#god verse tbt

[murderreign]

@demonwebs | Cont from here

This wasn't his first time at an event like this, but no matter how many times he attended, he would always feel out of place. Wealthy aristocrats and politics, all things he'd never cared for. No, he wasn't here for any of that.

He eyes those around him, looking for a prize to take back to the temple. His gaze finally falls on long white hair and striking red eyes. Oh this one was gorgeous, he always liked the pale haired ones, the blood always showed up so nice in contrast to white.

He was quick to approach, seeing the elf bat his pretty little lashes at him. That was all the invitation he needed.

"Oh, you were? I suppose I should feel honored. You have the prettiest eyes, you know." He lets the other take his hand, liking this ones boldness as his hand is placed on the others waist. He would take great satisfaction in having a bit of fun with this one first, and maybe he would keep his head afterwards. He had such a pretty face, he could enjoy it for a while longer and he needn't worry about rot so long as he used a little Gentle Repose.

Feeling the other elf press close, he finds himself struggling to keep his demeanor. But no, patience was required here, they were at a party and he owed him a dance first at the very least. As he looked at him more closely, he notes the blood on his lips and he fights the urge to lean forward and lick it off. No, he could wait.

"Whatever you like, my dear." He doesn't want to admit that he was enjoying the reversal of roles at the moment, that it felt like he was the one being seduced instead of what he'd come here to do.

[gravesung-moving]

more chef -> cafe au thoughts because i'm obsessed

suguru found peace in gardening — one of the things he replaced his substance use with, along with working out and getting tattoos/piercings. he has pics in his phone of his first miserable, failed attempts to keep plants alive in his garden but now it's thriving! lots of tomatoes and peppers. he grows sunflowers every year.

nanako is his social media manager. he has his own instagram acct, but it's very private and he doesn't use his name on there because he'd rather the internet not find him

was probably known as "the hot chef" during his heyday kdsjfhdskfjsd he's LUCKY tiktok didn't exist yet

for a while it's just him and the girls at blue spring. he used it to teach them responsibility + the value of their labor. aka instead of getting an allowance, they were paid for helping him out around the cafe

the girls do not know about the fact that he had ortolan on his menu. he does not plan on telling them. he doesn't regret it though (i had to throw in some immorality okay)

has an indoor/outdoor cat. i am taking name suggestions

[mcmorare]

the fact that being in the fog gives katrina a faith crisis is very funny and tragic to me

[prismaiden]

You have to acknowledge evil, or you give it too much power over you.

Once again, their king would find satisfaction. The tides of war have shifted, and for the first time in history, the dragons find themselves retreating. Their dominion over the lands and skies is swiftly drawing to a close; soon, they will be but a memory, and tranquility will reign. No longer will the people tremble as dragons scorch their fields and plunder their riches, nor will they stand helpless as these beasts snatch away their young. This era of terror will conclude with the fall of the last dragon to their blade.

He moved toward her, youthful yet seasoned. Bursting with vitality and possessing an innate talent that could not be learned. It was a gift one either had or lacked. She was a formidable ally, destined to stand by his side and bolster his strength in the heat of battle—a true knight in every sense. He believed that when the moment arrived, their king would recognize her worth as he did and reward her richly for her countless contributions.

“You performed admirably…” Knight Artorias murmured softly. 

The massive sword arced high before descending with a swift, decisive motion, severing the head of the beast, which would now rest in its final place. He had little patience for trophies or trinkets. A dragon was a creature devoid of respect, honor, or any semblance of a code. It had earned this grim fate as he retracted his sword, wielding it with such effortless grace that it seemed no more formidable than a simple dagger, an extension of his very being. He glanced down at her face, noting the crack in her helm, the delicate curve of her cheek, and the streak of crimson marring its surface. “Wear it with pride.” As he exhaled, turning his gaze away, the ground trembled beneath him, sending all living things scurrying in fear.

“They are the dying embers of this realm, yet they will not disperse into the winds so easily. Let us offer them our aid; their time has come to an end.”

Such praise was a rare, radiant gift – to be recognised by one as revered and regaled as Lord Artorias was to be touched by sunlight itself.  Pride unfurled in Anri’s chest, taking her rapid-fire heart in its warm, golden fist.  Yet, as swiftly as the feeling ignited, it flickered, dimming as her gaze fell upon the lifeless dragon’s eyes.  Already drying, already clouding.  Once thought eternal, it now cooled before them, its ancient majesty diminished.

Eradication was necessary, she reminded herself.  Each slayed beast brought them closer to peace – to a world where good, honest folk need not live in the shadow of membranous wings, nor fear the white-hot plumes of their unholy fire.  Anri trusted in the God of Sunlight, in his conquest.  Above all, she trusted in Artorias.

The Abysswalker warred as though guided by a divine hand, each step deliberate, conducted with almost impossible poise and purpose.  In battle, he proved an instrument of death, burning as a star in the blackest night.  No ash, no blood, no filth could dim his brilliance.  Towering over plains of ruin, his greatsword dripping viscera, his presence promised deliverance from darkness.

Yet, beneath his ferocity, there was a quiet gentleness.  Anri had glimpsed it in the way his gaze softened when tending to the injured or the grieving, in the way he protected his comrades – their king – with absolute devotion.  Artorias embodied balance, standing between destruction and hope, between death and the promise of life. 

What did he see in her?  What strength, what weakness?  

Blood from the dragon’s severed head continued to flow in thick, sluggish rivers, but she no longer noticed the copper-tang.  It was simply another moment in a war that had stretched far too long.  Aching fingers found the battered edge of her cracked helm and she pulled it free, glad to be rid of its weight.  

“An age of peace approaches,” Anri murmured, her words hopeful, as though uttering them aloud might weave possibility into reality. A touch of wonder kindled in her as she dared to imagine a future where the skies had been conquered, where the scaled backs of the dragons had been broken. 

Hand tightening around the handle of her sword, she followed in Artorias’ wake, his footfall setting the earth to tremble beneath her boots, stirring the divine ichor within her veins.  While the dying embers of the draconic realm hissed softly at their feet, Anri prayed silently. For victory, for the strength to see it through, for a world that deserved a peace paid for in blood.

[timechange]

It’s probably a good thing Marty doesn’t sleep much anymore; he’s only dozing when his homemade police scanner crackles. 

“We, uh, we got reports of a 10-103 on Kennedy Drive… 1646 Kennedy Drive. Possible 10-64.” 

He feels for the aluminum baseball bat by their bed and closes his fingers around it as he stumbles upright, his foot tangled in the blankets. Beside him, Jennifer stirs. 

“Marty?” she asks. He looks over his shoulder, catching her, all half-lidded eyes and messy bedhead, lit up by the moon. God, she’s beautiful. He can spare a moment to kiss her.

“Somethin’s goin’ down at Doc’s,” he tells her once he pulls away. Immediately alert, she sits up. 

“Do you think it’s—”

“I don’t know,” Marty sighs, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m gonna find out.”

“Copy that. 10-44,” the scanner continues. 

“10-4. 10-76.” 

“Go,” Jennifer urges, “They're on their way. But Marty, be careful.”

“Yeah, you got it.” Marty pats the sides of his pajama pants. “Keys.”

“On the nightstand,” Jennifer reminds him. Marty swipes them, stuffing them in his pocket before sprinting out the door. 

The truck roars to life and he floors it down the abandoned streets of Hill Valley. Though there may not be an actual groove worn in the asphalt— something he’s always kind of surprised by— there’s a map of this road etched somewhere inside him, he thinks. Asleep, awake, it doesn’t matter. He can always find his way back home. 

The young man grabs the walkie talkie on the passenger seat. 

“Jennifer, any updates?” 

“Nothing yet, Marty,” his wife replies. “Can you see anything?” 

“I’m pulling in now.” He puts the truck in park and abruptly cuts the engine, which responds by jerking forward. From the Burger King parking lot lights, he can just make out a figure by the fence surrounding @doctorbrown ‘s garage.

Marty clips the walkie talkie to his waistband and grabs the bat with both hands, holding it high, quietly making his way across to the garage. He has to think of how stupid he must look barefoot and shivering in the cold night air. 

He’s about to call out something to interrupt the almost frantic attempts to pry open the padlock on the fence (thankfully, they hadn’t reached the electronic keypad lock he’d installed on the door yet) when he catches a glimpse of the figure in profile. 

All of a sudden, he’s a kid again.

“…Doc?” 

[ofweave]

the canon post-end for my blog is the professor dekarios route. gale retrieves the crown for mystra in order to get rid of the orb but refuses to become her chosen once more; he continues to be a wizard and thus remains connected to her through the weave—unaware that even if he wanted to he couldn't cut himself off the weave regardless—but any personal relationship between them is lost forever. a part of gale will always love and revere her because he cannot separate the goddess from the weave, but any active worship is a thing of the past. whether he acknowledges and comes to terms with how twisted that whole relationship was in the first place will vary, though.

[clemencetaught]

Psst :3

gossiping from the knight ( behind their back gossip meme w/ @velvetineblue )

Send “Psst” for 10 5 Things My Muse has said About Yours Behind Their Back.

“…I don’t think anyone Quinn considers a lover should be considered good news.”

“Who’s worse, him, or his girlfriend? I can’t quite decide. Yet.”

“It doesn’t matter if the Black Fang wants to change the world. And I don’t care if he has the means to do so- what they’re planning is insane. No one is going come out unscathed, least of all civilians.”

"Sometimes, there's the urge to just...stab him. Lightly. I won't, of course, but it has become an increasingly...tempting idea."

*rubs temples and gives a heavy sigh* “…Where would you suppose I would find the nearest exit?”

[lupaeusarc]

@tornblackedgcs liked for a starter !!

she  eyes  warily   the   outstretched   arms   of   her   companion   -   and   the   board   that   rests   upon   them   ,   glancing   out   at   the   skatepark   as   her   bite   of   granola   bar   slowly   disappears.   ❝   i  think i'm good   ;   my   injuries   heal   quick   ,   but   eating   shit   on   concrete   would   still   hurt   .   .   .   ❞   lashes   flutter   as   a   timid smile   twists   the   corners   of   the beta's   lips   ,   petite   digits   running   through   a   golden   tress as she meets charlie's gaze.   ❝   plus   ,   i'm   kind   of   enjoying   the   view from here   .   .   .   ❞

[diverse-hearts-ocs]

@crownshattered continued from [X]

The clear night air hit her like a comforting blanket, the warmth from having her love so nearby a pleasant change to the chill that usually came with the darker hours, Sabriel smiling lightly as she paused at the edge of the bay. The area here was a little hidden haven, though the remains of a Fatui camp to one side suggested that it perhaps hadn't been that way originally. When Sabriel had found this place, she'd claimed it for herself. Sure, during the day she saw children running around down here, no doubt hiding from their parents, but that was fine. Fatui - not so much.

"Hmm, here. If you stand on this stone and glance through to the right, you can see the sakura tress on the nearby island", Sabriel explained, leading Anne over to the correct spot, "But I've yet to visit the Shrine this year...shall we go together?".

Both of their lives were always so busy, but now that the suggestion had crossed her mind, she wanted to find a way to make their schedules work. Call her a romantic at heart, but visiting the first sakura's of the year with her beloved? Who wouldn't melt at such an image?

[brawlqueen]

[ you've been sulking for an hour. ]

[ no i haven't ! seriously - it's not a big deal. ] [ mm-hmm. after all in terms of your preference for men, they're all - pushy, basic, bros' isn't that what you told boss ? ] [ hey, aiba, i think you have too much memory storage, we should get pewter.] [ i am not as basic as a computer, mizuki!]

" the day's overrated anyway. look, to anyone with a partner, i guess, er, boyfriends today? good for them, aiba. but y'know . . "

" i'm pretty by my own standards, and that's enough to go splurge on carbs for once ! if it hits me it hits me and i don't care how it looks ! besides, i'd totally make a great girlfriend ! i'm supportive, i'm cute, i can bridal carry you in public -- just kidding . . . "

[ you were not kidding! ]

" besides , between being blinded by his mullet and creeping on iris after six years , i know that ota is going to try some crap. i think that'll keep me plenty. busy. "

[ can you please act like a police officer? you sound like a thug . . ]

[beneggolent]

You're their favouritest unit, @heartwilled ( Zelda )!!

Zelda pats little Terrako upon the head, smiling warmly. "I'm so glad you're here with me, you know that?"

     Terrako readily leans into her hand, optic unwaveringly fixed on that smile and shining ever brighter. It doesn't know what it's like to laugh. As it is, it does the next best thing: mimicking the rhythm of Zelda's past giggles — sound-clips securely stored and marked modifier://important in its memory systems — with short, whistling chirps of its own.

     It knows that very well, Zelda! It was a line of code first written years ago, in the quiet wake of a little Hylian slipping into rest, strung together under the soft touch of her tiny hand pressed against their chassis and the concept://warming memory of three words whispered into the night. Addendums have been made to it — tags opened and modifiers attached and new ergos reached — but the primary statement has persisted in their core unchanged since then.

     Terrako sings a trio of swooping notes, high-low-high, and they reach for her hand before she can completely retract it. They catch her index finger in the gentlest grasp they can deliver, holding it in place between the two of them to shake it up and down, up and down. They're concept://glad you're here with them too, Zelda!

[mcmorare]

@infear (felix) sent: "there's no silver line on a fucking disaster."

Disaster seems like an understatement for whatever this is. Stuck in a repetitive hell-realm, being chased by whichever insane, murderous piece of shit the entity has decided to throw at them this time, and now it's just the two of them. Great. Real fucking great. Prima.

Katrina heaves a deep sigh, head falling back to hit the wall they're crouched against. Honestly, there's a part of her that just doesn't really want to make all the effort to do this. Doesn't see the fucking point in any of it. She'll go through the motions, but not for her own sake.

"Do you think if I threw my phone at the generator hard enough it would explode and kill us all?" It's only a half-joke. If it was an option, honestly, it wouldn't be a bad one. Get it over in a quick draw. But Felix might not agree with that strategy. "There's, what, one and a half to go?" She shifts on her feet, still crouched, shaking out her hands. "Oida, sind wir im Teufels Küche." They need to do something, if they're going to do something. Time isn't going by any slower. "Also? Got a plan?"

[crowshoots]

ㅤㅤjesper likes to think themself as easy - going. that's the image they like to project, anyway, and he's found that people don't like it when their company's sour. so he keeps up the good company, the laughs, the grins. that's all they care about, anyway. for all the parties, the events, any socials jesper ends up coming to for their iceskating competitions - people prefer the good - natured. it also means that jesper, on a particular off day, doesn't want to be around anyone. it'd started with a sour spat in the party, jesper shoving back at one of the other competitors, and...

ㅤㅤshe understands why inej likes to go up high, now. it means no one's going to bother them, and the city's a pretty enough sight. all darkness with speckles of light like fireflies, coupled with an easy breeze ghosting across their

ㅤㅤgod. they're a fucking mess. jesper closes their eyes and buries into their knees, their breath catching on a hard, hot exhale.

ㅤㅤthey don't hear jackal approach. really, jesper had no idea how he got up here, if he followed them, if he cared to follow them - but it doesn't matter. they just hear rustling beside them, and then the faint note of jackal's cologne. their shoulders bump, and then their hips, and finally jesper unwinds a little bit, knees slumping down towards the ground. it makes their knees knock, but it doesn't matter, and jackal doesn't move back.

ㅤㅤ" people don't like hanging out with someone who starts a fight during a press event, " jesper murmurs, turning his head away from jackal. he doesn't want him to see his face, the tight look in his eyes. " people'd want you around. you should go. "

ㅤㅤjackal doesn't.

ㅤㅤhe stays. the silence sticks like a heady rot, and jesper hates it. he unfurls a little further, presses himself closer to jackal's shoulder. " how long are you gonna sit here? "

@icarusplunged ( keon. ) said — " all night, if that's what it takes. "

ㅤㅤgod, he doesn't fucking deserve him.

ㅤㅤjackal moves first. he touches jesper's hand in their lap, knuckles bloody and bruised. she lets him, lets him pull her arm gently towards him to examine the damage. it'll have to get tended to before her performance, as jesper doubts anyone wants to see her ugly, split skin while she's moving around on the ice. that is, if she's lucky enough to even perform tomorrow - she wouldn't be surprised if she got removed from the list.

ㅤㅤshe clears her throat. jackal's fingers are distracting, gentle and spindly. " you wanna get out of here? " she asks, finally. " no need to stay all night just to comfort me. it's a shoddy party. "

[dcjimadragcn]

straddles kiryu on his lap as goromi.

“ Hiii ;)”

/ / unprompted.

His heart skipped a beat as he went from relaxed to alert in an instant, sitting up immediately.

To say that Kiryu was expecting Goromi to APPEAR--and STRADDLE HIS LAP even--couldn't have been any farther from the truth. His guard had been lowered because he was seated in familiar, even comfortable, surroundings, and that was the only reason he was in the situation he was in right now, period.

However, there was two men battling within him:

the better man, that was ready to stand up and push Goromi-chan off him--gently, of course because she was a lady--

and the weak man, who actually wanted to ... sit a while, let Goromi-chan do as she pleased because they'd had a nice time when he'd visited the club--

and yet, he knew that if he touched her, this could go from bad to worse in milliseconds, but distance was needed. NOW.

The worst man had yet to make his appearance within Kiryu, and it seriously, seriously had to stay that way.

Large, calloused hands were quick to grab hold of Goromi's thighs--no, hips--no, shoulders--no, HIPS GODDAMNIT--and pushed her back because like HELL was anything going to awaken.

Sadly, his brain was running on sheer embarrassment--and his ears were positively CHERRY RED--

TOO MUCH CLOSENESS--

"G - Goromi-chan, this--this is very forward of you," Kiryu was quick to say, turning his head off to the side. "H--haven't seen you in a while, so maybe ... you've been seeing other men?"

Would it throw her off? Maybe.

God, Kiryu hoped so.

She was just--TOO FUCKING CLOSE.

[talentforlying]

❝  don’t  try  to  be  cute.  i’m  still  not  going  to  trust  you.  ❞ / from roman! in one of his verses if that makes more sense? vampire, werewolf, magnus archives? dealer's choice

' awh, you think i'm cute? that's so sweet. i'm gonna vom. '

that's a cheshire cat grin right there, all sparkling and wide-eyed innocent, head tilting to the side in a way he's always been told is considered rakish. ( whatever that means. ) it's really more utterly, annoyingly theatrical than anything else. he doesn't honestly care if roman trusts him or not, anyway — just needs him to fall in line with the plan he's been cooking up to divest the roys of a few handy little secrets. something to cut his teeth on, so to speak.

besides, he's not fucking cute. he doesn't do cute. don't need to be under the sodding Eye to see that.

so he'll just work on ruining that impression by reaching over to ruffle roman's hair and making kissy sounds. ' keep tellin' yerself that, oul' son, but i reckon i'll grow on you! like fungus that way. 'sides, you don't need to trust me, y'just gotta do what i ask, yeah? nice and easy. '

@ohsunshine / i went with the magnus archives if that works!!

[ghostwhisperer]

melinda had always wanted a family.

jim had been the first to bring it up in the casual way they shared their love, gentle and sweet.     ‘ how many rooms should we put in the house? ‘     he’d asked a few months into their engagement, and melinda had said,    ❛❛ well, we need an office, don’t you think? ❜❜     she danced with his baby niece on a lazy sunday afternoon in the kitchen when he said,     ‘ you’re gonna make a great mom someday, ‘     and melinda, grinning with all her teeth, had kissed his cheek and replied,     ❛❛ i probably make a better aunt. ❜❜

and that was the game they played. he’d roll the ball into her court as gently as he’d hold her, and she, ever-stubborn, would always push it back, afraid of what that future could mean. as much as her mother tried to pretend, the truth was always there: her family’s gift had stretched three generations now, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to make it four— even if she did coo at every baby that passed her by, or lay in bed and dream of how amazing a father jim would be. 

but now…

now, jim was gone, and there was no room for dreaming anymore. suddenly, what she’d always wanted to say but never got to stretched to all the corners of the house, through the doorway he carried her through that first night— his clothes in the hamper— a glass of water, untouched, on his side of the bed. and yes, melinda knows in a way only she can that he’s not really gone. jim was just on the other side of the window, his fingertips tracing the silhouette of her hair, his lips at the corner of her own, waiting until he could reach past the pane and pull her into his arms again. but the light doesn’t bring her much comfort now. it doesn’t bring back the chapters that were ripped so unceremoniously out of her life, or the family that should’ve filled the pages full 'til the epilogue. she sat in that quiet, empty house all alone, in a bed twice as big as her, and made the only decision that made sense in a long time:

family would have to mean something else.

olivia’s last foster mom was in a hurry to usher her out. melinda stood and ignored the laughter of a full house just past the door, shaky hands balled into the pockets of her coat. she was nervous in a way she didn’t expect when she’d first spoken to the social worker, but then again, she supposed there was a difference between words and action. she smiled down at the girl and said—

❛❛ hey, livvy. i’m melinda. it’s nice to finally meet you. ❜❜

she thought of her grandma as they stood face-to-face, the car running behind her, ready to pick up a girl she’d only known from a distance. the first thing she noticed was how small she was— smaller than the pictures made her seem— and the fragility of it sent her heart into her throat. to make matters worse, though the crisp autumn air bit at her own nose, livvy wasn’t wearing a jacket. who let her out without one? melinda went to ask, but the only other adult had disappeared back into the house again, front door ajar so the light of the living room spilled out onto the driveway.

in the brief silence between them, they shared a moment.

livvy looked up at her with a gaze too old for her age, and melinda nearly flinched. it was a look she recognized, not just then but from her own childhood, too, the hollowness of her eyes too big for her tiny body. when mary ann had come eleven years too late and whisked melinda from the only hell she’d ever known, did they share this same glance? did her grandma worry she wouldn’t be enough, too?

the moment was gone as quick as it came. the woman returned, interrupting to drop a trash bag at her feet, and, with a mix of both horror and anger, melinda realized that was all the girl had.

❛❛ don’t do that. ❜❜     she’d snapped, and could’ve screamed at the confusion the other wore.

‘ sorry? '

❛❛ treating her stuff like it’s garbage. how do you think that makes a kid feel? ❜❜

her irritation eats at her the whole car ride back. olivia ( livvy, she rehearses in her head ) knows so little about her, and melinda perhaps too much. what kind of anger has she seen that the social workers hadn’t? is she afraid of her already? can melinda make the empty house a home for her, even though it’s hardly one for herself? 

she tries to push back her anxiety with each turn of the wheel, chattering now and then to fill the space between them; she even does her best to ignore a spirit staring at them from the side of the road, thumb up for a ride to gods-knows-where. it’s still not enough.

❛❛ okay, so… ❜❜     melinda begins after they’ve brought @pyreshe's things upstairs, pacing around the girl’s newly-decorated room ( frilly comforter and all ),     ❛❛ we’ve got nightlights, and, uh— some books. i know the bedset’s a little much, but i figured after you get settled, maybe we could have a girl’s trip, just you and me. oh! and— where is it— ❜❜     she remembers what she’s looking for even before she’s finished talking. turning over her shoulder towards the nightstand, she opens a drawer to pull out a whiteboard, shiny and new. a clean slate.     ❛❛ ta-da! ❜❜

melinda’s not expecting an answer, and knows there doesn’t have to be. she remembers the years she crawled into the jaws of her own heart, tucked behind the teeth she’d been taught to bear. she meets the silence with softness, kneeling down slowly so her gaze can meet livvy’s— so she can coax the girl out of the wolf’s mouth.

❛❛ i’m sure this is all a little scary, ❜❜     she says, and cringes slightly at how much of an understatement that must be,     ❛❛ if it makes you feel better, i’m a little scared, too. you know more about this than i do. but… ❜❜     she pulls out a marker from the pack in her hand, holding the whiteboard out to her.     ❛❛ maybe we can be scared together? ❜❜

STARTER CALL: ♡.