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csh-tournament · 3 months

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STAGE 1, GROUP θ

Beast Monster Thing (Love Isn't Love Enough) vs samson's golden axe vs smokezone vs The Gun Song

Top 2 qualify, 3rd has a chance, 4th is eliminated

Reblogs appreciated for bigger sample size

Listen to each song below

#car seat headrest tournament #polls #stage 1 #group θ #car seat headrest #csh #cshr #Bandcamp

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real-fire-emblem-takes · 4 months

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Next Beast Unit for a mainline FE should be a Lizardfolk who joins the army because the evil dragon is making lizardfolk look bad. Give the option to recruit a male and female but in Arran and Samson style where you can only get one. Male lizardfolk can transform and use Axes while female can also transform but uses Lances.

The weapon and gender combinations sound like nel and rafal ngl

#fe #fire emblem #gameplay take

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willshipanything-blog · 1 year

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Breaking the Rules- Chapter 6

Let's ignore the fact that I said this would be here in a day or two....five days ago 🙃 And just enjoy the content! There's magic and mayhem and all sorts of cute things today! 🪄🎩🃏

As always, minors PLEASE DNI! Full tags on AO3

Read on AO3 here

Full Chapter Index here

Chapter 6- For One Night Only

You brooded over that morning’s walk as you prepared lunch, having a few moments of solitude as Max occupied the bathroom. He needed to wash the mud and grime off both him and the dog after their mishap in the woods (purposeful on Samson’s part, accidental on Max’s). The walk had brought you closer to Max, and you were confident you would no longer feel that uncomfortable twitch of hesitance to spend time with him. He was easy to be around, funny and charismatic. You considered him a friend, and hoped he reciprocated those feelings- you felt that Max, as much as yourself, needed a friend his life.

However, you still wanted to know more about Max’s past (and by proxy, Al’s too), though you were still unsure if your little recon mission had been successful or not. You had recalled some nostalgic, happy memories for Max, although not everything you had discussed was so pleasant. Those topics of conversation were only to be debated in small doses, you decided to yourself as you loaded the sandwiches with ham, bologna and cheese. Talking about Max and Al’s father? That was a wound you weren’t going to pick at for a little while.

The snippets of information you’d learned from Al about the Shaws’ history had come to you at a glacial pace. True, this was because you were beyond scared in the beginning that a wrong foot or a misplaced question might touch a nerve, which the Grabber might make you pay for in blood. But even after everything, when Al was just Al, he was still so reticent. Unwilling- or maybe unable- to share too much with you about his past. But Max had opened a dialogue without too much effort (and, you hoped, not too much pain). As sad as he'd seemed on the walk, what you’d uncovered in a few hours had been miraculous.

Hearing the bathroom door click open, you dipped your head out the kitchen doorway to announce lunch was ready, only to be met by the sight of Max’s bare ass, uncovered by the small towel he had unsuccessfully wrapped around himself.

“Ma-ax! Jesus- there are ladies in this house you know!” you spluttered, throwing a hand up to cover the side of your face, protecting your eyes from the sight.

“Oh, there are? You shoulda said you had company over.” He hollered back to you across the room. You scoffed and turned back into the kitchen, the image burned forever into your memory now. You busied yourself feeding Samson, who had wandered into the kitchen after his bath, then waited for Max before eating, contemplating whether you should prod a little more today- but Max seemed carefree and affable as ever, so you convinced yourself a few more questions wouldn’t hurt.

However, even though the younger Shaw was more unguarded, things would have to move slowly on your part, and you’d be careful to tread lightly. Whereas Al wore that icy, gruff exterior that hid a softness beneath- one you had chipped away at to find the real man below- Max seemed the opposite. As if his soft, unassuming surface belied a darkness, a hardness within, like a cuddly teddy bear filled with razor blades. You had to be careful to extract the less savory parts of his history without him ripping at the seams and falling apart completely. Still, you were hopeful that getting Max to open up even more wouldn’t be the months and months of work it had taken with Al.

Max wandered into the kitchen (fully dressed now, thankfully) and gave a guilty chuckle, along with a small apology about mixing up the towels meant for him and Samson. He tucked into the food enthusiastically, and things slipped back into that warm comfortability that formed so easily from his presence.

“So, spill. I want to know everything.” you said, a broad smile crawling its way onto your face. Max looked agape, pausing with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“Everything? About? Wait, what are we talking about?” Max stammered, his eyes bobbing frantically, suddenly panicked. Was it not obvious you were asking about Al? If not, what else would Max have to be worried about?

“Woah, calm down! I just want to know more about Al.” Max visibly relaxed, the tension is his shoulders dropping as he huffed out a breath.

“Oh, those juicy details. Well, that depends what you wanna know, Scout-” he paused, leaving the sentence to hover between you. You leaned forward across the table, all ears. You wanted to know everything. Was Max giving that to you already? He took a slow bite of his sandwich, savoring it purposefully to prolong the anticipation he could sense in you. But you knew the quickest way to a man’s heart.

“Well, I heard pork chops were your favorite, and there just so happens to be some in the refrigerator…”

“Oh, Scout, now you’re speaking my language. Ok, shoot. Ask me anything you want.”

Not wanting to disturb the relative calm, you decided to ask about Al’s childhood- the good parts that Max would know so well, having grown up alongside him. Parts that Al was reluctant to discuss- he was deeply uncomfortable speaking about himself in any way but through self-deprecation, and despite your best efforts to encourage him otherwise, only his actions towards you spoke of the kindnesses he was capable of. And despite the distance that had been between Max and Al, there was no animosity between them. Al must have been a great big brother. The natural assumption that they were close when they were younger proved to be correct when you questioned Max about it over the breakfast table.

“Oh sure, we were always pretty close, even with what- six, nearly seven years’ age difference?”

That surprised you- you had thought there was about a decade between them- but Al’s stoic, serious expression probably aged him in the photo of them both, just as Max’s small stature and dimpled cheeks worked in the opposite way.

“We were so different, even then. He wasn’t real tough, but he always looked out for me, ya know? At school, in town, and here,” he waved his hand loosely in the air, his meaning clear. Al looked out for Max in this very house, too. A small but obvious silence descended at the implication of that, but Max continued, wafting away the moment of discomfort with his sunny demeanor. “I was the opposite, a bit of a class clown- if you can believe it.”

“You do surprise me, Max.” you drawled sarcastically. Max’s words had reflected exactly what you saw in the old photograph of them- a solemn, serious older brother and his cheeky, happy younger sibling. That could have still been the case now, years later- with Max’s easygoing, cheerful disposition at odds with Al’s outwardly cold, distant attitude. But you’d changed that course for Al. He could still be standoffish (and you knew the darkness he was easily capable of), but you coaxed out the lighter traits in him too- the Al who was playful, kind. The one who was, at heart, a hopeless romantic. You pressed further, remembering that Al had once hinted that he’d learned magic just for Max.

“That’s right, I remember he picked it up to cheer me up! Oh, it was awesome- I never could work out how he did those little tricks. He was always so serious, but for me? Jesus, he’d put on this cape and do these amazing things with cards and coins. You know, the whole shebang- Ok Maxie, pick a card, any card.” Max’s chocolate eyes were alight with excitement, his arms flailing wildly playing out the past scene. “Man, he was the best. Mom loved watching the shows too when it was just us in the house-”

You didn’t respond, but gave a small, reassuring smile. You’d worked out the subtle meaning- that Al’s performances were a private affair, something clearly not approved of by their father. That same sullen silence shrouded you, a cold shadow at the mention of that man. Had it been Al, the mood might have sombered for the rest of the afternoon, but Max had an uncanny knack for blowing right through the bitterness with the strength of his fierce ardor.

“And I didn’t even tell you the best part! You know every great magician needs a stage name, right? Well, guess what Al picked for himself.”

“What was it?”

“Oh god, he might actually kill me if I tell ya, Scout.”

“No, you can’t taunt me like that! So help me Max, I’ll tell him you flashed your ass at me…”

“Oh you little… ah, goddamn. Ok, ok. He useta introduce himself as ‘The Great Alberto’.”

You sat for a brief moment in stunned silence before a wide grin tugged your lips from ear to ear. This was beyond brilliant. Memories of Al that he would have never willingly shared, not to mention the most hilarious thing you’d heard in a very long time.

“You did NOT hear that from me.” Max said, the weak threat in his voice failing to hide the realization of what he’d let loose.

“Oh Max,” you jested, “Where else would I have heard it?”

“Fuck.”

Whether you or Max might get into trouble for unveiling that fantastically embarrassing nickname, you figured it’d be worth it to see Al’s reaction. If backed into a corner, you could blame Max completely, but you were going to ensure you got a ticket to the next performance. ________

After dinner that night (you supposed Max had earned those pork chops after all), you all settled down in the living room. Max lounged on the armchair, whilst you lay on the sofa with your feet propped on Al’s willing lap, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your skin. When Al asked if there was anything anyone wanted to watch (obviously meaning on the television), you and Max exchanged knowing glances across the room, your closed-lip smirks and raised eyebrows daring the other to make the suggestion. Al’s gaze veered between each of you, confusion evident on his face, aware that he was missing out on the joke. Max set up the line for you to knock it down:

“I thought we could see a show tonight,” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you volleyed, looking at Max but cognizant of those cerulean eyes drilling into you. “I heard that the Great Alberto was in town…”

Rough fingertips dug into your shins, a pregnant pause deafening the room. Al huffed a slow exhale before throwing out a warning.

“You two should know,” he said menacingly, “That neither of you are too old to go over my knee.” Max guffawed at that, though your own laughter was a little more hesitant, if only because for you, Al’s threat was likely to come true. Not that you didn’t really want it to, but you worried to what degree Max might see your blush at such a comment. Undeterred, you still poked at Al, prodding at him with your toes, giving his leg a playful kick and telling him how much Max had missed his big brother’s magic tricks. Max’s nagging helped the persuasion and with a gruff sigh, Al finally conceded. You wanted a performance, and he rarely denied his sweet dove anything she wished, after all. He jostled your legs off of him, and with a request to bring him his blue set of playing cards, you scurried to the bedroom to rifle through his box of tricks. You could have sworn you heard Max actually squeal as you scuttled down the hallway.

In the bedroom, you placed a chair in front of the open closet and reached for the large plastic box containing Al’s magic equipment. You glanced beside the box only briefly, taking a quick peep at the masks that resided there. It was funny, you mused at the sight of the magic box and the masks- how different parts of Al were stored here, little compartmentalized pieces of his soul. He could retrieve the box of tricks and easily show that goofy, talented, magical side of himself. Or he could don those masks and signal the commencement of one of your many-faceted games, his wild, animalistic side coming out to play. Or he could leave those things behind for a while and just be Al. Whichever permutation he chose, you couldn’t envisage the Grabber there anymore.

Pulling down the hefty box and placing it on the corner of the bed, you riffled through the paraphernalia: silk handkerchiefs, a wand, felt flowers, metal rings, cups and balls, rope, thumbs caps, dice, a velvet bag of different coins and half a dozen sets of playing cards. You plucked out the deck of blue-embossed cards, reaching for one other object before turning on your heel and back towards the much-anticipated magic act.

Re-entering the living room, Max had relocated to the couch, and the armchair now sat on the opposite side of the coffee table from it. Al had risen and was standing in front of the TV, waiting for his props. He could huff and deflect all he liked, but he obviously relished the chance to perform, and had set his stage for the act. You held the deck of cards out towards Al and as he reached for them, you produced the black top hat from behind your back, holding it out to him by the rim, coaxing him to wear it. After all, what was a magician without his hat? He scoffed and shook his head, but still he took it from your outstretched hand.

With a deft flick of his wrist, he flipped the hat in his hands. It was much like how he’d maneuvered it when you first met him- except this time, it somersaulted its way atop your head instead. This time, he hadn’t asked for you to pass it to him; you’d retrieved it willingly, held it out so he could perform his role, and then enjoyed the feeling of wearing part of the disguise. Like you were part of the trick, part of the illusion yourself now. Al gave his lopsided Cheshire Cat grin, and gestured theatrically for you to sit beside Max, which you acquiesced. Max scooted up to make room, playfully knocking the hat so it sat askew on your head. Al cleared his throat, and you and Max turned your attention to the magician, all eyes focused on him. Even Samson, who had been snoring in the corner, seemed to raise his head out of curiosity.

“Ok folks, here for you tonight,” Al spoke in that grandiose, sing-song tone, “and here for one. Night. Only,” he punctuated those words, a gentle reminder that he wasn’t going to be coerced into doing this again, “The Great Alberto!”

You cheered enthusiastically, whilst Max put his fingers into his mouth to make a piercing whistle, Samson’s barking at the noise easily mistaken for his own canine version of applause. Al gave a quick bow before sitting across from you both, shuffling the cards expertly between his dexterous hands, a kaleidoscope of blue and white spiraling hypnotically in front of you.

“Maxie, would ya lend me a hand?” Al asked as he began the trick, his younger brother selecting a card from the filigree-embossed deck that Al fanned out for him. You noticed a name that both of them had mentioned that day: Maxie. The younger Shaw had used it to mimic Al, an impression of him doing similar tricks for his brother when they were younger. Did tonight somehow transport him back to that time, performing his little tricks to cheer up his brother? The way you watched them together now, maybe both of them had journeyed back, to a time when that old black and white picture might have been taken.

Max watched with glee as the 5 of spades he plucked from the deck was seemingly placed between his closed palms. With some dramatic flourishes and a few waves of his hand, Al ‘replaced’ the hidden card with the Jack of Diamonds he had hovered over the closed hands. Max peeled his hands apart, and the Jack had magicked its way there.

“Holy fuckin’ shit! No way!!” Max’s eyes widened as he looked incredulously at the swapped card in his open hand, flipping it to see if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

You gave a small whoop and a round of applause as the trick was complete. Although you’d learned the mechanics of this particular sleight of hand (fetching Al the blue set of cards you knew housed two diamond-encrusted Jacks), it was still an impressive feat of close-up magic. You were strangely proud that Al had mastered the trick, but more proud with why he had begun to learn magic in the first place, a fizzing warmth spreading across your chest at the sight of the two brothers smiling at one another. The warmth didn’t dissipate when Max begged to know how it was done, Al refused, and the inevitable sibling bickering broke out between them. ________

The bedroom felt peaceful compared to the living room that had been so lively and vibrant that evening, which was both a blessing and a curse. The possibility of how the night might go always depended on Al- not that you were fearful at all. Not anymore. But it was a heady feeling of not knowing which way it could go. Option 1- the serenity and gentleness of his sweet touches and kind words, or Option 2- the thrilling danger of him toying with you. You clicked on the lamps, suffusing the room with a soft, low light. As you began putting away Al’s hat and cards, sorting out the box you’d shuffled through before, the door behind you clicked and his warm body pressed against your back. Strong arms encircled your waist, clasping in front of you as his cheek pressed against your own.

“The Great Alberto? Really?” The words were soft as cotton candy, but the semantics of his question meant an uncertainty for which way this could go. You adored either of the outcomes, so slipped into the repartee without fear of consequence.

“You know Max let that slip.”

“And who charmed that out of him I wonder?” his grip tightened around your stomach, not giving you time to come up with an excuse which was, at this stage, a moot point. He’d already made up his mind on how the night was going- clearly Option 2. Secretly, you were thrilled: if Al chose to be wicked and merciless, the comfort would still follow. It was the best of both worlds. Although, it didn’t seem much of a secret: the way the gasp so easily slipped from your lips and your body moved into Al’s instinctively whenever his firm grasp on your restricted tightly. He knew Option 2 was your preferred choice, too.

“You wouldn’t be prying now, would you dove?” he asked, retreating his head a little so the warm hush of his voice grazed your ear. The question dripped with danger. You supposed you had spent such a long time thinking about what details you could coax from Max, you hadn’t really considered how Al might feel about it all- perhaps because you knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t approve. If he wanted you to know, he’d have told you himself. You’d pondered his question too long, unsure of an answer, and had only half-noticed his arms had unclasped. One remained glued around your torso, finding its way intuitively to the bruise on your hip, recently blossomed into a brilliant watercolor of purples and greens. His other hand had risen to fist your hair in his grip.

“Well?” he yanked down, your head pulling back, your own eyes looking up into quickly darkening blue ones.

“N-no. We just talked.” you squeaked.

“Hmm, you have no idea how dangerous that can be, little dove,” he let go of your hair from his firm hold, resting his chin on your left shoulder as his now-free hand reached towards the box still in front of you on the bed. You watched intently, your rapidly increasing heart rate drawing out fast, shallow breaths beside Al, who rummaged through the box languorously, as if leisurely taking stock of its contents. His hand brushed over what he was obviously looking for, grabbing a small silk square by its corner and pulling slowly, a string of four or five squares, knotted together at the corners, forming one consecutive chain.

“I think that’s enough talking for tonight. Don’t you?” And with that, before you could hope to come up with any witty retort, he balled the silk scarves into your mouth, muffling your gasped inhale and any protests that might have dared cross your lips. Al didn’t need to warn you to keep the gag in, so you clenched your teeth around the silk, silently watching as his hand dipped into the box again.

The rope was next, pulled from the box with purposeful slowness. It was the same type of cord that Al had used months ago in another magic trick, the very first time he had taken your body, made you feel things you never thought possible. Simply holding it in front of you, the rope recalling that memory, had you rubbing your thighs together in arousal. It was the same for Al too; you could feel his hard manhood pressed into your back as he conjured items from the box. With his arms still cocooning your body, he brought your wrists together and quickly tied the rope tightly around them. He tugged at his handiwork once done. He had no need to test the strength of the knots (he knew you couldn’t escape, and you knew you didn’t want to), but it was a continued reminder of the hold he had on you.

Al worked his magic quickly, and in an instant had slid the box from the bed, slipped your shorts and panties from your body, and shifted you to face him, the back of your legs pressed against the bed. Wordlessly, he stroked the scar on your heart, a gentle caress, before roughly pushing into your chest, your body falling backwards and your throat letting out a stifled squeal before you fell onto the soft mattress. Al undressed slowly, his belt unbuckling, his shirt unbuttoning, until there was no more clothing to remove. With each item he discarded to the side, you could swear his eyes turned a shade darker, little notches that signaled the approach of the dark side of Al that wanted to devour you completely. He crawled onto the bed in front of you, and you squirmed backwards as best you could, knowing he wanted the chase, and needing it just as badly. You were easy pickings, already tied down for him, and huge hands took hold of your ankles, pulling you towards the beast. Your hand gripped the headboard slats and you shrieked behind the gag, half mock-terror, half genuine excitement.

He entered you in one wet thrust, right to the hilt. “Ah, fuck, Y/N!” he groaned, a little too loudly for the Quiet Game he had wanted to adopt. You sprung up, pressing the fingertips of your bound hands to his lips, silently reminding him of the need to stay at least a little quiet while the house was accommodating more than just the two of you. He laughed behind your fingers, giving a small nod of understanding, before hauling your arms back above your head, where he held them firm. His other hand slithered beneath your silk top, his thumb brushing a rock-hard nipple before kneading your breast roughly. The breathy exhale that left your nose might have been just as loud as Al’s groan, but fuck it felt divine, the way he could make your body tremble with just a few simple touches.

The act picked up pace rapidly, every sensation an electrifying spark of perfection at Al’s skillful touch; his fingers that moved seamlessly between your breasts, hands that knew every place that responded best to his touch. Him propping each of your legs on his shoulders, finding a deeper angle to enter you. The way his hands gripped your hips roughly, one moving down to thumb your clit in rough circles as his cock drove into your core again and again, picking up speed until you could hardly bear it, slowing to allow you to catch your breath behind the stifling gag, before speeding again to overwhelm you completely, moaning your pleasure in faint, muffled groans as you came for him. And for him, you rocked your hips in time to each beat of his movements, digging your heels into his strong shoulders to signal your pleasure, knowing how your moans affected him, and never once during the act breaking your gaze from his.

He jutted into you a couple more times, releasing the last of himself inside you, but not yet pulling out. Instead, he brought his face down to yours. In your gradual come down, your breaths had been steadying, but those piercing blue eyes still made your heart thump furiously, as if trying to signal to Al just how much he affected it. His gaze descended from your eyes down to your mouth and he smiled wickedly, teeth bared as he moved towards your lips. You readied for the kiss, but instead, Al’s teeth clamped around part of a silk square, and he pulled away slowly, unspooling the colorful scarf from your mouth in a ribbon of blue then pink then green then orange. As he retreated, his fleshy manhood left you too, and a groan escaped you finally- both a sign of satisfaction but also a lament of the loss of his warmth deep inside you. He spat out the scarf from between his teeth.

“I think I like this no talking rule.” he growled.

“So stop talking.” you retorted finally, heaving your still-bound hands around the back of his neck and crashing your lips into his, shutting the pair of you up in the best way possible. More kisses followed, wet mouths and tongues lapping against the other, and finally languid kisses on noses, along jawbones, no part of either of your faces left unmarked by the tenderness. Your mouth trailed the wrinkles at his temples, his brushed against your precious cheekbone scar. Eventually you freed Al from your grasp before he freed you from your bonds, though the two of you stayed entwined as you fell asleep together, a blissful tangle of body parts that slotted together perfectly, bound tightly together with something much stronger than rope. ________

You jolted awake, a sudden sound shaking you from peaceful sleep. A strange sensation crawled over your skin, and you realized the foreign feeling was having nothing touching you- no hand caressing your waist, no fingers trailing your spine or arm wrapped tightly around your body. But a soft rumble behind you revealed Al was still in bed, and you turned slowly towards the noise. It must have been this that woke you- this unfamiliar scene laid out before you. The bright moon allowed a faint picture to form: Al was dreaming. Not just a dream, it appeared. A nightmare. His open mouth displayed almost a grimace as if pained, matched by his eyebrows that twitched in syncopated beats to his eyes which you could discern were oscillating furiously behind closed lids.

“No - don’t - hurt - no - was me” The disjointed words barely formed on his lips, but the half-meaning you could work out from the dreamspeak vexed you. A nightmare, right now? You wondered- you’d had your fair share of terrors since arriving here, understandably so. But those types of dreams had been expected: dark, staticy images of abstract creatures, eldritch, ungodly terrors that filtered through your mind like a grainy horrorshow played on an old projector reel. But that had been so long ago- so long, that you had still conflated Al and the Grabber, thinking them one and the same. But that was no longer the case, and those awful night terrors no longer plagued you. Not now you had the comfort of Al to ease any worries and fears.

So why now had Al begun to suffer a similar ailment? You hoped it was simply the stress of worrying about his brother’s arrival, even though things had started off on such great terms. What was he worried might spill out? You had continued the Quiet Game tonight, though you wondered if Al’s questions about prying into his past were actually more malignant than the playful way he had posed them.

It hurt to think that your actions had, in turn, hurt Al, even if only in his dreams. You placed a hand on his chest, soft and light as a feather, stroking tenderly and shushing softly into his ear. You repeated this procedure, over his whimpers and spasms, until they dissolved, muted and stilled by your nurturing gestures.

Al woke early with the sun, the background chirps of larks and the view of the mountains and sky to greet him, the dawn sky a blithe canvas of apricot and peach. He ruminated over the past couple days, and was fairly satisfied with how things had progressed. Just as he’d predicted, Y/N and Max were getting along. Max could be an inconvenience at times, under his feet a little, but he was harmless- and Al could hardly say the same about himself.

He looked forward to having the house to just the two of them once more, though he wanted Max near, and truly hoped his little brother would stay for good this time, putting down roots here in Denver. The one problem with this, of course, was that the closer Max was- especially with Y/N- the closer more things might threaten to surface. Some of Al’s past had already come to light. Yes, it had been silly childhood secrets, but he had kept things from her for a reason. He wanted no more of her pity, no sorrowful looks or excuses for the things he’d done. He hoped his playful warnings last night had been understood as extending outside the bedroom too.

But it was ok, wasn’t it? The fear and unease was only in his head now. Faded and quiet, but constant, like a television playing pixelated white noise. He supposed that quiet hum in the back of his mind was the thing now haunting his sleeping hours. A manifestation of the guilt and regret at the things he’d done to her, and slowly, the creeping guilt of those worse sins that had begun to plague him more and more. He had no way of ridding himself of those feelings, and the nightmares had retreated eventually, chased away by the soothing coos of his dove- it was always her, wasn’t it?

Her voice was warm in his ear, her fingers running through his hair, over his heart. Whether Al had dreamt it, or whether real life had seeped into his dreamstate, she had banished the nightmares and conjured new dreams of her, and he had slept soundly the rest of the night.

Al looked away from the window to focus on his very favorite view- his love sleeping soundly beside him. Gentle not to wake her, he brushed the mess of tangled hair from her eyes, and allowed himself these free moments to simply observe before the reality of the alarm clock would wake her. Al felt content, and hoped he could hold onto that precious feeling indefinitely.

#the black phone #the black phone fanfic #the grabber #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #albert shaw x you #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw #minors dni

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theluckywizard · 11 months

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Chapter 34: The Shattering of Things Part 2

Chapter 34 of my long fic In the Shattering of Things featuring Rose Trevelyan/Cullen and Rose/Hawke. Read on AO3.

Chapter 34: The Shattering of Things Part 2

Summary: Rose must steel herself for war, for pain she could never have imagined as four thousand templars arrive to eradicate the Inquisition, incinerating the hope she'd only recently reclaimed.

CW: child death (off screen, but bodies), canon typical violence

Illustration by me!

Excerpt below:

I notice them from the forge– Cullen and the man he’d called Samson, circling one another widely, moving slowly closer, meeting one another commander to commander where the soldiers' tents had been. The red templar leader is brazen enough to go without a helmet and I can vaguely see him addressing Cullen who I’m relieved to see is hidden behind his face shield. But it feels like a preamble to death, and my chest is strangled with anxiety, my throat too dry to swallow. Maybe he feels honor bound to face the man having once known him, but I am not about to lose him tonight if I can help it.

“You could still join us,” calls the massive red templar lightly, as if Cullen might take him up on it. He’s a surprisingly sickly looking man, but built bigger than Blackwall in a hulking set of plate. “We were friends once.” How?

“You’ve always been delusional, Samson,” shouts Cullen. He’s crouched back on his heels, shield up, sword ready, determination and fury compressed into his stance, ready for the inevitable strike.

“Always been a lapdog for the Chantry. Shame you still are,” taunts Samson, drawing a massive crimson greatsword from his back, holding it forth with two hands and then he surges at Cullen with baffling speed, his blade shrieking against Cullen’s shield, forcing him back in the slippery snow nearly all the way to Haven’s steps and then onto the ground. I’d seen Cullen fight dozens of times, practically skimming across the ground with uncommon lightness of foot yet always forceful enough to push back against the largest opponents. But he’s crushed into the snow by the man with the strange red sword who counters every escape Cullen attempts.

Panic creeps in around the edges as I watch Cullen strain under the impossible weight of his former friend. I hurry closer, trailed by my companions, hoping to put an end to this encounter somehow. Cullen would want to fight his own battle, but I pull an arrow back so deeply that my back is ablaze, train it furiously on Samson’s face and let it loose. I’m far enough away that the arrow flies just right, whistling past his nose as he crushes Cullen into the slush. Samson turns his head sharply my way with a sneer on his face, giving Cullen the opening he needs, drawing his feet up to forcefully kick him off of him, sending him only a few paces backward. But I don’t want him to fight. I want him to run, sure that whatever this red lyrium is, it’s giving Samson unbelievable power, an unnatural advantage.

“Cullen, go!” I cry, begging. He glances in my direction from inside his helmet and seems to acknowledge me, looking back at Samson like there’s temptation there but I’m hoping he recognizes he’s outmatched. He stumbles up to Haven’s gate, summoning me with a wave of his arm. I watch as Samson takes in a frost spell from Solas and it almost looks like the armor eats it, the spell dissipating as if it never was. Dorian attempts a panic spell, a bright violet chain massing into being and then again being absorbed into the armor, fully negated. Whatever the man is wearing, it’s clearly powerful. Bull sprints from behind me toward the man in a brutal charge, axe brandished, the only one among us who might hope to counter the hopped up brute. If magic won’t work, perhaps the force of my strongest warrior could.

“Herald!” cries Cullen with his face shield up, grappling me around my waist to pull me through the gate as I watch Bull make contact. Samson holds his footing against him, the shaft of Bull’s greataxe bowing slightly against the impossible force of the enemy’s sword. “Come on. Come away,” he says in my ear. With Varric and Sera training their arrows upon Samson, Bull is relinquished and they all turn to follow Cullen and I back through the gate. Samson stands there where our encampment had once been, shaking his head with an unsettling smile twisting one corner of his mouth. He leers at us, and lifts his eyes to the sky as the dragon loops around for another blistering pass. Then he casually reaches into his pocket, withdraws a sizable vial of red liquid, uncorks it, and tosses it down his throat. Cullen and Blackwall push the gates closed, my view of Samson disappearing as the opening narrows and Bull lifts a timber into the heavy iron brackets.

And when we turn, we’re met with total wanton destruction.

Tagging DAFF crew!

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laurasanchez36 · 3 months

Text

Benny the abandoned animatronic Ghost Shadow My NEW MSA X FNAF SB Enemy OC

Full Name: Benny the abandoned animatronic Ghost Shadow

Nicknames: Benny, The Killer Shadow Ghost Man, the abandoned one from the shadows

Gender: Male

Profile Pic

Age: 35

Blood Type:

Occupation:

Actual or Past Occupation:

Favourite Shows/Games: ___/___/___

(___,___,___)

Favourite Food:

Instrument:

Favourite Animal:

Family Members Relatives:

Other Family Members Relatives:

Species: Animatronic Ghost Shadow

Friends: Burntrap, Vanny and Vladdy

Enemies: Glamstar Crysta the humanoid princess singer, Theodore the rockstar Eagle/Crocodile hybrid, Snowlight the snow fox, Aaron the Dancing Bear, Glamstar Daisy the Farmer Chicken, Sindy the humanoid childcare Ragdoll and Lulu the humanoid naptime childcare Ragdoll, Glamstar Huey the flying Squrriel, Carlie the humanoid rockstar Wolf, Samson the Prince Ventexian, Gus Borges, Muffet Pepper, Glamrock Animatronics, Sundrop and Moondrop/The Daycare Attendant, Little Sunflower (Sundrop and Moondrop/The Daycare Attendant's adoptive daughter), Izzy, Mya (Izzy's daughter), Alice (Merissa's Cousin), Gregory, Merissa,

Alignment: Bad/Evil

Likes:

Dislikes:

Hobby:

Goals:

Weapons: Axe and Knife

Powers and Abilities:

Skills and Abilities:

Fears/Phobias:

Skin Colour:

Eyes Colour:

Hair Colour:

Clothes:

Shoes:

Accessories:

Nationality:

Sexuality:

Hair Styles:

@sfcabanasstarcgs and @mysteryideasgroup

This one was sounds like Dark Danny (from Danny Phantom)

#msa x fnaf sb #msa x fnaf sb au #benny the abandoned animatronic ghost shadow my new msa x fnaf sb enemy oc #my new msa x fnaf sb enemy oc #msa au crossover #msa au

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sugdenlovesdingle · 25 days

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Can't believe Samson is going to get killed off. There's other characters that should be axed over him, like wailing Wendy.

Wait what???

I missed that one. Where did you see that??

What is it with emmerdale and killing kids lately???

(it took me a minute to realise you meant emmerdale and not the Belgian TV dog lol)

#emmerdale #emmerdale spoilers

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ravnloft · 2 months

Text

hellooooooooooooo i realized i have never done like a full list of my ocs. so here it is

amma theylin: dark elf rogue, chaotic neutral (leans evil), dual-wielding swords and ranged bow, proficient in being sneaky and being hot. tragic backstory is she became infatuated with a guy who was trying really hard to be lawful good and when he dropped the ball on their coup d'état plot she killed him and ran. will do literally anything if it pays well enough. played her in dnd, bg3 and elder scrolls.

lady gwendolyn viridience morrigan, druidess, esq.: half-elf druid, usually chaotic good, majored in botany, minored in ethically questionable usage of charm spells. tends a greenhouse that holds a portal to the feywild, the stewardship of which she was bequeathed by a very powerful archwizard and mentor and good friend, on his deathbed. she never wanted it but the choice was between her and her evil sister/s so the archwizard gave it gwen. now she uses it to (1) be the best damn florist in neverwinter (2) howl's moving castle her way away from bad fantasy tinder dates because she's a hopeless romantic and terrified of commitment. played her in dnd and bg3.

samson o'dare: human/aasimar paladin, true good, big sword and bigger shield, great with animals, has wings like a mourning dove. he worshiped chauntea as a child and then one day lathander appeared to him in the middle of a field and told him it was his holy holy duty to be a paladin of light. samson was like hell yeah i want a sword. and began adventuring. adventuring quickly proved to be far more unpleasant than he had expected and he prays to chauntea every day like "mom i'm scared come pick me up". played him in dnd and bg3.

nol barrow-bound: undead death cleric, ??? (she is extremely impressionable), sickle and staff/half-caster, uses a human skull as an arcane focus and has 1 million holy symbols on her person. used to be a hag's apprentice and then she woke up on the side of the road one day and was just like, "guess i'm an entrepreneur now". gifted alchemist, even more gifted necromancer, makes her living as an herbalist and medium, lowkey cheats on the medium part because she just tells people what they want to hear (or at least what she thinks they want to hear) but she doesn't see it as cheating because she IS contacting the dead she just isn't letting them be RUDE. collects roadkill. also kind of looks like roadkill. one time i thought "haha what if nol and samson were in an adventuring party together" and now they're tragedy-to-romance endgame lovers. played her in dnd and skyrim. she's usually my go-to for dnd oneshots :')

sigg solveig/sigourney gevaudan: human (? she's huge, there's no way she's fully human)/werewolf barbarian, will change her entire ethos if a hot girl says so, sword/axe/hammer so big it is physically impossible for people other than her to wield. tragic backstory is she contracted lycanthropy at a young age and wound up killing her familar. she went into hiding and became a fighter, a laborer, a soldier, whatever put food on her table, but eventually her lycanthropic bloodlust got hard to control and she became a hermit rather than risk killing her loved ones again. she is not smart or wise or especially clever but why would she need to be when she can crush someone's head with one hand. womanizer but her deepest wish is to get married and be a stay-at-home mom baking for her wife every day. played her in pathfinder and skyrim.

princess daisychain frances van pancypants iii: goblin, class variable but generally support/healing, true good. looks like an albino bat. raised by halflings. the sweetest, nicest, tiniest magical girl you will ever meet. completely filled with love. knows one (1) swear word. played her in dnd.

arkhemites "miette" du bäl: tiefling warlock, something evil but might go on a hero's journey idk, worships whatever tentacled space monster is native to the setting. wants to plunge the world into entropy so it can be born anew. she's noble or royal but has like 16 sisters and most of them are older. played her in starfinder.

#piri.txt #behold. my children

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lboogie1906 · 2 months

Text

John Adedayo Bamidele Adegboyega (March 17, 1992), known professionally as John Boyega, is a British actor and producer. He first rose to prominence in his native Britain for his role as Moses in Attack the Block (2011), and his international breakthrough came with his role as Finn in the Star Wars sequel trilogy films The Force Awakens (2015), The Last Jedi (2017), and The Rise of Skywalker (2019).

His other credits include Imperial Dreams (2014), The Woman King (2022), and Breaking (2022). He received the BAFTA Rising Star Award, and the Trophée Chopard at the Cannes Film Festival. He was cited as one of the Top 100 most influential Africans by New African magazine.

He portrayed Leroy Logan in the 3rd episode of the series Small Axe (2020). For his performance, he won the Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actor – Series, Miniseries or Television Film and the Critics’ Choice Television Award for Best Actor in a Movie/Miniseries

He was born in London and grew up in Peckham. His parents, Abigail and Samson Adegboyega are both of Yoruba descent. He has two older sisters.

His first acting role was as a leopard in a play at Oliver Goldsmith Primary School. While in another play there at age nine. He spent his time there outside school hours from ages nine to fourteen.

He began his secondary education at Westminster City School, where he was in various school productions. He attended South Thames College to study for a National Diploma in Performing Arts. His activities there included playing the title role in the college’s production of Othello. He enrolled at the University of Greenwich to study for a BA in film studies and media writing but dropped out to focus on his acting career. He trained with the Identity School of Acting in London and became a patron of its Los Angeles branch.

He showed solidarity with George Floyd, Sandra Bland, Trayvon Martin, and Stephen Lawrence during a speech at a Black Lives Matter rally in Hyde Park, London. He is a teetotaller. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

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jazz-kitty · 2 years

Text

was too lazy to draw all of them so have what i think some reborn characters wore for halloween in one big post. not spoilers i just dont like having a wall of text with no warning

victoria’s hatsune miku, cain’s going as fern, fern’s kokichi ouma, cal is papyrus, blake is sans, florinia’s a mad scientist [julia bought her the costume and she didnt want her to waste her money], and julia is frankenstein. already drew those getting those out of the way

ame is a headless horseman &’s got a jackolantern for a head on this very spooky evening

protagonist is conveniently a sheet ghost that covers their entire body and face so you can’t tell which protagonist it is

shelly is technically going as a bee but everyone was so worried she was gonna catch a cold she’s bundeled up in a thick jacket and scarf and hat and gloves so you can’t really tell what she’s wearing to begin with. its the thought that counts though

shade is going as an anime boy. he’s wearing one of those shitty plastic masks with the big anime eyes on them and nothing else

aya and hardy are matching in lycanroc onesies- aya’s midnight and hardy’s dusk

serra was going as a playboy bunny but fuck is it cold in spinel town. she’s wearing sweatpants and a jacket over her costume and also staying home and also not handing out candy to any kids. she’s just serving cunt on her couch in her freezer of a home

anna is going as a mawile with a home made costume that she spent way too long on

noel is wearing orange pajama pants instead of his normal black pants and called it a costume. anna gave him a cheap halloween themed headband to go along with it. he won halloween

samson is dressed as alistasia, alistasia is dressed like ciel, ciel is dressed like terra, and SOMEONE didn’t get the memo. not naming names. terra is a stilt spirit

adrienn is going as a fairy :-) simple but like cmon. tell me xe wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to wear pink mesh wings

titania’s a cowboy. man i dont even have a reason. but she’s a cowboy

amaria is a pirate. i have a little bit more justification for this one with her whole water deal going on. but mostly just because the universe needs her to be a pirate

laura’s a kanto raichu and worked long and hard on making a fitting dress and make up for it. saphira’s just wearing a pikachu headband with red cheeks laura painted on. charlotte is in a pichu onesie and also inexplicably covered in fake blood

bennet is an alolan raichu :3c he made his costume with laura

zero isn’t dressed up because he gets too uncomfortable in halloween costumes, but he put his umbreon in a spider costume and carries her around to show off his specialist shining star the whole day

taka is just wearing a skeleton tshirt. underneath his sweater. so no one can see it. ace tried to get full matching costumes for the two but he flopped over on the carpet like a cat and wouldn’t get up

ace couldn’t get taka to wear a costume but still wanted to match, so now they’re going as taka. if taka had killer eyeliner

no one’s really sure what heather is supposed to be, but she keeps biting into fake blood packets and got a 7 dollar plastic battle axe from party city she hits everyone unapollegetically with.

elias puts on cat ears. solaris tells him to take them off. elias does not take them off

arclight is a classic vampire- victorian era looking suit, fake teeth, the whole nine yards. this vampire in specific is also wearing neon pink shutter shades and glowsticks

lumi is dressed as a miscellaneous disney princess- albeit one that is also wearing a jacket. no way is she getting away with short sleeves in ametrine.

eve is wearing a headband with antenna on them and says she’s an alien.

correction: lumi is an alien disney princess. she wanted to match with eve

#pokemon reborn #jazztalk #oh to be the 31st of october

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ophilosoraptoro · 1 year

Text

youtube

Okay, the idea of a ghost being able to rez someone from so far back in history makes me wonder what else may be possible. There seems to be a theme of people who get resurrected as Guardians having made a sacrifice that lead to their death in their first life. There's plenty of historical figures who fit that description.

Like, maybe you find yourself fighting alongside an unusually tall titan wielding an axe that he calls 'The Emancipator' (cause it's real good at emancipating heads from necks), then he takes his helmet off afterwards to introduce himself, and "HOLY SHIT! Is that Abraham Lincoln??"

Lots of other names come to mind who made around the theme of sacrifice leading to death - Leonidas, Joan D'Arc, Samson, Nathan Hale, just off the top of my head.

#destiny 2 #video games #sci fi #history #destiny lore #destiny the witch queen #destiny lightfall #Youtube

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adelaidedrubman · 6 months

Note

to jestiny for the oc love interest insults :)

after fishing near each other for an hour in complete silence, apropos of nothing, sybille* asks, "so is it like a judith and holofernes kind of thing you're goin' for, or what?" *wasn't present for the samson and delilah metaphor

(blows you a kiss verbs warnings for graphic and loving descriptions of beheading)

jestiny furrows her brow, considering, then says slowly, “nah — i’d been thinking of myself as more of a salome type, but…” she shrugs and clicks her tongue against her teeth, tipping her beer towards sybille with a grin. “can’t be too fucking picky about head, am i right?”

she laughs at her own joke, taking a slow sip of her drink and allowing a brief resumption of silence before adding, “of course, i have always thought salome was kinda fucked up for sending off guards to take care of the ol’ whack-kcch for her instead of doing it with her own two hands. where’s the fuckin’ satisfaction in that?” jestiny shoves the handle of her rod into the dirt, propping the pole against the inside of her leg and leaning back with an agitated drum of her fingers against her thigh. she’s settling in. “that being said, i think doing the deed while he’s passed out drunk is also a bit of a fucking waste,” she lectures, chewing the inside of her lip. “like — what’s the fucking point if he isn’t even conscious for it? if you don’t get to see the fear flash in his eyes as you bring the blade down?” she shakes her head. “i mean, it’s already such a quick way to die — all those nerves severed just like that.” she snaps. “you gotta find a way to add the build up before, right?” jessie rubs her chin, thoughtfully. “i’ve always thought i’d, y’know — maybe do one soft whack to the side of his neck to start, half-ass it — maybe pretend to miss on purpose, so we can tussle a bit after, give him a chance to think he can weasel away before really putting my back into it and lobbing it off clean…” her bulky denim jacket is now pushed to the side to expose the hand axe holstered at her hip, her fingers absentmindedly stroking its handle. “or bring a knife too, start with slitting his throat a little first — superficial, not enough to bleed out from. but enough for me to wedge my axe into while i hold ’im down.” her cheeks flush; her chest rises with a sharp intake of breath. “let him actually feel the blade under the skin of his neck before i wind it back and swing to finish things off for good!” she bursts into laughter, shaking it off before continuing, “now, ideally, i think the visual of actually having a silver platter with you he knows it’s gonna go on adds a lot… then again, you could —” this was a mistake to ask about. she isn’t losing steam anytime soon.

#VERY sorry this turned into more of a mini-fic than an ask game answer but. she is very passionate about this particular topic #violence cw #oc: deputy jestiny ellen #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #oc asks

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soulsow · 2 years

Text

03. temper

summary: [6.0 spoilers] sam is struggling with his emotions after returning from elpis.

rating: t

characters: samson warren (oc), euphemie dansereau (friend’s oc)

word count: 386

notes: kind of leaned temper into warrior’s inner beast but i felt the desire to write something a little angstier.

the first thing he could remember feeling was a soft hand on his shoulder.

"sam...samson!"

her voice sounded thousands of miles away, as if she were screaming through a wall made of lead. yet still the seething red anger did not cease. his blood ran like fire through his veins, pounding in his ears as he raised his arms for another swing of the axe—

"sammie! stop!"

the sound punctured his rage like a knife. with a dull thud his weapon connected with wood, burying itself within the desecrated training dummy he'd been practicing on moments prior. sam fell to his knees, breath ragged in his lungs. the cold snow beneath him barely felt like anything, fingertips buried in the powder and clutching the earth like he had forgotten it existed.

"sam, what happened? are you alright?" it was euphemie next to him. it was always euphemie, a constant, one of the few who could bring him back from the brink when his inner beast tried to take over.

he looked at her, and he was sure that he looked like hell. her expression was written with concern, her silver eyes filled with worry connecting with his own. it wasn't often sam felt shame, but it boiled in his stomach at how she was looking at him.

"i lost my temper," he croaked, head hanging as he covered his face with one snow-covered hand. "i came out here to train, to get better, because maybe i could save /someone/..."

she said nothing, but he felt her arms snake around him and squeeze. euphemie was much more delicate than he but her arms were still strong, and he felt himself relax just a bit in her embrace.

"i couldn't save her, euphie."

whether the 'her' he mentioned meant meteion or his sister, sam didn't know. perhaps they were one and the same in his mind right now, and perhaps that's why the events in elpis cut so deeply.

euphemie said nothing. she didn't need to, and he didn't have many more words left in him at the moment. so together they sat in the training grounds, her arms around him as he leaned into her, and it was there they remained until sam could feel the cold wetness of the snow biting into his skin once more.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #skywriting

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worthygreys · 2 years

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Me and bobby mcgee

#ME AND BOBBY MCGEE PRO#

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This product was created by a member of ArrangeMe, Hal Leonard’s global self-publishing community of independent composers, arrangers, and songwriters. Tablature, standard musical notation, lyrics and guitar accompaniment chords are included.Ĭheck out additional mountain dulcimer arrangements by Elaine Conger on Sheet Music Plus. The arrangement closely follows the phrasing of Joplin's vocal, making the rhythms less straightforward and more challenging.įour pages. The primary challenge to learning and playing the arrangement lies in its use of many syncopated rhythms. It is intended for the upper intermediate level player. Published by Larry Conger/Dulcimerican Music (A0.509727).Ī posthumous hit for Janis Joplin in 1971, this arrangement is for mountain dulcimer in 1-5-8 or DAD tuning. Larry Conger/Dulcimerican Music #4287045. Sheet Music Plus reserves the right to cancel or change this offer at any time.ĭulcimer, Instrumental Solo - Level 4 - Digital Download By Roger Miller.Offer ends at 11:59pm PDT on September 6, 2022.Minimum order amounts are listed in USD.

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