#skeletal lightning

[rcmndedlisten]

Photo by Julia Leiby

In 2022, Devin McKnight became the not so secret guitar weapon that’s been the backbone to many an underground rock band over the years, including his O.G. band, the Boston DIY thrashers Grass Is Green, and more recently, Speedy Ortiz. Dark Matters, his highlight sophomore solo effort from his main concentration, MANEKA, came out swinging hard this year, however, as an alternative rock amalgamation examining American racism through the lens of a Black artist where typically white dudes play the part of the guy with the six-string controlling the narrative.

Dude’s got thoughts tenfold deeper into the void than most heavy shoegaze bands do these days, but the Brooklyn-based songwriter also may know his way around some of the year’s best outlier guitar rock from the year as well based on his list of favorites. Dig up a new bright spot for your regular rotation and circle back to some Dark Matters on your way out, too, below...

MANEKA’s Favorite Music of 2022:

Duster - Together [Numero Group]

Together by Duster

Nick Hakim - COMETA [ATO Records]

COMETA by Nick Hakim

Momma - Household Name [Polyvinyl Records]

Household Name by Momma

Disheveled Cuss - Into the Couch [Self-released]

Into the Couch by Disheveled Cuss

Mamalarky - Pocket Fantasy [Fire Talk]

Pocket Fantasy by Mamalarky

Spring Silver - I Could Get Used to This [Self-released]

I Could Get Used to This by Spring Silver

Jobber - Hell In A Cell EP [Exploding In Sound Records]

Hell In A Cell by Jobber

MJ Lenderman - Boat Songs [Dear Life Records]

Boat Songs by MJ Lenderman

Pictoria Vark - The Parts I Dread [Get Better Records]

The Parts I Dread by Pictoria Vark

SOUL GLO - Diaspora Problems [Epitaph Records]

Diaspora Problems by SOUL GLO

Honorable Mention:

The Smile - A Light for Attracting Attention [XL Recordings]

A Light for Attracting Attention by The Smile

Dark Matters by MANEKA

MANEKA’s Dark Matters is available now on Skeletal Lightning.

[infraredmag]

GILLIAN CARTER 'Salvation Through Misery'

@xgilliancarterx's new album 'Salvation Through Misery' out on NOW via @SxL_recs. Check it out now at: www.InfraredMAG.com #NewMusic #GillianCarter #SalvationThroughMisery #SkeletalLightning

GILLIAN CARTER Salvation Through Misery October 7, 2022 Skeletal Lightning (more…)

[recurring-polynya]

(Inspired by your recent post on Haineko and also that fic you wrote about Hinamori getting the hogyoku) I bet Matsumoto and Hinamori could get an epic combo move, I read somewhere that if you tried to get too close to a volcanic eruption you'd get encased in volcanic ash and die inside the solid shell it'd form. Which feels somewhat thematic for them based on vibes alone.

yeah YEAH!

Rangiku and Momo are two characters I would love to see hang out more. It's clear that they already have a good relationship prior to Aizen's defection--we see them conspiring to do something for Hitsugaya on his birthday in the fireworks flashback, and Rangiku is the one who brings Aizen's letter to Momo when she's in prison, even though it's technically evidence or something.

It's actually a little weird that we know absolutely nothing about Rangiku and Gin's relationship once they left the Rukon. I kinda get the feeling that Gin blew her off completely, but maybe there was a period where they had a relationship again. I get the definite sense that they are estranged at the time of the defection. My point in this is: did Rangiku have any sense that Aizen was not what he seemed to be? I feel like out of all the people in Soul Society, Rangiku is the one who might look at Aizen and, in particular, his relationship and actions toward Gin, and say, "wow, there is definitely something about this dude that does not add up." In other words, I also don't know if she had any sense of Momo being gaslit by Aizen while it was happening. That being said, I am at the age where, a couple of times now, a friend tells me they are getting a divorce and it feels like it's coming out of nowhere, but at the same time it doesn't. It's a really complicated feeling of "I should have seen this" but also not, because hiding the broken parts of a relationship are often part of what makes it so broken. All of this is to say that I think that Rangiku would have really been there for Momo in the aftermath, partly as an exercise in dealing with her own lingering Gin-feels, and I love they idea of them working some of this out through developing some sick moves.

I do not know a lot about volcanos, but I know that they exist in one of those batshit regimes of physics where temperatures are so high that you run into all kinds of nonlinear effects dealing with the compressibility of air and ionization effects. If you wander through the rabbit warren of volcano-related horrible-things-that-will-kill-you-but-have-really-cool-names, it's all stuff like "oh, this happens when pyroclastic debris hits running water and accelerates to insane speeds" or "if the eruption column can't entrain enough air, it will collapse and rains molten material down on everything"

In other words, I think Tobiume and Haineko are two great tastes that would go even better together. Rangiku could embed Haineko into one of Momo's lava jets and use it to make a controlled lahar to throw in people's face. Momo could create a pyroclastic surge with Haineko, and sandblast the landscape, gaining the sort of +2 spiritual damage you get from hitting things with a zanpakutou. The possibilities are endless. It's not even just a case of being able to do unique things, but just taking advantages of each other's strengths. Maybe it's easy for Momo to create magma, but hard to move it around, but Rangiku can do that easily. Releasing Haineko in an area where Tobiume is going off is going to add auto-fire damage, that's a freebie.

This would take so much practice and be so much fun and Hitsugaya would be in favor of it in theory, except that he's sitting in his office with an ice pack on his head, doing all of Rangiku's paperwork because he knows she's going to be "too tired" later. That is, until Momo comes running in with the latest research journal she got Lisa to import from the Living World for her, because it turns out that with a combination of hot gas, ash and ice particles you can make volcanic lightning.

[helloyesamwoman]

When life was fading I reached my hands out in prayer to her, and she answered my calls, for she is the light in my darkness. So far but so close, I thank thee for reviving my hope and happiness.

Boiling bloody clouds surrounded me, my thoughts and my heart, constricting and strangulating, it was only then that I shouted to the darkness to find what would help my wounded soul.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Cream Filling: Chapter One

Warning: Use of drugs and dubcon.

(MC is dosed with an aphrodisiac and is all too willing... But you know)

This was originally posted on A03 and is my most popular work, so I thought I'd put it here.

I hope you enjoy.

Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up pitch black streets for an instant. Elle Shepard nearly slipped on a horribly placed patch of mud. Windmilling, she caught a streetlight and came to a stop. A crack of thunder made her let go. Another bolt struck, enveloping the buildings and pavement in a brightness that was almost blinding, before a loud boom shook the windows.

Finally, she came upon a neon sign, showing a drink being shaken, then poured into a martini glass. The glass then changed to a coffee mug, the shaker into a pitcher. The words read: Ramses Brew, Bar and Café.

Pushing open the door, Elle stepped inside and pulled down the hood of her raincoat. Closing her umbrella, she stuck it in the container with the rest. Music played, pool balls cracked, conversations blurred together in one continuous hum. A bartender passed out drinks, moving with inhuman speed.

Walking up to the bar, Elle took a seat on the stool near the end. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the polished wood.

“What will it-” The bartender flinched at her, their nostrils flaring. Their voice sounded like many people talking at once.

“Oh, you’re the human.” They reached into their pocket and pulled out a phone. Tapping on the screen, they sent a quick message and put it away. They dropped their voice and leaned in closer to her. “Sorry, our drinks are a little too strong for your kind.”

They were most likely a demon, with horizontal lined pupils and a pair of antlers. Their sunken face showed a skeletal structure that was more deer than human, with a slight brown fuzz instead of fur. Their hands were coal black, their fingers tapering off to a clawed end.

“Can I just have water?” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart fluttering. Focus! The job was more important than a one night stand.

“Of course.” They bowed their head, before going to a new arrival at the bar.

Sighing, Elle debated pulling her hood back up when she felt the eyes on her. No, she’d have to get used to the stares if she wanted to get this job. A human woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, wearing dress pants and a button up peach blouse. No horns, fangs, scales, or a tail. Not even markings that would signal she was a mage or tied to someone with magic. 

Swinging her leg back and forth, Elle sipped at her water, looking around the bar. There was a pair of trolls playing pool. A pair of drow were in the corner, looking like they were discussing more… Intimate plans. A human looking man sat on the couch, a cane between his legs. A spread of cards were on the table in front of him, small black wisps curling around them. He seemed to be the shortest occupant, he was probably a head and shoulders taller than her. 

“Ms. Elodie Shepard?” The voice made her turn.

An angular face stared at her. It was human in appearance, but black scales appeared like freckles, shimmering in the low light. A pair of ram horns curled around cheeks, the ends sharpened and looking ready to puncture anything that got near them. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and a red vest, with a black tie. He was young, appearing to only be in his early to mid 30s.

“Yes!” Elle held out her hand. The speaker took it in shimmering black hands that were very large compared to his body. They left a residue on her skin that she tried to discreetly wipe off when he turned around, looking at the loft above. "But please, call me Elle." 

“Let’s go talk more privately.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs, unclipping a chain that indicated the area was closed until the morning.

Elle nodded and followed him. Stepping aside, he allowed her to go first and clipped the sign back in place. Once the links were formed, a small bit of magic rumbled through the floor, making Elle’s knees weak. Gripping the handrail, she kept herself from falling and quickly climbed up.

Once they were in the loft, Ramses clapped his hands and a few candles lit. The light was warm and calming. There were a few couches set up, with a coffee table between each pair facing one another.

Taking a seat, Elle set her papers on the table and cleared her throat. Even with the water, there was still a tickle in her throat.

“Alright,” The man sat down. “So, as you may know, this is my business. Ramses Sesbrun.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I appreciate you coming out so late, but since demons don’t do so well in sunlight…” He shook his hand back and forth like he was tipping a scale. “I still have a limited staff, so I don’t have much of a day shift.”

Elle nodded. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a silver chain, with wire wrapped around an obsidian stone.

Ramses flinched at the charm, before clearing his throat. Elle quickly stuffed it into her shirt and shuffled her papers.

“Alright. So as you may have noticed, we have a bit of a uniform.” He gestured to his attire. “It doesn’t matter if you prefer skirts or pants, just make sure it’s got a white button up shirt under your apron and a tie or scarf.” Inhaling sharply, he adjusted his glasses again. “We have a very diverse staff. If you do get the job, expect to work with all kinds of people.”

Elle simply nodded. “I know it is probably a strange thing, getting a human to apply.” The thought of being around so many demons and patrons of the “other side”, it was somewhat exhilarating.

“A little. But your safety is promised here,” Ramses insisted. “I’ll do what I can to make sure that you and your fellow employees are comfortable in this environment. Everyone here is just looking for a place to unwind.” He smiled at her, showing his teeth were fangs.

Shifting uncomfortably, Elle gave a smile. Those fangs looked like they could leave some decent hickeys. Wait, no, she had to remain professional. “Erm, not to sound too forward, but the job posting mentioned pay?” Right. Stay professional.

“Oh, right.” Ramses picked up a staff of his own papers from a table next to the couch. Flipping through the stack, he left small black thumbprints on each page. No wonder he needed help with the kitchen and other places. He probably couldn’t even touch the food he served his customers.

Finally, he stopped at what he was looking for. “I know the pay is high, but that means I’ll be expecting more from you. But if what I’ve heard about humans is correct…” His cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to rely on stereotypes, but I know humans are known for getting things done faster.” He clicked his mouth closed, not wanting to insert his foot into his mouth.

“Then you’ll be happy to know I fall into that!” Elle said quickly, hoping her tone didn’t sound too desperate. “I promise I’ll be fast and get the work done!” She clasped her hands together. “I just really… Need a job.” A job that seemed to offer a lot of eye candy...

Ramses nodded, taking her papers and flipping through them. “I’ve already read what you sent me, but I just want to make sure…”

He made a couple more noises of affirmation, before setting the now spotted pile down. “I don’t know if you’ll have a uniform on standby, but I think we might have something in your size. If you are willing to come in tomorrow, then I can have Wrecks and Horac show you the ropes.” Tapping a finger to his lips, Ramses’ brows knit together. “You don’t have Arachnophobia, do you?”

*** “Welcome to Ramses!” Elle called out, bowing her head. When she straightened, she ignored the look of befuddlement from the new arrivals. “Just two?”

After seating the pair, she bid farewell to some patrons as they left. They acknowledged her, but seemed more confused than anything else in her presence. When the door closed behind them, she went to quickly clean their table.

Despite looking bulky, the maid outfit they had provided her was light and cool, with a long skirt, deep pockets in the apron. She’d brought her own tights and comfortable shoes. Her hair was tied into a pair of buns to keep it out of her face.

The morning rush was a surprise. Most demons were supposed to be unable to walk in sunlight, but that didn’t stop the clientele from coming in, carrying parasols, charms to protect them, and even wrapping themselves in bandages.

The newly arrived pair were dragonborn, who had quickly fallen into an in depth discussion about maidens and maids. When she approached them with her notepad, pencil to the paper, they quickly quieted.

“Can I recommend one of our Ashburnt Scones?” She asked. “They’ve got an arsenic glaze!”

After taking down their order, Elle quickly scampered to the kitchen and placed the paper on the counter.

“A pair of Coalpressed Muffins with Ashen Dustings!” She called out.

The Drider at the stove nodded, pulling out some blood red pancakes with a tar like topping that he set on plates, the two smaller legs at his waist doing small clean up details. A pair of triple lens spectacles balanced on his nose, which he was constantly adjusting to allow a different pair of eyes to see. Despite his name being “Wrecks” he actually seemed rather dexterous and nimble.

The second was the boarman, Horac, who was frying several cuts of meat and eggs. He seemed immune to the open flames, casually reaching across them to turn over a large slice of ham. Elle tried to not think too hard about the implications.

“Breakfast rush is almost over, rookie.” He said, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the kitchen.

“Thanks!” She took the plates and lined them up on trays, before rushing back out to the main room with the orders.

“I can’t believe a real life human is here,” A goat headed man said as she passed.

“I know. And so fast, too.” Their companion appeared human, but their teeth were too sharp. Enough to pass the line from sexy to frightening.

Just smiling, Elle passed over their food, which they quickly began to ravenously tear into. The remarks, while strange, seemed mostly positive.

By the time the morning rush was over, Elle’s feet were killing her. She collapsed into a chair once the last customer left.

“Elle, can you tell Ram I’m coming in late tomorrow?” Horac said, not giving further details as he went out the back. The bell chimed as he left.

“Sure.” She merely lifted her hand to give a wave he wouldn’t see.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Wrecks said, his voice jolting through her. He hadn’t spoken all morning, only cooked and passed the orders to Elle. The dishes and counters were clean, so she wasn’t going to complain.

Once the ache had mostly gone, she got up and went to change the menus over. The bell chimed again when her back was turned, and she quickly turned back around.

The newcomer had silvery hair, a pair of fox ears twitching on his head. His eyes were closed, his mouth pulled into a vulpine grin.

“Welcome to Ramses!” She tried to pour in the sugary sweetness that customers loved. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Hopefully, Wrecks wouldn’t mind serving up breakfast still. “So, he did have a human on his payroll.” The new patron muttered to himself. “How quaint.” A bushy silver tail waved behind him.

Elle felt herself blushing. “Can I get you anything? Our Blasterjelly rolls are a customer favorite, along with our Hadesfire Pomegranate Tea.” She reached for a menu to shove in his hands. His gaze seemed focused on her, despite his eyes being closed.

“No,” He held up his hand. “Thank you. You served my friend earlier.” Reaching into his sash, he pulled out a box about the length of his hand, the width of two put together. “He’s too shy to show his gratitude in person, so he sent me in his stead.”

Setting the box on the podium, he turned on his heel and gave a backward wave, the bell chiming as he left.

Frowning, Elle used her pen to open the corner of the box. Inside, she saw a small flat pastry, the side of one showing a beet colored paste. Picking it up, she realized they were covered with powdered sugar. Setting it back down, she closed the box and stuffed it under the podium. How odd she’d been given a human friendly dessert.

“Ready for round two?” Wrecks asked when he came back in, wiping his hands on a towel.

“You know it!” She brushed back her hair, pushing the fox man out of her mind.

The bell chimed, a trio of trolls coming through, looking like they’d gotten off a construction job. A goat headed woman burst through the door behind them, looking frazzled. By the end of the second shift, Elle was nearly laying on the table. Her feet and back ached, her hair was a mess, and the uniform was rumpled.

“And my favorite part of the day…” Wrecks said, flipping the sign to indicate they were closed until the bar opened. He laughed to himself as he went to tally up the totals.

“Count this for me to make sure my math is right.” Taking the cash from the drawer, Wrecks slid it to her. He poured himself a sludge looking coffee, enough steam and heat coming off it to fog up his spectacles. Sweat trickled down his brow.

Elle’s stomach growled, and she found herself blushing. While his lower half made her nervous, his upper half was certainly handsome.

Right. Focus.

“Oh, right.” Wrecks paused. “You can’t…” He struggled to find the words. “Eat anything on our menu, can you?”

“Not without getting violently ill,” Elle admitted, before remembering the podium. “Oh! Right!” Rushing to it, she pulled out the box. “I was going to pack my lunch, but I woke up late!” She’d actually slept in her car because she was terrified of missing her first shift. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for her at home. And driving nearly half an hour both ways seemed like a poor use of her time.

Sitting next to the money, she took out one of the cakes and took a bite. Powdered sugar flew around her in a cloud, sending residue all over the uniform.

Keeping the cake in her mouth, she nursed at the paste and counted out the cash, keeping notes. Once she finished, she paused over the calculations and finished eating. Then, she quickly ate a second, barely tasting it as it went down.

“Get some actual food,” Wrecks chided. “I can smell the sweetness from here. Where did you get that if you didn’t pack your lunch?”

“Apparently one of the customers really liked my service and gave me a gift.” Elle shrugged. She looked down at her tips for the day, her breath catching in her throat. How much money did this damned clientele have!? Pulling out her wallet, she quickly signed off on the amount and collected it. Looking down at her uniform, she excused herself to the bathroom.

There was no way she was going to risk getting it dirty and looking unprofessional. If she was going to be making money like this every day, she was going to take this job seriously. Going to the restroom, she did what she could to clean up her uniform. No way was she going to take a dock in her pay to pay for the outfit.

Her face felt hot. Slipping off the apron, she unbuttoned her blouse and splashed water on herself. Looking in the mirror, she saw her cheeks and neck were crimson. The blush spread even further, hidden by her shirt.

Slipping off her blouse, she stared at the sleeveless shirt, which only showed off more of her flushed skin. It was still hot, but more bearable. And she was NOT undressing more. Splashing her face again, she got her hair damp. Slicking back her loose bangs, Elle took in a deep breath.

When she walked out, she saw Wrecks looking at the cakes. Holding one between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed it. The paste oozed out, dripping onto his fingers. He had his phone to his ear, waiting for someone to answer.

Elle was about to complain he’d ruined part of her gift, but his expression was serious. It sent a twinge of worry through her, followed by another hot flash. This one made her head spin, and she quickly sat down.

“Where did you get these?” His voice was sharp.

“Some guy dropped them off. Um… Foxy.” She started to recall his face, but all it did was cloud her mind with other details she’d overlooked. The way his collar bone peeked out over his robe. How veiny and strong his hands looked. His lips, perfectly glossy, the fangs peeking out with his grin.

“Shepard?” Wrecks asked.

“Hmm?” She smacked her cheeks to try and refocus. “Where was I again?”

Before Wrecks could answer, the person on the other end picked up.

“Yeah.” Wrecks tossed her a damp towel.

Wiping it across her sweaty skin, Elle began to inhale deeply. She felt hot all over, her body starting to shake. Every fiber of her clothing brushed against her, scraping her raw.

“I’m sure it was him,” Wrecks’ voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. “Bet my first born on it. I could smell fuckery on the box.” He looked over to Elle, licking his lips nervously. “She seems fine now, but I don’t want to touch her, could you get a hold of a human doctor?” He paused, nodding along with the speaker, small grunts escaping his mouth.

“Alright.” He hung up, inching closer to Elle.

“That was Ramses. He’s on his way.” He pulled another towel off the counter and soaked it in icy water, before passing it to Elle. “Those cakes were laced with… Something.” He frowned, brows coming together.

“I guess it was Tanpopo’s way of saying hello…”

“Who?” Although Elle was sure she had a good idea who the Drider spoke of. Her insides twitched, needing to be filled. Sweat trickled down her neck and back. Slowly, she laid down in the booth, her legs facing the wall.

“An asshole who runs the bakery down the road.” Wrecks jerked his thumb behind him. “He thought it would be funny to “prank,” He added air quotes. “Some of our staff last year by spiking some cakes and tea with Hellfire Mint.” Three pairs of eyes watered at the memory. “Most of them were fine, but one of our hosts got sent into early labor and had to go to the hospital.”

Fanning herself with a menu, Elle panted. “I wish I’d been warned.”

“Well, there hadn’t been any problems since then,” Wrecks explained. “Horac was a pretty decent deterrent.”

Elle’s mouth was suddenly dry. The heat was becoming unbearable. Her legs refused to budge, each breath making another flash of arousal go through her. “I’ll get you some water.” Wrecks excused himself, quickly coming back with a glass. He passed it to her. “Now, I’m not sure how long this is supposed to last, but Ramses seemed pretty sure he knew what it was.”

Their hands touched. Elle let out a cry, dropping the glass. She shook, nearly convulsing as the need seized her.

Wrecks jumped back, his legs skittering across the floor, unable to gain traction.

Elle was on her feet, grabbing the front of his vest and pulling him to her. Their lips nearly brushed.

“No no no no no no!” He said rapidly, using his front legs and arms to push her away. “It’s flattering, but you are in no condition to be initiating this!”

His skin was scalding hot against hers. She grabbed his clothing so tight she thought it would rip. Pulling him close again, she ignored the impact of his front legs against her skirt.

“I’m terribly sorry, Shepard.” Wrecks said, before she suddenly couldn’t move.

Looking down, she saw she was covered with white bindings. Webbing kept her still, binding her legs together below the knees, and her arms below the elbows. He then pushed her back into the booth.

The bell chimed. Nostrils flaring, Elle thrashed around to try and sit up as the scent of Demon hit her.

“Oh, thank Arachne.” Wrecks backed away. “You made good time.”

“Of course.” Ramses' voice thundered in her ears. Elle’s lips parted slightly as she continued to wriggle around, trying to get free of her bindings. “Leave us. This is easier if there’s only one target.”

Wrecks didn’t have to be told twice. He picked up his scant belongings and quickly scampered out the door.

Ramses stood in front of the booth, his crotch the perfect height for-

And he was gone.

The door locked.

Then, he was back.

“You’ve ingested Asmodeus Fruit,” He explained, pulling out a knife. “Better known as Lustberries.” Looking at the blade, he set it down on the table. “Hold still.” His visible skin was wrapped in bandages. To protect him from the sun?

The order made Elle still, the only movement was her shaking with desire.

“I’m going to cut you loose. But you have to promise me you’re not going to jump on me. Okay?”

Despite the words barely registering, Elle nodded, her body still trembling.

Ramses cut the bindings, his bandaged hands brushing against her. Unlike with Wrecks, it didn’t send a jolt through her. But his scent, the way he panted with exertion… She found herself leaning forward.

“KNIFE!” He yelled, shoving her back. His hand hit her protective charm, and both of them went flying back. She hit the wall hard, and he slid into the front counter in front of the kitchen. Wincing, he slowly got back up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you okay?” Her legs were still bound. She started to climb out of the booth.

“Stay!” He commanded, getting up.

Elle’s legs became weak, and she nearly face planted on the floor. Catching herself, Elle held onto the corner of the table. Her charm hung low. 

Ramses rushed over, cutting her legs free.

“Now. Listen.” He shook his finger in her face.

Nodding, Elle leaned forward.

“Go to the loft.”

She rose up, the charm snagging on the corner of the table, the wire wrapping coming undone and the stone falling to the ground, sliding under the booth. 

Her feet slapped against the floor, she nearly tripped over the chained sign as she ran. But she was up the stairs, lungs and chest heaving. Collapsing onto the couch, she felt the heat rolling over again, almost unbearable. Clothes continued to rake against her skin so roughly she thought it would make her bleed. Her hands went to her top, trying to pull it off.

“Okay, Elle. I need you to listen to me.” Ramses said, coming up in the loft. “Normally this stuff wears off after a few hours. But it’s demon fruit, so humans suffer-” He let out a surprised noise as Elle rushed over to him.

When her hands touched his shirt, she realized he wasn’t wrapped under his clothes. Working her fingers through the gaps between his buttons, she touched her fingertips to his bare chest. The heat of his skin made her shudder.

Dropping to her knees, she started to unbuckle his belt.

“Elle!” He said sharply. “Hold on!” Grabbing one of her buns, he held her head in place. Lips parted, she looked up. Panting, she reached for him. Despite denying her advances, his erection was growing quickly.

“Here.” He pulled out a vial, a white liquid inside. “Drink this first. I know it’ll be nasty, but-” As he spoke, the white liquid suddenly yellowed and seemed to become crusty.

She grimaced.

“I know. But the other cure is… Not ideal.” He offered her the vial. Uncorking the top, he pressed the glass to her lips.

Slowly, he tilted it. Once the liquid touched Elle’s lips, foul gelatinous sludge tried to worm its way into her mouth. Pulling back, she sputtered and coughed. Eyes watering, she shook her head.

There was glass breaking, and the liquid spilled all over the floor. The fog was gone, but Elle suddenly felt so hot she started to claw at her clothes.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Ramses grabbed her arms, straddling her. His erection dug into her as he pinned her to the floor.

“Elle, listen to me.” His breath was warm against her skin, caressing skin, the wetness from it sliding down her body. 

Closing her eyes, Elle thrust against him. Ramses let out a distressed yelp, before gripping her tighter.

“Fuck me…” She moaned, rubbing against him. A wet spot was left on Ramses pants, although she wasn’t sure if it was from him or her.

It was getting so hot she felt like she was going to pass out, black spots filling her vision. Her clothes felt like they were tearing large chunks of her skin off.

“I’m… So sorry.” Ramses picked her up off the floor, setting her down on the couch.

“For what?” She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. Their lips almost touched, but he turned his face so she kissed his horn.

“You’re in no state of mind…” He knelt between her legs. “Just let me try something.” Taking her tights, he clumsily pulled them down. Catching the waist of Elle’s panties, Ramses left her completely bare. At the sight, averting his eyes, Ramses cheeks turned crimson.

“Yep…” He struggled to find the words. “That’s certainly Asmodeus fruit.”

Elle touched herself, spreading the soaking lips wide. Grinding against the couch, she felt herself drenching the fabric.

“Okay.” Ramses draped her legs over his shoulders. “I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work, then we have one option left.”

Elle nodded, but her mind was buzzing. Grabbing Ramses by the hair, she shoved him into her drenched folds. Whatever response he had was muffled, making her shiver.

His tongue began to trace her lower lips, before he slipped it inside. Ellen held his head in place, biting her lips as he continued to lick. Reaching up, he seized her thighs and spread her legs wider. His breath made her tingle.

Closing her eyes, Elle focused on the sensation, the heat now concentrating in her lower half. Ramses’ head bobbed back and forth, the sounds of licking and sucking so loud in the empty loft. She let out several moans, trying to lock her legs around his head.

Keeping her legs open, Ramses continued to lick, before exposing her clit and swirling his tongue around it. Elle moaned, releasing his hair and grinding against his face. “Come for me, Elle.” He groaned into her, his breath so warm. “Come for me, please.”

Letting her head lull back, Elle moaned and grabbed the couch tight enough to feel the fabric start to rip. She felt the orgasm start to build, each lick eliciting another cry from her. Eyes watering, she nearly screamed when Ramses plunged his tongue inside.

But before she could release, it was like slamming into a brick wall. White filled her vision as the heat became a searing pain. A scream escaped her and she shuddered, falling to the side.

“S-stop…” She panted, tears streaming down her face. “It… It hurts.”

Ramses pulled back, his bandages around the lower half of his face now loose. They were soaked with Elle. Small bits of skin were visible. Despite the pain in her lower half, Elle grabbed Ramses by the shirt. She then climbed on top of him, rubbing her aching groin over his crotch.

“Fuck me, please.” She begged, continuing to grind against his hardness.

“Hold on.” Ramses pushed the table to the other couch, his glasses askew. Picking Elle up, he placed her on the couch. Unzipping his pants, he let them fall to the ground. His fully erect cock came forth, beads of precum dripping from the tip. Elle leaned forward, wrapping her lips around it.

Ramses let out a surprised moan, knees nearly giving out as Elle sucked. Once the few drops of precum were swallowed, the heat drastically reduced. Panting, Elle pulled back and let her tongue swirl around the tip.

Then, she felt herself blushing. The reality of the situation began to crash around her. Pulling her head back, she quickly let go of Ramses cock and put her hands at her side.

“Um…” The wetness between her legs was almost unbearable. “I’m… Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ramses panted, sitting down on the table. “It wasn’t your fault. I understand if you want to leave now.”

Elle stared at his cock, swallowing hard. It was glistening with her saliva. She should leave. This was not only inappropriate, but they were both in a bad spot. But her body was literally hurting with need.

“Ramses.” Her face was probably tomato red. What had she just done? Ramses probably thought… “This wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I should have warned you.” He was attempting to put his dick back in his pants, which seemed to be a challenge.

“Erm…” She prodded her forefingers against one another, biting her lower lip. “This is super inappropriate. But is the antidote for this fruit…” Her voice trailed off as she became more flustered. “You know, demon semen?”

Mutely, Ramses nodded. “I didn’t want you to either get too excited or too disgusted.” He looked up at her when she stood over him. “Because I’ve been told it can be rather potent.”

“So, are you sure you gave me enough of a dose?” She lifted her skirt, showing him her wetness. “Because I would, uh, prefer not to go back to how I was.” Her legs shook, the blush filled her entire body.

Ramses’ eyes went wide, and he took off his glasses, setting them down on the table. “I’m not sure. It’s not an exact science. But…” He was cut off when Elle kissed him, straddling his lap.

“Oh.” He kissed her back, looping his hands around her waist.

“Elle,” He said, his voice muffled by her mouth. His pupils dilated slightly, the blood vessels thickening.

“Hm?” She pulled back, her arms around his neck.

“If you want to wait, the lust will wear off.”

Elle thought about it, but shook her head, “I want to do this.” She nibbled at his exposed skin, hands running up and down the nape of his neck.

“Very well.” He stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist.

Setting her back onto the couch, Ramses straddled her, pinning her arms above her head against the armrest.

“Are you still hot?”

She nodded.

Taking Elle’s shirt, he slid it off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her skirt.

“Aren’t you?”

“Sunlight.” He gestured to the windows.

“Oh.”

“Consider this… Paid overtime.” Nudging her legs open, Ramses lined himself up, prodding against her slit. Each touch made Elle gasp, grinding against him.

Then, he slid inside. Elle gasped, instantly clenching around him. Ramses gripped the back of the couch, letting out a surprised whimper. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her and began to thrust. Once her arms were free, she let her hands explore him.

The touch seemed to encourage him further and he hilted himself.

Elle screamed in pleasure, digging her nails into Ramses’ shirt. Covering her mouth with his, Ramses began to pound into her, each thrust making her see a flash of color.

“God,” He said between thrusts. “You’re so tight.” His breath was warm against her face and neck. Leaning down, he nibbled her neck. “I…” The blush returned to his face.

Elle pulled him back, their lips meeting again. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she let them dance as he found his rhythm and continued to pump back and forth. Each moan encouraged him, and he went harder.

As the thrusts went deeper, Elle cried out, her back arching. She ran her hands down Ramses shirt and vest, the fabric chafing against her skin. Unlike her own clothing, it pushed her closer to the edge, but she felt herself hitting the wall again.

Her breasts began to bounce, and Ramses groaned, his legs and buttock suddenly clenching.

“Please!” She begged, squeezing him tightly. “Finish inside me!”

“Fuck!” Ramses yelped, before he released, the fluid spilling out of Elle. Panting, he shuddered, placing his hands on either side of her head. Sweat trickled down his face. Clenching, he thrust against her as he emptied everything inside.

The orgasm finally came, and Elle clenched, wrapping her legs around his and pulling Ramses close. Shivering, she panted and closed her eyes.

“I think… That’s enough.” He slipped out of her and sat up on the couch, his softening cock still shimmering with her wetness.

Elle shuddered, then slowly sat up, rescuing her shirt from the floor and holding it up to her chest. She was covered with the strange black residue from his hands.

“I am very sorry about that.” Ramses zipped his pants up and buckled his belt. “I completely understand if you want to quit.”

“Umm…” Elle worried at her lower lip. “You see, I didn’t exactly dislike it and I really need this job.” She couldn’t even look at him without blushing.

“I could tell.” Ramses eyes went wide and he put his glasses back on. “Although I’m not sure how much of that was me or the Fruit.” He rubbed his face. “I’m going to kill that fox the next time I see him.”

Elle swallowed hard, thinking of the cakes. “Um, before you get all worked up, shouldn’t you get ready to open the bar?”

Ramses rubbed his face with a sigh. “I’ve got some time.” He looked her over. “I know you live farther away, but do you want to get cleaned up at my place? Er, not that I’m inviting you back over for...” He let the silence hang in the air. 

Sighing, Elle nodded. “One thing at a time. I need to get this ‘antidote’ off me before it leaves a stink.” The scent of sex was already making her dizzy and flushed.

Helping her up, Ramses helped her dress and helped her back down to the main gathering area, collecting the charm from the floor. Stopping at the umbrella holder, he pulled out a parasol and opened it. When he took a few steps outside, he suddenly staggered.

Wrapping his arm around her, Elle helped him walk.

“It’s not too far," Ramses explained. “Erm, so, about what happened.”

“My lips are sealed,” Elle mimed locking her lips and throwing away a key. “As long as you don’t tell the others about me trying to blow you. And everything else.”

Ramses stifled a noise and looked away. “It’s fine. Just erm… Expect a bonus on your first check.”

“A bonus?” Now she was starting to feel like it was some sort of hush money.

“I take… Very good care of my employees.” Ramses frowned. “It’s hard to keep them on.” Swallowing hard, he sighed. “Elle, what I did back there, I promise I’m not normally like that. I know demons have a reputation for being sinners, but I don’t want you to feel I took advantage.”

“Too bad, I had a lot of fun.” Elle blushed at her words. “Sorry, was that too much?”

Ramses bit at his lip. “No, but I am your boss. I don’t want rumors to spread.”

“I understand.” She felt the rest of the heat finally leave her body, leaving her head clear. “But don’t… ever be afraid to ask. I um, headed after this job for a reason. Not just for the pay.”

Ramses hid his face and nodded.

If every day was going to be like this, then this new job was going to be interesting. She’d have to apologize to Wrecks tomorrow.

At least there was hazard pay.

(You can read part 02 here!)

[soracities]

Once I loved a man who was a lot like the desert, and before that I loved the desert. It wasn’t particular things but the space between them, that abundance of absence, that is the desert’s invitation. There the geology that underlies lusher landscapes is exposed to the eye, and this gives it a skeletal elegance, just as its harsh conditions—the vast distances between water, the many dangers, the extremes of heat and cold—keep you in mind of your mortality. But the desert is made first and foremost out of light, at least to the eye and the heart, and you quickly learn that the mountain range twenty miles away is pink at dawn, a scrubby green at midday, blue in the evening and under clouds. The light belies the bony solidity of the land, playing over it like emotion on a face, and in this the desert is intensely alive, as the apparent mood of mountains changes hourly, as places that are flat and stark at noon fill with shadows and mystery in the evening, as darkness becomes a reservoir from which the eyes drink, as clouds promise rain that comes like a passion and leaves like redemption, rain that delivers itself with thunder, with lightning, with a rise of scents in this place so pure that moisture, dust, and the various bushes all have their own smell in the sudden humidity.

Rebecca Solnit, from "Two Arrowheads", A Field Guide to 'Getting Lost

[minticecodes]

A (late) piece for dmcweek2024 day 4! I was buzzing to put forward something for the week. Prompt was alt universe.

AU where Eva survived the fire and had to figure out a way forward, believing the twins dead. She becomes an RPG shopkeeper selling wares ranging from antique books to magical goods (Devil May Scry). She's also out for Mundus' blood.

Image descriptions are the same as in alt.

[ID: 7 Digital illustrations and sketches. 1: Coloured illustration of a bookshop at sunset. Eva, a pale blonde middle aged woman mans the bright patterned counter. She wears a turtleneck and red shawl, has shoulder length hair, and diagonal facial burn scar and scarring on her left hand. Light rays illuminate her gently smiling face. Besides packed books, on the shelves are potion bottles, statuettes, succulents, and a displayed katana. Roses and plants decorate the shop. On the counter are a thick hardback, bookscanner, and crystal ball. Cards are displayed inside the counter. On the wall hangs a price sign, featuring doodled vital stars (large star drawn with sunglasses), holy water and fortunes. Beneath it is a rose wreathed divinity statue display, with 2 red orb offerings in a dish. 2: Eva from behind, sitting hunched alone at a table where a birthday cake sits untouched. It's a two flavour cake. By her clenched hand are crumpled tissues. Caption: 'Vergil...Dante...happy birthday...' 3: Eva bracing the Devil Sword Sparda across her shoulders, aimed at the ground. She wears a bell sleeved, ruffled funeral/wedding dress with a slit for leg movement. A veil trails behind her like a ribbon. Close ups of her show the headpiece design; a pacifier made of a long bird skill, feather, rose, and four skeletal 'legs'. 4 & 5: Trish taking on teen Dante's image: a tan teen in black, with chin length white hair, a halter neck tank top, leather pants, kneelength boots and black polish. Her leather jacket collar resembles lightning bolts. She leans against an invisible wall, one leg bent to brace her foot against it. She looks askance with arched brows, lifting shades from her face. The 2nd image is a 3/4 profile with shades perched on her forehead and popped collar. 6: Helmetless portraits of Dante and Vergil in armour, expressionless. Dante's hair is shoulder length and falls across his face. 7: Full body of 2 somewhat lanky demonic knights. One (Nelo Angelo) in black and blue with droopy horns rests his palms atop his blue broadsword's pommel, the sword upright against the ground. He stands straight, staring ahead. The other in white and red and curled horns has a palm clapped on Nelo Angelo's shoulder, other hand at his hips. Somehow the eyes on his helmet express playfulness. At his back is the hilt to a flail, the spiked ball resting on the ground by his armoured heels. They're labelled '~16' . End ID.]

Read more for some wordy backstory and sketches. TW for mentions of torture, abuse and solitary confinement surrounding the twins.

I had...so many more ideas that I'm leaving out to keep this short. It's fun to think how she'd mesh with the cast.

Like! her and Lady. Mother that lost her kid and kid that lost her mother. It writes itself how much unwitting projection can go wrong. And pretty much everything about her, the twins, and Trish :)

In terms of backstory:

After the fire she's alone. Her birth family disowned her long ago. She thinks about revamping the mansion but the idea of staying in that empty space with only memories for company is too much. So she eventually opens a small store.

Starts off paranoid and distant. Still is distant but gets entangled with the local community overtime. Greets people by name and they'll chat about how life has been going. This includes demon hunters and demons and supernatural beings living peacefully; her shop becomes a small safe haven to exchange information to stay safe.

Gets very good at forging protective charms. Haunted by the memory of the enchanted closet, smashed in and empty.

A regular is a schoolgirl who originally came to pick up reserved books for her father but stuck around because hey, this place is quiet and interesting, and the owner serves stellar teacakes. Great place to study. To Mary, Eva's kind, though odd, secretive and a little lonely.

I got inspired by Eva's association with the bangle/bracelet of time and the amulets for her fighting style. It's based around item crafting, like an RPG character slapping on every stat boosting item.

She stitches together different outfits for different needs Cardcaptor style. They're all exceedingly dramatic. It's not clear here but I wanted a bird motif to eventually come through. Phoenix motif, really.

[ID: Rough sketches: A magician esque outfit with vest, feathered tophat and cape. A longcoat with long skirt and long scarf at her back like a cape. The cape is tagged with 'spells stitched into fabric'. Close ups on the coat lapel show two pins (strawberry and wing), labelled 'charm lapel pins.' Close up of the shoes show sharp heals and ankle bracelets. Eva leaping in a black bodysuit and leotard, with feathery collar, quill behind her ear, and ballet shoes with a claw at the heel. Eva making a triangular 2 hand sign in a hooded cloak and longskirt. Around her shoulders are claws. At her hips is an hourglass. Above her heeded head is a clocklike halo. Beside her is a sketch of a woman with a lionhead mask. A funeral and wedding dress inspired outfit. Eva crouches, wielding the Devil Sword Sparda in scythe form. Her face is covered by a tattered veil. She wears a knee length ruffled dress, black gloves, and a long, ruffled cape. Close up of her left hand shows a ring and finger claws Rough comic. Chibi lady talks to chibi Eva. Lady holds up a black body suit with billowing sleeves and a cleavage window. Lady: "Eva what is this" Eva (smiling cheerfully): "Oh - that old thing!" Eva: "My old hunting outfit. Gosh I'd almost forgotten about it. Not the most comfortable thing - so skin tight..." However Lady fixates on 'my old hunting outfit'. The words go in one ear and come out as a younger Eva in a catsuit, pointing a gun with a serious expression, wind blowing through her hair. Lady stares into the distance, bewildered, and slightly blushing. End ID]

Meanwhile the twins are having a terrible time but they have each other, even if they don't remember they're brothers. I think it'd be sweet if they have a bond anyway. Everyone else thinks they're rivals at best.

(Nelo is Mundus' favourite to toy with as the proud, eldest son. But when he gets rough, Bianco butts in and acts up for Mundus' attention. This gets him sent to solitary confinement; Mundus figured out Bianco hates small spaces and designed an iron maiden for him. Others think Bianco is a brute who acts out for a fight. But that's ok. It means Bianco can keep buying Nelo time.) (When lucid, Nelo despises his own weakness when this happens.)

[ID: 2 Images. Nelo and Bianco Angelo in fisticuffs in a cartoony dustcloud, glaring at each other as they fight. They're captioned 'Mundus' most competent generals'. Additional text: 'silent, obedient, crushing force when apart. Perfect soldiers. ... until they're put together. Complement each other's battle style OR clash terribly. Nelo Angelo staring off, arms crossed and furrowed eyes somehow expressing being completely fed up. Behind him, Bianco and Griffin talk at each other. Griffin's glaring. Bianco has a hand up to gesture. End ID]

[foxaftershocks]

Oh my gosh I just read your most recent Lars Pinfield oneshot and I am in LOVE with your writing. Is it possible for you to do one where reader is with him & Lucky during the power outage scene, but like not *in* the main area they are at, more over by the Possessor's room. Hopefully you kinda get what I'm saying lol

I think I got what you were saying. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it even if I didn't.

Watching the possessor try and get Lars’ attention shouldn’t have made you feel a burst of warmth in your chest and yet there you were, pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

“Can’t play right now,” Lars called as the chair tapped against the window.

You were sitting on the floor in front of the enclosure, knees bent towards your chest as you enjoyed the calm of being in the lab at night. During the day it could be so frantic, all kinds of noises and motions going on as the other researchers worked. At night like this, it was quiet, easy to just exist in your own body as you did what you loved. Especially given it was only people you happened to love still there too.

Or rather, person.

“I know you see me working,” he called over as the possessor continued to try and get his attention.

You stifled a laugh, the chair drooping down in sadness. It was like having a puppy in the lab and Lars had clearly been designated its favourite person.

“If you’re good later on you’ll get a tennis ball,” he said.

The chair perked up, the screech of the metal loud in your ears. You tapped on the glass, bringing its attention back to you. You smiled in, playing with it to give Lars and Lucky the chance to finish up their work in peace. The sound of their work was a familiar backdrop as you let your attention slip away from them.

That was until the possessor slammed the chair against the glass over and over again and the power went out. You were slow to climb to your feet, uncertainty filling your body.

“Uh… Lars?” you called out.

“Yeah, I know,” he called back, “just give it a minute.”

“I’m not sure…”

With one hand splayed on the cool glass of the possessor’s cage, you hauled yourself upright, leaning on it to keep yourself steady. You didn’t like it, the ambient noise of the lab making chills crawl over your skin. You held your breath, on tenterhooks, waiting for something to happen. The tension in the air was ratcheting up the longer it took for the generators to power back on, each second stretching out for an infinite amount of time.

“Lars, why haven’t the ghosts escaped yet?” Lucky asked, slow to make her way towards you.

It was like they’d been waiting for the question to be asked. The possessor slammed its chair against the glass to the right of your hand, cracking it outwards. You snatched your hand back as Lucky screamed, breath catching.

Stumbling back, you felt a cold chill going down the back of your neck. You were slow to turn into the waiting gaze of Bonesy, the skeletal face staring right back at you. Another crack from the glass behind you was loud in the otherwise silent area.

The frantic clicking from Lars on the computer filtered through and you watched as the lights flickered back on. Bonesy was pulled back through the glass as the proton fields turned on, missing you by a hair’s breadth. You slumped forward, relief coursing through you, making you light headed. Sinking to the floor, you did your best to take some deep breaths, forehead pressing to the tops of your bent knees.

“Okay we need to shut that thing up,” you heard Lars faintly say from back in the main lab.

Only then you heard his scream. Scrabbling to your feet, you rushed over, panic taking over your brain. Any rational thoughts were gone, taken over by your need to make sure he was okay.

He was bent over in front of the ionic separator, the brass sphere on the ground in front of him. His groans of pain were going through you, striking you like lightning. Lucky was standing close by, weight shifting from foot to foot, as if unsure what to do.

You grasped his shoulder, feeling him there under your hands, real and still warm. His breathing was coming fast and he was cradling his hand to his chest.

“Lars,” you said, trying to get his attention.

His blue eyes dragged up to yours, the pain contorting his face. You clutched at him, wanting to bring him closer.

“Don’t,” he shouted as you took a step towards him.

“What?” you said, freezing.

“Don’t touch it,” he gasped out, eyes darting down to the sphere at your feet, only an inch from your bare skin. You were careful as you shifted your feet away from it, trusting him completely. He’d never steered you wrong before.

“Lars,” you breathed out.

He was doubling up again, another groan coming from parted lips. With your hands still on his shoulders, you manoeuvred him around the sphere, sitting so innocently on the floor. He followed you, trusting you just as much as you trusted him.

“Leave it there until Lars can tell us what happened,” you instructed Lucky as you took Lars towards the medical centre.

Of course the nurse was long since gone, the bay dark. You flicked the lights on, helping him onto one of the beds. He was still curled up.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what happened,” you said, keeping your voice gentle, trying to coax him out.

“Cold,” he managed to gasp out, “I touched the sphere after it failed to extract the ghost inside and it was cold. Freezing. Fuck, it hurts.”

“I know it does, sweetheart,” you said, “can I look at it?”

He was slow to uncurl, offering his hand towards you. The skin was an unnaturally pale colour, the cold burn spreading over his palm, along his finger, making you wince just from looking at it. Your hands hovered over it, not sure what to do, where to touch, if you even should.

“We should warm it up, right? Oh god, I’m not a doctor,” you muttered to yourself.

“Warm water,” he said, “I need to soak it in warm water.”

“On it.”

He watched you as you filled a basin with warm water, a thermometer sitting in it as you brought it to the right temperature. Offering it to him, he eased his hand into the water. The wince he gave and the shaky breath suggested it wasn’t more comfortable.

“Are you going to be okay?” you asked, holding the bowl steady for him.

“I think,” he hissed, “I’ll survive.”

He looked up at you, standing close enough for his knees to brush you. Looking down at him, you felt your breath catch. It wasn’t your fault. He was so handsome, even when he was in pain. Not that you should be thinking about how gorgeous he was as you were trying to nurse him back to health.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softening.

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t even get hurt. I’m more worried about you,” you said.

“But you were surrounded when we lost power,” he said.

His other hand hovered right over your hip, as if worried to touch you. Before he made contact, he took the bowl from your hands, putting it down on the bed beside him, keeping his hand submerged. You didn’t know what to do with your hands without hold it, fingers twisting together.

His touch rested on them, stilling your wringing hands. You looked back into his eyes, the touch of your skin against his making your heart flutter. The way he was looking at you was making your head spin.

“If anything had happened to you…”

You wanted to know what the end of that sentence was going to be.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

His fingers slotted between yours, holding your hand. Pulling you forward a step, he tugged you between his legs, thumb brushing along the length of your index finger. Your breath caught.

“We could die,” he said.

“We’re not going to die.” You weren’t even going to entertain the thought.

“But we could. And if we do I’m not dying without ever doing this.”

His hand disentangled from yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. Guiding you down, your eyes fluttered shut, waiting for him. His breath ghosted over your lips before they brushed together. You whimpered, pressing closer, fingers closing around his shoulder again.

The groan he let out made you draw back, worried he was in pain again. He didn’t give you the chance, pulling you back in, kissing you deeper. Clearly the pain wasn’t too bad if he could kiss you with such skill it had your knees turning to jelly.

“Hey guys, is Lars okay?”

You drew back from him, cheeks heating up as you whipped your head towards the door. He chuckled, falling forward, forehead pressing to your stomach. Your fingers found their way into his hair, winding around his curls.

“I’m fine,” he called back before Lucky stepped in.

“Are you?” you asked.

You gently lifted the hand from the bowl of cooling water. The skin still looked wrong, too white, like a layer of wax over his palm.

“We should probably go to the emergency room,” you said, “I don’t think we’re equiped to fix this.”

“Can you drive?” he asked.

“Of course.”

You left Lucky with strict instructions to not touch the sphere and to keep an eye on the ghosts. After the night you’d had, she needed to make sure nothing more happened while you took care of Lars.

And yet if this was a portent of things to come, it was only going to get worse.

[dgrailwar]

Round 3, Day 2 - ALL TEAMS (Extra Summon - Tempest)

The lone Faker stood in the midst of the storm, awaiting whoever was to challenge her.

A figure, spiraling down from the heavens and striking at the Faker. The Alter-Ego, beautiful and proud, engaged in swift close combat as her bladed legs danced against the sparking metal of the Faker's sword. They seemed to be evenly matched, as the Alter-Ego laughed.

"I don't get what all the fuss is about--! I could handle you by myself, you know?"

"Alter-Ego… I like that warrior's confidence, but it won't be enough!"

The Faker's eyes flashed, the Alter-Ego's movements slowing in a critical moment as she was struck off the chariot, only recovering fast enough to safely land on the ground to regroup. The chariot wheeled downwards, charging at the Alter-Ego before a gust of wind threw it off course, the Faker's attention turning to another Servant. The MoonCancer, hovering in the air with massive flapping elephant ears, venting to nobody in particular.

"Gh… why couldn't I have 'support-type' build? Then I could just hang back and throw out buffs while everyone else got in close with the fighting. Ahh-- whatever! If I'm a tank, then I'm a tank! Let's draw some aggro!"

With the Faker's attention drawn elsewhere, two more Servants rushed into the fray.

"The sound of lightning…!"

"Come, o' Blade of Flames!"

Two attacks, simultaneously struck at the Faker. One, a glittering roseate fencing blade thrust forward. Second, a dark saber of cursed flames slashed downward. Both attacks forced the rider of the skeletal chariot to reel, as she retaliated with her own sword, knocking them both away with a thunderous strike as they both spiraled in the air, struggling to catch themselves.

"Uwaah--! That sword… is fast…!" "Hahaha! She's a bit tougher than a standard Heroic Spirit! Good! Very good!"

On the ground, two Servants watched. One of them, a Pretender in a white cloak, held out his hands as magic sparkled outward, providing energy to the direct combatants as they fought against the Faker. The second, a Ruler wearing a heavy blue cloak against the storm, was waving her banner proudly, light shining from her body.

"You must be the Ruler, looking at how proudly you're waving that flag. I didn't take a Ruler for one to want a reward."

"I don't care for the reward, just for solving this Grail War. This battle... we'll have to work together, but by some metric one of us will be determined as 'the best'."

"An 'MVP', perhaps?" The Pretender chuckled. "So, nobody can afford to sandbag either. Everybody wants to be a winner, right? Even someone like you can't afford to lose."

She slammed down her banner, the harsh rainfall temporarily broken by golden light that pierced through like an arrow, covering all the participating Servants against the Faker-Class.

"You're right, I don't want to lose either...so, let's give it our all! Come, Faker! Let the battle begin!"

"Hahaha! Now this is what I love to see! In this bout, I shall serve as your seventh! So come, show me that warrior spirit! The greatest of you will face glory, and the cowardly will face punishment! Warriors of the Extra-Class, Mages of the modern era, distant as you may ever be-- show me your resolve, and Faker will return it in kind!"

Due to the presence of all participating Servants everyone is put on fair ground! No boosts or demerits apply, the results are what they are!

The Servant who does the most against Faker (as in, gets 1st Place) wins!

SCORING:

1st Place will receive a boost of their choosing from an assortment for their next round!

2nd Place will not receive any rewards, but evade punishment!

3rd through 5th Place will gain a -2% demerit during their next round! These demerits bypass any resistances!

Last place will gain a wound that bypasses any damage evasion passives!

[monodramatic-cannibal]

Realized I never posted my Crossmare ship kid.

So here's Raiden :D I will put into for him under the cut if ayone is curious about him.

Head Canon voice: (Wanderer ((English)) from genshin impact) (Personality wise he's also quite similar to Wanderer too)

More info on his design:

He’s actually goop like Nightmare, it's just his goop is different colours. Has claws which they’re red like the marking on his face. When viewing his eye from the side the star pupil can be seen slightly above his eye. The skeletal things on his tentacles can be shot out/thrown as a sort of weapon can regenerate. The main necklace part is actually a gem. His legs have the same gradient that's on his face (the dark to light, doesn’t have red in the gradient on his legs)

Some info on family:

Raiden was raised primarily by Nightmare and Cross, but had the rest of the murder trio to look after him too. To him Killer is like an older brother, whereas Dust and Horror more so feel like uncles to him. Nightmare was the one to give him an education, as well as Raiden picking up a sharp tongue from him. Cross was the one to train him in combat in both physically fighting and being combat smart too. As well as dealing with Raiden’s emotional needs. (Both Nightmare and Cross may do the other’s role from time to time. E.g. Rai learning more dumb insults from Cross, or Nightmare providing a more logical emotional approach to a situation)

The way Nightmare and Cross raised Raiden is they both agreed to not push Raiden in a direction to be good or bad. Both of them would like Raiden to be a better person than them. But they know they can’t say much given how they are, especially now with how smart Raiden is, if they tried to push him to be good he’d probably use it against them. So they feel they made the right call with raising him.

Raiden was about before Dream/Nightmare made the truce, Nightmare kept Dream from knowing about Raiden, not wanting his enemy to know about his kid. But Nightmare never talked bad about Dream around Raiden, wanting Raiden to make his own opinions on Dream without his input. A year or two after the truce became a thing (around when Raiden was 14) Nightmare did tell Raiden if he wanted to go seek out his brother he could, but Raiden didn’t care too much to know him. Dream (and his group) only found out about Raiden recently.

Raiden doesn’t care too much about Dream or his group. Nor does he make much of an effort to get to know them. Finds them weird.

Who Raiden feels is his family: Nightmare: Dad (on rare occasions calls him Old Man) Cross: Pa / Pops Killer: (older brother figure) Dust: (Uncle figure) Horror: (Uncle figure) Error: (unsure but sees him as family) (will add more when I figure out more about Rai)

His magic/attacks/etc:

A lot of the magic he can preform have an ‘X’ theme to them. E.g. things like this (this being one of Arlecchino’s attacks in genshin, but I’m stealing its look for Raiden)

When his attacks aren’t ‘X’ themed they tend to look like lightning bolts (him living up to his name)

He can create a small (unseen) bubble around himself, when people enter this bubble they’re in an awake nightmare. Raiden being able to control the space within this bubble manipulating reality within this bubble as if it was a nightmare. Though this drains Raiden very quickly.

He also has blades he can summon. To most these blades appear to be shaped like lightning bolts, when in reality Raiden actually based it off of Cross’s scar. And at this point Raiden is too embarrassed to admit that to anyone.

---------

He doesn’t fully understand how to express emotions or how to understand others emotions. He struggles a bit, he still does express emotions, it’s just they may be a bit random sometimes. E.g. he’s annoyed most of the time, or may find things funny in situations he shouldn’t. He is a good person, and does have manners. It’s just he’s selective on who he decides to offer his polite side too.

Him being somewhat monotone and having a sharp tongue means he tends to upset or anger people who don’t understand how he speaks. He also doesn’t like most people, is very picky with who he decides to get along with. So even if someone can understand him there's a chance that Raiden will just be disgusted with them for no reason. He very much struggles to hold his tongue, often speaking without thinking. Which sometimes lands him in trouble.

Finds it hard to comprehend how others think, especially if they have a drastically different view to him. Will basically have a crisis thinking about how others have thoughts that he doesn’t know. (Not main character syndrome, more so people exist and have their own thoughts and feelings that I can’t understand, and I don’t like that)

He very much adores his family, and as much as he tends to insult everyone (Nightmare is the only one in the group that can escape his insults), he will apologize if he does feel like he’s actually upset one of them.

He is very much a family person, preferring to stick to his family and people they get along with over making his own friends. Doesn’t mean he won’t make his own friends, it’s just easier for him to stick to people who can understand him or explain to others how to understand him.

----------

Some info on the world/au:

In the world of this au both Nightmare’s and Dream’s group called a truce, Error and Ink also have their own separate truce between them. Basically for them not to cause any drastic positivity/negativity but both (Nightmare/Dream) allowed to step in if the balance of emotions in the multiverse gets out of whack.

The au follows more fanon interpretations of the groups, as well as my own head canons and such, I may or may not change lore as well for some characters.

[vintagerpg]

The Vorpal Almanac (2023) is also not what I would call a traditional monster book, but in the spirit of deconstruction and recontexualization that has run through this week’s posts, I think we can extend it some leeway.

It’s a collaboration between Levi Combs (words) and Sally Cantirino (art) and I love it a lot. It is unambiguous: a collection of 22 unique swords, an illustration (a portrait of the weapon and a previous owner) and flavorful quote on one half of the spread, a brief history and mechanical notation on the other half. An appendix consisting of a few tables allows for customization or the creation of new blades. Elegant. There are a lot of interesting weapons here (and skeletal owners, worth noting) but I think my favorite is Stormclaw, which can sometimes shoot out a bolt of lightning and acts as a lightning rod protecting the wielder from electrical attacks. There are probably more interesting blades in the book, but I like how Stormclaw feels unique and storied through the combination of a name, unusual magical properties and a brief and somewhat unremarkable history. More (all?) magic items should have at least this much individuality.

Monsters, though? Sure. Named swords of special history go back probably as far as swords themselves. Excalibur is probably the most famous, but there are heaps of them, every hero owning at least one (I have to say, though, one of my favorite things about Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser is that their named weapons aren’t special, to the extent that Fafhrd’s “Graywand” is whatever sword Fafhrd happens to be holding at a given moment). Tyrfing is perhaps my favorite legendary sword, forged under duress and cursed to kill a man whenever it was drawn. It’s one of several that inspired Michael Moorcock’s demonsword Stormbringer, and I think we can all agree that Stormbringer was a monster. I’m happy to call Netherfang and Nygotha from The Vorpal Almanac the same.

[leaslichoma]

I've been fascinated with the Aztec god Xolotl recently.

Xolotl (pronunced Sho-lo-t followed by an L like sound that doesn't exist in the English language) was a Mesoamerican god associated with many things, including fire, lightning, disease, deformity, twins, the Mesoamerican ball game, death, dogs, the planet Venus as the evening star, twilight, shapeshifting, and monsters. Xolotl was the twin and sometimes companion of his more famous brother Quetzalcoatl. Xolotl was thought to guide the dead in their journey through the underworld, and to guide the sun through the underworld each night. Xolotl is usually depicted as either a dog anthro, a man with a dog head, or a dwarf skeletal jester. Xolotl is usually depicted missing eyes. Xolotl seems to have been feared by the Aztecs and especially hated by the Spanish, but I have a more favorable view.

Some of the most prominent myths about Xolotl involve the story of the fifth sun, or how the current world was made from the previous, destroyed one.

The first myth involves the recreation of humanity. The tales differ as to whether Quetzalcoatl was responsible, Xolotl was responsible, or if it was a collaborative effort. The humans of the fourth world were destroyed, and humanity had to be brought back. To this end Xolotl and/or Quetzalcoatl traveled to the Aztec underworld, Mictlan and met with its king, Mictlantecutli. The god(s) asked to gather the bones of the previous humans so they could be created anew. Mictlantecutli. Mictlantecutli gives them tests but later decides against letting them gather the bones. Xolotl and/or Quetzalcoatl fall into pit, breaking the bones in the process which is why people have different heights. The bones are later resurrected. The versions of this tale differ as to which god went to Mictlan and whether they did tests for Mictlantecutli or simply stole the bones.

In the second myth, the gods are sacrificing themselves in a fire to create a fifth sun for humanity because the previous one went out. They choose Nanahuatzin, a poor and humble god with syphilis and some relation to Xolotl to become the moon; and Tecciztecatl to become the sun because he is wealthy and strong. However, Tecciztecatl is unable to throw himself in the fire when the time comes, so Nanahuatzin becomes the sun instead. Tecciztecatl is sacrificed after and becomes the moon (and also the man on the moon), but has a rabbit thrown at his face which is one explanation for the rabbit people sometimes see.

Later, Xolotl is the last to be sacrificed to the new sun. In some versions this is because he was the executioner for the previous gods. However, in some tales he refuses to sacrifice himself. Xolotl begs and cries until his eyes literally fall out but this does nothing. Xolotl transforms to escape Ehecatl who has been executing other gods to make the sun move. Xolotl at first transforms into a corn plant with two stalks, then an Agave americana, and finally an Axolotl amphibian. But he was still caught in the end.

What I find most interesting about Xolotl is his relation to disability. Since deformities are among Xolotl's best known domains, he could be considered a god of disabilities as well. Xolotl is also a god of monsters, and it's worth mentioning that the Nahua word "Xolo" which his name is derived from and means monster, is used for both mythological monsters and those with physical abnormalities, much like the Latin word "Monstrum". (I think in literature analysis the themes of monsters as outcasts could be explored more) In many, perhaps even most historical (and unfortunately even modern) societies the attitude towards those with disabilities has been very negative. In the Aztec world twins were considered unnatural, and sometimes one of them would be murdered shortly after birth. Wikipedia mentions an speculation by Eduard Seler that resonates with me: that Xolotl represents the murdered twin who dwells in the underworld while Quetzalcoatl is the living one who is cherished in the world of light.

Another connection with Xolotl and disability is that he was sometimes depicted as a jester with dwarfism. It's relevant the jesters around the world were often disabled. European court jesters were known for having the freedom to criticize and mock royalty, and were sometimes selected from the intellectually disabled because they could not be held responsible for what they said. Additionally, the Spanish during the colonization of the Aztecs sent some Aztec jesters to Spain, who were described as humpbacks.

This is what I find most interesting about Xolotl, that he is a reflection or shadow of society. Historically Xolotl was often considered a sinister god, but when society is itself sinister who is to be believed? My view of Xolotl is more favorable. The god of the disabled is feared because the disabled are hated. Xolotl is the outcast, who is hated and feared yet has done no wrong. Xolotl is the murdered twin, who looks upon the world of light and life, from a place of darkness, the world he was not given, never had the right to enjoy. He is the god who is looked upon with disgust due to his role in hardship, yet is the only one who stays with you through that hardship the entire time. Xolotl is the disabled child, who is called a child of shame and hidden away in some institution to be forgotten by their more privileged relatives. Xolotl is viewed with contempt, but his domains are just as necessary to the universe's function as any of the more handsome gods. The janitor, who is viewed with contempt and disgust yet whose works are vital for society.

The "evil twin" Xolotl, misunderstood twin and hound of Quetzalcoatl who lives in the world's shadow, watching the world of life and guarding the light of the sun through the underworld.

[jewishrat420]

Eddie Munson doesn't know what he looks like.

Sure, when he looks in the mirror, he sees a guy with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes to match. He sees two arms and two legs and a scar-crooked smile.

He sees all the parts that he has, all the parts that he knows he's supposed to have.

And he's capable of recognizing that they belong to him. It's not like he thinks he's inhuman, some beast of otherworldly nature.

(At least, not on good days.)

It's just... well.

Sometimes, when Eddie looks in the mirror, all he can really see is his face.

Like, sure, he can see the rest of his body. He knows his face is attached to the arms and legs that he's capable of recognizing in some separate, distant sense at some separate, distant time.

But when he tries looking at himself as a whole (after buying himself a full-body mirror to hang on the back of his door), it's like his face alone is magnified a hundred times over.

Like all he can see are the hollowed-out sockets where his eyes sit, the heavy flush of his cheeks, how stark it is against the rest of his pale skin.

It's like he zoomed in too far and got stuck there, unable to refocus and look at the picture as a whole.

All he can see is each individual pore that travels like a lightning rod through his skin. All he can see is the curve of his nose and how big it looks when his brain doesn't recognize its place on the rest of his face.

It's like he sees each feature individually. His eyes are miles away from his lips, his chin and forehead a stretch farther than that of the sun to the moon. Hopelessly revolving around each other in the desperate attempt to cross paths, understanding the inevitable and fighting against gravity to change it.

He recognizes that he has a face. That his eyes and nose and mouth and cheekbones and pores all belong in the same place, on the same body, to the same person.

But it's like there was a wire cut somewhere in his head. Like the connection that reminds him that all those separate parts actually go together was severed. That reminds him he's more photograph than Picasso, less alphabet soup and more a well-structured sentence.

It's worse when he looks at his body.

Because there's so much more to it than to his face. There are so many parts, so many varied pieces that somehow fit together and make him the gangly, skeletal, off-center human he knows himself to be. The sack of bones and blood that moves when he tells it to.

He looks in the mirror and sees his arms, how they hang and where they fall. And then it seems like they keep going, and rather than focusing on where they end (just above the jutting curve of his waist), all he can see is how little space there is from the tips of his fingers to his feet.

And then his arms look ten feet tall, stretched out to fit the entire length of his body, and when he turns away from the mirror, he swears his nails are going to drag along the carpet.

He doesn't know why he feels like this, but he knows he's been this way since he was a kid. He didn't know it was any different than how everyone else felt, assumed in that childlike way that he was just like all the other humans on this planet.

And then, one day, Wayne told him he should probably trim his hair. Said it was getting real long.

And Eddie had looked at him, confused, because his hair hadn't really grown for as long as he could remember. Kind of just stayed the same length, always at the same place on his body.

So Wayne led him to the tiny, clouded mirror in the yellowed bathroom of the place he'd learn to call home, his calloused hands big on Eddie's shoulders. He'd trailed a path with his finger from Eddie's scalp all the way down to the middle of his back, drawing a horizontal line where his hair ended.

"See, Eds? S'all the way down your back."

And Eddie remembers seeing this, even today. Remembers how confused he felt trying to connect what he saw in the mirror with the image his brain was showing him. Fighting reality with his own imagination— a battle he would soon learn cannot be won.

Because his hair did fall halfway down his back, objectively.

But it was also three feet off the ground, too, and that's pretty high up.

So it must not have been too long after all.

Because it still didn't look long, not to Eddie, not until years later when he and his uncle would bring out one of the scrapbooks and he'd finally see what the rest of the world did, if only for a moment.

It was then that Eddie learned he'd never quite see the world the same as everyone else. The way it was meant to be seen, by people who were meant to see it.

He'll see what's really there, eventually, but only after that version of him is no more than a fleeting memory. Only after he's adjusted to the way he looks in the present, to the vision his distorted eyes show him when he enters the hallway of mirrors.

It gets worse with the scars.

Because now his brain has something else to play with. Something else that convinces him that the thing whose limbs move around when Eddie tells them to isn't actually the person he calls "himself."

That they're actually three separate entities:

Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson's body, and the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body.

Three separate things, none of which have ever existed in the same world, let alone in the same person.

It doesn't bother him. Not always.

He doesn't need to know what he looks like, as a whole, the way other people see him. That's not for him.

No, Eddie Munson's Body is for the people that turn away when they see it in the grocery store. For the people who will peer upon its pale face in an open casket and mourn the thing that was inside it. The thing that Eddie knows to be himself, the thing that's begging to be seen for what it is.

But there's not much that can be done about it.

And most of the people in Eddie's life are there for him, for his brain, for the thing that floats inside Eddie Munson's Body. They don't care about what it looks like, only that He's in there.

Still, sometimes when Eddie looks in the mirror, he thinks he sees it. Him.

Eddie inside Eddie Munson's Body, hidden behind the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body.

He thinks he sees it, him, buried somewhere deep. Small, naked, crouched in the corner. Shaking with its hands clasped in front of its chest like it's praying.

He wishes he could do something. Wishes he could reach in and grab it, hold it in the palm of his hand (the one that really belongs to him, the one that he can see) and nurture it until it's bigger than the Thing, bigger than the Body, bigger than the whole world.

Big enough to be seen.

But every time he tries, it disappears like sand between his fingers.

So he gives up.

He drags his nails on the carpet and cuts his hair when Wayne tells him to.

He fills the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body and plasters a smile on the face he thinks is his.

x

original post

[dean-winchesters-clit]

hold my hand until it bleeds

Story by: dean-winchesters-clit (night_belongs_to_us on AO3)

Art by: @chaoticmessofmymind

Rating: Explicit

Word count: ~40-50k

Tags/Archive Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, trans!Dean Winchester, mentions of rape/non-con, self harm, suicide attempt, blood kink, canon-typical violence, canon divergence, post S14E10: Nihilism, psychological horror, psychological torment, intrusive thoughts, visual hallucinations, auditory hallucinations, Dean POV, Cas POV, Castiel and Dean Winchester have a profound bond, angel soul bonds, angel wings, wing fic

Summary: Michael stops pounding against the door of his cage almost immediately, deciding to take a more subtle approach in order to make Dean break. Visions, hallucinations, voices whispering in the back of his mind; Dean becomes paranoid and starts losing his grip on reality. With Rowena’s guidance, Sam and Castiel locate a cursed angelic artifact known by the Church as mani in fedé or ‘hands clasped in prayer’. The Church used it to subdue their enemies and keep their congregation in line, but it is rumored to have a different purpose that could destroy Michael and save Dean. With Dean rapidly running out of time, Castiel will do anything to save him, even if it means he will no longer be able to hide his feelings.

Preview:

Dean’s throat tightens into a vice, sucking in a gasp of air, and one of his whiskey fingers ends up on his sleeve at his sudden stop. He curses but ignores the soaked fabric in favor of focusing on the dark figure standing just around the hallway corner ahead of him. When he does, it vanishes. He blinks, shakes his head a couple times, looks again. It’s gone.

Dean sets the whiskey glass down and pulls his handgun from his waistband, quickly checking the clip before taking the weapon properly into his hands. He rounds the corner slowly, gun out in front of him, one hand on the grip and one supporting the base. The dark figure stands just down the hall from him, not even six yards away, but it vanishes again the moment his eyes and barrel are trained on it. Dean lowers the weapon and steps further down the hall.

Despite what Sam might say, Dean’s always been the quicker thinker and problem solver between the two of them. Sam may be a walking nerd-cyclepedia of lore and magic, but Dean has a finely sharpened sense of observation and a perfect score in pattern recognition.

He walks until he reaches a branching hallway, keeping his gun lowered but held tight in his hands. He stops just before the corner where the two halls meet and forces his gaze to fall to the floor. Dean allows his vision to blur, lets his eyes lose their focus and stare into nothing.

Then, in a shadow just around the corner, the figure reappears. Dean fights every instinct to immediately lock eyes with it and assess the danger, willing it to stay in the edge of his line of sight so he can figure out what the fuck it is.    

It doesn't move, doesn't take a single step, doesn't even seem to be looking at Dean.

It's humanoid and skeletal, wearing some sort of long crimson robe or dress that trails around and behind it in tatters. Even if his eyes were focused enough to make out any distinguishable features, its head and face are shrouded by the shadow it stands in. Creepiest of all is that it's familiar somehow, like something Dean once saw in a dream, and god does he hope that there's no way in hell his dreams could-

The sudden shiver that runs down his spine feels like frozen lightning in his nerves.Dean's dreams of hell went from a nightly occurrence to a weekly occasion to a monthly happenstance over the course of a few years. Nowadays, with a decade of distance between him and his time in the Pit, his nightmares of hell are more of a once-in-a-blue-moon chance meeting than a common happening. But when he does dream of fire and brimstone... he dreams of them.

Coming to Dean🔪Cas Horrorfest this October! @deancashorrorfest

Listen to the playlist while you wait!

[vilevampz]

Crafting an Eerie Atmosphere in Gothic Writing

Atmosphere is crucial in gothic literature. It sets the tone and immerses readers in the eerie, suspenseful world you're creating. Here’s how to master this essential element:

Use Descriptive Language to Evoke the Senses

Descriptive language is your tool to evoke sights, sounds, smells, and textures. This multi-sensory approach helps create a vivid and immersive setting. Think of how Edgar Allan Poe describes the decaying mansion in "The Fall of the House of Usher"—every detail adds to the overall feeling of dread. By painting a complete sensory picture, you draw your readers deeper into the narrative.

Example: Instead of saying, "It was a dark and stormy night," you could describe it more vividly: "The night sky was a tumultuous sea of roiling black clouds, illuminated sporadically by the fierce flash of lightning. The air was thick with the metallic scent of impending rain, and the wind howled through the barren trees, rattling their skeletal branches."

Focus on Strong Imagery and Diction

Using rich, precise language (diction) enhances the overall mood and atmosphere of your story or poem. Imagery provides a way for your readers to visualize the scene and feel the emotions of your characters. Choose words that evoke strong images and emotions, and consider the connotations of each word.

Example: In a scene set in a dilapidated castle, instead of simply saying, "The room was old," you could write, "The room exuded a sense of ancient decay, with its cobweb-draped chandeliers and walls stained by years of neglect. Every surface was cloaked in a fine layer of dust, and the air was thick with the musty odor of forgotten time."

Experiment with Weather and Landscapes

Weather and landscapes can mirror and amplify the emotions of your characters, adding a layer of depth to your narrative. A stormy night can reflect inner turmoil, while a foggy moor can suggest mystery and uncertainty. Use the environment to enhance the mood and foreshadow events.

Example: A character grappling with grief might be surrounded by a relentless rainstorm, the downpour symbolizing their tears and the dark clouds mirroring their despair. Conversely, a scene of rising tension might be set against the backdrop of an oppressive, sweltering summer day, with the heat adding to the characters' discomfort and irritability.

Tip: Use weather changes to signal shifts in the story. A sudden storm might foreshadow a dramatic turn of events, while the clearing of fog could symbolize clarity or revelation.

Additional Tips for Crafting Atmosphere:

Soundscapes: Incorporate sounds to enhance the setting. Describe the creaking of old floorboards, the whisper of the wind, or the distant cry of an owl. These auditory details can add to the sense of unease.

Lighting: Use light and shadow to create mood. Flickering candlelight can create a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, while deep shadows can hide threats and secrets.

Contrasts: Contrast the ordinary with the supernatural to heighten the eerie atmosphere. A familiar setting disrupted by an otherworldly event can be particularly unsettling.

Symbolism: Use symbols to reinforce the gothic atmosphere. Common gothic symbols include ruins, ghosts, and darkness. However, creating your own unique symbols can make your writing more original and impactful.

By focusing on these techniques, you can create a rich, immersive atmosphere that draws readers into your gothic world and keeps them there, spellbound by the eerie beauty of your writing.

[sunjinjo]

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The third part of this series by the master of light, body language, expression and hands, Lumier, is upon us!! ✨___✨

Scaramouche's darkest moments, stripped down to a core of misguided hatred, as portrayed by the Wanderer in his sword-and-fan dance at Zubayr Theater...

“Misguided by the outlander’s lies, the puppet carved from white wood gave in to bitterness, hatred and rage.” Kintsugi unsheathed his shining sword again, swift and bright as lightning, startling the audience with his complete shift in demeanor. Gone was his trembling vulnerability, gone was his previous playful grace. He was rigid, coiled, poised to strike, seemingly in any direction. The one he struck first was himself, however. With a diagonal strike upwards, he summoned a splitting gale where he stood, ripping through his white clothing and tearing the kimono and hakama to shreds, leaving them to flutter to the ground like so much snow. Underneath, he wore his regular attire, black shorts and tight sleeves – but his white haori and blue robes were hidden by another black garment, also covering his Vision like a clouded, starless night. He was left a dark specter, suddenly pale as death in contrast to his clothes, matching his skeletal fan in every aspect. In the audience, Nahida found her chest tightening with memory. Despite who he was now, despite her own resounding victory over him, Scaramouche had still left his scars on her – and this was him, in every aspect.