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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 5 months

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𝕷𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆

Lacrimosa dies illa Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus Lacrimosa dies illa Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus - Lacrimosa, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

You’re no stranger to the feeling of numbness.

Even if you never had the chance of being acquainted with it back in your home world, you had plenty of opportunities to familiarise its cold, detached hopelessness from your time in this plane. Of course, your first memories of this were the blind panic that seized you when you first arrived or the lightheadedness that washed over you after you succumbed to the injuries Housewarden Rosehearts had inflicted on you or when you became more and more aware of Crowley’s manipulations.

You compared it to the crisp tingling that engulfed you when Azul and his twin cronies who lusted for terror as much as they did blood and agony had sent you to the frigid depths of the sea and the submerged Mostro Lounge. Who knew that mental numbness and physical numbness were completely different flavours of the same bitter meal. You didn’t before you do now.

You’re falling, drowning, thrashing and flailing in meaningless desperation against the despair around you.

Trouble may come in threes but only company that misery is crowing to desire is you it seems, as it pulls you along for its twisted dance macabre - it’s cold, sadistic fingers gripping your figure, harsh and unforgiving, as it manhandled you to a rhythm you’ve never heard of, living deep, dark imprints in it’s unyielding wake. It crushed you against it, leaving no room for air or words to enter your lungs, and you looked helplessly towards the shadowed corners of your vision, towards the unseeing gazes of grinning onlookers, your tender feet burning and blistering with every new step, with every new unpredictable move, as they took deranged pleasure in your plight. And with a scorching spotlight above you, all you could do was relent.

You wanted off. You wanted to leave this chessboard that everyone but you could see. You wanted to tear off the blood-soaked puppet strings that were digging and searing into your wrists. But you couldn’t. In this world, your life was not your own but merely a toy. A pawn. Some form of entertainment that gave them a means to an end. The black spiderwebs of your scars that clung and coiled around your skin, the onyx discolouration of your magic-induced gashes and obsidian veins were proof that your nightmares were real, that you are stuck in this hopeless existence.

Kindness was your hamartia, you realised. The love that you swore by, that you held dear to your heart, one of the only fragments of you that hadn’t been ripped away from you, was the very reason you were left chained in this prison. If your peace were your wings then your kindness was the sadistically scorching inferno that melted the wax between them, sending you plummeting to your tragedy.

Love ruined you so it simply had to leave. After all, your broken spirit was already a price you paid for your hopelessly optimistic naivety, the reason you were unaware of the consequences of no good deed going unpunished.

Your thoughts sang a final requiem to the person you used to be, a soft symphony of saudade that got fainter and fainter as you felt the writhing of something within you. Whispered voices that embraced you with their comfortably icy caresses, the wispy tendrils of your soul softening with every alluring cajole and when you let yourself sink into their assuaging depths, you were reborn.

It was strange how still the air inside Ramshackle had become. The ricocheting echoes of your heels along the tar covered floor were the only signs that something was within it. Even the darkness enshrouded depths of the Ramshackle Wood were silent. Not even the barest breath of life could be somewhat acknowledged.

Was that odd?

You can’t remember what it was like to feel, to be more than this cold, hollow vessel of numbness. You could faintly recollect words like ‘happiness’, ‘comfort’, ‘joy’, ‘love’ these so-called ‘emotions’ that used to mean something to you, if only you could recall what they meant. Not that you cared. You were incapable of caring about anything now. The nothingness within you being the only sense you could grasp.

What was it like, to feel? It sounds awfully draining. Such a vulnerability that’s exposed to the world is very easy to exploit. You must’ve been in so much pain, being so unprotected. But you’re different now.

You look at the shattered mirror in front of you. A lifeless doll drenched in running obsidian stares back.

Distantly, you hear ink dripping onto the floor

Huic ergo parce Deus Pie Jesu, Jesu Domine Dona eis requiem Dona eis requiem Amen

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst yuu #fem yuu #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #fem reader

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bettathanyou · 3 months

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Betta Presents...

WIP WEDNESDAY!!

Welcome to my first take on wip wednesday, where yall get a snippet of a current original fic im brewing up! I thought it would be a cool way to give yall content without stressing myself out with needing it to be finished content. (i work slow asf lmao) Anyways. here is the wip of my upcoming two part fic, titled "The Death Of A Sorcerer; A Requiem Of A Princess"

___________

Cedric stared up at the ceiling of his cell, watching the little beads of water that slipped through the cracks in the stone above drip onto the hard brick of the floor below. Rats scurried in and out of the rusted iron jail bars to his left, carrying the untouched food he cast aside earlier back to their dens.

The tiny cell he occupied had no windows of any sort; the only light available to him was the dying embers of the torches mounted in the hallway, leading out of the cell block. The sorcerer shifts uncomfortably on the hard, freezing cold slab fixed to the wall of his prison, feeling the pins and needles wrack his thighs from sitting idly so long.

Cedric shivers, trying to pull his robe tighter against himself. It was a fruitless task, he knew- his stiffened fingers could attest, from clenching the fabric so taut for hours on end.

Though Cedric hasn't moved more than a few inches since his imprisonment the day prior, his exhaustion lingered down to the marrow of his bones. The sorcerer's mind had provided him no rest since being dragged away in chains- although, he was usually accustomed to racing thoughts that took away his sleep.

But not like this.

Cedric was normally used to the usual spiraling thoughts of "what if" when it came to his magic, his reputation, his worth as a person. Followed by the self hatred when he became a self fulfilling prophecy, and those what ifs became reality.

That was why he threw everything, everything he had into his evil dreams, wasn't it? To escape the purgatory that he was forced to call his reality. To force the hand of fate to deal him a better card. It seemed like his own blind faith, alongside his lofty ambitions, (desperation, in disguise, truly) was just another folly, and he was played for a fool.

Although, Cedric would be lying if he hadn't imagined the possibility of his evil dreams being a failure. The dream was born from him, after all- it was already doomed from conception.

At least, that's what Cedric had initially thought.

Shaking his head, he thinks back to the moment he hesitated to take over Enchancia. Sofia's bright blue eyes, pleading. The tip of his wand pointed towards her, the Medusa stone gleaming with every ounce of misguided resentment harbored from his life thus far. None of it which was Sofia's fault.

In fact, his sights were aimed at the little girl who gave him everything- which Cedric realized far, far too late. Only when Cedric had stood on the precipice of no return, did he find what he was truly looking for; not a crown, not a throne, not revenge.

A friend.

Cedric laughs humorlessly, the echo bouncing off the dampened stone walls. He tilted his chin up, the back of his head bumping into the wall as he contemplated.

How ironic. My greatest failure was also one of the best decisions I ever made.

Cedric takes in a shaky breath, feeling panic at his own demise writhe from the pit of his stomach.

"Probably the only good decision I've ever made." Cedric muttered grimly, digging his heels into the floor. Memories come crashing back into his mind, too quickly to rewind. But one instant remained.

Roland's decree was burned into Cedric's head, his authoritative voice cold and final:

"You will face the guillotine by sunrise tomorrow, Cedric. I sincerely hope you will accept your death with a little more grace, and dignity, than what you've shown me today."

The sorcerer slowly lays down on the bench as the words fade from his mind, feeling restless as his panic flared up again. His back meets the cold slab that hungrily leeched more of his body heat, and he winced in discomfort.

Cedric knew there was no chance of him getting any sleep tonight. He was too restless, and the wheels in his mind kept turning with its relentless pace about what led him to the dungeons at all.

But frankly, he was spent from regretting things that cannot be undone nor forgiven for. He was also painfully bored of staring at the same four stone walls, tracing the grout between each rock aimlessly.

Cedric's eyelids flutter shut, his chest feeling heavy.

Tomorrow, I will die.

Cedric huffs out a slow, resigned sigh.

All the better, Cedric thought, feeIing the back of his eyes burn with unshed tears.

I don't think I can live with the weight of my sins any longer.

#wip wednesday #cedricthesorceror #sophia the first #cedric the sorcerer #cedric sofia the first #current wip #my wips #stf fanfic #uhhh oops sorry yall this one is a doozy

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hello-kuni · 11 months

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𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 - 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

syn: three years after you left to pursue a career as a pianist, having already made a name for yourself across teyvat, it's finally time to retire.

cw: none

a/n: i'm really excited to see how this whole thing turns out

Requiem of Winter; Rhythm of Spring - masterlist

the stage was dim and the keys cold under your fingertips. there was no doubt it sounded good to the audience, but to you, the music was muddied. it sounded the same as the records did when you submerged yourself in the bathtub. except this time, it was entirely grating. you wanted nothing more than for it to stop. an outstanding performance was expected of you, the prodigious pianist renowned for her innate talent, and it took little effort to deliver. that said, it didn’t mean you enjoyed it. embedding the passion into the music was easy, but this was utterly painful.

more so now than ever.

normally, you didn't care for performing. it was the only thing you knew and you did it well. but tonight, each note rang through you with a vengeance. you tried not to embed yourself too deeply into the music, lest you reopen all those old wounds, but with each press of your fingers, you fell deeper and deeper. listening to it as though submerged in water was the only way you’d get through the performance. once it was over, you could stop feeling.

once the curtains closed, you could lay it all to rest. none of it would strangle you in the night after a restless sleep. you could finally move on after tonight.

this concert was not only the debut of your long-awaited solo composition but your last performance altogether.

after tonight, you would never touch a piano again. you swore it.

pursuing this false dream brought nothing but misery. and after a lifetime of chasing it, you were done.

composing this piece was like writing a final goodbye to the one it was dedicated to. everything you composed in the last three years was for him. you held onto your love for him through those years, a lifeline in a bottomless ocean as you sank. desperately and hopelessly clinging. you were the one who walked away and it was time to set you set yourself free.

however painful that may be.

the music sheets were just for show. this piece was your heart. and you knew it as such. you allowed your hands to dance across the keys, pouring yourself into the music as you listened from a faraway place. and silently hoping that it reached him. even just one note of the farewell would be fine. as long as he heard it.

you glanced out to the crowd, scanning the sea of faces until you landed on one that had your body running cold. so familiar. so intrusive. your hands never faltered on the keys. nestled in the crowd was him. the one you’d met so long ago. whose love you’d never forget in a thousand lifetimes as it was engraved in every atom of your being. and your heart clenched in its cage. could your silent prayer have been answered? was fate so cruel as to work this way?

you stared and stared and stared. unable to tear your eyes away. that golden hair shone like a beacon in the dim audience.

but it wasn’t him. no, the longer you looked you realized it wasn’t him.

it was too late though. the locket resting on your chest burned with memory.

“here,” he said, dangling a shiny gold chain from his hand. you took it from him with gentle hands. a beautiful oval locket engraved with a bird of paradise and other embellishments rested in your palm.

“where did you get the money for this?” there was no way he could afford something like this. you couldn’t accept it when he could use the money for something more important, but he waved off your protests.

“don’t worry about that. turn around,” he said, taking it back from you. he moved your hair aside and clasped the necklace. the cold metal on your skin sent shivers sprawling down your arms. the graze of his hands on your neck had heat rushing to your cheeks. his eyes shone with astonishment when you turned around. it looked perfect on you, you could tell from his expression that was what he thought. “do you like it?”

you wrapped your hand around the locket, eyes tearing up. “i love it.”

you didn’t deserve it. the once cold metal now burned where it lay. you shoved aside the feelings of guilt and placed your hands on either side of his face to bring him into a gentle kiss. you wanted not to think of what was to come, only cherish this moment while it lasted. because if you didn’t--if you didn’t…

one side of the locket now housed a small picture of him, the other left empty. it was your favorite picture of him. one that captured his truest essence. that brilliant and contagious smile that captured your heart in an instant.

you couldn’t bear the sorrow that arose and caught in your throat. resisting the urge to cling to that locket now as you did every night as you cried quietly to yourself. the worst was knowing you had no right to mourn what you once had when you were the one who threw it away.

you finished the concert without thinking. as you stood and left the stage, the ground wobbled and the room tilted. behind the curtain, you resented yourself. but now you were free.

#kaveh x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #kaveh angst #genshin impact angst #genshin angst

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luckywolfsbane · 10 months

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⚠️ToTK SPOILERS⚠️

⚠️THIS IS A LINKED UNIVERSE POST⚠️

I'm just letting ya'll know that in my Linked Universe headcanon, Wild's arm will be remaining as Rauru's arm post ToTK. This directly affects the end of Requiem, so I want to put that out here. I don't think erasing the effects the quest had on him is as fun. It would feel pretty strange for Wild to be visibly unchanged(aging aside) after all that stuff, but have him being mentally changed? Yeah... I don't want it to be like that. It'll be an easier transition for The Chain if they can see the visible difference in Wild.

Rauru also said his arm couldn't be saved at the start of the game, so he's keeping the Zonai arm. Period. I mean... technically, Twilight lost his ability to shift into a wolf without Midna, but he still shifts into a wolf in Linked Universe. The rules don't have to make sense in regards to actual game canon, you know?

As for Zelda, I'm not sure yet. I want her to be a little feral from her time as a dragon. She doesn't remember it, so part of me wants her to get random memories and some strange tendencies from those years. Like she wakes up when her flight path would usually start, and gets sleepy toward the end of it, but she doesn't realize that's why she's doing that? (Wild would know. He wouldn't miss that.)

Zelda's issues may not be seen more than a little in Requiem. Anyway, let them be affected in Linked Universe. I'm letting them be affected. I encourage everyone to do the same.

#requiem of the kingdom #linked universe #linked universe wild #linked universe fic #totk in Linked Universe

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transingthoseformers · 7 months

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Things are about to start escalating quickly.

THE CORRUPTION OF THE PRIMES

For millenia, Cybertron knew peace and joy and life. More of Quintus’s slower growing children made contact and were welcomed one after another: the Lithone, a mechanical race similar to their own who were curious peacemakers that wore emotions freely; the Praeton, an organic race with delicate limbs and many eyes that communicated in the singing vibrations their spines made and were great artists; the Nebulons small organic cousins with too fast life; the Rock Lords, solemn and slow and few they mostly kept to themselves sending only their most curious to make brief contact; and many more.

All these fledgling races grew together both individually and with the guidance of the Thirteen who saw the younger races as their responsibility to visit and oversee, especially as Quintus’s long absence was felt more and more keenly with each passing year. But with time passing, change occurred.

Slowly Unicron’s virus, spread from deep within the coding of the Mini-Cons spread to the Thirteen they touched and changed them, encouraging their worst impulses and warping their thoughts to linger on old nightmares and slights.

The changes seemed most obvious in Megatronus, always loud with his emotions, his temper grew hot and fierce and his pride as well made even the slightest suggestion feel like a chaining order. His fights with Solus, his dearest sister and closest to him in personality with her own mercurial temperament and hot highs, were legendary but even they paled when compared to the furious arguments that came between himself and Prima, who tried more and more to yoke his younger brother. One who he likened to their long defeated uncle. This insult that drove Megatronus from the home of the Primes to build his own home deep with the Wastes he often battled against the most powerful among the creatures left fierce and feral from Unicorn’s corruption. Not even these monsters would wonder too close to his fortress of Darkmount.

Requiem saw these changes in her dearest and grew concerned. There was something wrong and off about them. An unnatural gleam to Megatronus’s optics before such fierce changes occurred, yet he remained gentle and tender with her and his shield siblings. Those Cybertronian warriors who once they had grown, swore themselves to his teaching and followed and fought with them to defend others.

Worried, she sought out the eldest of her own siblings, Scorpia to ask for help.

Scorpia had her own worries.

Vector, always dreamy and prone to wandering, was degrading, his memory slipping and more and more falling into dreams or streams of time. It became harder and harder for Scorpia to pull him back and most recently he’d even been unable to recognize her briefly once they returned.

This confirmed Requiem’s worst fears and she gathered her siblings and those closest to them to confer and see who else suffered. The Primes themselves seemed incapable of noting the changes in themselves or their siblings.

Or so they thought until the Twins, Argus and Aspis, arrived with Micronus.

Micronus, who is the only one who has never been bonded or used the Mini-Cons, is completely untouched by it and sees clearly that Unicron is influencing them. Some of the Mini-Cons protest refusing this assertion and even more that it seems to grow worse when they bond with their Primes or are used by them. There are arguments, but Micronus lays out that things are much, much more severe.

Prima is becoming obsessed with order and control and his own vision of it. His territories grow stricter and stricter. He grew obsessed with finding a role and place and boundaries of every one and every thing.

Onyx has disappeared into the wild and his creations are becoming darker and more fierce. Those that enter find themselves unwelcome.

Solus is building higher and higher and demanding more of her own people, arrogant and blinded by what she can do.

Liege is growing cutting and bitter and envious when before he was sharp tongued but generous and clever, pushing them forward and including them in his wit not turning it against them.

He outlines step by step what is occurring with each sibling.

Scorpia steps forward and says she believes him, shakily and says they all know what they fear most and all of them know the nightmare and not to deny it. Every recharge all Mini-Cons share the same nightmare of a dark burnished gold figure and whose voice shakes them to their core. No one can remember what the voice says only the fear of it. The fear and the sight of their Primes and all of Cybertron consumed by darkness, left lifeless and gray.

They all agree that something must be done and they need to seek answers to cure this and try not to make it worse in the meantime. Micronus says he will distract his siblings by suggesting a grand celebration for the anniversary of Unicron’s defeat. During this distraction, they will seek out Primus's advice by entering Vector Sigma. He has one part of the Key and Solus and Vector the other. Scorpia and the Torchbearers are tasked with recovering the other pieces since they are unsure how much the taint may be effecting the Primes.

The various creations of Quintus are so diverse and amazing

Would be a shame if someone came around and did something about that

damnnn so the primes are very exactly being affected

Makes sense it would hit Megatronus Prime the hardest, (in aligned at least) he's always been the one most associated with Unicron

Damnnn so MP left to create a dwelling of his own and it's concerning everyone.

So Micronus is the only one unaffected, hmm.

Nightmares of Unicron are never a good sign

Oo so they need the keys!!!

#fan continuity #au #maccadam #transformers #the thirteen primes #minicons #unicron

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thetorchwoodarchive · 1 year

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Hello!! I was wondering if you guys have any recs for fics where Ianto meets a past version of Jack 💕

Sing Me Like a Choir by princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 62462 | E)

Javic Thane and Ianto Jones were never meant to meet, but that won't stop them from falling for each other. A love story where even time and space couldn't keep two men apart.

synchronicity by princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 1805 | T)

Sighing, Ianto continues further up the Plass, the soles of his boots striking against the cobblestone as he rounds around the water tower. Then he glances up, and his mouth drops open in shock.

Right there, standing smackdab in the center of the Plass, as striking and obvious as it could possibly be, is a bright blue wooden box with glowing windows.

Jack and Ianto have a chance meeting in Cardiff, two years and several tragedies too early.

minor details by fitzroysquare (JackIanto, Gwen&Ianto | complete | 12246 | T)

Jack Harkness is a liar. Jack Harkness is also a lie. Surprisingly, no one has seemed to have caught onto those two things yet.

[Or: Jack loses his memory and thinks he’s Javic Piotr Thane, conman. He acts like it, too.]

Of Motion In Perpetuity by Beleriandings (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 106706 | M)

When Gwen, Jack and Ianto investigate a cold case from end of the nineteenth century, they find themselves pulled back in time against their will, fighting to protect each other and to get home.

Time Tracks by (Cyborgtamaki, thirteeninafez | complete | 174005 | T)

It took him a second to realise what had happened; what had felt like hours while travelling through the rift shrunk itself in his head to a mere instant of searing gold. That’s when the flicker of the fire in front of him finally registered through his confused daze. In his haste to get away from the flames around him, he slipped and fell, scrambling back until he was a safe distance away from the smoke and the heat. It was only then that he took notice of the voices behind him. He turned towards the noise of a deep, northern voice spluttering and saying, confused and almost angry.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man rolled over onto his knees and stood up, looking around like he’d never seen a street before. “Jones.” He sounded uncertain but then spoke again with more confidence. “Ianto Jones.”

Ghost Story by Mad_Maudlin (Jack/Ianto | complete | 70423 | T)

I called out. "Would you like to hear a ghost story?"

For a moment Jack didn't move, and I knew he'd recognized my voice. After a moment he said, flatly, "I don't believe in ghosts."

"It's a complicated story," I admitted, and pulled the watch from my pocket by the chain. "And it starts with 'Long ago and far away.'"

Requiem by engagemythrusters (JackIanto | complete | 2462 | T)

Captain Jack Harkness died on Satellite Five and woke to find someone he had never seen before in his life.

The Star of the Universe by celedan (JackIanto | complete | 23729 | E)

By chance, young Torchwood One employee Ianto Jones saves popstar Serenity Carter from aliens, and has to flee with her from their assailants. At the same time, the Doctor drags Jack Harkness back to Earth for an impromptu adventure. Running into each other, the two parties have to flee together and solve their problem while Jack's heart aches to see Ianto again after all this time.

Your Face Is Turned by copperbadge (JackIanto, JackOther(s), IantoOther(s), JackIantoOC | complete | 75390 | E)

Lo Boeshane has a promising career ahead of him as he enters his first year of Fleet Officer Training, but the war is still with him and life at Quantico Station can be difficult. Meanwhile, Ianto Jones is just trying to figure out why the Doctor kidnapped him to the fifty-first century and why Jack abandoned him at a school for the Fleet's military elite. He suspects it may have something to do with Lo, but his attempts to help the troubled young veteran may damage his own timestream beyond repair.

Another Chance by gmariam (JackIanto | complete | 3108 | T)

Jack Harkness meets Ianto Jones in a London pub, celebrating his birthday with friends from Torchwood One.

Resurrection of the lost by FredAndGeorgeForever (Jack&Ianto, Jack&Team, JackIanto | complete | 2794 | T)

It was a perfectly normal day at Torchwood when a demand came to help bring Torchwood four back. Nothing weird about that at all.

#fanon:time travel #fanon:jack and iantos first meeting #ship:jackianto #character:ianto jones #character:jack harkness

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renegade--soul498 · 1 year

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Bittersweet Homecoming

Opening old wounds that one had buried and forgotten can hurt more that the ones that recently healed. Coming home and meeting an old friend was never supposed to be this bittersweet.

Mélie & Amicia. Post Requiem Epilogue.

This drabble was written in about 20 minutes while I was in a writer's block for another fic I should probably be writing in. I am not proud but I'm not sorry. Enjoy!

Fallen leaves crunch beneath boots that carry a soft march with them. It's a pace one takes while wandering, while feeling nostalgic, while admiring the surroundings. The forest ends at the sight of civilization, though abandoned and left to rot: a city that burned down, that couldn't be saved, the memories that once were warm are now painful to see up close. Amicia thinks it was a bad idea to go back.

Unbeknownst to the last de Rune, the last spark of life left in the God forsaken city is one that is trapped in by a collar– one that she didn't think she'd see again. The felon is barely breathing, afflicted by the Bite. It is embarrassing to not be caught for years but the one thing that kills her is a goddamn illness. Her mind's drifting but her senses still keep her aware, though one would think it is her mind playing tricks on her but she knows better when she recognizes the silhouette of a girl approaching.

She closes her eyes and smiles sadly. One's in relief and joy, because at least she got to see her again. Two in nostalgia and sorrow, because this may be the last time they see each other and she would've liked to see her while in a better state, physically and mentally, instead. Mélie doesn't try to speak, she knows her throat is dry and the effort may only get her closer to her demise. She just opens her eyes to regard the former noble. Amicia had changed a lot, Hugo's not with her, her clothes make her look more like a warrior than the princess she used to remember, her hair is short– shorter than she had seen a woman sport ever, and fuck everything and her miscalled sin, she looks regal even with all the dust and dirt on her. Mélie then wishes she hadn't left.

Amicia recognizes the blue eyes amongst the ashes and the scarred skin. The mischief is gone, the playfulness is gone, the voice that carried so much irony and sarcasm doesn't come and fill her ears, the banter doesn't happen; and so she just mourns in advance of what could have been. She walks over but notices that Mélie tries to move back, slowly and painfully in vain, as if not wanting her to come closer at all. She noticed the signs of the Bite while approaching but it didn't stop her, it hasn't stopped even after two years of his death.

Mélie tries to look up and meet her gaze, but the collar makes the action difficult. So carefully tiptoeing around to find the chains, she brandishes her sling and frees her old friend without touching her at all. The thief can barely stand but Amicia can't do anything but watch, feeling her chest tighten at the sight, unable to do anything – once again. She had already resigned herself to these situations. Every single friend and companion she had, died in front of her or in her arms. It didn't make it any easier though.

Amicia then wishes she had insisted a bit more.

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edogawa-division · 2 years

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“Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle.”

Introduction

Kanra Akemi, also known as D.Vil in rap battles, is an amnesiac teen living in Edogawa. Found as a blank slate, Kanra's origins are a mystery to everyone who knows her. Possessing inhuman strength and a short temper, Kanra has become infamous all over Edogawa as someone you don't mess with.

Kanra is a young girl of short height with a petite figure. She has pink hair that fades to a purple ombre that reaches her shoulders and has been cut in a choppy style. She has candy-apple red eyes that seem to glow in the dark.

She wears a white t-shirt with a black and red design of a gothic fleur de lys on it along with a red and black jacket with a bat on the shoulder sleeve. She wears black denim shorts and a red belt with a silver chain hanging off the right side. She also wears black tights and black knee-high boots with buckles and studs at the top. Kanra also wears black fingerless gloves and a red hairband in her hair.

Name Meaning

Akemi (朱美) - Vermillion Beauty

Kanra (甘楽) - Sweet Music

Aliases

Pink Haired Menace

“The Red Devil of Edogawa”

Monster, Freak, Demon, etc.

“Project Theta”

Biographical Info

Gender - Female

Age - 16

Birthday - March 14th

Ethnicity - Japanese

Hair Color - Pink with Purple Ombre

Eye Color - Candy Apple Red

Height - 148cm / 4'10

Weight - 88lbs / 40kg

Star Sign - Pisces

Piercings - Lobes, Helix

Markings - Giant scar that reaches from back of her neck to lower spine, Y-shape scar across her front, Multiple scars across her arms, legs, and body

Family

“Mother” (Creator)

Older Brother

Adoptive Mother

Adoptive Older Sister

Pet Cat

Voiced By - Yukina from 花冷え (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - D.Vil

Occupation - High School Student

Division - Edogawa

Team - Wicked Requiem

Position - 3rd Member

Favorite Food - Strawberry Shortcake

Least Favorite Food - Green Bell Peppers

Likes - Sweets, Cooking, Learning new things

Dislikes - Lack of memories, People trying to fight her, Getting violent

Hypnosis Microphone

Kanra’s Microphone takes the form of a handheld mic made of see-through glass with a dark red liquid that swirls around inside. It glows an ominous red color whenever in use.

Her Speaker takes the shape of a giant woman with bat wings. She has pitch black hair styled into a hime cut. A crown of red spider lilies is on her head with a set of devil horns peeking through. She wears a dress that appears to be made of a red liquid that drips down and pools around Kanra's feet. The top of her dress is also open in a way that shows the speaker embedded in the middle of her chest. A second speaker is revealed when she opens her mouth. Her arms are spread to the side, and on her wrists are a set of metal shackles with chains that hang down to the floor. Her eyes are closed, but when Kanra gets serious, she will open them to reveal empty sockets that begin to cry blood-red tears.

Her rap ability, Resonate, allows any damage done to her to be replicated on the opponent.

Kanra’s rap centers around her short temper and how she dares anyone to pick a fight with her. That she'll show them why she is called a demon straight from hell. She raps about her lack of memories and how she hopes to one day figure out who she is. She also references her terrifying strength and how easy it would be to break a person in half if she really wanted to.

Personality

Kanra is a sweet and kind young girl, befitting her status as one of the youngest competitors in the Division Rap Battles. She's a bit of an airhead and has no awareness of danger, often walking into dangerous situations with no fear. She is extremely curious about the world, often asking questions with many seeing her as naive because of this. Despite this, Kanra is far smarter than people believe. (She has to be lest she kills someone with her strength.) She is quick to pick up on things and only needs a few tries to master a skill.

One of Kanra’s more famous traits is her short temper and won't hesitate to use her strength on the people who’ve angered her. Her anger frightens many, with some even calling her a devil from the depths of hell. Even at her angriest, Kanra makes sure not to use her full strength, knowing full well that she can seriously harm someone and even potentially kill a person.

What people don’t know is that underneath her sweet nature, Kanra is an extremely traumatized child. From her lack of memories to the horrifying nightmares that have been constantly haunting her, Kanra keeps it all buried within. Entering the D.R.B. seems to have made it worse, with Kanra feeling something trying to escape her mind. Kanra does her best to push it back, but it’s only a matter of time before whatever is trying to escape breaks out.

Background

In a separate post coming soon.

Trivia

Kanra is the one who cooks most group meals, finding it therapeutic.

Kanra is well known for ripping street signs out of the ground and swinging them when pissed.

Kanra suffers from frequent nightmares.

It's unknown exactly how strong Kanra actually is, but she is able to stop a speeding car with her bare hands and stated that she “barely worked a sweat” doing that.

Kanra due to her height and baby face is often mistaken for an elementary school student.

She is extremely durable being able to take blows that would knock out most people.

She has an emotional support cat by the name of Haku who she found nearly dead in an alleyway.

#hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #akemi kanra #wicked requiem #edogawa division #character bio

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enchantress-of-words · 2 years

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°× Saltare amoris ×°

When you meet her, you dance.

It's slow, at first. Uncertain, sluggish, unpracticed. You stumble and you blush and you murmur "oops"s and "sorry"s, but you don't take your gaze off her eyes, and she thinks - maybe, just maybe, she can trust you; maybe, maybe she can open up just enough to let you in, too look over you with anxiety as you gently examine her heart (her world); and you lift your eyes up on her, and you smile, and you say, "this is perfect; you are perfect; guide me through the rest of you".

She blushes.

You take her hand, and you continue to dance.

It's more confident now. You know the moves, you know the rhythm; you guide her through the ballroom, smiling at her, and her face is painted with that smirk she reserves just for you; and one night, you lean over to her ear and ask, "will you marry me?" and that night, you share your very first kiss.

You still dance.

You twirl and spin, looking at her face and grinning; she tilts her head to the side, and every touch she leaves on you burnes with need and love. You wouldn't trade it for the world, you wouldn't change a single thing, because you are in love, so deeply, madly, mindlessly in love; and you have all the time in the world, in that ballroom, dancing to the everchanging music of life.

You dance even when you're reminded, again and again, that life does change; when the grief is so hard it makes you struggle to hold onto her; when you bury your son, when tears stream down your face - you dance, even though your dance is bitter and the piece playing is a requiem. You purse your lips, you look into her eyes - now distant, cold and unfamiliar (so painfully unfamiliar), and you dance.

It never falls back, it'll never return - that innocence, that serenity of your old dances, but you manage. Your hearts break, but love mends them into something stronger, something calmer, something more mature; and you hold her close; you close your eyes, and you listen to her heartbeat.

And when you're ripped appart, when you're chained deep underground, when you're stripped of the last remains of humanity and dignity - you scream her name, you bury the memories of your ballroom deep inside yourself; and when you forget how gentle was the touch of the sun, you still remeber her grey eyes - and when you forget the sound of birdsongs, you're reminded of her gentle laugh, of her quiet whispers.

So when you're finally free, you look at her, and the music stops.

(It wasn't playing for almost nine centuries already.)

She looks at you, too, and in her eyes is fear and hurt and you left me and I thought you were dead; but she also cries, and her hands are outstretched.

And the orchestra whispers, and the notes shuffle and the maestro holds his breath,

and you step forward,

and you dance.

#writeblr #creative writing #fantasy #WIP #OP #help how the hell do i tag #the tale of the uncharted years #oc: zerafer lan-atur #oc: martha dor-aldon #they're elves by the way!#and immortal #and in love #and also suffering #if you couldn't tell #anyways I Am Normal about them (no i'm not)#feel free to ask me questions

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acoraxia · 4 months

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Boy Savior

Chapter 3: Remembrance

He leans forward, allows his hair to become a cascade of black and silver to show his age—the hint of pale blue in his eyes shrouded behind brown and black. The huntsman who once scavenged the Earth with his bow and quiver now reduced to a man with a tired smile upon his lips. A quiet melody. He craves the warmth of the Sun and hears his echo of laughter miles East, where the mountain blooms with life and grants safe passage to the qilin and phoenixes that need it. Erlang Shen looks at the false prophet with that very same smile. “What happens when the people ask for bloodshed? Does he answer them? Or does he ignore their cries?”

She doesn’t respond.

She doesn’t have to.

He knows the answer already.

Read the Tags/Notes. Chapter Wordcount: 10,758

#lego monkie kid #requiem au #A Requiem of Chained Memories #writers note #y #yippeeeee #I DID IT #I FUCKING FINISHED THIS DAMN FIC #chap 4 will be up soon but i wont make a post about it since it's literally like 4 lines lmao #BUT YIPPEEE #HOORAAAAY #a requiem of chained memories au

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umbrae-sortilegium · 6 months

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(Verse 1) In the shadows of the night, where the moonlight weaves its tale. A love so haunting, wrapped in chains, an ancient, tragic spell. Thunder echoes through the silence, like a heartbeat lost in time, I dance alone in the darkness, in this melancholy rhyme.

(Chorus) Oh, the thunder speaks of secrets, a symphony of pain. In the garden of our memories, where roses weep like rain. I miss you like a phantom, a ghost of love so true- A twisted serenade of longing, singing, "fuck you."

(Verse 2) Crimson lips and midnight skies, your touch, a memory: A love that's buried in the ruins of our symphony. The lightning writes our story, on the canvas of the night. But your absence is the thunder, crashing, breaking the fragile light.

(Chorus) Oh, the thunder speaks of secrets, a symphony of pain In the garden of our memories, where roses weep like rain. I miss you like a phantom, a ghost of love so true- A twisted serenade of longing, singing, "fuck you."

(Bridge) In the mirror of the moon, I see your shadow dance. A waltz of sorrow and desire, a ghostly, sweet romance. The thunder drums a requiem for love that's gone astray, Yet in the storm, I find solace, where tears and raindrops play.

(Verse 3) Haunted whispers in the wind, like echoes from the past. A love once vibrant, now a specter, fading fast. Through the corridors of time, where our echoes still remain, I navigate the ruins, searching for a love to reclaim.

(Outro) As the thunder fades to silence, and the storm begins to wane. I'm left with echoes of our love, a bittersweet refrain. In the Gothic tapestry of heartache, where shadows play their part. I'll carry the weight of our love, a masterpiece of the dark. Singing, "Fuck you." © Dʏsʜᴀɴᴋᴀ/Oᴅᴇᴛᴛᴇ ₂₀₂₃

#gothic lyrics #gothic poetry #lyrics #poetry #dark musings #gothic literature #dark lyrics #dark romance

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catt-eia · 10 months

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Upon the eve of tempest's raging might,

Amidst the torrential rains and winds that roar,

Within your chamber's solitude and plight,

You weep in sorrow, soul's burden to explore.

As raindrops dance, cascading from the skies,

So do your tears, like rivers, gently flow,

A weight upon your heart, it never dries,

As thunder's echo mirrors inner woe.

This sleepless night, a symphony of pain,

A mournful dirge, a requiem it plays,

You yearn for respite, hope to break the chain,

To numb the anguish that your soul betrays.

Yet, as you dwell in memories' embrace,

The loss of one beloved, profound and deep,

A searing wound that time cannot erase,

It shatters hope and leaves you lost in weep.

Oh, like a torrent's fervent, scalding rain,

Your tears reveal a truth you can't deny,

For in your mourning, you have lost again,

Your very self, a part you can't defy.

In lamentations, let your heart find peace,

Though grief may linger, memories won't fade,

Embrace the pain, and with the pain, release,

To mend your spirit, though it's been betrayed.

As shadows lengthen in the dying light,

Remember, love lives on in every breath,

Through sorrow's shroud, let love be your true sight,

And find within your soul the strength till death.

#writers on tumblr #poemsdaily #daily life #thoughts

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therecordchanger62279 · 11 months

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THE MEMORIAL DAY PLAYLIST

Because I have a platform for it with this blog, and because the blog focuses primarily on music, I wanted to do something for Memorial Day. I grew up in the shadow of the Vietnam War. I never served. I had a draft card, and a lottery number, but the government ended the draft just months before I would’ve been called. My number was a low one, so it’s likely I’d have been drafted, and I would’ve served rather than seek a deferment. The war ended soon after.

Though I never served, that war compromised the futures of every member of my generation. The money that might’ve been spent at home was wasted in a futile war we never had any chance of winning. It undermined our faith in the military, and in our government and elected officials. The veterans who survived that war were, at best, ignored and forgotten, and, at worst, betrayed, mistreated, and robbed of the dignity of having served their country in what they believed was a noble cause. Even today, nearly 50 years after that war ended, the Vietnam Veteran is the least recognized, and the least celebrated of any group of soldiers who served in any war in this nation’s history. There were 58,220 men and women soldiers who died in that war. The list of casualties, however, military and civilian, is incalculable.

So, I get angry every Memorial Day when I see the flags wave, and the veterans of all the other wars honored, yet again, for their service while those who served in Vietnam are shoved aside, or ignored altogether. I wanted to bring that fact to light in this space by compiling a Memorial Day Playlist of the songs that impacted my thinking about Vietnam, The Cold War, and about all wars. The list was getting so long that I finally had to stop. But on Memorial Day, if you need a reminder that the day is not for celebration, but for grief, you have only to listen to these songs, and remember one thing: if your government tells you that fighting a war is necessary, it is your duty as a citizen, and a patriot to question authority. If there is another way, questioning authority is the only way a war might be avoided. If, however, a war becomes necessary, and all other avenues have been exhausted, then fight knowing that dying is the ultimate price of freedom, and that never, ever is war a cause for celebration.

Who’ll Stop The Rain – Creedence Clearwater Revival

War – Edwin Starr

Wooden Ships – Crosby, Stills & Nash

Once I Was – Tim Buckley

Feel Like I’m A-Fixin’ To Die Rag – Country Joe & The Fish

Last Train To Clarksville – The Monkees

What’s Happenin’ Brother – Marvin Gaye

Where Have All The Flowers Gone – Kingston Trio

Waist Deep In The Big Muddy – Pete Seeger

Masters of War – Bob Dylan

Grover Henson Feels Forgotten – Bill Cosby

Find The Cost of Freedom – Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Military Madness – Graham Nash

Four Days Gone – Buffalo Springfield

Vietnam – Jimmy Cliff

The Unknown Soldier – The Doors

The War Song – Graham Nash & Neil Young

2 + 2 – The Bob Seger System

Born In The U.S.A. – Bruce Springsteen

Save The Country – The 5th Dimension

War Pigs – Black Sabbath

Eve of Destruction – Barry McGuire

Galveston – Glen Campbell

Give Peace A Chance – John Lennon & Yoko Ono

Requiem For The Masses – The Association

Sky Pilot – Eric Burdon & The Animals

Machine Gun – Jimi Hendrix

With God On Our Side – Bob Dylan

Bring The Boys Home – Freda Payne

Child In Time – Deep Purple

Rich Man – Climax Blues Band

Draft Morning – The Byrds

Daniel – Elton John

People, Let’s Stop The War – Grand Funk Railroad

Sam Stone – John Prine

Sweet Cherry Wine – Tommy James & The Shondells

Slip Kid – The Who

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall – Bob Dylan

Blowin’ In The Wind – Peter, Paul & Mary

Handsome Johnny – Richie Havens

I Don’t Wanna Get Drafted – Frank Zappa

Peace Train – Cat Stevens

Invisible Sun – The Police

The Universal Soldier – Donovan

One Tin Soldier – Original Caste

Rooster – Alice In Chains

Undefeated – Little Steven

Little Boy Soldiers – The Jam

Games Without Frontiers – Peter Gabriel

Generals & Majors – XTC

Stop The War, Now! – Edwin Starr

Soldier – Neil Young

Washington Bullets – The Clash

Us and Them – Pink Floyd

Land of Confusion – Genesis

Russians – Sting

(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding – Elvis Costello

Arlington's Busy - Graham Parker & The Rumour

The Star Spangled Banner – Jimi Hendrix

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daytura · 1 year

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requiem, unrequited...

Fuck it I'm already brutally honest this week (on Twitter). May as well air out my unrequited crush and laugh at myself a bit, hitch a ride on the serenity elevator.

I tend to imagine cliffs when I think of erosion and time passing and de-accumulation. It's an old metaphor-model from my younger years: the past (ocean) wears on the future (rocky cliff), and at the point of contact, the present shears off. Both the past and the future are equally real, but the present is less of a guarantee. It's dependent on the chains of causality, which in the metaphor could be analogized to the generation of waves.

Re: the bridal veil: The groom is supposed to lift it up, take a long hard look at the bride at the altar. But I'm not really a bride, which anyone who bothered to follow me outside of Twitter would know. I have my pronouns listed here and on Mastodon, but not Twitter. Why?

Lethe is a common metaphor -- the river of forgetfulness. I like to think that I have a river of Lethe running through me, since all of my sensory and mental impressions kind of fade into the void unless I write it down. But the void is also clear in it's emptiness, and in my moments of forgetfulness, I am also open to acquiring new information.

"requiem unrequited" is an apt summary of my utter fury, but it's also a reference to this track called "Requited" where there's a musical correspondence between lower strings and higher piano keys (ignore that it's from Homestuck). One of the later albums also has a track called "Serenade" which is the same track but without the lower strings.

youtube

"skin to leather, and leather to skin" reflects the acceleration of time which I feel more often than not. I'm way too young to feel like I have a single-digit number of years to live, but that's how I feel. (I'm working on it though. See also: headspace-hotel's "I am learning to imagine the future".) I'm also trying to imply that both of us -- me and my unrequited crush -- will probably be quite old when I tell him that I used to like him.

"Hercules came and torched the garden" is a reference to an older tweet. But it's not just any old tweet. It's one in my "little love" thread, which is something of a love letter to the guy. I try not to reference anything from that thread either explicitly (quote-tweets) or implicitly (unquoted repeated phrasing) but at this point I am so disillusioned with my feelings I'm willing to tarnish the memory, just a bit.

"i am sick of making soap with these gnarled things": You can make soap out of ash (the source of the ash is implied to be the charred Hesperidian garden) but I the narrator have leathery sore hands. I'm sick of it. It also reflects a growing pragmatism to serendipity -- it's opportunistic, not necessarily defined or generated (though you could probably do so.)

Sunk cost fallacy is the psychological trap where the more you invest in something, the harder it is to move onto something else. I've invested so many feelings and time and love into this guy I feel like I have to see it through -- even though, of course, I can't, and that seeing it through would damage the friendship.

Name-dropping Reagan is a tie to the crush. Reagan implemented some economic changes which some historians and economics call "Reaganomics". My crush writes about economics and finances. The point isn't necessarily Reagan or his changes but the awareness of my crush's interests and values.

"perks of being perfectionist -- or single-minded. what is there to differ?" One cognitive pairing in the Jungian functions I could never quite figure out was the Te-Fi axis. I have a dominant Fi and so I can barely imagine Te (if I do use Te, it's really just using the function). Te has a reputation for being perfectionist; Fi has a reputation for being stubborn and single-minded. These two characteristics don't necessarily cause one another, but they do occur often in the same people, the same personality. And so I'm implying that my crush is something of a single-minded perfectionist trap that I've set for myself; my obsession with him blinds me to the warning signs of trying to follow up with unrequited feelings.

[[Ariadne]] is a Greek mythological figure who holds particular symbolic significance for me. I recently solved a personal problem, and she was something of a key. From a functional standpoint, Ariadne's place in the original myth was something of a plot device; she was the one who handed the thread to Theseus, and so she is a gift-giver. But I like to think of her as a muse or a closed system, where her formidable output (yarn) bypasses complex interactions that would otherwise constrain open systems.

The unfortunate part is that Theseus abandons Ariadne in the end, the same way the narrative abandons her after she hands off her thread. She eventually is courted by Dionysus, but by this point, she no longer has narrative/character influence. She can play pretend with Dionysus -- "wind god playing dress-up as the next hero" -- but it's not quite right. I draw a comparison (if not outright identity consolidation) between myself and her by saying that "I had red thread, then". I did have red motifs in my head when I took on her name. Set my profile picture on Discord in 2019 to a vivid red hibiscus.

But "[now] I have green yarn, as green and as thick as the python coiled around my soul". If you think "python" should be capitalized, you'd be right. I'm thinking of the great Python who Apollo slayed at Delphi (or otherwise the center/navel of the Earth). I have connotations of pythons as green, even though in real life, they're browner and more earthy in tone. But the green part is important. In my symbology, Ariadne isn't red. Ariadne is green, and spirited lively green. You could say she's something of a green sun. (You may or may not ignore this other Homestuck association.)

But the green flames, the green life, the green spring...it holds deeply personal meaning for me too. In March 2019, I had a severely depressive episode that felt as if it extinguished all of my higher order functions. I did truly feel dead. But it was temporary. 3, 4 days later, after this period, I came alive. The immediate feeling was this pure intuition of green. The green yarn that I metaphorically hold today is a eulogy to my suffering and my continued existence today. No matter how tangled I am (it's "coiled around my soul") -- no matter how hard the emotional gusts hit me -- I know. I know I'm alive. And from there everything falls into place.

From a symbolic perspective, me as Ariadne playing with Dionysus (which would correspond to a certain mental shade) could refer to my daydreams and musings about my crush. They're not real, and they can't ever be real, but I'm daydreaming them anyway.

Melinda was a pseudonym for a string of my emails to a previous crush, R. This was between 2019 and mid-2020; I had been typing on my convertible laptop, my Pixelbook, which is a "silver double tablet" of sorts. The common metaphor that I employed while writing these emails was the desert, which was my mindscape at the time. The desert was particularly significant because it's terrain represented the latent crystallization or "freezing" of my mind. It was also the mindscape where I visualized my theory of mind capabilities, which had long been on the decline, and burnt it down in a fit of similar unrequited rage.

There are an alarming amount of similarities between my crush on R then, and my crush today. I fractured into multiple moods, constructed bits of scenery, and coaxed symbolism and neologism into my writing. But this kind of living comes at a cost. You have to entertain the possibility that you might be liked back, even platonically. Reality, on the other hand, loves to prove you wrong.

This tweet should more than explain itself from all of the context I've provided so far. Nyx really is the remains of my theory of mind -- the smoke of the gallery that I burnt, alive and personified and friendly. He asks me if I am okay. (It doesn't matter if I really imagined it or not; if I write it and publish it, then it may as well have happened.) I reply, confused and angry and a bit snarky. Fury and pain and the weight of living.

"re-learning the fog on the rim" refers to another tweet about re-learning, coming alive, settling into life.

---

I could namedrop him right now -- I know he doesn't read my blog, probably forgot the name -- but it still feels dodgy.

Crushes are the singular emotional phenomena that makes me think emotions and thoughts are different, frankly. The connection between attraction and cooler logic is so tenuous that it's almost circumstantial. I can ask myself whether it's feasible to live with him in a house and deal with chores together for more than six months, a year, and yet my gushing little pacemaker will always say yes. I mean what the hell kind of reasoning is that? But then I have to tell myself, well, it's not reasoning...

Also he's straight. I'm like 98% sure of that. He has no bi vibes at all. Which the second I give thought to that is like, holy shit! Not only is this crush incongruent with my thoughts and pragmatics it's also incongruent with my ethics! I shouldn't daydream of a straight guy. I can't "turn" anyone -- it just doesn't work like that. And yet...

So I don't know. I really don't. I'm thinking of "weaning" myself off him by focusing my time and energy on other people and my budding cogsci theories (I recently collapsed all TPOT phenomena into linguistics! Super fun exercise) and, at the risk of sounding narcissistic, myself. Lately my stream-of-consciousness has felt more tangible. I can feel things better, skim them beside the oxygenated red blood cells leading out of my heart. It's a really nice feeling and I have a hunch it's going to stick around for a while. So you might hear me sound a bit more opinionated on this blog, too.

#postrox #homegrown by postie #requiem unrequited #ariadne #long post #Youtube

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