#same with trash marid

[lokorum]

Bg3 act 1 asks: 1, 2, and 23 😊

ahhhh thank you so much for your aaaaaaaaaaaaskkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!! 

♡৻(  •̀ ᗜ •́  ৻)

2 . was there something about the character creator that just couldn't capture your character? please tell us about their hair, facial hair, tattoos, piercings, disabilities, their trans or intersex body, or anything else you're comfortable sharing. (2)

- thanks to amazing noctilumi, in this house your name will be forever praised, we now have transmask body mod, so ise finally looks like they are supposed to: very gentle and very feminine!! i used marid skin colours for them and just UHHHH lvl of thoughts that larian have put into skin texture mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm looking at isa in cutscenes always fills me with joy despite them having this face expression all the time *sigh* you know which one im talking about........................................ 

- now when i think about it - it would be nice to have more tattoos!! especially blackwork? and more gory scars maybe! i have headcanon that ise have couple of fingers missing, and his body is covered with scars from head to toe, a little bit like here!! 

and just look at this delicious hair colour ooooooooooohhhh

(sorry but this screenshot comes in pack with the skeleton for artistic reasons phphphp) since its hard to imagine that character like ise - trash racoon at its purest - will be taking care of themselves, i decided not to give them any cool hair color like blue or pink, and went for a natural look and you know what i realised when i reached act 3? THE WHOLE ISA'S LOOK SUITS GORTASH LIKE THEY ARE VISITING THE SAME STYLIIIIIIIIIST!!! if it will turn out sceleritas works part time as a butler and part time as a beauty-tuber i'll not be surprised ໒( ˵ •̀ □ •́ ˵ )

23. what are your character's thoughts on the dream visitor? (23)

he is a bad bad man and he makes us feel all 50 shades of cringe..............................................................................................................

#lord gortrash my beloved

[liminal-storage]

Prompt #11: Snuff (Okuni)

Foul language, trash talking, and ranting from the mouth of one very drunken Raen. Featuring a brief appearance by Eva too, cause we’re gettin meta up in this shit. 

————————————

“You know, I’m not really one to think much about stuff I’ve written in the past. Rest assured there were some garbage articles, or things I should’ve researched more. But all in all I’m generally content to forge ahead without a second thought, focusing only on the path before me.

“But sometimes, every now and then, I remember how the first article I wrote in Eorzea was stopped from circulating. No, not just panned and left to the mercy of the masses. Not celebrated or spread wide, but prevented from ever reaching print. 

“It was a special on the Proving Grounds, a really barbaric and honestly kinda boring fighting competition hosted at…some coliseum I guess? Honestly it didn’t matter at all how people tried to dress it up. They could bring in tigers, marids, and goobbue all they liked but it couldn’t make the fights themselves interesting at all. I guess that’s what happens when you pit two people with a grudge against one another every round. It becomes personal, and not even in an entertaining way.” 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. The idea’s great and all, pretty unique premise for an event where people beat the shit out of each other. But without the fighters really doing anything exciting, what’s the point? Oh yeah, blood, weeee. Like we haven’t seen that before. In ancient times, gladiators were often treated as celebrities and would play up such an angle to the joy of the audience. Why should today’s fighters not do the same? Why should the audience cheer you if we don’t know who the hells you are? Why do I care? Why not play it up, taunt the spectators, make the ladies swoon or some shit? It would definitely be better than forcing the audience to watch two people hate-fuck each other with their eyes. Make us scream and cheer, why don’t you? Have us chanting your names from excitement! 

“…I’ve gotten off track though. My point is that, despite going in and writing up this like..well detailed article, it never even reached print. I can tell you why, probably. Syndicate money. Paid off every publishing office that would have printed and distributed it before my ink was even dry. Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right. Money hungry little bastards can’t help but kill anything that might even vaguely threaten their reputation, paint over everything to make it look shiny and clean. I tell you what though, it’s pretty stupid of them to do it, given how nice and fair and subjective the article was. 

“I spent all that time interviewing attendees, managed to sneak in some questions with one of the more infamous fighters, and got to speak to the proprietress herself! Though, let me tell you I had to be pretty obnoxious to get her attention, talking loudly in that “hint hint” kinda way to some audience member while standing dangerously close to her shitty little private balcony. Her ugly meathead guards were definitely keeping an eye on me but friend, how else was I supposed to catch her attention? Splatter myself by jumping off the rails? That would defeat the whole purpose.

“When I finally did get to talk to Uwuwuwu or Owowo or whatever her name was, she was rude as hell, dismissive and brusque and acting as if her time was the most precious thing in the world. But I’m a professional, dammit, so I just smiled through it all and thanked her for her time. That article of mine would have been the start of something good. The name ‘Tomioka’ would have been well-known! I could have been so known in fact that people would request me specifically to write for them! But it didn’t matter one tiny bit, because not only did it never make it to print, but that skeevy little hostess had her very own little lapdog reporter who got the inside scoop before the damn matches even took place! I never stood a chance but…eh. I heard the games are under new management anyway these days. If I’d known that was gonna happen, I’d have been a lot less neutral in my article. I’d have told everyone how under prepared the medical staff was or how animals shipped in to liven up the show were all treated inhumanely. Or how about the fact that there weren’t any measures in place to protect the audience in the event of an incident? Or the time one gladiator’s patrons were pretty much one step away from fucking on the balcony? Huh? How about all of that? Oh, here’s what it is. Here’s the truth. It was all just a live snuff feature!  I could have written about any damn thing I wanted and what could they do about it? Deport me?” 

In all her years of listening to the drunken ramblings of strangers, Eva could safely say she’d never heard someone so impassioned and yet unintelligible as the Raen woman nursing her fourth glass of Indigo. She wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or horrified as the woman slumped forward in her seat, long hair curtaining her features and snagging on her broad horns. Not a single word coming out of the woman’s mouth could be understood, spoken in a rapid-fire dialect of Hingan Eva had never heard of. Chuckling, she turned to grab another glass for cleaning, never noticing as the Raen deftly reached over the bar and snagged a bottle of expensive umeshu right from the rack. By the time she turned back, the woman was gone, the doors swinging shut in her wake. 

“Okay, now that is impressive,” she mused, not even having it in her to be angry. 

She’d only notice the missing bottle later. 

#ffxivwrite2019 #my writing #okuni tomioka #eva ballard

[lady-revanchist]

and you guide me

For @eldritch-archivist, with my deepest regard and love. It’s a compilation of few drabbles - for now. More will come. May the trash OTP live long and prosper! 

1.

Heat spreaded fast over Karnak’s great halls. The month of growth was in zenith and the temperatures were unusually high. Maybe the sun god, Ra, wanted to voice his displeasure in the earthly doings of his high priests. Or maybe Khaba was simply unused to open spaces after years of meticulous studies in temple’s stellars. Whatever the reason the rising sun was slowly making him nauseous, feeling like a fish caught in net spreaded across the Nile.

‘Less thinking, more working, boy!’ a reprimand came from Khaba’s left. An elderly, bony priest emerged from the shadows and scowled at the young acolyte. ‘I heard you were appointed to sweep the temple squares ‘til evening. Better start soon,’ the priests looked pointedly at the broom, lying unused on dusty pavement, ‘or Lord Weneg will make you wash them, too, and until the very day of your passing.’ With that last piece of wisdom the priest retreated into temple’s chilly halls.

Khaba slowly bent to retrieve the broom. A deep scowl decorated his pale face. Why did he take up that idiot Weneg’s challenge, anyway? It was vastly unfair, too! Khaba won the challenge – he summoned a spirit from each rank, he commanded them with ease – and then what? In fury, the high priest of Ra with all his entourage, had send him out here to work like a common servant and told him to squash his bratty ambitions. Stunning ingratitude. With reluctance Khaba sweeped the first corner. This was going to be a long day.

Though the marid he summoned did have interesting ideas for the problem of Weneg.

2.

‘You’re unusually silent,’ Khaba remarked, his sight never leaving the horizon.

The black cat sitting in front of the priest’s saddle turned to look up at him. It’s eyes were deep and dark and strangely distant.

‘I have never been so far in the desert,’ came the cats answer. ‘And I find the void compelling.’

Again silence fell between them. The entourage from Karnak left them two days ago, and Khaba was travelling alone – save for his companion, that is. Their journey would most likely last at least a week. Khaba wasn’t in a hurry – Memphis could wait.

‘It reminds me of home,’ the cats voice was so soft that he almost missed it.

Later that night, when the starry skies spreaded above them in eternal dance of light and darkness, Khaba drew the now black jackal closer to himself. With nothing but the desert wind song around them the priest felt at home.

3.

Many called Khaba cruel, but he himself didn’t think so. Either he was giving his slaves what was due – or he was working on understanding. The satisfaction, the pleasure of observing pain came much later. Besides, he enjoyed his own pain more, so much more. The pulsating pain of bruises on his arms and stinging of scratches on his back combined into white hot waves coming through him, making him tremble like a zither’s string…

To Ammet pain was the constant, the daily routine of life outside the Other Place. At some point during his service in Abydos he found pain to be liberating. And when the screams of his victims echoed through the deep tombs he found that satisfactory. But all that was a shadow of actual pleasure he found at Khaba’s side.

4.

‘Yes’

‘No’

‘Yes’

‘No’

‘No’

‘Ye- argh! No, Ammet.’

Khaba could sense his companion’s pout from behind him. It was strange, in a way – expression wasn’t something you expected your shadow to be good at.

Truth to be told, Ammet wasn’t doing the best job as a shadow. Oh, he tried, Khaba knew that. And since Ammet’s strange sense of how a shadow should act seemed to unnerve all other priests Khaba decided not to correct this. Just yesterday a flock of young acolytes flew in terror from the temple library after seeing the shadowy form catching and devouring an imp.

Still, however useful and pleasant he found Ammet’s companionship, he certainly wasn’t going to agree to all of demon’s suggestions. Admittedly, the marid knew him well and had a vast knowledge of techniques practiced since the very first dynasties – it turned out that the Osiris Box was indeed invented by Queen Hetepheres – but… A slight touch at his neck disturbed Khaba’s thought.

‘If you do not agree to my idea’ Ammet whispered softly into his ear. ‘Maybe you will at least allow me to tell you of all the possibilities? Some secrets I have not yet told you.’

‘Hm.’

Khaba purposefully ignored all of Ammet’s words. No, he couldn’t make the move just yet – Weneg still had much power – and even if he succeeded there was still the old priestess Neferure – and he still wasn’t sure if all the fuss would be even worth it –

‘Dear master, you should retire to your chambers’ another whisper, but this time Ammet’s tone has changed. Now it was gentle, with a suggestion of worry. ‘The sun is high – but down in the workrooms I have stored a gift for you.’ Khaba’s interest piqued at this.

‘What kind of a gift?’

‘You shall love its usefulness in your studies on anatomy.’

Admittedly, the marid knew him very well.

5. An excerpt from ancient kinda-detective AU

Ammet didn’t like taking up human guises, but the rules of their work made it necessary. Still he refused to appear as a common slave or scribe and so followed Khaba in a form of young judge. Khaba agreed to this, seeing as people of Memphis found it trustworthy.

—

‘I am not particularly surprised,’ Ammet said. ‘The great pyramids were desecrated not long after their closing. Notwithstanding the Pestilences and the guardian djinni.’

‘I am not surprised either,’ Khaba admitted, his brows creasing in thought. ‘However, to do so openly…This is a direct insult to the pharaoh himself.’

‘Rameses is busy fighting with the Hittites.’

‘Indeed he is. And somebody is taking advantage of his weakness… or otherwise dislikes the pharaoh’s constant conquest.’

—

A/N More will come, I swear. I try to keep true with Khaba’s lack of real love for Ammet, but at the same time I cannot believe he didn’t care at least a little. 

#canthre writes #look its real #though i can't write sadism and it shows #bartimaeus sequence #khaba #ammet #the trash otp