#I just wanted to write a necromancer love note
Text
Until death.
Down in her lab she was intrigued by the gentle knocks on her heavy oaken door. She shot a glance to her familiar; a bloated thing that oozed with each undulation of its lower segment. With a dutiful gurgle it slithered away. Awaiting its return she washed the viscera from her hands and dried them upon the thick burlap apron that guarded her front from any unfortunate spasms and releases. Her familiar returned empty-handed and motioned for her to follow. Her curiosity further peaked she obliged the detestable creature, being sure to not sully her boots in his maligned bile
The most curious thing awaited her on the other side of that door. A corpse. Standing and swaying with eyes white as pearls. The skin of this cadaver was free of any blemish. She reached out a hand and opened its maw. Tendons snapping and ligaments tearing at her inspection. All teeth perfectly white and uniform. She pushed a hand through the hair that still fell in strands and not clumps. A fine specimen to be sure; but this is not one she had conjured or sewn together. The creature moaned softly and tore at the flesh upon its chest. Peeling away layer after layer of waxy skin and glistening red muscle. Nestled inside the abdomen of this grisly ghoul was a small red bag where the heart had once pumped the life blood through it. With squelching and cracking of bones it reached inside the cavity and held out the bag for her to take. With an eyebrow raised she gingerly accepted the offering. The bag leaving the monsters grip it all at once felt the ravages of time and decayed away to ash. A gentle wind cleaned her doorstep as she closed the door and headed to her study.
Setting down in a leather bound chair she inspected the bag carefully. A golden drawstring held it shut. Pulling upon the rope the bag fell open and she held in her palm two objects. A vial that glowed with some arcane secret and wailed softly as she eyed it. The other a note sealed with corpse wax and an insignia she vaguely recognized. Cracking the seal she read the contents.
“Dearest Olivia,
For too long have I gazed upon this empty parchment searching in vain for the words for which to best describe to you the feelings I have held secret. Time and fortune do not favor the meek so I now call upon a muse to write in passing words that I can hope will capture your radiance if only in fraction. Your beauty is like that of a freshly buried corpse. Your auburn hair more entrancing than that of the most supple muscle. Your emerald eyes have captured my soul Olivia. In your hand will be a small part of that soul Olivia. I dare not sign my name to this letter in fear of tarnishing our friendship. But, if by some chance, you dane to know the foolish writer of this confession you need only break the vial upon the ground and I will be summoned to you in that instant. Please do not think of me any less for keeping my feelings secret nor my identity. If your feelings do not align with mine then I am comforted by the fact that our platonic relationship can stand. Olivia, greatest necromancer of any generation, I await your untimely summon.
Utterly Enraptured,
Secret Admirer.”
Olivia’s skin flushed and her heart pounded with each word. It was then she recalled the insignia's owner. Pensively her eyes fell on the soul-filled vial. A lump caught in her chest as her mind raced. She too had been afraid. She banished her familiar from the room and locked the door. Clutching the vial she cast it upon the ground as a thick smog filled the room. As it cleared a figure cloaked in purple robes and holding a gnarled scepter stood in the center of the study softly lit by the fireplace. Olivia rushed over and embraced the figure as a gentle laugh escaped the pair. Pushing back the hood Olivia looked deeply into her periwinkle eyes and brushed back a loose strand of midnight black hair.
“Happy anniversary Olivia.” The robe figure spoke.
“Happy anniversary Beatrice.” She responded as the light of the fire died away “Where did you even find that old thing?”
“Do you want me to explain time magic?”
“Only because it’s a special occasion.”
Beatrice’s eyes lit up and the two spent the rest of the evening in the warm glow of the embers.
#cw: dead body#cw: desecration#writing#original fiction#flash writing#cw: minor gore#love note#necromancy#I just wanted to write a necromancer love note#quick write#not horror
0 notes
Text
the paul poll compelled me to just quickly write up my little opinion piece on paul and necromancy in the tlt verse bcs tags are a pain in the ass to elaborate on my opinion in: paul horrifies me. i think that a lot of people read palamedes' interpretation of lyctorhood as being some sort of objective truth and that there is a right way to do lyctorhood and paul is it, but i just don't agree with that; i think in a series rife with unreliable narrators, palamedes' views on lyctorhood should be considered as subjective as any other person's.
“Can one person even be two people? I feel like I’ve only got enough room inside for me, and sometimes like that room’s not even enough.”
“Lyctors can,” said Palamedes, “or at least—they thought they could; in fact all they became were half-dead cannibals. I think a true Lyctorhood is a mutual death … a gravitational singularity creating something new. A true Grand Lysis, rather than the Petty Lysis of the megatheorem [...]
what he says here about lysis is in response to nona asking if one person can be two people, and thus it is a very loaded statement when coming from someone heralding from a society where the extreme co-dependence of the fundamentally unequal necro/cav bond is encouraged, especially considering camilla and palamedes are called out by others from that same society as being an exemplary case of co-dependence in that department!
camilla and palamedes are arguably more equal than any other cav/necro pair in series, in part due to that co-dependence, but we even see in NtN that cam does stuff that undercuts that equality (telling pyrrha to lie to palamedes, 'don't tell him i was weak'). and that equality, that love, is shown to be thought of as coming at the cost of freedom: when palamedes says, “I cannot bear the thought of using you.”—camilla responds, “Love and freedom don’t coexist, Warden.”
in the end, every permutation of the necro and cav pairing is irrevocably descended from john + alecto's example and while i think beauty can be found in some of them, they all suffer from the same fundamental imbalance that bond hinges on; nonconformity abates it, but abolishment is required for real freedom from it. the so-called indelible sin of lyctorhood is just an echo of the original sin john committed.
If there was one thing Gideon knew about necromancers, it was that they needed power. Thanergy—death juice—was abundant wherever things had died or were dying. Deep space was a necro’s nightmare, because nothing had ever been alive out there, so there were no big puddles of death lying around for Harrow and her ilk to suck up with a straw.
necromancy necessitates consumption, taking by its very nature: death, especially violent death, is what fuels it—infants producing more thanergy on death is literally a noted phenomena! paul's birth, while it could be seen as triumphant in the sense of it being an act of creation, is literally identified by palamedes himself as a mutual death, death being required to fuel it the same as any other necromantic working. i don't want to say 'necromancy is fundamentally evil' but uh... it is irrevocably tied into john's conception of human nature: "This is the problem, the incorporation, this is the hardest part … It’s the human instinct, to take."
something i always point out about camilla and palamedes' grand lysis is theparallel with gideon and harrow's incomplete petty lysis: both come about as a result of a fully-realised lyctor (ianthe, cytherea) having cornered the pair, resulting in both being threatened with imminent death (camilla critically injured and palamedes facing expulsion from naberius when ianthe re-emerges; harrow necromantically spent and gideon having suffered multiple injuries, both going to die when cytherea breaks through the bone dome). paul's birth only happened as a direct result of the continuation of the lyctoral cycle of violence, with ianthe in cytherea's position; per palamedes, “I am not saying this was our inevitable end … I am saying we have found the best and truest and kindest thing we can do in this moment.”
paul may be the best and truest and kindest thing cam and pal could've done in that moment, but that moment should've never came to pass: the codependency instilled into them through their society, the violence that put them in that position, and the consumptive necromancy that made paul possible. paul is horrifying because they are the most hopeful and kind thing, and they are the product of two people, one sans his own body, undergoing mutual death to fuel their birth.
they're the truest response to one flesh, one end: an oath purportedly coined by cristabel and alfred, who compelled their necromancers to ascend via a suicide pact.
valancy says one flesh one end sounds like instructions for a sex toy. can’t stop thinking about that so can someone stop cris and alfred before the sex toy phrase catches on, thanks.
did the sex toy phrase really need a response?
527 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi angel! i have to tell you that ‘All That You Don’t Want’ was incredible- such a lovely, sweet tale! i keep revisiting it! would you consider writing a second part? or even a role reversal?
Roach Head
lich! König x fem necromancer! reader
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. abduction, injury, mentions of insects (reader is the world’s worst necromancer), forced proximity, pining, violence/regicide, major character death, questionable morality, fluff, smut, a lil angst.
notes: i am so sorry you have had to wait so long, anon. ): though… i doubt that i will ever write a continuation of ATYDW, take this sickly sweet… (almost) role reversal, instead!
wc: 6.7k.
It’s an odd thing that, after finally having the blindfold removed, the first thing you notice are the cobblestones beneath your bleeding palms. Not a single one is in disarray; not cracked or crumbling from being used as any other common footpath. No, each stone is in it’s place, lain complete with not a single splintering crack or a sharpness to it from being broken. All pristine and smooth beneath your stinging scrapes.
Just like the cobbles, the air feels untouched here. There’s no stink of manure or spoiled food from the cramped streets of the inner kingdom. There are no roars of fighting men nor the baying of beasts, a lack of giggling women batting their eyelashes to lure those with jingling pouches of coins into brothels. You can’t even detect a breeze. Twisting onto your side, your eyes catch on the extending limbs of sturdy trees, and oddly… not a single leaf flutters or moves. The air is still.
There is only the absence of everything.
You should think it a blessing after your abduction, after being thrust into the back of a dusty carriage drawn by two massive horses.
You could almost swear you had seen the devil in their dark eyes, hellfire deep in those dark pits and you had known assuredly they would be chauffeuring you straight into the darkest circle of Hell. That was, until a thick, rigid cloth was tied around your head, forcing you into complete darkness. Your assailants had done well to bind you and leave your aching body only capable of wracking with sobs against the hard wood at the bottom. Every jolt of the wagon had caused you to flinch, to scramble as best you could, resulting in an array of bruises and your still bleeding hands from fighting at the ropes.
There had never even been a chance to fight back; you never even saw them. Even now as you raise your throbbing head to glance about, there’s no sign of the men that have left you here, in this silent place. Your heart almost seizes in your chest when you realize you can no longer even hear the cantering and whinnying of those dark, stoic horses.
You know that nothing good comes from silence.
It’s one of the first things that you came to learn as a fledgling witch. Quiet rarely ever bodes well. The prey animals in the wood all scurry to hide amongst fallen leaves and well-packed nests the very moment that a predator draws near, and you, still green with your admittedly lackluster talent in reanimating were little more than a fawn in the eyes of any beast.
A groan leaves your parted lips as you force yourself to your knees, ignoring the incessant sting of bruises and how your vision blots from even the barest of exertion. Your binds must have been cut free when you were abandoned here, you realize, as you twist around to crawl.
That’s when you see it— the glory of what lies before you.
Rather than being dumped into some desolate street for the vultures to find and pick apart like any common carrion, the men with their frightening steeds had left you at the steps leading up to a beautiful castle of sorts. The stone bricks and marbled towers above you, spirals of darkened blue shingles descended into gilded turrets, the rampart casting a shadow over all that settles beneath. There’s a flag there, too, positioned just outside of the wooden door leading into the heart of it all. The rich, blue fabric is torn in places, the tassels frayed, bare white thread visible near the paling center making the crest practically invisible.
Something draws you to it, that singular rotting thing in this bright, sterile void. Your feet move quicker than your thoughts as you pad up toward the flag, eyelids squinting as your palm dances over the canvas. The strangest thing happens as you finally make out what remains of a wolf’s head amongst the rips and splintering threads— the wooden door begins to move. It’s not one of those fancy, well crafted ones with those mechanisms you couldn’t fathom in the King’s keep, this one has to be pulled open from the inside.
You watch, lips pursed as the door continues to slowly creek open until finally, you can make out the small courtyard beyond it. A fountain, long since dried up sits at its center, and even with what you imagine must be little care in such a desolate place, the plants are all in bloom; petals of vivid blues and gentle purples fill your vision.
Amongst them, stands a shadow of the purest black, from the opaque veil shrouding his head to the soles of his boots. The cloak he wears is heavy, finely stitched with that very same blue crest embroidered into its chest, the stitching in equal disarray as the flag adorning the stone wall.
You’ve seen specters before. They haunt the kingdom in every nook, crawling over the tops of buildings, invading your dreams with threats of what will come to you if you don’t reanimate something, give them any body to inhabit and puppet so that they might just have a taste of the pleasures of being human once more. Greedy, malevolent things that make you feel ill from a mere glimpse.
This one is entirely an unknown.
He does not crawl from your gaze with the gait of a wary spider, he stands rigid, daring even as those eyes like sapphire lock onto your form. Not a word is uttered between the two of you, yet you feel a pull, one that curls at the bones tucked into the flesh of your legs, pushing and pulling you past the threshold as though an unseen dog were nipping at your heels. You don’t fight it. Your bare feet cross over smooth stone and your stare remains wistful on the figure until he simply strolls away.
That’s it. That’s all it takes before you’re snapped out of your trance and the wooden door swings heavy and violent behind you, closing and locking without a hand to guide it. Then it’s back to the nothingness, the silence.
You should be very, very afraid. In a panic, even as your hands flatten over the wood and you realize that there are no handles from inside at all. You are entirely trapped here, short of finding a way to carve through it or climb up the rampart and risk snapping every limb on your descent. Thing is— you are not afraid, at least not enough to do anything so rash.
A calm settles here, electric and tickling as it feathers unseen through the cool air.
You stay in that courtyard for a long time, admiring every flower and shrub, some you recognize and others you do not. The empty fountain is not empty at all; you find that the marble ring is filled to the brim with riches— gold coins, shimmering stones, all twinkling beneath the yellow glow of the sun overhead.
Inside of the castle is more or less the same, each corridor bathed in the glow of soft candlelight, highlighting paintings in gilded frames that must have taken months to complete, treasures you have only ever heard of seated on polished wood and fine metals. Like walking through a dream. Though your hands itch to pocket something, anything to take back with you when you find the will to escape, to free yourself from the reality of your little shack at the corner of the market that you share with a dozen other witchlings, you don’t touch anything at all.
Following a branch to your right, vast and equally laden with treasures, eyes darting from one shiny thing to the next until the tightly woven, ornate rugs beneath the soles of your feet wind to an end and you instead find your footing on smooth stone tiles.
You find yourself in the throne room, where the specter sits, lofty yet misplaced upon the soft, rolling velvet. That pull, like a lead drawn too tight, pivots you forward, one foot before the other until you’re kneeling at his feet. The figure remains still, watching you with that somber, unrelenting stare even as you reach up to take his gloved hand into your own, kissing along each knuckle until the hand coated in blackened leather moves to cup your face.
This is no king, you know it in your very bones. The dark veil stained by teardrops tells you everything, of a life trodden by deceit and pain untold.
“I know what you are, hündchen.”
The voice startles you, a rasp, alive only in the way that fire lives, crackling and swaying with each lilt. You must have flinched back, the spell weaved around you broken with all of the subtlety of a lightening strike, your elbows dig almost painfully into the rough tiles below, eyes locked to the veil.
Your own voice doesn’t come for a time. When it does, it comes tight; meek and quivering, almost absent entirely as though your own body refuses to bring a ripple to the quiet that has engulfed you.
“Why have you brought me here?”
The feeling that curls up in the hollow spaces within your chest when this enigma pulls you to your feet with a sudden curl of his hand over your wrist feels familiar. It’s not unlike how you felt when accidentally resurrecting that old mantis found dried beneath your bed. It had attempted to chew through your hand, but being so small it hardly seemed a threat, just offensively waving it’s front legs at you until you scooped the critter up and locked it up tight in an old trunk. Some strange tide of wonder, and it takes a moment for you to push it down enough to realize that… the specter is still stood before you, his grip still tight, not saying a word.
Why it brings a swell of warmth to your face should have you questioning your taste in men rather than what he may or may not have done.
“Sorry, I just—“
“You are hurt, hündchen.” He interrupts, turning your wrist over to inspect the flecks of dried blood littering your palm. It’s not the worst injury you’ve ever had, in fact, you had very nearly forgotten it even existed— just a few scrapes from a rope tied far too tight.
You shake your head, biting back that surge of… something, that furry something that crawls from the fluttering organ behind your ribcage and down into the pits of your stomach. That feeling is also familiar, you felt it the first time you laid eyes on that pompous, boy-man serving as heir to the throne in the castle, at least, until he turned his head to look at you and your ilk with thinly veiled disgust.
If the specter sees scum before him, the veil does well to conceal it.
His eyes seem to only light up the more he appraised you, rubbing his thumb over your scrape with such a gentle touch that a shiver rips down your spine.
“I see…”
He guides your wrist back down to your side, delicately trails his fingertips up to your shoulder and… that’s it before he draws away and steps right past you. That’s all the touch you’re given and you find yourself, humiliatingly yearning for it. There should be nothing but contempt scraping at your skull and yet you feel treacherously endeared by this strange, strange faceless man living in this lonely castle.
The risk of this being some bewildering trap weighs heavy on your mind; you’re far more intelligent than some scrappy undead insect, begging to be tossed into a dusty crate, after all. You had heard of the way other lands treated necromancers: shunning them, chasing them from villages, and in far more dreadful cases— leading them to kneel before a headsman for decapitation.
You center yourself, force your mind to conjure up any evidence of some magical foul play only to be left with the knowledge that these feelings are entirely your own.
This man does not have the sticky aura of one dripping magic from his palms like thick globs of honey. He seems almost vacant, devoid of even anything making him human, while you stand transfixed and lacking even the sensible reaction of fear.
You can only find comfort in his gentle hand, in his stare like an unholy flame.
So, when he guides you to what is to be your dwelling you mouth does not part to argue. You’re led to a room larger than the entirety of the cluttered home you shared with the other witchlings. Everything within is worth more than even you, and something about it stings, sharp and sudden like ant’s venom seeping into skin.
From the canopy bed, draped over with thick velvet curtains to protect from the chill of a winter’s night to the neatly polished wood of varying furniture, it all feels so rich— so foreign.
“You didn’t have to prepare all of this for me… I don’t even… why am I here?” You’re rambling, searching every corner of the room with a flitting gaze as if some small patch of dust will provide you with the answers.
Your specter only laughs as he nudges you towards the bed, now your bed, the motion only sending another question to the forefront of your mind.
Were you bought? Meant to warm some peculiar stranger’s bed without even the grace of having the knowledge to prepare?
Perhaps your concerns should have drifted as to why you were not entirely opposed.
“Sleep.”
The simple command leaves you stifled entirely, all confusion and tentative excitement dispelled in an instant.
He wants nothing from you, only to extend a foreign cup spilling over with generosity to one who would not admit it was ever even needed.
You find yourself nodding your head, unaccustomed to the kindness of a forgotten thing like him. In truth, you’re unused to anything but bickering between the other ladies in the witch’s house, the cobwebs stretching without end caking the ceiling, the scuttle of crawling legs over your flesh as you pulled your threadbare blanket over your body to shield you from the cold. From stark poverty to this… it claws at your eyes, steels your mind— man or ghost, it mattered not; your heart sang while your mouth remains pressed into a stiff line.
When he leaves you, your body cloaked in the softest gown you’ve ever worn, burrowed beneath sheets of the finest silk, that unknown thing in your heart seems to spill over, rushing through your veins like honeyed wine.
You dream through the eyes of someone else that night.
A woman kneels at your feet with tears in her dark eyes. She hasn’t slept, the thick, dark patches just above where her cheeks rise make it evident, and she’s pleading with the you who is not you; this woman tells you that she wishes to go home, that she could never be a part of what you are or are not.
Even in dreaming you feel your jaw tighten, sure that your nails have splintered from the shooting pain in your fingertips as your hands tighten over the hard wood of your seat. The not you speaks for you, his voice coming warbled and distant. You can not make out the words, but seeing how this pleading woman’s face seems to morph into an expression of terror, you’re grateful to not know what’s been said.
Nothing becomes of her. You watch as she strolls away, unharmed. This other you, however, is. It’s the tingling of so many unseen legs parading through your chest; spiders in a downward course to burrow in the shadow of your belly. The discomfort rings out as you feel this body rise from its seat, out to the courtyard with a fountain. The flowing water subsided the clambering of spider limbs inside, just enough for this body to pull a ring from its pocket and cast it down into the clear water.
You watch the ring seat itself at the marble bottom, the gentle flow of water causing small ripples to crest over that tiny band of silver until you wake.
Confusion twists itself into curiosity as you free yourself from the sheets, padding out of your room still only adorned in the thin, white fabric of the gown. Morning light filtering through each window of the castle carves a path where the candles have long since been blown out. The only darkness here is with your captor, all tall and shadowy, and you find yourself considering the fact that perhaps you’ve been sucked down into some strange afterlife, one where you and this specter would remain in a silent stasis for all time. You find that you don’t entirely hate the idea, either.
Most of the rooms in the castle are dull. It’s not that there isn’t plenty to look at, but a cluttering of what’s expected, all gold and ornate, only proves to bore you. There is little mystery to be found in riches.
None of it is of importance, anyway. It’s him you’re seeking out, and oddly enough, you find your specter in the courtyard staring down at the cluttered fountain. He shifts in place as you take to his side, fingers curling into loose fists momentarily before he offers you a small greeting by way of running a hand along the back of your neck, petting you as though you truly were only a puppy.
You shiver beneath that warm touch, seem to melt against him before collecting yourself enough to straighten up.
“I did not sleep well,” he says quietly, the look in his eyes tells you that he dreamt through your own. He had seen the decay and filth of the king’s city, perhaps even those angry, little things that you brought back to bite and sting and pinch.
“I didn’t either.”
You recognize that faint, strange smell when you move just a step closer to him, like dust and forgotten things. Not quite rot, but similar, a comfort for you as it’s all your fate has ever allowed for you to know. Yet, this is not one of your reanimations. Only a man.
A man, only, like you; touched by the rot.
The realization crosses your face by way of a widened glance, a sharp intake of breath. It stings again when he turns away from you, drops his hand back to his side.
“Will you walk with me, hündchen?”
“Sure.”
It’s no less strange pacing along at his side than roaming about the castle with no idea where he is. The specter still feels worlds away, even as your arm brushes over his, your fingers occasionally ghosting over his gloved hand. While the vivid blue of globe thistles and hydrangeas entertains your vision, that patient stare of his remains trained on you, even as the quiet settles over the garden once again.
In a way, you feel as though you’re being courted, even as the questions remain scurried and fluttering in your mind. The ghost, the man, whoever he is, refuses to sate that curiosity of yours even as you bring it up to him again. Why? He only responds in an almost boyish laugh that pulls at your heart, infuriating and delightful all the same.
You share a meal, something you’ve no idea how he managed to scrounge together or had the time to prepare at all. He’s been at your side all morning, yet the fruit pastries and tea are served warm as you seat yourself across from him at some grand, oak table. That sparked tingle of magic does not feather off of him as it does with your sisters, but you know without a doubt that he must have it. You glower at him a bit, lips pursed and brow pinched as he sips at his tea, not beneath but through the fabric of his black veil.
“You will have to explain what’s going on at some point,” you huff, pushing your plate away as if to make a show of it. No more accepting his gifts, even if your stomach growls in protest. “Especially if you’re trying to court me.”
It’s cute how wide his eyes go at that, his cup of tea nearly slipping from his hand. The surprise wears off almost immediately, his eyes narrowing in what you imagine must be amusement as you’re left feeling a bit humiliated. Your gaze flits over to the candles adorning the table as you nervously drum your fingers against the lap of your dress.
“Court you?”
“The gown, the walk, the food… is that not what this is?”
“Nein, hündchen…” He pauses to sigh, setting the cup against the table with a dull thud. “It’s better that I did not.”
You think to question him further, but hold back the words bubbling in your throat, sullenly picking at the food on your plate instead. It feels like courtship, would look like courtship to anyone else, but then again… you’ve never quite experienced it for yourself, either. You’re no noble lady, and it feels a bit silly to imagine yourself roaming a place like this with him as your suitor. For all you know, he could be some king from a neighboring kingdom, only offering you respite out of pity after falling from that wagon.
More likely, all of this is just some strange dreaming.
When your lunch is thoroughly picked apart on your plate, the cup emptied, you shift out of your seat and offer him a curt little bow of your head and move towards the door.
— — —
Your days are filled with him— the drab specter you’ve taken to calling König, King, simple and befitting a name as you can give to one without one. No one else lives here, at least that you can see. Not even the rats or scuttling insects you were used to dare to take up residence within this castle. Yet, you remain taken care of and well-fed. You walk at his side every morning and part ways after minimal conversation in the evening. It’s so simple yet odd it almost makes you feel uneasy.
The dreams remain through the eyes of another. Some are combat, and you don’t care for those, looking down to see blood on steel and settling with the odd sense of guilt that you’ve killed someone, even when the you who is not you does not seem to pause. In fact, he often laughs in those dreams, drinks his wine from a golden goblet while he polishes the thick mace in his lap, trousers stained with blood that is not his own.
Others are dreadfully dull. You watch as knights with long swords and silver plates circle around you, your muffled voice shouting demands of what you can only imagine must be tactics and plans for a war you would only ever be apart of in the late hour with your eyes closed.
Your unease nearly doubles on the fourth night, when you wake with a start, pulled from a dream where you see that same woman from the first wailing over a bloodied corpse to find König looming over where you rest. The curtains of your bed parted with what little moonlight filtering inside bathing him in an unearthly, bluish glow. As usual, he doesn’t breathe a word, only stares as you slowly peel back your sheet to sit up and face him fully.
“Is something wrong?,” you ask in a whisper, rubbing your palms against your eyes as you force yourself to pull through the haze of sleep.
“Du bist schön wenn du schläfst,” he hums. “Even having a nightmare.”
“You said you were not courting me.”
“I’m not, hündchen.”
He offers you a hand that you readily accept, hardly having time to marvel over just how cold his skin feels without his glove before you find your cheek pressed to a broad chest. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering with the urgency of a cricket’s song.
“You didn’t sleep well either?”
“Nein.”
“Maybe we could sleep together?,” you offer with a laugh that sounds stiff even to your own ears.
You expect some other quip about the status of your peculiar relationship, not a sigh, not the way König gently lowers you back into bed and climbs in to follow, not at your side, but rested with his head over the swell of your breasts. You’re almost certain your rib cage will bruise by the pounding in your chest this infatuation burdens you with.
He hums contentedly at the contact, props his chin up on the valley between your breasts.
“Warm,” he murmurs.
You reach to pull the blanket over you both without a word, staring up at the velvet curtain as you try to force yourself into a state of calm indifference.
It lasts for all of a single breath; König shifts, stroking over the fabric of your gown, bunching over your hip. His touch makes you shiver, too cold, as though he doesn’t have any body heat at all. Your arm settles over the expanse of his back, pulling him just a tad closer as you relax into the feather-stuffed mattress.
“Ja… I like this.”
“I do too...”
So, you sleep, so intertwined with one another that your body heat melts away the frigid touch of his own flesh with no discernment for where you end and he begins. Your dreams are absent in his presence, replaced by a solace you’ve never known as a comfortable stillness settles over you both.
When morning comes, an unhurried sun casting a dull glow through the arched window in the room, you’re pleasantly surprised to find him still here. You’ve shifted in the lack of dreaming, finding your positions opposite to when sleep had taken its hold; your head rests on König’s chest now, comfortably slow. He doesn’t feel as cold, though…
König does not breathe.
You hurriedly rise, throwing the covers off of you both and shove at him with a panicked urgency, desperately searching for any sort of reaction from him to ensure he hasn’t passed away in his sleep.
It’s not a corpse’s silence that you’re met with but an annoyed huff of breath as he grabs at your wrists and tugs you back down.
“Was..?” Your specter only sounds annoyed as he gazed down at you, keeping your trembling hands steady in his unyielding grip.
“You weren’t breathing! I thought…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as you realize just how ridiculous that you sound. Of course he wasn’t dead. Even if he were a reanimation, no magic in the entirety of this kingdom would allow him to retain so much of his soul.
König only laughs at that, closes you in an embrace that sets your pulse racing again as he carefully maneuvers you below him. When he had become so familiar mattered not, you wouldn’t dare to complain. It’s achingly comfortable, brings a sigh from your parted lips as you fall back into that perfect, placid state of contentment.
“Hündchen… you worry too much,” he huffs, caging you in as he relaxes with his face pressed back to the divot between your breasts. “So many questions… too many concerns, ja?”
“I would not fret so much if you would just explain a few things.”
“Geduld.”
Though you do pout, make a show of your irritation by exhaling heavily, his tone harbors a calm finality. You’re not so sure that any reasoning for all of this would matter much at all anymore; whether it be a dream or some gentle corner of an afterlife you’ve found yourself tucked within, you only find that you never wish for it to end.
— — —
This dream is worse than any before it.
You feel your vessel’s emotions tenfold; a clamor of disquiet and rage, vicious and searing. The air is still and silent but heavy with the scent of iron. From the blurred view that you’re granted, the shapes of cadavers are easy enough to tell, all lain twisted in glistening pools of their own blood.
Your vessel isn’t moving, though you will your thoughts to encourage him to do so, he remains in place, a pillar destined to topple.
You don’t want to see it, yet waking eludes you.
The sounds of hurried footsteps fill the quiet, a shout to your right that you do not even have the capability to turn towards. Cursed are hissed, warbled and unfamiliar, only recognized by their venom. You know that this is the end, a brutal, grisly one for your counterpart and for these dreams in their entirety.
When wicked steel carves it’s way into your vessel’s middle, you feel how tightly he clenched his jaw to bite back a howl of agony, take the subdued, shooting pain spreading through him as though it were your own. Try as you might, you can not wake; forced to be a voyeur to this stranger that you’ve grown fond of’s gruesome demise.
The vessel’s head is tugged forward, forced to kneel at the feet of the brute who has buried a dagger into his side. A sneer paints the man’s face as your counterpart’s veil is thrown away, and you recognize it— that same shroud of black, stained with imagined tears as it falls to a small heap onto a bloodstained floor.
König.
You wake with a start in a haze of utter confusion, catching your breath as the truth of it all crawls down to settle someplace within you. A cold sweat settles over your skin, bringing with it the rise of slight goose pimples and an incessant tremble.
The specter is just as you had suspected in that brief moment between bonding and sleep, dead and long-forgotten; a corpse made man again. This isn’t some silent kingdom, but a well-preserved crypt.
It hurts.
You wash your face in the water of the small basin at the corner of the room, change from your bed gown into a dress of a drab gray. Even to yourself, mourning a truth that’s been glaring you in the face since your arrival feels misplaced and odd, but that horrible sadness does not subside.
At least, not until you pry your door open to find König waiting just on the other side. He cocks his head at you, gaze softening in a silent understanding as your hand is fitted into his own.
The morning walk is less quiet this morning, a single dove could be heard cooing, hidden beneath the green of some sprawling alder’s leaves. König speaks to, explains some without giving all away. He tells you what he can remember, the details of his failed courting of the foreign princess with dark eyes and a petrified stare, the plot against him that dwindled out into a curse that’s left him here, but never an estimate for how long.
You listen in a perplexed silence, clutching his hand just a bit tighter as each questioning cobweb is swept away with a low voice droning out a story better left untold.
When he finishes, with your free hand sifting it’s fingers through the petals adorning a hydrangea shrub, you think to tell him one simple truth: “I can’t bring you back.”
It startles you when he suddenly pulls you in, resting his chin atop your head and curling those broad arms over your shoulders. The embrace is tight, a certain desperation in his touch as though he almost fears the thought of you pulling away. Strange from a man you now knew had not even feared his own death.
“Nein. I just want to be understood.”
And you do understand, perfectly, as only one also touched by the rot could.
— — —
There’s never a night that you don’t find yourself asleep with König mere centimeters away, if there is any gap between at all, anymore. He feigns his breath until you’re fast asleep, takes to playing human enough to not worry you any further, even after you explain that it doesn’t, not any longer. Always, you wake to his head buried against your chest, listening to the fragile beating of your heart until you stir to wake him. Your hands rove over his veil, but never question what he hides beneath it. You already know without seeing— the wicked, sprawling scar from where his head was once wrenched from his body.
A necromancer and a lich, of all things. If the bards in the King’s city were to ever know, your story would be passed from tavern to tavern until it became little more than the stuff of myth.
The thought occurs to you when you wake, huffing a drowsy little giggle as you repeat your morning ritual, fingertips grazing over the dark fabric obscuring König’s face until heavy eyelids languidly part to focus his attention on that mirthful expression painted across your face.
“I have changed my mind,” he declares some moments later as he nuzzles in the divide between your neck and shoulder, unhurried and gentle as he always seems to be with you.
“Hm?”
“I will court you.” A statement that would make most with a better grasp on the disparity between what’s living and dead flinch back in horror. Though, where most would consider corruption, you only take it as further confirmation to your mutual devotion.
“You already have been.”
He falls silent at that for a moment, trailing a cold path of chaste kisses along your jaw, lazy and soft to a point you can feel the grin beneath his hood.
Finally, he hums in agreement.
“Then I should have you, hm?”
He drags a palm down your thigh to your knee, the pad of his thumb bunching up the fabric of your gown as he presses against you, tracing small circles.
Your mouth feels dry when you part your lips to speak once more. The words falter, engulfed in a far more desperate flame; someplace far off, in the back of your mind you can hear them echo, bouncing from cavern walls.
“Hündchen..,” he rasps quietly. Maybe he’s thought it too, that this should be far more innocent, but the way he furiously tugs your undergarments down to your ankles belies his interest far more than some ideal, ancient telling of courtship would ever allow.
“You want to..?”
König laughs, whether it’s at your words or the surprise on your face, you didn’t know. Despite your nudity, he doesn’t look at you down there, his eyes remain locked on your face. There’s something wild and uncanny about them, something bordering on madness. His breathing is heavier, as if he’s fighting back the urge to bury his head in your cunt and breathe you in, and you’re almost certain that after all of your yearning he could bring you to ruin from a puff of breath alone.
He echoes your question with barely contained amusement, until you breathe out your consent. You sound just uncertain enough to prompt him to pull away briefly, raising up to look you in the eyes as his own narrow in search of any signs of apprehension. Finding none, a heavy palm meets your chest to push you to lie down in full as his head dives between your thighs without hesitation.
The feeling of a wide tongue slipping over your slit prompts an immediate reaction— a sharp cry that has you slamming your palm over your mouth in an effort to not break the peace settled over this place.
Every lick is slow and deliberate, a far cry from enough stimulation to properly get you off. It’s as if he’s doing this to prepare you rather than bring you to ruin. His tongue thrusts into you at a languid pace, fucking you open with heady muscle rather than the cold touch of his fingers. For that you’re grateful, but it just isn’t enough.
König huffs another chuckle against your sex when you whine and buck your hips, desperately searching for a friction that just isn’t being supplied. His hands press against your hips to hold you in place, the pads of his thumbs circling against your abdomen as he tries to set you at ease.
“Be patient,” he mumbles as he raises his head, bottom lip slowly raking over the hood of your aching clit. You find it difficult to comply, but in a way you feel fortunate to even experience this much. Who else could say that they were being fucked by the tongue of a titan and be believed? His lips close around your sensitive bud, tongue languidly circling over it, kissing you there as gently as he can manage. The very moment a moan is pulled from you, breaking the silence of his concentration he tears back to lick far further down than you were prepared for, before climbing over you instead of allowing you a release.
The taste of you lingers on his tongue when your face is pushed beneath the veil, an urgent probing as he thrusts the muscle into your waiting mouth, sampling the mixture of your saliva and slick. A palm is splayed over your thigh, forcing you to open yourself to him despite the strain.
He proves he’s less patient than he pretends to be; that’s all of the preparation that you get.
A breath later you feel yourself speared open, the girth of his tip slipping into you with involuntary resistance. Your gasp is met with a keening groan from his open mouth, quickly stifled as he bites into the side of your neck. Each thrust is shallow, the head of his cock spreading you meticulously until you’re nearly in tears from your own impatience. His body temperature is far cooler than your own, and you feel as if you’re more of a mess than you’ve ever been prior as his own precum mixes with the arousal already freely dribbling past your swollen labia.
You kick your leg out, force your hips in a different angle to push him in deeper only to have his grip tighten and his teeth dig into your flesh. Again and again, until you’re a babbling mess beneath him.
“König… please..,” You manage to choke out, voice small and barely audible over the obscene sounds pulled from the wetness of your cunt.
Immediately, your pleading is answered with a slam of his hips, the thick cock forced to its hilt inside of your pulsing walls. König’s head lolls back, his free hand curling over your hip as he grunts. He isn’t making love to you, but fucking into you like a man possessed. A palm fitted over your mouth wouldn’t silence the obscene sounds of sex, nor the bed creaking beneath your combined weight as he pumps into you; each drag is pure rapture as he fills you entirely.
The repetitive spearing of your sweet spot brings you to a near-painful orgasm, trembling cunt only sucking him in further with each pulsing wave of bliss. The quiet is forgotten entirely as you whine out your praises between wanton moans and breathy cries.
He kisses you, proper and sweet when he comes. The thickness of his seed floods you, spilling out onto the sheets below as he fucks it back into you, his pace never slowing until the throbbing of his cock comes to an abrupt end.
The hand holding your leg in place retreats to gently brush your cheek, his thumb grazing beneath your eye until you reach for his wrist to pull it down to kiss over his palm. He returns your kisses with a breathy laugh before pressing his forehead to your own, kissing from the tip of your nose down to your chin.
“I do understand,” you whisper against cool flesh.
“Ja… because you were made for me.”
You don’t disagree.
This morning is the first you’ve caught sight of a breeze, gently pushing at the curtains lining the bed, the first you’ve heard of any semblance of life beyond yourself. When your eyelids flutter shut, relaxation prying away any residual tension, you almost think you can hear the pounding of a second heart— one you can only think to wish together with your own.
#könig x reader#könig x you#konig x reader#konig x you#cod fanfiction#könig#konig#and now i sleep for 40hrs farewell everyone everywhere
318 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hii i wanted to ask if you only write scenarios or oneshots as well?
Aaand if you do what would you think about a horned king x wife reader oneshot?
Pretty pleeeaaassseee?? ^_^
These are officially counted as 'requests so old they have their own moss', so THANK YOU for your patience I'm legit so sorry you've had to wait so long T-T
Married Life Headcannons: Horned King
HK as a husband would be attentive and yet also intuitive as a bag of rocks.
He’s a warlord, a king, a hunter, a necromancer and a villain. He’s very new to being a husband.
Don’t get me wrong – as his Consort you’re now a Royal, you’ll be given royal standards. Food, clothes, coffers, the better rooms of the castle and command over his servants. You have privileges now that you could only dream of before.
On the other hand…
He watches you. All the time. In the dark, from doorways and staircases. He’s not even hiding (why would he, in his own castle?), he just blends in so well with the shadows that unless he gets upset and his eyes glow you have no idea he’s there. Beyond the creepy feeling of being observed that is.
He’s also prone to saying whatever is on his mind and just. Leaving. Like, Sire, what the fuck-
I’m note sure if I like the idea of an arranged marriage more (in which he would be distant, cold, aloof and would take a long time to warm up to you when he’s not ignoring you entirely) or that of a genuine relationship become marriage (in which case your class prior was irrelevant, he wanted you so he got you – case closed and hell be damned). Either way it’s a learning curve for you both.
Though blessedly he values direct communication. Please tell him what you need, how you’re feeling, how what he's doing makes you feel. He’s not going to lash out. One thing it’s taken you a while to realise is that he needs time to parse through what you’ve told him and what his actions should be moving forward. He respects you more for being direct and is secretly relived that you’ve given him some direction, because he is lost.
(But do it reasonably. If you get shouty then his response is to get colder and double down. The way forward is to approach him like a child who was never socialised properly and add ‘my liege’ etc to your sentences.)
He feels as though his spouse is the equivalent of a fallen wishing star somehow residing in his castle. Something beautiful, unknowable, untenable. Something that could explode in his face at any moment if handled incorrectly. Hence his ‘not handling only observing’ approach at first.
As time goes by, however, and you both warm up...you realise this is a bag of surprisingly malleable putty in lich form.
He loves to sit together, both on your thrones and in private, reading or talking over a bottle of wine. He loves seeing you wear the gifts he has made for you: new furs, bone jewellery, custom weapons he painstakingly teaches you how to use if you don’t already know. He loves to pick your brain, talking on all manner of subjects deep into the night.
After seeing how much you love the gwythents, and realising that the two he owns are both male...he’s on a secret mission to procure an unhatched egg for your first anniversary. Baby dragon time for you, cariad.
*Cariad - Welsh for 'Love'.
Hope you enjoyed these rambles and again, so sorry for the wait!
#thalassa responds#thank you for the asks I just have a schedue from hell and no time management#disney villains#x reader#the horned king x reader#the horned king#disney villains x reader
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Deal with Giselle Gewelle
So, let me preface this by saying that I'm trans. I'm not saying that to invalidate the feelings of other trans people, just to specify that mine isn't some outsider's perspective. There's also spoilers for Bleach: TYBW, but I'm guessing that there aren't a lot of interested parties left who don't know about this. You probably also know this goes into transphobia, necrophilia, and rape, but if you don't, uh... trigger warning! Reader beware, you're in for a scare!
Recently, an episode of Bleach: Thousand Year Blood War came out in which noted bitchy asshole who uses too much product Yumichika Ayasegawa misgendered darling, sweet murderous trans babygirl Giselle Gewelle. It's also implied that upon necromancing Bambietta's corpse, Giselle had sex with her, probably against her will. That's all pretty fucked up, and I want to talk about it.
I started my transition about ten years ago, and exposure to trans or gender non-conforming anime and manga characters in general went a long way towards me accepting I was trans. Looking back, Giselle was one of the most significant characters to me at that early stage. I've always loved her design, and she was the first legit trans character I ever really saw and resonated with in anime and manga.
Get this: there used to be this thing in Shonen Jump's manga line-up called the Big Three. The most influential, bestselling manga in the bunch. One Piece, Naruto, and Bleach. And you wanna know something? Bleach was the first one to have a trans woman character. We can debate whether or not Giselle was good representation, but you know what? At the time, the closest we ever got was Haku pulling the "Oh, by the way, I'm a boy" card in Naruto's first major arc back in the early 2000s and a constant bombardment of okama jokes in One Piece. Okama is a derogatory term for gay men and drag queens, and for a long time, Oda could not get enough of making jokes about big, hairy men in women's clothing.
Now there was also Alluka Zoldyck in Hunter X Hunter, but the vast stretches of time Hunter X Hunter spends on hiatus makes it unclear to me whether she or Giselle came first. But within the Big Three - a designation which doesn't mean much now, but meant a ton back then - Giselle was first. Hunter X Hunter was never quite considered part of the Big 3. But either way, I think Alluka is the better character in terms of how her being trans is written. She's cute, she's precious, she's perfect in every way, and I'll make you pay if you say a single bad thing about her.
Years and years later, Oda would go on to write Kikunojo and Yamato. I still have complicated thoughts about Yamato as trans rep, but Kiku is great trans rep for being a relatively minor character. Oda has also phased the okama jokes out of the story over time. Jujutsu Kaisen also has a subtle, but well-handled example of a trans woman in Kirara Hoshi. She doesn't get nearly enough time in the story, and her identity hasn't been explored yet, but I hope GeGe will unpack that before the story's conclusion.
I tell you all of that so you realize that even if Giselle could have been handled better, Kubo was the first of the Big 3 authors to even try to write a trans girl. Not a femboy, not an okama - a trans woman/girl. He also gave us Charlotte Cuulhorne, and while Charlotte's depiction flirts with being just an okama gag and nothing more, she's so fabulous and so positive in her outlook on life that I can't bring myself to be mad.
So let's look at Giselle as a character. She's very cute, with her big eyes and goofy, purposefully adorable mannerisms. None of the other Sternritter girls try to be cute in quite the way Giselle does. Meninas likes cute things, but doesn't act cute, and that's as close as it gets. Unlike the other Femritters, Giselle wears clothes that cover up as much as possible. Even Liltotto's outfit shows off her shoulders and thighs some; Giselle keeps her shoulders and neck completely covered by a baggy sweater, and her legs covered by tights. Kubo drew a swimsuit picture with the Bambis all together, and he opted to put Giselle in a swimsuit with a skirt. It's pretty apparent that Giselle has concerns about how she looks and covers up as much as she can out of dysphoria. As a card-carrying member of the big jacket-long pants-closed toe shoes gang, I can tell you that when you're not very progressed with your transition, it's like that.
I think you can also make the argument that part of why Giselle acts so cutesy is because of her insecurities and feeling like she has to make up for them by being extra, overtly feminine and adorable. It's like that.
There's not a doubt in my mind that Kubo intended for Giselle to be trans. But is she good trans rep? Probably not, but she might not be as bad as she's made out to be.
People who criticize how Giselle is depicted as a trans character have two or three go-to arguments. Three points of interest to say that she's being written in a transphobic way.
1.) Yumichika scopes her out as trans and misgenders her.
2.) Charlotte says she and Giselle have a lot in common.
3.) The most damning: what Giselle does to Bambietta.
So, I've never liked people using Yumichika as a litmus test for how Kubo feels about trans people. Let me explain something to you: Yumichika is a bitch, an asshole, and the consummate gadfly. One of his defining traits is his awful personality and his inability to resist saying cruel, petty things to others. He's awful to Charlotte and he's awful to GiGi, and he's pretty much awful to anyone besides Ikkaku and Kenpachi, but especially Charlotte and GiGi.
Yumichika is an allegory for a closeted gay man. He has this deep admiration, respect, loyalty, and arguably love for Kenpachi and Ikkaku that's led him to stay in the 11th Division even though it's not where his talents are best put to work. He's adept at kido and his zanpakuto is based in kido, but he refuses to use the former or reveal the latter to his squad because he doesn't want them to reject him. The 11th Division is the manly man squad, all testosterone and sweat and bulging muscles and... ahem. Sorry, I got a little carried away. It's all very erotic. Anyways, Yumichika wants to be close to the men with whom he shares a bond of emotion and martial loyalty alike, and he refuses to embrace his gifts because of it. He's afraid his friends in the boys' club will kick him out for having interests and inclinations that most of them look down on.
I think you can make the argument that Yumichika hates Charlotte and Giselle precisely because they're being true to themselves, meaning they've made a leap he hasn't yet. He's too scared of what might happen if he doesn't keep the lie going about his zanpakuto, and he resents Giselle and Charlotte because they overcame a similar fear of rejection. And he expresses that by rejecting their truth, i.e., misgendering them. This is the interpretation I like the best. It's a sad fact that lots of gay men, closeted or otherwise, refuse to accept trans women.
Charlotte says she and Giselle have a lot in common, and honestly, I don't think this is transphobic either. If you choose to read Charlotte as a trans woman who isn't stereotypically feminine, but is true to herself, then what she's stating is just a fact. She and Giselle may not look the same, and Giselle may have an easier time passing, but they're both trans women if you ask me. And I think Giselle reacting with discomfort isn't innaccurate, either. Charlotte's confidence is admirable in some ways, but I think it sets of Giselle's alarm bells that she's going to be outed and rejected. Lots of trans women - myself included - are haunted by this fear that we'll never pass, never be accepted, or will be incapable of retaining our desired presentation as we get older. It's like that.
So, that brings us to the Bambietta Incident. Not quite as wide-reaching as the Shibuya Incident, but about as traumatizing for some, apparently. Full disclosure, I don't believe any heinous acts should be censored from fiction. If it makes you uncomfortable or awakens traumatic memories, then I'm sympathetic to that, but I do not believe that the right answer is to sanitize every work of fiction of every immoral act that could have that effect. You know where your limits are, so don't count on authors to protect you. Most of them won't, and I think you're stronger and smarter and more able to navigate a world with fictitious depictions like that in it than you realize.
I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, Giselle probably sexually assaulted Bambi. And is that right of her to do? Fuck no, it isn't. But nobody's really debating if that's right or wrong. The problem is that if you look at it a certain way, this is just reinforcing the old, awful stereotype of trans women being predators in disguise. Lots of shitty writers have done that, and it sucks.
However, those depictions assume that trans women are predators, by definition. Or at least sexual deviants. We could go down the rabbit hole of how sexual deviancy has historically been defined by people who use sex as a form of control anyway, but I'm not well-read enough to do that and - well, you've seen how long this post is. Be honest, you wouldn't want me to even try.
The point is that a depiction like that assumes trans woman = deviant. I don't want to make that logical leap here, because that means you need to assume that Kubo wrote Giselle with the intention that she assaulted Bambi because she's trans. I'm not a mind reader, so I'm uncomfortable with acting like I can know Kubo's intentions. It's a bad look to us in the Western sphere of the anime fandom, but I'm not sure how Kubo saw it. He might have not realized how it would look until that chapter was out there and he couldn't undo it, but given the fact they kept it in the anime, he either probably doesn't see a problem with it or there were other rewrites he saw as more important to allocate his mental energies to. Writing Bleach burned this man out, so I'll cut him some slack if so.
My point is, I'm not sure if you can say for sure that the story intends you to believe that Giselle assaulted Bambi because she's trans. When you look at it, Kubo seems to have a more in-depth understanding of trans people than some of you might have first realized. And I mean, shit man, he gave her biology manipulation powers. Every trans girl's first pick for super powers is shapeshifting or some form of biology manipulation. He knows. He's onto us. He's familiar with our ways. The jig is up, girls.
Looking at the broader scope of the narrative, Bleach is littered with characters who perform heinous actions and are not just shoved out the "All Villains Die" airlock. Chief example being Mayuri. The man committed war crimes, experiments on human beings, turns his own subordinates into bombs, and is heavily implied to have performed some very sexual deeds to reconstitute his daughter Nemu after Szayel parasitized her. Yet he still saves the day multiple times and he isn't gotten rid of, because he's more useful to the side of overall good alive than dead. Bleach is one of very few series to have characters who perform heinous deeds and still be treated as humans, rather than reducing them to those deeds and nothing else.
Plus, nobody really treats it as an issue with Kubo's writing that Bambietta killed one of her own fellow Quincies in cold blood just to vent her frustrations. I think because it's sexual and because Giselle is trans, she ends up being the lightning rod when... let's be honest, compared to what some of the Shinigami have done, what Giselle did is kind of quaint. She even helps rescue Candice and I think Meninas after they're taken captive by Mayuri in the novels, and she's considering releasing Bambietta from her control.
Given what we've seen, I think it's less accurate to pick on Giselle and try to say she's a case of Kubo being transphobic, and more accurate to say that living in the Shadow Realm under Yhwach's cruel, exploitative regime has made all the Sternritters fucked up in their own unique, vibrant ways. And for that matter, Kubo never kills her off. He clearly likes her enough to want her to still be around after the end of the series.
When you look at how Kubo draws Giselle in the manga and in illustrations after the manga's conclusion, you can tell he enjoys himself when he's drawing her. He always lavishes her facial expressions with detail, and you can feel love radiating off the page. That's more than you can say for a lot of the Quincies. I think Kubo was overjoyed to not have to draw PePe and his Vollständig anymore.
So like, yeah, Giselle is my problematic fave transgender character. And I don't think she's even as problematic as people's kneejerk reactions are to think she is. If you disagree, I don't care, I don't value your opinion. Particularly if you're not trans. If you're an ally, then that's sweet and all, but never try to speak for trans people about depictions of trans characters. If you are trans and Giselle made you uncomfortable, then I'm sorry you feel that way.
#giselle gewelle#bleach#bleach tybw#tybw#tybw spoilers#bleach spoilers#transgender#problematic fave#if you misgender charlotte cuulhorne then god will take seven years off your life and make you go bald#fuck yumichika#but he still has a fresh style#giselle's little dance when she made dead boy dance party skeletons attack ichigo watered my crops and cleared my skin
58 notes
·
View notes
Text
HAPPY 70th BIRTHDAY GEDDY!!!!
(meme credit to u/rtphokie on reddit)
OH, AND WHAT’S THAT?!?! IT’S ALSO THE 49th ANNIVERSARY OF NEIL PEART JOINING RUSH?!?!
In order to celebrate these wondrous occasions, I have compiled 70 reasons why I love Rush (especially Geddy):
70. They don't have any unlistenable albums. I can put on any Rush album and at the very least enjoy it, which is saying a lot!
69. ANDDDD they have 19 studio albums!!! 167 songs!!!
68. Alex's iconic Hall of Fame induction speech.
67. The movie I Love You, Man. The main plot of that is just two guys geeking out about Rush and then going to see them in concert.
66. The Bb5 in "Cygnus X-1 Book 1: The Voyage". For the record, the other famous Bb5 sung by a male singer in rock is the high note in "Bohemian Rhapsody", sung by Roger Taylor.
65. Geddy's range in general. Say what you will about his voice, but he had range.
64. Their pre-concert videos.
63. "Hey baby it's 7:45 and I need to go to bed soon, let's fuck"- In the Mood. The debut album was something else, man.
62. They wrote songs during soundcheck when they were on tour. This includes songs like "Tom Sawyer" and "Chemistry".
61. They went to a Yes concert while recording Caress of Steel, and almost quit making the album. I, for one, am very glad they didn't!
60. The "rap" in "Roll the Bones". Sit back, relax, get busy with the facts...
59. Gene Simmons thought they weren't into women because they didn't want to party with KISS. True story!
58. They listed their baseball positions in the liner notes for Signals.
57. Neil wrote lyrics to a song using only anagrams. The song is called "Anagram (For Mongo)", and is on the album Presto.
56. They thanked themselves in the liner notes for Hemispheres. Listed as Dirk, Lerxst, and Pratt, ofc!
55. They would challenge themselves to write last-minute songs. Results of this experiment include "Hand Over Fist" from Presto, and "Malignant Narcissism" from Snakes and Arrows.
54. The mere existence of "A Passage to Bangkok". I wonder what their thought process was to put a song about smoking weed around the world after a 20-minute long dystopian prog rock epic...
53. "La Villa Strangiato". Just... everything about it.
52. The kimonos. You know the ones!
51. Their nicknames for each other!! (see above)
50. They had the second-longest stable line up in rock music! The only ones with a longer stable line up was ZZ Top.
49. They had a 40-year career! Even longer if you include pre-Neil and their adventures since the R40 tour.
48. The synth era. I unapologetically love 80s Rush, especially Grace Under Pressure and Power Windows.
47. "The Necromancer" basically being self-insert Tolkien fanfic. I wonder who the "three travelers" are supposed to be... OH WAIT!
46. They're giant nerds. All prog bands are, but they are especially nerdy.
45. Hugh Syme's awesome album covers. He did every single one from Caress of Steel onwards, barring the front cover for Snakes and Arrows.
44. The 7/8 section in "Tom Sawyer". That was my first intermediate bass line! Thanks, Geddy!
43. They're Canadian icons. Unironically, they're the first thing that comes to mind when someone mentions "Canada" to me.
42. The horribly cheesy, terrible, but also really funny music video for "Time Stand Still". That song, btw, might be my favorite 80s Rush song, and is probably in my Top 5.
41. The triple-entendre pun of Moving Pictures. They're filming a movie (moving picture) of people moving paintings (moving pictures), while someone is getting moved by the scene (moving...pictures...).
40. They quote the 1812 Overture in the overture for "2112".
39. Geddy taught Les Claypool how to properly play "YYZ".
38. The Permanent Waves era glasses!
37. The opening of "Xanadu".
36. The weird stuff Geddy would have on his side of stage after he stopped using amps. This includes rotisserie chickens, washing machines, dryers, and popcorn machines.
35. "Music by Lee and Lifeson, Lyrics by Peart" on almost every single Rush song.
34. The ending of "Spirit of Radio". OF SALESMEN!!!
33. Their inside jokes. Example: The Bag.
32. They took French classes together, and began announcing their songs in French in Quebec.
31. The progressiveness of Counterparts. What other 40-year old rockstars were talking about healthy relationship boundaries and openly supporting gay people in 1993?
30. Their vaults are practically empty because they scrapped songs that weren't up to their standards. This is why we have no sub-par Rush material!
29. Choosing to end their careers with grace.
28. Ending the last show of their career with "Working Man", the song that got everything started.
27. "Dreamline"--"Learning that we're only immortal / For a limited time".
26. Geddy and Alex inducting Yes into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2017.
25. Then, of course, Geddy playing "Roundabout" with Yes during their induction! (Unfortunately, he did not play his Rickenbacker :( )
24. No decisions were made regarding the band without it being unanimous.
23. "Closer to the Heart". To me, that song is like a musical representation of their friendship, and it always leaves me with a warm, fuzzy feeling after listening to it.
22. Neil's books. Ghost Rider, in particular helped me get through a rough time earlier this year.
21. Geddy's Big Beautiful Book of Bass. I love that thing, and I am looking forward to his memoir in November!!!
20. That incredible Rickenbacker. I know it hasn't been his main bass since the early 80s but...
19. All their other creative projects. Geddy and Alex have a solo album each, Alex is involved with Envy of None rn, and Neil had his blog.
18. All their other stage interactions.
17. "ATTENTION ALL PLANETS OF THE SOLAR FEDERATION! WE HAVE ASSUMED CONTROL!" -"2112". Just... all of "2112".
16. They got me into prog. I wouldn't have this blog right now if it weren't for Rush.
15. The Lifeson chord. The F#7add11 voicing that you can hear in so many of their songs (it's the opening to "Cygnus X-1 Book II: Hemispheres").
14. Neil's drumming. They call him The Professor for a reason!
13. Geddy's bass playing. And his singing. And playing keys. And... yeah, we would be here all day!
12. The Dinner with Rush video. I make daily references to this that no one notices...
11. "The measure of a life / is a measure of love and respect"- "The Garden". The final song on their final album, and possibly the most amazing closer of all time.
10. Their charity work. IIRC, this includes giving away the aforementioned rotisserie chickens, as well as various fundraisers.
9. Their constant strive to improve themselves. Including Geddy working with a vocal coach, Neil working with Freddie Gruber, and of course, disavowing that Ayn Rand shit.
8. They give me something to strive towards, both as a musician and as a person. If I could make records half as good as Rush, and handle the fame with half the grace that they did, I would consider myself well-accomplished.
7. Neil's lyrics inspired me to get back into writing.
6. They inspired me to become a musician, and to pursue a career in music. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have stayed in choir or picked up bass, and I would've never considered a career in audio technology.
5. Their music helped me bond with my dad.
4. Geddy talking about his family's story of survival during the Holocaust. I think that's really important to talk about.
3. Other Rush fans. Well, okay, some of them like to brag about how many concerts they've been to, or tend to be a little gate-keep, but most of them are really chill people.
2. Their music helped me get through the toughest times in my life. Without getting too personal, I even credit them with saving my life on multiple occasions.
However, what I admire about Rush, above all else...
1. Their friendship with each other.
Once again, happy birthday Geddy! Your music has inspired me in so many ways, and I wouldn’t be the person I am today without it.
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Gideon the Ninth"
03/12/2023
Reading progress: 276/443 (62%)
Read through since last update: 133
I've been reading through the book, but just wanted to give myself more time to write out my thoughts. And I wanted to make a longer compilation, rather than many smaller ones. (I believe it's a bit more easier to follow.)
I'm thoroughly enjoying the book so far. So much so, that I try to make time for it every single day and feel really excited about coming back to it.
Recent reactions and thoughts:
Hell, yeah! Gideon got back the key from Harrow. No more dicking around for her. Jail time.
A book bound in human leather... Interesting... There are more than a few instances that suggests that Earth and humans do exist in this story, and necromancers are somehow derived from them (including their culture and religion), so I am interested to see whether or not this gets explained later on. If a aci-fi book connects to Earth somehow, to "reality", it usually offers some sort of hint at what happened with it.
"Maybe rigor... mortis," said Gideon, who assumed that puns were funny automatically." Yeah, well, I too find them funny automatically. So she's not wrong.
Ok, that thing with Harrow controlling Gideon?? So cool.
Anybody else completely lost during Magnus's and Abigail's anniversary dinner? Maybe I was just tired, so I couldn't follow what was going on, but still...
Loved the scenes of Harrow and Gideon working together through that fight!!!!! Fuck yeah!!!
I'mma be mean and say good riddance, lol. (Last chapter of act 2)
Dulcinea is so full of it!!! "You wouldn't duel me, would you?" I would when you say it so suspiciously!!!
I find it so incredibly funny that I read "Put it in the hole, Griddle", stopped and laughed at the innuendo, and then Gideon does the same. *insert that meme of two guys waving at each other and saying "same hat", but it says "same brain" instead*
Oho! Another Gideon mentioned in the notes. Could it be the one she got named after? And the G in the "G. & P." must be this Gideon. Interesting... I have a funny feeling about this and I wonder if it'll turn out to be correct... 🧐
I'm glad Harrow and me are on the same page with Dulcinea. This is why I like Harrow. She gets it.
Muir really went for the jugular when she wrote 4 full pages of Gideon violently dying.
Another murder... Hmmm... Things are getting tense...
Corona seems to be avoiding all and every chance to show of her necromancy skills. Suspicious, if you ask me. 🤔
YES YES YES!!! VICTORY TO CAMILLA! (That dislocation was so awful. Loved it!)
AAAAAAAA THE NINTH RAISES TO THE OCCASION!!! Time for pay-back!!!
And Jeannemary too 😭😭
Aw, man. :( No fight.
I love how much credit Palamedes gives to Gideon when in reality she knows jack shit.
Of course Gideon's only thought was Sex Pal. Why would it be anything else?
I am fighting for my life with the need to look at fanart because I am a little worried about seeing spoilers. I did see one (whoops!), but luckily it just approved of one of my suspicions hehe. Still, I am saying clear of the tag for now. My thirst for content will have to wait until I finish the book.
That's it for now. I'll return with a new update soon enough. <3
#locked tomb#the locked tomb#gideon the ninth#dnevnik čitanja#reading#reading journal#dnevnik citanja
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Not that I want it to happen—it would be so heart-wrenching and bittersweet and I adore them so much as two people. But I’ve become Fashionably Obsessed™ with an actual Griddlehark gestalt.
I’ve been calling her Nova, since Harrow likes that name enough to use it in her Erotic Friend Fiction in HtN, and I think it suits their gem-fusion hellspawn.
Harrow’s bod because it’s currently the least gunched; Gideon’s eyes because I said so.
Made of butch, spite, and everything nice.
Teenage dirtbag pompa-hawk, mirror shades, more bone jewelry than I had the capacity to draw
It’s Horny Gremlin Hours 24/7. Unironically finds bone tiddies and boob armor hot. Digs older women, and deities that have been turned into Lovecraftian horrors by the hubris of man.
Very loving, but shows it in strange and opaque ways. Leaves tasty snacks in drawers for her friends to find, not unlike a squirrel. Leaves notes everywhere with cryptic messages like “they’re lying” (a note to let everyone know the cats have been fed).
Will attempt to befriend wild animals because they’re just misunderstood. Has a statistically fascinating rate of success.
Probably still haunted but in a fun way. Befriends ghosts the same way she befriends wild animals.
Best necromancer of her generation (New Game+ version), uses her powers exclusively for evil. Wields a zweihander. Half feral. Nigh indestructible. Literally unstoppable, be glad she’s on your side.
Bites (affectionate)
Has an ego the size of a planet and unfortunately also has the skill to back it up. Her mouth doesn’t write checks, it swipes an Amex black card.
Adores the shit out of Paul but will shove them in a locker (lovingly) at the slightest provocation.
#ntn spoilers#nona the ninth spoilers#the locked tomb spoilers#griddlehark#this is apparently how I’m coping with The Wait#myart#nova griddlehark#lmao everyone ignore how I put ‘apopneumatosis’ instead of ‘apopneumatism’
312 notes
·
View notes
Text
to bring to life
preference summary: the companions reactions to dating a durge!tav who's a druid necromancer
content warnings: none
fandom: baldur's gate 3
characters: astarion, gale, wyll, halsin, lae'zel, karlach, shadowheart
gender neutral reader
requested by: @that-onetvhead
a.n. - sorry for the very late writing! i finally was able to sit down for a moment to myself to work on writings, but i hope the final product was worth the wait! i also haven't played a durge run personally, but i hope it's still written well in terms of reactions of the characters based on the research i've done, and if it isn't up to expectations, you're more than welcome to let me know! i'm really sorry if it seems i've misunderstood the durge at all.
Astarion: He finds it interesting, wanting to know more about what is you can do. He would be someone who watches you from a distance at first, watching as you weave your magic into bringing those from the dead back to life. He notes your glint for more mischievous or evil ways, wondering how you could co-pair that with your necromancer ways. He's very interested when you mention how you consider murder, only to want to bring that person back from the dead for a nonchalant way. He's one who doesn't really give a damn about your urges, considering his vampiric ways.
Gale: He's a curious learner, I feel like he would come about with a reaction of curiosity. He wants to learn more about your magic, especially wanting to know more about how your nature magic might influence your necromancer magic. And out of all the companions, besides maybe Astarion and Lae'zel, I feel like he'd be the one who might be willing to overlook your durge urges. He'd be excited to talk about magic with you, wanting to know more about how your system works.
Wyll: Wyll approaches your dark urges with an understanding. He may not be 100% supportive initially, rather wishing you didn't act on them, but he's also willing to overlook it. He's the kind of person to help you steer away from those urges, but overall also understands it's part of you overall, and he much rather focuses on your love life. He also thinks your powers are interesting, wanting to see it more. He thinks that they're very cool to witness in a battle scene, always wanting to pair up with you when you can use all of the dead bodies to your advantage.
Halsin: Halsin connects really well with you in the beginning, more so than the others, because of your druid powers. You were just like him, and he had wanted to see how well that connects with your other powers. He would be much like Wyll, not really liking the choices you might make because of your urges, but is also understanding that you would not be able to control over that. He would stick up for you the most if others had something to say about you, always making sure you were okay.
Lae'zel: Lae'zel might help you to really lean into your dark urges, or at least be supportive if you choose to lean into them yourself. She's excited to see your powers in a battle scene, wielding your powers to bring back enemies from the dead to use them for your advantage in the battle. She was blunt initially, asking you a lot of questions about your powers. Initially, she was curious about how to implement your powers into a battle strategy, but overtime she was genuinely curious about how your powers worked. She is always having your back though.
Karlach: Karlach sees herself as a rock in your urges, thinking she could help you with not acting on taking off someone's arm. But, she does think it's pretty badass that you're able to bring the dead back to life. She always asks, before you bring someone back to life, if you're able to do some sort of nature power along with it. She thinks there's an interesting philosophy behind the life of nature in your magic along with the magic you have with the dead, and likes to draw that to your internal conflict in your dark urges. Always toeing the line between life and death.
Shadowheart: Shadowheart understands having an internal conflict, not having a really strong feeling about your urges. She steps in to wanting to help if you ask to talk about it, gladly being a shoulder of support. She's curious as well about your powers, though she may not act much on her questions initially. She would curiously watch any chance she could when you performed your magic. She would always want to partner up in battle with you, wanting to combine the magic you both had into something powerful.
#bg3#bg3 imagine#bg3 preference#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate 3 imagine#baldur's gate preference#astarion imagine#astarion preference#astarion#gale imagine#gale preference#gale#wyll imagine#wyll preference#wyll#halsin imagine#halsin#halsin preference#lae'zel#lae'zel imagine#lae'zel preference#karlach imagine#karlach preference#karlach#shadowheart preference#shadowheart imagine#shadowheart
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Because I am feral for pre-game durge x Gortash cause villains in love that I don't actually have to roleplay is very fun for me to write about!
here are my headcanons for each of my Durges and their relationship with Gortash was.
Spoilers for the entirety of dark urge
Lilith x Gortash
Lilith has very low self esteem which stays a constant even when the game starts, yes this is because she sees herself as nothing but a monster. But oh boy Gortash came into the picture he started to compliment her and most likely told her "You know you aren't a monster they think you are" and she was so desperate to hear that from ANYONE that she ate it up
Like the whole plan to take over the sword coast and such was given to her by bhaal and she just figured "Okay I'll do it if it gets you off my back" and then Gortash most likely pitied her cause she didn't have anyone to talk to about stuff and just ended up opening up to Gortash and he probably felt bad that she was just kind of doing this so she could maybe have a normal life.
Lilith fully would sometimes use the excuse of "Gortash told me not to kill that person" so bhaal wouldn't punish her. It's not like bhaal is going to ruin the whole plan just cause Lilith is lying so she doesn't have to kill someone like that would be stupid.
After sometime of spending time together and just spending late nights talking and getting to know each other and several glasses of wine most likely or whatever other drinks. the two of them fuck and then Lilith confesses she feels quite deeply for the man, prompting Gortash to of course brush it off at first cause they're drunk.
After a while, though the two can no longer deny their feelings and start up a relationship they keep on the down low for the most part. Also keeping it on the down low in case things fall horribly apart either because of bhaal or some other reason they are both aware that this could go horribly wrong but it's something they both enjoy and don't want to let go of quite yet.
Of course it does go horribly wrong in a way neither could predict, and what makes it worse is Lilith was going to forsake the entire plan and just ask Gortash to marry her and run away. Now I like to imagine Orin hualed Lilith's body all the way to Gortash's office and then threw the corpse at him and Gortash heartbroken didn't know what to do so he tried his best to make it better and basically her corpse sent off to the colony in hopes that maybe one of the necromancers would raise her from the dead and well his wishes came true.
During this time that Lilith goes full feral he comes to visit her under the guise of just making sure things are going smoothly all the while just taking his time to mourn the loss of his lover. Now during this time I fully believe that Lilith had a note with a ring ready to give Gortash and he actually found it on Lilith's body and has kept it ever since.
Now onto the other pairing who is way more chill then Lilith is
Siliin(she/they) x Gortash
Siliin does have self-esteem issues but this is mainly whenever they get into the main game. Otherwise they just cant be bothered to look down on herself.
She concocted the plan by herself and started to put the plan into motion before realizing they needed help and then finding Gortash. Realizing the two of them work together well fully welcomed him into the fray soon after.
Siliin is more of a freak in actual weird fucked up ways then Lilith is and Siliin really isn't as disgusted by their urges as Lilith is. Like Siliin likes to indulge sometimes while Lilith will indulge but more out of habit then actually want to. Meanwhile Siliin they enjoy the fucked up shit, yeah you wanna eat this flesh off a corpse hell yeah brother they're all for it you go!
Now Siliin is not evil by any means, yeah she's fucked up in the brain but like she's not really going to go out of her way to be a bad person cause it just isn't what she feels like doing. Like besies the urges she has no real drive to do evil things.
Now Siliin also doesn't have a drive to really do good things either and therefore that's kind of why they work as a the dark urge cause they just do whatever is easiest and submitting to the urges is easier then fighting of course once they get into the game they actually do put in a little more effort.
Most of their lack comes from the fact they are constantly depressed about their life, but Gortash comes into the fray and suddenly they actually feel like they have a reason to keep on going. Like they don't know what it is about this guy that gives them the energy to keep going but she really likes it.
Like Siliin enjoys their late night talks and meetings and wine nights together. Eventually Siliin realizes that she has fallen for the guy, they don't really mind of course they just keep it to themselves for a while.
Until one day they are talking to someone and she gets asked what she thinks of Gortash and Siliin just gets really excited actually about getting to gush over her favorite person. Gortash overhears and realizes that Siliin might like him a little to much.
They two have a talk and Siliin admits to feelings right off the bat and Gortash accepts these feelings admitting he's been feeling the same and the two agree to start a courtship of sorts or as much of one as they can have.
They are having little dates and late-night walks together and sharing chaste kisses fairly wholesome stuff and then they go back to his home and they have some baller sex. Like full of passion and kisses and just all-around pretty good.
Then fast forward Siliin starts to just not care about the plan anymore and just wants to leave it all behind and run away with Gortash, now this time Siliin does end up telling Gortash the plan and he cant agree to it. They are to far in the plan for this to happen and this sends Siliin into a deeper depression than they already were making them an easy target for Orin.
Now Gortash doesn't visit Siliin like he did Lilith cause he cant bare to face her, cause he fully blames himself for the state Siliin has gotten in.
#dark urge#gortash x durge#baulders gate 3#bg3#bg3 spoilers#bg3 the dark urge#Lilith the dark urge#Siliin the dark urge#my writing#my durges
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
New Project Announcement
And the Winner is.... How (not) to talk to The Dead
With the Badly Summarised WIP Poll having come to an end, you guys have chosen my next big project for this blog, badly summarised as ‘If the death gods don't want me breaking their rules they should've said so’
Here’s the idea you voted for:
Assistant Necromancer Helen Laird struggles with her job and her love life. She can’t raise the dead to save her life, and her profession scares off just about all dates.
When the head Necromancer Soren Nundus fires her, all seems lost. But then her neighbours, the mediums Luna and Marcus Arthan, ask her if she’d like to join them for a séance, and Helen discovers a new side of herself: She may not be able to raise the dead, but she sure can enter the Realm of Death to pay them a visit.
For a while, having joined the mediums’ business, things are looking up. But the gods of death take note of their frequent and decidedly not dead visitor and all the rules she keeps breaking.
This project is in its early planning stage. This means I have no complete outline yet, but I have an idea to work with and a few notes about some characters and the setting.
Writing a book takes time, of course. That was true for Wolventraum, and it will be true for this, especially since I don’t have a good title for it yet. When that day comes, this post and corresponding tags will be edited accordingly.
While You Wait:
Check out my novel Wolventraum, available entirely for free on this very blog. You can start with Chapter 1 here, and there is Bonus Content available as well.
Updates on this project will be posted on my side blog, @dreaminggoblin-yells, so be sure to check that out as well!
February Update: the project now has a name! How (not) to talk to The Dead. An outline is in progress. I have an ending, but the middle part is still lacking.
#dreaming goblin writes#dreaming goblin writes books#writeblr#fantasy writeblr#fantasy writing#new project#new project announcement#announcement#e124#fantasy writer#writing community#original writing#writers on tumblr#how (not) to talk to the dead
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
You're Awful, I Love You: Part 24
Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge
Sentry didn't look up from the selection of fine axes he was perusing as Fel appeared by his side. He merely continued to check their sharpness, running a finger along the blade's edge curiously. He knew his butler was there, of course. As with anything to do with father, he could sense him before he even spoke.
“Hullo, Fel. Here to chastise me about who I choose to fuck again?” He asked, eyes never leaving the gleaming gold filligree of this new halberd's handle. He didn't want to replace his dear old friend, but he had to admit this was exquisite.
“Not presently, my lurid lord, your father has...” Fel paused a moment, as though searching for the best way to explain. “Your father has seen fit to suggest you ally with Bane's chosen, and, in fact, another...”
“Oh? So it seems I was correct to join forces with him. Fancy that. I, father's chosen, doing something of value to our family without the input of underlings.” Sentry feigned shock and surprise, sarcasm oozing from his tone. “So who is this other chosen? Because personally, I think Enver and I do just fine on our own.”
“There is a necromancer, young master. An immortal warrior with a....rather distasteful...army. A true mockery of your father's vision, of your gifts. But, it seems his cooperation will be necessary for the plan at large.” Fel replied.
Sentry wrinkled his nose. “Well, look on the bright side, Fel. When the dead get up, it's just a chance at a second draft. Kill, kill, and kill again.” He smirked.
“Oh, yes, and before I forget, I've come bearing a message from your....bedwarmer.” He handed the parchment to Sentry.
Sentry felt a smile cross his face as he smelled the scent of an expensive perfume mixed with cheap liquor and engine oil emanating from the parchment. He discreetly raised it to his nose for just a moment, inhaling the intoxicating scent and letting a little shudder of desire run through his body.
Opening the parchment, he read through, his mind easily translating the code they had recently designed. He knew he should probably think on his response a bit more carefully but the plan that was laid out invigorated him. He was tempted to forego responding and simply rush to his companion's home. But instead, he took a graphite from his satchel and leaned against the wall, writing his response with a manic swiftness and then, for good measure, he grinned as he added his father's own skull emblem atop the hand of Bane, a cheeky little joke as well as his own signature.
“Alright, return this to him.” He re-rolled the parchment and handed it to Fel. “I have a few more errands to run before I can stop in and speak to him in person about this.
Gortash couldn't help but smile, ignoring the withering looks he was receiving from the butler, who looked like he would prefer to be doing anything else but delivering a correspondence to him. He noted with a sense of odd fondness the changes Sentry had made to the hand of Bane. It was rather charming, perhaps something to keep in the back of his mind for later use. “The black hand of bane shakes the bloody hand of Bhaal.”
“Unwillingly, sir, I assure you. Only for the sake of things far greater than you and your...crude master.” Fel sniffed haughtily.
“Forgive me, Mr. Fel, but I was under the impression that The Executioner spoke for Bhaal, not you. And everything he's given me so far has been quite willing...Enthusiastically so.” Gortash replied with a smug smirk on his face as he responded to Sentry's latest reply, using the same red ink as before.
“Enthusiasm for a shiny new plaything, that is all. My murderous master is young and young men get these passing fancies. A paltry creature clinging to these trappings of hollow nobility as you do should know the high born amuse themselves with catamites and the like all the time.” Fel sneered, glaring impatiently up at Gortash. “Now if you're quite finished...”
“So...if I'm to understand correctly, from what Sentry explained, if you are killed, you reappear back at the temple?” Gortash's expression darkened.
“Or at his side, where I belong.” Fel replied. “But I hardly see why one such as---hrrkkk!”
Gortash's dark eyes stared icily down at the fiend as he stabbed the parchment into his chest with a letter opener that perhaps wasn't quite sharp enough to accomplish the task without considerable force. He shoved and twisted brutally, teeth clenched as the creature looked indignantly up at him as though he had simply thrown something unpleasant on him.
“How....dare....you....unworthy....” Fel managed before he collapsed, seeming to melt into an oozing pool of foul red slime something like coagulating blood before draining into the floor boards.
“The hired help should learn proper respect for their betters.” Gortash turned away from the dissipating mess and sank into a chair, head resting on his hand lost in thought. Fel was for the most part a mere annoyance, but the wording he had used had sparked a rage in Enver that he hadn't had to force down in quite some time. His mind returning to Raphael, to his upbringing in The House of Hope.
He instinctively gripped his upper arm as though the bruises were still there. He was acutely aware, gazing up at the portrait Sentry had painted of the scars, of the memory of a broken nose. All 'souvenirs' from a life spent under the yoke of that Cambion and his servants. Ever beating, every moment spent terrified of worse things, time spent in the boudoir. He would almost prefer the beatings Nubaldin doled out over punishment from Raphael personally, or worse, when Haarlep was tasked with providing punishment instead. A cold shudder ran down his spine as his mind turned in disgust to the fact that he could feel that punishment to this day, even once or twice when he was alone with Sentry, that yank of the chain, the convulsive shudder of pleasure through him against his will.
The only small solace he had in those thoughts was Sentry understood. His dread executioner, his beautiful, broken Sentry. Everything about the tiefling read as someone who had not lived an easy life. He pictured the entrance of the sculpture garden, the mutilated tiefling couple. Their wounds told at least a bit of the story even if Sentry didn't speak it. The mutilation he'd visited on them was art in its purest form, symbolism that told a story.
As Gortash thought of Sentry, his mind calmed, at least a little. With The Executioner by his side, he was closing in on a plan that would guarantee power and security for him, all he had dreamed of since he was a child, alone and uncared for in his parents' dismal little dwelling or hiding wherever he could in Raphael's depraved home. Respect, authority...love...although, difficult as it was to fathom, perhaps he had that already. Sentry was at least half mad, that was certain, but his devotion was unquestionable. Devotion, however, was not quite the same as love and Enver was wary of believing it was. All of this swirled around his mind like a fine wine at some dull upper city tasting as he drifted off to sleep, the fist of his god closing around his mind, intent to deliver his orders.
#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate 3#tiefling#oc#durge#dark urge#writing#fanfic#enver gortash#lord enver gortash#gortash x durge#durgetash
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
I've updated my rules and about. For ease, too, I added both under a read more in my pinned post for accessibility purposes. So, as a run down of what's changed/been updated:
I am selective, and I will be a lot more firm with how I curate my space. As a canon character, it gets a bit unwieldy, and I want to make sure I write with all my followers. If I follow you, I do want to interact. So, who I follow will be more geared toward equal interest/effort so everyone can get timely replies from me. That said, I do comb through my list often to keep things manageable.
I am ship exclusive. I do not mind if anyone follows any other Gale(s), but as a canon character, I do not want to feel collected or approached for Gale as opposed to MY interpretation of Gale. There are a thousand ways to interact with him, and they do not have to be romantic. I am open to platonic. I am open to EXPLICITLY one-sided infatuation. I am open to distaste and displeasure. I put a lot of effort and thought into Gale just as any writer with their canon character, and I do not want to feel lumped in as an opportunity to ship.
I updated Gale's about. I noted that he is a professor after the events of Baldur's Gate III and also mentioned he has a strength in necromancy (because necromancer Gale has my heart).
I updated my mains/exclusives list (still being worked on...but I am collecting the right songs and ideas to write out in their tags). :) I seldom approach about exclusives unless I really feel the banter and interest is very emphatically mutual. Call it taking extreme care. Feel free to approach me at any time if we've been writing often, talking often, and you want to be mains/affiliates. I hold these very importantly and hold them dearly to Gale. I love exploring dynamics and getting into REALLY deep nitty grittys about your character alone AND how they bounce off Gale. So, expect that!
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
for the dash game: please tell us more about chiaroscuro!
I wouldn't even know where to start xD It's been left pending on AO3 for too many months, I just have to write the last two chapters, but I can't finish it because it hurts too much to finish it. I dunno if this has any sense tbh. I even deleted it from AO3 for a while before deciding to upload all eighteen chapters in a single day xDD
This is the plot: What if the past suddenly becomes an unpleasant presence? What if the ghosts would come back to life, rampant again and manifesting themselves in a completely unenjoyable way?
And so, unintentionally, the sorcerer Rogier runs into someone, who is nothing more than an echo of a distant past... A past made up of broken promises and conspicuous blood that sullied hands and faces, in a skillful chiaroscuro technique.
It should be noted that Rogier knows the necromancer, Fransje Maanwouden, from before he met D Hunter of Dead, as well as having had a love story with her. Basically, the story begins with Rogier standing before Godwyn at Stormveil Castle, where he is contaminated by the Death Blight. The necromancer, who was following him, also because she was attracted to Godwyn, saves him, taking him to the Roundtable Hold and performing a particular ritual (I don't want to give spoilers, but the reason why she manages to save him is explained). The two argue and he, pushed by Fia, decides to help Fransje with Godwyn, above all to keep his word, since he, some time ago, had promised to help her understand what the demigod wanted from her, to the point of infesting her dreams. However, Fia weaves her intrigues, trying to involve Fransje, but the necromancer does not trust her and doesn't like what she wants to do, also because, moving forward in the story and thanks to her investigations, the necromancer understands what the demigod really desires, who does not coincides with Fia's plans. To fight her, she teams up with D, who decides to help her if in exchange she saves his brother Devin.
However, in the story there is Miquella, Godwyn, Ranni, there is also another tarnished who is another oc of mine… There is a reference to Varré and Mohg. In short, there is a lot of intrigue and even a murder. If you want to know something specific, just ask, I'll gladly respond!
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Devlog 12 - 09/02/2024
LINK FOR DEMO | PLAYLIST
Hey, people! Hope 2024 is being good to you!
Writing has been going and in general flowing all right, when I manage to sit and write. Life has been throwing curved balls of responsibilities and sometimes the mental energy is in the negatives and I just look at the file like "what are words?" lol (It doesn't help that I'm trying to translate some short stories I published in Amazon from Brazilian Portuguese to English when I need a break from WoMG and I want to bang my head on the wall sometimes because some idioms and slangs are just a mess to translate lol)
The Chapter 1 - Undead at the moment has 8k words in between prose and code - last Devlog I gave a word count, in November, it was at 3,6k. It's an evolution, alright lol The passage-by-passage plan is helping a lot, it's just the occasional "it's not flowing" then I look at a previous line and THAT BITCH was to blame somehow, because once I change it, things flow xD
Besides, the Undead is finally meeting Cosmos for the first time. In a way, the scene already happened in the Necromancer side of stories, but the POV is another and Cosmos is their own person and... Whelp. I'll write now how whatever personality you have atm will clash with their temper, and I can't wait to actually put it all in words and discover how exactly the prose will flow for it.
On a side note, I'm still trying to name the Chapter 1 and feeling like a clown for the lack of ideas lol
That's it for now, guys! Thank you for your patience and support! Love you all and stay safe!
LINK FOR DEMO | PLAYLIST
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
What if, and this is a big if but, what if there was a way to bring back Breakdown…like say Primus or your dragonformers world's version of a creator, brings him back…or allows Oppy to do it through the matrix or something like that? If so, would you do it? if not ignore my ask! And keep up the good work!
(Quick Warning, I don't know anything about Puss In Boots movies, I just heard that there was a star in the latest one, but that is all I know. This little writing has nothing to do with the movies.)
Knock Out hated it when you went to visit this human village outside the Forbidden Woods where he and many dragons lived, plus you, but you were a young adult and eager to learn things.
Especially when it comes to reviving the dead.
You had heard about necromancers who could bring people back from death for a certain price, but the effects wouldn't be permanent and the dead had to be recent. You didn't want that, you wanted something lasting.
There were rumors and stories shared between adventurers, merchants, alchemists, and both humans and dragons about a special item. A star from outer space.
They say that when the time is set right, stars start flying around the planet and one may come shooting down to Earth. If you manage to find the fallen star, it will grant you one wish before disappearing.
It could be anything, endless riches, eternal life, power to bring an army of dragons to their knees...
Or even bring someone you loved back to life.
You wanted to believe that the stories and tales were true and that's why you kept looking at the night sky each night until your body wouldn't take it anymore and it would shut down and force you to sleep.
Your hope started to die out... Until one night you wake up suddenly and see stars flying all around the sky and you are in awe... And see one fall down the horizon.
You don't tell your sire Knock Out about your plans. This is your mission and you don't want to worry him so you leave him a note, saying that you are on your own journey to find the greatest treasure there is.
You pack something to eat and some change of clothes before you chant a magic spell that makes wings sprout from your back.
Flying on a dark night was a bad idea, but walking in a dark forest with wolves and such was much worse.
You make sure you have your map and the things needed to navigate and you set on the journey to find that star before anyone else can.
You would bring your sire Breakdown back, no matter what.
#originaltyphoonkryptonite#dragonformers#reader#breakdown#knock out#idw#transformers idw#prime#tfp#transformers
14 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
my-goodness-kitchen-vegan-blog
my goodness kitchen
jazessimpcave
jazeotomecave
fojadomij
Untitled
ugasaya
Небо хмурое, тучи мрачные