#i love withers XD

[blackjackkent]

OK. Some of the slightly less consequential Act 2 ending conversations now. Rakha has a lot fewer people in the Moonrise lobby than Hector did since pretty much all the tieflings are dead and Halsin has not shown up. (I'm assuming Halsin is missing for the same reason that he doesn't get his own tent in camp anymore, because the game didn't account for the possibility of him and Minthara both being around at once.)

The biggest remaining convo is probably Aylin and Isobel, but the one most immediately drawing Rakha's attention is Withers, who is being unusually vocal, plus she's surprised he's even here.

Rakha still doesn't really like Withers - he's mysterious, which pisses her off, and also takes no damage when she gets violent with him, which pisses the beast off. He did win back a few points with her by bringing her back from the dead after the Lathandrian monastery exploded, though.

So she gives him a sort of noncommittal grunt and waits to see what he has to say.

"Thy hunger denied. Selune's faithful yet shines. The balance shifts."

Rakha's head snaps up and suddenly she is playing much closer attention. Thy hunger.

Withers has shown little or no interest in the internal struggles that have plagued Rakha in the time they've traveled together. He keeps to himself; she never sees him unless they're camping, but he is always just... there, taking up space in a quiet corner, unable to be dislodged but not interacting with anyone unless he is spoken to first.

He has never said anything to her about her murderous tendencies. He only acknowledged Alfira once, in refusing to bring her back, and he seemed utterly unphased by the terrible night just recently where she practically turned into a howling animal. He has seemed utterly disconnected from all of it - until now.

"Thou hast seen with thine own eyes, and felt in thine Urges - the Dead Three unite. There are depths to this alliance yet unplumbed. Consider, mortal - do illithids possess souls?"

Rakha blinks, then scowls.

She wants to know what he meant by that first part. Her Urges connect in some way to the Dead Three, these gods that stand behind the Absolutist cult. It is not simply her nature, but something directly connected to her presence at Moonrise in the memories she's lost.

But of course he does not explain or elaborate, but instead mocks her with a question she cannot answer.

"Forget that," she says curtly. "What are you doing here, Withers?"

"Where matters of balance are concerned, I am eternally called," he says placidly, unbothered as always by her irritation. "I shall ask yet again. Do illithids possess souls?"

She breathes out sharply through her nose, briefly debating the viability of delivering her dagger straight between his eyes. It wouldn't have any impact on him, but it might make her feel minutely better.

But she sets her jaw and resists the urge yet again. He is being very insistent about this, and she must admit to a flash of curiosity through her exhaustion. "I don't know," she says after a long pause. "Don't all living things?" Such is her extremely limited knowledge, at least. Metaphysical questions haven't been a common camp topic of conversation.

"No," Withers says flatly. "Nor canst thou count mind flayers among them. Yet the Three amass an illithid army, void of apostolic souls that could imbue them with power." His eyes narrow to slits, focusing on Rakha with more attention than she has yet seen from him. "A flock without souls. Yet to what end, O tempted one? This is the question thou must come to answer. Until that time - be availed of my services."

(A/N: I'm wracking my brains and I can't remember if Hector was ever actually provided an answer to this question. :O Was this a plot thread that got dropped or did I miss something? I don't think we ever really learned a ton about the Three's motivations for fucking the world up. Maybe this is something we learn more about in Durge land.)

Rakha stares at him, baffled. It takes her a moment to parse through what he's saying. Gods, then, are powered by the souls of those who follow them. These gods, however, are converting people to mind flayers - and making them soulless.

Why?

And why do *I* need to answer? There was something unsettlingly specific in the way he said that.

"You know of these Urges," she says hoarsely. "What can you tell me?"

Withers looks back at her, steady and unreadable. "Nothing thou dost not already know."

A lie, she's almost certain of it, and her scowl deepens. She wishes she could take him by the throat and squeeze and shake until the answers he hoards fall out of him... but it would get her nowhere and only anger the beast in her head.

"You seem to know a lot about the Dead Three," she says instead, between her teeth.

"Yes," he answers. "Bane, Lord of Darkness. Bhaal, Lord of Murder. Myrkul, Lord of Bones. Once judged, ascended, then vanquished - as one, and as three."

Again his eyes narrow. Again that sudden, uncharacteristic intensity as he speaks words that make no sense at all. "The alliance is reforged, mortal. The planes thus quake, and the gods shudder."

[sourtomatola]

Not but a fool, but can a fool be trusted?

intro comic | Prev | Next

Master post

[theimpossiblescheme]

I think I've finally settled on an answer to my long-standing question of "Is it better for Cyrano to simply let Valvert off with a warning at first or to kill him the first chance he gets after the Ballade Duel"? And my answer is "It depends on how good a swordsman Valvert is."

If Valvert actually puts up a good fight against Cyrano, then it makes sense to me that Cyrano isn't going to keep him around long enough to keep being a threat. And in a weird way, it feels more fitting as a conclusion to a fair fight between equals who've both gotten to show the extent of their talents. That's why the 1950 movie's version of the duel is probably my favorite--it feels like Ferrer's Cyrano is actively putting in the effort to keep Cavens' Valvert at a distance. He's not just coasting through the fight, like he would with a less skilled opponent, so the kill at the end feels more earned. But I feel like you don't see that outcome as much in various productions...

If Valvert poses no actual threat to Cyrano, then he's not going to waste his time taking the duel seriously at all. He's purely in it to teach this little pissant a lesson about messing with him, and ultimately Valvert isn't worth the effort of killing. In those cases, it also hits harder when Valvert decides to fight dirty and strike while Cyrano's back is turned--he knows he stands no chance in a fair fight, so he's not going to fight fair. And if Valvert isn't, then neither is Cyrano. I used to think that this staging was mostly to make Cyrano look more sympathetic, but upon reflection I think it shows off his more ruthless side just as well. It not only demonstrates that Cyrano could've easily ended the initial duel almost instantly, but it also shows that he's not afraid of returning the cruelty others show him.

I feel like either way, it still conveys the idea of "Cyrano is not to be fucked with, so watch what you say around him or you're next."

[stardestroyer81]

Five Nights at Freddy's 2 saw its ninth anniversary just a couple of days ago, and to celebrate, I wanted to attempt a redesign of perhaps my favorite animatronic from the game (And one of my favorite animatronics overall)— Toy Chica! 💛✨🍕

[diofasolia]

Aftermare Week 2023 Day 5: Fall

Aftermare Week by @bluepallilworld

Original Nightmare by jokublog

Original Geno by loverofpiggies

Original Askoltale Nightmare & Geno by @bluepallilworld

I made sort of a "fall version" of Blue's Askoltale Nightmare and Geno, cuz they're originally dressed in flower-made clothing

It's kinda a thought like: the flowers/leaves will begin to wither in autumn, what will both Nightmare and Geno look like when they're in the season of fall?

So the results are in here

Askoltale! Nightmare & Geno (Fall Version??)

[overlyenthusiastic-personalblog]

[vitanithepure]

Durge storyline got me thinking about Withers, and Sal and Ariel's very different reactions to him, which has me curious -- what was Vitani's reaction to Withers?

Is that a lich? Will they die here? Absolute terror. Vitani knows next to nothing about undead except for the fact they are evil and usually are not up for a conversation first thing out of their tomb. I don't remember who was with them finding Withers but I'm sure they had to stop Vitani from freaking out and hurling some fire cantrips at him😂

So imagine their surprise when he did, in fact, want to... just talk. Vitani got insulted for their assumption they are in any position to judge who deserves to live or die (very valid of Withers) and at that point, when finding him at camp, it was mostly annoyance at the grumpy skeleton refusing to explain anything while obviosuly having some kind of...spooky things going on.

Vitani did appreciate him helping out Arabella though. (and I'm here headcanoning Vitani knowing a Durge [or two, lol, that is some multiverse kind of headcanon, and their names might be Ariel and Ciaran, by complete coincidence too 😌] who owes Withers their life, so that is a big game-changer for Vitani)

After their adventure is over I imagine someone going "Hey, but you do know it was actually an avatar of Jergal, right?" and Vitani just dismissively waving their hand "Whaaat? Nah, that was just my good pal Withers! Pretty decent guy for a skeleton, too." Clueless little thing😂

[jessamine-rose]

Aahh what a lovely brainrot!! I hope you don’t mind me adding some of my own ideas :’3

Aside from taking your Vision and weapons, Capitano forbids you from continuing your training regimen. And don’t even think about secret workouts that can be done without equipment, because Capitano will find out.

Eventually, your muscles will weaken from physical inactivity, to the point that you can no longer fight like you used to. But that’s okay!! Your new body is more suited to this life of frills and luxury <3

cw: yandere, lock you up

Capitano, the one who always believed in your independence and strength and respected you. After witnessing your suffering in the wars of the Gods, falling like a withered flower to the flowing blood, he locked you away in the manor. Your weapons and vision are confiscated, and your clothes are only fluffy, elegant and cute...

[the-cat-ara]

my friend the amalgamate

extras:

I had this going around in my head a while ago, I had to get it out somehow so I drew it, I love the withered Starlo design from the game but it's a pain to draw it XD

[hurthermore]

Hello I hope you're doing well!

I have a little question about the chapter (I've lost the number sorry) where Alastor and reader go for a picnic. How would Alastor have reacted if the reader had made him a ring with a flower?

A ring like that, that she'd made right in front of him, for him, as if it were a "wedding ring"

Feel free to ignore! I love your work :D

Oh my god this is so cute and I kind of wish I wrote this into the chapter now… damn.

He would take it as a marriage proposal if I’m being honest XD He would be so happy and he would cherish it even after it had withered away and died.

It would melt his heart and he would probably be so love-drunk he’d have to hide his flustered face from you whilst he wished he could kiss you and hold you close.

Also, sign the marriage certificate here -

[blackjackkent]

I'm going through Withers' dialogue with a PC who romanced Karlach at the epilogue party after she dies (for Reasons), and I'm not going to make use of this in the thing I'm writing but I NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW that this dialogue exists:

PC: "I'm being strong. It's what she would have wanted."

Withers: Truly? Most of the time it was she who was strong for thee. Didst thou not employ her ever to carry all of thine loot?

PC: Are you making a joke?

Withers: It is said that mortals require levity, that it is the antidote to any of the darkest hours. And who knew that better than she?

Alternatively:

PC: It was scary how many goblin clubs she could carry.

Withers: With thee, she couldst do anything.

😭😭😭😭

[artist-in-training-wheels]

Updated designs as of: 8/20/24

Remember when I said I was knee-deep into SAMS/LAES? Welp, I still am- so here's my (mental) designs of all the core characters (Not scaled for height)! Some notes/extra thoughts under the cut :D Added their pallets to make coloring easier!

Main 4:

Work:

I swapped Sun and Moon waist thingy; I just think they would do that since they're close. Their arm ribbons were also changed to purple to match!

Moon has a cape instead of a ruffle like Sun because... idk, I think he'd like it!

Earth and Lunar also have matching cuffs; theirs is pale/light cobalt blue.

Gave Earth's dress more Princess vibes; why? Idk, just felt like she would like it!

Sun's joints can be seen since he hasn't died and been "placed" in a new/updated body!

Casual:

Moon and Earth (kinda) have casual outfits, so I thought I'd make something for Sun and Lunar.

Sun HAS his matching friendship bracelet with Dazzle- I finally decided to draw it ^^

Sun's shirt says, "Here comes the Sun" I feel it would mostly be a gag gift, but he likes it!

I almost gave him a sweater (cause he gives me sweater vibes, tbh), but then I saw his Q&A video and went, "damn, never mind, I guess".

Lunar's hoodie was also a gag gift (cause its color scheme is similar to Gemini)- but he likes it too much, plus it's soft :D

Made Earth's sweater a bit darker, mainly cause she has a lot of light colors already (the pink comes from the sprinkle sweater!)

I also feel like the boys would take off their bells when they're not working.

It was asked how and... idk they made an interdimensional portal- I'm sure they found a way to take off the bells lmao

The other 4:

I hate how I did Ruin's rays and hat. But nothing was working for me, so... oh well...

I gave Jack the two tips for his hat because I think he'd like those- same with the arm sleeves!

Also- yes he has a friendship bracelet with Dazzle- he keeps it protected under his arm sleeve, it's identical to Sun's!

I really like how Solar came out. Specifically his boots and shirt design!

He gives me knee boot vibes, so I gave him shoes with a sun and a moon on the back (they lace up just didn't feel like adding those details)

I Like how Eclipse came out- Miiiight redesign him... depending on how the Eclipse and Puppet Show goes, but for now, I'm content :)

I never mentioned it, but I do imagine that Eclipse has a second set of arms. I would think Solar did, too, but those were taken away during his revival because of the "Eclipse sees other Eclipses as inferior" stuff!

The Evil 4:

I made Dark Sun look like Regular Sun... cause that's kinda his whole thing! But if I were to give him a different outfit- it would be Eclipse's!

Few changes to Nexus (I can't take him or his model serious tbh, I kept laughing XD), decided to give his hat a Wither shard at the tip because power (and possible corruption) go BRRRRR (Side Note: Made an AU on it :D)

I'm not sure how visible it is, but on his right cheek, you can see a virus of some kind—I really like that, so I put it on him because I really like the idea of him slowly being corrupted due to his insanity!

He has a darker shade of boots similar to Solar because... well, Solar :)

World President Earth (or WP Earth) has a lovely wine-red dress with her flag as a cape (the same flag seen in the thumbnail)!

The flag is held together by a smiley pin because why not =)

Evil Lunar (while tempting to go with Current Lunar design) has the design of the previous version because, well... that's the form he gained the power in (from my understanding)

The tip of his hat is a dying Star because that feels appropriate, in my opinion.

I MIGHT do Foxy, FC, Monty, and Puppet, but I'm not too sure, tbh, since my mental image isn't too far off from their models. Anyways, time to return to my little gremlin hole and watch the series :)

[justporo]

HELLOO!!! I have been obsessing over Astarion soooooo much, so I dashed over here the moment I saw you XD

Could I maybe request something with softer morning sex for Astarion? I’d imagine that sex in a romantic/soft light would be basically unknown to Astarion, so I’d loveee to see how he’d end up acting in something meant to feel intimate and connecting above all else.

No need to preform, no need to plan, just something gentle.

First of all, thank you for the request - I was working something out for this for quite some time now.

So this is a little different, because it‘s from Astarion‘s POV which I was a bit afraid to write because I really have to nail his character. So I hope I did him and your request justice!

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (shamelessly based on my Tav)

Warning: Explicit Sexual Content

(Also try and imagine this in Astarion's voice? Because I think that helps 👀)

Spaces In Between

I open my eyes. Immediately, I can feel the sunlight caressingly warm my back with its gentle touch. I close my eyes again for just a moment, savouring the feeling of the light upon my body - a sensation that always makes me yearn for more and I hope that I will still have some more time to enjoy it. To have a few more of these tranquil moments since I broke my chains of enslavement and before I will become a creature of the night once more when we‘ll figure this whole mess out, finally.

But when I open my eyes again I turn around to the one thing that has already become more important to me than the feeling of sunlight on my pale skin: her.

I turn and lay on my side, thin blanket draped around my waist and other than that bare. And so is she - my beautiful Tav. She‘s sitting on the edge of the bed in which we very much enjoyed each other‘s company last night, some of it even only talking and holding each other. Because who would‘ve thought that after all the miseries in the world I’ve had to endure the most unlikely thing would happen: meeting someone who actually gave a rat‘s arse about me, more even, someone who cares for me, someone who sees more in me, someone who wants to be with me… for me. And of course me falling for that someone. We truly live in the most unlikely version of how things could have turned out - not that I‘m complaining.

I see how she stretches and softly yawns. Her arms and upper body forming a long elegant curved line outlined by fingers of light falling through the windows. Her reddish hair drops from her hands down her freckled back. I‘m torn between admiring the delectable view and grabbing her and devouring her delicious self right on the spot.

I settle for something in between.

„Not staying for a cuddle?“, I ask her with a pout and use the words she‘d used on me back then - the first night I had her. Back then when I didn‘t know yet why it had felt different to hold her. Somewhere in between then and now things had changed.

It feels forever ago and she‘s probably already forgotten about it. But when she turns her head around and smirks, I know that she hasn‘t - if it could, my dead little heart would stutter.

„I didn‘t want to rip you from your dreams just yet“, she says, her arms slowly coming down, her upper body turning to me - revealing just how pleasantly naked she is, right in front of me. Gods, she‘s a vision.

„Oh, don‘t worry, my love, I feel like I am still dreaming“, I respond with a grin and stretch out an arm - an invitation for her to join me in an embrace.

She giggles at my answer which makes her nose scrunch - yet again, my withered heart might give out.

She climbs back into bed towards me. „Also, since when do you need to steal my lines?“, she says as she shuffles towards me, her eyebrows are raised. She‘s become so much more sassy since she‘s been with me - I‘m such a good influence.

I place one hand on my bare chest and make a shocked face: „My love, when did I ever have to resort to stealing anything?“ „Yeah yeah yeah, you‘re full of shit, Astarion“, she responds without even looking at me while she lifts up the blanket covering me to scurry under it - did I mention I love her?

She tangles her legs with mine and moves to embrace me fully but I softly press her shoulder down so she lays back while I‘m on my side, leaning on one arm, so I can fully take her in.

We talk and joke and laugh. My eyes and hands keep wandering over her face and body. Her beautiful face with these open silver eyes, the scar over her nose and those tattoos bending away from her lids that make her look so fierce - even though she admitted to me she had them done in a fit of youthful rage. Her body is so soft and warm beneath my hands. She‘s become my sun.

Her warm hand is on my chest while mine explores her. Charting the curves of her collar bone, her breasts, her stomach. She‘s full of elegant curves, never-ending liquid motion.

I‘m kissing her now, softly, but it‘s still all teeth and tongues - because in between conversation and trying to imprint her body on my mind, I found, I had to show her how much I love her.

The kiss quickly loses any innocence it had, her hands start to roam my body as well why mine rubs decreasing circles on her breast until it has reached its peak. She moans softly into my mouth which I can only answer with a groan. Knowing how she feels for me, how much she wants me - me, and not just a body - almost breaks me.

My desire for her is rapidly growing, like a wildfire - all consuming.

And I want her - like I possibly never wanted anything in my life; or un-life for that matter.

„Do you-“, I start to ask but her hand immediately grabs my shoulder to pull me down more to her and she nods eagerly while pressing her lips to mine again. I happily give in to my cravings and climb onto her, supporting myself with one arm and with the other grabbing one of her roaming hands to tangle my fingers with hers and push our joint hands down next to her head.

I am in between her legs that wrap around me. Her foot slowly wanders down my calf and almost turns me insane while I smoothly enter her, making her gasp.

She breaks the kiss and her eyes widen when she feels me inside of her - the silver in her irises look molten, swirling with lust and need.

I feel her heat and her wetness and relish the thought that it‘s me that has her writhing and moaning and wanting more.

Her free hand is on my back, softly wandering over it and the lines of a life I‘m trying to forget. Trying to be just here with her.

I move my hips and start kissing her neck and her hand grabs my neck softly, starts caressing the back of my head and tangle in my curls. The soft touch almost makes my eyes roll back in my head while I trail kisses from her one ear to the other.

Then her hand curls at the back of my neck, just the right amount of painful to heighten my pleasure. She arches her neck for me in an invitation - an invitation I might not be able to resist.

I can feel her pulse quicken under my lips while I keep moving - our bodies connecting time and time again taking us both further and further up.

Her intoxicating smell surrounds me, her scent heightened by her rapid heartbeat and lust. It‘s beckoning to me like a siren song, bewitching me, urging me to give in.

But this other need is way more urgent to me. So I kiss her again, teeth only grazing her skin but not drawing any blood, my pace quickens and becomes more desperate.

I lower my body weight almost fully onto her, desperate to feel her soft curves against my body. Being fully skin to skin with her - nothing in between. And she arches her back, her body pressing into mine in an even more intense way.

I look at her face again and see soft pleading in her eyes - wanting me to gently push her over the edge and then jump head-first to join her.

And I am more than willing to be her servant in the cause. I push up again, the sudden loss of body contact making her whimper softly, and I move to let the hand that was holding hers sneak in between us to help her give her what she desires.

But to my surprise she grabs my hand and looks deeply into my eyes while she‘s positively shivering and shuddering with unfulfilled pleasures. „This is about you“, she whispers. Her face and hand nudging me to let go and fall back onto her.

And I hesitate - just a moment - not used to being the one whose needs have priority. But she keeps pushing me, her hand at the back of my head again, pulling me down to her again.

And so I give in fully - giving myself to what I desire most in this moment and to her. Bodies, minds and hearts fully tangled in each other. Quickening the pace yet more, feeling her heat, hearing her and mine ragged breaths.

And then I fall, once more, for her but also for my pleasure, throwing my head back, eyes rolling into the back of my skull, moaning her name while the height of lust pulsates through me.

When I come back down I know she‘s patiently waiting, not expecting anything in return. But I still want to give it to her. She deserves it, every minute piece of affection. She who helped me break my chains, she who offered me her heart and soul with no other motive behind it than wanting to be mine.

I slide from inside her and quickly move down, making her gasp once more in surprise. I press my mouth to her core and start to suck and work my tongue around her most sensitive part - tasting her and myself through it.

It doesn‘t take long. She‘s eager to join me in my fall. And I feel it when it hits her, waves crushing through her, making her moan and press her thighs together around my head while I won‘t let the tip of my tongue stop moving - directing her through her downfall.

And this is where I want to stay - in between her legs, her body wrapped around me, in between the last day and the next, in between the last challenge and the next mortal peril; knowing there‘s no in between between her heart and mine.

[moodymisty]

"Mortarian is like 12-14 ft tall and if we're talking about after him being blessed by Nurgle he's like 30 ft tall? How does that work? Although my interest is piqued and I will read the rest later and they do know what they're talking about"

My husband(who loves warhammer)'s thoughts after I showed him the tags on your mortarian pregnancy fic.

I will follow up with his thoughts afterwards. I just really thought his reaction was funny

It's not about the logistics, we just work with the insanity in our brains XD

also the idea of people showing people they know my fics actually made me wither up inside oh my god

[doormatty3]

Surface-Dweller Traditions: New Years (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You] Life with Orm is always a mix of discovery and contrast—his Atlantean heritage often colliding with your everyday human traditions. From decorating trees and trying festive foods to marvelling at fireworks or enduring bustling crowds, Orm’s reserved demeanour softens as he experiences the joy and warmth of human traditions with you. OR: A series of unrelated one-shots and mini-fics about the many types of festivities Orm and you share.

Wordcount: 3803

A/N: Happy New Year, guys. In this one Orm is confronted with another important tradition-New Years Eve XD

The stars shimmered brilliantly, their light scattered across the vast midnight-blue expanse of the sky, each one like a finely cut gem set into an endless velvet tapestry.

A silvery layer of snow blanketed the beach behind your seaside cottage, glittering softly in the moonlight. The waves rolled lazily against the shore. Their edges tinged with ice, the rhythmic sound a soothing undercurrent to the quiet night. 

The tree you and Orm had decorated together stood like a centrepiece, its branches adorned with twinkling lights and glittering ornaments that reflected the glow of the roaring fire in the hearth. The colourful lights spilled softly through the frosted window panes, their hues blending with the moonlight and casting gentle patterns on the snow outside.

Inside, the atmosphere was alive with laughter and warmth. Plates of food filled every available surface, a feast for the senses with dishes representing both your world and Orm’s. 

Golden-brown roasted vegetables glistened beside soft, buttery rolls, their rich aroma mingling with the briny scent of delicately seared fish. Seaweed-wrapped morsels, intricate and artfully arranged, brought a touch of Orm’s world to the table, their emerald hues a striking contrast against the warm, earthy tones of the other offerings.

Orm stood near the table, and he wore a simple knit sweater, the soft, charcoal-grey fabric hugging his broad shoulders and hinting at his strength. Faded jeans completed the look as they hung low on his hips.

His face, usually clean-shaven and sharp, was softened by a few days' worth of stubble, giving him a rugged, approachable charm. The firelight played across his features, accentuating the familiar intensity in his blue-grey eyes but tempering it with warmth. 

His blond hair, slightly mussed as though he'd run a hand through it one too many times, fell naturally into place, making him look effortlessly handsome as if he’d just walked out of the ocean, its salt-kissed waves still clinging to him.

The soft strands, a mix of silvery platinum and sunny gold, framed his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal in the warm glow.

He looked like someone who had finally found a moment to breathe.

Every now and then, his gaze would meet yours, and in those moments, warmth would fill you from within as you felt the pure love he radiated.

Arthur, Orm’s half-brother, lounged comfortably at the dining table, a casual ease about him as he nursed a drink in one hand. His signature smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his sharp eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched his brother. 

“Well, well,” Arthur drawled, lifting his glass in a mock toast toward his older brother. “Who would’ve thought the great Ocean Master himself would be so... domestic?” His grin widened, clearly revelling in the rare chance to tease Orm in such an ordinary setting.

Orm, standing a few feet away, stiffened slightly at the jab but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he cast Arthur a withering glare, his sharp features settling into an expression of icy composure. 

Without missing a beat, he returned to help you arrange plates on the table, his movements precise and unbothered. 

“I fail to see how assisting my partner equates to domesticity,” he replied, his voice cool and measured, though the faintest edge of irritation crept into his tone.

Arthur’s grin stretched wider, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the shift in the conversation. “Partner?” he repeated, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You chuckled, stepping in with a lighthearted tone before the teasing could escalate any further. With a playful smile, you raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “Arthur, do you really want to challenge the man who decides if you get food tonight?”

Arthur’s smirk faltered just slightly, and he lifted his glass in a mock gesture of surrender. “Fair point,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll behave.” 

Orm turned to you, his lips curving into a soft, almost imperceptible smile as his deep blue eyes locked with yours. There was a quiet warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that seemed reserved just for you. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, quiet enough that only you could catch the words.

You met his gaze, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you brushed a hand lightly against his arm, your touch warm and reassuring. 

“Always,” you simply replied—and you meant it.

The hours passed in a haze of good food and lively conversation, the three of you slipping into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. Arthur, ever the storyteller, regaled you with tales of his adventures, his voice rich with humour and exaggeration. 

Even Orm, sitting beside you with his arm casually draped across the back of your chair, couldn’t suppress a few wry comments about his brother’s flair for the dramatic.

His presence was comforting, his strong, broad frame leaning slightly toward you as he spoke, his blond hair catching the light of the candles that flickered on the table. His hand rested just above your shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your clothing, and the steady warmth of him was a reassurance you didn’t know you needed until you felt it.

When he smiled, it was subtle, a slow curve of his lips that hinted at quiet amusement or fondness rather than the wide, effortless grins that Arthur often wore. 

It was a smile that reached his eyes—those deep blue-grey eyes that softened with affection, holding a depth that only you knew intimately. 

A smile that made his whole face warm, as though it was something reserved just for you , and in those rare moments, the sharpness that often defined him seemed to melt away, revealing a softer, more human side of him. 

He didn’t need to say anything; the way he smiled spoke volumes—gentle, knowing, and undeniably magnetic, conveying how much he enjoyed being here with you.

As the clock neared midnight, you suggested stepping outside to watch the fireworks. Arthur immediately perked up, his grin widening at the thought of the spectacle, but Orm looked slightly sceptical. He raised an eyebrow, his piercing eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of the idea.

“Fireworks?” he repeated, the unfamiliar word rolling awkwardly off his tongue, his deep voice tinged with confusion. It was clear the concept didn’t quite fit into his world, where beauty was more often found in the stillness of the sea or the power of the waves.

You smiled softly, understanding his hesitation, and reached for his hand. The warmth of his strong fingers intertwined with yours, grounding him as you gently reassured him. “They’re beautiful ,” you promised, your voice calm and encouraging. "You’ll see."

Orm’s gaze softened, the faintest glimmer of curiosity replacing the uncertainty in his eyes. Though he didn’t fully understand what fireworks were, something in your tone seemed to ease his reservations. With a quiet nod, he allowed himself to be led outside, his broad frame casting a shadow as he stepped outside with you.

The night air was crisp and biting against your cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the cottage behind you. Arthur leaned casually against the railing, his posture relaxed, scanning the dark sky with easy confidence as if the night held no surprises for him.

His eyes were alight with the anticipation of the spectacle, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he made idle chatter.

Orm, however, stood close to you, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dim light. His hand remained firmly clasped in yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the chill of the evening. 

Despite his relaxed stance, the tension in his broad shoulders was subtle but unmistakable. His eyes, usually sharp with focus, were narrowed in quiet wariness as he scanned the horizon; the same alertness that had served him well in countless battles now turned toward an unfamiliar form of potential danger. 

It was as if he couldn’t fully relax, his instincts still primed for a threat that didn’t seem to exist here. His eyes, reflecting the faint glow of the porch light, tracked every shadow and movement in the night, his wariness ingrained after years of living on the edge.

“It’s just a celebration,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet tension. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, your fingers laced firmly with his, hoping to ease the unease that lingered in his posture.

Orm glanced down at you briefly, the guarded look in his blue eyes softening ever so slightly. He nodded once, the motion small but enough to show he trusted your words, even if the concept was still foreign to him. 

Yet, even as he acknowledged your reassurance, his gaze returned to the dark expanse of sky, his features still taut with quiet vigilance. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the subtle strength of his hand in yours were the only signs that he was beginning to settle, grounding himself in your presence.

When the first firework shot upward, its trail carving a glowing arc of orange against the inky black sky, Orm stiffened beside you. 

His body, usually so composed, became rigid, the muscles in his arms tense as if preparing for battle. The sudden explosion that followed was loud and jarring, a thunderous boom that shattered the stillness of the night. The sky erupted into a cascade of golden sparks, their dazzling light reflecting off the snow-dusted ground and rippling waves, painting the scene in fleeting, brilliant hues.

Arthur let out a low whistle, leaning back against the railing with a murmured comment about the spectacle, but his words barely registered. Your attention was fixed on Orm. 

His hand, still clasped in yours, tightened with almost crushing force, his knuckles pale against the knit of his sweater. His gaze was locked on the sky, unblinking and intense, his lips pressed into a thin line as the bursts of light and sound continued.

You could see the flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes—shock, confusion, perhaps even a trace of unease. For a man who had faced countless battles and commanded armies, this simple display of light and sound seemed to unsettle him in a way you hadn’t expected. It was as if the raw power of the fireworks reminded him of something far more dangerous and unpredictable.

“Orm?” you whispered, your voice barely cutting through the sharp crack of another firework streaking into the sky. This one arced high above, its shimmering blue trail splitting the darkness before erupting into a magnificent burst. The explosion sent cascading tendrils of electric blue, and silver sparks raining down, illuminating the snow, the waves, and Orm’s tense features in a ghostly glow.

He flinched violently as the firework burst with a deafening crack that echoed across the beach, his head snapping toward the sound as though he expected an attack. The brilliance of the explosion reflected in his wide eyes, which darted across the sky, scanning for unseen threats amidst the bursts of light. His breathing quickened, each sharp inhale causing his chest to rise and fall unevenly, the muscles of his broad shoulders coiled with tension.

Another firework soared upward, its fiery tail spiralling as it climbed before detonating into a dazzling explosion of gold and crimson. The burst lit the horizon with a flickering radiance, but to Orm, it seemed less a celebration and more a chaotic display of unpredictable power. His grip on your hand tightened to the point of discomfort, as though anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him steady.

“It’s an attack,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight and edged with barely suppressed panic. His piercing blue-grey eyes were wide unfocused, as though he were seeing something far beyond the fireworks in the sky. His words were low but urgent, filled with the certainty of a man who had faced countless battles. “They’re coming ,” he said again, the tension in his tone a stark contrast to the festive display above.

You recognised the signs immediately—the way his free hand had curled into a white-knuckled fist at his side, the subtle tremor in his frame, and the way his chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths.

Orm wasn’t here anymore; his mind had pulled him back into the depths of his past, to battles fought in the shadowy expanse of the ocean, to the chaos and unrelenting violence he had endured as both warrior and king. The brilliant bursts of light and sound weren’t a celebration to him—they were explosions, signals of an impending assault, echoes of a life defined by conflict.

“ Orm ,” you said firmly, stepping directly into his line of sight. Your voice cut through the tension like a blade, steady and grounding. “Look at me.”

You placed your free hand gently against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. His gaze wavered for a moment, his eyes darting toward you as though unsure whether to focus on the present or remain trapped in the haunting echoes of his past.

He didn’t respond, his entire body jerking as another firework shot upward, splitting the sky with a deafening boom that sent waves of colour cascading into the night. His expression twisted with raw, unfiltered fear, a vulnerability so unlike him that it took your breath away. His sharp features, usually so composed, were tense with the weight of memories that seemed to drown him.

“Orm,” you repeated, your voice louder now, firm but filled with concern. You tugged on his hand, your grip steady and grounding. “Come inside. You’re safe , but we need to go inside.”

For a moment, it felt as though he didn’t hear you, his mind too clouded by the chaos of the past—the flash of explosions, the roar of battles fought beneath the waves. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, his gaze darting wildly between the horizon and the fireworks that painted the sky with bursts of light and sound.

Then, slowly, your voice seemed to cut through the haze. His eyes flicked down to meet yours, wide and glassy, as if seeing you for the first time since stepping outside. Recognition began to surface in their depths, the storm in his mind momentarily stilling as he focused on you. His grip on your hand slackened slightly, the strength of your presence pulling him back from the brink.

“Please,” you said softly, your voice steady yet imbued with a quiet urgency. Your hand squeezed his gently, grounding him in the present. “Come with me.” The gentleness in your tone was insistent, a lifeline pulling him away from the chaos in his mind.

Orm hesitated, his broad chest still rising and falling in uneven bursts. His gaze flickered between the door and you, uncertainty etched into his features, but he didn’t let go of your hand. You stayed steady, your calm presence anchoring him, refusing to let him slip back into the storm of his memories.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and you began to lead him toward the warmth and safety of the house. His steps were hesitant at first, his body tense and his shoulders hunched as though bracing for an attack that would never come. But he followed you, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

Once inside, you closed the door firmly behind you, the sound of the latch sealing away the cacophony of the outside world. The fireworks continued, their muffled booms now softened by the walls of your home, distant and far less threatening. The warm glow of the living room embraced you both, the hum of safety wrapping around him like a comforting cocoon.

You guided him to the couch, your touch firm but gentle as you eased him down onto the soft cushions. His movements were stiff, almost mechanical, as though his body hadn’t yet caught up with the safety of the moment. 

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands trembling as they gripped them tightly. His head hung low, his silver-blond hair falling forward to partially obscure his face, while his uneven breaths filled the quiet space around you. He was fighting—fighting to claw his way back from the memories that held him captive.

“Orm,” you said gently, lowering yourself to your knees in front of him so you could meet his gaze. Your voice was soft but steady, the calm anchor you knew he needed right now. “You’re safe. You’re here with me. No one is attacking.”

His shoulders trembled faintly at your words, the tension in his powerful frame still visible, but he didn’t respond. You reached out, placing a hand over his, which was gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and you were sure that he’d bruise himself with the sheer strength he used to hold on to it. The warmth of your touch seemed to break through the barrier of his fear, drawing his attention.

He glanced up at you then, his eyes still shadowed with the echoes of panic. But there was something else there, too—something searching, desperate for the reassurance your voice and presence were offering. You held his gaze firmly, your touch and words steady, silently willing him to let go of the battle raging inside.

His breath hitched sharply, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself, but failing. His head shook almost imperceptibly, as if he were trying to physically dispel the memories clawing at his mind. “The sounds...” he murmured, his voice low and strained, laced with raw vulnerability. “They’re the same . The explosions, the echoes—it’s too much.”

His words trailed off, but the haunted look in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent cry for solace amidst the storm. You didn’t hesitate, gently threading your fingers through his trembling ones. His fingers were ice-cold, his knuckles still rigid from the intensity of his grip, but you held them firmly, grounding him with your touch.

“It’s not the same,” you said softly but with unwavering conviction, your voice cutting through the haze enveloping him. “Look at me, Orm. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me.”

Your words hung in the air, a lifeline tethering him to the present. Slowly, his head lifted, and his eyes, still clouded with fear, met yours. The storm in them began to waver, the familiar warmth of your presence pulling him back from the abyss. You gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, leaning in slightly so that your steady gaze was all he could focus on.

“You’re safe,” you whispered. “I promise.”

In his eyes, you saw the shadows of a lifetime’s worth of pain—raw and unhidden. It was the kind of pain that burrowed deep, etched into his very being by years of war, betrayal, and loss. The guarded walls he always kept so carefully in place had crumbled, leaving him exposed in a way few had ever seen. His lips parted, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he would speak, but then he did, his voice low and unsteady.

“I hate this,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper, but the weight of them was immense. His hands trembled slightly in yours. “I hate feeling like this.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone, at the man before you who had endured so much yet still felt trapped by his own mind. You squeezed his hands gently, your thumbs brushing over his knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “I know,” you said softly, your voice steady and full of understanding. “I know how hard this is for you. But you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words seemed to pull him back, the storm in his eyes flickering as he focused on you. His breathing, still uneven, began to slow as your presence cut through the fog of fear gripping him. Bit by bit, you watched as the tension in his broad shoulders eased, his body no longer braced for an invisible attack. He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes briefly as if to steady himself. When he opened them again, there was a clarity there, faint but growing, as he leaned forward.

Orm rested his forehead against yours, the gesture both grounding and intimate. His silver-blond hair, slightly dishevelled, fell forward, brushing lightly against your skin. He exhaled deeply, his voice low and filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” he murmured, the words carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Your hands stayed clasped around his, unwavering. “You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, your tone tender but firm. “I love you, Orm. And I’ll always be here for you.”

Outside, the fireworks began to fade, their brilliant colours dimming until only faint bursts of light painted the horizon. The final echoes of explosions gave way to the gentle hum of the night, the world returning to its quiet, peaceful rhythm. 

Inside, the glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in a soft golden light, its gentle flicker casting dancing shadows across the walls. The warmth of the room wrapped around the two of you, creating a sanctuary against the chaos of the world outside.

Orm let out a long, shuddering breath, his hands remaining tightly clasped around yours, though the tremble had eased. His eyes, still shadowed but calmer now, searched yours as if trying to hold onto the reassurance you offered. “You’re my anchor,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability that made your chest tighten.

You leaned closer, your voice steady as you replied, “And you’re mine.”

The words hung between you, a quiet promise that needed no elaboration. Orm closed his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips—a sign that he was beginning to let go of the fear that had gripped him. He still held your hands as though afraid to lose the grounding they provided, but his grip softened, his trust in you evident in the way he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly.

For what felt like hours but was only moments, the two of you remained there, wrapped in each other’s presence. The world outside faded, the sounds of the last firework disappearing into the silence of the new year. The steady warmth of the room, the flicker of the tree lights, and the quiet rhythm of his breathing created a cocoon of peace. At that moment, everything else seemed to fall away—no past, no fears, only the love and solace you offered each other as the new year began.

[thelien-art]

Melkor for the character impression?

He´s my baby girl fr <3

First impression: I actually thought he would have a bigger part mingling with the other Valar, but my first thought was excitement over his character as it was the first real "build up". Right when you begin reading the Silmarillion you already know he´s going to move some shit. Which he did... maybe a bit more than I thought.

Impression now: Baby girl, I love him so much, he´s so impulsive and confident, yet still a coward. I just feel like he´s a very human character, which makes it much easy to relate to him on the small things.

Favorite moment: Oh boy, how could I ever choose XD for my favorite moment will probably be the one where he shows himself at his highest; "And he descended upon Arda in power and majesty greater than any other of the Valar, as a mountain that wades in the sea and has its head above the clouds and is clad in ice and crowned with smoke and fire; and the light of the eyes of Melkor was like a flame that withers with heat and pierces with a deadly cold." That might just be the quote that describes him the most without describing his actions. It is him at his peak, just about to fall, but still next to Eru. Funnies moment is when Fëanor tells him to piss off :)

Idea for a story: Fourth age Melkor still being imprisoned but on house arrest instead, because I think both Manwë and Nienna, one who doesn´t comprehend evil, the other who cries for everyone, wouldn't just let him fade away in such a torture that they would late come to understand it as (@/melkors-defense-attorney made a great post about how Dagor Dagorath realistically would look here), also it would in theory stop Dagor Dagorath from happening as Melkor wouldn´t have anything but his brother's house to break out of. Also, I like the idea of Manwë walking around doing his business with Melkor a step behind offering biting and unhinged remarks to everyone and Manwë going like "oh don´t worry, he won´t bite :)" Melkor knows he will only get his dessert if he behaves!!

Unpopular opinion: I think he had a choice, but I also think that at least one of the Valar had to be the evil one, not that any of them knew that maybe Namo, and I think Melkor was Eru´s favorite, like he fucks so much up and most of the time he just goes away with a little slap from Eru. That being said I think Melkor, who IS the Vala of change and chaos, also might be the Vala of life. A world can´t exist without rot, nor conflict, and a life is never fair. In a world without conflict, you would never have the need to form alliances and friendships, so I think he was the most obvious choice for an evil Vala, but I also believe he was necessary, and I also think that all his flaws and lust for life made him Eru´s favorite. - but it´s still literally all his fault :/ he was too caught up in the need to have power.

Favorite relationship: Mairon and Nienna, he just matches so well with both of them, in two different ways, and I love that for him :)

Favorite headcanon: That he knew Eru´s plan all along, but as we know, he is the only Vala able to feel fear, and a lot of his actions in the first age were filled with a fear for his own destruction, and a need to avoid it. - I think he knew about as much as Namo, while he did know a lot of Eru´s plan, he knew far from all of it, so he only knew it in broad strokes. also, I like the idea of his cult/worship (depending on who) started way back in Utumno with some of the Avari, although most of his worshippers would become humans starting in the first age and be right up to the fourth age and probably after that as well