#bloody tongue

[theserpentsthrone]

Sinister song of nephren-ka

His prey

So supple

Content in his sway

In the blood-red tempests

Of illustrious nyarlathotep

Ever-wandering wickedness

Unsleeping sickness

Corrosive to soul

The master of scorpions

And father of leviathans

In mortifying raiment

With whip of flame and venom

Beneath the tree of death

Recline bacchanal harem

Who spiral ‘round the dreamt hecatomb

Spreading for the wisdom of yuggoth

And striving for the reign of nephren-ka

In unhallowed tombs and wicked gloom

His name is law

Speaking sin

Creeping rahab

Ultimate dawn

And ultimate prophet

Come from the overmastering blackness

To teach man piety is madness

[irishteagoblin]

Accursed Blade of the Bloody Tongue.

This blade is part of a set of identical daggers which have been welded by some of the most cold-blooded members of the bloody tongue cult. The blade itself is expertly carved from a strange unknown material which is unnaturally durable and gives off a crimson glow when in direct light. The handle is carved from a dark stained wood with a bronze guard and a signature red decorative cloth tied around the handle of the dagger close to the top.

They are kept in a warded and sealed ceremonial wooden box until they are needed.

The daggers are cursed by unknowable forces from beyond, giving them a menacing aura to be in the vicinity of. Those who have low constitution and/or little to no resistance to the outer influence of the Bloody Tongue meet a fate of extreme blood frenzy upon contact with the handle and an unwillingness to let go of it before they are consumed and began killing indiscriminately with the end result being near permanent sanity loss.

Often enough, cults who have been in possession of the twin daggers in the past have used them for mass ritualistic sacrifice, a heated battle or a particularly cruel assassination. An elite member of the cult is chosen to wield them and undergoes a ritual to see if they can handle them, if they fall victim to the curse they are dealt with accordingly. It’s because of this that only a handful of skilled combatants have been deemed ‘worthy enough’ to wield them without little repercussion until their death.

(Just a lil thing I’ve been working on that’s Call of Cthulhu related.)

[happyheidi]

[samglyph]

Predicament

[bigfatbreak]

one more warmup: shadybug and swarm hanging out

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Try Morse Core. Women Love Morse Code.

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[ib3li3v3you]

Just thinking of my bloody little girlfriends. Theyre so cute <333

[yridenergyridenergy]

[fortheloveofaussiegrit]

(Top Gear France)

[merrimentsmight]

Cicero and Listener gathering flowers for Mother, then killing people who're bounty hunting the Listener and then just having a cute camp/picnic while still covered in blood,,,,, that's my favourite daydream of Cici

Mother needed dragon's tongue, Cicero said. He would always bring her flowers, and make sure they were fresh and fragrant. It was sweet, and it made him happy. The Listener suspected it made Mother happy, too. So they were picking dragon's tongue off the side of the road south of Windhelm. The Listener was being careful, picking only a few blossoms from each plant to keep them growing and healthy. Cicero was less calculating, and picked whichever ones he thought best, even if that was every flower the plant had to offer. When they had a full basket of flowers, the Listener rested, sitting on the side of a stone ledge, and began to pick wild jazbay grapes, popping some of the sweet berries into their mouth and adding some to the over-crowded basket.

Cicero kept gathering flowers. They watched him flit about in the late afternoon sun, mumbling and laughing to himself and looking, gods bless him, content. “And there was the one with the, no, no that won't do, too crass. Oh, terribly, terribly crass. But perhaps if I reworded it...” he mumbled to himself, following a train of thought whose beginning and end were as obfuscated to himself as anyone else. They were so caught up in looking at him that they didn't notice the quickly approaching footsteps on the road behind them, despite the fact that they were far from stealthy.

“Well!" said Cicero sharply, catching the Listener's attention, “It looks like we have company. Should Cicero set another place at the table?” The rest of the world came back into focus, and they hopped off of the ledge to stand next to him.

“Perhaps it's nothing," they said, as the group approached, "perhaps they'll just keep walking.” They both hoped that it was not nothing, and that they would be stupid enough to make trouble. They both got their wish.

“You! We know who you are,” said one of them, a thick-accented Dunmer near the front.

"Oh?” They asked, clutching the basket of flowers like an innocent youth. A sentiment undercut by Cicero's grim laughter.

“Yeah.” He returned, stepping dangerously closer, “and ever since what you did to the Emperor you've got a mighty fine price on your head, too.” He was in leather armor, as were most of his cadre, and the leather was from cows and not netches. They hadn't traveled too terribly far for the bounty. The Listener wondered how far rumors had spread, and who was spreading them. They had gone to great lengths to remove witnesses in the past.

“Do you have proof, or are you going to execute me on your hunch alone?” They asked.

“Please. You have the jester with you. There's only one little redheaded jester in all of Skyrim, far as I know, and he's your one.”

“Oh! Cicero feels terribly special,” he said, knives already drawn. But he did like that idea of possession, that even strangers knew who he was, and who the Listener was, and that he was theirs.

The Listener smiled in that way they did, sharp and nasty, that made Cicero's heart start beating even faster than the thrill of the impending fight did. The good name of the Dark Brotherhood had been tarnished so badly that these poor men had no idea what they were up against. The man reached for the sword on his belt, and Cicero, like a well trained attack dog, pounced.

He cut the man's throat before anyone knew what was happening. A spray of blood issued from the wound and covered Cicero and the Listener and the basket of flowers, which the Listener set gingerly behind them before drawing their own weapons and advancing to join Cicero in the throng. They made quick work of the rest of the bounty hunters, who reacted slowly, as if they had been expecting the assassins to surrender when outnumbered.

“Mash and bash and swipe and clash! Ha!” laughed Cicero, sidestepping to avoid overturning the discarded baskets of flowers, “nobody gets the best of the Dark Brotherhood.” The Listener allowed themself to laugh with him. When it was all said and done, they were ringed by the bodies of the dead and dying, sitting among the flowers and leaning on each other to laugh like children. By the time they stopped fighting, and then stopped laughing, the moons had come out.

“Oh,” said the Listener, pushing away from where Cicero had clutched them in his helpless mirthful peals, “I suppose we'll have to set up here for the night.”

“Mmhm,” said Cicero, still giggling. He lowered his bloody head onto their lap and popped a blood-splattered grape from their basket into his mouth. “Whatever you say, my Listener.”

[brokenlittlebabydoll]

Your lies taste sweeter each time

[tenebris-metallum]

Nyarlathotep!

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

beelzebub got gabriel bad with their fly in the mouth party trick, didn't they?

[d-lanx]

[phoebesbridgers]

travis’ subplot while mark and tom make dick jokes and grope each other on stage