#godtouched
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blorbo blursday! 🐕 - you got a blorbo that's loyal to a fault? that will stand up for their friend/cause no matter what anyone else thinks? share!
Absolutely! (Well, she's an OC for a book I'm writing so idk if that counts as blorbo material.)
Her name is Azrea Shore, she's a foul-mouthed spaceship mechanic with an undercut and a love of old movies. She has, at one point, refused to save the entire universe unless she could save her sister first. Her insane level of personal loyalty is mostly just to her sister at the beginning of her story, but grows to include her sister's girlfriend and the other friends/found family they make along the way.
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Rare actual fandompost from behind the blog but I've been listening to Cassiel's Servant and I'm going to chew glass and maybe finally make good on my threat to write a smutty ficlet about Jocelyn and Phedre sitting Elua's Vigil together and then fucking hard and loving about it
#cassiel's servant#aaahhhhhhhhhhh fuck i luv them so much#my sweet boy. my pure of heart warrior feeling unbounded annoyance and also love at first godtouched sight#i have the audio book and i might just listen to his first sight of her over and over and over and over#look im a recovering ex-Protestant the 'steadfast honorbinding to not feel the urge to love or fuck so help you god' is a weak point for me#anyways i strongly feel the Phedre sits vigil with him one year and the day after they rejoice in each other and their love#and he maybe processes some jealousy by leaving a few marks. what look even he might not be a sadist but he's gotta enjoy it sometimes
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not word of god confirming near is literally godtouched.......... his messiah slay............ nate derived from nathan which means gift from god in hebrew........... mello keeping up by sheer force of will.......... human and fallible and desperate to live up to that light......... like a, diciple or perhaps an enforcer. of some sort. a machiavel even,
#I THINK I HAUVE COVID#don't ask me where this is from source: youtube video screenshot#death note#nate river#messiah & machiavel theory#meronia
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Apostle of Flames
I want to discuss something super interesting. I might be a dumb dumb and delusional to see it, but here we are. But I have a trope that I love that's utterly delicious, which is why I am fascinated by the dynamic between Joshua and Jote. I can only write and describe it, but cults and things!!! Being raised by people who worship you!! Being raised alongside a disciple who has been with you since age 6??? Insanity!! I'm putting this under read more because it got long. Let me know what you think.
Joshua is the embodiment of what the Undying have been worshipping for eons. He has been dying for ages, and he still hasn't perished. They saw that in raising him from a coma instead of serving from the shadows. Imagine what that does to a cult? To see it up close.
He's godtouched. Eyes seeking beyond where land and sea meet the sky, so embraced for a yearning for holy salvation--to seek the answers for what has happened. His reality is different, more holy, more glorious despite being a dying man. He is untouchable until he isn't.
The Undying love him. On the subject of Jote--and on mine, whether it is one-sided or not, I like exploring this in the trope I can't remember the name for now. Essentially, Jote is an attendant and a disciple, yeah? But it is plain she loves him; it is something she was taught at the Undying's feet, but it grew into a beast in her heart. That love has teeth, savaging her. It is all she knows. He is more her than she is herself. He is him, nothing of her staining him. Identities blur upon her own temple.
Devotion, no matter how engulfing it is, it doesn't matter. Because Joshua is marching to his death. Even if he did love her back the same, even if he did love her with the same ardour and pain beyond affection of comradeship and friendship, I don't think it could ever compare to how much she adores and loves him.
It will never compare.
To the core, I'm trying to articulate: Jote will never be loved to the same depth that she loves him. And that alone is vicious and hideous. She will never compare to the promise of recovering the world from the brink of destruction. Joshua is divine transcendence, and he cannot be touched.
Jote is the divine sword, divine violence, in the eye of the capricious Undying. In their name--no, in the Phoenix, she is a revolution. Her revolution is in the liberation of her own heart. Yes, she was taught to love him, and her heart was devoured by cruelty in the abyss of nothingness. Why else would a child, Kihel, be a potential victim of her shielding of the Phoenix? In regards to my personal headcanons, it will be an exercise in valour to learn what is beyond holy murder and the lesson in how when you die, there is no coming back. Love is a revolt, and he will always damn her beyond his death. In the depths of her adoration, she will be haunted by his ghost.
I do think Jote is a weird canvas of lessons taught in sacrifice. Forsaking humanity, your own body, for who is dying. Flames are kind, flames are warm--and she is hollowed out by them. It is scripture upon her soul; she has long been desecrated by something beyond devotion. It is an exercise in having no heart to adore a messiah.
#;ooc#;meta#;headcanon#its so SAD#;it is an exercise in having no heart to adore a messiah#oh look i have a tag#this probably doesn't make sense but my bad#this is me procrastinating from my studies don't mind me#i am so so passionate#i might have a narrative kink actually#urg it itches my soul#blame my upbringing on high literary journals and mythology
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FemSeer!LC!Luche verse prompt: Titus’s thoughts about Luche from first meeting her to her being in charge in broken ice :)
His new recruits are weird. They don't come in together - neither Furia nor Lazarus seem to know each other but they are both odd in a way that Titus has only seen in Nyx and the royal family themselves.
Godtouched and feral these two new recruits seem to be and while Titus might know why Tredd is the way he is for the life of him Titus can't figure out why Lazarus is the way she is.
Her eyes are distant but knowing, as if she knows what you are going to say before you say it and she's only being polite in letting you say what you are going to say. Lazarus moves with a purpose, like she knows exactly where her body is and where it will be when she finishes attacking. Despite her records saying that she has no background as a soldier she already moves like one.
What the fuck? Is Titus first thought as she offers an excellent opinion regarding troop movements and enemy positions when Lazarus has only been on active duty for a month.
Luche Lazarus acts like a veteran, like she has seen more carnage than she should. She acts like she knows the outcome of every battle before it's been fought and like her job is to make sure as many people get out alive as possible.
She acts like she's supposed to be in charge when she's not.
It's infuriating.
So Titus tests her, he tests her loyalty leaks information to her that is false and yet it never leaves her lips. The network of spies Titus and Cor have set up over Eos do not hear of what Titus has said to Luche.
Luche is trustworthy.
So Titus finds himself turning to her for her tactics. For advice on the placement of battalions and there is no such thing as a perfect battle when one wages war but they come pretty damn close with Luche's help.
Luche is odd but she is trustworthy and willing to give her life for her comrades.
It makes sense to make her his second.
-
Luche is late.
She is never late. She is punctual to a fault.
Titus eyes the report she had written him. Her handwriting messier than usual and hurried.
The whispers of his Glaives ring in his ears.
Seer, they had said, Madwoman.
It's time to see where those rumors came from.
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personally i think it would be Very funny if this was after the disc finale, maybe even around the breakout. tubbo is just standing there with a wholeass toddler and husband trying desperately to act like a reasonable and mature adult who is Totally Fine, Haha, Thanks So Much For Asking, and here comes the godtouched clown brigade to clumsily but very sincerely want to treat him as family
honk honk everyone into the clown car ur dad's fucking missing again god dammit
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2 - “I bought this because I thought you’d like it.” for team guilded vale, because everyone needs nice things!
Thank you, Anon 🥰 sorry it took me this long, full disclosure, I kinda started writing two other responses to this prompt that ended up kinda straying away from it anyway I do intend to post them once they're done just don't be surprised by three consecutive fics centered on the same theme lol
And this one ended up being mostly Edér x Watcher sooo yeah there is that. Below the cut bc it's 1500 words long
Gaura groaned as she shrugged off her charred shirt. The Defiant was anchored at the shore of an uncharted island, one inhabited by a lich, no less, as she and her companions found out. The battle was taxing, but they lived to see another day, and their injuries were nothing that a competent healer couldn't handle. The Watcher's clothes, however, weren't so lucky. It was Magran's blessing to her godtouched children: the ability to harden their skin and allow the flames within them to burst from them with scorching heat whenever they were badly hurt. It was useful, but it had its downside, Gaura mused as she rummaged through her full footlocker. The shirt she took off was beyond saving, but she had others, mostly claimed from Edér who once filled the crate with a bunch of clothes that he could put on her unconscious body, but she couldn't put on herself. It was compensation as far as she was concerned, she thought as she took one torn shirt.
Then another.
And another.
And one more.
And yet another.
Gaura slammed the footlocker shut in frustration. She sat down with arms crossed and a frown etched into her features. She tapped a fast, erratic rhythm with her foot as she thought. The crew had their laundry day shortly before they left the last port and she... she forgot to add her own clothes. And she has been putting off mending the ones that carried those marks of battle that have quickly vanished from her. She let out a long sigh and stood up. She took out a shirt that had a long cut along its back and left her cabin. Surely Edér would agree to lend a shirt for a few hours. Just long enough while she fixed up her own.
The Watcher swiftly made her way to the farmer's bunk, only to find him by the menagerie instead, busying himself by brushing the shedding hair off Kaz. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps and a faint half-smile crept its way on his face. He patted the dog's side then approached her, his smile widening as he got closer.
'Looking for me?' He asked as he wrapped an arm around her, touching the small of her back which was uncovered by the sliced up shirt. His smile faded and a look of confusion took its place.
'Yeah...' Gaura chuckled awkwardly. 'Do you think I could borrow a shirt while I mend this one?'
'Haven't you stole a bunch of them already?' Edér raised an eyebrow at her.
The Watcher glanced away, her admission slowly bubbling up from her, putting a sour grimace on her face. 'I forgot to join in for laundry day and all my clean shirts are in a sorry state,' she looked back at the veteran and tried her best at giving him a doe-eyed look. 'Please? Only for a few hours? I'll give it back, I promise.'
Edér cocked his head as he examined the Watcher's expression. A smile way hiding in the corners of his lips but as he slightly squinted at her, Gaura noticed a glint of suspicion in his eyes.
'Didn't I get you a bunch of clothes when we shipped out of Defiance Bay? What happened to those?'
Gaura deflated with a groan. 'Those weren't meant to be worn by someone who has... joints in their arms. Even if I manage to get them on me without them getting stuck on my horns, those buttons and clasps and whatnot are in the worst possible place, I-'
The rest of the Watcher's complaints were stifled by the farmer's lips on her mouth.
'I could put those on you just fine,' he grabbed her hand and lead her to her cabin. 'You just gotta ask, Honeycake.'
A shiver ran down Gaura's arm as they walked. She felt strangely vulnerable at the thought of being dressed by Edér. As if it wasn't something they have done to one another in the past, multiple times, but there was something different about helping each other into their suits of armor and him helping her put on clothes that she really ought to have been able to put on by herself. And yet that shiver was eased by the hand clasping hers, by that broad calloused palm, by the soft warmth emanating from it, that was still pleasantly cool to the Watcher's fiery touch. The farmer let her go, however, once they reached the cabin. He went straight to her footlocker, leaving her to shut the door for them. Gaura pressed her palm against the wood as she obliged, and only let it go when the trembling in her fingers stopped completely.
'How about this one?' Edér's voice prompted her to turn to him. He held up a bodice with long, slightly loose sleeves. Gaura was rather fond of that one, which is why it was a massive source of frustration too. The texture of the cloth was soft and warm and it even had her favorite shade of yellow. But the lacing on its back reached up further than she could properly tie it for herself. She couldn't help but smile: Edér clearly paid attention to the things she liked, just not close enough attention to some fine but crucial details.
'I actually like that one a lot,' she said as she closed the distance between the two of them. 'I used to wear clothes like this whenever I left Card Nua on business.'
'Good. I bought it because I thought you'd like it. Seems like I had it almost right,' the farmer chuckled, closed the footlocker and tossed the bodice on top of it. He reached for the Watcher's shirt and pulled it out of her pants. He was about to pull it over her head when Gaura stopped him.
'I got it, thanks.'
'Uhh, alright,' Edér blinked at her in confusion. 'Didn't realized you don't like me undressing you.'
'I do,' Gaura fondly chuckled at him, once she took off the shirt. 'I just... don't want to pester you with every little thing,' she said as she laid the shirt on the footlocker and picked up the bodice instead. She carefully lifted it over her head, slowly and cautiously maneuvering the cloth to avoid her horns and her flames.
Only for the bodice to get stuck right below her armpit.
'Hold on,' Edér reached out to her and tightly gripped the cloth, so tightly that the Watcher was convinced whatever he'll do, it will end with the bodice in shreds. Just as she was about to protest, however, the farmer gave it a firm but light tug, and it slid right past her breasts, and she could comfortably slide her arms into the sleeves. Meanwhile Edér circled around her. 'Figures. The damned ribbon got stuck.' Gaura could only feel surprisingly swift and practiced fingers working at her back. 'See? This ain't that small a thing, after all,' he spared a moment to reach for the Watcher's hand and give it a light squeeze. 'And you're not pestering me.'
Gaura didn't answer at first. She listened to the sounds of friction on her back, and soon the bodice started to feel a little looser, then once again tighter, but this time in the way it was meant to be.
'It feels that way though,' she sighed, mostly to herself, quietly. When Edér wrapped an arm around her belly as a response, she tensed up in surprise.
'Gaura...' his voice rang consolingly. Only for him to let out a slightly rueful chuckle instead. 'You can be so damned stubborn at times.'
'Isn't that something you like about me?' She teased, a little half-heartedly.
'It's on the list, but not like this,' he withdrew his hand continued working on the laces. 'Not when it makes you forget what you're capable of. You ain't bothering me with every little thing. You got the big ones covered just fine.'
'I wouldn't be, if you and Aloth didn't ease things for me.'
'Yeah, well... I really do not want to think about where either of us would be without you,' he gave her a few pats on her hip, then turned her to face him. For a moment, he looked like he was surveying his work, but his gaze went straight to her hands. 'Besides,' he gently took them into his, 'if by some chance we all make it out of here alive, then... all you'll have to pester me with will be the little things,' he guided her hands to his sides, then cupped her face. He kissed her once, then again and again, each time a little longer than the last. 'And you better keep pestering me, because I sure won't ever leave you again.'
He claimed her lips once more and this time he made sure to make her forget all about her torn shirts, the battles that ruined them, and the responsibility of fixing them.
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19 for Gisele and Ysayle
19. Describe how they communicate
As forthright as they are with each other, there’s a lot of silent, unspoken understanding between them. Some of that’s due to their Echo bond, which is something I’ve admittedly pulled out of my ass, but they each have such a deep understanding of how the other thinks and feels that they rarely need words. Sometimes they’ll even finish each other’s thoughts or sentences.
Which is really kind of wild to think about, because one of the challenges Ysayle had to overcome in the beginning was her tendency to to keep her cards close to her chest. Ysayle had built up a wall around herself to rival Snowcloak in a lot of ways, almost inevitably as a function of the role she took up and the persona she’d carefully crafted for herself. “Lady Iceheart” was mysterious and beyond mortal trivialities. And for all of her charismatic leadership qualities, Ysayle had grown accustomed to dealing with subordinates who didn’t view her as an equal or even a person so much as Godtouched Fearless Leader. Her tools for communication in those days were stirring oratory or threats, all designed to manipulate people for whom she had a certain latent kind of contempt, to her own ends.
So, stripped of all that, and faced with a woman in Gisele who was the entire opposite—someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, always, who was honest and forthcoming as could be (maybe telling selective truths at her worst), and a projective empath at that, who’s got an almost Kusheline ability to read hearts…you can see where there could be the potential for misunderstandings. And there were, from time to time. But Ysayle found Gisele’s “what you see is what you get” kind of style a breath of fresh air. As prissy and occasionally pretentious as she can come across to people who don’t know her very well, Gisele is a very genuine person and holds nothing back with the people she loves. You never have to question where you stand with her. And she’s the first to say that she cannot love the way she does and be any other way. Ysayle appreciates that, deeply. It’s one of the reasons she feels so safe with Gisele, and just why she was able to tear down those walls so quickly.
They’re both very headstrong though so when they disagree, it’s very Intense—never to the point of disrespect or going for the jugular so to speak, but they’re very stubborn. Gisele is more prone to backing down just because she hates arguing, but it rarely gets to that point; generally someone has mediated by then to help them see reason or a compromise (usually Haurchefant, or Y’shtola).
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10 First Lines
Saw this challenge going around and thought I’d try it! Most lines are from WIPs since that’s all I got. Reblog with your own! No pressure tags: @stesierra @queen-of-the-weenies @lordfenric-writes @octoberconstellation
BANG. BANG. BANG. Someone was pounding on the door of her tiny apartment. (God-Touched, Book 1, still untitled)
Nobody is going to believe this story, and that's the only reason I feel safe enough to tell it.
(The Lightbringer Chronicles)
“Alice!!!” My brother’s scream pierced the early-morning quiet.
(Untitled WIP)
I floated through the abandoned underwater base. The hissing of my respirator was the only sound, the faint glow of my headlamp the only light.
(Untitled WIP)
I could start this story in a lot of places.
(The Changeling Trilogy, Book 1, Changeling Rogue)
Never sail out to the Old Fortress. That’s the number one rule whenever I go stay with my Aunt Robin in England. I’ve always been able to resist the temptation before.
(The Banshee, Short Story)
The cemetery was filled with music tonight.
(Untitled WIP)
The young tavern hostler yelped, jumping back. She’d heard stories of predator birds big enough to ride on, but having one land right in front of her stables was another thing entirely.
(Tales Of Kaurian, Book 1, Storm Crosser)
Kharim would have killed the Princess and gotten his money by now, if it hadn’t been for the cats.
(Untitled WIP)
The sleek golden car wove through the perpetual parking lot that was Manhattan traffic, music blaring from the open windows. In defiance of the ongoing pandemic, neither the older male driver nor the girl in the shotgun seat were masked. Although in their defense, neither of them were affected by human illnesses.
(Untitled WIP)
#writeblr#writing#my writing#speculative fiction#fantasy#scifi#my ocs#original character#godtouched#chatril
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The way these games define "kith" (basically, who counts as people) is interesting.
Humans, elves, dwarves, aumaua (orcs), orlans (halflings), and the godtouched children of all of them are kith.
But nagas, xaurips (lizardfolk), lagufeth (fish people), vithrack (telepathic spider-people), ogres, trolls, and skuldr (humanoid mammalian cave-dwellers) are all considered "wilder": a step above beasts, but not people.
This is despite the fact that all of these have some form of language, half of them are capable of communicating with people (and frankly are more reasonable than many of the people in this game), and most of them form societies.
They are not considered kith not because they are too different or too uncivilized, but because "who counts as people" is a question with an answer rooted in history and anthrocentrism more than logic or biology.
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Just finished ch. 5 up Mount PhD!
With much thanks to God after 2 gruelling months up this very steep climb, I just finished the last “big” dissertation chapter! Now just a final pitches to the summit!
What’s the Word I got from this? Let me state it like this:
I am a son of Pentecost.
My home is the altarFrom which I eat mannaThat fills my heart withVisions of Holy Ghost Outpourings
For on the mountThe finger of GodTouched…
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(kind of a long-ish excerpt -- i've been twisting myself into pretzels about posting fic for the first time in years and driving myself crazy about it, so i figured it'd do me good to do a teeny tiny soft launch to demystify the whole thing. as a treat
thoughts appreciated :') title may change, we'll see.)
texas sharpshooter fallacy flirt
mello/near | T (excerpt) | 700ish words | canon compliant.
near knocks.
his idea of inconspicuous is a sharp black coat and matching slacks and aviators now high up and glossy on his head. he knocks, and stands there in the fluorescent headache hallway where he can hear mello’s neighbors two doors over fucking to industrial EDM, their bed and their heads shrieking. as if the shock of white hair and vermeer eyes and his pretty babydoll mouth wouldn’t turn heads from harlem to chinatown. he has to laugh.
the 6th floor hallway is carpeted in cigarette butts and shards of glass and piss and misery, rock-bottom regret, apathy of the take-a-walk-out-of-the-roof variety. the wallpaper is an eyesore from the 70s and the ceilings are crazy cracked. taking the lift is a game of russian roulette. more than one person has died in this floor alone. he knows because it was his finger on the trigger, and fuck, he hasn't bothered to scrub out the stains. the grifters, the killers, the whores: everyone here —everyone— has been forsaken by god.
and near is alone.
for a brief, ridiculous moment mello is fourteen again, filled with a gleeful kind of malice, hoping the crackheads across the hall walk out and see near in all of his freakish man-in-black, little gray alien glory. catnip for psychosis, and right on the money to boot. if mello squints just so, it looks as if near is trapped inside the fishbowl marble universe of his peephole.
“in military strategy,” near says, his voice a tuning silver fork that makes the hair on the back of mello’s head stand on end. it is deeper. more elegant. mello had noticed, earlier, when they’d been strangers in the same room with nothing in common but the race for kira’s head and five years worth of resentment. “to refuse diplomatic entrance to one’s territory would be considered a declaration of war.”
“we already accepted jesus into our hearts.”
inside his grimy spaceship, the corner of near’s mouth quirks for a flash of a kodak moment and then it is gone. glitch in the matrix. mello’s wolfteeth grin knocks painfully into the aluminum.
“and didn’t the lord say offer hospitality to one another without grumbling?”
1 peter 4:9. the verse just before reads: above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.
"nothing a couple dozen hail marys won't fix."
above them something shatters against the floor. a woman screams. a weight falls heavy on the floor and then there is silence. the ceiling snows dirty dust all over near’s shoulders like so much winter wonderland. the lights flicker and flicker.
neither of them say anything. mello watches. he can’t see you, he tells himself, feeling like the world's best and brightest buffoon. he's not fucking godtouched.
but near raises a hand to his rosy cherubim face, makes a circle with his thumb and index finger to squint through with one big ophanim eye.
watches the watcher.
“i will wait for sixty seconds.”
mello finds his gun. sticks it in the back of his pants. runs his hands through his hair. pulls his gun out, checks the mag. pops it in place. hesitates. checks it again. he was right the first time. it is empty. thirty eight, thirty seven.
L used to say, it’s a boundary, mello. explicit verbal communication of where the limits are. respecting it preserves the peace. you can choose to ignore it, but you should first know why. and you should be ready for the inevitable outcome.
but what this really is is this: near coming to him alone under cover of night, so naïve he might as well be wearing a neon sign that says mug me or kidnap me or worse! i'm a stupid little boy!; as far he can be from the safety of his prince’s tower all to give little old mello the pleasure a fucking ultimatum.
his blood simmers. his ears ring. his sympathetic nervous system betrays him only ever around near, and near's little sycophant butlers could be just out of sight. he could be here with a swat team and a warrant for his arrest. he could be here to let mello know he has once again taken from him the only thing that's ever made any damn sense in his life.
he tries to breathe through it. tries to weight his options. he tries to be more like L.
he fails.
four, three, two—
near turns to leave.
mello opens the door.
.
.
.
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anyway re: previous writing post (brainstorming added titles to Lord/Lady for Irida and Adaman post-Lords Sinnoh possession/reveal) there's also like. Godtouched or Apostle or Champion or even just like. High Priest. if we go that route of becoming more spiritual and/or a mouthpiece of the divine. which is completely not-fitting for the actual paragraph-at-hand that honestly doesn't even need it or even fit now that's I've edited it a bit but is sure something I'm gonna be chewing on ideas of for the next several hours at least. 👀
also it's not like I can just go up the ladder of "traditional" titles because there's no way I'm calling Adaman a marques or duke or Irida a viscountess. technically there's King and Queen respectively (which iirc the nobles/rides also follow from the Japanese version but also..... ehhh... *wiggly hand motion* not really a fan of. I lean more towards writing the clans as stewards of the land vs I Own This Piece Of Rock Now Bow To Me)
also now I'm being swarmed by Become A Laird With This One Simple Trick! scams even in a duckduckgo search for ideas, fucking rip.
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for today’s trick I tried to figure out what a Valdr empire city guard captain might look like. Still on the fence on what exactly the kind of look I want to aim for is, and which I like best so far.
#myart#anak#digitalart#monster hunter#fantasy armor#armor#knight#female armour#tyrant#godtouched#valdr#living armor
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Doodles from the book @thecarlonethatalsowrites
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