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local-moth-god · 13 days ago

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me when my friend gives me a way to harass their family

>:}

note: this is my first post and idk know anything about this so like i hope yall like it

THE LAND OF SNIS

by Devin D

In the land of Snis (sunis) there are 7 realms. Each having their own personality. Aspiration is a relic entombed in silence. Beneath the still facades, every citizen moves with star-laced eyes, ever reaching toward what they are forbidden to hold. Beckoning for the touch of another.

In Tsul (suel) love is forbidden and punished by death. Affection is treason. A glance too long, a gesture too soft; each is a crime etched in law and lore. But what is most preposterous is that every citizen of Tsul has a yearn for a paramour. Desire is not learned here... it is inherited, as if rebellion itself were blood borne. It's almost in their nature.

Htols (holts) is where every part of life is laborious and followed on a strict schedule. All thoughts or acts of idle performance is punishable by death just as Tsul. Also much like Tsul all residents are bound to lethargic wants. Every person has a yearn to lie and be indolent. They all have strict schedules of drudgerous tasks to complete. Sleep is rationed, leisure outlawed, and even dreams are considered sedition. The sun itself seems to rise out of obligation, casting dull light over the concrete blocks of Snis. Silence reigns, not by peace but by pressure. Voices suppressed beneath the weight of expectation. Children march before they speak, and laughter is a forgotten dialect.

Htarw’s (harwth) laws followed only the ideology of kindness. Anger and rudeness are punished heavily just as all others. Smiles are mandated; and are stitched into speech. But again the fact that is most perplexing is the extent to which every single person’s soul is filled with rage and potent anger. Beneath their practiced pleasantries, fury churns like a silent storm. Every second of every day is filled with vexatious events, carefully woven into the fabric of existence. It was as if the government, the MCOC, the law enforcement for all 7 realms to ensure no law was broken, was trying to find things to anger them. Their presence is ghost-like, always watching, always testing. Doors creak deliberately. Lights flicker without cause. Words are misheard, spilled ink stains important pages. These incidents were not coincidence.

The MCOC all looked the same. All at a staggering 6 feet or more, never shorter. All bound with 1 in 1,000 genetics. Having mesomorph fleshy forms affixed to poker faces and emotionless mein. Draped in obsidian garb, their uniforms bore no insignia. Only the silence of order. Stark collars rose to jawlines, stitching precise as a blade’s edge. Fabric, thick and unyielding, muted all motion, swallowing light like a void. Boots struck the earth with the weight of command, and every seam whispered discipline, devoid of flare or flaw.

Deerg (deeg) is a place of plain life, only having the things you truly need. Any sign of taking more, any thought of overindulging, is punished just as all. Desire is a deviance; abundance, a crime. To stop the overconsumption, all citizens are given a gray pill, a sterile tablet that silences hunger without offering even the illusion of pleasure. A void of taste, warmth, or memory. On November 27, 1524, the realm of Deerg had discarded all of its wants. Luxuries were exiled, named the root of ruin. Everything everyone ever wore was all one color; the eternal monochrome. The one never-ending sea of gray shirts and either a pair of blue jeans or black sweatpants. Garments without cut or character, assigned rather than chosen. Formal clothing was a dream of a distant time. No person was to even think to dye, to stitch, to stray, any shift in one’s appearance was considered vanity, and vanity was treason. Mirrors were rare, and when found, reflected nothing but compliance.

Yvne (yowine) was no place to look at desire for another’s gain. No place to talk to others about others. Even the subtlest glance of longing, the slightest shift of the eyes toward someone else’s fortune, was condemned. The look of disgust or want has been a strict rule. Covetousness was the unspoken sin the one thing no one was allowed to feel, yet all were forced to confront. It is under no circumstances that there should be a hint of want. Yet what is just as perplexing as of what's followed; every citizen is laced with the want and need to indulge in absolute yearning for what is not theirs. Desire slithers in secret beneath polite phrases and cold nods. Every citizen of Yvne had an itch to want what was not had. It festers behind every smile, each one trained, tight, and trembling. The never-ending cycle of hierarchy. A ladder carved from glass and distance. No matter how far one climbs, the summit retreats, a mirage of status that stays just out of reach. There always seems to be an ever-growing gap between a citizen and the absolute highest order. Their gods of status are unreachable, faceless, yet worshipped with gritted teeth. The citizens of Yvne are obligated to express gratitude for what they don't have and what they do as well. Gratitude is recited like scripture, chanted daily beneath hollow eyes. To want is to fall, but no one ever dares to stop climbing.

Edirp (dripe) a realm of many achievements. Every step seems to be a milestone in itself. Progress is constant. Measured. Documented. Logged. But never celebrated. Yet the law mandates the stopping of relishing in such. Triumph is treated as taboo. Every inhabitant of Edirp loves to gloat every move, goal met. Every assignment submitted. Every promotion. Every workout completed. Every song learned on the violin. Accomplishment runs in their veins like instinct. But expression is forbidden. The mindset of the everlasting need for validation, for thanks. A hunger for recognition gnaws quietly at every soul, yet applause is outlawed, and gratification is punished. The punishment is always the same. Reeducation through silence. A removal of mirrors, of nameplates, of records. The words good job have been expurgated from the vocabulary. Compliments are contraband. Praise is poison. Even a nod of acknowledgment is cause for suspicion. In Edirp, the climb is endless but you're never allowed to look down and see how far you've come.

Ynottulg (yotalug) just like the others, follows a rigid moral code. Each resident is born with a spine predisposed to gourmandize, a soul that aches for indulgence to recline, to devour, to deteriorate in luxury. Desire trickles like viscous nectar from their consciousness, but the taste is never permitted to reach their tongues. Much like in Htols, a strict itinerary governs every breath. Time is carved into regimens of relentless exertion, each day another wheel they must traverse like confined creatures, hamsters spinning endlessly in cages of expectation. Every meal is calculated. A whisper of sustenance, merely sufficient to prevent collapse, never adequate to satiate. Appetites are treated like untamed entities; restrained on chains, starved into submission, like wolves muzzled by law. Not a drop of alcohol in sight. Every bottle is more translucent than truth itself, sterile as crystallized sorrow. They sit on shelves like relics of temptation, haunting reminders of pleasure outlawed. Milk and juice have become antiquated myths murmured by the elderly, and gin is an unspeakable term, a spectral syllable entombed beneath the architecture of language, buried like a forbidden prayer beneath a church floor.

Each realm is fortified by walls reaching up to the heavens. The one similarity of each citizen is the yearn to know what shall be outside these fortified walls. Each yearning to reach out the walls of the realm Snis but no citizen from any realm even dared to wander over toward the barrier.

Except for two.

Mada and Eve, born to be together. But born into the opposite. Mada stricken to the land of Tsul. Eve cemented to the realm Deerg. They both pondered on what could possibly be beyond the walls. Every citizen had given up wanting to venture off by the age 8. But not them, they yearned to migrate.

“Today is the day, Mada,” Eve said but Mada had known it had been just a play of words. She would say such every other day when they would stare at the never ending waterfall of black bricks. Without venture.

“Yeah… sure. I mean I would love to leave but how?” Mada said entertaining Eve’s imaginative hopes

“Tonight, meet me at The Palace of 7 at sundown, ” Eve said as she ran back into town

The palace was where each realm intersected. Its lavish crystalline towers rose like frozen lightning into the night sky, gleaming with the essence of every world that fed into it. Domes swelled like luminous moons, and spires pierced the heavens, catching starlight and bending it into rainbows that shimmered across the palace’s glassy facade. Arched windows glowed from within, lit by the mingled energies of the seven realms, and its mirrored walls reflected landscapes no longer visible to the eye. The structure seemed both ancient and eternal, carved not by hands but by will, desire, and restraint held in perfect glittering balance.

. . .

As the sun set on the glittering palace and past the forgone walls of Snis, Mada moved like a shadow cut from silk, his black cloak embroidered with the colors of rebellion, deep crimson, violet, and gold unfurling like fire beneath a night sky. His dark hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his eyes gleamed with the knowing light of someone who had long danced at the edge of forbidden things. Every step he took down the palace steps was measured, cloaked in secrecy, as if the very ground might betray his intentions.

Eve, in contrast, seemed to be born from starlight. Her golden robes caught the faint glow of the palace behind her, casting a soft halo around her as she glided forward, her feet silent against the stone. A sheer veil whispered around her arms like a ghost of the rules she broke. Her gaze met Mada’s with the corners of her mouth curved with something between mischief and resolve.

Together, they moved through the manicured shadows of Snis, two threads of opposite worlds winding into one. Drawn by a bond not written in the laws of their realms but etched into something older, something truer.

“So how do you plan on us getting out of here” Mada questioned clutching Eve’s hand

“Look, over there” Eve pointed to the 7 rulers of each realm, all wearing robes of lavish staturechur glistening in the moonlit sky. The 7 lords crept out of their kingdom of mirrors. Walking out of their land with 2 MCOC officers. They both went in opposite directions like two magnets yearning to attract but put on the same pole bouncing off one another as to not be caught. While mixing within realms was not prohibited but rather looked down upon.

As Mada enters his home, his desire to love, adore, to zeal ever dissipates afar.

“Where have you been Mada? You haven’t been with that girl have you?” his mother forever digging into his soul, ripping the last out of his life.

“No,” his aspiration for the venture shattering like glass into millions of pieces, never put back together but swept and the remains dumped into the trash. His mother's words never felt loving. Ever. Was it due to the ever patrolling eyes staring to the hearts of the people they patroled. Lasering the love out of even the most solicitous souls.

Mada turned away from her. He didn’t slam the door, there were no doors in their quadrant, only thin veils of fabric that whispered when passed through. Loudness was forbidden from all lands. Even grief had to be silent.

Outside, the sky hung low, purple and dim like a bruise. The MCOC protroled emotionless. Hovered near the edge of the courtyard, their silver visors glinting like dead stars. He lowered his gaze immediately. Eye contact was a provocation, an invitation for inspection.

But his mind was still with her. Her laugh. Not loud, but full. Full enough to make him forget the cold silence of his home. Her hand and the thrill of that forbidden touch lingering days after.

They had shared only words. Only ideas. But in Snis, even ideas could damn you.

He reached into his pocket. The note was still there, creased and nearly worn through from the number of times he’d unfolded it. We’ll get out of here somehow, someday.

Mada’s hand trembled as he pushed the note deeper into his sleeve. He couldn’t keep doing this. But he couldn’t stop either. Love, though outlawed, had found him. And it was beautiful. And terrifying.

Behind him, his mother’s voice rang out again, quieter now. “I only want to protect you. You know what they do to the ones who feel too much.”

He paused, not turning back. “I’d rather feel and be broken… than never feel at all.” Just as he stepped into the courtyard, her voice followed again soft, almost trembling.

“Mada,” she said. “I-I love you.” The wind died. The veil behind him stopped moving. Even the patrollers paused, just for a moment, but that moment was enough.

The sound of boots. Mechanical. Rhythmic. Final.

He turned just in time to see them seize her. There was no struggle, just silence, their gloved hands tightening around her arms. She didn’t fight. Didn’t speak again. Her eyes met his.

For the first time in years, they looked human.

They dragged her away without ceremony. The MCOC disappeared down the sterile hall, her figure swallowed by black

Mada didn’t move for a long time. The silence closing in again like fog. No one had screamed. No one ever did. He turned back through the veil, its threads brushing his cheek like cold breath. His room was still and dim, lit only by the dull pulse of the overhead lamp. It flickered like it was mourning, too. He sank to the floor. Not the bed, beds were for sleep. This moment was not soft enough for sleep. He held his knees and pressed his forehead to them. His mother’s voice still rang in his ears, not the warning, but the I love you. She had broken the law for him. Spoken the one phrase more dangerous than dissent. He hadn’t said it back. He hadn’t had time.

He didn’t cry. Crying was taught out of them young. The tears sat behind his eyes, stubborn and aching. All he could do was breathe, shallow and shaking, as if the room itself might report him. Somewhere outside, the MCOC boots echoed again, marching through someone else's fate. But inside his room, time felt ruined. Bent. He mouthed the words to himself, just once, unheard. “I love you, too.” And in the stillness, something inside him cracked. Not loudly. Not all at once.

But enough.

. . .

Eve sat at the small metal table, the thin portion of food barely covering the plate. She pushed the last bite around with her fork, tasting only emptiness beneath the blandness. Hunger wasn’t just about the body in Dreeg, it was about desire, the craving for more that never stopped gnawing. She wanted more. More food. More warmth. More freedom.

But the laws were clear “Overindulgence was forbidden.” Punishable. To take more than your ration was to declare greed beyond the state’s control; and that meant consequences worse than starvation. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and forced herself to sit back. Her eyes flicked to the cracked window, watching distant lights pulse like a heartbeat she couldn’t reach. She knew that even wanting more was a dangerous gamble. Her hand closed around the empty chain resting on the table. Desire was a currency she could never afford.

Still, she whispered to herself, almost like a prayer: “Just a little more.” But in Dreeg, a little more was always too much. She pushed the plate away and stood, swallowing the hunger that was more than appetite.

Eve stood frozen as the star vanished beyond the dome's horizon, its trail lingering in her mind long after the light was gone. For the first time in weeks, she let herself feel something beyond regulation not hunger, not fear, but ache. A quiet ache that whispered escape in a voice softer than law but louder than reason. She touched the chain again, thumb brushing the space where a locket once hung. Her mother’s voice echoed faintly in her memory: "Wanting isn’t wrong. It’s forgetting how to want that breaks you."

Across the land, Mada sat on the roof of the recycling sector’s dormitories, legs dangling off the edge, hands stuffed into his patched coat. He wasn’t supposed to be up there. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere alone. But he’d bribed the monitor with a comic with a blank cover. He hadn't looked inside but when the guard did his eyes told the story; just for a moment of sky.

He saw it too. The star carved through the smog like a secret message written just for him. “Let me leave,” he whispered again, voice so quiet the wind barely noticed. His fingers traced the burn mark on his wrist, a scar from when he was baking cake with his mother only a distant memory from now, she told him stories to calm his aching pain. A story of mountains. Real ones. Outside. No one talked about outside. But now he couldn't stop thinking about it. And somewhere not far, maybe just a few miles of shadow and silence away, she else was thinking the same thing.

The distant thoughts of each other clinging like a magnet of opposite polls.

Weeks passed like seconds and the want to leave was ever growing on Mada. The moons of Snis hung heavy over Tsul, casting the alleyways in long, lonely shadows. It had been weeks since Mada last dared to look Eve in the eye. Not because he didn’t want to, but because every glance made the truth louder in her: he couldn’t survive here anymore. The silence in Tsul had grown sharper. The glances more suspicious. Love didn’t just wither here; it was hunted.

Mada cracked.

With trembling hands and a fire in his stomach, he stuffed his bag with stolen chips, a map torn from a smuggler’s ledger, and two pairs of worn boots. He tucked his mother’s withered book into a bag, the only thing he still had from the time before the regime crushed everything soft inside her. He moved like a shadow through the empty street. Then she saw Eve, walking alone beneath a flickering lamplight, her face half-shielded by her scarf.

Mada stepped out from the dark and hissed, “Eve.”

Eve turned, startled her hand darted to her pocket, where everyone in Deerg kept their deterrent needles until she saw Mada’s face. Something in her softened.

Mada grabbed her wrist. “Come with me. Now… Please.” Without waiting for consent, Mada pulled her into a narrow alley between two crumbling brick buildings. The smell of rust and old stone filled the air.

“Mada… what’s going on?” Eve whispered, breath fogging in the cold.

“I’m done waiting. I can’t breathe here anymore, Eve.” Mada dropped hid bag onto the ground and unrolled the plan he had stitched into the lining of her coat. It was crude, a child’s drawing, almost but it had the essentials: tunnel points, patrol rotations, the weak spot in the northern wall near the Dallith drain where no cameras worked for thirteen seconds every loop.

“I've watched the guards for three weeks. Every third night, there's a gap. If we climb the scaffolding, we can reach the drain. From there, we follow the riverbed north until we reach the Outer Tree Line.” Eve blinked, stunned.

“You’ve been planning this?”

“Every night. Every second since they burned the letters we wrote.” Mada’s voice cracked. “We don’t belong in their silence, Eve. We belong somewhere where our feelings don’t get us killed.” he reached out, his hand trembling slightly.

“I won’t force you. But if I go alone, I’ll die. If I go with you, I might finally live.”

The silence stretched, heavy and full of history. Eve stepped forward and whispered, “Show me the route again.” Mada’s chest shuddered with breath. For the first time in his life, the world felt like it might split open and let him run.

To be continued…

(tell me if yall want me to finish this bc its lowk bad)

#at this rate im gonna know the whole family :3

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