#death pronouncement

[whatithinkaboutdarkshadows]

Episode 672: And it was my mother's voice

Today, everyone has the memory of a goldfish. Heiress Carolyn receives a telepathic message from her mother, the apparently-dead Liz, urging her to go home to the great house of Collinwood and stay inside in order to escape a terrible danger. A few minutes later, she has apparently forgotten the content of this message, as she goes back outside to check on Liz in her coffin. During her brief…

[zarnzarn]

lamb who kills the one who waits when the time comes to decide, furious and betrayed at being asked to lay down their life after everything they'd done, after-

they kill him, and don't stop to see what happens to the body, carried away by their celebrating followers. They rejoice the whole day, of a final victory against evil, riling each other up to the heights of joy and mania until late in the night.

And then Lamb goes to bed and blows out the lamp and the their decision finally sinks in.

what have they done.

they wake the next day trembling from forgotten nightmares, overheating as they make their way through the day's chores, blank-faced and numb. the call to sermon is waved off in face of a headache, as they try not to think about how much of what they preach no longer is relevant.

the week passes in a haze- they unthinkingly leave offerings in the wooden chest until they rot in the summer noon; call out the rituals in Narinder's language and pretend the power isn't fainter than usual, go on a crusade to get their mind off things- except the last is the worst of it all, because the crown's eye is pale pink, pupil fat with power, instead of the crimson cat-eye that Lamb is used to, and there's no getting away from the fact on how silent it is when no one is watching behind it.

how silent it is because no one is there.

yet somehow worse still is-

"hope you feel better soon, leader!" a younger follower says, tucking a camelia into their wool. they know they've been distant lately, avoiding worries left right and centre. "praise the one! he'll make everything alright."

it's like a hammer to the chest, leaving them breathless and stunned, to realise- they never commissioned a statue of Narinder, after all these years. so stubborn in only leaving the crimson eye scratched around the cult grounds as his symbol until he found an artist worthy of Lamb sharing the image of the god of death, that-

no one else except the lamb knew what narinder looked like. they had no idea whose defeat they'd celebrated.

no one but Lamb remembers their god.

..

it gets harder after that.

Lamb isn't sure how many people have left the cult by the time the Mystic Seller's demand comes through, to save what's left of the Bishops from endless purgatory, before their violent shadows disrupted the fabric of the four realms.

They stare, speechless and disbelieving, at the outrageous ask, before it suddenly sinks in that-

The bishops.

The bishops.

They run through the lands once more with eagerness, sword slashing harder each time, ruthless and relentless in their kills. They reconquer Leshy and Heket brutally, curtly setting out the terms when they are diminished back to mortal and forced to stay in the cult. They agree, and agree to keeping their peace as well when Kallamar and Shamura join them, surrounded by a cult that's flourishing once more, waiting eagerly for a familiar stranger. Lamb tells stories around the fire about The One Who Waits, watches the smiles on their followers' faces reappear, the ones who had fled their anger and depression slowly making their way back to the flock, and the cult grows back to its full potential once more.

And then Lamb runs up the stairs when it's all ready and beautiful and welcoming, beams at the Seller as they wait for their instructions.

The Seller frowns. "Yes?"

Lamb tilts their head, rusted bell on their neck tinkling. It had broken the day after Narinder's defeat, the collar finally fluttering to the ground in tatters like a cloth of eighty years should; but Lamb had repaired and maintained and polished it until it wrapped proud around their neck once again. Their heart is beating in their chest, excitement running through their veins. They'd forgotten how it felt to be on the cusp of going to meet the One Who Waits.

"The last bishop still remains," They laugh, joy spreading through them. "I have to go get him too, yes? For the good of the universe and all."

The Mystic Seller... is silent.

"Narinder was not a Bishop," It says finally. Lamb's smile drops. "The Three-Eyed Cat had completed his ascension when he mastered the resurrection ritual. He was a God."

Lamb's heart drops to their stomach, stumbling like they've taken a hit. "What? So what? Can't I bring him back?"

The Mystic Seller tilts their head. "No."

"What do you mean no?" Lamb's nostrils flare, red crown sparking as they take a step closer. "I brought all those others back, why can't I-"

"They were the pillars of the very order of the world-"

"They were fucking MONSTERS!" Lamb shouts. "And what, death isn't?"

"It is," The Seller says, unaffected by the screaming. "But you are the Bishop of Death now. The cycle has begun again."

Lamb feels like they've taken an arrow to the chest. They stumble forward, and then to their knees. "No," they whimper. "There has- has to be some way to bring him back."

The Mystic Seller stares at them. "You were the one to kill him," They point out, and Lamb feels bile rise in their mouth as their breathing gets faster. "Why would you want him back? A thriving cult, an usurped crown, his spells in your hand-"

"Shut up," Lamb hisses.

"-you have all the power you could ever want, little sheep. Your revenge against the murder of your people."

"He wasn't the one to do it!" They shout up at the Seller, despite the hypocrisy- it had been part of their thoughts when they'd raised the axe again and again and again; the resentment of if it wasn't for you-

"No, no, no, no, no," They whimper, holding onto their biceps and shaking. "Narinder."

It is the first time they have said his name in five years. That realization is what makes the tears finally fall.

Their throat is hoarse when they finish, eyes swollen and blood pooled around them, skin already healing back to perfection where they had clawed through. The Mystic Seller stares at them and sways, silent.

"No," The Lamb finally says, and gets up, determined. Walks past the Seller, to the door behind, leading to the Gateway.

They wonder how they never realized. Or maybe they did, and were just lying to themselves that they didn't.

Lamb reaches the crater, with the rusted chains and wooden crucifixes rising out from the fog around it and comes to a halt.

Narinder is exactly where they left him.

Bones only now. Blackened by all the rituals he performed, he'd told them once; perfectly placed, like he had just fallen.

Lamb still has the ointment they made with their first cult sitting in the back of their cupboard, back when they were naive enough to think it would only take months. Ointment spelled to help grow back the fur on his rotting arms, worn to nothing by a thousand years of pulling at the chains and them tightening on him every time he moved in response.

The skull could be anyone's, now.

Two ribs are broken, where Lamb's axe went through. Straight to the heart.

Lamb exhales and shakily kneels to the ground, lowering himself to Narinder's side, careful to not dislodge a single bone out of place, and molds their body around the skeleton in a perverse mockery of a lover's embrace. Violently, abruptly, they want that, so much it burns- Narinder's arms holding the close one last time. It feels unbearable, to have- to have him lowered to meet Lamb at his level, to have him attainable instead of a towering, unreachable, terrible eldritch horror, and for him to be dead.

Oh, Lamb thinks, shaking as tears form in their eyes. Oh, I loved you. I love you.

"Darling," They choke out, tracing one cheekbone. "My baby. My one. My death. Come back, will you?"

Narinder opens his eyes and shoots them an unimpressed look. Lamb sobs, shoulders heaving, gasping as claws embed themselves in their throat- whole, complete, strong, paw soft as a cloud, faint markings on the fur Lamb never knew he had now drenched with blood.

They laugh, smiling through the tears as they push forward into the claws, flesh ripping and tearing as they push their mouth closer to Narinder's.

"I am sorry," They whisper. Narinder growls. "i love you."

"Traitor-"

"Fuck the crown," Lamb breathes back, moving to straddle Narinder to interrupt him, keeping the weight on their own knees to not damage his healing ribs. His claws are still in their throat, tangled in their stitches. "Fuck the power. Fuck the cult. Fuck religion. I only ever wanted you."

Narinder stills, looking up at them with sharp eyes. Lamb laughs around his beloved's fingers. "I only ever want you. What is life without you, Antim?"

Narinder studies them. Lamb waits, bloodied and grinning, patiently waiting, smitten to have those beautiful trifecta eyes upon them once more.

"I promised you," They whisper. "I promised to break you out of here. Let me, my one. My only one, who has waited so long."

Narinder takes a breath, tilting his chin down and then up. His claws twitch in Lamb's vocal chords, drawing them down closer to him.

Lamb whoops in joy and reaches up to toss the crown to the side, fitting their hooves to the last chain wrapped around Narinder's neck, binding him still to the Gateway, and splinters it into a thousand pieces, never to hold anyone ever again.

"Come," The Lamb whispers finally, moving back and gathering their lover up in their arms, still pressing their mouths together. "Let me take you home, Narinder. Mere jaan. Meri mrityu. My one."

Narinder sighs and buries his face in the crook of Lamb's neck as they start to walk away. "Turn back around, idiot. We cannot leave without the damned crown. And I am picking out the wedding decorations."

"Of course, my love," Lamb coos, and leans in again to kiss their greatest mistake.

[inorheona]

a tarot for fun

[teamcapwasrightandishouldsayit]

a fun fact about skyrim is that every npc pronounces miraak differently. and you may think that's not that interesting, but almost everyone who talks about miraak does so in response to the player asking them "have you heard of miraak?" OUT LOUD, which to me implies the dragonborn has no idea how to pronounce miraak and changes it depending on the person they're talking to

[rubixcuby]

I know I know this movie came out 15 years ago but I still have friends who haven’t watched it so I’m being courteous

Sorry her death was visually stunning🩵💕🤘😔

(Not Kiri btw, this is my oc, Ruth :3c)

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

QUICK PSA!! It can be pacon and it can be pecan, but if I ever hear a PEA-CAN It is on SIGHT

[thebramblewood]

Apologies for ruining your weekend.

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It's not necessary, but if you want to learn more about the events Grace is describing (particularly the spellcaster who sacrificed herself), it originated in another story you can read here (chrono link for desktop only). I'm sure there are some inconsistencies because I had no idea I'd be doing more with it and my storytelling was more casual and gameplay-oriented then, but it might help fill in some gaps.

[rapid knocking at the door]

Caleb: …Morgyn? 

Grace: Caleb-

Caleb: Why are you in your nightgown? Are you crying?

Grace: Caleb, I-

Caleb: Where’s Morgyn? Council meetings never go this late.

Grace: [sniffling] Oh, Caleb… The Sages, they’re… they’re…

Caleb: What happened?

Grace: [strangely detached] I’d already gone home. Almost everyone had. There was an… attack. No one saw it coming. Dark magic… ancient spells… malicious… forbidden. How did he even find them?

Caleb: [impatiently] Grace, you’re not making any sense.

Grace: [distantly] The Realm is secured. Someone stopped him before he could tamper with the portals. A teacher, I think, from the children’s school. She sacrificed herself to drain his power.

Caleb: I don’t care about the goddamn Realm! What about Morgyn?

Grace: [sobbing] I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry. They were ambushed. They had no chance to defend themselves. Faba, Simeon, Morgyn… The entire Council is… dead. Oh my god. Caleb, are you okay?

Caleb: Stay back!

Grace: But-Caleb: I mean it! You’re not safe around me like this. Go home, Grace! Now.

[electricea]

where's 4kids when you need them

[princessuncertain]

I think I should get to rename all the DN ships. Moonriver and Mellodramattic can stay, plus maybe Nearyu and Remisa, but everything else has gotta go

[silentgrim]

peek-a-boo!

[starrynyx]

[whatithinkaboutdarkshadows]

Episode 667: The idea of leaving Collinwood

Time-traveling fussbudget Barnabas Collins has completed the task he set for himself when he went to the year 1796, and has to find a way to return to 1969. He decides to deliberately subject himself to the process by which he was originally transferred from the 1790s to the 1960s. He is, at the moment, a vampire. He orders his servant Ben to chain him in a coffin hidden in the secret room in the…

[genderlessjacky]

ITS UNDERSTANDABLE HOW EVERYONE IS GOING FERAL OVER ED AND STEDE BUT CAN WE FOCUS ON OLU AND JIM'S FRIENDSHIP FOR A SEC HERE???

LIKE WHEN THEY TELL OLU THEY KISSED SOMEONE ON THE REVENGE HIS RESPONSE WAS "oh :(" LIKE SO ANGRY RANTING OR ANYTHING

AND AFTER THAT THEY TELL HIM LIKE "you're the best friend i tell things to" AND OFC HE LOOKS A BIT SAD BUT HE LOOKS STILL A BIT HAPPY THAT THEY R STILL FRIENDS AND EVEN DEFUSES THE TENSION WITH A JOKE TO BE SUPPORTIVE

HE EVEN ASKS LIKE "is it archie? shes cute" AND WHEN THEY SAY YES HE LOOKS SO SUPPORTIVE AND HIS REACTION TO THEM SEEING HER BOOBS WERE SO FUNNY I HAD TO INCLUDE IT LIKE "oh? okay nice" AND ALSO THE "alright thats enough i dont need to hear any more" IT WAS LIKE IN A SILLY HAHA TONE NOT IN AN ANGRY TONE AND I LOVE THAT

THEY LOOKED SO HAPPY THAT HE WAS SO SUPPORTIVE BC LIKE HE HAD BEEN IN LOVE WITH THEM FOR YEARS BUT HE WASNT ANGRY JUST LIKE "sigh oh well i guess im not the one" AND THEY STAYED BESTIES THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME . BE MORE LIKE OLUWANDE BOODHARI YALL also I'm so glad this isn't a love triangle situation bless David Jenkins

[alvie-pines]

hm. even before mabel died,

dipper has worn black in mourning.

[fagtron2000]

Who wants to ask me about him

So nice you see him twice

[brown-little-robin]

(vibrating in excitement) where's that picture of war as a beautiful woman!!! I have hunter x hunter analysis to go with that picture of war as a seductive prostitute!!! I have!! screenshots!!