luminaryofblood

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Marguerite Duras, from her novel titled "The Garden Square," published in 1955

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In the spirit of Sexual Sunday, feel free to send 💞 + any dirty questions you may have for them on anon, and they HAVE to answer honestly!

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Christa Wolf, tr. by John Cullen, from “Medea,” originally published c. 1996

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Happy Mother's Day, Mohg! You are a kind caregiver to those you take beneath your wings. ❤️

(I apologize if this makes you sad.)

He was taken aback by the words of the grey-cloak... And here he was set on venturing out with his flock of Sanguine Nobles to vandalize every church of Marika by drenching the statues to the goddess-queen herself in "accursed" blood. For Mother's Day of course...

"... I did not expect such a sentiment to be extended upon me... But it is... Not at all unwelcome... My thanks."

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“Vengeance is bad for you” I’m not doing it for my health dude

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Made a bunch of merch for my favourite game Elden Ring (+more) available on my shop !

thank you for the support<3

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For each  ‘ 🔥 ‘  I receive, my muse will admit one thing that turns them on

For each  ‘ -🔥 ‘ , they’ll admit one thing that turns them off

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Galgespil ♡

SFW. Canon typical violence. Varré and his first encounter with the Lord he's come to serve. Platonic or romantic.

Word count — 497

His bloodied chest had gone cold, and it reeked of iron and betrayal. No, it wasn't; his comrade had simply followed protocol. Even allies face the lethal judgment of the Miséricorde, regardless of whether you're a commander or a fellow War Surgeon. The dagger had missed vital organs, his comrade had not confirmed the kill, and Varré was left to bleed. He had gotten too ambitious, too diligent; the knight, in turn for execution, wasn't fully incapacitated. With his last breath, he had pierced Varré's soft stomach. Without armor, he was left vulnerable.

His miscalculation had cost him his life, waiting to take his last breath as he reflected on the misery before him. Heaps of lifeless bodies he will soon join, another corpse to be forgotten.

As he fluttered between consciousness and slumber, he twitched awake at the tune of metal chattering. With weary eyelids, he turned to face him, an Omen.

“Rise, carrier of death, your end is not yet nigh,” he arose from the pool of blood spilled by War Surgeons. Healers become hangmen, abandoning their rejuvenating arts.

Varré didn't speak, he couldn't nor wished to. He merely observed the Omen, blood running down his calloused, coal forehead. Intimidating, yet eloquent and soft-spoken.

“Join me, become my blood-sworn knight, and I will salvage the brittle life left behind your eyes.”

The Omen stepped forward, looming over the fallen man. His shimmering, bedazzled spear towered over both of them, casting a shadow across Varré’s breathless body.

“Live an honorable life, a warrior of the Mohgwyn Dynasty. Or perish among the lives you’ve stolen. Die, you too, in obscurity,” the Omen continued, his voice was raspy but spoke with confidence.

He continued, “say, will you choose life and community, or a certain, lonesome death?”

With little contemplation, Varré reached his trembling hand towards the Omen, an attempt to communicate. His breaths grew scarce, his thoughts became muddled too. Anything but this, for his life cannot end on the battlefield he was tethered to.

“Very well, you have your wits with you,” the Omen answered, drawing a slit spilling red rain. It dripped down Varré’s head, down through the holes in his mask, spreading across his short stubble.

“Consume the blood I've spilled, for it will be the bond that ties us together.”

Varré looked up at the strange sight, a rain of blood manifested from nothingness. Regardless, he will heed the Omen’s call and escape the battlefield he detests. Mouth ajar, he let himself consume the blood. It tasted sweet, unlike human blood. Like the nectar of fruit or berries grown from fertilized soil.

The Omen scooped up the bloodstained War Surgeon, his limbs had gone limp, and his neck failed to keep his head perked. His cold body had regained some heat, warmth prickling at his skin, twitching as his fingers regained function.

“War Surgeon, what is your name?”

“Varré,” he whispered.

“Abandon your title, for you will be remembered as my White Mask, serving the Mohgwyn Dynasty.”

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💥 ― Send '👄 + a topic' and my muse will give advice based around that topic! Can be good or bad.

(If you cannot see the emoji, simply say what meme it's for, and the topic.)

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Elden Ring stuff coz woah what a cool game

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I sent you omens and all kinds of signs please respond

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i will sexualise the horrifying and find the horror in the sexualised

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my glorious king… paws you

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maid day heres some Silly Guys. ..

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its impregnate that man monday ladies and gentlemen.

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Reblog if you want people to send you asks.

Please, my inbox is so empty and devoid of life