#Troupe 2

[blightedmikhael]

who? @witchertorsten where? Hall of Virtue

The Warrior’s Guild was a serious Guild that placed a great deal of weight upon the shoulders of those who had been welcome to its membership. The guild was filled with determined warriors, ready to fight together against overwhelming odds. They were a group of warrior’s like no other, they were also the worst of gossips. Camaraderie was included in the Warrior’s Oath, so more often than not, there were members of the Guild that kept an ear on the ground to figure out if a fellow warrior needed aid on a contract or two. It made it easy for Mikhael to pick up jobs, since it let him know who would be willing to partner on a hunt and who wouldn’t.

Frustratingly, it also kept him aware of the Kingsguard’s Witcher, despite Mikhael’s clear attempts to steer clear of him and his kind. 

Despite the fact that he was growing ever so slowly growing more willing to use his infernal form when taking jobs partly to his group’s non-reaction when hunting beasts, Mikhael still greatly disliked the idea of being a known quantity among the Witchers. Iskaldrik had fallen, but he would rather not be remembered by those who would see it their duty to hunt him down if Iskaldrik raised once more. Not that his fellow warriors’ realized it. 

No. Instead, because they were both part of the Ikaran refugee wave and had been seen leaving Athena’s Hand one after the other, people have begun assuming that they were — at the very least —  friendly enough. 

Which is how he had learned — quite against his will, mind you — that there were rumors of Torsten having stayed in the care of the Healers of Ceres. And, once again almost against his will, he had been concerned about the man. Everyone knows that Witchers and magic do not mix, so that he had been left in the care of witches meant that his situation had been dire. 

Frankly, Mikhael had expected him to be down for the count for months, so seeing him in the Guild hall as he left the training area was a surprise. Enough of one that he had found himself walking closer to see if there were any visible wounds. 

“I see you are back on your feet,” he comments with a quick nod of acknowledgement. “Here to pick up a contract?”

[rykardthebarbarian]

For: @freydis-freydat Where: Aventia When: Siege Week 3 Notes: sad awoo

The third week of the siege was marked with significant losses on the side opposing the Dark One's army. With every death, morale inside the war-beaten walls of the fortress plunged even lower. The nights were alive with the sounds of mournful wails as the survivors grieved for those who had not returned from the battlefield.

A sliver of a crescent moon hung directly above them in the sky. The hour of the wolf was upon them. How fitting. "You didn't have to help me with this," Rykard said to Freydis as they carefully placed the last fallen werewolf onto the pile of wood that would act as kindling for the cleansing fire. His expression was grim as he recognized the mangled face of one of the deceased. The boy was young, probably no older than nineteen. His family had a bakery in Haven, he tried to picture the wolf's warm smile as he handed out loaves of bread to the Iskaran refugees the day they had arrived in their settlement. He had never learned his name. He wondered if the boy's mother even knew he had left to go fight. If only his bravery was enough to keep his heart beating. "They deserve to rest."

"You will be free from the bonds that bind you," He spoke solemnly to each of the corpses that had been laid upon the make-shift funeral pyre. "You are free from the bonds that bound you." Rykard walked over to horse-drawn cart they had used to transport the corpses, grabbing the torch that had lit their way. He handed the torch to Freydis, glancing away from the unlit pyre as if he was trying to steady himself. Though he did not know these wolves personality, their loss felt like a stone resting on his chest. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "They we're under your command, you should be the one to send them off."

[moechies]

rrr the yummiest threesome with phinks and shalnark <3 head so fuzzy about big cock phinks pulling your little white panties to the side for easy access to that plush little cunt, and having no remorse despite your little cries of how big he is and how it hurts. and shalnark <3 he’s so baby and yes .. he does feel bad for you in the slightest so he helps to satiate the pain by suckling at that pretty little clit and jerking himself off. he can’t have a pretty lady in even more stress than phinks has bestowed upon you …

ʚ♡ɞ

“stop squirmin’ around…” phinks grunts, readjusting your leg previously propped up onto his shoulder. he tugs at your hips, nudging himself impossibly deeper against your plush walls. “p—phinks!” you mewl, chewing down at your bottom lip to halt your cries. your nails drag down against his bicep, eliciting a hiss.

“fuck,” phinks sighs, peering down at the sight of your swollen cunt swallowing him whole. “t—this is the shit.” the brute grunts, thumbing at your folds and tugging the sticky fabric further to the side.

“no kidding.” the blonde man besides you grins, meeting your teary eyes with a soft hum. “so good for us, girl. mhm.” shalnark hums, pressing down harshly at your clit. “s—shal..” you drag out a whine, a subconscious beg for mercy. “s’—s’mean..”

“mm, it’ll be okay.” he assures with a hum and a soft peck to the tip of your nose. “doing so good for us already. hold out a little, yeah?” he presses a gentle kiss across your eyelids, blocking your view off from the perverted sight of his right hand reaching into his pants. your eyes flutter open anyway — especially when you hear a soft groan fall from the plush lips of the man.

“hnn !” you’re caught off guard by a harsh thrust to your cunt,

“little thing, you best not forget who’s fucking you here just ‘cause shal’s sweetmouthin’ you.”

“s—sorry!” you whine damn sweetly, making phinks scoff.

you’re damn pretty. phinks wouldn’t admit it out loud — shalnark would though — but your pretty little body, the back pliant against the snow sheets, the front against the two men, a gorgeous gleam of sweat painting your soft skin — you’re a perfect little thing. he’s sure shalnark’s thinking the same thing.

he continues his mean strokes to your cunt, humping sloppily against your plush thighs with load groans. you reciprocate with soft whines and hiccups, mewling loudly when you feel warm, sticky balls slap against the fat of your ass.

“fuck, wan’ taste.” shal groans from besides you — removing his thumb from your clit and wasting no time before replacing it with his plush lips. your back arches almost painfully, a shrill squeak elicited from your lips when he suckles meanly at the bundle of nerves, humming against the sensitive flesh. you don’t miss the way the mattress recoils gently from shalnark’s mean pumps to his heavy cock — lewd swipes across the dewy slit of his cock head to soothe the ache. “so shweet,” shalnark whines, “like sap or hh..honey..”

“y’rarely c—cuss, shal. pussy’s got ya in a chokehold?” phinks hisses, not missing the new angle he’s fucking you at after your sudden arch. with another brutal thrust, you feel phinks’ pudgy tip browse across your cervix, causing a loud yelp. “p—phinks h.. hurts!”

“my bad, pretty lady. i can’t say s’all my fault though, y’r asking for it with a damn pretty body like this.” phinks hums, hips stuttering and growing sloppy as his pace quickens. shal’s losing himself too — moaning endlessly around your abused clit — accidently swiping his tongue over where you too connect. “s—shal, damn pervert.” phinks growls, and shalnark only whines in response.

you feel your pussy flutter around the man, stomach aching and yearning for release. “p—phinks, shal.. gon’ cum, gon’ cum, please!” you hiccup, pretty manicure etched into his forearm. “phi—phinks, help me..”

“you got it pretty lady.” the man huffs, pressing his shaft wholly deep into you with no remorse. shal does his job effectively as well — softly nibbling at your clit and that does it.

your pussy clenches endlessly around phinks’ aching cock, slathering the shaft in warm white cream — the two returning the favor. “fuckin’ choking him,” phinks grunts as he cums his thick, viscous spent into your worn cunt, so much that it drools from the sides when he pulls away even in the slightest.

you whimper at the loss from inside, and even shalnark’s detachment from your clit. you turn your head slightly to meet the boy’s cerulean eyes, met with lidded eyes and blushed cheeks. you peer down and don’t miss the viscous nut that coats his hands and dirtied the cloth of his pants —

spiders spin webs after all. ♥︎

[blightedmikhael]

Mikhael has long since learned balance. Balance between his human side and his infernal heritage. Balance between his instinct to destroy and his habit to protect. Balance in the hunt, and balance in respite. The balance between faith and fanaticism is a lesson he was first taught once he had learned why Ankhuria had stopped cleaving their witches, and that was practiced every time he was faced with yet another member of the Astorian Vanguard of the Light that worshiped senseless violence. He had never seen the appeal of violence for violence sake, always more partial to specific applications of destruction in order to eliminate threads. It is why he is partial to contracts meant to hunt down certain individuals, rather than more wide spread battlefields. 

“You were sent by the Divine?” His surprise is genuine, eyes dipping and looking to the side as he considers the rather tasty bit of information the devil had all but dropped to his feet. Is the Divine aware of the devil within her ranks? Of the wolf amidst her flock? He doubts it, and that only cements his disdain for the false prophet that the Astorian Vanguard of the Light had chosen to elevate. Weakness begets weakness, and it is clear the faith within the Vanguard’s ranks is weak. “She must have a great deal of faith in you.”

The observation comes lightly, a tentative thought to which he manages to inflict just enough awe to make it seem real. It’s a dangerous game he is playing, but the more he listens to the devil’s diatribe, the less likely he is to leave things well enough alone. The man before him is a snake, and Mikhael feels the disgust on his spine even as he keeps a hold of his self-control. 

“Doing some good after Aventia— Yes, I would like that,” he admits steadily, softly. The Dark One strengthens by the minute, after all, so it is his duty to mitigate some of his influence.

Fanaticism. That was the bare minimum Dantalion required of members of his Vanguard. And yes, the faith was his. His to use, his to exploit, and his to charge headlong into holy war. His advantage lied in the fact that he stood to win no matter the victor. What Dantalion was after was a country soaked in blood and its people crushed beneath the weight of conflicting beliefs. Mongrels were so easy, which is what made them entertaining.

Fanatics would get it done for him, and if someone didn't have the spark of fanaticism then it was Dantalion Althais' job to spark it. Or destroy the toy who resisted, either or. One didn't simply play a game like his by setting one path, he had multiple avenues to achieve his holy war. It wasn't a matter of if at this point, but when. And he was starting to get impatient.

"There's more than simple appeal in my offer. It's a necessity. Why do you think the Divine sent me here personally? To share the miracles the One God has bestowed upon me with these poor, downtrodden citizens, but also to prepare. The people will receive more than his Light, but also his divine judgment as well." Dantalion could speak to his faith and loved doing so, but he wasn't a clergyman. His sermons were merely preamble. Dantalion was a leading member of the militant faith, and sewing peace into the lowest tier of this queendom was merely phase one. "Increase the faith of the meek, strengthen them in His Light, and then work to topple those who reject him. What else would you call Aventia's fall if not punishment for the wicked? Holy war is coming, and for the sake of your soul I'd like to help you do some good before you must take up arms with me." Like the devil he was, every word was its own form of test and trap. Dantalion had been at this game for a long time and knew exactly how to root out those who'd be useful to him, and those who needed to be discarded.

[ksdesign]

i’m still thinking about them

[trenchcoatofisopds]

Theres a theater troupe called Takarazuka and they’ve done multiple productions of the musical Elisabeth and all the people they’ve had play death are so pretty…. all of the outfits are so pretty….. I just wanted to draw kamimura in some of those outfits….

references :>

[notsofrozt]

So, for y'all "S2 Jayce meets S1 Viktor" hungry folks, here's a list of 5 of the bookmarks I've been collecting (for you specially @maiawhimsicalt) in no particular order and with no particular comentary, my braincells are on strike rn:

1. Of Memories and Tomorrows by Lieyantosh

Post-Season 2 Jayce and Season 1 Viktor, the grief of having lost your soulmate while having to look at his younger version who doesn’t even know you, the endless exhaustion of being a second-hand love and also science.

This fic has changed something in my I cannot describe, and if anyone here even remotely likes Arcane (or even if you don't know the series at all, it's that well written) y'all should read it right know.

You didn't hate me because of what my future self did,” Viktor said, feeling distinctly pathetic. There was a certain vulnerability in this, like he was opening up his ribcage for Jayce to see. “You hate me because I'm not him. Because you came back. And he didn't.”

2. the future came undone by Lieyantosh

Instead of appearing several months after the wild rune took him, Jayce lands in the past and decides to take out Viktor before he can turn into the monster he saw in the future.

This author is just *chef kiss*

3. intertwined, sewn together by lamoureg

Just as soon as the dance begins, it’s over.

In the silver, the faint mist rays of light, he can make out a face. One that’s achingly familiar, one he knows like the back of his hand, yet isn’t familiar with whatsoever. A man, bronze skin pallid and devoid of the life Viktor is so used to seeing. Shaggy dark hair hanging in curtains around his face — a face littered with cuts and bruises, stained with dirt and soot. Heavy set brows and eyes wide in shock.

Rather inappropriately, Viktor’s first thought is oh, fuck. And his second. And his third.

Because staring back at him is Jayce.

If you read this with Jinx and Ekko's song playing in the background you're going to cry.

4. You’re starting to look really weird by anónimo

Viktor lays awake, listening to the steady breathing beside him. The breathing of a man sleeping on his husband’s side of the bed, in his husband’s clothes, with his husband’s face, but who is most certainly not his husband.

This one has a very original concept: the reunion from Viktor's POV. Older Jayce got Ekko'd into his other self's body, so there's a stranger inhabiting his partner. It delves into that whole psychological horror aspect. I love it.

5. Stay Your Pretty Eyes On Course by Neibba

“I do not recall telling you my name.” Viktor stated matter-of-factly. “Yet you know it. Have we met?” Yes. Many times. Practically lived together inside their lab, but he couldn’t tell Viktor that. No, this Viktor had no idea who Jayce really was, and he intended on keeping it that way.

After the Hexcore collapsed, Jayce gets sent back to where it all started, the day he met Viktor, but Viktor seems to have no recollection of him. What happens when Jayce gets another chance, knowing what he knows now.

This author is a writing machine powered by glorious evolution and brainworms. I love this fic, its updated almost daily, and the way the relationship between the two of them develops is wonderful.

I have many, many more saved, especially one shots of S2!Jayce having all kinds of breakdown as soon as he sees S1!Viktor. I'll make another list later when deadlines aren't breathing on my neck.

I hope you like it!!!

[blightedmikhael]

It’s fair to say that Mikhael has not met a lot of other cambions. Overall, he could count with a hand the number of other cambions he had met in his entire life. Because of that, he tended to assume. Assume that other cambions used their abilities as much as he, that they trained to be able to switch between Infernal Sight and regular sight at a moments notice, that they checked the species of anyone they met just to ensure they kept an edge on the encounter. So he had presumed. And now he has to cover his ass, because clearly Rowan is not picking up what he had been trying to put down. 

“A bastard child of an Ankhurian spearwoman and an unknown father,” he says lightly, slowly sidestepping the secret he thought both of them knew they shared. “That's good. Religion can be a guide in times of struggle, and we are breaching those times as we speak.”

"Your origins being?" Rowan's not sure what makes him so curious about this quest of Mikhael's, but he feels compelled to help him. Granted, he feels compelled to help most people. But this guy had the kind of energy of someone a hero in a novel would meet on some grand adventure. Not like Rowan considered himself the hero in that situation by any means. "I've been here my whole life and I think people are fairly....Spiritual." Or maybe temples and churches had gotten an influx of people due to what had happened in Aventia. Which was actually rather funny when he thought about it, in a morbid kind of way. People always turned to prayer when something threatened their comfort, when it would benefit them. He thought it was rarer that people talked to some higher or lower power on a daily basis. Something tells him that Mikhael is one of those rarities though.

[kiwizoom]

KuroPaku genderswap

[mysterywriter2187]

Buster would probably let Suki, Porsha and Darius see the Moon Troupe's shows for free if they asked, but they line up to buy tickets anyway just to support him and the gang.

[linterteatime]

Guys...i don't think this is the worst thing i have drawn yet

[masakuterarr]

I might have touched that one WIP again.. 👀💕

[seahortensia]

[hoperays-song]

I've realized that there's this specific type of found family that I adore where it's just this one extremely concerning kid going around doing all this dangerous and reckless stuff and just summoning all these parental figures to them who all end up so stressed out and going "Kid, kid no. Go get some sleep, take care of yourself. Please, I can't keep doing this. Please just stop."

[akanisxingrid]

The changeling had come to this onslaught with a sense of retribution. The life he could have had in Avalon if the blight wasn’t in his veins. The people who would have drawn breath fuelled each step he took towards what will become a graveyard. A finale resting place for many.

There was a notion, a misguided belief that he’d be able to make a difference without the flames. Was it pride? Or not wanting to rely on what had gotten him this far? Either way it was foolish, a belief that should be saved for more peaceful times. The darkspawn were relentless, droves and droves of them spilled onto the battlefield, did they have an end?

No matter how many Akanis dispatch twice as many would take their place. Blighted blood dripped from his knuckles like sand in an hourglass. Suddenly he was overwhelmed, one had got behinds him, in a panic he was on the floor thinking this would be the last he would see.

The tainted soil wet beneath his fingers he grasped for his blade. The blade seemed impossibly far way in the moment, even if it was realistically beside him. His eyes closed accepting what was to come. Smoke filled his lungs, the smell of putrid flesh being burned was a welcome relief. As his eyes opened he saw the Prince for all he was.

The Prince wasn’t leaving anything to chance, so why was he? Leander was a beacon, a shining example. What good was nobility, honour, restraint against the dark spawn? The high road was useless here, the only road that mattered was one that lead to survival.

Hearing the command rain down Akanis got to his feet. The blade no more of a concern in his mind. Burst into an inferno, he was the flame, the flames were him it was time to purify what dwelled in the dark. Side stepping a sweeping blade Akanis held the head of a herlock and granted them oblivion. He was now holding his part of the line waiting for Leanders next command.

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: for the combat thread girlies, limiting this to 4 + Agron.

A golden aura outlined the lionhearted prince, Leander had traveled to the far corners of Lysara and Ankhuria alike in his quest for power. Studied dragons, drank in the heat of the desert, and made pacts where needed. Wreathed in the draconic presence indicative of his training, a pair of gilded wings held him aloft as Leander's fists blazed with molten, raging flames. He wore the standard of the Lysaran army, a centurion, and Warrior of Mars, Leander proudly led the Olympians onto the field as he had countless times in Astoria.

The aura was not just for show, as the blighted blood splattered against him, it did not reach Leander's frame. Arrows fell casually to the side and the Hurlocks that swung against him with their blighted blades found a pair of raging, molten fists instead.

Politics bored him - and whatever sympathy that the Iskarans had managed to invoke as of late did nothing to quell the hatred that had burned within the prince for decades. This was where Leander thrived.

A Genlock rushed forward, its jagged blade raised to strike, but the moment it came within reach, the dragon's aura flared. Leander snarled as a pulse of energy threw the creature back, sending it skidding across the blood-soaked ground. Leander didn’t even turn to acknowledge it. His focus was absolute, his breath steady.

These creatures were meant to be impudent and stupid - while that remained true, they came equipped with war machines. They tacked on organized tactics that the Lysarans were only prepared for because of the caution that had spilled from Iskaran tongues. If any of the westerners expected gratitude from him though, they would need to look elsewhere.

A beat of his wings saw Leander lift into the air as he pulled air and fire into his lungs, weaving them together without the need for his hands. There at the center of his breast, the Warrior of Mars tethered it with threads of spirit before he opened his mouth and bequeathed a rush of golden flames onto the forces below. With it came a bestial roar, beyond human, the draconic burst of power echoed with the ego of the endlessly proud Prince of Lysara.

The creatures erupted in righteous flames, incinerated in a wide cone ahead of him before Leander took to hovering only a few feet off of the ground. As much fun as he was having, Leander opted to begin taking this seriously as his sword materialized in his hand - a blade of twisting draconic make that resonated with power.

"Hold the line!" Came the Prince's command, the Olympians had each been connected, and their power pooled together meant it was seemingly endless. No Astorian force had ever gotten past seven of them, now fifteen stood in defense of Aventia. An ogre shook the ground as the alpha stomped toward them, another horde swarmed about the creature, and Leander charged.

[thelongforgottenglamorousdays]

♡ Motohiro Ota as Kuroro Lucilfer ♡

HUNTER×HUNTER THE STAGE 2

~straight out of the manga~