#thank you for this daeling

[soothedcerberus]

Every time Dirk and Remembrandt show up on my dash, I smile like an idiot. They're very cute and I love your 'taurs.

[archivedbyebye]

MY WIFE

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #34

Masterpost

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Next

Warnings: torture, past noncon, waterboarding, broken bones

It was some sort of sick game.

Or at least, [REDACTED] hoped it was a game. It certainly didn’t feel like one, but if he could fool himself into thinking it, there was still hope.

“Please, sir-”

Lord Dael kicked him again, knocking the breath out of him. “Stop-” he gasped, and the boot came down to slam his head into the stone.

The room swirled, and he felt bile and blood in his mouth.

“Don’t tell me to stop,” Lord Dael snarled. “Don’t ever tell me to stop. Got it?” His heel dug into [REDACTED]’s temple, and the pressure made his head throb. 

“I got it! I got it, sir, please-”

The boot lifted from his head, and [REDACTED] curled into himself. He didn’t dare cover his head. Defending himself only made Dael get more sadistic. 

Dael loomed over him, and [REDACTED] couldn’t bear to look at him. He focused on the shadow cast on the floor.

“I don’t think I like ‘sir’ anymore,” Dael said, stroking his face. [REDACTED] screwed his eyes shut, shuddering. He didn’t like him like this; it meant he’d be fucked again-

“You’re going to call me ‘Master’,” he continued, patting his cheek, and [REDACTED] nodded.

“Yes, Master,” he breathed out.

As long as Master was happy, it didn’t hurt so much.

___________________

“You deserve this,” Dael said, taking a swig of wine.

[REDACTED] cried, his arms and shoulders burning with every movement. 

Master had strung him up by the wrists, left him dangling on his tiptoes, and grabbed a bullwhip.

“Say it,” Lord Dael commanded. He cracked the whip in the air next to [REDACTED], and he jumped.

“I- I deserve this.”

“You deserve this, what?” The whip came down on his back, and [REDACTED] screamed as the fire ripped up his back for the dozenth time.

“I deserve this, Master!” he cried out. The whip cracked through the air again, and [REDACTED] wailed.

It wasn’t true, it wasn’t. He didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.

“You should be thanking me,” Master said, pausing to drink more wine. “I’m teaching you your place. Your purpose.”

The whip came down on his back before he could answer, and hot wet blood dripped down his skin.

He gasped for air. “Th-thank you, Master,” he shuddered.

“Again.” The whip slashed into him-

“Thank you, Master!”

Thank you thank you thank you-

___________________

The month was almost up, and [REDACTED] had never looked forward to something more.

He had a plan: get the money, and get out. He’d go to the doctor first, as his wounds were too much to bear. 

Then, he’d pick up his sister. Surely she was at the Emry temple, and he’d give her the biggest hug and apology he could manage.

[REDACTED] licked his dry, cracked lips. He couldn’t really explain what happened- it was too awful for her- but hopefully she would understand, especially with all the money he’d be paid.

The money. It must be a lot; a whole month of wages and maybe more because of… He cut the thought off. He shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t irritate his sore ass.

It would be enough to pay bills, get her new shoes, clothes.

Her birthday was in two weeks. She’d be nine, and there would be enough money for a proper present, unlike the past few years. He knew she wanted a sketchbook and some fancy colored pencils. He could swing that. 

Birthdays were important, after all. Especially nine. “Almost double digits!” she had told him proudly. 

Maybe there would even be enough for cake.

[REDACTED] closed his eyes, and dreamed of sweets and shiny wrapped boxes.

___________________

Richard opened the cell door, metal rod in hand. He wasn’t sure what the steel was originally for, but it was the perfect weight and length to teach his slave a lesson.

The slave cracked his eyes open, his nose and mouth covered in dried blood and cum.

“Morning,” Richard smiled at him. The slave sat up partially, still leaning on his arm.

His eyes dropped to the steel in his hand, and he looked devastated.

It was a good look on him.

“The- the month is over, Master,” he whimpered.

Richard blinked. “You actually believed me?” he asked, incredulous.

The boy’s eyes went wide. He actually thought-

Richard laughed. It was just too good.

The slave slowly stood, shakily sliding up the wall.

“You- you said-”

“I lied, moron,” Richard mocked, advancing on him.

The boy looked at the door and back to him, and surely he wasn’t that dumb-

The kid ran towards the doorway.

Richard grabbed his arm, flinging him back to the ground. The boy sprawled onto his hands and knees.

“You stupid bitch-” Richard spat, kicking him onto his side.

“Don’t-” gasped out the slave, and Richard’s vision went red.

“What did I say about telling me what to do?!” 

He brought down the steel rod, over and over, and the crying and shouting was nearly background noise to the buzz of anger in his ears.

Until he heard a sickening crunch.

The boy wailed, clutching his leg.

“You broke it!” he screamed. “My leg! You- you broke it-”

Richard felt nauseous. The limb was streaming blood, and it looked so wrong. A bone shard peeked out of the skin, and his stomach twisted.

The slave began to weep, and it was too much.

He turned, slamming the door locked behind him.

Richard leaned against the stone door, scrubbing his face. Gods, that was gross. He tasted bile and it was all that damn slave’s fault. 

He flung the metal down the hall. Ew. Even his hands had blood on them.

Richard went to wash up, and a cleaning bucket near the sink gave him an idea.

___________________

He sobbed through the pain. It was one of the worst things he’d ever felt, and with a broken leg-

Master wasn’t going to let him go. 

His brain stuttered. He was going to stay here forever. 

Everything went fuzzy. The pain felt far away, and he couldn’t breathe-

The door slammed open again and it all rushed back to him.

No- No more-

Master lugged a bucket inside, water sloshing at its sides. He dropped the bucket, and drops splashed out.

[REDACTED] braced himself.

Master grabbed his hair and began to drag him towards the water.

[REDACTED] screamed, shards of agony shooting up his useless leg as it scraped against the stone.

“Shut up,” Master hissed. Then his face twisted into a smile. “Take a deep breath,” he advised.

And then he plunged [REDACTED]’s head into the water.

It was freezing. [REDACTED] held his breath, twisting and fighting the grip. But Master didn’t let up-

He was almost out of air when Master pulled him out. He sucked in a breath, and he was back under.

And again, and again-

[REDACTED] scrabbled at Master’s hands, desperate for air. Master kicked his broken leg, and bubbles flew as he screamed into the water.

He choked and breathed in water and then-

Master yanked him out, letting him fall to the floor. [REDACTED] coughed up water, his lungs stinging and burning.

“I’m sorry-” he begged. “Please, Master, I’m so sorry-”

“Quiet.”

[REDACTED]’s jaw snapped shut. He trembled and shivered, which only made his leg worse.

Master stood looking at him. Then he turned and left, the door locking behind him.

[REDACTED] fully collapsed on the stone and just… breathed.

It was all he could do. He was thirsty and starving and dirty, but getting to the water in the bucket felt impossible.

It all felt impossible.

It was impossible. 

[REDACTED] breathed out, closed his eyes and tried not to cry even more.

Why why why-

There was only one answer. Only one thing made sense.

I deserve this.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings

@zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone

@snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda

@loserwithsyle @bitchaknso @cepheusgalaxy @taterswhump @fleur-a-whump

@hellodecisionparalysis @otterfrost @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @risk606 @i-walk-on-the-dark-side

@phoenixpromptsandstuff @haipasa

[lisa972kdlz]

Food Parade :

French version

And you, what kind of prisoner are you xD ?

What, I had put Rivalship again? Maybe, let's say it's the same Nightmare as last time I guess!

And yes, I've changed my colorations AGAIN! but I think I'm slowly starting to find something! Also, this is the first time I've drawn so much food and focused on objects, so the inlay is a bit gross but I'm still happy with it!

For spelling/grammar/syntax/vocabulary mistakes, please let me know so I can correct them, thanks!

In order of appearance:

Fanon!Nightmare belongs to @ jokublog

Louanne belongs to @ -_MonsterNight_-on Wattpad

Ashe belongs to @ashe-sv

Wil belongs to @ Croix-Lotus on Wattpad

Funny belongs to @strangeygirl

DAEL (Le vrai) belongs to @ MysterioShaanmed on Wattpad

Lisa belongs to Nightmare's icy eye

The creator wished to remain anonymous

Unknown belongs to @rathador

The creator wished to remain anonymous

Abi belongs to @tsukidk

Shay belongs to @rebirthchampi

Mini!Epic belongs to @ yugogeer012

Error!Sans belongs to @ loverofpiggies

Aéryth belongs to @aeryth-lc

Lyra belongs to @ Starlight_Flower_ on Wattpad

[omegaremix]

Rioux, 1999.

Post-Brentwood was a turning point in my life. The minute I heard Sick Of It All played at Drew’s (♀) graduation party was the very minute my music tastes would change forever. As an Eighties’ kid, I grew up on Duran Duran, Run DMC, Alisha, Lisa Lisa & The Cult Jam, Poison, and other chart-toppers. Anything could be ‘pop’ if it becomes popular enough. That’s how it got its name. Pop set me up to be diverse person I am now with stations like New York City’s Z100 where there’s a new market trend manufactured and released every five years to be fed on by the majority.

“Maladjusted” blasted through her backyard boombox for all of fifty of her closest friends and classmates to hear; the same friends and classmates who laughed at me or ignored me for being a poser. They weren’t laughing or shit-talking behind my back now that they saw me at Drew’s get-together. “How did he get in?” they wondered. That didn’t matter. They didn’t say shit to me. I never saw most of them again after that, nor did I keep tabs, either. I asked Drew who they were and she told me. Boy, did it go down angry and aggressive. I didn’t hear anything like it. So I went to the South Shore Mall’s record store and copped Scratched The Surface on cassette to quickly become my go-to record during senior-year summer. That was my introduction to hardcore and the start of something more personal and relatable than what I listened to before.

Shortly thereafter, Wipeout XL came out for Playstation and my trajectory in taste had changed for a second time. It was one of the first games released that had a major soundtrack thanks to disc capacity. A line-up of Underworld, Fluke, Photek, Future Sound Of London, The Prodigy, and Chemical Brothers gave me a three-month head start before - you guessed it - pop and alternative rock stations jumped on that wagon as the next great profit maker. Even stations changed their formats for a night or two to keep up with the hottest trend of the year, such as when Atari Teenage Riot slipped through the airwaves and literally changed my attitude of music. Another hand would be dealt, and one which was the most fascinating: industrial. Mortal Kombat motion picture soundtracks were the gateway to it after establishing Nine Inch Nails, Filter, and Ministry as my Big Three. I snatched up on three Meat Beat Manifesto tapes, four Skinny Puppy discs, The Wax Trax box set and label mail order, and some Cleopatra label compilations. (Yeah, I know. No need to tell me.) It all goes to show how a lot can happen in one year before heading to community college.

Whether or not I had employment, I still managed to purchase tons of music. It became a beast I constantly had to feed. I had record store visits, radio, magazines, and now the internet (‘world wide web’ they once called it) to keep me updated. Every week I found something new to check out. Oh, look. Alec Empire is on the cover of another magazine! The December 1997 issue of Wire, #166. Have to buy it as his stock was riding high with (once again) Atari Teenage Riot and his DHR label. On the way to Empire’s glow-up were two other artists I came across in their pages: Autechre (who they proclaimed as noise gods) and Merzbow.

When you keep hearing the same names over and over, eventually they’ll get you to check them out. That’s what happened with those two and with expectations - what you shouldn’t have when diving into an artist or album. Autechre’s Tri Repetae++ caught me off guard. They said it was an electronic record and I foolishly thought it was techno instead. I hear the album opener “Dael” expecting a build-up leading to an explosion of sound. Wrong. The minimal structure and complex melodic rhythms of a cold, mechanical, emotionless being started as-is and moved its way to the end. This wasn’t anything to a traditional dance record I was accustomed to. No. These were experiments that Sean Booth and Rob Brown created which were so innovative that they’ve gotten endless praise for them since. A few listens later and I had Tri Repetae++ on constant repeat.

Merzbow? That’s another story. Like Tri Repetae++, I bought Pulse Demon at the Port Jefferson Music Den, once a bastion of everything obscure which hasn’t existed in 20 years. That was my introduction to noise. Fucking Lady Godiva riding on a Sybian did I not know what was in store for me that day. It was the shiniest and sharpest-sounding thing I now had in my collection. I load the disc in, pressed play and - what?! It was one giant maelstrom of harsh white noise, produced and output louder than usual, complete with Bridget Riley-esque op-art and its silvery prismatic sheen. Pulse Demon was devoid of any rhythm, melody, beats, measurements, sound structure, tonality, vocals, or even a sense of time whatsoever. It was a giant endurance test that felt like there was no end in sight. Again, expectations are a foolish thing to ask for.

I didn’t know what to think. I immediately dismissed it and never played it again. I couldn’t say I was actively disappointed or put-off but rather dissuaded. It was nothing what I experienced. Back then, I was a feature writer for the student paperduring my disastrous time at community college’s middle campus. The campus majority consisted mostly of shallow club-goers and superficial people who stood in their safe comfort zone of basic dance music, fashion, and friends who judged and dismissed anyone who were weird or different from them. I always went against the grain and reached for something different and challenging; things that loudmouth belligerent chauvinist Opie & Anthony fans were too stupid to learn from. I had no other albums to review on the backburner, so Pulse Demon was it for the following issue. I was honest about my take on it: it was an unlistenable mess of a joke. I handed in my 1,000 words to our features editor, a long-haired burnout held over from the hippie generation, and it finally saw print in one of our Spring issues.

The day after my review came out, I was called in to the office by my editor-in-chief Phil. Somehow we got word from a professor who read my article and took issue with it. “Really?” I said. But it didn’t stop there. Phil also told me that Professor Rioux wanted me to visit his office to discuss the article with him.

I failed an article for a professor I didn’t even know I had?

Phil had him for English. But not to fear. The overall consensus was that he was friendly, calm, and reasonable with his students. And here was an odd moment he shared with me: Pfr. Rioux played some of his favorite weird music during an end-of-the-semester holiday party for his students to hear. Seriously, not to fear. He sounded like someone I would connect with. Phil assured me that all would be fine and ended up arranging a time and day to meet up with him. That would be next week Wednesday after the publisher’s meeting.

I arrive at Prf. Rioux’ office where he welcomed me in and introduced himself, dressed up in the usual teacher’s attire of blazer and dress pants. So far, so good. I sat down in his office and looked around to notice two rows of tapes sitting on a desk next to his bookshelf. There was a Temple Ov Psychick Youth cross hung up on the wall and also noticed the black shirt he was hearing under his blazer which featured Aube’s Quadrotation on it.

We sat down for a good 45 minutes discussing my article. Not once was Prf. Rioux mean, belittling, or off-handed - unlike others who called themselves ‘professors’. Rather, he gave me constructive criticism. Judging by my article, he told me that I missed the mark on Merzbow and didn’t come into the album open-minded. Clearly I didn’t understand noise music enough for me to write what I did and there was way more to it than I thought. The most important takeaway was that I shouldn’t have compared noise to anything else in a traditional sense. Sure, it was an entirely different animal that can still have value, substance, a structure, a methodology, and a meaning to it all like everything else.

So he kindly offered to make me three cassettes of whatever rang familiar and whom I was curious about to widen my horizons and get a better understanding. All early industrial and / or noise. Wonderful. I obliged. One week later, I returned to his office where he had them all ready for me. I thanked him for the tapes and said goodbye to him.

What was on those tapes? First, Merzbow. Not surprisingly. Three unknown tracks from the Lord of Harsh Noise. On the other side was Masonna, another Japanese noise artist whose Inner Mind Mystique finished up tape #1. Tape #2 was more varied. I heard very little of Coil other than “The Snow” off the Wax Trax compilation. Right after that was Jim G. Thirwell / Foetus whom followed up with three tracks. (Coincidentally, both aforementioned artists remixed Nine Inch Nails). Rioux threw on three tracks from Einsturzende Neubauten’s Kollaps with a small sampling of Clock DVA tracks from Black Souls In White Suits. Our final tape had a good ten tracks of Death In June whom I never heard of, and several versions of Throbbing Gristle’s “Discipline” rounded out all that Prf. Rioux gave me. Never had I received anything like it from any professor.

I was forever grateful. I played those tapes to good use, enough to go back into my usual grind of music and artist reviews with a better understanding and reasoning. I didn’t review any of the artists after that Merzbow debacle, but my stance of him changed for the better and went back to Pulse Demon several more times. I happened to purchase several more of his albums where I could, dove back into Inner Mind Mystique and picked up on Nic Endo’s White Heat when that was released. I pushed more heavily into Einsturzende Neubauten’s chaotic phase, Clock DVA’s experimental era, and the world of Throbbing Gristle. I would be only toes deep with the other artists; checking in from time to time.

What were the chances that anyone (who appreciated the genesis of industrial and a knowledgeable noise fan) would notice a specific artist printed in a campus newspaper no less? It was bad enough that I dealt with one disappointment after another interacting with people and trying to find my place on campus; which I eventually did with neutral results. Where reaching out to people with similar tastes in music were few and far between (only one or two people on campus wore Dead Voices On Air, Ant-Zen, and Ras DVA shirts), someone reached out to me instead. Of all the professors I ever had, no one and I mean no one had that kind of knowledge that Prf. Rioux did, with mixtapes to boot, too.

As his tapes played in my Walkman while trekking around campus, everything else around me was happening as usual. Cover bands and boring flavorless local bar acts peppered the Long Island music scene. WBLI continued to pump out more puerile paint-by-number club mixes as usual with Fatboy Slim and Robbie Williams up next. Ska fans hopped out of the woodwork to defend their precious circus music and became overnight know-it-all elitists ready to play the scene-politics card. And free pink PVC cowboy hats came included with Pamela Anderson, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Spice Girls, and Limp Bizkit worship. Forget it. The late Nineties was clearly a bad era in music and pop culture - and it still had time to get even worse. The only places of solace I had were the few record stores I frequented. Commack’s Cheapo’s, West Babylon’s Looney Tunes, Central Islip’s Mother’s Music, Port Jefferson’s Music Den, and Centereach’s None Of The Above. At least they catered everything to my choosing.

But I never forgot where I came from or lost track of where I headed. By the time I attended Stony Brook, I fell victim to the Mothers Of Noise ‘scandal’ and discovered Prurient from it. I’d be one of the few on campus familiar with Whitehouse, Boyd Rice / NON, and even Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music on top of everything else.Each and every one of these artists were mentioned in my new wave of reviews and I even featured on my radio show. I also never forgot those tapes. I still have them, and they became one of the few shining reminders of an era that was mostly ill to me.

Cassette #1, side A:

Merzbow: “???”, “???”, “???”

Cassette #1, side B:

Masonna: Inner Mind Mystique

Cassette #2, side A:

Coil: ”Panic”, “Tenderness Of Wolves”, “Clay”, The Anal Staircase”

Foetus: “What Have You Been Doing?”, “Today I Started Slogging Again”, “Gums Bleed”

Cassette #2, side B:

Einsturzende Neubauten: “Tanz Debil”, “Steh Auf Berlin”, “Kollaps”

Clock DVA: “Consent”, “Anti-Chance”, “Uncertain”

Cassette #3, side A:

Death In June: “Hello Angel”, “Heaven Street”, “She Said Destroy”, “Fall Apart”, “Leper Lord”, “C’est Un Reve”, “Touch Defiles”, “The Torture Garden”, “Come Before Christ…”

Cassette #3, side B:

Throbbing Gristle: three live “Discipline” performances.

[theladyspanishes]

Hi Dael! Not sure if you'll get this but I wanted to say I've been watching you for a long time, since I was like 13? 14? when I stumbled on your videos via G&S. I don't post on the internet much, but you've been such a comforting online presence/channel for so long for me. I love your videos, especially the ones where you diverge a bit from the reg. Wolfgang was so comforting to me in college! From a queer asian american across the world, I just wanted to express my appreciation and support!!!

As is so often the way, this message came in at a time when I really needed something nice to happen.

Thanks <3

[toutallyahoe]

I hope the fambly stuff gets sorted out. Remember if you wanna vent, I'm all ears, even if I'm not there to immediately respond <3

I'm not gonna be around today, but that offer still stands. I love you.

Anyways, before I head out, have something I just came up with:

-Imagine indulging Klaus in his Inspector von Spector obsession by getting him cluedo. You haven't gotten rest since you got it for him, cause each game takes approximately 7 hours because he gets far too invested into the game. You're not sure yet if he has noticed that you stopped playing 3 hour ago and are sitting on the couch with the dog, cause Klaus is way too busy interrogating one of the cards. You're happy Klaus is having fun though.

- also to continue the merman talk from yesterday. The entirety of the Hydra team continuing the myth that they're kicking around "land orca" eggs. But also wanting to practice. So they make up something about it being a good thing for the land orcas. They then try to explain the game to [Name], who doesn't quite grasp the concept as a person without feet. These land creatures are so silly. They at one point invite [Name] to play with them, cause all of Hydra are himbos. [Name] is just the biggest himbo. The alpha himbo, so to speak. They completely forgot [Name] doesn't have feet.

it will eventually... just not for a while but its fine. ill be fine daeling and i know, love you so much cn and take care okay?

but ahem, anyways! that is so fucking cute and just akdbajfbkabdjajdkajdjajdjajd klaus is definitely going to be too into cluedo that he doesnt even noticed you tapped out hours ago and just played with his dog (imma just call the doggo strudel or inspector at this point since klaus loves those) and its just so fucking cute!!! klaus is such an overdramatic lovable idiot akdbajdnwkjejfjwjejsnnf

omfg, the whole hydra team are absolute fucking himbos but [name] is the biggest of all (to be fair, he is a clueless merman with no knowledge of anything in land besides a few) and its just— god its so fucking stupid and dumb afajdjakdjsjrjjwafahekkwhe

the fact that hydra had to come up with excuses to [name] that the "land orca egg" needs to be kicked so they could stop him from stealing the footballs and that they can practice is absolutely hilarious. them also inviting [name] to play and forgetting that he doesnt have feet is akdbajfbkabdjajdkajdjajdjajd im wheezing at this thought omfg

[bookwyrmpendragon]

#I do feel the need to point out once again that cerberus does not mean spot#cerberus comes from kerberus which comes from ker erebos#meaning demon of erebus#it's so etymologically straight forward please I'm begging you

[soothedcerberus]

Horse man lore and your knees, now. 🔪🔪

(Please)

Aahahhh! im actually working on a short comic abt horse mans lore…but to tide u over i offer some baby rembrandt 🥺🤲

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #33

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: noncon

Lord Richard Dael steered his horse down the road, its hooves clopping on the stone.

The people paid him no mind, which irritated him to no end. Back in the day, it would be a privilege to see a Lord in the city. They should be standing in awe, greeting him.

Peasants needed to know their place.

Richard scanned the crowd, looking for that white-haired boy he’d seen many times before. He couldn’t make these peasants respect him, but he could at least amuse himself with one of them.

There he was. Alone, thankfully. The little girl he was often with seemed to be somewhere else.

Richard guided his horse to the side of the street, pulling up to the boy.

“Hi, there,” he smiled, and the young man looked nervous. He was so… tempting. Worn and frayed clothes, desperate for money, a cute face. An easy mark.

“Uh- hello.”

“I have a job opening at my estate. Are you interested?”

The kid’s eyes went wide. “What kind of job?” he asked. Gods, it was almost too easy.

“Just some cleaning,” he lied. “Maybe a couple times a week; pay at the end of the month.”

“How much?” Richard wanted to correct him-  ‘How much, My Lord’- but now wasn’t the time. That particular satisfaction would come soon enough.

“We can discuss it later. How about I show you what needs done right now and we’ll go from there?”

“Right now?”

“Well-” Richard said, drawing it out. “If you’re not interested…”

“No, no! I’m interested!” he said, desperate. 

Richard grinned. 

___________________

[REDACTED] followed Lord Dael into the house. It was huge, with gorgeous stone floors and tall ceilings. 

He had heard about such wealth, but to see it was something else. And Lord Dael was a minor lord. [REDACTED] couldn’t even imagine what a real palace would look like.

“Um, are you sure you only need me a few times a week? It’s a really big place.”

Lord Dael smiled at him, and he relaxed. “I have staff for the rest, but there’s a couple rooms that need extra attention. It won’t take long.”

“Okay.”

The hall floors echoed as they walked, and [REDACTED] noticed there weren’t any other people around. Odd. He expected servants or something. He looked for any sign they weren’t alone, but there wasn’t any.

Maybe the staff had the day off?

“Just in here,” Lord Dael gestured, opening the door for him.

“Thank you,” [REDACTED] said, and he stepped inside. 

It was a bedroom, a beautiful room with a huge canopy bed and plush rugs, dark wood furniture and more books than he’d ever seen before. The walls even had wallpaper in vibrant colors.

Lord Dael closed the door behind them, and it clicked shut.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“I’m glad you think so.” A hand landed on the back of his neck, and something was wrong.

“Um-”

Dael shoved him forward, and [REDACTED] stumbled. The Lord was on him again in a second, pushing him by the shoulders.

“What are you-”

“Quiet,” he snapped, and [REDACTED]’s heart began to pound.

The lord forced him over the side of the bed. His hands wandered, and [REDACTED] felt sick.

“No- No, don’t-” Dael shoved his face into the mattress, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

His pants were yanked off, his underwear shoved down.

Move, fight back, anything- but his body was frozen against his will.

Tears pooled and ran down his face as Dael felt him up.

“Please don’t do this,” he sobbed into the down covers.

Dael gripped his hair, yanking his head backwards. “Shut. Up.” He shoved [REDACTED]’s head back down, and [REDACTED] heard a drawer open.

A slick coolness prodded at his opening, and [REDACTED] thanked the gods for small mercies.

___________________

The sex was violent and rough, and with every thrust he felt like his organs were being torn out of him.

He cried and cried, and his only thought was please stop!

Sudden heat spilled inside of him, and [REDACTED] fell to his knees as Lord Dael pulled out. His legs shook, and his chest felt empty and hollow.

He curled against the bed frame, panting.

Lord Dael tucked himself back into his pants, and [REDACTED] had never been so relieved. He felt filthy and just wanted to go- 

Dael grabbed a fistfull of his hair, and [REDACTED] yelped as the Lord pulled him up. His legs were so weak, and it hurt.

Dael dragged him down the hall by his hair, and [REDACTED] struggled to keep up. 

His brain was still in shock from the assault, his thoughts scrambled, and he didn’t know where they were going.

Dael shoved him into another room. [REDACTED] fell to the floor, dazed. 

And then the door slammed behind him and the lock thunked shut.

[REDACTED] shot up off the floor, adrenaline overriding the pain. 

The door was stone, the walls were stone, the floor was stone-

He was in a cell.

[REDACTED] rushed to the door, pulling on the handle, but it was locked solid.

“Lord Dael!” he called. “Please, Lord Dael! Please let me out! I have to go home! Please!”

There was no answer.

“Please! I won’t tell anyone! I swear!”

He pounded his palm against the door until it hurt, but no one came.

[REDACTED] sank to his knees, sobbing. If this was the job, he didn’t want it. No matter what it paid.

___________________

Hours passed, and still no one had come for him. He had moved away from the door, and curled up in the corner for some warmth. His pants were still missing, and he was so hungry. He had skipped breakfast to make sure there was enough for his sister, and-

His sister. Who was going to pick her up from school? 

[REDACTED] thunked his head against the cold stone wall.

The lock on the door slid open, and he sat up.

“Lord Dael?” he asked. No answer. “I- I would like to go home, please.”

Lord Dael stepped into the room, holding a small bag. He crossed his arms, and [REDACTED]’s heart sank.

“Is- is that my pay?” he asked weakly, and Lord Dael grinned. 

“I said at the end of the month, didn’t I?”

[REDACTED] wiped his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Yes, what?”

His mind whirled. What did Dael mean? [REDACTED] was desperate to please him; he didn’t want to go through that again.

“Yes… sir?” he tried, and Lord Dael tossed the bag at him. [REDACTED] looked inside.

An apple and a piece of bread.

“Th- thank you.”

Dael raised a brow. “I- I mean, thank you, sir.”

Lord Dael turned, and the door slammed behind him again and was locked.

He just needed to get through a month. A month.

[REDACTED] covered his face and sobbed.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

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@phoenixpromptsandstuff

[46ten]

The Importance of being a Van Rensselaer

Van Rensselaer of Rensselaerswyck: the Boy Patroon, is a chapter in Historic Boys: Their Endeavors, Their Achievements, and Their Times by E.S. Brooks (1885). The whole thing is a bit of a wild read. I’m also guffawing a bit at Stephen Van Rensselaer III (above, in a Gilbert Stuart portrait from the 1790s) treated as worthy of a chapter when the other “boy” subjects are Marcus (Aurelius, the Emperor) William of Normandy (the Conqueror), Frederick (the Emperor), Baldwin (the King), Louis (the XIV), and so on. Maybe they needed an American subject of similar aristocratic bent. Then again, Stephen would be worth about $126 BILLION today (December 2022 American dollars)! He has been included in a list of the 10 richest Americans of all time. 

This chapter has some amazing paragraphs:

The news fell with a sudden shock upon the little city of the Dutchmen. Ticonderoga fallen, and the Indians on the war-path! Even the most stolid of the Albany burghers felt his heart beating faster, while many a mother looked anxiously at her little ones and called to mind the terrible tales of Indian cruelty and pillage. But the young Van Rensselaer, pressing close to the side of fair Mistress Margarita Schuyler, said soberly: "These be sad tidings, Margery; would it not be wiser for you all to come up to the manor-house for safety?"

"For safety?" echoed high-spirited Mistress Margery. "Why, what need, Stephanus? Is not my father in command at Fort Edward? and not for Burgoyne and all his Indians need we fear while he is there! So, many thanks, my lord patroon," she continued, with a mock courtesy; "but I 'm just as safe under the Schuyler gables as I could be in the Van Rensselaer manor-house, even with the brave young patroon himself as my defender."

The lad looked a little crestfallen; for he regarded himself as the natural protector of this brave little lady, whose father was facing the British invaders on the shores of the Northern lakes. Had it not been one, almost, of the unwritten laws of the colonie, since the day of the first patroon, that a Van Rensselaer should wed a Schuyler? Who, then, should care for a daughter of the, house of Schuyler in times of trouble but a son of the house of Rensselaer? [My emphasis.]

And this:

"Time was, lad, when your ancestors, the lord patroons of Rensselaerswyck, were makers and masters of the law in this their colonie. From their own forts floated their own flag and frowned their own cannon. Their word was law and from Beeren's Island to Pafraet's Dael the Heer Van Rensselaer's orders were obeyed without question. Forts and flags and cannon are no longer yours, Stephen, and we would not have it otherwise; but your word still holds as good with your tenantry as did that of the first boy patroon, Johannes the son of Killian, when, backed by his gecommitteerden  and his sclzepens, he bearded the Heer General Stuyvesant and claimed all Rensselaerswyck as his 'by right of arms.' Try your word with them, lad. Let me be your gecommitteerden and, in the name of the patroon, demand from your tenantry of Rensselaerswyck provisions and forage for our gallant troops."

Yes, remember your obligations as 8th Patroon, Stephen. I wonder how many requests for assistance he received? Here’s his response from one from his brother-in-law, AH, in a letter dated 6Nov 1797:

I received your letter on the subject of Mr. [Josiah Ogden] Hoffmans embarrassments [he was heavily in debt] altho I always feel disposed to aid those who are in distress & particularly those for whom I have a friendship yet when I reflect on the extent of the operation proposed & the sacrifices I should be obliged to make to fulfill my engagements if I became responsible a sense of duty to my family forbids me acceding to the proposition.

And that’s why he’s one of the 10 richest Americans ever! Continuing...

I congratulate you on the birth of your son [William Stephen Hamilton, born 4Aug1797]. I hope he may inherit your talents & virtues. My wife as well as myself are much flattered with the name & joins me in love to Mrs H & Children.

There’s been speculation that Stephen is being a little sarcastic here with the “talents and virtues” thing so soon after publication of the Reynolds Pamphlet, but “talents and virtues” was a very common phrase to describe a person, so it would have been glaring if Stephen had only praised AH’s “talents,” or made no mention of his hopes and wishes for his newest namesake. 

Back to the Van Rensselaers with some literary references to them:

From Chapter One of Moby Dick:

No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head. True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one’s sense of honour, particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off in time.

The Van Rensselaers are thought to be the basis of the fictional van der Luydens, the ones who “stood above them all” in NY society in Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence. Wharton was distantly related to the Van Rensselaers herself. There’s some speculation that Wharton’s great love was a Van Rensselaer descendant, Walter Van Rensselaer Berry. And to take this all the way back, Walter Berry’s doubles partner in tennis (they made the finals of the U.S. Championship in 1884) was his cousin Alexander Van Rensselaer, a grandson of Stephen Van Rensselaer III. 

P.S. The Heritage History website is very interesting for its cataloguing of old books (c 1850-1920 or so) on various subjects. 

[lichfucker]

[image description: a table titled “Consequences of Resurrection.”

the table has 2 columns, which are labelled “d20″ and “Consequence.”

it says:

“20: Nothing! Lucky you... 19: Taste is dulled, and you no longer enjoy any food or drink. 18: You become afraid when you see a creature similar to the one that killed you. 17: The colour is drained from your eyes. 16: You have known death, and you never want to cause another creature that pain. 15: You suffer long-term memory loss, and forget one person from your past. 14: You suffer panic attacks. You have disadvantage on all Initiative rolls. 13: You go blind in one eye/deaf in one ear. (Passive Perception is halved until healed.) 12: You gain vulnerability to the damage type that killed you. 11: You’ve known death, and you drink to forget. 10: You’re crippled, and speed is decreased by 10ft until you can be properly healed. 9: Permanent Stat Decrease (roll d6, 1-STR, 2-DEX, 3-CON, 4-INT, 5-WIS, 6-CHA, take 1d6). 8: You are permanently cold to touch, and vulnerable to cold damage. 7: You heard a name called out to you in the darkness, someone begging for your help. 6: All animals avoid you (-10 animal handling). 5: The Dead are jealous of your escape, and you can see ghosts following you everywhere. 4: Your memory is damaged, and you forget one language (of the DM’s choice, not Common). 3: The Raven Queen allowed you to return, and now you owe her your devotion. 2: Your alignment reverses (LG becomes CE, NG becomes NE, etc). 1: Your soul has returned to a different body on the battlefield, and you wake in it.”

end id]

In dnd, resurrecting PCs becomes so easy at higher levels, and though I think that’s a positive, I really like the idea that dying has lasting consequences or triggers events in a PC. Here’s a simple table of interesting but hopefully not game breaking or character destroying ideas. Thoughts? Improvements?

[rainwolfheart]

for the writing prompts! could you do “That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.” for Anders/Nathaniel (i also love trans masc anders if you'd like to include that)

Thank you for the prompt! This was my first time writing Nanders and it was really fun!! @dadrunkwriting

rating: T

trigger warnings: mentions of sex

--

The bann requested formal attire. Not formal armour.

Anders hadn’t expected that to be such a dreadful idea until he was looking at his trunk. Aside from his Warden armour, he had standard-issue underclothes and nightshirts, his old Circle robes, mud-stained trousers he kept for sparring practice, a warm scarf from Dael, a heavy pair of winter gloves from Sigrun, and a silky shawl he had nicked from a visiting noblewoman who called him “an accident waiting to happen.” None of that seemed apt for a soirée, except perhaps the shawl, but it wasn’t his style.

“Anders! Almost ready?” asked Sigrun, through the door.

“No,” he groaned.

“Can I come in?”

“S’pose.”

Sigrun was grinning from ear to ear in a wine-red dress and leggings.

“Lillith hemmed this for me. Whaddaya think?” she asked.

“It’s pretty,” said Anders. “Has she got another?”

“You don’t have anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Never thought I would prefer to wear formal armour. But we runaways don’t get to keep a lot of nice things.”

“Velanna might have an extra dress that fits you, if you want. But I have a better idea!” said Sigrun. “Come on!”

Anders followed her into the hall, and opened his mouth just a moment too late to stop her

“Nate! You decent?” she said, to the door. Nathaniel said something, and Sigrun threw open the door, dragging Anders by the hand into the room.

“Anders needs nice clothes, and you’re like the same height so it probably fits!” said Sigrun.

Nathaniel met Anders’ eyes, an inquisitive smile on his face.

“Sure. I’ll sort him out,” said Nathaniel.

“Great! See you in a bit!”

Sigrun shut the door and Anders could swear he heard her giggle.

“Need help?” asked Nathaniel.

“I guess. You don’t have to…” said Anders.

“Well, I can’t let you embarrass yourself in front of the bann and her Orlesian husband,” said Nathaniel, deadpan. Anders rolled his eyes and took a step towards the wardrobe, following Nathaniel’s  hands with his eyes.

“I’m afraid my options are a little plain, but they should fit you,” said Nathaniel. He pulled out a pale green shirt, and an identical blue one. “How are these?”

Anders reached out to touch them. They weren’t silk, but they were soft and delicate, and looked like they were new.

“They’re nice,” he said, nodding. “I like the green.”

“Try it on.”

Anders’ heart jumped. He hadn’t expected Nathaniel to be so casual about it. Anders wasn’t necessarily one for modesty, but Nathaniel always came off as so… prudish.

As Nathaniel rooted around for trousers that might fit, Anders pulled his dark grey jumper over his head and side-stepped toward the mirror to try on the new shirt. Halfway through buttoning, he felt eyes on him, and looked over at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel looked away quickly, and Anders was pretty sure that was a blush across his cheeks.

“What do you think?” asked Anders, turning to the side to see how it fit.

“Looks good. Maybe a little big,” said Nathaniel.

“We don’t all have broad archer’s shoulders,” teased Anders.

“Think these will fit? They’re a little big on me,” said  Nathaniel, tossing a pair of black trousers at him. Anders caught them and held them against his leg. Too long, but that could be fixed.

“Maybe.”

Nathaniel didn’t seem to expect him to leave, so Anders slipped off his comfortable trousers and stepped into the stiff, formal ones. They were tight around the hips and thighs, but bearable. The legs were comically long on him.

“Have you got platform boots, by any chance?” he asked. Nathaniel smirked and kneeled down in front of him. He began rolling up the legs. Anders froze, unsure if this was a normal thing. He had spent too much of his life wearing robes to be sure. Once or twice, an offer to tie the other’s shoe had turned into a quick blowjob at the Circle, but Anders doubted that was Nathaniel’s intention. As nice as that thought would be.

“There. That seems… Presentable,” said Nathaniel, standing up.

Anders turned back to the mirror to assess. By some alchemy, the trousers looked like they were the right size, and with the shirt tucked in, it looked light and billowy rather than simply oversized. Next to him, Nathaniel’s outfit unsurprisingly fit him well, but Anders didn’t look out of place. Maybe even good.

“More than presentable. Thank you…” he said. He bit his lip to hold back the emotions.

“You’re welcome. Oh, wait, your collar’s off…” said Nathaniel, reaching up to smooth down the back of Anders’ collar.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Nathaniel’s hand lingered on Anders’ shoulder.

“I should get my boots,” said Anders. Nathaniel swallowed.

“Yeah. See you in a bit.”

The spell broke; Nathaniel turned away to gather the other clothes he had tossed around the room, and Anders gathered his own. His heart raced down the hallway and into his own room, and he let the clothes fall in a pile by his trunk.

The first bell rang. Anders quickly combed his hair with his fingers and pulled it into a braid. Dael would surely fuss over it and fix it for him before dinner, but it was good enough for now.

“Ready to go?” asked Sigrun, at his door again.

“Yes!”

“Race you!”

Anders laughed, and considered taking her up on it, but something stopped him, as Sigrun’s skirt disappeared around the corner. Nathaniel was lingering just past Anders’ door, hands in his pockets, like he wanted to walk with him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” said Anders. Half of him wanted to smile and tease, but Nathaniel’s soft smile made him hesitate.

“Hey, Nate, I…” he said, unsure where exactly he was going. They turned the corner together.

“What’s up?”

“Thank you. Really. This means a lot.”

Nathaniel blushed, which surprised Anders.

“It’s nothing. You can keep them, if you like,” he said.

Anders inhaled sharply. The words from the vulnerable, emotional place inside him that he usually ignored tumbled out.

“Nate, this is the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Nathaniel didn’t say anything, but he reached out to Anders. Anders leaned into whatever it was, uncertain, but going on instinct at this point.

What it was was a hug. Another kindness Anders had little experience with.

“Let’s not be fashionably late,” said Anders, trying to brush away the emotions after Nathaniel pulled away.

“What does that even mean?” he asked. Anders shrugged.

“Maybe we’ll find out.”

[lanawritesalittle]

OC Picrew Tag

I was tagged by @ofbloodandflowers​ !! Thank you!

Rules: Make your characters using these picrews and tag as many people as you make picrews.

This is the cast of Gold and Sea Green!!

Nyssa Cahl:

Brynn Sallow:

Altair Dael:

Cassia Whill:

I couldn’t do Dea, because she’s like eight years old, so here’s a bonus of my grumpy bitch baby Kiva Dest, from Monster Blood (linked to GaSG):

Tagging @magic-is-something-we-create @toomanygoogledocs @sprigofbasil @writingamongther0ses and @andiwriteunderthemoon for this but no pressure!!

[theghostofblackbunnymask]

Oh hoooo- hold on bee anon 👀

Thank you for have a big and wrinkly brain for asking for jealousy hcs!! 😌😘

I can imagine Sam's petty shit about giving his darling the cold shoulder and the daeling not having it becuase??? They don't understand why he's being a bitch to THEM??

Likenif a guy started acting out like that to me over somerging petty or didn't explain to me why, I'm going to return the cold shoulder cause fuck you 💀😒

Come crawling back to ME and tell me what's wrong my mans 😤

-romantic anon

Sam is quite stubborn dear romantic anon

[toutallyahoe]

i dare daeling 😌😌

and just thought itll be a nice lil good luck gift on your very first session with this cute dumb boi!

blep

fanart of the himbo as a gift to start of your new rpg!

also, shirtless john j because i wanna show that i made a decent anatomy (and definitely not because i wanna just draw dem tiddies ajdbsjfbfajslfksifhwkrjjwf)

ALKSJFHDLKAJHSFLJKASHDFLKJSAHFDASFLJKHASF MY CHILDD?!?!?!?!?! HOW DARE YOU MAKE GOOD FANART OF MY CHILD?! THIS IS AMAZING!!