide. "It's you, John. All this has been for you. Only you."

John couldn't meet the cultist's gaze, simply staring into the dark. All his work for nothing. All he had brought was more death and suffering. "We should have realised sooner. It was there in my own writing…" Gary slowly stepped closer, eyes locked on his captive's. "Yes… 'Only those who have ascended to the highest point can descend into the lowest depths'... Fitting that one so favoured by God, should fall so low." A grin spread across his lips as he leaned in close, causing John to flinch as he felt the other's warmth. "A familiar story, is it not, priest?" The cultist chuckled as he cupped John's cheek. "You're my new Lucifer." "No!" He jerked away from Gary's touch, a defiant glare meeting the other's eyes for only a moment, before a feeling of dread crawled down his spine. 

John shivered in the cold air, feeling the chill on what he now realised was his bare skin. He jolted in surprise, struggling against his restraints and shifting his legs together as he moved in an attempt to cover himself. "Fret not, priest." Gary snorted, waving his hand. "I've no interest in such things. Simply part of the procedure." The cultist's words did little to put John at ease, feeling the other's eyes upon him as he was appraised. As a sacrifice, no doubt. Why else would they have need of him? Shuffling forwards, he tucked his legs as far back as they could. As he leaned forwards, he felt a shifting on his chest. His cross, a small pendant around his neck. The only item of adornment still upon him. Perhaps there was still enough grace in him that they were unable to touch it. Or perhaps it remained simply as a cruel taunt.

Gary cupped his chin as his gaze ventured over John's body, taking note of a pair of scars on his chest, which hinted at something he already suspected. "Curious…" He muttered, reaching a hand out to trail his fingers across the smooth, pinkened lines. "Not exactly what one might expect from a man of God, hm?" He raised an eyebrow, briefly catching John's gaze from beneath his hood. The priest quickly looked away. "God made me who I am. I only had to journey to discover that." John spoke, with as much belief as he could muster. "Oh?" Gary nodded as he stepped away, beginning to circle around the man. "You've practised that line a few times, haven't you?" He chuckled, leaning into John from behind, resting his head on the other's shoulder. "Do you still believe it?" He whispered, moving to his other side. "Did you ever?" John flinched away from Gary's breath on his ears, flinching as he felt the throbbing in his neck redouble. "One would think a merciful god would birth their men as men, no?" Gary mused, returning to stand before the priest. John took a deep breath, his voice wavering as he attempted to speak. "I trust in the Lord, and His plans." He recited, as though an empty memorization rather than real belief. "It is not upon me to question the will of-..." "Spare me the sermon, Preacher." Gary snapped, waving his hand dismissively. "You don't have to justify yourself to me." He circled his captive once more. "As it was your will since you were a child, was it not?" He cackled at John's confused expression. "Of course, you forget it was my own mother that raised you, don't you?" John simply stared back at him, bewildered, words only coming in starts and stutters.

"But… how? I-..." "Of course, you either wouldn't recognize her, or the trauma simply made you forget." Gary continued, watching the gentle shifting of John's cross as he moved. "Just another child at the convent. Your own mother claimed by the very demon you are about to host… And no father to speak of. Not even a record of his existence." He laughed as he entertained the thought. "Perhaps you were an immaculate conception… Like me." Gary grinned a toothy grin, far wider than any human face should allow, sending a shiver down John's spine. "She told me of how you dressed in the boy's clothing. How you rebuked your old name. How you chose John from the book because you thought it would make you 'closer to God'..." He shook his head, chuckling derisively. "A misguided effort, in the end."

"Still!" Gary clapped his hands together, causing John to flinch. "Not that it matters to me. You are what you are. Simply human. Whatever form you take." Once again, he raised a hand to trail it across the priest's chest, even as he attempted to pull away. "There are some among my own fold who are the same, though… Their marks aren't as clean as yours." He smirked. "Curious what the high-ups of the clergy are willing to do to cover up anything that might bring them shame." "I'm not ashamed!" John barked in retaliation, showing the most conviction in his words since the two of them met. "And quite rightly so." Gary smiled broadly in response, dragging his fingers down John's chest slowly. "You should accept who you are… What you are. Indulge it, enjoy it." His hand travelled lower down the priest's body, from his chest and over his stomach, a slight paunch from age and a mostly inactive lifestyle. "But, this leads me to my true curiosity. I simply must know…"

Gary's hand descended further, over the mound between John's legs, as the priest attempted to pull away, squeezing his legs together. "I'm not going to hurt you." The cultist spoke, his tone surprisingly earnest. John could only tense up as he felt fingers pry between, tracing around the folds of his lips, causing him to shudder. "Wh… What do you want?" The priest choked out. "Your humanity, John. The flaws and the drives that your god would stifle." Gary lightly pressed a finger against John's opening, gently prising inside. "I want your true self." John raised his hips, attempting to pull away, though there was nowhere else for him to go. "I can't do this…" He breathed. "You can, John…" Gary held his grip, firm enough to keep his captive from squirming, but not enough to hurt. "It's your destiny… and I think you've always known that." His fingertip circled around inside John, meeting a slight resistance as he moved. An eyebrow raised as a smirk crossed his lips. "Ah… Untouched." he grinned, his free hand reaching to pat John's cheek lightly. "Such a good Christian boy." he laughed softly. "Saving yourself for God, hm?... Was it worth it?"

John flinched as he felt Gary's finger curl slightly, barely inside, but he could feel every movement, gritting his teeth as his hips unconsciously followed after him. "It's not right…" John breathed, trying to find some clarity in his thoughts. "I honour Him in chastity, and He honours me in return." he recited, trying to focus on the vows of his faith. "You really have an answer for everything, don't you?" Gary sneered, circling his thumb gently to brush slowly against John's clit, causing the priest to immediately jolt against his grip, a sudden gasp catching in his throat. "Well if that's true…" the cultist continued. "Why did he abandon you?" John couldn't respond. Only his ragged breathing passed his lips as he hung his head, grimacing as he focused on the cultist's hand between his legs.

"He may not want you, priest… But we do." Gary purred, circling his thumb again as John squirmed in his grip. "We understand your nature, which your god had you deny for so long… We would never deny you your own body. Your urges, your drives, your desires… Own them, John." He smiled. "I won't judge you for them. After all… Gary loves you." The cultist leaned in closer, half-embracing the priest with his free arm, feeling him tremble against his body. "Tell me you don't want this." He whispered. "Give into yourself, and we will give you everything."

John closed his eyes, shaking his head as he took a deep breath. His resolve was failing and he knew it. He had always been diligent in his vows, even up until his first dealings with the cult, feeling that the grace of God was with him. But now he felt nothing. Perhaps the truth was that he was beyond saving. Unforgivable. Looking back up, he met eyes with the cultist once more, his expression oddly comforting. It almost terrified him. Gary pushed his finger a little deeper, curling upwards inside the priest, prompting a loud, deep moan which he quickly stifled. Legs already weakened, John buckled forwards against the cultist, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold steady. "I think that's all I needed to hear." Gary smirked, slowly setting the other back on his feet, withdrawing his hand and pulling away.

"He's ready…" Gary paced a few steps backwards, leaving John to regain his footing. Through blurred vision, the priest saw more pinpricks of light begin to spark up in the darkness, illuminating the forms of dozens more red-robed figures, watching him from the darkness. He began to panic, struggling slightly against his restraints. "Wait! What are they doing here…?" "Worry not, priest." Gary spoke once again in his disturbingly reassuring tone. "They are simply here to see the coming of their new lord." His grin grew a little more sinister. A strange, shifting sound caught John's attention as he felt something moving around his feet. Looking down, he saw what he could only describe as a mass of shifting hands and arms. He stuttered in fear and surprise as he kicked his feet around it, trying to escape the grasping claws which reached out to grab him. "Here he is!" Gary called out, raising his arms as he looked past John, above his head. The priest dared not look at what. "Your new host. A chosen of God, practically pure. The perfect vessel." In unison, the cultists lined up behind Gary fell to their knees in reverence, and for a brief moment, John felt a sense of power that he hadn't ever before.

Hands continued to wrap around him, cradling the weight of his body as they lifted him up. Beneath his arms, around his chest, caressing his stomach, stroking his hair and supporting his legs. All their attentions making him feel oddly comforted in how surprisingly tender they were. Gary leaned in close once more, reaching over to unfasten the restraints around John's wrists, now that he was secure in the grasp of The Unspeakable. "Succumb to your destiny, priest. Assume your role as the new antichrist. Our king of pain!" The cultist roared triumphantly, raising his arms as the gathering behind him chanted and cheered. John was awash with turmoil. Fear and excitement, reluctance and eagerness. The anticipation was overwhelming. "Relax, John…" Gary spoke softly as he observed. "It will not hurt you. It knows your true desires. Trust in The Unspeakable."

One of the hands around him moved, slipping around his body, down between his legs much as Gary's had before. It wasted little time in seeking what it wanted. John had already been prepared, wet and ready to receive the demon as its thick finger pushed inside. Taking deep breaths, he tried to focus on anything else, muttering quietly under his breath.

“I will say of the Lord: He is my refuge and my fortress. My God, in Him I will trust… " John gasped in shock as his body tensed, not expecting so much so quickly. He tried to relax and ease himself into the embrace of the arms around him, but the tight pressure around his entrance pulled his attention with each movement. John squeezed his eyes shut, avoiding looking at Gary, the crowd, and most certainly the thing that loomed above him. He took deep breaths to try and calm himself, each hand upon him doing it's part to soothe him, as the one inside moved back and forth in its unrelenting rhythm.

“I shall not be- ah… afraid of the terror in th-... the night, nor the evil that- nhn… walketh in darkness, because I have m-... made the Lord my… my refuge.” As Gary had done previously, the creature pressed its thumb against his clit, rubbing firmly. John's back arched at the rough, textured grip against him, coaxing out small moans as his body rocked with the movement. As he shifted, he felt the cool surface of his cross against his hot skin, a small reminder of what had carried him so far.

“I have… I have set my love upon Him, therefore will He… He… ahn…” Despite the eyes upon him, he was beginning to lose himself, body moving to accept more of the demon into him, until he felt the tension break. He gave a sharp yelp in pain, eyes snapping open as his gaze met that of Gary, a knowing smirk upon his face. A brief moment of dismay crossed the priest's mind as he was struck with realisation, before it was quickly buried again by the creature moving more fluidly inside him. "Oh God… God, please…" He moaned, part of him hoping that his pleas might be answered, even while the rest of him yearned for more. Shaking his head, he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his moans, and the thousand blasphemies that were swimming in his head.

The arms supporting John's body tilted him back a little, laying him out more horizontally and spreading his legs wider. John's hips began to move of their own accord, pushing back against the creature's hand as he felt the finger move deeper inside, seeking the region to provoke the most response. All the while, the thumb circled around his clit faster, more firmly, causing the priest's body to writhe as he moved to grind back against it. For all the attentions he received, it wasn't enough. Perhaps some part of him knew it never would be. After a lifetime of denial, he had been given a taste of the forbidden, and immediately craved more. He arched his back, head rolling limply as he tossed from side to side in pleasure. Unable to stifle himself any longer, John began to call out, his breathless gasps now deep moans. Long, unrestrained groans of ecstasy that grew as he rocked harder against the demon's grip. His squirming contorted into more stiff angles as his body started to become more rigid, almost as if he instinctively knew to anticipate something. His breathing fast and heavy, he could feel the building of something deep in the pit of his stomach. Shivers ran through his body as the prying finger struck its target, driving him closer to the edge he had worked so hard to keep from approaching. It was too much for him to bear. An onslaught of pleasure he could never hope to resist in his current state. The priest's body tightened, his muscles tense as his head swam. He felt his stomach turning, and his heart beating in his chest, and soon enough, his resolve gave out completely with a shuddering gasp, and a breathless exaltation. "Ah! Oh, God! F-... forgive me!" He called out, his voice echoing throughout the dark, cavernous room. John panted quickly as he allowed himself to go limp, his body rocking in spasms of their own accord as he was hit with a wave of the most intense pleasure he could fathom, feeling as though he barely danced upon the edge of consciousness.

The hands gently began to lower him down, placing John's body upon the cool, store floor, prompting a small whimper as he flinched at the cold. He didn't move, simply remaining where he lay as he stared at his hands. He suddenly, sickeningly, felt aware of everything that was around him. The sweat upon his body, the odd raspy breathing of the creature above him, the hot stickiness between his legs. His stomach turned. One of the cultists slowly began to approach, unfurling a silken, red robe, which was then draped around the priest's form as he lay unmoving on the ground. "Wonderful, priest!" Gary's voice broke the silence, causing John to flinch. "The Unspeakable is pleased! It seems eager to take you as its new vessel." The cult leader paced closer, kneeling besides John's fallen form. "How noble for you to offer It your purity." He chuckled. John flinched again, feeling the weight of those words upon him. He felt dirty. Defiled. Though perhaps worse was that he knew he gave himself willingly. He broke his vows to God, and did so of his own volition. His breathing broke into quick sobs, though no tears came to his eyes. Slowly, he brought his hand up to close around his cross, gripping it tightly, and hoping for… something, anything. But there was nothing. No hope or faith or reassurance that he may once have been granted. Only a void where God's favour once was.

"What do you want from me?" John asked, still not moving. "Only what you will give." Gary cooed, reaching over to place a hand on the priest's shoulder. "And in return…?" "Anything you desire." Gary grinned, rising to his feet, spreading his arms wide. "Your every wish, their command. All that you ask." He watched as John slowly began to sit up. "Give yourself as a host, and the world will be laid at your feet." John played the cross around in his hand as he thought, considering what had led him to this. His wavering faith, an inability to act upon the encroaching darkness. A threat that he faced alone. When he first tried to cast out the demon, he had been dragged into it by a senior priest. And yet the failure was put solely upon him. His inexperience with his first exorcism blamed. He was cast out from the church, condemned by the Vatican,  his pleas ignored by anyone who could help. Locked in a cell as a madman, and left to face the oncoming end of the world, alone.

John grit his teeth, clenching his fist tightly around his cross, before giving a sharp tug, breaking the chain around his neck. Gary, observing this, raised an eyebrow curiously. "They abandoned me…" the priest muttered, staring into his hand, pendant glinting in the torchlight. "What chance did I really have, facing all this alone?" He blinked, feeling tears welling in his eyes. "They tried to pretend I didn't even exist." He frowned, and for the first time since all this began, had one shining moment of clarity. "It wasn't my fault." He stated defiantly. "I was never ready for any of this, it wasn't my fault." He barked, anger bleeding through into his voice, as he tossed the necklace aside. Gary's smile grew with an unsettling warmth, seeming genuinely proud of John's epiphany. "They asked so much of you…" He purred, standing over the priest where he sat, reaching down to gently cup his face in his hands. "It's time to rest John. Stop fighting. Take what you deserve after so much pain."

Taking a deep breath, John slowly got to his feet, clutching the robe around him. He looked over the crowd of cultists, all knelt before him, before turning back to Gary. "Fine…" he spoke quietly. "I'll do it. I'll be your vessel." Gary's grin grew unnaturally wide at John's agreement, laughing heartily as he turned to his followers. "Our new vessel, children! Hail, our king of pain!" The echoes of his voice were soon drowned out by the cheers of the cult, chanting their devotion to the new lord. John felt his pulse race, his stomach turn and his breathing quicken as he awaited what. would happen. Gary reached over to grip his shoulder. "You're already there… Just let it in…"

Once again, John felt hands brushing around his legs, The Unspeakable returning to grasp across his body. With a speed and vigour he'd not felt before, the creature entered inside him, deeper than before. The sensation was different. Effortless and intangible. It was not simply physically inside him, but spiritually. The demon phased into his body as it filled him, pushing him to his limits and moving beyond them, creating something new with his form. Against his better judgement, John chose to look above him to see the demon who would now share his form.

Gazing back at him, he saw only a single, eldritch eye. All creation reflected in its surface, and he could feel all of it transferring inside him. The process was overwhelming, and he soon blacked out.

_______________

John came to, already on his feet, stood out under the night sky with the forest around him. He still felt… himself. But things were different somehow. He could hear the rustle of every blade of grass, smell the blood of every creature nearby, taste life on the breeze. Every sense had been heightened. Hearing footsteps approach from behind, he turned to see Gary drawing near. "Back with us?" He smiled. "I… don't know." John looked down at himself, seeing that he was now fully clothed in red robes. "I… feel like myself." "Good. Then it worked." Gary nodded, striding ahead. "The Unspeakable isn't possessing you, John. It IS you. Body and soul." He clapped a hand on the other's shoulder joyfully. "You are one, now." John nodded, turning back to look around at the forest. "What are we doing out here?" He asked. "Where are we going?" "The church, John." Gary grinned. "We have a lot of unfinished business to attend to, no?" John, the new lord, turned back to him, neutral expression slowly shifting into something more sinister, a smirk creeping across his face. "Yes… yes I think there is."

#faith the unholy trinity #faith airdorf #faith game #faith fanfic #john ward #john ward faith #gary miller #garyjohn #johngary #smut

[ldcurtain]

Show us the Institute song

What a lovely request. The Institute’s school song is meant to inspire the children and encourage them to strive for greatness. Here are the lyrics to the Institute's school song, which we play before every tetherball game, pep rally, and school assembly:

We pledge allegiance to the Institute,

A school so strong and true!

Our beloved messengers and executives,

Are heroes through and through!

We should be glad to count ourselves among them,

And march towards victory.

Our message spread throughout the world,

Across all land and sea.

We are the bringers of knowledge,

Of what is right and good.

We’ll ensure our new order

Is thoroughly understood.

We love you our dear Institute,

A school so good and true!

In her name we fight, with all our might,

The weak crushed by her shoe!

Should our enemies stand against us,

We’ll kill those rotten germs.

They destroy everything they touch,

Like vile poison worms!

But these fools don’t stand a chance,

They will surely feel our pain.

Their petty attempts to stop us,

Will only be in vain.

We pledge allegiance to Dr. Curtain,

Our fearless leader and friend.

His brilliance will protect us,

And guide us to the end.

It is a privilege to enjoy the Whisperer,

Dr. Curtain’s great device.

He carries the burden of greatness,

An endless sacrifice!

Dr. Curtain will show us how to LIVE,

For he knows what is best.

He is the MASTER of the world,

And shines above the rest!

I pledge my undying loyalty,

To Dr. Curtain and his cause.

It is for my own benefit,

To hear and obey his laws.

Dr. Curtain is a genius,

Who I shall never doubt.

His generosity I will praise,

His whisperers I will shout!

Together under Dr. Curtain,

A brighter world we stand!

Brothers who break promises,

Have no place in the new land.

I pledge my life to Dr. Curtain,

I will answer the call.

All across our battlefields,

His enemies will fall!

I will destroy the traitors,

Rid the world of their disease.

Dr. Curtain’s noble mission

Is my true destiny.

We will conquer the world with our wisdom,

And we will never fail!

For we know for certain,

When we stand with Dr. Curtain,

We forever shall prevail!

#curtainanswers #Lovely song isn't it? #ld curtain #dr curtain #dr. curtain #ledroptha curtain

[lesbian-empress-nero]

Imperfect.

That was what she was.

She could easily resolve the frizzy hair, the circles under her eyes, the chap of her lips. She could erase the callouses on her hands as though they had never existed in the first place. She smiled with too much teeth and wrinkled her nose because she had never learned how to smile in a way that did not remind others of her immortality.

But her beloved, Hunger and Emptiness, seemed to like them.

He seemed to enjoy laying beside her, holding her as though she were some fragile thing and brushing her frizzy hair with his fingers.

He seemed to like the circles of her eyes, the red glint they had. (After all, she often found him staring at her, presumably lost in thought.)

He didn’t seem to mind the chap of her lips, pressing soft kisses to them whenever he felt like it.

He seemed to like tracing the callouses of her palms with his fingers, lightly running his nails over them without thought.

He would smile back at her, fondness gleaming in his eyes at her wrinkled nose and bared teeth.

All of her imperfections, all of the things she had developed over her time of living among humans, all of the things she kept to blend in more. He seemed capitvated by them.

And she didn’t understand.

She didn’t understand how he could favour her, with her obvious flaws and the knowledge that a goddess could not keep herself looking perfect. She didn’t understand how he could choose her over others, over the woman on television he had once adored.

She was the goddess of death, the goddess of misery and punishment- she had been cast from her role as a creator and mother. She was a tormentor now, bringer of pain and suffering wherever she dared tread.

And yet he didn’t seem to care. He would stare at her as though she held the stars in her hands just for him, as though she were the only thing that mattered.

Izanami was not the perfect goddess she had once been.

But Tohru Adachi loved her all the same.

WAAAAAH THIS IS SO SWEET OMFG- ADACHI LOVING IZANAMI FOR HER IMPERFECTONS!!!!! SHE DOESNT LIKE THAT SHE'S IMPERFECT BUT ADACHI LOVES HER FOR THAT AAAAGHGGHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!

#nero answers #shackle-foes #izadachi #adanami

[aphrodisianbaby]

a prayer to Aphrodite Philopánnykos to ward fertility and pregnancy

I cry to Beloved Philopánnykos—friend of seduction and indulger of the flesh.

bringer of pleasure, free of pain, a chain has shackled to my neck.

free me of my mortal consequences, My Goddess of Mercy,

and send away your mighty girdle from me to a mother robbed of child.

Pótnia, Sæmní, Propagator of Humanity,

spare your child a fate most damning.

I call your name, Aphrodite most High, and beseech your generous heart.

withdraw these chains of fertility

so the blood of lust and youth may flow once more.

references

Philopánnykos — friend of all-night activities

Pótnia — mistress, queen

Sæmní — holy, exalted

epithets gathered from HellenicGods.org

#aphrodite #helpol #hellenic polytheism #aphrodite deity #hellenic pagan #prayers #hellenic polytheist #for any afab ppl in need lmao #aphrodite philopánnykos

[caelanglang]

Trigun anon here and omg??? I didn't expect the sketch/doodle, thank you so much TvT!

Same here, I only watched Trigun Stampede and Im planning on watching the og and reading the manga but I heard it's really sad and as someone who cried so hard in episodes 11 and 12 (esp because of Vash-) I wonder how I'll handle :'DD!

Your Wolfwood looks so awfully endearing and the chibi Dazai and Vash doing the "Love and Piece" is the cutest. AND I AGREE I LOVE VASH SO SO MUCH HE IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME. I'VE ONLY HAD HIM FOR 12 EPS BUT IF ANYTHING (more-) HAPPENS TO HIM I SHALL CRY! And like m so glad someone sees the vision because Chuuya and Wolfwood being (spoilers ahead for trigun stampede and storm bringer for other ppl!) victims of experimentation and undergoing severe trauma + losing sm ppl yet still having kindness deep down in them :(((, m sure they would understand each other sm and it hurts to think about it. Your sketch just alleviated the pain and made it into something so fond <33

Thank you so much again for the doodle, Chuuya and Woowoo my beloveds <33

Glad you like it anon :D!!

Actually same,, I'm scared to see what other evils the manga and og anime have in store for the story (ToT)// VASH DID NOT DESERVE ALL THE PAIN AAAAAAAAAALSDJHALG

I'm glad the sketch alleviated some angst damage :,3 trigun is such a wonderful show and the characters are so easy to love hhngnng

oh yeah random fun fact,, but that one chuuya painting in an hourglass that I made a while back was actually inspired by that one scene in the trigun stampede op :DD this one cut was so cool !!

then boom i inserted chuuya angst lmaoo

ayt i will stop rambling akjshdflaf thank you so much again for liking :)) !!

#dam i should start piling up my trigun fanarts ahsfkahkj #my friends have been making fun of me for being too much like vash aksjdhalkgjh #inbox

[lightningandfireinmybones]

Merry Christmas even if they were a few days back!!!! I hope you had a good time! (Dont remember if i already wished you well) Currently rereading the latest chapter because i *WILL* send my thoughts on it because both the chapter and you deserve it.

But in the meantime i had some Alicent thoughts that i needed to share with someone else apart from my bestie. So i come here and scream at your inbox with another discount analysis.

Here goes, in my mind Alicent's first time giving birth would have been really traumatizing. As easy as it might have been (in comparison to Aemma's) she was still 15?16? when she gave birth. That combined with the fact that at that time her friendly neighborhood marital rape (for the life of me i am unable to call it anything else) would have hit worse since she was still a child and it was the beginning of her miserable marriage and would have made things much more stressful and hurtful for this child's first time giving birth.

Also also in my headcanon everyone was worried about the baby and whether or not it'd be a boy. And therefore they only spared a look or a word her way when it had to do with the birth and not herself. No worries about her comfort or pain or whatnot. No encouraging words apart from the things you'd expect a farmer to whisper to his birthing cow. Just.. people treated her like a mare to be bred and like the bringer of the much awaited son [and heir (?)]. And oh boi was that a source of stress and terror for her. It must have been!

Not only did she know that the maesters wouldnt hesitate to butcher her trying to get to the Son but also if Viserys could approve of the murder of his dear and beloved wife....what would he approve of regarding her?

What would her father do? Would he even do anything? Isolated and treated as an object. And all that while she is a literal CHILD.

(I dont think my headcanon is that much far from show!reality btw and i must say once more, fuck Alicent haters. She's MY Queen treason and usurping aside. Ilhsm)

Also please let's not forget the actual physical pain and stress the labour would have put on her (underage) body. I cant stress this enough.. she was a C h i l d.

[How can some people be so hateful towards her while simultaneously crying feminist tears over Rhaenyra and her rights and hardships? Hating one of them on the grounds of this flimsy morality means not understanding or respecting either of them.]

Anyways sorry for the spam I just... I was thinking a lot about it while babysitting and having a horrible time trying to get my niece to sleep. I hope my interpretation of what we've seen on the show wasn't completely wrong and horrible.

MERRY CHRISTMAS (respectfully late I’m sorry i have no concept of time being real) TO YOU TOO BESTIE, I’m so excited to hear your thoughts on the latest chapter lmfaoooo

BUT LETS TALK ABOUT YOUR ALICENT THOUGHTS BECAUSE YOURE SO RIGHT AND I LIVE FOR THESE

Calling it martial rape is so right, viserys was really in his “gonna fuck the pain away in a hot teenager the same age as my daughter” era, and somehow managed to isolate Alicent into the role of queen that she had never anticipated before

And the birth of aegon is so loaded with aemma’s ghost and the expectations for an heir but it’s also so scary and has so much implicated for her best friend’s birthright and she really is alone for it and she’s just a baby giving birth to a baby who is in incredible pain and is so isolated b my this role that was thrust upon her

Like you said, her birthing bed was never about her, but about the consequences and implications of her rape bearing fruit, and all anyone cares about is the baby, because as she herself demonstrates, any young pretty thing can be knocked up and called queen when the prior one’s usage expiresm

And then aegon is born and she thinks that maybe, just this once, something and someone is just for her, that her child will love her unconditionally and expect nothing from her and that maybe, despite the horrific origins, being a mother can bring some direction and purpose to her life. The baby will be hers, he will love his mother and give her something to live for and just maybe it’ll be a girl who she can raise up as she would’ve wanted to be raised

EXCEPT it’s a boy

The long awaited ‘heir’

and not even aegon is really hers, because the second he’s born Otto is scheming around him and viserys is haunted even further by the fact that he killed aemma for the chance at this thing that he now has and he realizes it’s meaningless and all of alicent’s suffering for this child was for nothing

I think this plays into the way she is so hard on aegon too, she loves him of course she does, but there is that lingering resentment that aegon was the first to tear her apart and he is a physical manifestation of what viserys and Otto did to her, and he’s such a mess on top of it, it must feel like she did all this for crumbs

And she really should’ve known it would be like this, not even the perils of the birthing bed were about her, why did she expect anything different when the child was actually here, it just drives her deeper into this cold isolated place where her religion and her sacrifice are the only meanings she really has

AND YOURE RIGHT Alicent has a lot of flaws, don’t get me wrong, but so does rhaenyra! And they’re both exposed to this ruthless world where their only bargaining chips and currency are their bodies, wher e power is inherently hinged upon the men in their lives granting them a crumb of respect or autonomy, i think they parallel each other beautifully in that they made the best they could of their circumstances in the only way they could, and that different approach in a system set against them is what inevitably brings them as such interesting counters to each other

(And that’s not even touching on the homoerotic way Milly/Emma and Emily/Olivia played them!!!!)

Anyway never apologize i love hearing your analysis pls send more

#god you just get it so right every time #and I eat it up!! #these make my day #ask #hotd #Alicent Hightower

[cavalierious-whim]

Childe is given the job of a lifetime--to hunt down the most notorious adeptus to have ever been created.

Be sure to check this fic out here on AO3 for better formatting!

The Abyss is darker. 

Zapolyarny palace swims in its own dusky twilight, bitter-cold with the snow that drapes it, but it isn’t matched by the fathomless gloom of the world below that swallows its prey. Childe isn’t afraid of dusk; he lives and breathes it. Drinks it in and relishes it for the dark forms his entire being. He does not fear, chest full of wily confidence that strikes fear into others. 

There is little else that he knows. Failure isn’t an option, it breeds out the weak and only the strong survive. He doesn’t fear, aside from the Tsaritsa.

Or, not strictly fear, not in its purest form. It is apprehension, an instinctual drive to be anywhere but there, prostrate before her feet, bent at her will. Childe itches to turn tail and run, the feeling pricking deep at the base of his spine, smarting to his neck. 

It is programmed. Expected. Automatic. 

But he doesn’t. Childe holds himself stock-still out of practice. His feet are like lead. His tongue is thick in his mouth as his gaze settles on the polished marble floor instead of the Tsaritsa’s face. 

Harbingers do not run. Harbingers bring death and distraction at their whim, laying down the Tsaritsa’s wrath upon her enemies. They are her most loyal servants, living and breathing everything that she is, swatching themselves in her icy-cold love until their hearts are frozen solid, ceasing to beat for themselves. 

They pave the way for Snezhnaya, as thin as the claim is. It is, instead for her. Always for her. 

He, though, is different. Childe was plucked from the barren snows as a kid. His loyalty is built wholly upon necessity, his devotion dangerous in the way that it can warp and waver like an ill-treated sword that was failed by a forge. He is ruled by his desire to see violence, to paint his fingers slick with the blood of adepti. 

The moment that he finds someone stronger than the Tsaritsa he will leave.

“Chaotic,” Scaramouche once called him. It lost him an eye that had to be replaced.

“A liability,” says Signora still. Childe didn’t lash out physically, having learned a painful lesson that time before—but he snapped at her nonetheless, teeth gnashing as he called her all sorts of things. 

Unlike the first Harbinger, the Tsaritsa will coo, cupping Childe’s cheek in her cold hand, and the others quickly fall silent. She is not warm with it despite the way that she seems, incapable of the love that she so daringly claims as her being. It suits Childe just fine. He thrives in the coldest, darkest of places. 

“My darling,” she says to him this morning from where she sits upon her throne. It is large and imposing, little else to the stark room where there are only columns, cool marble floors, and the whispers of the help who think they cannot be overheard.

It is said that the Tsaritsa’s beloved Harbingers are her guard but they are not; she can handle herself, freezing the veins of others with just an icy glance. Her Harbingers are just that—bringers of doom, sweeping darkness over the land, doing her bidding so she can keep her fingers squeaky clean. 

She’d been the most powerful until Childe came along. He’s different which is why he’s coddled, encouraged by the star-cold of her hands, curled gently around his face. He’s her favorite. Everyone knows. 

“My lady,” says Childe, kneeling low to the ground, ignoring the shock of the hard floor against his knee. He’s known worse pain. The creeping dark, he thinks as his mind sinks back to the Abyss. The pain, the suffering, swirling about, the thickest poison surging through—

“I have a new job for you,” says the Tsaritsa, pulling Childe out of his thoughts, blinking at her passively.

Always a job, never a mission, carefully tailored to the person that she chooses to carry it out. It will be framed as well-paying and necessary—but the truth is that it only pays in safety. Those who don’t carry their work out are rarely seen again. 

“You have read the histories, I trust,” she continues. “This request is somewhat related.”

Thousands of years ago the Archon War ravaged the lands. Mortals won—but not before seven of the strongest adepti crowned themselves would-be rulers. These Archons don’t exist anymore, long replaced by those mortal—but there are still adepti hiding away, sprinkled throughout the lands. Some have turned to crime. Others live in peace.

All are hunted down like the dogs they are. 

That is what the Harbingers do, they track those remnants down and retire them for the good of what’s left of Teyvat. And there are none better at this than Childe. 

“There are rumors,” says the Tsaritsa, resting her chin upon her knuckles as she leans against her throne, “that Morax still lives.”

Childe’s head whips up to meet her face. Her skin is so pale that it nearly glows, ethereal and pearlescent, eyes so blue that they seem like cold fire. She smiles at him, a cruel thing that isn’t warm.

And despite the way he hates it, how it curdles his gut, it’s the only love he’s ever known. 

“Morax,” says Childe slowly, unsure that he’s heard her correctly. He licks his lips, digesting the idea. “As in—”

“Yes,” she cuts in with a voice firm. “‘He who laid waste to mankind in the time of war’,” she recites as so many books proclaim. “The so-called Martial God himself.”

Morax was an adeptus who swept the battlefield underneath his palms, laying waste to all mortal kind in his wake. He’d been war incarnate, built of martial instincts, an adeptus so feared that most mortals still tremble at the mere mention of his name. Outside of Liyue, at least.

“They executed him,” says Childe. At the end of the war, after being captured. It’s well documented on every little e-reader that can be found. Vortex Vanquisher, the lance once wielded by Morax himself, currently sits on display abroad, strung up as a warning. 

“So they say.” There is something to the Tsaritsa’s tone that doesn’t quite sit right, something in the way that it’s so calm, almost bored. As though she already knows the answer. Childe frowns. 

His loyalty to her is as far as his need for self-preservation, but there’s never been trust between them on either side, even with all her cooing about how he’s her favorite. 

The Tsaritsa straightens, lifting her chin. “He has been seen in the Liyue Expanse. My contacts are sound, as you would know.” Other Harbingers, he supposes. “You will go and retire him, as expected of any other adeptus scum.”

“Retire him,” repeats Childe. It is an addicting thought. Morax would be sure to put up the fight of a lifetime. 

The Tsaritsa cocks her head to the side as she watches him. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this. You are the strongest of my brood, my beloved Childe.”

She sends him away because he cannot be trusted, far too wily in nature, prone to chaos and whim. He wasn’t raised into his title from birth; he’s a street urchin turned killer, too volatile at his best and downright uncontrollable at his worst.

He is a risk. She’ll never leave him to his devices, and so, he is carefully watched, the eyes of the other Harbingers constantly nailed to his back.

“So,” he drawls, his gaze turning cool, “I’m to hunt Morax and retire him like all the others.” Sounds easier than he expects, of course. Morax isn’t just some adeptus if he’s actually still alive. 

Her gaze turns sharp. “I would approach this with a little more caution than usual.” Childe knows a warning when he hears one.

The Harbingers are meant to blend in and handle things quietly. Efficiently, like well-honed blades that barely make a sound. Childe never does. Astoundingly bad at it, even, flashy in his approach, others speaking of his terror for weeks to come. 

It’s gotten him into heaps of trouble over the years but he can’t help it—it’s implanted deep into his very being. The drive to show off, to be better, for others to notice. He has to.

“Caution,” he finally says. He’ll at least pretend. “Always.”

The Tsaritsa sighs and leans forward, pressing her hand to his cheek as she often does. The tips of her fingers are frozen, the cold of them leeching into his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. Then her grip tightens, nails digging harshly into his face, pinpricks of terror that bring tears to his eyes. “I trust that you understand how important this is.”

She’s drawn blood, vermillion leaking down his face. He doesn’t flinch. Childe relishes in the pain because it grounds him. Makes him feel alive in this cold and barren place. “Of course,” he replies with a thin voice. 

The Tsaritsa watches him carefully, ice-blue eyes peering right into his soul. If he has one. It’s a nagging question. “Of all the adepti still lurking around, Morax is the one that is the biggest threat that everyone stands for,” she muses. 

Morax is only feared in other nations because they never forget, even thousands of years later. Those in the Liyue Expanse speak his name in reverence, claiming that he saved them in the midst of the war. Unlikely. Uncharacteristic. Childe wonders if the histories lie.

Morax’s hatred for mortals is well-known and yet, those in the Expanse named their coinage after him. If he’s alive, Childe wonders why he’s been quiet for so long. 

“It will be taken care of, naturally,” says Childe once his thinking is done.

The Tsaritsa holds him there for a long moment, face pinned between her fingers. Then her grip loosens, letting go as she rubs her thumb over the apple of his cheek gently. “I am the proudest of you,” she says in a falsely sweet croon. “You are the only one suited for this.”

Fight runs in his blood. It calls to him, sings to him, the desire to seek out the best of the best. The need to overcome is ingrained into his very core like a programmed response. It can’t be ignored even if he tries. 

And he’s tried—the bloodlust, the burn for battle. The instinct defines him. 

The others have nothing to prove, bred and born for their titles. Childe is the Eleventh Harbinger but also an outsider who crawled from the pits of the Abyss. He must prove his worth.

Still, despite it all, he leans into her touch, desperate for affection even though he doesn’t trust her. “Everything that I do is for you,” he says, the words well-schooled and practiced. “There is no one else.”

Not even Morax, the most powerful adeptus to have ever been built, can stand in the way of it.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fanfiction #zhongli/childe #childe/zhongli #childe x zhongli #zhongli x childe #zhongchili

[ghostsandmirrors]

1, 3

⊱asks for muns with a multimuse or more than one muse⊰

under read more due to length.

1. is there a muse that you wish gets more attention? Joker, Ultron, every OC.

don't get me wrong, playing Bucky is fun but I have 20 other muses and the complete lack of interest in every OC except Lieat (who I love and adore and would never complain about) kinda fucks me up? just a little bit. especially because most of these OCs have been with me for well over a decade*.

lack of interest in anyone else is also the reason I contemplate getting rid of Bucky once a month (I will never get rid of him).

the people who give any other muse a chance are my wholly beloved motherfuckers.

3. which muse is the trickiest to get into character for? Jesse or Sasha.

Jesse because he's newer. Sasha has historically been a pain in the ass. even over on cherno-sasha.

---

* for reference, the first time I played different characters: - Bam (2009) - Dylan (a version made in 2009, current version made in 2014?) - Joker (2011? 2012?) - Sasha (2013) - The Bringer (2014) - Liaxee (2014/2015) - Wagner (2015) - Bucky (2016) - Ultron (2017) - Dick (2017) - Jameson (2017) - Ai (2017) - Grayson (2018)

Lieat, Nat, the birbs, Peter, Eleanor, Mattie, and Jesse are all new since I made this blog. most of the abandoned OCs are, too, with Daniel Norton being the only one not (2017, remade on the same Potter site Grayson was made on in 2018).

#ooc #ooc!ask #ooc!answer #ty for the meme #i've been sitting on this answer for like an hour to decide if i need to make it less salty lmao #in my defence I've also been sitting on it because streamer's playing sonic DLC

[zorkaya-moved]

❝ tales are told of you. i hear them everywhere. people fear you. ❞ oh but from jing yuan though

@avaere

Tales of agony and lament, an endless life that will never end. The Origin cannot grant her the end, Finality will give her the desired last sentence in the book of life. Before meeting Stellaron Hunters, she still traveled around, a phantom of pain and endlessness. Her gaze is hollow and distant,

Her smile is soft but it feels like it's frozen to her feminine face, a face that's both ethereal and deathly. She is the Harbinger of Eternal Slumber, the dancer of waltz under the full moon surrounded by frozen memories. Fuli would wish for her memories to be collected, she's received their request but her memories will only become the Aeon's when she receives approval form the Origin post her death, never before and never after until Elysia's smile will give her the reassurance to give away memories that carry too much loss and too much unhappiness with blinks of joy.

Does Jing Yuan understand the tales spoken? Fear, everyone experiences fear before the weight of nothingness and death. They've called her a listener, a mother, a teacher, a destroyer, a granter, a witch, a lord, a king, an empress. There are countless stories that reside inside of her, but does General Jing Yuan not bear the same stories in his veins? It's unique, but not uncommon for heroes to be led towards their deaths where the Bringer will offer their hand to them like an old friend, telling them to bid farewell to their beloveds and not.

"They fear me as they fear the end of their lives, Jing Yuan," she keeps her hands behind her back, gloved and held together as she overlooks the beauty of Xianzhou Luofu. He's done well in protecting the people here, nurturing their spirits to move forward when he will not longer be there. "In me, they witness eternity of experience, a delivery to their end. I've lived each and every life you can imagine from a fellow general to a peasant to a witch to an emperor." Her back is straight and her words carry the heaviness of eons, thousands upon thousands of years lived through and challenged through. "But there is no need to fear, no need to hide. I am but an ally that will carry out the toughest tasks... to secure humanity's existence and to ensure your survival."

A predator will always find its prey and so will hunter return with a beast's head to celebrate. Jing Yuan is a man of centuries, she appreciates his power and respects his path. Lan chose correctly, an Emanator like him will not give in to Destruction's lullabies.

"I hear many tales about you, too, General," she finally turns to look at him, her smile is pleasant and her voice is soft but melodic. "But I do not trust retold stories. Humanity tends to miss and misremember events, especially those that did not touch them personally." She hints at the fact that he, too, should not listen to all the stories. They are born of fear for the unknown. "Know this, Jing Yuan," she brings her hand up to place above her chest. "I am no enemy of yours and I will never be as you are loved by the Aeon who resides in Heavens. I cannot make my dear friend cry."

Aeon of Origin will smile upon him, she's sure of it.

#avaere #❄ ― IN CHARACTER. ╱ you breathe by the sun，i breathe by the moon. #queue. #jing yuan: i heard stories of you. people efear you. zarina: of course they do. everyone fears death at the end of it all. #like what is this idk aven she decided to be cryptic

[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Grief

Once upon a time, before the delving of Menegroth, stone had just been stone to Mablung- lifeless, cold, uncaring. That stone could do something like mourn had then been beyond his imagination. Yet Menegroth did mourn now, not just its inhabitants, but the living rock itself, its brooks, even the river. The birds of the Queen would no longer sing safe in lament, keen and beautiful but hauntingly so, and Melian herself seemed so very withdrawn these days. All her focus went into the Girdle now, into keeping safe who could be kept safe.

Mablung could not even try to guess her pain, having no children of his own. But Thônwen and Elmo could, so it was a good thing that her sister-in-law was with Melian to support her now. That was, if any elf within Doriath could master their own grief enough to comfort anyone else.

For the briefest moment, it had seemed that they had been spared. When Beren had taken Lúthien’s hand before the thrones, the possibility of escape from their doom had been within arm’s reach. Laughable, really. As if anyone could escape. Slowly but surely, fair Beleriand was turning into a pit filled with frantic game, and wolves prowling around its rocky edges, waiting, savouring in anticipation the feast that was to come. No, Mablung thought, no-one would escape. Not anymore. Not now that Lúthien was dead. 

Even thinking it was painful, and Mablung quickly bowed his head to hide his renewed tears, his insides numb and cold. Everything seemed cold, even while a glorious summer caressed the lands in warmth and gentle winds. Whatever the weather was doing, though, Menegroth seemed to be caught in the ice of the north, like the Helcaraxë had suddenly decided to come down into their green lands. And there was no escaping it, ever. Lúthien had been the bringer of spring. Even in the cold of the starlit years, flowers had sprung at her very touch. And that spring had now been taken from them forever. 

Mablung forbade his thoughts to stray back again to the childhood of the Princess, but failed dismally. She had ever been so lively. Even as a babe in arms, she had never wanted to miss even a moment, and so Elu had spent evening after evening walking through their camp, rocking and singing her to sleep. His lullaby for Lúthien had been picked up by the elves of his court and become all their evening song, a ritual beloved and cherished for as long as it had fared. And later, when she would no longer be carried around but roamed freely, it was Lúthien herself who brought to them the melodies of their songs, and who danced through their midst like a draft of balmy winds. So how could she, who had never ever kept still, be dead, her body lying as if still and silent in her cold grave, with her husband just as dead at her side?

Ai Beren, what have you brought upon us? 

There was no accusation in those words, however, and how could there be? Mablung had seen the true and sincere love in the man’s eyes and known then that Beren and Lúthien belonged together, and that nothing would keep them apart. He had much liked Beren, too, and grieved for him almost as much as he did for Lúthien, yet still, there was no denying that doom had followed his footsteps to Doriath, disguised as love. 

But all that mattered little now. They had looked almost peaceful, their bodies lying side by side, Lúthien with one slender arm still around Beren’s bloody chest. Whom had this fool of a man thought to save when he had thrown himself before the wolf? Proud the son of Barahir was, and valiant, but why cast away his life to prove an already settled point? Had he forgotten, then, that he and his beloved only had what time they had in Middle-Earth? That their paths were forever sundered now? Had Beren considered even for a moment what his death would mean to Lúthien? And what horrendous consequences it would have on those who loved her?

Mablung cursed Morgoth for it, for this most hideous robbery, for his accursed beast had stolen away so much bliss, a life not even half lived, a love, and Lúthien, their Lúthien. And, it seemed, also their King. Mablung shuddered as he thought of Elu, his chest contorting with fear. The King had not been seen among his people since that dreadful night, and judging by the royal house’s utter silence concerning him, it was going ill for them all. 

It was for that very reason that Mablung set out to talk to Elmo, needing to know the truth. He hoped that Elmo would remember the time, so long ago, that he had come to seek him out while everyone else slept, to bid him aid their search for Elu, and so would not see his questions now as intrusion into the royal house’s affairs. 

He need not have worried, though. Elmo embraced him like the friend he was to him, and Mablung tried to put all that he could not find words for into that hug, in addition to all the comfort he could muster.

“You want to know about Elu.” Elmo said in a hollow voice as they broke apart, a statement, not a question. Mablung nodded, trying his best to keep his fear in check.

“Come with me, if you really want to. But be warned, Mablung- I know how much he means to you, and you will not like what you see.”

Again, Mablung nodded, falling into pace beside Elmo. He had not expected anything else.

“He’s like… I don’t even know how to explain his state. He’s not himself but like a dumbfounded child that will do as you tell them while their mind is paralysed with terror. Nay, even that doesn’t explain. It’s like his grief and guilt drove away all his will to live, all himself, if you get me. He will do as I tell him, but he rejects all touch, all attempt at closeness. Even Melian…” Elmo’s words caught in his throat as he uttered his sister-in-law’s name, and it took him a moment to pull himself back together. 

“She needs him.” He went on “Desperately so. They just lost their daughter, is that not enough? Must he… he would not even let her enter the room until I made him. Oh, don’t get this wrong, this is not at all aimed to wound her, he simply despises himself and his actions so much that he fails to see how much he is loved regardless. Melian tethered him to life, and I understand why, and that she could not bear to lose him as well. I was so grateful for it at first, but… but if this is how life is going to be from now on for my brother, for us, then truly, I think it would have been kinder to let him die, too.”

Mablung said nothing, but only silently laid an arm around Elmo’s shoulders as the latter wiped his eyes, composing himself enough to go on.

“He talks now, at least. Ever since I convinced him to let Melian at least stay with him at night, he will answer questions when asked. If that is so much of an improvement, though… I don’t know. See for yourself. 

But there are more pressing matters, too. I am not sure how much longer Doriath can be held without anyone ruling it. Melian cannot do so, even less now that she needs every last bit of her strength to keep the Girdle, and Elu just does not care, or cannot care, I would not know.”

They had reached the entrance to a chamber that had natural light, and Mablung guessed that it had been Elmo’s aim to let his brother at least have the light of the stars by night.

“Who’s there?” someone asked as soon as they had entered the room. 

Had Mablung not known that it was the King himself, he would not have recognised his voice, but that was hardly the most frightening thing about the whole situation. Elu sat in his chair like a statue of marble, cold and still, and indeed Mablung might have taken him as such but for the bloody scratches on his arms, cheeks and neck that Mablung knew were the marks of Elu’s own fingernails. He started when Elmo beside him answered, having momentarily forgotten that he was there. 

“I, and Mablung.”

The look Elu gave them as he turned made Mablung quail, and he averted his eyes quickly, unable to bear the loathing in his King’s expression.

“What do you want? What is it that you deem of my interest?” Elu asked coldly, and yet Mablung made himself move, made himself step up to Elu’s chair and sink to his knees beside him.

“Nothing lord, I merely…”

“Then leave me.”

“Lord…”

“I told you to leave, did I not?” Elu asked with a dangerous note to his voice, before he turned away again, making Elmo hiss in anger. Mablung however bowed low, trying to keep his face concealed, for tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the floor. He would rather Elu had taken a knife and run it through his heart than send him away in scorn like this. 

“If that truly is thy will, Sire, I shall obey.” 

“No!”

Mablung had seldom known Elmo to shout, much less shout at his elder brother, but as he turned now to face him, he saw the wrath in his face and intuitively stepped between the siblings.

“See?” Elmo strode around Mablung, crouching down beside Elu and grabbing him none too gently by the arms. “Do you see, you ungrateful oaf? Mablung here is so loyal to you that he would even fight a friend to keep me from ripping your head off. Have you any idea how much you are loved? And direly needed? But you do not care, do you? Nothing matters to you but your own grief, and I get it. Oh, I get it. There is nothing worse than the pain of losing a child. Remember, brother, that I lost mine, too? But grief does not give you permission to hurt everyone around you even more. Because guess what, Melian lost her only child, too, and Thônwen and I lost our niece. Do you need to add to that pain by pushing everyone away who reaches out to you?

But fine, have it that way if it so pleases you, my King. I’ve sat by your side night in, night out, holding your hand and begging you to return to us, but if all that is to be achieved by that is you snapping at everyone, then I’ll leave you to stew in your own misery!”

Elmo released his brother and scrambled back, his chest heaving. Mablung had expected Elu to raise to the challenge and argue back, or else command them from the room once and for all, but he did nothing of that sort. Instead he sat as Elmo had released him, showing no reaction whatsoever, until tears slowly started to drip from his eyes. It was pitiful to watch, and Mablung turned in dismay, only to see Elmo smack his own forehead with his palm.

“Oaf I am, too, it seems.” he told Mablung with a grimace “For there goes the work and achievements of days.”

He took deep, steadying breaths, then walked back to Elu’s chair and put his arms protectively around his brother’s trembling form.

“Hush. It’s alright. I got frustrated, that’s all, I didn’t mean what I said. I’ve got you. I’m fine. It’s alright.” And when Elu struggled feebly, trying to free himself, Elmo added: “I know you don’t want to be touched. But you need it. And I need it. So that’s what we’ll do.”

Mablung made to bid them farewell quietly, but as he made to stand up, Elu’s fingers closed over his hand.

“Stay. Please.” the King whispered hoarsely, and Mablung felt his heart be flooded with sudden emotion. Elmo looked at him over Elu’s head, his eyes wide with wonder, as if he could not believe what he had just seen and heard.

“Of course.” Mablung whispered back, his heart pounding in his chest. Again, he sought Elmo’s gaze, and they tentatively smiled at each other. Small victory it might be, but to Mablung, it just now meant everything. 

#PLEASE TAKE CARE WHILE READING #yet were its making good for this #silmarillion fanfiction #ao3 #chapter 14 #grief #mablung #elmo #elu thingol #thingol's winter #I know that is not the canon interpretation but here goes #because that is what child-loss is- you take the spring out of the course of the year and inevitably end in eternal winter #this can still be beautiful #you can survive #you might even learn to live again #but you're still stuck forever

[aresdeus]

@subdivines | 𝔸ℙℍℝ𝕆𝔻𝕀𝕋𝔼 — ☀ CIRCE STARTERS [ accepting!! ]

" perhaps we are more alike than you think . "

War's weary head rested upon her bosom, breathing in the heady scent of her fragrance. Eyes fluttering closed as he listened to the steady beating of her heart, which lulled him into a rare sense of peace and tranquility.

Only Love could ever tame the savage beast, the bringer of doom, the destroyer of men. And in that regard they were very much the same. Two sides of the same coin. For did not both passions drive men to such madness and folly and destruction?

" Perhaps so, we are indeed... " He quietly affirms as he takes her lovely hands into his, pressing them palm to palm before lacing their fingers entwined. Such warmth and tenderness in his actions, a rare sight that only the lover of War could ever witness. Their skin were in contrast, but many times their flesh had become one where one cannot distinguish where the one starts nor the other ends.

" Love in itself is a battlefield is it not? " he murmured, placing a kiss upon their joined hands. " You carry within you the rage and passions of lovers doomed and thwarted. Your flashing eyes hold their anger and anguish and pain. " Ares sits up then, so he may look upon her shining eyes. " It is LOVE that drives men to go to WAR. It is you that drives them to fight so fiercely to the DEATH. All for the ones they love. It is YOU who had always led the charge, my beloved. Radiant and flaming and singing a warcry. "

Brushing a strand of her fair hair away from her brow, he then takes her face with both hands, cupping her cheeks. " I am not so foolish as to not realize that if YOU did not exist, then I myself would be nothing. My existence would mean nothing. I would not have the will to fight. And I do fight for you. If I had it in my power I would tear this world asunder... only for you. "

#⚔️ — answered prayers | asks; #⚔️ — the cries of battle | ic; #subdivines #suggestive. #i... got carried away asdfghjkl #I could not resist making this S O F T #but unhinged #because its THEM

[mayxthexforce]

@mutatiio said

Quinlan was no stranger to near death experiences, he'd been on both ends of near death experiences, both as the bringer of death and the almost-victim of it. The Jedi taught that there is no death, only the force, and Quinlan had taught his own Padawan exactly the same lesson many years ago. But, right now, he was feeling like the 'there's no death' part of the lesson might be wrong. He'd bet his beloved Skorp-Io and say there is death, and then there is the force, because death was currently creeping up on him in the form of lightheadedness as his own blood stained the improvised bandages currently wrapped around his lower abdomen.

His vision was swimming. It took a herculean effort to focus on Maul's hands as they moved. Quinlan knew panic when he saw it. His hand moved to rest on top of Maul's, squeezing it.

He playfully grimaced and chuckled, but it turned into a pained wince because, fuck, even laughing hurt. "Full name? Damn, I'm in trouble," he teased anyway. His thumb stroked over the back of Maul's hand. "Have more faith in me, will you? I've survived worse."

The lines of Maul's tattoos kept moving. Quinlan was certain those weren't supposed to move. Fuck, he was dizzy.

"I might pass out though. You can't kill me if I pass out," he warned, leaning his head against Maul and looking up at his lover, his partner in crime, his most frustrating yet enticing ally's face. "By the force, you look just as handsome as the day I met you..."

#may the queue be with you #||in character: quinlan vos|| #& maul #mutatiio #||verse: it will be a hard life; quinlan vos|| #||answered ask||

[nmgsuper]

Hump, hump,hump came NMG Foxman across the lands she was a single hand band who eat pecans. She was the greatest war Valkire who was hurt in the heart oh so deep. At war her wife was blown my bombs and the blood was found to the mountains to swamps. After this she fell from paradise without her woman she turned cold as ice. She moved down from hiyda her beasttribe up cold to see her friend izitha silversword. She could split mountains with a HUBOSIIi cry and a skull breaker who claws are like nifes. So now she on her way hump hump hump hump to the mountains of dwarvern.

NMG FOXMAN: 

INTRO: 

The beloved skull crusher of the Nmg beastman. Foxman the blood bringer, the  dominance of the mountain mover. Nmg foxman is her name! She splits mountains in two, her roars echo off thousands of miles away and make her enimies bleed, when she thuderclaps the skys storm and channel her rage and make people go blind, when she stomps earth quakes shiver at her feet. Nmg foxman is best discribed as a anraged wild beast who won’t give any are about getting dirty or were the fight takes place. She is a high rank Valkyrie who is the most iconic worrier in the planet, the reason is how brutal and fierce she is. Her enimes tremble and her allys smile but in the end everyone is scared because she has no side in her wars, most people pay her to join wars that have nothing to do with her country the Nmg beastmen, she doesn’t complain about wepons and will use her bare hands to get the job done. She absolutely loves war and is all she lived for until…… 

BACKSTORY: 

Foxman was fighting in the war between NORTHSRAM and bomb goblins. Foxman was crushing skulls with her feet and throwing cliffs at the bomb goblins. Foxmans side was winning. A smile was on foxmans face as her wife was fighting right beside her but it would all be faded away once the bomb goblins unleashed there illegal bomb on the enimie. They planted huge bombs underground and they were already ban. The exsplosion hit everyone and a blinding light was as far as the eye could see, foxman tried being a shield to her wife but it was useless….. every northernram and foxmans wife died…. Nmg was rushed to the hospital and made a full recovery but the death of her wife gave her pdsd and depression. She blames it on herself because her wife joined war because foxman asked her to. Nmg quit war and hides in the shadows so on one will recognize her and ask is she going to war again. Different nations are hunting her down to invite her to go to war and fight on there side but due to the pain of the past she rejectes them and hides. She is ashamed of herself and sees her as a fallen Valkyrie who is a mistake as a worrier. Her close friends Izitha, YIMBUR, and the wolven brothers are helping her get though her troubles and know she needs a break from fighting. 

HOBBYS / PASSION: 

Foxman loves adventure and exploring. She is passionate about wilderness. Foxman collects animal or beast heads. There trophy’s from battles she won. She loves carving stachues of beasts and making beast pelts out there fur. She is a mushroom hunter and loves being out in wilderness. She LOOVES fights and war… she was army posters and figures from her wars. She loves collecting armor from her battles and If it’s cracked she fixes it and polishes it. 

OTHER INFO: 

Foxman is from the same clan and village as YIMBUR. Hiyda. YIMBUR is foxmans bestie and she loves him and wants the best for him. The Who do everything together from showering to snuggling to eating and adventure. 

Foxman is a great potion maker and can breath fire from yabala mountains to the dwarvern kings peaks. Nmg is a north girl who loves the cold. Like Nmg foxman eyes are there own being and argue with eachother. They hate fire and scream If it’s them. The blue eye is calm and wize and the pink one is angery and brave.

TRAIT: 

 Mountain splitter: immune to stun and mega stun.

NORTHERN GIRL: immune to freeze and mega freeze.

BEAST MAN: 

If ally or enimie uses beast boost foxman still gets the boost.

MOVESET: 

THE BLOOD BRINGER: deals massive damage to one enime. Applys bleed to one enime for 2 turns. 

THE ROARING MOUNTAINSPLITTER: deals modern damage to all enimes. Applys stun and and 50 chance of applying quicksand to all. Reqires cooldown. 

THE DAUGHTER OF BEASTERN RAGE: applys triple damage boost to all allys for 4 turns.. Can only use once per fight.

THE SKULLCRUSHER FATHER: deal massive damage to one enime. Applys burning and ignition for  2 turns. 

MEGA MOVE: 

AN BLOOD LUST UKNOWN: 

Deals INSANE Damage to all enimes. Applys burning, bleeding, stun, TOTAL DAMAGE REDUCTION for 4 turns. 

SEX: female

RACE: Nmg clone ( beastman. Clan: north village hiyda.

WIELDER OF: magic and fire.

AGE: 34 

MADE: may 2022

[fauvester]

@lilac-bramble i was watching a Rank the Akatsuki by Strength video and i think they did a disservice to the zombie combie by ranking them separately instead of taking advantage of their potential synergy... the two of them fighting together could probably murk just about everyone in the akatsuki imho

#AW I GOTTA READ THAT SHIT #im still halfway thru Is it life or art... i'm trynna ration it #nart tag #i got mad on hidans behalf... yes he IS one of the weakest akatsuki but we love him because he has a PERSONALITY and he has NO COMMON SENSE #hidan #kakuzu #also i just want kakuzu to have to aknowledge 'Jashin' as an actual entity in some capacity #he'd be a very I'm Gonna Throw Hands with God kind of pseudo-jashinist #like.. he doesnt believe in jashin.. and if he HAS to.. then he'll argue at every step of the way #hidan: my beloved and merciless lord... our beneficent destroyer of souls bringer of pain.. glory be to thee...... #kakuzu: hey rat bastard. i need that skeleton jutsu. do you want me to kill people or what? get the fuck down here bitch I need a powerup