#guidance in gold... eden!

[herrschicken]

//starter for @cabernetsauvignor

Senti lets out a groan so loud you’d think a pig was squealing.

“Do we haaaave to??” she whines, sighing every molecule of air out of her lungs and draping her head at the notion of cleaning up the garden. Eden has only just mentioned it, but this is the worst thing that could’ve come out of this mission. The worst! The Herrscher makes a lazy, uninterested gesture at some graffiti scribblings on the gate next to her. “It’ll take so long to clean! Can you imagine what our backs will look like when we’re done? We’ll be mistaken for farming tools, and then some farmer will come pick us up and try to plant cabbage with us.” 

Another low, agonized wail follows suit, along with Senti’s foot kicking the aforementioned gate. Its rattle isn’t heard by any but them–a parallel to the uselessness of her anger. Since when was Eden of all people such a busybody anyways? From what Senti thinks she knows, this sort of work would be below her. “If we don’t deal with these guys at the source,” she adds, her tone turning a dial more severe, “they’re just going to come back. And then we’ll be so bent out of shape that the garbage man might get to us first.” 

She tilts her head to the sky. The clouds are dry, but it rained a little before they arrived. Enough for the smell to cling to stone pathways and leave plants looking greener, but not so kind as to make any of their work easier. The odd puddle stands in their way. Another little annoyance for Senti to grumble at. If they were chasing down bad guys, she could rub their faces in one and ask how they liked being made ugly…

But they’re not. Does Eden believe her better than that? Maybe she does. Maybe she thinks it’s Hua she’s speaking to–and maybe it is. Senti casts her glare back at the Star, this time trying to pierce past the skin. But even if she is the same person, that person has grown and changed. She–or at least this part of her–wants to eat good food and put evildoers in their place. “Tch, look,” she steps closer. Close enough that the little things which make her her might be appreciated, “whatever your deal was with the old-timer, that isn’t me, okay? I’m the Herrscher of Sentience, and I say we drop these buckets and go club some fools on the head!” 

✧ ;- acid hues

monthly mission | fyxestroll garden cleanup

[emmajh97-mumaji]

Dr. Takuto Maruki: The Embodiment of LIGHT

Been contemplating writing this for a while, but after posting my Colors Flying High theory I feel the need to finally get it out there.

You ever see a character and think "Every aspect of this character embodies [thing]?" (i.e. every aspect of Elsa from Frozen is icy, every aspect of Spider Punk from ATSV is rebellious)

Well--

I look at Doctor Takuto Maruki from Persona 5 Royal and think... every aspect of him is 'LIGHT'.

"Well no shit. His treasure is a torch and he literally says he wants to be the 'guiding light' for humanity."

OKAY BUT JUST HUMOR ME. Because this goes way deeper than you may think!!

First of all, let’s go over all the obvious light symbolism relating to Maruki...

His Tarot card, The Counselor, having an illustration of what appears to be a sun giving off light beams. 

The predominance of white in his color scheme. His white lab coat at school, his white sweater during third semester, his boss form’s white cape, and of course his pristine white suit in his palace. (Interestingly, his blue/white combo makes him a straight-up inversion of the Phantom Thieves’ red/black.)

Maruki's glasses reflecting light, whiting out his eyes in the classic anime-mad-scientist fashion.

The oppressive, blinding white light prominent throughout his Palace. (Pay attention to how Maruki’s lit in cutscenes; both times he confronts Joker/Crow he has bright light behind him.)

The rainbow lights and crystals in the Psientific Model of Eden-- literally the gimmick of the puzzles is combining light to make certain colors. The fact that the spiral stairs up the tree are made of clear glass to let the colored light through. 

The fact that his palace even has a model of Eden with bitten apples in it, hinting to Maruki having symbolic ties to the fallen angel Lucifer-- the morning star.

The bright chromatic aberration effect that happens when Maruki uses his Actualization power.

The prominence of cameras and surveillance (not just throughout his Palace/Mementos, but also in his final act of the Stay Ending being to take a group photo)-- devices designed to capture light.

The symbol on Maruki’s medallion (and plastered throughout his palace) being three mutated eyeballs/irises. Organic cameras.

Conversely the use of projections-- the projector he shows Sumire’s memory on, the CRTs we watch Maruki’s memories on, all the screens/monitors and hologram doors throughout the Palace.

Maruki’s final boss form being all gold -- the alchemical color of the sun, and very shiny (reflects light). Said form also wields a golden wand with a star/sun (light source) on the top of it.

His evolved persona being Adam Kadmon-- mythologically different from the original Adam because he was constructed not of earth, but of 'heavenly light'. (Even Azathoth/Adam Kadmon's shadowy tendrils have lines of blue/rainbow light coursing through them.)

Maruki's Treasure being a torch, because he desires to make the world a 'brighter' place and be their ‘guiding light’.

The iconic lines of "You are the guiding light of my research" and "Your eyes are as bright and honest as ever... so bright..."

And ALL OF THAT is just the surface level stuff!

Metaphorically speaking, the rabbit hole goes even deeper.

Think about when the player is first introduced to Maruki. You witness firsthand how the other students find him appealing, inviting. His outwardly friendly, clumsy, sometimes even goofy nature brings levity to a situation that was otherwise extremely heavy. It makes the aftermath of the Kamoshida incident lighter.

As a guidance counselor, Maruki’s aid brings enlightenment for his patients. He learns people's innermost secrets and brings their feelings to the light.

Throughout his palace, Maruki is constantly trying to get the Phantom thieves to come to an understanding-- to the point of begging them to see things his way. He doesn’t want the conflict to become serious, heavy. He wants it to be resolved amicably, lightly.

“That’s true, but--” I can hear you saying, “You’re ignoring the giant-tentacle-monster in the room... the fact that all of this is a facade.”

The darker corners, storage rooms, and research facilities of Maruki’s palace. The fact that he even HAS a Palace, filled with Shadows to fight. The fact that the final battle against Maruki takes place in the middle of the night. The grand deception and manipulation tactics Maruki uses against Sumire and Joker to get his way (even if done unintentionally, still shady).

While he may be gilded brightly-- in reality Takuto Maruki is made of darkness. Just like how his ultimate Persona Adam Kadmon’s guts are made of Azathoth’s dark tendrils.

“Maruki is not a avatar of light” you say, “He’s just masquerading as one. He’s the Ruler of Sorrow. An agent of despair in contrast to the hope represented by the Phantom Thieves.”.

Which is not wrong.

HOWEVER.

 HEAR ME OUT-- because this is where it gets really interesting-!!

What truly makes Takuto Maruki an embodiment of light isn’t a complete and total lack of darkness... it’s his overarching story of overcoming that darkness.

Remember that detail about how the Counselor Arcana card looks like it has a sun in it? Well, in a previous post, I’ve discussed how that’s not actually the Sun... but Mars. Mars being the planet associated with the Tarot card The Tower.

The Tower also has an element of light to it, but it is very different from the light of The Sun card. This isn’t a comforting warm light of goodness-- it’s a shocking bright revelatory light of destruction. A lightning bolt.

It is the light of the truth. Of change.

In the Tarot, the card sequentially before The Tower is The Devil-- representing the beautiful lies we chain ourselves to in order to blind ourselves to the painful reality of the world around us. Those vices are the bricks that make up the actual tower depicted in The Tower card. The tower that HAS to be destroyed before we can move on to the next card in the sequence... The Star.

The Star-- which represents rejuvenation. Finding the strength to be vulnerable and face the truth with no pretenses. After losing everything... finally finding true hope from within. Finding the light at the end of the tunnel.

Takuto Maruki may not have died falling off that ledge, but a part of him was killed that fateful night. His delusions of grandeur, his martyr complex, his despair... they all had to be destroyed. Struck down, along with his Palace.

Maruki did everything in his power to resist, but the Phantom Thieves would not let him. They were the lightning bolt that came in to strike down Maruki’s Devil tower and free his soul so he could finally move on to The Star. To show him that they’d rather live in a painful truth where Maruki gets to be someone, than a beautiful lie where Maruki’s life is forfeit. That he, like them, could overcome his hardships and grow.

The Phantom Thieves lifted the self-imposed weight Maruki had on his shoulders. Helping him become his true self.

Someone less hellbent, less hopeless... someone lighter.

“You can start over, like me.” 🌟🔆✨🤍

[villainsimpqueen]

Echoes lost in paradise

Adam x reader x Eve.

reader is intersexed.

ALL MY FANFICS ARE 18+

chap 10

Greeting her perfect creation should have been peaceful, an exciting exchange with him praising the heavens blessings. 

To be grateful of all of her hard work she did to make sure his faith was strong for the pearly gates..

But Adams reawakening into the realm of heaven's blissfully peace was anything but blissful nor peaceful. 

It was wrong. 

He had woken up in a panic, screaming at the cherubs and angels that were there to aid him and comfort him instead of praising them with thanks for their generosity. 

Screaming the names of the damned ones. 

“Where's Eve?! Where art my children? My family!?” Adam had shouted in his panic state as his bright golden eyes as bright as the halo that crowned above his head shimmered as he looked around, Newly formed and shimmering gold wings uncontrolled spreading and jerking, slapping away cherubs who tried to calm him. 

A wave of her hand had them flying away leaving them as Sera had glided down from above to handle the situation, her hands grasping the freshly dead and blessed first man by his shoulders. 

“Adam.” Her tone soft but strict with warning, she watched as his gold eyes filled with his unnerves filled with familiarity of her face, for she had seen him a few times before his falling from Eden, She did create him in god's image after all. And while she had never once told her creation of her name, he was now in paradise, free of all sin and corruption from that damn temptress and snakes, He now knowingly knew of her name. 

“Sera…” He muttered before the worry filled his bright golden eyes once more.

“Eve?...Seth…my family…” He muttered in questioning, she would break that habit from him soon enough. 

No one should question heaven. 

“"Thou art my creation, and thou alone hath remained unstained, unlike the others whose destinies are now set; they held not the pure and perfect virtue thou dost possess.” She had hoped to ease him, not understanding why so much more worry furrowed on his brows. 

“"She was virtuous, Eve was virtuous, She had faith in me, She bestowed upon me life, not from the hand of angels but from her own flesh, her own toils, She was a tender and devoted mother, My wife was virtuous. She ought to be here by my side. She is unblemished!” He spoke back against her.

Her eyes had narrowed at him as she stared down at the little tantrum he was throwing. 

"She had partaken of the forbidden fruit, Letting damnation devour her soul—” Her words being cut off by her creations temper.

"I, too, had consumed the forbidden, yet found myself cradled once more in the arms of heaven! Why am I permitted to return to paradise with the fruit lodged in my throat for so long, yet my virtuous wife is condemned? She has endured your harsh retributions, has heaven not exacted enough suffering from her? Have her thighs not been dyed with crimson torment enough to appease heaven’s cruelty? You claim she is impure, yet I have witnessed impurity, and she is far from it! So why is she not here beside me?” Adam had snapped back, lips curling like a snare. 

Questioning. 

Defying Heaven's natural order. 

Who was he to seek questions from? 

To be so ungrateful of what she had to do to ensure he was to stay perfect? 

She watched how quickly that snare turned to fear as her wings all rose, expanding and the feathers ruffling to double the sight of them in size. The many eyes of the divine on her person opened and glowing brightly as she glared at him. 

"Thou dost forget thy station amidst these heavens. Thou art but a tender of heaven's praise and nothing beyond; for while thou beholdest a single grain, I perceive vast fields of bounty. Thou art as a sheep, to be led by a shepherd, fortunate to receive my guidance and protection. If thou darest question the judgment of heaven once more, thou shalt be cast out to dwell with the serpent and the demoness in eternal night.” She silenced her creation, expecting him to obey like he had always done, however seeing how brightly the gold in his eyes. She saw there was just one slight flaw in him that went against her. 

"Is that where she dwells? Once cast out from paradise for my failure to protect her, I fear not another banishment, but dread her anguish.”

She made him ever loyal to the needs of those he loved above his own. 

An honest and good trait when it isn't being applied against her.

she needed a way to break that sense of loyalty to the damned. 

He was her creation afterall, the very soul she built in the lord's image. 

He was to be loyal to heaven and heaven only. 

“‘You dread her pain? Adam does nothing but takes pleasure in the damnation. Feeding off their sins as if it was a devine course filling the darkness that she had become.” She changed her voice and tone sounding saddened and hurt, watching how those golden eyes burned with such passion she would correct.

“Lies! I know my wife, I know my sun.” He had snarled back at her in the damned wrenches defense. 

Such passion, such confidence, yet….

“Dost thou truly comprehend, Adam? Art though aware of how readily she didst embrace another betwixt her thighs? How she ne'er beseeched the heavens after her exile? Dost thou grasp the shadows she didst unleash upon biting into yon apple? The whispers of corruption she didst impart unto thy progeny? The seeds of doubt she didst sow in thy children and their progeny? And what manner of being hath she become in the wake of her demise?” 

 She spoke down on his condensation on the tip of her tongue as she scolded down on him. 

Her eyes watching how he went to move to speak but she lifted a hand.

“Perhaps showing would be better” And with a snap of her fingers she forced her own views of what the damned wench had become. 

Swirls of hallucinogenic visions would swarm him, filling his eyes full with white blinding light as they worked their imagery onto Adam.

He looked better when he feared her more. 

Darkness had filled Adam's vision, blinding him in its thick void. 

A coldness evolved around him that made his bones ache in stiffness. 

He felt exposed in such a familiar way that not even his heavenly robes could shield him away from. 

Eyes staring at him, from all directions, their pupils following every small movement he made as he tried to run, escape the darkness that surrounded him, escape it all. 

The eyes opening wide pupils transfixion into transparent pools of visions.

Visions of humanity deprivities, 

the cruelties they learned and knew they could inflict on one of another.

A sickness that allowed them to consume them and feed a darkness that he had once thought seemingly appeared from nowhere, in bad apples which he had banished away to protect the good.

He was no longer alive, no longer there to protect the good from the bad. 

The saints from the sinners.

And he fell to his knees and these endless eyes, the endless revealing pools of humanity sinners. 

Men inflicting such atrocious deeds onto women, to children, the very beautiful creatures they were always meant to protect and love.

Deeds that he could only comprehend to be worse than death itself and it sickened him. 

It sickened him and filled him with a greater anguish than he had when he found the dead body of his second son and his blood on his firsts hands. 

Such acts made bile fill his throat. 

and it wasn't just the men, The women too, failed to protect their spawn by turning their cheeks the other way choosing a deranged man over the innocence of their  sons and daughters. Some even beat and throw out their children over the most inhuman logical reasons.

Then it was imagery of human societies pillaging each other, killings of all in their path, men, women, children, all for  that could be shared, and those killed in such genocide did not had to face being taken from their homes forced into chains, forced to preform acts against their will, forced to work with little promise of their freedoms. 

To the imagery of His wife and Son sitting on a beach, tear stains dripping down his boy's cheek as he turned to his mother for comfort.

Eve turned her head with a wicked smile on her face as she patted the top of Cain's head, whispering words of one truly damned.

“Heaven does not care for those who are mortal, therefore who are we to care for their judgment?” 

the first seed of doubt planted into his young son's mind only to be watered and flourish with each doubt against heaven, with each sin that led him to killing his kin. 

His wife turned to look at him but he was not met with her soft sweet features that he always knew off, but with a haunting silhouette of darkness that whispered about in a mocking form of his wife's image. Eyes covered the feminine figure and they all stared into him. 

His stomach began to curl as the hair on his body began to rise in the instinct of knowing when it was being preyed upon in the face of immediate danger. 

This darkness formed a mouth that grinned splitting wide from ear to ear as its body grew and grew with a large eye covered hand reaching out him, to grab him, to capture him, to force him to see what had became of their legacy, their greatest mistake, the curse they allowed to infect the earth humanity.

He scrambled backwards, his wings somehow shimmering off such little light in darkness so thick he clung to them, frilling the golden feathers nearly ripping them out as he forced his wings to close around him as he curled into them. 

The haunting dark laughter of the woman he once knew and loved surrounded him as he held his wings tighter, a broken sob leaving him.

“Make it stop…Please make it stop.”

She had watched him cowardly, listening to his pleading as the visions started to shatter him. 

 She would allow them to torment his mind a little longer until he was screaming his pleads to be helped, breathless sobs choking from his throat as his hands pulled out clumps of his puffed up feathers.

She had only stopped once his nails found their way to his hair, with broken pleading whispers to be helped. 

with a wave of her hand she stopped them, watching him shake in the ball of false security he had created for himself out of his wings. She kneeled down to him, placing a soft hand on his back, feeling him jerk with a sob. 

“Do not be afraid, child, you are safe.” She softly tells him as she rubs his back to his hair.

“Behold now the fate that hath befallen thy wife. Understand why she is barred from the embrace of heaven once more?” She did not get a response from him as his broken sobs were all that came from him. Yet she smiled to herself as she kept petting him, giving him that false comfort  as if she was always a friend. 

She would later answer his quiet questions of his son Abel being here and she would bluntly state that Cain had smitten his soul completely erasing it from existence, that Abel was gone forever and it was because of Cain's hatred of his brother. 

Answered his questions of if another human would be able to cross into heaven's gates, with a simple response that if they were pure when they passed then surely they too will join him in the heavenly paradise. 

Where he would live amongst the heavenly clouds was easy as well, simply wherever he wanted.

What purposes he would have now he was in heaven, why another simple answer, he had no purpose but to fully relax and enjoy the spoils of heaven for he had earned it. 

“Then... I crave to dwell amidst my echo, my y/n, within the gardens. May I depart to them forthwith?” he had meekly asked, hopefulness and pure desperation.

That 

She was not prepared for it, She had thought he had forgotten them. 

Why would he bother remembering when he was banished? When he was focused on so many more important things like surviving and tending to his family's needs? After so long? Why did he remember them when he had forgotten so many other things during his lifespan of nine hundred years? 

And yet with a calm emotionless and collected face she turned looking down on the much smaller man. Such a hopeful expression on his face,

It was a shame, really.

For she would not ever risk anyone finding the gardens. 

finding You. 

especially in the state she left you in. 

You, The vessel of the sins she had done to gain her high position and power. 

It took all in her to not let out a laugh at the irony of everything. He could have all he ever wanted in Paradise and he asks for the one thing she would never allow to be seen in the time of day or night again. 

“They are gone Adam.” She states bluntly, a lack of compassion as she stares at him watching how so many emotions moved across his facial features.

“huh?” Was all that left his lips in disbelief as he looked up at her, in confusion. 

“They exist no more, for they too have forsaken us. Their existence was solely to maintain the blissful love between thee and Eve, and maybe it was because thy love was not…” 

“No..” His words cut her off, but it was not so outrageously against her, but one of broken tones, as if he was shattering even more, his eyes watery as he looked at her with grief.

“I loved them, I still love them so much..” He whispered as if he was swearing his honesty, and she knew his words were true. 

she moved a hand to his shoulder softly squeezing in comfort for him.

“But did Eve?” 

and seeing how the look in his eyes crumbled, she knew he would not question her again. 

And so she spun her silken lies, telling him that Eden existed no more and So did you. Gone, Lost in paradise. 

And having nothing else to prove her words wrong he believed her like he obediently should. 

She had brought him to her home watching him crumble in a corner of her public space and she left him there as she moved to her room. She expected silence but wails chiming out had greeted her instead making her rush to a most comfortable nest peering down at what once was a heavenly egg now a screaming wailing little seraphim. 

A daughter just for her to raise in her perfection. 

She decided to give the child a good name, a heavenly name. 

Emily. 

next chapter

[viscerawrites]

oc + wip directory

I have many many MANY OCs, but for the sake of this pinned post, I'm only going to mention the ones I hope to talk about/write about most! My characters are my fave part of writing and my wips are ever shifting so I figured this is more sensible haha. I do have a few actual wips tho!

here are my fanfic-to-oc adaptation fics that should hopefully get started up soon <3

---

main series wip - low life landing

smut-centric mini wips here

---

ERAPIAE:

Bronwyn Blearey (she/her) // human (eventual werewolf) & fereian minstrel in training. anger issues and a frankly ridiculous amount of trauma. if she's not living for herself then she's living to spite everyone who thought she'd be dead by now. scary gf of evie & noam.

Evesperangeline "Evie" Lallows (she/her) // human. shockingly cringe fail daughter of two sacred figures from a renowned cultes. looks weird, acts weird, and is proud of it. unironic family disappointment. loves bronwyn deeply but makes her worse.

Noamke "Noam" Vivendel (he/him) // human & fereian minstrel in training. golden retriever puppy boy built like a beanstalk. embodiment of sunshine on the outside and storm cloud on the inside. teenage dad but no one knows that. can't make bronwyn better but will hold her hand and hope that's enough.

Mia Bones (she/her) // half-demon raised to hate herself. subsequently a monster hunter. hater by nurture and nature. grows to love herself in time but is a category 4 bitch until then. lone wolf but not rlly. definitely does not like being subby what are you talking about.

Janikeia (she/her) // vampire & an assassin for the shadow walkers. always acts like she's joking even when she actually means it. definitely keeps blackmail material on literally everyone regardless of how much she likes them. the switchiest switch to ever switch but entirely focused on herself.

Rever Lachrymose (he/him) // religious cult survivor who still hasn't fully broken thru all his conditioned beliefs yet. this does not stop him from falling in love with an incubus (and also being dommed by said incubus).

Cathlis Deveron (he/him) // incubus with a genuine heart of gold and a hell of a lotta tattoos. definitely the embodiment of sin. doesn't trust rever at first but quickly realizes he's just a sweet man who needs a little guidance.

Michaelis ("Murderdoll") (actually he/him don't let the freak show fool you) // black eye of the mother. captured by a "freak show" and forced to present himself as a "terrible woman" named murderdoll. has gotten used to it. still jumps at the opportunity to rid himself of it.

Lenormand "Lennox" Enox (he/him) // human. lovey dovey devoted guy but like in a kinda stalkerish obsessive way. not normal in many ways. definitely masculine but Will melt when michaelis calls him a good girl and yknow,,, dollifies him.

---

ASSORTED OTHERS:

Dallon Saint Ichmere (he/him) // world of navaa // bastard son of the lord ames ichmere. his bff and only friend is his half sister amory. a loved bastard child but still expected to bear the brunt of everyone's ridicule. hates this but is weirdly into it when it's syselli insulting him.

Syselli (she/her) // world of navaa // former child soldier turned right hand woman of the mercenary prince katalan. sadistic and kinda sorta psychopathic but she's trying, for the most part. only realizes she cares abt dallon when she feels guilt for the first time.

Asher Kain (he/him) // contemporary fantasy // survivor of severe abuse who refuses to acknowledge this. typical human who somehow suddenly gains the ability to see into the otherworld. also somehow acquires a werewolf bf, a demon gf, and 4 nonhuman children. he's not entirely sure how he got here.

Eden Jade Heller (she/her) // portal fantasy // kidnapping victim who kills her captor after 9 years, gets dragged into a fantasy world, and becomes a dark god. naturally she's got some problems.

[taocc-refs]

Info and Tag List

Hiya, Mod Gryphon/Vian here! I thought it would be a good idea to have a blog that has references for the characters in TAOCC!

Let me know if you want me to make a post for a character, or edit any posts already here! I'm more than happy to scour through a blog's archive to find art! And I always welcome suggestions to make this blog better!

I'll try and keep the ref posts up to date, though I likely won't remove any art, just put outdated art under a read more.

If you want to go to a random post on this blog go to this link (it doesn't work on the app): https://taocc-refs.tumblr.com/random

Or if you want to use the Wheel of Names instead you can use this link: https://wheelofnames.com/egb-cha

Tag List

Sadly, I can't link every OC because of limits to how many links I can have per post, so I'll only link to each mod's tag. All OCs do have their own tag though! Format for the OC tags are #OC: Name

Mod Autumn

Ambrosius

Casper

Goldie

Kier

Lilith

Llewellyn

Mimi

Neb

Pamela

Pyxel

Radio

River

Stranger

Mod Basil

Amalgam

The Bellist

Blaze

Dialtone

Elida

Elliot

Fukayna

Memphis

Mix

Paper

Pen

Pharaoh

Quibilah

Sisu

Sol

Sun

Taika

Tale

The Taxidermist

Umbra

Vamp

Vendetta

Wade

Zsuzsi

Mod Cindy

Arrow

Seer Anon

Rosalind

Tracy Trainee

Mod Clovur

APP

Dell

John Mannequin

June

Merrell Mortis

Miette

Moriane

Noodles

Tanya Toffeeoff

Vincent

Mod Elsie

Aaron

Alpenglow

Aokigahara

Apollo

Artem

Arthur

Asterisk

Bastet

Calla Lily

Chance

Charles

Chip

Ciana

Damsel

Dusk

Easton

Elysia

Fraise

Fynn

Guidance

Harriet

Juliet

Katrina

Lemonade

Lovebug

Mercutio

Nightmare

Northa

Switchboard

Tessa

Verie

Water Girl

Yelena

Mod Feiar

Abstraction Anon

Aklatan

Alexander

Alois

Amethyst

Amy

Ari

Azul

Belle

Cardlan

Clara

Conny

Donnie

Flare

Gideon

Gideon's Mothlings

Jessy

Joy

Kade

Kenta

Kever

Lance

Latte

Levi

Max

Mocha

Nathan

Nexus

Nymn

Penko

Pixie

Quin

Ramona

Siva

Smith

Theophanie

Vanilla

Zoloto

Mod Helpful

Helpful

Sparkler

Waffle

Mod Hoax

Jasper

Mod Hope

Adam

Alexis

Ammon

Artemis

Bennu

Brutus

Cable

Calamity

Carbine

Colorbine

Cyrus

Eden

Ezekiel

Kepler

Plague

R.ai.dio

Remnant

Sami

Sunny

The Terminal

Winston

Zeebo

Mod Kopi

AI Kopi

Kopi

Spark

Ted

Mod Gold

File

Mod Gryphon

Curious

Grif (and Cerys)

Husam

Swap Grif

Mod James

Insanity

Sigil

Mod Jester

Baitle

Castor

Entity

Frostbite

Ione

Lantern

Mimic

Rodger

Selcouth

Sunshine

Mod Lily

Acacius

Sophronius

Mod Marz

Cleon

Mod Mox

Void

Mod Planet

Acid

Calcifer

Discord

The fIX3r

Lumiel

Rosarya

Storyteller

Tai

Vixen

Wyn

Mod Rex

Raye

Mod Soup

Abayomi

Alice

AM3L14

Azrael

Beezle

Caleb

Clown

Clownette

Connie/Connor (S-Gangle)

Dell

Dime

Edwin

Ellys Belrose

Felicia

Gangle

Harrison Mossberg

Hex

Kaufmo

Mari

Mercury

Mercy

Shadow

Silhouette

Zombie

Mod Star

Astrion

Chase

Gaia

Icia

Manna

Nova

Vaga

Ziiori

Mod Tailsbot

Aella

Chaos Enjoyer Anon

Comax

Cuddella

Ferris Wheel Opperator Anon

Fox Anon

Koin

Magnetta

Maid Dress Anon

Mistletoe Anon

Peyton

Simp Anon

Sweets

Teleporting Anon

Thyme

Voltie

Wrench Anon

Mod Toast

Alex

Belle

Kumo

Metal Anon

Stitch

Mod Tomb

Bob

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Ursula

And asks get tagged as askbox

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Character: [name and blog here] Height: [height here] Additional Notes: [any important design notes for people that might draw them] Art Credits: [credits for the art in the post]

[wyrdoh]

Gold Saucer - Card Packs

Page 9 #267: Archaeotania (DREAM)

Page 2 #39: Gilgamesh & Enkidu (MYTHRIL)

Gold Saucer - Buy

Page 3 #63: Nanamo Ulnamo (400K MGP)

Page 6 #169: Gigi (90k MGP)

Page 7 #197: Raubahn & Pipin (400k MGP)

Page 8 #228: Strmbld Tataru Taru (96k MGP)

Norvrandt - Gemstone Trader

Page 10 #271: Gnoll (Lakeland)

Page 10 #273: Forgiven Obscenity (Kholusia)

Page 10 #274: Huaca (Rak'tika)

Page 10 #277: Therion (Tempest)

Dungeons

Page 3 #86: Nidhogg (The Aery)

Page 4 #97: Progenitrix (Pharos Sirius Hard)

Page 4 #103: Charibert (The Vault)

Page 4 #107: Archbishop Thordan VII ( The Minstrel's Ballad: Thordan's Reign)

Page 6 #160: Lava Scorpion (Sohm Al Hard)

Page 6 #163: The Griffin (Baelsar's Wall)

Page 6 #177: Susano (The Pool of Tribute)

Page 6 #178: Lakshmi (Emancipation)

Page 7 #193: Hrodric Poisontongue (The Drowned City of Skalla)

Page 7 #200: Guidance Node (The Fractal Continuum Hard)

Page 7 #202: Genbu (Hells' Lid)

Page 7 #203: Byakko (The Jade Stoa)

Page 7 #208: Qitian Dasheng (The Swallow's Compass)

Page 7 #209: Tsukuyomi (Castrum Fluminis)

Page 8 #219: Tokkapchi (Saint Mocianne's Arboretum Hard)

Page 8 #220: Mist Dragon (The Burn)

Page 8 #229: Prometheus (The Ghimlyt Dark)

Page 8 #230: Seiryu (The Wreath of Snakes)

Page 8 #238: Stormblood Gilgamesh (Kugane Ohashi)

Page 9 #246: Titania (The Dancing Plague)

Page 9 #257: Hades (The Dying Grasp)

Page 9 #265: Seeker of Solitude (The Grand Cosmos)

Page 10 #276: Ruby Weapon (Cinder Drift)

Page 10 #279: Varis yae Galvus (Memoria Misera Extreme)

Page 10 #286: 2P (The Puppet's Bunker)

Page 10 #287: Shadowbringers Warrior of Light (The Seat of Sacrifice)

Page 10 #291: Mother Porxie (Matoya's Relict)

Page 10 #292: Emerald Weapon (Castrum Marinum)

Page 10 #295: Eden's Promise (Eden's Promise: Eternity)

Page 11 #304: Lunar Bahamut (Paglth'an)

Page 11 #307: Diamond Weapon (The Cloud Deck

BEAST TRIBES:

Page 3 #72: Fat Chocobo (vath deftarm/FATE)

Page 4 #111: Darkscale (Master Mogzin/FATE)

Page 5 #133: Kal Myhk (Master Mogzin)

Page 5 #134: Waukkeon (Linu Vali)

Page 5 #140: Hraesvelgr (Master Mogzin)

Page 10 #280: Dwarf (Cobleva)

Page 10 #281: Rolling Tankard (Cobleva)

ACHIEVEMENTS:

Page 3 #87: Midsgardsommar (Triple-deckerIV)

Page 7 #186: Krile (Triple-deckerVIII)

Page 8 #211: Gosetsu (Triple-deckerVIIII)

Page 9 #255: Shadowbringers Urianger (Triple-deckerIX)

Page 10 #284: Shadowbringers Thancred (Triple-deckerX)

Page 10 #296: Phoenix (Open and Shut I)

HEAVEN ON HIGH: UNLOCK USHIOGI

Page 8 #212: Wanyudo & Katasharin

Page 8 #213: Hatamoto

Page 8 #214: Hiruko

EUREKA:

UNLOCK BOTAN

Page 8 #215: Yukinko

Page 8 #216: Happy Bunny

Page 8 #217: Louhi

Page 8 #225: Pazuzu

UNLOCK HETSUKAZE

Page 8 #226: Penthesilea

Page 8 #235: Dvegr

Page 8 #236: Ejika Tsunjika

Page 8 #237: Provenance Watcher

BOZJA: GANGOS:

UNLOCK ARSIEU

Page 10 #289: Dawon

Page 10 #290: Adrammelch

UNLOCK SLADKEY

Page 11 #310: 4th-make Shemhazai

Page 11 #311: 4th-make Cuchulainn

Mor Dhona - Merchant

Page 11 #306: G-Warrior (3 totems)

Zadnor - Merchant

Page 10 #298: Trinity Seeker (3 Bozja Cluster)

Page 10 #299: Trinity Avowed (3 Bozja Cluster)

Page 11 #312: Diablo Armament (7 Bozja Cluster)

BLUE MAGE:

Level 60 Blue Mage: Buy from Latool Ja

Page 10 #297: Great Azuro (100 Allied Seals)

Page 11 #302: Gogo Master of Mimicry

UNLOCK DROYN: LVL 60

Page 10 #300: Azulmagia

Page 11 #301: Siegfried

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Fear That You’ll Find Out How I’m Imagining You

Summary: For Father Spencer, his life was a simple one: lead his flock in the worship of the Lord. Little he know, a fallen lamb with a breathy whisper of a voice would seep into every waking thought and make him, for the first time since his Calling, question the very vows that restrain him from all Earthly and human pleasures. Who knew the Devil had the face of an Angel and the body of a temptress.

Word Count: around 4700

Content Warnings: Religious themes and references, talk of desire and intimate behaviors, self pleasure (spoken and described, touch of Perv!Spencer, masturbation, touch of innocence kink, heavy themes of priest kink and corruption kink to come

Author’s Note: Welp!! Here it is. The Fleabag-ification of Spencer Reid with a little more spice :). I am kinda proud of how this turned out (I hate to talk about things I’m proud of but I really like this one). I’ve got room on the taglist, but please remember this fic involves heavier/kinkier themes so proceed with caution. Thank you to @reidsbookclub for editing this and giving me a lot of praise 😉

Fear That You’ll Find Out How I’m Imagining You

I suppose it makes sense that the church is my sanctuary, given that I am a priest. There’s something about it that feels like home. From the ornate thurible and the Gothic arches, I am blessed and grateful to have found inner peace within God’s home. The parish, my flock, looks to me for guidance. And I, with the wisdom of the Lord in my heart and head will do my best to follow through on my vow. My vow to the Lord, to refuse any Earthly temptation, all carnal desires that have plagued humanity till the dawn of time. I swore to myself that no flight of fancy, no temptation, no matter how sweet would sway me from the path that I forged. I believed that my Calling to serve the Lord was the greatest force on this Earth and His Heavenly Kingdom.

Yet, I sit now in a bed of my own making. The former Father Spencer Reid, servant of the Lamb of God, is a sinner. But do I regret it? Do I regret tasting Heaven herself? Do I regret feeling salvation in every pore of my body? Do I regret breaking my vow of celibacy on the very altar I once worshiped?

No. Not in the slightest.

If she’s the Devil, then light me up because I’m her only worshiper. If she is sin itself, then I am nothing but a soulless sinner. I’ll love her like the sinful man I am, even if it means my soul is damned to Hell.

I’ll shed the skin of my old life like the snake in the Garden of Eden. I’ll give up the collar I’ve worn in reverence for the Lord for the chance to have her wear my hands like a collar around her neck. I’ll turn my back on the Savior I swore to serve, because she’s my goddess and I’m her only worshiper. Her body, her hips, her lips are the only altar I care to practice at. My hands will marvel at her beauty, wondering how she’s the Devil if she looks like an Angel. I want her bathed in gold, her supple soft skin aching to be caressed by the one man who’s vowed to deny such divine pleasures. Divinity is in her lips, her crimson red, sinful lips that beg to be kissed.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

The words, echoing in my thoughts, bring a self satisfied smile to my lips. My own inner voice isn’t anything compared to the rich timbre of her voice. Though when she said it, I was basked in an euphoria like no other. When she said it, I never wanted to hear it again, unless it slipped from her wine colored lips.

Yet, forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession. I have committed the one act I’ve swore to never let cross my mind. I’ve tasted Heaven. I’ve eaten the Divine, yet forbidden fruit. And I am a guilty man because not an ounce of regret courses through my veins. My heart, my soul, my spirit are all her’s to keep, to cherish, to with as she wishes. She could break my soul in to a million fractured shards of glass. I’d look into the broken pieces of the reflective surface and I’d be gazing into your face. I’d see her soul where I see mine. She could break if she wishes, tarnish what was sparkled with an incandescent glow, because my soul was only her’s to break. I am a sinner. She’s a saint. But the lines, like most things in life, are blurred. You don’t get any absolutes.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I have fallen in love with a woman. I’ve tasted the sweet essence of carnal sin on her hips and not even the most miraculous waters of your Divine Kingdom could compare. I won’t deny it, Father, I’ve in my mind all the things I could do with her. No penance will be able to reconcile that I now worship my own personal goddess in the bedroom.

I’m not a claustrophobic man, but spending an entire day in the confessionals threatens to turn me into one. It’s not supposed to be a comfortable room, but my entire body aches from being cramped up in the tiny room. The priest prior to me, Father Simon preferred the more formal setting for the parish confessions. From the ornate carvings, the uncomfortably hard kneelers, and iconography this confessional is nothing but ostentatious.

It’s dark in the small room, but the light pours in through the crack between the doorframe and the door. A decorative piece of stained glass is my only window into the rest of the church, but it’s useless to look through. The glass, ornate like everything else in this building, is a depiction of St. Augustine, a 5th century Bishop who, hundreds and hundreds of years after his death, headed my calling to the Lord. The deep cherry reds, the royal blues, and dark purple pieces of glass catch sunlight as they provide my only form of entertainment as I await the next parishioner. Saturdays during Ordinary Time mean the local sinners feel the urge to repent. They repent. I listen and give them some tasks or prayers to absolve them of their sins.

Reconciliation, as I’ve figured out in my two years at this church, is the least popular Sacrament. I suppose that it’s part of human nature, not wanting to admit wrong doings, especially when only a darkened screen sits between you and your Heavenly maker.

The door on the other side, the parishioner’s side, opens with a creak. The old cherry wood doors give off any kind of movement, telling me that there’s someone on the other side desiring to cleanse their soul. I wait for the person to talk, giving them a moment of silence before we begin.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 3 years since my last confession,” the bodiless voice says. It’s a man’s voice, probably older than myself given the weathered tone in which he speaks. Again, I wait a beat, letting the silence sit with us. As much as I despise the crampedness of the confessionals, it’s revitalizing the same token.

“Let us start with the Sign of the Cross,” I instruct, raising my hand to my forehead, as I begin, “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen,” I say, my voice echoing in the chamber. I can see an outline of a man through the darkened screen, he kneels before he is ready to atone for his sins.

“You may begin, my brother,” I tell him, “Please confess what you must and hope that you heart and soul will feel a weight lifted off your being,”

The man confesses. His voice shakes as he recounts the people he’s betrayed, hurt, and cursed over the past three years. I listen, nodding my head along, even though the darken screen gives the man his privacy. He continues for some time, speaking about his dependence on alcohol, his emotional neglect of his wife and children, and his desire to be a better father and husband. I can’t offer any personal advice to the topic, as it’s far from my purview, but as he finishes I ask that he joins me in prayer.

“My dear brother,” I tell him, “Let us pray,”

And the cycle continues, parishioner after parishioner. Sinner after sinner. Time seems to stand still while I’m sitting in the dark letting sinners bare their souls for a chance for their maker to forgive them. I want to make a mental note to remember to bring a watch next time I sit for confessions; the hours seem to bleed together without any end in sight.

The door opens again and the light bleeds through the screen. From the silhouette I can tell that my next candidate is a woman. I hear her puttering around in the booth, seemingly not understanding the protocol for this particular rite.

“You’re supposed to be kneeling,” I whisper, hearing her gasp, “Sorry for startling you,” I apologize, “You just sound like you’re not sure what you’re doing,”

“I’m not,” the faceless woman says. Her voice is young, maybe younger than me or around my age. For the first time, I find myself wondering what she looks like. Is her skin as soft as her voice? Are her eyes stormy and mysterious or are they sweet and docile? Is she slim and slender or is her body soft and full of curves? These thoughts trickle into my subconscious and threaten to make my skin crawl.

“Are you here to confess your sins?” I ask, “I will guide you, as a sheppard guides his lamb,” I tell her, the imaginary images of her face popping up in my mind as I speak. I close my eyes, succumbing to total darkness as I force the very thoughts out of my mind. I should be the one on the other side of the confessional, not this woman.

“I’m honestly not even sure why I am here, Father,” the woman whispers into the dark, “I’ve done bad things. But I’m not sure if I regret them. But I’ve never done this before,” I hear the cushion of the kneeler squeak as the woman moves around, probably still uncertain about what she’s doing here in the first place.

“That’s quite alright,” I say, consoling the woman without a face, “I can show you the ropes if you’d like,” I whisper back, terrified that this room isn’t soundproof like promised.

“Do I really have to say ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned’ or is that only in mafia movies?” the woman asks, making me chuckle, despite my usual level of professionalism.

“Raise your hand to your forehead, dear,” I instruct, licking my lips as I continue, “And say, ‘in the name of the Father’,” she repeats after me, following my instructions as I continue, “And now touch your right shoulder and say ‘and the Son,’ and lastly, touch your left shoulder and say ‘and the Holy Spirit, Amen,”’

The woman does as she’s told, her voice but a shaky whisper above my own. I shift in my seat, even more aware of the crampedness of this room. The stained glass, my window the rest of the world and this flimsy, darkened screen the only barrier between me and the sinner before me.

“And now you may say it,” I tell her.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispers, and I can hear every time she catches her voice. I can hear a layer of mystery in the way her voice gravels. I’ve never listened to voices like this before, “I-I’m sorry,” she says, the kneeler creaking as she stands suddenly, “I have to go, I’m crazy to do this-”

“Stop,” I say, my voice firm and steady compared to her weary and unsteady one, “Stay where you are. You’re here to confess your sins and you will,” I tell her, wondering if that gulping sound is coming from her or if I’m just imagining it.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, kneeling back down. Through the screened barrier I can see the shadow of her hands. She clasps them tightly like she’s praying. I wonder if she’s ever been in this position before, albeit in less holy ways.

“It’s Father,” I correct, “Father Spencer,” I say, correcting myself, “It’s okay for you to know my name, even if I can’t know your name. It makes it less intimidating,”

“Yes, Father,” she whispers, and if I wasn’t such a pious man I would have sworn there was some sort of curse placed on me the moment those words slipped from her lips. I’ve never seen her lips before, but I know that they are beautiful. I know that she is beautiful, “Father Spencer,” she says, playfully, almost in a teasing tone.

“That’s my name,” I say, for the first time in my entire career, unsure of what to say. I could feel my mind twist over and over, tumbling around searching for the right words to materialize, “What brings you here today?”

“I’m not too sure, Father,” the woman starts, “I saw the church across the street and thought that it looked peaceful. If I’m being truthful, I’m a little embarrassed to tell you,” the adds, the nerves in her voice apparent even though I can’t read her body language through the barrier.

“And why is that? If you don’t regret what you did to someone,” I continue, “Part of this sacred sacrament is feeling a desire to seek forgiveness, if I can be so bold to say, regret is usually people feel,”

“I see,” she says, “It’s just difficult to admit, Father. Considering you are…,” her voice, trailing off into the darkness leads me to fill in the blanks. I look up to the nonexistent clock, wondering for a second how many more parishioners I’ll have to get through before I’m finished. I then give my attention back to the woman on the other side of the screen barrier.

“Considering I’m a priest?” I ask, not completely understanding what she’s implying yet, “I’ll promise you that I’m not what priests typically look like. I have all my hair still, for one thing. And I’m a quite bit younger than what most people imagine when it comes to priests,”

“I know,” she whispers, not giving me enough time to comprehend her implications, “I mean, I googled you. Before I walked into this…”

“Confessional,” I correct, “So you know what I look like? Why did you look me up?” I ask, wondering, despite my peaking interest in this mysteriously intriguing woman, if I’m opening a door that I’m forbidden to even think about.

“Because I was scared. This whole disembodied voice thing is a little creepy, if I could be blunt with you Father,” she tells me, a wry chuckle slipping from my lips before I can stop it, “But that was a mistake. Googling you, I mean. It’s going to make this much harder than I thought,”

“And why is that?” I ask, wondering for myself where this would lead.

“You’re a very attractive man,” she says, “And the sins I’ve committed are of the intimate and carnal nature,” the woman tells me, a hidden raspiness to her voice making me lean forward in the confessional. I fold my hands, linking my fingers together as I wait for her to continue.

It’s a peculiar word, carnal. It originates from Latin, a language that I’m all too familiar with. The word is the kind of word that evokes the feelings that it means exactly. Carnal Natural. The mystery woman, who may have skin softer than silk and eyes more tempting than red wine, is on her knees inches away from me confessing to the very sins I deny myself the pleasure of committing. I may be a pious man, who’s dedicated his life to answering the Lord’s calling. But I’m a man still, a man with desires, deep desires. Desire of a very carnal nature I’m denied.

It’s a bed of my own making I suppose, but I’ll forever crave to share the bed with someone as well.

“I’m only a witness,” I reassure, unsure if it’s more for myself or her, “You’re really confessing to God, I’m but a mere servant,”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better, Father?” the woman asks, and I swear I can taste the teasing from her lips, “I’ve touched myself,” she reveals, a beat of silence festering between us.

“You mean,” I say, collecting myself as I shift uncomfortably in the chair. It’s hotter than ever in the tiny room and I am intimately aware of the nearly suffocating pants I’m wearing, “You’ve touched yourself in a self-pleasuring way,”

“Yes, Father,” she answers, her silhouette bowing her head in only what I can assume is humiliation and embarrassment, “It felt good so I’ve done it many times. My boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, struggled to make…”

“Climax?” I offer, refusing to conceal the smirk that materializes across my face as I hear the woman’s frazzled stutters, “I’m a human, my dear. And a man, but you did know that already,” I tease, wondering if her cheeks are heating as I continue.

“Father,” she says, her voice strained with guilt and humiliation, “I want to know if I’m headed for damnation? I try to be a good person, to live my life with good rules, even if I’m not a practicing Catholic. But I’m terrified that this makes me a sinner,”

“I don’t think it has to do with you touching yourself,” I tell her, assessing the situation and hoping in all of my bones that I am giving this wildly interesting woman somecomfort, “I think you’re wondering if you’re a good person, is that right?”

“Yes, Father,” she replies, the silence hanging again in the sticky heat of the confessional, “I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time,”

“You’re a good person,” I tell her, “We’re all sinners in the eyes of the Lord, none of us perfect, none of us sweet and Holy as him. But if we strive to do some good in this world, we can seek eternal life in paradise with him,” I say, wondering if these words are empty promises to her, while they are the very essence of life to me.

I don’t reply, letting the words stick to my skin like honey dripping from beehives. I can feel it in the silence that sits between us. Her heavy, labored breathing and fidgeting against the kneel tells me all I need to know. I’m suddenly filled with an urge to comfort her in a way that blurs the lines like never before. I hardly know this woman; not her name or age, not what she looks like or what she does for a living.

I’ve never felt a desire for a woman this strong in years. I hardly know her, yet I’m overwhelmed with a desire to wipe the tears from her face that I’m sure fall onto the kneeler. I want to brush my fingers across her undoubtedly soft skin and kiss away the things that eat away at her heart. We’re strangers, yet there’s something pulling me towards her, making me question everything I’ve accepted with faithful endeavor.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispers. She shuffles around in the confessional, perhaps searching for her belongings in the dark, still unnerved from the nature of our conversation. She’s quiet, not speaking another word as she exits the confessional. The light seeps into her side of the confessional when she opens the door, reminding me that, in fact, there’s an outside world beyond these walls.

Even though I’m not supposed to, I throw the door open, unsure myself of what exactly I intend to do. The woman from the confession dashes out of the church down the aisle like a runaway bride. I’m tempted to stop her, but I’m not even sure I want to do that in the first place. I’ve already crossed the line, the blurry gray line that’s holding me back from my human desires.

I’m a lucky man, it turns out. Because when she left I not only got a glimpse at her, but my mystery woman left something behind: a perfume-stained handkerchief.

After my encounter with the woman in the confessional, I’ve tried nearly everything to get her out of my mind. I failed. There was something about the breathy way she spoke, the earnestness in her voice when she asked for a kind of forgiveness that even she didn’t know if she wanted. Days later, I would still find myself imagining what she looked like and, like most things, it leads to thoughts that slowly become clouded with forbidden thoughts.

I had a life before I entered the Seminary. A life of a man with desires of the carnal nature. When the woman in the confessional gave her penance about touching herself, I knew exactly what she was talking about. I knew the way that her body would twist and arch with a burning pleasure like no other. I knew the way that she’d bite her lip in an attempt to stifle her moans. I knew the way that she’d do it again and again, seeking the same pleasure over and over.

For years, I’ve restrained myself. I’ve denied myself the sinful pleasures that humans crave. I gave up the life I once led to serve the Lord as a faithful, pious man. But, at the end of the day, aren’t I just a man? Aren’t I a man with desires? Aren’t I a man who could find a woman, who’s voice is nothing but a godless call to the pits of Hell. But if her voice, her breathy, earnest, sweet voice is the song of Hell, then the Devil himself can hand me the hymnal because I'll be singing her praises.

I can hear her voice echoing in my thoughts, encouraging me as my hands unfasten my belt. My black pants fall to my knees, leaving me in my collared shirt and underwear. I should have realized that thinking about this woman would have had this effect on my body and my mind. Perhaps it’s because I’ve denied myself these pleasures for so long that the anticipation is bound to be more intense.

I think of her voice and how soft her hands must be as I pull my hardened erection from my underwear, slowly starting to touch myself with a tight grip. Her breathy voice, airy and Heavenly fills my mind. It’s like the kind of sweet perfume that's so stifling all you can think about is the way it makes you dizzy. As I stroke my cock, I’m plagued with the thoughts of this woman’s perfume. Her handkerchief is buried deep into my pocket, burning a hole through my skin as I go throughout my days.

Moving up and down with my hand on my cock, I imagine she’s kneeling before me, not unlike she was in the confessional. I bring the handkerchief to my nose, breathing in her smell as if I was burying my nose into her neck. Of the glimpse I got of her skin, I know she’s soft and pliant. I think of her breathy, helpless tones as they flutter in my mind. I’ve never seen her face, her lips, her eyes, yet I know I want to see what she’d look like with my cock in her mouth. I wonder if her eyes would flutter with pleasure as I stroked my fingers against her cheek? Would she touch herself while she took me in her mouth, aching to bring herself to the very temptatious climax she confessed to me on her knees days ago?

Groaning, the thoughts and images and sounds flutter in my head, desperately untamed and Hell-bound. I’ve only heard her voice and it’s like I can imagine the way her body would writhe under my touch. I wonder if I ever treated her like she deserves. I curse myself for being the man that’s forbidden by his maker to bring that sinful pleasure to her lips, her body, her mind.

My collar is tight against my next, choking me like an all knowing vice. I feel my blood boil as my hand continues to pleasure myself, wondering how it would feel with a much smaller, much softer, much more angelic hand bringing me to the brink. Or her mouth, wet and warm, taking me in whole with her eyes daring me to proceed. I groan at the thought of watching my dick slip in and out, disappearing in her tight cunt. It’s almost like I can hear the breathless, uncontrolled moans slipping from her perfect lips.

My thoughts, sinful and laden with guilt, thought of what she’d look like on her knees for me, without a screen barrier dividing us. My hands wanted to cover her skin, touching her in places that I’ve vowed to never touch. I wanted to bring her the very pleasure that I’ve restrained myself from. I want to feel how Heavenly soft her thighs would feel as they wrapped around my head like a vice. Not even the Holiest chalice with the Blessed Wine could compare to her taste. I’ve never even feasted on her yet and I’m already desperate for more. My hands and thoughts grow more and more restless….and remorseless as I continue to stroke my length.

If she was sitting before me, I’d tear her clothes from her begging body, touching her and bringing her enough pleasure to confess her sins for a lifetime. No part of her would go unkissed, untouched, unloved. I’d worship her like she’s the most divine altar, because she’s the most precious offering.

I feel heat grow in my stomach and rise throughout my entire being. It’s like all the cells in my body are on fire. I’ve done this before, I’m a man, a human with desires, but it’s never been like this.

I feel everything slip from my metaphorical grip. I throw my reservations to the wind in an attempt to chase my release. If I close my eyes tight enough it’s like I can imagine her hand bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I wonder if she’d give it to me without teasing, or if she’d like to deny me over and over, watching my stony exterior crumble. I’d let her destroy me, I’d like her to ruin me over and over if I’d get a taste of her sweetness in return. They say that the Devil is a terrifying, imposing figure of pure fire, yet as I close my eyes I can only see a Heaven-sent angel. Her lips, rosy and tempting. Her hips, marked with mouth. Her soul, bared and vulnerable, a perfect match to mine.

“Fuck,” I groaned as I finished into my hand. The sweet echoes of voice ricocheting in my head.

My cheeks, flushed with a mixture of humiliation and fervent need, burn a fiery red. My lips, bitten from keeping my moans silent, are swollen and nearly bloodied from the pressure. Her touchless touch dirtied my soul. It unleashed a carnal nature in me. My hand is slick with my release, yet I continue stroking beyond my climax. I don’t have a name to call out in pleasure, but God seems to be inappropriate for a plethora of reasons. Yet, her name would be the sweetest thing to cross my lips, and I’ll be damned if I could never hear her scream mine, even if it will turn me into a godless, Hell-damned man.

I sit there, forehead shining with sweat and pants around my ankles. A smile, sinful and proud forms across my face. Grinning like the Devil, I think I finally understand what the woman in the confessional meant by not regretting it.

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[starkeaton]

the adventure zone: graduation character list

Well, i accidentally deleted the original graduation character list post, so here i am making another one. Oops. And as always, if anyone has important details i should add then feel free to suggest them!

Here are all the characters introduced in episodes 1-25. Named characters only!

Also i can’t hide spoilers! So, um..... I can’t put spoilers on this one. If you need the version with spoilers try this version of the post that i made on the adventure zone subreddit but youre not missing out on much.

# -EPISODE 1- (19 characters)

Hieronymous Wiggenstaff (he/him): Head of the Hero/Villain school. at least 400 years old. wears shining blue armor with gold accents. also an elf. according to Tomas, he led the charge at the "battle of blood valley", brought the Kingdoms of Rickart and Dawnbreak to a peace treaty, and founded the school. a little boastful, a little prideful, [SPOILERS OMITTED], and overall a pretty good dude.

Higglemas Wiggenstaff (he/him): Head of the Sidekick/Henchperson annex, cranky old elf. has a dog named hero who shows no signs of anything strange at all, ever. 

Gary (he/him): friendly room gargoyle. pseudo-hivemind.

Groundsy (he/him): the groundskeeper. a pretty nice fellow. don't go in his shed.

Hernandez (he/him): beautiful centaur professor of animal handling.

Jimson (he/him): human battlegrounds trainer for sidekicks/henchpeople, world famous featherweight champion, wields a staff. married to crushman.

Crushman (he/him): silver dragonborn with a sickle, and self-described beefy boy! heavyweight blood champion married to jimson. never lost a match for 8 years. full name Frostus Crushman.

Rolandus Fontaine (he/him): former prince, son of deposed king, kind of an asshole, maybe. wears a cape (important detail)

Zana (she/her): "terrifying" tiefling villain sorcerer, friend of rolandus. barkept the test tavern in ep2

Rhodes (she/her): hero ranger, friend of rolandus.

Buckminster Eden (he/him): hero guy. son of "The Iron Lord". their dad is stronger than rolandus's dad. his wiki page says rogue so i think hes a rogue? i never caught that and ive listened more times than i wish i did

Leon (he/him): softspoken buff, bald "fighter" (although i dont remember any clarification on how exactly he fights), sidekick of buckminster, around 28. anyone else keep forgetting he's bald? i keep forgetting it. >!gets sorta-drafted into becoming a falcon for higglemas and so far hasn't done much else.!<

Rainer Michelle (she/her): cheerful villainous necromancer with a floating chair. also, her name is pronounced "rainier" despite not being confirmed as such? travis ships her with fitzroy.

Tomas (he/him): human man with "kind eyes" and a good (psychic???) memory. guidance counselor.

Stewart LeBoeuf (he/him): brawny human man. serves food. there is no joke here, i promise

Mulligan (he/him): teaches potions. mentioned but doesn't appear yet. and we're like 25 episodes in. maybe we'll see him someday

Germaine, Victoria, Rattles (he/him,she/her,???/???): Skeleton crew. They live in the training room i guess, and as a result can never die, because "no one dies in the training room!" (note: someone now HAS to die in the training room). also their races are never explicitly stated but i guess they're probably human? in episode 3 travis brings up something about how many bones are in "the human body" and at this point i think i'm looking too deep into this so i'll just forget about it and you probably should too.

# -EPISODE 2- (9 characters)

Riveau (he/him): halfling, blame-taking teacher.

Mimi (they/them): gnome sidekick who builds cool robot prosthetics

Bartholemus (he/him): owl aarakocra accountant teacher, known for being the best accountant in the land and having a face some might describe as "smoochable". very pro capitalist :’( hope he gets better

Ramos (she/her): goliath teacher of shieldwork. *

Dip (she/her): sidekick, half-orc twin of pip

Pip (she/her): hero, half-orc twin of dip

Festo (they/them): fairy with "beautiful gossamer wings", independent study teacher of magic, loves to party

Snippers (he/him?): Let me tell you my story about Snippers the magic crab. When Travis gave the list of animals that Griffin could choose as Fitzroy's familiar's current form, he listed crab near the start, and this gave me excitement. Now i knew that crab was pretty unlikely but god i hoped that he would choose it. When the list went on- Bat, Cat, Crab, Frog, Hawk, Lizard, Owl, Poisonous Snake, Fish, Rat, Raven, Seahorse, Spider or Weasel- I nearly lost hope. I was hoping so hard that Griffin would choose the crab, but i was ready to accept a non-crab familiar. It was just buried in that list. It wasn't the most useful animal and it was an obscure pick. And as Travis informed him that it didn't have to keep the form for the whole campaign, Griffin said those five words i wanted to hear so, so badly. "Well then it's a crab." Folks, I do not often react physically when something happens in media. But in that moment, i remember very clearly, i fist-pumped and yelled, "YES!!!!!!"

so anyway, Fitzroy has a crab.

Jackle (he/him): kenku teacher of sneakery. creepy dude. apparently knows something about argo? also his name is not spelled "jackal" for some reason. Also in later episodes theyve started calling him "The Jackle" for some reason??? *

# -EPISODE 3- (1 character)

Dakota (they/them): tavern instructor, clad in black/red leather. no race stated? probably human. *

# -EPISODE 4- (6 characters)

Gerry & Tom (she/her, he/him): shopkeepers at barns and nobles who seem to have very bad names. also constantly competing for customers? these guys got dropped faster than the heathcliff quests, which is honestly just sad.

Barb (she/her): the bartender. runs Springs Eternal in Last Hope. has a sweet seeing-eye hawk familiar. 

Jaryd Reginald (he/him): owner of Reginald Ore. Wants the workers to be held responsible for the damage caused by the xorn. (fun fact: originally i wrote down "Jerrod" because i wanted it to sound like a fantasy name, then realized it was probably "Jared" because theyre named after listeners, but i was pleased to find it confirmed that it's actually "Jaryd")

Candice (she/her): A Miner. thought those werent allowed in bars but, i guess not. Wants the mine owner to be held responsible for the xorn's damage.

Jade Johnson Esq. (she/her): lawyer.

# -EPISODE 5- (1 character)

Xorn: a big hungry gem eating guy from the plane of earth Low-Down Deep with 3 arms and 3 legs. why did travis just say "multi-armed" instead of specifying it was 3? who knows! Anyway it leaves

# -EPISODE 6- (3 characters)

Osric (he/him): the man, the myth, the bursar. finally shows up after being mentioned in episodes 2 and 4. he's an elf. 

breeze through the willows (she/her): Pegasus attacked by demons, lost her parents. introduced in ep1 but gets a name here so fuck it. also in ep>!16!< we find out shes a "white arabian pegasus" and i dont think thats a spoiler bc we shouldve really known it from the beginning

Sabor (he/him): Librarian/research teacher. also a TORTLE. Really good at recalling stuff, i guess. kinda reminds me of Tomas's memory thing but i'm sure that's just a coincidence... *

# -EPISODE 7- (1 character)

Mosh (he/him): The goliath blacksmith who welcomes argo into the unbroken chain. Also, and this is specific to the tumblr version of this post, all the characters with an * at the end of their descriptions are also members of the unbroken chain. if someone knows how to do spoilers on tumblr please tell me

# -EPISODE 8-

:)

# -EPISODE 9- (2 characters)

Eeiïäá#æ&éñn (pronounced like "Ian") (he/him?): an imp but without a shitty voice. also happens to not be violent. what a coincidence?

Terence (he/him): a chain devil with a real demonic name. minor boss of the imps. very convincing and very threatening. has the frightening ability to make you zone out during his fight

# -EPISODE 10- (2 characters)

Althea Song (she/her): elf with autumn-orange hair. representative from heroic oversight guild. i'd like to personally thank travis for spelling her name out.

Crabtree (she/her): Artificing teacher. Long gray hair with a long grey beard. no mentioned race, one might guess dwarf but that would be an assumption i suppose. also unbroken chain member, presumably the dwarf argo didn't recognize in episode 7.

# -EPISODE 11- (3 characters)

Marie (she/her): Grey-haired elf woman. She's the school's physician, i guess. Member of the unbroken chain.

Dendra Maplecourt (she/her): Fitzroy's mom. Has hot mint gum, i guess. She was mentioned earlier but i wasn't convinced she was a real person until this episode

Cool Gary (he/him): AYY ITS ME GARYR

# -EPISODE 12-

no new characters again!

# -EPISODE 13- (7 characters hhhyyyuu)

Kale (???/???): Head of the Placement Department, in charge of real world assignments. First mentioned in Ep4 but i missed that the last few times bc it is so brief. Gives exposition about missions i guess????? is that the only reason this chara cter exists

satyr thief (unnamed) (he/him): tries to rob thundermen, dies instantly

Ogre (he/him): teamed up with the satyr. his name is ogre.

Moon (he/him): A Sidekick. small pale sullen guy. no mentioned race. Why is there another FUCKING sidekick WE HAD ENOUGH hhhyuuuuuu

Deanna (she/her): A bigoted centaur with an obnoxious voice. Malwin the Strong's second in command.

Malwin the Strong (she/her): Leader of the centaurs of the scarlet woods. Wants to appease the spirit of the scarlet woods so that thecentaurs of the scarlet woods will be protected in the scarlet woods. Had a relationship with Arturas in the past but their clashes are currently known to get pretty heated.

Arturas (he/him): Leader of the Centaurs of the Valley, i guess. Had a relationship with Malwin. Centaur. Did i mention centaur? i cant think of anything else about this character

# -EPISODE 14- (2 characters)

Calhain (he/him): Human wizard, Malwin's magical advisor. Kind of an amateur wizard in a job high above his skill level. Graduated Wigginstaff's as a hero.

Spirit of the Scarlet Woods: A spirit who requires sacrifice in order to keep Malwin's herd safe and prosperous. Not keen on dubiously canonical combos, i guess. i wouldnt be either. also apparently the sacrifice depends on personal value, not how much value it has to the spirit.

# -EPISODE 15- (2 characters)

Sylvia Nite (she/her): Fitzroy's magic theory teacher at knight night school, who he turned into a catfish by accident. oops!

Chaos (they/them, maybe more): Presumably a deity, gave Fitz his powers and wants him to give in to his chaotic desires. (physical desc: 9 foot tall, iridescent 'mother of pearl' skin, pure white eyes, fine burgundy cloak with gold/onyx lining. their physical form beyond that seems to change every time they show up.)

# -EPISODE 16-

none -w-

# -EPISODE 17-

some demins happened. the big dudes are called "Pit Fiends" and the armored demon ladies are called "Erinyes", by the way. that was incredibly hard for me to figure out the first time, especially without headphones, i thought travis was saying "pig feet" and i just could not discern what the other things were

# -EPISODE 18- (6 characters)

snow on the mountain: shire horse pegasus

storm at sea: peruvian paso pegasus, vehement defender of The Guardian. doesn't have a goofy voice.. but he could have....

thaw of the spring: a winged horse

night of no clouds: a winged hhorse

The Guardian: "An ancient and powerful being that guards the unknown forest." Has protected the flock from demons for many many years. apparently is the voice that was talking to our firbolg in episode 1?

Grey, the Demon Prince (he/him): wants to cause a war, originally wanted to kill hiero and higgs, forces the heroes to build an army to fight his. As "Fauxronimous", he has skin the *color and pattern of* (but not necessarily made of) slate splashed with liquid, pointed ears, sharp teeth, shining eyes, horns of unspecified shape. 12 fucking feet tall. wonder if the slate-looking skin is related to garys. plot twist detected? Also i recently looked at the episode descriptions and found out his name is spelled "Gray", but really does it truly matter?

# -EPISODE 19- (2 characters)

Shabree Keene (she/her): Argo's mom, killed on the Mariah, possibly by the Commodore. Long auburn hair, green eyes. Mentioned earlier but described here, so fuck it.

**Thomas** (he/him): Argo's first mate on the Mariah, as the Kraken, in his chaos-dream. may or may not actually exist.

# -EPISODE 20- (1 character)

The Commodore (he/him): Reknowned hero of the seas, military regalia, great naval hero, presumably responsible for the death of Shabree Keene. No mentioned race. Seriously, they never mention this guy's race. The only thing described about him is how he's dressed and his evil smile. Does that mean he's human? Elf? Dwarf??? Who knows! maybe it just doesnt matter. 

# -EPISODE 21-

none

# -EPISODE 22-

not any of them. not any.

# -EPISODE 23- (1 character)

Ozymondelius (sp???) (it/its): A warforged teacher who just so happens to like war or something? i guess its in the name. only mentioned in this episode, doesnt show up yet.

# -EPISODE 24-

they have a fight in the training room but nobody dies :\\ maybe next time. also no new characters. pog

# -EPISODE 25- (4 characters)

Gherkin (he/him): Tall lankier skeleton, has a scimitar and a merkin, which is a pubic wig... and he wears a jerkin? which i guess is a kind of coat? also i think hes mute 

Tibia (she/her?) : Shorter skeleton with gold teeth, and long canines. i think both of the skeletons are mute actually.

The Lich King aka Gordy (he/him): Rainer's dad. Commands armies of the undead. lives in The Crypt. described as a hooded, skull-faced man with intricate black lines on his face, but changes to a shaved-head man with dark skin and vetiligo. Abandoned as a babby, raised by traveling parents, had necromancy powers, took Rainier in. Not actually very scary at all i don't know why he did the creepy laugh. Kind of a warm fatherly figure actually. hm. also people are speculating Gordy might be short for Gordita and his parents are maybe supposed to be lup and barry but THAT S JUST A THEORY.

our firbolg's father (he/him): A firbolg who lived by the code and was there when our firbolg was banished. Came to respect our firbolg's interest in a new way of life, in his final moments.

TOTAL: 72 NPCS! (well, including 2 extra PCs, i guess.)

Average: 2.88 NPCs per episode.

i was gonna not include the bone-PCs and have it be 69 but our firbolg's dad was just too important to not respect with a spot on the list.

anyway as always make sure to smack me with a blunt object if i forgot any characters!!!!!

[quillomens]

Crowley stands on the edge of a cliff over the Aegean Sea and opens his wings, blacker than the night sky, blotting out the stars.

They were always black.  My wings. 

He turns, holds out a hand. Aziraphale feels nervous but can’t resist the mischief in that smile; never has, though he played otherwise.  He steps forward on bare feet, palm touching reaching fingertips.

A lot of us had black wings, then.  You weren’t made yet, not for eons.

“Trust me?” the demon asks, and there’s six thousand years and hundreds of denials: I don’t know him, he’s not my friend, you go too fast for me, humming under the words.  He isn’t certain.

“Of course, my dear,” the angel answers, and he means it.  His choice is made, and he is nothing if not loyal and resolute.

It was the color of space, and the open, and everything She told us to fill it with light and life.  There was no other color, in the Beginning.

Aziraphale has only a bark of a laugh as warning before Crowley grabs his other hand and twists, a pull of incredible power and then-

He throws the angel, white wings fluttering, into the warm night air.

The Archangels made the materials but we made the stars, the nebulae, the shapes of planets.  We mixed this material and that gas and made something new, and we found blue and purple and pink and yellow.  And some angels changed their wings then, when we knew something other than the reach of Space.

But I like it.  Beautiful color, black.  Every color, all at once, ready to be born.

Aziraphale lets out a yelp of surprise, but his wings are strong and Crowley read the currents.

His laugh is boyishly delighted as he dances upward on a burst of wind.  

He remembers, in the early days of Eden, leaping from the walls with the guardians of the other gates, a tumble of youth and energy and discovery.  The older angels stayed away, avoiding the earth Principalities were made for, fearing the corruption of the Fallen.

I made a color.  I found it first.  Mixed a bit of this, and a bit of that, and there it was.  Something new.  Something never seen before.

The sound of beating wings brings Crowley into view, his mouth open in a grin, his yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight.  He is long and warm and beautiful, hair dancing in the wind.  Over his shoulders, billions of stars, the splash of a galaxy, the spark of planets. 

Uriel is the one who put it in my hair.

She loved my color.  Red.  She laughed and ran her fingers along the curls and then it wasn’t white-gold anymore, but burnished copper.

She used to laugh, before the war.  Have you never heard it?

Their fingers brush then break away, and they circle each other in the sky, lazy circles, the miracle of flying, the guidance of wings. 

Aziraphale never has heard Uriel laugh, but Crowley’s is wild and thrilled and he doesn’t believe any other sound in heaven or earth could ever compare.

His heart is full to bursting, and the stars are in Crowley’s eyes, a scattering across his skin.

I miss it, Red.  I miss all of them, I guess.  The colors.  Orange and pink and purple and green.  

Snakes only see yellow, you know.  Yellow, and a bit of blue.  

But I remember what it looked like, the new universe in all its glory.  I remember every color, and every new name, the beautiful and the ugly. They couldn’t take that away from me, even in the Fall.

Crowley tucks his wings and dives, a bullet toward the twinkling waters.  Aziraphale is so shocked by the move that he forgets to beat his wings, and plummets with none of the demon’s grace.

Crowley twists at the last moment, snaps out his wings, miracles his stop.

His scaled toes touch the surface of the water and send out gentle ripples.  

I don’t remember my name, but I remember that.

Aziraphale concentrates, slows, and steps onto the delicate surface tension to stand beside him with only the faintest of wobbles.  Little waves tease the tops of their toes.  Aziraphale reaches out this time, and Crowley takes his hand.  “Not bad, Angel,” he says, and there’s sharp humor and genuine praise all tangled in his voice.

But I can always see you, Angel.  Your hair, your eyes.  

Aziraphale knows.  He always knew, and he’s lived in creams and blues and hints of yellow, and he’s left his hair golden white and his wings like pearls: a blank slate of an Angel for a Demon to see.

They glide together, hand on sharp shoulder, at soft waist, a waltz across the sea.  Small waves kick up cool spatters of water and salt and Aziraphale giggles like a new angel, soaring above a great garden.  Crowley’s eyes are ancient and wise and playful and astonished.

The reflected stars dance around their feet.  The tips of their wings brush as Crowley twirls him away and claims him back. 

The angel takes the lead. The demon steals a kiss: what an utterly human bit of thievery. The angel looks under pale lashes and invites another.

I can always see you. 

[charlottemadison42]

Happy Snek Day!

~It’s still Snek Day for 3 more minutes in my time zone, so I managed a short lil fic!

++++++++++++++

Exile from the Emerald Isle - by CharlotteMadison, rated T, ~2300 words. CW: slightly snexy snake demon, disordered eating / religious fasting. Here on AO3

From Wikipedia: The more familiar version of the legend is given by Jocelyn of Furness, who says that the snakes had all been banished by Patrick chasing them into the sea after they attacked him during a 40-day fast he was undertaking on top of a hill.

"Wonderful work here, Aziraphale," trumpeted Gabriel with an intolerable smile. "Just what we'd hoped for."

"Just following orders," said the principality pleasantly, through gritted teeth.

Gabriel looked up into the misting rain and miracled himself a small canopy. He left Aziraphale outside of it. "We're really looking forward to all the good Patrick will accomplish, as foreseen. With your divine help and guidance, of course. Well!" The archangel clapped his hands together like a game show host and nodded as if to conclude their business.

"Ehm, if I may --" Aziraphale ventured. "Can we -- can he end his fast yet? The poor man can barely move."

They looked together across the stony windswept hilltop to where young Pátraic lay on his side, drenched, laconic and lifeless.

"Anhhhhhhh, he'll be fine," Gabriel said with a dismissive handwave. "Self-discipline is the path to sainthood! And we have very high expectations for this one. They accomplish so much more when they stop worrying about all that food and sleep and comfort and --" here Gabriel shuddered. "...Sex."

"Right, quite right. It's just that...he's not accomplishing much, at the moment, is he?"

"I don't see a problem. Joshua lasted forty days, why shouldn't that be the gold standard? Anyway. I'm off to see the Pope about a few things. This Vulgate project -- very exciting."

"It is indeed." Aziraphale nodded fervently.

"Stay dry now!" Gabriel smiled his brilliant empty smile once more, and vanished at last.

Aziraphale sat heavily on a mossy wet rock and wilted.

It was only day thirty-two and Pátraic could only wake up and move in tiny bursts. He drank water but could no longer get up to relieve himself, so his guardian angel kept him clean and moved between soft mossy spots. The wet and the chill were now clearly getting to the future saint in addition to the hunger, and he coughed when he had the strength to.

It was horrible.

Aziraphale kept fantasizing about taking him to a warm dry inn, tucking him in, spoon-feeding him broth until he was strong enough to take meat. It would happen any day now. Pátraic would make it. He was destined to. But what in Heaven's name was the point of all this --

"Sssss he gone?" whispered a familiar voice.

Aziraphale shut his eyes tight in exasperation. "Yes, Crowley. You can come out now."

Crowley had adopted a mid-sized presentation today, perhaps twelve feet in length. He gleamed black and red with golden eyes, brilliant against the emerald green hills. Raindrops beaded on his scales like stars or sea foam.

"Ssssso. A sssaint, is he? Going to do ever ssso much good?"

"He's a person of exceptional faith and charity," Aziraphale said, rubbing his temples. "I'm to watch over him for now."

"What if I'm sent to make him ssstumble?" Crowley circled the angel's rock slowly, reared up so they were nearly of a height.

"I'm rather more inclined to think you're supposed to be doing something elsewhere and you've come here to play upon my nerves."

"Who, me? Never."

Crowley's tail snuck through the strap of the knapsack lying on the ground and tugged it over. Its contents spilled out onto the ground: apples, jerked mutton, a round of cheese, a skin of wine. The cheese rolled several feet downhill before it settled in a muddy spot.

"Oopssssie," said the demon in a tone that made it clear he was doing exactly what he wanted to.

"Vile worm," grumbled Aziraphale. "What did the cheese ever do to you?"

"Tetchy, aren't we?" observed Crowley. "Is someone's corporation getting hungry too?"

Aziraphale snorted. "Not in the least. We don't need to eat. Why should I be hungry?" And he did a very fine job suppressing the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over at the smell of the poor chese in the mud.

Heaven gave him commendations for converting heathen chieftains who didn't really seem to need converting, especially at swordpoint -- but they should be giving him a commendation for keeping a straight face now.

"Sssso you're not hungry?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"As the last man you tempted during a lengthy fast told you: we do not live on bread alone, but on Her Word."

"And this is living, is it? What he's doing?" asked Crowley pointedly, sneaking up to eye level and fixing the angel with his golden gaze.

"What do you want, foul fiend?" Aziraphale summoned all his ferocity and held the demon's gaze unblinking. Crowley undulated hypnotically without looking away.

"Well. If you want the saint to ssstarve for another eight days, I suppose I want him to eat sssomething, don't I? I don't have direct orders but it would follow that I should try to feed him."

Aziraphale wished for a moment that Crowley would stop teasing him and present as a human again, both because he wanted to read his expression and because his lovely hair had been styled in such elaborate braids since he traveled east --

But he stopped his own chain of thought there. "Lovely" was not a word to be thinking about one's adversary's hair, no matter how it shone or flounced when he tossed it. And Crowley tended to take his serpentine form after he'd had a particularly difficult time of things. He did look marvelous as a snake. And he always seemed to fall back into his favorite tricks from way back In The Beginning.

"I know what you're trying to do, tempter of Eden, and it won't work. It is already decided that he will survive this trial."

"But will you? I haven't seen you so grumpy since you stained your favorite cloak in Kiev. You said ssssome rather unangelic things if I recall."

Unfortunately, having-had-a-difficult-time-of-things-recently also usually meant the demon was eager to spread the misery. So Crowley spent much of his time in serpent form poking at Aziraphale like a lamb on a spit. Presumably to forget whatever had lately frustrated and traumatized Crowley.

"That cloak was a gift from Aléxandros ho Mégas three hundred years before! I try to keep my things in good condition. It's another way of being frugal."

"Or vain." Crowley had no eyelids and very little in the way of cheek muscles, but he could still convey a smirk somehow.

"Do you want me to smite you, Serpent?" Aziraphale threatened, but he knew Crowley knew he wouldn't. He was a pathetic angel; all handwringing indignation, not a hint of divine firey rage.

Crowley hissed and backed away, and a moment later he stood there on two legs with copper hair, human (or at least human-shaped) in all his glory.

Glory? No, of course not, he was Fallen; this was the updated version of whatever his glory used to be -- splendor? magnificence? Ah, Aziraphale was spending entirely too much time hunting down the right words to describe his dearest enemy.

Crowley tossed his hair defiantly. Shine. Flounce.

"You understand what I'm proposing, angel?" he said, and his voice sounded different now, throaty, full. "Whatever you may want for the poor sod, you have to keep him starving til head office says when. I am obliged to counter you. I could do the opposite."

Aziraphale swallowed hard. He was thinking of Pátraic but he was thinking harder about Crowley's eyes. "Could you, then?"

"I would do the opposite. If you wanted me to." Crowley stepped a little closer and leaned down to eye level, just where he'd hovered before. Aziraphale's stomach protested nearly four weeks of hunger and the rest of his body resonated with the feeling.

"I'd -- I'd have to -- resist you. Try to thwart you," said Aziraphale.

"Ah yes, you'd put up quite the struggle no doubt," Crowley concurred, nearly purring.

"I'm stronger than you, you know."

"Perhaps. Depends what you...want. What we both want."

Aziraphale blinked rapidly and looked down at his feet. Starvation was muddling his thoughts. Crowley's burning eyes were muddling them more. "How could we want the same thing? We can't possibly. It goes against the order of creation."

"Angel," said Crowley, in a tone dripping with honey and wine. "You can't tell me you agree with Gabriel that self-discipline means eight more days of this?"

He gestured to the starving men before him.

A small whimper escaped Aziraphale's throat. Why was Crowley so close?

"You -- you'd have to...overpower me," murmured Aziraphale, mermerized now by Crowley's eyes.

"Overpower you?"

"I -- yes."

"I could."

"You could not. I'm stronger."

"Oh angel, I could." Crowley's eyes flared, sparked faintly, and shifted, just a bit -- he was a snake again. His tongue wavered up and down just an inch from the angel's nose, and then he retreated down into the heather and moss to gather his powerful coils together.

The next bit happened very fast, which helped Aziraphale forgive himself later for not doing something. Because (Heaven help him) he should have done something. He should have done something --

The Serpent wrapped the finest bit of his tail around Aziraphale's ankle, and then with a dash almost too fast to witness, he dove through the scrubby grass behind the angel's calves and bound his legs together with solid muscle and fluid spine. He circled ever so slowly, drawing his scales in a tight loop around both legs -- and then he darted between the rock and the angel again, redoubling his grip,  sliding slowly and smoothly in and out of a double coil that practically enveloped Aziraphale from the arch of his foot to his knee.

Apparently the angel's advantage when it came to corporeal strength was matched when Crowley took his original earthly form. No matter how Aziraphale flexed and struggled -- and the more he did, the more a strange tightness gathered low in his belly -- the unyielding weight of the black snake held him fast. They never touched. Never. And now he was feeling the demon's entire length beneath his heel, over his crossed shins. Crowley was never quite still, his scales always sliding, sliding slowly around Aziraphale's legs, rubbing in the hollows around his ankle bones and under his knees.

His corporation began to shake, and it didn't feel good but it didn't feel bad, and he wasn't clear on exactly what was happening but he hoped it wouldn't stop until he sorted it out.

Crowley rose to eye level again, still slithering ever so slowly around Aziraphale's legs in an unending lemniscate drag.

"We could cooperate, you know," said the serpent. "Momentssss like thessse."

"Never," gasped Aziraphale, but his voice trembled.

"Nobody would ever know."

"We would."

"But we might want the same thing."

"We -- we can't. Crowley, we can't."

"Sssso I should run away and let the saint lie in agony for eight days, then," whispered the serpent.

Aziraphale flinched. "You know I don't want that. You know I want --"

"What do you want?"

Aziraphale inhaled audibly and closed his eyes against the amber fire of Crowley's. "I want to resist you."

"Well then." Crowley tugged his coils a little tighter and stopped his relentless slide. "Shall I let you go?" he asked. "Or shall we struggle? Or do you yield?"

Aziraphale imagined himself looking up. Imagined struggling. Imagined yielding. What would it mean? What would happen? Hunger twisted his stomach. The muscles in his legs all tightened until he shook even harder.

But before he could answer:

"Palladius!" called Pátraic. "With whom do you speak?"

The poor starving evangelist, the former slave, the true believer, was trying to roll over and look at Aziraphale. But he could only really flail and flop at this point. Crowley released the angel, quick as a thought, when the emaciated young man laid eyes on them.

Pátraic's eyes went wide as saucers. With a surge of adrenaline he pushed himself up on his knees and pointed.

"Dragon! There's a dragon! Palladius, what unholy monster has you in thrall?"

"Oh dear. I don't suppose he's ever seen a snake before," muttered Aziraphale.

Pátraic lurched forward in an unsteady desperate lunge. He reached out toward them and seemed to focus his delirious expression, conjure a kind of energy at his fingertips.

"Jesus fucking Christ," shouted Crowley, backing away. "Can he do that?!"

Aziraphale stood up. "Wait -- wait, Pátraic -- it's all right, this is just a creature you're unfamiliar with, he won't harm us --"

"He spoke in the tongues of men! And he blasphemes! He is a foul demon from the very pit!" screamed the saint.

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a Look.

"I charge ye to leave this place --" Pátraic began, hand shaking, his voice a steady practiced chant.

"Can he -- can he -- can a human --" stammered Crowley, gathering all his length nervously as if tugging at petticoats.

"I don't rightly know," snapped Aziraphale, unaccountably nervous. "He has been communing directly with Her for several weeks now."

The exhausted saint was still reciting his furious exorcism, voice rising to a shout. "-- And go back from whence ye came, returning no more!"

With a small pop and the smell of ozone, Crowley vanished into thin air. Aziraphale jumped.

Pátraic collapsed into the springy heather as if dead. Aziraphale knew he had to tend to the poor man, but he couldn't help stamping his foot irritably with his first step.

It would be ages until he saw Crowley again. Simply ages. And who knew how long before he was a snake again, so much more comfortable tempting, so much more comfortable touching.

And what would they possibly have to say then?

[caustic-curses]

HPHM Profile: Seth Drystan

Thanks to @hogwartsmysterystory​ for the profile!

IDENTITY

Name: Seth Abraxas Drystan

Gender: Cisgender Male

Age:  15

Birth Date: 4/10/1973

Species: Wizard (Half-breed Werewolf)

Blood Status: Half-Blood (MuggleBorn)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Ethnicity: English

Nationality: British

Residence: Bristol, UK

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ISTP - The Detective

THE MAGE

1st Wand: Hornbeam| Dragon Heartstring core | 12in length |  Pliant

Hornbeam selects for its life mate the talented witch or wizard with a single, pure passion, which some might call obsession (though I prefer the term ‘vision’), which will almost always be realized. Hornbeam wands adapt more quickly than almost any other to their owner’s style of magic and will become so personalized, so quickly, that other people will find them extremely difficult to use even for the most simple of spells. Hornbeam wands likewise absorb their owner’s code of honor, whatever that might be, and will refuse to perform acts – whether for good or ill – that do not tally with their master’s principles. A particularly fine-tuned and sentient wand.

Dragon Heartstring: As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

2nd Wand: Cedar | Rougarou Hair core | 10 ¾ in length | Supple

Whenever I meet one who carries a cedar wand, I find the strength of character and unusual loyalty. My father, Gervaise Ollivander, used always to say, ‘you will never fool the cedar carrier,’ and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them.

Rougarou hair: It was rumored to have an affinity for Dark magic, like vampires to blood.

Animagus: Asil Rooster 

Misc Magical Abilities:  Above average Legilimens but average at occlumency

Boggart Form:  Himself fading into nothingness (being forgotten)

Riddikulus Form: A tap-dancing sparrow

Amortentia: It’s the scent of a blend of Mysore sandalwood, ambergris, violet leaves, French verbena & Florentine iris-translated into the following; the scent of smoke after a fire, woods in autumn, bittersweet chocolate

Amortentia:  He smells laurels and orchid blossoms, the scent of parchment, and a faint hint of smoke mixing with iron. (Penny Haywood)

Patronus:  Hippogriff 

Patronus Memory: Asking Penny out on their first date and how much her eyes shone, smiling, as they danced.

Mirror of Erised: Being married to Penny whose 6 months pregnant with her second child, both of them happy as they hold the hands of their son.

Specialized/Favourite Spells: Impervius, Protego, Obscuro, & Finite Incantatem

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Gino Pasqualini

Game Appearance: (edited from a Slytherin chara, pretend his tie is red and gold)

Height: 5’9

Weight: 150

Physique:  Mesomorphic

Eye Colour: grey eyes (C40 on 1998 eye color chart)

Hair Colour: Originally it was a dark red but a prank dyed it black.

Skin Tone: Ivory

Scars: Seth has 3 deep scars starting at his shoulders to his mid-back, he is self-conscious regarding them. He wears long sleeves due to some scarring on his forearms.

Inventory: Red-tinted glasses, a ring on either middle finger, and his lucky quill.

ALLEGIANCES 

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor- current

Ilvermorny House: Wampus -former Organizations: Death Eaters and the Drystan family

Professions:  Upon graduating-- Surveillor of Activity/ Investigator

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: ★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆

Charms: ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

DADA: ★★★★★★★★☆☆

Flying:  ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆

Herbology: ★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆

History of Magic: ★★★☆☆☆☆☆

Potions: ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆

Transfiguration: ★★★★★★★★☆☆

Electives:

Care Of Magical Creatures: ★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆

Divination: ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆

Quidditch:  Member of the Audience (he failed the tryouts)

Extra-Curricular: Dueling Club & Potions Club

Favorite Professors: 

Professor Sprout - Not only is she kind, warm-hearted, and gentle in her guidance, but she is genuine in her teachings. It is obvious that she cares about the subject. Her careful tending and motherly focus has made her a favorite teacher for Seth. He regards her as if she were a favorite aunt and heeds her guidance with the same respect.

Professor Flitwick- What he lacks in size, he makes him in his determination, heart, and ambition. Seeing that there was potential in Drystan, he motivated the Gryffindor towards success. Sure, his focus may seem a bit wavering at times, he means well. As he endeavors his students towards their personal best, he appreciates his sort of instruction.

Least Favourite Professors:

Professor Rakepick- Her teaching methods are a bit reckless and overambitious. She seems driven to prove something but he’d rather it not be at his expense.

Professor.Kettleburn- This instructor is a reckless idiot and he is amazed that he isn’t dead yet.

RELATIONSHIPS

Brother: Kain Daws Drystan | (17yo) 02/14/1971- Aquarius

He is proficient in nonverbal magic although he keeps this as a well-guarded secret

His distrust and blatant dislike of Seth are obvious in their interactions. 

He aspires to be an Auror rather than a politician

Brother: Amos Jorah Drystan | (17 yo)   02/14/1971-Aquarius

He is aware of Seth’s conflicted orientation but has, in a roundabout way, offered support and understanding

Desiring to be a professional philosopher, Amos delves into its study. Get too close and you’ll become the subject for evaluation

As a secret arsonist, he is responsible for setting fire to the small shed when they were children. Seth has yet to forgive him and isn’t sure if he ever will.

Adoptive Father: Judas Irah Drystan |  (41 yo) 10/15/1947 -Pisces

Hogwarts Alumni: Ravenclaw

Is involved in the political agenda of the ministry though such details are kept secret

He is a polyglot: English, Spanish, Russian, and Danish.

Biological Father: Kaizer James Messere |  (43 yo) 03/18/1945 -Pisces

Yale Alumni- operating as a prosecuting attorney

Taxidermy hobbyist

He is aware of the magical community and is envious (Squib)

Biological Mother: Moriah Eden Drystan| (38yo)  09/18/1948 - Virgo

She is a Stanford University Alumni (yes, she’s a muggle)

While her wedding may have been a shotgun wedding, she always loved him and continues to do so.

She is a werewolf having been turned when she was only nineteen

Adoptive Mother: Liesl Nicola Wilde| (38yo)  06/22/1948 - Cancer

Ilvermorny: Horned Serpent Alumni

She adores the performing arts and is obsessed with quidditch

She has only been married for ten years but she’s close to calling it quits

Love Interest: Penny Haywood

Best Friends:

Rowan Khanna

Andre Egwu

Charlie Weasley

Rival:

Laurent King

Diego Caplan

Enemy: Hector Silva, Samuel Gabehart

Dormmates: 

Hector Silva

Adrien Reyes

TBA

Pets:  Hoodini- Female Barn Owl

Closest Canon Friends:

Rowan Khana

Bill Weasley

Hagrid

Murphy McNully

Closest MC Friends:

Dahlia Goldman

TBA

TBA

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

Seth was only two years old when his family life erupted into chaos. It was during a family outing to stargaze when Moriah’s new reality began to set in. As her limbs contorted in pain, Kaizer grabbed his toddler and ran to the car. There they waited out the gruesome terror until Moriah was herself once more. Fearing what this would mean, Kaizer devised a plan to fake Moriah’s death. As his finances began to spiral out of grief, he was forced to give Seth up for adoption. The result was the placement in his uncle’s house.

At the age of twelve, he began to feel a similar attraction to boys as he does with girls. It was slight confusion but he paid no attention to it. It wasn’t until a few months later when he began to develop a crush on his best friend that he realized something might be ‘wrong’ with him. He took a risk with his friend and found such affections returned. However, this wasn’t to be a happy occasion as his father beat him severely upon finding out.

He has dated Corbyn Reyes (ages 14 and 15, respectfully). This only lasted for 3 months as their personalities continued to clash. It was intense, explosive and with a force of wills to match. It didn’t help that they didn’t share similar moral values or understand each other’s signs of affection. They broke up on hostile terms.

The drama involving the Silva’s and Drystan’s have been carried down through the centuries with most of it being forgotten by the Silva’s. The Drystan’s, however, maintain that this feud was the result of Silva greed and impotence. No one really knows the story. With the somewhat-recent history involving the Silvas, the members of the Drystan family are assured in their ascension to surpass them; as is their right.

PERSONALITY

Charismatic:  Sociable and somewhat understanding, Seth prides himself on the ability to win over almost anyone. It helps that he can read a person generally well.

Condescending. This is a part of his arrogance as he tends to talk down to those who he believes to be inferior to himself. This is obvious in his actions but, more often, it is evident in his manner of speech.

Diplomatic: This comes from being raised by a politician. He is sensitive (only to matters that counts) and is able to deal with the general public effectively and efficiently. This is provided nothing bigoted leaves his mouth.

Hedonistic: The finer things in life were made for him. Check the receipt. He was created for a lavish lifestyle. It may be a weakness but he’s fine with that.

Prejudiced: Muggle-borns and werewolves. There are probably more but these are the most common. He isn’t a fan of half-breed creatures and considers them to be revolting.

MISC

Likes: Potions, Dueling, Whittling, Astronomy, and cats

Dislikes: being surprised, pranks, indecisiveness, and windchimes

Hobbies: Playing the violin, wizarding chess, gardening, and dueling

[faeofheart]

things i can’t help but adore: the relationship jamie has with wolves, and how they tie into all that they are.

jamie’s father was known as the golden wolf. the summer king. a noble and ferocious beast who could love you just as easily as he could eat you. jamie never got to know him as a child, but when their health took a turn for the worse and jamie had to enter the feywilds for some recovery, you know who was there to guide them and help them in their magical journey? a golden wolf.

but that’s not where it stops. oh no. what about the whole reason jamie knows who they are? their best friend, a person they’ve bonded with so deeply that, for jamie, it goes even beyond romantic feelings ( though they were that, in the beginning ), @wolviisms eden?

eden, the white wolf, the demon prince who guided them into discovering who they were, giving them irrefutable proof and forcing them to recognise that what they were wasn’t human. that they were magic. that magic existed and was real and they belonged to the earth themself? 

or the first time jamie recognised that he would outlive any mortal, that as the fae he was virtually ( though not truly ) immortal? suddenly recognising the mortality not of themself ( because growing up, they’d always believed they would die young. they’d accepted it. death was a familiar friend. life was unknown and everlasting ). not the first time jamie has felt grief by any means, but the first time they’d felt grief for a thing that had not yet occured yet was inevitable. and so jamie had run, run farther and faster than they’d thought possible, until the light and energy that was their essence relinquished its human form and took the form of the copper wolf, just one of jamie’s many shapes but the shape that they ultimately keep returning to, interchangeable with the deer.

the same copper wolf that jamie has been tied to from the beginning. copper and gold. wolf and deer. predator and prey. seelie and unseelie. summer and autumn. terrible summer storms and heatwaves, hurricanes and decay. just one of the many representations of jamie’s dual nature. 

and we would be remiss to forget rowan and holly, jamie’s two service dogs ( holly, being retired and rowan, being active ) who have been life changing both in their aid and their companionship, who know more than they seem. 

and now, the guidance of the sun mother herself @mamaterasu. where eden the white wolf guided jamie to recognise that they weren’t human, ammy may do the same. jamie is not human, and they recognise that. it is wonderful, to hold on to their humanistic nature. to be human is to be compassionate. is to show empathy for all that is. yet to be human is to be arrogant and narrow-minded. is to prescribe everything to black and white, good and evil, right and wrong. and jamie can’t do that to themself. there is no good and bad in summer and autumn. summer is not intrinsically good, nor is autumn intrinsically bad. summer heat can kill just as easily as the cold. they cannot, and should not deny that which makes them Wild and Other. that which makes them truly Fey. 

[roseamongroses]

Winners Among the Losing: (2) The First Son

Summary:It wasn’t a matter of whether or not they were worthy.It was a matter of who wanted it more. And now they were firmly on the wrong side of history. A history of unfathomable powers and all-knowing immortals, ancient forests and beasts, and a Stranger who wanted to challenge it all.

Vibes/ Tags:time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

Warnings: Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Injuries/ blood, Mentions of past Death, repression, cursing

Characters: Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Roman Sanders,  Remy Sanders, Emile Sanders

Ship: Roceit

Ao3

(1) (2)   (3)

---

It was a question in itself why the Stranger couldn’t find the manor himself.

A little way outside of town sat the first signs of the sprawling estate. Cobbled streets became ancient, cracks interwoven with unkempt weeds littered the road to its gates. The gates stretched up, challenging the sky, it's metal bars elaborately carved with the handwork of both artisans and nature.

Brushing off the debris from a plaque, Eden frowned, “What type of curse was it again?”

The Stranger perched on the gate above him, “You like a challenge don’t you?”

Eden frowned, dusting his hand off on a handkerchief, “Care to elaborate-” Eden whipped his head up, nothing but a breeze in his ear to warn him that the Stranger was gone.

He cursed under his breath hand automatically reaching for his pocket, finding two vials.

One empty, One not.

He pocketed the former, holding the latter up towards the dimming light. The clear liquid sloshed innocently within the container, the glass itself cool to the touch. Tucking it away, he rubbed his eye, wiling away the scales.

He shook the gate, the metal rattling stubbornly, “Of course, why ask, it was such a ridiculous question” he frowned, hand testing the bars once again, “Be nicer, be fucking sympathetic, the convoluted ass had the nerve-” he muttered, wedging his foot between the bars, one hand fluttering uselessly as he pulled himself up, “Of course I’m not going to explain anything to you, I’m all-powerful blue eye, who can’t even start a damn fire without the universe's blessing,”

With a heave, he lifted himself over the gate, dropping on the other side.

Tension rolled off of him as he dusted his hands with a critical eye. Scars littered his skin, with the proof of his efforts angrily painting the sides of his hands red.

It was easy enough to fix, scales slipping from the flesh like yellow tendrils before dipping out of existence. The thin pink and white scars being replaced with a smooth expanse of warm tan.

He stretched his hand approvingly before cautiously strolling through the overgrown lawn--stepping over sprawling piles of thorns and scattered grasses.

Among the greenery, he occasionally had to dodge statues. Each statue seemingly was interwoven with every facet of the estate. Painstakingly present at every corner.

Seeing as the entrance-- double doors of thick oak-- were caved in with jagged masses of stone, Eden poked around the rubble instead. He paused, eyeing a caved-in section of the wall.

Kneeling, he slotted his fingers between the boards, “If I could just-- there,” he said, prying the boards apart, dust falling in a thick cloud. Blind, he fumbled through the musty crevice.

After what felt like decades he finally found an end to the rabbit hole.

The temperature dropped, his skin prickling. Poking his head through, he shook the cobwebs from his clothes, pushing himself out of the floorboard.

He wasn’t sure what he expected of a cursed manor.

Hell, he doesn’t even know what a manor is supposed to look like.

Moonlight streamed past the tattered curtains, the air still- frozen.

Elaborate busts, statues, portraits, marble floors, all seemed to be lost in time. Painted faces looking dead-eyed at the state of the manor with disdain.

Shadows seemed less alive with the unknown, yet they blended seamlessly with the decor; they shaped every downturned tilt of a bust's mouth, hiding the eyes of every starry-eyed painting.

That isn’t even going into the statues. They littered the halls, all in various stages of undress, in various activities. From the surprised maids, jolting back, heels perched and hands frozen trying to scramble for the unseen, scattered laundry-- to the simple red-faced cry of an infant refusing to rest.

Eden approached each, eyes scanning the way their heads tilted, the way their skin grayed to the muddy stone on some body parts and yet remained a healthy brown on others. He poked and he prodded the ruffles of the master's shirts, and the flowers weaved in their mistress's hair, their faces remained undisturbed.

He pressed two fingers to the chest of one Lord-- this face swallowed with a beard and a velvet hat.

A heartbeat pulsed under his fingertips.

Eden surmised that if he were to detach a finger, it would become as bruised and bloody as they would if they were still moving.

He stopped touching them after that.

---

(One, Two, twins of gold. The First one is first, the second one is no more. One, Three a competition it seems. The first one is second, the Third one is gold.)

---

The Stranger sipped his latte, enjoying the pleasant sounds of the city in unrest below him. His feet dangled off the side of the building as his interest flew from one side of the city to another, trying to find the best place for his qualifications.

Perhaps the already insecure wife finds out her husband has been cheating on her and evading taxes for nearly a decade- does she hide the secret, or does she divorce him and finally do herself well?

Or maybe an already stressed-out couple deals with the pressure of one of their partner’s unexpected fame?

Then again, there is that toxic waste dump...

He stirred his drink, the depleted liquid refilling again with frothy goodness.

A flock pigeon suddenly scattered, the relatively sunny, if not smoggy, sky greying.

The Stranger sipped his drink, closing his eyes, “Emile, I see you’re not dead yet.”

Turning around, the Stranger was pleased to see the same disapproving look from all those years ago still firmly in place.

Emile was wearing all familiar plain robes, gold vines twisting up and down his arms. A notable contrast to the Stranger's high waisted shorts and crop top depicting questionable activities.

“You know we can’t die.”

The Stranger hummed, “No, we can’t live.” his laugh hung bitter as he traced the indents of the building’s walls, eyeing the burned up tattered ends of Emile’s robes, “Trouble in the… Roman Empire?”

Emile thumbed the edges of the robe, changing it into a sweater and khakis, “Byzantine,” he corrected, gaze burning holes in the back of the Stranger’s head.

“Is there something you need, old man?” The Stranger said.

“The council… the council has noticed you’ve finally decided to take on an apprentice,”

“Huh,” the Stranger smiled, “That’s certainly a phrase?”

“Aren’t you teaching him?”

The Stranger snorted, “We both know I’d be the worst,” He tapped his straw clean, watching the froth fall down the building’s side, “I like to call it free-range guidance.”

“Well, the council calls it an improvement,” Emile said, settling beside him, “After all, it's not every day the universe’s Stranger takes up more responsibility-- and just in time for the yearly offerings? It's unheard of... still...”

“Still?” The Stranger echoed.

“Your choice of student is… questionable.”

“Does the council not believe him worthy?” The Stranger mocked, already imagining the uproar the universes best would have upon discovering what exactly he planned on doing. He almost regrets not showing up for the meetings.

Almost.

Paperworks a bitch.

Still, his words gave Emile pause, “No, that… that is never the case,” Emile choked out the words, knowing the protocol, “Never. Still, the terms of his recruitment are...strange,” he placed a hand on the Stranger’s shoulders, “You haven't had any activity for decades. We’ve missed you.”

“We?” The Stranger’s hand trailed to meet Emile’s.

“I’ve… I...” Emile retracted his hand, “I and the council have missed you.”

“Oh,” the Stranger said, “...Tell the council to shove it,” he spat, no longer looking at Emile, “I don’t want my ‘apprentices’ even smelling their dusty asses.”

“Apprentices? You’re taking on more than one?”

The Stranger stood, balancing on the building’s edge, “Being the universe’s dog gets lonely, after all.” he said, not trusting himself to look back before taking the plunge.

---

Eden was sent flying across the courtyard, a bed of overgrown roses being his cushion.

Curses fell from his mouth easily as he rolled from the bush. His already tattered clothes now bloodied as he rolled to dodge the creature's fangs.

The creature itself was a mass of stone and vine. No eyes, but the darkness that claimed its place. It screamed something unholy, a garbled sound akin to the crushing of bones as it shook the rose bush free of any thorns and shriveled blooms.

Seeing its tangles become intertwined with the branches of the brush, Eden scrambled across the marble, sticking to the shadows, trying to find the vial. He needed to find that vial-

The creature bellowed, yanking the bush from its roots before it barreled towards the intruder again.

Eden dropped flat to the ground, the creature bulldozing over him, only a few stray roots snagging on the remaining pieces of his clothing.

Ignoring how his cheek stung, Eden, crawled keeping his head low. He needed a change of plans-change of plans- There.

Tucked right between the legs of his target, was the vial, untouched.

Tension settled in his gut.

Now that that was settled, all he needed to do was-

The ground shook, the creature managed to turn himself around. Eden stood, forcing his legs to run. He snaked through the courtyard, the howl of the beast at his heels.

The closed eyes of his target within sight.

He heard the familiar crunch of the pavement, and Eden dropped to his knees, the beast flying overhead, crashing.

He scrambled up, fumbling to open the vial. ( he heard the beast growl) He stretched on his toes, dosing the eyes of the target,

Once ( the crunch of the beast's steps grew closer)

Twice ( it pounced again)

The target's eyes fluttered open, a breathtaking silver. Skin washed a healthy brown, freckles spotting his skin, and hair staining red.

Eden's breath caught and he found himself unable to move. Or rather, he didn’t want to move. He was captivated as he watched the target shudder to life all at once.

It was as if they beckoned the world around him to join, to wait, to watch, to-

“Sleep.” The target commanded.

The beast of bramble and stone crashed to its knees.

[tcm]

Lena Horne Takes on Hollywood by Raquel Stecher

Singer. Actress. Activist. Lena Horne was a force to be reckoned with. She was a natural beauty with a charismatic screen presence. She could deliver a tune with great soulfulness but also restraint. She gave her fans just want they wanted without making herself too vulnerable. She valued strength of character and had great pride in her heritage as a black woman. She was brazen, outspoken and world-weary. Horne often referred to herself as a late bloomer because it took her years to be comfortable with herself, but once she did there was no looking back.

When Horne arrived on the Hollywood scene, they didn’t know what to do with her. At the tender age of 20, she had retired from her nightclub career as a singer and dancer but found herself in a bad financial situation with a husband and two children to support. Horne stepped in as Nina Mae McKinney’s replacement for the lead role in THE DUKE IS TOPS (1938), a low-budget all-black musical starring Ralph Cooper. During filming, the producers found themselves with no money to pay their performers. The show went on, but Horne refused to promote the film after it wrapped.

A few years later Horne found herself back in Hollywood performing at the Little Trocadero. She caught the eye of Skitch Henderson and Roger Edens of the MGM Freed unit and landed an audition with Louis B. Mayer. Nervous about said audition, she sought the guidance of her father, Teddy Horne, who flew in to Hollywood to help her negotiate a contract. The terms were clear, Horne would not be relegated to roles of maids and servants. Horne also had the NAACP behind her. They had been putting pressure on Hollywood for better parts for African-American actors and thought Horne could make a difference. MGM agreed to the terms and Horne became the second black performer signed to a long-term studio contract, after Nina Mae McKinney.

In his book Hollywood Black: The Stars, the Films, The Filmmakers (TCM and Running Press), film historian Donald Bogle says, “in the 1940s, Lena Horne ushered in the image of an elegant, intelligent black woman… She took the industry by complete surprise.” In her first film with MGM, PANAMA HATTIE (1942), she performed two musical numbers and movie goers were introduced to a stunningly gorgeous black woman who could sing her heart out. However, Horne’s lighter skin tone was cause for contention. It opened doors for her as movie moguls saw her as less offensive, but her fellow black actors thought she was receiving preferential treatment.

The peak of Horne’s movie career came within the first year with substantial roles in two all-black musicals. The first was MGM’s CABIN IN THE SKY (’42) directed by Vincente Minnelli and starring Ethel Waters and Eddie Rochester Anderson. Horne had a supporting role as Georgia Brown, a gold-digger who threatens to get in the way of Little Joe’s (Anderson) salvation. This was an Ethel Waters vehicle, but Horne proved herself to be major competition. She performed several numbers even swapping with Waters for “Honey in the Honeycomb” when she broke her ankle and had to sing instead of dance. A bubble bath scene with Horne singing “Ain’t it the Truth” was cut from the film because it was deemed too provocative by the censors.

On loan out from MGM, Horne got a plum role of Selina Rogers in STORMY WEATHER (‘43), 20th Century-Fox’s answer to CABIN IN THE SKY. Horne plays the love interest of dancer Bill Williamson, played by Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. The film was a glamorous presentation of some of the top African-American talent in the business including the Nicholas Brothers and Cab Calloway. Horne’s rendition of the title song was one of the high points in the film and “Stormy Weather” would become synonymous with Lena Horne, throughout her life and beyond.

The success of CABIN IN THE SKY and STORMY WEATHER should have been a precursor to more leading parts for Horne, but instead she found herself in a sort of career purgatory. Miscegenation laws and the firmly established Production Code meant that she couldn’t play the lead opposite a white man, and all-black productions were few and far between. MGM had her performing one or two numbers in a variety of musicals usually appearing as herself. Some notable numbers include “Honeysuckle Rose” in THOUSANDS CHEER (‘43), “Jericho” accompanied by Hazel Scott in I DOOD IT (‘43), “Brazilian Boogie” in BROADWAY RHYTHM (1944) and “The Lady is a Tramp” in WORDS AND MUSIC (’48). Featuring Horne in a couple musical numbers meant that MGM could pluck out those scenes and repackage the film for a Southern audience.

Horne wanted to be taken seriously as an actress and she saw two opportunities that could have been perfect for her. Elia Kazan’s race drama for Fox, PINKY (’49), which told the story of a black woman passing for white. Horne wanted the part but it went to Jeanne Crain instead. Horne thought the role of another light-skinned black woman, Julie LaVerne in SHOW BOAT (’51), was perfect for her. She had just performed the SHOW BOAT number “Can’t Help Lovin’ That Man” in TILL THE CLOUDS ROLL BY (’46). But Horne wasn’t even considered, and the part went to her friend Ava Gardner. To add insult to injury, the make-up commissioned by Max Factor specifically for Horne called Light Egyptian was used on Gardner to make her appear darker.

It’s understandable why Horne was frustrated with Hollywood. Her contract with MGM ended with DUCHESS OF IDAHO (’50). Horne’s involvement with the politically outspoken actor Paul Robeson and her interracial marriage to MGM music director and composer Lennie Hayton essentially put her on the blacklist. She’d return to the movies three more times. In the mid-1950s, she got a lucrative deal with the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas and agreed to perform “If You Can’t Dream” in MEET ME IN LAS VEGAS (’56). Her dream of a lead dramatic role came years later with the Universal Western DEATH OF A GUNFIGHTER (’69) starring Richard Widmark. She plays Claire Quintana, the madam of an integrated brothel who has a romantic relationship with Widmark. Race is downplayed in the plot which was quite liberating for Horne who had since become an outspoken civil rights activist. Her final film appearance was as Glinda the Good Witch of the South in THE WIZ (’78), another all-black musical, this time directed by her son-in-law Sidney Lumet.

Leaving Hollywood behind, Horne found refuge in her music and enjoyed a long successful career performing on television, in nightclubs and in her one-woman show. Reminiscing about Horne’s career, actor Ossie Davis once said, “Any victory she had was our victory too.” While Hollywood didn’t know how to handle her movie career, Horne’s presence on screen immortalized her and paved the way for black performers to come. 

[pendragyn]

In The Garden

There were two angels sent to guard the Garden of Eden. They had never been meant to be friends, those two odd angels that didn’t quite fit in. Their bosses had expected them to be wary of one another, to even be sworn enemies one day; all part of the Great Plan. Perhaps they should have told them that. Or perhaps not.

Snippet below

Aziraphale waited to make sure the archangel was gone and cautiously stepped out of the underbrush, taking in the sight of the first other corporeal being they’d ever seen. They were very angular, all elbows and knees somehow, with yellow eyes and long curly hair that matched some of the ripening fruit of the Tree, and somehow Aziraphale felt as though they knew them. “Oh, uh, hello?”

The other angel gasped and jumped, unfurling their black wings slightly in alarm. They stared at Aziraphale, seeing a plump white haired being with eyes that seemed to change color from gold, to blue, to green and stark white wings held in a cautiously welcoming pose. They felt drawn to take a step closer. “Who are you?”

Aziraphale sheepishly drew their eyes away from the other angel’s dark iridescent feathers. “I’m, um, I’m Aziraphale. The other guard. What’s your name?”

“Oh, they call me Crawly,” they answered reluctantly, peering at Aziraphale curiously. “Do I know you? I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“I- I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted, unconsciously moving closer to Crawly. “You seem really familiar too. Being in a body makes us forget things it seems. Something to do with gravity?”

“Hmm, yes, gravity... important isn’t it? I feel like I should be able to remember…”

“Yes, I’ve been feeling that a lot. So, uh, I couldn’t help but overhear, you can change your shape? That sounds really interesting!”

“Apparently. Haven’t really tried it yet.” Crawly tried a shrug and liked it. “Could’ve given us a bit more guidance on how to use these things, couldn’t they?” They looked down at themself and bumped their fists against their thighs. “Legs, nice to have legs again,” they mumbled.

Aziraphale nodded in confusion but said, “I guess they want us to figure it out on our own?”

“And if we break them? I’m sure they’ll give a good scolding for that, never mind they never told us how to keep it going. Breaking them hurts by the way.”

Aziraphale wanted to protest but Crawly had a valid point, so they copied the black-winged angel’s shrug. “I have a sword, if you want to borrow it. You know, when you’re guarding.”

“Sword, sword- long cutty thing, yeah? Haven’t seen one of those before. What’s it look like?”

Aziraphale unsheathed it, getting it to flame to life without much thought.

“Ooh, that’s something,” said Crawly, backing away. “I don’t think that will be necessary, will it? Seems a bit excessive, cutting things and setting them on fire at the same time. Probably just one would be good enough, eh? And I mean, chance of setting the plants on fire by accident, yeah?”

Aziraphale was relieved to extinguish the sword, disliking it more and more the longer they held it. “That is a good point. What do you think I should do with it?”

“What I think?” Crawly was pretty sure no one had ever sincerely asked for their opinion before. It felt like a trap. “Uh, you could just leave it by the Tree, I mean, that’s the important part of the Garden, right? But maybe hide it, so only you can find it?” And I can’t be blamed if it goes missing.

Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion. “That’s an excellent idea. Oh, but you should be able to find it too. If something happens to me, you might need it, and I’d feel terrible if you couldn’t find it. I mean, we’re in this together, right?”

Crawly’s wariness shifted ever so slightly into something like intrigue. “Yes, together.”

Aziraphale graced them with the full power of a joyous smile, but reached out in concern when Crawly’s eyes went wide and they swayed a little. “Ooh, are you all right? Did the gravity get you?”

Crawly shook their head, pressing a hand to their chest in confusion, over where their new heart was suddenly beating very fast and the strangest little ache had developed. “Maybe? I’m really not sure about this whole corporeal thing, to be honest. And look at what they did to my wings-”

“They’re quite lovely,” said Aziraphale, smile fading when Crawly frowned disbelievingly. “I mean it, with that whatsit, iridescence, I could just look at them for ages. They look very soft to the touch.” Aziraphale felt their face get hot with mortification when Crawly’s eyebrows went upward in surprise and they realized how those words could be taken. “I just mean, they’re very pretty, I would never touch, I mean, not without permission, not that you’d want to give me permission,” the white-winged angel said, laughing miserably, pressing a hand to the sharp little stab of pain over their heart. “This is why none of the other angels like me. I always say the wrong thing.”

Crawly felt that sentiment down to their core, and some more of their apprehension faded. “Oh, I don’t know, Aziraphale, I rather liked it actually. You just need more practice talking to people. We’ll have lots of time for you to get better at it.”

“Oh, well, well thank you Crawly, that really is the nicest thing to say! I was so worried we wouldn’t get on,” Aziraphale admitted, thinking of their fuzzy memories of interacting with the other angels, which mostly consisted of feeling small and ridiculed and disdained.

Crawly made a face, thinking of their own fuzzy memories, of being avoided and laughed at. “Same,” they agreed. “Well, that’s a bright side, I suppose, isn’t it? Won’t be seeing them much if we’re in these,” the black-winged angel said, tapping themself over the heart.

“That is a very good point, my dear.”

Those words sent another little inexplicable twinge around Crawly’s heart. “My wot?”

Aziraphale felt their face get hot again. The words had just slipped out, as though they’d been saying them to Crawly since before forever. “Ah, oh, uh, it’s a term of end- to, uh, convey friendship. I mean, if you don’t mind-”

“No no, friends, yeah, I’d like that. Yah, no, I thought you meant the animal, with the,” Crawly held their hands up to their forehead to represent horns.

Aziraphale laughed in relief that Crawly seemed unoffended by their presumption. “No, no, they’re homophones but not nearly the same thing.”

“Homo-what now?”

“Homophones, means words that sound alike when spoken but mean different things.”

Crawly just stared in amazement. “How do you know that?”

Aziraphale opened their mouth and closed it again with a frown. “I have no idea. I really am not fond of this gravity nonsense messing with my mind, I have to say.”

Crawly made a few noises of agreement and nodded...

[cruciatusxxcervus]

Who the Heck is Eden?

Warning: The backstory contains parental death, child death, and gore.)

Disclaimer: For those who have seen my DBZ verse for my other RP blog, ambereyedcetra, you’ll notice they are the same. I started off with an AU for Eden’s original blog but it has developed to the point that I would be more comfortable giving this AU a blog of its own. I am the mun and creator of both blogs, no worries about character theft!

While the blog is currently focused on the DBZ verse, I am open to interacting with muses of other verses, especially fandom-less muses!

In verses that are not DBZ-related, Eden's backstory is very much the same. The only differences being that Shihab is a celestial realm instead of a planet, and it is an unnamed force that destroyed her world instead of Freeza.

This page is under construction, the story needs revamping. Forgive me for such a long wait for the change. I hope to get the backstory and information rewritten soon.

Name: Eden of the Draconids

Many of the characters in the Dragon Ball franchise have unusual names, often associated with food. However, since Eden was originally a Final Fantasy muse and her roots are based off Biblical stories, her name won’t be as humorous. Her father gave her the name Eden, in hopes she would be as beautiful and bountiful in blessings, but he had no intentions in her falling into sin like those within the Garden. Eden is to represent the Garden of Eden in that sense. As the story progresses, Eden gradually becomes corrupted with her inability to move past her loss and the frustration in her struggle with her heritage and identity, she betrays the planet, the stars, and what she holds dear, thus resulting in her losing that spiritual light.

Not only she represents the fall of Eden, but her story is to illustrate Judas Iscariot, the disciple who committed betrayal out of greed. Ultimately, her story is to reveal that even the most faithful can fall. However, her story is to also show the radical power of forgiveness, how it can revive the dead spirit.

Her last part of her name relates to her clan name. Clan names come from that of the meteor showers: Draconids, Perseids, Leonids, and Ursids. A kirinite’s membership of their clan can be determined by the color of their scales (described below). Their native planet, Shihab, bears an Arabic name, as a large part of Eden’s inspiration comes from the Middle East and Northern Africa and its meaning, “Shooting Star” refers to the Kirinites’ celestial nature.

Age: Mid to late 20’s during the Dragon Ball Z timeline, late 40’s during the Dragon Ball gt timeline.

Species: Kirinite (DBZ), Kirin (Other verses) 

The kirinite name is based off a mythical creature with a similar appearance: the kirin. Many of their physical characteristics (description on this page) resemble the creature.

Kirinites are known for their agility, intelligence, and spiritual power. Much of their strength comes from their lower body, and are capable of cracking bone (of those who lack intensive training) with their rock-hard hooves.

Their senses are incredibly sharp, heightened by their connection to their planet. This is strongly linked to their ability to hear the voices of souls passed and can help them detect the aura of living creatures (unless those targeted are trained to hide their energy level). Though they lack the ability to fire ki directly from their bodies, they can harvest crystals from the earth and use their energy and rituals to inflict damage and potentially status-related problems (such as sleep, pacifying, or for those who master the skill, copying an enemy’s skill and create illusions).

Kirinites can also call upon an ability of the Celestial Beast. This creature is believed to be the totem of all born of Kirinite blood. This ability is similar to that of Yamcha’s Wolf Fang Fist, except the aura takes form of a large, maned antelope-like creature as the fighter charges. This empowers their melee strikes, as well as have a chance of burning the opponent with their energy. This power, however, is very risky as it drains much of the user’s energy reserves and can leave them vulnerable if they are not able to dispose of the foe before time runs out. Another limitation is the need to use crystals taken from Shihab’s meteorites to channel their energy and awaken their totem.

Kirinites feel connected to their planet and believe they can commune with the spirits. They place great reverence to the stars, viewing them as creators of their world and embodiments of all souls that were born upon it. With the use of crystals, Kirinites connect with the ghosts that whisper guidance to them and unlock their powers. The ancient belief was cast into doubt, however, as the Kirinites saw invading ships scream past the stars and collide into their home.

Description:

Kirinites have a humanoid appearance, with several physical traits resembling that of a sable antelope and gemsbok. All members possess cloven hooves for feet, often with feathering on the back of them, with the short bristly fur covering the tops of these hooves and melding into the skin at mid-calf.

Though members of the Draconid Clan bear long, ridged horns that gracefully sweep back from the head, Eden’s horns resemble antlers, a trait inherited from her mother’s clan: the Persids. All Kirinites possess large deer-like ears; claws; heavy, thick, fang-like teeth with large prominent canines (elder, higher-ranked Kirinites will have even larger canines that slide over the lip); long lion-like tails; mohawk-like hairstyles (mohawks are usually more prominent on males); and small, light-colored speckles scattered over their skin and scales.

Kirinites also have scales present on the fronts of their hooves and lower leg, hips, base of their tail, the tops of their hands and up their forearms, and up their back. The scales on their backs are thickened and raised like a crocodile’s spines; these are believed to help protect their spines during hunts and battles. These scales are often dark in color, yet have small glistening speckles, similar to stars.

With Eden’s Draconid Clan, the scales are similar to those of the sunset (coming from the preferred time to view the Draconid meteor shower). Her scales are a gradient of a dark, muted reddish-purple fading into rosy gold at the bottom of the scales, with the silvery speckles being most prominent in the darkest colors. Her scales are in the common places, listed above.

Eden stands at about 5’ 3’’ and has a lean, toned figure. Her skin is a very dark tan, and has a subtle rosy tint to it. Silvery cream speckles are visible all over her skin, with them being most prominent on her shoulders, upper arms, shoulder blades, thighs, and down her sides and hips along the dorsal scales, and down her tail.

She also has various scars from her hunts and battles. While shallow cuts litter her entire body, there are three distinct scars: Three claw marks are seen on her left collarbone; four huge, jagged scars rip over her left rib cage, reach down her side, and end just above her left hip bone; and a messy web of gashes, bite marks, and dimples where flesh and scale had been torn off is seen on her right forearm.

I based her appearance loosely on the Egyptian and Middle Eastern backgrounds. She bears the purplish-black tattoos around her eyes and on her cheeks that are iconic of Egyptian relics, and wore three piercings on both ears (a golden ring, silver stud, and silver ring), the ivory fang gauge once seen only on her left ear. Two thin, silver lip rings were on her bottom lip. Her piercings are forcibly removed during her drafting into Frieza’s army, leaving two rips on her bottom lip and her ears tattered.

There is also a tattoo on her left wrist, a small symbol of the silver sun with two black-tipped feathers. It’s to honor her late mother.

Her long, straight, thick hair reaches down to her hip. It’s a very dark brown, with some streaks in her bangs and on the ends of her hair fading to a dusky purple-brown color.  Four thin braids also adorn her mane, each braid held together by a tarnished gold band.

The fur covering her ankles, ears, and tail are a dark rosy-brown; purpleish-black markings rim the edges of her ears and around the hooves. Like all Kirinites, Eden also has horizonal, rectangular pupils; her irises are still a deep amber.

During the DB gt timeline, Eden’s seemingly endless wandering and fighting against her heritage and spiritual connection has impacted her. Her ribs become visible due to restricted access to food, and dark circles and bags can be seen beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. Though Kirinites has long lifespans and youthfulness, she appears older and more tired due to her difficult lifestyle. More scars are also visible on her body.

During Eden’s time in the Planet Trade Organization and her intergalactic escapades, she wears black and champagne gold armor, baggy black pants, and a marroon belt as seen below.

On Earth, however, she can be seen wearing midriff shirts to show off her midsection (Kirinites view scars as a sign of beauty, as they prove one is capable to guarding their clan and their mate and children). The tops are usually dark colors. Her favorites being a dark gray midriff shirt with a knotted hem and a wide collar to show off her shoulder (and thus the scar on her collar bone), and a charcoal heather top with a smilodon skull graphic. She also wears acid washed jeans, or ripped denim capris. She also develops a fondness for hemp chokers and tribal-inspired jewelry. Her usual attire for life on Earth can be seen below:

( Full size images and detailed reference sheet can be found [HERE] !! )

She is always wearing a crystal of pale gray and pale gold  around her neck. This crystal comes from Shihab and is what she uses to channel her ki for attacks and summon the Celestial Beast totem.

Abilities:

Eden is no exception and possess the standard kirinite abilities as described above, along with being able to let out a thundering bestial roar (sounds like an angry mix between a red deer stag’s and a lion’s) that can echo for miles. However, the blessing of hearing ghosts becomes a curse the day she forsakes her faith in them. If she were to return to Shihab, they would become distorted, distressing wails. Though she may be a great distance away from them, they still tug deep in her mind like a silent, persistent haunting.

When she lands on other planets, this ability becomes even more unnerving as she cannot understand the souls tangled whispers. This only strengthens her fear and hatred towards hearing them, and is further convinced that the stars of her home have cursed her. She is at risk of losing focus, becoming entranced, or reacting wildly midst the most severe hallucination phase. All these can make battle extremely dangerous for the lost Kirinite.

Though during times where her vigilance becomes exhausted, she does let the voices stream through her for a time. Her corrupted view and dark intentions for the use of her people’s powers will occasionally make the scramble of strange tongues make sense. Like a devil whispering temptation to heartbroken ears, the words take form of spells, of rituals beyond her former knowledge. To seek and perform these rituals were strictly forbidden in Kirinite law, but with these discoveries, the last Kirinite decides to abolish the law and commit these rare incantations to memory.

Over time she practices the dark arts, and more and more she seeks to uncover the greatest ritual that dark words promise will endow her with the power to rain flaming justice upon all who wronged her. She still searches for the ultimate crystal, said to be buried within a planet, beneath the graves of countless sacred souls, conflicted with the desire to finally seize that power and her need to discover the truth about the stars and her people. The most common of these is her ability to conjure sleeping crystals, meant to lull the threat or target to a deep sleep, allowing her to escape or steal from them. Due to her corruption, however, they are filled with negative energy and can inflict pain, or blinding fury, on anyone within its proximity (including herself), rather than just the opponent.

My aim for Eden is for her to learn and grow stronger gradually through training. She will likely lose in battles, especially against powerful opponents, though this is dependent on the verse, where our muses are in their interactions, and what my RP partner is comfortable with. The fun in Dragon Ball Z is watching a character work hard with others to overcome challenges, not winning everything effortlessly.

Personality:

Eden can be cunning, and she relies on this trait when facing a troubling situation; often choosing to stick to the shadows and tricks rather than facing someone head-on. Eden can’t stand the thought of losing control and is known to fight viciously and dirty when cornered. Preferring to be quiet and simply observe, she struggles with social interactions, especially first time meetings. She is paranoid towards others, thus she doesn’t trust easily. The woman is also victim to envy, as she can become very jealous towards those who are more skilled or more blessed than she is. She broods quietly instead of talking about her problems; and can seem dishonest, selfish, and stubborn.

However, towards those who grow close to her heart, she becomes protective and does her best to be dependable. The Kirinitw becomes more playful to those she loves, often sneaking up and catching them by surprise (mostly by pouncing on them). She’ll even goes as far as become touchy-feely with them. She is rather insecure, due to her fear of the ancestral stars and belief that she is cursed, and often looks towards intimacy as a means to help combat with her insecurities.

Parents:

Her father’s name is Cassiel, which is the name of the archangel of tears and solitude in the Kabbalah. He is considered withdrawn, quiet, and has a cynical view towards most things. He questions and fears of what the voices will do to him. Because of his fear, He tries not to get involved with the stars’ and Planet’s troubles, despite their urgings for him to act. He was a hunter for the Draconid clan.

Her mother’s name is Nizhoni, which I found means “Beautiful” in Navajo. She was a merchant for her natal Persid clan before her marriage to Cassiel. She’s always been headstrong and takes pride in being seen as “a rebel for the right reasons”. Nizhoni is very set in her ways, and is always determined to act for the greater good. This is where her and Cassiel get into arguments, particularly when tensions on Shihab begin to mount. The clans began fighting for the sacred lands, with the Draconids and Persids allying with one another, and Leonids and Ursids joining on the opposing end. Nizhoni spends much of her time travelling between clan territories to give supplies to her natal clan as they are on the front lines. Though this wears on her, especially when she is pregnant, she remains determined to do all she can to save both her natal clan’s and her current clan’s livelihoods.

The extent of her exhaustion became starkly apparent as she struggles to give birth to Eden. Cassiel’s dying faith in the spirits finally came to an end when Nizhoni passes away after delivery. He believes the spirits of the stars and planet truly betrayed him, and thus sows the seeds of hatred towards them. He is a distant and gruff father, spending his waking hours away hunting to meet his daughter’s needs, only to check in when necessary. He begins training her to become a hunter as soon as she was able to hold a dagger.

Though Eden admires her father’s resilience, she quickly learns not to ask about her mother and the spirits’ words as it often brings about buried anguish. As she grows, Cassiel’s inner resistance to the spirits’ influence begins to wear on his mind. The once powerful man she knew slowly deteriorated to a feeble lost soul, becoming disconnected with reality and unable to carry about his duties.

Now a young adult, Eden patrols the clan’s hunting grounds and boundaries to support Cassiel and herself. She starts questioning her own faith as she watches how the spirits are affecting her father. Distortion ripples through once familiar voices, she and the others start to grow restless. There is a persistent, eerie feeling in the air, like the calm before a violent storm.

It was that night, as metal and murderous intent fell from the skies instead of rock and fire, that the spirits, stars, and earth fell silent.

The invaders of different shapes and sizes claimed the planet in the name of Frieza and began slaughtering most of the inhabitants. The terrified Draconids came to the conclusion that the stars have betrayed them, and they could no longer trust the spirits’ words. The last survivors plotted their escape, with Eden and the ailing Cassiel being among them. They attempted an ambush to steal the invaders’ space pods, only to be caught and murdered.

Being only a lowly hunter and guard, Eden swallowed her pride and submitted. She spoke velvet words, despite her trembling voice, playing up her strength and skills honed by years of surviving within the badlands and fighting the monstrous beasts of the land.  It was by the sheer grace of whatever deity was left to care that they conceded to let her live, only on the condition that she devotes her life to servitude.

The worst was yet to come, as training within the Planet Trade Organization held no mercy for a mere foot soldier. Though bones were broken and tears spilled, the Kirinite held onto her lust for vengeance. She vowed to tear the entrails of these monsters and their tyrannical ruler, just as they have done to her people, to her family. She vowed to show the celestial guardians, who left her kind to die, that she would overcome their betrayal and inflict the same suffering upon them. So she waited, she watched, learning who were integral to this force, and their weaknesses…

(Thank you @crownprincefreeza for letting your muses become part of mine’s story!!)

Her already turbulent life in Frieza’s forces took a turn for the worse after a failed conquest over a targeted planet. The soldiers stood at attention fearful and frozen before the enraged prince, dreading for what was to come. Eden was no exception, drowning in the quiet, yet surging rise of death’s cold approach. Yet to endure abuse, from the very creature that brought destruction upon everything she had known and loved, to be beneath the heel of her enemy fueled a storm of fiery rage. In her foolishness she bit down at Freeza’s pointed finger, earning her a scream and a brutal swat of his tail.

Once sliding across the floor from his strike, Eden laid paralyzed, waiting for the painful judgment to come upon her. Malevolent ideas on what to do weaved and clashed in the imperial mutant’s mind, and to Eden’s surprise, he offers her an opportunity to receive redemption. Desperate to remain alive, Eden accepts, not knowing the price of her pardon would cost until moments later.

Amazingly, few of her people, members of her late mother’s clan, hid well enough to survive the onslaught. As images of once proud warriors digging through the garbage of the planet’s new occupants and the deadly clashes between them flash by, Frieza gave her the choice: Lure out the last of the Kirinites and pay her transgression with their blood or die. The torn woman wrestled within herself. Would she dare betray her allies, her own kin, just so she might live another day? Morals and instinct warred within her, and ultimately through her tears, her yearning to survive, just long enough to make Frieza and all the spirits suffer for their crimes, overcame the more noble of choices. She accepts, and with the towering equine soldier, Yuut, being commanded to follow her, Eden returns onto once familiar soil, the soil that no longer bore the warmth nor recognizable voices.

With her armor cast aside, sand scratching and clinging onto hands and skin, and letting Yuut break one of her precious antlers, Eden approached the last of the Persids. Eden spoke of escaping the invaders’ prison and stole a space craft that could save them all. Her pleas for them to join her were eventually believed, and they followed Eden away from the last of their strongholds, only for their blood to stain the hooves and shadows of both soldiers.

Once conquered, Eden stared at the eyes of dead kin. Wide with fear, with otherworldly agony of being betrayed, becoming like dead ice, devoid of any life. The spirits no longer held comfort to her, and with a sudden, brutal crash of her head against the rocks stained by unrelenting violence; her last antler fell, broken dark shards among limp bodies, before turning away with Yuut.