#worm sorcerors

[skookworks]

Some German Uboat sailors get to be heroic when facing Deep One hybrids and Worm Sorcerors.

#ww1 #vaporware #deep ones #worm sorcerors #baal #uboat #uboote #call of cthulhu #eldritch horror

[worldofetos]

the knights cleric of sol, sunfast keep.

#devotion has a body count and its measured in toe tags #cmon kid magic comes at a price #the black sisters get it from god knows where and look at what that made them #but clerics?? what does it mean to use divine magic in a post-divine age #its complicated #very few knights cleric are true clerics #most are conscripted bc they exhibited some other form of magical aptitude #the sorceror wing goes crazy #but uh #what clerics do exist have stuff cooking in their brain that would make a fever faint #(its worms your honor. brave beautiful birthright worms)

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

I just found your account, and I love your writing especially the ones with Geto!! (I love that man!!)I do apologize for asking but do think you would ever write more of chubby reader Geto? Especially the one where chubby darling is trying to make herself useful in his temple? I love that one especially!

I actually wanted to write a fic for that prompt for a LONG time but i never found the strength to finish it, so allow me to expand upon chubby reader who works in Geto's temple 💕

CW: chubby fem reader, non-sorcerer reader, Geto refers to reader as a "monkey" once, allusion to suicide, bullying, the twins are around 10-12 yrs old, smut (mostly implied)

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Let's start by saying that you're nothing special. You are not the type of girl that Geto would see himself with. It would take a miracle for him to fall for someone like you.

And yet, miracles happen every day, don't they?

Your family has acquired some debt. They have been paying Geto to exorcise curses for them, and he has always delivered, but they have run low on funds and there's still a nasty curse to take care of. They beg and plead with him to remove it, but he refuses to lift a finger until they bring him a hefty donation again.

That's where you come in.

You can't see or sense curses, but you've felt their effects, dealing with the repurcussions of your family's awful attitude. This latest curse is the worst of them all, feeding off of every negative thing your family spews, weighing you down with their toxic energy. You'd do anything to get rid of it, to finally know peace again.

So you offer a trade. You promise to provide your services to the sorceror if he exorcises this curse for you and your family.

Geto ponders this deal for a while. He believes that monkeys are only good for providing curses or money, so he doesn't see the appeal of you at first. But then he remembers that he recently disposed of his maid because the twins disliked her, so he decides to make the deal. He will dispose of the curse if you act as his maid, cooking, cleaning, the works.

You have no other choice, so you accept.

The work itself isn't hard. Dusting, sweeping, mopping, polishing. You cook breakfast and dinner, lunch if requested. You're starting to get callouses from the work, but that's the least of your worries.

The twins hate you. You don't expect them to like a non-sorcerer like you, but they're cruel without reason. They tip over your mop bucket and run off laughing, they leave worms in your bed, they once took scissors to your hair and cut a piece off. They are awful, but you know you can't fight back. You have to take the high road, be the bigger person, endure their hatred so you can get by. If you step out of line, Geto will kill you without hesitation, you know this for a fact. So, you don't fight back. You show no reaction. You pray they get bored of you before you jump off the roof of the temple. At least then you would find peace.

The girls get into a fight one day. Nanako ripped Mimiko's doll as payback and now the both of them are sobbing and yelling at each other. You think it's karma for how they've treated you.

And yet, you take the high road once more.

You separate the girls first, sending Mimi to the kitchen and Nana to the living room. You quietly sew and mend Mimiko's doll, eyes watching you as you did so. Once the doll was fixed, you coaxed Nanako to take the doll to her sister and apologize. Surprisingly, she did so, and the girls hugged. They went on their merry way, not hurling insults at you for once. You go back to your chores.

The girls ask, no, demand lunch a few days later. You comply, making onigiri and cutting fruit into fun shapes, adding a cookie for dessert. The girls coo about the hearts and stars on their plates before digging in. They take their plates to the sink when they're finished and linger for a moment, staring at you. You ask what's wrong, but they scamper off before you can get an answer. You wash the dishes in silence.

Nanako falls and scrapes her knee on a rock. The other workers are shocked still, terrified of what Geto will do now that one of his precious girls has been injured, but you don't fret. You take action, bringing the young girl inside, grabbing a first aid kit, tending to her small wound. You clean it, apply a bandage. She requests a kiss to make it better, so you comply, pressing your lips gently against the bandage. She seems satisfied, getting up and running off with her sister again, throwing back a "thank you" as she does. You're surprised at her gratitude, but you think little of it.

You become a beacon of sorts. The other workers saw how well you handled Nanako's wound, and now they come to you whenever they don't know how to handle the twins. The girls are fighting? You are retrieved to break it up. They want lunch? You're always the one who makes it. They're getting ready for bed? You are now the one who ensures they brush their teeth, tucking them into bed before Geto bids them goodnight. You don't think much of your new role, chalking it up to just being a new part of your job that you have to take care of.

It's not until they call you "Mom" that you look at your role differently.

Mimiko calls you "Mom" first, after she finishes her lunch and puts her plate in the sink.

"Mom, I want a cookie."

You pause, frozen, processing what she said.

"Um... what do you say when you want something?" The young girl rolls her eyes.

"May I please have a cookie?" You smile softly at her compliance.

"Yes, you may." You take down the cookie jar, pulling out two and handing them to Mimiko. "Take one to your sister."

"Okay!" And she's off, leaving you to think about your new label.

Later that night, when you're tucking the girls into bed...

"Goodnight, Mom," Mimiko mumbles from below her sheets. You pause at the door, hand on the handle.

"Night, Mom," Nanako speaks up, hiding her face with her comforter. You swallow, inhaling deep.

"Goodnight, girls. Sleep tight."

You hesitantly close the door, hearing it click softly. You sigh, turning around, running into someone.

It was Geto. He stared down at you silently, eyes boring into you. You quickly bowed, moving out of his way, gaze glued to the floor. He watches you for a moment before grabbing the door handle, pushing the door open. You hear the girls chirp with delight as the door closes. Once it clicks shut, you bolt out of there, not looking back.

You become a maternal figure for the girls, someone they look up to, someone they rely on. You take care of them daily, tending to their every whim, scolding them gently when needed. The girls begin to follow you, insisting that you play with them, that you give them time and attention. Other people start taking on your chores so that you can entertain the twins and keep the peace.

At the same time, Geto starts to notice you more.

He notices how the girls light up when they talk about you, how they ask for you at night to read another chapter in their book, how they cling to you whenever they have a free moment. He thinks it's silly for them to enjoy the presence of a non-sorcerer such as yourself. Of all the people to become attached to, why you? There were plenty of socerer women that wandered these halls, so why did they choose you? What was so special about you?

It bothers him for a bit, but ultimately he's just happy that his girls are happy. He even began to appreciate your presence, your maternal instincts allowing you to care for the twins better than anyone else could. He came to value having you around to give his girls the love and attention they lacked when they were so young.

But there were other perks to having you around. Geto found himself delighted whenever you smiled, silently hoping you could direct that smile towards him. He began speaking with you casually, enjoying the sound of your voice more and more with each conversation. And you were attractive, to say the least, bright and lovely. He savoured being able to see a pretty thing like you so often, your round cheeks, your glittering eyes, your delicate hands, your bountiful hips. His mind began to wander to your body during his little meetings, wondering how soft you were under that cheap, coarse uniform. He imagined how your thighs would squish as you sat or kneeled before him, gazing up at him, willing to take whatever he would give you.

That's when he started fantasizing about you in earnest. He started thinking about you late at night, about your plump frame and how it would feel under his fingers. He thought about your thighs warming the sides of his face, your ass bouncing as he thrust into your, your mouth forming a perfect 'O' as you came over and over again. He thought of all of this as his hand trailed down his body, wrapping around his cock and tugging it, groaning at the sensation. You'd be so much better than his hand, soft and warm and wet. He wanted to feel you, to brace you against him, make you all his. God, what he'd give for just a taste of you.

He does this for a while. He doesn't know how much longer he can go. Maybe he'll make you his personal maid, have you draw him a bath, make you massage his scalp as he soaks. Maybe he'll be forward and tell you exactly what he wants. Maybe he'll force you into his bed; people will do anything if they're threatened properly. Maybe he'll woo you with gifts, perhaps a few dresses, maybe even a kimono, something traditional to match him. He's not sure, there's so many options, he can't decide.

The girls want to go to an aquarium. They want you to come along.

Maybe he could court you properly.

───────────────

#ask #smut #geto suguru #chubby reader #fem reader #chubby fem reader #☀️ asks #geto suguru x reader #geto maid au

[teratocrat]

alligatorgirl tripped and fell into the flower-cauldron of her wolfgirl sorceror neighbor and has been forever changed by it. she has the tough armor plating of a tortoisegirl, the rattle of a rattlesnakegirl, the ears of a coyotegirl and the tongue of an alligator snapping turtlegirl (and its wiggling worm-lure has the flashing bioluminescence of a fireflygirl). her belly is full of fire and smoke is leaking out from between her teeth. anyway, can you drive her chimerical ass to taco bell or something? because as it turns out, amassing all of these mutations is hungry fuckin work.

[dddragoni-drabbles]

Carol trembled as she walked through the farmer's market, the shadow of the demon looming behind her negating any attempts to distract herself from the current situation. At least it seemed that Zurthenon had been right when it had told her that no one else would be able to see it- no one was screaming in terror, and the few odd looks she was getting were likely due to her own demeanor.

"Where is he?" Zurthenon snarled, small licks of flame spilling out from within the jaws of the goat's skull that served as its head.

"I think... just around this corner." Carol hoped she was remembering this right. Zurthenon was already angry enough, the last thing she wanted was for it to direct it at her. "You're... what are you going to do to him?"

"That remains to be seen."

Reaching the corner of the building, Carol steeled herself, then peeked around, at the same time hoping and dreading that the salesman would be there- and the hope won out. He looked just the same as the last time she'd been here, long silver hair framing a youthful face, a twisting scar beneath his left eye, and a strange, colorful assortment of mismatched clothes. He appeared to be sorting his goods, as mp customers were browsing his stall at the moment.

Zurthenon's eyes and mouth ignited at the sight of him. "GILBERT!" It charged forwards, rushing past Carol in a flash of flame and heat, and leapt at the salesman with claws and fangs bared- only to stop a few feet short, as if restrained.

Gilbert turned to face it, completely nonplussed at the ten-foot mpuntain of seething rage. "Well, hello to you too, Zurthy!" He spoke in a casual, singsongy tone, tinged with an edge of pointedness. "Whatever brings you here this lovely eve?"

"You know exactly why, you smug bastard. End this. Now!"

Gilbert laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, come now, why in the world would I do that? You're much more fun like this."

Zurthenon howled in rage and stomped the ground, the muscles in its arms trembling. Gilbert looked past it and smiled brightly at Carol, frozen on the other side of the street. "Oh, Zurthy, where are your manners? You didn't tell me you were bringing a guest! What's your name, darling."

Carol swallowed the lump in her throat and approached the table, giving the raging demon as wide a berth as she could. "Hi, um, I'm... Carol." Despite Gilbert's friendly demeanor, something about him terrified her, perhaps even more than Zurthenon. It was his eyes- there was joy in them, but it was a cruel joy, one to be hoarded, not shared. "Um... what's, happening?"

"Oh, I think our mutual friend here can explain it better than I can." He sat back into a chair that Carol could have sworn hadn't been there a moment ago. "Go on then, tell her!"

Zurthenon growled, then turned to face her. "This petulant wretch is Gilbert Taloran, a sniveling coward who cheated his way to-"

Gilbert waggled a finger. "Ah ah ah, what did we say about honesty?"

The demon snarled, smoke rising from its nostril. "A... cunning sorceror who outsmarted me and managed to worm his way into a deal with.. very generous terms. I cannot harm him, directly or indirectly, no matter how much he deserves it." Gilbert chortled merrily. "And now, he apparently thinks it's funny to inscribe my sigils of summoning and binding- which are incredibly rare and powerful magics- onto rugs and sell them at the fucking Farmer's Market."

Gilbert stood, clapping his hands together. "Yes, exactly! And because you, my darling, are the lucky one to activate it first, dear Zurthy here is now bound to you as well! It can't hurt you and has to do everything you say!"

Carol took a step back, rasing her hands and shaking her head. "What? No, no, I don't want this! Can't you just... send it back to where it came from?"

"Oh, I absolutely could." He leaned forward and tapped Carol on the nose. "But I'm not going to. Where's the fun in that?" He smightly brightly, standing and turning away from them. "Well, Zurthy, it's been lovely catching up, but I'm afraid I have another appointment. I'm sure you two will be the best of friends. Ta ta!" Gilbert waved a hand, and in a puff of smoke, he vanished, along with his stall and goods.

#microfiction #original writing #urban fantasy #zurthenon #carol warren #Gilbert Taloran

[the-gilded]

Oooh now I'm curious what races, classes, and stats the ROs would be in dnd? Also would that match up with the types of characters they would enjoy playing or not?

Oh man, what a can o' worms to open up anon, you have no idea how hard I've been playing Baldur's Gate 3 lately hahaha. I'm using the expanded races here, because it's fun, and because otherwise I think everyone would just be an elf lol.

Ayre:

I'm thinking a Tabaxi (too obvious?) Hexblade Warlock with:

STR 8 DEX 14 CON 9 INT 14 WIS 15 CHA 16

Would they play this? Probably not. I imagine they'd metagame the shit out of a Half-Drow Divine Soul Sorceror if only for the sake of showing that they can, haha.

Jolenn:

Perhaps too obviously, a Satyr College of Glamour Bard with:

STR 10 DEX 14 CON 10 INT 9 WIS 13 CHA 17

Hell yeah they're playing that, I don't think they would ever play anything else, in fact.

Nex:

A little odd, but probably a Water Genasi Circle of the Moon Druid:

STR 16 DEX 12 CON 14 INT 10 WIS 17 CHA 8

They don't wanna play, but if you're going to make them, they'll play this and they'll multiclass into Barbarian for extra murdering power.

Wren:

Harder to place, but likely an Eladrin Circle of the Land Druid with:

STR 8 DEX 12 CON 10 INT 13 WIS 16 CHA 14

They'd probably prefer to play something they think is more fun, like an Arcane Trickster Rogue.

#yes this took me way too long #no i don't regret it #anon #asks #ayre #jolenn #nex #wren

[me-and-my-gaster]

I posted 1,176 times in 2021

122 posts created (10%)

1054 posts reblogged (90%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 8.6 posts.

I added 1,199 tags in 2021

#reblog - 745 posts

#homestuck - 174 posts

#my art - 63 posts

#mass effect - 51 posts

#self reblog - 41 posts

#eridan ampora - 33 posts

#undertale - 27 posts

#mamg answers - 25 posts

#original character - 21 posts

#queue - 19 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#it says something about the state of current social media when even neil gaiman says tumblr is normal and sensible compared to twitter

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

just found your blog and noticed the dnd class november so i'm submitting Swatch as a Sorceror because i think it fits his chill yet occasionally menacing aura

Swatch as a Sorcerer

I went overboard again I think. But this dapper guy in a mask or face looking like a mask just begged to be transformed into something plague doctor themed. Also as you may have noticed, I have a weakness for flowy robes with thin pants underneath, sue me.

(please bury me in asks)

341 notes • Posted 2021-11-10 17:32:31 GMT

#4

[PATRON DOODLE] Susie in a Suit for Freshie

I have made a Big Mistake of looking for suit inspirations and stumbling upon the one Charlize Theron wore. The colors are different, of course, but DAMN...

Hope she... suits your tastes, @freshouttaparsnips !

348 notes • Posted 2021-02-28 21:48:34 GMT

#3

You Called For Help

A big picture for the month of February! This time I had a mood for something very Undertale. I keep drawing Frisk differently every time I tackle them, but I kinda dig the idea of them having overalls. Overalls are dope.

My Patrons will get a HD file (no frame!), lineart and step by step file in February!

524 notes • Posted 2021-02-01 21:14:14 GMT

#2

[COMMISSION] Game Master

A very very VERY big commission illustration featuring the embodiment of all things malicious and devious - a Game Master getting ready to drop some CONSEQUENCES on his players.

The project took me a lot of time due to the details - as you can see there’s a whole shelf filled with campaign memorabilia significant to what the players have gone through already. A big challenge to pull off to be sure!

Thank you for commissioning me!

609 notes • Posted 2021-01-24 23:15:16 GMT

#1

WOrMs!

No spoilers, I just felt like drawing the Better Dad and the Best Boy together. Also those two are a dope practice for various body shapes!

646 notes • Posted 2021-09-19 18:21:35 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #good to know my long ass tags are being respected

[bigsnzstanacct]

King’s New Allergy Part 4

This is wildly overwritten but at least I’m writing...? Here is the link to the other chapters of this story lmao. Of course it is also on le blue forum. After this chapter there is one more to conclude the story (which is already partially written!) and then there’s a chance I’ll eventually write an aggressively porn-y epilogue. okay byeeeeeeee!

------

My nose. My damned nose. By all the gods old and new, my insatiable, insufferable, intolerable, insistent, itchy, tickly, twitching, torurous nose!

“So the… th-thehhhh… the harvest in the W-weehhhhh… Western… -sniff-”

I was fighting.  I was fighting as hard as I’d ever fought anything. Harder. But to do battle against a swordsman, a sorceror, a monster, a ghost… that was child’s play. For that I had tools and training. Years of training in weapons and fighting. For this meeting too: years of training in diplomacy, in leadership. But none of that training involved a struggle to the death against your own damned nose!

“In the W-wehhhh… weeeeeeehhHHHH…”

Through narrowing eyes, I saw their faces: full of disapproval, fear, hands itching to clap to their ears, legs twitching to hide under the table, as though I really were a storm unto myself, and in taking cover, they might be spared the worst. Perhaps if I simply allowed the sneeze to come, it might not be so monstrous but… I could not. I could not bring myself to succumb so easily, to give in, to be weak. I chanced putting a finger beneath my nose. It was a desperate failsafe that had served at least a few times, but in truth I could never resist for long. I could no more resist these violent eruptions than the sky, overcharged with energy, could resist the lightning arcing across the sky, or the terrible roar of the thunder in response.

“Oh gods… I’m sahhhh.. s-ssaahhhhhh… s-sorreeehhhhhHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRSSSSCCCHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! AnothhheeEERRRYYYYYYYYAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! hehhhh… hh-hehhhhhh… HUUUH! HHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

They came, thick, fast and violent. Each one felt like it took all my strength, as though I couldn’t help but through the full weight of my body—no, the full weight of the castle herself into each sneeze. And then, for a moment…

Bliss.

No itch, no tickle, no torture. As terrible as they were, as much as they terrorized my meeting, my castle, my citizens, my countryside… there was a guilty, fiendish part of me that felt such magnificent release and relief with each great roar that was loosed from my mouth and nose. Drained, too, of course. Exhausted as though I’d climbed a mountain after practically each sneeze, let alone a whole terrible fit of them like I’d done. But also, utterly and simply delighted.

And then I opened my eyes and the embarrassment flooded in, and then, barely a split-second later, the tiny, teasing, barely-perceptible blossom of the itch that presaged another sneeze. The urge to sneeze again was following closer and closer on the glorious feeling of release and relief. When this all started I could go half the day without a sneezing fit. Then hours. Now barely minutes. But perhaps if I didn’t think about it, if I just barrelled through and ignored the tickle… maybe it would leave me alone.

“My apologies again, gentlemen.” I said, and quickly, before anyone could comment upon my nose: “Now, the Western harvest is among the best we’ve had in some years, which means our levy at the current rate should be -sniff!-” the itch already was worming its way up. But I could hold out still. I could ignore it.

“At the current rate should be more than sufficient to provide for capitol needs, y-yes Minister?”

The Minister of the Exchequer tried to discreetly rub at his ears, but it was obvious what he was doing, trying to clear his head from my sneezing long enough to focus on what I was saying. I couldn’t bear it.

“Yes! It will be sufficient, I don’t need you to check my arithmetic. You may repohhh… re-re…” I gave a hard sniff, and allowed myself  a quick rub at the underside of my nose with the heel of my palm. It was an embarrassing, almost childish gesture but I was far beyond caring about small embarrassments. I had much, much larger mortifications to be concerned with.

“Youmayreportbackifneedsbe!” I barrelled out, knowing the tickle was already roused, and at any moment could turn the act of speech into feat as tricky as any in my storied questing career.

“What is the next item on the ahhh… hahhh…” my eyes swam, unfocused for a moment. Hands crept up towards ears, dread lining in every face of the council. I could feel my knights tensing behind me, as though bracing for an explosion, hoping not to be knocked off their feet. The sneeze wasn’t even ready, it would play with me for several more moment yet. It reminded me of nothing more than sparring with the quartermaster as a boy: putting up a valiant fight, certain I was on the edge of victory… only to find he was only playing a game with me. He would always win.

“The next agenda item!” I said, slamming a fist down on the table. I wasn’t angry with the council, and I hope they knew that, but. It was all so damned frustrating… I couldn’t speak without terrifying my council, not with my words but with the threat of my nose. Of all the mortifying.

“Well my lord, we have not admitted petitioners in over three weeks, owing to your condition. I was informed the Royal Physician as well as the, ah, King’s Right Hand will be pursuing some possibilities for treatment, but the peo---”

“Damn the conditiiIiiiHHHHHH… HHIIIHHHHHH!!” May noses and sneezes be damned by all the gods old and new! The urge was already prickling in my nose, fanning its way towards inevitability, as though to mock me for cursing it. By all the gods, I should be able to see my people, to hear their complaints and all because of my god’s damned lack of control, I couldn’t even do that… I felt furious as a boy, looking up at the quartermaster teary-eyed with rage at losing, at humiliation. And here I was again, losing. And to a thrice damned tickle in my thrice damned nose…!

My nose, on which the whole room hyperfocused, as intent upon it as I’d ever been on any foe on the battlefield. Every twitch garnered a flinch, every skipped breath a skipped heartbeat. My damned sneezes could be heard throughout the entire castle, throughout the entire town. I was just waiting for someone to announce they’d heard me sneeze at the furthest edges of the regions, echoing off the Black Mountains or the White Cliffs, resounding across oceans…

With all that, being so close to my sneeze must have been a form of auditory torture. And I couldn’t put my advisors through that. Not any longer. And not with the vague but unmistakable sense I felt that what was beginning to well up in me would be a fit to rival any I’d suffered since I came down with this accursed, irreparable allergy, this implacable need that seemed to be unmoved by any force physical or magical, on earth or in the realms above. I was going to sneeze, and the fit would leave me exhausted and the whole castle ringing, I knew. But the urge itself was small now, my winds gathering strength for the one man hurricane they would turn me into. What a curse, to make of a king a slave to his own body. I was disgusted with myself. And yet, I could no more stop the force building within me than I could will the rising sun to set or still the flowing tide.

This council meeting was accomplishing nothing. And dammit, I needed to sneeze.

Abruptly, I pushed back from the chair. Everyone rose with me. “Ladies and gentlemen, you must excuse me, I’m a-afraid… oh I…” I was doing my best to keep up a kingly facade but already I was faltering before the effort of damming back the torrent of sneezes that seemed to be pressing up against each other, jockeying for position, each demanding to be the first to erupt out of me. “oh gods, I have to sneeze. It’s going to be a terrible fit and I… Iahhhhhh… I m-muuhhhhh… I must r-repair to my… my chahhhhHHHHH… hAHHHHHHHHHHHH… w-with m-mehhhh…!”

I ordered my retinue to follow me, but I’m sure a number of them did so quite reluctantly, and frankly I couldn’t blame them. What I felt coming seemed like a sneeze to beat all sneezes, an itch to beat all itches, nothing which could soothed, calmed, or controlled by a little finger under the nose, a few rough rubs. I’d asked my former manservant more than once about his… powers. How he felt all the hidden powers of the earth welling up through him, the connection to the secret side of everything, how he could make it shimmer and dance. I felt the same sense  of something beyond myself intruding upon me, but it was not under my control. I was beneath its thumb, dancing like a marionette on a string in miserable abasement to, of all things, a tickle in my nose.

“Someone… someone please… huhhhh… p-put your f-finger… under…”

It was pathetic. At least I’d managed to get well out of the way of the council chambers before I succumbed. I’d only embarrassed myself like this once or twice before, but if this went on much longer, I’d have to appoint a knight to do this for me full time, to press and pinch and wrangle my nose in a way my own hands could no longer suffice. Perhaps that way I could at least forestall the sneezes long enough to do any of the duties of a king.

But for now, my only goal was fighting off the absolutely monstrous fit I felt brewing for a few more moments, until I could at least reach my chamber. At least then I could succumb in private, although such succumbing was never private. Before the curse even, I blushed to think a vigorous sneeze might echo through the castle, and I never could dam them back. But under the curse now… all of the castle, all of the city heard my every falter. The sound of my failure resounding back at me from every brick in the kingdom.

The Captain of the Guard slid a thick finger under my nose, and ever so imperceptibly the urge diminished. He pushed upward, hard. And all I could do was blink at him in acknowledgement. At this point a single word would send it all crashing down.

“Knights dismissed! I will escort the King further.” I heard his voice ringing out, and I was as grateful as I’d ever been for him. At least the knights would be spared the very worst. The captain alone would be with me to the eruptive end.

“Not much further now, sire. Please, hold out!” And there was an uncertainty or even... a fear in his voice. It wasn't as if I'd never heard such fear from the Captain of the Guard before. We had quested together, season after season. But this tone of voice ought to be reserved for a onrushing army or a sleeping dragon. Surely there was no reason to steel himself so before my nose?

“T-t-traahhHHHH… tr-trying…” I choked out, scrunching my nose as aggressively as I could, as though if my nostrils recoiled from the irritation, I might dodge the sneeze—no, sneezes—altogether.

And suddenly, unimaginably, the urge… exploded.

It was as if I had never needed to sneeze before in my life. Tears sprang to my eyes, and the simmering flame of the urge became a wild forest fire. Helplessly, I jerked away from the Captain, scrubbing desperately at my nose even as the heavy breaths ripped themselves from me…

“HHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH… HUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

“My King, not yet!” the Captain insisted. Not to be deterred, he came up behind me and tried to guide me, but I was surrendered to the sneeze, overpowered by the urge, defeated by the invisible twinging need. He was practically pushing me as the sneeze swelled and swelled.

“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH… UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

It swelled more and MORE, feeling more ferocious than any of my previous sneezes. I felt like a volcano on the precipice of eruption, as though my winds were swirling and turning and twisting and braiding their way towards tornadic devastation, as though I were not only a a lightning strike but indeed a whole storm set loose to wreak havoc across the land.

“Nearly there, nearly there, please sire you musn't give in…”

But it was too late.

“AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” I exploded, and it was as though… some sort of… power erupted from me, from my mouth and nose from… from everywhere. The sneezes had always been incredibly loud but now tapestries on the wall flapped, armor rattled, it sounded as though something fell but I couldn’t tell because before I could so much as think, the next sneeze was already erupting: “HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOO-AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUHHHH!!!! AARRRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! HehHHHHHHH… HEEEEEYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTSSSCCCHHHHHHHHHEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!! YYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTSSSSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWW!!!”

On and on and on the sneezes came, more and more violent, “volume” not even describing what I felt bursting from me. Somewhere, dimly, I heard the sounds of something falling over, and yet still the steady pressure of the Captain at my back, finally…

“Sir, your chamber… We must not let them see you!”

Whether I was able to exert some minimal effort even subdued by my sneeze attack, or whether the Captain just shoved me, somehow I stumbled into the chamber, still sneezing relentlessly, barely heard the door slam behind me, helpless to the urge. My whole world narrowed to my nose, and it was as though some block within me surrendered and the sneezes roared out of me, louder and more violent than ever before again and again and again…

I could not tell how long it had been when the fit finally ended. I felt… amazing. Warm and sated. Entirely itch-free, as though I’d never need to sneeze again in my life. Practically glowing. Maybe that was it? Maybe that monster of a fit had at last blown the insufferable urge away for good? But the moment of euphoria lasted barely an instant. I heard a… squeak? and I opened my eyes to find… him. The sorcerer. His robes and hair disheveled, and then, the room… The bed was without sheets. The mattress ripped, feathers piled against the stone wall, piled up with the rugs, half my clothes, my pillows, my chairs…

“Wh-what… what did I… what did I do?” I asked, panting and mortified.

He stood, mortified, as red as I’d seen him in years. His mouth agape. “I—I… I—I have to go!” He exclaimed, and rushed from the room.

Had I hurt him? Scared him? Surely he of all the denizens of the castle had no reason to fear… anyone. But as I cast my eyes across the disheveled, half-wrecked room, I began to see what he saw. Nothing to fear. But something to pity. An out-of-control freak. Certainly no King.

And even then, with a trickle of fear running down my spine… I began to feel the urge to sneeze again, sputtering back to life. I sat on my bed, feeling the weakened timbers sputter and creak with my weight, head in hands.

“By all the gods…”

#snz story #King's New Allergy #Part 4 #giant!sneeze #sorta #snz fic

[ebficnotes]

Multi-Kalpic Theory

In Arena he is nothing but a mad sorceror. Powerful and legendary, but mad. And still mortal.

 In Daggerfall he is is also a mad sorceror, as well as a necromancer. He is also the King of Worms. Sometimes he is even both at the same time.

 In battlespire [?]

 In Morrowind he succeeds. His influence spreads far and wide, though his power is not present for most.

In Oblivion he succeeds, but is diminished somewhat in both power and influence. [Because he first meets/remembers Vanus here and they Hate?]

 In Skyrim, he has great influence, but his power is limited to a select few [modders lol]

In ESO, we go back in time (or perhaps forward) and see how Mannimarco ((God) King of Worms) got his start. [Here they may not hate, though it is unknown whether or not they (still) love.]

In legends [?]

...

(Almost) every time the worlds renew there is a dragon break, because Akatosh just can't help himself. Every time, he Remembers. Every time, there is something slightly different. Something catastrophic or trivial, but either way that something is what makes the difference of whether he succeeds or fails. Or whether he is diminished or empowered. Once he Remembers, and he Realizes, then he Prays. To Himself, for the way to Ascend, the way Home. He always answers his own prayers of course, but those answers are not always especially helpful or enlightening to his mortal self. They come in fragments, bits and pieces of dreams. Gods had no need of linearity, but as a mortal it did tend to help things along. So he does his best to put the events of his Ascension in order, and just fucking wings the rest. The only constant in his life is the calling of Necromancy. The art of Death. The study of Life itself. That is it. Everything else  is changeable.

Vanus is always poor in the beginning. He is always destitute. Always the lowborn scum of laborer parents. Always the child slave of some asshole noble. Sometimes he doesn’t learn to read. Thankfully, those times are extremely rare. Sometimes his father is never caught teaching him to read. Sometimes his mother never betrays her husband. Sometimes even, his father never beats his mother. But those times are even rarer than him not learning to read. He always runs away though, for one reason or another. He is always found half-starved by the side of the road by a group of bards and nursed back to health. He is always brought to the Order of Psijjj when he is 11 years old and he is always taken on by Iachesis, the current Rite Master. He always goes on to found the Mages Guild and he always leaves in the end, feeling that his great dream of bringing Magic to the People has failed. This is a matter of opinion of course, but his own opinion is what matters here. He always leaves for other lands, though his final destination differs.

The only significant  non-constant in his life is Mannimarco. Sometimes Mannimarco is never allowed into the Order, so Vanus never meets him. Somethimes he is allowed in, but leaves before Vanus meets him. But most times, the overwhelming majority in fact, they do meet in the Order. And they are always, Always taken with each  other. Whether taken with the worst vitriolic envy and rivalry, or the greatest love, or even both at once, they always Notice each other. This is the only constant in his life concerning Mannimarco.

#tes lore #tes games #meta #ficlet #psijic religion #altmer religion #retroactive godhood theory #tes cosmology is nuts #i don't think people give religious motivation enough attention with these two #sounds weird coming from a die-hard agnostic #but thats objectivity for you #vanus galerion #mannimarco #help me fill in the blanks #fic idea #mine #eboriginal

[veigarthevile]

Your ego, warlock?

“As if I would stoop so low as to need to pull my power from another. You may refer to me as an Archmage, Wizard, Sorceror, or Astromancer if you need, but I am no lowly worm who relies on others for their magics.”

#ic #Anonymous

[racefortheironthrone]

In a contractual feudal monarchy, how much the nobility tolerates office of master of whisperers? It's easy to interpretate as tyranny of the king or the Crown to spy the nobility. We know that the commoners hated Lord Bloodraven. So, how espionage and the office is tolerate internally on the realm?

There’s not really a Master of Whisperers that anyone has ever liked:

Tyanna of Pentos, a supposed sorceress and definite torturer and poisoner. Confessed to treason and died horribly, and most people were probably relieved.

Larys Strong, a notable turncoat and possible kinslayer. Executed for treason and kingslaying.

Lady Misery, a pitiless procuress of assassins who people called the White Worm when she was alive, whipped naked through the streets until she died, and defamed when she was dead.

Brynden Rivers, a supposed sorceror and actual kinslayer, hated and feared as a tyrant and svengali of kings. Sent to the Wall for oathbreaking and murder.

Varys, a foreign eunuch. 

Qyburn, disgraced ex-maester, Bloody Mummer, and mad scientist. 

The reason why the position exists is that the state requires the function, no matter how much chivalric culture despises it. Hence the position is given to people who are seen as lesser - women, foreigners, the disabled, bastards - because that’s the kind of people who are fit for the job and who can be safely despised. 

[overexposure-overture]

Memories

Gamal blew out a cloud of vapor, then watched it spread and disperse in the open air. Soon enough it was gone. He held up the electronic pipe and looked into the glass case. To him the circuits looked like streets on a city map, and no city captured his nostalgia like old Irem. The city of pillars and guilds and scarlet robed sorcerors, her aqueducts drawing precious water from the war torn lands abroad into her bathouses and wells. Places he would frequent as he wrote about the repairs the city would need to have done, not for its people's sake, but for the sorcerer's safety.

The loose roof tiles on a popular lounge, the cracks in the walls to the judge's temple, the shady orphan who lurked close to the marketplace that would need to be. Rehomed. It wasn't just architectural safety, it was social security as well. Often it was said his guild were spies and saboteurs, the secret police of the golden scorpion. He thought his grim work made him safe, and he was wrong. He was taken from his home, ripped from his lovers arms amid suspicion of treachery after a sorcerer's accidental death in the street he oversaw. He looked behind the temple doors that night, but he doesn't remember what was there. Only that he awoke to the raging storms of duat, the land of the dead, and was given over to the service of the judges. Then he slept again. And he awoke again to find it all lost to the sands.

He was powerful then, resolute in his mission to cleanse this foreign city of its blood bathers, body snatchers, and death cheaters. Vampires, ghosts, and magi alike fell beneath the crushing weight of his judge granted Sekhim. But now the light was fading. He had done enough of his service and soon would sleep again. His senses dulled, and the warm glow of life was leaving him in a manner slow as it was sure. His memories were clearer than ever, but he knew sleep would pull the fog across his mind again. He treasured his moments here with his Sadikh running a finger over his chest, indulging in the wonders of this place that really wasn't so different than his home, save the set dressing.

Even now though, he was troubled by the last words of the final vampire he slew in his holy mission. The so called dragon prince. As it writhed under the grip of his magic, it said,

"Whoever you serve has a powerful tool in you. If you have any humanity left in your shell of a body, remember what is was like to be free of their demands. Look me in the eye and-"

He cut the creature off by staking it then. A common trick of vampire-kind was some sort of mind warping magic they needed eye contact to use. But. He never looked in the vile things eyes, and even now, the worm of treachery was rooted in the back of his mind. Why was his memory whiped clean after his awakenings? Did he really want this? If he asked it of them to free him, would they? He inhaled on the strange pipe again, and as he exhaled, he could feel a bit of his power seep from his body.

#CofD #MtC #Mummy #OC #Gamal #Original writing #Fiction

[noxinfinitum]

Hogwarts Houses (Kingsglaive)

Here’s Crowe and Pelna as promised. Crowe turned out to be impossible because she didn’t get enough screen time (;-;) but I tried my best so let’s go.

Crowe. Gryffindor. A tricky one, but what we see of Crowe, shows that she’s temperamental and even a little prickly. In the first scene, she even lasts the longest among the mages/sorcerors/word of your choice. Perhaps she’s just better at magic? I’d like to look at it as her being extremely determined and pro active. Speaking of this scene, when the retreat is called, Pelna basically drags Crowe to safety because she’s set on going to save Nyx and Libertus, not wanting to leave them behind. There’s also an air of confidence about her, that seems to come from the self and not anywhere else in particular. This is probably the weakest sorting I’ve done, because there isn’t enough canon to support it this way or that, but for now I’m settling on Gryffindor.

Pelna. Hufflepuff. I was thinking he might be a Ravenclaw since he’s obviously a techie. But the parts of his character that really make him shine are qualities that I’d associate with Hufflepuff (loyalty, dedication). Especially since him being a techie isn’t really treated as a big part of his character. I actually remembered this post I saw made by @thebulletsofmusicblues about Pelna which really helped me settle on this one. On a first viewing of Kingsglaive, Pelna just seems like a generally nice guy. But subsequent viewings highlight how supportive and loyal he is to Nyx and the Glaive. I want to elaborate more on what I mean but I feel the post that I mentioned does an amazing job of explaining why I feel Pelna is a ‘Puff, so I’ll just hyperlink it here for you all. Click here.  Also just to clarify this isn’t me worming my way out of writing for Pelna, I just feel the post makes some really good points and I’d feel like I’m copy/pasting what’s already been said.

#queued #Kingsglaive #Kingsglaive headcanons #Crowe Altius #Pelna Khara #god this one is so weak #ffxv #final fantasy 15 #ffxv headcanons #final fantasy 15 headcanons

[gospelofthegrievousangel-blog]

A Ruiners Ravings

Radiation hymn, it begins, shoulder blades twitch in anticipation shivers like sharp knife twists.

I am awoken static solidified, like walking through a razor wire net centrifuge carousel, I am become hell flesh stripped bone stripes, a red zebra spots the truth, seizes proof of a two feet deep shadow lined with jagged metal. No future but the past so nothing gets past me, I've lined the inside of my head with teeth so that the lightning can escape. My brain is shredded when I think deep thoughts, the mindtinge bites deeper like sleeper, like soldier, no limbs on my own.

Sing me softly, so, so softly, my broken skull will soften my scalp, so that those knife seeds shall be planted and grow into fine braves for the autumn harvest, with a great whooping and hollowing they shall strive to hunt and capture the meaning of wreath, the weeper wets reaper, staked blokes slam stems, bee stings, flesh swells so wring it out, a river -brother blood- straight to land dark heart, a crocodile sheds no tears as it tears beyond the call, collegian spirals inside as two stomachs meet, but only one may become blessed fuel the other must go on, engine breathes flames and sinks sideways, breathes chemical fumes... 

The father puts a battery on the skillet and breathes deep grinding teeth. Breathe it brother, that's the godhead cooking! ‘Cause if we be breath from god then all will feed flame, but we be engine, all be fuel. Now, run it red hot, turn and twist until those dangling wires push through your skin, new shin mouth screams seven times to run out of pain, regret, fear, anger, hate, love, kindness. Broken glass lining needs pressure to ventilate, scrub thy vein with wire brush. Say thy name until it transforms, transcends, means and moors. The name upon your hull shall be beautiful and pure, like the sting of heroin steel stains of in-eye steaming insight. Pull the stopper, drain your sight, the eyes are windows to the soul and once you have filled your cup with it's gobby mucus, no cup shall runneth over for it's size, friend. Shut up the world they want, they want the coo of dove, they dream of greasy fingers dipping into a clean white chemical peace, sorrowful gatherings but mourning of an essence they never captured, never caught the whiff of sweat on your breath, never knew the taste of ozone and bleach, their coffin is filled, but it's another mans bones, it's the pretender that joins your ancestors in the grave, while you roll in oily blackness and scream an eighth final scream.  

Every death leaves a ghost, comrade.

Thus, you must LIVE! Struggle against sandpaper air until shit ignites, that when the black suits try to shove you down deep into pinewood prison, your insides slop over the sides and stains their oh so perfect black shoes a deeper shade, their faces twisting up as they grasp a little whiff of ancient oceans sea breeze. It smells like the truth and it'll cook their eyes like an infection engine running hot, so that they might someday shirk their mindshackle worm, become jagged steel, like makeshift slipshod, fishhooks pierce eyes so you may catch and yet let live, so that you may cast a longer shadow.  

It's happening! Th-the ascension was incomplete, the ten fingered law and burning glory come to drive me back into the cold lurking winter, till next of sleepless night. Cast your net sorceror, for all who you don't catch will flnd joy in other people instead of wet, warm, blistered guts-

-attributed to a hidden aspect of a dying mind.

#stream of consciousness