victo1re-arc

[victo1re-arc]

*. how are you ruined? by apathy.

you can't bring yourself to care. you hate that you can't feel what you used to be able to feel. you hate that you can't be happy. you hate that you can't bring yourself to actually hate. your apathy has swallowed you and immersed you in a well of nothingness. you can't feel what you can't forget. you can't see what you close your eyes to. you choose to feel nothing, and you have lost everything because of it.

tagged by: @netherill [i don't know whether to say thank you or fuck you LOL <3]

tagging: @ownward, @1abyrnth (for whomever), @zalimbane, @triickst, @loveiatar (for unknown), @shdwtouch, and you, dear reader!

#* dash games. #WELL THATS ME WRECKED.

[victo1re-arc]

this is what i love about amelia ty.ler as a voiceclaim man. she's so versatile in exactly the way i need. she can do the dark rich sultry Evil thing so, so well but you also have performances from her where she's small, terrified, remorseful -- and her natural vocal is basically perfect for post-tadpole vic in every other emotional circumstance

#* ooc. #im an amelia ty.ler fan first human second tBH

[victo1re-arc]

you were here with his attackers, in point of fact. it is certainly true that lord bhaal cares little for history, but even he was once a man; there are those in your church that agree most fervently when you uphold the time of netheril as having much to teach in the way of murder. [ you believe this, of course, deeply, faithfully - but coming here was a personal project also; one you did not feel safe in undertaking alone. you are a wizard like any other in several key ways, and the latent magic in this place crackles along your spine like a drug. ]

you clean the blood from gale's skin with methodical precision, though it certainly does not feel that way with how you linger. the killing of your clergymen was enough to sate your hunger temporarily, but even so, a fraction of your mind is still swallowed up with fantasy. " astute as ever ... and what good timing, hm? i so rarely get the chance to throw myself into research anymore ... "

you find subtle excuses to brush your knuckles against the plane of his shoulder, soothing his injured flesh with the heat of your palm. they could not have harmed you if they'd wanted to; such is your doctrine and your geas. your murder will be a privilege for those far beyond their station, when the time comes.

" not a scratch, " you tell him, " but you are sweet to ask. "

🛑 - @victo1re (and/or reverse, as you like!)

"i'll admit, i didn't think i'd find anyone else here."

he says it warmly, amusement sparking in his voice as he shucks off his magist robes. this isn't the first time he's been sent by Mystra or the watchful order to cleanse an area. it is, however, the first time he has encountered someone — much less a friend — and had help with the fight. his robes land in a careful pile, neatly folding themselves with an arcane whisper as he dips his feet into the pool. it's warm, steam rolling off the surface as he sits on the edge to allow his body time to adjust before fully submerging.

"i can only presume you are here for an archeological study?" he hums, allowing her to swipe the cloth against the line of his shoulder where a rogue had gotten too close and obscenely lucky. a slight hiss, but gale doesn't flinch away as she works. "Mystra said these ruins use to be hers, or, well, the previous Mystra's. such a state this temple has been left in."

the mention of his god hangs heavy on his tongue, heavier here. he can feel Mystra's presence in the back of his skull, warm and pleased at a job well done. it fades before he can grasp onto her, and gale swallows a sigh of disappointment.

"you did not get hurt, did you? i should have a potion in my pack if you need it."

#netherill #* threads. #* before. #* in character. #damn what a coincidence that ur hot wizard friend/rival happened to be cornered by bhaalists at the function right when u showed up!!!!!

[victo1re-arc]

yknow how elves choose their adult names when they come of age and that's generally like a very wholesome community-driven custom. yeah uhhhh vic chose hers after she killed her parents.

#* ooc. #the sole victor - the last of her bloodline. #she's normal or whatever.

[victo1re-arc]

things vic is when she's permitted to be A Whole Person that i really enjoy and/or make me sob into a pillow:

so musical. once she picks up alfira's lyre it's this fuckin... deep, instant soul connection. humming songs she hears in taverns on the road, tapping rhythms out on her knee round the campfire.

improper. she slouches in seats, interrupts people, swears like a sailor when it's called for. mud all over her trousers from chasing an owlbear and she's just moving on, livin' her damn life.

funny!! it's a roast-prone sort of dry wit but it's a sense of humour nonetheless!!!!

touch-starved. so desperately in need of a good hug.

very interested in linguistics. this was a quiet interest of hers even before but never one she explored in depth. now she's an unabashed nerd about it.

#* headcanon. #i just think that in and around the high stakes 'i don't know who i am except that i suck' thing there should be #other gentler hallmarks of Becoming. finding joy. she is burdened with darkness and the only way to combat that is with light.

[victo1re-arc]

something about specifically savouring a glass of blood fresh from the body as it cools -- that's the most holy act to victoria, this performative reverence for the fading of life. all those last little functions shutting down, the soul utterly evacuated by the time her drink goes cold.

#* headcanon. #it's representative of the state of dying like nothing else is to her.

[victo1re-arc]

gloved fingers alight upon victoria's arm, stopping her from leaving. the flock is distracted with the newest carrion, the dank and the damp settling into her bones like a well worn tunic, frayed at the edges. edhellis pauses, then shifts to brush her lips across her cheek, a whisper of a touch, a blessing, voice low enough to not be heard, "if you mean to go after lord hemsdale, he'll be at a party tomorrow." demure, pale lashes flutter, the only tell heralding excitement. "two hundred said to attend. i've slipped wolfberry powder in your bag... thins out the blood."

you smile like a razor, the full heat of your gaze turned studiously upon the gruesome spectacle before you; so generous is your young priestess, knowing well enough by now that this [ this waste, this mess of fetid flesh and broken bone ] is hardly your preferred communion. worship of the body is not worship of the kill; so few understand the distinctions you make, the nuances you read so reverently into your lord's scripture, but edhellis comes close.

" oh, you spoil me, " you purr, hand finding her opposite elbow in a delicate show of gratitude. at last, you permit yourself to look at her. " won't you come? already it is your kill as much as mine. "

#sftantrot #* ic answered. #* in character. #GOTTA LOVE TWO (2) UNHINGED BHAAL BABES...

[victo1re-arc]

au where vic is actually a vampire lady feuding with cazador for control of the gate...

#* ooc. #aka she's saving the pleasure of killing him for a rainy day and letting him think he has some level of power. he does not

[victo1re-arc]

* do not pray for me, darling. soon enough i will be god.

#* self. #i spent entirely too long on this when i meant to do drafts #support the brand in this trying time? #bg3 rp #dnd rp

[victo1re-arc]

" i want you. " your thumb finds the glossy, open curve of his lower lip, carefully committing the way he looks now to memory. you are intentional with this, what you choose to cast in amber and what you leave to rot; there is so much catching up to do, and tonight, you have turned the brunt of your voracious capacity to learn on gale alone.

he makes you better, empirically, by every metric you yet know. you have not only noticed his tendency toward self-effacing worship, his desperation to please at his own expense, but you look now to correct that imbalance; that is his work, his and wyll's and karlach's. you swallow the part of you that bids you take what he would so willingly give, and kiss him again. you are sweet with him, torturously gentle. your palm rests just above where the orb thrums in his chest, studying his pulse.

" there is so much that i have yet to learn about you, gale ... i would begin to right that wrong tonight, if you would allow me. "

❛ do you really think you’re in a position to give orders? ❜ -@victo1re

this isn't the usual script. it's really not. none of this makes sense, when she invited him into her tent, he expected to be on his knees, on his back, something like this, but they've veered off the usual script, the normal routine. gale is on his back, hands splayed out above his head where she put them. he hasn't moved them.

"no, but —" he cuts off, silenced by her kiss, and gale groans into it as he tries to ache into her. arousal shoots through him, pooling between his thighs and gale rubs them together to try to get some friction.

he wrenches his head away, gasping for air, dizzy. "i thought, you wanted — i don't understand." he pants, trying to make sense of it all, her body on top of his, nowhere near his face.

#nsft / #netherill #* threads. #* in character. #* after.

[victo1re-arc]

the act of murder being so separate from the consequences in vic's mind. vic feeling immense guilt over the fact that alfira won't get to live the rest of her life, but not the act of killing her. the fact that she is dead, and that it's vic's fault, yes -- the killing itself, no.

#* ooc. #it's such a fine distinction but she's so neutral about the action #neutral-to-positive if she dared to think it...

[victo1re-arc]

dangles this in front of u like a cat toy

#* ooc. #local woman passes out in the middle of wyrms rock and acts like it's fine

[victo1re-arc]

pov your muse shows up to one of her famous parties and she spends the whole night flirting with them only to eventually bring them back to her chambers and fling open the wardrobe to reveal SO many kinky goodies What Do They Do

pre-tadpole victoria with every SINGLE feat dumped into cha/wis score increases using her powers for (sexy) evil. victoria analysing every little tell and knowing exactly what turns people on, sometimes before they do. victoria, a surprisingly giving lover, an at-times gentle domme. trust her; love her; need her. prime yourself to do it with a smile when she tells you to take her knife and run it through your own chest.

#nsft cw #nsft / #she's Really good at shibari. btw. #it's the ritual of it

[victo1re-arc]

* open to mutuals. as you so often do, you wake with iron on your tongue. uniquely, the blood is yours, this time: it returns to you in stages, how you fell, what you saw. there is elation in your knowing, and the chill fingers of a strange, alien dread. you extract yourself from the heap you made upon the cobblestones, idly probing the jagged flesh of your cheek. the ache sharpens your senses. you are wounded in too many ways to count, but you are yourself again. [ and who is that, now? your head is a maelstrom, three centuries' unsorted data clamouring for your attention. you know and you don't. every discrete thought is its own effort. ] your posture lengthens with remembered grace. you cannot afford to be anything but certain; not here. " ugh. hells. subtlety truly is a dead art, isn't it? " the steel watchers flanking you have borne witness to your indignity. so too, then, has enver. your lip curls in a sneer, your disdain for the machines apparent - the unease you felt in coming here regains its context, and you can't help but concede him the point. he knows how you revile this place; knew, too, that you would have no idea why. it is delicately diabolical on a level you didn't think him capable of. you are the reigning duchess of house silvershield. you are bhaal's chosen, plucked from obscurity and made glorious. you are prophet, priestess, and ritual dagger. you are something else, too; something young and nameless, huddled in the wreckage.

there is so much to do. you look back at an angle, keeping the line of your jaw sharp, and drawl: " come; it does us no favours to idle here. "

#i have decided to make this an open bc so many of u expressed interest <3 #* after. #* opens. #* in character.

[victo1re-arc]

unknown // Taylor Swift You're On Your Own, Kid // SEVENTEEN：HIT THE ROAD episode 10 A Time To Face Myself (via @kwonhochi) // Anis Mojgani Here Am I // V.E. Schwab Vicious // Charolette Eriksson Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself // Rainer Maria Rilke Letters to a Young Poet // Lana Del Rey Fuck it I love you

#[screaming into fist] FUCK. #* study.

[victo1re-arc]

how does your story end? by your command.

how easily betrayal comes to you, the natural action of your knife to gore those who would trust you in their sleep - you have been burned too many times, and now, your turn has come due. everything is as according to your design: an age of work and planning come to fruition, and you upon the throne. you are the villain of this tale. does that surprise you, love? all this carnage in your name, and still you thought yourself righteous? this is everything you've ever wanted... so why does it feel so hollow?

tagged by: i wrote it

tagging: you :)

#* dash games. #lol. lmao even. #im gonna do one for post-tadpole too bc im curious but i may not post that result...

[victo1re-arc]

in case i haven't made this obvious by now, vic was born, not built. bhaal claimed her as a child and then made her his chosen after she showed exceptional promise. she's not of his flesh, and he's not her father, not to her - she has no family and that is important to her, having shed the shackles of the house she was born into intentionally in order to become what she is now. she is bound by blood only insofar as blood is her favoured ritual component.

#TAPS THE SIGN.