#smite skin concept

[supervitellus]

SMITE Skin Concept for Chiron - Desert Wanderer

[zennore]

A skin idea I've had for SMITE's Sol back in 2016, but redrawn!

[dappio]

Ill give him a motorcycle eventually

[starsofjewels]

Mama, Papa and Baby Too

Ramsay Snow (Bolton) x Lady Bolton! Reader, Roose Bolton x Lady Bolton! Reader

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

Please read responsibly.

DARK FIC: This piece includes or is focused around a situation some readers may find uncomfortable or disturbing. Know your limits and keep yourself safe.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Incest (Stepmother x stepchild), non-descriptive/ implied incest (father x child), voyeurism, breastfeeding, foreplay (fingering + handjob), riding (Roose), Little(-ish) Ramsay, non-descriptive mention of assault (in regard to Ramsay's conception)

The Boltons are their own warning

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I've never published any smut before, so why not, in true GOT fashion, start off with a weird little incest-ridden oneshot? The gods may smite me, but Ramsay is still my baby boy, so here we are.

I apologise in advance for this characterisation of Ramsay, even though I fear it fits his character exceptionally well.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Word count: 2.5k

You had known your stepson was unstable since before you had wed his father. A bastard boy conceived out of rape, raised by an insane servant until his mother grew tired of him, and threw him on the steps of the Dreadfort. Anyone in the North could recount the stories surrounding Ramsay Snow, how he tormented the serving girls in his father’s employ, commanding his pack of dogs to tear flesh from the servants’ bones, and naming each new pup after a girl he had slain. How he burned, and destroyed, and caused so much havoc across the Dreadfort and the lands surrounding it.

When you first arrived, to be married to the boy’s father, your maids told you, with varying levels of excitement, what he had done to Roose’s previous wife, and their only surviving son. Supposedly, your new stepson had tortured Lady Bethany to the point of insanity, to a degree that her hair fell from her scalp and her skin flaked. Her only living son, Domeric, had a worse fate still, succumbing to an ‘illness’ commonly believed to be poison in the hands of his jealous half-brother.

You are given a silver dagger to hide in your skirts, and told to not use it sparingly. Ramsay is unpredictable, and cruel, and Roose will not try to stop him. 

Roose does not allow you to meet him until after the wedding. The day you finally do, the staff refuse to look at you, or speak with you as they usually would. You are taken care of, of course, fed, and bathed, dressed in Bolton pink. You feel like a sacrifice, being made-up to appease some vicious god. 

“Sit, wife.” 

It is not a question, but you answer anyway.

“I have no need to sit, lord husband.”

You watch him roll his eyes, fixing himself a little. You stand in silence for a good few moments, until you hear unfamiliar footsteps, which you assume belong to your stepson. 

Ramsay stops in the doorway, eyeing you up as you are sure his dogs do their prey. You want so badly to reach out and take Roose’s hand, or run off. But there is no comfort for you, not now. You know your fate here, and it is not to be coddled like a doll.

He steps closer to you, and again, and again, until you can clearly see his cold, blue eyes in the dim light, sizing you up, as though he can tell exactly how to torment you.

Instead of striking you, or grasping at your hair and pulling, Ramsay cautiously wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder. You gasp in surprise, expecting far worse. Glancing up at Roose, you see his brow furrow in apparent confusion, he goes to speak, Ramsay does first.

“Mama…”

He sounds like a pathetic little boy, a baby, and some part of your heart is filled by it. He takes your hand in his and puts it to his own head, and you stroke his curls as he seems to want you to. The boy preens at this, pushing himself further into the embrace.

“It seems the boy likes you, dear.”

You almost smile at his words, looking down to the boy, still hiding away in your hair.

“Aye, it does seem that way.”

Roose has shown no signs of affection towards you before, much less openly giving you pet names. You try to ignore it, putting it to the side as a one-off, a part of his surprise towards Ramsay’s affection towards you.

Your stepson stays attached to your hip for the rest of the evening. He follows you everywhere, insisting he cannot do anything without you, and although you understand the oddness of the situation, if this is what it takes to prevent yourself having the same fate as Lady Bethany, you are willing to indulge the monster. 

He practically squeals in delight when you give him a sip from your wine when his father is not looking, having been barred from partaking after sunset following a particularly violent drunken escapade, the one sliver of actual parenting Roose had enforced. 

By the time he is ready to retire, he is squished up beside you in your chambers, practically on your lap. You are distracted from your sewing by him gently butting into you, trying to grasp your attention. Looking out at the dark night outside your window, you glance back at Ramsay, already nearing sleep.

You sigh, setting him up on the unused side of your bed. It takes barely a moment for him to shuffle across the sheets and wrap himself around you, clinging like a baby. There is no point in denying him, part of you knows he would sneak in later, anyway.

Eventually, Roose comes to you, dressed in his nightclothes. He has never spent the night with you before, much less in your own rooms. He slips in beside his bastard, watching the two of you with mild curiosity.

“You’re good with him.”

“Thank you.”

He scoffs slightly, leaning back against the headboard to look down on the sleeping Ramsay.

“I have never seen him like this. He’ll be asking to suckle from you next, dearest.”

There it was again, a small hint of your husband’s affections for you. You are terribly glad the dim night hides the blush on your cheeks.

“He would not!”

You can make out Roose nodding his head.

“Really? He’s a man grown, Roose.”

“As if that could stop him. Keep yourself clothed around him, no matter how much you trust him, He’s a mischievous one, our Ramsay. Give him a chance and he might pounce.”

You feel Ramsay smile against your chest, and you realise he’s not yet fallen asleep. Summoning your best act, you look at your husband with mock surprise,

“My boy? Oh, I find that hard to believe, lord husband. Is he not just an angel?”

Ramsay tucks himself tighter against you, and a smile finds itself upon your lips. You kiss his curls gently, the boy giggles, glad that you consider him to be your own.

-    -

The night, though young, is dark. As the Stark words always say, winter is coming. You can feel it in the cold, in the way the trees tilt in the breeze. You rest your head against Roose’s chest. The flames and your furs keep the room almost uncomfortably warm. You are the lady of the Dreadfort, after, you of all people must be shielded from the oncoming trials of winter. 

The storm outside is bitter and cruel. The wind is harsh, and you are certain trees will have fallen by the morning. Every so often, if you try particularly hard, you can hear your son’s dogs howling at the weather from the kennels. You turn, your back now to Roose. He reaches his arm around you, holding you closely to him. 

And your moment of intimacy, in less than a second, is ruined by the gentle tap of a hand against your bedroom door. Just from the sound of it, you know exactly who it is. You smile softly,

“Come in, darling.”

Ramsay shuffles into your bedchamber, like a child, a pout on his face which you can see from the light of the fire beside him. He is dressed in his nightshirt, his hair messy, and you know that you are in for a long night.

“Want to sleep here, Mama.”

He makes no effort to speak to your husband, not when his precious mother is waiting for him. Though Roose attempts to grasp your arms, you reach out for Ramsay, and he leaps into your bed. Before long, he has wrangled you onto your back, snuggling viciously into your chest. His attachment to you has only grown in the months you have spent as his mother, to a degree many might consider unsettling.

“Oh, love, did the storm scare you?”

The boy nods weakly, just the hint of a smile ghosting his face. His father scoffs,

“He is not a babe, my dear, the boy can manage a bit of wind.”

Ramsay glares at his father, before going back to affectionately nuzzling you. You stroke his cheek gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“It is very late, Ramsay. You should try and get to sleep now.”

He shakes his head,

“Nuh. Can’t.”

Roose sighs, having given up completely, resting his head back against his pillow. Though your hands are preoccupied by the Ramsay in your arms, you lean over to kiss his cheek, something of an apology.

“Why can’t you sleep, darling?”

“I’m hungry, Mama,” He practically pleads, “I can’t sleep if I’m still hungry.”

This is always his excuse. Hunger. You think the boy must have a stomach the size of the Riverlands for how much he complains of it. But, you know his excuse well, and what it always ends with. So you smile, sweetly, and lean closer to his face.

“And what does the master want for his supper, then?”

He practically paws at your breast, begging with his big eyes, almost whimpering.

“Milk, please. Milk, Mama.”

You sigh affectionately, pressing another kiss to his face, and letting him tug down your nightdress. 

“Just a little to settle your stomach, and then off to sleep, alright?”

“I promise, Mama.”

Though you are yet to have a babe of your own, Ramsay’s consistent suckling has eventually caused your breasts to swell, your body preparing its hardest for a baby who is, in fact, a grown man. This delights your boy, of course, who could spend the rest of his days living off of nothing but the milk you’ve provided him.

He is enthralled when you help his mouth find your nipple, suckling immediately. His brow furrows, waiting impatiently for his reward. He groans when your milk touches his lips, snuggling you more, mumbling thanks, or praise, or something hidden by his face buried in your breast. 

You hear Roose shuffling. He sits up, and roughly pets his son’s hair. Ramsay’s eyes flick open, he glared again at his father, relaxing as you shush him gently,

“You’re alright, sweetling. Mama’s here.”

Ramsay moans again, and you feel him shift against your leg. Roose makes a laughing sound from the back of his throat.

“Someone is in need of a little affection, Mama.” He teases lightly, nipping at your neck. His stubble is rough, adding to your sensitivity. “Perhaps you should take care of our boy, and I’ll look after you.”

“I want to look after Mama!”

The boy has detached from you, pouting once more. You kiss his nose, wiping some of the milk from his mouth,

“You are looking after Mama by being a good, quiet boy. Let Papa have a turn, hm?”

He grumbles, but goes back to your breast, suckling again.

Roose, ever pragmatic, slips his hands quickly between your thighs, delving two fingers at a time into your cunt. He chuckles again at how ready you are, continuing to spread kisses up your neck,

“You get your mother in such a state, Ramsay. Here, taste.”

Your husband puts his finger to your son, you whine at the loss of pleasure, and the boy cleans it off as a starving dog. He looks from his father, to you, and snuggles up against you.

“Milk is tastier.”

And you cannot help but smile, quickly replaced by another gasped moan as Roose goes back to his previous activities. You take his hand, leading him up to your clit with no words spoken. The two of you have an understanding now. In between your groans and little twitches, you notice how Ramsay’s heart rate gets faster, how he grinds just a little against you. 

“Ramsay?”

A pause.

“Mama?”

“Do you need help there, sweetling?”

He whimpers, having been caught, but nods anyway. You help him shift his nightshirt up to his hips, and carefully find his cock with your free hand. Your boy moans immediately, his hips buck, and he looks up at you with a sense of pleading. He whimpers,

“Mama… more…”

“Soon, my sweet boy. Enjoy your milk.”

You stroke him in a soft, rhythmic pattern, making sure to pay just enough attention to his weepy head to keep the boy on edge. Roose continues to tease you, you gasp every so often, reaching out for him, groaning his name. You come first, stopping your movements upon Ramsay to grip Roose’s arm, crying out for him. Ramsay takes your hand, trying to help. You kiss your husband softly, and then return your affections upon Ramsay. Roose leans back, watching.

You wrap your hand around Ramsay’s cock just the way he likes, and his nails dig into your arm. The boy nips on your breast as he comes, moaning with a mouth full of milk. Most of his mess is caught by his nightshirt, which makes him much easier to clean off. Once he has calmed down just a little, you slide him off you. He cries out, still complaining even as you shush him.

“Papa deserves a treat, too, don’t you, Papa?”

“I do.”

You sit Ramsay up, tired and comfortable, and the two of you share a private laugh as you straddle him, sinking yourself quickly upon his cock. There is no time for play, not when you have been so worked up by the evening’s activities. He moans, and you remember the man behind his cold demeanour. The one who loves you, who desires you even more than your son does.

“My- Careful, love- We are not a rutting dog, are we?”

“Hm- Your fault for being such a tease, Roose…”

He scoffs, replaced quickly by another groan. It is, indeed, his fault for teasing you. You bury your face in his neck, and bite down upon it. He moans out in surprise, jolting suddenly. The action is enough to send him over the edge, and he finishes inside of you, just as a self-respecting lord should. 

Ramsay, naked, bathed and half-asleep, lies on one side of you, Roose on the other. You are the lady of the house, after all, you deserve to be treated as such. Ramsay snuggles into your chest again, full and sated.

“Hm- How is my big boy?”

Instinctually, you reach out to rub his stomach, which seems to settle him,

“Sleepy- Mama…”

“Then sleep, silly boy. Mama will be right here.”

It takes him a little longer to drift off, but you can tell, as you boy goes limp, almost drooling against your shoulder. Roose kisses your hair affectionately.

“He really does love you, dearest.”

“Mh. He’s happy, and so are you. That’s all I care about.”

“Everyone is happy tonight. Mama, Papa and Baby too.”

You give him a tired laugh, and kiss your son’s forehead. Feeling yourself begin to sleep,

“Goodnight, darling.”

“Hm- Love you.”

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Sarenrae: Sunlord Thalachos

CR 15

Neutral Good Large Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 306

Ahh, here we go, a battle-ready Herald, specifically the Herald of Sarenrae, goddess of the sun, healing, and redemption. This platinum-skinned emissary of sunlight, however, has little to do with those latter two; while he can certainly be merciful and indeed possesses an array healing magic (mainly Remove Disease, Curses, and Fear--all at-will), the Sunlord primarily serves as Sarenrae's praetorian guard, protecting mortals selected by the sun goddess until they no longer require his guidance, often appearing to chosen wards at their birth to shield them from the machinations of the wicked until they learn to defend themselves. Able to not only become invisible at will, but freely change into the form of any Small or Medium humanoid or elemental creature, those tended to by Thalachos rarely ever know who their mysterious protector is (if they even know he's around), and almost never find out until long after he departs... if ever at all.

Interestingly, the purpose behind the Herald's creation is stated to be to serve as Sarenrae's weapon against the Spawn of Rovagug... but, well, I hope that's not literal, because the majority of the Spawn wouldn't even register his presence. I'm personally choosing to interpret it as him being charged with stopping whatever malefic machinations the cult of the Rough Beast is setting into motion to awaken one of the Spawn, because otherwise the Sunlord will need major backup in order to even inconvenience the weakest of the Spawn... or at least better weapons, since he can't even pierce their DR/Epic with his +1 Holy Flaming Scimitars!

But, before you go thinking he's some laughingstock in too far over his head, let me explain something to you: Are you familiar with the concept of hunting with the wrong weapon? For example, a normal shotgun isn't especially effective when hunting elephants, but if you were to instead shoot a squirrel, you'll obliterate the squirrel and likely a good portion of the terrain behind it. I say this to impress upon you the fact that the Spawn are the elephants, Thalachos is the shotgun, and the average cultist of Rovagug is the squirrel.

Before we get to how well he can peel apart a mortal, it's more than a little funny to me how good Thalachos is at getting rid of Evil Outsiders, a foe he was not built to face but nonetheless excels at removing. The Hand of the Inheritor--whom I must apologize to for continuing to punch at every opportunity--is devoted almost entirely to destroying demons, but Thalachos has frankly unfairly potent powers when it comes to combating all Evil, starting at the ability to cast Holy Word AND Dispel Evil at-will, the former capable of simply erasing hoards of lesser fiends and cultists with a single utterance and the latter capable of undoing the magic or the calling of whatever fiend Thalachos gets ahold of. He's got an unrestricted Plane Shift at-will to go wherever he pleases OR slap someone into another dimension with a single failed DC 21 Will save. He can use Sunburst 1/day to bring down Sarenrae's wrath upon an area, scouring it of Undead and any other creature vulnerable to sunlight, and call down a Flame Strike 1/day as well for additional artillery power.

if that wasn't enough, he's got Holy Smite at-will to squash whatever withstood his Holy Word... and perhaps, most blatantly wacky, the level 8 spell Holy Aura at will. NOT 3/day, or 1/day, or even 5/day, but at-will. Holy Aura can bless upwards to 15 creatures per casting with +4 to AC and to saves, 25 SR versus any spell cast by an Evil creature, full mind shielding, AND the ability to inflict permanent blindness against any Evil which strikes a protected creature in melee. He can do this at will, and everyone blessed by this maintains the blessing for 15 rounds.

do you guys think he'd be willing to go north for a bit? y'know, for fun?

All of these blessings are almost strictly for other people, though. Thalachos has no need for his own buffs, shielded by the universal Protective Aura of all Angels, improving both his and nearby allies' defenses against the weapons and magic against the forces of evil and hedging out hostile spell effects of 3rd level or lower (adorably, his aura also gives everyone inside Endure Elements so it's always comfortable). He's also fully immune to Fire, Acid, AND Cold damage, denying the three most common vectors of elemental attack by any creature, let alone fiends. Despite being Large size, he's also got Uncanny Dodge for some reason, which I imagine must look especially uncanny when the solid platinum titan suddenly bends 90 degrees at the waist to avoid an incoming spell.

All that defense helps him (literally) shine where he's most dangerous: In melee. It probably comes as no surprise that the 8ft tall flaming four-armed angel is a melee beater, and a resilient one at that. With an aforementioned at-will Invisibility, you may not know he's nearby until he slams down directly behind you, trapping you and all your friends in his 20ft threat radius. While certainly proficient with his +1 Flaming Holy Composite Longbow (2d8+6 + 1d6 Fire + 2d6 vs Evil), his true threat lays in melee, and not just for his damage.

He's got every Two-Weapon Fighting feat all the way to Greater, allowing him to make three attacks with his off-hand weapons while adding his full Str mod to the damage, already making his Full-Attack hurt; he's armed with two +1 Flaming Holy Scimitars which hit six times a round if he manages to Full-Attack. The meager 1d8+8 damage (+1d6 Fire + 2d6 vs Evil) belies their true effectiveness, because six attacks make the 18-20 crit range of his chosen weapons far more frightening than the low damage would suggest... and taking damage from two of his attacks in a single round forces a DC 24 Fortitude save versus being stunned for 1d6 rounds.

There is no cooldown to this ability or 24 hour immunity clause, and he can affect as many creatures as he can hit twice a round, potentially letting him stun up to three targets in a single round. Since being stunned has an obvious visual sign--the target drops everything they're holding and becomes woozy--the Sunlord is intelligent and insightful enough to drop aggro on whoever he's stunned to focus on anyone else in his melee radius to spread it around. Thankfully, this ability doesn't trigger multiple times a round for a single target, as it only checks the first time the target is hit twice. Taking all six hits doesn't trigger the ability 3 times, all the more reason he should diversify the directions he swings his swords.

Being stun-locked in melee with someone who can throw out so many attacks a round is never fun, and do you want to know what's worse? He doesn't need to Full-Attack to do it! He's a TWF guy, remember? If he moves up to you (50ft movespeed, 100ft fly) and does a simple attack, he can still hit twice, potentially cause a stun, and then do a Full-Attack next round instead to keep the chain going as long as he can.

I think all of this all very firmly puts him into the territory of "Tide-turning superweapon" that all Divine Heralds should be. He's a very high bar to clear, and very few do, hence why he caps off Holy Heralds Month. Fitting, I feel, for a central goddess such as Sarenrae.

You can read more about him here.

[quitealotofsodapop]

una vez leí que en viaje al oeste SWK tiene problemas de vista por el horno de tiagramas por las cenizas que le entraron en los ojos, como que necesita lentes como Tang ¿Que piensas de eso?

translated via Google:

"I once read that on a trip to the west SWK has vision problems due to the tiagram furnace due to the ashes that got into his eyes, he needs glasses like Tang. What do you think about that?"

It's a really cool concept!

One of my favorite au fics is called "Molten Iris" on ao3 (link here!), and it deals with SWK sight being permanently damaged by the Furnace, and how he might interact with the world around him because of it.

One of the aspects of Sun Wukong in the book is how "true" fire damages him; in the Furnace, by Red Boy, and briefly in Chapter 75 when he's trapped in the "Yin-Yang Twin-Energy Vase" by the Roc King/Peng. The last instance made him panic so badly that he pulled out a lifeline (magic hairs) Guanyin gave him at the start of the journey in order to escape.

Theres also a scene in "Journey to the West" where Monkey is blinded by the smoke made by Red Boy.

I like the idea of Wukong being fairly short-sighted, and the Gold Vision helps him find things without squinting too badly. I feel like his pride is the main obstacle for him to get glasses, makes him feel "damaged/mortal".

In the AU; since Wukong is living as a mortal, he actually gets a pair of glasses to help him read better (and cus of Mac's nagging). He was just goofing around one day with Tang and tried on the scholar's glasses, only to notice;

SWK, trying on Tang's glasses: "Uh... How am I seeing better with these? Pigsy made it sound like you were using a fish eye lens." Tang, realising: "...I'll give you the number of my optemertrist." SWK: "Is that some kinda wizard?"

Macaque ends up laughing the first time he sees Wukong wearing glasses, joking that his sight has started failing cus of age. Later he admits that he honestly didn't know Wukong's sight was truly that damaged from the Furnace. Wukong says no big deal, and makes a comment about being able to look at Mac more clearly now. Both monkeys are blushing messes by the end of the conversation.

Macaque makes a point of kissing Wukong's eyelids as a gesture of affection.

It also adds to Wukong's look as a "normal monkey demon dad" compared to the buff juggernaut he once was.

Compare: How the legends make Sun Wukong the Monkey King sound (Smite SWK) VS What he looks like to MK in the au (Hank Hill).

In the extended "Wukongverse"; the other SWKs likely have similar eyesight problems. The only ones who don't are Cherry/Netflix!SWK, and Shihou/Meihouwang!SWK since they were never trapped in the Furnace - though it would be funny if they still needed reading glasses.

Fun Monkey Fact! The imagery of SWK having "Fiery Eyes and Golden Pupils" comes from real life macaque monkeys, where during mating season; the skin around their eyes becomes red making their irises appear golden.

[xstarkillerx]

Maul in the Jedi Temple (drabble)

I don’t know how much sense this is gonna make because it’s been a vague idea in my head for weeks, but if you’re a maul lover like me, do yourself a favour and (don’t) play the TFU Jedi Temple DLC wearing the Maul skin. It absolutely will make you confront the idea of Maul, years after the Clone Wars, seeking out the Temple Ruins for... something. He doesn’t quite know why he’s there, but he feels as though the front gate itself might smite him for daring to look upon it, even when it lets him in with ease.

He spends some time exploring the ruins, most of it untraversable now, but still grand, still teeming with light and remnants of a dead religion. The force feels different here. When he crushes the statues in the hall, or lifts the giant globe off the ground, it's not a destructive act, it's almost playful, a back and forth between him and the energy that flows through the building.

Something calls him to the heart of the temple, a dark hall with a Holocron at the end of it. Blue and holy and inviting it bursts to life without his having to touch it, putting forth a towering projection of a man, a Jedi, in a hood.

"My son..." It booms and what a novel concept, Maul thinks, a Jedi bearing children. " you now control your own destiny. The dark side is strong in you," Maul feels small, infantile, voyeuristic, dwarfed by the projection with the warm voice whose message is clearly not for him." but you can still be saved.” It says. “The blood of a true Jedi, my blood, flows through you but you must complete the trials..." He tunes the rest out. It isn't long before he is blinded and dropped in the middle of a stone abyss.

Menial challenges are set before him, the fabled Jedi trials, child’s fodder honestly, but he proceeds. Maul is led to a stone platform. From the dark emerges something that makes him want to vomit, a red zabrak with black markings, silent, stoic, no older than 22 years old. He sees it now, he was truly a frightening presence at that age. Darth circles him on hunter’s feet, never making so much as an audible scuff on the stone floor. Maul flexes his left foot, a new habit garnered by a tight joint he hasn’t had the spare part to fix yet. He knows himself, knows that Darth will attack swiftly, so he takes what milliseconds he has to try to remember how he would have fought when his body was complete. He'd be faster, lighter, more agile, but more cocky, a warrior who hasn't tasted the sour of loss; loss of limb, loss of life, of status, of sanity.

The duel is bloody, a flurry of red light. Maul hasn't thrown himself into battle like this since he was a young man, thirsty for purpose and proof that his existence is not a mistake. Maul reigns victorious in the end. He slices Darth in half and pierces him through the heart with his saber, a sickening thing to watch from this new perspective after playing in his head over and over again those long years he spent in the madness and filth. He kicks Darth’s body off the ledge into the seeming endless abyss. A guttural scream erupts from his chest and he falls to his knees. It stings his eyes and scratches away at the walls of tight throat, the urge to cry like a babe. 

The dark side is strong in you but... echoes in his ears. Maul thinks about whoever's wretched son that Holocron was meant for, what special purpose he must have to be seen as redeemable in the eyes of the pious Jedi.  

  The dark side is strong in you but... Maul covers his ears, a futile action in the in the bellowing silence of the stone abyss, but it lets him hear his own heart rate as it slows in the comedown from adrenaline. 

The dark side is strong in you but... He thinks about his own miserable little life. He thinks of parenthood, of those precious few moments his mother held him before damning her runt. 

 The dark side is strong in you but... He thinks of Sith, of Jedi, of the force that binds the two. What would he have been if they had found the runt first, those so-called keepers of peace. If they raised him in the light, would they have adorned his horns in silly beads, given him sandy coloured robes, condemned him to life lacking in riches and sex and... would they have abandoned him too?

“but you can still be saved.”  Maul retches at the thought. The Jedi failed that runt, as they failed the Galaxy those many years ago. The Jedi failed him, it was never his choice to make an enemy of them. And yet...

 Maul absentmindedly flexes his left foot and adjusts his position on the floor, folding his metal legs under himself as best he can. The thought does cross his mind that somehow he’s found himself on the winning end of their trial, their test of worthiness, at the heart of their temple. He chooses not to linger on it. Maul finds himself occupied with the lively silence of the temple instead, a warm breeze of energy passing through his body like a sheet of linen.

 Somewhere, floating in that space in time, he realizes his lightsaber went over the ledge with Darth, buried in the young man’s chest. 

Somehow it’s not a discomforting thought.

[martian-garden]

An Open Letter to the People I Love

In one incarnation, this letter was just thousands of lines of "I'm sorry".

I don't have a way to express to you the depth of everything.  I have spent over a decade of my life stringing together words that have tried and failed to capture the complexity of it, paint a galaxy with only black ink.  Thousands of words of narrative, line after line of poetry or song verse, and none of it is everything.  I am molten, and thus I am never the same in each passing moment, and that makes me impossible to grasp, especially to myself.  

I know that I did not want to be this.  Any of it.  And as much as I have trained myself to thank rather than apologize, I do not think thanks can justify the apocalyptic horror that leaks out of me like an oil well.  I have never been any of the shapes or personalities that you have seen or spoken to.  I am an incarnation of restless dissatisfaction, twisting myself to please each of your aluminum vultures whirling above my head in a wretched silver halo.  All my life I sold myself on the notion that I could turn this leaden heart to the gold you thought you saw, and then I could stop pretending. But in the end, alchemy was never real.  

Between the lines, I tried to tell you about the infinite ways in which I have always been a little bit broken, the inherent gothic nature of existing just offset enough that everything is laced in chromatic aberration.  But they were not gaping cracks, instead a sheen of hairline fractures, and that was just embroidery on the fabric of my reality.  A pattern to be embraced rather than evidence that everything could only ever exist a straw from disaster.  I have always been unraveling, and the extent of my power is to tie neat little shoelace bows under my skin and pray nothing pulls too hard on the other end.  

I tell myself that I did not have high expectations, in a world where subsurface is the new normal.  I thought that I just wanted to be okay, to float casually through the world, but in reality I wanted to be everything to everyone.  In an impossibly stormy sea, I dreamed of hauling everyone I cared for aboard and shielding them from a deluge far beyond my comprehension.  Of course this effort was doomed.  I am not a man, but I am even less a titan.  

What am I, then?  Certainly not the human you believe me to be.  I bolt between states of unbeing: I am god and ghoul.  Sometimes I wonder whether you can tell that I am forcing myself through speaking to you without curling up at your feet or smiting you where you stand.  How can something be both divine and unworthy of your presence?  If I knew, perhaps I would be able to properly speak to you.  Enlightened to the duality, maybe now the chaos that tumbles out of my mouth is explainable.  

I cannot tell you what I deserve.  I cannot convince myself that the reasons I don't go to the store or don't eat dinner are fully beyond my control.  Not that I can convince myself that they are within it, either.  I've tried to capture the experience time after time of a fight against fate, but none of it can convey what is to you unknowable.  The fog and the combinatorial explosion of necessities is an avalanche, and my only saving grace is that I don't need to breathe.  

I'm not surprised that I burned up in a race that disqualified me from the start.  I am sorry to everyone who bet on my success; I am your losing dog, snapping freakishly at the end of the lead and then paralyzed upon my paws touching the ring.  No part of it was fair to any of us.  Something that looked like me made a promise to you, and it is with the most bitter of self-loathing that I inform you that it had no real authority.  

I wish I could give you every ounce of a real me, but I am a concept that lives in your head, an imaginary friend.  You say all I can give you is my best, but I can't even tell you the truth.  There is not one to tell.  

I don't have a way to express to you 

the 

depth

of

my

regret.  

[infinitymythos]

The worlds unseen are far scarier then the tangible🤖🐺👾

By:

https://www.deviantart.com/wolfdog-artcorner/gallery

[supervitellus]

SMITE Fan Skin Concept for Bellona "BeLUNAR"

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Rpg Anon: So yeah I said I'd like to make some changes to the Hajime's Shiva Persona design thoughts I said. First things first, I based my thoughts on Shiva from actual Hindu depictions, Smite, Record of Ragnarok, and SMTV/Persona. Now for some new ideas plus some changes:

First of all, I changed my mind slightly on the two floating mechanical arms. They'll still be mechanical somewhat, but I want them basically attached to his back now. Kinda like he's got a cybernetic backpack with arms that serve as his upper extra pair. Take a look at this image below (I got it from Smite itself; do i still need to credit it?)

This is Smite Shiva concept art. You see how his two upper arms come from behind him and behind his other arms specifically? That's kinda what I think would be better now. Except again, mechanical appendages. Basically he's truly got the normal two arms human anatomy but he's bringing cybernetic enhancements (doesn't necessarily mean it has to be fused into his skin and body tho). I don't want his upper mech arms to be overly giant tho. I prefer the same size as his real arms.

Now I can get into the smaller but finer details. First, I don't intend on him being full mechanical. I kinda intend a Shiva Persona to still be the classic and traditional design (refer to SMT/Persona design and definitely again to the Smite design; theyre downright correct and accurate to what Shiva looks like). In other words, he'd definitely be more flesh than cybernetic. So yes, he'd still have the basically shirtless muscular warrior look with the tiger pelt/loincloth, the snake around his neck (mod, you can modify this part so it matches up with the Hajime themes and mecha themes if you want, however you want. Just makes sure it's still wrapped around his neck), and etc. That said, I wouldn't mind him wearing awesome metal/cybernetic gauntlets on all four arms.

Side note: Definitely blue skin. This Shiva Persona design for Hajime has to have it no matter what cuz it's goddamn Shiva.

Next, he has Izuru hair. Gotta cram in some Hajime stuff and you can kinda believe Shiva would have such long hair if he untied it.

Next, he has a face mask similar to Izanagi's. Also, he's got the green and red eye color Hajime's got. Straight up fanservice here.

Next, his third eye is going to be one hell of a sci-fi fantasy shit. You ever seen Raiden from Metal Gear Revengeance? You seen how he has that black face mask? Yep, I want this Shiva to have something similar where some mechanical pieces from the side come to together to form the traditional Shiva Third Eye design over his face. And then yes, the design then glows and shoots motherfucking flaming laser beams of death. Look up pictures online of Shiva killing Kama; you'll see what it looks like.

Now for some slight animation changes. For any physical move, I don't want him to still be in his idle/summoned pose of him meditating and levitating when doing it anymore. So now, he starts out the meditating and levitating pose but leaves out of it when doing the lunging stab or slash. The jojo style rapid fire punching is the same with him leaving the pose to do his thing. He only stays in the stance when doing his offensive or support magic spells. The Tandava unique skill is the only exception cuz I need him to start dancing.

(Omfg I just realize I have literally recreated Mecha Shiva. Kill me now.)

I probably forgot some other changes I wanted to say but i think I'm good for now. So yes, these are some details to Hajime's Shiva Persona in my vision. What do you think?

//Cool.

//Like, that's literally all I have to say. That's a cool idea.

//Also, this might be the most obnoxiously long ask anyone has ever sent on this blog, lol.

-Mod

[mamispersonal]

⚜ 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔒𝔫𝔢 (ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔒𝔫𝔢 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴) ⚜

I've begun writing my own original piece, after nearly 10 years of not touching my series, "The Scorned One", I have started writing the first chapter and this is what I have to show for it, thus far. The genre of this book, if ever to be published, is set in a fantasy setting where the war between light and darkness take place. The book would deal with mature themes such as: genocide, abuse (mental and physical), self harm, death, sickness, and the oppressive hold of forced religion and practices. I have yet to weed out and tweak my sentence structure, but without further ado, I present to you a preview. TW for abuse, mentions of religion, death, genocide, and war.

Oh, how he absolutely abhorred the stench of the peasants, blissfully unaware as they tended to their flower gardens and their perfectly picturesque lives, all the while; completely unaware of the torments he faced each and every day. Ever since his conception, he had been forced to live a sheltered and strict lifestyle. 

That was, if one could call living under 24 hour supervision in a cramped, dingy prison cell, a “lifestyle”, then you might understand the contempt he held for those who kissed upon the sweet lips of freedom. From as far back as he could form thoughts, Cain had been ripped from his mothers arms, never having had the privilege of remembering what her face looked like, and just like that, his freedom had been revoked.

Violently yet unfairly wrenched from his tiny, weak, feeble fingers, all because he was the product of a forbidden union between a Heiress of Radiance who had fallen madly in love with a Duke of Darkness. Just for that…he would suffer at the hands of the King’s court, but as though that itself were not enough; Cain shared a blood connection with the King himself.

You see, King Callahan was his grandfather but not the kind nor nurturing man the Kingdom was so blindly enamoured with. No, this man was no King but a fraud draped in the most extravagant robes only bloodshed and fallen enemies could buy. Behind the scenes, Callahan was a cold, ruthless, wicked monster who fed upon the many pains and torments he bestowed upon his enemies.

A man who craved violence and enjoyed riding his mount out to the battlefield. A beast who revelled in the anguish and death that followed in his wake, all while proclaiming that his deeds were the works of the Almighty Allseer.

And do you know what? That wasn’t even the sickest part of it all. No, the most vile and reprehensible thing was that the people of the Kingdom ate it up, blindly believing that their Kings vicious acts of genocide and persecution was because Callaghan was looking out for their best interest, eliminating any future threats that might come their way. 

In the end, they would all get what they deserved, and for caging him up like some wild beast, Cain would savor the expression of agony as he orchestrated each and every one of his oppressors' slow and unforgiving deaths.

Unflinchingly, Cain met eyes with the real monster, mouth drawn taut into a grimace, “I shudder at the thought that we should share any blood whatsoever, perhaps I should do us both a favor and smite you where you stand?” Callahan sneered, sword in hand whilst he tauntingly ran the edge of his steel along Cain’s skin, drawing a thin line of blood in the process.

At times, Callaghan displayed a sick sense of humor, if one could call it that. Chuckling, Cain’s voice carried out into the open in a hoarse snarling chuckle, “You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all, not me. I should know more than anyone that what you speak of would not be a death sentence but a proclamation of freedom! Had you wanted to kill me, you’d have done so while I was a wee-babe, too feeble and weak to defend myself!” And oh, how he had laughed. Deep, throaty-laughter bouncing off the stone walls of the prison cell as the fresh tears began to roll down his dirty cheeks. 

“You don’t have the guts to kill me because then who else would fill your time like I do? Who else but me would fill your head and get under your skin the way I have? For a man who likes to dress up and call himself “King”, you’re all talk and no game.”

For speaking against him, Cain already knew what was to come and didn’t bother bracing himself as King Callahan balled up a fist and drove it across his jaw, causing an all too familiar spark or pain to erupt across his already-battered skin.

“You wretched demon, you know nothing! Yet you think it right to open your maw and judge me as you see fit! You should know that the only one fit enough to see judgment on me is the All Seeing One!”

“Hah, and I suppose by “All Seeing One”, you’re referring to the God you and your self-righteous holy rollers ceaselessly worship and pray to for protection?” Just like before, Cain merely grunted as the King’s knee drove into his stomach with enough force to make him sick, but not enough to break his spirit. “You know, if it were me up there, I would chew you up and spit you out of my mouth. You and every last one of your followers. Even I, a mere mortal am no God and I see you for the man you really are. Perhaps it is you who should be chained up and not I?"

Gritting his teeth, the sharp points of his canines dug into his lower lip, enough to break the skin and cause fresh rivulets of blood to rush up. 

[crimsontrxcks]

@jadedsalvatore CLOSED STARTER

No one accidentally wandered into these ghostly regions where the crimson haired woman found her refuge. Even the beasts, creatures born of shadows and darkness with malevolent intentions avoided the territory with invisible borders -- dreading what might face them there. Solitude was priceless, and left undisturbed due to the eerie threat lingering in the cold foggy air. Months, maybe a year, the last time the emerald orbs captured a sight of something that had human features, or at least was hiding behind them. Rustling of the leaves bothering the eardrums, aching warning under the ribs and tingles rushing through the arm Moira partly controlled sharpening her focus, as the jade irises glared at the person daring to enter these grounds. Tongue ready to produce a language not known to the common folk, curses that Moira learned hundreds of years ago to smite down any intruder, to ensure no one comes close enough.

Then she saw him. Recognized the face without a name, name she never wished to learn. A surprise, questionable interest mixing with slight irritation of his return after all these years -- after she saved his allegedly immortal life and asked for nothing in return except that he leaves, and never comes back. Yet, there he was, years unable to do any damage to the false youth of his face, movement graced with unexplainable dedication and commitment to whatever cause he had to stumble upon this grounds again. Hourglass shape moved, long tattooed legs carrying her closer, dark eyebrows lowering and slender shoulders tensing. " 'Never' maybe is a distant concept to your kind, but it applies to you nonetheless. ' cold, flat tone greeted the vampire as she appeared a few meters in front of him. " ' Never to return.' That was the price for your life that I asked. " Clare reminded him of the promise he made when he left, and was now breaking by simply standing there. " I will not repeat myself. " The more she observed him, the more she recalled all the thoughts that once bothered her mind. The unspoken torture and agony hidden beneath the porcelain skin, the painful dedication to hide the demons grabbing at his ankles for years, the suffering he endured and didn't voice -- all the things so similar to her. Slightly shaking her head to drive away the thoughts, Clare balled her fists. " There is nothing here for you, or anyone else, vampire. Leave. "

[deluluspqr]

Main differences between the roman and greek pantheons

Contrary to popular belief, the roman gods are not, actually, just the greek gods with different names neither are they the greek gods but "more strict". The romans were not without religion before hellenization, they didn't simply "stole" the gods from the greeks and the greeks are, actually, also guilty of the same crime : syncretism, which is common in many cultures, even today.

The early italic deities were arround before the conquest of greece, before the founding of Rome, their origin can be traced from the Etruscan pantheon, which has it's origins in the PIE gods, the greek and roman gods *share common ancestors*.

So the pantheons were already similar to begin with, with the roman one being more entruscan, the greek one having underwent more changes.

*After the conquest of greece*, Rome does which she always did everywhere, syncretism. It is smarter and more into the roman interest and belief system to generally allow freedom of religion *and* to even assimilate foreign gods *or to even interpretate them as different versions of the roman pantheon*

Thus, as creatures whose existence and identity is dictates by mortal belief, the gos fuse and change once *the people believe they are the same*

But, Rome is not Greece, not at all. We are talking about a great empire, a single political unity, heavely founded on nationalism, not a bunch of middle sized city-states always at bickering at each other.

What is Greece, even? There is not *one* Greece, there is Athens and Sparta and Macedon and Thrace and Thebes. Each one a state with it's own interests and governments...But Rome is Rome.

So ofc greek gods interference in mortal affairs will cause confusion. If I, a city state, am faitfhul and declare war on my neighboor... Who will the gods favor? Whoever fits their interest, ofc, as I, a greek nation, see the gods as very flawed, selfish and powerful. They exist to explain and interpretate forces of nature and concepts, not to serve as guardians or propaganda, much less to serve as examples to the people...Which is the case in Rome. *The roman gods will always be in Rome's side thus they divine authority is respected, not only feared*. Although some gods can be said to be more roman than others...

So, how different are each of the Dii Consentes to their olympian counterparts?

Jupiter

The chief god is what an roman emperor *should* be. Regal, dignified, wise, authoritarian.. Although not without flaws. Our lord does not let himself be taken over by humanly passions as often, but now and then... He also tends to be a more skillfull politician, as romans generally would have everyone getting along over civil war, Jupiter will manipulate and compromise with the Dii Consentes to avoid in-fighting and to maintain his power... Thus we have a king who tries to be both loved and feared, as opposed to just doing what he wants and smiting whoever disagrees... Jupiter's kingly aspect is also much more emphasized than his sky god one, as he is the divine king of Rome and all political, lawful and religious affairs are under his blessing and scrutinity. He is the guardian of the state. The legion carries his eagle, their most precious possession, and wear his lightning bolts on their shields. The lord dones formal royal purple clothes with golden details, worthy of Augustus, his crown either a laurel wreath or a golden recreation.

Juno

Our empress manages to be both harsher and "nicer" than her counterpart... Harsher as she is elevated to a protectress of the legion and of the roman people rather than just the spiteful wife of the king. As Juno Regina, she shares guardianship over the roman state with her lord husband and stepdaughter, as they form the capitoline triad. As Juno Sospita, she is armed. Wearing the goat skin cloak that reprents the army, she will go to war if necessary, for Rome. As Juno Lucina, she tends to be nicer than vicious Hera, who didn't seem to care much for her role and as goddess of women. Juno watches over roman wives and their children. Ofc the lady is still jealous... But as she is a proper, steel willed, cold blooded, dignified queen, she would not abase herself over some mortal "whore"... Therefore her jealousy is generally not acted upon. Like Jupiter, her queenly aspect is emphasized over the acrhetype of "jealous wife". She wears royal purple dresses with her cloak and laurel/gold coronette. In war, she dones armor, helm and spear to defend her roman worshippers.

Minerva

The third member of the Capitoline Triad, The lady should be not underestimated over "lost of importance" allegations. As her, better than anyone, knows very well that is not swordsmen who rule the world. Unofficially, she is the princess of the Dii Consentes. Minerva is harsher, more cunning and morally neutral than the greek beloved Athena. It is she who turned Arachne and Medusa into monsters. It is she you should prefer not cross. The goddes of wisdom is as a brilliant of a tactian, but her skills are even better aplied to politics and statecraft. Utterly calculating. Machiavel's prince not some generic smart and valliant protagonist. Although she is their divine "princess", the lady is not as personally devoted to Rome as the rest of the capitoline triad... She is not evil, but only follows one interest: her own. She wears formal clothes that match a woman of her station. Her armor has been collecting dust for some time now.

Mercury

Religio romani, as interwined with the sate as it is, would never promote the cult of a god of thiefs or tricksters. Our lord gain his pestige in the eternal city for being the god of money, of merchants, if you want to be technical. Therefore he is first and foremost a businessman, the occupations of menssenger and psychopomp becoming secondary and the other less noble ones close to forgotten. So where the mischevious energy goes? To political and pecuaniary scheming, ofc. As Minerva, he only serves himself. He dresses as business man, with a tendency to ostentation.

Apollo

The greekest of the gods, a straight up import. The lord felt some much social trouble over not changing and not fitting in with his romanized family that some decades after his son, ironically Augustus himself, dies, he decides to undergo some transformation. Now he wears his son face as a young adult, acts more coldly and humorless, more calculating although usually just and capable of compassion. He is the sun and he is the healer and the artist, but more connected to the roman state through augury. Therefore, he could be seen as a "god of religion". Overall, we have a more responsible, centered and stricter Apollo, who may or may not be pretending to have any split at all... He is still not deeply connected to Rome, greek at heart.He used to dress either as an augur or as an artist, nowadays he tend to appear in the most glittering gold blazer complete with formal garments.

Diana

More a guardian of nature and young women than just a hunter, although she rather not have a bunch of girls following her everywhere. As lady of the moon she is magical and reigns over the pathways, a psychopomp in her free time. She is the wild side of the divine femine, the least interested in the power struggles, either mortal or divine. She is deeply connected to wildlife, girlhood and the night. Much less "relatable" or even human than her greek counterpart, as a divinity deeply related to magic and the moon, as although the godhead main residents are Diana and Artemis, when she is Diana, Hecate and Selene are also there... They form a triple goddess with one mind and one body. She dresses as a girl who is expecting to get a bit of dirt on her, but more feminine than "tomboy" Artemis.

Neptune

Old sea lord is still king of the ocean, of even more, considering Neptune was foremost a god of freshwater. His relevance to the roman state is as god of sailors, patron of the navy. He is... Much more wacky than before. Rome defers to a number of other, including many minor, deities over him, which left him as a confused, temperamental, old sailor, who is fun to be arround (depending on the context) but still no small fish, obviously. He still has a feud with his brother and king, although it has turned mostly into a constant brickering than a serious threat of war. He has mood swings, therefore he favour for Rome relies on how respected he feels. He dresses as a navy captain, always a century or so late with the fashion.

Ceres

Everyone has a conection to agriculture now, which means the lady does not own the niche anymore. Even then, the people see her favour as a sign that they will eat that day... Which is why she is the chief of the Aventine Triad, the people's triad, which she shares with the wine god Liber and his wife. The differences are subtle, but are there, she is more meek, chill, kind, down to earth, farming not just out of the live for plants, but because she wants to see romans eating well. She has become even more motherly than before, but maybe less feared and less prone to get involved in any political machinations. Her feud with Dis is not as much of a thing as Demeter's with Hades. She dresses as a local farmer does.

Vulcan

People don't seem to realize, the god got a power upgrade. More a lord of fire than of blacksmithing/engineering. Volcanos are his, named after him. He has become more menacing, more of a force of nature than just the patron of a profession. The others have more consideration (and caution) of him. He is more temperamental and political, though still kind... Mostly. His attitude to Rome is a bit similar to Neptune's , when he is angry, as the Vesuvio leaves place to especulation... He dresses formally when the Dii Consentes meet, but as a working man might dress otherwise.

Vesta

The romans have been accusated of being particulary more sexist than the greeks when it comes to the goddesses, as the lady of wisdom feels diminished from her role in Greece even tho she is officialy one of the chief gods, as is Juno, now a protectress and queen before wife and Vesta... Is not a forgotten, rarely talked about goddess. Her fire is not just the home hearth, but Rome's hearth. Her trone among the 12 main gods is not a matter of contestation. Her priestesses are the most respected and are connected to the city's foundation. She is still kind, homely and compassionate. Perhaps the only one who thinks of the pantheon as a family not a court. But she is more powerful, poised and mature. She would not ever appear as a young child. Her fire protects the country and it's people. She dresses as her priestesses, though with red robes instead of white.

Mars

The last pair of Dii Consentes are fair from the least important. Mars is the father or Rome. The one who is the most different from his greek counterpart, often cited as 2nd after Jupiter, although the Archaic Triad, which he shared with the king and his deified son and founder of Rome, Quirinus, has not been *the* triad for some time now. That is still the triad of the legion and of CJ though, and he is the most often whorshipped god among said soldiers, obviously... But that was not obvious to his hardly beloved counterpart, was it? The lord is rational, generally calm in times of peace, a protector, a defender, a father, a general, a soldier, a avenger, a centurion. Authoritarian rather than anarchycal, as it is called "martial law" not "arian law" for a reason. He is more of a knight than a mindless brawler. He values honor and the Pax Romana, but would spill a river of blood for the eternal city's sake if necessary... No god cares for Rome and it's people as much as he does. Deeply patriotical, he fighs for Rome not just for the sake of fighting. He does not relish in violence like Ares nor does he treats it like a chess match like the goddess. Violence and stategy are but tools, and he uses both well, but what matters in a war is the cause, which should always serve Rome (or, in modern times, during his wanderings, any nation which he deems worthy of his favour in a particular conflict or time). He is healthy masculinity, not the toxic one.He is much more powerful than his other half, much more paternal,noble and mature... And much more dangerous. He dresses as your local soldier (unless he chooses not to honor a particular army, maybe bc they are against Rome, maybe bc they are a Weirmartch level of dishonorable)

Venus

Mother of Rome, as per the Aeneid, bringer of victory and luck. Her power over fertility also extends to Ceres's fields. Would you associate this traits with a certain greek goddess? I would not. But Venus has them. Her and Mars are much more "princess and knight", tho with a lot of spice and subversion of expectations, than "jock and cheerleader" or " bad boy and valley girl". She is maternal, mostly level headed and kind, gentle. A sweeter love... Although still very sexual. She cares for Rome as she cares for her children, they come from her Aeneas, after all and they are her husband's (yeah, I said husband, it's a long story) favorite people. Empty headness and senseless vengeance are not common to her. Her persuasion is used with caution, and is very useful in the Dii Consentes political games, her vanity mostly under control. Her feminity, including a certain softness, is even more deeply embraced. She is the delicate side of the divine feminine... But do not make the mistake of confusing femininity and tenderness with weakness. She is capable of anything in order to defend those she loves... And she loves a lot! Her wardrobe is the most diverse, obviously she can pull up anything, but she sticks to high fashion and generally a feminine and sexy style.

[memento-morri-writes]

Hi Morri! Happy blorbo blursday!

This is a semi-unconventional ask, since it’s not about the characters that you’re writing, but what is your favorite DND or ttrpg character to play and why?

// @cryptid-s-wips

NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR ASKING ME ABOUT D&D. This shit is my special interest, and has been for MONTHS.

Okay, okay, buckle your seatbelt. I have a lot to say about this. (Note: the only ttrpg I'm familair with atm is d&d 5e, so just assume everything I say is about that.)

This is going under the cut, because it's about 6 miles long.

My favorite class is rogues by far. They're just so awesome??? Like, not only do they have sneak attack (my beloved), but they also get so many amazing subclasses?? Like, swashbuckler, assassin, arcane trickster are all amazing. (I'm aware this is most definitely biased by my obsession with thief/pirate/etc. characters in writing, but idc. Let me live my dream.) I have at least 4 thief characters out of my 20 or so character concepts.

Aside from rogues I love fighters, because I love stabbing people (IN GAME, I SWEAR). I've yet to play a paladin, but that would also probably be up there because it's a good balance between fighting and magic. (Smite, my beloved.) Also, Oath of Vengeance is such a sexy concept.

I will say that Warlocks have some of the best concept possibilities, though. Just the number of possibilities. Did they sell their soul? Did they ask nicely? Did they have a choice at all? What is their relationship with their patron like? (For example, I have one warlock whose patron possesses them every so often, forcing them to do things they would never agree to do. When they come to, they've received new powers. It should be noted that they didn't ask for the pact at all. But I also have a warlock who has a decent relationship with their patron, and is very happy to have their gift, and uses it to help people.)

Also, it should be known that I have a tiefling obsession. Best race in-game, hands down. Idk, I just love them so much. The horns, the tails, the colored skin, I love it all. (It will come as no surprise that I have both tiefling rogue and tiefling warlock concepts.)

When it comes to my actual characters, I have WAY too many. (The current count for concepts is 20...) The one thing they all have in common is very complicated, always traumatic, backstories. I haven't played most of them (I've only played 3 in campaigns, and one more in a oneshot, but two of those campaigns got cut very short.)

Here's a pic of my character database that I made in notion:

My favorite characters on that list are Laverna (who I've had as a concept for 2 years), Zen (the warlock I mentioned, the one who gets possessed), Alarion (half-drow ranger who started out as a sorcerer concept, but I realized that was Not Right for him.), Avra (shadar-kai assassin rogue!!!), Asra (human fighter with so much shit in her background), Rook (half-elf pirate swashbuckler who makes his debut on Satuday!!!!), Sabe ("what life is there for a warforged with no war?"), Elira (aka Ellie, autistic former gifted kid abjuration wizard with a cat familiar), and the Feylost Bard (wandered out of the woods/feywild with no memories whatsoever. Has a very uncanny valley aura about them.)

Okay, I promise I'll shut up now, but if you want to read more about my characters, I made a post about them all here, which I just updated for this ask. <3

[syrinq]

the creativity/design rant i've repeated myself over in the past week for a million times, condensed in a single post with the only example being fortnite skins

something something i love it when people think out of the fucking box and play with colours and concepts and blah blah blah it's lame as fuck when people or companies or anyone keeps doing what's profitable or known to be safe (UNDERSTANDABLE, BUT ALAS, I STILL DISAGREE)

par exemple, it's safe to go anime/cute gal/cat ears for fortnite skins, or joke skins like stupid ass banana peel, and i'll show that by a mere screenshot that obviously does not show the fortnite userbase in its entirety

and then you scroll across dozens and dozens of ideas that are just ''x but in space'' or ''x but futuristic'' and it's so god awfully overdone, with the same black/white/minimalist colour schemes for sci-fi designs, bright pastels and pinks for cutes-y anime shit, etc. etc. etc.

and you get tired. and then once in a blue moon you come across an idea that has a good foundation, but rather poor or i daresay ''mid as fuck'' execution, resulting in a (gamer slang) L moment and you disappointedly continue on with your life

some sort of modernised medusa feel, with wires for hair instead of snakes? fucking WICKED. AWESOME. and then it drops down as it's just a generic marvel-looking green alien (human) with hexagon clothes, because for some reason geometric design = minimalism = sci-fi. even smite did medusa greater justice by giving her a lower snake body as if she's some kind of reptile centaur.

and then, once in a blue moon's blue moon, you come across a new take on an existing concept, a hybrid mash of multiple topics that come together gorgeously, etc. etc. and those? those fucking ideas are fucking wicked. best of the best. PEAK DESIGN. bonus points if it's executed to my tastes exactly in terms of design, colour, feel, mood, etc. etc. etc.

this? fucking.

*chef's kiss*

this fucking tops all the human skins or anime skins or stupid banana peel variations. blah blah blah, interpretation can always be vastly different from the artist's intention. but this? what in the goddamn, it reads like a futuristic sci-fi/dystopian version of a seagull/bird stuck in plastic.

the way the plastic is shaped to form some kind of bird. the wrapped peels of plastic and rubber looking like clothes. the disoriented colours that are, admittedly, fucking disgusting to me, but are reminescent of oil/contaminated water & loose plastics and thus, very great in execution.

fucking forget sci-fi furries like protogens. YOU WANT A SCI-FI FURRY DESIGN? THIS IS FUCKING IT. THIS IS HOW YOU BLEND, SCI-FI-IFY A THING. A TOPIC.

SOME MIGHT EVEN LOOK FURTHER AND THINK ABOUT PLASTIC WASTE ETC. AS A WHOLE. BUT THIS. FUCKING *CHEF'S KISS* PRIME CREATIVE CHARACTER DESIGN AND I WISH ''ABSURD OUTLANDISH CREATIVE'' IDEAS LIKE THIS WERE MORE COMMONLY AND GREATLY EMBRACED BY PEOPLE. THIS IS WHERE IT'S FUCKING AT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PEAK CHARACTER/SKIN DESIGN BITCH!!!!

*YELLS IN MEGAPHONE* THERE IS A THIN LINE BETWEEN BEING PRETENTIOUS AS FUCK ABOUT YOUR SYMBOLISM AND MEANING OF ART, AND EXECUTING IT IN A WAY THAT IS STILL UNDERSTANDABLE TO A PARTICULAR EYE.

*YELLS MORE* I KNOW THAT CREATIVITY IS A SKILL THAT CAN BE LEARNED AND SOME PEOPLE MIGHT BE MORE IMAGINATIVE AND CONNECT THE DOTS EASIER THAN OTHERS. SOMETIMES SOMETHING IS SO CREATIVE AND A ''REMIX'' OF THE REAL, TANGIBLE THING, THAT PEOPLE DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE MOTIVATIONS, STORY, OR ANYTHING WITH IT ANYMORE. AND THUS IT'S TOO CONVOLUTED OR COMPLICATED. AND THAT'S SAD!

*YELLS MORE* ON THE OTHER HAND, LEAVING SOMETHING OPEN TO INTERPRETATION OPENS UP SO MANY OPPORTUNITIES FOR PEOPLE TO THINK ABOUT A CERTAIN TOPIC. AND I THINK THAT'S BEAUTIFUL IN MOST CASES! (LEAVING OUT ANALYSES OF SHOWS LIKE SU AND PEOPLE FIGHT LIKE CATS ABOUT IT)

*YELLS MORE* AND I ALSO KNOW THAT CREATIVITY OR EXPRESSION OF FREEDOM CAN BE STUMPED BY EXECUTIVES, APPEAL OF AUDIENCE, THE MEDIUM IT'S ON, AND A LOT OF OTHER FACTORS. AND I THINK THAT'S SAD! SOMETIMES YOU DO BETTER WITH LIMITS, BUT I LOVE MY CREATIVE FREEDOM BITCH

*FINAL YELL* ANYWAY I LOVE CREATIVITY AND MESHING OF TOPICS LIKE YOU'RE MAKING MARVEL CROSSOVERS IN YOUR MIND AND I LOVE EXPERIMENTS AND I LOVE ANYONE WHO DARES TO GO OUT OF THE NORM AND TRIES SOMETHING NEW. I LOVE YOU AND YOU'RE FUCKING AWESOME FOR TREADING NEW TERRITORIES LIKE YOU'RE THE FIRST ASTRONAUT ON THE MOON! EVEN IF ORIGINALITY MIGHT BE DEAD OR ''SOMEONE WOULD'VE THOUGHT OF THIS EVENTUALLY'', THINKING ABOUT REFORMING THE WORLD AROUND YOU TO CREATE THE FANTASY IS FUCKING AWESOME, AND THE MORE OUTLANDISH THE MORE *CHEF'S KISS* IT IS TO ME!!!!!