31 | she/they/whatever | This is my freaky blog and I will get freaky on it. +18 only please and thank you. | WRITING REQUESTS CLOSED | Here Be Monsters: block Body Horror and Gore if you don't want to see it | Sideblog of thebeardedladyofthelake
"wire play is so weird it's basically like ripping out organs" yes and if i couldn't feel pain or die of blood loss/infection i would also moan if someone played with my organs. next question
Someday I should write a scaly tf that has skin shedding. I don't do it often, but the heat and itching giving way to someone scratching all over their body, peeling back their dying skin to reveal wonderful, superior smooth scales is great
Evil wizard tasteful pin-up magazine but it's all photos of like, skinny old goths coyly fingering cursed amulets, long-bearded sorcerers doing the 'oopsie' pose as their corrosive destruction spell destroys enough of their own robes to show some skin, naked desiccated lich king positioning his staff of human skulls just so it leaves something to the imagination, dark knights in full armor just holding their soul-eating blades out in front of their codpieces, orc chieftain who did not understand the assignment and is posing with a monster he killed like one of those guys-with-fish photos. Or maybe he DID understand the assignment. Hmm.
The whole shackle next to the throne thing reminds me of this unfinished Horned King/reader one-shot I tried to write years ago. There were no shackles involved in it, but it did contain the line
Perhaps I will revisit it and finish it up. No promises though lol
It takes place in an movieverse AU where the Horned King won because honestly the rest of the film aside from him sorta sucked imo
Here's the most polished and segment from the existing draft.
âAnd so they send one of their own as sacrifice, as if I were a beast whose hunger could be thus sated. Pathetic.â
âNo, your majesty, I came- it was- I am-!â You took a shaky breath in hopes of steadying yourself. âThey do not know that I am here. If anyone had known, they surely would have stopped me.â
âAh, then you see yourself a martyr. Noble, perhaps, but foolish.â You had nothing to say to that. You supposed it was true. âTell me, martyr,â he continued, âWhat have you to offer me? What will you bargain for the lives of your people?â
âMyself,â the word, though you had practiced it many a time on your way to this place, fell weak and unconvincing from your tongue.
As the kingâs dry laugh echoed around the chamber, you could make out the rise and dip of the horned silhouette.
âYourself? And how so? What use would you possibly have to me?"
âIn any way that pleases you, my lord. As a servant, as a slave, as⊠an example if nothing else."
There followed a moment of silence in which you were certain that you were about to be struck down, then a snap cracked the tension like a branch underfoot. You started at the sound, but no blow followed. Below you, the worn stones now danced with an eerie green light. Cautiously, you raised your gaze from the floor to observe the change. Sconces, previously unseen, lined the chamber, each lit by unseen hands with discolored flames that writhed over their kindling like tortured souls. In the center of the room, the king sat upon his ungilded throne. Your eyes trailed up the contours of his red robes, to his gnarled, bony fingers, and finally, his face. Although you'd heard stories of the Kingâs frightening appearance, actually being in his presence was something else entirely. The descriptions of a hooded skull crowned with wicked antlers had not been an exaggeration of a gaunt-faced king with an oddly shaped crown after all. No, that which you knelt before looked like a corpse pulled from the bogs, skin the same green-brown as the slurry it had bathed in for untold centuries stretched over a grinning skeleton. This man who controlled an army of the dead looked little more alive than his soldiers. Perhaps he wasnât. Stories had always referred to the king as a powerful sorcerer, a necromancer who laughed in the face of death even before he'd laid claim to the Cauldron, and as your eyes met the embers leering out from those hollow sockets, you believed them.
The tightness in your throat, the pounding in your chest, it was all too much. Your vision blurred around the edges and the sound of your own pulse deafened your ears with the sound of crashing waves. Even so, you could not look away; for all the fear, a level of dizzy excitement followed. Here you were before the Horned King, closer than most who still lived could boast. That in itself was a heady sort of tonic.
âYou do not attempt to run from me,â he finally said, lipless mouth contorting unnaturally around the words, âHow brave.â The compliment, though delivered with an air of condescension, still brought heat to your face and pride swelling beneath your ribs, and you barely caught yourself in time to stop the instinctual âthank youâ from slipping out. Impressing someone of such status, even one as wretched as this, held an undeniable thrill for one who had long come to terms with the fact that you would never amount to anything. You tried to tell yourself there was nothing more at play than hope that, against all odds, you might actually succeed in your quest to save the village, but deep down, you knew that some part of you yearned for importance.
Slowly, deliberately, the King lifted his right hand to beckon you forward. âCome closer, martyr.â And, as if in a trance, you rose and followed his command, stopping right before the throne. You made to kneel again but he gestured for you to stop, so you stayed as a particularly awkward statue while he observed you. After a minute he spoke again. âDo you pledge yourself to me even now?"
really strong desire to just consume the dubious potion while wearing the cursed amulet while chanting the forbidden spell while disrespecting the gods while trespassing on hallowed ground while ignoring the prophecy while breaking my promise to a witch while looking directly into the serpentâs eyes and agreeing to its dark bargain. on the off chance that i get turned into a fucked up monster
amandla
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
