#unity the lost canvas

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Round 1 - Match 22

This poll will be open for a week! Happy voting!

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1st Round - 11th Match

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Sixty Two

Three months had passed since the Rumbling reshaped the world, and Paradis was a land reborn. The island, once cloaked in the shadow of its towering Walls, now basked in the boundless light of an open sky. The absence of Maria, Rose, and Sina was a constant marvel, the horizon stretching endlessly in every direction, a canvas of possibility that stirred both awe and unease among the people.

The air carried a new kind of security, a quiet confidence born not from fortifications but from the knowledge that the enemies across the sea were no more. Beyond Paradis lay an empty world, a vast expanse waiting to be explored, and Hange, ever the visionary, was already planning an expedition with a team of Jaegerist volunteers and Eldian refugees from Marley.

In the bustling town of Trost, life pulsed with a vibrant, if fragile, energy. New homes rose from the earth, their wooden frames a stark contrast to the charred ruins that still dotted the landscape. The scent of sawdust and fresh paint mingled with the crisp autumn air, a testament to the island’s relentless drive to rebuild. The integration of the twenty thousand Eldians from Liberio remained rocky, the distrust between Paradis natives and Marleyan refugees a lingering wound. Harsh words and suspicious glances were common, but slowly, incrementally, a sense of unity was taking root. The realization that they were all each other had in this new world was a powerful force, one that Queen Historia had championed tirelessly.

Some Paradis natives had opened their doors to the refugees, sharing meals and stories, fostering a tentative community. In one small village, a Paradisian baker named Lila had taken in a Marleyan family, their children now playing together in the streets, their laughter a bridge across old divides. Such acts were small but significant, seeds of hope planted in the fertile soil of a world remade. Historia and Aurora had advocated for this openness, their voices a steady call for compassion in the face of fear.

At the heart of this transformation stood the newly expanded orphanage, a beacon of hope located near the Jaegerist compound in the former Wall Rose. The sprawling complex was a marvel—whitewashed walls adorned with colorful murals painted by the children, wide windows that let in streams of sunlight, and a sprawling courtyard filled with laughter and games. Run by Historia and Aurora, with help from Gabi, Falco, and a rotating cast of volunteers, it was a sanctuary for the island’s children, both Paradis natives and Marleyan refugees. The orphanage was more than a home; it was a promise of a better future, a place where the scars of war could begin to heal.

Noah, the boy Aurora had saved from a titan, was thriving at the orphanage. Now one of the older children, his quiet strength and kind heart made him a natural leader. The younger ones looked up to him, their eyes wide as he taught them to braid rope or told stories of the world beyond the Walls. Reiner, too, had found purpose here, spending nearly all his free time with the children. They adored him, climbing onto his broad shoulders and begging for tales of his adventures. To them, he was a hero, not a warrior burdened by guilt, and their love gave him a peace he hadn’t known in years. Pieck often joined him, her calm presence a steady anchor, and she made a point to check on Gabi and Falco, her sharp eyes softening at their growth.

Gabi and Falco had become integral to the orphanage, their initial shock at Aurora’s compassion giving way to a fierce dedication. Gabi, once brash and defiant, now guided the younger children with a surprising gentleness, her laughter echoing through the courtyard. Falco, ever the peacemaker, helped settle disputes and taught the kids to read, his patience a quiet strength. Their bond with Aurora had deepened, her trust in them a lifeline that had reshaped their understanding of the world. They were no longer Marleyan warriors; they were Eldians, part of a family that extended beyond blood.

Aurora and Eren, now settled into their roles as parents, were at the heart of this new Paradis. Their daughter, Ymir, was three months old, a radiant bundle of joy whose giggles filled their small home in the Jaegerist compound. Her platinum blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, and her green eyes—Eren’s eyes—sparkled with a happiness that was a stark contrast to the misery of her previous life as Ymir Fritz, the enslaved Founder. Ymir was a magnet for affection, her infectious smile drawing everyone in. She was happiest in the arms of those she loved, but none made her grin wider than “Uncle Levi,” despite his dry complaints about her occasional spit-up incidents.

Levi, the stoic captain who had become a father figure to Aurora and Eren, had been deeply moved when they asked him to be Ymir’s godfather. The request had caught him off guard, his sharp eyes widening for a fleeting moment before he masked his emotions with a curt nod. “Fine,” he’d said, his voice gruff, but the promise in his words was absolute. “I’ll be there for her. For both of you.” Aurora and Eren knew he meant it with every fiber of his being, his loyalty a constant in their turbulent lives.

Historia, named Ymir’s godmother, was equally touched, her bond with Aurora a blend of distant cousinhood and deep friendship. The two women had grown inseparable, their shared vision for the orphanage a testament to their strength. Historia’s closeness with Eren, forged in the crucible of the Reiss chapel years ago, added another layer to their connection, a quiet trust that had endured through war and loss.

Eren himself had changed in these three months. The fiery fury that had once driven him, the relentless need to fight for freedom, had quieted, replaced by a love so deep and fierce it burned steadily within him. He had never wanted to be a leader or a godlike figure; all he had ever wanted was to be free with his family and friends. Now, with Aurora and Ymir by his side, he had that freedom, and it was enough. He had stepped back from leading the Jaegerists, content to let Levi, Hange, and the others guide Paradis’s future. His dreams had shifted to quieter things—watching Ymir grow, exploring the world with Aurora and his friends, seeing the “fiery water, lands of ice, sandy snowfields” he and Armin had fantasized about as children.

…

The Jaegerist compound was alive with activity on a crisp autumn morning, the courtyard bustling with soldiers and civilians working together to distribute supplies. Aurora stood near the orphanage’s entrance, her hair tied back in a loose braid, her ice-blue eyes bright as she watched a group of children chase each other through the grass. Ymir, cradled in a soft sling against her chest, gurgled happily, her tiny hands waving at the commotion. Aurora’s postpartum glow had only deepened, her strength as a mother radiating in every smile, every gentle touch.

Eren approached, his boots crunching on the gravel path, a basket of fresh apples in his hands. His green eyes softened as they landed on his wife and daughter, a smile tugging at his lips. “Looks like Ymir’s enjoying the chaos,” he said, setting the basket down and brushing a kiss against Aurora’s temple.

Aurora laughed, adjusting the sling. “She loves it,” she said, her voice warm. “The louder they get, the happier she is. Just like her father.”

Eren chuckled, his hand resting on Ymir’s head, his fingers gentle against her soft hair. “Takes after you too,” he said, his tone teasing. “Already got everyone wrapped around her finger.”

Aurora’s cheeks flushed, her smile playful. “Flatterer,” she said, nudging him. “But I’ll take it.”

Nearby, Historia emerged from the orphanage, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she carried a stack of books for the children’s library. Porco trailed behind her, his hazel eyes glinting with affection. “Your Majesty,” he said, his tone flirtatious, “you sure you don’t want me to carry those? Wouldn’t want the queen getting tired.”

Historia rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm. “I can handle it, Porco,” she said, her voice playful. “But if you’re offering, you can help shelve them later.”

Porco grinned, pulling her closer. “Deal,” he said, his voice low. “Anything for my girl.”

Aurora watched them, her smile widening. “They’re adorable,” she whispered to Eren, her tone conspiratorial. “I swear, Porco’s smitten.”

Eren snorted, his eyes following the couple. “He’s got it bad,” he said, his voice amused. “But she’s got him on a leash. Smart woman.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Levi, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard as he approached. Ymir, catching sight of him, let out a delighted squeal, her tiny arms reaching out. Levi’s expression remained stoic, but his lips twitched as he stopped beside Aurora. “Brat’s gonna ruin my reputation,” he said, his tone dry, but he held out his arms, letting Ymir grab his finger.

Aurora laughed, carefully passing Ymir to him. “She adores you, Captain,” she said, her voice warm. “And you love it, don’t pretend.”

Levi’s gaze softened as he cradled Ymir, his movements practiced despite his grumbling. “She’s alright,” he said, his voice gruff. “Just don’t let her spit up on me again.”

Eren smirked, crossing his arms. “No promises,” he said. “She’s got good aim.”

Levi shot him a glare, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed his affection. Ymir giggled, her green eyes sparkling as she patted Levi’s cheek, and Aurora’s heart swelled at the sight. Levi had been their rock, their protector, and now, as Ymir’s godfather, he was family in every sense.

Hange bounded over, her glasses glinting as she waved a map in her hand. “Eren! Aurora!” she called, her voice brimming with excitement. “I’ve started planning the expedition route! Open sea, uncharted lands, the works! You two in?”

Eren’s eyes lit up, a spark of the boy he’d been flickering through. “Count me in,” he said, his voice eager. “Once Ymir’s a bit older, I want to show her everything. Armin’s coming, right?”

Hange grinned, adjusting her glasses. “Obviously,” she said. “He’s already got a notebook full of theories about ‘lands of ice.’ You should see him and Annie arguing over navigation—she’s got a knack for it.”

Aurora’s eyebrows rose, her gaze flicking to Eren with a knowing smile. “Armin and Annie, huh?” she said, her tone teasing. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

Eren’s lips curved into a smirk, his voice low. “Told you,” he said. “They’re not fooling anyone.”

Hange laughed, oblivious to their gossip. “They’re a good team,” she said. “Annie’s tough, but she’s got a soft spot for Armin’s nerdy charm. Who knew?”

The courtyard grew livelier as more familiar faces joined them. Mikasa, her scarf fluttering in the breeze, helped a group of Marleyan children carry baskets of vegetables from the garden. Jean and Connie, bickering as usual, hauled crates of supplies, while Sasha munched on a stolen carrot, her laughter echoing. Reiner emerged from the orphanage, a gaggle of kids trailing him, their voices clamoring for another story. 

Noah’s dark eyes were bright as he organized a game of catch. Aurora watched him, her heart swelling with pride. He had come so far since the day she and Reiner had saved him from a titan, his resilience a testament to the hope they were building. “He’s amazing,” she said to Eren, her voice soft. “The kids look up to him like he’s their big brother.”

Eren nodded, his gaze warm. “He’s got a good heart,” he said. “Always looking out for others.”

Aurora smiled. “Maybe,” she said. “But he’s got Reiner’s strength too. They’re a good pair.”

Reiner, catching their conversation, approached with a rare smile. “Noah’s a leader,” he said, his voice rough but fond. “Gives me hope for these kids.”

Pieck, standing beside him, nodded. “They’re the future,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “And with people like you and Historia and Aurora, they’ve got a chance.”

The group gathered in the courtyard, their voices a lively hum as they shared stories and plans. Armin and Annie arrived, their heads bent over a map, their proximity sparking another knowing glance between Aurora and Eren. “I’m betting on a confession by spring,” Aurora whispered, her tone mischievous.

Eren chuckled, pulling her close. “Deal,” he said, his voice low. “But I’m saying summer. Armin’s too shy.”

Their laughter was interrupted by Historia, who clapped her hands for attention. “Everyone!” she called, her voice clear and commanding. “We’re hosting a feast tonight to celebrate the orphanage being opened for two months officially today! Bring your appetites!”

The crowd cheered, the children’s voices the loudest, and Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Food?” she said, her tone reverent. “I’m in!”

Connie grinned, nudging her. “When are you not?” he said, dodging her playful swat.

As the group dispersed to prepare for the feast, Eren and Aurora lingered in the courtyard, Ymir now back in Aurora’s arms. The sun dipped lower, casting the world in shades of gold and amber, the open horizon a promise of the adventures to come. Eren’s hand rested on Aurora’s shoulder, his gaze distant but hopeful.

“I want to show her everything,” he said, his voice soft. “The fiery water, the lands of ice, the sandy snowfields. All the things Armin and I dreamed about. I want Ymir to see it, to know what we fought for.”

Aurora’s smile was radiant, her hand covering his. “We will,” she said, her voice steady. “We’ll take her, Mikasa, Armin, everyone. We’ll explore this world together, as a family.”

Eren’s eyes shone, his love for her a quiet fire. “You’re my everything,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You and Ymir. I’d do it all again, just for this.”

Aurora’s throat tightened, her eyes glistening. “So would I,” she whispered, leaning into him. “For you, for her, for us.”

As the stars began to emerge in the vast, open sky, the courtyard filled with the warmth of community, the laughter of children, and the promise of a future forged in love. Paradis was thriving, not just in its fields and homes, but in the hearts of its people—Eldians, united by a shared dream. And for Eren and Aurora, with Ymir in their arms and their friends by their side, the world was finally, truly free.

…

A few days later, inside their modest quarters on the compound’s upper floor, Aurora sat in her rocking chair, her hair catching the soft glow of a lantern. Baby Ymir slept peacefully in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling. The room was cozy, filled with the quiet comforts of their new life—a woven rug, a small bookshelf, a vase of wildflowers Aurora had picked with Historia and Sasha. But tonight, Aurora’s ice-blue eyes were shadowed with unease, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared out the window, the open horizon a stark reminder of the world’s transformation.

Eren had been acting strange for weeks, and Aurora couldn’t shake the growing knot of worry in her stomach. He’d been coming home later than usual, his clothes rumpled and his hands calloused, as if he’d been doing heavy labor. His answers to her questions were curt, evasive, brushed off with a quick “Just some work” or “Don’t worry about it.” The secrecy wasn’t like him—not the Eren she knew, the man who had shared every dream, every fear, every hope with her since they were children in Shiganshina. The man who had built a life with her in a cabin in Marley, their love a quiet rebellion against the world’s chaos.

Aurora had tried to uncover the truth, fishing for information from their friends with a casual air that belied her growing anxiety. She’d cornered Armin during a quiet moment at the orphanage, asking if Eren had mentioned any new projects. Armin, his blue eyes thoughtful, had shaken his head, puzzled. “He’s been quiet lately,” he’d said. “But you know Eren—he’s always got something on his mind. Maybe he’s just helping with the rebuilding?”

Mikasa, ever loyal, had been equally clueless when Aurora approached her during a supply run. “He hasn’t said anything to me,” she’d said, her voice steady but tinged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Aurora had forced a smile, brushing it off. “No, just curious,” she’d lied, but Mikasa’s sharp gaze had lingered, as if sensing her unease.

Jean, Connie, and Sasha were no help either. Over lunch in the compound’s mess hall, Aurora had casually mentioned Eren’s late nights, hoping for a clue. Jean, munching on a piece of bread, had shrugged. “Beats me,” he’d said. “Guy’s probably just hauling lumber or something. He’s been hands-off with the Jaegerists lately, so who knows?”

Connie, grinning, had leaned forward. “Maybe he’s training in secret,” he’d teased. “Gotta keep those muscles sharp.”

Sasha, her mouth full of stew, had laughed. “Or he’s sneaking extra food!” she’d said, dodging Connie’s playful swat. “Kidding! No idea, Aurora. Sorry.”

Their ignorance only deepened Aurora’s worry, the lack of answers feeding her imagination. She’d held it together, smiling through her unease, but the doubts gnawed at her, a quiet storm building in her heart.

The breaking point came one afternoon when Historia and Porco visited for tea. The three sat in Aurora’s quarters, the table set with a simple spread of chamomile tea and biscuits, Ymir napping in her crib. Historia sipped her tea, her blue eyes warm as she chatted about the orphanage’s progress. Porco, lounging in his chair, his arm slung casually around Historia’s shoulders, listened with his usual mix of affection and blunt humor.

Aurora, trying to keep her tone light, brought up Eren’s behavior. “He’s been… odd lately,” she said, stirring her tea absently. “Coming home late, all sweaty, like he’s been working on something. But he won’t tell me what. It’s not like him.”

Historia’s brow furrowed, her expression puzzled. “That’s strange,” she said, setting her cup down. “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me. Maybe it’s something for the Jaegerists?”

Porco snorted, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “Or maybe he’s cheating,” he said, his tone teasing. “Late nights, sweaty, secretive? Sounds like a classic affair to me.”

Historia’s eyes widened, and she swatted Porco’s arm, her voice sharp. “Porco!” she scolded. “Why would you even say something like that? It’s not funny! Don’t even joke about that!”

But the words hit Aurora like a thunderbolt, her heart plummeting. Her cup trembled in her hands, the tea sloshing slightly as her mind seized on the possibility. Cheating? Eren? The thought was absurd, unthinkable, and yet it burrowed into her, feeding on her insecurities. She knew Eren loved her, knew their bond was forged in blood and fire, but the secrecy, the late nights—it all fit, twisting Porco’s joke into a knife that cut deep.

“Aurora, he was just being an idiot,” Historia said quickly, her voice urgent as she reached for Aurora’s hand. “Eren would never do that. You know him.”

Porco, realizing his mistake, sat up, his smirk gone. “Whoa, Aurora, I was just messing around,” he said, his voice apologetic. “Eren’s crazy about you. No way he’d cheat. I didn’t mean it.”

But Aurora’s mind was spiraling, rationalizing the impossible. “He’s been so distant,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “He won’t tell me anything, and he’s always gone. What if… what if he’s found someone else? Someone who doesn’t carry the guilt we do, someone… simpler?”

Historia’s grip tightened, her voice firm. “Aurora, stop,” she said. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Eren loves you. He’s loved you since you were kids. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not that. Talk to him, please.”

Aurora nodded, her eyes glistening, but the doubt had taken root, a poison spreading through her thoughts. “I will,” she said, her voice hollow. “I just… I need to know.”

Historia exchanged a worried glance with Porco, her expression pleading. “Don’t do anything reckless,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “Promise me, Aurora. Talk to him calmly.”

Aurora forced a smile, her heart heavy. “I promise,” she said, but the words felt empty.

Historia and Porco left soon after, their steps heavy with concern. Aurora sat alone, the silence of the room pressing against her, Ymir’s soft breaths the only sound. She stared at her silver wedding band, the simple ring Eren had given her in Marley, its gleam a reminder of their vows. She loved him with every fiber of her being, had killed for him, condoned horrors for him, and the thought of betrayal was a wound she couldn’t ignore.

…

Hours later, the door creaked open, and Eren stepped into their quarters, his clothes rumpled, his hair damp with sweat. The lantern light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the lines of exhaustion and the faint smudges of dirt on his hands. He moved quietly, checking on Ymir first, his expression softening as he brushed a finger against her cheek. She slept soundly, her tiny lips parted, oblivious to the storm brewing in her parents’ hearts.

Eren turned toward their bed, expecting Aurora to be asleep, but he froze at the sight of her. She sat in her rocking chair, arms crossed, her silver wedding band glinting on her finger. Her face was stoic, but her ice-blue eyes burned with an intensity that made Eren’s stomach twist. The air was thick with tension, a silent accusation hanging between them.

“Aurora?” he said, his voice cautious. “Why’re you still up? It’s late.”

Aurora’s gaze didn’t waver, her voice low but sharp. “Where’ve you been, Eren?”

Eren hesitated, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a familiar gesture when he was deflecting. “Just… working on something,” he said, his tone curt. “You should get some rest.”

Aurora stood, her movements swift, her voice rising as she stepped toward him. “Don’t,” she said, her eyes flashing. “Don’t brush me off again, Eren. I’m not stupid. You’ve been coming home late for weeks, sweaty, secretive, like you’re hiding something. I’ve asked you, over and over, and you give me nothing. What’s going on?”

Eren’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Aurora, it’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m just—”

“No!” Aurora cut him off, her pacing beginning, her hands gesturing wildly. “Don’t lie to me, Eren. I know you better than you know yourself. You’re hiding something, and I can’t take it anymore. Are you… are you cheating on me?”

Eren’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock. “Cheating?” he said, his voice incredulous. “What the hell, Aurora? Where did that come from?”

Aurora’s voice trembled, her emotions spilling over as she continued to pace, her words a torrent. “You’re gone all the time, you won’t tell me anything, you come home looking like you’ve been working yourself to death. What am I supposed to think? Porco said it today, and it makes sense. You’re sneaking around, lying to me, and I can’t—” Her voice broke, tears welling in her eyes. “I killed for you, Eren. I turned a blind eye to the horrible things we did, the blood on our hands, because I love you. I gave up everything for you, and this is how you repay me? By cheating?”

Eren stood frozen, flabbergasted, his mind struggling to process her accusations. “Aurora, stop,” he said, his voice firm but pleading. “Just—stop for a second.”

But Aurora was spiraling, her voice rising with each word. “I trusted you,” she said, her tears falling freely now. “I stood by you through hell, through the Rumbling, through everything. I thought we were in this together, but you’re shutting me out, and I can’t—”

Eren moved before she could finish, closing the distance between them and grabbing her shoulders, his touch firm but gentle. He pulled her to him, silencing her with a kiss that was fierce and desperate, a plea to stop the storm of her doubts. Aurora gasped against his lips, her hands clutching his shirt, her tears mingling with the kiss. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged.

“I’m not cheating on you,” he said, his voice low and fervent, his eyes searching hers. “What the fuck, Aurora? Why would I ever do that? You’re the perfect woman, the one who stayed by my side through hell and back. You’re my everything—my wife, my love, the mother of my daughter. I’d never disrespect you, never hurt you like that. Never.”

Aurora’s breath hitched, her tears slowing as she looked into his eyes, the sincerity in them cutting through her doubts. “Then why?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Why are you hiding things? Where have you been?”

Eren sighed, his shoulders slumping as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, iron key that glinted in the lantern light. “This was supposed to be a secret for a few more weeks,” he said, his voice softening. “But I can’t let you think that, not for another second.”

Aurora stared at the key, confusion replacing her anger. “What’s it for?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

Eren’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes warm with love. “It’s for our new home,” he said, his voice filled with quiet pride. “These past three months, I’ve been building a cabin, Aurora. Like the one I made for us in Marley, but better. Bigger. Two stories, with a proper bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, a dining room, a nursery for Ymir. I’ve been using my titan form to build it, taking my time to make it perfect. I’m still furnishing it, not with the second-hand stuff we had to scrape together in Marley, but with things worthy of you, of our family.”

Aurora’s eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth as tears welled anew, this time from awe and guilt. “A cabin?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’ve been… building us a home?”

Eren nodded, his hand cradling her face, his thumb brushing away her tears. “Those months in Marley, hiding out with you in that little cabin—they were the happiest of my life, despite everything,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I know they were for you too. I wanted to recreate that, to give you a place where we can be a family, where Ymir can grow up free. I was keeping it a secret because I wanted to surprise you, but… I didn’t mean to make you doubt me.”

Aurora’s heart shattered and mended in the same breath, the weight of her accusations crashing over her. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Eren. I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I was so stupid.”

Eren’s arms tightened around her, his lips brushing her hair. “Hey, no,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not stupid. I should’ve told you, should’ve seen how it was hurting you. I forgive you, Aurora. Always.”

Aurora pulled back, her eyes glistening as she looked up at him, her hands clutching his shirt. “I love you,” she said, her voice fervent. “I love you so much, Eren. I can’t believe you did this for us.”

Eren’s smile was soft, his eyes shining with love. “I love you too,” he said, his voice warm. “More than anything. This cabin—it’s for you, for Ymir, for the life we’re building. I want it to be perfect.”

Aurora’s lips trembled, her smile radiant through her tears. She leaned up, kissing him softly, the kiss a promise, a renewal of their bond. “It already is,” she whispered against his lips. “Because it’s from you.”

Eren chuckled, pulling her close, his arms a steady anchor. “You’re gonna love it,” he said, his voice teasing. “Got a big porch, just like you always wanted. Perfect for watching the sunset.”

Aurora laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “You’re too good to me,” she said, her voice warm. “I don’t deserve you.”

Eren’s expression softened, his hand cradling her face. “You deserve everything,” he said, his voice fervent. “And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life giving it to you.”

They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the lantern light casting a warm glow over them. Ymir slept peacefully in her crib, the world outside humming with the promise of a new day. Aurora’s doubts had been a storm, but Eren’s love was the calm that followed, a reminder of the bond that had carried them through the darkest of days. The cabin, still unfinished, was more than a home; it was a symbol of their future, a place where they could be free, together.

As they settled into bed, Aurora curled against Eren’s side, her head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comfort. “Porco’s a fucking idiot, by the way,” Eren said, his voice laced with mock menace. “Planting that idea in your head? I’m gonna knock him out when I see him again.”

Aurora laughed, her voice muffled against his shirt. “Go easy on him,” she said, her tone teasing. “He didn’t mean it.”

Eren snorted, his arm tightening around her. “We’ll see,” he said, but his voice was warm.

Aurora’s smile lingered, her heart full as she drifted toward sleep. The world was still healing, the scars of the Rumbling a constant presence, but in this moment, with Eren by her side and Ymir safe in her crib, she felt a peace that was worth every sacrifice. They were building a future, one brick, one kiss, one dream at a time, and no shadow could dim the light of their love.

~

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[grant-gold]

The Golden Genesis of Xylos Prime

The air on Xylos Prime didn't just hang heavy; it pressed down, a suffocating blanket of inert gas that had known no life, no movement, for countless millennia. Above, a sky the color of cold ash stretched endlessly, a vast, oppressive void that promised nothing but perpetual twilight. Grant, in his gleaming golden spacesuit, was a solitary, radiant beacon against this utter desolation. Jagged, obsidian mountains, sharp as freshly broken bone, tore at the distant horizon, their peaks lost in the perpetual gloom. Below them, cracked, arid plains of rust-colored dust and crumbling, ancient rock sprawled into the murky distance – a true wasteland, a silent testament to a world that had died before it had truly lived. No whisper of wind, no groan of settling stone, no echo disturbed the profound, aching stillness. This was a realm of absolute nothingness, a planet utterly devoid of so much as a molecule of organic life.

Grant, however, saw not desolation, but a blank canvas. His helmet’s internal display confirmed the planet's lifelessness, the atmospheric readings screaming barren, inert, perfect. This wasn't merely a world; it was raw potential, a rock waiting to be reborn and made to pulse with the rhythm of Gold.

His drop-pod, a sleek golden spear plunged into the dust, hissed softly as its ramp lowered. Grant stepped out, his gauntleted hand gripping the handle of a black containment unit, intricately etched with golden circuitry, which hummed faintly with unseen, pent-up energies. It was heavier than it looked, a dense core of compressed power. This wasn't just equipment; it was the genesis of a new order, holding the very essence of the Golden Army's will: nanites, atmospheric converters, and the omnipresent mantra-code of unity.

He strode purposefully, each heavy bootfall leaving dull, temporary imprints in the fine dust, sounds swallowed instantly by the vast silence. He scanned the landscape with practiced efficiency, his gaze settling on a wide, ancient depression – an ideal basin for the Terraformer's planetary-scale atmospheric dispersal.

Reaching the chosen site, Grant knelt, the containment unit settling with a soft thud on the gritty ground. He keyed in a complex sequence on its surface, the golden circuitry flaring brighter under his touch. A low thrum vibrated from within, growing in intensity, a deep, resonant hum that seemed to shake the very dust around him. With a final, decisive command, the unit began to explode outward in a flurry of gleaming panels. It wasn't just unfolding; it was erupting. From its core, the Golden Genesis Terraformer surged upwards, a magnificent golden obelisk approximately two men high, its polished facets catching the dim light and refracting it into blinding, brilliant gleams. Intricate filigree glowed with an internal golden light, locking into place with a series of sharp, metallic clicks.

Then, with a visceral whoosh, a soft, shimmering golden gas began to pulse from its apex, diffusing outwards in a visible wave, washing over the desolate landscape. Grant watched, a silent observer of a profound, engineered creation. He felt the sudden, chilling shift in the air pressure as the planetary conversion began, a cool, sweet breath replacing the planet's stale, metallic tang. The Gold DNA was being released, microscopic architects beginning their work on a planetary scale. The sky, once ash, now began to glow with a faint, unnatural golden haze, pushing back the oppressive twilight. Everything was proceeding perfectly.

Or so he thought.

A deep, guttural tremor shook the ground, a primeval groan that resonated through Grant’s suit, not the familiar hum of planetary settling, but something monstrously alive. A sharp, cracking sound rent the air, echoing eerily in the vast silence. Directly ahead, a jagged fissure, black as a void, tore open across the rust-colored plain, then another, and another, spreading like malevolent veins. The ground began to heave violently, dirt and ancient rock shifting and crumbling like a restless, awakening giant.

From the gaping, expanding cracks, they began to emerge. Dozens of grey-skinned humanoids, their forms impossibly gaunt and elongated, covered in the dust of untold millennia. They moved with an unsettling slowness at first, as if shaking off a slumber that had lasted eons, each joint clicking softly in the eerie quiet. Their eyes, deep-set and ancient, slowly began to glow with a faint, disturbing internal light, reflecting the burgeoning golden mist that now swirled around them. Their ascent was silent, their presence terrifyingly chilling. Grant had studied the Golden Army's intelligence reports: Xylos Prime was barren, lifeless. Clearly, millennia-old records had missed a few very significant details.

They continued to rise from the planet's dark womb, their numbers growing steadily until dozens of them stood. Their unblinking gazes, now burning with that dim internal light, fixed on Grant, an unsettling blend of confusion, ancient territorial instinct, and a nascent, alien hatred. They moved with an eerie, silent purpose, their fluid, unhurried steps slowly forming a relentless perimeter around Grant and his Terraformer. He found himself completely surrounded, trapped. The grey humanoids closed in, their presence a suffocating, alien silence. They weren't charging, not yet, but their massed ranks, their unreadable faces, created an unnerving, almost ritualistic pressure. Their rough, grey forms stood in stark opposition to the brilliant, polished gold of his suit, a terrifying inverse, like shadows reaching for the light. Grant felt the first tremor of genuine unease. They were too many, too close. His suit's internal warnings began to chirp softly—perimeter breach imminent.

"Resistance is… inefficient," Grant muttered, his voice a calm, modulated hum within his helmet, a desperate counterpoint to the primal dread that was beginning to coil in his gut. His right hand shot to his hip, fingers fumbling for the holster. He drew a sleek, futuristic device – a weapon of ultimate persuasion. He had perhaps three seconds before they were on him, before the silent advance became a crushing wave. He brought the device up, its golden light flaring.

With a desperate, decisive thrust, he pointed it skyward and triggered the activation sequence. A brilliant, blinding flash erupted from the device’s barrel, searing across the golden haze. From that point of origin, a colossal, shimmering golden spiral began to unfurl in the sky directly above the massed aliens. It pulsed with an irresistible, hypnotic rhythm, expanding outward, its intricate patterns twisting and turning, reflecting the growing light of the new, golden atmosphere. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the silent mantra-code emanating from the spiral, a silent song of absolute submission.

Below, the grey humanoids froze, their heads tilting back in unison, their bodies locked in mid-step, their primal advance halted. Their ancient, dim eyes, once guarded and confused, were now riveted to the mesmerizing, spiraling vortex of golden light above. The subtle golden glow in their eyes intensified, then, like liquid gold, it began to morph and swirl. The glow solidified, coalescing into perfect, hypnotic golden spirals, mirroring the grand design above them. A collective shudder, almost imperceptible, passed through their ranks—not of pain, but of profound, absolute surrender. Their rigid stances softened, their eerie stillness replaced by a subtle, unconscious sway, a movement in perfect time with the golden rhythm now imprinted upon their very minds. The device hummed with a quiet satisfaction, confirming the successful conversion. The Golden Army's mantra-code had found its new hosts, and their wills had folded like fragile paper.

Grant allowed himself a long, slow breath within his helmet. The dozens of silent, transfixed humanoids now merely stood, perfectly still, perfectly obedient. His mission was nearly complete. From a hidden compartment within his golden drop-pod, automated dispensers whirred to life, ejecting countless bundles onto the now-golden ground. Gleaming golden uniforms lay waiting.

The newly converted "Obeyers" moved with a synchronized, newfound purpose. There was no hesitation, no question. Each picked up a uniform, their hands strangely graceful as they donned the apparel. As the fabric touched their forms, it automatically adjusted, molding to every contour, every muscle, providing a tight, seamless fit. The dull grey of their skin was swiftly replaced by the radiant gold, their forms now as unified and brilliant as Grant himself. They were no longer primitives; they were a new, loyal extension of the Golden Army, a silent, unwavering force, their spiral eyes reflecting pure, unified devotion.

By the time the atmosphere of Xylos Prime had fully shifted to a vibrant, living gold, the transformation was absolute. The sky burned with a constant, radiant hue. From the newly golden soil, strange, geometrically perfect golden flora had begun to sprout, forming intricate, pulsing patterns across the landscape. And across the plains, the uniformed Obeyers stood in perfect, silent ranks, their golden spiral eyes reflecting the new dawn, every movement a testament to the rhythm of unity that now governed their world. Grant stood among them, a solitary beacon of the Gold, his mission accomplished. Xylos Prime was no longer desolate; it was a new jewel in the Golden Army's ever-expanding crown.

Some worlds are meant to be saved. Others are meant to serve.

Transform other worlds and yourself. Contact our recruiters @brodygold or @polo-drone-001

[shadexfblue]

Morning's with Julien

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room as Y/N slowly stirred awake. Nestled under the cozy comforter, they felt the gentle weight of the arm draped across their waist, and a contented smile tugged at their lips. Beside them, Julien lay peacefully, her features relaxed in sleep.

Y/N turned to face Julien, their heart swelling with affection as they admired the peaceful expression on her face. The rhythmic sound of her steady breathing was a soothing melody that played in harmony with the rustling leaves outside.

With a quiet chuckle, Y/N carefully freed themselves from Julien's embrace and slipped out of bed. They tiptoed to the window, drawing back the curtains just enough to reveal the picturesque view of the garden basking in the early morning light. The sight was breathtaking, and it felt like the world was holding its breath, savoring the tranquility of the moment.

As Y/N stood there, lost in the beauty of the scene, a pair of arms slipped around their waist, and Julien's chin rested on their shoulder. "Good morning," Julien murmured, her voice husky with sleep.

Y/N leaned back into the embrace, relishing the warmth of Julien's body against their own. "Morning," they replied, a soft smile gracing their lips.

Julien pressed a lingering kiss to Y/N's cheek before releasing them and padding over to the small kitchenette. Y/N watched, captivated, as she moved with a graceful familiarity, the soft fabric of her t-shirt hanging loosely over her form.

"Want some coffee?" Julien called over her shoulder, her fingers expertly working the coffee maker.

Y/N nodded, a grin spreading across their face. "Yes, please."

Julien poured the coffee into two mugs, the rich aroma filling the air as she carried them over to the small dining table by the window. Y/N joined her, and they both sat down, the table adorned with a simple spread of pastries and fruit.

They shared a comfortable silence as they savored their breakfast, the occasional exchange of knowing glances and soft smiles speaking volumes. Y/N reached across the table, their fingers finding Julien's, and they shared a tender squeeze, a silent reassurance of their bond.

"Any plans for today?" Julien asked, breaking the quiet moment.

Y/N shrugged, their gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. "Maybe a lazy day? We could watch movies, play some music…"

Julien's eyes lit up, her enthusiasm contagious. "That sounds perfect. And maybe we can finally try that recipe we've been talking about?"

Y/N chuckled. "Absolutely. As long as we promise not to burn down the house."

They laughed together, the sound filling the room with a joyous melody. It was in these ordinary moments, in the laughter and shared dreams, that Y/N felt the depth of their connection with Julien.

After breakfast, they cleared the table and retreated to the living room, where their guitars awaited them. Strumming softly, Y/N and Julien began to weave melodies together, their voices blending in harmonious unity. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the music, creating a canvas of sound that painted their love story.

As the morning turned into afternoon, their laughter and music echoed through the walls, a testament to the intimacy and happiness that defined their relationship. In each other's arms, they found solace, inspiration, and a love that was as beautiful and enduring as the sunrise that signaled each new day.

[emptyjanitor]

The Illusion of Separation and the Nature of God: A Metaphorical Exploration of Self, Unity, and Transcendence

The human experience is often interpreted through the lens of individuality, with the self perceived as distinct and separate from others, from nature, and from the divine. Yet across contemplative traditions and metaphysical reflections, there persists a recurring theme: the self is not what it appears to be. Rather than a separate entity, the self is a fleeting formation within a greater unity. This essay unpacks several metaphors that illuminate the illusion of the separate self, the nature of God, and the existential distinction between illusion and liberation—hell and heaven—not as afterlife destinations, but as modes of perception and being.

1. Wave in the Ocean

The wave appears unique, distinct, even autonomous—but it is nothing apart from the ocean. Its form is temporary, shaped by currents and wind, yet its essence is always water. The wave symbolizes the individual self. It feels singular, yet its reality is inseparable from the vast ocean of being. To mistake the wave for a separate identity is to live in illusion—this is hell: a life driven by separation, anxiety, comparison, and fear of dissolution. Enlightenment—heaven—is the recognition that the wave is never apart from the ocean. God, in this metaphor, is not outside or other but iis everything: the totality in which all forms arise and return.

2. Whirlpool in the Ocean

A whirlpool is a temporary concentration of movement. It has no fixed boundaries, no independent substance—only the swirling of the ocean itself. The self, like the whirlpool, is a dynamic process. It forms, persists briefly, then dissolves. Hell is the grasping to fix that form, to believe the whirlpool is separate and has a self-generated existence. Heaven is the surrender into the flow, recognizing that even the vortex is the ocean itself just in a particular pattern. Here, God is the stage, process and the presence—the invisible principle by which all motion happensanf the arena within which it happens. Everything. The illusion of separation is believing the whirlpool has agency; the truth is that the ocean alone moves.

3. Weather in the Sky

Weather is transient, mutable, unpredictable. The sky remains unchanged behind it. Emotions, thoughts, and identities are the weather; awareness is the sky. The self, often identified with storm and sunshine, is thus a fleeting overlay on the vast canvas of consciousness. To identify with the weather is to suffer; to abide as the sky is to be free. Hell is to be lost in the weather. Heaven is clarity—not absence of weather, but non-attachment to it and abidance in and as the container within which everything is happening. God in this metaphor is the sky and the weather: vast, unconditioned awareness  and the phenomena that it contains. Everything

4. Rainbows

Rainbows seem physical, almost tangible, yet they are not physical objects—they are phenomena of perspective. The self, like a rainbow, is a perceptual artifact. It appears to be “there,” solid and graspable, but dissolves upon examination. The illusion of separation is born from mistaking the rainbow for a substance. To awaken is to see that the rainbow—and the self—is not what it seemed. God here is the light refracted through multiplicity, always everythingHell is trying to possess what was never a thing. Heaven is delighting in the beauty without clinging.

5. Spectator in a Movie Theater

One watches a film, becoming immersed in the narrative, forgetting it is just a projection. The self is the character in the movie—compelling, emotional, seemingly autonomous. The moment of awakening comes when the spectator remembers they are watching, not being, the film. The swing between being lost in the story (illusion/separation) and remembering the seat in the theater (truth/unity) is the spiritual journey. Hell is to forget utterly, to become the story. Heaven is not leaving the theater but recognizing the story for what it is and in abiding in it as the screen with detached awareness. God is everything but specifically in this metaphor is the light through which the images are projected, ever-present regardless of the content on screen. Everything.

6. Lucid Dream

In dreams, one encounters objects, people, even a dream self—but all is of the same fabric, the same sand if you will. Upon lucidity, the dreamer realizes the dream is not made of discrete parts but of one continuous essence. So it is with reality: everything perceived is of one substance—awareness. The illusion of separation is the dream’s trick. Enlightenment is to become lucid, to realize that the self, the world, and even the sense of duality are dream-stuff made from God. Hell is the nightmare of mistaken reality. Heaven is lucidity within the dream. God is the dreamer, the dream, and the dreaming. you guessed it, everything

7. Dirty Mirror vs. Clean Mirror

A mirror reflects whatever stands before it. Dirt on the mirror distorts, obscures, colors perception. The ego—the constructed self—is the dirt. When the mirror is clean, it does not disappear; it becomes functionally invisible. Only the reflection carried thru light remains. The illusion of the self is the belief that the dirt is essential to the mirror's existence. Hell is identifying with the grime. Heaven is abidance in unwavering selfless transparency—when the mirror reflects purely, there is no sense of separation, no “me” distinct from what is. God is not just the image or the mirror but the capacity to reflect all things without preference. Everything

The True Meaning of Transcendence

Much has been made of repentance as a moral or behavioral correction. But the deeper etymological root of what Yeshua was first translated as saying "metanoeite" speaks not to guilt, but to transformation—to go beyond the mind. His command in its original sense is a return to awareness beyond conceptual identity. Each metaphor described above reveals the self as a construction and invites a turning from misidentification.

Hell, then, is not a place but a state of confusion—a misreading of what we are. Heaven is abiding in what remains when the illusions dissolve. And God, in each of these metaphors, is not a distant authority but the ever-present source: the ocean beneath the wave, the sky behind the weather, the light of the movie, the lucidity of the dream, the clarity of the mirror.

The journey, therefore, is not toward something but through the illusions of separation, to what has always been true: there is no distance between the self and God because the self is a passing wave in God’s ocean. The return of the prodigal son is not a literal story about a relocation but a metaphor for this sacred remembrance. What was never truly lost is simply seen again, clearly, for what it is. Everything.

[cyllres]

Devil | JJK x Makima! Reader

Chapter 38

Once, there was a god—a god of endless power, of cosmic mastery. With a single flick of his finger, life could burst forth in an instant. Stars sprang from his breath, blazing to life across the dark canvas of the heavens; planets flowered beneath his touch. This god, boundless and ancient, was a force of brilliance, stretching beyond one's understanding, a wellspring of wisdom and light whose every word called forth harmony across the cosmos. His voice, gentle yet unyielding, resonated in the vastness—a hymn of balance and serenity.

Yet, despite the majesty, the god was lonely. This god longed for a companion, one who could endure eternally, who could see and understand him. For what worth is glory when it echoes only into emptiness?

First, he created warriors—beings of radiant strength, loyal angels fierce and pure. They were magnificent, but were they truly the companions he sought? Perhaps.

Then, he shaped the animals, creatures to wander the earth. For what would the earth be without life to roam its beautiful wilds? What meaning would lush greenery hold if it remained untouched, unseen? In their vulnerability, he found a quiet grace; in their trust, a simplicity that brought him joy. But who would care for these creatures?

The angels were too divine, too removed. He needed someone like himself, someone who would mirror his essence.

An idea formed. God gathered the finest ashes, and from them, like clay, he shaped humanity. They did not possess the grandeur of angels with their eyes like stars and wings like fire, nor the innocent wildness of animals. No, humans bore a resemblance of him alone.

Humanity was fragile yet strong, intelligent yet forever seeking, wise yet often lost. And so he would be there to guide them, with the angels to protect them and animals to comfort and sustain them, gifts to fulfill his creation’s every need.

Life flourished for a time, peace reigning across his handiwork. But with goodness must also come trial.

As humanity’s journey unfolded, four siblings emerged. They bore echoes of the angels’ splendor yet lacked their divinity, carried the spirit of humanity but not its gentleness. These four struggled, grappling with existence, fumbling to comprehend their roles. But god was patient; he would take centuries if needed, guiding them, nurturing their spirits.

He knew that within these four lay the seeds of challenge and growth, a balance of light and shadow essential for creation. His love transcended mere nurturing—it encompassed fostering resilience, wisdom, and purpose, even through hardship. The four siblings would not be mere harbingers of ruin but agents of transformation, pushing humanity and all life to confront their own limitations and rise above them.

Conquest symbolized humanity’s drive to explore, to seek beyond their reach. In the face of Conquest, humans would confront their desires for control, learning the weight of ambition and the cost of wielding power responsibly.

War embodied conflict, the crucible where ideals clashed and societies reshaped. Through War, humans would reckon with division, learning the worth of unity and the peace that lies beyond struggle.

Famine would remind them of scarcity, of the delicate thread by which survival hangs. Famine would inspire empathy, humility, and the stewardship of resources, grounding humanity in gratitude and sustainable living.

Death, feared by many, was not an end but the completion of a cycle. Death’s presence would deepen the value of life, urging humanity to cherish moments, form meaningful bonds, and find beauty in the transience of existence.

Each Horseman served as a lesson, a trial, guiding humanity to discover strength, courage, empathy, and the wisdom born from struggle. For god, to truly love the earth meant empowering his creation to grow, to evolve, to awaken resilience from within.

But, like god’s beloved first angel, the siblings began to desire more. Each grew hungry for power, seeking to surpass the others, no longer content to share their burdens equally. And so, god made a painful decision.

With a heavy heart, he confined them—not from hatred, for god knew no hatred, nor regret, but from a wish to protect. He would not annihilate them, for they, too, were his beloved creations, his children. Instead, he sealed them away in a realm forged for them alone—a realm filled with the rarest riches, abundant power, a kingdom meant to cradle their ambitions without endangering humankind.

Though imprisoned, he allowed them still to touch the universe, to impart their lessons to humanity. God knows that someday, they will find a way out, might walk among mortals, perhaps even lead them—or even surpass him.

Yet he was certain of one truth: while humans might mirror his image, it was these four who most truly reflected his spirit. Someday, he believed, they would learn to love, just as he had loved them all along.

-

The world around you once again came into focus slowly, blurred edges sharpening as a pulsing headache plagues you, stabbing behind your eyes like needles. Every beat of your heart echoes in your skull, rattling memories loose. Names and faces flash behind your eyelids—Huxley, Camila, Ezekiel, Aurelia, Makima—all swirling in a dissonant symphony. Thoughts collide with fragments of other countless lives, each clawing for recognition, gnawing at your mind like parasites desperate to be known.

Memories—yes, they’re your memories, spilling over one another in a kaleidoscope of chaos, reminding you of who you were, yet leaving you adrift in who you are.

“Dominus meus!” a voice calls, soft and reverent, with a tremor of urgency. You turn, feeling the weight of your head as though it holds the universe itself, and squint into the dim light. A girl kneels beside you, her form delicate and childlike, draped in a shimmering gown that catches the faint glow of your surroundings. She cannot be more than eleven, yet her gaze holds an unsettling intensity, bright e/c eyes fixed upon you with the loyalty of a disciple. In her hands, she extends a chalice—a golden vessel that seems to hum with ancient power. You reach for it instinctively, the cool metal grounding you as you lift it to your lips. Liquid cascades down your throat, crisp and cold, easing the fog clouding your mind.

“I’m glad you’re here, my Lord,” she continues, relief softening her expression as she watches you intently. “I was worried I wouldn’t get the chance to talk to you.” Her voice is a careful whisper, her eyes locked with yours, wide and brimming with something close to reverence. She resembles you, like a distorted mirror image. Your glare sharpens, red eyes narrowing as you examine her, your mind struggling to piece together the past, the present, the truth.

“Who are you?” you ask, suspicion lacing your tone.

The girl smiles, a practiced expression of humility and devotion, bowing her head but never letting her gaze waver from yours. “It may take a while for memories to flood in, especially since you are… mortal.” She pauses, as if the word itself is foreign on her tongue. “But I’m F/n. I—I'm your most faithful servant. Am I… am I allowed to talk, my Lord?”

A subtle nod is your only answer, a signal to continue.

“Centuries ago, you saved me, my Lord!” she says, her voice quivering with emotion. “You offered me a deal, a contract, binding our lives… our existence to each other. You—you make deals, my Lord, and we stay here with you, for eternity.” Her eyes gleam as she speaks, her devotion palpable. “You return as a human, or like your last life, as a devil—Makima, you were in your longest life, spanning centuries.”

“Where did I come from?” you ask, leaning back against the throne. Its contours wrap around you like an old friend, familiar and regal, as though it was shaped to fit only you.

“You—you're a god!” she breathes, voice trembling. “You were crafted by the hands of God Himself, my Lord. B-but He cast you down, alongside your siblings, because He is evil!” Her voice rises with a fervent tremor. “You said it yourself, my Lord! Your father cast you down because He could no longer control you, nor your siblings. He's so selfish.”

A chuckle escapes your lips, low and dark. “I remember now. My father cursed us, confined each of us to our own domains to ensure we would not reincarnate, yet here I am.”

“What was my name again? Conquest? Deception?” you muse, allowing fragments of memories to float just within reach, tauntingly close but blurred. “I always loved being a god… And I miss my siblings—War, Famine, Death.” A warmth stirs within you at the thought, a flicker of twisted affection. “We tried to kill each other countless times, and yet… look at us. Bound but unbroken. They’ll be furious when they learn I’ve found a way to walk among mortals.”

Your fingers traced the armrest of your throne thoughtfully. “But, yes... there are flaws,” you sighed. “These memories, they fade, as each mortal life dims the divine. One time, I was so close, so close to having what I wanted... if it hadn’t been for that boy.”

A flicker of resentment rose as you recalled the obstinate, maddening figure of Denji—the mortal who had thwarted you in your life as Makima

The girl, F/n, leans forward, her gaze softening in sympathy. “My Lord, you can still obtain what you desire… if you fulfill your promise.”

“My promise?” Your eyes narrow, focusing on her with renewed interest.

She nods eagerly. “Yes! You promised to help my brother, Ryo. You swore he would become the strongest. While you were away, I managed to send signs to the living world, hints to guide him centuries ago and even now to his loyal servant. Because—perhaps… perhaps the limitations of your mortality have made it difficult to make you fulfill your promise.”

You frown. “I needed assistance? The bullet was your doing?”

She nods again, vigorously. “Yes, my Lord! The bullets were made out of meminisse. A rare fruit that exists in God's land, it takes centuries to grow but Ryo's servant managed to acquire it.” She explained. “I helped him help you remember.”

“And… Ryo was meant to be your true kin, your family… not that mortal,” she says with a disdainful curl of her lip at the mention of Yuuji.

Your expression hardens, a storm brewing in your gaze. “That mortal?” you echo, your voice laced with venom.

“Yes, that mortal!” she retorts, her gaze emboldened. “Compared to him, you are destined for greatness, my Lord! He’s beneath you, unworthy of your power.”

Her words echo through your mind, and a conflicting surge rises within you. Greatness, dominion… but there is also a lingering loyalty to Yuuji, tangled and messy. You glance back at the girl, her fervent gaze shining with hope as she waits for your response.

“You’re suggesting that greatness would lie in Sukuna?” you ask, your tone unreadable.

You possibly can't love what you want to control. That was a fact. Ryo, or more commonly known as Sukuna, was a product of a promise—a promise born of ambition, not affection.

Perhaps his sister—F/n—had wished for him to get stronger, to be the strongest because she loved him so much. But for you? What is love, when the moment you forged the deal, you saw him not as a family, not as an equal, not as someone to cherish, but as a product of your power? Of a deal?

And it isn't like you could just simply replace F/n. It leaves a bitter taste in your tongue.

Sukuna is fashioned from your power, carefully crafted to be the strongest—a twisted creation shaped by your control. Control? There was no warmth in this bond, only a proud sense of accomplishment that you, Conquest incarnate, had created something so powerful it commanded fear as the ‘King of Curses.’ But that was never enough, was it?

Power was hollow without connection. And what you wanted was something untouchable by control, something sincere—a connection pure enough that the mere thought of manipulating it felt almost blasphemous.

This kind of connection couldn’t be found among your divine siblings: War, Famine, and Death. Between all of you, love was swallowed whole by the hunger for dominance, twisted by the need to conquer. There was no space for tenderness in the endless field of greed. Yet here you were, seeking something wholly different.

You had grown soft, hadn’t you? Soft enough to understand, soft enough to seek the humanity in bonds, to stand by Yuuji’s side not as a conqueror but as a sibling. You laughed at the irony, at those who would call Yuuji your weakness, because the truth was that he was your strength. His kindness grounded you, his innocence tempered your cruelty. He was not a flaw in your armor but the shield against the emptiness in your heart.

To love was to willingly surrender control, to lay yourself bare and unguarded. And perhaps, in the vulnerability of embracing your role as Yuuji’s sibling, you had discovered a softness that wasn’t weakness but strength in its own right.

Maybe, just maybe, leaving things uncontrolled, allowing love to flourish wild and unrestrained, could be beautiful.

She nods eagerly, her eyes alight with excitement. “You desired a family—someone who could understand you as an equal. My brother is the ideal choice. Fulfill your promise, my Lord, and together you would reign over the mortal world!”

The taste of her words leaves a bitter tang in your mouth. “I remember now,” you murmur, casting your gaze around your grand throne room. Its walls are adorned with shimmering gold and glinting jewels, a tribute to your divinity, yet beyond its walls— beyond your kingdom that houses your ‘followers’ lies a decayed wasteland, outside your kingdom—a barren, rotting desert. Here, souls you brought as companions decay slowly, trapped in endless torment, suffering in bodies that will never truly die. It is the curse your father placed upon you, an existence befitting only you.

Your gaze drops to F/n, and a flicker of disdain curls your lip. “I remember commanding my servants to never set foot on my throne’s platform unless summoned.”

She flinches, eyes wide with fear. “B-but I offered you water, my Lord!”

You raise the empty chalice. “And now that it’s done, why are you still here?”

She lowers her head, her voice barely a whisper as she steps down. “Forgive me, my Lord…”

“It’s infuriating.” Your voice is cold, the words slicing through the air.

“My Lord, please, I beg for your forgiveness,” she pleads, bowing.

“Are you the only one here who is still… functional?” you ask, a sneer in your tone.

She shakes her head, voice trembling. “Others from your past lives linger, but they are not yet… worthy to meet you. While the older ones are useless.”

You glare down at her. “I’ve decided,” you announce, your voice final. “I refuse to fulfill my promise.”

F/n’s head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. “What? T-that’s not fair!”

You arch a brow. “Are you questioning me? And did you forget I despise it when the undeserving meet my gaze?”

“B-but, my Lord—”

“Oh, be silent!” you snap, cutting her off. “I do as I please. Your opinions mean nothing.”

Her face contorts, panic etched in every line. “But… that would be betraying me…”

You scoff, your voice dripping with derision. “As if I care. It wouldn’t be my first broken promise. Or do you need reminding that I am also Deception incarnate? The false god?” The words slice through the air, heavy with disdain, and you can feel the weight of your past hanging over both of you like a dark cloud.

Tears spill down her cheeks, glistening like tiny crystals against her skin, as she wails, “It’s not fair! It’s all that useless mortal’s fault!” Her voice trembles with raw emotion, but before she can continue her tirade, you hurl the golden chalice at her with a swift, contemptuous flick of your wrist. The cool metal glints ominously in the ambient light as it sails through the air, striking her face with a resounding clang. The impact leaves a cruel bruise blooming against her delicate skin, darkening rapidly like a storm cloud gathering above.

She gasps, stumbling back, her expression one of shock and pain. The breath is knocked from her lungs, and you relish the moment, the satisfaction curling your lips into a cruel smile.

“Choose your words carefully,” you warn, your voice frigid and laced with an icy calm as you remain seated on your throne, a figure of dominance. You observe her with cold amusement, relishing her distress, the way her small frame quivers beneath the weight of your gaze. The grand throne room, filled with opulence and dark grandeur, seems to echo your authority. Shadows flicker across the gold and jewel-adorned walls, dancing as if they too are afraid of your wrath.

Before you can continue your scolding, a familiar sensation pricks at the edges of your consciousness. You sense your form beginning to fade, the pull back to the mortal realm strengthening, a force you cannot resist. The throne room, with its sumptuous details—the ornate tapestries depicting tales of past glory, the polished marble floors reflecting the muted light—begins to blur around the edges, losing its clarity like a dream slipping away at dawn.

“Wait, my Lord, please! Forgive me!” F/n’s tear-streaked face is the last thing you see, her bright eyes wide with desperation, the innocence of her unwavering faith contrasting sharply with the reality of her situation. You can almost feel the weight of her pleas tugging at your frayed sense of obligation, but it isn’t enough to sway you.

“I suggest you fix yourself before I return. Or, better yet… end your own misery. I have no place for incompetence in my kingdom.” Your parting words hang in the air, sharp and merciless, a final, devastating blow that resonates like the tolling of a bell. The throne room, once vibrant with life, now seems to pulse with an eerie silence, as if the very walls are holding their breath, awaiting your departure.

With that, you vanish, leaving F/n in a shattered silence, her desperate, broken sobs echoing in the darkness, mingling with the remnants of your disdain. The last vestiges of your presence linger like a bitter aftertaste, a haunting reminder of the power you wield and the price of failure in your domain.

“Y-you’ve gone soft my Lord.” F/n whispered. “I have to do something about it.”

[thegreenwallrabbit-blog]

Explaining One of VTMB Paintings (part 16)

Louis XIV en Empereur Romain [Louis XIV depicted as Alexander the Great] (second half of 17th century)  by Unknown artist.

So this piece is difficult as the artist and any info on this one piece is very sparse online.

The painting depicts Louis XIV [Louis the 14th also known as Louis the Great] (September 5 1638 – September 1 1715) who was the king of France from 1643 until his death in 1715 which makes him still currently (as of 2023) the longest (verifiable) reign of reign of 72 years and 110 days which is the most of ANY sovereign whose reign we can verify.

The description of his reign as monarch given on the Versailles official website is:

"As sovereign by divine right, the King was God’s representative on earth. It is in this respect that his power was “absolute”, which in Latin means literally ‘free of all restraints’: the king was answerable to no one but God. During his coronation, Louis XIV swore to defend the Catholic faith. To honour this pledge and preserve the religious unity of his kingdom, he cracked down on the Jansenists of Port-Royal and ordered the persecution of Protestants. The previous policy of religious tolerance was abandoned with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685. Protestants were forced to convert, and over two hundred thousand fled the country. From his base in Versailles, Louis XIV ruled over a centralised, absolutist state which revolved entirely around him. The King lived in the main wing of the palace, on the first floor, in a suite of three apartments reserved for his use. He applied a strict etiquette at court, a set of rules and protocols by which his noble courtiers were obliged to abide. With the help of Colbert, he oversaw the administrative and financial reorganisation of his realm, and also set up manufactures and worked to boost trade. With Louvois he reformed the army and enjoyed a string of military victories. "[1]

It is most likely a replica based of a lost portirt of Louis XIV as a Roman Emperor painted by the well know Frencch court painter Pierre Mignard. This is due to the many compositional similarities to a copy of this work painted after Pierre Mignard death shown below.

Louis XIV as a Roman Emperor (Copy of lost painting by Pierre Mignard)

Whats note worthy is that in both paintings Louis XIV is not being depicted as himself leading his army in contemporary(for his time) battles but instead being depicted as Alexander the Great.

"Alexander the Great, also known as Alexander III or Alexander of Macedonia, (born 356 BCE, Pella, Macedonia [northwest of Thessaloníki, Greece]—died June 13, 323 BCE, Babylon [near Al-Ḥillah, Iraq]), king of Macedonia (336–323 BCE), who overthrew the Persian empire, carried Macedonian arms to India, and laid the foundations for the Hellenistic world of territorial kingdoms. Alexander the Great was one of the greatest military strategists and leaders in world history. He was also ruthless, dictatorial, and ambitious to the point of regarding himself as divine. His conquests of the Mediterranean states, the Persian empire, and parts of India spread Hellenistic culture across these regions"- Summery from Encyclopedia Britannica. [2]

So by depicting Louis XIV as Alexander the Great the artists are associating Louis XIV's reign and his accomplishments with being on the same scale and impact as Alexander the Great. In terms of the pairings place in VTMB this is especially important because the only place this painting appears is in Sebastian LaCroix's office. Specifically it hangs over the entrance way which makes it one of the two paintings LaCroix faces from his desk. The other painting being Pierre Séguier, Chancelier de France (translated Pierre Séguier, Chancellor of France) oil on canvas  2nd quarter of the 17th century (1660 - 1661) by Charles Le Brun (See part 5). And as I pointed out in my explainting of Pierre Séguier, Chancelier de France, LaCroix's is someone who claimed to be “an officer in Napoleons army” yet has a lot of French Royalists paintings. It is also of note as the only other large paintings of this scale that he has in his office are three different painting of Cain slaying his brother Able by different artist yet it is the paintings of  King Louis XIV (whose reign of 72 years and 110 days is the longest of any sovereign in history whose date is verifiable.) and his chancellor of France, Pierre Séguier that he looks directly at from his desk in his Versailles style office. Indicating that these mere HUMAN men*[as far as I know nether were embraced in VTM canon but don’t quote me] are more significant role models to LaCroix then Cane father of all vampires. It also tells us that just how Louis XIV is being depicted as Alexander the Great was used by the artist order to elevate him and his reign as King of France to the same historical significance and prestige as Alexander the Great, LaCroix aspires to elevate his rule as the Prince of LA in Kindred society/history to the same level as both of these human rules have in mortal history if not beyond that. And again despite having three paintings of Cain, all of them at the same height and size yet are to the side rather then across from LaCroix's desk, almost as if they are peripheral. Almost as if Cain's reign as Father of all Vampires and Ruler of the First City of Enoch is below the level of importance/significants of Louis XIV, Alexander the Great and even Pierre Séguier (who wasn't even a reigning Sovereign, just Chancellor of France). The accomplishments and legacy's of all three of these men who were only ever human (again as far as I can tell none of them were ever embraced) are seemingly above that of Cain in LaCroix's mind based on how he's chosen to arrange the paintings in his office, and he may be attempting to hide this fact and would explain why he chose to have having 3 different painting all depicting the Cain slaying his brother Able hanging at the same level as the two painting depicting the legacies of three mortal men.

[1]“Louis XIV .” Palace of Versailles, 17 Feb. 2023, en.chateauversailles.fr/discover/history/great-characters/louis-xiv#the-royal-family.

[2] Walbank, Frank. “Alexander the Great.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, inc., 5 Oct. 2023, www.britannica.com/biography/Alexander-the-Great.

[uenodivision]

Yozakura Battle Anthem

Bring the Beat!

["New" Yozakura:]

(1, 2, 3)

[Aranai:]

What, did you really think you weren't gonna hear from us next?

["New" Yozakura:]

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7)

[Aranai:]

Time to show all you fuckers just whose running this place

["New" Yozakura:]

(1, 2, 3)

[Aranai:]

You should have known better not to fuck with any of us

That was your first and final mistake

["New" Yozakura:]

Now the Yozakura is gonna make you break!

[Aranai:]

Riding through the streets, I'm the leader of the pack

Revving up my Yamaha, I'm on the right track

From Bōsōzoku to rap, I've made my claim

Ride or Die motherfuckers, best remember the name!

[Sumire:]

Hacking the system, breaking the code

Diabla in the shadows, watch my story unfold!

Rebel with a cause, in the cyber world I dive

Striving for a new order where we all can thrive

[Kaoru:]

Weaving webs of data, Arachne's the name

In the digital realm, I rise to fame

With every keystroke, I command the stage

My rhymes are timeless, like words on a page

[Kanra:]

Yeah!

Strength of a titan, heart of a child

D.Vil is my name, and I'm running wild!

Amnesia can't hold back the power I wield

No way in the world will I ever yield!

[Kureha:]

In the moon's shadow, my sorrow's muse

Eclipse whispers tales of hues so blue

A canvas of memories, lost in the night

Longing for dawn, I'm the forlorn twilight

[Taria:]

Misfit on the mic, I steal the entire damn show

With every trick I've got, I let the people know

From street to stage, I bring the heat

Simply put, I just can't be beat!

[Aika:]

VeeXn reigns, in pleasure's play

Ruling both the night and the day

Fox in the spotlight, I weave my trance

Living for joy, in every glance

[Aranai:]

Our names are etched in the street

No challenge too great, no defeat

We ride as one, an unbreakable wall

Stand with us, or witness your fall

["New" Yozakura:]

24/7!

Let this be a lesson to all of our enemies!

24/7!

In our domain, we always reign supreme!

[Aranai:]

Wanna fight against us?

["New" Yozakura:]

Idiots! Idiots!

[Aranai:]

Shoulda begged for mercy

["New" Yozakura:]

Now there's nothing to discuss!

Yozakura's bond, tight as the seven seas

Our unity's a force, a real damn dream team!

24/7!

Our spirit, wild and free

From the same creed, this we decree!

24/7!

With every verse, we synergize

Behold our untamed, vibrant energies!

[Aranai:]

Crossing our path is a quick way to Heaven

So a fair warning: don't fuck with the Seven

["New" Yozakura:]

Seven shadows, seven threats, seven reasons to fret

Cross us and it's a choice you'll regret!

(1, 2, 3)

[Aranai:]

What, did you really think you weren't gonna hear from us next?

["New" Yozakura:]

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7)

[Aranai:]

Time to show all you fuckers just whose running this place

["New" Yozakura:]

(1, 2, 3)

[Aranai:]

You should have known better not to fuck with any of us

That was your first and final mistake

["New" Yozakura:]

Now the Yozakura is gonna make you break!

[Aranai:]

I'm the beacon, the flame, the undying light

"HBIC," they chant, through the day and night

Criminals cower, even they dial for aid

To escape my fury, a price to be paid

[Sumire:]

Right hand of shadows, The Devil's my creed

Cross Yozakura, it's the end you've decreed

Juu, that fuckin' church girl, a yandere in disguise

Against us, her facade will be her demise

[Kaoru:]

Athena's wisdom, Arachne's war

My strategies set, my intellect's core

Fools rush to battle, their ignorance a token

Against my plans, they'll all leave broken

[Kanra:]

Muscle and might, that's my call

Guardian of Yozakura, I stand tall

(Damn!)

A demon to foes, mercy they'll crave

Choose your next step, be brave or the grave!

[Kureha:]

Quiet, unassuming, but fierce in the fray

In the Realm of Darkness, I hold sway

Stronger than the raven, night's own bird

Underestimate me, and your vision will be blurred

[Taria:]

The MiA, I claim what's mine, no debate

From the hands of foes, I liberate

Behave or beware, I'm the thief in the night

Cross me, and I'll take more than just your plight

[Aika:]

Enchantress of night, fox's allure

My power's vast, of that be sure

Tempt fate with me, you'll lose it all

In VeeXn's thrall, into my spell you'll fall

[Aranai:]

Words are spent, our message clear

Defiance in our eyes, confront your fear

Step in our sight, the fuckin' fault's your own

Beware the storm the Yozakura have sown

["New" Yozakura:]

24/7!

Let this be a lesson to all of our enemies!

24/7!

In our domain, we always reign supreme!

[Aranai:]

Wanna fight against us?

["New" Yozakura:]

Idiots! Idiots!

[Aranai:]

Shoulda begged for mercy

["New" Yozakura:]

Now there's nothing to discuss!

Yozakura's bond, tight as the seven seas

Our unity's a force, a real damn dream team!

24/7!

Our spirit, wild and free

From the same creed, this we decree!

24/7!

With every verse, we synergize

Behold our untamed, vibrant energies!

[Aranai:]

Crossing our path is a quick way to Heaven

So a fair warning: don't fuck with the Seven

["New" Yozakura:]

Seven shadows, seven threats, seven reasons to fret

Cross us and it's a choice you'll regret!

(1, 2, 3)

[Aranai:]

What, did you really think you weren't gonna hear from us next?

["New" Yozakura:]

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7)

[Aranai:]

Time to show all you fuckers just whose running this place

["New" Yozakura:]

(1, 2, 3)

[Aranai:]

You should have known better not to fuck with any of us

That was your first and final mistake

["New" Yozakura:]

Now the Yozakura is gonna make you break!

@shinagawa-division @saitama-division @edogawa-division @ota-division @minato-division01

[lamemaster]

Dismembered Memory- Chapter 2

Pairing: Iluvatar x Reader

Genre: Mystery , romance and mythology

Summary: Do the Gods love? What is it like to love one? What is it like to be loved by one? Is it a love beyond the shackles of creation and destruction or is it a tragedy bound in the chains of duty and predestination.

AN: A shorter chapter as we dwell into the arc. This is very much a me project so chapter word count will be rather inconsistent.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 3|

The world is woven with the threads of yearning—yearning for creation, yearning for love, yearning for companionship, yearning for beauty or legacy. Reasons as diverse as the stars. It is this relentless desire for anything and everything that catalyzes the very origin of existence.

However, creation necessitates substance—a canvas on which to paint its journey.

Iluvatar's recollection doesn't encompass you. He doesn't possess the fragments of your memories, yet you remain an inseparable fragment of his essence. Analogous to matter, which underpins creation, you are an existence that entwines his thoughts, an ethereal presence encircling his eternal song. Connected to him yet apart, a paradox of unity and division.

He glimpses fragments of you through the eyes of his Ainur, those beings birthed from his own mind. A silent observer, he never truly encounters you, and you, in your existence, never seek him. The weight of your absence gnaws at him ceaselessly, a persistent ache embedded within every living moment.

Time turns into an eternity as Iluvatar mourns the gulf that separates you from him. He replays the fleeting glimpses of your presence, those wisps caught through the eyes of Manwe and Melkor. Perhaps fated, your connection with him remains unknown. However, such a state is destined to change. It evolves, it shifts, and it transforms.

A pivotal moment arrives when the distant creator of the cosmos is irresistibly drawn into his own creation. Iluvatar crosses the threshold into Arda, compelled by an irresistible force—you. He treads upon the earth he formed, a wanderer amidst the very world he sculpted. The trappings of his divinity take a backseat as he pursues an entity he can barely remember. The symphony of creation fades, and the unattainable brilliance of his godhood diminishes. All is surrendered for the sake of finding you.

He journeys endlessly, traversing the landscapes of Arda in search of any traces of you. The loss of his divine status and the adversities of the world pale in significance as the very land of Arda draws him closer to you. You must be here, in some form or another. The architect of the world becomes a wanderer within it, adopting a form akin to that of his own children, in the hope of finding you among them.

No callouses on his feet, no storms, no heatwaves can impede his quest. He presses forward relentlessly, compelled by an unquenchable yearning. He must find you, and nothing can deter him.

For Iluvatar, the loss of his godhood and the trials of Arda itself become inconsequential when the very land he shaped brings him ever closer to you. You, a presence he can barely recollect, but a presence that he cannot relinquish. He walks the world, shedding his divine mantle, forsaking the celestial music that once defined him. All for the sake of you, the missing piece of his existence.

“I will be gone for a while this time.”

Melkor gazes intently at your misty form, his expression a mixture of concern and longing. "Gone where? How long?" The questions escape him, his heart racing in the expanse of the barren void. His mind echoes with an unspoken plea—don't go. Unbearable panic threatens to consume him, the idea of being left alone in this desolate Void unfathomable. Would you, too, leave him like so many before? The thought looms, the talons of the cruel void threatening to seize his very consciousness. Without you, he fears he would be lost.

A soothing sensation envelops him as you crouch before him, your presence a gentle reassurance. Your palms cradle his face with an almost ephemeral touch, and he finds solace in your touch. "I'll be gone for some years, but I'll be back. I promise you." The words carry a weight of sincerity that Melkor can't deny. He knows how well you stay true to your promises.

"Why must you leave?" He voices the question that fills the silence, a sense of shame creeping in as he realizes he wants to stop you, to prevent your departure from his life. The idea of being without you claws at him, a fear he can scarcely admit.

"The song of the world has called me, and I must respond." He observes the faint outlines of your features, your nimble fingers and the glimmer in your eyes that pierce through the mist. "There is someone who looks for me in Arda, and I…" Your words falter, as if grappling for expression. "I must answer their call."

Curiosity intertwines with jealousy within Melkor's heart. Who could be so important that you would leave him behind? "Who is it?" The question slips out before he can fully process it, ages of resentment and bitterness simmering beneath the surface. Who could possibly mean more to you than he does?

“I do not know who it is, but I must meet them. To alter the course they tread," you remain seated, unwavering in your resolve. "I have managed to push the encroaching Void farther this time. It shall maintain its grasp while I am absent, but should challenges arise," your hands take on solidity, cradling a clear glass ball—a marble, a vessel of contained power. "Use this to harness its malevolence. It shall provide aid in times of dire need."

As Melkor's fingers connect with the cool surface of the glass marble, he cannot help but be awed by your form, by the intricate complexity that you embody. "Someone very dear to me once possessed this," you caution, your words laden with warning as you place the artifact in his grasp.

The marble rests in his hands, a tangible token of your existence. Melkor holds it close, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of your presence, even as it begins to wane. "I will await your return," he murmurs, his words carrying a sense of longing.

This time, as your form fades, he can discern the faintest traces of your features—your eyes, your lips, your nose. The cold touch against his forehead lingers as his mind succumbs to a tranquil slumber.

General Cerdic had weathered countless battles for his king, leading campaigns on bloody battlefields and through uncharted territories. His prestige and the respect of his kingdom's people were well-earned and well-deserved.

However, the man of valor did not inhabit sprawling cities or grand palaces like the king's favored. Instead, Cerdic found his abode in an isolated village, a place where his gallant feats were mostly unknown. He rarely ventured beyond the village's bounds. It was here that he had last held his wife, welcoming their only child into the world.

A modest wooden house provided the backdrop for the years he spent raising his daughter. None could have been more inviting than this homely dwelling. Shielded from the clamor of the world, Cerdic raised you in this tranquil village.

The machinations of palaces and the cunning games of power never encroached upon the life of the general's cherished daughter. Both of you found contentment in the simplicity of life. Days were filled with the routine of tending to a humble farm, and nights were spent dining under the serenity of the stars.

But everything changed when he entered your life—a man dressed in tattered clothes, bearing the weight of his hardships in every step he took. You discovered him by the riverside, his body marked by the brutalities of slavery. His matted hair carried the grime of an existence you couldn't fathom.

"What is your name?" you inquired, met with incoherent murmurs. As you knelt to examine the stranger, your attention was drawn to his clenched fist.

Within his grasp lay a delicate cotton flower, untouched by the filth that marred the rest of his form.

[shinozax]

SPOILERS FOR SAINT SEIYA THE LOST CANVAS

I just finished rewatching The lost canvas and reading what happened in atlantis. After thinking it over, i realized that neither Kardia or Degel had to die. If we look at the judge (i forget his full name so ima just call him ramy), he was up against two gold saints. If Kardia alone was able to kill ramy then he couldve lived if Degel was there fighting with him.

Now of course he had to stop pandora from reaching Poseidon, BUT when Degel was on his way to stop pandora, she was knocked out cold by Poseidon’s power. Degel didnt even have to stop her.

PLUS Unity needed a gold saint to open the vase Poseidon was sealed in, so he couldnt have done anything harmful without Degel. DEGEL COULDA GONE BACK AND SAVED KARDIA BRUH

I mean cmon 2 saints against 1 judge is just a no brainer. Plus if Degel had gone back to help Kardia he’d still be alive too. Fighting against awakened Seraphina + Unity + Pandora together wouldve been so easy.

Though theres no way degel couldve known pandora wouldve been knocked out, and by the time he found that out Kardia was already dead. So it makes sense but… sucks. BUT If Degel wouldve stayed to fight with Kardia, theyd probably have defeated ramy twice as fast and caught up to Pandora before she reached Poseidon.

Isnt degel supposed to be the smartest saint? Even ants know that there are strength in numbers. They had a crazy advantage and i cant help but feel it was squandered. All for the sake of plot i suppose.

[mistresslunastarx]

"Whiskers and Wags: Tales of Friendship in Petopia"

In the bustling town of Petopia, where tails wagged and whiskers twitched, lived an unlikely pair of best friends – Oliver the suave Siamese cat and Luna the spirited border collie. Their tale unfolded in a town where pets weren't just companions; they were family.

One day, as Oliver's blue eyes gleamed with curiosity, he spotted Luna energetically chasing her tail in the backyard. Luna, with her fluffy coat of black and white, noticed Oliver's intrigued gaze and bounded over, introducing herself with a playful bark. And so, the dynamic duo's friendship blossomed under the warm Petopia sun.

Their journey was sprinkled with three extraordinary challenges that would define their friendship and captivate the hearts of Petopia's residents.

A mischievous raccoon named Rocky, whose antics disrupted the tranquility of Petopia. Oliver's strategic mind and Luna's boundless energy united as they devised a clever plan to send Rocky scampering away, ensuring peace for all. Struck during a thunderstorm, unveiling Luna's fear of loud noises. Seeking refuge under the bed, Luna found solace when Oliver, with his calm demeanor, joined her. Together, they weathered the storm, the echoing thunder strengthening their bond.

Petopia celebrated not just their triumphs but the multitude of joyous moments that painted the canvas of Oliver, Luna, and Daisy's companionship. From playful chases through sunlit meadows to cozy naps under the shade of a tree, their shared experiences formed an emotional tapestry that resonated with the entire town.

In every purr, bark, and wagging tail, Petopia witnessed the enduring magic of friendship. As they navigated challenges, faced fears, and welcomed new friends, Oliver, Luna, and Daisy's journey became a testament to the extraordinary bonds that can blossom in the most unexpected places. unfolding with the arrival of Daisy, a lost and endearing puppy. Navigating through initial misunderstandings, Oliver and Luna embraced Daisy, transforming their twosome into a dynamic trio. Their unity stood as a testament to the power of acceptance and friendship.

Petopia faced an unexpected flood, challenging Oliver and Luna's alliance. Max's robust limbs aided Oliver's ascent to safety, and Oliver, in turn, guided Luna through the rising waters. Petopia witnessed their collective strength, and as the floodwaters receded, Oliver, Luna, and Daisy stood triumphant, their friendship an inspiration to all.

Petopia celebrated their unbreakable bond, turning a page to a happily ever after for Oliver, Luna, and Daisy – the inseparable trio that defined friendship in their extraordinary town.

[prskcostumes]

Card Costume Directory (Year Two, Second Half)

All event cards are placed under their own tag to be grouped together properly, but this list is to help people find the exact costume they might be looking for. The list is in order of release. This post goes from after the 1.5 anniversay event (On the Stage of Dazzling Light) until the 2nd anniversary event (At This Festival Tinged With Twilight).

On the Stage of Dazzling Light - Éclat Etoile - Traditional Mode Girl - Classical Gentle Coat

Live with memories - Estrella Guard - Estrella Girl - Stern Crew

Connecting Painful Hope - Hopeful Soldier - Pretty Warrior - Lovely Black Barette

Heated Up! Kamiyama High's Cheering Squad! - Ancient Counselor Clothing - Luxuriant Girl Flowery Dress - Bewitching Sister Flowery Dress

THE POWER OF UNITY - V.B.S. SURVIVOR - ROOKIE SURVIVOR - COOL SURVIVOR

Wishing for Your Happiness Upon the Blue Sky! - Garnet Rosen - Refined Bell Tuxedo - Lady Elegant

Guiding the Hands of the Lost Child to What's Beyond - Confusion Nurse - Deception Nurse - Endure Nightgown

A Desperate Situation!? Island Panic! - Cheerful Citrus - Passionable Kivis - Energetic Citrullus

Colorful Festival - Wavering Éclueur Dress - Unwavering Enamel Jacket

Let's Enjoy Together! Spojoy Park - Fresh Girl Uniform - Energetic Uniform - Lovely Frill Uniform

The Vivid Old Tale - Loving Sunflower - Old Days Boy - My Little Shine

No seek No find - D.C.Bad Trip - D.C.Get Close - D.C.Be Help

close game/OFFLINE - Sharp Shooter - Angel Glint - Maverick Mask Suit

Chasing the Radiance Beyond the Blue Sky - Blue Marine Crew Style - Blue Marine Frill Flare - Blue Marine Mermaid

And Now, the Ribbon is Tied - Relief Nightwear - Relaxation Nightwear - Cozy Nightwear

Don't lose faith! - Topgear-tone - Soulful-tone - Dynamic-tone

Paint What You Love ♪ Rainbow Canvas - Drawing☆Coach Style - Explosive☆Art Style - Doodle☆Free Style

Walk on and on - Melody Walker - Pure Walker - House Walker

Colorful Festival - Memories Guiding Style - Playing Mystery Dress

At This Festival Tinged With Twilight - Dark Chic Dress - Fascinating Idol - Madness Street - Like Villain Actor

[honestkindlereviews]

The Offline-First Family

A New Blueprint for Connection

I remember one Saturday afternoon, covered in flour, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. My son, then eight, had accidentally flung a handful of it at his sister, who retaliated by dabbing a spot of dough on his nose. In that chaotic, messy, and utterly perfect moment in our kitchen, we weren't just making cookies; we were building a memory, brick by flour-dusted brick. That moment stands in stark contrast to so many others I'd let slip by—evenings spent in the same room, yet miles apart, each of us lost in the blue glow of a personal screen.

The Offline-First Family - 150+ Screen-Free Activities and Hobbies to Reclaim Your Weekends, Deepen Your Bonds, and Make Lasting Memories: BUY EBOOK CLICK HARE

The modern world pulls us in a thousand digital directions. It’s a constant, low-grade hum of notifications, updates, and feeds that promise connection but often leave us feeling more isolated. I realized that if I wanted more of those flour-dusted moments, I couldn't wait for them to happen by chance. I had to design our family life to make them not just possible, but probable. We embarked on a journey to become an "offline-first" family—not as a rejection of technology, but as a conscious and joyful celebration of the world beyond the screen.

This is more than a list of hobbies; it’s a blueprint for re-engineering your family time. It's about shifting the focus from passive consumption to active creation, from virtual worlds to shared realities. It’s about discovering that the most profound connections are often forged in the simplest, most beautifully unstructured moments.

The Architects of Fun: Building Something Together

There is a unique and powerful bond that forms when you create something tangible as a team. The shared goal, the collaborative problem-solving, and the physical result of your efforts create a powerful sense of unity and accomplishment.

The Kitchen as Your Workshop

The kitchen is the heart of the home, and it's the perfect place to start building your offline culture.

Culinary Construction Crew: Think beyond just making a meal. Try a "Family Food Truck" challenge where you invent a theme and create a menu together. Or embark on a "Sourdough Saga," learning the patient art of cultivating a starter and baking bread from scratch. These projects teach collaboration, patience, and the delicious rewards of teamwork.

The Great Family Bake-Off: Turn your kitchen into a studio for a friendly baking competition. The challenge isn't just about the final product; it's about the shared laughter over spilled sugar, the creative brainstorming for decorations, and the pride in presenting your collaborative masterpiece.

From Forts to Frameworks

Building isn't limited to the kitchen. Your entire home can be a canvas for creation.

Living Room Engineers: The classic blanket fort is the original collaborative construction project. It requires negotiation ("Your pillow is crushing my roof!"), engineering, and a shared vision. Once built, it becomes a private world for stories, games, or quiet connection.

The LEGO Metropolis: Don't just build individual sets. Combine all your bricks into one massive pile and work together on a single, ambitious project. Build a sprawling city, a detailed replica of your home, or a fantastical world from your imagination. The process of planning and executing a large-scale build together is an incredible exercise in teamwork.

The Art of Assembly: Working on a complex jigsaw puzzle or building a detailed model car or plane teaches focus and persistence. Each piece found, each part correctly glued, is a small victory celebrated together, leading to a final product you can all admire.

The Joyful Explorers: Discovering Worlds, Real and Imagined

Curiosity is the engine of a vibrant life. By intentionally seeking out new experiences and knowledge together, you can turn your weekends into a grand adventure of discovery, both in the great outdoors and within the pages of a book.

Charting Your Local Territory

You don’t need to book a flight to be an explorer. Adventure is waiting just outside your door.

Become Urban Archaeologists: Explore your own town or city with a new lens. Go on a hunt for historical plaques, research the story behind a local monument, or create a photo scavenger hunt of unique architectural details. You’ll be amazed at the history and beauty hidden in plain sight.

Nature's Detectives: Arm yourselves with a magnifying glass and a field guide and head to a local park. Go on a "bio-blitz" to see how many different species of plants, insects, and birds you can identify in an hour. This simple shift in focus transforms a simple walk into a scientific expedition.

Starlight Navigators: Escape the city lights and introduce your family to the awe of the night sky. Learn to identify a few key constellations and watch for meteor showers. Lying on a blanket, staring into the vastness of the universe together, is a profound reminder of your place in the world and your connection to each other.

Journeys of the Mind

Exploration isn't just about physical travel. You can journey to countless worlds without ever leaving your living room.

Literary Voyages: Start a family book club with a twist. Choose a book set in a different country, and as you read it, explore that country's culture. Cook its food, listen to its music, and locate it on a map. It turns reading into a multi-sensory, immersive experience.

The Storytelling Guild: Sit in a circle and build a story together, one sentence at a time. The first person starts the tale, and each family member adds the next line. This simple game unleashes creativity and often results in hilarious and unpredictable adventures.

Ancestral Quests: Dive into your own family history. Pull out old photo albums, interview grandparents or older relatives (in person or on a call), and start building a family tree together. Discovering the stories of those who came before you provides a powerful sense of identity and belonging.

The Art of Unstructured Play: Embracing Spontaneity and Laughter

In our over-scheduled world, we often forget the importance of pure, purposeless play. It's in these moments of spontaneous fun and silliness that stress melts away and some of the most genuine connections are made.

Old-Fashioned Fun, Timeless Laughter

The best games often require the least equipment.

The Living Room Carnival: Create a series of absurdly fun "carnival games" with household items. Try "sock basketball" into a laundry hamper, a "cotton ball shot put," or a "pillowcase sack race" down the hallway. Award ridiculous homemade prizes and lean into the silliness.

Shadow Puppet Theater: All you need is a blank wall and a single light source. Create characters with your hands and weave epic tales of dragons, rabbits, and everything in between. It's a magical and creative way to end the day.

Pictionary with a Twist: Instead of drawing on paper, use a whiteboard, an old window with dry-erase markers, or even draw with your fingers in a tray of sand or salt. Changing the medium breathes new life into a classic game.

The Pursuit of Presence

The ultimate goal of an offline-first life is simply to be present with one another. It’s about creating a family culture where looking up from a screen is the default, and where shared experiences are the most valuable currency.

This shift won't happen overnight. It requires intention, patience, and a willingness to embrace imperfection. There will be moments of resistance and the magnetic pull of digital habits will be strong. But every time you choose to build a fort, explore a trail, or just laugh together over a silly game, you are casting a vote for a different kind of life. You are building a family resilient enough to thrive in the modern world, grounded in the timeless power of genuine human connection.

The Offline-First Family - 150+ Screen-Free Activities and Hobbies to Reclaim Your Weekends, Deepen Your Bonds, and Make Lasting Memories: BUY EBOOK CLICK HARE

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M.U.S.E

There's a world of color and noise that as artists we're constantly trying to combine into something physical. Something tangible, and often we get lost in that step (The Making) that we can neglect the first step. The Musing.

Musing over the world around us is the first step for every artist. It is the gateway to the canvas. It is the sketch before the sketch. The draft before the draft. So it only tracks that getting lost in the Musing is often what keeps artists from really creating. (Although I would say most artists stuck in the Musing haven't even realized they are creators yet)

But when we as artists free ourselves of this constraint. When we say we can create something as grand as our Musings, there is a tendency to leave behind the Musing. To let it decay into something that may become just as draining as The Making.

I especially struggle with this, always have. The airheaded-ness, the maladaptive daydreaming, the hopping from one thought to another. The upside to this digital landscape is there is more information than ever to Muse over. The downside is the capitalist dystopia does not allot us the time to make sense of it. To sift through the noise and find our gold. The Muse that makes us dream of our Magnum Opus(s) can be exhausting to pinpoint through the noise.

So it is with that practical knowledge in mind of the creative process that the MUSE is born. Mastery, Unity, Style Episodes. Each of us should more meaningfully and efficiently consume, we exert so much of ourselves when we just try and sift through the noise. Scrolling reels, TikTok, shorts, Twitter X, these are all tools that are designed to work against our artistic inclinations. So I propose that instead of rejecting the thing designed to subjugate us, make our minds squishy and dumb so we buy more squishy and dumb things, we can learn to Master it and Unite it with ourselves. A Mastery of the social and digital landscape to then turn into a Unity with it. We can inject our own Style, Unite with the social landscape, then Master it. Or maybe someone will find their Style through Uniting first!

Point being there's a world at our fingertips that we let control us. Rule us. And MUSE is here to help you recognize your power, one step at a time. Through the study and observation of others who have seemingly walked this path. When we are lost by what seems to be a desert, MUSE aims to help artists realize that what looks to be a desert, is a million desire paths from artists before us. We only have to find our own path, and walk it.

Resolve yourself to walk the artistic path. Do it happy. Do it sad. Do it scared. The Making calls to all of us, and it can drive some of us mad to not indulge. The Musing is the first and most confusing step. Intuitive rather than logical, it requires a belief that our current world would rather beat out of us. So resolve. Walk the path and take your power back.