#posting it before i lose my nerve

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

a knife in the dark

[adar/oc]

This is a slightly unhinged WIP AU for my longfic, Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall'n. Highly recommend (ask/beg/implore) you to read at last the first like, 8 chapters of that first or you'll be... um... maybe a lil confused? PREMISE: Erenyë is reembodied in Valinor, but Mandos shrouds her memories of Utumno, hoping to spare her pain in her new life. But she is restless in Aman, sensing that something is missing... She boards a ship heading for Middle Earth, hoping to discover just what that is. [DON'T @ ME ON REINCARNATION MECHANICS, THIS IS PURELY A NONSENSE DRABBLE THING THAT WILL HOPEFULLY EVENTUALLY LEAD TO SMUT BUT MORE REALISTICALLY WILL JUST BE A LOT OF RIP-YOUR-HEART-OUT ANGST BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT'S ALL I DO HERE. 🫠 ]

She makes her voyage on an elven ship that is nearly empty.

Why would you go across the sea, the other elves ask her, mouths agape, in the days before her departure. Bliss lies here in the West—you will find little comfort on the shores of Middle Earth.

Erenyë cannot answer them, cannot explain why the eastern expanse calls her so. She has heard many among the eldar who made passage home from the Hither Lands speak of the sea-longing that precipitated their journey—but this feels like something even stronger, a yearning for a place, yes, but something more… something that she cannot name.

Whatever it is, she surmises it must be the reason she has never felt quite at home in Valinor, even surrounded by her Noldoran kindred, the ones who had remained after the terrible kinslaying of old.

As she watches the waves pound against the sharply angled bow, wind whipping through her hair, she speaks a silent promise to the waiting horizon: I am coming.  

...

The tides of fate flow, and the sea is treacherous.

Their vessel is beset by perilous storms that rage by day and night, and no prayer to Ulmo seems capable of assuaging them. Their instruments fail, and the gale proves too powerful to hold their northward course to Lindon.

She asks how far off course the storm has flung them.  

Toward the Southlands is the answer.  

...

They make port in an abandoned Numenorean harbor that the captain calls Pelargir, and it is here that Erenyë takes her first steps into Middle Earth.

The landscape is lush and green, and different from Valinor—for it strikes her as more rugged and wild than the place from which she’d come. The climate is temperate and the air is moist, the trees here are massive, with thick trunks and sprawling branches, growing as they do only in Oromë’s woods across the sea. The forest calls to her—as all forests do—and she wanders eagerly toward the treeline, ready to lose herself in this new world.

But she is stopped by raised voices as a party of men emerges from the woods with warning. They are downtrodden, starving and traumatized, bearing the scars of war and disaster. In due course she learns that they have fled their homeland, several leagues to the east and over the mountains.

With terror-laced voices, they speak of a fire mountain, lately awakened, belching fire and cloud so high that it swallows the sunlight, rendering the land a waste, overrun by orcs. They answer to a single leader, the men tell her—a villain who calls himself Adar.

....

Adar.

It is a perplexing name for a servant of darkness, an elvish word.

She ponders the mystery late into the night, after the newly established encampment falls still. The elves had wasted no time in offering aid to the refugees, and Erenyë had done her part, though the forest still calls to her, insistent.

She considers going off alone, but the threat of orcs roaming the hills seeking captives to return to this Adar gives her pause. She knows enough of orcs to understand that the safest time to move through their lands is in daylight, and though she has never encountered one, memories of the stories that had reached her ears in Valinor, and the accounts of the Southlanders strike a deep chord of fear within her breast. She passes the night restless, yearning to roam.

At dawn, a small party of elves from the ship sets off toward the mountains, and Erenyë accompanies them eagerly, taking up a sword and dagger from one of the men who had not survived the night. The elven leader, Telemnion, tells them they must discover as much as they can about Adar and his legions so that a report can be sent north with all speed to High King Gil-glad.

They set a northeastern course that takes them up steep hills as they near the borders of the Southlands. As the day wanes, she catches the scent of smoke upon the air—ash and scorched pine, the smell of instantaneous destruction. Without warning, she doubles over, bracing herself with one hand against the nearest tree, retching.

“Are you well, Erenyë?” Telemnion hurries to her side, his eyes wide with concern.

In truth, she cannot say why the smell affects her so—she only has the keen sense of having experienced it before.

Her mind is filled with visions of ruined land—even before they emerge from the trees on a high precipice just before nightfall and see the blackened remains of the Southlands for themselves—and she knows that the visions are not simply abstractions. They feel like memories.

But it does not make sense—there had been no destruction of that kind in Valinor. Yet as they stop to rest, she cannot shake the sensation of touching ruined ground: of trailing her fingers over blackened, hollow trees, over the bleached bones of dead animals, over ash-laden earth.

As day gives way to night, she watches the skies above turn color. It is not the natural, blue-black of a peaceful night, but a wicked orange glow, cast by flames and smoke. It is yet another strangely familiar sight, and it fills her with blackest dread.

...

Several nights later, they are attacked by a band of orcs.

They are far outnumbered, and Telemnion cries out to them, telling them to run. With a pounding heart, Erenyë flies as fast as she can through the trees. When she’s confident there is enough distance between herself and the skirmish, she climbs, seeking for the safety of the upper branches of a great oak tree.

In the distance, she sees torches gleaming, and the sound of orc horns pierces the night air. She hugs the trunk of the tree, pressing her body close as though hoping it might open and absorb her into the safety of its bark as the orc army presses closer.

They are chanting something in unison—something that sounds victorious—and it is not long before they are close enough for her to understand it.

Adar… Adar… Adar…

The orcs continue their advance toward her tree. She considers climbing down and fleeing, but the chant soon falls silent, and the flickering torches stop moving.

A new voice fills the air.

It is low and husky, speaking the guttural language of the enemy. She cannot understand a word, but she tips her ear toward it, for there is something, some phantom quality about it that she cannot place. The trees are close in the glen, and with great care, she makes her way from one to the next, sidling toward the voice.

The orc army comes into view, and she can see their leader standing before them. His back is toward her—she can see only his silhouette against the torchlight. He is tall and slender—strangely elven, compared to the other orcs, the majority of whom are stooped and stocky. His presence is commanding, though he does not raise his voice beyond what is required to adequately fill the clearing.

He finishes his address with what is clearly a command for the uruks to set up camp, for they break out into groups, busying themselves with assembling tents and unfurling bedrolls.

Adar, for his part, watches the flurry of activity, then retreats into the shadows of the treeline. He is outside the torchlight now, but Erenyë follows his shape in the dark as it moves deeper into the forest. Keeping a safe distance, she scrambles down from her tree, closing her hand around the dagger she carries. Her heart begins to thrum again, pounding with a mixture of intrigue and terror.

He weaves gracefully through the trees, making no sound. There is something about his bearing that seems ancient, as though he is a part of the old forest itself and she creeps closer, fearing that at any moment, he might be swallowed by the trees, absorbed into them.

Dawn is breaking when he pauses in a clearing, and she realizes that the trees around them have started to thin, their leaves charred. The scent of smoke is stronger here, and with a soundless gasp, she discovers that they have reached the line of the fire-mountain’s destruction.

He kneels down, and she is struck by how suddenly small he appears. The sight of his silhouette stirs something in her—something that originates from that same place of strange recollection.

Why, her heart cries in anguish, does he seem familiar?

Without a thought, she steps closer.

He is crouched beside a green sapling that the fire had somehow spared, fingering the delicate leaves with a reverent—almost loving—tenderness.

She takes another step, disturbing the ground in her wake. A twig snaps beneath her foot; his head whips around toward the sound, and she flies at him, unsheathing her dagger with a cry.

They collide, tussling in the ashes. Erenyë scrambles and struggles with all her might until she lands on top with a dagger to his throat, gasping to reclaim the wind that was knocked out of her in their skirmish. His face comes together in her field of view: grey, mottled skin, covered in scars, thin lips, and shockingly deep, green eyes. She loses herself in them for a moment, as she steps seemingly out of time itself, spellbound by their depths. Her heart accelerates, threatening to batter itself out of its cage within her chest. She leans closer, bearing down on the dagger that is still pressed against the flesh of his neck.

He draws in a sharp breath as the blade bites into his skin, drawing a few drops of black blood. His eyes close, and his exhale is a soft moan, she presumes of pain, but she recognizes it as excitement, somehow. Pleasure.

She squeezes own her eyes shut, striving to steady herself, for it seems as though the ground itself is now swaying beneath her. She feels it again—the familiarity, the certainty that she has heard that sound before—no, not just heard it, she has been the cause of it.

He is no longer struggling—his body is languid beneath her, boneless. She clenches her teeth, confused, weighing her next move. He is the enemy; he and his army are responsible for the fire-mountain, for the destruction of the forest, for the torment of the Southlanders. She should let the dagger finish its work—drag it across his throat, spill the rest of his black blood here upon the ashen ground.

He murmurs something, something in a language that sounds like elvish, but it is older: an archaic form—one that she has only ever seen preserved on ancient scrolls. A dream, this is a dream, he rasps over and over, in that same low, husky tone that sends a shiver rolling down her spine, but not one borne entirely of fear.

The sound of the ancient language comforts her. Inexplicably, she thinks of stars, and the sound of water falling gently over stone. 

She feels him shift and opens her eyes, preparing to defend herself. But he does not attack—instead, his hands seek for her hips, sinking softly into her flesh as he drags in another quaking breath. He wears an iron gauntlet on one hand, and it digs into her side, stopping just on the edge of pain.

Her stomach roils at the sight of this creature, this thing, this orc touching her, but her skin tingles beneath his fingers, even through her tunic.

She lets the dagger drag another quarter of an inch across his throat—she isn’t sure if she intends it to be a warning or an invitation—and he groans again. Tremors roll steadily through her body now; she feels she is dancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice, and she does not know whether to seek for safety or let herself fall into it.

He opens his mouth, and breathes a single word:

“Erenyë…”

Fear wins out—the sound of his name upon her tongue sends an earthquake through her body and she moves automatically out of shock and terror. With a strangled yell, she yanks the dagger into the air. He tries to rise, but she is too quick, slamming the butt of it against his temple—hard.

He falls back, unconscious, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that threatens to break free.

tagging @catz4ever @toddthekiwibird @eowyn7023 HERE YA GO MY FELLOW BADDYDADDY BRIGADERS

Read part 2 | part 3

[zorlok-if]

Hello!

First of all, to those of you who celebrate, hope you had a lovely Friday the 13th.

Second, for those wondering: I am alive, yes (hi! thank you for your concern).

Lastly, this project is not dead. I am still working on it (for example, I've written at least 5,000 words this week), I've just been doing so quietly/privately.

Now, why haven't I been active online? Ah, that's a complex question. To be brief, I was in a bad place. There were a number of things negatively impacting my mental health and a combination of factors that made me feel discouraged from/uncomfortable with sharing what I was working on. With all that being said, I also tend to withdraw into myself (much like a turtle) when I'm in a bad place and then shame spiral when I don't respond to or interact with people. The longer I go without saying something, the harder it feels to come back and say the damn thing.

Regardless, I am in a much better place and feel confident that I can dip my toe back in the water (without immediately wincing and fleeing to safety/isolation). I didn't want to try to come back before only to overpromise/commit myself and get overwhelmed.

I might talk more about this and things that have been going on behind the scenes, but that will be at a later date. For now, I am tired.

Hope you are all well! Looking forward to talking to you more and eventually sharing this project with you :)

Sincerely,

Albie

[quirkyfries]

happy pride month everybody

[drinkingbitterboy]

we been doodling lately

[snakesinsocks2005]

One o clock.time to post ocs

[alwaysyouuuuuu]

Wolfstar Kinktober 2024

Entry for Day 1, 5 and 10!

for @wolfstarkinktober2024

Loss of virginity | Alpha/Omega | Making love

Sirius' giggles die down in a few seconds and he glumly looks up at Remus from the floor. There is a betrayed look on his face, but the sparkle in his eyes ruins the overall effect. He crosses his arms and huffs, "Remus! Come on, that's not fair. I didn't know we were trying-" "Love." Remus locks his gaze into his. "-to catch each other off guard. You can't do that when I don't even have my wand-" "Love. Catch me." Remus says, a bit louder. "I'll- what?" Sirius breaks off, looking at him in confusion. "Chase," Remus says, sending him an obvious look, with as much conviction as he can possibly muster. As he stands there with half a foot on each stair, Remus sees the exact moment Sirius catches on, because right now he has it, a red glint in his eyes.

[vizishereig]

Chris stares at him, blue scales, blue eyes, blue tail. Infected, infected, infected. Yet, he sits there, making clicking noises, as if speaking to him in his own language.

His phone buzzes, Jill's name flashing on the screen. He flinches at the sound, wide eyes (blue, so blue, and they glow in the dark) staring at the device in his hand. He gives him what he hopes to be a reassuring smile as he swipes on Jill's icon, answering the phone.

"What's up?" Chris asks, watching him tilt his head, eyes widening in what he thinks is curiosity and then realization.

"Mm. Nothing much. Oh, quick question. What do you think about aliens?" she asks.

"Aliens? Like... the little blue guys?" he replies, thrown. "Uhm. They're cool, I guess? Why?"

"Well, what if I told you you're rooming with one?"

---

Or, in which Leon is an alien and Chris is the person he latches on to.

fuck it, we ball

[pretendthisisaname]

Sure hope this isn't some kind of foreshadowing

[deeneedsaname]

Rough sketches of possibly my favorite boy: “I’m much worse” crosshair you are such a dad

[sophieswundergarten]

I did it! I actually finished something and it turned out halfway decent!!!

[essektheylyss]

migraine day means sketch time feat. the newest addition to my list of "wizards that live in my head rent-free"

I only noticed today that Suvi has a little smoking incense holder in her hair and I'm not gonna lie, I'm obsessed with it.

[darlingdickie]

For You and Me

I ate some stardust And so did you I kinda thought it tasted blue But you said yours was rust

Our fingertips graze Upon our walk You grin over at me and don't balk With this, for you, the world I'll raze

Protecting each other Meeting my friends God, I'd give anything to make amends I'd give anything to not lose my brother

Mischief and smiles Sleepovers together Flocked like robins of a feather Now life is just full of trials

He laughs and taunts My blades flash His blood like mirrors with each gash Behind my eyes, your soul haunts

Alone, alone, alone again Alone from these nests I've flown To alight in a new city of cries and limestone I can't sleep here, not in this haven

Now alone with my white dust And missing you too much I try to remember your warm touch But all I taste is rust

[drinkingbitterboy]

miles is extremely shaped.

[herosplatling-replica]

Rather self-indulgent of me, so feel free to disregard, but what are Inny’s thoughts on the fusion AU? Like, if they were in the AU what would they think of the whole fusion thing? Is Doc kissable? Babygirl material? (I’m working on your ask too btw ;3)

"self-indulgent" pokeart123 you indulge ME with this ask!!!!!!!!! anyway i had so many thoughts while i was stuck in traffic for fifty minutes but i think inny's cpu is just going to straight up start melting

they are very much in love with doc and lament that it wouldn't be safe to fuse with ada and/or ian on account of being robotic 😭 but inny is absolutely just heart eyes at Doc 💙

[to-dream-within-a-dream]

Pixel art !

so, this has been sitting in my drafts for a bit. got really into making these little pixel sprites and cos I don’t have many ocs of my own to draw I may have borrowed a couple from some very cool people….

(top two are mine, middle three are from @please-let-me-be-horny and bottom two are from @peaches-and-gore )

anyways I have realised I really need to make more ocs 😅

[talonartworks]

Eh what the hell. Behold this artwork I did of my New Vegas ocs in like July. We've got my Courier in the center, her easygoing cowboy gf on the right, and her short vault-dweller gf on the left.

Since I've always wanted to do realism but have never been capable, when I started designing them, I decided to try going for a more stylized look. I took inspiration from Overly Sarcastic Productions' artstyle, although I may have cranked that outfit detail up to a 27 or so.

Oh yeah. And I added my blog name on the bottom right. That's fancy, right?