#divinities rend dreams

[starlitcrows]

Farewell, brave heart. Do not forgive me.

[cleric4vampire]

specced Gale as a divination wizard this time around and oh boy. now I'm in danger of heartbreak with every fight because he spends the vast majority of his turns and spellslots protecting us all in battle. spellcaster targeting us? BOOM counterspell. archer trying to inflict a piercing shot? BOOM portent die. lacerate? trip attack? psychic rend? PORTENT DIE!

feeling through the tendrils of the Weave, brief glances into the slivers of the very near future, using his magic to shield us all from harm. and all I can think about is how he believes his worth is tied to how useful he can be to other people and it makes me want to WEEP

icing on the cake was when we first visited the Astral Plane, right as my tav goes to head into the Beckoning Cave to speak with the dream visitor —

bitch

[peach-comix]

The Beast Beneath [fem!Tav X Emperor, slight NSFW]

this fic is NSFW but it is not smut 👍 the sex is for PLOT RELATED REASONS and is symbolic (btw act 3 spoilers)

Also crossposted on AO3.

—

“Is there any part of your body that is not perfect?” She asked, her fingers trailing from his scalp down to his face, and her thumb finding its way to rest beneath his chiselled jawline.

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied with a sly smirk, voice weighted with reverence and depth: touches tender and almost… devout.

As for him, the monster hiding under her bed (or, hiding under the face of her lover in this moment), who knew what he thought of her?

But in this fleeting moment, she felt… loved. She felt seen. And so she closed her eyes and continued the fairytale.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Since their first night together, Tav and the Emperor have fallen into a routine together. Perhaps it is genuine lust for the being who was only conjured to seduce and tempt her, or perhaps she has fallen in genuine love with the beast beneath. But for now, at least, Tav has been summoned back into the Astral Prism, that her protector might pay his toll for her loyalty and subservience.

Too bad for Tav that she was always a sucker for a man in armour…

When they would crash into one another like a powerful wave hitting the shoreline, she could run her hands up and down his torso… up his strong neck, through his tousled locks… and almost imagine that she was cradling that gallant knight in resplendent armour.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[[Perhaps you would prefer my… other form?]] He’d asked, the first night they shared. The night in which he’d come to her, having abandoned his usual armour. She had been peering through his tentacles, and trying to find a mouth she could plunge her tongue into… Treating him too much like a human being. She’d only seen those sharp rows of teeth, reminiscent of a shark’s maw — and her mind could only conjure unsettling visions of them rending through her skin and tissue asunder. He seemed to sense her confusion and… perhaps, her revulsion. [[It might be more familiar for you to navigate.]]

She had found some solace in that. He was far from human: his digits too foreign, head too alien. Mind flayers hailed from realms beyond, she recalled reading, and now she understood it. As she gazed into the dim glow of his amethyst eyes, shimmering admist the ethereal haze of the astral plane, she sensed a stark absence of… emotion. In that suspended moment — airborne with him — the undeniable reality struck her. He is not human. And maybe that was visually obvious. But even down to his very core: he had been human, once, but now the man he’d been was gone. Far, far, far gone.

He was no gallant knight astride a noble steed, asking her to “let down your hair!”. He was an eldritch horror, asking her to claim for him a crown.

She felt the air beneath her feet and felt her lungs empty of breath.

No, he was no dashing knight. He was a beast. A horror.

And yet, as she looked into those eyes, she could see the knight she had dreamed of before the honour guards’ attack.

With a breath that quivered in the astral air and words that lingered with a profound weight, she finally answered. “Yes, please.”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

And the monster was gone. Leaving behind a figure straight from the pages of her cherished novels. Even now, a few weeks into their strange… arrangement, he remained an amalgamation of every man she had ever found attractive; every feature she had ever held in admiration. A canvas painted with strokes stolen from her memories of desire, adoration, and affection. A hauntingly beautiful visage, embodiment of divinity and boundless allure, that seemed… beyond reach. Unattainable. As though her very touch - a touch from such a mortal, limited, and imperfect being, might somehow sully this wondrous creation.

Perched atop him, her thighs astride his large form, she delicately combed her fingers through his hair. Soft: a texture akin to the finest cashmere. Or silk. Even his very touch - even the texture of his hair - was tailored to her preferences. Her nails glided over his scalp, his long tresses billowing out beneath him: cascading like a lush flowerbed onto the astral ground.

He gazed up at her through his eyelashes. A sight designed to bring forth tenderness only elicited a wry smirk from her. Every single eyelash, every strand of hair upon his head, he had meticulously crafted solely for her pleasure.

This was their dance. It was the toll the beast paid, every other night, for her continued loyalty. 

She felt his hands distinctly, their presence acute as they nestled in the curve of her waist, fingers tenderly resting on her hips. They glided along the gentle dip of her abdomen; reverently over the dip of fat protecting her womb. And the thought conjured lustful images in her mind, images that he must have felt, of this perfect knight filling her womb with a child… a child made from them. (Images she cast aside as quickly as they had come. And she told herself this was love for the knight and not the beast underneath. Definitely not. Could they even have a child together?) His hands traced the contours of her body, embracing every curve and contour; every rise of fat or lean muscle…. 

“Is there any part of your body that is not perfect?” She asked, her fingers trailing from his scalp down to his face, and her thumb finding its way to rest beneath his chiselled jawline.

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied with a sly smirk, voice weighted with reverence and depth: touches tender and almost… devout.

Her lips tightened in displeasure. She knew the truth. You don’t mean that. She had seen his true face. And his ilk felt no sexuality: no earthly desires, neither love nor lust. He was as  incapable of loving her as he was of lusting for her. The beast beneath was indulging her lust, not out of affection, but to better unsheathe his prized sword when she would be needed. 

But here, in this moment, there was no monster. There was only her knight in shining armour, the one who had rescued her from her tower and carried her across his shoulder. The one she had prayed for in the darkness of her childhood: a good man. An honourable man, kind with even kinder eyes, hair gleaming like the first light of dawn, and eyes a starry night sky. A man who could only exist in the realm of fiction: somebody who loved her, who cherished even her greatest flaws and still regarded her as perfection. Whose touches were more befitting a priest to his holy book.

As for him, the monster hiding under her bed (or, hiding under the face of her lover in this moment), who knew what he thought of her? As he stood now, in the centuries (or however long it was) after ceremorphosis, he was a being beyond her comprehension, transcending the limits of human understanding. Could he even feel, she wondered? And if he did, what did he feel for her?

But in this fleeting moment, she felt… loved. She felt seen. And so she closed her eyes and continued the fairytale.

He had vanquished the dragon and ascended her tower… He told her she was safe now and carried her to refuge… And when they found solace, she had eagerly stripped him of his armour, tearing it away like a predator rending tendons from its captured prey. She initiated it, and he had desired it, not out of base lust like a man with lowly urges, but as an act of love. Because he loved her.

Because he was a man from fiction, and therefore a good and honourable man. 

In a world marred by darkness and horror, where virtuous men were often punished and rejected for their good deeds - she could find sanctuary in his warm and stable embrace. She could pretend they were together because of love: because she loved him, and he loved her back. Their connection wasn’t imposed by fate; here, he was not a necessary evil but a well-deserved sanctuary. 

His purple silken garb draped over his broad chest, exposing one of his breasts, and she cupped it like a precious delicacy.

They met eyes, and she could unmistakably feel his arousal rising beneath her.

“I love you,” she sighed into the crook of his neck, bestowing kisses onto the skin there.

He smiled kindly. 

She guided herself onto him: a position that usually took the reins, but even in her position of control, he remained in charge. (And she told herself that it was not the creature lurking beneath, with his insatiable hunger for control even in her fantasies, but simply the manifestation of safety. She didn’t have to bear responsibility; here, she could let go and be secure.)

His strong arms enveloped her, drawing her closer, and every thrust was perfectly timed and aligned, hitting her just right in the way she’d wanted. (It was not the creature reading her thoughts, desires, and expectations, she told herself. It was the man, who was remarkably experienced and skillful. Yes, that was the one.)

His large hands continued their reverent exploration of her form, cradling her with unwavering stability as their rhythmic dance persisted. 

“I love you,” he murmured gently back to her, his voice an oasis of serenity amidst the fervent urgency of their union. His voice was too calm and settled despite his desperate and starved thrusting. 

But here, at least, when she had coaxed the creature under his disguise, she felt safe. At least with him under this face, she did.

—

hope you guys enjoyed feel free to tell me if you did and any thoughts on this and also requests (im kind of open to them rn)

also please word vomit at me about the emperor I LOVE HIM!!!! HE IS A CUTIE!!!

[thenewgothictwice]

Iraqi poet Nazik al-Mala’ika - Revolt Against the Sun: A gift to the rebels (trans. by Emily Drumsta).

She stood before the sun, screaming out loud:

Oh Sun, my rebel’s heart is just like you:

while young, it washed away much of my life,

its lights quenched the stars’ thirst, ever renewed.

Careful – don’t let the sadness in my eyes

or these copious tears deceive your sight.

This sadness is the form of my revolt,

to which the gods bear witness every night.

Careful, don’t be deceived by my pale skin,

these quivering emotions, this dark frown.

If you see indecision, or the lines

of fierce poetic sadness on my brow,

know that it’s feeling causing my soul’s grief

and tears at life’s terror – it’s prophecy

that failed to fly, but stood up to resist

a life of sadness and melancholy.

My lips are fastened shut over their pain,

my eyes are thirsty for sweet drops of dew,

the evening left its shadow on my brow

and morning’s killed off all my pleas to you.

I came to pour out my uncertainty

in nature, amid fragrances and shade,

but you, Sun, mocked my sadness and my tears

and laughed, from up above, at all my pain.

Even you, Sun? Alas, what misery!

You were the one I yearned for in my dreams,

you were the one whose name I once revered,

singing the praises of your smiling beams.

You were the one I once held sacred and

idolized as a refuge from all pain.

But now, crusher of dreams, melancholy,

darkness, and shadows are all that remain.

I will shatter the idol that I built

to you out of my love for radiance

and turn my eyes away from your bright light –

you’re nothing but a ghost, splendor’s pretense.

I’ll build a heaven out of hidden hopes

And live without your luminosity.

We dreamers know we hold within our souls

divine secrets, a lost eternity.

Do not spread out your beams over my grove,

You rise for other than my poet’s heart.

Your light no longer stirs feelings in me,

the night stars now inspire all my art.

They are the friends who guard me in the dark,

they understand the feelings that ignite

my spirit, they extend thin, silver threads

to guide my eyes through the enchanted night.

Night is life’s melody, its poetry,

here gods of beauty roam to their content,

here uninhibited souls fly about

and spirits hover in the firmament.

How often I have wandered to forget

life’s gloomy sorrows in the evening’s dark,

upon my lips, a divine melody

recited by a caravan of stars.

How often I have watched stars as they pass

letting the twilight tune my incantations,

and watched the moon bidding the night goodbye,

and roamed the valleys of imagination.

The silence sends a shiver through my spine

beneath the evening’s dome, so still and dark,

light dances, painting on my eyelids with

the dreamy palette of a peaceful heart.

And as for you, oh Sun… what can I say?

What can my feelings hope to find in you?

Don’t be surprised that I’m in love with night,

goddess of cruel flames that melt us through.

You rend our dreams on the horizon line,

you decimate what we build in the dark,

you shatter magic visions, ghostly dreams,

and break the silence in a poet’s heart.

All of your dancing lights look pale, oh Sun,

compared to my resistance and its fire.

Your mad flames can’t tear up my melody

so long as my hands grasp this singing lyre.

And when you flood the earth, remember this:

My temple has no room for your cruel light

I aim to bury the past you revealed

And live beneath the canopy of night.

[sculptorofcrimson]

You speak of the joy of combat, the blood of the scars and the crimson of gore. How foolish. You carrying your master’s banner high in the air, of dying for retribution, for vengeance, for justice, for treachery, for power, for immortality. How naive.

How sweet of you to think your story will matter. How endearing of you to reach for the stars. How foolish, how tempting, how painful for you to dream of oblivion, of avengeance.

How foolish of you to try.

You will die, little lamb, you will die torn apart by our artillery, scorched to the earth beneath our thunder.

Hear me now, you bloodstained filth of the earth, little more than savage hounds thrown upon blades to die. We have come to kill you, and you have come to die. We will herd you into slaughterhouses and butcher you like cattle, and there shall be nothing glorious about your death. There will be only the humiliation of oblivion, of thunder and shells as His glory brings the very sky crashing down upon you. 

We will drown you in lead, and trap you in steel. We will build walls a thousand times higher until you break yourselves upon our bulwark, we will rain death from above as you shall learn of despair.

Children of the dancing pale, abandon your hopes. Shatter your mirrors, and tear your last paintings of age-old glory to dust. You cannot dance forever, and your song has winded down to an end. We will sing you a dirge, a mournful dirge, of springtime lost and wintertime eternal as His machines grind your bones to dust and scatter you beneath their treads. Your artworks will be razed as your empire was razed, your precious stones lost as you have been lost.

Children of the dreaded night, abandon your dreams. Your empire has fallen, your siblings all alone. When you hunger, when you starve, when you waste away into a death you’ve staved off through the blood of our brethren, we will be there. When you crawl back to us to feed, with hungry eyes and hollow skin, we will be there. We will avenge our mothers you ravaged, our fathers you ravished, our sisters you snatched from their beds and our brothers you carved and butchered. We will avenge our soldiers, and the blaze of our storm will be the last thing your monstrous eyes will ever see upon this fetid earth. We are the tide, and we are unending. No matter how gracefully you dance, how horrific your song, we will drown you beneath our screams and the blaze of our guns. The song of our bullets will be the last you ever see, and we can die, happy, knowing we have been avenged. 

Children of the metallic blue, abandon your guns. Shed your mockery of compassion. Blast your boastful taunts to ash. There will be no range you can hide from, no greater good for your lesser evil. We will find you, and we will paint the earth blue with your blood. We will hunt you down, and drag you to death a thousand times over beneath the fingers of ten thousand gloved hands. 

Children of the blackened oblivion, abandon your slumber. You will scream as we have screamed when we crush your bones to oblivion, when we bury you once more in the tombs you have forsaken. Your dynasty will crumble like sands before our unending charge, your dead kings will die thrice more by our infinite hands. And when you gasp your last, the Emperor will gaze upon your broken bones, and smile. 

Children of the bleeding crimson, abandon your axes. Lay down your armor, cast down your stakes and dream of death, eternal and unforgiving. The endless Emperor is with us and we are immortal. Your charges will break upon the bulwark that is humanity. Your blades will shatter upon the armor of our endless regiments, upon the wrath that is His divine fist. You can not win. Our soldiers will cull you from above. Our shells will rend your armor to paper. You will die not like a god, nor like a man, you will die like a rabid beast, screaming in the fires of His wrath. You will die beneath the storm of our guns and the hail of our soldiers. Tonight, there will be no honor in your death, no glory for your false lord. There will only be oblivion. Pray for us, crimson ones, pray for oblivion, pray that your end is swift, and merciful. For we are unbreakable, and our march is unending.

Children of the liar’s blue, abandon your spells. Your tongues are tied, your plots have faltered. We will march resolute, and we will bring you down. Even a treacherous worm like you must kneel before reality itself. Our soldiers’ blood will clog your feathers, their dying grasps will clutch at your wings and talons until bones shatter and you are one of us now, crawling upon the earth, mortal, weak, so incredibly weak, but without our armor of faith, without the eye of the Emperor. Our soldiers’ death grip will tear out your feathers one by one. Our guns will speak the final truth you will ever know as you die like the traitor you are, squirming, helpless, and mortal.

Children of the rotting green, abandon your anguish. Your pain is nothing compared to what we have endured. We have marched through hell, we have died in hell, and we have soldiered on. We are the Astra Militarum, and there is no limit to our wrath. Our barracks will run rampant with the corpses of your infestation, and your poxes will be crushed beneath the bulk of our endless tide, for we are humanity, and we are unending. The Emperor’s light will sear you crimson and pale, His vengeful glare will scald you from that which was and that which shall be. Death will reclaim you, as death has claimed us all, yet we will endure where you will not. 

Children of the fervent purple, abandon your revels. It is we who shall revel in your death throes. You will find no satisfaction here, in the hollowed servants of His light. You will find only death, and the artisans of His wrath. You will be annihilated, your joy tampered by His rage, your dances cut short by incendiaries and blades. There will be nothing tantalizing in your death. There will only be humiliation, as the artillery annihilates your kind and our guns transform your bones to paste. You will be eradicated, completely and utterly obliterated from the face of His light, for that is the death from which no soul can recover. You will die, your song strangled, your dance interrupted, in a symphony of smoke and screaming shrapnel. 

Children of the golden light, embrace your honor. Even in death, we still yet endure. We are humanity, we are the Astra Militarium, we have held the line for eons and we will hold the line for eternity more. We were those who stayed behind, cut to the last, shredded, flayed, burned, we are those who glared down the eyes of gods with men. We are mortals, so weak, so small, yet Chaos has yet to bring us down. The Eldar have yet to break our ranks, the Necrons yet to drain the life from our corpses. We were mortals, weak in flesh and bone, so fragile, so expendable, yet we held the line.

We are mortal, and tonight, we endure. 

[wxnheart]

𝐀𝐦ā𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝

It envelops you like waves, this fascination, leaving you ecstatically sundered and submerged in golden glory. A golden glory you can't escape from. A golden glory you don't want to escape from.

And you dream of it. Dream of Him and his allure, holding on to you tightly and never letting go. He whispers words of encouragement against the backdrop of a polluted sky; He murmurs appellations in the dismal dusk; He captivates you with the stories of lifetimes past as you feign sleep on your ragged pallet.

You will become one He says, and you believe it with your entire being. Why wouldn't you? It makes the seemingly endless days and painstaking labor worth it.

No one else understands your destiny. How can they? They don't know the things He tells you. They can't see what He shows you. And why would they? They can't know. They can't ever know. And so you dream in silence. You dream in peace.

You dream of darkness, the void of nothingness, tearing you away from His powerful arms. You dream of tendrils and claws, covered in the stench of evil, rending your mind, body, and spirit. You dream of darkness, the void of nothingness, and you weep in despair.

You dream of resplendence blanketing you in gilded affection. You dream of a man remarkable, unremarkable, and divine all at once, and His gaze, the lifetime of a million stars, pierces your heart like a flaming arrow. You cling to him in your desperation and He, with a yearning you've never felt before, tells you that you are loved and that none will harm you. His words ring true and you will become One.

And you believe it. You believe it with your entire being. Why wouldn't you?

No one understands. No one understands the words you speak, and no one understands the promises He's made. No one understands the things you've dreamt, the things He's shown you. And why would they? They've never felt the embrace of gilded affection, never seen the lifetime of stars in His eyes. And why would they? It's for you. And you alone.

He comforts you amidst the backdrop of a polluted sky; He reassures you with calm wisdom and gentle praises. You are loved once more and soon, you will become One.

And you can't wait for the day. You toil and rage, toil and survive, toil and dream, and the disconnect grows ever wider. They wouldn't understand. And why would they?

You can't wait for the day... until it comes. Heavenly figures, their very presence inflicting pain, pulls you roughshod from the fray and his words echo throughout your heart. Soon, you will become One.

You hold on to that, hold on to his words amidst the stench of death, decay, and a litany of terror. You remember the stars in his eyes and how they penetrated your heart. You remember his words and the yearning has grown ever fervent; 'This', you say, 'is true love...'

You hold on to his words as you walk among angels, brilliant and dazzling, and oh, my love—!

You hold on to his words as the pain, a litany of terror, envelops you. No one understands. Why would they? It is for you. And you alone.

You find yourself submerged in golden glory, one you can't escape from, one you don't want to escape from, and you're face-to-face with Him again, remarkable, unremarkable, and divine all at once, and you knew then as you do now that His words rang true.

That regal visage, a lifetime of a million stars in the contours of His face, smiles a beatific smile, and you fall into ecstasy.

He holds you tight, never letting go, and You become One.

[limbobilbo]

Cringe lyrics I wrote for some of the ultrakill songs:

The Fire is Gone:

Here I stand

Isolation, the end

Nothing above, nor below

In silence I ponder

Alone with my thoughts

At last,

the fire is gone

In silence I ponder

Alone with my thoughts

At last the fire is gone.

The voices, the screams

The blood and the gore

All silent

The fire is gone

In silence I ponder

Alone with my thoughts

At last, the fire is gone

Mankind is dead

And blood is my curse

At last, the fire is gone.

Hell has gone quiet

I know that for sure.

And at last, the fire is gone.

Take Care (the terminal song):

Everything so loud

Just want to pipe right down

So take a rest now

The Fight for your life

Is causing you strife

So stop

And take a rest now

Weapons and Creatures galore

Gaming and Shopping and more

Keep the lights on

I’ll keep singing this song

So stop

And get some rest now

Screams all around you

In their home they’ve found you

Forget

And take a load off

Rest for a while

You can’t even smile

But I know

Its what youre thinking

All that blood and that gore

Isnt here anymore

Forget all about it

Pay them no mind at all

Let’s have a break now

You’re just a machine

Unable to dream

But I know

You can take a break now

And once you are gone

I’ll stop singing my song

Once more

But then again I know

You’ll come back for one more show

And I’ll be right here

And Ready to cheer

You up

and so

I see you depart

But know in your heart

Or whatever

You have

Inside you

That I am drunk

On the love that I feel

Towards you

And only you

And I know once again

You’ll come back to me and then

I’ll sing me song

And you wont stay for long

But you’ll know

To rest now

Everything so loud

Just want to pipe right down

So take a rest now

Versus:

no matter what

you think you are

no matter what

you think I am

We are the same

[chorus]

I AM YOU

YOU ARE ME

WE ARE THE SAME

I AM YOU

YOU ARE ME

WE ARE THE SAME

I AM YOU

YOU ARE ME

WE ARE THE SAME

I AM- (WE ARENT ONE)

[chorus]

What are you

Going to do

I’ll succeed

And you’ll be through

So take your gun

Shoot at me

No you missed

You are not

On par with me

You’ll never be

You’re just a poor

Reflection of me

I will break you

[chorus]

Take your shot

I know you’ll miss again

This is your test

Single Combat

You and me

No holds barred

So step on up and fight

Versus V

What do you think

Will come of this

Break apart

You heap of tin

And then you’ll come back

Try to best me

I kill you one more time

You’re no match for

V

Im your adversary

Shadow on the wall

A reflection of you

To bring your downfall

[chorus]

[chorus]

Everything you do

You do poorly

Even following my lead

You’ll just mess up again

YOU DISGUST ME

[chorus]

Your plan

Is just a charade

No matter what you do

We’ll still be caged

So try again you pathetic construct

The only way you’ll best me is through luck

Im your foe

your greatest adversary

Now die for V!

Divine intervention (Gabriel act 1):

Everything before

Faced beyond that door

Was just a test

Infernal Machine

Slumber in eternal rest

Father

In your light I walk

Before me it glows

Grant me thy strength

To vanquish this foe

Pray to god

And hope that he

Chooses to forgive

Your trespasses

Upon this ground

If not

Then I

Shall rend thy flesh

Bow before

The Father above

Grant me strength

Grant me that my work

May be simple and clean

Make your last stand you foul machine

I am in gods light

Following order

Grant me this fight

Nothing matters before now

Now face The might

Of an angel!

Nothing matters before now

Now face The might

Of an angel!

Damned machine

Being of steel

Mankind is dead

Blood is not yours to steal

Blade in hand and

Faith in heart

Let will be done

Now that would be smart

Everything around me is

Quaking in its death throes

Blood and Gore

Everything around me is

Quaking in its death throes

Red and Black

Feel my blade

Rend thy flesh

Fall into darkness

Return and then Depart.

Altars of Apostasy:

Heresy

Apostasy

Blasphemy

Burn now

Heresy

Apostasy

Blasphemy

Oh lord

Burn in the fires of hell

Repent all your sins

Your soul is damned

Pray for forgiveness

Oh lord

Grant me strength

And mercy

Oh God

Forgive me

Oh lord

Oh happy day

Save me

Please lord

Is there no end

To this

Oh please

Save me

Dear lord

Help me

Please

Death of God’s will (gabriel act 2):

(I didnt do this one in full only got a bit)

My mind is clear now

All around me, red and black

Blood and hatred galore

I see the truth now

Call me apostate

Now face my sword or bow down

I am in hatred now

This is thy fate

Die beneath my blade!

[joseph4inspiration]

(Joel 2: 28)

I believe we are living in a time where the outpouring of the Holy Spirit is even greater than at the time of Pentecost.

But this verse doesn't start out saying, "That I will put out my spirit on all flesh ...", it starts out with saying, "And it shall come to pass afterward...". After what? After repentance. If you read chapter 2 you'll notice there is a shift starting at verse 12, where it starts out with, "Now, therefore, says the Lord". God wanted people to know that what was next was not just a move of the Holy Spirit, but was from His mouth - His divine will being made known unto man from His own mouth.

Verses 12 - 13 deals with repentance. when it comes to God, everything starts with repentance. But not traditional repentance. In verse 13, God said, "Rend your hearts not your garments". During the Old Testament times, it was customary to rip your clothes as an act of sorrow and repentance, but God said rip your hearts -confess and change - be sincere.

If people would be willing to seriously repent, God would pour out His spirit the way He wants to, and the move of God would blow our minds as entire households are saved, these visions and dreams will take place to give edification to the Church and warning to sinners.

[starlitcrows]

pinches his cheek

[incinxrate]

⎸ Closed Starter  ⎸  ⁂  @fallesto​​

❝  You really have to become a demon, Kyojuro!  ❞

Silken cackles, honey laced praise, so wetly dripping from the upper moon’s parted lips. Porcelain and ink painted features shifting once more. Carved upon only utter ecstasy now. A brilliant grin dancing upon Akaza’s face, baring razor fangs. As one iron fist sharply, thunderously, met that ruby sword. Saturating the air around them in clamoring symphonies that only set more and more of the demon’s nerves and molten desires aflame.

And this very man before him. With nary a flicker of hesitation etched upon those ambrosial features. With nary a single opening within each beautiful stance. Despite the variety of wounds marring that lithe frame now. Staining through, even, to that sweltering haori of rising embers. 

And this neat and indefinite pain burning through Akaza, even if only for a mere instant, of every limb perfecting rend from the demon. Time upon time. A radiant melody of unrelenting and divine cuts slicing through Akaza. The brief agonies only spurring the sheer delight from the upper moon further still. So very grateful of near instant regenerations...

So that he might bare witness to Kyojuro’s reverent powers again and again. Those utterly erroneous dreams of his. To save every single one here. Without any regards nor thoughts towards his own life. Which irked the demon a bit. Kyojuro was worth so much more than every human and slayer upon the train combined. His heart, and his body, his very soul all alit within passionate flames. 

Burning into ash, everything around the flame hashira...

Oh, how Akaza wished he could fight this man for all eternity....

Truly, Kyojuro was wasted here. Withering away within this pointless, weak, demon slayer corps. Fighting for the sake of those whom had never even done a single thing in return. And yet, Kyojuro was just as stubborn as he was appealing.

As one indigo dipped foot thunderously flew up, careening towards the flame hashira to kick him. Leaping up high after him,  gracefully landing before Kyojuro. As those fractured, amber, hues, all but glowing within the pallid moonlight, ghosting upon the slayer now. A rapturous and predatory smile tugging upon those porcelain features. 

Breathing in so deep the very sight before him...

Of those sturdy shoulders hunched slightly in weariness now. The slight dimming within those golden hues. Trying, failing, to catch his breath. Stubborn. Stubborn. Just why was he trying so hard for these weak fools?

Didn’t he know he was going to die?

❝  These wounds will kill you, Kyojuro. I can help you. I can save you! Just say the word. Kyojuro!!  Let me turn you into a demon!! ❞

So haplessly entangled within the flame pillar’s own humanity, his fruitless goals. Kyojuro had no time left....

Akaza must speak to him even more. Convince him to see the perfect truths. Of how strong, of how wonderful and perfect the other would be as a demon. As those fractured hues glanced over to the others for a second before ghosting back upon the pillar. One arm suddenly reaching out then. Easily hoisting that bloodied form upon one shoulder. Before deftly leaping away.  The lingering melody of the other slayer’s screams, as they called out for the hashira, ringing within the air. Growing more and more quiet behind them as Akaza sped through the forest.

[suguwu]

genshin impact masterlist

zhongli I morax

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 divinity lost ✬ yandere tw

🩸cockwarming✬ n.sfw 

🩸hand kisses

🩸half-dragon form morax ✬ n.sfw

🩸 distraction

🩸 soulmates

🩸 the house on the hill ✬ gothic romance au

childe

fics:

🩸 rite

As the winter starts to become endless, threatening your village, you seek a solution in an ancient ritual. It doesn't quite go as planned.

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 first blood ✬ yandere tw

🩸 rend ✬ vampire au ✬ n.sfw 

🩸 covet

🩸 blood knight

neuvillette

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 dreaming

🩸pronunciation

🩸 just a scratch

🩸 distraction

pantalone

fics:

🩸 mr. worldwide (series) ✬ n.sfw

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 covet

🩸 stolen

🩸 mr. worldwide

🩸 generosity ✬ n.sfw

🩸 balancing act ✬ n.sfw

kaeya

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 the safest way to love you ✬ abyss prince au

🩸 keys

diluc

fics:

🩸 moon eater I masterlist

a mondstadt diplomat in liyue, your close relationship with the fatui harbinger tartaglia draws diluc's piercing attention. ever hungry for information on the fatui, he comes up with a plan—marrying you. you agree.

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 royal au & inclement weather

🩸 loose ponytails

🩸 deliberate ✬ n.sfw

🩸 modern au & drunk vegas wedding

🩸 inexperience ✬ n.sfw

thoma

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 squash blossoms

🩸thoma + teaching you and ayato to kiss

🩸 thoma + teaching you and ayato more

ayato

drabbles & thirsts:

🩸 naga ayato ✬ n.sfw

🩸 thoma + teaching you and ayato to kiss

🩸 thoma + teaching you and ayato more

last updated ✬ march 17

all masterlists

[inferniso]

✢⁎. split a sky

@etoilerrante sent:

Phina barely had a moment to catch her breath before she was directed to her next opponent. She urged her pegasus onwards, to a new section of the battlefield, lance raised in challenge at the person she stood before.

“Hello!” Her voice was dampened by the rain, but she hoped her tone carried enough. “Let’s give this our all!”

With that warning, Phina’s pegasus galloped forward, and her lancetip aimed straight for the other.

[Phina (5/5) attacks Idunn with Blessed Lance. 1d20-2 roll: 8 -> 6. Hit. Idunn HP 4.5/6]

The hit was solid, but not as hard as she hoped. She tugged the reins back to prepare herself for the counterattack.

There it is again: that familiar command, that tolling bell.

Let’s give this our all!

It seizes her faster than she would have liked, breaking through any sort of independent thought or personal desire. It cracks through her walls, and though unintended, dredges up a murky dream spent obeying the whims of another.

Phina has called the Demon Dragon.

When her arms move and block the blow, they feel a different sensation than last time. Not seeping poison, but burning light. The tip of Phina’s spear rends her flesh, bathing manakete scales in its heavenly glow. It is an arbiter of heaven--a judge of sins. And one day, far into the future, when Idunn’s soul is laid to rest, she holds firm that this light will not be so forgiving.

“Give our all,” she dronishly repeats, rather than coughing or flinching at the force of the other’s blow. “Very well.” 

In the short time she is spared during Phina’s recoil, Idunn grips her dragonstone. From a flashy display emerge wings of light and dark, then a tail of holy feather and hellish scale, and finally a body half-divine, half-demon. Idunn is still the same amalgamation of her two draconic forms, soul torn asunder and will unable to walk one path over the other. It’s a terrifying display. One can only wonder how her last opponent managed to stomach it all.

But that matters little. Heeding the pinkette’s order, her neck draws back so it can belch sacred fire. Breath spreads across an open air, hunting the wings of the other’s pegasus--wishing to melt them like wax.

[Idunn (4.5/6) counterattacks Phina with Phoenix Claws. 1d20-2 roll: 12 -> 10. Hit -> Crit. Phina HP 3/5]

[sculptorofcrimson]

A work in progress of Horus/Emperor(or at least the starting point)

Horus Wins AU.

~~~~~~~~~

What if Horus had won? 

And what if he had spared the Emperor, for death would have been too merciful a fate?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.” - William Congreve

Horus should have never survived the duel with his father. 

Blades flash, an exchange of poetry with no words, and each strike echoes, swelling up like a wave and crashing down like vengeance incarnate. Each cut upon his armor was the rending of a promise, a treaty broken. 

Each blow is betrayal in a thousand forms, each gaping wound is a scar that shall never heal, never close. Each wound would never be stitched together by even the finest of physicians, for it was something so dreadfully broken it could never heal, never mend, like a bone that had been shattered and grew back together warped and impossibly flawed. 

The Angel is dead. The Devil is laughing. And God has fallen. 

They slash at each other, hacking with abandon, as father slayed son and son devoured father. Each cut burns like betrayal, living hatred that cuts deeper than their blades. They dance a song of blades that stain their armors a crimson red as they tread through where the Angel had fallen, and scattered all his feathers so carelessly over the halls of the Vengeful Spirit. A perfect plume of sanguine red tumbles, wavering naively amid the battletorn air, and a fraction of a second later it was gone as the Emperor’s sword slices it from stem to stern. The feather falls, and lands soaked in its master’s blood.

Even in death, Sanguinius was beautiful. 

As they weave their poetry and as their song of blades rises to a crescendo, a Terminator tries to intervene. He dares to interrupt their perfect dance of blasphemy, of damnation, of a father’s fall foretold. 

How foolish of him. 

He dies with no glory, no song of vengeance, and no vengeance unfolds. What remains of him is quickly carried away by the speed of their duel, his ashes spreading scattered like the Traitor’s sins.

The next fool was clad in gold and auramite as a Custodian tries to save his lord. 

Foolish boy.

Art thou dreaming, or art thou merely mad? What is a man to a god? Where is your master now? Where are your spears of so-called golden vengeance, why do you silence your warsong of gilded death? Where is your dear Constantin Valdor, your beloved Captain-General, and where he is now when his master lies broken before the Traitor’s claws? 

Where is your duty now, child? 

Not even ashes remain of the fool this time. Horus doesn’t even spare him a passing glance. 

Their blows thunder like rain, and their slashes rain like thunder. Their blades cross with hatred reborn, love crushed and stamped upon and rebirthed in the forges of Malice and Vengeance. Their wrath echoes throughout the throne room, and the Vengeful Spirit enacts her vengeance. 

The Emperor was nothing less than a god, not even the gifts of the Ruinous Powers could have ruined him, not even the vengeful adoration of a treacherous son could have slain the father. For if Horus was Lucifer and Adam, the son of all sins, then the Emperor would have been all that was divine, for not even all all nine choirs of archangels could have hoped to even match him in sanctitude, not even all of Terra’s worship could have even hoped to glimpse his divinity.

But Horus was his son. His beloved son. And he could not bring himself to kill his beloved son, to break the body he had molded, to tear the flesh and bone he had sculpted, to seize that perfect, naive and misguided soul and rend it to shreds. 

The Emperor, for all his glory, for all his cruelties, he could not bring himself to kill his son.

Speak what you will of the Traitor. Speak of what sins he has committed, speak of what blood that stains his claws, and what madness has fogged his eyes and twisted his mind. But speak not that he had never loved his father.

Because Horus had loved him. Loved him too much perhaps, love so hateful and so brilliant it was more akin to obsession and possession than adoration. 

Their song was nearly complete, the dancers exhausted and the music fading. Our curtain fall draws to a close, and this chapter's ink is nearly due. Horus slices open the Emperor’s breastplate with a single slash, lightning claws hovering over his jugular as time screeches to a halt. The Traitor glares at him with living hatred, his eyes fanatical and somehow wounded, and his father’s golden eyes stare back with irises as golden as the sun and as divine as its rays. The Traitor stalls, his claws flexing, in a single moment he could have slain the Emperor. He could have torn out his jugular, destroyed that beautiful man for once and for all, and ended his reign of terror. 

He did not take that moment. Horus spares the Emperor, and instead digs his claws into the tender flesh of the Emperor’s wrist, chuckling with delight as he feels the tendons snap and the beautiful muscles yield give underneath his claws. The Emperor’s sword falls, his divine form surrendering to the brutal onslaught of his own son. 

There was no one to save him, no fearless guardsman, no final race for the light, no merciful god to smile and grant his benevolence. There was only Horus’ laugh of dark delight as the Emperor’s blade clattered upon the Vengeful Spirit’s tiles and as the Traitor pounced upon his father’s prone form. 

At that moment, a lone Loyalist warrior entered the bridge as the Emperor fell to his knees. The Warmaster gloated in victory, holding up the broken form of the Loyalist’s beloved Emperor as the Traitor’s laughter echoed through the Vengeful Spirit's halls. 

Yet, the Loyalist did not yield. He roared defiance and held the line, the man stood before the god and dared him to die. 

Horus gazed at him once and his skin opened up like a flower.

His flesh dripped like wax from his bones. 

Yet, this time, there was no avengeance for his death. There was no grief for his loss, no pain for his failure, only the gloating howls of the Warmaster and the fall of the Emperor. There was only the tides of victory, and the sweet, sweet triumph that rang out through the hall of the Vengeful Spirit as he seized his father by his luscious black locks and forced his sire to meet his insane glare.

Victory tasted almost as sweet as his father's divine ichor upon his lips.

[senatushq]

Nettelia

NAME/ALIASES. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown SPECIES. Aspect GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her or She/They AFFILIATIONS. UTP OCCUPATION. UTP

History

First daughter of Eden, like the others, Nettelia was crafted by the artisan Prometheus and given life by Titania and Ulthar. Chosen by The First to safeguard the people of Eden and the Two Trees: Laurelin and Telperion, Nettelia and her siblings grew up eating the ambrosia fruits harvested from the trees and lived to protect the perfect realm that they had been born into. Beautiful and unchanging, Nettelia studied the creatures that Epimetheus crafted and memorized their shapes, marveled as Oztalun gave them life and lavished under the gold and silver light that cascaded from the Two Trees. In this age sickness and disease never touched Eden, the people were blessed with a true immortality that had been shepherded from the realm of the Gods. Seeded by the Gods themselves before their departure from the realm, it was Nettelia’s sacred duty to see to it that this paradise went unprovoked. Humanity and the offspring that would later be called demigods were born with a cursed fate, but Prometheus held a secret that he gifted to Nettelia first: the man behind the curtain who bore a terrible secret. The truth of the Gods was nestled in the truth of their immortality, to Uthenera they slumbered when their bodies were destroyed and their magic retreated, but only immortal hosts could contain their souls upon their return. Eden was a garden, but not for humanity. Prometheus brought free will to Eden, with Nettelia as his accomplice as he stole from Ulthar himself. Punished before the days of Lucifer’s rebellion, Nettelia would have followed had the most beautiful of the seraphim not refused to kneel. 

Eden burned and the Two Trees were destroyed, in the cruel sweep of fire mortality was brought to the race of humanity. Grief defined the archdruid, but she was possessed also by a far greater purpose, she bore the truth of the Gods and their intentions for the race of mortality. Watched as the Inferno was crafted by Oztalun and understood that the demons that crawled forth were also unfit, but their divine children when strengthened with the lines of fey would prove enough. It was in the aftermath of Eden’s pillage that Nettelia unearthed some truth to her abilities, that her power of transference could do more than mend a wing or help a plant recover, but she could heal and rend curses. The whispers came and those she confided in wouldn’t hear her, Nettelia, the grief-ridden sister who ranted at the injustice of the Gods, who turned those that she thought were possessed of the sort of righteousness that wouldn’t allow them to falter. More and more her dreams haunted her, in them she saw visions of a binding, of a transference, of sacrifices too great to number. She’s seen so many die before, fallen wings and monstrous cries of anguish and pain. This was her solution, her salvation and means to an end: her answer came in the binding of the necronomicon, to its blood hewn pages that were born from the lives of countless supernaturals. Nettelia had enough time to break Prometheus’ chains, then her siblings came for her, learned the truth of what she’d done, and slayed the chimera that she had become. 

Connections

Aren: Of her three siblings, Aren slumbered while she was killed after her descent. He remains the only one who did not see her at her worst, and for that she is grateful. 

Apollo: Companion of Eden, Nettelia got her first lessons in the healing arts from the God. While Gods are fickle, Apollo at least has always been upfront about his nature. 

Pythia: Her grief manipulated, Pythia used Nettelia’s anguish and hatred for the Gods against her - twisted her thoughts towards blood magic and aided Tiamat in instructing Nettelia on how to craft the necronomicon. 

Abilities

Author: as the creator of the necronomicon, Nettelia is immune to necromantic spells and manipulations. 

Immortal: as a druid, Nettelia will always reincarnate after she dies. Her lifespan lasts for up to five-centuries before she will inevitably begin to fade. However, her connection to the necronomicon will see to it that she is resurrected shortly after her destruction so long as the book remains. 

Archdruid: as an archdruid, Nettelia’s ability to turn into the chimera was destroyed, but she has retained her ability to shift into animals. An archdruid only has to look at a creature for a short while before understanding their habits. 

Transference: an elevated power of transference allows Nettelia to move magic and souls from one location to another. To this end she is able to heal any injury, illness, or curse.

Weaknesses

Mortality: While durable, Nettelia’s body is still mortal and she can be killed by mortal means. 

Binding: Several witches, druids or fey can bind her to the necronomicon if killed.

Animal Binding: Several witches, druids, or fey can bind her to an animal form if banded together. 

Lycanthropy: As an archdruid, Nettelia cannot be turned into a lycan, their bite however is poisonous to her and would prevent her from using her magic until recovered.

THIS SKELETON IS CURRENTLY CLOSED.

[dailycharacteroption]

Pop Culture Builds 11: Dream (Sandman)

Far beyond the concerns of mortals, beyond even the gods, there are the Endless, entities that are both the rulers of and the embodiment of concepts that are universal to all living beings, and whom all have names that start with D. Death, Delirium, Desire, Destruction, Despair, Destiny, and yes, Dream.

Also sometimes known as Morpheus, or as the Sandman, Dream rules over everything that mortals have ever, or will ever, dream of. This is true in every sense of the word, making him also the ruler of stories and of things that mortals have imagined, anything that is not firmly “reality”, and that definition is often very blurry.

In this way, Dream can influence the dreams of mortals, and even their subconcious minds, implanting or erasing ideas, giving or taking away nightmares, and even influencing the waking world.

However, Dream is constantly hampered by his difficulty accepting change, a dreadfully ironic flaw for the embodiment of imagination to have, but he grows over the series, particularly after dying and being reincarnated, but then, perhaps that was because he had bonded with a different mortal incarnation, one with a somewhat different reaction to the Omniverse around him.

You’re probably wondering at this point why I’m doing a character like this when The Endless are clearly deity-level entities. However, this time I’d like to make the Pathfinder build more inspired by the original rather than trying to recreate them as faithfully as possible, since a faithful adaptation would be a deity or demigod stat block, rather than a playable character.

So that’s what we’ll do!

 Dream is most commonly depicted as human-like, and has been seen to reincarnate from a human in the past, but as a cosmic being, there is no reason to limit him so.

There are a lot of dream-themed archetypes and character options out there, but I settled on the psychic class with the dream discipline, both for how he tends to focus on more subtle mental effects with some more overt illusions and twisting of reality, but also because the dream discipline has ways to communicate with and influence other beings through their dreams.

Dream’s powers are very broad, but in general, thematic phrenic amplifications that he might take include Biokinetic Healing, Complex Countermeasures, Overwhelming Mind, Whisper of the Ancients, and Space-Rending Spell, though others might also suit him, or at least your build.

Naturally, feats that have to do with dreams are a must for this build, including Lucid Dreamer, as well as those that help make dream better at spellcasting, including various metamagic feats, Spell Focus (Enchantment), and so on. Also consider picking up Alter Binary Mindscape, which will give Dream an edge in psychic duels.

The dream discipline already gives you a lot of sleep and dream-focused spells, but there are also other spells that can be useful to him. Instigate Psychic Duel, for example, is a perfect way to emulate a battle of the Oldest Game. He is also capable of generating light, teleportation, moving objects with his mind, and even creating illusions that have life of their own and manipulating reality, those last two being perfect candidates for various shadow spells, while the former have plenty of spell equivalents to match them.

One of the first adventures we see of Dream in the comics is his quest to recover his vestments, namely his dream sand, ruby, and mask. In the comics they are merely parts of Dream, albeit separate from him and therefore disarmable. The psychic class doesn’t really have any reflection for this, but the idea of The Sandman using his bag of sand for dream and sleep-based spells, while the ruby is a focus for material spells, does hold merit. As does the helm as a magic item of protection.

There are, of course, many ways to do a Sandman Build. Any of the dream-themed options, such as dreamspun sorcerers, dreamweaver witches, or even the dreamthief rogue are good options, as are divination and enchantment-themed casters. If you wanted to play up the importance of Dream’s regalia, an occultist might be a good choice. Meanwhile, mystic is a good options for a Starfinder build, as is the psychic or thaumaturge in 2nd edition.

Fans of the comics or the new Netflix series may very well recognize what you’re trying to build here, but you are hardly limited to sticking to that lore with this character build.

[pxisonous]

"Marriage... is the next step, I believe. I even brought a ring." He holds it out to him. "Enmu. You'll marry me?"

And Enmu had always been so agonizingly aware. Of his reverent god's decimated, fractured, heart baring only dead ends. Allowing no room for silly, tedious, things such as trust. Such as love...

Which was why, as Enmu had dizzily confessed his true feelings, he had promised. Never to ask him to love Enmu in return. Breathing in deep only this simple fondness his god so graciously bestowed upon him. So long as he was able to remain by Muzan's side. So long as he was able to freely speak his feelings over and over. Not even once hurt he never received an answer. Merely basking within this sheer kindness he was offered. Spoiled more so than any of the upper moons even...

It was so, so, much more than enough...

And it was so very easy to drown himself with abandon within these seamless illusions of blissful joy woven just for him. Deeply reveling in just how much Muzan indulged Enmu’s every silly little dream. Granting breathless kiss upon kiss, seeking, warm embraces. So soft. So gentle. Dizzily reverberating with the depths of Muzan’s divine benevolence. Taking the lower out on dates, even if only merely meant to humor Enmu’s boundless affections. And the very sensation of becoming one with his god. Tangled together in throes of desperate desires, carnal lust. As those beautiful ruby hues upon him, swallowing him whole within those unyielding depths...

Setting fire to his very skin. So sweetly singing within his very blood.

Bestowing reverent prayer upon prayer. Such devout words deeply saturated in heady notes of blissful worship. To the one within the very center of this eloquent world. This beautiful star so close, and yet...

At the time, so very far from his reach. Something reminded upon time after time. Yet Enmu found, he cared naught what the others said, nor thought. Just as long as Muzan desired him by his side. Smiling at Enmu so brightly.  Akin to a thousand gems within the sun..

And every. Single. Thing. His god did, took his very breath away. That luminescent maelstrom of ever changing whims, akin to a thunderous hurricane. He had so easily rend fellow lowers into naught but a radiant sea of candied gore. And every searing smirk, every prideful word dripping from those porcelain lips like honied venom.

Dragging Enmu deeper and deeper still within that dangerous web. Offering nary a trace of resistance even once.. 

These hallow memories of that fragmented human life. Cast within the hell of his own mind. And this simple bliss offered of just not having to be alone anymore. Lost within that jet lack sea of decay and rot, of crushing loneliness, agony...

So much more than enough. So he had never dared to ask Muzan to love him in return. Part of him expecting him to never really to...

Was it truly Enmu, out of so many more worthy, who now bore that luminescent key to his god’s reverent heart?

Had these fervent prayers finally been answered? Or was he only still merely sweetly buried?? Nestled safely away within those lovely dreams Muzan spun just for him? Of this blissful happiness.

Thought upon thought ringing in a deafening symphony of this exquisite pain. This celestial chorus of absolute love sweeping away everything else within this heady siren’s call. As those wavering teal hues finally tumbled down. Ghosting upon that elegant ring offered. 

Knowing better than refute. Than inquire as why his god would give his opulent heart to one so lowly, so weak as Enmu. Instead, merely shakily nodding in haste. Swallowing thickly...

Quaking arms dizzyingly thrown around that steady silhouette. Burying tear stained features upon that delicate shoulder now..

❝ ....Of course, I will....I...love you, Muzan-sama...More than anything else. More than anyone else.... ❞