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#and I had a mighty need for it on him

ride-a-dromedary · 4 months

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If the implication in the old journal entry is accurate, and Halsin ended up having to be the one to destroy the shade of his former First Druid that he trained/was taught under, do you think he had time to mourn him? Do you think he fell to his knees in the rubble, feeling the shadows press heavy around him, catatonic, as the weight of realization finally started to hit him? Were any of them reflected back at him when he peered into the dull, sparking energy left behind? Did he let himself cry? Scream? Did he carefully stone his expression and nod tightly in approval, like neatly tying a package, since what he eliminated wasn't him - what was left was so twisted beyond recognition, such a dark reflection of the man he had come to see as second family, that it was better destroyed?

Or did he have to run? Did he shove his grief deep down in the place where it always goes to make room for his survival instinct to bring him into the sun again? Did he have to unceremoniously abandon what was left of him because there was still a chance there may be others - a hope made in vain that the ones they had to leave behind were still out there - praying as he went that he had found peace, that Silvanus recognized his face, before the curse took what was left?

#BG3 Musing #Halsin #Halsin Posting #you think halsin watched astarion fall to his knees and sob #and karlach scream at her hurt #or laezel's jaw set as her world and everything she knew came crumbling down around her #and just...felt his fingers twitch in empathy?#do you think when the emerald enclave responded to his request for aid by putting him in charge he realized that eventually #everything abandons him when he needs it most?#i sure do #idk man the idea that halsin possibly had to put down a man he obviously admired #and had to come to the realization the even those who seem infallible and mighty can fall in a heart beat #that for some reason you survived when those who *should have* did not #that your name got hailed among harpers as one of a hero when all you want to do #is curl up on yourself and tell yourself that you are nothing but what is left #that...gets to me a bit #angst on crimis

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syncopatedid · 4 months

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Since the anime's airing, I've also been catching up on the manga of The Apothecary Diaries and I am absolutely smitten with these two. Smitten, I tell you! A low-key simp + high-key romantically-blasé protagonist is the kind of dynamic that will mean we get the whole nine yards of slow-burn development from "antagonists" -> friends -> confidants -> something more? Maomao certainly isn't oblivious to Jinshi's beauty nor his attempts at cringe teasing/flirting with her, even though she has a natural immunity against his shenanigans and remains ever cautious about the whims of people within the palace.

Maomao is also an inspiration as a strong female character who manages to navigate a world that is not kind to people of her class and gender. While it does feel like the story skims through a lot of unspeakable things Maomao had witnessed growing up, to me, it does serve to perfectly emphasize Maomao's "detached" character and her perspective of the world. She is a reluctant protagonist in this story, just trying to survive the best she can given her circumstances. And while she's certainly more educated and street smart compared to other girls in her situation, she's also realistic about her place in the world and knows her own powerlessness, merely finding her own way to co-exist with it and minding her own business (the girl just wants to be left alone with her rare poisons man). Being thrust into palace politics and catching the whims of one Jinshi, however, means inevitably putting herself in dangerous situations. Yet she's also really lucky and very loved and protected by those around her, including those who are in power to effect change, and that is the ultimate power that our Best Girl Maomao wields like a Mary Sue, but a well-written one. Still, her barriers are way up high when it comes to her feelings, and it will take a lot for her walls to come down. It's been 65 chapters into the manga, but the relationship goal post between her and Jinshi feels as if it's moved one step forward and two steps back (*throttles Jinshi with a stale baugette*), but you genuinely do want to root for these two to be more than servant and lord, romantic or otherwise, because their circumstances are a lot more similiar than they are different, as are their complicated feelings about each other. There's also something to be said about this gremlin of a girl who is so desensitized to the world of lust and romance but you know she absolutely owns a PhD in kink studies thanks to her sisters' upbringing. If Jinshi ever learns the extent of her knowledge I think Jinshi.exe will shut down for good and I just want to follow this series and be there for that eventual punchline.

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #thinking out loud #Best new watch this season #so shojo it hurts #Anyway kudos for securing Takeo for the simp role of Jinshi after the og had to go it couldn't have happened to a better Seiyuu #I watched it because his name was on it but now I'm totally sold on the entire plot so him being in it is just a nice bonus lol #Please do not drop the anime after one season I am begging I have a mighty need for later chapters to be animated you don't understand

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wyvernquill · 1 year

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More Dreamling Anastasia AU

Because I must obviously be stricken down for my hubris if I say I refuse to write something. (Masterpost can be found here!)

This one’s an earlier bit, while they’re still trying to teach “Murphy” how to act like Dream, and first encounter The Corinthian - so please be aware that there will be Corinthian-typical mentions of stabbing and blood in this excerpt!

(Tagging @10moonymhrivertam again, and also open invitation for anyone who wants to be notified of new updates to tell me so, and I’ll tag you when/if I write other scenes!)

---

“Do the list again.”

“Hob…” Murphy sighs, visibly annoyed, hands stuffed in his coat pockets and face ducked into his scarf. There are snowflakes caught in the dark tangle of his hair, and Hob wonders briefly if he would accept Hob’s hat, or look at it with the same disgusted grimace he pulled when he was offered one of Gil’s spare cardigans.

“Come on. Again.” Hob encourages. “You’ll need to know it by heart, it has to be ingrained so deeply into you that I should be able to wake you up at three in the night and have you recite it perfectly.”

“Do not dare to wake me up at three in the night!” Murphy snarls, and they will really have to work on that temper - Gilbert is very insistent that Dream of the Endless’s fury was fierce, yes, but quiet, controlled, and merciless in its silence. These outbursts don’t befit a Dream King, and they’ll have to go.

“I was speaking metaphorically!” Hob laughs and holds up his hands defensively. “I know better than to disturb your sleep, rest assured. Matthew would peck my eyes out, for a start.”

(Judging from the look on Murphy’s face, the man would approve of that course of events, and possibly praise his raven afterwards.)

“But the list. Go on, Lord Morpheus, the list.”

Murphy sighs again, turning his face up to the snow-grey night sky. Hob is suddenly quite glad Gilbert shooed them out for a walk, to clear Murphy’s head after another long day of lessons - more lessons tomorrow, and then they’ll be travelling again over the weekend, always busy or on the move. It’s quite lovely, to have this moment of tranquillity, in the dark and the snow, and to see Murphy… well. Less frustrated and harried than he usually is, solemn and thoughtful and with chapped lips from the frost.

“Destiny, the oldest, in the maze, with the book.” He recites, only slightly sullen. “Death, the second, everywhere and everywhen, but always where she’s needed, with the ankh. Dream, the third-”

“Include the names.”

“Ugh. Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, the Shaper of Form, Kai’ckul-”

“Kai-what?” Hob frowns. He hasn’t heard that one before.

“-Oneiros or the Oneiromancer, and the Lord of Stories.” Murphy continues, undeterred, slogging through the list just to have it be over quicker. “There, the names. Now: Dream, in the Dreaming, with the ruby - and sometimes the helmet and the sand. Always with a raven. Next, Destruction-”

“No, please,” drawls a voice behind them. “Tell us more about Dream.”

They both freeze.

Hob turns slowly, stepping to the side just slightly, just enough so he will be in range to shove Murphy behind himself, should it become necessary.

“I do so love bedtime stories,” the stranger who has approached them is grinning broadly, in a tan suit and coat much too thin for this weather, and dark glasses - sunglasses? At night!? - covering his eyes. “Though I always like ‘em best when they have gory endings. When the stepsisters cut their feet to fit into the glass slipper in the Grimm brothers’ version of Cinderella? Boy, I could listen to that all night.”

The man is holding a long knife in his hand, the sort not made for cutting anything but the flesh of your fellow man, toying with it - and Hob feels a prickle of fear slide down his spine.

“Who are you, to disturb us?” Murphy snaps haughtily, and Hob would be pleased at the excellent noble-arrogant cadence, if he weren’t suddenly fucking terrified of Murphy getting a knife in between the ribs for his cheek.

“Me?” The man laughs, throwing the knife up in the air, glittering, twirling, before catching it again. “You don’t remember little old me?”

The man’s teeth are too white, Hob notes, too bright, and too *many* when he smiles like this.

“I’m your worst nightmare, my Lord,” he says, still smiling - and then lunges forward, knife first.

Hob moves instantly, instinctively, without even a moment’s hesitation.

With his elbow, he shoves Murphy back, out of the way, and then bats the man’s knife arm off-course, coming in swinging with the other fist. It connects with an audible crack, but their assailant only laughs, giddy and breathless, and spits out half a mouthful of blood - is there some dripping from his eyes under the glasses, too - before evading Hob’s grip on his arm and dancing out of the way.

“Murphy, run!” Hob shouts over his shoulder, heart beating in his throat, blood up and boiling. He hasn’t gotten into alleyway fights in a year or two, but it’s familiar, the tang of blood, the rush of adrenaline. He’s always liked the brawls where there wasn’t a sharp object involved better, just two men and their fists - but if this madman wants a fight, he’ll damn well get one. Hob’s put better people than him in hospital.

Hob charges forward, goes for a grab at the knife arm again, and manages a short grapple, a kick at a shin, the tip of the knife wavering as they twist against each other, and slicing a red-hot line of pain along the side of Hob’s jaw - the man’s still grinning, holy shit, that’s unsettling - before the other twists himself free again with almost unnatural strength, and Hob has to jump back before that knife goes somewhere vital.

“Well, aren’t’cha quite the fighter, Hobsie?” The assailant says, with his dozens of bone-white teeth bared. “I’m glad. Makes it more fun to carve into you when you struggle a li’l bit.”

“Would love to see you try,” Hob spits back, wiping his cheek, his blood dripping red onto the snow.

They throw themselves at each other again, and the man is impossibly strong, delivering an almost casual punch against Hob’s sternum that knocks the breath out of him, forcing him back a couple stumbling steps.

And Hob knows he should run, too. The best way to win a streetfight is to not be in one, and he’s not keen on getting stabbed. Would be a waste, to die now, when he’s so close to earning himself immortality…

…but he needs to buy Murphy time.

The thought alone, of seeing Murphy dead in the snow, blood pooling around him in and coat spread out like broken wings - he can’t bear it. He’s got the man into this fucking mess, and he cannot let Murphy die because of his con. This is supposed to be a win-win situation for them all, not a threat to anyone’s life!

And if somebody’s life is threatened, it better be Hob’s own. Only fair - he gets the biggest reward in the end, he should shoulder the brunt of the risk as well.

Hob coughs one last time, eyeing the blood-red tip of the assailant’s knife. He won’t die here, he refuses to, and he’ll fight until the bitter end if-

“Wait,” Murphy says, and Hob’s heart stutters in his chest.

The idiot! The absolute fool! Hob told him to run, why the fuck is he still here!?

Hob gets barely more than a second of panic in before Murphy steps up beside him, glowering darkly at the man with the knife…

And then, in a movement quick as a flash, he throws a handful of salt-grit-sand mix - the sort the city keeps in large containers alongside the streets in wintertime, to make the snow and ice safer to traverse - straight into the man’s face.

The man screeches, voice strangely dissonant, as if it comes from three mouths at once, and jerks back sputtering, dropping his knife and covering his face with his hands.

Hob kicks the knife away, out of reach, on instinct - and then he feels a bony hand curl around his own, dragging him away, and he lets it, running hand in hand with Murphy for dear life.

(There are angry shouts behind them, threats, but Hob never looks back, only squeezing the cold palm against his harder.)

They run, and run, and run, until they finally reach the relative safety and familiarity of the street outside their inn, both gasping for breath as they lean against its walls.

“You… need not… have come…” Murphy wheezes, his thin chest heaving under his thick coat, even as his eyes are burning with indignation, “to my… defence!”

“Clearly!” Hob rasps, sliding to the ground, uncaring for the snowmelt soaking through his trousers. “Still… I didn’t want to be standing in front of the Endless alone, in a few weeks’ time.”

He grins up at Murphy - the wound along his cheek burning as he does it - and the sharp retort about being perfectly capable of handling himself in a fight visibly dies on Murphy’s lips.

He crouches down besides Hob, coat puffing up around him, and brings one hand up to cup Hob’s jaw, to turn it and inspect the line of red their attacker’s knife left there. Thumbs the cut, smearing warm blood along Hob’s cheekbone.

“You were hurt,” he murmurs, dark voice almost wavering with distress.

“Shallow cut.” Hob catches Murphy’s wrist before he can fuss any more with the wound, rubs a thumb soothingly over the thin bones there. “I’ll live.”

“Foolish man,” Murphy grumbles - but he’s very nearly smiling as he says it.

Their eyes meet.

They’re both still breathing hard, and for all his haggard, skeletal build and sunken face lined with long years of hardship, Murphy looks almost lovely like this, lips slightly parted and pale face flushed with exertion, looking up at Hob through his lashes as if…

As if…

Hob leans forward, and Murphy does too, something burning bright and smouldering hot between them, lips getting close enough to brush-

“ROBERT! MURPHY!” Gilbert slams open the door beside them, and they both jerk apart as if burned.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here!” Gilbert flusters, wringing his hands on the grip of his cane. “I had the most terrible premonition that my two dear friends were in danger, most ghastly, so I rushed- Robert, are you bleeding!?”

“I’m fine, Gil,” Hob tries to wave him off - to little avail.

Hob is ushered up into their room, sat down, and then berated by Gilbert for his recklessness while Murphy is carefully, studiously, dabbing at Hob’s wound with one of Gilbert’s handkerchiefs and pointedly not making any eye contact.

(Though Matthew is more than making up for that, staring Hob down as if he knows exactly what almost transpired outside the inn’s door, and is rather firmly against the idea of letting it happen again…

Which it surely won’t. It was a mad impulse in the spur of the moment - they both know better, now.

Yes.

They both know better.)

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #and feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate or something #or what i had in mind for other scenes #i'm always happy to chat!#i just couldn't resist an almost-kiss here #and gratuitous references to the 1789 scene #hob and dream fighting to protect each other my beloved #also the corinthian is LUCKY gilbert got the memo a little late #because yes he DOES have a sword in his cane #and he happily would have used it #maybe he will in a later confrontation #because i suddenly have a mighty need for gilbert vs. corinthian sword-knife fencing #matthew kind of likes hob by the way #but after years of protecting murphy on the streets he's just overall wary of others #even if they seem like good guys who let him sip from their beers

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ratgingi · 6 months

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oakeys heads ringtone is that one version of caramelldansen where every other beat is missing and it sounds vaguely like a country song

#im drawing him rn bc i had a mighty need while listening to country music #dialogue #jack dlc

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spring-lxcked · 10 months

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here and actually writing (stuff kept getting in the way recently lmao) but i'm thinking about how springtrap tolerates different names/nicknames like

william/will: preferred. the only way he'll refer to himself unless he feels the need to lie abt his identity (at which point he probably just won't refer to himself. pretend to be an voiceless/broken animatronic and all that) springtrap: can tolerate it, but kinda thinks you're making fun of his situation (you probably are tho, so who cares) spring: also tolerated but he doesn't like being referred to by the name of an animatronic he created 24/7 (shouldn't have made it a fursuit in that case) bonnie: not tolerated. will get vaguely pissy abt it. he just doesn't like it. springy/springy-boy/etc: he would show so much displeasure if his face wasn't half-rotten and behind a mask. anything along the lines of "bunny": trying to kill you. any kind of vulgar wordplay on "springtrap": also trying to kill you cottontails: tries and fails to kill rachel (@poaeise) and then just sulks abt it. he didn't like it in life, he doesn't like it now (it's what he deserves)

#˖ ✧ headcanon » ( the demon to his demons )#<- i guess???????#okay but i have a mighty need for him pretending to be an old animatronic around employees/phone dude/whatever during the day #too busy saving up energy to kill his remaining son i guess. he tolerates being poked and prodded and referred to as like #'that creepy ass rabbit robot'#can't afford to get scrapped because because your gross corpse is only held together by the suit and endoskeleton #anyway you know i had to include cottontails it's SO funny kfhdsjfhjdsaf #i actually found a model of spring bonnie that had a tail & lost it because of his whole 'THE SUIT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A TAIL'

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eternal-aurath · 11 months

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I've been playing BotW again and been consumed by it, so I finally sat down to try nailing down a design for my insert (Or - One of them anyhow). I knew the general idea of what I wanted a long time ago, but couldn't get the details right. Well, finally got it.

His name is Shari and honestly idk what to call his species. They're probably cousins to the Lynels, honestly, being goat people. They live on cold mountains and have natural cold resistance. They don't have horns, but their warriors wear masks shaped like goat skulls that do have horns. Each mask is unique to it's warrior and is painted with runes and designs to detail that warrior's victories and accolades.

Originally, as seen by the sketches to the right, I was going to directly give him horns, but it just didn't fit. So, cultural mask! I'll probably dedicate a whole page to drawing that.

I will have to dig through my discord messages to @/sharkyaoi to remember precisely how Shari meets Link, but I think it boiled down to "Link is reckless and dumb, Shari saves him, and decides to go with him because dear god this kid needs an Adult". He pretty much adopts Link. That's his little brother now, no touch. He's just big enough to pick Link up like a naughty kitten, and that's by design on my part.

More to come, most likely.

#;; eternal arting #botw oc #The first iteration of Shari I did was for OoT #He had a fairy-like vibe to him kinda like Ly from Rayman #Then I altered the design for Wind Waker #And then for BotW I decided he needed to be a big goatman #Still has the long pink hair and giant fluffy tail from the original OoT version lol #I drew him with a sword here but tbh I think I'll give him a warhammer or some other blunt weapon instead #Also he's the manliest insert I have and also the tallest #I had a mighty need for him to be able to just pick Link up and cart him off

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freetobeafcknriot · 2 years

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adam or michael, michael v gabriel

adam or michael? crap, that's tough! personality-wise i feel more sympathy for adam as a fellow human being and i adore him, he deserves the entire fucking globe. as characters go though, i'm gonna go with michael, because look, the writers didn't know how to handle him at the end, but i look at him go from how he was in 5x13 all the way through season five until 5x22 and finally 15x08 (plus the church scene. i'll acknowledge the church scene) and my mind go bzzzzbzzzz fran.exe has stopped working because he carried a lot of tropes and subplot and parallels within his character, he was fascinating, fierce and magnetic, and he had the most meaningful, huge, touching character development of everyone and the most beautiful relationship with a human! of all beings! all of this while remaining, at heart, a damned eldritch ass prince. <3

michael vs gabriel? i think it's canon or at least safe to say that michael is the strongest archangel and one of the most powerful beings in existence after god, the darkness, and the empty (also death?? so like fourth or fifth in order). so i'd say michael!

give me two characters in my inbox: “vs.” for who I think would win a fight, “or” for who I like better, “+” for how I ship them (platonic, familial, romantic, not at all). and I’ll give you my reasons for why!

#asks #kinda pop off with the first one but it's trueeeeee the first archangel ever created who ruled over heaven in his father's stead #and maintained order and lead the heavenly host into battles more times than the sun has set on the earth and who protected humanity #and who had such a burning amount of love for the brother who he locked away and loathed and who went from being indifferent and disdainful #of humans to growing to slowly care and even love and protect and cherish the most overlooked of them all to the point where this human was #second to god only because of how much time they'd spent together!#who first said free will is an illusion and manipulated and was the unbringer of the apocalypse and was cold and calculating and clever #and who then later on CHOSE to stray from the original plan and pick another vessel and thousands of years later had everything he knew and #believed him thrown at him and proved wrong and CHOSE out of his own free will to make the right choice because it was the right thing to #do! even though he was hurting he set himself free and made a choice! the same viceroy who gave up on returning to his rightful throne #and his title because he wanted to stay with a little insignificant human boy and do trivial things with him and experience and let himself #be guided because he wanted to and he CHOSE that boy who he had grown to love and wanted to protect and make happy #but still fuck everyone else he was still powerful and mighty and fiercely powerful albeit quiet #because he didn't need to boast anyway his. his charisma and his presence!!#i'm sorry. i can't. i love him. and i didn't even addressed all that there is to address lol so. yeah :)

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