perevodchikus

[fanaroff]

Kind of continuation to this comic.

The first thing he opens his eyes to—

———

“Narinder?”

Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Even through closed eyelids and flattened ears. His head pounded behind his eyes. A rhythmic thumping so loud in his ears. A noise he was so unused to. A mortal sound.

Pain was a blinding experience when one was no longer numb to it. The One Who Waits could only huddle in one spot and cling to his own shoulders with claws he couldn’t not yet control enough to retract. He knew where he sat, but he was not going to allow the recognition to settle.

Hurt lanced across his chest, his wrists. He wanted it to stop. This was not how things were supposed to go. He’d planned for so long. How could this have happened?

Narinder chose wrong. He chose wrong. He chose the wrong vessel. His vessel who built him up, built a Temple in his name, raised devotion! His vessel who then tore him down and reduced him to this quivering mess of a new mortal.

How he wished they’d chosen to kill him instead. To have ended his millennia of suffering, not extend it further.

He chose wrong.

The physical hurt now ran in tandem with the emotional. How could they do this to him? When he saw them choose… he thought that maybe things would go right. He would be free and his vessel tucked safely in their own little heaven… but he saw them return the Red Crown to their own head. That damned Lamb!

The one he gave life to! The one he saved!

Betrayed by one he trusted so—

Now he was here. Now he was mortal. How foolish of him.

“…Narinder?” Faust’s voice was gentle, no doubt a front put on for the followers (they should be HIS) that he could hear hanging about in curiosity. (Insects to be squashed! How dare they look upon his visage and see him in this form!)

Narinder knew that if he were to open his eyes, he’d see nothing but hatred in theirs. After all, he ordered his vessel to sacrifice themself. And after all, this was not something his vessel was willing to do. Would such an ask not generate hatred in one unwilling?

Either way, the refusal… the betrayal… has generated hatred within Narinder and when he returned to strength… he would make them pay.

There was no point in putting things off.

Narinder cracked open an eye, blinking rapidly against the blinding light, prepared to see the Lamb standing before him with a weapon in hand. (They’d be foolish not to, what if he chose to attack?)

Instead, the Lamb kneeled before him (why kneel now and not then?), a bowl of water in hand and fake concern across their face. They were still covered in spots of their blood and Narinder’s ichor from their battle, fleece torn in places and wool sticking up in different directions. Yet, they were the victor and looked it. Narinder had no doubt that he looked worse.

He felt worse.

Light from the setting sun lit against Faust, brightening them in almost a halo. It would be beautiful sight… if not for the knowledge he had.

“Betrayer.” Narinder rasped. It came out wrong. He wanted it to be a hiss. A snarl. But it was a wheeze of air at best. His throat hated it. He hated it.

Faust had the gall to shake their head. They opened their mouth to speak, but Narinder beat them to it.

“Betrayer. I never should have chose you. A lamb that defiled my name. My Temple for their own!” He slowly devolved into a rant. A proper tantrum for the ages. Spitting insults that brought gasps of shock from those around them, a few being hands to weapons (garden tools at best), and yet Faust did not react.

If he had taken a moment, he would have noticed their eyes darken to sadness and a frown overtaking their features. He would have noticed the hurt. The Crown trying to get his attention that he had chosen the wrong subject for his ire. But he was understandably focused on his own.

“I wish not to see you! I wish not to be here! Kill me, Usurper! End the suffering you drag out further!” Narinder’s voice had torn by the end, quieted by the force he attempted to put behind it and sounding as if he’d been exposed to the smoke of fires for hours.

He’d begged at the end. Begged to be killed and put out of his misery. And again the Lamb ignored this.

When Narinder was done, panting harshly and lying against the ground as his body turned tired, Faust stood from their kneel and turned to a she-rabbit. They placed the bowl of water in her hands.

“Take him to a tent. I feel he would be calmer if I were not in his line of sight. Have someone come to me if he attempts to attack anyone. Make sure he drinks. Make sure he eats. Force him to if you have to, but be careful. He has not eaten in a long while.”

The she-rabbit bowed her head as Faust turned without a second look to Narinder and strode towards the Temple. His temple no longer.

Narinder could only squirm and attempt at clawing, glaring at Faust’s back as he was dragged away with the help of two other followers. Kicking and screeching, he vowed to himself that the Lamb would pay for this.

They all would pay.

— —

Quick Oneshot that may not stay canonical, or it may stay as a companion piece. The image will stay canonical as the first thing Narinder sees upon his indoctrination. For now, it’s a prompt for myself.

I plan to do the main fic series from Faust’s POV, but I wanted to play around with some of Narinder’s thoughts. I don’t know if it worked though, I have a hard time thinking how someone might react in hatred so I hope I got it close enough.

Hope you like it!

[aychama]

I was wondering, does king Narinder have ever had any funny episode with catnip in his life?

-Im getting the warnings of becoming sick so no art but you guys can have a little idea I have!-

"What is going on? Why is everyone running out of the building?" Lambert looks to the panicked palace staff.

"The king has accidentally sniffed catnip!" One maid yells as she rushes out the door.

"Huh? Why is that a problem? Is he alergic or something?" Lambert grabs the arm of a fleeing butler, not understanding the urgency. Their grip is firm on the poor butler.

"The problem is, whoever sees him in that state gets punished the day after!" The butler answers as another maid stops by the two to warn them.

"Years ago one had seen him lick his own hand and the next day the poor butler was forced to clean horse shit with bare hands!" She says it like its the grosest thing in the world.

"And another maid had heard him purr and my god.... she was almost fired!" The butler pries Lambert's grip off of his arm as he speaks.

"That just sounds like he is embarrased of the state he is in?" Lambert understands the situation of everyone fleeing as no one would want to be fired from the palace for such reasons, working at the palace pays well, but the situation was still too ridiculous for everyone to run away.

"Yea it- eeeee!" The butler and the maid hightail it as Narinder approaches them.

He picks Lambert up, they dont even protest (were they really this light for him to easily hoist them up?) as he brings them to the garden. The sun is still up but no one is around, everyone has fleed from the palace.He purrs and wraps his hands around Lambert, who wasnt wearing their armor. He cuddles them, burying his nose into their nape and licks wherever he gets his snuggly face on while lying down as the birds chirp and Lambert looks at the blue sky all stiff, not sure what to do in this unexpected turn of events.

"Oh im so dead tomorrow..." Lambert says outloud to no one, feeling dread in their gut while they are forcefully cuddled in grass. Their heart beats fast in their chest and they think it has to be because of fear.

His nose tickles...

The next day, however, when Narinder and Lambert run into eachother in the corridor, the morning sun hits Narinder's face in just the right angle for his face to be seen behind his veil and he is... blushing? He turns away before Lambert can properly see.

How weird, he would usually give them an order to follow him or something else.

Maybe he forgot. Cute.

[narikill]

aughdhshfjjsjcjdjfjsbgsknfjs <- leshy in this art probably

[donutfloats]

One night, Lamb and Narinder are sat outside gazing at the stars, it’s before they’re in a romantic relationship (perhaps pining at this stage) so they’re just friends at this moment.

Lamb asks the question “If you had a normal life, what would you have wanted to do?”

Narinder is confused by this, “what brought this on?” He’d ask, turning to look at them.

Lamb shrugged, still gazing up at the starlit sky. “Just somethin’ I remembered thinking about a lot before.. well, you know.” They gestured down the hill, where the temple of their cult stood along with the many follower huts and other stations. “The whole cult thing.”

Narinder hummed as he turned back to gazing at the stars, “… I do not know. It was never a thought that crossed my mind as I couldn’t imagine my self as anything else other than a God.”

There was a long pause after this, the silence was then broken by Narinder.

“I assume you had something in mind for your self?”

“I wanted a family.” Lamb replied.

Narinder was taken slightly aback by this, brows furrowed into a look of confusion. “A family? That’s it?”

Lamb nodded, pushing their arms out that were propping their self up to fully lay back on the grass, their gaze still transfixed upon the night sky. “Yep, I wanted to get married and have kids. Settle down, have a house, grow our own food. Live a small, simple life.”

“How… mundane.” Narinder replied as he slumped back into the grass. “… Why?”

Now it was the Lamb’s turn to be confused as they turned to face Narinder. “Really? Thought it was obvious.”

“Enlighten me.”

Lamb rolled their eyes and sighed at this. “I spent my entire life on the move because of the hunts. I never got to call anywhere ‘home’.”

“Why a family though?”

“Well-“ Lamb turned onto their side so they were facing Narinder fully, which he recuperated by doing the same, the two now being face to face as the Lamb continued. “- I never thought I’d be able to have kids, let alone a partner. The herds were dwindling, so it was obvious that I was part of the last generation of sheep.” The Lamb’s gaze drifted, not focusing on anything particular. “It would have also been cruel to bring a child into the world that only wanted them dead.”

“So I used to just daydream about a life I wanted.”

It was quiet for a moment between the two, but the Lamb felt a sense of awkwardness rush over them as they quickly tried to fill the silence. “But uh, yeah. It’s a silly mundane thing to want I guess, especially now.”

Narinder’s expression hadn’t changed, but after a moment he closed his eyes as he in a softer tone than the lamb expected.

“I suppose the mundane wouldn’t be so bad.”

The Lamb’s ears perked up at this, surprised by Narinder’s response. “Is… that something you would have done?”

“Perhaps.” He replied

Silence fell once again between the two, but it was comfortable. The stars had been forgotten as the Lamb gazed at Narinder’s face at rest. It would be a couple hours until the sun would start to peak over the horizon, so the Lamb indulged in the serene moment by closing their eyes, drifting away to one of the most comfortable sleeps they’ve had in a long time.

[spoiledleaff]

there's a monster circling the borders of the cult. the lamb knows what it is—who it is. they're not terribly bothered.

the fox.

as a creature who values both brutality and strategy, the fox admires shamura deeply, to the point of love obsession. they've met before, though shamura could not remember that now. as a bishop, the fox loved watching them work. they would meet on occasion, standing at the crossroads between war and darkness. the fox has always had a bit of a stalking problem, not that shamura would feel threatened by him. they never stopped him before. the company was nice, soothing. they both smelled of blood—it was like finding another half of yourself, drenched in the afterbirth of your crimes and murders.

they'd chat. sometimes. ironically enough, shamura liked taking time to talk about nothing. so much of their life and work is spent strategizing and wondering and learning and doing things with a purpose, it was nice to take a moment to revel in the nonsense. the fox didn't mind, he would be too infatuated with the way they'd fidget with the bones of their followers. they would remember so much.

he was so curious, so obsessed that when shamura offhandedly let slip of that damned prophecy, of their siblings, of their brother, of the lambs—he didn't hesitate.

"i will handle it." he said. "i will devour every lamb to ever walk this earth if that is what you wish of me."

they paused, calculating. always so careful.

"leave one for me." they said, their smile filled to the grim with too many teeth and murderous intentions, and the fox thought he felt something stir in his long dead chest.

(there was a sadness there too, he realizes. maybe they knew of the consequences all along. even back then.

maybe especially then.)

it's hard to think that the shamura from before and the one he'd grown so used to watching from the shadows were the same creature. they still smell of blood, still ramble nonsense that only makes sense to them.

the fox wants to kill them, this mockery of the great bishop he once knew. this thing does not demand respect, does not stir that feeling in the fox's chest; it cannot be them.

they never seem to sleep, always roaming the cult's grounds while the rest of the herd scatter off for their bedtimes. they drift near the cemeteries, reading aloud names of followers they've never known. they do this every night—pay their respects.

"i know you are out there, little shadow." they say one night, "may i help you?"

"no." the fox is quick to answer, his maw is open and dripping with his resolutions. this thing will die tonight.

the false one turns towards the shadows, though the fox knows they will never find him if he doesn't wish it.

"do i know you?" they ask. "you feel familiar to me, though i'm afraid i cannot place it."

"...no." the fox lies — it is the truth — his teeth lay ready, though he does not bite.

"ah. my apologies then." the false one turns back to the graves, turns away from the fox. "your voice soothes me in a way i cannot describe. though i am unsure as to why, as to me you sound like blood, like cattle willingly led to slaughter, like betrayal."

the fox is ready to strike, he drools.

"you remind me of someone who i think i once felt safe with." he stops. "i apologize. i know we've never met before, but i cannot shake the feeling that i know your teeth."

the fox hesitates, closes his maw, backs away.

"your teeth are beautiful, by the way." the thing turns around, and the fox feels as though they see him—they see him. "i feel as though i've known your ivory all my life."

he leaves.

it doesn't matter, the night will always come—there will always be tomorrow.

it doesn't matter that this false one replicates shamura's desire to babble about nothing.

it doesn't matter that there is a beating in his chest that will not go away.

(he misses the chatter.)

there is always tomorrow night.

[lycankeyy]

It's times like recently that remind me that while I'm not Sure I have dependant personality disorder I sure as hell have SymptomsHDNQJSKQJSK

[neonpaperlanterns]

So, small story sorta idea thing. That includes a spoiler on the... Final boss. Which may not be that much of a spoiler. I wanted to ask for this, have a good time.

Lambert treats the red crown kindly, borderlining it as a family member. So the crown slowly shifts from its' role as a tool to a odd equal. Sometimes forcing Lambs' sword/axe/dagger arm to move to cut down a foe Lamb didn't notice in time.

When the time comes for Lamb to go and sacrifice themself for Narrinder. The red crown notices their fear, their sorrow. And "hypes" Lamb up to betray its' proper owner.

Pointing out all Lamb did on their own, stating the difference in fighting between early Lamb and late lamb, where Lamb may have struggled to properly use the sword, and may even burn themselves when they cast curses. Compared to swinging and slinging spells like a pro when going up against the last two bishops' domains.

So, although Lambert feels dread and worry about going up against death itself. The crown points out they have the chance in fighting back. And that they'd help (how I interpret Lamb still coming back to life after dying in battle is the crown just being loyal to the adorable cult leader.)

-Sunny Anon

Surpass God

"You don't have to do this." The Crown whispered in its masters ear. It could feel every shake, every hitched breath, every hard swallow its bearer made.

"You've come so far. Done so much. You are better than this." It reassured.

"Do not submit to him." The Crown could feel as the Lamb stalled. Listening, contemplating.

"But I..." The Lamb trailed off. Uncertainty clouding their mind. They thought their purpose was fulfilled. Shamura's blood still fresh on their fleece as they stood before that final door. The Crown's master while afraid was ready to accept their fate.

But the Crown was not.

"Listen to me my Lamb," The Crown stretched and morphed as it slithered along the Lamb's neck. Lovingly it squeezed, feeling the erratic heartbeat underneath its scales.

"It was you that felled the Bishops. You that succeeded where he has failed. You've accomplished all of this. Do not throw it all away." Eye imploring as stared down its wearer.

"You are not meant for the slaughter." The Red Crowns voice was hushed as slunk down its masters arm.

"You will be more." The Crown shifted, its form taking on that of a sword. The hilt held loosely in their hand.

Slowly the Lamb raised the weapon. Their face reflected in the crowns eye. Fear still oozed from them, their arms still shook, their breath still uneven but their grip tightened.

"I will be more."

[russetfoxfur]

a little thing i wrote

“What day is it?” she asks the Crows. 

“It is a Saturday,” the Crows caw back.

“Where am I?” she asks the Crows.

“In Monument Valley,” the Crows caw back.

“Who am I?” she asks the Crows.

(She does not expect an answer. They have never answered before.)

“You are a child of light,” the Crows caw back.

[rainbowolfe]

Kallamar x Gladiator!Follower Ficlet

Content Warnings: One-sided relationship, canon-typical violence and brainwashing, implied drunk sex

Kallamar has allowed this to go too far.

He was awoken by the realization that he was "sleeping" at all, which told him he overindulged in ambrosia during last night's wedding celebration. His general grogginess and trouble recalling what actions led to this told him he really overindulged.

He looks down at the follower he had married the night before. A plain, black bat with stunted wings was sound asleep, curled into Kallamar's side as if they were lovers. He remembers the creature becoming rather comatose after Kallamar gleefully poured a goblet of wine down his throat, but it's clear he recovered from that at some point that night.

Though Kallamar had to admit, he was hardly a follower. His missionaries had to literally drag him here, and he spent weeks viciously fighting against his indoctrination. Kallamar had never seen someone reject brainwashing the way this bat had. He would've asked Shamura about it but, the thing was...

Shamura had explicitly advised against Kallamar indoctrinating a bat. Turns out it was quite difficult to undo years of anti-Old Faith propaganda. And the result of trying to rush it with magic was a steaming ball of malice on the edge of a psychotic break.

Maybe given a few more months, he would've broken properly under the torture and brainwashing, but Kallamar didn't have months. He needed a fighter for the upcoming fight-pit tournament the bishops held every year.

So in secret, far from any prying eyes and ears, Kallamar tried a different method of inspiring cooperation. He planted a seed of affection, and let it grow rampant like an invasive species. It suffocated old memories and pierced through the foundations of his very being until nothing could grow. Except for the affection.

It worked, mostly. The creature had finally accepted his new name: Palaal. But still did not treat Kallamar how one should treat a godly being. It annoyed Kallamar, but it would do. He just needed his cooperation for a few weeks, which he gave in exchange for kisses and hugs and other mild intimate acts.

Palaal was not shy about making more depraved requests of his new leader. It caught Kallamar off-guard the first time. He typically called upon one of his spouses if he desired that sort of attention, and they all knew better than to request that he serve them in any way.

He indulged some of Palaal's illicit requests, more out of self-gratification than anything, but most of them he shut down, citing their lack of marriage. Palaal then proposed to him out of the blue. Kallamar agreed to it under the condition that he won the tournament.

Sure, Palaal wasn't all that loyal to the Old Faith. And his re-education was half-baked. And he was prone to long episodes of dissociation. None of that really mattered to Kallamar at the time, because he knew the problematic little critter would die in this tournament after providing some quality entertainment in the form of senseless violence.

He wasn't doing this to win, obviously one of Heket's or Shamura's followers would win, just like every other year. He was just getting sick of being shut out in the first round, barely able to participate, and unable to leave.

And then Palaal won. Anchordeep's first-ever champion.

His injuries from the tournament healed, a golden trinket of immortality embedded into his flesh, and a brand marking him as a Champion of the Old Faith seared into his back. Typically the Champions were made Guardians or Keepers, given some kind of power over lesser followers.

But Kallamar couldn't let that unfinished, untrained mess run free and ruin his reputation. And if he made the creature conveniently disappear, his siblings would not let that go unnoticed. Shamura was not one to gloat, but Heket was there when Shamura advised him not to haphazardly indoctrinate a bat for all the reasons Kallamar got to experience firsthand. She would gladly rub this blunder in Kallamar's face in their place.

So he honored his promise to marry him. To keep him content, and to keep him out of trouble. Although the wedding and subsequent celebration were just for show, Kallamar enjoyed himself all the same. Clearly, he enjoyed himself too much and indulged whatever fantasies Palaal thought up.

Kallamar could suddenly feel eyes on him. It pulls him from his thoughts, but he keeps his gaze forward, hoping Palaal's interest would fade and he would go back to sleep. The staring persists.

"Speak." Kallamar huffs, not bothering to try to hide the annoyance in his tone.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"What? I do not eat, fool, I am a god."

"Oh. Hmm. Well, let me know how you want to be taken care of, and I'll do that."

Kallamar's brain skips a beat. "Excuse me?"

"That's how this should go, right? When you dominate me, you take care of me afterward. So with the roles switched... Shouldn't I do the same for you?"

"You? You-?!" Kallamar can't even will himself to say it out loud.

He submitted to this sham of a follower? And he can't even remember? He's too frustrated at the thought of letting this deeply buried fantasy rise to the surface with this stranger to remember that he could just skim Palaal's memories for the details.

He sits up straighter and begins to scold him.

"Do not expect me to spoil you in this way again, you sneaky harlot. You are not to speak of it with anyone. In fact, you did not earn this-this...!" Kallamar gestures vaguely. "Let's call it a favor. You will work until you bleed and then some, until you have repaid your debt to me."

Palaal just nods along. This only seems to annoy Kallamar further, as he grabs hold of his ear to keep his head still.

"You may think yourself special, but you're nothing more than an insolent, insubordinate, opportunistic rat. I'll be sure to remind you of your place!"

"Are we roleplaying again or are you actually mad?"

Kallamar had another torrent of insults ready to go, but Palaal's question throws him for a loop. He makes a choked noise, mind reeling to formulate a new response.

"Ah!" Palaal makes a noise like he suddenly understands something, then lowers his voice to a more seductive tone. "Have you come to reclaim the dignity that I, a lowly commoner, stole?"

Kallamar was at a loss for words. The casual way of regarding him, the blatant vulgarity, the impish glee behind his words. How dare he? Whether his face was flush from anger or embarrassment, Palaal couldn't really tell.

"Or perhaps you're here to give yourself up to me—"

Palaal doesn't get to finish his sentence before he's flung from the bed and into the door. The flimsy latch holding it shut snaps on impact, sending Palaal tumbling into the hallway, knocking down a few of the nosy servants lurking nearby before he hits the opposite wall.

Hurt and confusion are washed over with an emotion Palaal can't quite describe. As a few servants hurry to check on him, the feeling builds and grows until it erupts from him in the form of a bark of laughter.

Must be love.

[officialraylynn]

Cult of the Lamb prompted ficlets

     Four prompt fills from ‘Comfortinghorrors’ and one unprompted; I’m rather proud of them so please enjoy and leave a comment if you liked it <3

“For whom the bell tolls”

Prompt — "Have you ever seen the sky this colour? I wouldn’t worry about it." Jaar was faithful to their new Leader, but sometimes things happened that just weren't right.

“The day that never comes.”

Prompt — "Enemies trapped together and unable to leave" It didn't matter how many times Kallamar killed Lamb, they'd be back. But Kallamar? Lamb only needed to kill him once.

“Master of puppets.”

"Blinded by me, you can't see a thing Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream Master, master" Lamb held their own strings now, The One Who Waits was nothing.

“Moth into flame.”

Prompt — "It’s alright to notice things are not the colours they used to be. Just don’t let it bother you." Lamb was the leader and their followers were sheep- oh, but not Faren. He knew better.

“You should burn.”

Prompt — "Touch the wall you are closest to. Is it warm?" Nothing Lamb does is ever good enough for their flock

[l0stw00d]

I'm currently balancing my cotl hyperfixation with a burgeoning satisfactory hyperfixation and a rapidly approaching minecraft hyperfixation and an unrelated omegaverse hyperfixation also. I'm also ignoring the project I was hyperfixated on a couple weeks ago but I'm my defence that's because I'm flared up and working on it rn is a Bad Idea.

All that is to say I have many many many thoughts and none of them are coherent enough to Do anything with and my body is continuing to betray me. So maybe I'll just play more satisfactory.

[fanaroff]

Cotl: Choiceless

Now with a Comic!

The Lamb could feel their heart beating wildly in their chest. In the silence of the Inbetween, it was loud and almost thundering in their ears. They had a choice. A very important, possibly last choice.

The Red Crown sat cradled in their hands, held close to their chest. It was almost vibrating. With excitement, anxiety, an itch to fight? Lamb didn’t know what, but it was active and waiting.

They felt a heavy frown pull at their face. Arriving in the Inbetween, they’d felt a sense of a happy anticipation. Rejoice for The One Who Waits is to be released from his chains! But now… there was a catch.

They must sacrifice themself for the breaking of their God’s chains. They must return the Red Crown to its original owner.

“Well?” The One Who Waits, Narinder’s, deep voice rumbled talk above the Lamb, sounding almost… impatient. Lamb would be too if they knew their release was moments away.

In the end, Lamb knew what they would choose. It was a choice they would make many times over for their God.

Willing their fearful trembling away (they would be in a better place soon, they must keep faith), Lamb took a deep breath and raised their head to meet the eyes of The One Who Waits. They opened their mouth—

“I su-“

—Their mouth was suddenly, brutally shut with a click as the Red Crown whisked from their hands and slammed atop their own head, nestled between their horns.

No. No, no, nonono that want right! What was it doing!?

That wasn’t their choice!

Terrified, the Lamb looked up at their God only to watch as his mouth turned down into a deep frown then raised in a snarl as his pupils shrunk and absolute anger settled on his face. And hatred.

“Betrayal.”

No.

The Red Crown made the choice and it wasn’t The One Who Waits.

~~~

Small Oneshot for the ficlet I’m planning for my little blorbos.

[cultoftheswag]

I'm in a very vunerable part of my life, and funny enough , this has caused a light paranoid resurgence in my fear of being indoctornated into a cult , somehow , someday. I'm not making this post to talk about personal fears but , in combination with cotl popping off on tumblr recently, i think it's good for everyone active in a fandom space to take a step back and actually briefly educate themselves on the true horrors of what we mainstream define as a "cult" and sometimes critically examine how fandom interprets(or misnterprets) canon depictions of cult hierarchies in game.

No one has to post a clear cut, professional layed out timeline to properly potray how awful their lamb/ocs are. This is also not an indirect attack to anyone who has ever drawn fluff/shipping content (stories are multifacated and dynamic and including "soft" character interactions doesn't mean the significance of story's message is watered down/romanticized. Quite the opposite , variety makes for a more impactful story). It also no one's responsibilty to create graphic horror content . Regardless , if you are going to be using canon material to tell you own story , i think it's important for all of us to remind ourselves that , at the end of the day, this is a cult we are speaking of- a higly totalitarian group that strips people off their humanity and dignity for the personal advantage of one person/group of people.

Cotl as a game is kind of light hearted with a few gap horror elements presented through a satyrical lense so by extension i don't expect people to fully delve into hardcore, realistic potrayals of cult life. I do think though it is important to keep in mind while making headcanons , ficlets,all kinds of transformative content,etc ,if you are going to attempt to delve deeper into worldbuilding , to make sure of potraying , at least partially, that a lot of fucked up things go down in Cult of the lamb, even if you're lamb isn't as evil as they could be in the game. Sermons , strick dress codes, rituals , dancing circles , re-education- all of those things are actual tactics used by real cults/high control groups to indoctornate and take advantage of people. The devs specifically researched about real cults and their workings for inspiration for the game. Under those circumstances the lamb and the bishops will always be inherently abusive people.

[cultofdarkwood]

ughhhh i kinda wanna write tiny lil ficlets for cotl 😭

fuuuck. okay. send me a prompt and some characters in my inbox and ill write like. 500ish words for it. ill do any ship if i like it enough/think it's interesting :3 this includes rarepairs!!

(if you send me a lambship (or a ship w a miniboss) and u wanna see a specific dynamic, include that too and ill do my best :3)

optional prompt masterlists i like to use if u can't think of one: (fluff + romo), (misc + angst)

[alittle-toosilly]

I made a small cotl Narinder ficlet. It's my first one, so let me know if I make any slip ups or mistakes. Please enjoy :)

Summary:Narinder receives a gift. Self doubt is annoying and there's a crap ton of fluff. Idk what else to put here.

(Ficlet under the cut)

Children.

A lot of things were children at some point. Narinder himself was a child. And just like any child, so full of curiosity and wonder about this strange world he was brought into. Questions as well. Children ask an awful lot of questions. Maybe too many.

Why do did that bird fly away from me? Why is the sky blue? Where does the moon go in the daytime? Why are plants green? Why did hurt when I fell? What do clouds look like? Why does my tummy hurt? Why won't you play with me? Why are there black things under your eyes? Why this? Why that? Why? Why?

Why.

Many children ask why. Many adults ask why. Everyone asks questions. It's how we come to know about things, after all. 

Today was a day Narinder asked "Why?" A lot.

It all started midday. Narinder was busy farming, pulling roots from the earth, picking berries off bushes, digging mushrooms out of the ground, only to replant them for the next time. Monotonous cycle, wasn't it? Monotony was very common in mortal day-to-day life. Washing dishes for breakfast tomorrow, washing clothes for next week, washing bones for this month's ritual. (He somehow always ended up with the washing jobs.) Maybe routine would be a better word. Monotonous seems to have too harsh a connotation. He doesn't hate every part of his day, not all of it, no-

"Excuse me, mister?"

Narinder looks up. It's a small child. 7 or 8, maybe? Most likely the child of that deer follower. They do look quite similar, maybe a little too similar.

His face softens. This is a child, a sweet innocent soul.

He cannot be irritatable or standoffish, lest he try to explain why he made a kid cry.

"Yes?" He responds. He hopes he doesn't look too annoyed, his face has a habit of doing that. Not ideal for socializing with children.

The kid fidgets with something behind their back.

"Uhm...I uh...made this. For you."

They bring their arms forward, revealing a crudely made flower crown. It's made of many wildflowers they must've picked from the meadows not too far from this here farm. He can identify a few. Daffodils, orange pansies, bluebells, purple crocuses, and some camellias (That were probably stolen from the farm, he thinks. Camellias don't really grow wild here. And some of these flowers probably aren't in season, either.) All in a repeating pattern of lightest to darkest. Simple, but very pretty.

He tilts his head. The child keeps on nervously rambling while their fingers curl around the crown slightly.

"It's for you, uhm...mommy said yellow and orange make red stand out and your eyes are red and uh-" they stammer, looking away frequently.

He places a hand on the flower crown. They let go of it, staring at him with wide eyes. He holds it in his hand gently, careful not to crush it.

"It's beautiful, thank you." He says, a soft smile on his face.

The kid's eyes light up brighter than the night sky, their smile stretching wider than any road ever built. Pure joy is on their face. Pure joy on anyone's face is a wonderful sight, especially if you are the reason it is there.

"Really!?! I kinda smashed a few, so I dunno-" they exclaim, rambling again

Narinder chuckles "Yes, it is. Even the smashed bits. Tell your mother that she was right about the colors for me, okay?"

The child closes nods and scampers off, shouting for their mother. Narinder sighs and shakes his head, a dumb grin plastered in his face.

"Heh, kids."

He stares at the crown, before putting down his trowel and placing it upon his head. It's a little too large, so it slides down a little too close to his eyes, partially obscuring his vision, not to mention the stems and leaves that stick out and make his face itch. But he can't care less. Somebody, a child, had made this for him for no other reason than to be nice. And he would wear this fantastic gift with honor, no matter how silly he may look. (He in fact, looked very silly.) It is a god's...er...ex-god's duty to accept each offering with grace and respect, especially the homemade ones. It would be cruel and stupid not to do so, wouldn't it?

He goes back to harvesting crops, the grin threatening to stay on his face long overdue. Hell, he might actually cry. Because dammit, wasn't this the sweetest thing he's ever been a part of? A child, a sweet innocent soul decided to give him a homemade gift out of the kindness of their heart. No manipulation, no strings attached, no mockery. Just a simple kind gesture to make his day better. They even felt the need to specify how they didn't mean to smush a few flowers, as if the quality of this fine gift mattered to him. He's seen much worse than a flattened dandelion, but he'll humor this child. He needed that today, this kindness.

But why him? Self doubt and hatred are brutal, more brutal than any type of disease (For him in this moment, at least. Whether or not internal conflict is worse than vomitting or stuffed noses is for the philosophers of the future to discuss.)

Did he even deserve this gift? Even after everything he's done? Thousands of sins committed, Millions slaughtered in his name or because of him, a mother separated from her children to curb his own self-infliceted loneliness. He's done terrible, unforgivable things. He's deplorable. His words have often been pejorative and vile. He attempted to use his vessel for his own gain. This mortal body is a prison, right? Why did he get this gift, then? Why did that child deem him worthy of such an exquisite gift, such a meaningful act of kindness?

Why can't his mind just be silent for once?

He huffs, wipes a small bit of moisture from his eyes, and goes back to his duties. Their mother was right, the yellow and orange make the red in his robes pop, and the blue and purple provides nice contrast.

He claws at the earth for crops once more. 

At least somebody's thought of him.

[sodo-mizerr]

Okay now I might not be a prominent person in the COTL fandom here but...what if I wrote a ficlet where the Goat (who in my op has Shamura as the one who waits) sees Shamura in the Lamb's universe and just

Angst.

I love sadness.