#wuh-oh

[randomball123]

OOPS I MEANT TO POST THIS DRAFT EARLIER BUT BETTER LATE THAN NEVER IG…

@nayann51 please spare @pxrfaitgirlz

[ren-fang]

someone finally came here to save you!

[characteroulette]

MORE PROSECUTOR LUKE DOODLES the flavour of angst I can get out of this is so good hahaha

(As the World Falls Down is obligatory after the Within You thing trust me @detective-piplup )

(more under cut)

Listen okay I had this thought in my head after realising Within You was such a good match for can't let go of his grief Layton

And of course an obligatory "Welcome to the Family" joke

Layton is so unhealthy in this AU he has all the worst of his usual coping mechanisms I am so into it hahaha

(He is also big Narrator energy) (hey go play Slay the Princess it's so good)

[pequenosol]

[ridragon]

.... tummy hurt

[jiubilant]

27 (ghost) for ayo

27. ghost

In Sovngard, land of the honored dead, the Dragonborn quarrels with a ghost.

She stalks seething from the meadhall of the gods, sword in hand, still holding the drinking-horn that had blacked Ysgramor’s eye. The spirits try to stop her. She feels them, cold, insubstantial, tugging at her clothes: the warriors of old, the storm-singers, their voices as dead as their hands.

Fool, says the first, his voice a thunderclap. Renounce us not. We have fought the worm before.

You go to greet your death, says the second, her voice a golden sky, if you go friendless.

Your thu’um alone, says the third, his voice weary and gray, is a drop of water in a wide, wide sea—

The Dragonborn, with a foul laugh, casts the horn aside.

“You fought your fight,” she snaps, shrugging off the spectral hands. “Make merry. Eat shadows. Drink dust. I—” Her voice catches, and she swallows with a wince, walking faster to outpace her three shadows. “I am Ysmir. I’ll kill him. Leave me be.”

You are weary, says the gray voice, a grim whisper at her ear. You are frightened. Do not act rashly in your fear—

The Dragonborn plunges into the fog.

The spirits, as she suspected, are too wise to dog her through this trap of the World-Eater’s design. Three steps in, she stops and shuts her eyes. She shivers. She takes a long, deep breath of the air that is not air, cold and sweet, in this strange land where dead men die again. Where dead men feast and drink and sing of slaughter. Where dead men stare like jackals at the sword she holds far from her body, gingerly, like a snake.

Something stirs in the fog.

The Dragonborn, with a strained smile, opens her eyes.

“Your brothers call you coward!” she cries in dragon-tongue, her every word white fire. She wheels like a player on the stage, her eyes ablaze, her bright sword flashing in the fog. “Carrion-crow! Come out!”

An eye the size of a sun opens in the fog. It blinks. It looks, with patient interest, at the trembling tip of the Dragonborn’s sword.  

“I come,” rumbles the World-Eater, and smiles as wide as the sea. “Ysmir.”

[elder scrolls writing prompts]

[honeyedlashton]

Umm anyway…

[sylvan-veil]

May be getting sick :/