editoress

[editoress]

i knew life turned to shit when i stopped seeing the tuesday again? no problem dog every week

[editoress]

Trying to decide whether Wyll/Astarion doesn't compel me because it doesn't suit my taste for some reason or because I'm just so in love with Wyll

[editoress]

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!

#final fantasy #thank u op

[editoress]

@nathanwpyle

I literally love this.

I couldn't stop laughing for 20 minutes.

No joke.

#INCREDIBLE #people solving problems at work energy

[editoress]

@soartfullydone asked: No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.” Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.” - Lemuel/Bastion

So. Uh. This was a whumptober prompt. But every month is whumptober if you really want it to be.

Anyway. I've dedicated the last eleven years of my life to trying to figure out how Lemuel Adelier ticks. I hate to admit that Bastion's been woefully neglected on my end. My studies did not include this bird man.

This was also my attempt to practice writing a fic that is decidedly not 4,000 words. I need to get better at writing shorter pieces, damnit.

I'm sorry to anyone who decides to read this. lmao ***

“Don’t move.”

Bastion Winalils lifted his hands in the air as if in surrender, though his shoulders remained rounded and a heavy, bored sigh escaped him.  He could feel the tip of a blade digging into his back, the steel cold and sharp.  It would be simple enough to offset out of harm’s way, to vanish from his assailant’s view within the span of a breath—only to then reappear behind him and rip the air from his lungs.

But that would be too simple, and this particular assailant too fun to poke and prod like a rabid beast.

“Is that any way to greet a friendly face, Captain Adelier?” Bastion intoned, daring a glance over his shoulder.  Adelier’s face was stone, his eyes hard and his mouth a firm, thin line.  A roguish grin lit up the Black Tongue’s pale visage.  “And here I thought we had developed a rather cordial working relationship.”

“I didn’t call on you Ilgan Yag,” Adelier spat, as if the word were poison upon his tongue.  Oh, if only.  “You’d best have good reason for defiling the Temple grounds with your stench.”

“Does Ssael not open his doors to everyone?” Bastion needled further.  He was rewarded with the tip of the sword pressing harder into his back.  His grin only widened.

“Not everyone,” Adelier ground out.

“A pity.  A convert might very well have been lost this day.”

“Enough.  Do not toy with me.  I’m in no mood.” That much was clear.  Though Bastion couldn’t say he’d ever caught the Soud in a particularly receptive mood.  “Fine, then,” Bastion said, lowering his arms to play at adjusting the hem of his gloves.  A show of nonchalance, though his lips remained upturned in thinly veiled amusement.  “Perhaps you can help me then.”

“I’d rather help a sow find her bliss,” Adelier said flatly.

“Come now,” Bastion said, turning on his heel to face the Soud.  The blade remained level with his chest, those piss colored eyes boring into him with a fearsome ire, but he was otherwise unmolested.  “I’m just following a bit of gossip.  I simply wished to confirm it at the source.”

Adelier’s brow rose a fraction, inquisitive.  Bastion had to smother the smirk that begged to take shape.

“What sort of gossip?”

“The most interesting kind,” Bastion continued.  “There’s been talk of a caster amongst your lot.  Talented, it seems.  Can cast with nary a word spoken.”

Adelier flinched, his blade faltering slightly.  A surge of satisfaction flooded Bastion’s veins, and that smirk appeared unbidden.

“Tacit casters are incredibly rare,” he explained, the words laced with a not so subtle taunt.  “Not to mention innate tacits.  So of course I had to follow the trail and see for myself.  Color me surprised when the source turned out to be the Lion’s very own Delight.”  The moniker came out with more bite than he had intended, but the scars at his back itched, and only now did some relief to that old wound appear to be at hand.

Adelier’s face seemed to blanche, though it was difficult to tell in the dim light of a looming dusk.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, the words gruff and forced.

“Your niece has been very busy, it seems,” Bastion continued undaunted, his gaze flickering down to examine his nails.  “Though I suppose she’d be your daughter now, yes?  Congratulations on the nuptials, by the way.  I would have sent a fruit basket had I been informed.”

In a flash, Bastion found himself with that same blade pressed to his throat, the steel bitingly cold against his warm flesh as Adelier closed the short distance between them.  Adelier was fairly agile for a man of his build.  He had begun to harden himself in the few years since that dark, snowy night, the almost lithe form he had once sported now showing more bulk.

He should only know that his brutish ways would not save him—or her—should Bastion will it.

“I swear to God,” Adelier rumbled, his breath fogging the air between them.  “If you so much as come within ten yards of her, of any of them, I will flay you alive and leave you for your hollowed crows.” They stood almost nose to nose, close enough that Bastion could see the ragged edges of the ugly scar carved into the Soud’s face.  It twisted with the scowl that pulled at his features, turning his handsome features into something unsightly.  That same petty satisfaction thrummed hotly beneath his flesh.

Bastion allowed himself a soft chuckle, the minute movement causing the sharpened edge of the sword to dig into the skin of his throat.  A bead of blood welled under the blade, slowly trailing down the Black Tongue’s neck and pooling within the hollow of his clavicle.  Fury danced in Adelier’s eyes, his piercing gaze seeming to pulse a fiery gold.

But before he could make good on his threat, or at the very least slit Bastion’s throat from ear to ear, Bastion held his hands up once more as if in surrender—though his smirk did not once falter.

“Promises, promises, darling,” he said, his tone light and taunting, and grabbed for the hilt of the sword.  His free hand reached for that ever immovable silver torc at his neck and murmured something near inaudible, though loud enough for the khert to heed his call.

Adelier dropped the blade as if burned, the hilt glowing a bright orange and sizzling softly against the frost dusted ground—but before he could fully draw that second dreadful sword, Bastion had already vanished from view, his laughter echoing endlessly into the khert itself.

#Ashley you would love this #talented friends #friend fic #unsounded #Bastion would play with him like a wind up toy I love it

[editoress]

DJIMON HOUNSOU singing in Fon REBEL MOON — PART TWO: THE SCARGIVER April 19th 2024 | dir. Zack Snyder

#I did tear up a little bit #rebel moon #he's from Benin and he's singing in Fon!!

[editoress]

#rebel moon

[editoress]

REBEL MOON – PART TWO: THE SCARGIVER April 19th 2024 | dir. Zack Snyder    

#AUGH... #rebel moon #she started to smile..........

[editoress]

he's so beautiful I'm actually gonna start throwing things

#rebel moon

[editoress]

this has been discussed before but reducing female characters to the girlboss braincell holder in the name of combating misogyny in fandom is ironically also a form of misogyny

#meta

[editoress]

Resurrection 🩸

#dungeon meshi

[editoress]

#HE!!! #rebel moon

[editoress]

i just find the concept of this incredibly brilliant evil mad scientist being an exhausted college psychology professor to be the most amusing thing ever

#OH MY SON MY BOY!! #BLESSED #dc

[editoress]

One of these days I’ll actually make a ref sheet for him

#OP I literally tracked you down from a different art post to find This Man

[editoress]

Csethiro Ceredin, Vedero Drazhin and... Empress Csoru :)

#YEAH #the goblin emperor #the outfits are so good how do you do that...

[editoress]

YURI

#OH #hamefura #dungeon meshi

[editoress]