𝖎, 𝖉𝖔𝖌𝖒𝖆

[arbitratour]

❝ 𝕴𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖜𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘 , than to indulge in mourning. For every one of us, living in this world means waiting for our end. Let whoever can win glory before death. When a warrior is gone, that will be his best and only bulwark . . . ❞ — ' yes ', agreed the boy.

❝ i shall gain glory, or i shall die.❞

MOSTAFA AL - ALRIK. indi private ORIGINAL CHARACTER featuring verses from THE ELDER SCROLLS & WARHAMMER 40K. // written by sludge (she/her 27). 21+ and very selective. rules, verses, carrd and all that goofy stuff bellow . . . . 「 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖉 」 「 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘 」 「 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 」

RULES & ABOUT ect ect ect

I. First things first- i'm in my late twenties so for my own comfort, will keep this blog 21+. I'm going to be pretty selective with who I follow just to keep a clean dash. I go through my blog and delete old memes / ooc posts to keep stuff tidy. If we havent interacted in awhile im going to soft block, again just to keep things tidy. You are always welcome to do the same

II.  Not interested in any drama, so leave me out of it - zero strike policy on this. Normal rp edict applies. No interested in writing anything weird and fetishistic or seeing it on my dash - likewise if i see pedophilia, bigotry ( see again fetishistic ) ect ect im going to block and ask you to do the same. Be normal please.

III.  Goes without saying but character =/= writer. If you are an adult and can't separate fiction from reality I can't help you.

IV.  Lot's of horror / grindhouse so expect to see a fair amount of gore, blood, violence and all your standard horror fare. I don't really like writing explicit NSFW stuff so it's going to be fade to black most likely. I try and tag stuff appropriately but if there's anything specific that you want tagged and it isn't in your about, just let me know and I'll make sure to do so.

V. I have no preference for formatting- do what works for you. The only thing I ask is that you trim your posts (if possible). I barely format myself beyond the occasional bold word. It's fun to get a little goofy with it- again, no preference.

VI.  The Warhammer Community specifically is filled with a lot of chuds who misinterpret the material. I have no interest in engaging with them or any take on the universe that forgives / excuses / glorifies fascism.

THATS IT. You can call me sludge (she/her, 27). I love writing super cringe vidya game rp/fanfiction on the internet with my friends. Engagement can get spotty due to work but I'm usually pretty good about getting around to stuff eventually. Feel free to reach out to me whenever, I don't bite but DMs and replies are going to be slow / i'm not someone who cant keep up with constant communication. I don't hand out my discord anymore unless I really know you.

[valtsv]

i do enjoy "living weapon" characters but specifically living weapons who did in fact do absolutely horrific things which at least a part of them enjoyed and thought was good and right at the time, and that no amount of not knowing any better or guilt they feel in hindsight will ever make up for. i love living weapons who are "irredeemable", and no it's not their fault that they were made that way or pointed in the directions they were by the hand that wielded them, and yes they are victims, but so were their victims. living weapons who some people will never be able to forgive, but who still wake up every day and try to do better than what's expected of them. a sword that uses its blade to cut wheat to make bread for the people who once lived in fear of its arc falling on their heads.

[arbitratour]

「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat — Sevatar and Iron Hand Mostafa because I'm bored and curious.

@vicarlunares // 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 … ( accepting ) 「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat

logic is the expectation of every marine, each of the emperor's warriors understood — no matter their heraldic colors or cultural creed — that duty and discipline must always eclipse personal emotion. the legiones astartes may compete amongst themselves both within and without, yet it was the understanding of every primarch, then by extension his chosen cadre of advisors, the horror which would awaken at the onset of legion on legion violence was too incomprehensible to even entertain. not matter how much contempt contorts his fleeting commitment to stoicism, or how openly mostafa disdains their methods of war ( should anyone be foolish enough to misconstrue the night lords' butchery for battle ), he will not permit his brothers any bids at genuine conflict. they risk too much.

a blessing, then, the eighth and the tenth find themselves allies of convenience fighting beasts and not men on this provincial backwater. the great boar is old. his hair is gone and his beard is grey. he's seen and inflicted much in the way of carnage; there is so little now which he deign allow disturb him. a tolerance for atrocity by virtue of gene sire's pragmatism, and an appetite for its trappings stoked by chemical manipulations plaguing every space marine. what horror they bring, though ?? had they been fighting humans, mostafa thinks then, had it been humans then his iron hands and sevatar's night lords would have been at blows.

in his armor jago sevatarion weighs about a small vehicle; the terminator feels barely any of it, the size of his gorgon plate making him double that of his fellow captain. it's a terribly awkward position to hold, his back leaned up against a spire of crumbling pre-crusade infrastructure, made one again with the wilds which had long since reclaimed it. sevatar sits astride him, the bulk of his own midnight ceramite scraping fresh blood across mostafa's armor.

these are fresh trophies, quilted together in a patchwork of different skin tones, sizes and various stages of tanning, all suggesting the cloak was cobbled of multiple victims. the moonlight catches him, dancing lightning off the apex of his helmet's bat horns. he looks like an animal, and he smells of putrefying gore. dignified, despite himself. sevatar's glaive rests at ease against his shoulder, and in this light konrad's favorite son paints the picture of shepherd leaned upon his crook, given brief albeit temporary respite from his flock of wolves. he's beautiful.

mostafa can not help but laugh as sevatar's crimson gauntlets curl around his throat — a worthless gesture as he no longer had carotid arteries to squeeze — and the sound is not mocking. he's slack, muscles eased and easy as he sits up, curling his own hands into the chains adorning the other's power armor. the tusks decorating his helm bracket sevatar's, locking the muzzle of his vox-caster against the ivory predator's skull.

" are we testing metal or are you here to bed me ?? i'll humor whatever you pick atramentar, but at present i am having difficulty discerning which it is you want. "

[arbitratour]

I have the day off so here I shall be.

[arbitratour]

「 HOLD 」 (threatening)

@scindo-iii // 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 … ( accepting ) 「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat

" you are ignorant, ignoble and incompetent. you are a liability."

the great boar's growling comes with a hiss of steam, the fire-hot puffs of electrochemical toxin radiating from his armor's vent ports caustic to a human's touch. gorgon plate — a jewel amongst many of ferrus manus' crowning achievements; indomitable, it made them, but the sacrifices required to operate two thousand pounds of radioactive tactical dreadnought armor were a plenty. it was as much apart of him as own flesh, laced into the architecture of his body as surely as muscle binds with bone. it enables its bearer incredible strength and uncanny focus. mostafa is a captain, a champion and a warrior among warriors. he's courted his father's favor over decades and and and — and none of it matters here.

for all his posturing and all his strength and all the ways in which sheer size should have dictated victory this day ( the terminator towers three feet taller ), none of it matters when matched against lucius' sword arm.

his own blade lies lifeless on the ground, taken from his hand not thirty seconds before the astartes had come to blows. a strategic disagreement; simple diplomacy. now he stands, their bodies encased in ceramite wound tight, lucius sword pressed tighter to the gap in mostafa's breastplate, right at the underside of his ribs. oh but his hand — his hand has come up to close around mostafa's throat. he grips tight, beneath the tusked helmet, what sliver of his neck remains visible underneath the massive gorget which surrounds his head. it would be nothing to throw fulgrim's preening peacock across the room or slam him into the metal wall behind. the bladesman's sword bites an inch deeper, though in anticipation for what retaliatory violence might come. it doesn't. the chemical mutilation of his nervous system screams at him to fight. he does not.

he does, however, feel an uncomfortable heat crawl up his face.

" what is this foolishness ?? "

[arbitratour]

I need to write out the verse properly for 30k but im losing my mind at my inbox (positive) and feel like it's a good time to remind everyone that the iron hands who use gorgon pattern terminator armor can not take it off. They are surgically integrated into the suit- THAT IS his skin, more a less.

Romance is still an option!! But he is, in fact, a 10 foot tall, gasoline guzzling suit of terminator armor piloted by a collection of disjointed human body parts so if thats still ur thing more power to you. We love tetsuo the iron man.

[wampirszy]

regis listens with appropriate interest, gaze turned towards mostafa even as he works small lengths of twine around stalks of herbs and flowers. keeping supplies restocked while on the road has always paid off, for even though they each keep the company of their respective indefatigable monster (as well as, allegedly, the nine), they've encountered ordinary folk in need just as often as meandering daedra. bravil won't care about bruma. were regis still in touch with whatever mockery of humanity he once possessed, by now a distant speck in an ever - lengthening existence, he would have called mostafa's assessment overly cynical. he's come to learn, however, that such is a mortal's lot.

his mood improves at the mention of count hassildor: as mostafa looks to him, regis turns expectant. though his countenance remains unshaken, there's no turning a blind eye to a vampire's intensity.

" i suppose now is as good a time as any for me to mention that janus and i are friends, " regis says, putting aside his tools. " i didn't neglect revealing this on purpose, mind you: we are, after all and in spite ourselves, natural enemies that have let their histories lie undisturbed. now skingrad ... well, it happens to concern a bit of mine. " it's all he offers by way of explanation: the discomfort they cause each other is mutual and inescapable whenever they think of who they are.

" when i returned to the province five years ago, that's where i set up shop, literally, but with no shortage of trouble. the count's territorial nature and his hatred for other vampires are very much interlinked, and he first assumed me an invader. it took some time but we made peace, especially considering my history. " regis reflects on his tribulations with barely concealed amusement, as though these matters were decades past and not a simple and very short five years. his eyes soften, hopeful. " he will aid us in our efforts, of that i have no doubt. whatever deficiencies we're presented with in anvil and bravil, janus will more than make up for them. "

[arbitratour]

" you are friends with count hasslidor ?? " he spoke slowly, tentatively, letting his disbelief taint his tone openly. regis liked to talk, or maybe more apt — regis knew quite a bit ( quite a lot ) about just about everything, and was very keen to share. absolute devotion to the absolute truth: naturally curious, as scholars, statesmen and studied surgeons tended to be. he wasn't ever one to lie, at least insofar as the truth remained practical, but at the same time he's so . . . civilian ?? so unassuming ?? in contrast to the dramaticism of his peers, the vampire looks strikingly, connivingly human. average. it is probably this lack of ambition ( not lack — ambition denied and choked — smothered the same way a drunkard smothers his vice ) which permitted him his life. so every vampire on nirn knows every other vampire, is that it ?? " how . . . how old are you ?? "

he can't fault regis his fondness, he'd seen the same look — that same hopeful assuredness — in basil's eyes whenever the subject of skingrad reared its controversial head in congregation. it echoed the same wise amusement in vicente's. the truth of the matter was hasslidor had killed more vampires than any number of their rank. more important than any of that, his mere existence was one of insane, brave defiance. hasslidor was never the lesser man, as the story goes. at the inception of vampirism not once had he given into temptation, nor made of himself a beast. he proved, without equivocation, that it was a choice. and that doesn't sit all to well with mostafa either.

who is he to judge. by absolutely no right. yet quietly and without comment, judge he does.

"that is a welcome development then. i do not trust him completely," but i do trust you "however if you think he will help us then we shall work under that assumption. " he strips his gauntlets off his hands to flex his fingers near the fire, lost briefly to thought as he watches the dying flames lick what kindling remains. " i've always wondered, why doesn't the vampire consolidate ?? you have clans and dynasties that somewhat resemble our own. there's greymoor for example. clan volkihar of skyrim. yet these are pitiful, decaying holdings bastioned by but a few able bodies. my people — humans, beastfolk and so on — have made ourselves true apex predators by the strength of our unity. for all your wisdom and might, i can not comprehend why the vampire would not attempt the same. "

[wildwhims]

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 …

✦ a collection of prompts that can be considered nsfw, with a lot of teasing and tension driven prompts. adjust as needed ; send ‘ + reverse ‘ for sender and receiver to switch spots. Combine prompts by sending more than one.

「 SQUEEZE 」 : for sender to rest their hand on the receivers thigh , giving it a squeeze .

「 LINGER 」 : for senders touch to linger on the receiver.

「 MASSAGE 」 : for sender to give receiver a massage .

「 LOTION 」 : for sender to rub lotion into the receivers skin

「 SLIP 」 : for senders hand to slip between the receivers legs.

「 TUG 」 : for sender to tug on the receivers hair

「CLIMB 」 : for sender to climb into receivers lap

「PULL 」 : for the sender to pull receiver into their lap

「BITE 」 : for sender to bite the receiver ( include the location )

「 MARK 」 : for sender to leave hickies on receiver

「 BARE 」 : for sender to undress in front of receiver

「 HELP 」 : for sender to help receiver undress

「 GRIND 」 : for sender to grind against the receiver

「 HOT 」 : for sender and receiver to share a heated kiss

「 OOPS 」 : for sender to accidentally send receiver a risqué image.

「 CHIME 」 : for sender to purposefully send receiver a risqué image.

「 WHISPER 」 : for sender to whisper something suggestive in receivers ear

「 HOLD 」 : for sender to hold receivers throat

「 THROW 」 : for sender to throw receiver onto the bed

「 PRESS 」 : for sender to press receiver against a wall and kiss them

「 CAUGHT 」 : for sender to catch receiver pleasuring themselves

「 LIGHT 」 : for sender to touch the receiver with a feather light pressure.

「 INNER 」 : for sender to kiss along the inside of receivers thigh

[arbitratour]

I do fucking adore a good redemption arc but I think mostafa also needs more homies that make him worse / he makes them worse. We should hype up each other's unsustainable self destructive behavior as bravery and try to out-macho each other as we descend into a toxic death spiral of enmeshment and one-ups manship. We are never gunna talk about our feelings. Lord may this kind of love find him.

[memewhore]

[arbitratour]

🌹🍷 - from cassius! yes, he does both ;;))

@d3athwaltz // mirrored perspectives. ( accepting ) 🌹 sender pins a flower to receiver’s clothing +🍷 sender offers receiver a drink from their own cup

foremost the brotherhood is a religious institution, each denomination ( every finger ) of the black hand thusly bound by the same militaristic hierarchies prevalent in every theocracy.  there had always been an illusion of familial equality: every speaker and each one of their talons in turn — all the way to listener — knew one another as brother.  as sister.  this is a practical lie, meant to soothe the despair of their craft.  cassius carries ( and proudly, too ) the appellation of silencer, and not just anyone’s.  not a river nor pond but ocean of difference in reverence between the pair, and despite the jester's seemingly blatant disdain for ritual formality, mostafa pays him the respect he is due but does not demand. 

the pigs fancy themselves wolves, looking out into the crowd of mingling nobles, wearing the sheepskin of harlequin performer and errant hedge-knight.  cassius sees their target first, his mismatched eyes focusing then narrowing.  an up and coming silk merchant from anvil, or so the story goes.  he’s loud, drunk — stupid.  easy prey, and mostafa wordlessly acknowledges in a nod that his help would not be needed. 

cassius laughs low, he slides the drink he’d been nurturing into mostafa’s hand, and he pins the rose lady lylfort had graciously gifted him not ten minutes prior ( he’s collected a lion's share already, by god) to the boar’s lapel.  it makes sense, in a roundabout sort of way doesn’t it ??  no one expects the flashiest among them guilty, it defied practical sense.  where mostafa used traditionalism — sharp intellect, deception and keen sword hand, cassius cloaks himself in bright light.  a master of death-craft in his own right, lachance would accept nothing less. if mostafa's duty tonight is to play butler, well then by sithis he shall be the best. 

“ i will await your return outside.  happy hunting, silencer," he affirmed, no louder than a whisper.  as mostafa turns to leave, he pays no mind and brings no attention to the hand that lingers on his chest a hair's breadth too long.

[arbitratour]

I stg ill shut the fuck up abt it and get to writing / the starters i owe all u fiends but im still so rotted thinking abt the durge and Orin and the absolutely fucked like. Ur my sister ??? But im also your uncle - cousin ??? We call the same god father but im also the flesh of your parent's creator ???

And when I say the ONLY person durge had real patience for was Orin. undeserved, irrational patience; that of an older brother, almost paternal. He was always in her corner, ferociously so, and respected / would default to Orin's council constantly even if he really shouldnt. He was running Seattle Seahawks level defense for her CONSTANTLY and THIS was the start of his divorce from bhaalist faith (unbeknownst to him, hes VERY loyal up until the start of the campaign) like. Ofc we are gunna murder each other duh. But also blood lamb??? Waiting womb ?? Fuck off dog thats my SISTER. We are the same.

For a dude whose normally so cruel / shrewd the favoritism orin gets is very blatant. And ofc it made a blindside that came to BITE him.

[arbitratour]

thirsty for dnd / bg3 stuff rn it's on the brain BAD.

again the dynamic between the durge and orin is so interesting to me. both of them are absolutely batshit insane. both of them are bhaals to the walls crazy but where orin is a serial killer mostafa is a khornate warrior. both revel in sadism but for orin it's the kill itself, for mostafa it's the battle. it's the conquest. the feeling of domination through death.

mostafa absolutely loathes to pick a fight he cant lose, not because of honor, but because theres no glory in it otherwise. he respects kethric in earnest because he wants to BE kethric. i actually do consider the durges note abt gortash legit to my portrayal as well. not lamenting the fact he has to kill this guy, but lamenting the fact hes not going to get to fight him fair.

it's a very khornate approach to bhaal worship i think, and it balances the siblings out. as blood hungry and bat shit as mostafa is, hes always very disciplined, intelligent, stoic ect which almost makes the fact he revels in the carnage more off putting.

[starburstcosmos]

maybe the real sex was the chess we played along the way

[rpclefairy]

mirrored perspectives.

a compilation of action based ask prompts with two variants for different perspectives. there is a mix of romantic, platonic and antagonistic dynamics.

sender:

💋 sender brushes a kiss against receiver’s forehead

🗡️ sender stabs receiver from behind

🤝 sender offers their hand to receiver after a fall

🩸 sender wipes blood from receiver’s lip with their thumb

🛡️ sender steps in front of receiver to shield them

🔥 sender grabs receiver’s wrist to stop them from leaving

👑 sender adjusts receiver’s crown, hat or headpiece

🌙 sender tucks a loose strand of hair behind receiver’s ear

⚔️ sender disarms receiver in a swift motion

🕯️ sender lights a candle for receiver in the dark

📜 sender presses a sealed letter into receiver’s hand

🫀 sender places receiver’s hand over their heartbeat

❄️ sender drapes a cloak over receiver’s shoulders

🔒 sender locks the door with receiver inside

🪶 sender traces a mark or scar on receiver’s skin

🍷 sender offers receiver a drink from their own cup

🕊️ sender unties receiver’s restraints

🩶 sender rests their head briefly against receiver’s shoulder

⚡ sender grabs receiver before they can fall

🪓 sender knocks receiver’s weapon from their grip

🌹 sender pins a flower to receiver’s clothing

🕰️ sender pulls receiver back just in time

🧎 sender drops to one knee before receiver

🗝️ sender presses a key into receiver’s palm

🩹 sender bandages receiver’s wound with careful hands

receiver:

💋 receiver brushes a kiss against sender’s forehead

🗡️ receiver stabs sender from behind

🤝 receiver offers their hand to sender after a fall

🩸 receiver wipes blood from sender’s lip with their thumb

🛡️ receiver steps in front of sender to shield them

🔥 receiver grabs sender’s wrist to stop them from leaving

👑 receiver adjusts sender’s crown, hat or headpiece

🌙 receiver tucks a loose strand of hair behind sender’s ear

⚔️ receiver disarms sender in a swift motion

🕯️ receiver lights a candle for sender in the dark

📜 receiver presses a sealed letter into sender’s hand

🫀 receiver places sender’s hand over their heartbeat

❄️ receiver drapes a cloak over sender’s shoulders

🔒 receiver locks the door with sender inside

🪶 receiver traces a mark or scar on sender’s skin

🍷 receiver offers sender a drink from their own cup

🕊️ receiver unties sender’s restraints

🩶 receiver rests their head briefly against sender’s shoulder

⚡ receiver grabs sender before they can fall

🪓 receiver knocks sender’s weapon from their grip

🌹 receiver pins a flower to sender’s clothing

🕰️ receiver pulls sender back just in time

🧎 receiver drops to one knee before sender

🗝️ receiver presses a key into sender’s palm

🩹 receiver bandages sender’s wound with careful hands

[arbitratour]

@wampirszy // cont from ( x )

he's happy with a few hours. not of true sleep, for that would require separation from his armor and he will not permit himself be skinned raw in such a manner while traveling the wilds, left again with his own mortality. it would also demand mostafa slumber alone in the woods with a vampire. by now the sincerity of regis' goodwill was difficult ( at best ) to call into question. every trial and turn of their tumultuous journey, the nobility of his intent was made apparent and regis was not nor ever had been found wanting. the crusader's affection for him may be perpetually evolving and at times readily apparent, but to disarm himself completely in such a way is two steps too far. always pride, just like there was always fear; the former more often than a not a shield for the later. so a few moments to sit — to get warm and rest his eye — for this he is plenty thankful.

they sit in silence for a few hours. the hero only moves once, to draw his cape closer in around himself as the fire, its light and its warmth, began to retreat. at the fourth, once the moon's fully settled, a second before its gradual retreat, he slowly blinks and humors regis with a proper response. not before taking his time to stare, watching as the light reflects from regis eyes in a manner befitting a star-lit deer (or sabercat or a wolf ).

" i do not expect much from regulus. bravil is hardly in any position to help themselves, least of all their neighbors. besides which, culturally there's more kinship between the colovians and their nordic cousins than their own imperial nibenese brethren. they wont care, not about bruma. we'd be better off in skyrim asking the southern jarls for help — which is exactly where we should be and precisely where we are not. " he shifted himself up to a seated position, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked blankly into the fire. " i don't know enough about millona umbranox to make comment, though my expectations are appropriately low. as for janus hassildor, " mostafa then paused a moment, and offered regis an inquisitive look, though briefly searching. "he's . . . he's different. competent. i'm expecting — no we are relying — on him completely. "

mostafa had never met the man himself, oh but vicente valtieri had, and his judgement had always been favorable. vicente had also been quite transparent about the other bit.

" he's also a vampire. he doesn't kill people — nor has he ever, i'm led to believe, but he is — meridia save us — a vampire. he is also ferociously territorial. for your sake it might be better if you avoid skingrad entirely. worth thinking about, i suppose."

[chernobog13]

Death Dealer 6 painted by Frank Frazetta in 1990.