#The Canyon of Dark Souls

[apoemaday]

A Brave and Startling Truth

by Maya Angelou

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns To a destination where all signs tell us It is possible and imperative that we learn A brave and startling truth And when we come to it To the day of peacemaking When we release our fingers From fists of hostility And allow the pure air to cool our palms When we come to it When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean When battlefields and coliseum No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters Up with the bruised and bloody grass To lie in identical plots in foreign soil When the rapacious storming of the churches The screaming racket in the temples have ceased When the pennants are waving gaily When the banners of the world tremble Stoutly in the good, clean breeze When we come to it When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders And children dress their dolls in flags of truce When land mines of death have been removed And the aged can walk into evenings of peace When religious ritual is not perfumed By the incense of burning flesh And childhood dreams are not kicked awake By nightmares of abuse When we come to it Then we will confess that not the Pyramids With their stones set in mysterious perfection Nor the Gardens of Babylon Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory Not the Grand Canyon Kindled into delicious color By Western sunsets Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji Stretching to the Rising Sun Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor, Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores These are not the only wonders of the world When we come to it We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace We, this people on this mote of matter In whose mouths abide cankerous words Which challenge our very existence Yet out of those same mouths Come songs of such exquisite sweetness That the heart falters in its labor And the body is quieted into awe We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the proud back is glad to bend Out of such chaos, of such contradiction We learn that we are neither devils nor divines When we come to it We, this people, on this wayward, floating body Created on this earth, of this earth Have the power to fashion for this earth A climate where every man and every woman Can live freely without sanctimonious piety Without crippling fear When we come to it We must confess that we are the possible We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world That is when, and only when We come to it.

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 4: Mend.

Pairing: Noa x human!reader

Warnings: None?

Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words: 3.6k+

A/N: So... My brain did a thing and I just went with it!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper masterlist.

Broken.

It was a simple word. Just a series of sounds combined together. Nothing more and nothing less than the strange association of letters that came to form a particular meaning.

It had been a long time since you'd experienced the devastating impact of a simple word.

Broken.

There was a distant echo to the word.

The frame was broken.

This frame that had been with you for so many years that today your brain no longer knew how to depict the passage of time. It was nothing more than a shadow. A shadow that seemed to stretch on indefinitely, so far away from you that you wondered whether it had a beginning or an end. All that remained was a sensation of emptiness. An emptiness that deepened at the back of your skull, sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness of a lost soul. Or rather, was it an ocean? An abyss so deep and vast that the mere idea of plunging into it made you dizzy. It was like walking on the precipice of a canyon, and the fear of heights gripped your stomach every time you dared a brief glance towards that bottomless void.

Every time you looked back, you felt as if you were sinking deeper into the abyss known as time.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

"(Name)!"

You ignored the throaty young voice trying to get your attention. It was the first time in 5 years that you'd found yourself back in the middle of the rubble of an abandoned city, and you'd spotted a building in the distance that looked promising for what you were looking for.

In 5 years, the city had changed drastically. Vegetation had begun to cover the walls of houses and plants of all kinds had invaded any building, standing or not, that crossed your path.

You had to be careful. The asphalt that had once been a heavily trafficked road was cracked all over, creating crevasses that were sometimes invisible because of the flora that had embedded in them.

"(Name) wait! It's dangerous!"

The young ape was doing his best to keep up with you, but you were way ahead of him. So much ahead that he kept losing sight of you as you navigated between the ruins of a recently extinguished human civilization. He congratulated himself on being able to follow your scent, because soon, despite his best efforts, you had disappeared into the meanders of partially collapsed buildings.

You moved deeper into the center of the city and finally came upon the destroyed front of the building you intended to investigate.

You remembered that, at the time, this building was nothing other than a shopping mall and what you were looking for could only be found inside such a structure. This was the third one you'd visited, and if the other two hadn't been a success, you were still holding out hope that this one would be.

You looked around, looking for a clue among the branches and leaves that had covered the walls of the stores that met your expectations. The window fronts were broken and the glass cracked under your weight with every step you took as you ventured further inside the mall.

The hurried footsteps of the ape travelling with you suddenly echoed through the building, and you watched him move from quadruped to biped in a fraction of a second, his eyes wide with curiosity and wariness at this place he had never set foot in before.

There was plenty to admire. The building still stood feverishly on its foundations, and no fewer than 5 floors rose above your heads. The once luminous signs were shaky, sometimes suspended by a single live wire or fallen over, the neon lights forming the letters of the store names broken and detached from their bases. Numerous plants climbed the walls and twisted around stair railings and poles and one tree, a poplar if you remembered the name correctly, had even taken root in the center of the hall.

"What… is that?" The young ape asked, slowly moving closer to you as if to protect himself from the immensity of a place evoking a past that only you had known perfectly.

You were focused on pulling out the stems of a wisteria that had woven itself around a large panel showing the floor plan of the building. As you seemed to be ignoring him, he leaned over the plan, taking advantage of your proximity to gently bump your arm with his slightly bent hand.

The slight pressure he applied to attract your attention had the desired effect, and you ended up meeting his green eyes. A look that kept reminding you of his father.

"A shopping mall." You answered him before focusing again on reading the plan.

He huffed as if in agreement, even though he had no idea what a shopping mall was. He got down on all fours again, deciding it was best to leave you to your business, but he didn't have the heart to venture too far from you either.

It was a world he didn't know very well.

Sure, he'd had all the stories told by Maurice, Rocket and sometimes, when you were willing, by you. But the stories were… stories. It was maybe the first time you'd allowed him to go with you beyond the woods. Maybe because you felt it was time for him to get to know the outside world? Or maybe because he'd grown big enough and strong enough to manage on his own in an unfamiliar environment?

When he watched you, he couldn't help noticing that he wasn't yet as tall as you when he stood on his own two legs. Another year? Less? Before he finally reached your height? He'd learned that his father was a few centimetres taller than you, and from that day on, it had almost become a personal goal for him: to become as big and as imposing as his father, a strong, powerful and reliable ape who could be trusted in all circumstances.

No one had ever forced this goal on him, and no one had ever expected him to be exactly like his father. He'd put this idea into his head all by himself, because he wanted only one thing: to be worthy of his father.

For now, he might still be too young to carry on the legacy, but this was his challenge: to prove that he could embody his father's values with pride.

He suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as you started walking again, beckoning him to follow, and he wasted no time in following in your footsteps, as if he'd become your shadow.

" This way. Come on!"

You took the stairs and, eager to show himself braver than he felt at the moment, Cornelius decided to take the lead, carefully checking that the steps on which you would put your feet would hold your weight. Reaching the second-to-last step, he considered the staircase safe and jumped straight onto the landing, looking back to watch your progress. As you drew closer to the last step, he held out his hand to offer you his assistance, which you might consider useless given the ease with which you were moving, but he offered it anyway out of pure sympathy.

You smiled kindly and accepted, not unexpectedly, slipping your hand into his.

It was a habit. When Cornelius was younger, he'd developed the habit of dragging you with him wherever he went, holding you firmly by the hand. At first, you always had your back bent, having to adapt your posture to his small stature, and even more so when he impatiently ran on all fours to drag you to whatever he absolutely had to show you. Then, as he grew older, you managed to regain an upright posture, and despite the maturity he was gradually gaining right up to the present day, he would always take your hand to guide you to a place he wanted to show you.

He was proud to be able to hold your hand, just as he was proud to have Maurice and Rocket with him to teach him to become an adult ape, a future leader. You who had known his father, as Maurice and Rocket knew him. Being able to hold your hand was like being able to hold his father's hand. A form of continuity that he nurtured.

He asked you for directions in sign language, and after giving them to him, he guided you, keeping the lead.

Cornelius was still young. You could see it in the way he moved. His body was still trying to find a balance between the young ape he was and the adult he was about to become. His shoulders weren't as broad as his father's, and the muscles in his back still lacked strength, but that would soon change. Seeing him take the initiative to guide you through an unfamiliar place made you feel proud of what he was becoming. You knew him well, the unknown had never been his forte, but witnessing him defy the fear that once would have made him hide behind your legs, you could only be proud of him.

The store you were looking for suddenly appeared in front of your eyes and you stopped abruptly, causing a twinge in your shoulder as Cornelius continued forward. You gritted your teeth and the hissing breath you produced stopped Cornelius dead in his tracks.

"There it is!"

You withdrew your hand from his and began to rummage around the room. Cornelius followed your every move, not really knowing what you were so eagerly looking for. He simply felt that you knew exactly what you wanted.

And then, a sigh of joy escaped your mouth and Cornelius came over to crouch right beside you, nuzzling his shoulder against yours for some sort of comfort, he leaned forward slightly to observe what you were holding in your hands.

A strange square object surrounded by a piece of wood, slightly cracked on one corner. While you still held the object in your hands, he traced the outline of the wood to stop at the cracked corner.

"Broken?" he asked.

And you smiled at him, and shrugged.

"We can mend it." You answered, placing the wooden frame in your bag.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You were gone.

Not only had you left the house, Noa had heard you call your horse, and after a few minutes, the pounding of hooves leaving your clearing left him shaken. Raka gave him a quizzical look, but found himself without an answer.

He didn't understand. Had he said or done something wrong? Was it so bad that you decided to leave on horseback at nightfall?

His eyes fell on the blanket. It hid the object of all troubles. He was unsure.

If you'd put that blanket over it, you certainly didn't want him to look.

But on the other hand…

You were gone.

As if to give himself some form of courage, he let out a heavy sigh through his nose, determined to understand what was so precious about this object.

He gently pushed back the blanket. The broken pieces of wood clung to the fabric and fell back onto the transparent plate as they hung slightly in the air, gravity doing its work.

The tinkling drew Raka's attention, and he came closer to peer at Noa tracing the outline of a square shape with his fingers.

Noa picked up an angular piece of wood and noted that the corner was cracked too, then his eyes fell on the transparent plate. He pressed his hand against it, a cool sensation emanating from the object, which also formed a square. Its corners were sharp, and he concluded that the wood was used to protect against cuts.

And then, beneath the transparent plate, there was an image. The half-light didn't bother him and he could make out the silhouette of a… he suddenly grabbed the image from under the plate and pulled it up to his eyes.

An ape.

Noa quickly stepped up to Raka, handing him the image. A strange sensation bubbled in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't decide whether it was simply curiosity or excitement at his discovery.

Noa rushed through his signs, alternating the words "why", "how" and "who" as he addressed Raka. The latter was trying to remain calm in the face of Noa's restlessness, and decided to take the picture and turn his back on him, to protect himself from Noa's insistent gaze.

It hadn't taken Noa long to realize that this ape, whoever he was and wherever he was today, was the reason you'd felt such emotion. However, even if he had understood this, new questions piled up in his head and you became more and more mysterious.

"I've never seen such a thing." Raka stated after pondering the question. "Perhaps, the image of a book?" He asked then. "No." Noa suddenly replied, ignoring the wave of pride he'd felt at having found something Raka didn't know about. He resumed in sign language. "Echo was sad. I could see it. In her eyes."

Raka didn't seem convinced and Noa frowned, almost annoyed by the questioning Raka carried in a simple look at him. He pointed at the image, this time using his voice to make himself heard.

"Important." He began. "More than petals."

He paused, studying the image carefully. The ape looked… strong. Even through a simple piece of paper, Noa recognized that this ape was a powerful leader, like his father.

His father. A thought flashed through Noa's mind and he felt as if he'd forgotten why he'd come this far. A feeling of guilt scratched at the back of his mind, accusing him of taking too long to fulfill the promise he'd made to his father, in front of his gravestone. Noa had to close his eyes for a moment to focus again on the here and now.

"The image of a book." Raka persisted. "Books are too old for her to know."

If Raka was right, the emotion you'd expressed no longer made any sense, and Noa wasn't ready to admit that maybe you really didn't make any sense and were just like every echo he'd ever come across.

" You know them. Why not her, too?" Noa signed.

Raka seemed to ponder the issue for a moment before handing the image back to Noa.

"Human complicated. Tough to know what she knows, or doesn't know." Raka said.

Noa sighed, almost defeated. He was right about that, but he couldn't get his mind off the idea that this object was very important to you and knowing it was broken had triggered an emotion in you, and he had, for some reason that was completely obscure to him, an urge to hold on to that emotion. It might be the only way for him to get what he wanted: to get out of here with your horse.

Raka wanted to wait for you to speak. Noa was done waiting. He looked again at the broken object and wood around him. Maybe if he could fix it, you'd listen to him.

➰➰➰➰➰➰

It had taken you all night and most of the morning.

It had to cease. Those two apes had to leave your house and go back to wherever they came from, so you'd never again have to feel the things they'd awakened by their mere presence.

So you headed south. Beyond the river.

You'd gone south because the only way to see them go was for them to get a horse. You had once again strayed from the endless activities of the lists on your wall. But it had to stop. You were convinced of that. Once they were gone, you could go on with your activities. Once they were gone, you'd find again the ease with which you'd let yourself be carried along by time, and you'd no longer be on the verge of falling off the precipice every evening, in front of Caesar's own eyes.

You had returned just as the sun was reaching its highest point in the sky. A rope perfectly tight around the pommel of your saddle and a mare tied to the end of that rope who had stopped struggling to get back to her herd.

She was wild, but the proximity of your horse comforted her, and as you offered her apples to encourage her forward, she eventually gave in enough to follow you obediently without pulling back.

Once you'd reached your clearing, you untied the rope and tied it around your horse's neck, confident that the mare would stick around. She stayed away from you though, not wanting to be touched yet, and you knew it would take some time. However, you could congratulate yourself on the experience you had gained in the art of making a horse docile before you could train it. A few days, at most, and you could teach her to bear a saddle and bridle without biting. A few more days and she'd be ready to carry a human… an ape, on her back.

After removing your horse's saddle, you let him graze and showed the mare around.

Seeing her following your horse with no fuss made you feel as if you'd finally untied a knot too heavy to bear.

Yes, everything was going to be all right.

You sighed with relief and set off to find the two apes you'd left inside your house the day before.

Ignoring the aching and heavy feeling in your eyes, you pushed open your front door to find only an empty room. The previously loaned blankets lay neatly on your table.

The blankets.

Like a light bulb that's just switched on, your eyes darted to the fireplace and then to the blanket left on the floor, pushed to one side, the frame it previously covered vanished.

Your heart leapt into your ribcage to remind you of its existence, and a feeling of sheer panic rushed through your chest.

No, no, no.

They couldn't have done this. They couldn't have taken it away from you.

You rushed outside and before you could set foot on the threshold of your home, a large hand held you firmly in place before you made hard contact with its owner's massive torso.

Your eyes fluttered up to his green ones, and Noa caught his first glimpse of fear in the depths of your irises. He watched you while you no longer seemed to know where you were because of the sudden encounter, and when he saw in your eyes that you were coming back to your senses, he let his hand fall back along his body.

One step back.

You needed to find a space… less shared with his own, and you decided to take another step backwards.

Words tried to form on the tip of your tongue, urging you to ask him what he'd done with your frame, but these words quickly fell into the void of silence as Noa slowly handed you your frame, which he held delicately in his second hand.

You found yourself lacking the words that had rushed to you as your brain tried to put the pieces of the puzzle back together again.

You blinked once.

Then twice.

Then three times.

But no, you weren't dreaming, the broken frame you'd left under your blanket had come back to you in one piece.

Noa felt you were suddenly… overwhelmed. Your usually lifeless gaze seemed to find its way back to life, with a wave of emotion that you were obviously having trouble sorting out in your mind.

So he had seen sadness and fear, and now he saw a tide of relief rising in your eyes until it formed the first drops in the corner of them. But you were like… frozen. You looked at the square object in his hand as if suddenly you had no right to touch it, even though it belonged to you.

And then you looked at him, almost encouraging him to say something before you crumbled.

"Fixed." Noa almost whispered, letting his husky voice trail off as softly as possible, as if he didn't want to break anything inside of you, and he carried on, using his free hand to show himself, almost proud of what he'd just accomplished, silently telling you " me, I fixed it".

You couldn't help but look at him, letting him probe everything that came to your mind, as if to silently thank him for saving you from forgetting. Tears forming beads of rain on the edge of your eyelids, you signed back, revealing your relative knowledge of sign language in the process.

"Thank you."

A tear rolled down your cheek, and the overwhelming emotion you offered Noa gave him enough courage to ask you one of the questions running through his mind.

"The image… who is it?"

Noa felt as if an eternity had just passed in silence as you pondered revealing his name. Did you have to tell him his name?

You gently slid your fingers around the frame, which had regained a youthful shape, and Noa almost felt like holding it back to force you to tell him who this ape was, but he didn't need to, your voice rising in a faint note.

"His name was…" You started, swallowing hard in anticipation of the emotion that awaited you around the corner. "His name was Caesar."

And this was surely the first time, after years and years, that you'd uttered his name to introduce him to someone else.

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[mudandmire]

Contrasts

Azris Week - Day One: Contrasts

~~~ Hello hello! I found the Azris ship and the community this year and have absolutely been consumed by it. I love this idea, I love these two characters, and I love that there's so much potential between them and for them to feed and inspire such a wonderful community. I've never participated in the acotar fandom apart from this, and I'm so excited! Thank you so much to @azrisweek for putting together this event, I have had so much fun letting my brain run free like a dog off a leash with these prompts :D ~~~

Tell me

Azriel calls him tatlım, and Eris doesn’t know what it means.

It’s a secret, he supposes he can accept it—relate to it. Nooks and hidden corners itch and snarl with the weight of his own. An enchanted drawer he keeps in the washroom holds his greatest wonder and his greatest shame.

The journal weighs heavy in Eris’s mind. He traces back the parchment pages with intangible fingers during lulls in his father’s council meetings. The drone of bees, lazy and fat in the afternoon sun becomes the hushed whisper of a canyon gale through dried grass. The lines he inks, stroke by stroke, Azriel matches in full, thrumming strides. Words next to his are clean, unbroken, while Azriel’s remain thick, written in charcoal with smudges at the corners from where his fist has run over the line.

When it’s dark, a time when even shadows cannot creep and loom larger, Eris presses his own fingertips to those words. The smears of charcoal because Azriel had told him early on in their budding friendship when they were young that he can’t use quills.

“They're too thin, my hands shake too much.” A smaller version of Azriel speaks the memory into his mind. The whorls and pockmarks on his hands hidden between the gap of his thighs.

Eris had taken it as a challenge—and now he revels in it. Azriel is messy with his charcoal pencil, too free with his mistakes and smudges and it leaves Eris half a country away and entirely breathless.

‘Tell me what bothers you, tatlım.’ Azriel had written him earlier, the familiar scrawl of his heavy hand appearing stroke by stroke in the filled pages of Eris’s enchanted journal.

Two were made, Eris gave one away. He could not bring himself to regret it even if his life were on the line.

‘Tatlım?’ Eris had asked, his letters looped and coiled together in the way they get when he rushes, when he needs answers.

There was no sound save for Eris’s own steady pulse, the whistle of air through his nose as he waited for a response. And yet he could’ve swore he heard Azriel’s laugh, the breathy one, brush against the point of his ear.

The words appear in the space between one breath and the next: ‘Maybe one day, gach’lilit, I will tell you. For now, stop avoiding my prying.’

Eris places a hand on the rise of his chest. Holding in something that seems to be rising from his stomach to his throat and lands gently on his tongue like the orange and black patterned butterflies in the garden.

‘Tell me now,’ he begs, ‘and I will tell you whatever you wish, Azriel.’

‘Come back to visit me, sweetheart. That’s all I ask.’

It had formed a pause in their effortless back and forth. Eris wanted to—Azriel knew that. No, the issue wasn’t in Azriel’s plea, he knew just how much Eris longed for the little village in the Illyrian steppes. The stable in the field and the small, knobby kneed, black lamb that follows Azriel around like ducklings in the Forest House pond in spring. He misses the creeping, ruby red moss and the yellow and sage aspens that crop up from out of the golden plains like the jagged teeth of a cliff.

Most of all, most desperately of all, he misses Azriel. There is not one inch of his soul that doesn’t.

The inked tip of his quill hangs over the page, a knife poised for the final push. Through skin, muscle, bone, to the heart of everything—the rot that waits, festering under the floorboards of his adamant desire to run. It is one thing; it is also a collection of things Eris has stored like the most gruesome of trinkets, the most harrowing of trophies.

Because Azriel calls him sweetheart. He writes in his tongue letters of longing and punctuates them with words like tatlım, and gach’lilit. As much as Eris wants to stitch those given titles to his chest, he already has one.

Eris Vanserra. Heir of Fire. Son of Autumn.

Sweetheart. Tatlım. Gach’lilit.

He cannot have both. The heir who wears the crown, who feels it’s golden spiked thorns pierce the thin skin of his head knows this. Eris Vanserra was not born with room on his chest for titles other than this: his father’s son.

When his quill meets the page, a heaviness in his hand that wasn’t previously there, he knows Azriel already knows what he will write.

‘Soon,’ he lies, ‘when the festival of the summer sun comes, I’ll visit.' Eris Vanserra cannot flaunt about the wilds of the Night Court without purpose or reason. Even less if the hint of the reason is his desire to see an Illyrian male—but he can set out on inter-court business to strengthen alliances, break down information, and gather intel. Eris Vanserra cannot winnow straight from the quilts of his bed into the hay-strewn floor of Azriel’s stable.

No matter how much he wants to.

His chest pinches, a sharp point digging into the sensitive skin between his ribs when Azriel takes a minute longer to reply. The page remaining horribly empty with their spare words, their delicate dance.

‘Then I will just have to hold onto these words a little longer, besheirt. I wish for you to hear them in person, for they are as sacred to me as you are.’

Something cracks, folds then splinters and out pours a smile like evening sunlight through the painted colors of autumn leaves in the canopy. The tension building in his shoulders leaks down and pools around his feet, an unwanted puddle he completely forgets about Eris may be an heir, a son of autumn, and child of a loveless, forced marriage; but he is also sacred. Something holy and divine by only the rights of Azriel, and Azriel alone.

Eris has his titles. The stitched corners of his heart taken up piece by piece, but he will forever play the game of keeping himself in between the two if it will let him keep Azriel.

He has his own titles to give him.

~~///~~///~~///~~

(Key for words:)

Tatlım - ‘Sweetheart’

Gach’lilit - ‘Firefly’

Besheirt - ‘Notion of a soul mate, but mostly means Intended in terms of spouse’

aH. Alright okay cool I'm so normal about them. This is a short little thing, and it doesn't follow canon lore lol sorry about that. I really loved the idea of contrasts because for me it's what first drew me to this pairing. At first it seemed like there were too many contrasts for them to even be compatible, and then through softening my perspective of both of these characters and their flaws (and no small amount of delusion in which we merely squint from afar at SJMs portrayal of these characters) I found that maybe these contrasts actually enhance their chemistry. what crazy imagine that.

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

Further proof of Our King's anxiety and trauma: His body language. He has a habit of putting his hands behind his back. It's a self-soothing and self-preservation gesture. But then when he's more relaxed, he doesn't do that.

Case in point: Look when he meets Asha. At first you don't see his hands. They're behind his back. When he does bring a hand out briefly, it goes behind his back again. But when he warms up to her, his hands come out.

The same goes with when he's addressing his people about the magic. His hands are behind his back, and they stay there unless he brings one hand out to do something and then he puts it right back. He's uncomfortable, he's guarded and it shows.

Which is why his people should have known that something was VERY wrong when he came out on stage possessed. His body language was VERY different. He was stumbling around drunk, but his hands were both visible. His body language had drastically changed because he was essentially inebriated on dark magic. That should have been a BIG clue in that something was WRONG, not that the king was suddenly evil.

YES! THIS! 🤌🏼

I've been stressing from the beginning about this! While hands loosly clasped in the back can be a sign of confidence and relaxtion, Magnifico's way of hiding his arms is different most of the time.

Now, I have always been good at reading people but then I studied psychology for a while and trauma conditions, the mental impact it has and how it shows.

Magnifico oozed trauma the very first minute I saw him. And when he mentioned what happened, plus the burned wall-rug, I knew it was deep! All his behavior clicked for me.

That is also a big part why haters villanizing him gets me fuming mad. If I was to follow their logic, then Elsa is a villain for running away and leaving her kingdom to freeze die, or Maui, who stole Tefiti's heart and caused destruction, or abuela Alma, for treating Mirabel like trash, or Imelda for forbitting music in her family, Abuela Elena for smashing Miguels guitar!

The hypocrisy is off the charts!

And the worst thing is exactly what you mentioned last. The people of Rosas not being able to see that something was horribly wrong with their king. He was so clearly not himself and no one gave a toot. It's easy to explain though. The didn't know their own king and nor did they care. All they cared about was their wishes. Their needs. Their desires. Magnifico was just their source for favors and when that well ran dry, they dropped him like a stone. Talking about selfishness!

Magnifico was never evil. Did he make some wrong choices because of his trauma? Yes. But nothing he ever did made him a villain. The only villain there was, was the book! The book, or rather, the evil force/entitiy in in! And yes, we saw that demon-thing drawn on the page. Not to forget the green clawed hands! No, magic itself isn't a conscious living, thinking being, it's a supernatural ability used by a fessel. And as a christian I can tell you the only thing behind "dark magic" are demons.

You will see this whole topic deeper explained in the upcoming cooperation post "the Magnifico case". But here is a little thing from it.

This isn't Magnifico

This is!

This isn't him

This is!

The fact that people cannot differentiate between this and understand what a possession is ...

Anyway. Anothing very interesting thing I wanna draw attention to is what comes out of Magnifico's mouth once he is full on possessed. He says things that are 100% contradictory to everything he stood for and fought for.

See the reflection thing in the fountain? It's where the quote "I win!" Falls! Why is this so deeply unsettling? Because there is nothing he won! All Magnifico ever truly wanted was happiness and savety for others around him. Magnifico's trauma had caused him to be immensly fearful and paranoid when it came to the savety of others because what happened to him left scars in his soul as deep as a canyon and he wanted no one else to ever have to suffer like he did. He didn't want power, he didn't want fame! He only wanted what's best for others and in return get some love and respect for what he did. Which, yes, he deserved anyway!

Back to my two cents of my christian opinion. It's pretty clear that the evil side does nothing but steal, kill and destroy. It's all it ever wants. To hurt and wreck. That thing that has been trapped in that book must have waited eagerly for who knows how long to get a victim it can use to destroy and use to destroy. So when that thing had taken control over Magnifico's clear consciousness, it obviously said "I won!"

Even sadder is that we could see the exact moment, the entity leaves Magnifico and he is left with confusion and panic because all he sees are the wishes floating away into the nightsky.

Also, where did the green enter and leave? Into and from his heart!

This is the same fear only increased!

And NO! God NO! It is not "Ah, no, I don't wanna lose my power and control over the people because I'm a malicious beast and I wallow in their suffering and enjoy them not being able to make one of their wishes come true!"

No. Just. No. This is ignorant, this is stupid nonsense. This is seeing evil where there is none. This is villanizing trauma!

And then some people go "Oh God, what a monster! What a evil man! Poor kid! It deserves to swim! How dare he not let the kid swim!"

Compare this to a father, who previously had lost a brother or even his first child to a drowning accident. Now the next child is old enough to swim and is running towards the water. Everyone knows the kid will jump in, swim and have fun, but all the father can think of is the potential danger of his child drowning as well. Maybe it will get a cramp, or a shark will bite it, or it gets stung by a jellyfish, steps on a venomous sea urchin, gets a heart attack, gets pulled away by a current ...

You see where I'm going?

And then the father runs, sweaps the child in his arms and forbids it to go near the water and swim because it is too dangerous. He tells his child.

"You stay here with me, as long as I deem it saver! I'm your father, it is my responsibility to keep you as safe as I can! I only want the best for you!"

And of course the child is pouty.

"

"Well, if there is a shark, it can be stopped. I might just bite one leg off of the child ...oh well...The father clearly doesn't know what he's doing! And I must know, I don't even have children!"

"Everyone call the police! Let's put this father behind bars! He's so cruel and abusive to his poor child!"

"And good heavens! He snapped at the child for saying it is old enough to decide if it wants to swim or not! And he replied that he decides if the child swims or not! What a narcissistic psychopath! He needs to be stopped!"

Anyway, I'm very excited to soon share that big boy of a post with you, where I dive into each and every aspect as deep as ever with the help of Magnificolover from instagram. 🎶

How does that sound? And now imagine one of these judgemental, entiteled, selfrighteous, ignorant people calling the police. And the police arrests the man and no one at the beach does anything. No one thinks "wait a minute! This is wrong!"

I can already smell the haters cooking new arguments 😂 feeling snubbed at their toes cause we defenders are right! And you know what? We will only get louder! We are already the vast majority! Including children!

They're mad at us and our defense? Good! Maybe then it is time to ask themselves why it is that the majority is on Magnifico's side! Or why children starting by the age 5 (my cousins son for example) can clearly conclude that the only reason Mags went nuts is because of the evil book. Better yet, they see that Asha and the people of Rosas are in the wrong how they treat their king. And children are brutally honest.

Stay loud my fellow defenders! 🔥

[moonlightyong]

“his eyes break into me and i read the deepest envy of his soul on the tip of his tongue. it reads “you”.

– pairing: yuta nakamoto x fem!reader [self-insert reader, written from “I” pov]

– genre: light fluff, mostly suggestive

– wc: 2221 words [one shot]

– warnings: yuta and reader are ridiculously in love AND horny, there’s a lot of sexual tension in there, t e a s i n g, long ass make out session, switch undertones for the both of them (but ig you could say yuta is mostly the one in control), reader is a lil’ brat and our man sir nakamoto absolutely loves it, kinda possessive behavior at some point (?), yuta is a brat tamer who’s disgustingly and desperately enamored with the reader (lucky for him, she also is)

– author’s note: alright alright team, here’s this lil’ piece of writing i came up with not so long ago. i had just watched the bat mv and let’s just say mister nakamoto got me weak… next thing u know, i was writing this lil’ thingy and getting mentally consumed by the idea of [red-haired, biker, dressed in all black] yuta nakamoto. anyway, feedback is highly appreciated and without further ado; enjoy!!

– playlist:

the bat – nct u

blinding lights – the weeknd

into it – chase atlantic

half of my heart – josh makazo

crazy in love – sofia karlberg

I can still feel his hot breath there. It’s like tattooed on the bridge of my neck. He owns every pulse of my body, as small and discreet as they may be. He knows he’s the maestro of every sound I utter at unholy hours of the night. His eyes, dark and unpredictable, pierce through me, through the veil of my soul and read all of my secrets. The secrets I have for myself, for strangers and for the world. He knows my body like a handmade map, one he would’ve solely drawn in a dream of his; like the back of a hill, of a secluded meadow submerged by lilies and daffodils in the backyard of someone. Maybe I should’ve kissed him longer. Maybe I should’ve held him longer.

I’m accustomed to his taste, a cherry-like tint tattooed in the back of my brain. His handprints grew canyons in the anchor of my hips and I shiver every time my fingers graze against those haphazard souvenirs. His catchy lips burn crimson paint like candle wax on my skin and it’s so hard to feel regretful of them once the morning comes. The moonlight taints his body like a second skin and I feel even more enamored with him once his shadow is overcast with the glazing colors of the moon. His brown irises burn through me with hope and love and I glance back at him with empty promises of eternity. His name is engraved somewhere on my elbow and mine is forever mingled with the strings of his heart. I breathe in and he breathes out. We look at each other through heavy eyelids and find peacefulness in our embrace. I trace the pale skin of his left arm and imagine myself laying there for the rest of my days. He kisses the top of my head and puts a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear. And then, we both know we’ll do it all over again tomorrow.

[03:58 a.m]

Johnny’s House, Hongdae District

His rough hands find their way around my waist like the way back home. His lips instinctively pepper soft kisses down the stream of my neck; a way to greet me, a way to soften my mind. And, right as a familiar wind of warmth unravels in the deepest part of my lower body, he gives me the signal my whole being has been awaiting —and he secretly has been waiting for as well— : “Let’s go”. And just like that, we’d leave our friends behind at whatever party we were at and hop on his dark red Kawasaki. We ride into the night, the darkness of the city falling upon us like a cape and the blinding lights of high buildings and streetlights guiding us towards our sinful destination. And, just like every other night, I’d end up with my back pressed against his off-white wall as his hands would roam around my body, senselessly yet meaningfully. Then, his long fingers would take hold of my face and have me look up at him. A fire glances back at me from the depth of his gaze and, although I’m afraid I’d get burnt if I dared catch it, an irreproachable force in the seed of my soul pushes me to get closer and graze said fire. And I do. I get on my tippy-toes and press a kiss on the borders of his lips. Such an act, I suppose, is enough to light up the flame in his core. His hands hold my face tighter, closer, as if I was a dove and he was afraid I’d fly away if he were to loosen his grip for even a second. His soul bleeds in the grip of my touch and I paint his mouth with colors of my own. Each step we take brings us closer to the other, each grasp on each other’s body is a bit more powerful, leaving us with an unrivalled longing for the other’s touch. His eyes break into me and I read the deepest envy of his soul on the tip of his tongue. It reads “You”.

The epitome of desire rises in us like a treasured sunrise and all we’re thinking of is how to have all of each other at once. His fingers then trace along the lines of my body like a sacred poem, one he would recite to the stars every night right before heading to the land of faded dreams. I get lost in the overwhelming sensation of him, waiting, anticipating and craving for more. And, by the sole flutter of my eyelashes followed by a sound his soul cherishes, oh, so much, he gets the hint of what it is that I desire more than anything on this lonely night. The amber resting in the chambers of his onyx gaze then catches fire, like it was always meant to. A pleading sign of authorization flashes through his inky eyes and I, reading him like a book my past self wrote fifty-thousand years ago, start unbuttoning his dark shirt. The feeling of his rough skin melting upon my soft fingertips somewhat feels like an oxymoron, and yet, it’s like they’ve always belonged there. I patch up the torn areas of his skin with a stamp of my lips, so that he can remember me when I’m gone, so that I can find my way back there later on.

Slowly but surely, I make my way down the column of his torso, leaving purple-tinted evidence of my existence on the lands of his body. His wondrous whispers encourage me to keep going on my quest, to sow more seams of my eternal love for him on the road of ecstasy. And when I nibble a tempting patch of skin right under his symbolic butterfly tattoo at the extremity of his left side and then latch my tongue to underline the now bruised golden skin, I feel him shiver under my touch. Pride dances a waltz with the corners of my mouth right as an enchanting melody leaves the trenches of his throat. The simple consequences of what I’ve done to his body paired with the view of me kneeling right before him creates a dark tornado birthed in a cracked abyss of pleasure at the pit of his core.

A phantom aura of hopelessness and helplessness rejoicing in the definition of “skinny love” wavers above him, slowly lingering across his singular features. “The things you do to me…” A mumble just as loud as a whisper resonates in the house and in my inner walls, deep within. I look up at him, his enamored expression scratching my soul with melancholy and his gaze holding mine captive for the better. He looks disheveled in a metaphorical sense, a cry for surrender glistening in the catacombs of his eyes. I crack a smile at his state, the state I put him in. Suddenly, he grabs my forearms and puts me back up. We’re facing each other again, an electrifying tension, murderous to the touch, moving between our aching bodies. I look up at him with the word ‘challenge’ spelled out in my irises, reflecting the dilemma in his own. The daring glaze in my stare does not miss him and I’m standing there, anxiously and impatiently waiting for him to do something, anything. Yet, the ruined look flickering at the surface of the charcoal pool that are his eyes alert me of something; he still is bewitched by my touch, he still wants more of me. As a grin takes over my features, his are still soft with a newly found drop of harshness right in the middle. His silk-like hands wrap around my jawline like the clouds gently welcome the night sky after dusk and then, astonishingly, he pulls my face closer to his in a harsh tug. “You know you drive me crazy, don’t you, angel?” He no longer looks wrecked. The previously ruined look shining in his eyes had set and let a newly yet familiar assertive look rise in their premises. I swallow, hard. It is now his turn to grin.

Goosebumps cover my entire skin and my heartbeat is having a race against the million thoughts running through my mind. Yuta, on the opposite, looks pretty confident. Serene, even. And yet, as scared as I look, a wave of excitement is crashing against my chest and a flash of desire is coursing through my mellow eyes. Yuta’s own eyes catch with amusement, cling onto that hint delivered by my deepest self. And, in less than a second it takes to let out a breath, to think a thought, his lips crash into mine. It’s a kiss fueled by hunger, by lust, by mesmerism. Our bodies are trapped in an endless kind of colliding, yet, our souls feel like we’re barely touching. They need more. We need more. In a sudden rush, he takes off my tank top and I’m more than content by his action. His hands start roaming freely on my body, exploring a location he knows like the back of his hand. He lets the weight on his eyelids get the best of him as his mind, heart and soul get lost in the crevices of my essence. Yuta, as the cocky motherfucker that he is, is sure of many things. But one thing he is the most certain of is that nobody on this earth knows my body like he does. He is sure he could paint it; curves and bones, flesh and light, even the smallest details like that mole I have right under my left eye. And I don’t doubt him on that.

Once his eyes flutter back open, I’m greeted by an amorous glint in them. He looks at me like he held the whole world right there, in the palms of his hands, and whispers in a tone that could only be painted in honey: “I was made for you, love”. His hands caress the outlines of my face in the softest way known to mankind and the love he has in his eyes deepen, “And you…” His right hand lands a sharp slap on my behind, making me let out a shaky whine, not expecting the sudden change in his behavior yet not minding it a bit. I then jump up and he catches me in a steady hold, wrapping my legs around him as his hands ease the dazzling, scarlet-tinted stinging on my ass. His grip tightens and I can perfectly feel the flexing of his arms around me, a dizzying warmth taking over my whole being. This sudden act and incredulous proximity result in our foreheads ending up against each other. As his eyes bore into mine, he mutters in a hoarse voice: “You were made for me”. His slow breath rakes across the skin on my face like a cold yet welcoming breeze.

And as I’m getting accustomed to the growth of serenity and tenderness in the hollow of his eyes, I unexpectedly feel a demonic tingle in the soil of my bottom lip. Yuta had bitten it, leaving an iron taste behind and soothing it with delicate kisses. Said kisses slowly but surely grow into a more passionate, inflammable and straining one. I can feel my skin tingling and my five senses are tremendously alert. I rake my fingers through his long, red hair and tug at the ends. This single action takes him by surprise and has him dropping his head down, letting out a low growl against my neck. He then smirks —either in an attempt to hide the effect I have on him or because of the tiny whimper I just failed to hold captive behind my lips. I instinctively graze my nails against the lanes of his back the moment I feel him shift against me. My doing on his back must’ve been doing wonders because his eyes dive into mine with a darkness of their own; a warning one. A warning for what is about to come, a forethought of what I had gotten myself into. And this kind of threat makes my body shudder with contemplation. Therefore, I decide to push his buttons even more. I look back at him with a tint of innocence, of obliviousness, and flutter my eyelashes at him as my hand brushes a specific place down south where I know he needs me the most.

I never, ever knew his ebony eyes could get a shade darker until I’ve seen it right there, with my own two eyes. And, as I expected, my plan is a success. The purity swimming around in my irises sends him over the edge. And, without breaking eye-contact with me, Yuta pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue —a dear habit of his. However, during this moment, it feels more frightening —and a tiny bit more exciting— than usual. “You like torturing me baby, don’t you?” His low tone bears a glimpse of playfulness in it, yet, it’s a mischievous one. He definitely has something in mind. And if his arched eyebrow and the whimsical glint in his eyes weren’t indicative of it, his next words definitely are.

“Well, it’ll be my pleasure to teach you how to behave”.

hope u enjoyed reading this one shot! don’t hesitate to tell me ur thoughts about it, it’d be an honor to read them :]

★彡

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics that have an ot4 or ot5 pack dynamic component as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

— Louis/Harry —

🌕 Angels Fly by LilyBlue28

(NR, 203k, pack alpha Louis) A magical love story featuring a generations long grudge, a menacing curse, and secrets that keep pulling them apart. Will they be able to find a way back to one another through the dark?

🌕 You Smell Like by mystic_believexx

(M, 185k, human Louis) Ever since Harry left town, Louis’ found himself with the role of pack Alpha, despite being human. So he can’t wait to hand over the reins when Harry returns. Except, it’s not quite that simple…

🌕 Rogue by Laventriloque

(NR, 95k, rogue omega) Louis is a rogue Omega who's suffered through rejection and abuse for the biggest part of his life. He stumbles onto the Styles pack, quite possibly the kindest one he's ever met.

🌕 Shadows Come With The Pain That You're Running From (Love Was Something You've Never Heard Enough) by hlftanna

(E, 51k, tour) a Band AU in which Harry isn't allowed to be who he really is and the North American Tour might bring some unexpected truths into the web of lies and also a bit of heat that has very little to do with the summer in the US.

🌕 Canyon Moon by delsicle / @eeveedel

(E, 40k, Lion King au) For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

🌕 Burning Soul by LarryAlways28

(E, 39k, omega Louis) Louis is a rogue Omega wolf, all he wants is a new start. Will he allow himself to fully embrace what awaits him, or will he run again, too damaged by past hurt?

🌕 All Your Mates Are Here by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 36k, uni) A new pack, a new house, and two new roommates with personal space issues... Plus exams, of course.

🌕 Follow Your Arrow by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 36k, touch deprivation) They said Louis playing alpha wouldn’t affect anything. It was the best thing for the band, so he doesn’t really regret it except deep in the dead of night, when he bites down on his knuckles to swap the echoing ache of depri for a sting of pain.

🌕 Mark my word (we gon' be alright) by harioandlouigi

(E, 35k, friends to lovers) an A/B/O AU featuring an oblivious Harry as the pack leader, a pining Louis as his second-in-command, and an entourage of friends and family who are a little too good at keeping their mouths shut.

🌕 Compass to my Soul by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 31k, touch deprivation) Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

🌕 It's always darkest before the dawn by @marchessa

(E, 15k, human Harry) the one where Louis saves Harry's life by biting him, but the younger man has to pay the price for it.

🌕 good enough (for you) by localopa / @voulezloux

(G, 8k, competition) omega louis is next in line to rule the pack. in spite of the rule saying he needs an alpha to rule, he creates an impossible olympics to find a worthy mate.

🌕 Count The Wolves And We'll Sleep Tonight by scribblewrite

(M, 4k, established relationship) Louis's the Alpha of a powerful pack and Harry's his omega. When Harry's taken by rogue alphas, Louis will do anything to bring him home safely.

— Rare Pairs —

🌕 a sunflower soul with rock n’ roll eyes by sideofzemblanity

(E, 57k, OT5) Louis is forced to be the weeds when all he wants is to be the sunflower he really is.

🌕 Like A Bullet In The Dark, by TylerM

(T, 27k, OT5) the one where Zayn, Harry and Louis are alphas in a pack with omega Niall, and Liam is a beta. Until he actually isn't and shit hits the fan.

🌕 a dark world aches for a splash of the sun by calums

(T, 18k, OT5) Being the only Beta in the world's most famous band should be easy, right? Well, not when you're on suppressants and pretending to be a Beta when in fact, you're an omega. Lo and behold, the life of Louis Tomlinson.

🌕 He Carries The Key by @lululawrence

(NR, 8k, OT5) Niall was mostly home, ready for a shower and a chat with Louis, when suddenly Niall was flooded with emotions from the pack bond.

[heartnosekid]

my personal favorite stimboards masterlist!

so, as it turns out... i've made a lot of stimboards since 2021 when i made my first favorite stimboards stimboard. i wanted to make another stimboard of the boards, but i quickly found out i had way too many favorites to fit in a stimboard that my computer or phone could handle lol.

so, instead of the stimboard, here is a bunch of links to my favorite stimboards with some descriptors. as far as name stimboards go, i love them all too much so i couldn't decide on a concise list of favorites lol enjoy! comment your favorites if you want to!

concept / music based:

clowncore with bright primary colors | butterflies, spiders, & moths in purple & blue | nature, flowers, & bugs in pink & yellow | aroace sunset flag with nature | lunar rainbow | pansexual with nature | black & neon glowcore | hot pink color board

demeter & young persephone | black arches moth | carnivalcore, kidcore, & kitties | smile - the beach boys album art | pink, elegant, & floral | death's head hawkmoth | virginian tiger moth

night skies, the moon, biblically accurate angels, books, & moths | yule pagan holiday board | rain by sleep token | "i know love is real because i exist and i am full of it" | sidewalk chalk kitty

character / franchise based:

marie (splatoon) based on only her hair colors | dark magic hat creampuff cookie (cookie run: ovenbreak) | seer (apex legends) | floral sacrifice soul weaver (identity v) | super pusheenicorn (pusheen) | haku (spirited away) | skitty (pokemon) | wish bear & love-a-lot bear (care bears) | baby hugs & tugs (care bears)

custom camper (animal crossing: pocket camp) | banette (pokemon) | royal livery bloodhound (apex legends) | caregiver zacharie & small batter (off game) | a gaze eternal revenant (apex legends) | raiden (metal gear rising: revengeance) | fleur fairies (jellycat)

bog witch ad (goatlings) | wicked harvest bloodhound (apex legends) | neon skeleton squishmallows | mirage (apex legends) | k_k (deltarune) | renji & uta with cafe elements & greyscale (tokyo ghoul) | ione (animal crossing) | zucker (animal crossing) | oyster cookie (cookie run: kingdom)

lime cookie (cookie run: ovenbreak) | blue eyes white dragon (yu-gi-oh) | alice in wonderland 1951 film | lobo (puss in boots: the last wish) | miffy kidcore positivity (miffy & friends) | trans calico critters (sylvanian families) | king rauru (the legend of zelda: tears of the kingdom) | catalyst (apex legends)

g1 pony bride (my little pony) | white pearl cookie (cookie run: kingdom) | soft pastel blue dratini (pokemon) | dusk from the hex girls (scooby doo) | frilled jellyfish cookie (cookie run: kingdom) | uboa (yume nikki) | sayaka miki (puella magi madoka magica) | fog canyon (hollow knight)

[sinvulkt]

writing patterns tag game

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Thank you for the tag, @ravenite-void !! 🎶✨️ I had lot of fun doing this :3 (although i didn’t notice a particular pattern except that my WIPs are too old to appear here and maybe i should get out of hiatus xd)

*** ** * ** ***

1. Sēċan (Star Wars)

Everything began when Luke went to fetch a wasted Ben in Anchorhead’s only tavern.

2. The Monster and the Child (Star Wars)

The dragon slept, curled on itself in the cold cell that was its home.

3. Batman’s Downfall (To Stand Alone) (DC)

There was a new killer in town. He called himself 'Red Hood'. Had he been clownier, Batman would have bet on a new scheme from the Joker part.

4. Ahch-To Soul, Korriban Body (Star Wars)

The hound - for it had no name but hound, beast, mutant - collapsed in the dark alley, its small paws folding underneath it.

5. A Nightinghale in a Golden Cage (Star Wars)

I had left the Gruyère to explore, the break on planet finally allowing me to stretch my wings after spending so long cooped up in the ship, when a cry in the Force alerted me.

6. A Feather's Fall (Star Wars)

I walked alongside the young Togorian that had recently become my ‘Padawan’, glancing proudly at the green crystal that shone in his fist.

7. Scales of Ember (A:tLA)

Everything burned. His body felt strange, his nerves raw, as if liquid fire was spreading through his veins.

8. À La Croisée Du Temps (Le Visiteur du Futur)

Renard se réveilla en sursaut. Son front rencontra un mur. Il poussa un juron et, plus lentement cette fois, il se releva.

9. Flightless (Star Wars)

It had been her mistake.

10. By each other we pass by, our meeting as fleeting as the brush of wings (Star Wars)

There had been a disturbance on Canyon. Vader was called to deal with the issue.

*** ** * ** ***

Now, tagging time~ !

@fanfictasia @kefalion @bluntblade @doctorgeekery @pat-the-togorian @purple-iris @beguilewritesstuff @linzerj @cinderfeather @kuraiarcoiris @wendingways @gasmeros @renegadeoftheworld @threebea @batsimph @metellastella @chickadeechickadoo @aimportantdragoncollector @in-company-of-misery @udekai @purpleopossum don’t hesitate to join if you want to! (Although no pressure). I’m pretty sure you can interpret the rules as ’last chapter posted’ instead of last fic posted xd (like several chapters of a same multichap fic).

Anyone who see this post and want to join in on the fun, do so!

[margumis]

syzygy

gn! reader x megumi fushiguro / established relationship / sun moon dynamic / pure fluff

inspired by this request from @yeahneh

syzygy: a conjunction or opposition, especially of the moon with the sun

the sun and the moon have always been known as lovers. the people of the amazon told a story of the two celestial bodies, bound to love each other from a distance. the krachi of west africa knew them as the couple that birthed the stars. and maybe, if those people were around today, they could tell you that the sun and moon were reborn, giving a physical body to their otherworldly spirits. and they could scour the earth for those two gravity bound souls, search every canyon and ocean for the people who they found fit the bill to reunite them. but they should be assured because the sun and the moon found one another under the treetops of tokyo.

in this rendition, they weren't going to fall out of love, or be eternally separated only to meet during an eclipse. at least you hoped, there was never any certainty behind human love, especially in a world filled with curses and horrors, a world where either of you could fall out of orbit and rejoin the heavens up above.

you think that's what makes you cherish moments like these more, more than you would if your life wasn't on the line on a daily basis at least.

something about him made you believe he really was the personification of the moon. maybe it was the way words fell from his mouth with more ease at two in the morning. the way his black hair fell into his face, creating a faux impression of a waning gibbous.

“why did you fall in love with me?” the shadows of bedroom curtains cast across his face. his question isn't hard for you to answer, you've always felt drawn to him, like you were fitting pieces of a puzzle, like he was meant to orbit you.

"I guess it came to me naturally, you've sort of always felt like a completion of me" a sleepy grin spread across your face as you whispered your confession to him. and like a small sliver carved from the moon, his smile spread and made you feel like it was chasing away every shadow in the room. he pulled you in tighter that night, ear pressed against his t-shirt clad chest, lulled to sleep by the gentle and slow thrum of his heartbeat.

sometimes the two of you made time for day-trips down to the coast, strolling the beach at the sun's final hours. you were both walking that sacred edge between the sea and the shore, salty water lapping at your bare feet and sand tickling your toes. the water always seemed drawn to him, a noticeable high tide no matter what time the two of you sought out the ocean. the salty breeze filled your senses, blowing through your hair and carrying the seabirds on its back.

you waded deeper into the water, soaking through the majority of the bottoms you were wearing, motioning to megumi with your hands and a smile plastered to your face. he always found that the water was warmer when he was with you.

"your eyes look like this", in front of you your hands were forming a frame where the heavens met the flooded earth. he brought his head over your shoulder, looking through the frame.

"the way you talk about me, it makes me feel good" the red flushing his cheeks and tinting his ears contrasted the blacks and blues of his hair and eyes. "that's how it's supposed to be, isn't it?" you questioned teasingly before placing a firm but soft kiss to his lips.

you had this way about you, it made him melt into some malleable gooey thing. it made his chest warm and his thoughts of the future bright, it returned every stolen moment of joy tenfold. and your warmth seeped into him, scared away the darkness that built shelter in his bones. everything was easier with you, you acted like a guiding light. he knows he would follow you into the darkest depths, because you were light and he couldn't look away.

"you know your eyes, they kinda look like this" he created some grand motion with his arms gesturing to your surroundings. before you could express your confusion he finished his statement.

"like everything good in the world"

when he finished his statement, he turned back to you with a soft expression. and there you were, shining so brightly, outshining the setting sun behind you; and all he can think is how he would willingly orbit you forever.

he knew that a while ago, that he would chase in your gravitational path. it was hard for him to place the moment exactly because he could probably recall hundreds where he had felt this way.

was it the first time you two met back in highschool? or was it the countless times he watched you prioritize an animal or child's safety before your own. it could've been that time he was sat across from you in a cafe, he caught himself watching how sunbeams refracted in your eyes.

it didn't matter really, you were here with him now, the light still as bright as ever in your eyes. you were picking up seashells now, he liked the way the sun passed through your hair, the way even the last few rays of sun clung to you. he truly couldn't help but stare; even his eyes being pulled in by your gravity.

you waded your way through the water back to him, dropping a few small white seashells into his hand like sacred treasures, talking about a hermit crab shell you had seen but didn't want to disturb. you were smiling up at him like a child proud of their findings, and he was looking down at you like you created the stars yourself.

but if both of you had looked up, you would've seen that brief moment where both the sun and the moon hang in the sky. the sun saying its hello's and goodbyes to the moon as it took it's shift. and maybe if you had the ear for planets and stars, you would hear them fondly whispering over the two of you, both of them smiling down on you hoping that was them in another life.

[plotandelegy]

Unleashing Creativity: Top Ways to Generate Unique Fantasy Story Ideas

Photo: Standard License- Adobe Stock

Welcome back,

There's no denying that fantasy has been at the core of some of the most enchanting, daring, and downright unforgettable tales (for one reason or another) that have shaped the literary landscape. Who doesn't love the thrill of journeying to some new adventurous place with otherworldly creatures and epic battles between the forces of dark and light? Personally, I'm all about the dark side. Even for the most seasoned writers sparking the imagination can be difficult. Things like inspiration seem elusive as a dragon hiding in a mist-covered mountain. Today, I will cover a few ideas to find your muse. My muse sometimes hides in a dumpster...so let's find better ways to do this, shall we?

People Watching, with a Twist: Observing people in everyday situations can be a great source of inspiration. Now, add a layer of 'What If?'. What if the barista at your local coffee shop could control elements? What if the older woman feeding pigeons in the park was a retired warrior queen? This exercise allows you to create complex characters with intriguing backstories, ripe for the world of fantasy.

Travel Through Time: History is brimming with periods that, with a little twist, can become fantastic settings for your story. Victorian England's social hierarchies, the Renaissance's scientific innovations, and the fierce battles of Feudal Japan offer fertile ground for fantastical tales. Weave in elements of magic or mythical creatures, and you have an intoxicating cocktail of historical fact and enticing fantasy.

Bioinspiration – Fantasize with Flora and Fauna: The natural world is a veritable treasure trove of inspiration. Let's call this approach 'bioinspiration.' Start by exploring Earth's biodiversity's peculiar traits, behaviors, and survival mechanisms. Why not envision a species that communicates like whales but hunts like a pack of wolves? Or perhaps a plant that blooms under the moonlight and has the power to manipulate time? The possibilities are endless when you fuse the wonder of our world with a dash of fantasy.

Take a Hike (Literally!): When was the last time you truly engaged with the wilderness, the mountains, or the sea? Natural landscapes are rife with potential for fantasy storytelling. As you walk through a dense forest, consider the creatures that might inhabit such a place in a fantasy realm. That murmuring stream could be a water nymph's dwelling, and the wind howling through the canyon might be a dragon's call. Try to visualize your surroundings through the lens of fantasy — you may be surprised at what your imagination conjures up!

Harness the Power of Music: Like music, few things can stir the soul and spark the imagination. A piece of music can evoke many emotions and images depending on its rhythm, melody, and harmony. Try listening to music without lyrics (like classical, orchestral, or ambient music) and let your mind wander. Picture the scenes that the music evokes. Is that tranquil harp melody the song of a peaceful elven village? Does the tumultuous symphony represent the climax of an epic battle? Use these mental images as a springboard for your fantasy narrative.

So there it is, everyone. Five unique ways to draw up some inspiration. Go find your muse!! Probably shouldn't have said mine hides in a dumpster. I'm all about being superstitious, so I'm sure she'll never speak to me again.

Happy Writing,

Indigo Everly 

P.S. Need more? Check out this post!

[pentuppen]

"In a thousand years, when I've all but forgotten how to love yet again, you'll flit back into my heart, and I'll weep wondering what happened to my mad love."

So I had a brain worm, and writers block so i fixed the one, and hope like hell that fixes the other.

This line from Astarion broke me, and while I never went through with a full evil Durge run, I did catch the end scene of the prologue. This particular scene had been rolling around in my head for months but i never wanted to do a full Durge fic.

Anyway today I thought fuck it and this miserable bit of angst finally got written up so now it can bugger off!

Was I ever here?

You have been walking for days, feet bared and blistered, your limbs shuddering and cracking with each corpse-like step you take. Every move is an agony you embrace, while your blood pounds like a sickened war drum in your ears, red churning with black, pulsing with violence behind eyes of rolling madness. You are no longer you, the dark whispers wear you like a ragged cloak now, his voice, ceaseless, commanding…hungry, they dig their gnawing teeth into the blighted meat of your brain, seductive and burning with bloody lust.

You are starved, desperate to satiate the squirming vile need that tightens your loins and churns bile in your throat as you look out at the feast before you. Unseen but seeing everything. You were not invited, already forgotten and left to crawl away into the depths of their memory like a bad dog. So many precious lives, cracked and riddled with the filth of uncertainty in the beginning, now they gleam like so many jewels scattered across the clearing that was your first temporary home.

You watch them live. Smiling, laughing, drinking and existing. Teeth softly clamp down on the ends of your fingers, trapping a whimpering whine that evolves into a low growl. Were you ever real? Or did you find a dream buried deep in the rot of your soul, a dream in which you were a person, and not a weapon?

You see him finally, that creature of pale, timeless beauty and sweet, murderous eyes. You watch him throw his head back and laugh, teeth bearing down on your own fingers until the flesh parts and you taste your own bitter copper. He promised he would weep, and yet he laughs, still beautiful, and happy. Not fair, not right. He has forgotten enough to laugh, and the sound rakes canyons in the scant, flickering light of your soul.

Your pain does not sate you, instead it hollows you all the more, until you are retching with the hunger to fill it, to pack the weight of their suffering against this new wound like a poultice. But you wait, their joy filling you like sour poison, hate pulsing and growing in you like a malevolent child as they continue their forgetting, drowning it wine and good tidings. 

You watch him most of all, and it’s like holding your hand in the middle of a campfire, every second an agony. Why him, why not you? Why not both? He slayed his monsters, both inside and out, and they remembered him, yet you do not hear your name on their lips or in their hearts. Again you ask yourself. Were you ever here?

They eventually  rest in easy stupor, even him. Does he dream of you? Or were the memories of you discarded with the other nightmares that chased him for so long? Did he vanquish you as he vanquished his Master? You could make him remember. You could paint your desire in shades of drying red. Your blade, his heart, they were made for each other. Just as you should have been.

The idea catches you like a fever as you worm your way through the grass, belly slick with dew as you crawl like a broken snake through the grass, silent and seething with purpose. You would make him remember, crawling to the mouth of his tent, your blade poised high. He promised he would weep, but his beautiful face is at peace, and now it was time to cut

. Your blade is quick, parting and peeling flesh, your hands gloved red, reaching and grasping into the gore filled cavity. He doesn’t even move as your fingers squirm through wet flesh, finding that frantic creature beating creature, palming it, squeezing it. Those black voices scream in delirious ecstacy, for what could sate that hunger better than the sensation of a fragile heart in murderous hands? 

You’re lips open in a silent snarl as you grasp that heaving, pulsing betrayer, he would remember now….

He wakes to a nightmare. It kneels before his tent with its head bowed, a gruesome sentry that has him sitting up quickly. The blood is everywhere, seeping into the ground, the walls of his tent and the blankets beneath him. He knows that gore streaked shape, even as his mind tries to rebel, logic scruffs its neck and makes him see.

She kneels like some gruesome idol, her hands cupped in her lap, her chest a mass of blood and exposed, cracked bone. He captures the ugly sound of grief and disgust behind a pale hand, eyes fixed to the lump of meat held in stilled hands. She had once told him that her heart was his, but in the end he couldn’t bear to take it. Not with what she had become.

She’d never stood a chance, her fate paved even before the very idea of her was conceived. He’d tangled her in all those pretty strings of deceit, and she had still loved him in her own bloody way. But he hadn’t been able to do the same, hadn’t been able to follow where her path took her.

Hadn’t been able to save her.

Even now his eyes remain dry as he moves hair clumped with thickening blood from a face that was finally at peace. He feels the burn, the urge, and the lump even forms in the back of his throat.

But no tears fell. In the last six months, he had wept in both agony and anger, creating floods with longing and grief, drowning himself in the regret of the decision while living in the agony of knowing it was the right one.

There were no more tears left to give for his mad love.

[redmyeyes]

some kind of murder

for @wincestwednesdays

"How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it's some kind of murder?"

― Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

You tilt the flask into your palm and wait, jittery, for the last drops to fall. 

There must be some left. A single drop. Just enough to tide you over. It's been days since she's come and she knows you're dry and she's not answering the phone and you even tried praying but demons don't answer prayers either.

Where is she?

A commercial for Heinz Ketchup when you were a kid—there's this girl, pretty girl in a sundress, with curly brown hair you wanted to sink your hands into, even then.  She's standing on a fire escape outside an anonymous brick apartment building, her hip leaning daringly against the iron rail.  On top of the world, and no fear of falling.  It's summer.  The breeze rustles her thin dress, revealing tantalizing glimpses of tanned thigh.

She's flirting with this blur of a guy—you don't remember this part well—some guy who wants her ketchup.  Metaphor.  

She extends the bottle over the edge of the fire escape, as though holding it hostage.  One wrong move and the bottle gets it.  And then she smiles, tilts it upside-down invitingly.  You want my ketchup?  Run and claim it.  Blurry guy runs three flights down, just in time to catch the precious falling drops on his bun at the bottom. 

Splat. 

It feels like that, this wait, though the fall is only inches.

It needs to be on your palm before you suck it down. You can't just knock the flask back like whiskey, you need to see it first, to make sure. You've long since stopped thinking of it as what it is. It's simply— necessary.

Wait.

Nanoseconds stretch into eons.  Your focus zeros in on the lip of the flask, a drop of brilliant red hanging there, suspended.

Wait.

When the drops finally fall, 

—lightning, a nine-volt battery to the tongue, an electro-charged cymbal crash, and an immediate, hollowed-out wanting, and you shut your eyes tight against the sudden cacophony of sound and sight, a world on fire—

you inhale them from the palm of your hand like a starved dog, feral and ravenous.

Breathe.

The blue-white lights in this motel parking lot scrape your retinas; the hum of the vending machine next to you amps up to a jackhammer.  And drowning out all the rest is the all-consuming, life-affirming thump of your heart:  da-DUM.  da-DUM.

The taste lingers on your tongue, spicy and dark with undertones of old copper.  You're developing a palate.

You close your eyes to feel the familiar surge of power course through you.  Making you stronger.  If he understood— if he could just understand the necessity of this—the potential—but his thinking has always been so black-and-white.  You need to be strong enough— enough to convince him, to make him see, and then he'll— 

It's her words in your head, her lithe body pressed up against you as she whispers low into your ear—it's okay, Sammy. Big brother would be so proud. 

The voice is far away when it comes, muffled and unimportant compared to the bass drum thump of blood in your veins. When the fog clears, it registers, distant: someone saying your name.  

"Sam."

You spin, wild, and— he's there, Dean, your brother, and for a suspended second, you're elated.  Nevermind that you saw him two minutes ago as you were sneaking out of the motel room (sleeping, his mouth softly parted, arm stretched towards you across the canyon between the beds), for that fraction of a second, every time is the first time. A split soul recombining like beads of mercury.

"Dean," you say, breathless, a smile tugging on your lips.

Then you catch the frown on his face, his crossed arms.  "Dean, hey, I was just—" You clutch the flask in your hand, gesturing with it, then curse your stupidity.  "A soda."

His eyes flick towards the flask then back to you.  His brow furrows.  It could be anger or— "Long time for a soda."  —it's fear.  You're a connoisseur of Dean's expressions.  It's the type of fear he's always tried to hide.  It's worry.  For you.

You're flooded with affection suddenly, and the past horrible year—years—melt away like ice-cream on August pavement. 

—he loves you he cares for you he protects you don't have to worry about a thing—

You're nine years old again, a VHS tape rewinding on triple speed undoing all your mistakes—failure after failure all the way back to—

—and he wants you—

You grin, giddy, something like a giggle escaping your mouth.  It's not anger on his face, but care.  You've always needed his attention on you and in this moment you have it, undivided.  Intoxicating.  

"It's okay, Dean.  You don't have to worry."  You move closer and he moves back, until he's pressed against the dirty concrete wall in the dark alcove between the vending machine and the stairs.  "I'm okay, don't worry."

"Sammy…" A token protest, his arms coming up to press against your chest, but you're familiar with this dance.  He'd needed convincing the first few times, in those early days.  As though he wasn't desperate for it too.

"Dean."  You pour everything into that single word, love and hate and desperation and you see the flicker in his eye as it registers.  He shudders out a breath, his eyes closing, and you move in closer, bending down to nuzzle into his neck.  His pulse beats madly against your lips.

"Dean…"

His hands slide down to grip your hips.  You press him back into the shadows, your blood rushing rushing rushing, and you nose under his chin, inhale his scent.  God, but you have missed this.

You haven't, since— before. Before, before.  Unless you count that never-ending series of Tuesdays where things got— real desperate, for a minute there, but you don't count that, you were out of your head, driven mad.  It can't be counted if only one person remembers anyway, and you thank god, thank god, thank god for that simple fact.

You've missed this, missed him.  Since he's been back he's been so— distracted.  Wary, even.  Almost like— 

It's natural.  Normal.  You've been telling yourself that since the first moment he walked through the door, alive and whole, shocking you so much you barely knew how to respond, your body awkward as it went in for a hug, muscle memory operating without your conscious input.  It's normal.  It's trauma.  Maybe even, still, thinks he's trapped there sometimes.  Of course he's going to be shying away from you, especially with the voice of the devil—hah—whispering in his ear.  You've taken Psych 101.  And you've done your own reading, when you were in college and still thought you could work your way through your own trauma just by understanding the mechanisms of it.  No way through but through.

One of your legs slot between his, easy. "Cowboy legs," Dad had once slurred out when he was drunk. "Made for riding." Dean had flushed pink. 

He's hard against your hip, and the triumph of that surges in you like the— no, better than.  If only you could bottle this…

You're struck suddenly by how much bigger you are, even since last year.  Your bodies slot together in an entirely new way.  You tower over him, encompass him.  Does he like the fact that you're bigger, that you can crush him against the wall and he has no chance of escaping?  His hands are still, not pushing away, but not encouraging either. When you pull back enough to see, his eyes are screwed tight. You nuzzle down further, try to make yourself small, and finally his hands crawl up your back.  Feels like he's hanging on to the edge of a cliff, the way his fingers dig in through the corduroy.

Your room is only two doors down, but the thought of relocating doesn't even enter your mind. To prise yourself from this spot in the shadows of the stairwell seems impossible.

You're connected in this moment, and it's been so long.  So very very long.

You're connected, blood still pulsing loud through your veins, the same that runs through him, except— no, you know you can convince him.  It's making you strong.  It's a tool, just like all the other tools in your arsenal—the guns, the salt, the holy water.  It's not like before, with your ever-increasing powers, where there was a danger of— where the purpose was controlled by— it's different this time.  It's a tool to be used, otherwise—

Otherwise, otherwise.  You can't let yourself think that the purpose has already passed, pulled like a rug out from under you the moment Dean walked—unassisted by you—out of a grave and back into your life.

To think that would be to admit the impossible.  That this is no longer a choice, but a need—

Burrow down, tuck your head up under his chin, you've missed feeling small.  Taken care of.  Didn't appreciate it at the time, of course.  You've been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for too long, a lifetime trying to prove yourself and you just want to set it down for a second.  Just for a second.

"Sam, stop this."  His voice is ragged, his hands a vice grip around your arms now as you paw against his chest.

Burrow down, burrow in, nose against his sternum.  Worn flannel against your cheek, smell of—leatherwhiskeygunsalt—Him.  That's how it was when this whole thing started, Dean a head taller than you, but you shot up fast.  Your shins ached for months. 

"Getting a soda," he says, echoing your words from a lifetime ago.  Sounds like he's spitting out something foul.  "Taking a phone call.  At all hours of the night.  Sammy, you think I don't know what's going on?"  Then, his hands digging in painfully and his voice dangerously low, "You think. I don't know."

Rage surges up, strangling, and you push it down down down, locked tight, but you've flattened Dean against the wall so hard you hear the breath knocked out of him.  You can't breathe—in sympathy, you think for a moment until you realize his thumbs are in your windpipe, cutting off your air supply.

You fall to your knees, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.  That's the first thing you ever watched die—consciously, anyway—Dad attempting to impart some kind of lesson when you were five or six, hauling a caught trout onto the deck and making you watch as it took its last non-breaths. A moment heavy with solemnity, you remember the proud weight of it, that you were old enough now in Dad's eyes to experience this.

The only thing remaining is that image embedded in your brain—the fish flopping on the rain-weathered wood, the way it wouldn't stop wriggling for what seemed like ages, iron hook pierced through its cheek.

You gaze up at your brother, eyes burning.  The flask goes clattering loud against the concrete—have you been holding it all this time?—as your hands come up to wrap around his wrists.  Not pulling, just— holding. His thumbs inch deeper.  Your mouth gulps for air.

You shove the voice down deeper, the one that wants to rage up against the unfairness of it all—that Dean could die, willingly, sell his soul and leave you alone to deal with the guilt of it, and you can't even— it was justified!  Everything is justified when it comes to saving one another, you thought that was part and parcel of the whole deal.  And yet he's looking at you, he's been looking at you— with disappointment.  Betrayal.  Disgust.  

And the voice you're really trying to ignore—the voice that has a hold on Dean's wrists but isn't making him pull away—is the one that agrees with him.  Your self-worth is so wrapped up in what he thinks of you, tugged on the end of a fishing line with the hook dug right through your chest, yanked between validation and disappointment—and let's be real it's mostly been disappointment—and the you from four years ago that thought you were finally free and clear, on the cusp of a new life, would look at you now and feel… pity.

Pity and disgust, same as the eyes looking down on you now and it would all be warranted because—

Because what you felt, in that instant Dean walked through the door—before the hug, before the thaw of shock, just for a split second, but real and preserved in amber way down deep where you've buried it—was not joy, or gratitude or relief, but— fury.

Because it should have been your win and it was stolen from you.  You were supposed to save him, it was the only thing that would have made things right between you, and what was all this suffering for, if not for that?  The entire summer, getting stronger and stronger, justifying away— everything, because everything was allowed if it was for That, but now—

You were preparing.  You were ready.  And then he just walked through the door.

All of that energy has to go somewhere.

Dean wrenches his hands away with a sob and collapses against the wall, sliding down until his head is buried in his knees, hands fisted in the hair at the back of his head.

You gulp in air, sitting back on your haunches as you stare unseeing at the ground.

You take a deep shuddering breath in, let it out slow.  Force your breathing back to even.  Your blood pounds in your ears.  th-THUMP. th-THUMP.

"You don't know anything," you say, but your voice is muffled under the rush of blood, like you're speaking under water.  That moment in amber, shattered and laid out finally for you to see, has sapped all your energy, your limbs heavy and sluggish.

It changes nothing.  You've already invested too much to back out now.  Sunk cost fallacy.  The term burbles up from the back of your mind, and you almost laugh.  If only you were playing with something as absurd and abstract as money.

You haul yourself to your feet, leaving Dean huddled there on the pavement.  "You don't know anything," you say again louder.

You'll make him understand, or— there is no 'or'.

Somewhere in the far distance, an ambulance wails.

[cielsosinfel]

Some tidbits from the Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus adventure module (2019) that I want to save for future fanfic-writing pondering.

What Is Avernus? (p.75) Avernus serves as the front line of the great clash between the evil forces of chaos and law known as the Blood War. Demons from the Abyss use the River Styx to enter Avernus, where they hurl themselves against infernal legions of devils.

Avernus was not always the blasted, war-torn battlefield it is today. Long ago, it was a plane of lush gardens and bucolic beauty created by Asmodeus to tempt mortals. The intrusion of the River Styx followed by endless waves of slavering demons destroyed this paradise, leaving layer upon layer of bones, ruins, and shattered war machines. Pieces of cities stolen from other planes, tiny remnants of Avernus' lost beauty, evidence of destroyed celestial armies, and tombs of ancient travelers all dot the Avernian wasteland.

Avernus is not a place expressly for the punishment of evil souls; instead, it represents a "next level" for evil souls after the end of their wicked lives as mortals. The Nine Hells allows souls to exist in a concentrated form, where they can work through their spiritual bondage to express their dark desires such as cruelty, covetousness, the need to control, the craving for power, and uncontrolled greed. Hell offers an eternity of fulfillment from the most insignificant desires to the seven deadly sins. Every shred of evil is used in the Nine Hells, and each layer specializes in some way to accommodate and exploit the vices and weaknesses of mortals. The devils of Avernus seek to exploit pride and wrath, promising the aggrieved, enraged, and egotistical the power to fulfill their darkest obsessions. Such fulfillment, however, comes at a price.

Anyone entering Avernus finds a battlefield unlike anywhere else in existence. Evidence of past carnage, such as ruins of enormous war machines and fields of bleached bones, stretches across the horizon. Through it all, the River Styx winds its way across the plane as knots of demons and devils skirmish along its fetid banks.

Most devils in Avernus serve Zariel, though other Lords of the Nine send forces here to help repel demonic invaders. Devils who are not part of Zariel's legions serve as emissaries from the other layers or as spies for archdevils seeking signs of weakness that they can exploit to further their dreams of power.

Features of Avernus (p76)

The hellscape of Avernus sits under hideous clouds that obscure the vault of the sky, from which the occasional meteor streaks before crashing into the ground. Ambient light continually swells up from just below the horizon as thought lit by nine setting suns, yet no actual celestial bodies fill the sky, no sun, moons, or stars. This constant twilight makes it difficult for the denizens of Avernus to track the passage of time.

The atmosphere reeks of brimstone and burning tar, and hot gusts of wind shriek across the hellscape to scour the land below. Sometimes these winds swirl into immense sandstorms, which can strip flesh from bone and plunge everything into darkness.

Biting flies, hellwasps, and blood-sucking stirges patrol the air, hunting for any source of blood to feed on. Swarms of them can grow so large that they blacken the sky and deafen the ears with the sound of their wings. On the ground, wandering bands of nupperibos-blind, bloated castaways of the damned-move in thousands like living lakes of groaning flesh in their agonizing search for food. Bone fields, quicksand, bubbling tar pits, lakes of lava, canyons of wailing souls, and salt flats made from the tears of the damned all await those who wander the hellscape.

River Styx(p76)

The River Styx courses through the Lower Planes, frustrating every attempt to map it or predict its course. Getting lost while sailing the Styx isn't the only danger the river presents. Simply tasting or touching its waters can shatter a creature's intellect and personality, as well as strip away its memories. Certain fiends are immune to the river's effects, but most creatures have no defense against it.

Demon Ichor(p78) Demon ichor is what remains behind after a demon dies. It's a reduction of demonic blood, viscera and bodily fluids with the consistency and odor of bile. Enough demons die in Avernus that their ichor forms pools and small lakes. Although the ichor is harmless on most planes of existence, it can warp creatures on the Lower Planes. Devils and other creatures have found ways to use demon ichor in rituals and to improve the performance of infernal war machines.

Commerce (p78) When it comes to the souls of mortals, the Nine Hells is always open for business. In Avernus, the business is war, making sure the frontlines of the Blood War are continuously replenished with fresh troops, weapons, armor, and war machines. The main drivers behind this infernal commerce are treasure and soul coins. Treasure is only valuable to devils because of its efficacy in tempting and twisting mortals (humans in particular) toward lives of corruption, ultimately leading them to forgeit their souls. Because gold has been used for millenia in the Nine Hells, adventurers can find gold coins from civilizations long lost to history. Silver is Harmful to devils. nevertheless, devils trade silver to those wishing to eliminate rivals in their path.

Food and Drink (p78) Wisdom (survival) checks to forage in Avernus are made at disadvantage. Water exists, but tastes foul and is hard to find. Food can likewise be scrounged, but the flora and fauna taste revolting no matter the manner of preparation. Even rations brought to Avernus taste bitter and ashen.

Infernal Order of Battle (p.76) Whereas demons attack in disorganized mobs, relying on shock and overwhelming numbers to carry the day, devils organize into a basic unit called a legion. Each contains one thousand devils organized as follows:

1 legion = 10 cohorts, commanged by a legate 1 cohort = 10 lances, commanded by a signifier 1 lance = 10 devils, commanded by an optio Ranks of miserable lemures and nupperibos compose the base of dreg legions, while bearded devils and merregons make up the bulk of regular legions. Each legion sports a unique name, usually denoting its purpose and numerical designation. Examples include the following:

5th Infantry legion, "Infernal Absolution" 13th Cavalry Legion,"Bel's Fury" 47th Dreg Legion, "Piteous Fodder"

"Life In The Nine Hells (p.9) Paradise Lost Before the Blood War reduced it to a blasted wasteland, Avernus was a honey trap created by Asmodeus, a paradise of infinite delights designed to lure and enrapture mortals. Fragments of this lost paradise still plunge from Avernus' sky as burning meteors, and the land is dotted with the ruins of palaces and idyllic gardens that were obscenely beautiful in eons past. Fleeting reminders of this ancient paradise can come to characters in the following ways:

While traveling across Avernus, the characters glimpse a fantastic mirage: a grand palace or garden oasis that vanishes when they get within 100ft of it.

A random character hears beautiful music or laughter, catches the scent of flowers or perfume, or experiences a gentle caress. The sensation has no discernible source and fades after a few moments.

The characters find a relic that survived the fall of paradise, such as a beautiful vase or toppled statue. The first character to touch the relic experiences a fleeting moment of pure joy.

Anywhere is Everywhere

Geography warps at the whims of the Nine Hells. One of the liberating aspects of this planar feature is that you don';t need to be fastidious about keeping track of where locations are in relation to one another.

While the spatial distortion can be unsettling to visitors, it affords you the following benefits as a DM:

You can decide how long it takes for characters to get from one place to the next. For ex., the characters might need to travel 6 miles to get from Fort Knucklebone to Haruman's Hill, and 60 miles to get from Haruman's Hill back to Fort Knucklebone.

If the characters are in a rush to get somewhere, an imp could appear out of nowhere and, for the price of a soul coin or other valuable item, show them a shortcut that halves the distance the characters must travel to reach their destination.

The Wandering Emporium (p. 126 [emporium of merchants under the auspices of Mahadi, a rakshasa businessman and information broker who does business in across the nine hells and material plane with Asmodeus as his patron]) can show up almost anywhere in the Nine Hells, at any time. If the players don't know where to go or what to do next, or if you want to surprise them with fun roleplaying opportunities, have the Wandering Emporim arrive at the party's location, regardless of where they last saw it.

Everything's Awful Avernus is insidious in the way it fosters greed and makes visitors pay or barter for the things they need to survive. Most of the wildlife on Avernus is not edible to mortals, and most sources of water are poisonous or otherwise tainted. The rarity of edible food and drinkable water encourages hoarding behavior.

You can remind players about the awfulness of Avernus in the following ways:

Any food or drink the characters bring with them or conjure by magic retains its nutritional value but tastes awful when eaten or imbibed on Avernus. The food tastes like ash, the water tastes like bile, and the wine tastes like spoiled milk.

If the characters want something that tastes good, they must buy it from licensed sellers such as Mahadi the rakshasa, who runs a restaurant called Infernal Rapture (see page 219). The price of good-tasting meal is always a bit too high.

[fallenlightsif]

ROs theme songs????

Not exactly in reference to their romance routes, more their past and character arcs.

Florian: Broken Crown by Mumford & Sons

The mirror shows not, your values are all shot; but oh, my heart was flawed, I knew my weakness

Marcella: Eight by Sleeping at Last

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat, an ocean of tears will spill for what is broken; I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again

E: Last Words of a Shooting Star by Mitsuki

And I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy, they'll think of me kindly when they come for my things; they'll never know how I'd stared at the dark in that room with no thoughts

Ari: This Will End by The Oh Hellos

I will wait for this to end, the back and forth, the battery; for you, at last, to comprehend the kind of love of which I speak

Dimitri: Spirits by The Strumbellas

And I don't want a never-ending life, I just want to be alive while I'm here; and I don't want to see another night, lost inside of lonely life while I'm here

Julian: Angel on Fire by Halsey

‘Cause nobody seems to ask about me anymore and nobody ever cares about anything I think, and nobody seems to recognize me in the crowd, in the background screaming

Orion: Saints by Echos

Why don't you throw me to the wolves? I thought you were one; you were standing there like an angry god, counting out my sins just to cross them off

Rowan: Are You Satisfied? by MARINA

High achiever, don't you see? Baby, nothing comes for free; they say I'm a control freak driven by a greed to succeed

Kira: Gold by EDEN

And if you want you can breathe on your own, this isn't what I thought but it's beautiful; make peace with your mistakes and they'll turn to gold

Cier: Our Way by Canyon City

Look at my face, time's drawing a line, I crossed and I lost where the road divides; but I think I'm gone where I'm going tonight, I still don't know but I hope you'll find me there

Ilaria: Daylight by David Kushner

Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt, this lust is a burden that we both share; two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer; our souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

[millenniumdueled]

Without another moment's hesitation, the Other Yugi races forward. His heart pounds in his ears as he skids down the steep embankment to the canyon below.

It's impossible.

That can't be Yugi standing there inside that ring of rocks and ruins.

There's just no way.

His soul is gone, sealed by the Orichalcos.

But the Other One keeps going. His feet find the solid ground of the canyon, and he takes off running. The Puzzle beats against his chest along with his heart.

"Partner--!!!" he cries out again.

As he nears the circles, his pace slows. That uneasy sensation he'd felt before turns into something more like dread. A chill runs through him, despite the hot, dry air. Something seems to tug at his arms and clothes, like cold hands trying to hold him back. Overhead, the oppressive sunlight turns to dark clouds that roll in suddenly with a rumble of thunder.

The Other Yugi puts a hand around the Puzzle's chain, gripping it tightly as he continues in spite of the hands that try to stop him. But he doesn't run now, walking cautiously but firmly toward the figure inside those circles.

Voices fill his ears.

"Look at what you've done, Pharaoh," growls the deep voice of Marik, the dark side of him that Other Yugi once fought.

Those hands that try to hold him back take shape now. The ghosts of his past enemies rise from the sand to block his path.

Pegasus. The ventriloquist. Strings. Arcana. Kaiba.

All the classmates he'd inflicted with insanity, blindness, nightmares, even death.

They all stare him down now.

"Monster."

"Sadist."

"Murderer."

The Other Yugi tears his arm from their grap, setting his jaw and clutching the Puzzle as he marches forward, through the ghosts that stand before him.

"You're no king. You're nothing but a wicked, vengeful, coward," a spectral Weevil sneers.

But the Pharaoh walks through him too.

Now that he can see the figure waiting for him clearly, nothing can stop him.

Let those ghosts tell him what he already knows. Maybe they're right. Maybe he is prideful and selfish. Maybe there is darkness in his heart. Maybe that's why he's still reaching out for the Partner he might not deserve. If he's so selfish, why shouldn't he?

As he steps foot inside the first of those circles carved in the sand, the ghosts disappear. But the man waiting in the center of the ruins does not.

"Partner..." the Paraoh gasps, standing before him now. "Is it really you...?"

"why did you come here, other me?" Yugi's doesn't sound excited to see his other half. There's only disappointment in his violet red eyes.

"I wanted to see you, I-- I needed. To see you--" He reaches out, tries to take his Partner in his arms, just to pass through another ghost.

"see what? this hollow form?" Yugi asks with a voice tinged in sorrow.

Other Yugi chokes down a dry sob once again. "Partner, please. I don't know what's right or wrong or even real anymore. When you were with me, I knew kindness and compassion. The world was beight and beautiful, but without you, it-- I feel so empty."

Yugi doesn't speak.

"Please, I need you! I don't know what to do, I. If I keep fighting, I'll only hurt more people. I can't Duel without taking a life, but I can't sit back and let Doma destroy the world, either!!"

He wants to cry, seeing the way Yugi looks away from him, still silent.

"I'm scared, Partner," he chokes. "I'm scared of hurting, I'm scared of losing, I'm scared of knowing who I really am!! I'm scared to unlock my memories, I'm scared to--"

"is this why you wanted to see me so bad?" Yugi cuts him off sharply.

"Partner--"

"just to bitch and whine? you never even asked if i'm okay."

The realization hits Other Yugi with a start. His stomach drops.

"I-I'm sorry. I--"

"you really are selfish. you say you need me, but what about what i need? i needed you, too. i trusted you. with my body, heart, and soul. and you played that card anyway! you were only thinking about yourself, just like now."

The Other Yugi doesn't respond now. He just stares helplessly as his better half turns away from him.

"i knew this day would come eventually. i used to dream of dueling you, but i always thought it would be as friends," Yugi says sadly. He walks away from his Other Self, to the edge of the center circle. As he finally turns back to face the Other, a DuelDisk appears on his left arm.

"Partner, you don't-- You don't have to do this, We don't--"

"yes. i do. if darkness has really taken over your heart, then i don't really have a choice. i have to defeat you, and take it as a farewell between you and me. we can both die, separate forever."

"I don't want to fight you, please. We don't have to do this!" Though he pleads, the Other finds himself reluctantly readying his own DuelDisk.

"duel, start."

[fnvminorcharacterpoll]

FNV Minor Character Poll - Round 2-B, Day 3

Left: Doctor Usanagi, Followers surgeon at New Vegas Medical Clinic. —"We believe that technology for basic necessities, like food, water, and medicine, should be shared, not hoarded. We're also strongly in favor of proper education. I've come across more than a few 'doctors' whose techniques came out of the back of a magazine."

Right: Jerry the Punk, Great Khan with aspirations of poetry. —"This is a poem I wrote about the dark loneliness that suffuses my soul. (ahem) Rainclouds wrap my heart in sorrow black as silk. My empty scream does not echo, even though we're in a canyon. My soul aches, but not as much as my limbs, because I've been beaten severely."

Designated cheerleaders were not available for this match-up.

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