#as i am Beset by visions of-

[erraticpulse]

control

[mactheknifes]

i haaaave to put my nose to the grindstone and finish the club eleven orgy fic ive been tooling away at since. well. club eleven.

[elissastillstands]

I started BG3 during April and have now sunk far too much of my time into it. This is my dearest, darling Tav, a goody-two-shoes self-identified paladin who tries her very best, to mixed results. I will talk about her to anyone who listens.

[queeraang]

.

[thespookywoods]

Does anyone have like. Tips or resources for learning how to draw people? I’m constantly filled by the need to draw but every time I try I end up frustrated to the point of tears because I can’t seem to figure out how body shapes and proportions work and I have no idea where to start trying to figure it out.

[skalidris]

genuinely, truly, really, refuse to empathize with the sentiment that 'writing is awful & suffering & only hard' because i think it distorts the sentiment of whatever the person actually thinks and also takes you further away from writing.

(if, while writing, you are mainly thinking, 'i hate this!', you will be even less able to write! and feel worse about it! and also what you write will be associated with that bad feeling!)

and writing is so fundamentally different from like.. letting your thoughts go... because. it's a material thing. it's a physical thing you have to actually do which requires you to engage with the literality of expression.

so imagining is so far away from writing as a practical thing to do, that if you do imagine->write you're never going to be doing anything other than translating from your thoughts! because your imagination isn't bound by syntax or structure or coherency or strategic reversal or ,,,,

& writing super is! & that's not a bad thing bc that's its essence anyway! that's why it's writing and not playing a traverse flute!

[revvethasmythh]

the stakes really are kind of entertainingly high going into the endgame sequences specifically if you romanced lucanis on account of him being the guy you hired specifically to kill ghilan'ain. like, in your check-in before you go to tearstone, he is very rightfully like, "hey! cannot believe we're about to be put into a situation where my actions alone could determine all of our survival but especially yours! i am feeling a normal amount of okay about this!" like, yeah, actually the worst possible situation. there's fun sexual tension when you give him the lyrium dagger at the island. he's the last person you release from ghilan'ain and you have about two seconds of "hi honey, glad i got you free" before she yoinks your ass. you are beset by cursed visions of a dead lucanis as you get pulled into the fade prison. everyone is having a terrible time at all times on this island, but this couple is perhaps having the worst time

[bucksboobs]

I am haunted!! Beset!!! By visions!!! *falls luxuriously onto a fainting couch* of Albert Han riding his brother-in-law’s fat hog.

[jessilynallendilla]

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

Persephone  M 222,161 

She was meant to be the price for peace; her life in exchange for the mysterious Dragon Master's mercy. Her captor wasn't supposed to be a ghost from her past, and she wasn't supposed to become his ally...or his lover. And when news spreads of a blonde-haired girl at the Dragon Master's side, there will be repercussions for dragons and Vikings alike. 

The Changeling Still Owed  T 2,777 

Sometimes the image of a youth would come to her, know her, call her "Mother". But he never stayed. She woke, tearless. It had been seventeen years. 

The Blacksmith's Apprentice  T 192,373 

Hiccup never took the shot on that fateful night. Toothless was never shot down-and the war continued. Three years later, Berk is beset by dragon raids and hostile tribes while the boy who should have saved the island is merely the assistant in the forge. Replaced as Heir and with only the beautiful Shield Maiden Astrid as his friend, fate gives Hiccup one more chance to end the war and become the hero he was meant to be. Hiccstrid. 

Scars We Gave  EX SERIES 

The phantom-like Dragon Master comes with fire and silence. He won't accept gifts or gold, but just maybe he'll take a sacrifice. 

Stratospheric  G 84,641 

“Stop. Don’t raise your hand, Stoick.” The boy that descended from nowhere turned around and looked Stoick dead in the eye. Stoick was spellbound. He could not summon any strength to move or speak. All he could see was the pair of forest green eyes that captured his whole field of vision. When the boy turned back around abruptly to face Furlan, Stoick stumbled as his world bled into clarity again. Those eyes… 

Like Unto Conlai  T 1,321 

Stoick would have blood or nothing. "Do not toy with me, foul man! Cursed Jötunn, Loki-spawn! I will have your head!" He seized a lying axe, already bated red. He wondered what colour would burst from the man-monster's breast. "You owe me a blood debt, and you will pay it! I am Stoick the Vast! Father of Hiccup of Berk, now six years dead, may his soul be in Valhalla!" He swung at the Night Fury, and it snapped flaming jaws at him, but the Master did not alter his command. "Your monster you stole from my son, murdered him cold for it, and I will have revenge! Both of your hides and heads, to ease his rest!" 

Runaway  NR 10,676 

Hiccup raised his dagger, ready to plunge it down through scale and flesh. As he tried to gather his courage, he glanced down at the downed dragon…It looked at him with noticeable fear in its sharp green eye, which closed as the creature lowered its head to the ground, accepting its fate. At the sight, Hiccup’s nerves failed him entirely. Who was he kidding? 

[merge-conflict]

marked for death

(written for a weekly song prompt, just cleaned up today for shippy saturday. non-binary V/Goro)

--

Ten years ago an Arasaka bodyguard had died protecting the emperor of Japan. Beset by the slowly creeping threat of retirement, Goro had always hoped he would end his career the same way– but now his troubles are much bigger than young soldiers with fresh implants and endless ambition. Now he has lost everything and his only hope of redemption relies on the ebbing life of the thief he’s managed to drag into an AI-operated cab.

“Please keep all limbs inside the vehicle during operation,” the AI chirps brightly, and Goro clumsily leans across V to pull her right foot inside. In the enclosed space of the cab her height makes it difficult to maneuver her upright, and he ends up wedging one of her knees into the back of the seat in front of her before leaning back in his own side, keeping one hand clamped on his seeping wound.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the AI says, and the doors on either side shut securely, with a faint whir. Goro exhales, allowing himself a moment of relief. “Please insert a personal jack to confirm all passengers.”

Ejecting the jack from V’s wrist takes Goro longer than it should, with hands are slippery with blood, shaking from the fading stim and physical shock. His implants are dulling the pain in his side, rerouting connections, reducing blood flow away from sliced veins– but the damage is extensive. Without medical attention he will eventually slip into unconsciousness and die. After much fumbling he finally coaxes her personal jack free, and inserts it into the waiting port, before doing the same for his own.

“Guest passenger confirmed,” the AI reports, the screen in front of Goro briefly pulsing green. “Primary passenger unconfirmed. Please try re-inserting the link.”

Goro does, a few times, without success. The longer they sit here the more danger they are in. “The personal link is damaged,” he says, with effort. He cannot take in a full breath– a blinking warning at the edge of his vision warns him of lung damage. “The bullet…damaged her implants.”

“All passengers must be confirmed before service,” the AI replies, and then pauses. “If you are unable to authenticate with the wrist jack, you may instead connect the diagnostic link directly to the port located near the right mastoid.” With a slight click, a cable springs free of the screen, and Goro picks it up, examining the sharp tip with a sinking feeling. “I’m afraid you will have to insert the link underneath the skin.”

“If I am not careful…she will die.”

“I suggest you proceed with caution.”

Goro lowers the cable to pull V closer and for the second time is astonished by her intense gray eyes, lit by some internal spark that is burning long after it should have been extinguished. She can’t pull herself upright, but she wraps her fingers around his wrist, where he has a firm hold on her collar. The expression on her face is serene, but it sends a burst of adrenaline through his system, and in response his implants steady his nerves in a cool rush of calm.

“Do not move,” he tells her, adjusting his vision so he can see the pulse of blood through the arteries in her throat, tipping her head back for a safer angle. Her fingers tighten on his wrist in alarm, but she does not struggle.

“Do it,” she hisses, when he hesitates.

Panic sets her heart beating frantically, the pulse in her throat jumping in time. Goro picks his angle, lines up the link and pushes it through the skin and tendon until it is nestled into the subdermal connector of her implanted interface. V’s back arches, her breathing panicked, forcing him to hold her still so she does not rip out the link or cause herself further damage. Blood spills down his fingers and over the back of his hand, soaking into the cuff of his shirt.

“Primary passenger confirmed,” the AI announces, before Goro can think of the right words to calm her. She tenses at the announcement but stops moving, except for the frantic pace of her breathing. “I advise you not to remove the link until we have reached our destination–“

A loud ringing in Goro’s ears prevents him from hearing the rest of the sentence. It’s all he can do to hold things steady as the car finally accelerates into motion, taking them further into the heart of a rotten city. V holds his gaze– both accusatory and forgiving with her blood oozing hot down the inside of his sleeve. Then between one street and the next, her eyes slide shut, and she slumps into his side.

The streets of Night City are as endless as they are ugly, and he cannot be certain if he orders the AI to drive faster or if he only dreams it. He grows weaker and weaker, with nothing but determination to keep him alive, to keep V alive– so long as she lives, there is hope of exposing Yorinobu. So long as she lives there is reason for him to live as well.

No sooner as he steels himself to stay awake then he finds himself jerked from unconsciousness as the cab comes to a rolling stop. Panic gives him the strength to open the door and crawl free from under V, limp but alive. A stranger is waiting– a man he can barely see in the end of his rapidly tunneling vision. On instinct he picks up V’s legs to help carry her, but after a moment he finds himself on the ground facing her body in careless repose. Death awaits them both in this filthy alley, within the shadow of Konpeki.

Before his eyes slip closed he is certain he sees a sliver of gray watching his weakness. Witnessing it.

When he finally wakes in the back room of the ripperdoc clinic, he can no longer escape the keen edge of despair– Arasaka-sama’s murder and the loss of everything, down to the cyberware implanted inside him. The emotion consumes him like the rising tide, inexorable and inescapable. He drowns in private grief, consumed with the contemplation of the bleak options before him, until he hears a low groan.

He’s not alone. On the other side of a narrow gap V lies on a makeshift cot the same as his own, connected to a portable set of monitors which display the vitals he can no longer see in the corner of his eye. She shifts in her sleep, making a strangled noise deep in her throat that mirrors the rage and agony in his own chest. Curiosity, or perhaps duty drives him to maneuver himself painfully out of bed.

The loss of stabilizing cyberware and too much blood make him clumsy, and he stumbles through his first step, crashing into her cot before he can grab the edge for balance. Her eyes snap open– desperate gunmetal gray once more arresting his attention.

She has ample reason to hate him– to resent and fear him for tracking her down and returning her to Arasaka for interrogation and execution. But when recognition flickers in her eyes, her bruised and battered face breaks into a soft smile that grabs him unexpectedly by the throat.

He is not alone.

Unsure of what to say he merely clasps her shoulder in acknowledgement, and sees relief flit over her face. She speaks, but her words are garbled and soft, and he’s lost his translation soft. He squeezes her shoulder in response, and with great effort she lifts her arm to rest her hand on his wrist. Her expression grows serene and remote, until her eyes close. He is not alone.

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

A Kiss to Save a Life

Mention of death and blood.

Billows of smoke rose from the ruins surrounding you. In the distance faint screams of people falling victim to collapsing homes or being devoured by horrendous monsters who had been summoned forth by the towering looming figure approaching with earth quaking footfalls could be heard. As if night had fallen, the sky above your head was covered in a heavy blanket of darkness, leaving only the devouring flames as sources of light. You rose on shaking legs as the monstrous beast boasted with laughter as a single lone figure who had been standing against it fell to lay motionless upon the ground. Desperation filled you as they’re golden light flickered dangerously, like a candle’s flame about to become extinguished, and ignored the burning pain that was demanding you cease all movement to instead break into a sprint. Something lashed across your back that caused crimson droplets to splatter within your vision but it too was ignored. Burning flesh, stink of monster and human feces, and toxic miasma were burning your senses yet your tear filled gaze never once strayed from the fallen figure.

How had this happened?

As if to answer, a chortle of laughter came from the giant monster who came to a halt as if to watch your struggle. “Pitiful mortal. Struggle no more and succumb to my minions. All hope is lost now that he has fallen.”

Words that were meant to dishearten only made your bare feet move faster until something collided with your side that sent you rolling off course. A monster with three jaws attempted to target your jugular but it was thwarted by the appearance of familiar beast whose coat shone brilliantly despite the dirt and blood clinging to its lithe form. “Beset!” Your shrill cry was drowned out by the monster’s dying howl courtesy of the feline-like beast’s own attack. The tears spilling down your cheek grew when it discarded the deceased beast with a low growl before turning its attention to you, its nose lightly bumping against your leg you could no longer feel. Though appearing as an over large feline this beast was in fact a special fusion which bestowed upon it a pair of mighty wings which had often allowed you to traverse several leagues of distance; they were, however, broken and useless courtesy of the dislocated joints at their base which were littered with bite marks. “I am alright, Beset, but I need to go to him.” Its forehead met your own. “Please, take me to him.” Without hesitation the winged feline bent so as to slide you upon its back and became a blur to those who struggled for survival amongst Egypt’s fallen empire.

Your worst fears were realized though when after jumping over multiple obstacles and dodging several attacks the trusty spirit beast collapsed mere feet from his fallen form, causing you to tumble head over heel until crumbling into a heap within the dirt. He wasn’t moving, it didn’t look as though he were breathing, and no member from the royal court were within sight. Throat to strained from dirt and strain, your nails dug themselves into the ground in desperation as the sap of strength told of Beset’s return to the monster realm. Just a little farther…

Every centimeter felt like a mile as you struggled against each wave of fear and hopelessness threatening to steal away your hope.

Almost there…

The tears spilling from your eyes was making things swim out of focus…

Have to reach him…

Scuffed metal met the pads of your fingers. Polished gold was now cracked and tarnished, pristine white tunic was clinging to his form by means of a few threads, his upper torso completely bare for your eyes to behold each blood oozing wound upon his form and bruise blooming across his tanned skin, wild tri-colored hair even more so as his head lolled despite your best efforts to cradle it. “I am h-here,” you croaked while using every muscle in your exhausted body to turn him over and rest his head within your lap. Protectively, you shielded his being to the best of your ability when a large foot impacted the ground mere kilometers from where the two of you lay. Never had you been so scared in your life as Zorc the Dark One fixed his gaze upon you. Pure unadulterated evil was staring back, causing your blood to grow cold the longer your gazes held.

“R…run…”

Your head shook despite the trembling that had come over you. Those darkness filled eyes were causing the heart in your chest to slow from its racing pace. Almost as if stealing the very life force from your body. If you didn’t look away soon, you’d likely shrivel into a dried husk!

A calloused palm met your cheek, coaxing your gaze to finally break away from the monster’s to instead meet weary pomegranate. “Please…you must run…I cannot defeat him…” There was despair within his eyes, something that made your gut twist painfully when finding no other emotion within their depths. “…Forgive…me…”

One of your own hands rose to gently cup his own that was upon your cheek, giving it a squeeze. “My faith in you shall never wane, my beloved, this you know.” The dip of your head caused your foreheads to meet. The smile that raised your lips was meant to be encouraging yet it only made his facial features contort with grief when blood trickled from your nose. “I give you my everything, for I know that none can stop the Dark One’s advances. The world will suffer if he is not stopped here and now. The hope I hold is as endless as Nyx’s cloak, Atem, so have faith in yourself as I bestow upon you the last gift I can ever give.”

Whatever protest that he made to voice was cutoff by the gentle sealing of your lips over his. The lids of your eyes closed when droplets of moisture gathered within the corners of his own, attempting to steel yourself against knowing you were causing those tears of his. It was all you could do to keep hold of his form when he weakly struggled. However you held fast despite your injuries. His life force was depleted dangerously due to summoning the Egyptian gods who had been rendered to statues and it would normally take extensive amount of time for replenishing.

There was no time for that. Not today. You’d been studying in secret with Mahad and Mana as your teachers to the lost arts of magic. In a battle you were left helpless despite the impressive beasts that could be summoned but you’d insisted they teach you on transference of life energy just in case of emergencies. The promise of only using it in dire circumstances had been made once learning the spell and this was as good as any time to perform it.

Darkness rose to claim you as every ounce of strength slipped from your body like sand, leaving you limp and exhausted, yet you didn’t release him until breathing became too much for your body to handle. Warm built beneath your fingers in place of chilling cold, confirming that he was in fact receiving your life force and energy. Even the wounds you’d felt had grown scabs that would be aid in preventing infection. Just a little more was given, allowing his grasp to tighten enough to convey his want to stop you, and it was as the last drop of mana you held passed like a droplet of water trickling down a flower’s stem. “I…believe…” The departure of your lips gave rise to the last breath that earned his anguished cry, his hands and arms latching around you as the connection between body and spirit snapped audibly.

“(Y/n)!”

And your world was swallowed in a bright white light.

A breeze caressed your face as the call of your name came from the left. The voice was familiar, making a flutter rise within your chest when opening your eyes, and gaped when finding the magnificent structure that was the palace before you with glittering gold reflecting the high noon sun within a cloudless sky. People were bustling about in earnest as if preparing for a feast or celebration, streamers and ribbons of bright vivid colors diverting your attention first to the right then the left until you refocused upon the path leading inwards as the call of your name came again.

The blood stained battlefield you’d just been upon felt no more than a bad dream as you began walking. Trenches of crystalline water offered cooler rest areas for all who needed within the shades of tall trees, water lilies floating delicately within and creating ripples when the wind chose to play. Bustling conversations and coos of animals as they worked filled the air as your footsteps paused before the stairway’s beginning. You knew the palace like the back of your hand so this wasn’t the first time you’d traversed its seemingly endless ascent.

Yet something was making you hesitate.

As if something important was missing.

Up to your bosom a hand rose to find it unmoving. Not that you were surprised at all. There was no possible way you could’ve survived a full life transference spell; no one could.

Two familiar female servants, one with golden locks and the other silver, appeared on either side of the staircase to lead you off to the west hallway. Sandstone obscured the sun’s golden rays yet their decorated paintings were more than enough for you to realize where exactly they were leading you to. At the end of the hall lay a room you had nearly forgotten its appearance. The servants however did not let you loose even for a moment. They assisted in taking away the rags clinging to your form, bringing to your attention of just how filthy you’d become as they gently washed every spec of grime and dirt from your skin, then clothed you in the finest of silk and chiffon that was found within an exquisite wardrobe to the window’s side. Only then did they bow then depart to leave you alone.

To the windowsill you went without care, easily sliding your legs over its sill and treading lightly while balancing upon the wall below. You’d done this so many times that it no longer required conscious thought or worry. On their own, your feet moved swiftly towards the north; up the slope without fail, a tight turn, hop over the opening that was entrance to the room below, sneakily slipping past the quarters that were known as the High Priest’s private chambers, until coming to a stop beside the gate marked with a water droplet and water lily.

The conclusion you’d come to of this being the afterlife had been confirmed courtesy of the people you’d passed before entering the palace. Several had been deceased for at least a few years while others were by more than a decade. Seeing and experiencing all of this, including the sudden healing of your body and lack of pain, could only mean that you have also met your end.

“All is well,” a voice said to your right. The briefest glances revealed that Mahad was closely watching you from a pillar’s shadow as several guards and servants awaited his instructions. “They are preparing for the mighty pharaoh’s return. Best to be on your way now. Best not to keep his highness waiting.”

From beyond the gate came the call of your name, one that made your being warm and lips lift into a smile, and through the gate you went without need of more encouragement from the master mage who watched with a knowing gaze. Your nose was met with the scents of water lily and fresh water, along with several others that threatened to distract you, yet all attention became fixated upon the figure who slowly materialized ahead of you within the garden’s central spring. There was no doubt within your mind of who it was and this time your smile became one of genuine joy when their hands fell to your waist before hoisting you upwards while spinning on their heel.

He swept you within a tight embrace the moment your feet met stone, lean arms decorated with gold keeping you close as your own wrapped around his neck and torso. “Beloved,” Atem whispered while nuzzling into your being, “to see you once more is truly Ra’s blessing. After so much time has passed…I am thankful to find you here, awaiting me.”

Tears began trickling down your cheeks like twin rivers as you clung to him. “Forgive me, my pharaoh, I see that my strength was not nearly enough to assist in your battle though I gave you all I possessed. Yet here you are, arriving not long after me.”

“Hush, now, (Y/n). You are not to blame for events that can no longer be changed.” He gently soothed, retreating so as to clean your face with gentle fingers. Those pomegranate eyes of his shone brightly with adoration and several other emotions that you couldn’t hope to identify as he took in your appearance. “You fought valiantly, beloved, and your strength gave me courage beyond what I can express gratitude for. It was only with your encouragement and bravery could I have accomplished the otherwise impossible. I have much to tell you that I am unsure of where to start. I wish to naught be away from you from this moment farther and to save you from hearing such a nightmarish tale. However that would not be fair. You have my word, my promise, that I shall tell you all.” A tilt of his head caused your foreheads to meet, the lids of your eyes drifting closed as his did, allowing both of you to relish in the other’s company for a moment in silence, before loud trumpets caused the two of you to separate.

Amusement raised your lips into a smile as his head tilted ever so slightly with curiosity shining brightly within his gaze. “As if you need to ask. They have all been awaiting for you to join them, mighty pharaoh, and have prepared a magnificent celebration to honor your return.” Your fingers laced with his tanned own, earning a blink from the man as you gave a light tug. “Best to not keep them waiting.”

“Before we go…”

Your smile fell at the serious tone he used. “What is it?”

A glint appeared within his gaze a split second before his arm snaked around your hips, a hand rising to tilt your chin upwards. “I must repay you for something very precious, (Y/n).”

The inquiry that rose up your throat was drowned by a soft sigh as his lips descended upon your own. At first they were gentle, light as a feather even, moving in a slow dance that sent shivers down your spine as you willingly caved beneath his assertiveness, until he released your mouth with a smirk when you could do little more than gaze up at him with lidded eyes. “Do feel free to repeat whenever you see fit,” you teased with a smirk of your own and winking while slipping from his grasp when the call of your combined names came from the distance, “however your cousin, Seto, demands our immediate attention.”

“True. It is best to not keep that one waiting for long.” And with a smile, he followed you to the nearby balcony that overlooked the palace’s courtyard and earned a roar of welcome from those who had gathered.

[bogkeep]

"what do you see if you try to visualise an apple in your head?"

i am beset by visions of the most epic apple possible and now i must Draw it to free it from the prison of my brain

[outlanderalien]

Pathetic

Dark-Urge/Nere

Nere thought you were his salvation when you freed him from the rubble, if only he had known the dark urges that drove your actions...

A short re-imagining of the scene that follows Nere's rescue from the perspective of a sadistic dark-urge protagonist, written in the style of an in-game cutscene. Durge has personality but is otherwise genderless and without physical description.

CW: S&M, dubcon, whipping

[AO3 LINK]

You watch the bodies collapse onto the floor, their hands still grasping their own crushed necks. You're impressed. Such malice, such cruelty, you knew there was a reason you were drawn to this drow, that there was purpose to you rescuing him. He's a kindred spirit.

As he approached his final victims the drow says something curious, something unexpected.

Nere: "Nere. Does. Not. Fail."

There's an insecurity here, a weakness that begs to be exploited. Is the violence and cruelty all an elaborate attempt to compensate for... inadequacy? Perhaps not a kindred spirit after all, but he could prove fun.

You hardly pay attention to the carnage he enacts on the remaining slaves. Your mind is caught on a more exciting thought.

Nere: "This was meant to be a simple operation - I arrive, those pack animals clear the debris, and I walk into the temple. Instead I've been beset by incompetence, treachery, and now this... The absolute's business remains unfinished..."

You spot a momentary lapse of confidence, is that fear you sense? Fear of failure… Fear of punishment. You dig deeper into his mind, swirling amongst the darkness are visions of torture, penance, and screams. The confident voice Nere commands with reduced to beautiful, agonised wailing. You'd like to hear it for yourself…

Nere: "True Soul, I need you to send word to the General, tell him I need reinforcements."

You just discovered the perfect deceit to make the most of his fears.

Durge: "I am no messenger, I am here by the grace of the Absolute herself."

Nere: "Really? How curious. I've never even met you before."

He's suspicious and rightly so. An unspoken accusation hangs in the air.

You respond not with words, but with a hard, cold, unrelenting glare. His expression drops, new fears cloud his judgement, fears that he may be making his already dire situation worse.

Thanks to the artefact, he can no longer consult with the Absolute to test your lie. As far as he's concerned, you're exactly who you say you are and the Absolute is ignoring him for his failure.

Nere: "Apologies… I am not feeling myself. Please understand it is uncommon for someone so new to gain the Absolutes favour so fast, I am sure it is well-earned…

There is a hint of resentment in his voice.

Nere: Speak true soul, tell me what news you bring."

Durge: "I already told you, I am no messenger. The manner of my posting here is to act as judge."

Nere: "Judge?… To what?"

Durge: "To your performance. The Absolute suspects you may struggle with your task"

Dread falls heavy on the poor drow. He knows that whatever test this is he has already failed it. And worse- The Absolute had the foresight to distrust his ability… what shame. What agonising shame.

Nere: "My lack of results are inexcusable I know… But I can still complete my orders. If I could just get some reinforcements… Tell the General that I--"

Durge: "I am no messenger."

You look upon him, disdainful and severe. He knows now to keep quiet, maybe then he will stop making things worse for himself.

Durge: "I am here to judge and to motivate only."

A smile twists into place as you watch him sink. The next part of your deception promises to be the most exciting part yet.

Durge: "And by my judgement, you are a failure, poorly motivated, and lacking in conviction. It seems I will have my work cut out for me."

Nere: "Your work?"

Nere tenses, his mind racing fearful of an imminent execution, of being discarded by the Absolute.

Durge: "The motivation."

It is only now that he pays closer attention to the implement you have held for this entire exchange. A whipping cane. As dreadful as the idea is, it is preferable to annihilation… and unfortunately familiar...

Nere: "I-… I Understand…"

You can feel his anguish already, his mind overflowing with self-loathing, he thought he had long surpassed such humiliating punishments, but now he must face his reality: he has been and always will be a failure. His harsh self-admonishment sates you.

Nere: "I will show you to my private quarters if that's suitable..."

Durge: "That will not be necessary. Strip."

Nere: "I--… Here?"

Durge: "You heard me. Strip."

You watch on delighted as he's rendered speechless. He wants to protest but knows that it is already a forgone conclusion. It is happening here. There is no changing that.

You have to stifle a smirk as he gives in and begins to remove his layers. The armour that gave him presence, authority and power, shedding bit by bit at your command.

He stands as though finished, with only his trousers remaining. You give him a severe and expectant look. Your message is clear, much to his chagrin.

Hesitantly he unbuckles and removes his trousers. He stands again, believing to be done. With just a look you let him know that he isn't.

Nere: "No further... Please..."

His plea is sweet, but you have other plans. You don't even dignify it with a response.

Forlorn, he continues, removing the last piece of fabric shielding his body. He has never felt so bare. You drink in his anguish hungrily. His punishment hasn't even begun and you're already drunk off his humiliation. This will be fun.

Nere: "W-... Would you like me to..."

He doesn't even know how to begin to ask this. You let him struggle, you find it cute. He's lost all of his fight so quickly.

Nere: "Where do you want me..."

You cast command on him, forcing him to prostrate himself before you, lowered to the ground in a grovelling manner.

Durge: "Just there will do."

You waste no time. No sooner had he been brought to his knees had the sting of the whip connected with his back, forcing a shaky gasp to escape him. You give him a moment to breathe, to soak in his new reality. He may have already been entirely stripped, but with that humbling strike the last and most persistent of his armour fell away, his pride.

Nere: "Please forgive me."

Durge: "Show your remorse through taking your penance."

You connect another cruel lash against his bare flesh eliciting a broken cry from the shamed drow. But that's not enough for you, you need to hear him beg.

You administer another, and another yet. The crack of the tool connecting with his skin echoes through the grand hall along with his cries. That's when you feel it.

You are not alone in your pleasure.

Digging deeper, you follow the sensation to it's source, connecting with the mind of the punished himself. He likes it… He craves it. You feel a rush of adrenaline course through you, unable to control yourself, the whip swings mercilessly.

He is overwhelmed by the pain, the sensation of a deserved punishment, of his own powerlessness. You leave stripes all over his back, across his thighs, over every bit of bare flesh you can reach. This will not be a lesson soon forgot, of that you will make sure.

Nere: "Sorry-- I'm sorry! Please forgive me!"

His cries are beautiful, but you have to forcibly stay your hand. You take a moment to admire your work, the shuddering, weeping mess before you.

Durge: "Look at you. Pathetic."

You see him tense, he liked that...

You release him from the binds of command, but obediently he remains still. You take a few steps around him and place the heel of your boot onto his side, effortlessly pushing him over. He rolls onto his back, wincing as the fresh injuries push against hard ground. He's erect.

You place your boot onto the centre of his chest and gradually push down with force. Your mind is swimming with desire, killing him would be too quick and no fun, you'd lose a valuable toy if you did that.

He looks up at you with a repentant expression, face stained with tears. Perhaps you could keep him, like a slave, or maybe a pet...

Your minds connect suddenly, lost in desire you let your defences crumble. He sees your lust fully and entirely and he returns it. No words expressed, but a longing felt. A longing to be your personal plaything.

You sever the connection fast. That was close. The deception was almost discovered along with the artefact. Your mind returns to steel, your lustful expression grows cold.

Durge: "The Absolute forgives you."

You remove your boot and begin your exit. You sense his feeling of abandonment, a cold empty feeling with only the pain you gave him to bring him comfort and warmth.

You would love to toy with him again one day, perhaps that's why you spared him. But for now, you will leave him wanting more.

[britcision]

Alright fuckers I took another stab at it and did the thing, I may/may not finish the actual like, proportionate version one day but he needed to exist and hair hides all my arm related sins.

Please dear gods anyone whose art is even a tertiary focus Lycion NEEEEEDS a Knot All Men shirt I am beset by cursed visions but usually I write them or make cursed little dolls (yes there will be a cursed little Lycion doll with a cursed little shirt but the embroidery thread is fucking fighting me on Mithrun so I dunno when)

Also he has a smoothie

Because one of the many reasons I really do not draw much is I am aphantasmic and do not and cannot visualize so let me tell you every single aspect of this except the shirt just. Happened. What are poses. What are limbs. Bodies exist but WHY.

The shirt had to be a crop top tho for legal reasons that was extremely clear to me

(Hey fun realization tiny Lycion and I feel exactly the same way about all his lil elf limbs they're all wrong and we hate them WAS MY MISTAKE NOT TRYING TO DRAW HIM AS A FURRY. Fuck. I think furries are harder but I might try it.)

[ataleofcrowns]

if you could go back n do smth differently abt ATOC, would you? Just asking because as a writer, I feel like I'm BESET by 'what-ifs' and am curious to know if you've got any 'what-ifs' of your own!

The thing is, if I did, then I could go back and change it if I wanted to!! It's the benefit of self-publishing, I can edit the game however I want, whenever I want.

One example is that the Crown's last name used to be customizable by the player where they could insert their own. I removed that feature and only allowed the selection of Kurdish surnames because I decided it fits the setting of the story and the Crown's background better.

Outside of game features though, no, I don't doubt any writing choices I've made. I think a lot about the story before I actually put anything on paper. It's not uncommon for me to ruminate about a single scene for several days, even weeks before writing it: what this scene means to the characters involved, how it progresses the plot or character development, where it fits in with the overarching themes, etc.

I've been writing for a majority of my life, so the benefit of experience means I don't lack for confidence. But another part of that is that I always write according to my own vision. If others enjoy my writing, then that's great, but if they don't, that's no sweat off my back.

I write to tell a story how I want it to be told, with themes I want to explore. So long as I stay true to that goal, I don't think I'll ever have anything to regret.

[orphanheirs]

OC Questionnaire

Thanks so much for the tag, @drchenquill !!

My questions:

Would you rather be able to see the future or fix the past?

What pushes you to keep going?

How much have you changed?

I decided to do this for the two characters I've developed the most thus far, Crispin and Tristan. I tried to answer in-character as other people have been, and kind of picked a point in the middle (?) of the story and answered how they might at that point. Their responses may not be the truthful answer, but they are the answers the characters would give. I'm overthinking this aren't I.

1. Would you rather be able to see the future or fix the past?

Tristan: See the future, obviously. Really, think what a bore it would be to do what you have already done. And think what wonderful and, indeed, dreadful things one could witness if only one could conjure an image of the future! Yes, I would be most desirous to do so, not only in expectation of fantastic visions, but also to see what the vision shewed in relation to what may befall my person..imagine the trouble one might avoid!

Crispin: 'Twere well to mend what I have done. Scrying is a murky business, and beset with lies. If you are desirous to know whither you are going, 'tis best to step forward one foot a time.

2. What pushes you to keep going?

Tristan: My fierce will, my unshrinking pursuit of the sublime, the promise of adventure and discovery round every bend, Life, Life, Life!!

Crispin: There be one lost who I must find.

3. How much have you changed?

Tristan: I suppose I have changed since I left Society to take up my present occupation--that is, of magician--and determined to live out my days without the dull encumbrance of civilization. I am more frolicsome and more saucy, and I know a great deal more arcane mysteries. I feel my world, once the size of a soggy pea, has blasted open wider than I could perceive before. All is cast in quite a different light. I am consumed every moment with wild need to seize it!

Crispin: I've not changed much. Well..verily have I learned me letters and sorceries..and, i'faith, bide I in this Realm, and this hath whittled me into a different Shape. But methinks in center I be the same.

Aaaaand I'll tag @luchadorbard, @ryns-ramblings, and @winglesswriter!

Your questions are:

Do you like reading?

What's the worst way to die?

Is there such a thing as a "necessary evil"?