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altcvnningham · 2 months ago

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canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

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theshinazugawaslut · 1 year ago

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Yall, look at this Sanemi fanart I found — the way I would let this man fuck me raw into oblivion with no protection, no lubricant, no preparation, no warning, no shame, all the way on my mums bed to my dads bed, against the bathroom door to bent over my bath tub, on the toilet and against the cover, from the kitchen sink to the balcony, from my bed to his bed, against the fan and against the wardrobe, draped over the washing machine to hunched behind the fridge, between day and dawn to twilight and midnight, on a chair, on a train, on a bus, during class, on a video call, upside on a tree, in a sewer, on the battlefield, behind a bush, on his mother's gravestone, in a puddle of piss as I scream, cry, whimper, beg, moan his name, huffing and puffing entirely out of breath, I need him biblically as he gives me the most bone breaking, singularity causing, toe clenching, pussy wettening, ass slapping, cheek jiggling, back arching, toes curling, feet snapping, finger popping, hair pulling, writhing, orgasmic, fist clenching, tongue drooling, muscle exploding, eye watering, leg divorcing, knee breaking, shin sucking, nipple bursting, hip thrusting, anus clenching, clit vibrating, knuckle cracking, jaw dislocating, nose bleeding, skin peeling, bone acidifying, hip thrusting, sheet gripping, spinal cord shattering, eyelashes flying off my face, spectacle destroying, over stimulating, cervical mucus ovulating, hormones off the chart, pregnancy inducing, swollen bump causing, ribs expanding to keep inside all his salty cum, nail biting, gravity defying, volcano erupting, uterus popping, ovary exploding orgasm of my life.

#sanemi headcanons #sanemi #anime and manga #sanemi shinazugawa #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #kny #husband sanemi

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mamashenanigans · 4 months ago

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I still have so many fics and other stuff to write (been behind due to moving), but I just came up with this. I blame the ‘tism.

After AFO’s vestige is pummeled into oblivion, he violently opens his eyes to find himself back in the sewers, watching Yoichi fleeing from him with Kudo. He reaches out towards him, but flinches away as all the feelings of grief and loneliness hit him like a semi-truck, and he falls to his knees screaming in pain for Yoichi to not leave him.

It’s guttural. Raw. A sobbing mess as the intense feeling of loss cascades over him like a tall waterfall; rocks corroding away from its strength.

Yoichi flinches and this time he turns ever so slightly to look upon his twin, broken and shuddering in immeasurable grief.

It’s enough for him to release Kudo’s hand and fully turn around. Kudo and Bruce stop as the other resistant fighters continue to race away through the dirty water. They make to pull Yoichi back, but he takes a few steps towards his brother instead.

AFO is shaking and real tears fall from his matte eyes as he screams at Yoichi, “Please! Please GOD don’t leave me again! I can’t do it all over again! I can’t! Everything—the plans, the minions, the Quirks—all of it! It doesn’t mean anything! Not if you’re not with me. Not if I’m not with you!”

Yoichi’s eyes widen as he continues to slowly walk towards his brother as Kudo and Bruce yell at him not to listen to AFO’s deceit. He hushes them with a raised hand and tilts his head down at his brother, his confusion palpable over the stench of the gutter. He knows his twin better than anyone. He knows when he lies, he knows when he manipulates, he knows how incredibly dangerous he is. But…this is different. He knows that too.

AFO lifts his head to meet Yoichi’s emerald eyes. “You’re…you’re looking at me?! Yes! Please! Yoichi, I’m, dammit, I’m sorry! Just don’t go! The demon lord? It doesn’t matter. Nothing does without you! I’ll…I’ll give it up! Right now! You don’t even need to come with me. I’ll do it! I’ll come with you! Tell me what to do and I’ll do it! Please, please, please! Just don’t leave me alone. I’m nothing without you!”

“You’re…you’re not lying,” he remarks softly. It’s something he never would have thought possible in this situation, but it’s true. His twin’s emotions are raw and real like those he displayed back in their early youth. Yoichi flinches from instinct when he feels his brother’s arms wrap around his legs and his forehead rest on his stomach. His brother had always been so damn big.

“Please…”

Yoichi softly lays his hand on his brother’s disheveled hair and sweeps his fingers through the identical white locks. He’s so inclined to believe this is a trick. A trap. That would follow history, but this is different. Something has changed irrevocably within his brother. Maybe their entire reality. That’s how powerful this all felt. Decisive.

He suddenly remembered his confession to his two heroes. How his brother’s power could be the greatest, most kind ability in the entire world. Yoichi wasn’t sure if his brother could be that kind, but it seemed—

“Tell me what you want, Yoichi. My Qui—meta power. My meta power! Whatever you want, my dear little brother. I’ll do it!”

Yoichi peered back at Kudo and Bruce.

“Guys. I…I think we won?”

#all for one #afo #yoichi shigaraki #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha afo #bnha yoichi #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha au idea #mha au #bnha au #my writing

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allyssl · 10 months ago

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TMNT AU Comp Preliminary Links

this is long

@tmntaucompetition

Snapdragon - bluesgras

But First They Must Catch You - mudlarkspur (+ao3)

Sorry I’m Late - GeminiForest

Lone Turtle and Hunter - midnightcreator12 (+ao3)

Happily Ever After - Phykoha

Kendratello Childhood AU - zeawesomeness

The Mutation Situation - Indieyuugre

Quilt AU - Cokoweee

I’m sorry teenage mutant what now? - tangledinink

Good Genes - lordshroom

Twin-Sync (More than you Think) - little-banjo-frog

Mama’s Boys - honey_rye

Warrior’s Heart - peanutrat20

Rabbit’s Broach - pigeonsgrame2

UPRISING: A Rise Dystopia AU - alexthenerdbird

Down with the Stockholm - devotedtosadpoetry

Broken Trifecta - genderfluid-envy

TMNT Chicago Style - its-captain-sir

Tiz Sep AU - Tizeline

Please Don’t Leave I Need You - fowlaroundtown (ao3)

Sewer Punks - kettle-bird

Grown Apart - Chiscribbs

Leaves from the Vine - Cheetochild989

TMNT Shen and the League of Lesbians - genderfluid-envy

The Unicorn paradox - Mushangaa

Snapper Lou AU - Kittynomore

Sep Leo AU - dianagj-art

The Rise Hunger Games AU - daboyau

Honor Bound - terrazooid

Universes - XxLea-nardoxX

Minecraft Isekai - Songdrop/Caleb at calebscornerofart

Raised by the Capybara AU - Rubies-tmnt-aus

Dee-Evolution AU - cnwolf-brainrot

Welcome to Mutinis - mutiniau (ao3)

Portal Baby - QuarterGremlin

Wouldn’t It Be Easier - 14Muffinz (+ao3)

Twinpathy - twinpathy

Live Life - centerofleesmind

August’s AU - star-sparkler

No Fun in Fungus - boots-with-the-fur-club

At my Worst - teainthesnow (+ao3)

Ktech - dontfindmeimscared

Camp Hamato - P0t3n1al

Even more of a Disaster - 3lectricinsomnia and teaableu (main blog evenmoreofadisaster)

No Crime only Brooches - Olliethescribe (+ao3)

DNAngel - blye-flower

Finding home - sad-leon

Causa scienta - urlocalllama (ao3)

TMNT 04 - koolaidashley

Is this right? - cruitly-ink

Turtles all the way down - pommigranite

Firefight au - remedyturtles (remrose - ao3)

Death wish - remedyturtles (remrose - ao3)

Ghost AU - Melliedoodles

Mama’s Wishes - Bucketofbugz (+askblog)

Forgive Me - reagi-df

Eclipse - G0LD_Tea (Twitter)

Magic AU - vaudeville-moggie

Mitosis - Varian_dislikes_cheese (ao3)

Vengeance is yours - that-one-dork (+ao3)

The likeness of mirrored souls - enthblaze and omgselinabeckendorf

The employees - theemployees

Hello, Clairvoyant? - cogentsummonor (ao3)

Sidelined au - Dandylovesturtles

100 feet and a world away - Dandylovesturtles

Villain leo - Villianleoau

Bloom from oblivion - Aliteraladhdmess

Soulmates (evil) - error-core-animations (Oofiescreams - ao3)

The somber sunrise - xmochaccinox (ao3)

Snapdonnie - onejellyfishplease

Ōnryo leo - aquariumgirls (ao3)

Lost in the pink mist - lost-in-the-pink-mist

The Lonely Buzz in Blue - overthinkingbluesparks (+ao3)

The Blood Orange Multiverse - Jade-Clementine (Mylenapony11 + Cherry-blossom-consumer)

Teenage turtle ninja mutants - idiot-mushroom

Revelations Timeline AU - idk_im_just_here_now (ao3)

Two Souls - virgilsspidey (+ao3)

#tmnt au bracket #tmnt au competition #tmnt au prelims

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oldschoolfrp · 1 year ago

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The blind zombies in the sewers are alert to the sound of intruders (Liz Danforth from Sewers of Oblivion, Solo Dungeon Adventure No 13 by Michael Stackpole for Tunnels & Trolls, Flying Buffalo, 1980)

#Tunnels & Trolls #Liz Danforth #zombie #undead #Michael Stackpole #Sewers of Oblivion #Flying Buffalo

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secretmellowblog · 7 months ago

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One weird interesting thing in Les Mis is the idea that true goodness rises out of filth.

It’s one thing I think the musical captures, on some level: Javert is flawed because he looks up at the stars, rather than “look(ing) down” into the mud, the way the other characters do.

We see it in Hugo’s descriptions of street children during the gamin digression:

[he]wallows in the dunghill and emerges from it covered with stars.

And how that parallels the later description of Valjean emerging from the sewers into the open air:

Valjean emerging from the sewer:

For several seconds, Jean Valjean was irresistibly overcome by that august and caressing serenity; such moments of oblivion do come to men; suffering refrains from harassing the unhappy wretch; everything is eclipsed in the thoughts; peace broods over the dreamer like night; and, beneath the twilight which beams and in imitation of the sky which is illuminated, the soul becomes studded with stars.

#les mis #les mis letters #jean valjean #lm 3.1.3

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darlin-collins · 3 months ago

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Desmond's listeners are better than me because imagine i trust your ass so much that i do something illegal for you and risk my job that i worked so hard for just to defend you

and you go around me and STEAL my rarest most expensive stuff and sell it somewhere

and then drag me through some sewer city LIKE A LITERAL DOG the whole day

and when i fucking find out you go like "well- i thought you were like the rest of them- so- so i had to find my brother 🥺👉🏽👈🏽"

and instead of hexing you into oblivion

i kiss you 😃

#desmond asmr

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freezerbunny-sims2 · 1 month ago

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Making Oblivion work in 2024 was almost as difficult as making The Sims 2 work. Among other things, I had to install a mod just to make the console appear (the keyboard shortcut didn't work), and all that was to force the game to save my video settings via console, since it crashes everytime you quit, making the settings reset.

Anyway, I played for long enough for my character to make it outside the sewers, which is as far as I've gotten in this game ever. The previous times I tried I got too distracted by the possibilities of the character creator. This game looks beautiful to me. Maybe the characters are a bit weird, but I don't care.

About Fallout New Vegas, I got stuck in a quest that involved sneaking past a bunch of invisible guys in a basement. For some reason I get this feeling of dread that's bad enough to make me not want to play the game. It's not even that it's that scary, if it was scary in an interesting way I would just finish the quest. For now, it's on hold.

#tes oblivion

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thetallowman · 4 months ago

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Note time.

We start with some diagrams and symbology stuff, but we also (finally) get the "Forest Ribbon Trail" description, which also touches on the realms Maricica talked about. It talks in terms of graveyards, labelling the Abyss as the destination of physical things, the Ruins as the end point of the immaterial, and the Warrens and Courts as the resting grounds of malices and dreams. The Paths, apparently, surround all the rest, closest to and in most contact with "Oblivion." They are apparently not the dream realm (implying that that is a separate thing?), and not quite any of the aforementioned areas, but rather "where things lost to [them] go." (To fall back on the Drains as an example, if the Abyss is like a sewer, where reality puts the bits it doesn't want, then it sounds like the Paths would be the metaphorical ocean that the system eventually empties out into.)

They're still distinct places, with their own rules and creatures, though they can apparently appear differently to different people. The Forest Ribbon Trail is apparently a "beginner" zone, for as much as that's worth in the Otherverse.

There's a ritual to entering the Trail. Prey animal, bound in ribbon, with different effects for different animals. The implication is that the animal doesn't come back, one way or another, though it's unclear if that's deliberate. (Is it a sacrifice, like with things of value and the Abyss? Or is it more of a guide - something you can kick off the metaphorical cliff into nothingness without consigning yourself? It mentions that you can Lost - capital L - and that the animal can save you from that, so maybe it's more like a backup parachute?)

The actual ritual involves a circle and a poem (open to modification) around the animal, and bindings and an incantation (also open to modification) around yourself. (It's interesting that the formulas seem so flexible. Combine that with the role-filling animals, and a Wolf in the role of antagonist, and I'm getting some strong fairytale vibes. Maybe detail is eroded and scarce that far down, so close to nonexistence, and the forces that dwell there are happy to fall into whatever framework you bring with you?)

#pale #pale web serial #Stolen Away 2.4

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reachwitch · 8 months ago

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Roar of a Wolfborn completed 46/46

After losing her family, Sifkni finds herself almost executed. After fleeing, she travels to Whiterun where she encounters the Companions. She knows their secret, as she is also a werewolf.

Despite feeling that someone else is better suited for the role, she is soon thrust into the position of Dragonborn. She must learn to believe in her skills and heal from her past to fulfill her destiny.

Farkas x LDB {F Werewolf Nord} | Skjor x OC {M Skaal}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | EPILOGUE |

Hunt of the Blood Moons

After defeating Alduin, Last Dragonborn Sifkni is called to Falkreath for a werewolf problem. She helps solve the mystery, only to have a Great Hunt called on her by Hircine. Farkas x LDB {F Werewolf Nord}

Chapter PROLOGUE | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | WIP

Sivaas

After her pack is killed, Estinan wanders around Skyrim. With no home to call her own, she makes do with hunting or selling her sword arm. She ends up in Riften on a fateful day. With her pockets emptied by a handsome thief, she tracks him through the sewers and begins her strange quest with the Thieves Guild.

Brynjolf x OC {F Werewolf Bosmer}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | WIP

Fury of a Tundra Wolf

Former Harbinger of the Companions, Thea Icehammer, joins the Stormcloak army. She fights alongside the army to bring Ulfric his victory and to free Skyrim from Thalmor and Empire's clutches.

Galmar x OC {F Werewolf Nord}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | WIP

Mother of Hunters Completed

Adelina, a devout Hircine follower and werewolf, is called to one of the Lord Huntsman’s Great Hunts. But as the Hare.

She must survive three days with his Hunters and three nights with him personally hunting her. Adelina must survive. If only to prove she is NOT a Hare. She will not ever be a HARE.

Hircine x OC {F Werewolf Nede/Nord}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | Epilogue | Lore Book

Vestige Liselle encounters another Problematic Prince ft. Dragons (and Mudcrabs)

Liselle’s encounters of Tamriel and Oblivion are detailed in mostly journals. ESO Main Questline, a couple Daggerfall Covenant Quests, Clockwork City, Original Plot: Coldfire Codex, Elsweyr, Mages’ Guild, Blackwood | Future Goals: High Isle and Necrom

Abnur Tharn x Vestige {F Breton}

Blessings of the Moons

Finnki is the Thane of Whiterun. She takes frequent bounties to keep her life and mind busy. She comes across the scene of an ambush. There’s only one survivor. J'Med. He’s a Khajiit from far-off lands, traveling to Skyrim to shake off his past. Finnki helps J'Med with recovery and fitting into Skyrim. J'Med teaches Finnki about moving on and leaving one’s past.

OC {F Nord/Bosmer} x OC {M Khajiit}

Chapter 1 | 2 | WIP

Shadow of the Druadach

Tiernan is the Last Dragonborn. He is also a Reachman. He is a prickly man on his quest to save his world, despite the distrust and prejudice he faces on the daily. While he is looking for an Elder Scroll for Paarthurnax, he meets Rozelia Greensly. A master Mage at the College of Winterhold. She is very interested in the Reach and Reach magic. She joins Tiernan on his adventure, to his dismay. Perhaps the buds of friendship will bloom during their trip to find the Elder Scroll.

Last Dragonborn {M Reachfolk} x OC {F Breton}

Chapter 1 | WIP

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