#twilit-violet-one

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A cheery character in a leather coat and long orange scarf holds a bright green carbonated drink in their hands. They sit atop a huge bubble – one of many bubbles that rise above the twilit purple and violet towers of the city below. Text reads, “180, MIZZ FIZZ ~ SMALL GOD OF EFFERVESCENCE”]

• • • • •

They say some people have bubbly personalities, that they make everything sparkly and exciting through their very presence.  The social equivalent of body glitter—and just like body glitter, they tend to linger long after they’ve left the room.  They get remembered, they get remarked upon, and they get all too frequently dismissed as being frivolous and unimportant.

Mizz Fizz would change all that if she could.  She would remind the world that a comedy routine without a few zingers and good lines has no staying power; that a meal with no pops of flavor, no spikes of salt or delicate transitions, is forgettable mush.  Shallow things can sparkle, yes, but not everything that sparkles is shallow.

She would remind the world, but the world, drunk on the ecstasy of having something to dismiss, wouldn’t listen.

So she’ll stay the life of the party, the vital spark that lifts the dullest gatherings to the level of memorability, the pause that puts power in the portent.  She’ll stay the electricity of the soul and, yes, the fizz in a can of soda.  She doesn’t need things to be large and important.  Everything she touches is important, and she tries as hard as she can to remind her followers, when they feel dismissed or wanted only for the levity they carry into a room, that she loves them because they sparkle and because they don’t, in equal measure.

Not even the brightest of diamonds can sparkle all the time, and if people refuse to love a diamond when it’s dull, those people are very wrong indeed.

If you need to lighten a mood or elevate an occasion, call on Mizz Fizz.  And if you’re afraid that you’ll never be bright and bubbly again, that you’ll go unloved if you can’t entertain, whisper your concerns to her in your nightly prayers.

She’ll tell you that she loves you all the same.

• • • • •

Please join Lee Moyer (Icon) and Seanan McGuire (Story) each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

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[kingofthe-egirls]

LAVENDER: UTA x LUFFY

(cw: kissing, sex, creampie, gear 5 shenanigans)

(a/n: it was fun to write for Uta instead of y/n)

words: 2.2k

***

The sun hits lavender on the sea’s horizon line. Luffy kicks a pebble down the beach, enjoying the warm waves of summer air. Uta walks in front of him, holding her boots in one hand. She picks her way along the beach, avoiding sharp shells and stones. Luffy watches her footprints appear in the sand.

Suddenly, Uta stops. Luffy almost bumps into her, before he catches himself. She’s staring at something in the distance, eyebrows furrowed and a pout on her lips.

She sways, before turning around to face him. The sunlight throws amethysts into her eyes.

“If you want to,” she says, hips popped to the side, one hand still holding her boots. She’s wearing a white dress and a blue sleeve, with his straw hat design on the back of her hand. His heartbeat quickens to see it. What does it mean, when his breath hitches and his gut twitches, when he sees it? Some part of him, still linked to her? Enough to put on a piece of clothing?

Questions swirl through his head, as they stand together in the sand. Ocean waves lap at their feet as they pause on the twilit beach. Luffy wipes his hands on his shorts. She frowns, her delicate lips pouting in a coral red. “Only if you want to,” she reiterates, hand poised by her side as she illustrates her point. She pauses, chewing her lip. Her eyes slide to the sunset, as she mulls over her words.

“What?”

Luffy squishes his sandals into the sand. She seems to be struggling with something, but Luffy can’t tell what it is. She’s staring intently at the fading lavender light. A warm wind brushes over Luffy’s skin. He squeezes his hands in and out of nervous fists.

“I want…,” she scrunches her nose, still staring firmly at the sea, “To kiss you.”

Luffy stares.

Is she serious?

Is this a game?

“But it’s only if you want to!” She quickly says, stamping her foot. The ocean waves lap at the shore, crashing gently. He shifts in the sand, feeling it give way beneath his sandals.

“I want to.”

He says it without hesitation. He’s never been one to turn down an adventure. She stops, lips parted.

Luffy closes the distance between them in an instant.

“Mine,” he growls, lips just barely brushing hers. He needs to know, needs to hear it, that she’s his.

She smooches him once, and then, “Yours.”

He smiles, and presses his lips to hers for a proper kiss.

Her lips are soft as sugar, and just as sweet. She tastes like peppermint.

“Mmm,” Luffy moans softly against her lips, his tongue chasing hers. She lets him in, and soon his tongue is softly guiding hers to explore his mouth, too. She nips at his bottom lip, and pulls away.

“That was my first kiss.”

She stares at him with violet eyes and plush, kiss-bitten lips. He smiles, nice and wide, as his hand goes to his hat. His other hand goes to her waist, to press her close against him. “Ah!”

She gasps a little at the movement, but Luffy grins. He presses his cheek to hers, and whispers a small, quiet, “Mine too.”

She giggles, nose pressing into his cheek. She smooches it, before winding her arms around his waist. She grabs into the fabric of his shirt, leaning against him with her chest pressed to his and her head on his shoulder. She’s soft, and squishy, and so warm.

“Mmm…,” Luffy hums, happy to have her weight against him.

He strokes her hair, over the red and pink, before bringing his hand to her chin. He slowly, slowly tilts her head up towards him. She sighs, eyes half-lidded, as he closes in for another kiss. His lips press against hers, softly moving together.

“Mmph!” Uta moans as he deepens the kiss. Her hands go to his waistband, pulling at it impatiently.

“Want you,” she whispers, her forehead against his. She smells like cotton candy.

“Here?” He asks, his lips still touching hers. He scratches his nails down the length of her spine, and he feels her shudder with goosebumps.

“Back on the ship.”

He nods, grabbing her hand to start sprinting down the beach.

****

She laughs breathlessly as they board the ship, still holding Luffy’s hand. He’s grinning like a maniac, pulling her along towards his cabin. The setting sun paints him in an orangey glow, all golden and amber dancing on his skin like sparks.

He pulls her inside the door to his cabin, and pushes her up against it. He’s gentle; he doesn’t want to hurt her. But he wants to please her and every instinct in his body is saying to kiss her.

Uta moans into the kiss, sliding down the door a bit as she swoons. Luffy giddily laughs as he catches her. “Careful, princess.”

She snorts, and waves him away. She’s got roses blooming on her cheeks. Luffy snickers, then tugs on her wrist to start leading her back toward the bed. She’s still blushing, but she follows him all the same.

“Luffy…,” she mumbles, as he sits on the bed with her standing between his knees. She plants her hands on his shoulders, and leans down for another kiss. Luffy’s hands wander over her thighs, squeezing and fondling her curves. He grabs her ass with a tight grip, snickering.

“Luffy!” she complains, the roses on her cheeks now dyed darker. He kisses her palm, lifting it to his face. Romantic. As if he wasn’t still feeling her up, hands all under her dress.

His hands find their home at her hips, squeezing gently.

“Whaaat, ya don’t like it?”

He’s got his chin against her tummy, looking up at her heavenly face. She’s gazing down at him, smiling through her blush. She softly runs her hands through his dark hair.

She shakes her head.

“I like it.”

Luffy grins. “Wan’ more?”

She nods, before leaning down to kiss him again. She kneels over him, straddling him on the bed. “Take this off,” Luffy commands, tugging at her dress. She lets him pull it off overhead.

“Slow,” she tells him. He nods.

Luffy is staring at her chest, mouth parted in awe. She’s shivering a little bit, feeling so exposed. But then Luffy is grabbing her tits in strong, warm hands and she can’t think of anything anymore. And when his mouth finds its place on her nipple, she swoons.

“Shishishi,” Luffy snickers, pulling away from her spit-covered nip, “I’ve barely done anything ta ya~”

She hmphs, head turned to the side. Luffy drags his hands up and down her ribcage. “I like ya like this,” he says, “All pretty and blushy f’me.”

She presses her lips closed around a moan. His hands are fire on her skin, his fingers squeezing at her breasts. Fireworks bloom beneath his fingertips.

“I—I like you like this, too,” she murmurs, starting to subconsciously rock her hips against his. Luffy hisses at the friction, before leaning down to suck a bruise onto her neck. He makes sure to nibble it, wanting to leave a mark. He pulls back and smiles at his work.

“You’re mine,” he says, fingers tracing the bruise. His lips are parted in fascination.

Uta squirms a little, flushed and excited. “More, Luffy,” she whines. She rocks her hips once in demonstration. She’s gorgeous above him: her red and pink hair draped over each shoulder. Her breasts, left open and bared. He sucks a nipple into his mouth again, gently moving his lips around it.

He flicks at it with his tongue, while his hand comes up to play with the other one. He squeezes at her breasts, before switching places with his mouth. He laves his tongue across her chest as he goes. The feeling of his spit, cool in the air, is a new, weird feeling that crinkles her nose in guilty pleasure.

Luffy is soft and gentle, until he starts teething at her nipples and she has to pull him off. “Enough, Lu!” She huffs, hand in his hair. She opens her mouth to say something else, but she stops. Moonlight seems to be blooming at the roots of Luffy’s hair.

Gear 5.

“Luffy!” She gasps, as his hair turns white, as well as his clothes. He snickers up at her, chin between her breasts. His arms are strong around her waist, looping over and over again like rope. She squirms in place, but Luffy holds her still. He’s smiling.

His eyes are pink.

White clouds swirl into a halo around his head, completing his transformation. Uta swallows; she’s not sure what she’s in for.

“So fun,” he says, dragging her back and forth on his cock. His head tips back in pleasure. “Wan’ more~”

He stretches his arms down so he can remove his clothes, while keeping Uta snug in his grasp.

Luffy pulls her panties to the side. “S’okay if I fuck ya like this?” He rasps, sliding his cock back and forth across her slick entrance. She nods, smitten.

Luffy lowers her down onto his cock slowly, and with precision.

Uta gasps at the stretch, but it’s so nice and so big…

“That’s it, sweets,” he grunts, bucking up into her with one, short thrust. His rubber-wrapped arms hold her in place as he pushes her onto his cock.

“Luffy—!”

“S’deep, isn’t it, baby?” He starts a slow rhythm, shallow and sweet. His white hair floats around his face, as steam starts pouring from his ears. It fills the room as he fucks her from below. Uta sees stars, literally. They wink into being and swirl around her head.

“Luffy!” His name is all she can manage as pleasure starts setting off firecrackers in her body.

His muscled abs clench as he fucks her, still holding her with rubber arms. Hearts are swirling around his head, too.

Luffy pants, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Steam fills the room, swirling around them in a moonlight haze. It’s hot; Uta pants, too.

Luffy sits up so he can flip her onto her back. He still keeps his arms in loops around her—he wants her close.

Luffy slows his pace, making love to her now, all slowed down and sweet. His white hair floats around his face, tickling her chin as he leans down to kiss her. “Love ya~”

Uta strangles out a moan, a drunken “Love you too, Luffy!” All rasped out and broken.

Luffy thrusts in long, languid pulses. Her tits bounce and shake with every movement. Luffy stretches his rubber neck down to kiss on them.

“Luffy!” she cries, squirming in his grasp, “Sensitive!”

Luffy just laughs, licking big ice cream licks over her nipples. “You can take it though, can’t ya?”

She pouts, still squirming a little. She’s trapped in Luffy’s arms, but truth be told—there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

Luffy snickers as his head snaps back to normal. He slowly unravels his rubber arms from around her. His expression softens; he strokes her cheek. Uta smiles, blushed and sweaty, as she leans into his ginger touch. This is heaven.

Uta reaches up to cup Luffy’s face in her hands. Luffy’s pace is slow and sensual, softly fucking her with the utmost care. He turns his head to press a kiss to her palm.

“Want ya ta cum,” Luffy rasps. He reaches down to press his hand against her lower abdomen. “Please cum f’me?”

Uta squeezes her eyes shut at the pressure of Luffy’s cock massaging inside her. It’s long and thick, and curved upward slightly. His tip rubs up against her g-spot with every thrust. It isn’t long before shimmers of sparks run down her back in a waterfall of ecstasy.

Luffy giggles as he watches her face contort in pleasure: all red and pink like an apple. She’s sweet, too.

“Luffy!” She gasps, mouth parted like a peach ring. His name tastes like sugar on her tongue, as he giggles and thrusts faster for her. He jackhammers his hips; riding her through her orgasm as he chases his own. He spills inside her with a strangled groan, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. His face is a deep amber, blushing slightly as his jaw juts forward. “Pretty girl, that’s it, that’s the stuff, sweets~”

“Luffy, ah, ah~!”

,

…

* __

sweetness,

like a peach

‘’ , *

like a god

…

*

like him.

Uta comes to with a gasp, her whole body shuddering in pleasure. Luffy pulls out slowly, both of them groaning at the sensation. His cock weeps onto the mattress below them, as his seed spills out of her.

Luffy is smiling, sweaty and flushed. He leans over to the bedside table, opening the drawer to grab a rag. He gently cleans both of them up, before scooping Uta into his arms. Her long, lovely legs drape over his arm, as she rests her head on his shoulder. He takes her to the bathroom, setting her gently in the bath. Luffy starts running warm water, and softly joins her. They both rinse off, enjoying the heat of the bath. Luffy sighs, deflating slightly as the water tires him.

His hair is black.

Uta runs her fingers through the raven spikes, gently pulling his hair away from his face, revealing his sharp widow’s peak.

She traces it delicately with her thumb. “Love you, Luffy.”

He smiles, dopey, and leans into her touch.

“Love you too.”

[chucapybara]

—as bruised thorn wilts.

some thoughts on innamorati and arlecchino's first few meetings.

the arlerati brainworms really wouldn't let me rest until i get these ideas down 😭 it just kept going... it's 1.8k words...

no particular cw just a lot of mindless, rambly brainrot and inna vaguely dishing out her "love" (hint: murder)

the duty of a ferryman is to guide a voyager from one point across the river, to wherever their destination beckons them. through snow and rain, the unfettered innamorati abides not by weather, but by the calling of her passengers and the calling of her majesty's mission.

and so, when she finds a lost snezhevich in the wilds of elynas—young still, no taller than her hip—inna knows she must safeguard his return.

the child, having been separated from the rest of his siblings, was compelled to wander by tales of the beast whose bones now lay slumbering, fused in grass and soil. one of such youth had no purpose there so far away from his "family", and had gotten himself into trouble with the local creature population.

bearing fistfuls of hail and frostwind comets, innamorati had descended then upon the breacher primuses assaulting him, to the little snezhevich's amazement. a knight clad in armour dark as the twilit sky—yet with a kind touch in spite of their harsh scolding, kneeling down to speak in lowered tones and inquire what would bring him thereabouts.

innamorati knew this place well, could taste the taint of abyss even through the sheet of her helm. it was no place for a young boy.

she escorts the snezhevich back to the rest of his group, then back to the court of fontaine. they speak to her about the things they found amid the marrow, the curious plague upon the earth turning the grass as sundered violets.

rainbow roses, the rare sprout, had been the eye of their venture: a gift, they said, for their elder brother, before their sibling had wandered astray. to pick the carefully cultivated roses near the fount of lucine and within perimeter of the court might warrant trouble, and being the spry imps they were, had dared to brave the sea and to cross into the beryl region on their own.

for the most part, inna counted herself impressed by their courage (and their audacity). she made it known so, as their boat crossed the waters where it would be safer, still. she had the least liking for children, but it did not escape her the endearing quality to their spoils: a small bouquet of rainbow roses, clumsily held within a table napkin. a modest gift, to be sure, but one of great heart.

her odd kindness was not lost upon the children, either. where innamorati made to depart from the court—she was not particularly welcome in many cities, due to the nature of her profession—the snezheviches and lone snezhevna tugged at the cool, almost icy metal of her gauntlet, pulling her with them.

(children of snow ought not have any qualms in touching this frostbitten elegy, as is their birthright; and even little favours such as this deserve utmost thanks, as it was how they were raised.)

it wasn't long before their residence came into view: the hotel bouffes d'ete, headquarters to the house of the hearth, where a familiar duo stood speaking by the door.

a notable magician's hat, and a pair of quaint cat ears. their voices are hushed, a secret spoken between brother and sister.

as they received the gifted flowers and welcomed their lost siblings, who then in turn introduced the obsidian knight that had led them home, eyes fell upon innamorati. but of those eyes came a pair not present in their midst—the gaze of baleful scrutiny.

as she tilts her helm in its direction, innamorati almost believes a pair of crimson crosses had flashed just by the second story window, before vanishing like a spectre.

arlecchino hardly ever went uninformed by matters of consequence both dire and miniscule. after all, as a diplomat and fatuus, every morsel of information did not come without its value, however minute.

thusly so, it was not lost to her, the identity of that armour-clad figure. every harbinger ought to know the movements in relation to their ranks, and when an addition had been made upon the lowest rung, she'd thought little of it—another pawn to the tsaritsa, and no more.

so who could draw blame at her suspicions, when the abyssal spawn adopted by her majesty had personally seen to escorting her children back to the hotel? she had heard wind of the flesh that creature had torn apart with bare tooth and nail, of how they had feasted upon the denizens of the tsaritsa's domain; and how the tsaritsa had glimpsed the sane wedged in their madness, and thought hopefully of the nourishment those lives had offered to a potential servant of hers.

“even a collared devil must surely, too, have its benefits to keep.”

no more than a chained beast, made to amend for those troubled villagers she had fed on. arlecchino almost pitied the poor thing.

albeit so, the children—arlecchino could see—were nary scratched or nicked in their return. they seemed almost joyous, in fact, perhaps sheepish as they offered lyney a bouquet of rainbow roses held together at the stems by a tablecloth. a crude gift, but a gift nonetheless. so, perhaps, let the children be.

the knave's gaze would return once more to that armoured veil. the way they stood, almost timid in the throng of her fosters, uncertain. it seemed almost...

human.

innamorati had very little need for accommodations: a boon to the finances of the fatui. having dug her way out of the recesses of the earth after five abyssal years meant there were few conditions inna could not survive in, maybe none at all.

after completing an excursion of her own into sumeru and handling affairs of some stragglers (affectionately, in that morbid way of hers), innamorati received a letter from a scout that spent quite some time seeking her.

work to be done in fontaine, once more. more affections to ferry across the seas, and with it, a peculiar offer: an invitation, as guest, to board for a time at the hotel bouffes d'ete, as extended gratitude for returning those wayward children.

as she sits with the letter, her armour still stricken with red, innamorati thinks then of the little ones she had found traipsing around elynas, the magician duo.

the crimson x's from the window.

there would be no purpose to it. her work did not need to involve the house of the hearth or its director, but perhaps there was no undoing the ties she had woven on that day. the memory of that family’s “warmth” still lingers, tantalising, tempting—a moth to a flame, an invitation sitting on parchment in her hands.

the sweet tang of iron wafts through her visor. a limpid growl churns in her frigid soul, the rousing of another within.

she'll consider it, later, once she has quieted her little beast.

the day innamorati arrives is not the bloodstricken hour—that is to come yet.

she doesn't quite know what to do with herself in the lobby of the bouffes d'ete. the air is sweet with the fragrance of flowers—almost too sweet, she thinks—and cinder from the ever-flickering hearth, lending a warmth to the room that almost drew dew across her armour. cold, versus heat.

the children welcome her, and they speak of a "father" who is yet to arrive. inna vaguely recalls. they have not met in person, but she has heard of the woman: the lord they call knave.

one cursed, knowing another of similar ilk. but as innamorati stands in the presence of the knave's children, she couldn't help but find them pure as the untouched fire, with a lingering shade to them—the shade, perhaps, of the acts their life has led them to do.

there is an offer of a hearty meal, but innamorati politely refuses. she does not remove her helm, after all, in the presence of others; her visage is a mystery, even to inna herself.

(she almost fears what she might see, at this point.)

in return, she offers a chest of trinkets and baubles, toys and other useful things, treats and foods: items she’s procured during her time in sumeru. a guest, of course, musn’t come without bearing gifts—to do so would simply be rude, and innamorati was anything but rude. a callous lifetaker, perhaps, but certainly not rude.

as the fosters begin proclaiming which of the gifts are theirs, that familiar looming presence once more returns to haunt her. not the one that resides beneath her skin, but the other.

the “father” has arrived.

when the children rise to greet her, innamorati does the same. the sharp resounding steps, a distinguished gait, a cold and calculating gaze sharp as the gleam of a scarlet blade—there was no doubt that she was the fourth of them, indeed, an indisputable fact. in comparison, innamorati may as well have been nothing.

neither of them speak, for a moment, merely trading stares of acknowledgement. the recognition of one fatebringer to another: murky shadow beneath a visored helm to baleful crimson x’s.

“a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, innamorati.” she speaks the name with tempered intrigue, enough to make the discernment of tone difficult. neither a threat nor a welcome, but a measured neutrality.

innamorati tilts her helm, ever so slight. “a sentiment i share, lady arlecchino.”

it is the first they ever meet in person, and the first of many others to come.

for someone dubbed a chained beast, arlecchino found great interest in the manner by which innamorati interacted with the hearthfolk. the lovers seemed almost timid in the way freminet was known for, content merely to observe, her responses to queries quaint and modest—soft, almost. it felt nothing like the vicious bite she had expected out of a muzzled taskdog.

perhaps arlecchino had been too quick to conclude anything about the knight.

inna’s words held an underlying melancholy to them, even as she spoke of other things: the meaning of this sumerian gemstone inlaid upon this brooch, the background of the artisan who crafted that vibrant spinning top. she spoke with respect, which could hardly be said for many other fatuus, especially among the other harbingers.

but her tales—ah, innamorati’s tales. the knave had no shortage of stories all her own, but she was oft content to lend the stage to others, to let them speak; for in speaking can one reveal aspects of who they are to those who listen. a most apt technique indeed for information gathering, and one that brought to her some surprises.

what had taken possession of innamorati, then, to have raised her to just below tartaglia’s rank? what had she glimpsed in the depths of the abyss that she would hide away from all the world, veil her countenance, and become as another? perhaps it is the softness she shares in him, that childe; the softness unbecoming of the tsaritsa’s most dangerous.

it felt almost like reverence for the world, a love for the life that went into every little thing she brought to the hearth that day.

needless to be said, of that first visit, the children lacked for nothing by way of stories to carry regarding the gifts they chose for themselves.

somewhere, somehow, a feeling stirs in arlecchino. a burning curiosity, she finds, to gather all that she can on this beast parading within metal skin.

would she still be a knight, then, at the end of those flames—virtuous and upstanding in the ways decreed by the tsaritsa? when the veil has been turned to ashes, what ever shall remain in her wake?

she cannot help but sense a pulsing eagerness to find out.

[stellerssong]

WKFJSA your WIP Wednesday post is an absolute delight to read, thank you 😂😂😂 can I hear a bit more about #6 and perhaps persuade you to share a snippet if I ask very very nicely?

i'm glad to hear it! the thing i have really missed about being on tumblr is being fucking sillygoofy about my own fic. you have to be an adult in the comments, y'know, and there's only so much room in an author's note for Japes and Goofs when you have to make time to outline non-tag warnings and link song attributions and thank your prompter and/or beta and flash an In Tonight's Performance The Role Of X Will Be Played By card as necessary and—

anyway.

#6 was indeed begun in my evernote drafts while waiting for the Fall Out Boy concert to begin and slowly sinking under a dose of unprescribed downers. i think maybe Pat Stump and Pete Wentz are not good at writing, like, "music"—many of those melodic lines are 100% reliant on "i have the range, stamina, and lack of understanding of what constitutes healthful singing of 23-year-old Patrick Stump" in order to function—but some of their word salad lyrics do make great titles, and except to dream sweet of me was kind of a banger from first principles. but then i was like "oh maybe this is my chance to drop while you're orbiting, might i? a potential fic title i've been holding in reserve for a few years now." but THEN i was like "in the spirit of continuing to tick boxes on my nonexistent List Of Languages I've Used For A Fic Title, and also in the spirit of what actually happens in the fic, why not trína chéile, le chéile, claochlaithe?" vote now on your phones!

okay but what is the fic actually ABOUT. right. what the fic is actually ABOUT is, i believe @tickldpnk8 commented on suffer that hurt that they wanted to see Lucienne tell Dream about her "pleasant" "conversation" with Desire, and to know how that would go. for my part, i didn't want to end revisionsverse without at least one more tender moment between Dream and Luce, because as much as i joke about this being the "Dream talks to all the women in his life au," the Danny/Luce relationship is really the heart of the thing. i also wanted there to be some reciprocity for Luce's courage in suffer that hurt (and during the years of Morpheus' captivity).

something that i think is not super important to fandom at large, but which is very important to ME, is the acknowledgement of female characters of color's emotional labor—not just "wow! you are so girlboss and yass kween and Greta Gerwig Barbie, just like we always knew you were!" but like, "you were brave and strong and i know you didn't really have a choice, but it matters that you endured, let me help you hold that for a while. i see you and i love you." it's the seeing that matters the most to me. not the assumption that She's Always Got It In Her, not the unbroken fortitude, but the acknowledgement of the person underneath. and like, Luce has seen the person underneath all of Dream's competing positionalities so much in this series—has helped shape that person for the reader in a lot of very real ways—so i wanted to get Dream looking back at her, through his own eyes, and showing us the person he loves.

"okay but i'm asking what HAPPENS in the fic. what is the PLOT" THEY CUDDLE IN BED WHILE DREAM CASUALLY HAS A SERIES OF VIVID HALLUCINATIONS. THIS IS A NORMAL DATE NIGHT FOR THEM.

“Where are you now, love?” You are drifting weightless and silent through the soft-edged dreams of a floating cnidarian, the constant pulse-pulse-pulse of your meandering path through space the only defining line between your body, your mind, and the vast careless collective of the open ocean— —and you are stalking along at the side of one of the lesser nightmares as it pursues a child through an alien, twilit forest, tasting fear-sweat smeared over the flat violet plane of a teardrop-shaped leaf, marking the depth of footprints in the leaf-litter, listening for panting breath and for the impact of a small body against the ground as your quarry stumbles for the final time— —and you are stone, molten and white-hot, the burning heart at the core of a newly formed planet which dreams of cooling rains and columns of cloud and the first trembling breath of a living thing that might one day tread the ground of you, the world of you— “I am here with you.” “Well, I know that’s not true,” Lucienne says with a sleepy chuckle. “Or not entirely, anyway.”

[starlitangels]

Found

What is this? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Where did this come from? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Enjoy! 1.5k words

—

Eloise jolted as the door burst open.

"We have to go. Now."

"Evan—what—?"

"They found us. Time to run."

"You said they wouldn't."

"I said it would take a while. They found us. They grabbed me." He extended his wings. The red-yellow-and-blue macaw feathers were gone. Replaced by deep violet, glittering with black.

"How did you escape?"

"Our friends. Pulled me out of their grip and bought me time to get to you."

Eloise puffed her own wings. "Where are they?"

"It doesn't matter. We have to find another world."

"I told you if we ran, we'd never stop."

"So, what? We should never have left? Do you want to go back to that existence, El? Do you not remember the burning?"

"I remember. And I don't. But we can't run forever."

"They made us immortal. We can."

"Ev—we can't just leave our friends to fight for us while we abandon them!"

"Matt, Zach, and Steven specifically told me to grab you and run. And that's what I intend to do."

Evan grabbed Eloise's wrist and started to drag her out of the house. The house she and her brother had built with their own hands. And maybe a liiittle bit of their powers.

"Our friends’ strength won't last forever. They're mortal!"

"They don't have to fight to the last. Just long enough for us to make a portal and run for another world." Yanking his sister into the front yard, he pulled the starsteel blade out from where it had been hidden behind a hedge. Kept safe. "Come on. They'll all feel us leave."

One of Steven's black, sinewy monsters screeched in the distance. An explosion from Matt's kinetic energy following.

"But... we just got here."

"It's been two years."

"Can we not fight for our friends? They turned us into their kind—we have the same powers! Maybe we could defeat them! Defend this whole world!"

Evan spun the blade in his free hand. The point of it drew lines of purple light in the air. The colors of his feathers fighting between violet and primary colors.

"Eloise. We were Made. We're not truly like them. That's why we burn in the form they gave us. We'll never be as strong. We can't fight them. All we can do is run."

From the same direction as the shrieking monsters and the explosions, a familiar scream. Zach. No matter how many times he popped back into existence after death, he always screamed in fear right before it happened.

Evan spun the sword again. Runes and sigils appearing in the air. Ice sublimated off the freezing, bluish-silver blade.

A screech ripped at the very fabric of reality.

"Ev, they know what you're doing!" Eloise shrieked.

"Two more sigils!" Evan replied.

Matt screeched through the tall trees. A pinkish explosion lit the undersides of the twilit clouds.

Eloise gasped.

"El, focus! We'll need your Eye when we get through the portal."

Her feathers ruffled. "I can't... I can't leave them, Ev."

"We have to go!" Evan snapped.

Eloise wrenched her wrist out of her brother's grip. "Keep the portal open for me."

"ELOISE!" Evan shouted as her snowy wings beat at the air and she launched into the sky.

Like a shooting star going the wrong way, Eloise streaked upward. A large chunk of the forest was decimated. Hordes of Steven's monsters writhed in shadows.

Steven, barely visible in the distance, suspended in the air above them, holding onto the amulet that let him focus his Gifts with one hand. His black cloak fluttered in the air spell keeping him aloft, its golden underside flashing in the setting sun.

With a green blaze, Zach stepped back into existence.

Matt was prone on the ground, the dirt shimmering pinkish around him, charging with energy from his very touch, even while he was unconscious.

Eloise twisted and shot into a dive toward her friends. The ones she and Evan had run away from two hundred years ago weren't visible from this distance. One had to be close to see the bends in reality belying where their forms lurked.

Eloise and her brother were gifted with the sight of birds of prey even before they were reMade. She could see a mouse on the ground from a thousand feet up.

She could see the distortion in the air in the shape of humanoid hands reaching for Steven. He was focused on getting some of his monsters to Matt to protect him. By the time he'd notice it would be too late—

Eloise slammed into him, sending them both hurtling downward. The hands above them grasped at air. Eloise panted, shocked that it worked.

She braked hard and set Steven down on the ground as gently as she could. His monsters swarmed him, looking to protect. None of them so much as looked at her.

Steven grabbed her shoulders. "What were you thinking? You're supposed to be getting out of here!" Up close, his mortal age showed a lot more. The wrinkles in his forehead and beside either eye. The salt in his hair. Somewhere in his forties. And Eloise was frozen forever at twenty-two. Evan at twenty-five.

Zach vaulted over a fallen trunk and rushed to Matt's side. Matt's pinkish blood was oozing from a cut in his forehead.

"I couldn't leave you!" Eloise retorted, feathers puffing up indignantly.

A monster leapt behind Steven. A distortion of air crushed it back to the earth, where the black sinuous form melded back into it in a shower of reddish dust.

Steven's grip on her shoulders tightened. "I already lost my kids once! Don't make me lose you again!" he snapped. Silvery tears brimmed in his eyes.

"We're not your kids! We've been alive for two hundred years! We're adults!"

"I don't care. I promised I'd keep you safe! Go back to your brother and get off this world! Come back when you can but go! Hide!" He was using his Dad Voice. Eloise's feathers smoothed down, her wings folding close to her body. "Sweet little Eloise. Don't make me lose more kids." Steven cupped the side of her face. "I don't think I could bear it. I—"

El, I'm about to do something really stupid. Get our friends as close to you as you can and make a shield as big as possible but allow me through it. Understood? Evan's voice in her head said.

Understood.

She yanked Steven by the lapels of his long overcoat toward Zach and Matt. Zach was kneeling in the one patch of smoldering dirt that wasn't glowing pinkish-silver from Matt's energy, looking around wildly while trying to revive Matt. Eloise stopped between Matt's legs and Zach's crouch, holding Steven by the lapels.

She screwed up her face.

White lines burned into existence in a criss-crossing dome around the four of them. Distortion hands slammed against its sides. Eloise buried her face in Steven's chest, concentrating, using her wings as a secondary shield around her friends.

She didn't see the shimmer of violet travel along her feathers.

She didn't see the way her skin began to crack, white-and-violet light spilling out from it.

She didn't see her wings begin to glow.

She didn't see a disc of light, high in the air, rise above the trees.

She didn't see it plummet down toward the earth, held before a diving figure holding a bluish-silver blade.

She didn't see realization dawn on Zach's face, or the way Steven's eyes widened when he realized what was happening.

She didn't see Matt stirring.

All Eloise could do was concentrate on keeping the otherworldly beings away from her friends as their fists slammed into her forcefield.

Evan shot past the figures and through the shield.

The portal swallowed Eloise, Steven, Matt, and Zach first. Evan plunged into it through the other side immediately afterward.

—

Like falling off a cliff and into a rushing river, the five of them tumbled through nothingness. Evan and Eloise gathering the other three together with their wings and hands.

"El, now!" Evan ordered.

Eloise nodded and closed her eyes again.

Burning into existence on her palm, a white eye appeared through cracks in her skin. She held it out, swinging her hand in all directions while Steven and Evan clung to her so she didn't drift away.

She was silent and still for several agonizingly long seconds.

Her eyes flashed open, burning the same white as the one on her palm. "Hold on," she said, voice echoing.

Light gathered around them in the darkness.

The five of them shot through nothing.

Steven looked over her head at her brother. "What is she doing?"

"Traveling the fabric between worlds is her real power. Seeing each world is what she does. She's taking us somewhere else. Somewhere... hopefully far away from The Others."

Steven looked down at where Eloise's hair—the same light brown as Evan's—flicked in a nonexistent wind.

"Will we be safe there?" Zach asked. Matt peeled his eyes open.

"We'll make it safe. Because we'll all stick together," Steven said. "We're not losing our family again." He took Evan's arm with his free hand. Evan nodded.

They both held Eloise tighter as she sped them through the Void.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

twilit-violet-one replied to your post “funny-yet-insightful-retort replied to your post ...”

Um, excuse me, it's CONSERVATIVES who don't give a shit about the children suffering in concentration camps. Liberals and ONLY liberals are the ones trying to do something about it. If you're going to lie, you're gonna need to try a LOT harder. I have literally not seen ONE single conservative show any concern for those children. Not a one.

Another clueless American who thinks when I use Liberal I’m referring to the American Left/Supporters of the Democratic Party.

THIS IS A CANADIAN POLITICS BLOG.

In Canada Liberals are supporters of the Centrist Liberal Party of Canada or members of that party.

These Liberals are refusing to condemn Donald Trump (see Justin Trudeau). These Liberals are making it harder for US refugees to claim asylum in Canada. These Liberals say ‘Welcome to Canada’ then do nothing to help American refugees trying to escape Trump’s concentration camps and draconian muslim bans.

These Liberals are ignoring fascism as it is happening in the name of ‘diplomacy’.

[imaredshirt]

How come you deleted your fic "The Trouble With Locks" on Ao3? I loved that story!

Sorry!! I was feeling very self-conscious about my writing, so I went through my fics and deleted the ones that I didn’t feel good about. But! I do plan to edit The Trouble With Locks and a couple of others, and once I’m happy with them I’ll post ‘em again. 

I’m glad you liked it tho! Might see it again in the future =)

[deadly-dearie-moved]

I don't know who you are, Anon. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you leave Deadly-dearie alone now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. >:3

ooooh, spoopy!! thanks hun ♥ but i’ll be fine :D it’s fun!

[annasource]

What is your header from?

Ralph Breaks The Internet (2018)

Anna, and other Disney Princesses, had a cameo in it.

[appatary8523]

My friends and I have decided to stop following you You are a toxic person Just because you don't like Encanto is no excuse to say such rude things You take delight in hurting people You have every right to your opinion but NO right to say things you know are hurtful Nobody has that right Why are you so full of hate?

Hello. Sure, go ahead. Do me a favor and unfollow also my ask blog (Ask-Hector-and-Ernesto).

And there's no need to say it anonymously, I know it's you, Hectic-hector, (former twilit-violet-one, Ina Goodling) you're specialist in making yourself the victim every single time. I thought you liked to keep discussions in public, there's no need to hide, or go to Facebook pages to complain as you've done before.

I don't know why you keep this thing going, trust me, you are not important enough for me to have me thinking how I can make you get mad.

I'm sorry you thought I was calling you pathetic when I was calling a fictional character pathetic, my bad, I thought I was dealing with adults.

And also, that friend of yours who said:

"I have a feeling appatary8523 got some emotional trauma going on and this movie triggers something, but instead of dealing with it in a healthy way choose to lash out. But thats just my take im not a therapist 🤷‍♀️"

If that were the case, you guys use people trauma and triggers to attack persons JUST BECAUSE THEY DON'T LIKE A DUMB MOVIE FOR KIDS? That's low. You and your friends seems to be the ones that enjoy being hurtful. But, as I said earlier, you always find a way to victimize yourself.

Anyway, do whatever you want.

People, be careful with @hectic-hector and @black-diamond-cat . They'll mock of your mental health if you don't think like them.

Very sad to know Disney movies targeted to kids attract this kind of persons with such toxic behavior.

[galadhremmin]

A memory of shattered Light

The Sun passes and the Moon falls, and Fëanáro unmakes the Silmarils.

-----------------------------------------------

He takes his great hammer and lifts it above his head like the knife of sacrifice. Listens closely to the rush of the wind, for anything, anything—but no voice stays his heavy arm. No voice cries out of the stones, which just shine and shine, giving and transforming light into Light, the world as it was and would have been into the world that is.

And then the Light is everywhere.

Nothing to contain it, no dream to chase it. No tree to bloom with it, to flower with it, to fall with it.

There is a moment of silence so profound it seems impossible to draw breath. There is no memory of striking, only of being stricken. There is only white, white light, and he is blind! blind! And then--everything—everything he has ever created is in this, and is pouring out and out. A creator knows; no masterpiece is made out of just one thing, and the master of all masterpieces is made out of every one of them. Every skill sharpened on lesser work, sights, songs; a first view of cold stars above Araman during the long travels of his wild youth, the rush of a first kiss transformed into something substantial— the final glance of final parting, transformed—the gleam of sea-wet stone on the shore --transformed, the sound of a word in his mouth, memory of lightning moving wildly through leaves on summer’s day, a thousand clanging nights in smithies deep below the earth, transformed, transformed, transformed— and at last Laurelin’s light on his mother’s molten silver hair, so still, so still, and every breath, every glance, every moment, the very weight of his gaze, his glance, his, every—he thinks, for a moment he can hear his heart beat in the light, but it is something not unlike thunder and now wholly outside of his grasp, roaring out through the twilit garden and into the pale clouds above. And he longs to go with it, but it is leaving, it is leaving.

And the Light should be—should be somewhere, now. Should there not be a sparkle of it, softer, but insistent, be on everything now? Imbuing the world-that-is with the world-that-was, seeping into every crack of Arda Marred like gold, to hold it together in some strange new shape?

But the Sun has passed, and the Moon has fallen, and Lórien’s perfumed air is dark and silent like a tomb.

No sound hounds his steps as he makes his way to the bier where so long ago his mother laid down never to stand again, too weary to weep. And finally, he thinks, with maybe the last shadowed thought, the very last thing he will ever shape, looking at the fading stars now echoing with his voice—does he understand what it meant for his mother to go out into him.

His gift given, he may give no more.

-

And every year in the Mended World, where the cracks still show but golden Light and the memory of a thousand nights sinks into the breaks, the Children come to the darkened gardens, where the night is soft like violets, and fair Fëanáro lies still in dreamless sleep like the memory of a world gone by, and weep.

----- ("It is said that Míriel answered Mandos, saying: ‘I came hither to escape from the body, and I do not desire ever to return to it. My life is gone out into Fëanáro, my son.This gift I have given to him whom I loved, and I can give no more.’") this story on AO3

[loneberry]

Encounter / Incontro

By Eugenio Montale (translated from the Italian by William Arrowsmith)

Stay, my sorrow, do not

desert me on this road lashed by eddying

scirocco winds, flailing, then

dying; sorrow, dear

to the dying breeze

on which, lifting over the anchorage

where day now breathes its final voices,

floats a cloud, tilting skyward

a cormorant wing.

Where the river meets the sea, its mouth

is arid waste, alive with limewash and stony rubbish—

but more a sluice for the trash

of human acts, of wan, twilit lives setting

beyond the horizon

whose circle walls us in: emaciated faces,

bony hands, horses filing past, screeching

wheels—not lives, no, but vegetation

of the other sea that straddles this.

We move along a rutted road, caked

mud, grooved, undeviating,

like a hooded cortège crawling

under a weary sky lowering now

almost to window-level, in air

so dense it tangles our steps,

and this human seaweed writhes

and sways in the breeze like curtains

of whispering bamboo.

If you leave me, my sorrow,

sole living portent in this swarm,

a sound seems to diffuse

around me like the chirr of the hands

before the striking of the clock,

and I slump, unmoving, in the hopeless

wait for someone ignorant of fear

here on this shore surprised by the sluggish

tide—who does not appear.

I may regain a face: in the glancing

light, impulse draws me

to a spindly plant raised

in a pot by a tavern door.

Toward it I reach a hand and feel, fusing

with mine, another life that bears the one form

torn from me; and, like rings

on my fingers, not leaves, but hair

curls around me.

Then nothing more. O drowned presence, you disappear

as you came, and I know nothing of you.

Your life is yours still, dispersed now

in the fitful glintings of day. Pray for me then,

pray that I descend by some other road

than a city street,

in the violet air, against the teeming tide

of the living, that I sense you at my side,

that I go down,

unflinching.

*

Tu non m’abbandonare mia tristezza

sulla strada

che urta il vento forano

co’ suoi vortici caldi, e spare; cara

tristezza al soffio che si estenua: e a questo,

sospinta sulla rada

dove l’ultime voci il giorno esala

viaggia una nebbia, alta si flette un’ala

di cormorano.

La foce è allato del torrente, sterile

d’acque, vivo di pietre e di calcine;

ma più foce di umani atti consunti,

d’impallidite vite tramontanti

oltre il confine

che a cerchio ci rinchiude: visi emunti,

mani scarne, cavalli in fila, ruote

stridule: vite no: vegetazioni

dell’altro mare che sovrasta il flutto.

Si va sulla carraia di rappresa

mota senza uno scarto,

simili ad incappati di corteo,

sotto la volta infranta ch’è discesa

quasi a specchio delle vetrine,

in un’aura che avvolge i nostri passi

fitta e uguaglia i sargassi

umani fluttuanti alle cortine

dei bambù mormoranti.

Se mi lasci anche tu, tristezza, solo

presagio vivo in questo nembo, sembra

che attorno mi si effonda

un ronzio qual di sfere quando un’ora

sta per scoccare;

e cado inerte nell’attesa spenta

di chi no sa temere

su questa proda che ha sorpresa l’onda

lenta, che non appare.

Forse riavrò un aspetto: nella luce

radente un moto mi conduce accanto

a una misera fronda che in un vaso

s’alleva s’una porta di osteria.

A lei tendo la mano, e farsi mia

un’altra vita sento, ingombro d’una

forma che mi fu tolta; e quasi anelli

alle dita non foglie mi si attorcono

ma capelli.

Poi più nulla. O sommersa!: tu dispari

qual sei venuta, e nulla so di te.

La tua vita è ancor tua: tra i guizzi rari

dal giorno sparsa già. Prega per me

allora ch’io discenda altro cammino

che una via di città,

nell’aria persa, innanzi al brulichio

dei vivi; ch’io ti senta accanto; ch’io

scenda senza viltà.

*

*

*

Who has also met the drowned presence in a plant? The form torn from me—disperse. Truly uncanny.

[brent-sunborn]

Darkness Renewed

The breath was knocked from Brent’s lungs as the appendage of darkness slammed him across his chest. He was flung roughly fifty yards back, before a crumbling stalagmite caught him. It was hard to say which hurt worse. Quickly as he could, he scrambled to his feet, one dagger drawn. The weapons had begun to feel heavy in his hands now. No longer did they feel like extensions of his body, but rather as cumbersome weights he’d attempt to heft to and fro. But they were all he had to defend himself with now. The Void monstrosity was unrelenting, chasing him through the Rift without mercy. With his free hand, flicked his wrist as if to hurl one of his shadow-born shuriken-- only to huff in frustration as nothing came forth. A whiff, the hand motion feeling limp and impotent now. He grunted a curse, before turning to run. His only real option, at this point.

Coming here was a bad idea. Brent had hoped returning to the Void would help him find his path again, but it only illustrated just how far he’d fallen. His mind couldn’t focus - not with so many voices ringing through his head. So many terrible images all rushing through his mind’s eye. It was crippling, in every sense of the word. Cripping, and disorienting. His only sense of direction was away from the behemoth that hunted him through the Rift, a coalescence of power he’d once wielded with such ease.

Then, he tripped; once so nimble and silent-but-surefooted, now he stumbled about and fell over like a drunkard. One hand caught him, the other failed. He rolled, face scraping against the nondescript dust of whatever chunk of Telogrus rock he’d been dropped onto. Grunting in both frustration and pain, he pushed himself up and kicked against the ground to start running again. The precious lead he’d had before was lost now. He could feel the very shadows of the monstrosity itself nipping at his heels.

What had happened? He’d never struggled so much with the Void before. He took to it well, as a matter of fact! The transition felt more empowering than confusing. Yet now, with the Old God’s demise, the Void was so unbridled. It felt very much the opposite of when the Sunwell was destroyed - yet every bit as terrible. Instead of a lack of energy emanating through him, it all felt like too much! He’d lost control-- and the Void sought to consume him for it!

Eventually gaining enough of a lead again, he dove behind a ledge and pressed his back up against it. He focused on the only thing he could control anymore - his breathing, labored and erratic, but still his own. His eyes darted about warily, watching for any movement in the darkness that surrounded him. The distant twilit starts in the Rift provided only so much backlighting. But enough to tell the ground from the sky… and bring attention to any movement ahead of him. The tense and harrowing aura of the monster that pursued him was dim now, at least. But present, as the void-born beast continued to search for the wayward rogue. 

He fought to control his breathing, or at the very least silence it as not to betray his hiding place. Beads of cold sweat dripped down from his forehead. His heart raced, beating so hard he swore it would pound its way out of his chest. He swallowed back the bile that fought its way up his throat. He wanted to puke. He wanted to die. For a moment, he contemplated hurling himself off the side of the floating platform. But he knew well that wouldn’t be the end of this torment. Rather… the beginning.

He closed his eyes, and cleared his mind. Emotions were a beacon in this place, radiating out like a siren’s call. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to recognize it, and the training to bridle those emotions. He calmed quickly, his heart rate dropping and his worries dissipating enough to hide from the Void monster in yet another way. He could feel it's sickening aura departing, and waited until it left him fully before moving again. He exhaled a sigh, as he peeked over the edge.

“I can’t defeat this thing…” he thought to himself.

“Is that your goal, then? To defeat it?”

Brent spun around quickly, dagger’s edge faced out before him as he assumed a defensive stance. A voice? Who could sneak up on him? His eyes settled on the source of the interjection; another ren’dorei. A young woman. He kept his blade up, and narrowed his gaze.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “How did you--”

“--Read your thoughts?”

The woman’s lips curled to a smile as she snickered lightly. She wore an elegant, decorated dress. Violets and golds intertwined in a pattern reminiscent of a formal ball gown. Frilly lace decorated the cuffs at the ends of her long sleeves, as well as the hem of the dress itself. A light fur coat draped over her shoulders, with a simple golden chain loosely latching both sides before her. A pendant hung from the chain; ivory, if Brent had to guess, carved into a diamond shape. The bulk of her dark hair was tied back into a ponytail, yet curled locks of it were left unbound to frame her unmarred face. Her eyes were wide and bright, even amidst the dim and dismal backdrop of Telogrus. They spoke to her youthfulness, complimenting her melodic and cheerful voice. She was easily half a meter shorter than he was… but her presence commanded such attention as if she were two stories tall.

“Call me Vyllith. You’re Brentius Lor’aran, yes?” she asked… though clearly already knew. 

“H-How did--” Brent nearly repeated himself, before grunting.

He lowered his blade, though kept it ready. It was proof enough she was telling the truth. At least… about her reading his thoughts; no one called him by his real name anymore. It was a show of force, so to speak - what could he hope to hide from her? Still alarmed… still on edge. He looked around, before glancing to Vyllith again.

“... What do you want?” he asked, tersely. “If you didn’t notice, I’m a little busy here.”

“Running from your power. Yes, I saw.” she snickered once more. “It seems you’ve taken on more than you could handle, hm?”

“I didn’t take this on intentionally. The thing just… attacked me, as soon as I got here.” Brent huffed.

Vyllith laughed her melodic laugh again as she began to pace around the rogue - indifferent to the apparent danger of the situation. She didn’t so much as ‘walk’, as much as her legs went through the motions. Her body seemed to simply float her intended direction. She left no footprints in the dirt… her steps made no sound. Brent’s hand tensed around the hilt of his dagger, eyes never leaving the woman. And in that moment, he started to fear her more than the beast that had pursued him.

“I don’t mean that creature, silly.” she brought the back of her gloved hand up to cover her mouth as she continued to snicker. “I mean all of this! The Void is potent! Chaotic! Dangerous. You’re out of your depth, Brentius.”

“Hmph! Stop calling me that!” Brent snapped. “What are you even saying? I’m the last of the Blackened Blades! I’ve wielded the Void for years before now!”

“Not by yourself.”

Vyllith snickered again, continuing to slowly saunter about in a nigh-taunting manner. Brent scoffed. He nearly opened his mouth to dispute it, but… honestly couldn’t. Perhaps that was it? His ties with the Old Gods had made his experience with the Void easier. Not so chaotic and overwhelming like it felt, now. But in their absence, without N’Zoth to filter and focus his power, it seemed like he could barely keep up with it! 

“... Hmph.” Brent could only grunt in frustration, as he shook his head.

“Awww, don’t be upset!” Vyllith tilted her head to the side. “That’s why I’m here! I want to help you, Brentius.”

“Help me what?”

“Help you be what you were meant to be.”

Understandably, he was skeptical. Here more than most places, no one showed up offering to help without some ulterior motive. He had no idea who this foreign elf-- or entity, more like-- even was! Yet she materialized before him now, at his lowest and most vulnerable point… offering aid? No, this was very obviously a trick.

“Mm… and what’s the price of your help, Vyllith?” he asked, making no effort to conceal his skepticism. “You’ll want something in return, I expect?”

“Hee hee… Well…” she snickered, eerie laughter seeming to echo through the endless void. “Not right away.”

Confirming the suspicion didn’t help him as much as he thought it would. He’d just spent nearly a decade in the service of ominous entities, and he was in no hurry to get involved with another. 

“--Calm your thoughts, I’m not like them.” Vyllith added, proving once more to have found purchase in his mind. “My wish is to see all ren’dorei reach their potential. To sift through the Void’s whispers and embrace the gift they’ve sought out for themselves. I want you to be free.”

“Until you--”

“--Please don’t interrupt, Brentius. I won’t be calling in any favors anytime soon. And even when I do… they’ll be to both our benefits.” she flared, the thrums of power emanating from her growing more and more apparent. “All things considered, I think the offer’s fair. Minimal intrusion for getting your life back on track? There are worse ways to go about it.”

She turned, looking out past Brent-- the Void Beast had returned, looming closer and closer to Brent’s little hiding place. She smirked, eyes settling on Brent again. Another playful chuckle escaped her. A warning and a taunt all in one.

“It’s up to you.”

Brent scoffed. His hands tensed around his daggers as he felt the chaotic aura of the beast grow stronger… closer… he narrowed his eyes, taking a defensive footing-- for all the good it would do. Sidling up against the outcropping, he readied himself for another fight. He hoped for an opening, something to give him a good strike before he set off running again. Would it even do anything, though? He wasn’t sure. He glanced to Vyllith again, who simply floated nearby as if to watch it all unfold.

His wind-up dwindled quickly after, as the futility of it set in. What choice did he have? She was right, he was way out of his depth, here. The ship that helped him cross through the Void had sunk, leaving him to either learn to drown…or learn to swim. He nodded to Vyllith, accepting her offer of aid. He left it non-verbal, seeing as it didn’t matter if he spoke it aloud or not. She’d know. It wasn’t much of a choice, but at least it was an easy one. 

Just as he nodded, the Void Monstrosity whipped around the outcropping, roaring an ethereal roar as its nondescript eyes settled on Brent. But before it could reach out and strike at the rogue, Vyllith floated in between them. Without so much as a somatic expression, the beast simply - and literally - dispersed. It was silenced, then broke apart into millions upon millions of flakes and fragments, each sailing out into the darkness before being consumed by it. Brent found himself in awe, dumbfounded by how easy she had made it look to undo the fearsome beast! Her giggle resounded throughout the area once more as she turned to Brent, smiling.

“Don’t worry. That’s one of the things I’ll show you how to do.”

She floated in closer, extending her hand to Brent. Exhaling slowly, Brent sheathed his blades, and reached out to take the offered hand. He pushed the uncertainty from his mind, for the moment. It was a way out-- no, more than that, a way to gain that self-reliance he’d wanted since before N’Zoth’s demise. Brent was a survivor. An opportunist. Whatever cost came down the line, he’d find a way to either pay it or get out of it. 

Either way, he wasn’t going to die here.

[hectic-hector]

twilit-violet-one is no more...

[lady-duskveil]

The Basics ––– –

NAME: Aleyria Duskveil. AGE: An inappropriate question. BIRTHDAY: Late winter. RACE: Ren'dorei. GENDER: Female. SEXUALITY: Pansexual. MARITAL STATUS: In an open arrangement.

Physical Appearance ––– –

HAIR:

Once a cascading curtain of spun gold, the ravages of the void have leeched color and luster from the waves of Aleyria’s hair, its softly roiling silver waves reminiscent of the glint of spider silk in the witching hour. Left loose to be tossed by the whims of the mercurial winds, she somehow always manages to maintain elegant curls and a certain grace that sees it caress the curve of her spine in a way most provocative.

EYE:

Faintly bruised at their sockets by the wonders of her scholarly pursuits, Aleyria’s eyes are gently swept into feline intrigue by a careful application of stiletto sharp liner and smoky powder. Her gaze lightens only at the twilit violet points that illuminate the shadow's incursion into her dark sclera, parting with an unearthly glow that yet defies the corruption of her practices.

HEIGHT:

Five feet, eight inches.

BUILD:

Curvaceous, in a word -- atypical for elven standards of beauty, in others. Though she hardly lacks for the elegance that the timeless blood of the elves gifted her, a certain softness clings to the fullness of her hips, the swell of her bust. While there is much to be admired of her, she favors intimation and subtlety over outright provocation: the peek of a long, shapely leg from the slit of a slip of figure-hugging silk that otherwise maintains her modesty is all that can be expected of this scholar.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS:

An oddity or a trick of the light, the perceptive note that her shadow moves independently of her, shifting outwards in tenebrous tendrils or otherwise mirroring whatever so amuses it in play. At the most dire, that shade might reveal itself to be something more than benign mockery - with good luck, one will never have to see that day.

Whether swept up into preternatural magicks or practicing some eldritch, long forgotten ritual, thin, runic scarring comes to life on her pale skin when her power is motivated to come to the surface. At its height, the lambent light of those foci are no different than the color of her eyes.

Her powerful grip upon the void has been as much a damnation as it is a blessing. That shadowplay has chased much of the living color from her, leaving her a specter of her former self. Accordingly, the cut and color of all of her clothing tends towards that which will flatter her most - black on black on black.

COMMON ACCESSORIES:

Aleyria is fond of creature comforts and accessorizing the otherwise plain gowns that she dons, indulging in a wealth of rings, necklaces and earrings that dangle from the lobes or curve to the sharp points of her elven ears. Her hands - rarely without gloves - often favor the silken fur of a black shroud that hugs her shoulders. Though plain, a curious rosary woven of black beads hangs at her breast, the visage of a veiled maiden at its end. 

Personal ––– –

PROFESSION: Dark Sister of the Cult of Forgotten Shadows. Scholar. Sorceress. In all things magically inclined towards subversive shade and the madness it imparts in the mind, she is an expert. HOBBIES: Making music (harp), painting, fine embroidery, insect collecting, reading, oneiromancy, gardening and archery. LANGUAGES: Polyglot, though particular to Darnassian and Thalassian. RESIDENCE: Hardly a woman of little means, Aleyria keeps a quaint little estate that favors practicality and comfort over the riches that she had accrued in her life. The decor is antiquated, austere and subdued, and the walls are scattered with countless paintings whose haunting depictions are spawned straight from the reaches of her dreams. The Duskveil estate is at once a work of art, a sanctuary for a scholar’s mind and an homage to her studies in the shadow. BIRTHPLACE: Southern Quel'thalas. RELIGION: The Void. FEARS: Loss of control; being robbed of freedom; total and utter loneliness; certain breeds of the Scourge.

Relationships ––– –

SPOUSE:  Deceased. CHILDREN: Deceased. PARENTS: Deceased. SIBLINGS: None. OTHER RELATIVES: Plenty. ACQUAINTANCES: Plenty.

Traits ––– –

extroverted / introverted / in between disorganized / organized / in between close minded / open-minded / in between calm / anxious / in between disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient / in between outspoken / reserved / in between leader / follower / in between empathic / unempathic / in between optimistic / pessimistic / in between traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / in between cultured / uncultured / in between loyal / disloyal / unknown / in between faithful / unfaithful / unknown / in between

Additional Information ––– –

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

Flaws

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky

Strengths

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | loyal

RP Hooks ––– –

Lady of Ruin

Once a lady of an esteemed noble house within Quel’thalas, the fall of the house of Dawnveil’s foremost southern estate was a source of ruin that led her to the grace of the Light long ago. Those particularly embroiled in the politicking of Silvermoon’s most esteemed court may remember her as as one of the devout brides of the Radiant Flame, a cloister of high elven priestesses and a far cry from the shadowy scholar she has become. Some may even seek to reconnect with her in a search for understanding - what could have possibly led her so far from the path of righteousness?

Scholar of Shadow

Particular to studies of the shadow arts and their intersection with the deplorable whispers of the Old Gods, Aleyria’s specialization in the exploration of the realm of madness has been cause for criticism by some. As such, her inquisitive mind is ever in search of lucrative partnerships with other enterprising individuals that might lend a hand to the often dangerous ordeals she puts herself through in pursuit of knowledge. Those of fragile mind need not apply - or do, if you’ve an interest in serving as the perfect subject she needs.

Forgotten Sister

Not all that Aleyria pledges herself to are wild romps through forgotten ruins in search of artifact and antiquity. The Cult of Forgotten Shadows, the conclave of shadow priesthood that praises and idolizes the absence of the Light, is paid due pittance in her travels as a priestess. To those less inclined to seek the embrace of the Light’s warmth in healing the wounds beaten into their ragged flesh, Shadow may prove an apt companion - if you don’t mind listening to the soft whisper of her proselytizing and opening yourself to greater corruption.

OOC ––– –

Hey! I'm Nika. I'm a 28 year old witchy lady living in northeast America in the middle of the woods. I'm an amateur artist, decent writer and avid roleplayer. I'm also a gigantic goofball and a huge introvert, but if I like you, you'll know it. I’m looking for more connections for my sultry shadow priestess, Aleyria.

As I don’t find myself playing much World of Warcraft anymore, most of my RP is done through Discord. I prefer multi-paragraph roleplay but can and will adjust to my partner, and plot lines and long term RP are loved. I'm more than willing to work together on or run story arcs. I am lore-compliant, but appreciate fanon and flexibility.

► Please be 18+. I will not roleplay with you if you are not of age. Sorry, but this is to protect myself and to protect you. ► IC is not OOC. I'm not interested in being the target for frustration or sexual interest. I will block you if you make me uncomfortable. ► My time is limited. This isn't to say that I won't have time, but I have a very active life. Please be patient if I don't respond right away. ► I will play mature content and themes (violence, gore, sexuality, drug or alcohol usage, temporary imprisonment, temporary injury, etcetera). ►Please ask about long term injury or disfigurement, captivity or imprisonment and character death. (These themes should have plot associated with them, as I love my character dearly!)

If you’re interested in plotting with me, I can be contacted at Scowlet#7417.

[moon-calvary]

A re-design of my Coco OC Ixchel/Rocío in her real form

@tonuitekan @twilit-violet-one