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bearwithegg · 10 months ago

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Fight Like a Girl || B.Blackwood || Part 3

Oh man this part nearly fucking killed any mental capacity i had over the last week (you should see the other guy) probably final part goobers

PART 1 HERE || PART 2 HERE ||

Kieran!Benjicot x f!Reader

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Gore, graphic descriptions of injuries

SPECIAL THANK YOU TO @spider-stark @venomnyx @karlachs-soldier for putting up with my insane ramblings while i took 500000 points of psychic damage trying to write this part difhlrdh

Tags: @nixtape-foryou @roseheart5

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A swing from behind is all it took to bring you down. Amongst the bleating chaos it was hard to keep one's mind in focus, you were at no fault for that. A yell rips from your throat, but not due to the pain - that came much later - merely from surprise. Body and mind barely register the gash as you plummet into the mud stamped ground, another fallen to join the field of death littered with decimated bodies at the hands of the Green’s Army.

The swordsman, clad in the treacherous sigil of the false King goads you, a reminder of why you even waged this futile plight in the first place. Despite being prone and the bog beneath you seeping into the wound on your back, you do not let up because how could you not go out without a fight.

Distant shouts confirm this, you were on your own, no one was nearby to help you now. Garrus. You think. Where was he? He was only here a moment ago. But you couldn’t think straight. How long had this senseless battle gone on for? Mere moments like the striking of lightning or hours, like a storm brewing? Thank the Gods there were no Dragons to meet, only their cowardly foot soldiers, yet you look into the sky one last moment. No Dragons — only gloomy overcast.

Chest heaving as the pain slowly begins to spread from the wound outward, sharp and hot like the sun had touched you itself.

It would be easier to keep your eyes closed, accept death like one would a beloved and it was difficult to remain awake. Especially hearing the distant call of your brother's voice, you cannot will yourself to go; not yet.

A shaky war cry wrenches from a deep place of emotion, the swordsman while above you to prepare his final blow did not expect such a wordless decree. You will not win. A swift and firm stomp into the knee, buckling it the wrong way knocks him off course with a yelp of surprise. Certain you heard his bones snap or was it the remnants of battle in the distance? Regardless, you rise up and with a dagger unyielding in a firm grip and swipe left, across the neck exposed above his leathers.

Blood soaks you, like a torrential downpour from one of his compromised arteries. His body falls like a tree in the woods, indiscriminate of what it falls on because his body topples right onto yours. The gurgling sounds of him choking on his own blood and clawing at you distract from his limp weight and pressure of being buried beneath bodies.

It’ll haunt you for life, you think, the dying breaths of a man you killed echoing like a deranged symphony.

The pain came in waves, some more intense than others as you lay beneath a corpse, unable to move it off your body. The way your shoulder screams at the slightest movement, there is no room for doubt that the cut is deep, perhaps it was even to the bone.

You stopped calling for help, only until your voice shriveled up. It must have been hours, certainly, the distant sounds of metal clashing had long since ceased, and the only shouting was a mixture of victory and loss. Or was that your brother's voice? Beckoning from beyond the veil? Were you dead? Did mother await you in the whims of the afterlife also?

“Gods be good.” A voice aghast, pulls you from a delirious haze. “Another one!”

It was difficult to open your eyes, despite the dreary grey skies it burned to look up, the boy kneeling over you was smiling with relief, a reassuring hand on your face.

Another voice, further along the field you assumed, drew nearer.

“Send word for more men lad, the wounded will need to be taken back and treated.” That deep punctuating voice, familiar and warm.

“Help me with him first - he's stuck,” the boy grabs the corpse's arm and starts to drag it, the movement only serving to push you deeper into a blanket of mud, sinking you further into the ground and causing you to grit and whine.

“Mordin, leave the boy with me — go.” The command was firm and sharp. Scattering footsteps sloshing in mud indicated his swift departure. Silence followed. Thinking you must have imagined the brief exchange had it not been for a sudden weightlessness. The body that obstructed your movements and inhibited breathing now was moved off you, and you took your first full breath in what felt like hours.

If you simply had not heard him before seeing him, you'd have hardly recognised Benji. Covered head to toe in blood, a stark impression of his notorious namesake witnessed in person. And while this was further proof of how dangerous he was capable of being — his eyes were somber looking down at you.

“Benji,” you wheezed gratefully, with all the strength you could muster to reach out to him, you could barely move an inch.

His eyes widen, recognition flashing across his face and he drops to his knees beside you. It was a safe assumption that he didn't realize it was you under all the gore and viscera. “You were supposed to be in the back lines, what the hells are you doing all the way out here?” He reprimands, eyes flitting over you to inspect your wounds.

“Ambush,” you pant softly, “from the west.” breathing was beginning to get increasingly difficult through the pain. It was deep. His face contorts halfway into panic and guilt, you barely get out an airy laugh, “at least I held onto my sword this time.”

Following his gaze down by your side, your fingers gripped the hilt of the sword with such vigor, it felt like your hand cramped into the position.

His head drops and a bittersweet laugh falls from his lips, “you jest in a time like this? Foolish girl.” Though he did not say the words, the twinkle in his eyes was enough to know that regardless of the outcome he was proud of you.

“It hurts,” you manage to whisper through shaky lips, the silence that followed was louder than the wind that swept across the battlefield. His eyes never leave yours, they search for something, for what, you aren’t sure of but he hardens his resolve and looks up briefly, bottom lip tightly trapped between his teeth.

With a gentle tug, he pulls the dagger from your fingers, they too felt rigid and locked into their grip. Repeating the same motion for your sword and looping them both into his belt. You watch him with care because if you aren’t distracted then the pain will rear its ugly head, which is something you wished to avoid. He unbuckles one of his bracers, yanking hard at the straps before holding it close to you, “bite down on this, I must move you to the others.”

You suck in a breath, eyes partially wide at the thought of being found out due to a measly back wound. Adrenaline or panic, it wasn’t certain but you found enough strength to hold onto his wrist with a vice-like grip, voice shaky through uneven breaths, “find Garrus, he can stitch me up.” With that, your hand relaxes and slips from his wrist, falling slack against your chest.

“Where else would I take you? You dolt,” he smiles, lightheartedly and shakes his brace at you again, a silent push to do as he says.

You relent without further question, trust these days was as valuable as it was rare but you trust Benji — for better or worse. He had kept your secret, trained you personally and now was saving your life. The list of debt you owe the man increased tenfold by the week it seemed. Getting upright was half the battle, though try as he might to conceal his troubled expression upon seeing the wound on your back, he did a poor job of it. It must have been bad.

The pain had soared to such a high intensity, you could hardly remember the journey from battlefield to the safety of your tent… no this wasn’t your tent. Consciousness fleeting as the trees move and the scenery changes; was that the river you could smell? Or was it the lingering scent of death that wafted through the air? Familiar colours of House Blackwood embroidered the interior of the canvas in your surroundings — were you in Benji’s tent?

It held a surprising amount of warmth than you expected, a welcoming embrace disguised as an affirmation that mortal peril was not as close when you were guided by the hands of allies. You awoke on your stomach, needling and sharp pain coursing through the already tender skin of the ugly laceration parted onto you.

“Be still, Little Clover… Just a few more,” Garrus murmurs, his fingers featherlight against the skin of your back. The pressure you felt, merely the piercing of needle and cord, stitching your broken body back together. While painful, the journey ahead for recovery was no doubt going to be longer and harder. Recalling the books and their bountiful knowledge you used to read in the safety of Stylguard, first person accounts of severe wounds rarely acknowledge that pain is often a good sign. You hadn’t lost feeling in either shoulders nor arms, though this was not something you celebrated until much later on in recovery.

“Put me out of my misery,” you grit, a groan expelling from your throat, eyes clamped shut and slightly watering.

His amused chuckles blend together with another, someone else was in the tent – you need not ask yourself who either, “I fear it would make me a dishonourable man to execute another while they are unarmed.” Miscreant, you think, yet smile at Benji’s jab until inevitably wincing as the cord threads through marred flesh. There is a beat of silence but an air of mirth, “you may yet still fight like shit but your aversion to pain is admirable as well as your ferocity. I cannot say the same for the others with less severe injuries.”

You forget yourself, the company around you, because it was easy when Benji was near and scoff lightly, “pain is no stranger for me. None of these men have felt the pain of having a monthly blood, and they would cower at the pain it brings.” Another pause, the amusement in the air ripped from the drop of your words – taboo to speak freely about such delicate and ‘disgusting’ things especially in the presence of men, you clear your throat, “apologies.” But you weren’t sorry and felt as though you shouldn’t have to be. You had heard far worse from the mouths of men during dinner.

Garrus had thankfully finished not soon after, urging you to rest before departing to retrieve food for the three of you. Though your hands and the rest of you reeked of mud and rust from the dried blood, you needed to be clean of today even if the internal wounds will never heal, you could still wash away the stench of a dead man. Rising slowly, you are nearly startled back onto the bed by Benji rushing to aid you.

“I thought you left,” You reprimand, brows scrunched in response to the discomfort and pain. The undershirt you wore back to front for modesty sake, threatened to slip down your shoulders and expose more than what decency desired. The lone tie that kept the fabric together enough to stop it from completely falling threatened to undo every movement you made.

“I thought you were told to rest,” he counters, lips pressed into a frown, eyes looking away. “This is also my tent,” his indignance would have prompted laughter if the situation was different. You weren’t a complete imbecile, understanding that coming to his tent was the best chance at keeping your secret.

You give him a withering look, “and how does one rest covered in entrails and dirt?” Easy for him to enforce Garrus’ words, he had already cleaned the dirt and blood off his face and hands. He pulls a face, conceding at your words and makes no further comment, though flushed in his cheeks. “Thank you,” in your eyes a glint of amusement twinkles, “no need to sulk Benji — it’s merely a bath, not another battle.”

His jaw sets while his hands rest on his hips, eyes narrowed slightly at your jeer, “that is not the point nor the principle — do you intend walking all the way to your tent to wash yourself then?” Now his finger is out, wagging alongside his words as if he was admonishing a child for a minor wrongdoing.

“And you care about principles, now?” Your brow quirks, you have half a mind to mirror his stance if it weren’t for the fact you had been quite literally sewn together not even ten minutes prior. So you don’t. But the thought was enough to elicit a smirk. “If it will cease your pedantic worrying, I will bathe here,” your eye twitches with the jolt of pain shooting up your arm from the lazy gesture across the tent.

His cheeks begin to redden, as do yours at such an improper suggestion, “What is a man without honour and principle?” He huffs slightly.

“Your flair for the dramatic is ill suited for a man of such vicious notoriety.” You hardly suppress a smile, tongue poking into your cheek. Silence follows, either he is grossly offended by your words or has recognised that you are just jesting. Nevertheless, you slowly cross the tent, each step an agonizing shock through the back and shoulders.

You feel his gaze follow you before sighing, a soft chortle slipping in at the end of his exhale, “if you were as well-skilled with a sword as you are with that sharp tongue of yours, I’d fear for our enemy.”

Slowly turning at his words you regard him with a deadpan expression only muddied with a knowing look of your eyes, “stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub.”

Benji has often looked at you with curiosity, amusement, pride and a varying array of affection but he has never once looked at you with the dumbfounded expression laden on his face like he has just now. Even in times like this, you often forget that situation aside, the two of you were highborn and at this instance you weren’t speaking to a Lord with a matter of reverence but rather speaking to him like a servant.

”Apologies,” you clear your throat, “Lord Blackwood stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub, please.”

You could almost hear him thinking, the dead air in the tent was more than palpable but the thickness of something else continued to weigh heavy, as it so often did when the two of you were alone.

“You tempt the Gods with that inane behaviour and crass mouth, you are in good tiding with fate for me to not take that tongue of yours,” an empty threat really, he’s told you that before but even if that hadn’t been the case it was clear he wasn’t being serious. Even his jab is futile the second he concedes and goes to the hearth without any more complaints.

“Tongue or not, I would still find a way to torment you all the same.” You laugh and then promptly wince, he thankfully had not seen.

The quiet moments filled with lighthearted ribs back and forth seemed to be a sliver of the heavens placed inbetween unyielding moments of hardship, pain and suffering. A light one might see at the end of a cavernous abyss. Small moments, often menial, were filled with such delight that it reminded you that this is what life was. Yet these intermissions sprinkled throughout a world wrought with its own dark and poisonous acts of undeniable misery also served to remind you of what you were robbed of. A nice life. A happy life.

“Clover.”

An uncharacteristically gentle prod beckons you from thoughts of what could’ve been in a different lifetime. You blink, grounding yourself in reality — Benji, he stands before you, head tilted to the side as it often did, part of the many idiosyncrasies that made him, him. A hand hovering in your space, as if he was conflicted about reaching all the way out or perhaps it was to steady you.

“I am well,” you reassure, offering a smile and slowly make your way to the tub. Though, you supposed it was less a tub and more a misshapen barrel but it served the same purpose. “I assure you I will fare better once I rid myself of this filth.” You grip the sides of the tub, disgusted by your own reflection sullied with blood, dirt and sweat.

The water was not nearly warm enough but you cared more for cleanliness than comfort in this instance. The eyes that looked back up through the rippling water were not the same as the ones that looked in the mirror at Stylguard while hacking at once lengthy locks. That seemed so distant, the memory already thinly covered in a milky haze.

A sigh slips through parted lips, now came the difficult part.

Undressing — that is. Notoriously difficult to do with impaired range of motion in both shoulders. Which is how you ended up in this current situation.

Through burning cheeks, feeling as if you were suffocating from how thick the air seemed to get — if it weren’t for waning patience you’d have an amused smile at the farce the two of you found yourself in. Headstrong and ever the eminent gentleman (despite your often teasing sleights), Benji stared forward, unyielding and pointed to juxtapose the position of his body. The only body part of his remotely positioned toward you was the arm he outstretched behind him, which can’t have been very comfortable and added to the absurdity of the situation.

His fingers quite skillfully disrobing you without the advantage of sight at least meant that the two of you would be rid of such embarrassment sooner rather than later. Though it was ever the difficult feat, you could only raise both arms so high before the tender flesh pulled against the cord that kept you together.

“Oh for goodness sake,” you sigh frustratedly, feeling his hand suddenly stop, fingers barely hovering over exposed skin. The irritation was running deep, seeping through your skin now like an unchecked itch begging to be scratched but it was all over your body, “you would not feel the need to engage in such foolish hoop jumping if I was one of your men, just turn around and do it properly.”

“I would never compromise a Lady’s honour, even by looking,” his answer was immediate.

You’d have strangled him if you were capable of doing so. On the contrary there was part of you, old you, who buckled at the knees at such a sweet admission from a handsome man.

“At this current juncture, this Lady is asking you to,” you huff exasperatedly, patience wearing thin the longer it takes to do such a menial task; not even when you were a babe did it take this long to fret over mere bathing. In an instant the atmosphere has shifted almost entirely, the lighthearted mood sucked out into a vacuum and in its place something else.

The two of you were running circles around each other, a common occurrence that had first reared its head mere days ago. Two fronts whirling like the crucial hours before a violent tempest ravages the skies during a storm, unwilling to acknowledge what brewed in the centre of it all.

He clears his throat, you hear the rustling of his leathers as he shifts his weight from leg to leg, “you have put me in an impossible position by asking this of me – are you certain?”

“I have trust in no one else,” you affirm, quietly.

“Very well,” his footsteps are slow, careful – as though he ought not to startle you. Fearsome as Benji was, he could never frighten you. There was an innate warmth to his presence, so comforting and homely that it was hard to believe that he was capable of such ruthless and vicious acts of violence.

His hands were equally gentle, sliding the undershirt off each shoulder with such delicate handling, it made you feel like an heirloom almost. Almost. The rough fabric grazes over the fresh wound, pulling you back into the whims of reality, a sharp hiss pushed through gritted teeth.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, breath faintly fanning the back of your neck and in tandem sending a jolt down your spine. Not pain. Hackles raised though not engaging your fight or flight, nor spurring on fear. The feeling that had been simmering as a third party in the background of each encounter of late, an unspoken presence sifted between two finally uncovers itself – desire.

Gods, was it not the time for this, you think.

You unlace the trousers as loose as possible, making it easier for him to slip them past your hips. Part of the fabric felt solid, dried mud turned clay with a mixture of blood made it quite the task to peel off your legs.

Behind, you feel him move away, the warmth that radiated from him gone in an instant. The clinking of his belt buckle made your ears prick, but instead of querying, you remained silent, fearful that your voice would not be so steady – you step into the tub. Gooseflesh instantly rippled across your skin from the fact the water was far from warm, though it mattered naught as the dirt and blood slowly disseminated throughout the water.

With both legs in you start to visibly relax, no longer feeling as though you wished to chisel your skin off. By the time Benji has returned by the tub side, your body is submerged. The sleeves of his undershirt are rolled up, no longer wearing his belts or swords, answering the silent question you had mere moments prior.

When you finally look at his face, his eyes are already on yours, golden flecks sprinkled throughout. As if he couldn’t be any more impossibly handsome. His gaze is unmoving, even as he slowly reaches into the water and pulls your arm up by your wrist, thumb and forefinger coiled around it firmly. But not painfully.

“I can wash my own hands,” you find your voice as he begins to knead softly into your hand with the soaked cloth. Blood no longer coating your hands, dirt rubbed from the space between your fingers.

“I do not doubt it,” the outer corners of his lips twitch upward, suggesting a smile. When he was not intently looking at your face, his eyes drifted upward or past you but never down. And despite the frustration it caused in the lead up to this, you were grateful to a certain degree but also incredibly heartwarmed by him keeping his word.

Despite the cold water lapping at your collar bones and encasing your body, every meticulous adjustment of his grip on you or every tentative touch made you heat up. A permanent flush warming your cheeks as he quietly scrubs your forearm, upper arm and carefully washes your shoulders.

Slowly but surely, with every pass of the cloth accompanied by a steady and tender hand, you felt cleaner not just visibly but also internally. The blood that once stained skin, stood as a mark from the gods, a forever blight that threatened your soul for damnation, now had been washed away.

“Does it get easier?” You whisper, staring off into the tent.

He stops, the cloth remaining pressed into the crook of your neck as he exhales in thought. You barely shift, turning almost imperceptibly as your eyes meet his and there’s a flicker of concern? Surprise? Undoubtedly in response to the haunted look all over your face, “killing people,” you clarify before returning to stare back into nothing.

There was a brief stillness in the air, disrupted only by him clearing his throat. As gentle as a breeze, his fingers caress and cup your chin, seemingly holding your head in place as he begins to softly scrub at the dried muck on your face, “no.” His voice was deep yet soft, unwavering as if he’s thought of this question before. “It never gets easier, you simply learn to live with it.”

Live with it.

A macabre way to look at it, you think, but it seems to be a healthier way to deal with such a gruesome act, even if it was honourable to die in battle. You wonder if the Usurper and his family of parasites felt this moral conundrum when they murdered your brother.

You are doubtful.

“How does one live with such blood on their hands?” You ask, perhaps he was the best suited to answer such question, many slain under his own hand but even of your own observation Benji hardly fit the parameters of a well-adjusted Lord in Westeros. No one called ‘Bloody Ben’ could ever be well-adjusted, but it was hard to discern if years of bloodshed fractured him or if it had been there since birth.

Your head is turned, ever so slightly by his guiding forefinger and thumb still perched under your chin, his eyes bore into you but shows no ire or annoyance, “I honour the fallen. At night before I fall asleep, each name is passed to the Gods and if their name dies with them then faces suffice.” He cleans a particularly stubborn patch of dried blood on your forehead.

It was surprisingly pious of him — Blackwoods never quite took to the Faith of the Seven, much like northerners they remained loyal to the old gods yet Benji had never expressed piety like this.

“Even the slain Brackens?” The guileless smile on your face was an attempt to move on from the grim conversation you accidentally started.

The cloth hovers over your upper lip as he drops his head ever so slightly and chuckles, “even Brackens need honour in death. Gods know they lack it in life.” He presses the cloth onto the dried blood over your lip.

Once he’s rubbed it away, as if moving of its own free will, your hand comes up to grip his wrist, albeit weakly. Gaze sticking to your own, exhaling through parted lips as you attempt to get the words unlodged from your throat.

“I must thank you,” You breathe out. For what, you weren’t sure but it was the only way to express gratitude for the endless list of things he has done for you. You would have to thank him for a lifetime alone for what he had done.

The hand beneath your jaw shifts, his thumb runs across your lower lip to your jaw, just the mere action feels like dragging the tip of a hot needle across your skin in the best way possible, “that is not necessary,” he murmurs.

Possessed or merely a complete lapse in sanity, you will never know, but his soft gaze compelled you — no, bewitched you to lean forward and press your lips to his. Searing hot, your body ignited with a warmth that was unfounded until now, as though the barely lukewarm bath was filled with steamy water.

It was short, chaste and quite unexpected for both parties.

You pull away, aware of how hot your cheeks felt, your grip on his wrist loosens. Actions finally sinking in both your own mind and his. Like silt that had been kicked up in the shallow divots of a creek, finally settling into clarity.

Cheeks beet red and an unreadable expression apparent, the hand caressing your face had dropped.

Perhaps you miscalculated. The hammering of your heart was so loud there was no way in hells he couldn’t hear it. It was as booming as rolling thunder in your ears.

The two of you stare at one another, a silent conversation, a silent question hanging in the air between the two of you. Your mouth opens first, the beginning syllables of an apology croaking out before they are abruptly cut off by his own lips. This had been less of a shock than the first, it felt more needy and messy.

His hands came up to hold your head, thumbs grazing softly over your cheeks. He held you firmly as if you were going to disappear in a puff of smoke and you felt as though you might do just that from how light you felt. His tender caress accelerated the beating of your heart and jumbled any important thought crossing your mind, the only thoughts barraging your mind were of him, his hands, his lips, his voice; Him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, if you had any strength you would have pulled him toward you with a fierce urgency. It’s almost painful that you can’t. The air around you two is static, tempestuous and intense all at once, like two stormfronts finally converging before an explosive storm.

“I’m afraid I could only part with —“

The two of you rip apart at a speed that sends Benji careening backward, toppling onto the ground and you sloshing a large wave of water over the tubs edge. Oops.

“— the…duck stew…” Garrus’ words slowly die in his throat as he stands dumbfounded by the entrance of the tent, two measly plates of stew held in each hand and still steaming. Eyes looking to Benji and then back over to you several times, mouth open and eyebrows raised.

The pause seemed to have gone for a century. And neither you nor Benji would be the first to break it.

“I forgot the bread,” Garrus finally says, putting the plates down on the nearest surface and turning back out of the tent without another word or look.

You shyly looked over at Benji who remained firmly planted on the ground, his cheeks looked as red and hot as yours felt. The thundering of your heart steadily continued partly from the after effects of the kiss and being caught red-handed by the man who was essentially a father to you.

Benji is the first to break, a deep laugh shakes through him before audibly falling past his lips, this in turn makes you suppress a laugh by biting on your lip. Though, ultimately you are unsuccessful and join his symphony of laughs with your own. Not even the pain that pulsed from each laugh was enough to stop you.

The two of you may have plenty to answer for later, but perhaps that wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. A more gruesome fate awaited outside the safety of this moment — of the camp — it would be unwise to not take pleasure in the small mundane moments.

For once it was a kind reminder that maybe, after the conflict ceases, there is room for you to enjoy the life you wished for.

#house of the dragon #hotd #benjicot blackwood #benjicot x reader #bloody ben blackwood #hotd one shot #house of the dragon oneshot #ben blackwood #bloody ben x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #fanfic

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cerseimikaelson · 2 months ago

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Hera paints. I don't know where this headcanon came from, but it's in my brain and bones. When asked about Hera's favourite hobby, her kids might tell you it's weaving. Her siblings might say it's cooking. Zeus, who knows how dotingly Hera tends to her beloved garden of magic blooms that unfurl in the sunlight, dewdrops glittering like diamonds, might say gardening.

But Hera paints. Hera paints without style or direction, or perhaps all styles at once. She paints what's on her mind, but from the heart. She sometimes gazes out the window and spots the way the golden-light hour sun filters through the tree branches like syrup, how the leaves sigh in the wind, how the full moon looks like the eye of a curled up, slumbering dragon. Hera gets lost in that place of light and shadow and colour and texture, and Olympus knows calm nights.

Sometimes, when the world feels unattainable even for a goddess, even for the goddess of goddesses, Hera paints people. Exactly how they are, not what they look like. Zeus with lightning marks spider webbing all over his throat and face, like silver veins, a storm in the Parthenon. Aphrodite in a gown of trailing roses, golden ichor staining her fingertips, because love is a fighter first and foremost.

And sometimes, when the goddess of marriage gives way for the goddess of family, Hera paints the Titans. Because the Titans are the enemy and evil, and the Titans are her uncles and cousins and aunts. Hera doesn't often wonder what it would be like to grow up properly, as Princess of Othrys, like her father's station would have called for. Except for when Koios' clever silver eyes (Artemis doesn't know where hers came from, a small mercy) stare at her from a portrait.

Hera only painted Kronos once. After Zeus released her from the chains above Chaos. Because she needed to see. If the similarity she thought she saw was real. If Zeus' face morphing into Kronos's while she was delirious was real. If it was there. But after she'd painted him out, fingers stained with gold and black, Kronos didn't look like Zeus at all.

(Hera didn't show anyone that portrait. Nor she did ever mention when those ruthless golden eyes followed her from inside the canvas, her own eyes flashed gold as well)

(Princess of Othrys. Queen of the Gods. Heiress of Time)

@z-eusie, @strawberrymira Friends I am unwell.

#hera #hera goddess #mythology #greek myths #hera x zeus #big six #zeus #titans #kronos #children of kronos

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fox-guardian · 2 years ago

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You should attempt to draw Spider Punk in your style, if you want of course

[ID: A traditional marker drawing of Spiderpunk from Across The Spiderverse done in many bright colors. The colors of the lines are inconsistent and vary with each part of the drawing. Spiderpunk is wearing a spider suit under a t-shirt, spiked vest with patches, ripped jeans, multiple belts, knee-height boots with ladder laces, and spiked cuffs and a matching choker, and his mask has tall spikes in a mohawk shape on top of the head. He is posed jumping with one arm raised and the other holding his guitar, as though mid-strum. He is surrounded by various colorful shapes including stars and lightning bolts. end ID]

~~~~

drew him from memory on the way to and from the dentist so he's probably off model but yes. My Beloved <3

#fg's art #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderpunk #hobie brown #fg's answers #asks #on a related note what is his hairstyle called. i need more refs of it so i can draw it right

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bakuliwrites · 2 months ago

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Mirror, Story 6: Nerves and Other Small Rituals

Previous Story, Next Story

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI) for the fic as a whole

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Relationship: Astarion x Tav (OC)

Chapter Summary: As they settle into their new life of domesticity, Astarion and Orlando begin to relax and enjoy a sultry evening at home with one another.

An anthology of short, post-game stories featuring Astarion and my Tav, Orlando.

Chapter Tags: BG3 SPOILERS, ACT 3 SPOILERS, Blood drinking, oral sex, vaginal fingering, anal sex, sex toys, outdoor sex, comfort, Astarion speaking Elvish

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

Orlando’s talons gently graze Astarion’s scalp as she cards her fingers through his snowy curls. His head is in her lap while she flips quietly through the small, leather-bound novella she’d picked up in town earlier that evening. Astarion is content lazing in the grass beside her, soaking in the moonlight and reveling in the crisp night air. A fair breeze graces Baldur’s Gate, ushered in from distant ocean storms. Lightning flickers in the far distance above the glimmering waters, purple veins striking wild along the hem of the sky. The moon above drapes soft, resplendent light across the Sword Coast, and Astarion relishes its silent providence.

Over the last month or so, Astarion and Orlando have spent almost every night lounging in the garden of their cottage, taking advantage of the surprisingly temperate summer. In the early portions of the night, when the moon is still climbing up over the sea, Orlando and Astarion enjoy their coffee in the sunroom that looks out onto the southern coast. The little room is filled with their idle gossip and the washed-out purplish pink of evening; but more importantly, the room is filled with love. In the blue dawn, before the sun’s tendrils have a chance to spread beyond the horizon, the couple slow dances to the sound of mourning doves cooing in the trees that line the front walkway. And in the deepest hours of night, when the air is cool and the stars streak across the sky with sparkling tails trailing behind them, Orlando and Astarion enjoy the silence of the world, hidden beneath the swaying branches of the willow at the back of their property. They have begun to settle quite nicely into a life of domesticity, though the occasional adventure to visit Gale or Halsin serves to scratch their travel itch.

Astarion must admit, however, that a quiet existence is certainly doing wonders for him. His night terrors have lessened over the months, and when he does get them, he is grateful to wake in a comfortable home, where his beloved is always there to hold him close. He has picked up sewing and embroidering again, and there isn’t an article of clothing in the house that hasn’t met his needle and thread. Lately, he has been contemplating starting his own little tailoring business. He and Orlando have been living off the funds they made doing odd jobs over the course of their travels, and some of the money Orlando received in her inheritance from the sale of her family estate. But that money won’t last much longer if they want to save some for emergencies.

As for Orlando, the new life seems to be suiting her quite well. Astarion’s fears over the Tiefling adjusting to life with a vampiric partner have been assuaged over the months. She’s adapted faster than he expected, sleeping through most of the day and puttering about during the night. Occasionally, when she grows restless, she’ll pop out to the city to run errands that they otherwise wouldn’t be able to do in the darker hours. But with a surprising amount of ease, evening has become morning for her and by dawn she is ready to bed down. She has gone back to her book writing and research. Her study is orderly but filled to the brim with scrolls covered in the languages of Faerûn. Syntax trees crawl spider-like across the pages and half-filled dictionaries lay open on her desk. Astarion often finds her hunched over her work, scribbling away, or busily formulating some new potion or spell.

When Astarion grows weary of his embroidery, he draws Orlando away from her work to give her mind and his hands a rest. This time in the garden is one of those such times.

Astarion shifts his weight with a soft grunt, the pressure of the ground sending irritating tingles up his sciatic nerve. His skin is velvety soft as he skims his palm down his forearm, brushing away a tickly, errant strand of hair that has seemingly floated from the top of his head and landed on his arm. The faint scent of brandy and bergamot lingers on his collarbone, and jasmine and musk hang in the air surrounding him. Astarion’s fingertips feel sore from where he’s pricked them with his needle, and he begins to gingerly rub them together. The sound they make is scratchy and soft, oddly soothing even though he worries he is developing calluses.

Hand-in-hand with settling down, Astarion has finally begun to feel like he can inhabit his body again. Like his spirit is returning, piecemeal and hesitant. He can feel it fill the tips of his fingers, a slight tingle brushing away two-hundred years of numbness. It suffuses through his veins, thrumming into his unbeating heart. Pieces of himself will always be missing, he knows this. When he looks in the mirror the sensation is more real than ever, an empty reflection staring back. But he’s grateful for any part of his soul he can reclaim as his own. And every sensation of the world has become new to him, novel and wondrous, once again. He wants to feel it all.

The gentle night breeze carries the heady scent of roses blooming in the garden and with it, a yellow petal that settles on Astarion’s chest. He plucks it up, holding it between the pads of his thumb and index finger, feeling its velvety softness in the ridges of his fingertips. He fidgets with it and listens to the crinkling sound of Orlando’s novella as she flips the page.

“Read to me,” Astarion murmurs, a demand the Tiefling is more than happy to indulge. She leans down, gently pressing a kiss to Astarion’s forehead, her dark hair draping around him and enveloping his vision for a moment.

“If you insist,” she coos, the pad of her thumb smoothing along the angles of Astarion’s cheek. Orlando clears her throat, hazel eyes scanning the page for the next full sentence she can start with. Softly, she speaks in his mother tongue, Elvish gliding smoothly between her lips. Astarion watches the way Orlando’s tongue curls behind her teeth with every, “L”, or the way her lips purse with every rounded vowel. It sends delightful shivers up his spine when Orlando’s rolled “R’s” whisper purring vibrations through her exhales. He imagines the tip of that skilled tongue of hers dragging softly along the shell of his pointed ears and feels his cheeks burning at the thought.

It’s only after she reads a paragraph or so that Astarion really gleans what it is he’s listening to.

The Rakshasa’s gilded eyes have a feral glimmer to them as they drag up the length of Temperance’s body. She tenses for a moment, a shiver of anticipation prickling along her lilac skin as the man (or perhaps spirit) before her gives a low hum. His tongue wets his lips as he takes a calculated step towards the Tiefling temptress, whose barbed tail is flicking slowly back and forth, rhythmic and almost coy. Temperance ghosts her talons down the valley between her breasts and lets the strap of her dress slip down her shoulder. Another step forward and the Rakshasa is nearly upon her, slitted pupils blown wide with desire.

“Darling,” Astarion interrupts just as the Rakshasa and Temperance close the distance between them. The vampire spawn cracks a garnet eye open and peers up at Orlando with gleeful suspicion, “Are you reading an Elvish translation of Infernal smut?”

A blush dusts the Tiefling’s cheeks.

“Possibly,” she murmurs, casting a sheepish glance towards the ground. With a dark chuckle, Astarion abandons his flower petal, letting the wind whisk it away once again while he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Orlando’s dark curls.

“You naughty thing,” he purrs, pulling her down, the scent of jasmine gracing his nose as he traces his tongue along the part in Orlando’s soft lips. She tastes of peppermint and honey, a remnant of the tea they had been enjoying earlier. It’s taken some time, but Orlando has managed to coax herself out of her timid and often solitary pursuits of pleasure. In their early days of knowing one another Astarion had sensed the shame Orlando felt when it came to seeking pleasure for herself. She was always so eager to please, but so cautious to receive; a feeling that is all too familiar to the vampire spawn. It brings an unbridled joy to Astarion’s heart to see his beloved openly enjoying her risqué novella, and even more so that she agreed to read it to him without hesitation. Like him, the Tiefling is coming home to herself, slowly but surely.

“I couldn’t resist when I found it,” Orlando manages between kisses, her twittering laughter music to Astarion’s ears.

“And you’ve been sitting here, stone-faced, letting me think you were concentrating on something of substance?” Astarion returns, feigning offense. He smiles against her with each press of his lips to hers.

“Hmm, well I planned to include you once I’d done my proper research,” she breathes, moving to lay kiss after kiss along Astarion’s jawline. He gasps when she reaches the delicate flesh beneath his ear and allows his hand to stray down to her breasts.

“Well, why don’t you show me what you’ve learned,” Astarion purrs, mischief dancing in his eyes when his beloved gasps into him. Her sharp canines graze his earlobe, nipping lightly and drawing from Astarion a strangled moan. Orlando chuckles to herself, her breath fanning gently against Astarion’s neck.

“Meleth nîn,” the Tiefling hushes, sending prickles of excitement along his nerves, “Tell me what you need.”

Speech struggles to clamber up Astarion’s throat, arousal constricting his vocal cords as Orlando does exactly what he’d wanted her to, her warm tongue dragging up the shell of his pointed ear.

“Vanimelda,” he manages, momentarily halting Orlando’s motions and yanking her down into the grass beside him, tangling his limbs with hers. Her talons, onyx enameled with mother-of-pearl, ghost along the tender flesh of his stomach while he busies himself leaving impassioned bruises on her lips. She moves to unlace his trousers, but Astarion beats her to it, the growing strain within eased once he is free of them. The grass tickles his bare body, a tickle mirrored by the strands of Orlando’s hair whispering against his skin.

“If I’m to be bare to the elements, darling, so must you be,” he demands with the quirk of a pale brow. Orlando gives him a knowing look, something impish in her hazel gaze. She takes her sweet time pulling her billowing shirt up over her head. But it gives Astarion a proper view of the scales that frame the sides of her body, that hug her curves deliciously and peek out from underneath her breasts. When she is free of her clothing, she pauses to gaze at Astarion. He is bathed in moonlight, silver and cold. Her eyes are filled with wonder, though; not fear. Not hunger. Not hate. Only an amazement so deep, it is as if she is viewing the heavens for the very first time.

“My Star,” she whispers, her hand tenderly caressing the hollow Astarion’s ribs make above his stomach with every inhale, “The gladness in my heart is unmatched seeing you so utterly relaxed.”

“You are wretchedly sentimental,” Astarion grouses, though half-heartedly. He, too, is filled with such a deep relief seeing Orlando so at ease. The months have been kind to both of them, and he hopes in the deepest chambers of his heart that this remains so.

Orlando affectionately shakes her head at Astarion, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. A silent moment passes, the couple huddled close and near, Astarion cupping Orlando’s round face, his palm pressed to her cheek.

“Gi melathon anuir,” he finally returns, irises suffused with adoration.

“Anuir,” Orlando tenderly beams, before leaning closer and murmuring to him, “You are my home, and my home is in you.”

The Tiefling lifts up Astarion’s loose shirt, letting it bunch up against his collarbone as she feathers kisses down his sternum, fingertips pinching his pebbled nipples and eliciting a tiny moan from her beloved vampire.

Wordlessly, she trails down his chest, past his navel, and nibbles the inside of his thighs. Her hands smooth along his hips, massaging the suppleness of his ass and warming him as they go. He’s used to feeling cold, but the natural heat of Orlando’s body reminds him of days spent by the fire or basking in the sun, long ago. He is alive with her, the twinkling flame of her soul rushing through his veins. Her little lovebites leave marks on his skin, marks Astarion will cherish forever. Marks that mirror the scar he has permanently left on her neck. He craves the taste of her blood as much as he craves her touch, but he is too lost in his own pleasure to be hungry just yet.

The Tiefling’s playful gaze flicks up to meet Astarion’s, asking silently for permission as she inches closer and closer to his groin.

“Take me,” he breathes, voice husky with desire; and with a soft smile, Orlando does. She presses one final kiss to the dewy tip of his cock, before the tip of her tongue drags along its length and Astarion is lost in a haze of heady passion. Orlando’s tongue swirls around his tip, her mouth warm around him. The same curling tongue that rolled her “R’s” and purred her “L’s” sends delicious heat through Astarion’s body. His head lolls back just after he catches a glimpse of Orlando’s head bobbing up and down, though his view of her is mostly obscured by the laborious rise and fall of his chest.

“Fuck, darling,” he groans, laying back in the grass and clutching his own chest. Orlando’s talons rake down his thighs, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to elicit another pathetic moan from the vampire. He laughs at his own desperation, trying so hard not to buck his hips into Orlando. As the moments pass and as her tongue licks, twirls, and drags, Astarion finds it more and more difficult to keep still. He wants more. He wants his nerves to beg and scream for relief, to be alight with fire and voltaic with sparks. So, just as Astarion can feel his cock twitching, just as he is about to finish and spill himself inside Orlando, he stays her.

“I need to feel you inside me,” he whimpers, eagerly drawing her up and tasting himself on her lips. She nods, her cheeks rosy with arousal, and allows Astarion to gather her up and draw her inside with him.

***

They had bought the appendage together at a discrete little boutique in the Upper City. It was kept in the trunk at the end of the bed, hidden amongst a variety of toys they had bought or fashioned for one another. The magic of this particular appendage is quite remarkable: everything Astarion feels Orlando can feel too, and it has thus far brought a great deal of pleasure to them both. Astarion rifles through the trunk for a moment before he finds it, passing it off to his beloved and watching with an aching desire as she straps it to herself. He then lays on his stomach, satin sheets cool against his skin, the fire in the hearth crackling in his ears.

Orlando gently places her hands on his hips, her lips peppering kisses along Astarion’s back.

“Are you ready for me, Astarion?” she begins, her tone dulcet and serene. He lifts himself and crashes his lips against hers, kisses sloppy in his confirmation.

“Yes,” he breathes before laying back down on his stomach. The anticipation in him builds, and his core is already taut from Orlando’s earlier ministrations. He suspects he will not last long.

Carefully, Orlando eases into him, slow and gentle to give him time to adjust. Astarion gasps at the contact but relaxes after a moment. He hears Orlando give a shuddering, satisfied sigh once she is sheathed in him. Astarion reaches back to squeeze Orlando’s hand as if to say, “I’m ready,” and with that, she’s off, slow at first, before she picks up her pace at Astarion’s request.

Astarion grips the pillow his head is resting on, cheek pressed into it and eyes clenched shut in pleasure. When Orlando gets a good pace going, she leans down, one hand snaking around to Astarion’s front, brushing his erection.

“Is this okay?” she asks, dragging a talon up its length. Astarion manages a strained, “Yes,” before he is lost in an overwhelming wave of pleasure as Orlando grips his cock and begins to stroke in time with the motion of her hips.

Astarion is lost in bliss once again with the feeling of Orlando pumping in and out of him, hips pressing flush to his ass, the lewd slap of skin on skin. The rawness of his overworked nerves sends wondrous chills through his body. Orlando’s hand around his sensitive cock warms him right back up. There is lightning in his veins, and it electrifies the very air around them.

“Oh, Gods,” Astarion whines, his muscles tensing, relaxing, tensing, relaxing. His core is tight, so very tight, and he can feel it threatening to release any moment now. Astarion ruts into the mattress when he’s close; so very, painfully close.

“Astarion, my love,” Orlando cries, her motions erratic as she, too, draws closer to elation, “Come for me, my darling.”

As her encouragement spills from her lips, a prayer in this sacred space, Astarion feels the coil in him break. He’s a whimpering mess when he finally finishes, threads of dewy cum splaying across his stomach and the sheets beneath. Orlando halts, pausing to catch her breath before easing out of him, undoing the straps and casting her temporary appendage to the side. She flops down on the mattress beside Astarion, who is utterly breathless, and hungrily captures his lips; a passionate apology for having to leave him empty. He returns this with equal fervor, clinging to Orlando, practically wrapping himself around her. But he is desperate to return this feeling of rapture, not done yet with this evening. His elegant fingers snake down to Orlando’s heat, folds wet with anticipation. He is slick with her arousal as soon as he touches her, circling his thumb gently around her clit while two of his fingers slip deftly into her. She whines, needy and desperate for him.

“Tell me what you want, Vanimelda,” he purrs, garnet eyes glinting in the firelight. Orlando merely whimpers. Her face is flushed and feels hot against Astarion’s shoulder. His lips find her temple, while her hands clutch his back.

“Use your words, darling,” he teases with a dark chuckle.

“Hah-” she huffs, talons digging into his shoulder blades, “Y-you, my love.”

Her walls pulse around Astarion’s fingers, but he is not ready for her to come just yet. Swiftly, he withdraws, savagely smashing his lips against hers before trailing sloppy kisses down her chest and suckling hard on her nipples. He nips, suckles, and twirls his tongue around her pert buds, and relishes the almost lyrical whimpers that escape her lips. He knows her tits will be so sensitive tomorrow, and he knows she will revel in it.

A string of unintelligible Infernal spills from Orlando’s mouth in clicks, coos, and purrs as Astarion’s fingers find their way back to her heat. He slips in with ease once again, pumping deep and slow.

“Fuck, please-” she whimpers, tugging at the hairs on the nape of Astarion’s neck, “Bite me, my darling. Please.”

She need not say another word. Astarion dives down, canines sinking into Orlando’s neck, fiery blood bursting on his tongue. With a cry of his name, Orlando comes undone around Astarion, body overheated and legs shaking with her release.

When Astarion withdraws from her, Orlando clutches him close. They wrap themselves in one another for a long while, and Astarion calms himself to the gentle thrumming of Orlando’s heart. She smells like him, and he, her. In the silence, he drinks mindfully from her, not wanting to drain her, though her iron is rich on his tongue. Her blood always tastes perfumed after they make love, and it fills him with peace.

Astarion’s fingertips find their way to Orlando’s scales, where he absentmindedly caresses as he clings to her. They are smooth under his touch, and her voice comes in quiet vibrations through her chest. Softly, she whispers Elvish poetry to him as dawn draws nearer. Astarion finds himself falling fast asleep in her arms, and joyously, his dreams are untroubled. But before he does, he breathes a quiet, “You are my home, and my home is in you.”

A/N: It feels like it's been an eternity since I've updated this and also since I've written fanfic at all. These last 6 months have been insanely busy for me. I've really been missing getting solid opportunities to do some writing, but I'm trying to make more time for it. This was a fun chapter to write :) I did some research on Elvish phrases (thank you to Reddit and all the other various Sindarin/Quenya dictionaries online). I'm by no means an expert in Sindarin or Quenya, but I tried to find phrases and research them as best I could. Here are the translations, if you are curious:

Meleth nîn: My love Vanimelda: Term of endearment meaning beautiful (I believe Aragorn calls Arwen this, and it references Varda, but I could be mistaken) Gi melathon anuir: I will love you forever

Anyways, I'm weak in the knees for the concept of Astarion speaking Elvish, so I had to throw some of that in here. I couldn't resist! I've desperately missed writing this fic and writing for our darling, Astarion <3 I'm hoping the next chapter won't take me nearly as long to get out as this one did. I'm also hoping to work on a few of my other projects, so stay tuned! Thank you for reading and I hope you are doing well <3

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #tavstarion #my writing #dani writes #spicy #astarion bg3 #lemon #bg3 fanfiction #freaking FINALLY

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baede-6 · 4 months ago

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Some of my favorite out of context and unrelated quotes from 2024 from my fireteam:

Enjoy.🎀

"A knife is a knife."

"Look, I learned a long time ago not to question what Hunters do. I just sit back,relax,and watch. They know what they're doing,they do it well and it's usually hot."

"Do you like sound of my voice?" 😏 (Yes.)

"You ever think Drifter sneaks a lick of motes when no one's looking? I feel like he would. Forbidden Doritos."

"MULTIVERSAL MALTESSERS!"

"If ramen not hot. Why spicy?"

"I'm going for it. Don't try to stop me... YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO TRY TO STOP ME!"

"I've decided you're the responsible adult in our group of dumba**es."

"DO WHAT YOU DO BEST,HUNTER!...SURVIVE!"

"The thresher killed you so it could go after the second prettiest. It had to get the whole package out of the way first.Priorities." 😉

"Hot. HOT! HOT!HOT! HOT!...owie." :(

"Don't threaten me with a good time,cabal drop pod."

"If I jump will I die?"

"Senpai" *immediately crushed by a drop pod*

"Who's Cayde?"

"But I'm not on your bed." :(

"SNEAKY.LITTLE.NINJA."

"That was hot.That was so hot..."

"Doesn't matter what subclass you have on. You're always a Gunslinger to me and I'll fight anyone that says otherwise. I'll take 'EM ALL! I GOT A TRACE RIFLE AND A DREAM!"

"I'm in the corner,hiding with Drifter ohh."🎶

"WE EAT THE MOUNTAINS! WE DRINK THE SEAS! WE DIE IF SOMEONE SNEEZE...s."

"Bovine Heffalump lookin' muthaf**kah. Eat lasers."

"I will never compare to Cayde-6,and that's something you will have to live with for the rest of your life. He never even gave you a HUG!"

"Don't mind her, man. She's off doing yeehaw cowboy sh**."

"WE DIE LIKE MEN!...UwU"

"I visit Rahool every night, but he never pays me. Something is wrong with my business model. He doesn't even give me any good engrams. What's up with that?...I'm going to try Xûr...he seems a good sort. A good bloke."

"I was killed by Trevor." :(

"Lads, how do we feel about the fact she'd choose a piece of scrap metal over us? Or an emo from the early 2000s."

"Happy Dawning. Crow is a ho...ho ho ho."

"I think I could beat Cayde in Crucible."

"Nah nah nah. You gotta do it in Palpatine's voice."

"Everyone thinks Shaxx is secretly hot under that mask,but I think Shaxx is secretly Willem Dafoe. Not voiced by,actually Willem Dafoe. He's going to take that mask off and it will be like the reveal in Spider-Man."

"Chain lightning,my beloved."

"WHO THE F*** IS ANDAL BRASK!?! I DON'T REMEMBER THAT IN THE HOMEWORK!"

"Golden Gun? How 'bout you Golden DON'T?"

"No.NONONONONONONONONO...naur." :(

"Don't mind me. Just going down a dark alley by myself to a strange man that wants to sell me wares...if Ikora asks, you didn't see me."

"Architect's little favorite UwU."

"Rahool took the kids and the best years of my life and all I got was a stupid engram with a bad roll."

"Can we hold hands? I'm scared."

"Osteo Striga!" 😩

"I'M ALONE AND SCARED AND IN A TUBE AND I CAN HEAR THOSE UGLY GUYS SCREAMING AT ME. I NEED HELP!"

"We'll take them together (Dawning boon,little bit of context for this one) one...two...three! AYYYYY *cough* it tastes like Vex milk and metal..."

"I come all the way out here to give this woman cookies and she doesn't even give me anything good."

"She's in the Vents already." "Again?"

"I can't get in! It's impossible! IT HAS A CHILD PROOF LOCK!" D:

"Sometimes a man just needs a hug."

"See? She tells me I'm pretty in my Doki Doki fit and that's all I need to get through my day."

"Be honest,if I danced like this in the club,would you approach me? Yes? Say yes. The answer is yes,isn't it?"

#baede-6 #I love them. They are my favorite.#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny the game #personal baede 6 business #How I lucked out getting the fireteam I did is beyond me but I am grateful for their tomfoolery.#There's plenty more where that came from.#actual conversations with my fireteam

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incorrect-mtg · 2 years ago

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Flavor Text Highlights - Mirage

<- Previous Set | Next Set ->

Funny - Pacifism

For the first time in his life, Grakk felt a little warm and fuzzy inside.

Funny - Elixir of Vitality

“Eternal life or your money back.” —Unnamed Suq'Ata merchant, deceased

Emotional - Reign of Terror

“I don’t know what takes them; they die around me without time to scream.” —Scout Ekemet, final journal

Worldbuilding - The entire Love Song of Night and Day* *which I will put under a line break because it's super long AND I want to repost content from a Wizards article which is no longer available

<- Previous Set | Next Set ->

The full poem, taken from the article of the same name originally posted in 2003 on the wizards website (here) with footnotes explaining which cards quote it.:

Love Song of Night and Day by Jenny Scott

He (Night) / She (Day)

Wrap yourself in your best bright clothes, your red and purple scarves of silk. Run with me to the festival, where we will dance until sunrise. The dwarves will beat their funny drums of zebra skins and hollowed trees, while stiltwalkers perform, and the musician blows his bamboo flute.

And late in the night, the poets and storytellers entertain, delight us with their dancing words, as we listen, clapping by the fire. Enchant me with your tale-telling. Tell about Tree, Grass, River, and Wind. Tell why Truth must fight with Falsehood, and why Truth will always win.1

I will tell my father's stories: how the giant mantis fooled Death by holding still as a felled tree; how the elephants trampled the leopard cub, and its father, though he knew, killed nine goats instead;2 how pirates gambled with a djinn and lost the thing more dear than gold.3

Tonight we'll eat a farewell feast. Cold corn porridge is not enough. Let's peel papayas, pineapples, and mangoes, drink coconut milk, and bake bananas.4 We'll dine on crocodiles, wild birds, and turtles, perhaps a hippopotamus--if only you can catch it first.

I'll build a palace made of stone. Two hippo-headed guards will serve, and tigers carry in your meals. I'll capture flying zebras for your steeds, and fill the stable with every kind of unicorn.5 Butterflies and salamanders will decorate your garden.

I'll strand long strings of beads for you, blue, the color only kings may wear. I'll carve a soapstone lioness, a wooden box to lock it in, girded with sapphire amulets, ostrich feathers, ivory. These things will protect you while I'm gone, remind you of my love for you.6

Your voice resounds like a songbird's, every word is a sweet, soft song. When you run you're graceful and swift, sleek as a powerful panther.7 Mysterious chameleon, you're a thousand women at once, sharp and strong as a lioness, yet gentle as a striped gazelle.

On this our last day together, let us walk across the grasslands. Hold my hand and let's walk slowly, seeing everything as children. Let's walk on the Daraja Plains, where leopards hang from trees, dosing, tasseled tails swaying in the shade, near villages of tree-dwelling elves.

Glorious, to walk again across the savannah with my beloved. A lion walks commandingly, a general among his troops, camped the night before a battle. A snake, colorful and coiled, loops around his bough, mischievous, hanging over the village path.

We'll find termites in their nests, hard tall towers above the plains, and point-eared cats, taking their turns, guarding their many entrances. We'll find the basket-nests of birds hanging from the acacia tree. Rhinoceroses and dragons for once will let us walk in peace.

When lightning tears the sky's dark cloak and heaven's bird beats the water on the muddy plains with its big wings, termites and frogs escape their homes toward the lamps in the nearest village. Spiders dry themselves indoors, the spotted lizards that never fall from ceilings suddenly appear.

In the forest, fires light the sky as the black clouds unfold their weight.8. The black-and-white sacred monkey holds her children to her, and waits.9 Love, like lightning hits suddenly. It sparks the heart with blows of light, its fire extending, bends, expands, beats and breaks your hiding places.

* * *

Remember when we were children, herding the sheep together, leading them over the grassy hills with long sticks. Your silly songs made me laugh, and in the evening, you'd enchant me with your stories, lying on your back beside me. Even then my heart was yours.

I remember your sacred rites. You were so funny, so grown up, so stiff and serious, all arms and elbows. You went in a girl, but you returned a warrior. You marched back with the others-- your hair was cut, your eye tattooed with the red triangle of war.10

Tomorrow I must go, my love. I will tattoo my head with braids. My shield will bear a shining sun so you will always be with me. Inlaid with gold, it will shine like glowing embers.11 I will return with lizard skins for your sandals. Paint your eyes black and wait for me.12

I am the sun, you are the moon. Wherever you lead I will go, following across the wide sky, as long as I live and you love. Sun follows Moon until she tires, then carries her until she's strong and runs ahead of him again.13 I'll carry you, too, my beloved.

My love, we are not Sun and Moon. Instead we are like day and night. The old ones say Day is a woman, who works only while it is light. She herds her goats and catches fish, fills her fields with golden corn, shows her children what is just and protects them from the cobra.

Day loves Night, who works in darkness, walking through heaven's milky sky collecting stars with his quick arms, piling them into a basket like a child collecting lizards and piling them into her pot until the pot overflows with lizards, 'til the basket overflows with light.

Night wears a black cloak lined with fire, studded inside with gleaming stars. At dawn and dusk he spies his love. Across the rolling hills of sky, they glimpse each other--so briefly. They throw each other kisses, cry. Their tears spill over Jamuraa. Mixed with blood, they wash everything red.14

But once, with a magician's help, Time was stopped and Day stood still.15 Night spread over Jamuraa, wrapped Day in his dark cloak and held her. In their miraculous embrace, the two became as One. Until pulled from Day's arms, Night sank, commanded by the western horizon that always beckons him to come.

I won't give up hope, my love.

Our love is like the river in the summer season of long rains: For a little while it spilled its banks, flooding the crops in the fields.16 But soon it will evaporate with the dry heat. Like Day from Night, I'll live my life apart from you, just glimpsing you across the sky, because you cannot change, my dear, and nor can I.17

[1] "Enchant me…" - Village Elder, Mirage [2] "I will tell my father's stories… how the elephants…" - Wild Elephant, Mirage [3] "…pirates…" - Kukemssa Pirates, Mirage [4] "Tonight…" - early harvest, Mirage and Sixth Edition [5] "I'll capture…" - Zebra Unicorn, Mirage (note that "flying" was changed to "gentle" on the card.) [6] "These things…" - Remedy, Visions and Sixth Edition [7] "When you run…" - Panther Warriors, Visions [8] "In the forest…" - Flare, Mirage [9] "The black-and-white…" - simoon, Visions [10] "…you returned a warrior… your hair was cut…" - Zhalfirin Knight, Mirage [11] "My shield…" - blinding light, Mirage [12] "I will return…" - Femeref Knight, Mirage [13] "Sun follows…" - Chariot of the Sun, Mirage [14] "Their tears…" - Mortal Wound, Visions [15] "But once…" - Sands of Time, Visions [16] "Our love…" - Summer Bloom, Visions [17] "Like Day from Night…" - Unfulfilled Desires, Mirage

#magic the gathering #flavor text highlights #Love Song of Night and Day #mirage

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emmajh97 · 1 year ago

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The teenage superhero, the living lightning bolt, FLUX WISP! And his civilian identity, the mild-mannered ALANO REYES! (Who just so happens to be the famous Youtuber-- ETHEREAL ACE!)

Also-- his beloved girlfriend Layla! And his heroic teammate Wraith!

...

I created this character back in 2020 when my friend invited me to a MASKs TTRPG. (I think I resisted posting him because he is very heavily based on another character...)

Flux Wisp is a Janus type hero, which means like Spider-Man he has to constantly deal with balancing his personal life and his hero life. On top of having to hide his hero identity, Alano also has to be careful about his online identity. He's a paranormal investigator who has gained quite a following from interviewing actual ghosts and posting it online. [His hero costume was inspired by his favorite character-- Clyde the orange PacMan ghost] Poor lad has to balance a lot of masks.

Alano's best friend and girlfriend, Layla Takahashi, is the only one who knows all his secret sides. She's a linguistic and historical genius, doing most of the research for Alano's youtube videos.

Wraith is a ghostly Soldier hero, and was Flux Wisp's first teammate in the fight against evil in the streets of Halcyon city. They get along due to the fact that they are both sorta undead. (Alano got his powers after an investigation into a 'haunted' abandoned laboratory went explosively wrong)

Credit to Jarrett Williams (@superproko) for the character Ace Estrada/Yellow Hype. He was the main inspiration for this boy.

Masterpost of Flux Wisp art HERE

#OC #superhero oc #electricity powers #Flux Wisp #MASKs: A New Generation

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ruii-cha · 2 years ago

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my thoughts after tears of the kingdom

i finished it two days ago and this is when i have the time to actually make a post and this game deserves a post.

spoilers below! you have been Warned.

my thoughts, in no particular order:

the post-credit end scene made me cry... very badly... mineru sounds so proud but also so sweet and oh my goodness. and then tHE SAGES JUST BEING FRIENDS AND REHEARSING THEIR VOW TO ZELDA???

i'd like to think they didn't clue link in. just kinda whispered 'get back when we do' and link was just as surprised as his girlfriend (i am a zelink truther.)

i'm here for the sages being friends

the final boss battle was Brutal and you have no idea how relieved i was when the sages joined the party. i was like 'oh my god YES thank you so much' (side note: sapphire scepter MVP for the monster army phase)

GIANT DRAGON FIGHT. EPIC. MY HEART WHEN THE LIGHT DRAGON DASHED IN TO SAVE LINK OH MY GOODNESS ZELDA STILL REMEMBERS HIM IN SOME CAPACITY. AND THEN YOU HELP GUIDE?? ZELDA??? i might write something about it.

i love my mini spirit army aka the sages. riju's little lightning dance is so pretty, sidon is. sidon (and i love how they explored what losing mipha really meant with the water temple), tulin's an excitable talented baby who must be PROTECTED and it's nice to see yunobo taking charge

zelda... my beloved... light dragon... i did the final fight with a shard of her horn attached to the master sword because i wanted her to be there in spirit for the fight too... i kept apologising and going 'sorry zel, just a shard of your horn, okay? i'll clear the shards of your spikes away for you'

dragon's tears quest Destroyed me. it's tears of the kingdom because zelda represents hyrule because she's the blood of the goddess and therefore the tears of the kingdom-

hear me out. link should have cried too so then the tears of the kingdom are the tears of the hero and the princess

THE HAIR TIE. AND THE CHAMPION'S LEATHERS.

i haven't even done all the side adventures... i have to do those...

my hoarding tendencies versus 'sharp thing with many power stick it on the sword.'

100/10 game i love it...

FIERCE DEITY SET GOD DAMN i have the fierce deity set + sword and also the dusk claymore and link is in his Past Lives era

using autobuild to harvest apples >>>>

i never thought i would miss the guardians... and then i met gloom hands... and i was like 'give me BACK the laser spiders

also why did you complain about calamity ganon being too easy... it took me three tries to get through ganondorf...

#feel free to rb with your own experiences o(>ω<)o #this game has emotionally wrecked me but it was beautiful #i was on call with my s/o while i was playing the ending and then i cried #also LINK AND ZELDA SHARE THE HOUSE. THEY DO.#tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #zelink #totk link #totk zelda #totk zelink #totk #loz botw #loz totk #loz

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1moreoffkeyanthem · 1 year ago

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(chaotic-guinea-pig's main here!!)

Hiya fellow Style fanfic author, tell us which of your fics you're most proud of, and why :]

Oh my goodness HI and DUDE YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW STOKED I AM TO SEE THIS ASK!!!

I have so much out there but RAPID FIRE:

• How We Began -my magnum opus lmfao. Sot Style slowish burn, them being massive losers for each other, eventual love confessions and soooo much fantasy hurt/comfort. No war, just an elf king and an injured human ranger falling for each other (self indulgent as hell I wrote exactly what I wanted to read lmao)

•And Send It Soaring -a little TFBW oneshot with plenty of Toolshed (my beloved) panicking over Kite nearly dying on a mission. I loooove this one.

•Broken Bottles From Apartment 2 - man I know I never stfu abt OrangeJuiceVerse but this is the story that TRULY solidified that universe for me despite it being later on down the chronological timeline and I’m so attached to it. Domestic style, creek, Tweek angst, and healing arcs because when you’re at rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up. Sober king Stan too UGH he’s my baby and I loved contrasting between Tweek and Kyle’s perspectives.

• The Webs In The Rafters - so this one’s WEIRD and surrealist and the darkest shit I’ve ever written so it wasn’t super popular, but the people who were into it were INTO it (the comments to kudos ratio is hilarious) personally I’m a sucker for dark Cryle with Style endgame, badass Kenny, and the whole damn gang being there. Spider analogies, Bunnyyyy, prophetic Tweek, ranch foreman Stan, something sinister under the surface, Putting Kyle In Situations, Evil Craig, it’s a wild ride and it’s inspired by a dream I had lol.

• 5 Stages -another ojv oneshot w some Angry Kyle when our two favorite losers slip in the shower while tryna get ~spicy~ lmfao also Moose the cat I love Moose (I will never in my life stop giving Kyle some kind of chronic ailment)

• And The Lightning Cracks The Sky - I almost like this one MORE than HWB like this fic is my BABY!!! We got Smokejumper/Firefighter Stan, fae prince Kyle, LITTLE MERMAID ASS PLOT (I fucking love this one jesus) the gangs all there, Kenny and Stan being roommates, mutual pining, injury, humor, magic and shapeshifting, evil Cartman, falling in love like awkward losers; when I say this story has been finished for a hot min and I’m still thinking about it.

• I’ll Take It To Mine -the main four boys doing stupid shit, minor injuries (I have problems) THE SBFS, teenage love confessions, just them being hilarious and simps in this one.

• Give You Every Second I Can Find -deadass Stanley Down Bad Marsh trying to execute a cheesy promposal for Kyle and it fails bc his dumbass gets hurt lmao he’s so lame id die for him.

So those are some of my faves THANK YOU WITH ALL MY SOUL FOR THIS ASK AAAAA

#asks #south park #thank u for this <3 #my shit #ao3 #ao3 stuff #fic link #style #sp fanfiction

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normalenjoyer-png · 1 year ago

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this is. certainly something i’m posting. but fuck it we ball

here’s all the lethal company fnaf monsters

- they’re all nightmare or bonnie themed (excluding the ghosts) because of william’s influence over them👍

manticoil: effectively a bird lol. poses 0 threat ever, nothing rlly fits this role lol

roaming locusts: …locust. nothing rlly fits this role lol

spore lizard: almost made this nightmare chica, but couldn’t find a better fit for nutcracker so she’s that now. nothing rlly fits this role lol

hoarding bug: plushtrap cause his small stature but also cause i think he’s most likely to just fucking steal shit. also most likely to make the “yippee!” noise.

hygrodere: ohhhh the blob maybe? cause like pool of agony->pool of kids melted together forever. ok yeah i dig that.

earth leviathan: this is a giant fucking worm. nothing really fits that role lol

bunker spider: princess quest glitchtrap goop because it moves slow enough to warrant this role>thumper and would probably set up webs to catch people like the spider in game. also so many connections i could make out of that

snare flea: princess quest rabbit head cause it eats ur head like a snare flea does

forest giant: nightmare cause big bear eat people. also contended glitchtrap for this role but glitchtrap isn’t quite mindless enough i dont think

baboon hawk: freddles cause the baboon hawk mechanic is that if it’s 1v1 they’ll run away but if it’s 2v1 they’ll attack you. so long as they have more numbers than your group then they’ll attack

circuit bee: these are bees with lightning powers. nothing really fits that role lol

masked/mimic: …the mimic. but you can’t see it’s the mimic because it’s wearing a company jumpsuit and it’s only real difference is its lack of defining features and its rudimentary behavior.

ghost girl: cassidy because i think she should be allowed to blow people up by touching them

eyeless dog: becomes eyeless bear, aka nightmare freddy. can only hear things

coil head: spring bonnie because HEAR ME OUT. operates like a weeping angel. when you catch it it stops and creaks heavily with the force with which it stopped. and instead of replacing your head with a coil, it SPRINGLOCKS YOU!!!!!

bracken: toy bonnie, they just look similar lol. would’ve been nightmarionne if not for nightmarionne being used in the jester

thumper: nightmare mangle my beloved. because she can run at you really fast but can’t make turns very well so she skids into the wall headfirst at top speed sometimes 😭😭

jester: CHARLIE!!!!! cause puppet+music box. sometimes charlie pops out to talk to whoever she’s following but she’s only aggro when she’s nightmarionne

nutcracker: nightmare chica; glitchtrap contended for this spot as well cause i thought he’d be funny with a gun but that was mostly out of a loss of where to put him until i realized chica would work a lot better here; the cupcake operating as the eye the nutcracker has, and instead of a gun firing at you she just chases you if her cupcake sees you move

i DO want to put glitchtrap somewhere really bad and rn i’m considering him just being like. either another version of the ghost girl (they skip the same lol) or the company’s ai that’s actually sending the afton kids on this trip. the only thing with both of these is it kinda severs his connection with vanessa and that makes me sad :( making him the forest giant would’ve been cool as he’d’ve been the biggest enemy in the game and it would be TERRIFYING to be scooped up and eaten by him, but i just don’t vibe with 1. dumbing him down to the forest giant’s level 2. making the forest giant any goddamn smarter than he needs to be 🤨 inescapable fuck.

SO. that’s where i’m at rn. suggestions for blank ones are welcome but otherwise i’ll just keep them as they are cause they are mostly environmental anyway :3

#leave me alone i’m not normal #fnafLC

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moonfurthetemmie · 7 months ago

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Lear and Puck are very, very close friends. Like. They’d fuck you up if you hurt the other. Aside from Apricot and Cherry (W!JMV Jade and Obsidian. My beloveds), they probably have the healthiest positive relationship of any of their alternates. I know it’s not a high bar to clear but that’s not the point, the point is that they’re best friends and they’re both absolutely deranged.

The others aren’t all that much different from normal, although prolonged exposure to the two theater nerds has infected them somewhat. Jekyll in particular will act very dramatic if someone (usually Lear) isn’t doing what he told them to do to recover from an injury, and Remy will channel his inner Gorden Ramsey if someone leaves food out instead of putting it away.

However, everyone (save Jekyll, Icarus, and Remy) has a ‘character’ that they put on when they’re on missions.

Lear: A radiant. Actor. Drama, villainy, monologues, showmanship, and leadership. He’s the mastermind, and has the lead role in their production of chaos.

He loves it when his audience interacts with him, whether that be trying to fight back when he’s causing shit, or telling him/asking him to do something on social media (which is never serious and they never expect him to actually like…respond). He’s very flashy, literally and figuratively, and can be much more eloquent than normal Obsidian. And by ‘can be eloquent’ I mean ‘he speaks like a Shakespeare character or high fantasy-setting character 90% of the time and only sometimes drops it’

Puck: A corrupt. Special effects, directing, blocking, and planning. He’s got 15000 notebooks with the plot of plays he wants to fully produce, but until then he’s 50% of the brains behind Lear’s operations.

He can’t bring himself to really hurt anyone, so he’s extra careful about his special effects being safe. He usually dips when murder starts happening. He doesn’t like watching it. It’s not fake, it’s real, and he doesn’t really care if Lear does it, but he doesn’t wanna watch.

Mars: The Soldier. Stoic and unmoving, stone-faced and disciplined. As far as ‘the audience’ is concerned, Mars is a perfect killing machine.

He’s not though, he’s tired and he wants to go home but these fucking theater kids are holding him and his family hostage. help. He’s also the second-in command and, at least when they’re doing publicity stunts, the only one besides Lear who can tell Bugs what to do.

Elphaba: Sorcerous trickster. Her voice mimicry can fool crowds into thinking the police are arriving, or confuse them about where the others are, or a thousand other things. And then she’s got her zappy hands and her strings and she’s just a menace.

She’s basically crowd control, when she’s not with Mars and Lear and creating carnage. She’s adopted a spider motif with her costume because of the strings, even if she mostly uses her lightning magic.

Bugs: The Wild Card. Puck actually really likes working with her because he has to get creative with how he signals her to move where they need her.

She’s also very energetic, and with her totally-there undiagnosed ADHD that’s not just projected (lie) it’s very easy to turn ’15 seemingly unrelated trains of thought and in-progress tasks’ into ‘Agent of Chaos who reveals in causing an uproar’. Part of her job is also ‘don’t listen to anyone except Mars and Lear, and act like you’re afraid of them’

Dolus: The Spy. Bugs also has that in her job description, but she rarely plays at it when they’re doing public stuff.

Dolus’ role when they’re putting on a show is to ‘sneak’ around and help Bugs sew chaos in the ‘audience’, and capturing targets as-needed. She’s good at it; she moves almost silently, and can keep her target in her sights even through a large crowd.

Icarus is kinda chilling. He can’t go home, but only because Lear forgot where he came from. He’s being treated pretty well, but he’s so tired of these theater kids. He occasionally hangs out with Puck.

Also, Lear and Puck quote plays and musicals almost constantly. They do kinda make it part of their personality. They will flirt with you using Romeo and Juliet lines.

#Theater Kid AU #Theater Kid Lear #Theater Kid Puck #Theater Kid Dolus #Theater Kid Bugs #Theater Kid Elphaba #Theater Kid Remy #Theater Kid Mars #Theater Kid Jekyll #Theater Kid Icarus #they’re fucking NERDS #everyone wants to go HOME

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jackofailtrades · 1 year ago

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Amatus Maren

Beloved Sea (latin)

God of Weather and Loyalty

The Storm King

Amatus follows the Maren legacy of 'ruling' part of the natural world that no living Draconic can control, having been named the Xokona Vurxe (translating to The Storm King) by his father. He was a terrifying force for thousands of years, his sadistic nature aiding him in causing many natural disasters simply to weaken the mortals of Salha. The Tri-Century Storm, a horrible hurricane (or blizzard, depending on where in Salha it is) that sweeps across both major continents every 300 years, ruining or even taking many lives.

Amatus joined the Celestial Pantheon for around 200 years, earning him the official status of God of Weather and Loyalty, until a chance encounter with Light Song meant he, ironically, abandoned the Celestials to follow someone who had somewhat similar goals as him.

Even though Vizerxa has goals and views completely opposite of Light Song, Amatus still is undyingly loyal to her and the Fallen Pantheon, having decided he's been part of it for too long to abandon.

Amatus is a highly sadistic being who seems to have almost no morals, even going as far as to defy his few personal rules if Light Song or Vizerxa say to. He gladly would kill for either of his Rulers. He calls most of his friends by some pet name, normally some variation of 'love' or 'my dear', unless they say not to. When he's around beings that aren't exactly close to him, he is rather easygoing, as he finds most people quite boring.

Amatus enjoys harsh weather, thinking it's funny to see how little mortals can put up with. He's also fascinated by ocean life, especially reptiles. He sometimes likes to help Star Seer with the gardens, and he also likes making origami, and playing the harp, organ, and the trumpet.

Amatus doesn't like overly compassionate or empathetic people since he doesn't understand how people can care so much about others, spiders, most stinging insects, and heat.

-Amatus hates Sidera, as she often torments Vizerxa.

-He learned origami from his aunt.

-Amatus is considered an 'old draconic', being 15,000 years old, and therefore somewhere between reptilian and the more human-like modern Draconics.

-Amatus has a collection of cool rocks, mainly being fossils or lightning-struck rocks.

Images to be added

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solarpearl · 4 years ago

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ergo dum me diligis

genshin boys (tartaglia, thoma, zhongli, kazuha, albedo) x gn! reader. what he loves most about you. just fluff!!! ♡s & ↻s appreciated!

notes: deron deron konderon!!! i tried to make this as general as possible so i hope it.... sounds fine? edit: i can't believe i forgot to tag @albaedhoe my beloved tysm for proof reading!!

tartaglia

tartaglia does not have many constants in his life. he runs on light feet, hair wind swept, like water that runs past your fingers & seeps between cracks, never to be cupped or held. it is a life of a harbinger-- one strife with unexpectancy and adventitious, one that begs him to always have his ears open, eyes steady, vision always on the prize-- the goal, the words uttered from the chilling lips of his tsaritsa.

but you are his one constant, his anchor stone in his rocking boat made of rotting wood that drifts stubbornly further out into the tumultuous sea. why do we fight? one of his subordinates mutter. for the tsaritsa, another answers, reply already trained. but for him, it was also for you, for you've always expected him to return, & he knows that you are waiting, always, to receive him warmly with open arms & a kiss that leaves him breathless while his skin presses onto yours. you're his constant, the one never changing love of his life.

thoma

insecurity is the seed of doubt. and doubt, surely, makes an enemy of success. you had always mused, and thoma remembers it vividly, the smell in the air of thorn pricked roses, and the purple of the grass a melancholy blue, the beating sun of inazuma casting an almost ethereal glow upon your face.

it was true, a chin held high with a cold stare bodes very well against the crackling, sizzling lightning of a stricken god. conviction, thoma thinks, is your best trait. steadfast in your ideals, constant in your footsteps, thunderous in your speeches, confident in yourself.

confidence & beauty, yes, you do both very well. he thinks to himself, a hand under his chin as he hums in chords of love & adoration. for surely, he knows, your promise of getting him out of this stuffy teahouse will become true. you do not make implausible promises, & you will turn the impossible possible.

zhongli

your gentleness. even in your footsteps you are gentle, as if walking on air. even more so in the way you softly cup his face in turns it this way & that, praises falling from your mouth in cascades & your eyes soften like the wilt of a beautiful flower. zhongli is a god, he has seen many things, and immortality is cursed with never forgetting.

yet you soothe him, smoothing over a prickling pain with a cool hand. there is no need to act ignorant, for he loves your kindness that gently wakes him from gripping nightmares & loves his past loves as much as he does.

a memory is a precious thing, you remind him, and yours is as kind as he remembers, much like the glowing golden light that pours in through age old windows.

kazuha kaedehara

the way you grit your teeth & stand, wiping blood off your face. you're never one to succumb to anything, big or small. bravery recognises bravery in the face of death, for he has evaded the spindly, cold fingers of it for far too long now, so much so he shudders in his sleep, phantom spiders crawling over his body as even in rest he cannot relax, muscles tense, like a spring. but he sees your heart in the way you speak, how in between each word there's a thousand little mutterings, and the way you sharply clip the end of your sentences, abrupt and sudden, but never weak & fragile.

the wicked smile that speaks of countless battles won & even more lost, you always hide in a sheath, unleashed only onto those deserving of fury & wrath, is hidden in the gleam of your weapon. its edges pearl white under the waxing moonlight, glinting of skill & revenge. as your edges fray around him, he sees you wholly, bloody & torn, but still here, still his, still alive, still trudging on. for you wear invisible scars that he kisses gently over and similarly scarred hands ghost above, fluttering & intertwining with yours as he presses you closer.

albedo

your genius. albedo is a traveller, a philosopher, the best type of student- curious, bright & dedicated. yet he has never seen anything as infinitely fascinating as you. your mind is an intricately weaved tapestry, always stitching as it plucks its pink from the colour of his cheeks, the gold from his eyes, the ash from his hair & the deep blue from his gloves that you always tap when you wish for his undivided attention. but no matter what, albedo can't seem to unpick the threads, for one proves never-ending & another pulled out makes no difference to the piece of art. albedo watches the shadow of you leaning over a book as you point out the parts of a diagram of your expertise, and when the black turns into twisting, dancing figures, he lets it slip out, how are you so beautiful?

it's my personal charm.

you reply & lean forward to sweetly kiss him, the taste of adventure & secrecy on your lips.

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poisoned-peppermint · 4 years ago

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Part 4 of incorrect quotes because i feel obligated to make more due to the sheer number of people who liked it

Dream: My dearest beloved fuckos, is a fun, gender-neutral way to begin a speech

George: See also, esteemed bastards

Bad: Gentlefolk, Ferals, and Domesticated cryptids.

Sapnap: My fellow yees and haws

~~~~~~~

Techno:Hey I know skyrim is revered as a classic but are we just going to ignore the fact that the entire game only had like 3 voice actors

Wilbur:Stop right there criminal cum

Techno:My ancestors are smiling at me, bastard, can you say the same

~~~~~~~

Foolish:When's your bedtime :)

Purpled: Whenever I next collapse in purely up to the gods

~~~~~~

Ranboo:Human skin is a fursuit for skeletons

Tubbo: i’m going to debone you like a fucking trout

~~~~~~

Bad:You’re enough

Bad: love yourself!!!!!!! or suffer my wrath!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dream:And by wrath I mean love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bad:no I mean wrath!!!!! You reading this, if you don't love yourself I’ll beat you with a stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~

Bad:I hope everyone is today well! And tomorrow!!!! After that you’re on your own.

~~~~~~

Bad:what am I supposed to do all day while you’re at work

Skeppy:I don’t know, what do you normally do while I’m gone

Bad: wait for you to get back

~~~~~~

Velvet:For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5am on the day I can sleep in

Ant:Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

Velvet:Early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch

~~~~~~

Tubbo: 3:23 AM make a wish

Ranboo: I wish that you would go to sleep

Tuddo: Yeah well I wish I grew an inch taller every day as you get an inch shorter until you’re as flat as as a piece of paper and I’m 11 feet tall

Ranboo: You’re going to die of a mixture of skeletal instability and heart disease.

Tubbo: Yeah but I’ll look good while doing it.

~~~~~~

Bad:Disrespect me again and I’ll determine your bodies resonant frequency and play a jaunty horn solo that boils your miserable organs inside out

~~~~~~

Quackity: If I were dating you? Well, heh. Let’s just say horses wouldn't be called horses anymore

Karl: hey what the honk does this mean…..I’m shaking what does this mean!

~~~~~~

Skeppy: Are you ok?

Bad wrapped in a burrito blanket drinking his 6th cup of coffee: Yes, this is exactly what mental stability looks like

~~~~~~

Sam: My hands are cold

Ponk: *holds their hands*

Ponk: better?

Sam: My lips are cold too

~~~~~~

George at dream’s funeral: can I have a moment alone with them?

Sapnap: of course *leaves*

George leaning over dream’s casket: Now listen, I know you’re not dead.

Dream: yeah no shit

~~~~~~

Skeppy, jokingly: I should have Bad kill you for that.

Bad, peering around the corner: Who do I need to kill?

Skeppy: Wh- no, I was just kidding around.

Bad, pulling out a switchblade: No, who’s bothering you

~~~~~~

Bad *watching the news*: Some idiot tried to fight a squid at the aquarium.

Skeppy *covered in ink*: Maybe the squirt was being a dick.

~~~~~~

Peacock: *spreads feathers at Bad*

Skeppy: It’s trying to attract a mate

Bad, extremely confused: *shyly lifts top*

Skeppy: No!

~~~~~~

Sapnap: Karl, do you eat olives? My dad wants to know

Karl: No, I hate olives. Olives are the spawn of satan. I hate olives so much my mom forced me to live in Mount olive for the rest of my childhood as a curse from the olive gods. Do you understand how much olives have ruined my life? I'm so offended that you asked me that have some consideration for people who have been abused by olives please!

Sapnap: K A R L ……….they’re just olives!!?

Karl: JUST OLIVES EXCUSE!

~~~~~~

Tommy: If you’re bored you can simply close your eyes and rotate a cow in your mind. It’s free and the cops can’t stop you

~~~~~~

Wilbur: is there anyone even named sheldon irl?

Tubbo: my class turtle from 6th grade :)

Wilbur: that’s a turtle

Tubbo: When god sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

~~~~~~

Ranboo: No bcuz why do ppl like salad?? What’s so good about it

Tubbo: chew leaf like god intended

Ranboo: No

Tubbo: Abandon god and see what he does next time you lift your hands in prayer

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly.

Wilbur, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

~~~~~~

Quackity: So according to the cease and desist order I got, apparently you can’t ‘legally’ be a lawyer if your license is ‘cut out of a cereal box’.

~~~~~~

Puffy: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Bad: Sex.

Skeppy: Seriously, answer faster.

Bad: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Skeppy: It’s like a giant hug.

Puffy: Ant, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Ant: Food.

Puffy: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Ant: ……...Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Gumi: What about you Velvet? What would you give up sex or food?

Velvet: Oh… um… I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Gumi: No, you gotta pick one.

Velvet: Um, food… no, sex… no, food…sex… food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want Antfrost on bread!

~~~~~~~

Tommy, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVERS CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.

~~~~~~~

Bad: Why are you guys acting like this?

Boomer: Oh, we’re not acting. We really are like this.

~~~~~~

Techno: Dream has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing.

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re pathetic!

Wilbur: You’re pathetic-er!

Techno: You’re both losers.

~~~~~~

Bad: I wish I could help you, but I shorn’t.

Skeppy: Bad, please!

Bad: What part of shorn’t don’t you understand?

~~~~~~

Tubbo: Why did you leave Wrestlemania on for Michal?

Ranboo: They need to learn how to protect us.

~~~~~~

Antfrost: I regret getting dragged into your heterosexual tomfoolery.

~~~~~~

Bad: Strawberry milk doesn’t taste like strawberry OR milk.

Skeppy: Go the fuck to sleep Bad!

Bad: LANGUAGE!!

~~~~~~

Ranboo: Tubbo, please calm down.

Tubbo: I asked for two large fries!

Tubbo: *dumps fries onto table*

Tubbo: But all they did was give me a MILLION FUCKING LITTLE ONES!

~~~~~~

Bad: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time.

Skeppy: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.

~~~~~~

Wilbur: When you’ve been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.

Tommy: Navy blue isn’t your color.

Wilbur: Navy blue brings out my eyes you prick! *Chases after Tommy*

~~~~~~

Bad: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere*

Puffy: Where did you get that?.

Bad: My pocket.

Puffy: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket?

Bad: Skills.

~~~~~~

Tubbo: I will come to your house after work and knock on your window at 11 AM. You will not open the curtains, knowing full well what awaits you, but the knocking only grows louder, more demanding. Finally it stops, your ears ringing. You nervously let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're safe now. Minutes pass by and you start to relax. And then you hear a knock at the front door. Like before, you stay still and clutch the blankets around you. You try to tell your self that it's just your imagination. Maybe the milk man? But why would he come so late? Everyone else was asleep, save for Naomi who was playing video games down stairs. To your relief, the knocking stops after a few. Minutes and you breath easy once more. Until you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You don't move. It's just your imagination. She isn't here. She can't be here. You tell yourself, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to sleep. The knock comes again, but with horror you realize that it came from the closet inside your room. You know that you have no choice. You get up, climbing out of bed with shaking limbs. You walk to the closest, trembling, and holding back the tears threatening to spill over your porcelain cheeks. You hesitate with your hand over the closet handle. Maybe it's just your imagination? She's not really there. You can go to sleep and laugh it off in the morning. Your naive thoughts are cut off by another, more demanding knock on the closet door, inches from your face. You know what you have to do. You open the closet door, and there she stands. Chuck e cheese, the mouse looms over you in the dim light. It's soulless eyes boor into you. It raises its arms, and you flinch as it begins to floss at lightning speed. Tears spill over your cheeks. This is the last thing you'll ever see.

Ranboo: Wait, Chuck e cheese’s pronouns are she/her? Trans Chuck e cheese? Good for her.

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Would you like something to drink? *They opened the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Quackity: Spiders?

Bad: Spiders it is then.

Quackity: No, that wasn’t-

*But they were already pouring him a brimming glass of spiders…

~~~~~~

Puffy : Make her pussy wet not her eyes.

Velvet : Make his dick hard not his life.

Punz : Break her bed not her heart.

Skeppy : Play with his boobs not his feelings.

Ant : Get on his dick not his nerves.

Bad : Always salt your pasta while boiling it.

~~~~~~~

Wilbur: Bet you can’t eat 15 crayons!

Tommy: Bet you I can!

Phil: *sips coffee, checks to make sure 911 is still on speed dial, and goes back to reading the paper*

~~~~~~~

Ant: We need a way to lure in new customers?

Ponk: Maybe we could have some fun, interactive events!

Skeppy: Badboyhalo bath water.

Bad: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

~~~~~~~~

Fundy: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK!

Wilbur: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

~~~~~~~~

Bad: Mint is just cold spicy.

Pummel party Squad: …

Gumi: What the actual fuck is wrong with you.

~~~~~~~~

Quackity: Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

~~~~~~~

Tommy: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt?

Phil:

Phil: Why are you eating dirt?

Tommy: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

~~~~~~~

Tubbo: I wish I could control wasps and bees to sting my enemies.

Quackity: You’re too young to have enemies.

Tubbo: You don’t even know.

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Puffy: What’s up your ass this morning!

Bad: *walks in* …Hi!!

Puffy: Hmm… nevermind.

Skeppy: WAIT NO!

~~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Ha! Don’t you know the trappers trap can trap the trapper?

Skeppy: I must be losing it, I’m quoting Bad.

~~~~~~~

Skeppy: Bad, I sense hostility.

Bad: Good, because I hate you

~~~~~~~

Bad: Are you a painting?

Skeppy: What-?

Bad: Because I want to pin you to a wall.

Skeppy: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG ME OR SOMETHING-

~~~~~~

Tommy: You’re giving me a sticker?

Phil: Not just a sticker. That is a sticker of a kitty saying “me-wow!”

Tommy: I’m not a preschooler.

Phil: Fine, I’ll take it back-

Tommy: I earned this, back off!

~~~~~~

Dream, sweating: George, there’s something I need to ask you-

George: Finally! You’re proposing!

Dream: How’d you know?

George: Dream, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

George: I even picked it up once

~~~~~~~~

*Bad and Skeppy looking at a locked gate into a park*

Bad: Aw. :(

Skeppy: You know what they say.

Bad: Please don’t-

Skeppy: BE GAY DO CRIME! *hops gate*

Bad: Frick-

~~~~~~~~

let me know if ya’ll want more <3

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