#weird one

[rexbolt]

cast

[broken-pink-doll]

Sludge

Oh, don't worry about that. It happens to dolls sometimes. You probably should not touch the thick black sludge it coughed up but it's okay, really. It just happens.

No, it doesn't gunk up this one's clockwork. O-oh, this one thought you knew. It doesn't have clockwork— it's more of a haunted porcelain doll than a wind up one.

No, it's alright, this one just... thought you knew it better than you did. It's okay.

Oh, one mome—hurghk

Yes, this one produced a little bit more. Do not worry about it.

No don't touch it. Seriously. Actually stop looking at it at all

Stop looking at the goo. Yes it's weird you can see yourself in— don't touch it!

This one is fine. It just does this sometimes, it told you.

No, you may not touch its cracks. They're sharp.

Stop looking at the sludge!

Why aren't you listening to this o— hrgck

Uuugh. This one would like to go home now.

It told you not to touch it!

Oh, that was definetely a mistake on your part. You could have probably survived with an amputation but it's all over you now.

You certainly are screaming a lot. At least it should be over soon.

Sigh. This one will go fetch a mop.

[illmadekn1ght]

just another wednesday evening

[somelazyshit]

Oh I remember now, I'm dream of Merlin again.

Though rather than brown hair Merlin, this time is white hair Merlin.

Something like this:

In silence of room, with dim light from single candle next to a bed as a person lay on it. The person slowly get up, his white hair fall to his face as he sits on edge of the bed. We couldn't see his face, with only source of light came from almost burn out candle and his long wavy hair fall to his face, but his lips in sight as he opens them.

"no one ever control us, like a god would to his follower." He spoke, his voice almost a whisper.

"we're something no one could understand, anomaly no one ever seen." The candle grow shorter, as the wind hit the little fire of it.

"but we do lost to, but not too long." The person lift his face, reveal side part of his face, yet his eyes remains hides in shadow.

"our power rely on memory, regain them and we'll stood strong again. Then they all will back fear us again."

"go, and get the memories back."

"Go-"

—

Do i know what he talks about? No, but I'm sure he's was talk to brown hair Merlin.

This is weird dream.

[scilliarno]

Fuji X-A10

[linoguy]

Happy birthday!!!!!!!

Tyyy!!!! :]🤎🤎

[mareenavee]

Another Sacrifice

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

For the prompt: Dragon Priest

A shoutout to @changelingsandothernonsense for these caveats:

Dragon Priest's POV Nyenna is the LDB

For those of you who aren't yet familiar, Nyenna is my OC from my main fic, The World on Our Shoulders. This piece is NON CANON. (:

Hope you like the oddness. It was a fun one!

Tagging @throughtrialbyfire, @dirty-bosmer, @archangelsunited, and @paraparadigm <3 It's another Second Person POV and I know you guys have always really supported my efforts on that front, too and it is so, so appreciated!

without further ado~

Another Sacrifice

It has been centuries—untold eras since you last breathed the air of the crypt you called your final resting place. Your skin, fragile now, stretches across your bones like canvas. You need not breathe, for long ago your insides had putrefied. You are desiccated, and yet more powerful than you have ever been before. You feel the magic pulse between the spaces in your ribs where your heart and lungs used to rest. You exhale dust and ash as you rise from your tomb, awakened by a sound in your head—

“Krii daar joorre.”

So He had returned in the end, as he said he would. As you said you would. His Voice echoes across the tundras and river valleys, through mountains and caverns and into the tombs you’d sequestered yourself in waiting for this promised day when you would be called forth from your slumber. Finally, the time has come to make use of the power you had sacrificed everything for. You are to rule this place as you were always meant to rule—with absolute, unshakeable power, guided only by Alduin’s will.

Only, for a moment, it is as if the Words do not ring. The Voice you’ve been hearing is different from what was expected, its signature sideways in your ears. You open your mouth to try and speak, and find yourself unable to articulate. Your trachea has rotted through, the skin peeling from the effort of opening your jaw. How, then, are you to call to your Lord? How, then, are you to respond?

You look through eyes that are not eyes, and through the veil of magic that sustains you, a figure emerges. You know her, and yet you do not. She speaks your language, and yet does not speak at all. She crouches in the darkness, her spectral bow glimmering in the faint light. She has eliminated the ones whose life force kept you in stasis. She is why you are now awake. Not to kill all mortals—just this one. You are confused for a brief moment as you sift through your memories and try to wrap your head around this breach of etiquette. Only Alduin was supposed to call you forth. You were to rise to greet him and lead his army of thralls, and return this place to the unyielding rule of the Dragon Cult. That had been your purpose. That was the power you had sacrificed everything for.

Anger, or something like it, flashes in what is left of your mind—not so much a mind as a swirling cloud of Necromantic magics housed inside a crumbling skull. This false dragon, whose soul hides itself inside a prison of flesh, had the gall to destroy the reserves of soul-power you had so carefully hand selected, in such ways that they would never rise again. And now? Now she intends to fight you, bow brandished as if her power could hope to be your equal—or your undoing.

A vile cackle leaves what is left of your throat. The girl before you does not cower, does not bend to the enormity of your presence. Your hand grips the cool gold of the staff you carried. A shock of power runs through it and across your body. Your laughter, deep and insidious, does not stop as the magic courses through the pathways that used to be veins, muscle, sinew. You float, no longer bound by the constraints of mortal existence. Your lips, or what remains of them, twist into a sneer. Without effort, you redirect the storm you summoned, aiming for the false dragon, the one without wings, the one without authority. You will end her. That is the only directive you can follow. -> Read the rest on AO3.