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#again pre-game
wiltf · 9 months
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it was not unusual to have your attention drawn from what remained of a person, the further this investigation went. in fact, you had long since pocketed that little notebook of yours, shifting weight from foot to foot as the orders had come down to wait. truthfully, many of the others had taken the excuse to lean over the balcony only a few steps from you, tapping ash out of pipes. gossiping, arguing.
pointing, at the activity only two landings below.
and of course, you cannot help the draw of it. the pipe that slips easily into your fingers, and even easier between your lips, as names are barely whispered with that shrill edge of excitement. this was supposedly an easier task that required no formal security, or so your fellows said. a fight had broken out, and the flaming fist had been ordered to file in to temper it.
except, with the pile of humanoid remains behind you, it was not longer so simple. you had all stumbled upon some dirty secret, with how lord enver gortash now stood at the front of the factory doors. voice carrying so that you could catch every third or fourth word, but to even drag him out of the keep was telling you more than you were entitled to know.
“y’reckon they’re gonna kick us out soon?”
“word is that they sent a runna’ to someone down in the mermaid. lord gortash’s orders.”
well that was interesting. and also explained how long it had been since you had all received the first halt order. what were the chances that the person who had been told to slip into the blushing mermaid was still alive?
a look out the corner of your eye tells you that was remarkably unlikely.
“how long until they send ‘notha?”
as you exhale, part of you wants to say only a handful of minutes, judging by the pacing from lord gortash. was going to carve his very own trench with the careful steps forward and backwards, which you have no doubt would suit lord gortash just fine. after all, you’d been told this wasn’t even really the main manufacturing site — this was all just a front.
typical fucking wednesday shit, if you were being honest. when wasn’t someone using a warehouse as a front? granted, when you close your eyes and see that gory scene, you suppose most wouldn’t expect the warehouse to double as a butcher’s playpen.
or maybe they would.
you weren’t paid enough to really give a shit, just keep watching out for lord gortash’s face to split in two.
“who the fuck is that?”
did their voice echo, or was that person striding up to lord gortash just perceptive? you aren’t the only one immediately trying to shush, to push the pointing finger down, as two specks of light in the shadows stares up at you all.
whatever they were thinking is lost in how lord gortash opens their arms, greeting their mysterious tiefling friend. leading them, through the door under the landing you stood on, without so much as a passing comment to your captain in charge of the investigation.
“derrick, you dickhead!”
arguments, but the pipes are emptied quickly, stuffed away into pockets before the footsteps on those stairs get louder. lord gortash’s voice arrives before he does with his guest, and you are the only one at attention, hands behind your back. staring straight ahead, but curiosity sits at the edges of your peripherals.
this was lord enver gortash, after all. side by side, with the tiefling who did not seem to blink, and whoever might’ve been the poor sod that was sent running to the blushing mermaid. yet they didn’t look like they had an ounce of blood left in them, damn near close to passing out.
oh, right, the sheer violence. not even five paces from where you stood. on some level, you suppose, that you had reasoned since there seemed to be not much left, you were not really seeing any single person. or their remains.
just the red. red paint? is what your mind supplies, and if you thought of it like that, your stomach managed to stay where it should. after all, the smoke manages to fill your nose, and remove the rusted smell that will haunt you.
if you get a spared look, in truth, you were not sure if you were supposed to hold it. something in the gait, the tail, the set of shoulders. a predator, simply following the trail left behind. for lord gortash seems to fill the air with talk to your captain, his eyes never leaving the way that tiefling treads ever so carefully through the carnage.
“when did you find this?”
a voice that rolls with a hint of an accent you just can’t place, gruff, underused. long fingers and longer nails, that seem to have no issue with separating viscera, as if looking for something specific.
but when your captain looks at you, realisation hits. they were talking to you. “u-uh, we were called here earlier this morning, and were told that when the shift change occurred, this was found. my lor-my lady…?” your voice peters off, as you find yourself trapped by gaze alone.
almost hollow, visibly dark. barest hint of an iris in those eyes, and yet you. you are lost. swimming, to find where there is a flicker in there. part of you can feel that the way viscera is handled is not unlike your mind, gentle, pinched. folded and unfolded. but it is soft, encouraging, that when it ends, you had yet to notice that time had continued to march, leaving you behind to watch the tiefling move a hand through the air.
disappearing into the rafters, as lord gortash is staring at you now. that comforting smile oft greeting you all at the keep now feels cold. disarming in all the wrong ways, yet there is a clap against your back, derrick’s hand meeting you to pull you from the thought. perhaps. you were tired, after all. it had been quite a long day, since first arriving at this scene.
as your captain talks, you can hear a suggestion of going to the tavern. night off, paperwork tomorrow. grisly scene, and all that. and they’re right, when you will your head to look back down at the remains. it was a grisly scene, and the headache you must’ve always had was definitely because of the hard day — you deserve the drink.
did you agree? everyone else chimes in, a careful line of flaming fist moving around the remains, and down the stairs. heavy boots, all in time. even your captain, pulling the poor runner with them. a part of you moves, but it is not your feet.
nor your hands, torso, head. it is your eyes, following how lord gortash calls up to the rafters.
“amma, i sent the rest away.”
and when the tiefling — amma, amma, you had heard that name before — lands, the headache grows. splitting and twisting and pulling at your eyes, wanting to shove them out. heavy tongue and a locked jaw that won’t let you breathe. you were calm. you were afraid.
you couldn’t stop staring into those evil eyes.
“i think we’ve attracted some unfortunate following from waterdeep.”
a grimace is what you would have normally attributed to the twist of lips on the tiefling’s face. on amma’s, amma’s, amma! thinking the name feels like a nail is driving into your ear. bite your tongue, wanting to feel something, but did the muscle even make it between? is that blood from your mouth, or elsewhere? sweat and shit, all that fills your nose.
it was coming from you. oh gods, oh fuck, you want to plead. to fight. sound in your throat as hands work at your armour, pulling it free in parts, lazily dropping it to the floor.
“amma,” lord gortash says, as if such a name did not have your brain feel like it was going to leak through your nostrils, “will you be joining the soiree at lady jannath’s later this week?”
hair and horns and sweat and freckles. deceptive, along the bridge of her nose. so close that you would argue for a scent of iron and brimstone, were it not for the tinge of mulberries. why would you think that? you could not say, both in a literal and theoretical sense, as your shirt was removed.
as the tip of a knife pressed against your shoulder blade. “would i need to be masked?”
lord gortash finally walks towards where you were held, but you knew he would not be your saviour. careful hands that trace the tattoo, committing the symbol to memory. “it may be best, until at least the last hour. granted, i would only need your assistance for a few hours, if you would be so willing.”
your skin. they were cutting into your skin. picking and peeling and slicing you away, letting your bleed and scream in the back of your throat. there is nothing to you, blind feeling and fucking magic holding you upright, as you surely do pass out. come back.
and you are nothing to them, as she speaks. that gravelly voice like it had popped up from the depths of the hells. nails and hammers and piercing your ears, unravelling you almost as much as when the knife finds your sides, your arms. your neck.
you’re dying. “enver, with what would you need assistance?”
“i believe that i promised you such an occasion.” you’re dying, and,
lord gortash, and the butcher. your killer. knife in your throat as you weep and piss and shit and cannot move to let this all happen. blood does not flow but you are sure it does, because where else would it need to be, now, after all this time? lord gortash and the butcher kiss, deeply, biting and sucking and you are dying.
dying, as they are all but fucking in front of you, in front of the remains of the poor fucker you had killed only a day earlier. to draw these fuckers out but oh, gods, you were unprepared. stuck here now; dying here, now.
cursing them to damnation. yourself, for taking the stupid offer from xanathar. for not protecting your mind and knowing the last thing you will see is lord fucking enver gortash, and the bitch whore butcher amma! fucking amma!
pull the knife from your throat, and the darkness of those eyes seizes you. just like the way the knife had found its way into all of you, but now that magic has ended, and your body fails. it bleeds and shits and pisses and weeps, and you want to cuss the both of them out,
but especially that thrice-cursed liar and cheat amity,
as you die.
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Do you remember before? We stood facing each other on opposite sides of that door. Now we stand side-by-side. Let's go home together this time.
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bobbinalong · 7 months
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bruce didn't take the cowl off even in steph's final moments. not even then did he trust her with his face. he didn't give leslie any way to contact steph's mother, either -- presumably because the writers forgot she even had one or didn't think anyone would care. but i remember and i care. so in her final moments, steph was with a man in a mask whose lack of trust in her messed with her head and ruined her life, still begging to be acknowledged by him, to be called worthy, to be called real. and she deserved her mother to hold her hand or tim but bruce deserves to sit with that moment the rest of his life.
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moon-mirage · 8 months
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This is for the anon who asked for Katniss and Peeta working on their plant book in Catching Fire … not sure what happened but it got lost when I tried to save the post? 🙁 But this was prompted by an anon so I hope they get to see it because (art crisis aside), I really liked this prompt.
I wanted the scene to look domestic and warm and cosy since they have so precious few moments like that in canon.
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mcllymauk · 1 year
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seeing a lot of "they made Peepaw McChildMurderer unfuckable now (as Matthew Lilliard)" and to that I have two separate, but distinct reactions:
1: cowards
2: HE'S UNFUCKABLE N O W????? AS IN, HE WAS, AT ONE POINT, CONSIDERED TO BE FUCKABLE????
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fisheito · 2 months
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Well THat doesn't seem right....
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crossdressingdeath · 7 months
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Now that I have everyone's responses to the "Durge was an Absolutist leader" reveal, I have thoughts. I think the whole thing works best if you tell the party about you being Bhaalspawn before going to the inauguration, because if you do that they're all like "It's okay, you don't have to be evil, you can fight your father, you have to fight your father" and while some Durges would probably be upset about the repeated insistence that they Mustn't Be Evil it's definitely well-intentioned and they want to support you. And then you get to the inauguration and they're furious about the Absolutist reveal. Which is mostly fair (Shadowheart getting mad at you specifically for not telling anyone when she knows you have amnesia is just a little unreasonable), but it's also like. all that support goes away the second they learn you weren't a good little non-murdery heroic Bhaalspawn like Gorion's Ward. To be fair, their anger and sense of betrayal are understandable, it's a hell of a thing to learn and I get the sense that the party really doesn't grasp just how strong Bhaal's hold on Durge is (I don't think it's a coincidence that Jaheira and Minsc are two of the calmest about the Bhaalspawn reveal or that Jaheira takes the Bhaal's Chosen reveal better than most of the party, they have more experience and so have a better understanding of what being Bhaalspawn actually means, but even they don't as far as I'm aware know about the "literally crafted from Bhaal's divine essence" situation)! I can definitely see why they for the most part react so overwhelmingly negatively, I would too in their position. But at the same time... poor Durge? I mean, they've just learned that they were a leader of the cult that stuck a tadpole in their and most of their friends' heads and is trying to take over the world. While the response to that would vary depending on the Durge, that's a heavy thing to suddenly have to deal with! And then the closest thing to support they get from the party is Minthara and Jaheira saying "Well, you fucked up big time but you can still sort of make up for it" and a couple party members not responding to it at all. The only person in this situation who seems pleased to have them around right now is Gortash.
...I wonder if that's part of the reason why Gortash chooses to reveal all of this here and now in front of the party rather than trying to find a moment to talk to Durge privately. It wouldn't have been hard for him to say "Well, I want to talk to the leader of your group privately and I won't give you any information until I get to do so," make it into some sort of power play or something and then explain the situation once they were alone. It might even have been smarter, since that way the party wouldn't be suspicious of Durge. But instead he spills the beans in front of everyone, driving a wedge between Durge and the rest of the group. The others love Durge enough to stick by them even after the reveal, but Gortash couldn't have known that would be the case when he told them! It doesn't make sense to deliberately cause problems among the party if he wants them working together as a team to deal with Orin for him, but it does make sense if his ultimate goal is to get rid of the rest of the party so he and Durge can rule together as was the original plan. After all, if the group decided they don't want a (former) Absolutist leader around and chase Durge away, where could Durge go other than straight to Gortash?
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fictionadventurer · 4 months
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Have I mentioned lately that creating AUs is the most fun thing ever? You get to take a story you love and then mash it against another type of story you love and fit all their pieces together like they're a jigsaw puzzle. You get to find all the unexpected points of similarity where the stories fit together really well, and see the places where their differences change and make commentary on the original stories/genres in really interesting ways.
And then once you fit the pieces together, you get to look at the new world you've made and see how these characters in this specific world have different conflicts and explore new themes, and you get to play with another level of puzzles as you figure out what this means for this story.
It's the most fun ever. It's my favorite game.
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elendsessor · 1 month
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something i love about the original twewy is how the stylization is just a time capsule of the late 2000s. the edge, the fashion, that punk vibe to it all, it’s perfection.
rarely ever getting a view of the sky really helped i feel. mostly just the greys of shibuya, which helped a lot of color stand out, making the use super effective. i love it when things play around with colors like this.
and it’s all unapologetic too. for all the anime’s faults, the only thing it really changed with the style was cleaned it up a little, made it a little brighter, and updated the phones, but it still feels oddly 2000s for the most part. wished it embraced it more but i understand the changes.
i hope now that 2000s kids are almost all grown up there’s a lot more 00s appreciation stuff generally speaking yet it’s hard to top twewy in that regard.
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presiding · 6 months
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high chaos/low chaos/join the chaos in my dishonored 2 rewrite
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mangofanarts · 4 months
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Thinking about how in purgatory....They split Bad off from his closer relationships with people by having them in different teams (Max, Bagi and Etoiles in Green gay ninjas, Foolish and Baghera in Bolas). How Bad's only close friend that was in the same team as him was Aypierre and then he ends up with Aypierre as his cellmate too < 3
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bara-izu · 4 months
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Halsin's new kiss animation-- Specifically the forehead kiss 😭 It's a good day to be a bodytype 4 player >:)))) Thank you companion appearance editor ehehehehe
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mochiiniko · 7 months
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look me in the eyes and tell me nicole hasnt seen the wallpaper at some point
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will never stop thinking about this image the implications are driving me INSANE
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quick-catton · 4 months
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thinking about felix getting a paper cut or scrape and oliver reflexively darting his tongue out to lick up the blood when he goes to help him put a band–aid on it, like it's second nature
maybe not even realizing he's done it until he finishes with the band–aid and looks up at felix and felix looks like he's just been flashbanged
the collective oh shit moment they both have for different reasons
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who the hell thought that changing the save menu from custom save name + screencap + lil summary blurb to generic save name + generic save image, no extra text was a good idea
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yes. thank you dai for giving me Relevant Information with which i can easily discern exactly which save this is 👍
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musubiki · 7 days
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i have like 3 pages of my sketchbook dedicated to taffy timeskip hairstyle
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