#leenukeath

[osplague]

Commission of Baldwin and Bigby for @leenukeath

[joz-yyh]

"We have become as steel." ⚔️ Big thank you to @leenukeath for commissioning this work! I appreciate it so much!! 🍀 ✨ ▪️On Twitter -> Here!!

[shiranui7]

@leenukeath thank you!!!

I'll make a man out of you (Bg3 version)

Lae'zel:Let's get down to business

             To defeat the Brain

             Is this my new party?

             Mother Gith, the pain!

          We're infected by those ruthless Ghaiks

             But you can bet before we're through

             Ishtiks I have a cure just for you!

            Deep inside the forest,

            Shadow lands begin

            Once you find your lantern

            Kill the Thorms and win!

            You're a reckless, gay and horny lot

            And I'm sick of your dark urge

    Somehow I'll reach the Gate thanks to you!

Astarion: I'm never gonna catch my breath!

Karlach: goodbye y'all my heart said screw me!

Gale: oh I was a fool in school for skipping gym!

Emperor: this girl's gonna stab my back!

Durge: Hope she doesn't see the true me

Shadowheart: Now I really wish that I learned how to swim

Vampire Elf:

You must be swift, less annoying and lethal 

Wizard man:

Unleash the force of a great typhoon

Warlock man:

Just Eldritch Blast all those monsters harder

Fierce as the war between Shar and Selune!

Lae'zel: Ketheric, Gortash, Orin

              We must kill tonight

              Max your every status

         ��    And you might survive

              You're so gentle for

              A Bhaal's spawn

              So.. OH SHIT! Is that thing you?

              How could I know a Slayer's in you?

Bear man:

Just wet the enemy and hit with lightning

Goth priestess:

Say fuck you Shar and accept Selune!

Red soldier:

You have the strength of a raging fire

Be furious and we'll bring them to their doom!

[purple-nautilus]

Greetings Commander. Is there anything you would like to do once the war is over and you can finally take a break?

[sftd-official]

As a French speaker, it is my duty to ask for the romantic "Baisemain" with Jax Rai.

Baisemain - A kiss on the hand.

If there was one thing Jax enjoyed, it was his interactions with his followers.

Things had been tentative when they were all getting used to the Avenger, but now that they were a few months in? His  whole congregation had eased into life on this mobile ship of theirs, and their fears had  relaxed when it was shown  that he, himself, was doing alright.

The atmosphere, to him, was far more comforting than the one that hung in the air at his Stronghold... especially in the month or so leading  up to Eliza taking him in. The air was clear, here, and  there was no looming threat of violence if he didn’t meet expectations. Eliza had made that very clear.

So, he was entirely free to be more of a present force amongst his followers. At the  moment, he was currently looking over the finished results of his brother’s impromptu art session. Curiously, Odette had joined--Jax hadn’t thought her one to draw close to his brother after everything. He moved from another Mystic’s painting to hers, her scooting aside with her seat to give him a better look.

Odette was one of the more natural painters among the Mystics, and it showed in her skill. Her paintings usually made very good use of rosy light and softer edges--the few darker shadows that did happen seeming to vanish even on the page. He was used to her usual style of art...

... so this was very different. Mordenna had ample lighting on him when he was sat on his table, but here he was cast in darkness. He had been relaxed in his pose, but here, there was a tenseness to his  features, as if he was ready to leap out of the painting at any moment. Odette had been sitting at  an angle to him--nearer his head  as he stared directly ahead, but here his eyes were locked directly with the viewer’s. His mouth was absent, but by the microexpressions of his facial features, Jax could tell there was a hint of something underneath. Malice? Aggression? It seemed deliberately open to interpretation.

He looked to Odette, who was steadfastly looking away. This was certainly a very different take on his brother--but one he fully understood. This was a glimpse of a Mordenna of old, a being of manifested spite and whim. He didn’t blame  Odette for still being afraid of him, but for her to brave her fears and express them on canvas? There was a courage to that. Mordenna had left without looking at any of the finished results, confident that they all had done their bests. But if he’d gotten a glimpse of this one...

Jax kneeled, taking one of Odette’s hands. “Odette,” he began, voice soft, “your art is as brilliant as it always is. There is much merit in different interpretation, and you have clearly proven that.”

Odette swallowed, finally meeting his gaze. “B-but... we are all reconciled with the Hunter, are we not...? Is... isn’t it childish of me to still hold my fear?”

Jax shook his head, bringing her hand to his lips and giving it a reassuring kiss. “With your circumstances, and with my brother’s nature, it is completely understandable to still hold the feelings you do. I wish, one day, to help you and him resolve this conflict between the two of you But you are doing just fine, Odette. Do not mistake this.”

Odette let go of a tense breath, shallowly nodding. “Ok. I... I want to see things repaired between us, as well. I trust you, Holy Father.”

Jax smiled. He, as always, dearly loved his congregation.

[marbleboa]

“Damian’s hand trembled around the handle of the stake as he let out a shaky breath. The remains of the wooden spike crumbled in his fist, its splinters scattered around the pavement right next to Tardif’s head.

The Bounty Hunter looked up at his opponent in silence, visibly wondering why or how he had not been granted final death at the hand of his executioner.”

Commission for @leenukeath of a scene from one of their vampire au fics! A heaping serving of tension paired with a scoop of emotional turmoil, for the soul. >:]

You can read the fic here, it is rated E so please only read if you’re +18. Thanks!

[coffee-in-veins]

drew a commission for wonderful @leenukeath​ with Bigby resting on Baldwin’s lap. they deserve some quiet camping

this was an absolute pleasure to work on

[leenukeath]

The essential cannot be seen (Darkest Dungeon fic)

So @sir-crypts​ recently published an illustration (here: https://sir-crypts.tumblr.com/post/636062084110680064/thing-i-drew-for-leenukeaths-fic-of-abomleper) of an Abomination/Leper fic I wrote for a discord server, I figured I’d share the story, set in the Darkest Dungeon game. Thanks again Sir Crypts for the lovely art.

The Essential cannot be seen Abom/Leper friendship (more?) fic by Leenu

He hated this.

Trudging his way through the murky brine of the cove, Baldwin did his best to keep his gaze forward lest it slipped to the loathsome companion in his back. He was supposed to be accompanied originally by Reynauld, but he (and the highwayman) had disappeared a few days ago and were nowhere to be found when the Heir had called them to formation. Which left him with the following company: a plague doctor, Paracelsus, eyeing with what seemed like curiosity whatever moved or crawled around them, an Occultist, Alhazred who kept his hand closer to his dagger than usual and … the thing that called itself Bigby.

Baldwin wanted nothing more than to leave this Abomination in the Hamlet and go alone, but since the fall of the crystal from the sky, the Heir had forced him and his companions to take the wretched creature with them on the crawls through the dungeon. And thus, the Leper was saddled with the rattling of chains behind his back. His eyes may have been focused on the way ahead, but his ears were listening and making sure no growl was coming from Bigby.

They had been tasked with clearing a sector of the cove, so far the battles had been manageable: the plague doctor’s grenades had done miracles against the pelagic creatures, and despite a few open wounds, the Occultist had kept everyone in one piece. The Abomination had decided to keep its tamed form, throwing his chains around and spewing bile over the enemies that the Leper happened to miss.

Then in the last room, the tune changed: a Squiffy Ghast started plucking on its rotting viola, sending bars upon bars of Maddening Shanties and Off Kilter Jigs.

Baldwin tried his best to hit the slippery skeleton, but whenever he hit, the things always seemed to jump back out of his reach. If only this creature had been the only enemy faced, the team would have cut it down with little combined effort, but it was accompanied by a Pelagic Guardian and an Uca Major. The latter one swinging its pincers with deadly precision, opening great wounds that drenched the seafloor with dark stains. The doctor was too busy stitching the team back together to throw any grenades, and the Occultist himself was struggling to replenish their blood levels, it was thus left to Baldwin and Bigby to carve their way through.

While the leper kept hitting the thick carapace of the Uca, the Abomination once more spewed his toxic bile over it and the Guardian, slowly dissolving their armor, too slowly however.

Another hit connected and the Occultist fell, his hand desperately clutched the skull in his hand to keep the flame from getting blown away as he begged: “This was not the deal we struck!”. Baldwin set himself up in a defensive stance to try and stop any more attacks from hitting Alhazred while Paracelsus fumbled with her vials when he felt something rush past him in a roar as it struck the beast.

The red creature pulled its horns out of the fleshy mass under the crustacean’s carapace it had dug itself in before starting to gnaw off its pincer, ripping it out after a few seconds of inhuman screeches. The Uca expired as it’s claw bled lymph all over the coral walls, and in response, the Guardian set down its shield over the Ghast. It hadn’t stopped playing for a second. Notes, bars, tunes, symphonies, … it had been playing the sounds of madness, and the team could feel their minds slipping into the abyss as the air brought forth ancient memories they wished were forgotten.

Bigby was the first one to snap.

The Ghast’s rotten fingers slid its bow over the algae covered cords, producing more of that unbearable sound, more of that noise that dragged painful memories with it...

The Abomination had started to lunge to take a bite out the skeleton, but his legs gave under him as he gripped his shaking head. Baldwin braced himself to defend the rest of the team from the new foe, ready to cut it down as soon as it bared its fangs in his direction. But to his surprise, Bigby started to shrink down until only his scrawny form was left on the briny floor: “It feeds off my essence, and now … I falter” he muttered as his trembles rattled his chains in a sick accompaniment to the squeaks of the damned viola.

The Leper himself was feeling his resolve falter, he could grab his human companions and run, leave these beasts to themselves and save the ones who were not yet damned in the Light. The Guardian started making its move and raised its bladed fist over the hunched Bigby, one strike would be enough, and all that Baldwin needed to do to rid the world of this creature was to hold back…

The viola’s notes rang, and his mind caved in.

The slimy head of the Pelagic Guardian split under the weight of the massive sword in the bandaged hands of the Leper as he pushed the Abomination back to his teammates:

“Mountains defy the consuming sea!”.

After pulling out the heavy blade from its fishy sheathe, Baldwin proceeded to wildly swing around wherever he could see the Ghast, he wasn’t counting his swings anymore, all he wanted was to crush those cords and find again the respite of silence.

Until he realized that he could not hear the viola anymore over his screams. As his vision cleared, he found himself surrounded in wood and bone splinters, the rush of blood roaring in his ears calmed down until he could hear Paracelsus and Alhazred stabilizing the shivering Bigby.

Over, finally, some silence.

The Leper was too glad to finally be granted this peace of mind, but it was short lived. The team made its way back through the murky paths, carrying themselves as well as possible, but it was clear the Occultist would not be able to guide the Abomination for much longer with his wounds. Thus it was Baldwin’s duty to hold Bigby on their way out of the damp tunnels.

He was not enjoying this, keeping this creature in such close proximity, but at least he could maintain an eye on it. Bigby was clearly not focused on the walk and tripped over nearly every single piece of coral on the way out, after a few near falls, he started holding onto the Leper’s bandaged arm, like a drowning man holding onto a piece of wreckage in a storm.

At first Baldwin considered pulling back and letting the damn thing find its way out by itself, but something stilled his hand. A warmth had seeped into his arm, a familiar feeling he had not experienced for years before … before his illness turned him into the feared creature he was now, forced to hide under the heavy bronze mask. As he felt the finger, human fingers, curling over his bandaged skin, he had a vague memory of fonder times, when the sun shone and he could feel the caress of the rays over his face, when he still had a family with his name…

He didn’t shake off the Abomination on their way back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Hamlet, the team dropped off their loot in the vault and went their ways. Paracelsus was eager to analyze the samples she had gathered from the cove, Bigby ran out of view and Alhazred had to get stitches at the sanatorium, accompanied by Baldwin who needed his weekly injection. He didn’t know how it worked, but it was enough to keep his disease stalled, though not enough to cure him.

After dropping off the Occultist, the Leper was left to his own device. He noticed that his hand was still slightly trembling, and it was not because of the needle that had been implanted earlier. The ghost of the tune still sang in the back of his mind, and he needed to get it out.

He took the steps to the Abbey and cracked open the door, he expected the Vestal tending to the sacred fire, or the Flagellant in his rapturous devotion. Not the huddled and chained being bowing to the altar, furiously praying: “The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us.”

Baldwin knew this feeling too well, it was something that needed peace of mind before the Light would grant him relief. The Leper went to sit himself in a corner of the church, lighting some incense, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath: In … Out … In … Out …

His heart was a war drum no more, just a slow tap reminding him that he was still alive.

In … Out … In … Out …

The tip of the fingers on his right hand had started to go numb a few days ago, and his eyesight was turning blurrier, this was probably why he couldn’t hit the Ghast at first back then. He had come to terms with his illness, he had no choice but to do so and accept that mortality would probably not come in a glorious strike, but in a slow loss of his senses as he decayed away.

In … Out … In … Out …

What had hurt most was the banishment, it was his choice, but he knew that if he didn’t do it himself, that choice would have ended up being taken for him. All who suffered like he were treated as outcasts, for the good of the people. But he had seen the colonies filled with the ones less fortunate than he, they were treated no better than monsters, he felt a twinge of regret toward his brothers and sisters in adversity.

In … In .. Out … Out.. In … In .. Out … Out..

Baldwin opened his eyes and saw Bigby, no longer shaking in front of the Altar, instead looking up to the Light, calmly breathing out his prayers of hope. Their gazes crossed for a few seconds of mutual acknowledgment before they went back to their respective communions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later, the two of them were sent together once more, this time in the Warrens to slay the Swine King. The Leper noticed that he was feeling less nervous with Bigby in his back, the rattle of his chains were a soothing sound over the squeals of the swine men roaming about these caves, and those very chains served well in combat to stun and slow down the enemy to let Baldwin push his sword into the enemy. The Vestal Junia was clearly still feeling nervous; but he figured that his presence alongside Milicent, the Arbalest, was aiding her in keeping her nerves calm enough to keep the torchlight up and their wounds closed.

Of course things were never easy for very long, especially when a Swinetaur decides to show itself. The squad set itself in position to face the massive enemy, but what they failed to notice were the two Swine Slashers lurking in the beast’s shadow. Only when the Arbalest fired her Rallying Flare did they find out too late. Baldwin did his best to try and let the first hook hit his plated armor, but was too late to dodge the swipe of the second one. The slash went upwards, leaving a mark upon his chin and hooking off his mask that went flying off into the piles of refuse, leaving his deformed face in view to the rest of the group. He didn’t need to look to feel his companion’s fearful gazes in his back.

More sword swings, more bolts, more prayers and a pair of horns put an end to the repulsive creatures. But at the cost of multiple open cuts that risked infection in the squalid conditions of the Warrens. Milicent suggested camping so she could dress up the worst of the wounds, a welcome respite, especially with all the food in their packs.

As the Vestal set down her sanctuary for the night, Baldwin noticed that Bigby had walked away, maybe to avoid distracting the nun during her important duty, he did not consider this situation much longer as Milicent had started unpacking her bandages and stitching needles. She was keeping her head down as she worked on him, averting her gaze from his face.

He could not blame her for it, but he had to admit that the waft of air on his face had an intoxicating feel after hours upon hours of treading through hot and humid tunnels. Though he was almost grateful for his lack of nose when he looked at the piles of filth surrounding them.

Speaking of those, as soon as the Leper was done getting patched up, Bigby walked out from one of them and approached him with something in his hand: “I don’t think you need to wear it, but if it makes you feel better, you can keep it.”. His bronze mask, still slightly stained with what looked like pig blood, but it seemed like the Abomination had tried to clean it the best he could with the rags on his back.

“... you went to look for it?” asked Baldwin as he took the piece of metal with slightly trembling hands, Bigby nodded: “I understand if you want to hide yourself. I just want you to know that … well, I don’t mind you taking it off.”.

Pulling back the few chains that had slipped off his shoulder, the scrawny man was about to walk away before the Leper spoke up as he grabbed a loaf of bread: “Won’t you stay by my side for supper?” he asked as he broke it in halves, offering one to his companion.

His answer was a small but grateful smile as Bigby sat himself next to Baldwin: “Thank you for this”.

The night in the Warrens felt less cold to the both of them with a shoulder to lean on.

Whatever happened with the Swine King, they were grateful for this moment.

[osplague]

Flagellant's premium recipe!

recipe by @leenukeath, the nettle leaves are for applying to your skin

[joz-yyh]

Blighted Hearts - Ch. 2

SUMMARY: It's the night of the full moon and Damian has quite an eccentric request for the church. William also has a shocking proposition for his brute of a partner. No Beta. Read at your own risk.

PAIRING: Abomination x Flagellant  / Bounty Hunter x Hound Master

RATING: T (for Ch. 2 only!! The rest of the fic is EXPLICIT!)

WORD COUNT: 3,882

READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!

A/N: Huge thank you to @hungryhannya, @leenukeath, @zawwa and my reviewers for all their encouragement. Without you, I wouldn’t have had the support to turn this into a multi-chaptered fic! I hope you enjoy! 💚

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Neither of them had slept much that night, too engrossed in each other’s company for more than a few fitful spells of arrhythmic unconsciousness. 

Bigby lays draped over the flagellant's shoulder, a shaggy arm angled over his scarred chest, a hairy leg twined with his enrobed one. Damian made sure the wolfboy held most of the blanket, shroud covering a larger portion of his exposed skin, one bandaged arm wrapped around the ringlets of his waist, clutching him close to his side.

The fire was now dead, the priest sadly needing to leave just before dawn, giving his boyfriend's hand a chivalrous kiss goodbye.

He had only been gone a few hours, needing to be in attendance when the other church members awoke and then like clockwork he fetches Bigby from his cave, speaking of the latest news from the town crier.

There had been a boon in supplies thanks to a recent excursion at the warrens and the holy man was adamant about the two of them visiting Hamlet together to celebrate.

That's where they're headed now, Damian making the bold move (at least Bigby thinks it's bold) to hold his hand during the daylight hours, out in public.

The wolfboy doesn't register it at first, the shock of it. He almost suspects it's on accident, but their hands remain locked throughout the whole trek towards the decorated square.

Damian has been exceptionally joyous, almost painfully so, but who was Bigby to squander it, especially since he was the cause.

Still the fear remains that if the residents didn't already have their suspicions, then this romantic air between them will certainly solidify the rumors.

Bigby shirks away from the judging eye of society (one would have to with his condition), but dating a flagellant with a reputation for madness only adds to the notoriety.

“I am glad you’re happy, but could you maybe tone it down a bit,” Bigby asks, overly conscious of his partner’s exuberant mannerisms.

“What do you mean,” the flagellant twitters, looking towards him with the same grin plastered across his face, “I am always this happy when I am with you.”

The lycan clicks his tongue, a flush appearing on his cheeks as well as a helpless look, both flattered and embarrassed.

“Perhaps, but people are staring,” he argues, trying to shrink away, fold himself inside his shroud and Damian’s bulk.

“Let them stare if they must,” the priest asserts, anticipating what the other might be worried about, “I am not ashamed to be seen with you.”

Bigby doesn’t say anything, choosing to bite his lip and hang his head, hoping his hair will eclipse his face, keeping watch over his steps.

“Unless, it’s me that you’d rather not be seen with,” Damian pouts, his happiness immediately revoked, becoming a gaunt frown, withdrawing his hand from their combined grips.

The wolfboy notices this change the same way he acknowledges a cold strike of fear.

“No,” Bigby shouts, reaching for the flagellant's hand with panicked aggression.

Damian jumps, surprised by this uncharacteristic reaction, Bigby reclaiming what is rightfully his, fumbling to reconnect them with jittery desperation.

At the reaffirming feeling of his boyfriend's warmth clasped in his, the abomination is once again calmed, but realizes his embarrassing slight too late.

He clears his throat, keeping good posture, attempting to pass for normal and not the touch-starved man he just proved himself to be.

“T-that’s not it,” he explains, avoiding Damian’s eyes by keeping his pinned straight ahead, “I am … I am just not used to this … attention.”

“You will grow to be,” the flagellant assures him, smiling confidently, hoping to inspire the same daring nerve in his partner.

"A tall order," Bigby laughs, smiling ruefully at the thought, "I am not exactly bursting with self confidence."

"All the more reason for me to show you off," the flagellant smirks, taking the reins as he tugs Bigby toward one of the stalls.

—--

Tardif glances in the direction of the two addled men, hard pressed not to stare with the commotion they're making. He bristles beneath his mask, seething at how carelessly they strut their laissez faire fraternization for all to see, for him to see.

This bustling market wouldn't have been possible without him and William trudging in squalor, busting their asses for a silo of grain sacks, and now he has to share their success with those clodhopping imbeciles of all people.

Something soft, grounding presses against his clothed cheek, making his heart leap into his throat. He realizes it's William, his lips giving him a light peck of surprise.

"I got us a couple of meat pies and sweet potatoes for later," William chirps, holding the loot of delicacies in his arms for his companion to see.

Fergus, the dearheart, also presents a band of carrots in her muzzle, tail wagging happily.

Savory food was usually the quickest way to the bounty hunter's heart, but when the ruffian only grunts nonchalantly at his favorite meal, the blonde man knows there must be something else eating at his prickly exterior instead.

"What's wrong," asks the houndmaster, a concerned frown setting in amongst his tawny features.

"Nothing," the mercenary dismisses, shaking his head and walking towards their shared cabin and further away from the festivities.

William lingers on the sight of his retreating back before he turns his gaze, picking up the scent of who he's been tracking, his eyes landing on the mismatched pair that was Hamlet's most obnoxious couple: the abomination and flagellant.

The houndmaster sighs. It was no wonder then. Fergus similarly, looks up at her master with a forlorn whimper.

William, being the detective that he was, could read the situation. He knew of the bounty hunter’s intrigue, of how a crazed masochist was just as appealing as a trophy to be won and conquered, but the blonde will prove that he can be just as hardy if not as satisfying.

Mind made up, William prims his brow, striding up to the sulking hunk of armor, a determined glint in his golden eyes.

"Tonight, after dinner. Me and you. As rough as you want it," the houndmaster proclaims, walking astride him, gesticulating his free hand.

The brutes' eyes are blown so wide, William swears he can see them, even from behind the visage of his helmet. It’s torture, waiting for his response and the longer the bounty hunter looks his figure up and down, assessing his durability, the more the ex lawman begins to sweat out all his resolve.

"Ya sure ya can take it," Tardif taunts, truly debating if he could handle the physical demands of some rougher bedroom play.

William had more of a delicate constitution when it came to sex. His partner would often pass out if things between them got too intense, not that Tardif was opposed to the more tender stuff, but a part of him craved spice and untamed wildness.

"Of course I can," the beast tamer professes, puffing out his chest to convey just how tough he was.

Fergus equally attests to her best friend's credentials with an affirming bark and a little hop of her forepaws.

Tardif doesn't just chuckle, he full-blown giggles, the sound uncharacteristic and bordering on sinister as he plots out he could use this gambit to his advantage.

"Alright, hand me one of them meat pies and ya got yourself a deal," the bounty hunter smirks, holding out his glove.

William is all too thrilled to see the mercenary's appetite return, fulfilling the bargain without delay.

"Try not to back out on me," William teases, handing the wrapped delicacy over.

"Your back is what I’ll be trying," the brute snorts, pulling down his cowl to take a sizable bite of flaky crust.

A blonde mustache bristles at such vulgar comments, a stripe of red painting his nose, but he can’t deny that he set himself up for that.

—--

"No, wait that's–," Bigby cuts himself off, his shyness taking over as they stand before a proprietor of goods.

A middle-aged husband and wife greet their arrival, the wolfboy remarking with a timid wave.

“May we,” the flagellant asks, indicating the bushel of apples.

“Certainly, help yourself,” the older woman inclines, finding the two men of peculiar interest.

The priest plucks a pomme with a deep crimson hue, handing it to Bigby as if inviting him to dance.

"For you."

There's an interlude of hesitation, the abomination stunned by these acts of courtship, having never known such things before Damian. He reminds himself to accept this token of affection, warming the rind of fruit in his hands once he does.

The priest harvests one for himself as well, knowing his companion would not partake without him there to share the wealth.

The graying woman chuckles modestly at such a youthful display, looking with fond eyes toward her husband.

“Well, go on then,” the wife prods, sweeping her aging hands at the pair, “it’s the perfect time, height of the season so they're bound to be delicious.”

The flagellant takes a large mouthful, crisp and juicy flesh crumbling to his ration of teeth if only to persuade his partner to do the same.

Bigby takes a much smaller nibble, smiling cordially at the sweet yet sour taste. "It's good."

A harsh squeal draws his curiosity and the instant the wolfboy sees the rosy potbelly of the pig that made it, he’s charmed, the odd coloring of the bovine skin reminiscent of his own branded blood.

"May we pet the pigs," the abomination asks, turning towards the owner's, seeking their permission.

"Don't see why not," the man guffaws, shrugging in his overalls as he chews on a reed of wheat.

Bigby beams, approaching the makeshift pen, squatting down to be closer to the rotund creature that’s currently snout-deep in a bucket of slop.

"Hello, what's your name," the abomination coos, patting the white hairs between the swine’s floppy ears.

"That one there’s Rudolf," explains the old-timey farmer, pleased to see someone take an interest in his stock, "cuz he's so fat and red. My most prized hog."

"Haha, I see," the abomination chuckles. "It's a great name," he assures the animal, should there have been any offense.

Rather than any dotting reassurances, the pig seems more interested in the half-eaten apple, it’s salivating mouth abandoning his trough to wriggle toward this temptation and Bigby lets the glutton have it.

“Look at that,” the bifocaled man laughs, “Never stops eating!”

“Over here,” the woman beckons the flagellant, “Take some grain. Join your friend.”

“Thank you,” the hooded vagrant says, cupping a hand as she pours the millet into it.

Damian kneels to replenish Bigby’s supply of food with his own unfinished apple, whispering just low enough for him to hear, "Be careful he doesn't eat your whole hand. I have use for it later."

The brunette flushes despite himself, watching as his partner finds a small herd of sheep to preoccupy himself with.

The abomination shakes his head, feeding the leftovers to Rudolf, his eyes inevitably drifting, endeared by the sight of the flagellant being surrounded by a bunch of bleating clouds of wool.

Revised to leave his spot, the changeling observes how the sheep retreat as he draws closer to Damian's side, sensing a swell of danger that they did not before.

"Have some grain,” the flagellant smiles, recruiting him to the cause of hungry livestock.

“What’s the point? They’re all so scared of me,” the abomination scoffs, rising to his feet, intending to return to the sanctity of pigs.

“Wait,” Damian pleads, pulling him back down.

He opens a manacled palm, splits what feed there's left between them, urging both their lures through the gaps in the wooden fence.

“They will come,” the priest says, dispelling his partner's look of criticism, “give it time.”

Soon enough, this proves true, one of the younger lambs the first to dip into the well of Bigby's palm, the older siblings following suit until the reservoir of food is barren.

“See, I told you.”

That he did.

The tolling call of the church bell rings, both heroes looking towards the brass deacon of it’s steeple.

"It's nearly time for mass," Damian says, dusting off his hands, rising to his feet.

He holds out his bloody palm, extending it towards his companion and an old, vulnerable side of Bigby still flinches at these strokes of benevolence. Too many times generosity wore the skin of friendship, only to turn deceptive and cruel, but Damian's hands had never struck him, had only ever fulfilled his wishes of amity and warmth.

"Right," the lycan nods, swallowing down his learned misgivings, taking his boyfriend’s impressions of goodwill with an optimistic brow.

The two young lovers spare a brief thank you to the husband and wife before filing through the dirt roads, homogeneous along with the rest of the church-goers.

Damian walks them up the stairs to the abbey, a brazen audacity that Bigby admits he cannot replicate himself. If anything, the changeling is more anxious attending services now, knowing what Damian plans to ask his comrades of Light.

As they enter, doors propped open in welcome, the priest cannot contain himself, compelled to speak his humors aloud.

“Greetings, friends! Another glorious day for the Light, is it not," he hollers, grinning ear to ear, addressing the congregation.

Bigby's face burns scarlet, deflating at such an exuberant admission.

So much for being subtle.

And oh, Damian isn't done.

"Rejoice, for I have such great news to share with all of you!”

Baldwin looks up from his sermon, Sarmenti snickering from his iconostasis as he gently strums his lute.

It was mostly quiet before their arrival, the hushed murmurs of those in the pews turning silent, swiveling in their seats toward the commotion and Junia excuses herself from the pulpit to mitigate the problem.

She glides down the nave, wearing her best smile as she approaches the two outcasts, “My, what spirit you have brought with you today!”

The wholesome vestal regards her parish with similar vibrance, “may all of you take a page from his example. Every day is to be celebrated with joy!”

At Junia's disarming words, the room returns to normal, everyone facing forward again, away from the theatrics. Others continue to stream in through the central aisle, and the virtuous woman tactfully ushers the two men off to the side.

“Here, come this way," the vestal bids them with a hushed voice, hoping to award them some privacy.

"Now tell me what’s brought you such excitement! I wish to share in your happiness,” she asks, giggling with a gentle heart.

The flagellant looks to his precious companion, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “Allow me to take care of this. I will find you later. Please, enjoy the service.”

Knees knocking together, Bigby feels a shiver of dread at the thought of being left alone, his courage dependent, elevated when Damian was near and now it dwindles at the impending loom of his departure.

This shift in Bigby's demeanor does not go unnoticed, his partner facing him fully, taking both his hands in his.

“Would you rather stay,” Damian asks, not considering this before, but offering such courtesies now that he has.

“No, no it’s OK,” the wolfboy dismisses, bashful of his own neediness, not wanting to impose, “I’ll let you two discuss it.”

He pardons himself before he can act a fool, retracing his steps back toward the entrance, turning to see that the brief conversation with Damian and Junia has led them both to disappear behind a side door, no doubt to discuss their arrangement with the other religious heroes.

Bigby sighs, gritting his teeth with a nervous brow. Suddenly, all the repercussions of what could go wrong rise to the surface of his mind, his altruism crashing down around him like broken glass.

His sooty feet carry him towards one of the farthest pews, taking a seat at the very end, a customary action, isolating himself from the rest of the attendees out of habit.

Hoping to assuage his doubts, Bigby remembers the resting place for his rosary, procuring it from his pocket, dedicating himself to prayer with a bow of his head.

He listens attentively to Baldwin's voice, the moral of today's psalms, but his thoughts no doubt circle around to his own troubles.

What will the others say when Damian tells them? What will they think? Nothing worse than they already do, surely. Hopefully.

Too engrossed in his own head, Bigby had not heard anyone approach, not until a cast shadow towers over him, blocking out the morning sun.

He nearly drops his crucifix, jumping up from his spot, alarmed that he had let his guard down.

“Damian,” the abomination sighs in relief, quelling his anxious heart, “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“They’ve agreed.”

“What,” the werewolf squeaks, not believing his ears.

It just couldn't be true. There was no way.

“To you joining me tonight,” the flagellant elaborates, worry coating his expression as he moves to sit down beside him.

“They will be barring the doors, but I told them it wouldn't be a problem, assuming it wouldn’t be,” he continues, finding Bigby’s hand again, needing that strong, reassuring tether to ground his own doubts.

“Really,” Bigby breathes, dubious that his plight had been answered, that he could be so blessed.

“Yes,” the flagellant says, his voice a weak treble, “are you not … pleased?”

Bigby feels his cheeks heat up, looking towards his partner, seeing the same spell of apprehension on his face.

“Overjoyed,” the abomination smiles, gently meeting his eyes, reaching up to cup a serrated jaw, “I just can’t believe it.”

The flagellant grips his wrist, that holistic grin reappearing in full swing of his broken teeth.

“You must,” Damian insists, continuing his ecstatic string of words, “my room is open to you for as long as you may wish to stay. They will release us once the full moon has passed.”

Truly grateful, the shapeshifter wants nothing more than to kiss him, but he also remembers where they are, of who might be watching, using his gaze to convey the depth of his desire.

Bigby was a patient man, he could wait. With the worst of their worries gone, all they had was time and the promise of what the night would bring.

———

Damian leads them down the spiral staircase, a torch to light the way in one hand, Bigby’s clammy mit held in the other.

The pitter patter of their bare feet echo with each step, the hypnotic walls of stonework seeming almost never-ending, niches filled with skulls and cobwebs marking their path.

Finally, they reach the bottom floor, a gloomy chamber with a pair of double doors coming into view, the sturdy lumber barred with iron beams and reinforced hinges.

"Hold this, I won't be long," the flagellant says, relinquishing the torch.

With his hands now free, the priest aims to unlock the beams, the metal scraping with a harsh cacophony of rust and the abomination tries not to flinch from the assault on his ears. The lycanthrope was already weary thanks to the dire accommodations of such a place and these unsettling noises only added to the unease.

Two hands on either side, Damian's muscles ripple, using all his strength to push the hefty cellar doors open, and an exhausted breath of dust billows out around them, the threshold of a tomb, eerie in atmosphere.

The flagellant flitters over to borrow the flame from him, lighting a few sconces adorning the walls, unveiling more of the sepulcher's macabre decor.

"What do you think," the flagellant asks, expectant and proud of his torture dungeon.

Crossing the threshold, observing his surroundings, the abomination affords himself a few extra seconds to reply. Various tools of anguish are stretched out before him, cages, chairs, racks of every size and delineation. An impressive collection to say the least, but as off-putting as it was (given his history with captivity), Damian liked it and that was reason enough to give such horrific designs a second chance.

"Roomy," the wolfboy remarks, off the cuff, rubbing at his shoulders to expel the flood of goosebumps.

"What shall we do first," Damian asks, beaming excitedly, wanting his partner to choose from the array of sadistic toys.

—

"Check," Bigby calls, moving his knight into the iron square to take Damian's queen.

Who knew there would be a chessboard down here, but Bigby's supposes one cannot subject themselves to misery all the time.

"What, again," the flagellant exclaims, exasperated by his losing streak, "that's the fourth time in ten moves."

"You need to be more strategic with your pawns," Bigby tutors, raising an eyebrow, looking towards his impressive graveyard pile, "the idea is to preserve your pieces, not to sacrifice them all at once."

Damian is having trouble wrapping his mind around the rules, too used to blindly diving in with the same stubborn, predictable patterns just as he does in combat.

As Damian tries to dissect the board, plan his next move, Bigby admires the set laid out before him, crafted to resemble the various torture devices spread throughout the room in a morbid twist on the usual theme.

It took Bigby a moment to attribute all the crudely assembled avatars (with Damians help), but the game still played the same, whether it was derived from cheap scrap metal or fine onyx and ivory.

Even as he waits, fiddling with one of the miniature iron maidens, a familiar shiver runs down Bigby's spine, a sickness dropping into his stomach.

There's a crack in the barred windows, just enough that he can glean the sliver of moonlight, Bigbys's eyes intuitively drawn to it.

It's bright, ephemeral, illuminating all the dusk of the night sky.

Bigby shudders again, a revenant pulse echoing from inside, rattling his skull like a beguiling siren's song.

He tries to hide it, mask his reflective eyes from view, ignore the bite of his fangs as they stretch, curling over his lips, but he can't resist it much longer.

“Damian," the abomination huffs, urgency in his tone, "it’s time.”

“I am ready,” his partner nods, excited for this moment, taking him by the hand, leading him to the center stage of the basement.

“I hope you are,” Bigby strains, clutching tightly to his shroud with apprehensive eyes.

His nails grow long, feral, veins popping, varicose in his neck, ribs cracking as they expand into a cavity twice their size.

“Grrnnnghhhh,” Bigby growls, his transformation a painful one, but still self conscious of his appearance, knowing Damian is watching.

He manages one last look before his consciousness is pushed back, jarring and distorted, bulbous even as all his hair strips out.

The beast breaks free, ripping apart the flesh of it's human guise, the liberation of chains echoing along with a terrifying roar of power.

The beast is panting heavily, gathering it's wits, acclimating to it's new body, stretching out it's stance of hooves.

“That still you in there,” Damian asks, taking a step closer, trying to find his face among the darkness.

The beast's pointed ears perk up, revealing it's tall stature, long spindly horns nearly scraping the ceiling, massive arms draped heavily at his sides.

The beast may have forsaken it's need for lips, but it's jowls still manage a smirk and Damian returns this with one of his own.

“Then, catch me, if you can,” the flagellant taunts, sprinting off like naive prey, igniting his partner's instinct to hunt.

[kitausuret]

Wow! This got a lot more engagement than I expected. That's great though! I'm excited. I'm just gonna reply to everyone here lol.

@phasingoutfromthis leftovers for breakfast is a classic... I think especially if there's little time to spare. I kinda like this lol.

@cannibal-wings no I really like this! It also fits in nicely with my cherry-picking ONLY him working in a diner from Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane so that's fun. He'd been a cook at the Silver Spoon IIRC so he definitely knows how to cook breakfast food. I love your idea because it's fairly quick but it's still very substantial. Breakfast is important, and all that. Cooking as a form of therapy is just fantastic. 👌

@leenukeath HEHE I like the idea of his second cup with a spoonful of cocoa. He's not entirely thoughtless. I had also thought of hard-boiled eggs since it's a quick protein fix that can be made up ahead of time. I like to think he probably has bananas or strawberries or something lying around too since fruit is good. Since he's been a physical education teacher he probably has a little bit of a "well, practice what preach" mindset!

@anisecandy both! Either! But for the sake of this I'll say more... fairly well-functioning? He's kinda Stressed™ but he's in a pretty okay place.

@softgrungeprophet Really like the idea of him having protein shakes, maybe one of those mini blender things. Or even the premade ones if he like, hits the gym.

@moiraodeorainswife toast IS a classic. Toast. Coffee. Out the door. Love it.

I asked this on Twitter, but I'd like to get Tumblr's opinion too:

What do you think Flash Thompson has for breakfast? Besides 3 cups of coffee.

[sftd-official]

Eliza enjoys playing traditional tabletop strategy games, like Chess, Go, Mahjong and maybe a few more recent ones in her spare time. I don't know if she is good at them, but Mordenna enjoys having a game with her once in a while.

9/10. Mahjong and Chess specifically. Her time in the Network only compounded on her strategy skills. Extra points because Mordenna played chess against her on several occasions within ADVENT. First he lost, then it came down to hilarious stalemates. Eliza’s entertained a game nowadays but figures they’d get down to the same stalemates they did before.

[coffee-in-veins]

@engelsschwert tagged me (thank you!!) to list 10 songs by 10 different artists. I wish I could put ALL Starset songs here because - honestly guys. Honestly, they are amazing. All of them.

But, here we are. Selecting only 10 was hard

Starset - Telescope

Linkin Park - In the end

Poets of the Fall - Carnival of Rust

Mantra - Ori Ori

Barns Courtney - Sinners

Мельница - Обряд (Melnitsa - The Ritual)

My Chemical Romance - The Light Behind Your Eyes

Sia - Courage To Change 

The Moth & The Flame - Wishing Well

Florence + The Machine - What The Water Gave Me 

Tagging: @alchemy-go-boom, @mnmovdoom, @dare-the-punisher, @shibs, @bluraaven, @leenukeath, @kuro-tsuki-san, @ren-val (no pressure whatsoever, only if you wanna do it)

and anyone else who sees it and wanna snatch it for themselves - feel free to

[marbleboa]

He flinched when he felt the Bounty Hunter’s hand pat the arm holding him down, fumbling in its grip before finding Damian’s hand on his chest. The inquisitor flinched as he expected claws to plunge into his flesh but instead felt gloved fingers weakly holding his own, as if trying to clutch to consciousness.

Lil illustration from one of my fave scenes of Bloodied Hunters by @leenukeath! I am once again reminding yall to read it if you’re interested in the vampire au. This fic has been delightful :]

[marbleboa]

I’m loving the vampire AU!

Any fanfic or plans for it?

Thank you very much! :] And yes, I've certainly got some ideas for fanart and fic flying around my head. Atm I'd like to keep my focus on Achilles Come Down so I can keep (relatively)consistent updates amidst school chaos, but sometime I'd like to write some things for it as well.

In the meantime I'll be doodling snapshots of scenes/interactions when I can! I'll also mention that my friend @leenukeath has been kind enough to write some things for the AU as well, plus helping me out with working out details. That last pic from my initial post was based on a scene that she herself wrote!