#andrigyn

[sankttealeaf]

Hello and happy rt appreciation week : )) I'm so glad you started playing and got infected with the Heinrix mind virus ... you're such a wonderful artist and I've been eating up the RT art you've posted <3 and I also rlly enjoyed your fic and I can't wait to see what's next for Vespers, the bits of her backstory that you wove in were so interesting !!

<3<3!!!!!

thank YOU for heinrix posting so much i went "well i cant not check out this guy" and didnt wait for anyone to stop me

i cant wait to dive back into RT, i miss thinking about vesper so much! holy name... yet has a strong distaste for those so holy... looks at heinrix like he is a fool devoting his life to serve the god emperor while also very aware that she was built to do the same... oughhh i need to have free time again to throw her around in my brain. or maybe i should just throw all my thoughts about her into a post and cast it out to sea (the tumblr void)

take some vesper (& heinrix) meme drawings because this is yet another ship of mine where i must meme-ify them or i become violently ill

[lamortwrites]

Ty for giving me an excuse to ramble @andrigyn 💖 under a cut bc I talk too much always

So with the caveat that I haven't finished my first playthrough yet and haven't fully nailed down everything -- I picked death world for Lazarus however he was a commissar and I learned from browsing the 40k wiki that commissars are all picked from orphans raised in the schola progenium, whose facilities are all on imperial worlds, so to get around that I think he was on the older side (10-12 ish) when he lost his parents. I haven't fully decided what they did but I think one or both of them were war heroes, someone he idolised and looked up to and strived to emulate during his training and early career. Hell, maybe one of them was even a commissar themselves!

He was a model student, graduated second in his class (not first -- and yes he absolutely does have a complex about this fact), and went on to have a very illustrious career in the officio prefectus. He won enough battles and gained enough renown that he became a poster girl for the imperium, with his face plastered on propaganda posters and stories of the battles whose tides he'd single handedly turned told to encourage and inspire both new recruits and veterans of the astra militarum.

He had a solid 10-15 years to enjoy his career (I'm not fully settled on his age yet, he's somewhere late thirties to early forties) before a disastrous campaign of which he was the only survivor left him facing accusations of cowardice. He was dragged through a long, humiliating, very public trial, and although he was eventually acquitted the damage to his reputation had been done.

He's spent the past five years hidden away in a desk job on some backwater planet, during which time he's transitioned, had a crisis of faith, and slowly become more and more disillusioned with the imperium as a whole. He sees becoming a rogue trader as a fresh start, and a way to finally claim the power and status he believes he deserves.

He's very, very touchy about his past, or about any insinuation of cowardice. He's trying to consolidate as much power as he can, both for himself individually and for the dynasty as a whole, which is both a buffer against any potential future falls from grace and a bone deep need for subjugation. He needs to take -- from individuals, from colonies, from organisations -- in order to feel secure in his own position, and although he can convince himself that he's fine with being equals that's certainly not the case at all. On a business level, he and Jae get on well, since she's indebted to him and is, for the moment at least, content to defer to him where necessary. But they won't work out romantically, since she would be unwilling to give up the amount of control he would want to exercise over her in the long term (and she shouldn't! He's a bad dude!)

He sees both Yrliet and Marazhai (and Idira, to a lesser degree) as trophies more than people, which is both a sexual thing and not: he's developed a fascination with and fetish for the forbidden, and the fact that keeping not one but two xenos as his pets, let alone an unsanctioned psyker, is contradictory to like all of the imperium's laws only makes him more into the idea of it.

With all his insecurities and disillusionment fuelled by what he perceives as the god-emperor failing him when he needed him most, Lazarus is a perfect breeding ground for heresy. He has a sadistic streak a mile wide and if he can exert power over someone, particularly if it makes them afraid of or subservient to him, he'll do it. He's fully convinced that he'll be able to harness the ruinous powers for himself and I assume he's gonna end up dead in a space ditch by the end of this playthrough with Slaanesh chowing down on his soul 🥰

[iedistis]

🍄 🐑

ahh thank you!! answering these :]

🐑 Do you listen to / watch anything while you draw

Yes!! Often i have a long show that ive seen before playing in the background (not watching the good stuff bc im not paying attention lol). If not, i have extensive monthly and character playlists to choose from (sometimes you NEED three different playlists for one character/ship...)

🍄 What is something you should have focused on more when you first started, and now pay more attention to?

COLORS!! WITHOUT A DOUBT!! I never took art serious / dared to post online so i never finished stuff either, only half done sketches for all my life 💀 its my biggest bottleneck when it comes to creating the things i want to rn. My general color insecurity makes me double doubt everything and i am very cautious and self critical esp regarding skin tones and lighting. Working hard to learn that shit!!

[defira85]

THANK YOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL CARD!!!

[loderlied]

2 and 14?

doing these for sol :> because they turned 10 real life years this year weehoo! my oldest oc that i still write for lol

2. Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

now, sol says that they don’t have friends and while there are people (it’s just oleander but hey) who would disagree, i guess we’ll just go with their word for now.

but! a thing you need to know about sol is that they believe that they are completely alone in the world, seeing other people as an nothing but an extension of themselves in a weird interconnected way, which often goes so far as them experiencing visual hallucinations affirming this in the most literal sense. small part of them knows deep down that they experience hallucinations but the biggest part of them that is deeply anchored in this belief system says that those don’t affect the end product (that everyone must burn) so they generally don’t. concern themselves with them if that’s the right word? part of them believes them to reveal the truth. fire that melts the shell around the rot or whatever.

anyways why am i saying this. one of those types of “sols” which they call The Light is probably the closest thing sol has to friends. people who they either see as worthy to keep alive for a while longer, or just those that reaffirm their worldview. maybe just them looking at their reflection after a good deed on a rare occasion. The Light can be whatever. one of them gives them an egg one time but that’s a different story lol

14. Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

oleander is tooooo easy. and even then it’s not really oleander who they hate most. it’s obviously themselves babey! self-loathing so explosive and unbearable that you cannot even entertain the thought of other people possibly not being horrible deep down because then that means you’re the only one who’s “wrong” ahaha

though them and ollie are such wonderful foils (freak who believes in the inherent evil of people and wants to burn it all down like witches at the stake vs freak who believes in the inherent evil of people and loves them more than anything for it) that i’m very glad i gave them a lil story arc together. they take care of that egg against sol’s wishes in that one lol

[andrigyn2]

Hiii idk how many of you follow me here from my main (andrigyn) but my blog was terminated ... going to repurpose this one in case support doesn’t get back to me <3 (which seems likely based on what i've heard)

EDIT: my blog was reinstated! Nevermind ❤️

[choccy-zefirka]

I imagine that later on, Lumen "Bi queen" von Valancius would come to a realization like, "Wait, Abelard is a cis man, I could have kneed him in the balls"

And meanwhile Abelard would be like: 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩

Either way, what bliss

When the Rogue Trader Lumen von Valancius had just returned from Commorragh, she was too frazzled and disoriented, still believing that she was being tortured by xenos. The only thing that brought her back to reality was a bold move by her Seneschal, the ever-reliable Abelard Werserian — who kissed her passionately and, in so many words, admitted that he had developed feelings for her.

The only reason Abelard would ever dare do that was, of course, that he had not slept in days, too preoccupied by searching the galaxy for his Lord Captain. Now that he has rested, however, he is morfitied by his insubordinate behavior. He heads to the Rogue Trader's chambers to explain himself. But instead, he ends up helping her shave her head, as the Drukhari torture has done irreparable damage to her hair... And also kissing her again. And again. And a little bit more.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knockknockknockknock.

The sound ruptures his dreams’ soft, floating cushion like gunfire. Abelard shoots upright in bed, and for a few moments — which ooze slowly out of time and place, like sap that then solidifies into amber — he is a teenage cadet again. Shamefully late to the prayer that always precedes the day's training. But then he blinks once, twice, and the amber encasing him shatters. The centuries come rushing back, making him dizzy.

He runs his hand through his hair — longer and greyer than he envisioned it just a second ago — and remembers.

All of it.

The endless weeks of circling the void, looking for any signs of the Lord Captain, and finding only black, leering nothingness; only silence, which lacerated his tired old heart deeper than any screams of agony would.

The urgent summons from Janus: the Lord Captain's expedition had resurfaced from the Webway gate, found at last, at last, praise the Emperor!

And the reunion — when he forgot all propriety. When he forgot everything except how much he'd ached for her, in that uncaring empty space: not merely for her presence at the helm, her clever plans to guide the dynasty to glory... But for her voice. The spring sweetness of her perfume. The unmistakable beat of her elegant little heels against the ground — enough to make Abelard stand at attention long before she'd come into view. The glint in her golden-brown eyes when she stared down some pompous fool and commanded her faithful Seneschal to introduce her. The hint of almost-touch over a data slate, her gilded fingernails a hair's breadth from tapping against his hand.

When he saw her again, when the Emperor brought her back, like He'd never brought back his dear Quatharina — Abelard, regrettably, let all those memories consume him. He should not have been allowed to touch her, after he had failed so spectacularly to keep her safe in the first place. Yet he had the audacity to hold her to his chest: his Lord Captain, his cosmic liege, the woman he'd sworn to serve, body and soul. Tortured by the xenos scum, worn down to a shadow, but alive, here, in the flesh, with her breath so warm, her lips so soft against his...

Throne preserve him. He — he kissed his Lord Captain.

And not only that. He admitted to being... infatuated with her.

He violated every conceivable rule and oath. He gave in to the filthy thoughts that would press against his skull during the voidship's search for the lost Lord Captain. With every warp jump, the whispers of his base desires, laid bare in her absence, would get more and more relentless. Damn it, by the end of those... who knows how many days without sleep, he was ready to chase through the ship's darkened passageways after a woman's shadow.

It would start beckoning him whenever he'd pause his restless pacing around the Astropathic Chapel. Whenever he’d stop demanding that the useless sing-song twats scry the void harder. Whenever he'd slow down enough to let his thoughts wander. He resisted, of course, but the vision still remained, hovering in the corner of his eye. Waiting for his awareness to lapse again.

Whether it was an actual phantom born of Chaos, some vague, elusive shimmer at the fraying edges of reality, or just a waking dream he'd slip into when recaf stopped working, he could never tell. The figure was always blurred, rippling in every shade of the rainbow, like prometheum spilled in water. Sometimes, it would look like Quatharina, sometimes like Lady Theodora, but most often of all, like his current mistress. She who was taken from him, brought back to him, and has now been sullied by his lips' abhorrent greed.

He wishes that kiss on the Janusian coast was part of his visions too. Just another trick of his mind. He had, after all, been scraping desperately for the last ounce of his fortitude, straining to remain at least somewhat lucid after so many warp jumps. Running on a cargo hold's worth of stim syringes, stacks upon stacks of recaf cups, and a single lho stick that Idira had unceremoniously rammed into his teeth out of some misplaced pity; for his own good, she told him — to help him "wind down".

But no. That was no flash in the warp. He distinctly remembers carrying the Lord Captain in his arms, away from the beach where she'd wandered to in her distress, and back to the safety of her Janusian residence. Then, he must have sent her off to the master bedroom, urging her to rest, before he himself nearly collapsed into a bed in one of the guest chambers.

Now, in broad daylight, he can see that his coat has been folded on a bedside chair. Not the way he usually does it, but the way he has seen the Lord Captain put away her own belongings in preparation for a long trek on some unexplored planet. It is his job to take note of every minute detail... At least in this respect, he is not a complete disgrace as a Seneschal.

The knocking on his door resumes.

He winces.

"What?!"

Someone on the other side whimpers a little at the sound of his barking voice. Abelard thinks he can recognize one of the voidsmen he'd hastily grabbed along on the shuttle to Janus. A young, jittery lad, with no stomach for much except for running errands. Which he is apparently doing right now.

"Lord Seneschal, sir, I am dreadful sorry to bother you, but we keep getting vox calls from the ship... The people would very much like to see Her Ladyship aboard again, but she has given us no updates since you brought her to the palace and she retired to bed... Which was fifteen standard hours ago."

Fifteen — fifteen hours?! Has he been asleep for fifteen whole hours?! And with most of his uniform still on?!

Even small babes, who know not their place in the world and their duties to the Emperor, do not sleep for that long uninterrupted. Clementia — the last of Abelard's kin that he personally helped nurse — certainly did not. She was a very strict child that demanded her milk at impeccably measured intervals, always knitting her tiny eyebrows and staring intently at her surroundings before she deduced it might be time to cry.

So. He has less discipline than a newborn. Another appalling transgression to add to the list.

Abelard stretches, shaping himself, with a few pops and crackles, from a groggy blob into a man that can at least pretend to be dignified in front of his subordinates. Having flung himself out of bed like a rock from a catapult, he splashes the entire wash bowl over his face, with the ferocity of tossing a grenade into a throng of heretics; throws his coat over his shoulders — to hide how disastrously crumpled the rest of his clothes are, if nothing else — and marches towards the door.

"Clearly, the Lord Captain does not wish to be disturbed by the rank and file," he snaps into the hapless errand boy's face.

As far as the lad is concerned, the door has just flown open to reveal the same stern Seneschal — not a traitor to his code that, fifteen hours ago, sank to unspeakable depths.

A few tense moments pass by. The errand boy stands wound tight as a string, holding his breath while sweat begins to dew over his round, crimson face.

Abelard sighs.

"But I shall see for myself if she has any orders."

And beg for forgiveness for what I did.

"Dismissed."

"Sir yes sir!"

The errand boy shambles off, and Abelard sighs again, bracing himself for the inevitable judgment.

He finds his mistress' door slightly ajar; perhaps she was too tired last night to lock it (but not too tired to neatly fold Abelard's coat?).

Before disrupting her peace with a knock of his own, he lingers by that gap.

Out of hesitation? Or... Or if he started playing the part of an old lecher, might as well go in?

He is afraid how he might answer that. And before he can even try, he meets her gaze.

She is sitting in front of the massive ornate dresser that once belonged to the former governor... To think that Vistenza must have once used it to get ready for her vile Slaanesh worshipper rituals..! But who is Abelard to cast stones, given what depravities are cycling through his head right now? Like... Like coming up to the Lord Captain from behind and pressing his lips over that delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder. Or helping her fasten the clasp of any jewelry she might choose to wear today.

Even though her back is turned to the door, she catches a glimpse of him in her mirror — and he of her. Her Ladyship looks well-rested, Emperor be praised. Almost back to the assertive, spirited woman he remembers. But her once-lustrous golden hair is still matted and uneven: the xenos must have ripped some of it out, to mock her beauty, to bring His anointed low. And her forehead, which Abelard has never seen bared, is stripped of the Aquila half-mask, revealing a net of deep, swollen scars, which branch out like cracks in glass, stapled together here and there with small metal plates.

She stares at his reflection for a short while: frozen in place, clutching at the razor that she has raised to her temple (she must have intended to get rid of her curls' mangled remnants, but the razor's machine spirit has not awakened yet).

They both break the silence at the same time, voices mingling and turning into a garbled mess.

"Lord Captain, apologies! I — "

"Why don't you continue staring at me inside the room, dear Seneschal?"

Abelard claps his mouth shut so abruptly, he nearly bites off the tip of his tongue. The Lord Captain did not sound... particularly disgusted with him. Though he dare not hope for her mercy.

He steps through the door and shuts it behind him, quietly but firmly. The Lord Captain swerves around in her chair, her scars now in full view. Her bare shoulders rise and fall in a quiet shudder; criminally, outrageously, Abelard wants to hold her again.

"So," she says, with her practiced nonchalant smile — which never reaches her eyes. "You have seen me at my most undressed, darling. Consider that a sign of great trust."

Abelard bows.

It is true that Her Ladyship had the half-mask on even during the... ablutions incident, when she stood amid the swirling sea of screaming, panicking enforcers, drenched head to toe in mutant blood.

She held herself with such admirable grace back then. She remained calm, cheerful even, and found it in her to tease Abelard for his "primal side coming out" when he growled out orders to find and destroy the Rogue Trader's would-be assassins. Oh, if he were not already crimson with righteous fury, he'd have blushed for much less appropriate reasons.

Now, though, the Lord Captain just looks tired. And the urge to hold her grows ever more.

"My skull fractured during my sanctioning," she explains quietly. "But I pieced it back together right then and there — with telekinesis."

She shapes her lips into another smile, while an unspoken bitterness darkens her golden eyes.

"The pain was... close to what they did to us in Commorragh, but I did not lose even a dollop of brain matter!"

She straightens up and places an elegant hand between her exposed collarbones. Abelard inhales, quick and abrupt, as the gesture makes his mouth run dry.

"Which is why I am the brilliant and charming Rogue Trader you know today," Her Ladyship concludes, her carefree tone now almost flawlessly convincing. "If a touch more hideous than known to the general public."

Abelard's heart, suddenly a pulsing clot of sickly pain, pushes its way up his throat. In an instant, all fifteen hours he's wasted on sleep are undone, and he is back to the half-delirious mess he was when he kissed his Lord Captain.

Before he himself knows it, he's kneeling beside her again, clasping her hand and pressing his mouth against her knuckles. Thank the Throne the razor she is holding is dormant still; because she is so startled she drops it into her lap.

He should have been more careful. Damn it all, he came here to reassure her nothing like this will ever happen again!

But the words are out of his mouth before he can restrain himself.

"Hideous is the last word I would use to describe you, Lord Captain. And if any worthless worm insinuates otherwise, they shall — "

"Die by your chainsword? How thoughtful of you, dear Abelard!" she finishes the sentence for him, with a soft peal of laughter... Which, at last, sounds sincere.

"But a lady must still be presentable. Especially in front of the subjects that waited for her for so long. These unsightly bald spots just scream 'This is where the Drukhari amused themselves by ripping out bits of my scalp'. Does not quite inspire confidence among the people, does it?"

Abelard clenches his jaw. Next time they cross paths with one of those prowling xenos ships, he will fire every cannon personally.

"I spent the whole morning searching the closets of the unfortunate Mistress Wyatt for a fitting wig, and I think this one will do."

The Lord Captain nods towards the featureless mannequin head on the countertop, crowned with an elaborate tower of little bows and blond curls, close enough to her natural hair color that it might fool the adoring masses.

"But first, the rest of... this," she waves her free hand in a circle around her head. "...Must go."

"Allow me," Abelard says — nearly pleads — looking up at her.

His hand reaches for the discarded razor, which is lost somewhere among the glossy folds of the Lord Captain's dress... But before he can grasp at it, she catches his wrist and guides his fingers slowly over her knee and up her thigh.

"Oh my darling Seneschal," she breathes out, "I will allow you to do anything."

Abelard starts.

No more ignoring the lacerax in the room.

"Lord Captain," he begins stiffly, withdrawing his hand once he has found the razor. Once he gets to his feet — not without effort; at his age he should really think twice before throwing himself on his knees, even if it’s before Her Ladyship — he takes a couple steps back, maintaining a respectful distance.

"I was not myself yesterday. I may have said and done things that were insulting to your dignity. I assure you I did not intend — "

"I was not myself either," the Lord Captain cuts him off, brow furrowed. With a cold pang, he realizes he has never seen her frown, not with the Aquila wings obscuring everything above her eyes.

"But it was your kiss that returned me to my senses. Whatever you intend or... or do not intend..."

Here, her lip quivers, as if Abelard's words have wounded her. And it is not the affected, theatrical lip quiver she will sometimes use for persuasion purposes, either. Could that mean —

"I will, of course, respect that, but... Please know that I..."

The Lord Captain gathers her skirt up in her hands, clawing at the fabric. Not once, has she been so agitated around Abelard — certainly not during all the times when she'd tease him, tossing around flirtatious quips like she tosses coins at a grateful crowd.

Turning people's heads comes as naturally to her as breathing. But now, stripped of her golden mask, she is struggling for air as much as Abelard himself.

"I have come to care for you... in a way I doubted I ever could again... Not after my last lovers betrayed me... But you — you..."

She gets up and makes a small gesture, reaching for him.

"For all these months, ever since Kunrad landed me into this... mess… No-one has made me feel as safe as you did. I am not used to that kind of luxury. And like it always happens with me and luxury... I want more."

This time, her searching hands do reach him after all. Just like during Abelard's slip into insanity on the beach, his coat envelops them both, and he can no longer tell whether he kisses her first, or she him. But the bliss once promised by the iridescent ghosts that bled through his mind, becomes reality at last.

He goes further, drinks deeper, than he did yesterday. Soon, his kisses turn to bites, at her lower lip, down her throat, over her collarbone. She moans under his touch, and one of her low-cut sleeves slides even further down, exposing a dark-pink, hardened nipple. Abelards cups her breast in his hand, while his mouth locks with hers again. Her breathing quickens. Her eyes flutter shut, while her knee, freed very purposefully from under her hiked-up frilly petticoats, slides, just as purposefully, between Abelard's legs, rubbing ever so slightly against the underside of his increasingly tight crotch. A practiced motion from someone used to caressing women; Abelard himself used to employ it, quite tactically, countless years ago. In this instance, though, with positions reversed, any sudden jolt of the Lord Captain's knee might send him keeling over in pain... Yet he does not mind in the slightest.

In fact, a low, satisfied growl rises at the back of his throat, as keeping his eyes focused becomes a struggle. There's some force guiding him, dragging him in its wake like a cosmic tide: some feral instinct, which has been lying dormant since those feverish nights when he was an officer on planet leave, eager to come home to his wife, eager to create his fourth child.

...Until a sobering realization hits. In the hand that's not caressing his Lord Captain, he is still holding the razor.

"Your... Your hair..." he croaks, breaking away from her.

"Ah! Of course!"

In a daze, she sinks back into her chair and turns to face the mirror, throwing her head back. Once again, entrusting herself fully to her Seneschal.

Abelard breathes in and out to cool himself off. He needs a steady hand for this.

Fortunately, the little machine spirit does not seem to have been too deeply insulted by having to witness debauched mortals indulge in frivolous pleasures of the flesh. Upon Abelard's half-whispered request, it graciously sends the blades spinning.

He sets to work, methodically slicing off the old, uncombable knots and cutting away the few locks that yet remained intact. With not a single tremor in his fingers, he must say to his credit — despite the bouts of nausea that overcome him, relentless as warp ghosts, whenever he imagines what his Lord Captain must have endured... When he was not there.

Once more, they meet each other's eyes in the mirror. The Lord Captain — Lumen, he tentatively calls her, in his innermost thoughts, holding her name close to his heart like a fragile flower bud — still unmasked; with her scars even more on display now, free of overhanging bangs; and with her head shaved like Abelard's once was, when he was first called to service in the Navis Imperialis. And himself, her Seneschal, standing behind her back, hand firm on her shoulder. No longer here to seek out the soft hidden parts of her and caress them in a drunken, spinning dance of hungry bodies. Here to anchor and to shield. Like he could not shield Quatharina, or Theodora... This might be the last chance allotted to him by the Emperor, and he will do anything, he will kill, he will die, to protect the woman he —

The Lord Captain — Lumen, Lumen, his Lumen — raises her hand to weave her fingers through Abelard's.

"Well," she says resolutely. "This will take some getting used to. But I did get used to my scars."

She glances up at him.

"Hand me that wig, will you, my darling? Time to fly the shuttle home. Once Vigdis and the others bring me up to speed, I expect you in my quarters. You have been so good to me, and deserve a reward."

Abelard leans down to seal the promise with a long, tender kiss on the top of her head.

"I am forever at your service."

[nahoba]

I was tagged by @thatzombiecat for WIP wednesday 😳😳

Funny enough I just finished a big drawing yesterday 😭 So I guess it is the best time to show some of my sketches (even though probably most of them I won't finish :""^))

@shalfea and @andrigyn I tag you! >:D (I hope it's okay :""D)

[lamortwrites]

10, 11, 15!!

Answering these rogue trader character building questions, thank you!!

10. How do they feel about becoming a Rogue Trader? How easily do they take to being the head of the von Valancius dynasty?

He very much sees it as something well deserved, something turning out Right And Good at long last. Lazarus has spent the past year or so prior to the start of the game being kept neatly out of the spotlight and he is desperate to prove himself. He very much meets Edelthrad and immediately starts plotting ways to get him alone so he can take him out of the picture lol. As for actually running things...well, he's okay. But despite his arrogance and obsession with his own image he does at least know how to listen to advice and sometimes even takes it! All in all, not the worst possible choice, though certainly not the best

11. Who amongst their retinue are they closest to?

So, admittedly, I am not very far into the game and so far excluding the companions you start with, I've only met Cassia 😅 so for right now, it's Abelard, who treats him with the respect he deserves, as is befitting his station. I haven't seen very much about most of the companions so will be interesting to see who he clicks with!

15. How do they feel towards Theodora? Had they met before? Were they close?

She's The Authority when they meet, and so he needs her on side. He respects her, but it doesn't go much further than surface level appreciation for her title; he doesn't waste any time replacing her portrait with his own. He resents that she wasn't around long enough to give him a better idea of what he's supposed to do as a rogue trader, but it's wholly self serving and her death ultimately does not affect him at all

[immren]

first batch done. i used @arcandoria's template ^_^ yayyy ocs

elias: @holly-bearie mette: @andrigyn vitya: @amalhin

[arach-tinilith]

Tagged by @andrigyn to make this picrew (tysm yours is so cute!!)

And no pressure tags too @majorasnightmare @nowitsabby @foxboyclit @the-weeping-dawn @hootshooligan aaaaand @vspin 🫶

[iedistis]

The esteemed Mette von Valancius for @andrigyn!! I keep trying to recruit her ingame but i can never find her???

[secret-third-thing]

Rating: E | Erislain (Elucien Endgame) | Read on AO3 | 1/5? or more?

Posted for Day 5 (Favorite Tropes) of @sjmromanceweek but written for the beloved and talented @dawneternal. Your Erislain fic changed my brain chemistry. Here is my thank you.

Summary: Suffocated by choices made for her, Elain takes fate into her own hands only to find herself bound to a different mate. But freedom comes at a cost, and not all bonds are easily broken.

Elain had seen this war before, had seen the way the darkness rippled across the plain to meet the fae armies marching West. The forests of Autumn burned, smoke heavy in the air, as the flames reached upward, but the trees never quite crumbled, holding fast like torches in the dying daylight. Her vision shifted, and the world dimmed at the edges, the scent of wet leaves turning acrid. A shiver ran up her spine, and then a footstep - too heavy. The earth groaned beneath it, and Koschei was in Autumn... read more on ao3

🎶 Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list or removed from the list (no hard feelings! notifications are overwhelming)

Tag list:

@chunkypossum @acourtofladydeath @queercontrarian @cauldronblssd @andrigyn @afandomangel @rosesncarnations @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @books-books-books4ever @tsunami-of-tears @whisperingmidnights @themadmorrigan @hieragalbatorixdottir @daycourtofficial @lady-of-tearshed @jon-snows-man-bun @ninthcircleofprythian @amalhe-kofee @buffy-vanserra @velidewrites @nocasdatsgay @brunetterebel010 @g00seg1rl @jules-writes-stories @areyoudreaminof, @fox-in-flowers

[laurelindis]

An art I made for @rt-gift-exchange with Heinrix and @andrigyn's Mette von Valancius. It was nice to draw them, these two are so lovely 🥰

P. S. Also thanks to @ronavorona16 for helping me with the background 👉👈

[nahoba]

Beautiful Mette for @andrigyn ! (Oh how I hope I didn't mess up with the vibes :"D)

[lamortwrites]

💌 :)

Andy, we've only been mutuals for a few months, but if anything happened to you I'd kill everyone on this website and then myself. I've never followed anyone back faster than when I got the email to say your second blog started following me, and the only thing on my mind was oh no I hope she's okay. I love seeing you on my dash, and I love the openness with which you post about Mette, the way you examine her from all angles to paint a clearer picture of her for us all to enjoy. And I love that you have aus for her too!! You should post about knight pilot more I love getting a front row seat to the diabolical situations you cook up in your head :)

Send me a 💌 and I'll tell you something I love about you