#gods!au

[galaxymacbeth]

Gods of War

mm. what if, hear me out, the 141 were gods. and obviously, gods of war. and what if, hear me out, people try to give them a sacrifice?

cw: some gore, violence, kyle might be unhinged

Her pleads were drowned by chanting. Hands grabbed at her body, free from her dress since the morning when she had been dragged from her bed.

Her mother cried, hunched over the strong arm of her father as they watched her fight against the hands of the village elders’ sons. They knew it was coming, had been warned two nights prior that she had been chosen by the gods. The Gods. Her mother wailed but her father only tightened his grip as she plead for her life.

The dirt was wet, almost mud, and caked her legs, feet, and arms. Every time she slipped from one man’s grip, another would tackle her to the ground then hoist her into the air. Her screams echoed through the village, drawing out the folk so they could watch.

She had no idea when her dress had been torn from her, only that it was freezing and anyone within reach was touching any part of her they could. Some whispered words of prayer at her. As if the gods hadn’t spoken for her life.

Rope wound around her wrists and she begged. The man in front of her, the son of Elder Torsten, kept his eyes anywhere but on hers. His hair was caked in mud, having just tackled her to the ground, and his hands were bloody. Had she done that?

As the rope tightened, she pulled at it, causing him to step forward. She pleaded again, but he never lifted his eyes from her wrists.

She remembered him. They had been friends in their youth, exploring the woods around the village with the other children. She recalled the first time he kissed another boy and had hidden in her house for a week after his father found out.

A sharp command came from behind him, Tage she finally remembered, and he was ripped away so she could stare up at the son of Elder Asmo. The oldest elder. The one who’s word was final. Jarmo was his name.

His face was twisted in a sick grin and his hands gripped her biceps.

“Are you ready to die for your village?”

The other elders’ sons stepped away to reveal their fathers. All of them wore a look of pity, shame at having condemned her to death by proxy. All but Asmo. His face was hard and he had no pity for her. He had sacrificed his own daughter ten years ago to the same gods and never flinched as she screamed over the flames. They had survived the battle by the skin of their teeth. And the blood of their sons.

“You have been chosen,” Asmo boomed, “you will save your people, child.”

Her mother screamed again but it was shuddered by a hand over her mouth.

“We,” Asmo turned to face the gathered village, “are at war. Lost many sons, fathers, brothers,” he threw his arms out and spun slowly, “but we have heard the gods’ will.”

A young girl stepped forward, her face pinched and her mouth open. An older woman put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back with a shake of her head.

“The gods need a tribute.” Asmo’s arms dropped to his side as he turned to look at her. Quieter, just to her, he spoke, “you are their tribute.”

“Please,” she whispered, tears leaving clean paths of skin down her cheeks, “please, don’t.”

“It is not my choice, child,” his hand cupped her cheek, rubbing at the tears and smearing dirt across the skin again. His skin was rough, calloused and gross. She could see the glimmer of joy in his eyes. “The gods have decreed it.”

His voice boomed again, spooking her and earning a grunt from the elders and their sons.

Tage and Jarmo stepped forward again. Tage still never looked up at her. They took her arms and forced her to walk. Rocks cut into her feet, blood dripping onto the dirt as she stumbled to keep up with them. Forward motion kept her from digging her heels into the dirt to stop them.

Other elders’ sons were laying kindling delicately on the pyre she would burn on. One who was the youngest of the sons, Svend, glanced up at her. His eyes lingered on her breasts before flicking to her bare cunt. He was too young to have laid with one of the village girls. How lucky for him to get to leer at her as she was led to her death.

Jarmo hissed at him as he lingered too long and Svend scurried back to lay more kindling down.

She recalled that Jarmo had lead his own sister to the pyre ten years ago. Said nothing as she had her forearms cut to the bone and the fire was lit under her. Watched as she burned. Listened while she screamed.

The icy winds shifted. Kindling flew off the pyre and brushed against her legs. It comforted her.

Svend rushed after it, tripping over his own feet as he struggled to catch the bundle.

A sharp gasp came from the gathered villagers. Tage and Jarmo froze and she stumbled forward, out of their grasp. Her bound hands offered her no help as she fell to the ground.

“Wot’s this?”

Her head snapped up and the breath left her lungs.

Standing atop the pyre, one hand resting almost playfully on the hilt of a broadsword and the other leaning a forearm against the stake she was to be tied to, stood a man.

His chest was bare, though covered in scars and intricate tattoos. Low on his hips was a tartan kilt, something like the Northern men would wear. It was bright; orange red and blue mixing together to mimic the fire she was to burn in. At his hip hung a broadsword, hilt covered with a gilded cage.

Her eyes had barely made it to his face when he spoke again.

“Ahm no’ speakin’ another language, aye?”

She shook her head and took in the final pieces of his features. A proud stripe of hair centered his head, though it didn’t appear that he’d maintained it in a long while. His eyes reminded her of the sky right before a storm rolled in; dark but vibrant with the possibility of destruction. On his lips was a lopsided, dark grin and she could recognize her god when she saw him.

“Then wot is this?”

Casting a look around her, every head was bowed but hers. Even Asmo had collapsed to his knees and buried his face in the dirt.

“Looks like a tribute.”

Her head whipped to the left.

Atop a thatched roof stood another man. What little skin she could see was dark and his eyes were trained on Asmo. He wore leather plated armour and a hammer at each hip. From the distance, she couldn’t make out any of the details on the weapons or armour. But she could recognize her god when she saw him.

“Nah,” the Northern man shook his head, “tributes a’ taken on the battlefield. No’ at home.”

“Dunno, Soap,” her eyes snapped back to the rogue, “looks like one to me.”

A quiet hum came from behind her, but she dared not turn away from the two gods in front of her.

“Somethin’ tae say, elder?”

“F—for you, great warriors,” Asmo’s voice shook when he spoke but the intent was clear.

“I remember this place,” the rogue was suddenly beside her despite her never blinking, “more disgusting than last time I was here.”

The rogue crouched down to her, “well, most of it.”

“Oi, focus,” Soap snapped from atop the pyre. The rogue smirked, shooting the look to Soap, before standing back up.

“Tributes are warriors,” a new voice shook the earth as it rumbled, “they die in battle.”

Beside Soap stood a berserker. He was clad in a wolf skin, his shoulders almost too big to be covered by the flattened legs. A set of steel pauldrons capped his shoulders and leather crossed his chest to keep them in place. Some of his chest was bared and scarred as Soap’s was. On his back hung a shield with a greatsword at his side, a red gem resting in the hilt. His face was obscured. Though the wolf pelt hung on top of his head, a human skull was pressed to his face. She could make out the scar that ran from his neck, through his lips, and into the skull.

“And yet, I see no war.”

A hand brushed against her back and she let out a cry.

“I mean you no harm, little one,” he said.

The final man stepped around her and yanked a dagger from his side. One stroke had the ropes falling to shreds and he offered her his free hand.

He looked like a knight. Armour thick and clinking with each shift of his body and the wind. It was silver with delicate gold filigree carved into it. The armour reminded her of the king’s guard, though the current king favoured red and black and no one had seen a silver and gold knight for over three hundred years. For there was only one.

A pelt was draped over her frame as she took his hand and was guided to her feet. The rogue had removed his gloves and was tightening the pelt around her shoulders.

“Did we not make ourselves clear ten years ago?” The knight sheathed his dagger and the scabbard vanished into thin air. “Did the graves filled with the bodies of fresh men not heed you? Are you simply,” the knight stomped to Asmo’s form and pulled him to his feet by his hair, ���stupid?” The elder screamed but the noise was cut short.

“Do you think you know better than the gods?”

“N—no! No, great warrior!” Asmo’s hands grabbed at his scalp and the knight’s armoured hand. The knight merely slapped them away and dropped the elder to the ground.

“Are you alright, dove?” The rogue pulled the hood of the pelt, a cat of some kind from the snout that fell over her head, up and smoothed the skin over her shoulders.

She nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady in his presence. In any of their presence.

“I remember you,” the knight scoffed, “I remember the cries of your wife. The look on your face. Do you remember what happened after the girl died?”

“Y-yes, sir, yes, great warri—” the berserker backhanded him to the ground again.

“What’d we tell ya?”

Asmo cowered under the skull’s hollow eyes, “it must be—”

“Battle.” The berserker stabbed his sword into the ground. Straight through Asmo’s thigh. “We don’t take innocent souls.”

“She...she fought,” Asmo cried, “she bloodied them!”

“An’ tha’ makes her a warrior?” Soap stabbed his sword through Asmo’s bicep. “Fought a battle, she did, but nae the kind like us.”

The rogue bundled the pelt around her tighter, almost as if he was trying to stop himself from leaving her side. Up close, she could see the iridescent filigree in his leather and the shimmering of the onyx hammers at his sides. They twinkled with power and she reached for his hand.

Gaz’s head snapped to look at her. His deep, brown eyes froze her entire body.

“Don’t tell me you feel pity for him,” he whispered, “don’t show him mercy.”

Her hand loosened in his grip and the hammers glitched blue.

A sharp, instant scream tore through the silence and the rogue pressed a wet hand to her cheek. Blood covered his armour, skin, and face. His hammers dripped with it.

Asmo lie, what little was left of him, on the dirt. Blood spilled from his neck into the crater where his head once was. Brain matter splattered over those close enough to watch the savagery and the rogue brushed some away before it fell onto her hand.

“Gaz.” The knight bellowed, but cut himself off before he’d begun.

“A sacrifice has been taken. See to your wounded,” the knight commanded, “we will be taking what is ours.”

She could not even find it in herself to fear the words he said.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[lorethebookworm]

Instead of sleeping yesterday my mind came up with a really silly Aftg au

Imagine everything is the same but Allison is either Aphrodite in disguise (why? And why would she come to earth to end up with the foxes of all people? Playing exy???) ( Listen I never said this would make sense just let me explain) or she is a descendant of Aphrodite in some way and therefore she can feel when people are in love. SO I'm just picturing Allison being constantly hit by the unbelievable strength of Andreil's feelings for one another. I don't know you guys this made sense last night , just the idea of Allison loving love but at some point she starts to struggle because Andrew and Neil really can't get a grip, they are so gone for each other that if Allison is in the same room as them she can't really concentrate on anything and it's getting annoying. Also she's pissed because those two little fuckers manage to look completely normal and unaffected while she's fighting for her life trying to concentrate on anything but them.

( OMG IMAGINE IF IT WAS AARON

now I'm thinking about Aaron getting cursed ( maybe by Allison??) for one reason or another to feel his brother feelings for one day and everything is going good and Andrew is being chill and unaffected until NEIL shows up and Aaron feels like his heart is actively trying to get out of his ribcage to be with him

Aaron *completely baffled by this experience*: is this what you feel everytime??

Andrew: feel? I'm sorry brother dearest but what are you talking about? I've never felt anything in my life , my chest is a void where no such thing as these ~feelings~ you're talking about can thrive

Aaron with his heart POUNDING becase Neil just smiled at Andrew: OH SO YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT GOOD TO KNOW)

( I don't know how I went from Allison being Aphrodite to Aaron learning that his brother is not only human but also a pathetic lovesick loser but that's how it is sometimes)

[autumnhuesarchive]

au that i came up with out of nowhere (ft unfinished art that corrupted :') )

alfred is the god of the sun and matthew is the god of the moon, and they got imprisoned by greedy people on earth who wanted to keep their gifts they bestowed on the earth once a year

they remain on earth for hundreds of years, bound to their respective temples, wishing to return to the heavens...

[crazycometspecular]

Monster Falls,,, save me Monster Falls

[trekkerac]

Ford "Icarus didn't flap hard enough" Pines

[xamitras]

For many of years I had this tradition of drawing Wirt and the beast once a year to see how much I have improved, then depression hit in 2023 and couldn't continue, but it left so really amazing art in the process

[sabertoothwalrus]

accidentally drew tallmen au again

[fisheebonez]

NON-SANS CHARACTERS AS SANS AUs / ATs !!

enjoy the feast ;P

[saiiibaki]

fast sketch for manwhore au by @anniflamma because it’s hilarious

[galaxymacbeth]

writing lore for gods of war and finding out that i am wildly inconsistent with word count on these men. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

why's price get 400 words but ghost gets 1200? wish I knew.

[kyoukorpse]

yeahhhh so chirin's first death wasnt even violent or dramatic they just had an anxiety induced loss of appetite and once the adrenaline from their crusade and fight against leshy wore off they starved to death lmao.

bonus:

[makotaberrie]

language barrier au of sorts

inspired by the tweets below, although i forgot the prompt and i lost steam halfway but i blame it on it being 5am

Next Post

[demaparbat-hp]

The Perfect Prince

[proxycrit]

Day 38– East Gerudo Chasm

“…You. I know you. You’re that zoran healer’s apprentice.”

(I known you. You healed my hands. I still wear ferns in my hair, because of you.)

Excerpt from Tauro’s Journal- “The Gerudo Kingdom, shattered under vicious attacks from the Malice infected, became a vassal state of the Hylian Kingdom around 20 BSE. Records have dissenting voices during that time— many argue that the Hylians took advantage of the chaos to enforce their policies upon the other races; more argued that vassaldom is a small price to pay for medical and monetary support, mandatory draft or taxation be damned. Either way, one thing remains clear: The Zonai were the first to fall to the Malice, but they were not the last. The Era of Alchemy is drawing to a close.

Interestingly enough, Sheikah records during this era did not explicitly mention Calamity Ganon until 100 SE. This implies Calamity Ganon the entity is not a direct correlation to the Malice infected.”

*BSE— Before Skyloft Era, SE— Skyloft Era

**Lifting of Skyloft 0 BSE, one of the few concrete dates available. See Ring Ruins and Tauro’s notes for more information.

(we’ve officially entered au territory! I mean, we already have with Familiar Familiar’s premise being a self indulgent totk au where zelda didn’t get whisked back in time, but now I’m going after the lore too. You’re welcome.)

((Wanna support me? Check out my patreon, with my throw away sketches and references! Remember to use web or android folks, apple charges 30 percent tax.))

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next chapter

that concludes chapter 3! see you in chapter 4, Speak of the Devil!

[redsray]

my favourite part of the Wayne Kids being, you know, the Waynes, and popular celebrities is the fact that these are teenagers and young adults who are given ... celebrity powers. and i know they're stupidly petty with them. every time you log onto twitter you'd see 3 of them engaged in a sibling argument, completely uncaring that it's being broadcasted to thousands of people

Dick, tweeting: Tim stole my sandwich today, hey siri how do i un-adopt a sibling?

Tim: ??? I didn't steal your sandwich??

Dick: Then who did??? It was there this morning and you were the only one in the manor the entire morning??

Tim: Dick, my unfortunately kind of favourite brother, I was not in the manor today

Dick: YOU WEREN'T?!?!?

Tim: no, I've been in my apartment all week. did you hallucinate me?? LMFAO

Cass: I was there this morning.

Dick: Oh. No wonder then??? You 2 look too similar, one of you needs to cut your hair

Tim: Not it

Cass: . . .

Tim: on second thought, maybe it's time for a haircut

Cass: :D <3

Tim: Love you too, Cass

Random Twitter User, quote tweeting the last tweet: So did you ever find out who took Dick's sandwich????

Cass: Jay did.

Dick: JAY DID?!?!?

Cass: Oh. Did you not know?

Dick: NO?!????

Cass: Oh. @/jason start running. Sorry.

Steph: Guys Jason might deadass die again Dick is ONTO him

Random Twitter User: ... Again?

Steph: hardly the point rn, jared

Babs: Why did Jason just climb in my window asking me to hide him

Tim: he's running from Dick, lol

Babs: Oh, why?

Tim: he ate his sandwich

Babs: Got it, he's hiding behind my couch now, screeching about Cass betraying him.

Dick: BABS DON'T MOVE. DON'T LET HIM LEAVE.