#i live in blade sacrifice hall now

[lamemaster]

Tolkien Elves with a South Asian Reader

GIF by aashiqaanah

Request: Can you write an Indian reader insert story? It's ok if you don't want to share. 🙂

AN: While I don't want to write a specific nationality. I will write it based on the general South Asian experience. I hope that works and you like it. (also crazy story time my account was terminated for a while out there)

Genre: Romance and angst

Erestor:

"How does my love rank lower than yours? What criteria do you elves use to measure the purity of love?"

"I would be more cautious on a sword's end," the black-haired elf moves his blade precariously close to your neck. But you find it hard to care for it at the moment.

The crisp breeze of the night seems to cling close to you. Besides your worn-out clothes do little to keep the chill away. You have long given up the hope of freeing yourself from the binding the elves have put you in. Instead, all your attention is directed at the elf who calls himself Erestor.

An unknown rage fills you as you glare at your captor. Maybe if it were another day you would have begged for your life. You would have done that for the people waiting for you back at your camp. Children and women, for whom you became the bandit of Laor pass.

You had not expected to be caught by a part of elves. It had been an evening like any and you had set your sights on the gracious rations that the party carried. Food that would feed your people.

It didn't take long for elves to catch you. The guards dragged you to their leader. And maybe you had expected scorn but not hatred that lined their leader, Erestor's eyes. "Your kind is not even worthy of friendship let alone love," somehow the conversation had turned into a battle of wits. "We elves know of it better than any. Back then and even now your people side with the evil" One of the guard's fingers dig into your arm as their leader spit accusations at you.

The unfairness of his every word tugged at your heart. How could he...how could he talk of something he knew nothing of.

You press closer to the blade digging into your neck. You look directly at the elf as you do so, "In a world where Gods live in far off West, abandoning the East, letting my people suffer from one of their kind without mercy. In a world where your kind forge jewels with the light of the stars and bid us to fight your battles that promise us nothing but the deaths of our starving children whose fathers fought for an oath-bound lord. Do you not remember the bargain of your lords? It is the same as any other dark lord." The elf flinches as your words ring out loud in the night.

"Tell me why did my people had to pay for your kind's need to create. We lived in peace before your king forged the rings that brought us ruin." Your breath comes uneven. Unnoticed by you, hands holding you have long retreated. "From past to present, we the people of the East have borne the burden of the West. Our people have been thralls in the halls of darkness as you fought your righteous battles. And they have done so for their children as you have done for yours."

You stand up from where you have been kneeling. Your knee throbs with a subtle ache. No one dares to stop you as you step close to the leader whose eyes evade you.

Your voice resonates with a mix of anger and sorrow, and the intensity of your words leaves the elves around you momentarily speechless. Erestor's grip on his sword loosens slightly, his stoic expression faltering as he tries to find a response to your passionate outburst.

"In every battle waged, in every great design, it's our people who suffer the most," you continue, your voice unwavering. "While your kind sits in palaces adorned with stars, basking in the light of Valinor, it's our children who starve, our homes that burn, and our dreams that shatter. Your measure of love may be different, but I ask you this, Erestor – what do your people know of sacrifice?"

The tension in the air is palpable as the elves exchange uneasy glances. Your words challenge the very foundation of their beliefs, and Erestor's eyes finally meet yours, filled with a mix of defensiveness and curiosity.

"Do not think that you know the struggles of my people," he replies, his voice tinged with the remnants of anger.

Next to crackling fire, the camp stands at a stalemate in the battle of words. Pride, rage, and sorrow are the kindle to the burning flames.

Fingon:

Fingon had been traveling with Maedhros when he first met you. A courtier at one of the Eastern kingdoms.

Dressed in gleaming rubies and emeralds, armed with a lute you stepped into a hall full of men and elves. Your eyes lined with kohl and your hands bearing the marks of henna.

In a hall that glares at you with contempt and lust, you do not cower. Instead, you look everyone in the eye. Even Fingon gets to meet your unflinching gaze.

Bending at your waist you bow to the king seated on the throne but even that bow fails to lower your majesty. There is a knowing light in your eyes and a condescending smile on your lips.

"This is Y/N, our esteemed entertainer for the evening," the king introduces you. Musicians line behind you. "Come on Y/N show your elven guests here the courtesy of East. Sing them a song and move your feet to a mesmerizing dance." It seems wrong for the king to order you. Unfair for you to be presented as an object but you do not seem to be offended. Seemingly above everyone in the court.

If Fingon suspected you to be a disguised Ainu at your first glance, his suspicions turn into awe when you perform. The world seems to rest on your fingertips and time seems to blend into your steps.

Fingon's fingers move mirroring yours. He does not know the words but he does not need to know them to understand them.

Your song mocks the king who seems to be blinded by the monopoly over your body. The anklets you wear do not hinder you. And Fingon's breath hitches the second your hair comes undone. As if hearing his thundering heartbeat you look at him.

Amidst the thunder of applause, you look at Fingon. And you smile not with contempt but with something that Fingon reflects back in his own smile.

Hidden in the binding of this body, my soul shines bright,

It yearns for our eyes to meet, bending the rules of wrong and right,

Maedhros:

"I will marry an elf." The loud declaration silences the entire camp. It is followed by cursing voices and sounds of shushing pleas.

However, in doing so it garners the attention of the elf lord, Maehros. The one who seeks to reunite the East and the West of Middle Earth to defeat the Dark Lord.

While men fawning over elves had been no surprise for most, it was at this point an irrefutable fact. The secondborn seemed to be attracted to the firstborn like moths to a flame.

But this kind of open declaration was still...unheard of. Both elves and men had acknowledged the weird attraction and mutually decided to ignore the innate instinct.

This silent treaty breaks with you. And Maedhros cannot help but be intrigued. So, he hunts for you. Away from prying eyes that would cook rumors, Maedhros finds you by the vegetable garden that seems to have the entirety of your attention.

"Why must you marry an elf?" The eldest Feanorian tries not to laugh when you jump almost a foot high at his unannounced arrival. The shovel in your hand flying away.

With a hand on your chest, you turn to look at him. A frown adorns your forehead, "Ai, can you not scare me?" You do not address him as a lord or a prince. Maybe just don't know or maybe you do not care for it but Maedhros cannot find it in himself to take offense.

"Forgive me for that," Maedhros apologizes and much to his surprise you look nothing like the embarrassed woman he had expected to confront.

Instead, with the confidence of a preening peacock you seat yourself on the ground. "It's quiet alright. I do have to get used to it if I am to marry one of your kind," you understandingly nod. And Maedhos marvels at your nativity. Unblemished in the Adra that has been marred.

"I want to marry an elf to teach all the men of my community a lesson." You reply in a solemn voice. "I grew up watching my father beating my mother. My grandfather insulting my grandmother without a care of her heart. I grew up in the patriarchy of the East. With men who cared not an ounce about their partners." Maedhros cannot bring himself to speak. Not even when you sniff. There is pain there. Helplessness of a being he deemed to be untouched by anything mal a moment ago.

A pain that rips his heart. The tears of his own mother come to his mind. Deed of his father and his brothers that would haunt their mother.

So he listens attentively as you continue with determination in your voice. "I will marry an elf to teach every single man in my life a lesson. I will show them how much my husband will love me," you smile through your tears. It isn't blind infatuation that Maedhros expected but something deeper.

"Your kind treat your female so much better and I...I want that for my kind too. I want to hand back my sisters, my mother, my aunts their self-respect that men have rolled in dirt."

A sane part of Maedhros yearns to tell you of elves. Of how his father left his mother, how his grandfather married another, how Thingol discards the wisdom of his wife, or how Eol captured Aerdhel.

But he cannot. All he can do is, pat your head in a comforting gesture and pray for the success of your mission.

"Will you marry me then?" you propose to the Feanorian who snorts the very next moment.

#erestor x reader #maedhros x reader #fingon x reader #the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion headcanon #South asian reader #tolkien elves #noldor elves

[innerchorus]

Okay bonus Dark Temple details as promised.

it looks pretty dank but it might actually be quite warm down there? The passageway leading to it that is discovered in Book 12 has an 'unpleasant hot wind' blowing out of it, along with a rather foul smell (more on that later)

having entered the passageway later, Kishward and Zaravant are described as being 50 gaz (approximately 50 metres) below the surface, with the way continuing on and down

they start to see creatures like ghouls and four-eyed dogs

eventually they emerge into 'a space that could rival the great hall of the royal palace' and that's only part of it — the light of their torches is not even sufficient to illuminate it all

countless snakes and scorpions are carved on the walls

there is an altar made of black stone (very likely this is what we are seeing in Shinobu Tanno's illustration where the black steps lead up to the cauldron full of blood)

okay now we're getting to the bits that made me 👀👀👀

there are 'several fireplaces large and small' so that's why it's hot but what exactly are these and what are they used for? It feels like it's for more than just heating the place. The Japanese is 炉, which Jisho.org says is 1. hearth; fireplace​ or 2. furnace; kiln. Are they burning fires for magical rituals as they seem to in Arakawa's manga? (I always thought that was interesting that given Zoroastrianism's fire temples / holy fires etc, the only time we see anything remotely equivalent it's being used by Team Zahhak.) Are they... cooking something...? I don't want to think about what. Or are these kilns used for baking Zahhak's creatures into being? Honestly this made my mind reel, I know they make them out of mud/dirt (clay?) and there are evidently plenty of those creatures living down there. Alchemical furnaces came to mind, too.

...there are also candlesticks (not that interesting but I'll just note for now that an earlier reference to Team Zahhak candles mention they are 'made of hardened sulfur')

...and jars, earthenware pots and bowls (read that sentence and don't think of the head jars challenge: failed)

The stone platform / altar is stained with blood and there's a blade with what seems to be flesh and/or bone fragments stuck to it. The presence of chains and numerous human bones makes it clear there's been a lot of human sacrifice going on (personal headcanon on this, supported by Tanno's illustration, is that they need the blood for their rituals etc, and the flesh is eaten by the ghouls, four-eyed dogs and winged apes, leaving the skeletons picked clean)

It looks like the place is very old - Kishward and Zaravant speculate that in the 300 years since the defeat of Zahhak, his supporters may have been hiding here

Above the ceiling is a pool/lake (a reservoir, I think?) which floods the temple when the roof collapses, and as the water level rises it flows into the liquids in the jars and pots and mixes with it, giving off steam and a foul stench, which fades as it's diluted and mixed with the large volume of rising water

To give you an idea of just how many of Zahhak's creatures were down there, the Parsian forces killed around 300, but there are plenty more still there when some of Arslan's forces return there in Book 13 to try and clear it out

...between rotting blood and remnants of dead bodies, sulfur candles, whatever's in those pots and jars, and the general dankness of life underground, I really doubt Team Zahhak smell very good, lol. I feel like it might be mentioned somewhere that the winged apes smell bad but I'm not digging around for that reference. (It reminds me that I did read something on Encyclopedia Iranica that mentioned those who practice magic 'grow hideous of appearance, and foul of scent' due to its nature. I'm not here for that sort of 'mages are gross' headcanon but I can't lie to myself and pretend they smell good)

Anyway I hope Team Arslan discovers this place beneath Ecbatana in the manga too because I'm super curious to see it and I would be delighted if it still floods because it seems Team Zahhak really need to be rinsed off lmao

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #arslan senki spoilers #team zahhak #ArAkAwA sHoW mE tHe DaRk TeMpLe

[mrsarnasdelicious]

TLK Christmas - Christmas with Finan

You wait for your lover to come out of the church. You know he'd much rather you come along, but you know the church is not a place for you.

There is a big grin plastered on his face though.

"There she is, the most beautiful woman in all the kingdoms." Finan calls out to you. You go over, meeting him just outside the small chapel. Lord Uhtred doesn't want more than that in Cocham.

"How was the service?" You ask. "Dull, but I suppose it can't be helped, between Osferth and Hild, the scripture can get a little muddy in places and dry in others."

You chat about Sihtric and his virility all the way to Uhtred's hall.

"Now I heard someone say something about a feast in Uhtred's hall." He says, throwing his arm around your waist. "Yes, but that is for the Yule, not for your god." You reply. "I am well aware, love. I live with too many heathens to expect my Lord to take my God as his own." Finan says gently. He does not mind.

"Well, then there will be a boar and plenty of wine and ale." You reply. "Did Sihtric make the sacrifice then?" Finan inquires. "Oh yes, it was a sight to behold." You agree.

"Oh?" Finan frowns. "The boar tried to fight him for it and when Sihtric finally had the blade to the beasts throat, the asshole wriggled so bad it almost literally sacrificed itself. Sihtric was drenched by the end of it." You reply. Finan laughs heartily. "Does that signify something?" He asks. You shrugs. "Uhtred teased him he is extra fertile now. That Freya favours him." You reply.

At least he is not covered in blood anymore.

Once there, the scents of the feast waft from every which way. Finan squeezes your hip and groans. "I am bloody starving." He groans. "We greet our lord first." You scold playfully.

Sihtric comes over to you and hands the both of you mugs of wine. "Happy Yule." He says with a proud grin. He looks like a boy who got his prick wet for the first time.

"Happy Yule." You say gently to him. Finan gives the youth a slap on the shoulder. "Happy Christmas, you absolute wild man." He grins. Sihtric grins back and flusters a little.

It is a Happy Yule indeed.

#tlk #the last kingdom #finan #finan x reader #mark rowley

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- none

A/N- This chapter is pretty long because I wanted to do the end of Siege and Storm in this one and not make another one for it. The upcoming ones won't be this long I promise And lemme know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @nadeleine123n @marauders-wife

Ch-44 ~The sacrifice~

“Don’t wait for us,” Alina said to them. “I’ll give you as much cover as I can.” 

Another clap of thunder split the air. 

The Grisha plucked rifles from the arms of the dead and gathered around at the door. 

“All right,” Alina said. 

She nodded to Zoya who glanced at Anaya

Alina threw the door open and shouted, “Now!”

 David lobbed the flash bomb into the twilight as Zoya swooped her arms through the air, lofting the cylinder higher on a Squaller draft. 

“Get down!” David yelled. 

They turned toward the shelter of the hall with their eyes squeezed shut and hands thrown over their heads, bracing for the explosion. The blast shook the stone floor beneath their feet, and the glare burned red across them.

They ran with all their strength.

. The nichevo’ya had scattered, startled by the burst of light and sound, but only seconds later, they were whirling back toward them. 

“Run!” Alina shouted. 

She raised her arms and brought the light down in fiery scythes, cutting through the violet sky, carving through one nichevo’ya after the next as Mal opened fire.

Just when more of them began to rush towards them, Anaya stepped forward, raising her arms

“Zoya!” she glanced at her

Zoya nodded at her before taking her position

Anaya brought one arm forward and stretched out the other behind. She nodded to Zoya and jerked the arm forward as Zoya sent a gust of wind towards the nichevo’ya. A massive heap of sharp icicles went towards them along with the wind, making them scatter.

Without further thought, they ran for the wooded tunnel.

They rushed through the tunnels with the monsters still on their tail. They pushed them back from the tunnel, black wings beating the air, the wide, twisted holes of their mouths already yawning open. 

Then the air suddenly came alive with the rattle of gunfire. There were soldiers pouring out of the woods to their left, shooting as they ran. Their war cries of Sankta Alina echoed through the woods. 

They hurtled toward the nichevo’ya, drawing swords and sabers, slashing out at the monsters with terrifying ferocity. Some were dressed as farmers, some wore ragged First Army uniforms, but each of them bore identical tattoos: Alina’s sunburst, wrought in ink over the sides of their faces. Only two were unmarked. Tolya and Tamar led the charge, eyes wild, blades flashing, roaring Alina’s name.

The sun soldiers plunged into the shadow horde, cutting and thrusting, pushing the nichevo’ya back as the riflemen fired again and again. But despite their ferocity, they were only human, flesh and steel pitted against living shadows. One by one, the nichevo’ya began to pick them off. 

“Make for the chapel!” Tamar shouted. 

“We’ll be trapped!” cried Sergei, running toward Alina.

 “We’re already trapped,” Mal replied, slinging his rifle onto his back and grabbing Alina’s arm. “Let’s go!” 

“David!” Alina yelled. “The second bomb!”

 He flung it toward the nichevo’ya. His aim was wild, but Zoya was there to help it along. They dove into the woods, the sun soldiers bringing up the rear. The blast tore through the trees in a gust of white light. Lamps had been lit in the chapel and the door stood open. They burst inside, the echoes from their footfalls bouncing up over the pews and off the glazed blue dome.

 “Where do we go?” Sergei cried in panic. They could already hear the whirring, clicking hum from outside. 

Tolya slammed the chapel door shut, dropping a heavy wooden bolt into place. The sun soldiers took up positions by the windows, rifles in hand. Tamar hurdled over a pew and shot past Alina up the aisle. 

“Come on!”

Just where are they taking us? Anaya thought, but had no choice other than to oblige her.

 Tamar tore past the altar and grasped one gilded wood corner of the wall. Anaya appeared utterly perplexed as the water-damaged panel swung open, revealing the dark mouth of a passageway. 

This was how the sun soldiers had gotten onto the grounds. And how the Apparat had escaped from the Grand Palace. 

“Where does it go?” asked David. 

“Does it matter?” Zoya shot back.

 The building shook as a loud crack of thunder split the air. The chapel door blew to pieces. Tolya was thrown backward, and darkness flooded through. The Darkling came borne on a tide of shadow, held aloft by monsters who set his feet upon the chapel floor with infinite care.

 “Fire!” Tamar shouted. Shots rang out. The nichevo’ya writhed and whirled around the Darkling, shifting and re-forming as the bullets struck their bodies, one taking the place of another in a seamless tide of shadow. He didn’t even break stride. 

Nichevo’ya were streaming through the chapel door. Tolya was already on his feet and rushing to Alina’s side with pistols drawn. Tamar and Mal flanked her, the rest of them arrayed behind her. 

Alina raised her hands, summoning the light, bracing for the onslaught. 

“Stand down, Alina,” said the Darkling. His cool voice echoed through the chapel, cutting through the noise and chaos.  “Stand down, and I will spare them.”

 In answer, Tamar scraped one axe blade over the other, raising a shriek of metal on metal. The sun soldiers lifted their rifles, and the Inferni struck their flint. Anaya formed a long blade of ice, prepared for what was to come.

 “Look around, Alina,” the Darkling spoke. “You cannot win. You can only watch them die. Come to me now, and I will do them no harm, not your zealot soldiers, not even the Grisha traitors.”

Anaya cringed at the mere sight of the man, for all he’d taken from them, they were the traitors to him. 

The nichevo’ya swarmed above them, crowding up against the inside of the dome. They clustered around the Darkling in a dense cloud of bodies and wings. 

Tolya cocked the triggers on his pistols. 

“Hold,”Alina spoke

“Alina,” Tamar whispered, “we can still get you out.”

 “Hold,” she repeated. 

The sun soldiers lowered their rifles. Tamar brought her axes to her hips but kept her grip tight.

 “What are your terms?” Alina asked. 

Mal frowned. Tolya shook his head. Was the girl really that foolish to think of becoming a martyr?

“Give yourself up,” the Darkling said. “And they all go free. They can climb down that rabbit hole and disappear forever.” 

“Free?” Sergei whispered.

 “He’s lying,” Mal said. “It’s what he does.” 

“I don’t need to lie,” he spoke. “Alina wants to come with me.”

 “She doesn’t want any part of you,” Mal spat. 

“No?” the Darkling asked. 

Summoning his shadow army had taken its toll. He was thinner and paler. The power had cost him.

 “I warned you that your otkazat’sya could never understand you, Alina. I told you that he would only come to fear you and resent your power. Tell me I was wrong.”

 “You were wrong.”Alina responded, her voice steady

 The Darkling shook his head. “You cannot lie to me. Do you think I could have come to you again and again, if you had been less alone? You called to me, and I answered.”

You … you were there?” Alina asked with a tremor in her voice 

“On the Fold. In the palace. Last night.

 “That isn’t possible,” Mal bit out. 

“You have no idea what I can make possible, tracker.” he responded. “Alina, I’ve seen what you truly are, and I’ve never turned away. I never will. Can he say the same?” 

"You don’t know anything about her,” Mal said fiercely.

“Come with me now, and it all stops, the fear, the uncertainty, the bloodshed. Let him go, Alina. Let them all go.” 

“No,”Alina said.. 

The Darkling sighed and glanced back over his shoulder. “Bring her,” he said. 

A figure shuffled forward, draped in a heavy shawl, hunched and slow moving, as if every step brought pain. Baghra? Anaya thought.

She’d heard from Alina aboutwhat he’d done to her. But she’d never expected this.

She flinched. 

“Leave her alone,” Alina spoke in anger. 

“Show them,” he said. 

She unwound her shawl. Anaya heard someone near her moan. It was not Baghra. The bites were everywhere, raised black ridges of flesh, twisting lumps of tissue that could never be healed, not by Grisha hand or by any other, the unmistakable marks of the nichevo’ya. 

Anaya was unable to figure out who it had been. But she had a sudden glimpse of her hair, the shining auburn locks. She finally realized who it was, with immense horror.

“Genya,” Alina gasped. 

They stood in terrible silence. Alina took a step toward her. Then David pushed past her down the altar steps. 

Genya cringed away from him, pulling up her shawl, and turned to hide her face. David slowed. He hesitated. Gently, he reached out to touch her shoulder. 

Anaya saw the rise and fall of her back, and knew she was crying.

Caring, loving Genya. Genya, who was the first person to welcome her back home. Genya who’d helped her attain confidence in herself. Genya, who was never given a choice. Genya, who’d done all in her power to help them. Genya, who despite tolerating so much, still managed to stand tall.

He had done this to her. Just because she'd chosen to no longer be his pet.

 David drew his arm around Genya’s shoulders and slowly led her back up the aisle. The Darkling didn’t stop them. “I’ve waged the war you forced me to, Alina,” he spoke. “If you hadn’t run from me, the Second Army would still be intact. All those Grisha would still be alive. Your tracker would be safe. You mourn the people killed in Novokribirsk, the people lost to the Fold. But what of the thousands that came before them, given over to endless wars? What of the others dying now on distant shores? Together, we can put an end to all of it.” 

“All right,” Alina whispered.

 “Alina, no!” Mal said furiously. 

“You’ll let them go? all of them?” she asked

 “We need the tracker,” the Darkling responded. “For the firebird.”

 “He goes free. You can’t have both of us.” The Darkling paused, then nodded once.

 “I’m not going anywhere,” Mal said through clenched teeth. 

Alina turned to Tolya and Tamar. “Take him from here. Even if you have to carry him.” “Alina, we won’t go,” said Tamar. “We are sworn.”

 “You will.” Tolya shook his huge head. “We pledged our lives to you. All of us.”

 “Then do as I command,Tolya Yul-Baatar, Tamar Kir-Baatar, you will take these people from here to safety.” she summoned the light . “Do not fail me.” 

Tamar had tears in her eyes, but she and her brother bowed their heads. 

Mal hooked Alina’s arm and turned her around roughly. He pleaded with her, but she would not change her decision. She rested her hand on his cheek, stood on her toes and kissed the scar on his jaw. 

She whispered to him and then walked up the aisle.

“Alina!” Mal shouted as Tolya held him, forcing him to go back.

The rest of them turned back, there was nothing they could do for her even if they tried. If she was truly a saint, she’d either be martyred for the cause, or would rise to become something more.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lantsov x oc

[ghost-1-y]

For the asks!!

3, 6, 11, 14, 19, and 21!

from this ask game!

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Out of fics that I've published, it's probably either Sacrifice or Sabotage. For the former, I'm really proud of how I wrote Kyojuro and I felt like it was a relatively creative idea that I started out with (with him being a jotunn and reader being a nordic village chief). The latter, on the other hand, is my longest fic thus far and I put a ton of effort into the symbolism of reader's character and how her relationship with Sanemi slowly changed over time, which is why I'm gonna say that these fics so far are tied.

However, in terms of all of my fic ideas, I have a strong feeling that Desecration will be my favorite fic I've ever written. I know I've only posted the prologue for it, but this fic is something I've been brewing for months now. I have like...9 pages of bullet points and tables dedicated to the storyline/plot (and that's without any of the actual writing, those 9 pages are 100% just outline). It's also the first fic I've created a playlist for. This fic is my baby I just know it (and I hope you all will enjoy it when it gets posted).

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

I don't have a lot of time on my hands to reread larger fics unfortunately, usually things I reread are very small, one-off drabbles or headcanons because reading a larger fic is something I feel like requires commitment. I did actually reread your Phantasmagoria fic before the final part came out though so I could have the plot fresh in my mind lolol

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

The only playlist I have so far is my Desecration playlist, which, once I've rearranged it to fit the plot and have added all the songs I want, I will share on here! For my other fics I've usually just looked up playlists on youtube or spotify that fit the vibe I was looking for.

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fanfic would you pick?

Hmm...maybe Sabotage? I don't think a lot of my fics are long enough to be considered for a film adaptation lmao. Once Desecration has been written I'd probably pick that one though just because it'll be long enough (and is also my favorite storyline I've come up with so far)

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

<(´ཀ`」<) okay

Fleeting memories raced across your mind and rattled within your skull – short visions of sunlight reflecting across statues of women you couldn’t recognize, the brief feeling of love and fulfillment as delicate as dew drops laid upon the blades of grass overgrown in an old cathedral forgotten by time.  It was the warmth of the sun that you’d always treasured the most, its gentle rays caressing your skin just as the faint vision graced your very thoughts.  The realization of betrayal and blood splattered across the floor as darkness enshrouded the very hall in which you stood, clouds blocking out sunbeams and withering flowers in empty, desolate corners long untended. And the screams – screams building from within yourself and echoing across barren walls as you are ripped clean from your body, a mind so full within a body so hollow – an amalgamation of blood and skin and bones, but lacking the very threads that hold a being together as you become a husk of your previous self. A blurry face, a voiceless name, an unbearable cold and a feeling of lightness.  And then, nothing.

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why?

Yes, all the time lmao.

Mainly because I'm a perfectionist and I cringe whenever I read something that doesn't feel like it lives up to my own impossible standards.

In fact, I currently have an entire scene for one of my WIPs that I'm going to rewrite completely because I don't like how I went about describing it. I like the idea of the scene, so the general concept will be kept, but I'm 100% rewriting it when it comes time to actually put it in the story lol

#[ 👻 ] — ghost’s asks #[ 👻 ] – ghost's moots ✧･ﾟ #[ 👻 ] – moot: 🍑 #[ 👻 ] – ask games

[thetinyboio]

Welcome Home [Cult of The Lamb A.u]

Prologue [Part 1][Part 2] Hey yall thanks so much for yalls support so far! i dont plan to update like this all the time ^^; but i have a bit of free time! so till i dont have any more free time, enjoy frequent updates!! Also TW: Character Death

As Thoth and the others watched the dramatic events unfolding on top of the speeding train, they noticed a peculiar phenomenon each time a portal was opened—the artifacts in the holy chamber began to glow with an ancient and mysterious power. Gasps of astonishment escaped the lips of the onlookers as they listened in on the conversation between Milan and the lamb. The intensity of the situation reached a crescendo when a sharp blade whizzed past Thoth's head through one of the portals. Thoth instinctively ducked just in time to avoid the blade, the impact of which cracked the chains that had bound them to one of the royals.

Thoth's mother, witnessing the lamb's fate, couldn't help but express her empathy, "That poor child," she murmured, her eyes now fixed on the others who had been observing the spectacle. The initial cheer from the onlookers was short-lived.

Unintentionally freed by the chain's destruction, Thoth turned their attention back to the window, just as it began to crack. The terrified expression on their master's face would forever be etched into their memory. Within the chamber, the artifacts glowed with a brilliant golden light. Among them, Thoth spotted a small amulet, nestled within its case, emitting a soft, beckoning glow. It was as though it was calling out to them. Swiftly and stealthily, they plucked the holy artifact from its resting place, concealing it in the fluff of their chest—a daring theft amidst the chaos.

One of the royals, frustrated by the shattered viewing glass, accused Thoth of the damage, exclaiming, "Damn it! I can't see anything! You broke it, didn't you, wretch!?" His anger was palpable as he slapped Thoth's mother.

Panicking, Thoth rushed to their mother's side, pleading, "Mother!"

The furious royal shifted his ire towards Thoth, demanding, "Where is your collar, brat!?" He glared at Thoth with seething hatred.

Thoth's mother intervened, desperately appealing to the royal, "Please, my lord, they must have slipped out of it. Please do not hurt my child; they are just—"

However, their conversation was abruptly interrupted by an altar boy who rushed into the main hall, breathless and alarmed, exclaiming, "THE HOLY TALISMAN IS GONE!"

Thoth trembled in fear, sensing the impending doom. The royal's attention darted back and forth between the altar boy and the two jackalopes, his accusatory gaze fixated on Thoth. He roughly grabbed Thoth and, in the ensuing altercation, Thoth's mother courageously stepped in, shielding her child from harm—a selfless act that would be her last.

The royal, his voice dark and sinister, declared, "It's time we teach you a lesson. Don't worry, child… Milan's holy light will protect you better than your mother ever could." With a wicked intent, he dragged Thoth's mother toward a burning fire.

Desperation filled Thoth's voice as they cried out, "MOTHER!! NO! PLEASE! DON'T TAKE HER FROM ME! SHE'S ALL I HAVE!!"

As the royals callously burned Thoth's mother, they justified their cruel act by claiming she was being offered as a sacrifice to Milan. Thoth's anguished screams pierced the air as they witnessed the horrifying death of their beloved mother. In the throes of despair, they made a desperate wish, their voice filled with pain and rage.

Thoth's plea reverberated through the chamber, "I WANT THEM TO BURN! I WANT THEM ALL TO BURN LIKE THEY BURNED HER! SHE DID NOTHING WRONG! …please… if there's a god that loves me… give her justice!"

As Thoth cursed those responsible for their mother's death, flames erupted seemingly from nowhere, engulfing the Royal hall and temple in a furious inferno. The conflagration, however, did not stop there; it spread like wildfire into the town just beyond its walls.

Realization dawned upon Thoth as they desperately cried out, "No! Wait! Stop! Stop! They did nothing wrong! Don't hurt them! Why? Why can't I make it stop!"

It became painfully clear that the flames were emanating from within them, a power they could neither control nor quell. The uncontrollable inferno consumed everything in its path, an unintended consequence of the powers bestowed upon Thoth by the holy artifact.

As the flames raged around them, Thoth heard a dark, deep voice echoing in the recesses of their mind—a sinister laugh that sent shivers down their spine.

 "Mortals are so interesting. What do you wish for next, little one, with this power at your fingertips? What next?"

Struggling to comprehend the situation, Thoth gazed at the cracked glass and caught a glimpse of the aftermath of the fierce battle. Wally lay amidst the wreckage of a train crash, the cart they had been on reduced to smoldering ruins. The lamb's lifeless form lay beneath a large tarp, while Wally clutched his cardigan, cradling the lamb's head with tears streaming down his face. His missing foot was evident, and the crown lay discarded on the ground. Though Thoth couldn't discern the words due to the damaged glass, they saw Wally's mouth move as he whispered, "I will never let this happen ever again..."

Overwhelmed by the chaos, Thoth felt a deep sense of despair and powerlessness. Their own wishes had spiraled out of control, unleashing a calamity upon themselves and others.

Thoth's inner turmoil and desperation reached a breaking point as they screamed, "What?... I want this to stop! Stop! Stop all of this! This isn't what I wanted! I just want my mom back! GIVE HER BACK! MAKE IT STOP!"

In their anguish, Thoth's grip on the artifact weakened, causing it to slip from their paws and crack. As the flames began to subside, they desperately picked it up again, but the light within it dimmed and died.

An altar boy, badly burned and pointing at Thoth, accused them of theft, shouting, "YOU! THIEF! STOP THEM!"

Survivors of the fiery cataclysm emerged from their hiding places like survivors of a catastrophe, and Thoth fled into the forest. Their mind raced as they ran, grappling with the overwhelming guilt and regret that weighed them down.

Thoth's thoughts were a torrent of self-recrimination: "Why?... Why is this happening? I didn't want this… I just wanted…I just want…" Their voice trailed off as they continued to run, tears streaming down their face. The artifact, once a symbol of their power, slowly died in their paws.

Realization settled in, and Thoth wept as they understood the profound consequences of their actions. Even if they had sought justice for their mother's murder, it had come at an unimaginable cost—the loss of their home, their innocence, and their sense of self. Alone in the unforgiving world, they grappled with the painful truth that, despite their quest for freedom and retribution, they remained marked by their deeds.

As they continue to run they trip over an oddly shaped rock jutting out of the dirt. Causing them to crash face first into the ground. Falling on top of the amulet, cracking it further. As the light fades it slowly starts to turn into as in their paws. 

Thoth's desperate pleas filled the somber forest, a heart-wrenching lament for the irreversible tragedy that had unfolded. As they cradled the crumbling remnants of the holy talisman with utmost care, it disintegrated in their trembling paws, its once-potent gifts dissipating like fading embers.

The survivors drew nearer, their voices growing louder as they approached, but Thoth was beyond noticing. Curled into a small, fragile ball on the forest floor, they wept uncontrollably, their tears flowing like a torrential downpour, a child lost in the wilderness of their own despair.

In their anguish, Thoth whispered in the darkness, "I can't fix this… I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I broke it…"

The gifts of the talisman slowly left their body, leaving them weak and teetering on the brink of death's embrace. As they lay there, on the precipice of oblivion, they muttered through their tears, "…Mother… I'm sorry… You were right… I'm too old for childish games… I should have never turned my back on my master… if I would have just stayed obedient maybe…"

In their final moments, a profound realization washed over them—a realization that nothing they could have done differently would have altered the cruel fate that had befallen them. They were mere pawns in a grander scheme, victims of a world that had never shown them kindness.

With their strength ebbing away, Thoth whispered, "I am no god. The god who sees me doesn't care for me… so what if I die now?… Can I at least turn to ash and disappear in the wind like the rest?"

In the reflection of the shattered talisman, Thoth beheld a figure weeping, a soul similarly burdened by the weight of the world's darkness. Through their tears, Thoth whispered, "… you lost too?... I'm sorry…I wish… I wish the world wasn't so dark anymore…"

#welcomehomeau #welcome home #wally welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home fanart #wally darling au #welcome home puppet show #furry art #cute furry #cult of the lamb #cultofthelambfanart #cotl fanart

[ryttu3k]

So this next update is from the Gauntlet of Shar through to the end of act 2 and I have *checks* 690 caps so. This'll go fine.

We head into the (creepy, creepy) Gauntlet. Well, first the tomb, which confirmed a theory, then to the Gauntlet. Shadowheart talks about the tasks required to become a Dark Justiciar and everyone exchanges nervous glances hearing about a sacrifice, because. It's fine. This is fine, right.

I feel the highlighted text is basically the arc line for every companion story.

Just going to transcribe this bit because... image limit, but there was a very interesting exchange between Shadowheart and Halsin here:

Shadowheart: "Lady Shar… so many must have toiled to make a visage so grand. It's beautiful…" Halsin: "Shar's armies of destruction arose from within these halls." Shadowheart: "Those who do not listen to the reason of Lady Shar's words must instead feel the keenness of her blade." Halsin: "You sound like a student - reciting words for a test without considering their meaning." Shadowheart: "I've considered them plenty. Besides, Lady Shar favours actions over words. Try it out, sometime."

Huh!

Balthazar confirmed for creepy. "We're still close. She's in a jar on the shelf over there :)"

Did the first trial, the invisible path one. Shadowheart died several times. I savescummed and used a guide until I got it right. Next, the battle with the orthon. Not sure if it was a glitch but I didn't even get the chance to talk to the guy, alas. Wyll came in very handy here, since he levelled up to 11 just in time to learn a portal spell, so we could basically sneak up.

Astarion: "The orthon is nothing. I'll have my satisfaction when Raphael makes good on his word." Tae: "Repeat after me: Thank you for helping me, it was very kind." Astarion: "Hmm. Hrmmm. Thank you for helping me, it was very kind :|"

Marvellous facial expression here. But no disapproval!

Then, speak of the devil - here's Raphael, here to deliver his promise to Astarion, telling him what the scars mean. tfw you find out you have an infernal pact meant to kill you and elevate your abuser of two centuries to extreme never-before-seen power.

Astarion: "Hmm…" Tae: "Cazador is a piece of shit. We're going to stop him." Astarion: "Do you think it's so simple?" Tae: "You'll never be free while Cazador lives." Astarion: "I hate how right you are. I knew he wouldn't leave me alone even when I was just another wretched toy for him to play with. But if I'm the key to this power he craves, he'll hunt me to the ends of Faerûn. I need to take the fight to him. And I need you to help me." Tae: "Of course I'll help. We'll hunt him down and kill him." Astarion: "Thank you."

Yeah I am thinking thoughts about that, "I need you to help me" part and the, "I'm not used to asking for help and being met with, well... help" line (when Raphael reveals his scars). Yeah, he's scared out of his mind over what Cazador has the power to do to him, and it could just be sheer desperation, but it could also be that he is starting to trust his friends.

One of my favourite parts, now - the companions have their say. My favourite response is from Karlach, as seen in this post, but they're all. So good <3 Fuck you, Cazador, you're not touching our friend! Here's all of them:

Karlach: "Wish I could say I was surprised about Cazador's pact. Where blood, death, and betrayal parade, you can bet your arse a devil is riding grand marshal. We're going to keep Astarion safe. On my life, Cazador won't touch him."

Lae'zel: "Full-fledged vampires are not so easily slain. Astarion's master will be no exception. Fortunate for him, slaying monstrous fanatics is a pastime of ours."

Gale: "I can't imagine how Astarion must be feeling. The terms of your own condemnation carved into your skin… A monster's actions. And monsters do not deserve such power as that ritual promised. When the time comes, Astarion will have his revenge, I'm sure. And it will be richly deserved."

Shadowheart: "It seems like Cazador used Astarion's flesh not as a canvas, but as a contract. We haven't heard the last of this, I'll wager."

Wyll: "Our very own vampire's the missing pawn in his master's deadly game. Now how about we go and reverse Cazador's fortunes?"

Back to the Gauntlet! We complete the other two trials, albeit not just with Shadowheart - Astarion does the sneaking one on his own, and, well, the whole squad goes in for the duplicate one, haha. Then... it's time to jump into the Shadowfell, to find this relic to stop Ketheric, and for Shadowheart to do the last part of the Gauntlet, to become a Dark Justiciar.

Naturally, it doesn't run smoothly. Shadowheart declares that Balthazar has interfered in Shar's plans for too long, and it's time for a fight! We beat him, and that leaves... Shadowheart, to face off with the relic keeping Ketheric alive, and her intended sacrifice to become a Dark Justiciar: Aylin, the Nightsong, daughter of Selûne.

Funny how those things so often coincide. Training the weapons of Shar on the undying body of her own niece, and also the one directly connected with the plot.

Had to do a reset here, because I was nooot going to pass that DC 30 persuasion check (the correct method is to trust Shadowheart to her own actions, let Aylin talk to her, then pass the now-DC 21 check. If you talk to her after failing the DC 30 one, you have to fight and kill her. Not ideal!!). Still had to ask a pointed question, though - "Is this what you truly want?"

(Arc words!!)

Shadowheart is convinced - and hurls the spear she received from the Gauntlet into the void. Then freaks a little because oh god oh fuck she defied her goddess.

Aylin proceeds to steal the show by producing a shining set of armour and a big set of wings, nbd you see that all the time. She gives Shadowheart a Selûnite spear to replace the one she discarded, and then gives the next mission:

Onwards! We return to the outside of the Gauntlet - only to find that in those few seconds, Shadowheart has been blocked from leaving by Shar then tortured and banished holy shit ;_;

Larian why did you not give me an option to say, "You're not alone, you'll never have to be alone again, you have us"? ;_; Once again, the companions can voice that, but damn, I really wanted to tell her. Here are their comments:

Halsin: "Shar's ire has shaken Shadowheart… and yet she goes on. There is untold strength there, I feel."

Wyll: "She called Shadowheart 'nothing'. But I know better than that. She is something. She is worthy, she is strong. She is Shadowheart. Nothing can take the her from her. Not even a goddess."

Astarion: "I suppose it was only a matter of time until Shar took vengeance. For the Lady of Loss, she does not like losing."

Karlach: "I hate seeing Shadowheart suffer like this. All for doing the right thing. It's up to us to look after her now. If she needs a rest, we carry her. If she needs a hand, she has ours. If she needs ears, we've got four between us. Whatever she needs."

Lae'zel: "Shadowheart suffers. You might be surprised, but - it pains me to see."

Gale: "Poor Shadowheart. The gods are nothing if not vindictive in their vengeance."

Best lines here go to Karlach (again) and Wyll. So much love and support! And even Lae'zel!

Still, there's a fight ahead! We hurry back to Moonrise Tower, where there are fights ahead, battling our way to the top to get to Ketheric. Tae tries to extend mercy, understanding what happened to his wife; neither Ketheric nor Aylin are having it, and Ketheric strikes out. Tae and the others are saved with the Prism - and that, unfortunately, reveals that, yes, Tae has the Prism.

Whoops.

(I really like this cap the lighting is so pretty here.)

Big fight. Followed by big tentacle. Followed by big complaint.

Sorry Astarion you may need some new boots after that.

Lae'zel: "We must be ready to confront the elder brain. One presides over every ghaik colony." Astarion: "No problem. And what does this old brain look like?" Lae'zel: "A hovering mass of grey matter, sprouted with lethal tentacles and oozing cerebrospinal fluid?" Astarion, having a day: "Right!! Good!! Glad I asked!!!"

First up, a meeting with Chop. This is... depressing. Free at last, Chop.

Also free: kitty :) Welcome back, Us!

Also depressing: the fact that there are letters to the Absolute from children oh god what the fuck.

Over to the tadpoling centre, where we find Zariel's asset - Mizora herself. Who proceeds to say she'll free Wyll... within the next six months or so. Man c'mon.

To mixed approval (Shadowheart and Halsin's) and disapproval (Lae'zel and Astarion's), we also free the others in the tanks. This includes Zevlor, and Fist members - and a few fully-grown newborn Mind Flayers whoops.

Win the battle, talk to Zevlor to work out what the actual fuck happened. It's not pretty, but Tae tries to be understanding.

Another excursion, this time to some kind of lab. Get a neat sword! There are some interesting brain jars we can interact with, genuinely curious to see what response you'd get from the brain jars from the Nautilus. Oh well. Get a nice permanent boost to Int rolls!

Into the depths of the colony, then, where Gortash fled to. He's there, yes - as are Orin, a pale, creepy-looking woman, and... Enver Gortash, the one who betrayed Karlach to Zariel.

They reveal, then, the Absolute - an Elder Brain, controlled by an immensely powerful Netherese crown, controlled by the three stones the trio hold.

Gale prepares to carry out Mystra's orders; Tae is only just able to talk him down, convinced there's another way. (My graphics were not having it at this point.)

Gale: "Look at that crown. It radiates with power unlike anything I've ever seen. To have it… to hold… If only I could… But I can't… This is it. I must do as Mystra commands." Tae: "Gale, you cannot do this. You can't condemn us to death." Gale: "What choice do I have? More than just a goddess counts on my courage: whole worlds hang in the balance." Tae: "Trust me, Gale. We'll find another way." Gale: "I do trust you. More than myself right now. Perhaps even more than Mystra. I… I have no desire to end your life, you know that. To end it… To struggle on… It is a grave choice you're making for us both, but if it must be so - very well, I'll stand down to stand by you."

;_; Literally the only reason he doesn't kill himself at a goddess's command is because a friend asks him to. God that's so sad. (And I'm sure that crown thing won't come back in any way, I'm sure!)

Controlling the elder brain, they infect their prisoner - Duke Ravengard, Wyll's father. Orin and Gortash leave with the newly-infected Duke, ready to start the attack on Baldur's Gate, and that leaves us with Ketheric, and the newly imprisoned Aylin restoring his immortality. Time for a major battle to free Aylin and take Ketheric down!

Which succeeds, up until, well...

I call this cap 'well, that escalated'.

Anyway I'm really glad that I had the mod that let me have all nine characters (plus Aylin) fighting because the Ketheric-as-apostle monster thing had 181 HP. Aylin goes in on him to finish him off with extreme prejudice (Lae'zel, the closest at hand, had this expression I can only called 'scaroused'), Tae takes the stone from Ketheric's armour, and we finally meet the Dream Visitor in the flesh.

They reveal who the three are - Ketheric was the Chosen of Myrkul, Lord of Bones. From the way Orin spoke, she's a follower of Bhaal, God of Murder. And Gortash is a follower of Bane, God of Tyranny. This is what the Absolute is - an enslaved elder brain manipulated into service by the Chosen of the Dead Three.

So nbd!!

We leave the ship, get back to Moonrise Towers. Karlach is Not Pleased to learn Gortash's involvement. Which is. Understandable.

Yeah we're definitely going to kick his ass.

Gale's also having some thoughts - about that Netherese crown the elder brain was wearing. He decides they'll check out Sorcerous Sundries in Baldur's Gate. Still a bit concerned here, Gale!!

Wyll gives us our next destination - Wyrm's Rock fortress. All roads to Baldur's Gate lead to it - and it's also headquarters for the Flaming Fist, led by one Duke Ravengard. Probably a good idea to prevent him opening the doors for the Absolute's army! He also opens up about his past, about why he made a pact with Mizora. He was only seventeen at the time...

Karlach: "She never stops, does she. Not for a second."

Also at Moonrise Towers - Withers. He has... concerning things to say about their opponents.

Good to hear!!

Some happiness - a reunion between Aylin, and her lover, Isobel. With Isobel's father and Aylin's captor, Ketheric, now gone, each believing the other was dead, they can finally be together again <3

They head off to, er, "take succour in one another's bodies and words" ("Aylin 😳"), and we catch up with Alfira, who's here with a lot of the others from the Last Light. She wants to write a song for the kids to enjoy, but needs another Bard, and where will she find one of those?

Tae pretty much scruffs Astarion and shoves him Alfira-wards. God bless multiclass mods :)

Astarion earns 3g :)

We talk to Art Cullagh. He's doing better. Not entirely sure what he thinks of the modern-day Flaming Fist, but Duke Ravengard seems to be a good sort. He'll wait to see Thaniel when he fully wakes up, and then... yeah, who knows?

Back to camp! We have a lot of interesting conversations. One with Astarion, about what he plans to do with the ritual - he admits he's tempted, and if it means sacrificing his siblings...

Astarion: "I never saw myself as a banisher of shadows. I was always more a 'lurker in', historically." Tae: "I wanted to ask about Cazador's ritual. You must be thinking about it?" Astarion: "The thing that will decide my fate forevermore? Yes, it has been on my mind!! Why~?" Tae: "All that power - you must be tempted to take it for yourself." Astarion: "Well, of course I've thought about it. If I completed the ritual instead of Cazador, I'd get all that power. And I could walk in the sun without fear I'd turn into a mind flayer." Tae: "And the souls that need to be sacrificed?" Astarion: "I don't relish it, but my siblings lured thousands of people to their deaths over the years. I doubt Baldur's Gate would miss them. Of course, I don't even know if I could complete the ritual. It may be impossible - but it certainly is tempting."

In-character-wise, I kind of wanted to have Tae like... set up the acknowledgement that, yes, it's tempting. It also comes with a whopping cost. Just gotta think about that.

Talked to Karlach about Gortach. He is, in her words, an evil, evil bastard and we're going to kick his arse into the hells.

Talked to Halsin about Thaniel. He and Oliver are both recovering - what will happen next depends on them. They may return to be one - but Halsin kind of hopes they won't. It's always nice to have a friend. (An interesting note: Halsin says he has everything he wants, now, "But perhaps there is more than I want." Tae... does not touch that with a barge pole, because they've pretty firmly placed Halsin in the category of 'You remind me of my Grandpa :)' and they are Not Going There! Wyll's expressed interest, Halsin, go try him.)

Shadowheart is... doing okay.

She'll be okay <3

Conversations with Isobel, who talks about how she met Aylin, and Aylin, who is Extremely Dramatic, but also she's a demigod who just killed her tormentor of a hundred years and been reunited with her "mate most high, darling Isobel", so we'll allow it XD Aylin is Selûne's gift to aid the world in the fight against the Dead Three, which. Handy!

And onwards to Baldur's Gate! The Dream Visitor speaks to Tae again, instructing them to gather their allies, especially when they get to the city. "Baldur's Gate may not know it yet, but its fate is bound to ours."

One last obstacle before leaving Reithwin - a Githyanki patrol. We're warned by the artefact Voss left us, and are able to fight them off. Lae'zel gets very Intense.

"It is as we knew. My people have turned their blades against us. They will emerge from the shadows and descend from the skies. And we will grant them their only just fate: death."

I can't wait until she punches Vlaakith in the face.

Next stop: Act 3, and Baldur's Gate!

#ry plays bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers

[cosmictyto]

I feel like I’m on a roll with art so I’m milking this phase for all its worth, lol (also, omg. Somewhat decent looking humans. I never thought I’d get here :,) )

Anyways, my Fable 2 brainworms have reawakened so I finally designed the Sparrow I’ve baked in my brain for years now. This is her post-game during what are her late 30s, early 40s. 

Feel free to ask about her if you’re interested/curious about anything!

~ TWs! Mentions of EDs and light mentions of ableism and PTSD ~

“Clover ????,” A.K.A. Sparrow, the Hero of Bowerstone/the Hero of Bower Lake, (occasionally) Ranger - she/her - single - sexuality: it’s complicated - Alignment: Lawful good (with some sins, as a treat)

Final choice - Sacrifice

“Oggie” - Loyal companion - Breed: good boy

Current Residence - Brightwood Tower

Other Owned Properties - Brightwood Farm & Reaver’s Manor

Abilities

Mainly utilizes Skill & Will styles, but is also tough and handy with swords. Her preferred spells are Time Control, Vortex, and Blades. She used to use Inferno, but has since fallen out of using it in combat.

Stealth - After several incidents where she’s been caught off-guard (mainly the Thag & Howling Halls incidents,) she prefers to come into situations with as many advantages as she can. Taking an almost sneaky, rogue-like approach to missions and fights. Her full combat outfit includes the gloves + mask to hide her active will lines as much as she can. If she can’t take enemies out from a distance she’ll use crowd-control spells to turn the tide of the fight in her favor.

Survival Skills - During her youth, part of her hero training involved getting dropped off into the deep woods to hunt and forage alone with nothing but a knife (well, not completely alone. She had her dog.) As an adult she’s developed a respect and admiration for the wilds and would rather take roughing it in the woods over any crowded town. There’s a peace to the forests and coasts of Albion that she’d never found in a city.

Personality

Shy and introverted, mostly. She doesn’t really care for being around people and hates the pressure that’s on her whenever she’s in town. She could especially feel the hundreds of eyes on her whenever she entered any major city and it’s always put her on edge. These are thoughts/feelings she needed to push aside during her campaign against Lucien, but now that her “job’s” been done she’s allowed herself to mostly recede out of the public eye.

She’s somewhat serious and doesn’t want others to see through the walls she’s put up. If you’re lucky, you might see a smirk if you’re amusing. However, she does have a slight wild streak if you can coax it out of her. Mainly through drink. Hammer’s the only one who can really get her going while sober, though.

Despite her tough exterior, Sparrow has a gentle, generous, and kind side to her. During her early years she’d spare whatever extra coins she had to any orphans, travelers, or beggars she came across. But, once Theresa claimed the Spire and Sparrow bought Brightwood Farm from Giles, she found herself offering her home to those in need. The farm’s become a sort of mix between orphanage and abuse refuge where people Sparrow trusts can rebuild their lives out in the forests of Brightwood. Just like Sparrow did during her childhood within the Dweller Camp near Bower Lake. However, the place’s gotten full. So crowded that she moved over to the tower so she could get some peace and quiet and visit with the others when she’s prepared to.

As she’s gotten older, though, she’s just felt tired and worn down. Lonely, even. During her hero days she at least had Hammer. And even when she didn’t she had her mission to focus on. But with no mission and the other three heroes gone she doesn’t have anyone she can relate to. Most people find her too intimidating to talk to, or they’re star-struck and don’t fully see her as a person. There was a brief period where her loneliness grew too strong. The time between her final encounter with Lucien and when she got her dog back. After that fateful trip to Knothole Island.

Conditions:

Her Stutter - Sparrow’s had a stutter ever since she was little. Rose did her best to help her sister by writing stories, teaching her to read out loud, and remembering to be calm and supportive when practicing. But, because she was a child (and in, what? the equivalent of the 1800s?) she never had much progress. The other kids teased Sparrow so much for her speech issues that she grew embarrassed each time she spoke. One day, she just stopped. Save for one or two short words. When Rose passed, Sparrow spent the rest of her adolescence mute. As an adult, she’s healed some and opened up more to others. But, really, only around those she trusts. Mainly Hammer.

She mainly struggles with syllable repetition as well as prolonging sounds. The hardest sounds for her are mainly consonants like hard Ds, Ts, Bs, and Ps and will even drop these if they’re at the end of a word. Example: “Do-do-don’ go tha’ way.”

Regarding sound prolongation, it’s the “sh,” “s,” and “w” sounds she gets stuck on. But it’s less common than syllable repetition. Examples: “Sssssure, I’ll have some.” “Ssssometimes it’s frustrating.” “Wwwwhere di-did you go?”

When concentrating on getting a word out she’ll tilt her head, furrow her brow, close her eyes, and her jaw will start to tighten. Also, if she’s standing, she sways in place a bit and will fidget with whatever’s in her hands/whatever’s nearby. But those aren’t specifically secondary characteristics of her stutter, but rather self-soothing techniques from the anxiety spike she feels when really getting tripped up.

She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t stutter when she sings (it uses a separate part of the brain but she doesn’t know that. 1800s and all.) Singing/songwriting has been one of the few pleasures discovered post-Lucien as she finally feels like she’s found a way to express herself without much grief from herself or others. Her favorite thing is to head down to the pond next to the tower, sit by one of the large oaks, and just sing with Oggie snoozing nearby. (For a voice comparison, I imagine she’d sound similar to Ryn Weaver with that kind of neat warbley sound.)

Food insecurities - Growing up on the streets as an urchin rarely ensures that you get a consistent meal. Again, Rose did the best she could, but there were so many nights where she had to tell Sparrow stories just to keep their minds off of their cramping stomachs. As an adult, Sparrow’s… weird about food. Mainly going through periods of hoarding food and barely eating only to later binge the larder before it goes bad. The idea of food being left uneaten makes her skin crawl. On the bright side, she can make a mean bone broth from whatever meat she gets her hands on.

As she’s gotten older some of her issues have settled as she’s maintained a more steady stream of food. Gardening’s helped somewhat as seeing the produce actively grow reassures her that food will come. And living in Brightwood does mean hunting/foraging opportunities. But, she does still have occasional fast-binge periods (mainly in winter) and struggles to overcome them.

PTSD/general trauma - I don’t feel like I need to get into this too much as it’s pretty much a given that Sparrow would have some form of deep trauma from all the shit you go through in-game. Most of her nightmares are based around the loss of control she’s felt. Her inability to save her sister, how she couldn’t stop falling out of the castle, how she couldn’t stop the murder of Hammer’s father, how the Spire tried to warp her, how she couldn’t even save Barnum (one of the last living fragments of her childhood.) The list goes on from all over her life.

#fanart #my art #my ocs #(clover) sparrow #hero of bowerstone #hero of bower lake #fable hero of bowerstone #fable sparrow #fable #fable 2 #character sheet #fable fanart

[archesa]

Hmm how about Anwen as a member of the Shining Blade in LWS3? Specifically the part where she learned that a certain Exemplar is a famous historical figure in possession of a powerful and important Orrian artifact that is thought to be lost forever... and then having to keep that secret from Trahearne.

Hi there! ^^ It sure took its sweet time but there it is! Plot bunnies have awakened and here I come to deliver ^^ I hope you will enjoy the piece although I took a few liberties with the actual game plot, in accordance with Anwen's backstory and how it would affect her in season 3, when dealing with the White Mantle and the Shining Blade. I might write a part 2 to this when replaying through the season, soon enough 😁

Voices of the past, echoes of the depths - 1330 AE

A mausoleum. Of course, it had to be a mausoleum.

The kid who had brought word of the Shining Blade's invitation and led her to the rendez-vous was already long gone, vanished in the shadows before Anwen could even question the unlikely meeting place. And as night fell over the cemetery, sun gleaming its last through the oculus above the rotten door, a feeling of dread settled in her heart.

“Isn't this such a lovely tomb?”, a voice said, from the depths of the tomb. “One of my favourite, actually. Don't you like it?”

“Grim, cold, and deathly.”, Anwen spat as the Exemplar emerged from the darkness. “It suits you.”

Abandoned seemed a more fitting term, to be honest. Ivy and brambles had made their way inside the crypt, the scent of dust and old death drowned in the heady perfume of red flowers growing on the ledge of broken stained glass windows, a profound sadness invading her at the realisation that no one had visited these graves for at least two decades.

The Shining Blade shook her head in exaggerated disappointment.

“Now, Commander. I expected a little more respect for the dead. Or maybe their presence troubles you so?”

“The dead do not worry me. What I am wary of are the manoeuvres of the living. Now state your business, Exemplar, or I will take my leave.”

The agent leisurely closed the distance between them, a glimmer of purple emanating from the focus and reflecting on the blade on her hip sending a faint shiver down Anwen's spine, where Caladbolg rested between her shoulder blades. The mausoleum was narrow, and in such a cluttered space, she could not rely on her weapon to defend herself if needed be. She felt the sparks of her flames glisten at her fingertips when the Exemplar spoke again, her voice saccharine and bitter – a venom... a poison.

“A noble and ancient line of servants of Kryta is interred in these halls.”, she said. “I believed reuniting you with them would give you a little perspective, my dear.”

Curse discretion!

A burst of flames radiated from her, and igniting the torches around and casting the mausoleum in a blazing light. Feverish, Anwen turned around to take in her surroundings, her breath shallow and her heart sinking painfully in her chest.

On the far end of the tomb, engraved in stone was a crest of thorns and roses, and carven in once gilded letters, a name. 'Evergreen'.

She turned to the Exemplar, flames still coiling in her hand, and her eyes ablaze.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Merely reminding you of the legacy you carry. Your parents served the Blade most loyally. And you are desecrating their many sacrifices to Kryta by antagonising us with your stubborn obstinacy. I believed showing you this place would have you reconsider our albeit forced collaboration under favourable auspices.”

Years of loyal services for this. A forgotten crypt, the key jealously kept by the Blade, two empty sarcophagi, their bodies left to rot in nameless graves in Kessex Hills.

“You were wrong.”

#anwen evergreen drabbles #anwen evergreen #exemplar kerida #lws3 spoilers

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Shiptober Day 1

Prompt: Wearing Eachothers Clothes

Ship: Wade Wilson x Dean Sinclaire

Warning(s): Canon-typical violence, explicit language, suggestive themes

Words: 1, 251

Smelling smoke the moment you wake up would worry most people, reasonably so, but living with Wade had made Dean immune to panicking over things like that. It was always either blood on the carpet or another ruined pan, a toss of the coin on whether the brunette would be laughing or scolding the blue eyed mercenary when he made it to the living room.

Groaning Dean rolled out of his queen sized bed, keeping the comforter around his shoulders as he shuffled into the hall. He yawns as he passes the bathroom, pausing for only a moment as his eyes catch on the devastating amount of red covering the white tiles. Wade's suit was hanging haphazardly from the bathtub and blood covered almost every other surface, he winced and continued down the hall—he wasn't cleaning that.

The living room is suspiciously tidy and looking across the room Dean spots Wade in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of Dean's boxers and the baby pink apron he'd bought on valentine's day last year. Dean tries to fight the smile off his face as Wade bounces and sways his hips to the pop song on the radio but it's impossible. Smoke plumes from the sink and Dean watches as Wade fills two plates with pieces of overdone bacon.

He chuckles and shakes his head, moving forward quietly and sneaking up behind his fiancé. Up close he can't see any wounds, probably all healed by now, and after a small inspection he wraps his arms around Wade's waist. Wade jumps at the contact but quickly melts as Dean nuzzles into his shoulder blades, pressing a gentle kiss to his scarred skin.

"Good morning," Dean murmurs, peeking around Wade's bicep to eye the plates warily. It didn't look inedible but the bacon looked so much more like charcoal Dean thought he could break a piece off and use it to draw if he really wanted.

"Good morning my beautiful boy, I was going to wake you up but you were drooling all over your pillow and I had to take pictures—then I thought i'd wake you up with breakfast," Wade twists to look down at Dean as he chatters on, big blue eyes shining with delight and it almost distracts Dean from his comment on him drooling.

"Delete them,"

"Never," Wade swivels around to kiss the tip of Dean's nose and grabs his shoulders, "now sit your cute lil booty down it's time to eat," he grins, turning Dean around and giving him a gentle push in the direction of the small kitchen table. Dean rolls his eyes but compiles, tucking the comforter under him as he sits and sneaking his arms out of his makeshift cocoon. Wade places a plate in front of him and his own a bit away, pulling the chair to his right next to Dean's and sitting down. 

Dean watches as Wade picks up a bit of less burnt omelette with his fork, stuffing it into his mouth. Dean smiles again, watching the muscles in Wade's jaw move as he chews—trailing his eyes down to his thighs. Wade's thighs were thicker than his and he could see the seams on his poor boxers holding on for dear life as the material stretched across Wade's muscles. There goes another pair.

A worthy sacrifice, he muses, knowing after breakfast he would be taking them off for him.

Dean picks up a piece of bacon, scooping up some of the omelette with it and popping it into his mouth. The seasoned egg did nothing to hide the charcoal taste as Dean's teeth bit down but it still wasn't awful. Wade's speciality was in baking but Dean would never refuse anything he cooked, he wasn't picky naturally and he'd put a lot of much worse things in his mouth. 

Wade drops his fork and copies Dean, the comically loud crunch of the bacon in his mouth making the both of them burst into stifled giggles.

"I may have overcooked the bacon,"

"Better than undercooked bacon," Dean shrugs and Wade nods in agreement, smiling as Dean shovels another mouthful of the semi failed breakfast into his mouth. 

"I should also mention we're out of paper towel," Wade mentions, biting into another piece of bacon and watching it snap and crumble back onto his plate.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, glaring at the grease covering his fingers. It was his own fault for not using the cutlery but still.

"I can lick your fingers clean fret not lover," Wade sings and Dean knows he's only half joking.

"You're so nasty," He snorts, nudging Wade's knee with his own.

"Oh so I can lick 'em if there's cum on them but not bacon grease?" Wade shoots back with a shameless grin and Dean bows his head, his ears turning red as he tries to stop himself from laughing.

"Shut the fuck up," 

"Fine, use the whore sink but my mouth could do it better and you know it," Wade huffs playfully, leaning back in his seat as Dean shakes his head.

"Don't call my sink a whore, whore," He grins and Wade laughs, eyes crinkling in that mesmerising way as his strong shoulders shake gently.

"Fine fine… Slut sink,"

"No!"

"Sink slut, slutty sink, sinky slutterson," Wade lists off names with a cheeky grin, waving his hands side to side as he does.

"Stop!" Dean laughs, leaning over and shoving Wade's shoulder with his forearms. He gasps as Wade grabs hold of his wrist, squirming and trying to get away as Wade licks his index finger. Dean squeals, pushing himself out of his chair in his attempts to get away. Wade yelps as Dean falls, pulling him with him onto the cold kitchen floor.

Dean whines, tangled in his comforter and trapped against the floor by Wade's full weight bearing down on him. His whine melts into laughter as Wade's own laughter gets lost against his skin, his forehead resting against Dean's shoulder. Dean lets his head fall against the tiles and inhales deeply, his view of the ceiling soon being taken up by Wade's face as he pops up.

"Are you okay pumpkin?" He giggles and Dean purses his lips, jabbing him in the sides and smiling as Wade yelps gently. Dean pushes himself up and steals a short kiss, tasting their breakfast and a hint of coffee on his lips as he does. Wade follows Dean as he lowers his head, not letting him get away so easily as he deepens the kiss and licks his bottom lip.

Dean smacks his chest gently, prompting him to back off and he does so obediently but he pouts as he gazes down at him. Dean feels something hard poking into his thigh and he refrains from scoffing at the predictability of his fiancé.

"The bathroom is a mess right now," Dean says, hands trailing down Wade's chest and stopping to play with the ruffles on his apron.

"Is that your way of saying no sex until it's clean?"

"Bingo baby,"

"I'll be right back," Wade swoops down to steal another kiss before pushing himself up effortlessly, climbing off Dean and disappearing down the hall. Dean chuckles, pushing himself up into a sitting position and detangling himself from his comforter. He guessed he could assess the state of his frying pan while Wade cleaned the bathroom, hopefully he wouldn't have to buy a new one. Again.

#Marvel oc #Deadpool x oc #Wade Wilson x oc #Dean Tag #Oneshot Tag #Shiptober2022

[enslaughts]

@roseguided. . . baghra.

[ TILT ] : the sender gently tilts the receiver’s chin up so that they can check to see if they’re okay.

alina's blade had left something pinned on those stone steps. it must have. he keeps waiting for someone to catch him by the sleeve, grab ahold of his arm, tell him there's something on his shirt, his face. something missing. something's wrong, something's still wrong, days later, and he can't speak a word of it to anyone. ravka reigns victorious. the fold is gone. their saint and their would - be - king still breathe. there's the darkness and the dead to bury, the light and living to celebrate ; where does that leave him ? roaming the halls like a ghost ? he might as well be one. he might be one. the animated corpse, not quite living, should - be - dead. oh, morozova's in his blood, to be sure.

it's only fitting he can't sleep. not since— well. what is death if not sleep everlasting ? it comes in waves, sputters like rain trying its best to fall, only to be dried up in the cracking soil. buried, leaving him to scrabble at the dirt like a beggar, a soldier coming home. it's not right, he knows it isn't, and yet it remains a gnarled and crooked thing, something alina can't make right anymore. if she ever truly did ? he doesn't blame her. he won't. he can't. surely, everyone can see it. smell it on him. blood, decay, death, something. even just the green, gray tone of his skin, the throbbing veins beneath bloodshot eyes, heart beating still in no particular direction. a broken compass. he'd rather think they ignore it out of pity, platitute, than that they simply don't see. of course, it's baghra that would never subject herself to either. her fingertips feel cold in a way that reminds him of all the blood keeping his body warm ; warm and idle, a bog building bacteria. it's the first he's seen her since— well. her son is dead, now. pierced through. he wonders if she can see it in his eyes. reflected.

“   i did what you asked,   ” he croaks without meaning to, the words cold, cotton - dry in his mouth— at first, he's not sure he's even said it aloud, if not for the stillness in her hand. you must sacrifice yourself on her blade, or the fold remains. it all must be so simple ; when you never die. “   i did it. alina did it.   ”

#roseguided. . .⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀baghra #interaction. . .⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁⠀:⠀mal oretsev #coming back wrong trope!!!!! #based on the wiki i'm unsure if it's alina who brings mal back in the books as well but.... until i read them alas </3 #sorry if it is drastically different from the books but i love coming back wrong tropes... my beloved #like my mal is show based but also i remember like half of the show's events rip. he's mine now #mal and baghra's dynamic just makes my brain start vibrating #i will absolutely be turning your answer for him into a thread btw <3 i am just slow #hope this is ok though! i know baghra's supposed to be dead here but i said fuck it we ball

[psychterminal]

Marillion - Grendel. 1983. live

l y r i x :::

Midnight suns bid moors farewell, retreats from charging dusk Mountain echo, curfews bell, signal ending tasks They place their faith in oaken doors, cower in candlelight The panic seeps through bloodstained floors as Grendel stalks the night

Earth rim walker seeks his meals Prepare the funeral pyres The shaper's songs no longer heal the fear Within their eyes, their eyes

Wooden figures, pagan gods, stare blindly cross the sea Appeal for help from ocean fogs, for saviour born of dreams They know their lives are forfeit now, priestly head they bow in shame They cannot face the trembling crowd that flinch in Grendel's name

Earth rim walker seeks his meals Prepare the funeral pyres The shaper's songs no longer heal the fear Within their eyes, their eyes

As Grendel leaves his mossy home beneath the stagnant mere Along the forest path he roams to Hrothgar's hall so clear He knows that victory is secured, his charm will testify His claws will drip with mortal blood as moonbeams haunt the sky

Earth rim walker seeks his meals Prepare the funeral pyres The shaper's songs no longer heal the fear Within their eyes, their eyes

Silken membranes span his path, fingerprints in dew Denizens of twilight lands humbly beg him through Mother nature's bastard child shunned by leaf and stream An alien in an alien land seeks solace within dreams The shaper's lies his poisoned tongue malign with mocking harp Beguiling queen her innocence offends his icy heart

Hounds freeze in silence bewitched by the reptile spell Sulphurous essence pervades round the grassy dell Heorot awaits him like lamb to the butcher's knife Stellular heavens ignore even children's cries

Screams are his music, lightning his guide Raping the darkness, death by his side

Chants rise in terror, free round the oaken beams Flickering firelight portraying the grisly scene Warriors advance, prepare for the nightmare foe Futile their sacrifice as even their hearts must know

Heroes delusion, with feet in the grave Lurker at the threshold, he cares not for the brave, he cares not for the brave

So you thought that your bolts and your locks would keep me out You should have known better after all this time You're gonna pay in blood for all your vicious slander With your ugly pale skins and your putrid blue eyes Why should I feel pity when you kill your own and feel no shame God's on my side, sure as hell, I'm gonna take no blame I'm gonna take no blame, I'm gonna take no blame

So you say you believe in all of Mother Nature's laws You lust for gold with your sharpened knives Oh when your hoards are gathered and your enemies left to rot You pray with your bloodstained hands at the feet of your pagan gods

Then you try to place the killer's blade in my hand You call for justice and distort the truth Well I've had enough of all your pretty pretty speeches Receive your punishment, Expose your throats to my righteous claws And let the blood flow, and let the blood flow, flow, flow, flow.

#marillion #fish #live #grendel #video #progrock #1983 #art #lyrics

[qinghe-s]

if you were me, what would you do?

#chen qing ling #the untamed #fytheuntamed #theuntamededit #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #fatal journey #i hate it here! it sucks! i'm never leaving! #i live in blade sacrifice hall now #i was going to just skim through fatal journey for gifs but ended up watching most of it and crying worse than the first time #it's fine though i chose this life #still can't believe i saw one gifset of nhs being dumb and that made me walk straight into cql like. wow. #cql #nhs #nmj #nie brothers #gif #mine

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Closed Casket.

Commissioned by the very lovely @99shadowcat99.

Pairing: Yandere!Demon Brothers/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.4k.

TW: Toxic Relationships, Dehumanization, Codependence, Threats of Violence, Mentions of Death, Implied Imprisonment.

It was a closed-casket funeral.

For such a small detail, it bothered you more than it had any right to. You hadn’t been the one to arrange it, the one to speak to the undertaker and evaluate the damage – that was a responsibility that fell to her fiancé rather than you, a distant cousin, only brought up in conversations about postponed friendships and quickly thinning family trees. You’d done what you could to help, what a last living relative should do to help - paying for flower arrangements, speaking to financial advisors, sorting through her belongs and trying to guess at what might’ve held some sentimental value to someone more present in her life, but you never saw the body. No one ever offered, and you hadn’t known how to ask. She was gone, now, dead and buried, and you'd never gotten to see her, even if everyone who had said that it was probably for the best.

And it probably was. They were probably right. You wouldn’t feel any better, if you had.

And yet, you found it difficult to believe you could feel any worse than you did now, either.

Belphegor was curled around your arm. He had been since you came back from the Human World, slotted against your side, draped over your shoulders, and currently, splayed out on top of you, his face buried in the flesh just above your shoulder blade, his body forcibly tangled with yours in a way that was too awkward to be comfortable for both of you, a sacrifice he seemed more than willing to make on your behalf. You’d tried to shrug him off earlier, when he first decided there was enough space on the smallest loveseat in the common room for his strange, daily ritual, and when that failed, you’d tried to talk him into letting go, into loosening his grip enough for you to slip away when he fell asleep, into relocating to somewhere else, somewhere softer, somewhere with a pillow that could easily replace you when he was too busy tossing and turning to care, but Belphegor had always been so frustratingly picky when it came to where, how, and when he chose to sleep.

He’d chosen you, and he’d chosen like this, and he’d chosen now. There was little you could do to change his mind, after he’d already made it up.

Still, you tried. He wasn’t asleep yet, caught somewhere between permanently half-conscious state and a sleep deep enough to warrant medical concern for most living creatures, supernaturally inclined or otherwise. “Belphie,” You called, gently, pushing the temptation to try more forceful methods into the back of your mind. “Think you pick another spot? Just for today?”

“Can’t.” It was a simple response, his voice heavy with sourceless exhaustion, just as short and just as blunt as it had been the last time you asked. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, honestly. “You were gone. I can’t.”

Your frown deepened. You’d left for a week – nine days, at most. And Belphegor couldn’t have been awake for more than half of that. “That’s not--”

“He was lonely, sweetheart.” It was Asmodeus, this time, as he perched himself on the loveseat’s arm. He wasn’t any better than Belphie, nimble fingertips soon tracing aimless patterns over the side of your neck, the dip of your shoulder, taking up the space he could occupy since the space he’d like to was already in-use. “He’ll get better, in a few days. Once it sinks in that you won't be leaving again.”

You were out of practice. A month ago, you would’ve known better than to respond, than to ask questions to someone who took as much delight in festering doubts as Asmodeus did. A month ago, you would’ve brushed him off and found your way to Purgatory Hall for the rest of the night. But, it wasn’t a month ago, and you were tired. You were still thinking about that casket, and you couldn’t seem to think of much else. “What do you mean?”

“Oh?” There was a pause, a laugh, light and melodic and fluttering. You’d always liked his laugh. You could bring yourself to enjoy it, though, not right now. “No one’s told you, yet?”

“Don’t tease ‘em.” You hadn’t noticed how full the common room had gotten, not until Mammon spoke and you reflexively turned to face the sofa opposite to yours. He was standing, leaning against the back, his hands clasped in a way that’d put his anxiety on display far more transparently than his voice ever could. Beelzebub, too, his arms crossed over his chest as his attention shifted idly between you, the console in Leviathan’s hands, and the book splayed out in Satan's lap, his scowl serving as evidence of his annoyance. It always bothered you, how easily he grew frustrated by situations he chose to put himself in. It bothered you a little more, today. “Might as well spit it out, if you’re going to bring it up,” Mammon went on, shifting his weight, letting his eyes fall to the floor, then rise to the ceiling, then drift back to you. “There’s no point putting it off.”

“Weren’t you supposed to tell them, Mammon?” Beelzebub chimed in, absent-mindedly. If it'd been Satan, if it'd been Lucifer, it would’ve been pointed, malicious, purposeful. Beelzebub just sounded like he was trying to remind his older brother of something he’d forgotten. “You said you should be the one to do it, since you met them first. Then, when Lucifer said you wouldn’t be able to do it, you said that if the human threw a tantrum, you could just--”

“I didn’t say shit.” Mammon cut him off, his tone hostile, but it was a half-hearted anger, more petty than vengeful. “I said I could, not that I would, and Lucifer shot me down. If he hadn’t, there’d already be a deadbolt on every fucking door in the house. We wouldn’t be sitting around, talkin’ about it.”

“Every door?” Beelzebub looked confused. Then, he looked concerned. “I thought we agreed to just seal the exits.”

“I still think we should just use their bedroom,” Leviathan chimed in, never looking up from his hand-held. Something tightened in the back of your throat. Experimentally, you tried to pull yourself out of Belphegor’s arms, but he only held you tighter, and Asmodeus’ nails dug into your shoulder, rooting you back into place without a single word. “It’d be cool, kinda like a permanent save-point. We wouldn’t have to worry about baby-proofing the entire house, either.”

“We could use a leash,” Asmodeus suggested, never breaking his stare. He didn’t look away. You wished he would. You wished they’d, if nothing else, have the courtesy to wait until you’d left the room to start talking about things you didn’t know and didn’t want to know. “So we can make sure they’re always close by! Or, we could have Lucifer enchant a collar – having to hold a tether might get in way when I have to--”

“He’d never do it.” It was the first time Satan had cut in, but it was clear he’d been listening. His book was still open, his expression still concentrated, but he was tapping his foot, the disruption soundless against the thick carpeting, and you couldn’t remember the last time he thought to pretend to turn a page. He was listening, but he didn’t want to be. He was a part of this, but you doubted he’d every say as much out loud. You doubted he’d ever let himself admit he’d stooped to that level. “And if he did, we’d never hear the end of it. In a week, there’d probably be a new kennel in the catacombs, right next to Ceberus’.” He stopped, for a moment, shaking his head. For your own sake, your chose to believe the envy lingering behind his voice was his attempt at a bad joke. “You would prefer a bedroom, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

He asked you a question. He was talking to you, now, directly, which was more than you could say for any of his brothers. It should’ve been an improvement. An opportunity, if nothing else, a chance to ask why Asmodeus was looking at you like that, why you could feel Belphegor’s careless smile pressing into your skin, but you hesitated, something catching in your chest. It felt too solid, too heavy, too rough and too jagged. It felt like it’d hurt to swallow down, later on, once the unease passed and you got over whatever scheme they’d planned out, while you were gone.

“I… What?” You weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it came out as a question regardless, your reluctance blending messily with your confusion. “This isn’t funny. If you’re going to act like this every time I visit the Human World, I might have to stop coming back.”

Finally, Satan glanced up from his book. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he was smiling. “Right. Because you still think you're allowed to leave.”

The rest of the room fell silent. Or, maybe it didn’t, maybe it was louder than it'd ever been. You didn’t know. You couldn't hear anything, not over the sudden ringing in your ears. “I’ll have to, eventually. It’s not up to me.”

Beelzebub shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’d be safer if you stayed in the Devildom. We can’t protect you in the Human World.”

Leviathan’s grip tightened around his console. In the background, you could hear the plastic shell start to crack. “We wouldn’t be able to see you. Not all the time. Not for more than a few weeks at a time.” He was quiet, for a moment. Then, he added, “It wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t… It wouldn’t feel like it does when you’re here.”

Mammon looked away, letting his head lull to the side. “You belong here, with us. You’re supposed to be here. We’re just doin’ you a favor. No one wants to watch you figure out how fucked you’d be on your own.”

And, finally, Belphegor groaned, exhaustion heavy in the gravely sound. He untangled himself from you, but the freedom was temporary, fleeting, his arms snaking around your waist, instead, his face soon gracelessly buried in your chest. His eyes flickered open, but barely, just enough to let him stare up at you through his eyelashes, a thoughtless grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t divided, not like his brothers were. He didn’t try to pretend he was above holding you against your will. “You're not leaving again.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a threat. It was just a fact, to him. It was something that wouldn’t happen, that couldn’t happen, if only because his older brothers were willing to work so hard to make sure it didn’t. “We’re not gonna share you, anymore. We’re not gonna have to.”

You didn’t want to hear anything else. You didn’t want to be here, anymore, not if this was what it meant, not if it was going to feel like standing in front of that closed casket all over again, the urge to run and sob and scream silencing every reasonable thought you’d ever had. You didn’t bother trying to talk to Asmodeus and Belphegor, you didn’t bother trying to coo and edge and skirt around their anger, their unspoken threats, not anymore, not when your body was already standing on its own, shoving at Belphegor’s body and swatting at Asmodeus’ hand as he reached out, aiming to cup your cheek and tell you so gently to sit down and shut up. Beelzebub leaned forward, Mammon flinched, and you could’ve sworn you caught a row of long, pointed fangs flash across Satan’s sneer, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hit something. You wanted to yell. You’d wanted to ever since you came back to this damned house and its overly affectionate occupants.

“You don’t get to share me.” You couldn’t be shared. You weren’t theirs to share, even if they already seemed geared against the idea. You weren’t theirs to trap, either. You never would be. “I don’t need your protection, and you don’t need to see me, and the only place I’m supposed to be is the Human World. I don’t know what got into your fucked-up heads while I was gone, but you can’t just--”

“Sit down, (Y/n).”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Right. You’d almost forgotten Lucifer hadn't gotten a chance say his piece, yet.

He didn’t give you time to cooperate. There was already a fist curled around the back of your collar, dragging you back into your seat, the action so much more aggressive than Belphegor’s oppressive dead-weight or Amsodeus’ sweet, sickly temptation. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel Lucifer looming over you, standing tall, towering above his younger brothers as he took control of the room. You wondered if he’d been here the entire time, if he’d heard everything, rather than just your sudden outburst. You wondered if you should hope that he had.

“We missed you, while you were gone.” He didn’t sound mad. He didn’t sound mad, but none of them did, none of them sounded like they were plotting to keep you away from your home, your friends, the life you had outside of demons and angels and magic. None of them sounded dangerous, either, save for Lucifer. He’d always been easier to trust when he wasn’t pretending to be kind. “We’ve all been alive for centuries, and yet, you went and made a week feel like a small eternity. Do you know how difficult it is for a human to inflict that kind of suffering onto a demon?”

You didn’t answer. Across the room, Mammon laughed and Satan bristled. Belphegor melted back into your side, more than happy just to have his resting place scared into immobility.

“You’ll stay.” It was an order, this time. Not a suggestion, not a passing concern, but a command, something you would be expected to obey. He had the nerve to use that low, calm cadence, measured and pre-meditated. He didn’t want to let you convince yourself he was as prone to bluffing as his brothers were. “You’ll stay because we want you to. We’re willing to use force, but there’s no need for that. Is there, love?”

You nodded, your body tense and your eyes glassy, and Lucifer rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a row of knuckles delicately pressed to your cheek. A miserable reward for such an unwilling sacrifice, but Lucifer didn’t seem to mind. It certainly didn’t stop him from leaning in, his lips brushing against the top of your head, his voice falling just low enough to make something sharp and cold shot down your spine, as he went on.

“It’s not like you have anything to go back to, anymore.”

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere imagines #yandere oneshots #yandere scenarios #commission #obey me #yandere obey me #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #satan x reader #leviathan x reader #asmo x reader #beel x reader #belphie x reader #yandere lucifer #yandere mammon #yandere satan #yandere levi #yandere asmo #yandere beel #yandere belphie #yanderecore #yancore

[breeofbree]

Choke me again

Hidan x reader

🔞Minors DNI🔞

Warnings: swearing, choking kink, blood, slight knife play 🤭 (I’m sorry in advance)

Summary: he was an asshole… so why did it turn her on every time he was snarky and acted like he couldn’t care less?

“You’re such an ass! If you would pay attention during one damn mission instead of focusing on your pointless ‘sacrifices’ we’d be done by now!” She shouts at him, pacing quickly down the stone halls to her room. Kakuzu had been off on another mission, causing her to take on the task of partnering with the jashinist brat for a while.

“It’s how I make a living Y/N… it’s how I live. Maybe you should try it sometime.” He trails off before laughing, tossing the large three pronged scythe over his shoulder and walking past her, purposefully blocking the entrance to her room. If it was one thing Hidan enjoyed, it was getting on peoples nerves and today, she was his target.

“I’ll find a way to kill you one day, for now get the hell out of my way. The last thing I want to see is you.” She spits at him, shoving him against the door harshly before sending him sideways, crashing to the hard and cold floor.

“You bitch! I’ll kill you!” He growls, scrambling quickly to his feet and rushing her before she could even open the door. Her head smacks against the heavy wood as his hands fly around her neck to squeeze the air from her lungs. To Hidan’s surprise, she only moans at the pressure that suffocates her. Y/N stares in to his glowing purple orbs in shock, slapping his hands away and blushing profusely. She grabs the handle to the door, slipping in and trying to slam it shut to wallow in her own shame, but Hidan was quick to slip his foot in as a barrier. Stalking behind her quickly, he yanks her back by her hair, bringing her ear to his lips,” what was that Y/N?”

“What was what? You’re imagining things.” She tries to brush it off, but knows she fails horribly with the smirk that creeps on to his face.

“I know I’m crazy, but I’m not stupid.” He whispers, lips brushing softly against the lobe of her ear as his free hand snakes back up to her throat. She chokes the moan down, but her quaking legs give her away to him, earning a sultry laugh,” I knew it. You dirty woman.”

Hidan pissed her off, but he was the perfect type of crazy for her deepest pleasures. Sometimes at night, she would even use the Jashinist as motivation. Between the tight pressure at the back of Y/N’s skull and neck, and the enticing position they were in, she collapses.

“So what? Get the hell out of my room and drop it.” She seethes between gasps for air, sticking a trio of senbon towards his arm. He whistles lowly, gripping both hands tighter as he grunts,” if you wanted to play with sharp things why didn’t you say so, Y/N?”

Finally releasing the fistful of hair, Hidan reaches for his scythe slowly, disconnecting the blades to reveal the long spike that hid underneath. The senbon dangle loosely from his arm as he brings the spike to her arm,” scared to bleed? Your heart is pounding like crazy.”

His voice was no longer the usual sarcastic tone, something sultry had taken its place and the hard bulge pressing against her back wasn’t a spare blade… he was turned on by this. She slips her hands behind her, gripping his shoulders and hip tossing him to the unmade bed. Hidans nose is flooded with the scent of rose water and oud smoke as he comes crashing down on to the deep red sheets. Y/N pounces at him, straddling effortlessly around his hips and shoving his chest fully down on the bed, receiving a groan from Hidan. She rips his cloak fully open, admiring the usual view of a shirtless Jashin worshipper, appreciating he was already walking around half naked. She drags a kunai lightly down his chest, swiping quickly just above his pants. Sticky crimson bubbles bead at the fresh cut, light enough to heal within a few days.

“You can cut deeper than that, I’m immortal y’know?” He huffs between quickening breaths, wondering if she was crazy or if she was about to be the best hookup of his life.

“Just shut up already.” She breathes out, grinding her hips against his and reaching for his neck. He moans quietly as her lips crash down to his, tongue trailing his bottom lip enticingly before biting down and sucking. Y/N threads her fingers through his hair, searching for something to anchor her down from going completely feral too soon. Hidan grabs at her breasts, trailing down at an achingly slow speed to grip her hips tightly and flip her over, now hovering above her. His jashinist symbol necklace dangles in her face, just asking to be pulled. So she does, pulling him down to work on his already kiss swollen lips. In the process, he grips the collar of her shirt while his other hand slices it away with a kunai, nicking between her breasts in the process. Y/N only smirks in to the kiss, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer.

“You’re toying with me here Hidan. Are you actually going to make a move or just keep riling me up?” She hums against his lips in question.

“Say no more sweetheart.” He groans back in anticipation, sliding back and swiftly taking her pants with him. He faces away from Y/N, making a show of sliding the clouded cloak slowly off his shoulders and dropping it to the ground. His arm muscles twitch as he reaches for his pants, turning back to her so she can watch fully. Hidan enjoys the needy look of her face, catching glimpses of his v-line peeking out before covering it quickly. Having enough of his games, she grips at the hem of his pants from the edge of the bed, pulling them down harshly to let him spring free. He huffs out a moan at the feeling of her hand gripping loosely at the base of his cock, pumping slowly while looking up to him through her lashes innocently.

“Damn that feels good.” He huffs out, bracing his arms against her shoulders, enjoying the view whenever he looks down to catch a quick glimpse. When looking away, he’s gasps at the sensation of Y/N’s tongue swirling around his tip, her lips fully encircling his length and bobbing up and down his shaft. He grabs the base, pulling it from her mouth with a satisfying pop, tapping it against her outstretched tongue.

“You look so pretty with your mouth open.” He growls, once again gripping at the back of her head and snaking his tongue in to her mouth while gently pushing her down against the bed. Hidan only breaks the kiss the drag the blade of a kunai against her cheek, watching as the trail of blood follows behind it. His other hand makes it’s way down to her clit, pinching lightly before rubbing gentle circles with his finger tips,” let me hear that moan again.”

He presses hard, slipping two digits in to her, finally receiving that moan he was dying to hear. Y/N bucks against his fingers, riding the crashing waves of pleasure from just his fingers,” just fuck me already.” She growls, barely able to contain the building pressure of the knot below her stomach. He cocks an eyebrow and a smirk, slamming his cock quickly in to her without warning. She can’t help but gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. The rough motions pull them both to an unbelievable level of ecstasy neither have experienced before, moans and grunts filling the air.

“Take it like the bitch you are.” Hidan huffs out between aggressive thrusts, squeezing harshly against her thighs to ground himself. Y/N only screams in pleasure as his nails dig sharply in to her soft skin, breaking the surface and intoxicating her further.

“Fuck, I’m gonna c-“ she’s cut off by a hand once again reaching for her throat and squeezing at the sides, spots floating to her vision as Hidan continues on,” then cum.”

She couldn’t help the blood curdling scream that tears from her throat, muffled lightly from the pressure of his other hand clasping over her mouth, hoping to conceal their raunchy acts if they haven’t already been discovered. His movements slow as he pants,” You feel too good damnit.”

He moans loudly, releasing inside of her and dropping down against her chest in exhaustion. He readjusts quickly at the feeling of needles digging in to his chest.

“When did you even have the time to stab me?” He gasps between heavy breaths, receiving only a shrug from Y/N,” let me get those for you… I need those back.”

He huffs a laugh and pulls the senbon from his chest before standing and gathering his clothes, he turns to the door but quickly turns back to lean down and place a single kiss on her forehead,” same time tomorrow?”

“Get the hell out of my room!” She laughs, whipping a pillow against his head.

“Alright, alright! I’m going.”

A few moments later, there’s a knock on the door followed by Tobi calling out,” Y/N are you okay? I heard screaming and there’s blood by your door!”

“Just go to bed Tobi!”

“Goodnight Y/N!”

“Goodnight Tobi..”

#hidan x reader #hidan #hidan smut #naruto smut #naruto fanfiction

[starglitterz]

hey quill!! may I get a vanilla confection (venti) with some cereal on it please? >:)

hi oreoz !! yessirrr

request; venti angst, sacrifice

cw; knives, blood, violence, implied torture, reader gets degraded a lot, major character death, spoilers for venti's backstory/prologue/late game lore, might be ooc 💔

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

( @oreoz-unfortunately )

venti.

"you promised you wouldn't hurt them," venti scowls, his voice low and filled with rage. his blue-green eyes, usually filled with mirth and joy have now dimmed to a swirling navy blue without a hint of mercy. this isn't venti anymore, this is barbatos, the archon rumoured to have got the most kills during the archon war, the god who ruthlessly destroyed khaenriah alongside morax, effectively wiping it from the halls of history.

the gasp you emit after seeing him makes your throat hurt - it's been rubbed raw from all those nights screaming in pain from dottore's horrific experiments and signora's evil torture methods. the fatui had captured you months ago as bait to lure venti, and even though you were no weakling, your spirit had slowly been chipped away, until you were left clinging onto the strings of sanity with all your might like a broken puppet. but seeing your boyfriend has forced life to rush through you once more, no matter how much the dozens of bruises and cuts that litter your skin sting.

signora holds onto you tightly, one hand gripping you by the back of your tattered shirt, and the other holding a razor sharp blade centimeters away from your neck. if you move even a muscle, it'll slice through you in an instant, sending blood spattering everywhere and killing you at once. "our bargain was only meant to be upheld if you maintained your side as well," the harbinger's coy voice echoes, an edge of steel hidden beneath her sly tone. "all you wanted was the gnosis, and i vowed i would hand it to the fatui after sorting out some personal matters. i've only just completed those issues now, so there was no need for you to kidnap them," the anemo archon has not a trace of joviality in his tone, and wind has begun to howl around him from his powerful emotions, tinged slightly with green as he subconsciously infuses it with anemo. signora laughs, a cold, malicious sound, "i needed some... insurance," she shakes you roughly, as if playing with a rag doll, causing venti's features to contort with worry.

"and what 'issues' would you have to deal with, little bard? maybe playing at being a god? or perhaps figuring out new ways to copy your dead friend?" signora doesn't pull her punches, even with words, and each question pierces venti like a knife. yet he doesn't give in, but instead clutches his bow so tightly his knuckles turn white, "let them go. unharmed. and then i'll give you whatever you want." the fatui harbinger gazes at her perfectly painted nails, stretching her fingers to view them better before turning back to venti, "if i set this miserable excuse for a human free and allow them to live without disturbance, you will drop your weapon, hand me the gnosis, and then i will murder you. the tsaritsa doesn't want any scum interfering in her plans."

"venti, don't do it!" you muster up all your energy to yell, wincing in fear as signora moves the blade even closer, threatening you to keep quiet or get stabbed. but you need venti to stay alive, and you couldn't care less about this stupid woman, "please, venti, don't do it. you're a god, i'm just a human. mondstadt needs you!" "i said shut your filthy mouth!" signora lifts her long leg and kicks you in the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs and causing you to droop forward, falling silent. "y/n!" venti shouts with concern lacing his tone, turning his furious gaze towards signora, "i said not to hurt them!" stepping forward, he states, "release them. now. and have one of your fatui underlings escort them out, back to their home, where they will live out the rest of their days in peace. do that, and i'll play along with your demands." you shake your head violently at venti, begging him to notice and take back his words, but it's too late.

"consider it done," a wicked smile curves signora's lips as she drops you to the ground with as much care as she would have thrown out the trash. you attempt to scramble towards your boyfriend, praying to celestia that your muscles work well enough to move. "let me have a minute with them. please," venti requests, trying his best to make sure his voice doesn't crack. the harbinger waves a careless hand, "do as you please. as long as you don't try and break the contract." "you're aware i am the god of freedom, right? the god of contracts is of much greater height," venti grins, his usual smile returning to his face, even as his imminent death draws ever closer. "keep your rhymes to yourself, bard. i have no wish to hear it. now hurry up, the clock is ticking," she folds her arms and glares at him. "jeez, no need to be so mad. if you left, i'd honestly be really glad," venti scoffs under his breath before rushing to your side.

cupping your face gently, venti holds you with so much delicacy and kindness that you tear up, launching yourself into his arms. suddenly, it's like all the emotions you've been bottling up this entire time overcome you in one huge wave, and you start sobbing, "venti, please, please, please, don't do this. i want you to live!" "my windblume... don't you think i want the same for you?" he asks quietly, caressing your newly earned scars with the tips of his fingers. your next sentence catches in your throat, and you're too choked up to continue speaking, only able to grip onto his tunic as if you could make him stay with you forever if only you held him close. "i love you, so much more than i can ever express. with you, i'm at peace, and you've done so much more for me than i can for you. please live on for me," venti murmurs, so softly only you can hear it. "venti, wait, no-" your voice is breaking and you don't know how to stop the tears flowing down your cheeks and blurring your vision. "i love you, y/n," venti smiles, a tranquil smile, like he's already accepted his fate. and you, wanting to at least make his last moments memorable can do nothing but reply with damp eyes, "i love you too, venti."

the warm grin and affection for you gleaming in his eyes never leave his expression as he hands the gnosis to signora, who smiles arrogantly, filled with pride after accomplishing her mission. the same serene smile still graces venti's features as signora stabs a knife into his stomach, and you suppose it's a good thing he's gone from this world, because he's spared from hearing the anguished scream that breaks free from your lungs the next second as his corpse hits the floor.

quill speaks !

ok oreoz so i know u requested angst but like,,, I ALMOST CRIED SEVERAL TIMES WHILE WRITING THIS *SCREAMS* but yes i hope u enjoyed it HAHA

hello i love venti ?!??!?! if anyone ever slanders him on this account... you WILL see me on the news

ALSO SIGNORA,,,, i think some of yall (myself included) forget that the fatui are actually evil LSDSK so this kinda showcases that side of it ! doesn't mean i don't still want signora to kick me like how she did to venti tho 😩

also this is set in an au where venti didn't give signora his gnosis outside the cathedral, and instead that's where he struck up this deal w her ^_^

anyways i hope you enjoy your stay at quill’s dessert cafe, and do check out the menu if you'd like ! 🍭

© starglitterz 2021. do not repost or modify in any way.

#q.300 party #q.venti #venti x reader #venti imagines #venti drabbles #venti scenarios #venti genshin impact #genshin impact venti #genshin venti #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact writing #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact #venti angst #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #tw violence #tw character death #tw blood #look at me proceeding to queue my posts at 3am even tho yan just scolded me for it LMFAOJKDSKD sorry yan its become a habit now 💔💔💔 #[✏️] ━━━ quill writes ! #[💔] ━━━ angst !