#darkness plants growing out of and devouring their corpses

[bradsmindbrain]

Idk if youve done this before sorry but perhaps either Ted and Jack's first meeting or like Jack suggested during wwbn one of the other times Jack comes to save Ted from hunters (cause it sounds like he apparently gets captured alot... Somehow). Thanks!

Encounter

Summary: While hunting a monster in the Everglades, Jack encounters a new friend

TW: Violence, fire, corpse, blood

Jack ran through the dark trees of the Everglades as he heard the pale, spindly thing laughing behind him. Mierda, this was bad. He had heard rumors of something that prowled the Everglades, feasting on human flesh and desecrating corpses, so naturally he was inclined to investigate. The sun was beginning to set as he got closer to the swamp when he noticed a totaled car on the side of the road. Worried, he parked his rental car, and went over to check to see if anyone was injured. When he drew near, he heard the horrid snaps and tears of something being ripped apart and devoured. 

He had spotted the beast a little ways off the side of the road, hunched over and wrist-deep in the chest of some poor bastard, their blood a stark contrast to its hairless, paper-white skin. It was built like a person, but not at all proportioned like one, it was easily seven feet tall, its arms reaching down to its feet, it was rail-thin, emaciated. It was too sharp to be a person, too angular, even its hands were sharp, but not because of the nails, they were more like jointed blades made of flesh and bone rather than metal. Jack had stepped on a twig, the snap alerting it to his presence. It slowly turned to face him, revealing its hideous face. Its mouth was in a sadistic smile, showing off countless rows of triangular, shark-like teeth, it possessed no nose, only a pair of vertical slits where it should be, and its eyes were far too much like a human’s, sunken back into its head.

It pointed at Jack, smiling before hissing out a single word, “Desert.”

Jack backed away, “What?”

Its smile seemed to grow wider before pointing at the corpse, “Dinner,” it pointed back at Jack, “Desert.”

Jack made a break for the car, but the beast had gotten up and reached it with only a few bounds of its long legs, slamming one of its sharpened limbs into the hood. With nowhere else to go, Jack ran into the swamp, the beast following at a leisurely pace, obviously savoring the panic it was instilling.

Which led to his current predicament, hiding behind a tree as he heard the beast prowling nearby. He just needed to last a little longer, then the wolf would come out and kill it. He always chose to hunt on nights of the full moon, he wasn’t much for direct violence, but he still wanted to help people, and he knew that the wolf would see whatever he was hunting as a threat.

Just as he predicted, he felt the beginning pangs of transformation soon after, biting his lip to conceal his presence. He felt the fur push up from his skin and his bones snapped as he blacked out, and the wolf took over.

Jack tore his shirt off, letting out a howl, and within moments, found the beast and lunged at it. It had no time to react as his claws sunk into its skin, the stagnant black blood pouring from its wounds a sharp contrast to its pale skin. After a moment of shock, it ripped him away, throwing him to the ground some feet from it, its mere grip leaving cuts on his skin. 

Jack charged at it again, instinctively staying close to the ground to avoid its claws. He ripped into its leg, making it howl in pain before slamming its arm into him and sending him flying into a tree. He watched as it recovered from its injuries, and it began to approach him like he was a cornered animal, cackling all the while.

In an instant, a massive being emerged from the underbrush. The beast spinned to slice at the newcomer’s arm, severing it, but also causing its own hand to go up in flames, making it screech. The taller, plant-like being grabbed its arm, which promptly began to burn and blacken. Within moments, it had spread to the rest of the beast, its own howls and screams of pain mixing with the roar of the flames consuming it until there was nothing left but ash and blackened bone.

The last thing the wolf that was Jack Russell remembered was the being approaching him.

Jack awoke the next day to the smell of dirt and plants, laying in a makeshift bed consisting of sticks, leaves, and various other plants. He sat up, looking around the hollowed out dome of earth he had found himself in. It was filled with all kinds of items, a gas stove, a table, a chair or two. Someone lived here. It was then that he noticed that there were vines tied around parts of his limbs, and blood-soaked cloth placed on his bare sides. He examined the vines, partially covered in dried blood, seemingly used to staunch whatever wounds were on his arms.

He tried to recall what happened last night, tried to make sense of where he was. Trying to remember what he did when the wolf came out was damn near impossible, and even when he could they were… choppy, fragmented. He vaguely recalled screaming, and fire, and plants, but that was about it. He thought the screams were coming from the beast, whoever had killed it had obviously patched him up.

He pondered who could have done such a thing when a large piece of bark on the side of the dome was moved away, and a massive shambling mass of mud and plants in the shape of a human entered. The being’s face wasn’t at all like a human’s, no nose or mouth, just three dangling root-like tendrils with pure red eyes with flower-shaped pupils. Its eyes widened at Jack’s presence, and it made its way towards him. Despite the being’s imposing stature, he wasn’t intimidated, what stood before him was presumably the occupant of this little dome, and it had patched him up when it absolutely could have killed him.

He smiled, giving an awkward wave, “Uh, hola?”

The being seemed more surprised at this reaction, like the gesture was something it hadn’t seen before, or at the very least, not in a long time. It gave a grumble that sounded vaguely confused.

He returned the confused look, “Um, can you understand me?”

The being moved away from the bed, heading over to a stack of boxes in the corner, rummaging around in them before pulling out a small whiteboard and a dry-erase marker. It made its way back over to Jack, carefully taking the cap off the marker before writing on the board with a surprising amount of delicacy for something as big as itself. After a moment it turned the board around, a single word scrawled on it, “Yes.”

Jack grinned, “That’s great then!”

The being gave a confused look, spinning the board around before wiping the writing off and writing something new, “You’re not afraid?”

Jack shook his head, “No, why would I be? You seemed to have patched me up pretty well.” He gestured to the vines and cloths covering him.

It shook its head, writing a new sentence, “Well, I’m glad you appreciate it, but what are you?”

Jack gave a puzzled look, “What do you mean?”

Another quick burst of writing, “When I left, I put a wolf monster on that bed, but when I came back, you were here.”

Jack nodded, “Oh, I see.” Normally he wouldn’t be inclined to share his condition with anyone else, but the being before him had saved him, and honestly there was probably no point in hiding that information from someone who was similar in nature. Jack thought for a moment, “Well, I have a… condition. Most of the time I’m me, but on nights like last night, when the moon is full, I… lose myself. I change.”

The being wrote something again, “Like a werewolf?”

Jack nodded, “Yes, that.”

It wrote something down again, “Alright then, why are you here?”

Jack scratched behind his ear, “I was hunting that thing that I think you saved me from.”

The being’s eyes widened, “You’re a monster hunter?!”

Jack shook his head, raising his hands, “Nada! Well, yes, kind of. I’m… not like most of them. I only go after monsters that seek to do harm intentionally, that’s why I was hunting that thing, I heard about it hunting people around here so I came to deal with it.”

The being seemed to give a sigh of relief, “That’s good to hear.”

Jack nodded, “Yeah, I know what it’s like, to be judged for what you are before someone gets to know you. I’ve been hunted a handful of times too. It’s why I always make sure to go after things that are monsters inside and out.” 

He tried to get up, but the being stopped him, writing something, “You’re in no condition to be getting up, it gave you some nasty wounds.”

Jack sat back down, “I suppose you’re right. Thank you for patching me up by the way. It’s been awhile since anyone has done something for me like that.”

The being nodded, “It’s no problem, it’s been awhile since I’ve met someone who hasn’t run at the sight of me too.”

Jack grinned, “Well it’s nice to make your acquaintance then. My name is Jack by the way.”

The being nodded, “It’s nice to meet you Jack. I’m Ted.”

#werewolf by night #wwbn #wbn #jack russell #ted sallis #man thing #marvel #mcu #russallis #my stuff #prompts #it’s kinda pre relationship but i’m tagging it as russallis anyway #tw: gore #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: fire

[edenmemes]

misc poetry sentence starters

❝  one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.  �� ❝  you remind me what love lives in this skin.  ❞ ❝  you are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream.  ❞ ❝  i’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the places floating, finally legible.  ❞ ❝  the world was made so we can find each other in it.  ❞ ❝  the night isn’t dark; the world is dark. stay with me a little longer.  ❞ ❝  i want you desperately. i want your strength and your softness, your hands, all of you.  ❞ ❝  is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?  ❞ ❝  against your cheek my hand is warm and full of tenderness.  ❞ ❝  the world grows green again when you smile.  ❞ ❝  your share of pains would fill a sea.  ❞ ❝  i’m so stuck on the ‘was’ of people.  ❞ ❝  what i love in you is your power of loving, a bit wild, a bit primitive, but absolute.  ❞ ❝  i like figuring you out. you are so human and puzzling.  ❞ ❝  the unwillingness to try is worse than any failure.  ❞ ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ ❝  i did violence to my own heart.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.  ❞ ❝  like a magpie, i am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales and dead languages.  ❞ ❝  and here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.  ❞ ❝  you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry.    only the sun has come this close, only the sun.  ❞ ❝  sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof you’ve been ruined.  ❞ ❝  when will it cease, this monstrous rage of yours?  ❞ ❝  i will plant my hands in the garden. i will grow, i know, i know.  ❞ ❝  i had it all and i want it back again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.  ❞ ❝  we are two reflections that cross swords with each other.  ❞ ❝  as for me, i am a watercolour. i wash off.  ❞ ❝  do you dare send me away as though you were were waiting for something better?  ❞ ❝  my dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame.  ❞ ❝  i am three oceans away from my soul.  ❞ ❝  you, occasionally, glimmer with a light i’ve never seen before. it frightens me.  ❞ ❝  i went to sleep last night so i could see you.  ❞ ❝  even the eyes of gods must adjust to light. even gods have gods.  ❞ ❝  how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?  ❞ ❝  it does me no good to be good to me now.  ❞ ❝  i may look alright, but if you were to look more closely you wouldn’t find a single healthy bit in me.  ❞ ❝  i must clothe myself in other worlds.  ❞ ❝  suffering is the privilege of those who feel.  ❞ ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞ ❝  the vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. when you lose that, you’ve lost everything.  ❞ ❝  i can be bold, because i have you with me always.  ❞ ❝  you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind.  ❞ ❝  not that i want to be a god or a hero, just to change into a tree,  grow for ages, not hurt anyone.  ❞ ❝  i laughed today. for a second i was unhaunted.  ❞ ❝  you are sunlight through a window, which i stand in, warmed.  ❞ ❝  there’s something electric in your blood.  ❞ ❝  you say you are broken,   but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.  ❞ ❝  time doesn’t obey our commands.  ❞ ❝  i love you quite passionately, and with a touch of tragedy.  ❞ ❝  to feel anything deranges you. to be seen feeling anything strips you naked.  ❞ ❝  i love you --- like a storm bursts overhead --- i must confess it; all the more fiercely because you burn and bite.  ❞ ❝  and i have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back.  ❞ ❝  i am less a god now that you’ve touched me.  ❞ ❝  your words are gentle; but my blood runs cold to think what plots you may be nursing deep within your heart.  ❞ ❝  you said i killed you --- haunt me then.  ❞ ❝  your soul is frail and solemn, loyal and spring-like.  ❞ ❝  you look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.  ❞ ❝  strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.  ❞ ❝  you will hear thunder and remember me.  ❞ ❝  ever think it’s possible for us to be happy?  ❞ ❝  and i would wonder across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you.  ❞ ❝  since we’re bound to be something, why not together?  ❞ ❝  i am ashes were once i was fire.  ❞ ❝  this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.  ❞ ❝  it’s no easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.  ❞ ❝  kill the light! i’d rather wallow in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i have thought of you often since the darkness.  ❞ ❝  with your presence the sun becomes irrelevant.  ❞ ❝  there is no god left in this skin. there’s just the ash. just the ash.  ❞ ❝  open your eyes, look more sharply, see me as i am.  ❞ ❝  what the hell is tragedy? i am.  ❞ ❝  i’ve got a lot of feeling for you. you’re kind.  ❞ ❝  how beautiful it is, how beautiful, that glow before the stars break.  ❞ ❝  so much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.  ❞ ❝  i am myself. that is not enough.  ❞ ❝  i may be mad, god-seized, but i will stand outside my madness.  ❞ ❝  my power, which to me is still a curse ---  ❞ ❝  ocean sea with its caressing swell; it has so often cooled my heart.  ❞ ❝  do you bathe in perfume, and dry yourself in light?  ❞ ❝  i like you; your eyes are full of language.  ❞ ❝  let me tell you what i do know.    i am more than one thing and not all of those things are good.  ❞ ❝  you are the cause and the cure --- both.  ❞ ❝  i have kisses for the back of your neck.  ❞ ❝  your beautiful glance is unbearably cruel.  ❞ ❝  we might meet again, someday between dreams at dawn.  ❞ ❝  suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.  ❞ ❝  lately it hurts more to imagine you are a stranger rather than a destroyer.  ❞ ❝  and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.  ❞ ❝  since you walked out on me, i’m getting lovelier by the hour. i glow like a corpse in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i will not whine. i will obey and be forever still.  ❞ ❝  you move like the moon.  ❞ ❝  my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears.  ❞ ❝  in your eyes, the fires of twilight.  ❞ ❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ ❝  i am no one. i cannot love. it’s in my blood.  ❞ ❝  you’re wearing your armor to protect your heart. who can blame you? it only makes sense in a world like this one.  ❞ ❝  you are not real. you are a dream of a dream.  ❞ ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞ ❝  i am indeed a shameless, evil-minded and abominable creature.  ❞ ❝  come this evening --- i am eager for stars.  ❞ ❝  i am on fire with that soft sound you make, in uttering my name.  ❞ ❝  i want you mostly in the morning when my soul is weak from dreaming.  ❞ ❝  to me you are the desert and the sea; everything secretive.  ❞ ❝  i thought i was wounded to the core but i was only bruised.  ❞ ❝  it is a dead heart. it is inside of me. it is a stranger.  ❞ ❝  i live --- but i’m mutilated.  ❞ ❝  if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.    if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.  ❞ ❝  i am condemned to be a saint or a monster: unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other.  ❞ ❝  you will open your wounds and make them a garden.  ❞ ❝  i come home --- and i feel like a ghost returning its haunt.  ❞ ❝  i planted roses, but without you they were thorns.  ❞ ❝  everything inside me is in revolt.  ❞ ❝  how this darkness soaks me through and through.  ❞ ❝  give me my robe, put on my crown; i have immortal longings in me.  ❞ ❝  say something dangerous like i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?  ❞ ❝  in times of crisis, we must decide again and again whom we love.  ❞ ❝  breathe the scent of little, earthly things. let the twilight touch you.  ❞ ❝  my heart is just like the ocean, has storm and calm and tides.  ❞ ❝  you became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.  ❞ ❝  gods are stubborn. so am i.  ❞ ❝  is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ❞ ❝  there’s something soft in me. i killed it and it’s rotting.  ❞ ❝  beware. beware. there is a tenderness.  ❞ ❝  half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  ❞ ❝  i’m alive. like a wound, a flower in the flesh, the path of aching blood is open within me.  ❞ ❝  you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.  ❞ ❝  i have it in me...to scare myself with my own desert places.  ❞ ❝  my mouth still houses century-old magic.     in my ears i hear a ringing and singing and no god.  ❞ ❝  keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.  ❞ ❝  i’m full of poetry now. rot and poetry. rotten poetry.  ❞ ❝  this skin is sick with loneliness.  ❞ ❝  memories are sharp. they bite. i have spent most of my life trying to grow a thicker skin just to make sure i would not bleed out whenever i felt those teeth scrape up against me.  ❞ ❝  i wonder if i will ever find a language to speak of the things that haunt me the most.  ❞ ❝  after fury, what do you do with the remains?  ❞ ❝  come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can’t just stand on it.  ❞ ❝  let’s admit, without apology, what we do together.  ❞ ❝  try to find the right place for yourself. if you can’t find it, at least dream of it.  ❞ ❝  it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.  ❞ ❝  i am too full of life to be half-loved.  ❞ ❝  today you want nothing because wanting comes too close to feeling.  ❞ ❝  there’s nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.  ❞ ❝  heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile.  ❞ ❝  my soul is devoutly and wholly under your spell.  ❞ ❝  will you see the human in my being?  ❞ ❝  if i had a flower for every time i thought of you…i could walk through my garden forever.  ❞ ❝  part broken part whole, you begin again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know if love’s a feeling. sometimes i think it’s a matter of seeing. seeing you.  ❞ ❝  i wonder which will get you killed faster, your loyalty or your stubbornness?  ❞ ❝  whether you come as a lover or an exeutioner, i am ready to receive you.  ❞ ❝  i think i understand your longing. it looks so much like mine.  ❞ ❝  i’ve had so many knives stuck into me. when they hand me a flower, i can’t quite make out what it is.  ❞ ❝  i like the sea: we understand one another. it is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; so am i.  ❞ ❝  do i not live? badly, i know, but i live.  ❞ ❝  something of you stuck with me. a splinter.  ❞ ❝  i clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you’ll never go away. oh you never will.  ❞ ❝  my golden love, if only you knew, what precious honey you are for me.  ❞ ❝  i had an old wound once, but it is healing.  ❞ ❝  always this in-betweenness, this almost, this it might be that...  ❞ ❝  when i close my eyes, i see you. when i open my eyes i want to see you.  ❞ ❝  dark as it is --- you see, that little flickering, is the light of my soul.  ❞ ❝  am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?  ❞ ❝  i am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins.  ❞ ❝  sapphires are those eyes of yours, ravishingly sweet.  ❞

#rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #long post for ts / #ill most likely add some more soon <3

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xue Yang has brought Xiao Xingchen back to life. With the daozhang having no memory of the day he died, the two couldn't be happier.

But as for Song Lan…

Trapped in a paperman form by Xue Yang and imprisoned in a glass jar, he’s forced to watch his greatest enemy play house with a still-healing Xiao Xingchen.

Something Xue Yang is doing a horrifically good job of.

Xuexiao & unrequited Songxiao - M (T tbh) - 2.4k - Read on AO3! This is actually pretty fluffy, so be warned

* * * *

The jar is as tall and wide as a man’s hand. Inverted, it sits on the windowsill facing the Coffin House’s only room, giving Song Lan a full view of the bed.

Xue Yang has placed the jar there on purpose, he knows. So that he can’t help but watch Xue Yang lie beside Xingchen every night, watch him hold him when he wakes from the nightmares he’s been plagued with since his return, watch him smooth his sweaty hair from his face, watch him whisper the terror away and pull him close.

As a fierce corpse he had been compelled to stand by while Xue Yang committed atrocities, but worse was watching Xingchen awaken with a gasping cry in the center of a demonic array, was the horrifying realization that Xingchen remembers nothing of that world-shattering day six years before, remembers nothing of the monster’s true face.

He had stood there and watched as Xingchen clung to the monster, watched Xue Yang put his foul hands on him and lift him from the bloodstained array, watched Xue Yang carry him into the house while Song Lan remained outside in the rain.

And then, the next morning, as Xingchen slept, worn out from the ritual, Song Lan had been forced to stand motionless and silent in the courtyard while Xue Yang removed his consciousness and inserted it into a paperman. Heaved Song Lan's body into a coffin like so much trash, tucked his paperman form inside his robe, and gone inside to Xingchen as if nothing had happened.

“A neighborhood girl tripped and fell,” he heard Xue Yang telling Xingchen, who was awoken by the single cry of agony Xue Yang had allowed him. “A bit of a whiner. I helped her find her mother.”

And then he had placed the little paperman under the jar, and Song Lan, unable to close his nonexistent eyes, and too horrified to look away, had watched.

Watched Xue Yang slide into bed beside Xingchen.

Watched him stroke his hair.

Watched him brush a possessive thumb over each empty eye socket.

Watched him eye Song Lan as he tied on the blindfold, smirking, as if mocking Song Lan for what had happened on Baoshan Sanren’s mountain.

But almost worse is the sickening domesticity.

The monster cooks. He cleans. He shops. He sits very still while Xingchen braids his hair, the one thing Xingchen seems to be interested in since his return. He sits for hours simply watching Xingchen meditate, devouring him with his eyes as he fidgets with his own hair, pulling it out of Xingchen's careful braids.

And Xingchen—

Song Lan rests his head on the cold glass of the jar’s walls.

Xingchen is just as beautiful as he’s remembered all these years. Just as good, just as pure. A wraithlike figure in white, something not of this world. Something better than this world. A creature of moonlight and mist sharing a bed with a beast.

At least his nightmares have gradually stopped as time goes on. Nothing to do with the monster beside him, Song Lan knows. The nightmares can’t be about anyone other than Xue Yang himself. And the gradual lightening of Xingchen’s tone when he speaks, the growing frequency of his smiles, his blooming interest in the world around him, have nothing to do with Xue Yang. If Song Lan could never bring Xiao Xingchen out of his dark moods, if he always relied on a street performer, a storyteller, a passing dog or child or even a cathartic thunderstorm, there is no way that Xue Yang ever could.

The pleasure Song Lan takes in knowing the monster has not completely erased the melancholy is blotted out by guilt at his own feelings.

One day, after Xingchen has not left that tainted bed for three days, Xue Yang removes the glass jar and lifts Song Lan off the windowsill.

“Here, daozhang,” he says, digging a fingernail into Song Lan’s fragile paper leg, daring him to try to escape, “I made you a paperman. Remember those?”

“A-Qing used to love them…”

A shadow crosses Xue Yang’s face. “I promised you I’ll find a way to bring her back too, daozhang. But only once you’re fully better. We don’t want her to worry about you, do we?”

“No…”

“Then here. Take this.” Xue Yang sets Song Lan down in Xingchen’s cupped palms.

A shudder runs through Song Lan at the touch of Xingchen’s skin. For the first time since he’s died, he can feel warmth. Xingchen’s solemn white face is mere inches away as Xingchen lifts Song Lan, one fingertip running around the edges of Song Lan’s paper body. Frantically he jumps up and down in Xingchen’s palm, trying to signal to him, trying to let him know something is wrong, very wrong—

“It’s waving at you,” says Xue Yang, and Xingchen smiles for the first time in days.

And now Song Lan watches them leave for night-hunts together, watches them return happy and breathless with blood speckling the hem of their robes, watches Xue Yang fixedly stare at Xingchen as he undresses, stripping him naked with his repugnant gaze.

Watches the oblivious Xingchen leave the monster gifts, watches the monster sneer at the jar each morning as he takes the candy off the bed, watches the monster slip the candy in his mouth as if he’s consuming a part of Xingchen himself.

“I bought you seeds,” Xue Yang tells Xingchen one morning, a month after Xingchen returned, a year, a decade; Song Lan can’t tell. He can’t sleep, has no respite from his thoughts, and the days and night have blurred into a hazy nightmare. “I thought you might like to garden.”

Xingchen’s face lights up.

Song Lan has never seen him smile like that before.

“You remembered,” he says softly.

Xue Yang grins at Xingchen, winking at Song Lan. “I promised you a garden, daozhang, and I keep my word.”

Song Lan is filled with a cold rage, though he’s not sure whom it’s directed at. Xingchen had always wanted a garden, to put down literal and figurative roots, to sow life after so many years spent with a blade in his hand.

It seems like a lifetime ago since he’d told this to Song Lan, lying awake one one night during their travels. Whispered it to him as if it were a dark secret, as if he didn’t think he should have those desires, as if settling down was selfish, as if it meant he could no longer help people.

That was the night they had first spoken of founding their own sect. Of what it would mean. Song Lan had promised Xingchen a garden on the sect grounds…

A flower garden, Song Lan had promised. Xingchen had wanted a vegetable garden like the ones back on his mountain, but Song Lan had preferred flowers. No filthy fertilizer needed, no rotting compost or constant care. They would be away frequently, he had pointed out, training new disciples and night-hunting, and Xingchen wouldn’t have time to tend to a vegetable garden….

And Xingchen had agreed, he reminds himself. Xingchen agreed to a flower garden...

Xue Yang has torn up a large section of the sunniest part of the courtyard, right outside Song Lan’s window. Song Lan watches as they till the earth, watches as they spread fertilizer, watches as Xingchen plants seeds.

Watches him squeeze the monster’s hand in thanks. Watches the terrible joy on the monster’s face as he realizes the success of his manipulation. Watches Xingchen’s delight as he feels the first shoots poke up through the earth. Watches him work for hours side by side with the monster, weeding and watering and pinching insects off the leaves.

Watches Xingchen’s smiles grow more and more frequent, hears his laughter come more readily.

Watches him turn the Coffin House into a home.

The first buds are hanging fat and yellow on the vine when Xingchen turns to Xue Yang. They're in bed early, bathed in the soft pink glow of sunset, lying there listening to Xue Yang tell stories. Xue Yang is in just his trousers, Xingchen in his thin white inner robe, made pink by the blushing light. Song Lan cannot feel the air but the evening seems warm, the door left open with a quiet breeze rustling the poems left on the table.

“Chengmei,” he hears Xingchen say, “I…”

“What is it?” Xue Yang nuzzles Xingchen’s neck, and Song Lan wishes he had a mouth to scream with. The sight of the foul creature touching Xingchen, soiling him with his filth—

Song Lan had never dared so much as touch Xingchen. Song Lan had never dared lay so much as a finger on him, no matter how much he may have confusingly wanted to. Song Lan had treated him as he deserved to be treated—

Xingchen’s voice is soft. “…Thank you for my garden.”

“Our garden,” Xue Yang says, almost teasingly. He’s playing with Xingchen’s hair, twirling the silken black strands around his finger, sliding it over his lip as if he likes the feel of its smoothness. “The flowers are about to open, I think, not that I know the first thing about gardening.”

“I think you’ve done wonderfully.”

“Well, those farming books helped.”

Xingchen swallows. Song Lan knows that swallow. He wants to ask something, and he’s not sure how it will be received. “I….”

“Don’t be shy, daozhang.” Xue Yang presses his face against the spotless white marble of Xingchen’s throat, inhaling deeply. “I know you want a new roof with jade tiles and red trim, maybe a gold-leaf tea set...”

Xingchen laughs. “Not exactly. I was, well…”

He blushes.

Song Lan has never seen him blush like that before.

Xingchen’s hand moves slightly, resting gently on Xue Yang’s waist, and the monster sits up with a start, biting his lip with a sharp white tooth. “All that wet dew on the buds give you ideas?” he says, and it’s so vulgar, so completely unmoored from anything preceding it, that Song Lan, stoic as he is, would have gasped had he any lungs.

And Xingchen laughs.

A red-faced, embarrassed laugh, but a laugh with mirth in it too. “That’s not quite —”

Xue Yang pins him to bed and kisses him full on the mouth.

Song Lan mentally holds his breath. Xingchen will shove him away, scratch him, fling him off him with words of icy reprobation—

Xingchen wraps his legs around Xue Yang and kisses him back.

A chill of horror freezes Song Lan’s paper body.

“I’ve waited for this for years,” Xue Yang breathes, and Xingchen pulls him down closer, devouring his mouth with his, fingers curling into Xue Yang’s bare back, leaving faint pink lines in the scarred skin.

“So is this why you brought me back?” Xingchen asks when he finally pulls away.

Song Lan has never heard him be so teasing before.

Xue Yang’s eyes widen. In all their years together, it’s the first time Song Lan has seen that shade of alarm on him. “You know I’ve never once so much—all I did was, you were the one who—I would have been more than fine simply—”

“I’m joking, A-Mei,” says Xingchen, and, smiling, he pulls Xue Yang back down, rolls him over on his back—

Song Lan looks away.

Tries to, anyway.

But merely hearing Xingchen whisper endearments to the monster, hear the pants and moans and whimpers, is even worse. There is no way it can be as dreadful as his imagination makes things out to be—

Xue Yang, spread out under Xingchen, looks Song Lan dead in the face and grins.

And Xingchen, pale skin flushed pink, back arched, lost to all thought other than the beast beneath him—

Song Lan looks away again.

It seems like an eternity before the bed stops rocking into the wall, before the pants and gasps die down to a dreamy hum.

“I missed you,” Xue Yang murmurs into Xingchen’s mouth, holding him tightly to his chest, fingers buried deep in his hair. “I never thought that..I never…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Chengmei…not before we harvest, anyway. I want to taste the sweet peas I worked so hard on.”

Xue Yang pulls away from Xingchen.

Xingchen sits up, reaching for him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I was just joking, A-Mei.” Xingchen’s hand slides down Xue Yang’s bare arm, clasping his wrist. “This is our home now. We can even adopt a dog if you want.”

Xue Yang swallows hard, but his lips twitch. He looks at Song Lan again, but his eyes dart away quickly, as if the monster is actually capable of true emotion. “I’m more of a cat person myself.”

“Two cats, then.” Xingchen sits behind Xue Yang, sliding his arms around him. “We can name them Yin and Yang.”

Xue Yang laughs. “Is that the best you got?”

Xingchen wrinkles his nose. Song Lan has never seen him so relaxed before. “You come up with the names, then, and I’ll find the kittens.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Xue Yang rises, gently untangling Xingchen’s hand. Naked, he pads to the door and stands gazing out over the starlit courtyard. The once-grim courtyard has erupted in a riot of life over the past few months, each coffin an island in a sea of greenery, with wayward vines twining up over Song Lan’s window and framing the panes.

“Look,” he says, almost inaudibly. “The buds are opening…”

Xingchen wraps himself in his robe and comes to stand beside Xue Yang. “ ‘Look’?”

Xue Yang grins suddenly and grabs Xingchen’s wrist, tugging him out into the moon-drenched garden. He whispers something Song Lan can’t catch and Xingchen laughs, the laugh floating in to Song Lan on the soft night breeze.

“Yellow flowers,” he hears Xue Yang saying. “Yellow flowers clinging to green vines wound around tall bamboo trellises, purple buds on the end of thick drooping stems, a carpet of green waving in the breeze…”

“I never knew you were such a poet, Chengmei.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, daozhang…” He raises a suggestive eyebrow, then hesitates, as if fearing he’s gone too far.

But Xingchen laughs, so hard Xue Yang has to slip his arms around him to keep him upright. And Xingchen trips, dragging them both down into a row of bok choy.

Song Lan looks away, but Xingchen’s laugh is all around him, dancing through the garden, filling the small glass jar.

He's ever heard him laugh like that before.

AO3! If you liked this, spare a reblog for a humble fic writer? 👉👈

#mdzsnet #xiao xingchen #xue yang #song lan #xuexiao #mdzs #the untamed #fymdzs #dailyuntamed

[sadoeuphemist]

Inside the whale, Jonah held fast to his principles “Let me die,” he prayed incessantly. “Let me be judged by a just and righteous God who punishes the wicked and defiant. No more of these bullshit second chances! When the men who conspired against Daniel were thrown into the lions’ den themselves, did the lions cradle them gently in their bellies until they repented? Of course not! So withdraw your mercy from me, Lord! Undo this miracle! And let this fish devour me!”

He continued ranting like this in the darkness and the damp, until finally the whale responded. Its voice rose up from all round him in a warm convulsion of air, vibrated through its bones, undulated the flesh beneath him.

“Um, actually,” it said, “I’m a vegetarian.”

---

As it turned out, the whale was ancient, from a time before the Flood when animals had not yet known to eat flesh. Despite its great size, the whale subsisted solely on plankton, and carried Jonah with an intestinal tranquility as it floated through the seas.  

“I was meant to go to Nineveh, that cesspit of a city,” Jonah told it, huddling in his wet clothes, “prophesying destruction for their wickedness. But you know what’ll happen if I do? Finally faced with the threat of consequence, they’ll all whimper and repent, and God in all his endless mercy will forgive them.” He shook his dripping locks. “I’d rather die. How can generations of wickedness be forgiven, just like that? Better that Nineveh be razed to the ground, and I die here in your belly for my defiance.” 

“Hmm, that’s an awful bloodthirsty creed you go by,” remarked the whale, its voice rumbling through him like distant thunder. “As I see it, if Nineveh repents, that’s only a good thing! The city’s huge, there’s over a hundred twenty thousand animals living there. You want them all to die?”

Jonah snorted. “Animals? Who cares about the animals?”

“Well, I do,” said the whale, “seeing as how I’m an animal myself.”

“Animals die all the time,” said Jonah. “They slaughter those animals in Nineveh, you know? That’s what they’re for! Even in nature, wolf eats sheep, lion eats gazelle, big fish eats littler fish and so on. It’s a bloodthirsty world! Which is why mercy for the wicked should have no place in it!” 

“Doesn’t have to be so bloodthirsty, is my point. You’re a prophet. Don’t you believe the prophesies? The wolf dwelling with the lamb, the lion with the calf, both chewing contentedly on straw. A better world is possible. I should know. I’ve seen it! We can have a green grazing world of harmony once again, if we work towards it.”

Jonah sat fuming. “Fat lot of good that does for all the innocents here and now,” he said. “Explain to me why I should be spared - why a voracious empire built on corpses like Nineveh should be spared - while some sinless sparrow gets torn apart by the hawk’s talons.” 

“Listen,” said the whale. “I understand well the cruelty of the world. At the end of my days I myself shall be eaten by the Leviathan. I’m terrified of that, of course. The terror of his teeth, his burning eyes the last thing I’ll ever see. But even in that carnage there’s the knowledge that at least I will have gone to feed something greater than myself - that my body will stoke the furnace of his belly and form the brightness of his scales, and that his tail will thrash on and his splendor will go on undiminished, proof of the glory of the Lord.

“But if Nineveh dies, and all the animals and men and women and little children in it, well, what will be nourished by that?” 

Jonah sat in sullen silence.

“We must believe that a better world is possible,” implored the whale. “I am living proof of it! I float through the flashing silver-scaled oceans of the world, harming nothing and no one, and all around me the good green clouds of plankton serve for food. You must imagine it, brother! Every bird of the sky and every creature that swims in the seas and crawls on the earth, dwelling together in harmony, and every plant yielding seed and every tree and its fruit and every green plant given up to us for food in abundance! What’s the point of believing in God, if you can’t believe in that?”

---

After three days and nights inside the whale, Jonah relented, and vowed to fulfill his duty. The whale coughed him up onto dry land, and Jonah made his way to Nineveh, for a full day walked through the thronging city calling out that in forty days would be their destruction. As he had foreseen, they repented. All the Ninevites in the city, young and old (including the more than one hundred and twenty thousand animals) covered themselves in sackcloth and called on God’s mercy and fasted.

Jonah threw up his hands and shrugged and made his way out of Nineveh to the wastes, and set up camp there waiting to see what would happen.

The sun beat down relentlessly. God made a green gourd plant grow, with slender stems that climbed like vines, shooting up from the earth to grow gracefully until they were taller than a man, with broad cooling leaves that shaded Jonah, and he sat in the green and sunshine-dappled shadow of the leaves, and for the first time in a long time he was happy. And then God sent a worm to gnaw away at the roots of the plant, and it died.

Jonah woke the next day to find the plant withered. The sun blazed down on his scalp. A scorching wind swept over him. The broad smooth leaves were shriveled and brown, the stem crumbling and twisted. A fat satisfied worm lay at its roots, all the life of the plant gone into it, and Jonah looked down at the bloated pale thing, and screamed and howled to match the scorching east wind.

“You’re mad?” God said to him. “Is it right that you’re this angry about a plant?”

“It is!” said Jonah. His blood beat in his ears and he felt as though he might pass out. “I’m so mad I wish I were dead!”

“So you care about this plant, though you did nothing to tend it or make it grow. It sprung from the ground overnight, and died overnight. And yet should I not spare the great city of Nineveh, with over a hundred and twenty thousand people still too young to tell their right hand from their left - and just as many animals!” said God, and then relented. “It was a pretty good plant. You’re not wrong about that.”

#fiction

[curious-wildflower]

Silent Hill – 1983

Without the other half of her soul, Alessa could not birth God, so Dahlia casts a spell that would attract the baby back to Silent Hill when she grew older.

Four years later Jodie dies of a disease making Harry a single parent.  Harry still grieving from Jodie's death, a now seven-year-old Cheryl begs him to take a relaxing vacation to the resort town of Silent Hill, and he gives in.

Due to car troubles, they arrive late at the outskirts of Silent Hill, Harry sees a girl (an astral projection) walking across the street in front of the car Harry having to swerve to avoid hitting her is knocked unconscious by the resulting car crash.

Upon waking it’s discovered Cheryl has disappeared and he is forced to venture into the snowing, fog-covered town to rescue her. At first glance Old Silent Hill, seems to be abandoned. In the distance he sees Cheryl running away, and he immediately hurries to follow her. Chasing her through the streets of Silent Hill, he finds himself running down a small residential road and into a dark alley.

The sky suddenly turns dark, a siren blares in the distance, and when Harry lights the area with a lighter, he finds that his entire environment has altered into the Otherworld. Everything is covered in rust and blood, topped with barbed wire, and the shapes of hanging bodies are discernible behind the mesh. The sounds of industrial clanking and grinding metal form a constant cacophony of ambient noise. With nowhere to go, Harry follows the alley and finds the disturbing body of a mutilated corpse hanging on a fence before him. Moments later, he is attacked by small, child-like monsters known as the ‘Grey Child’ Harry is eventually overwhelmed and ‘killed’.

He wakes up in a diner called Cafe 5to2. An officer Cybil Bennett from the nearby town Brahms questions him about the current state of the town and she provides him with a handgun before leaving to look for help. In the diner, Harry arms himself with a map, a knife, and a flashlight. As Harry attempts to leave the diner, a radio on a nearby table starts emitting static, causing Harry to investigate it. A flying creature crashes through a window and into the store attacking him killing the monster he starts to move through the streets encountering others, he quickly discovers the radio's usefulness when it emits intensifying static as monsters grow closer. Following a clue left by his daughter, Harry eventually finds his way to Midwich Elementary School to search for her.

Instead of students and teachers, Harry finds many Grey Children or Mumblers.

He works his way around, eventually unlocking the clock tower in the school's courtyard. Upon reaching the other side of the facility across from it, he finds the world has once again shifted into the Otherworld.  In the Otherworld school, Harry travels to the boiler room. Inside a flaming corpse illuminates a creature known as Split Head.  

With its defeat, everything turns to darkness, and then the light returns reveal an ordinary boiler room. A girl, Alessa Gillespie, is leaning against the boiler, and she turns to Harry before disappearing into thin air.

Confused, Harry departs from the school. He hears a church bell ringing in the distance and heads to the Balkan Church, where he sees a woman praying at an altar.  

In a confusing conversation she reveals herself to be Dahlia Gillespie. She gives Harry a mystical item called the Flauros and tells him to make haste to the hospital. Before Harry can ask any questions, Dahlia leaves, and Harry exits the church. He crosses a bridge that leads to Central Silent Hill.

Harry arrives at Alchemilla Hospital, where he encounters Michael Kaufmann, a doctor who is as bewildered as Harry about the current circumstances.  

Shortly after this meeting, Harry obtains a red liquid known as Aglaophotis, which purpose is later revealed, drinking it. Harry endures another shift to the Otherworld the hospital now infested with monstrous nurses. Along the way, he also meets Lisa Garland (Yeap same nurse from Origins). Before he can get any answers, he is transported back to the real world, where Dahlia reappears and tells him that the "Mark of Samael” seen in various locations, must not be completed, lest "the darkness" devour the whole town.

Meeting up with Cybil, who has seen a girl out on the lake, the pair find a hidden altar in an antique store, Harry disappears out of sight, much to her confusion. Harry, meanwhile, finds himself back in the hospital with Lisa, who gives him directions to the lake, but also tells Harry she feels she's "not supposed to leave". On the way to the lake, Harry passes through some sewers and enters the Resort Area.

Here you determine Kaufmann's fate (and the game's ending) by choosing to assist him in Annie's Bar and doing a side-quest. Canon-wise, Harry saves Kaufmann and fulfills the side-quest. Kaufmann is thankful, but his business presses him onward. Harry finds a motorcycle stash of a mysterious red vial in a gas tank, Kaufmann reappears and angrily snatches it away.

Soon after the Otherworld begins to take over the town again. Regrouping with Cybil and deciding to stop the mark's completion at Dahlia's desperate request, Harry heads to the lighthouse, while Cybil's goal is reaching Lakeside Amusement Park. As an unknown assailant attacks Cybil, Harry once more sees Alessa and the "Mark of Samael" at the top of the lighthouse before heading to the amusement park himself.

On the amusement park's carousel, Cybil appears, possessed by a parasite. The player may choose to save or kill Cybil, once again affecting the game's ending; if Harry wishes to save Cybil, he must use the red liquid he obtained at the hospital on her, Cybil is killed by Harry in the regular Good and Bad endings. With Alessa appearing once more, Harry unwittingly uses the Flauros to trap her. Dahlia appears, revealing that she manipulated him into confining her, as he was the only one who would be able to get close to her, and that Alessa is in fact her daughter.

With Alessa's powers out of control, Harry awakens to find himself back in the distorted Otherworld hospital. He finds Lisa bleeding from every orifice in front of him, Harry flees when she approaches him. Lisa's diary, left in the room, explains that she was the nurse who attended to Alessa in return for a drug she was addicted to, PTV.  

PTV is a drug made of a plant that grew only in Silent Hill, the ‘White Claudia’, in order to create hallucinations and mysterious visions popularly used by The Order and tourists.

(Fun Fact! The white flowers may be a reference to Morning Glory, that is also found in the same areas near water as the White Claudia, they’re a family of flowering plants with hallucinogenic seeds that were used in Native American religious ceremonies.)

Dr. Michael Kaufmann, the manager of Alchemilla Hospital at Central Silent Hill, is the one responsible for the illegal distribution this drug. Harry then witnesses a flashback of a meeting between Dahlia, Kaufmann, and two cult doctors discussing Alessa's hospitalization and the rebirth of God.

Harry soon finds Dahlia and possibly Cybil if he saved her previously (Cybil's survival may or may not be canonical), as well as a figure in a wheelchair wrapped in bandages: who is Cheryl and Alessa recombined and Alessa's astral projection.  

Both a flashback and Dahlia's words explain that Dahlia sacrificed her daughter to fire seven years ago in an attempt to nurture and bring about the birth of God worshiped by the Order, of which Dahlia is a priestess, and that the God now resides within Alessa's womb. AS mentioned at the beginning Alessa split her soul in half to prevent God from being born. The other half of the soul manifested itself as Cheryl, who as said before was found as a baby on the road outside of Silent Hill.

In the present, when Cheryl was called back to Silent Hill, Alessa began inscribing several Seals of Metatron around the town to purge Silent Hill of reality, killing herself to prevent God's birth. Alessa manifested herself as an astral projection in the town to place the marks Harry has seen in an attempt to keep the God at bay. Dahlia also reveals that the "Mark of Samael" is the Seal of Metatron and she used Harry as her pawn. With Alessa's plan defeated and the two halves of her soul now back together instead of birthing God Alessa births something twisted by the world views of the person (Dahlia) in charge of the ceremony known as the Incubus.

In the most endings, Kaufmann appears and throws a vial of Aglaophotis at the god, Aglaophotis as it turns out is obtained from the refinement of an herb of the same name and has the ability to dispel demonic forces and grant supernatural protection against such forces to those who use the item. So, when hit with the substance, the Incubator falls to the ground, screaming as the Incubus emerges from her back. The Incubus kills Dahlia, Harry then fights and defeats the god, and the Incubator gives him a baby (who is revealed to be Heather Mason in Silent Hill 3) and shows him the escape route. Harry, Cybil, and Kaufmann try to escape, but a blood-covered Lisa Garland appears and drags Kaufmann with her into the abyss. Harry and Cybil continue their escape, but the Otherworld is collapsing too quickly for them to make it on their own, so the Incubator (Alessa) uses the last of her power to stop the world's destruction in order for them to escape she is then consumed by the flames, and Cybil and Harry escape together with the baby.  

#silent hill #silent hill timeline #it's a long one boys #i was curious

[thatordinaryoddity]

Once In A Blue Goddamn Moon

a 💗 Jamie & Dani Fanfiction 💗 [The Haunting Of Bly Manor, Netflix 2020]

written by thatordinaryoddity

Rating: K+

Words: ~9,5k

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Status: Complete (will be uploaded in three chapters + Prologue)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475423/chapters/67177879

FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13742358/2/Once-In-A-Blue-Goddamn-Moon

Summary: Jamie leaves Flora’s weeding more wrapped up in her thoughts than usual. In all those years, there hadn’t been a day without thinking of her deceased lover Dani. But sometimes, once in a blue goddamn moon, events coincide in an exceptional, odd way.

A/N: Good evening/morning/afternoon, lovely people out there! As promised, here’s the first bit of my Damie FF. The ending of Bly Manor just left me a sobbing wreck so I decided to make my own end... or rather sequel? I do apprectiate the canon, tho, so I tried my best to connect my story to it. I also just wanted to let you know that the story is already finished and will be published in three segments + Prologue (here on tumblr, as well as on AO3 & fanfiction.net when I get the access). It’s beta-read but I need to tell you that none of us is a native speaker, so there might be some mistakes. But we tried our best. 

Anyways, let me preface this with a few warnings: I’d rate this fanfiction as K+ to F, but if you’re very sensitive to topics like depressions or a moderate description of injuries please be warned. Also, I’ve tried to look up a few things to keep the fic as realistic as possible (as far as this is possible for a ghost story bUt iT’s A lOvE stOrY), so the mysterious coincidences I’ve mentioned in the summary truly took place this year.

As always, have fun, stay awesome and leave me any form of feedback as it is very much appreciated. So let’s start with the Prologue. Even if it’s shorter than the other chapters, it’s all I’ll leave here today... but don’t you worry folks, the next segment will be out tomorrow!

Prologue

____________________

 Red.

It was as if her whole surroundings were tinted in that faded reddish colour. As if a sheer haze lingered over her mind and body. As if she had developed some sort of colour-blindness. Every contrast and every detail were there, but it seemed like some sort of strange, twisted, alternate reality.

Red.

The colour was faded and vibrant at the same time, it was dark like a rose but also bright like the warmth of a chimney fire. It was like a restless dream, like a headache, like a buzz, like a lover’s first kiss – a feeling like your knees were about to give in. She looked down to her feet, scrutinizing her body. Placing one hand on the back of her head.

Red.

She herself was dyed in that colour. Her clothes, her skin. And all felt so dull, so empty, so hollow. Her ears rang in a deep pitch, her whole head seemed to vibrate. The other hand raised in front of her face, she looked past her fingers which were slowly moving, trying to wake herself up from this reverie. Was she dreaming? Was this even real?

Red.

She turned, noticing that there was absolutely nothing. Just one instant earlier, she was standing there beside that suburban lane, surrounded by trees painted in those beautiful auburn colours from the onset of autumn. Those gloomy streetlamps just there, about to go to sleep, as the new day had already awoke. She turned again, more hectically this time. And again there was only this colour which seemed to have devoured everything around her.

Red.

Then, suddenly, this strange noise inside her head stopped, shattered like glass as it was interrupted by a voice, unknown yet somehow familiar. She turned again, trying to figure out where the voice had echoed from in all this nothingness. And the red was gone.

“I’m surprised to see you here!”

~

The wedding had been great. Jamie got this warm feeling inside her chest, a faint smile growing on her face when she reflected on the event. She looked out the small window, her forehead leaned against it, down to the delicate carpeting of clouds beneath. The landscape below them was now too far away to even be recognisable. The fading sunlight reflecting off the cloudy carpet seemed like a notional farewell to the land of opportunity, her former, bygone home, which connected her to so many memories and even more pain.

It felt very odd talking to Flora as if she were a stranger to her, nothing but a distant relative of her father Henry, despite them having so much history together. Flora and her were connected by so much more than just a lousy lie of made up relations. Jamie’s attempt to tell her the truth about Bly Manor had been futile and left a rather bittersweet taste, as it was nothing more than a sad tale with a deeper meaning in Flora’s eyes it seemed. But maybe it was alright this way, maybe it was meant to be. If the grey-haired woman had learned one thing in her 56 years on this damn planet it was to accept happenings as they come. Most of the time there’s simply nothing else to do. And that insight too, was rather bittersweet, she thought.

She checked the time. Two hours twenty until landing. Somehow, the elderly woman felt relief inside her chest to be home again soon. Spending all those years alone had made her even more introvert than before, which was saying something. She had become less tolerant of crowds of people and tried to avoid meaningless conversations. All she needed were her plants and Teddy. Both were great listeners, both were understanding and both seemed to know that silence can be way more healing than a thousand empty words.

Jamie was tired. Her eyes were getting weary and her head heavy. The past few days had been exhausting in a number of ways. Still, her thoughts seemed louder than usual and she felt more unruly and restless. She chalked it up to the upcoming full moon on the weekend. She’d always been influenced by occurrences like this, suffering from headaches when the weather was changing and having trouble finding sleep in the waxing moon. Generally, she was quite sensitive to her surroundings, as if she could sense all those energies within and around everything, and the older she got, the more she realised and also appreciated this connection. She had always assumed there was a deeper meaning behind those perceptions. Maybe it was even more than that, maybe some kind of sign really. Maybe from another world, maybe from Dani. At least she tried to believe in this.  

Dani, she thought. For a brief moment she closed her eyes, trying to swallow all the uprising memories down. Not here, not now. Although it was decades ago, every memory and every thought of her beautiful lover still hurt like falling into a needle pit. Of course, in some ways her grief was getting easier over the years, yet in other ways it was getting harder to bear. Though she had already gotten used to this new kind of reality – a reality without Dani – life as she had known it was gone for good.

Over time, the sadness was no longer omnipresent, but instead, it had begun to wash over her in waves, bringing her to the brink of unconsciousness with its ferocity and sorrow, then receding, leaving her feeling gruesomely empty for days. The awareness that she would never be able to see or hear or hug or kiss the blonde woman again was almost too much to bear. In fact, it was unnerving, almost enraging, that life seemed to go on, and all she could do was swallow her feelings and try to live on.

Subconsciously, she twiddled with her engagement ring again while dwelling on all those heavy thoughts. This Claddagh ring – symbolising love, loyalty and friendship – was the only thing left of Dani... the only thing - except of course her corpse at the bottom of the lake at Bly Manor.  

#jamie and dani #jamie x dani #Jamie and Danielle #jamie x danielle #damie #damie fanfiction #The Haunting #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of hill house #bly manor #hill house #thobm #jamie and dani fanfic #victoria pedretti #Amelia Eve #lesbian #lesbian kiss #lgbt #lgbt netflix

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 1: Preying in the dark (Part 4)

Warnings: human trafficking, mentions of rape, explicit violence and language, manipulation

Author notes: the last part of the first chapter! I’m impatient to know what you’ll think of that conclusion... Please, pay attention to the warnings! I’ll see you in chapter 2!

"What are these beautiful clothes for...?" I could not help doubting as I stared at myself in the mirror.

"Why, they are a gift." The woman smiled gently, adjusting the skirt for me "We asked for adopting you... You'll officially become our daughter, Yōko-chan...!"

"Is that so...?" Tears made their way to my eyes "Your... Daughter...?"

"Yes..." She brushed a few strands of my hair away from my face.

"Thank you..." I cried softly "That someone cares about me to this extent... It feels so warm..."

"Right...? You deserve it..."

If I did not deserve love, I believed I at least did not deserve ending up on a stage, spotlights blindly pointing toward me with my hands cuffed, in front of hundreds of men hungrily devouring my body with their stares. A gift, she had said... A daughter, she had promised... For the first time in my life, I was grateful toward my ability, for allowing me to hear these people's loathsome thoughts beforehand, so I could have prepared an escape route in case. Being sold in an auction was the last thing I had expected when I had been welcomed so kindly in that house. Believing in one's friendliness... I would never be that stupid anymore.

"Let's start at one thousand...!"

My initial worth was one thousand yen...? That was cheap, I thought, until I realised there were a lot of foreigners. They were auctioning in dollars. I sighed slightly and waited. As soon as I would be bought, I would try to run away. For that purpose, I had hidden my knife in the folds of my dress, and, were I to find any kind of pin, I could try to pick up the lock of my handcuffs. There was hope... I would get out of there. At this point, even the slums seemed nicer to me than any sort of place pretending to welcome poor homeless kids. People were never good.

"Ten thousands...!"

My eyes widened. Ten thousands...? Someone was willing to go so high to acquire me...? For which sake...?

"Ten thousands, end of auction...!"

I was given to a fat man with small, vicious eyes. I could barely hold a grimace of disgust back as he patted my body like he would evaluate livestock. He then tugged on my handcuffs to bring me toward his car.

"I'm going to have a lot of fun~" He told me once we were inside "It was worth the price~ It isn't everyday you get a virgin...~"

Could he be more... Gross? Any more and I would just end throwing up on him. How could a human be that distasteful?

"Ah, I can't wait to go back~ I want to taste you now~" He groaned, getting closer to me to place his filthy tongue against the skin of my neck "So sweet~"

"Get away...!" I fought back, trying to kick him.

"Playing fierce...?" He chuckled "It's alright, I love some resistance~"

"I don't want it...!" I struggled, yelping each time he would make contact with my body "No...!"

Suddenly, a slap made my face go numb. My mind was incredibly dizzy as I raised my eyes at him. However, far from frightening me, his move lit up a flame in me, a will I believed I had forgotten. How dared he buy a girl for the sake of his vile pleasure? How dared he take advantage of me, who had asked nothing but some comfort in that family? How angry I was, against that repulsive man, against the entire humanity for having minds able to do evil, and against myself for being such a weakling. I had an ability, and I had even been a thief. I could defend myself. I stayed still and darted my eyes away from him as he unbuckled his belt before coming back to me, and I saw his tie pin. It looked rather thin and, mostly, it would have to do. Discreetly as he was sliding the straps of my dress off of my shoulders, I took the pin and manoeuvred it toward the lock of my handcuffs, trying to ignore his lewd ministrations so I could focus on freeing myself. I gasped as he bit down on my collarbone and bit my lips, getting my mind back to work. My survival depended on whether I was able to pick the lock up or not. The greasy man was too focused on "tasting me" as he said to even hear the familiar clicking sound of a lock being opened, and did not even notice as the handcuffs fell onto the floor of his expensive car. I took opportunity of that to push him away with all the strength in my arms, before reaching for my knife in the folds of my dress.

"Let go of me...!" I threatened, the tip of the blade trembling the slightest as I pointed it onto him "Let go of me, and I won't hurt you..."

"H-How...? How did you free yourself...?!"

I did not answer and got closer to him. The knife was now grazing against his skin, threateningly.

"N-No...! No...! I'll let you go...! I won't touch you...! Please, don't kill me...!" He begged for his life.

"I suppose I don't need to hurt you if you don't do anything..." I hummed, sitting back to readjust my dress properly "Do anything suspicious and I will stab you."

"Y-Yes..."

I managed to keep him at knife range for the rest of the way toward his house. I had to think about a way to leave him definitely, without taking his life, preferably. As soon as the car was parked, I noticed we were not in front of a house, but in a back alley. Immediately, the man jumped onto me to grab my wrist, making me drop my weapon. I had been careless.

"What did you think~? That I would let you go~?"

"You are disgusting." I spat at his face.

"But I am stronger... And strong people make the rules~" He grinned, wiping his cheek.

I winced as he approached me again, and closed my eyes. So it was the end... Tears streamed down my cheeks as my "owner" pulled the top of my dress away to reveal my bare chest, before lavishly latching his tongue on my skin, each time making me whimper in disgust. He was carefully pining me to the seat, hands above my head so I would not escape, and I could accurately feel that part of him grow against my thighs. It was the end... If only somebody could kill me this instant... Despite wanting to live, ending everything would be much better than suffering this kind of humiliation.

"It... It hurts..." I grimaced when he groped my bosom, sobbing "Stop it...! I don't want it...!"

"Don't worry...~ Soon enough, that'll be everything you desire~"

I bit my lower lip as his teeth planted into my thin neck and held back a gasp of pain. I had stopped fighting back, exhausted by the situation, by my ability, by myself... I so desperately wanted to escape, yet I did not have the strength to do so... How pathetic I was. Except being a victim, I could not do much more, could I...?

The brusque metallic noise of a bin falling in the alley made my assaillant jump in surprise, and I understood it would be my only opportunity to escape. I did not care about being proper anymore; swiftly, I crouched down to grab my knife and planted it into the man's chest without further hesitation, and watched, oddly satisfied, as blood started staining his immaculate shirt. His scream echoed in my ears like a beautiful aria from a famous opera, and a smirk made its way to my face.

I had perhaps gone crazy.

"You sound like a pig... Who knew pigs could be so melodious...~?" I chuckled, twirling the weapon between my fingers and staring at the blood spurting from the wound.

"It hurts!! It hurts!!" He wailed.

"So funny... Didn't I cry these exact same words a minute ago...?" My voice darkened "Never mind..."

I stabbed him again, finding an efficient way of putting my knife aside as I readjusted, once again, my clothes. As he was whining, holding his chest, my eyes fell onto an interesting object hidden under a seat, and my hand tightened around it. My lips raised upwards and I kicked the door of the car opened, bringing the man with me outside. I dropped him on the ground without care and pointed the small revolver toward him.

"Don't shoot... Don't shoot...! No...! I don't want to die...!"

"We both know I cannot trust you..." I tilted my head slightly "Besides... Your words do not reach my ear, just as mine did not reach yours. I suppose you may reflect on your sins in hell. If you don't go to a far worse place..."

I pulled the trigger curtly. The bullet landed right into his chest, and I was surprised it did not kill him immediately. Instead, he rolled on the concrete, resembling more and more a vulgar beast. I sighed slightly.

"You don't make things easy, do you?" I frowned "I have only five bullets left..."

I crouched down and pressed the barrel to his forehead, smiling.

"Like this, I'm sure you'll die right away. Farewell...~"

He, indeed, died without even giving his last breath. Right in front of me, I saw the chauffeur, too afraid to run away, and so frightened he had peed himself. I approached him, lightly.

"You must be glad to be freed from such a terrible master, aren't you...? I'd be more than happy to let you run, but silent witnesses are the same as culprit, you know...? Moreover, I wouldn't want you to call the police... You'll understand I have no choice, won't you...~?"

He died, too, with a terrified look on his face.

I sighed deeply and took a look at myself. I was covered in thick and stinky blood. I definitely needed to take a bath... Luckily, we were not far from the river. I thought a moment, then carried the two corpses inside the car. I did not wear gloves and my fingerprints would be found if the police were to discover the crime. I had to stay calm in order to come up with a plan. There was a faint scent of cigarette in the vehicle and, after looking inside for a moment, I found a lighter. Although my head was pounding, I knew what I had to do. Remaining as composed as I could, I took the clothes of the chauffeur to replace my light and unpractical dress. They were too large, but at least, they were not stained by blood like the rich man's. I kept them away not to dirty them, then I gathered the knife and the gun, knowing they would be unlikely to disappear. Finally, I set the car on fire, and ran away, toward the river. It was not long before it exploded, burning away any proof that I was the one who had committed a murder. Arrived in front of the water, I threw the weapons as far as possible before dipping in the stream myself. The water, although chilly, was oddly soothing. I plunged my head right into it, and relaxed. The uncomfortable sticky sensation of the blood disappeared gradually and I allowed myself to breathe out. As I rinsed my hair, I could not help questioning myself. I had killed two men and had burnt any trace of my deeds without even the slightest increase of my heartbeat, without even feeling my breath hitch. Not once. And at the moment, I felt calm, almost serene, as though I had done nothing more extraordinary than going for a walk. I was a murderer. A true one. I had taken lives, cold blooded, and did not feel the slightest regret about it. Well... Why would I regret getting rid of parasites, anyway? Rapists who bought preys in underground auctions were not exactly useful to the world, they would not really be missed by anyone, would they? Actually, I had perhaps done a favour to our society, by suppressing a dangerous pervert. Instead of coming after me, the police should thank me. If only I could eliminate that hypocrite family who had played with my feelings to make themselves some money as well... But that was a thought for later. At this point, I mostly needed to concentrate on surviving, instead of playing heroes. I stepped out of the water and grabbed the clothes I had taken earlier. Once I would be back to the slums, I would mend them to my size, but they would have to do until then. While I was getting changed, a calico cat nimbly stepped in front of me before staring at me with its green intelligent eyes. I smiled at it and held out my hand in its direction.

"Are you maybe the little one who made that bin fall, earlier?" I asked, petting its head "If so, thank you... Although, you may not have saved me, had you known I would turn into a murderer... What do you think?"

It meowed, nuzzling its head against my palm.

"You don't understand, do you...? It doesn't matter... I am grateful nonetheless..."

It stepped farther from me and meowed again. I stood up and turned my eyes toward the sky, as its colour shifted to announce the beginning of a new day.

"Now... What am I going to do...?"

Another meow answered me, and I noted the cat was waiting for me. I was amused.

"Following you? It is a shame I can only read humans' thoughts. I would have loved knowing what is going through your mind right now... Show me the way, my cute kitty. At this point, I am at a loss for a purpose." I said.

The animal made its way in the forgotten streets of Yokohama. I followed him through the dirty ways covered in garbage, the unfriendly alleys, in front of brothels and drug retailers who populated the town. It was not the way toward the shallows, but I did not care. I was curious. I wanted to know if that cat would truly bring me somewhere, or if I was just acting stupidly again. It had saved me once. Perhaps would it once more...? I sighed and held onto the shirt tightly. I was still wet from my earlier bath and the chilly morning breeze made me shiver uncomfortably. Even so, it was better than living in a golden cage as a toy for a rich man. I still had no regret for these people I had killed.

While I was walking, eyes fixated on the cat, I did not pay attention to my surroundings and suddenly bumped into someone. Quickly, I stepped aside and bowed, apologising, then looked for the one I had been going after. Gone. The cat had disappeared. I was dumbfounded. I had been deceived by my own idiocy, one more time...

"You." The person grabbed my arm, startling me "You are..."

"Let go of me...!" I pulled away "I apologised, already..."

"Not that..."

It was a tall man, with brune messy hair, a dark coat negligently thrown onto his shoulders and a bandage wrapped around his head, hiding his leg eye. The only one I could see was of a warm coffee colour, yet deprived of any trace of life. Was he even alive...? The corpses of the men I had killed just earlier had appeared much more lively next to him... Did he not desire to live...? Moreover, his touch... It had vaguely cancelled my ability for a second, letting me experience the utmost silence for the first time of my life — time I had obviously found too short. Who was he? His silhouette seemed oddly familiar as well...

I backed against the wall and clenched my teeth when I saw I could not escape anywhere. That person...

"You're the one from that time... At the jewellery..." I recognised him, voice becoming slight in fear.

"The frightened bunny." He grinned darkly "I recognise these peculiar eyes... You made me run quite a bit, you know that~?"

His hand approached me. I closed my eyes, thinking he would either hurt me or try to rape me, but he did not. He stayed still.

"You were quite the troublesome target... Your name is Ogawa Yōko, isn't it? I have orders to bring you back with me." He said.

"Bringing me back...? Where to?" I asked, still trembling.

"To the Port Mafia." He declared "You are an ability user who runs wild in the city. Of course, we are interested in recruiting you...~ So, what can you do?"

"I-I can —"

I stopped myself. If I were to reveal my ability, he would know my weaknesses and strength. I could not expose myself to a stranger, let alone a mafioso from the most feared underground organisation of the town. I looked away, deciding to stay mute.

"You aren't too stupid, finally~" He chuckled "Would you believe I've been after you ever since that accident at the jewellery? Mmh~?"

"I-I thought you didn't want to kill me..." I could not help the stuttering of my voice.

"Not anymore~" He stepped back to take a look at me "Had I killed you, I would have been copiously punished~ Ogawa Yōko, a stray ability user whose power is to read people's minds... And a murderer~"

I froze. How would he know...? I had not heard any witness' thoughts during the crime... And it had not even been an hour ago...! How would that man get such information...?

"Surprising, right~? I also know it was just a mechanism of defence...~ You were about to be raped, weren't you~?"

He was despicable, I thought to myself as I glared at him. He had been there the entire time... But had not even budged to save me. What did he want from me...?

"If you knew, why didn't you help me...?" I whispered.

"It would have erased all the fun, wouldn't it...?" He blinked as though surprised by my question "I like seeing to which extent the human being can go for its life... And you did not disappoint~ You have the potential to become one of our assassins, a soldier sent to butcher our enemies, and I will raise you just as such...~ Unless you don't want to follow me, in which case I will have to eliminate you."

He was not giving me any choice. I clenched my fists, looking down at my feet.

"I... I don't want to go..." I muttered "I don't want to go with you...! Killing people as a job...? Are you crazy...?! What kind of sane person would accept...?!"

"A person who cares about their life... Which doesn't seem to be your case."

His playful tone completely darkened as he pulled a gun out. Mercilessly, he put the barrel against forehead, and I saw, horrified, his finger grazing against the trigger.

"Does... Does the Port Mafia not have enough ability users...?" I asked, wondering why he needed to kill me.

"We never have enough... If you don't know why I am going to suppress you, well, it is because we can't take the risk of having you joining a rival organisation, can we?" He sounded blank "It is regrettable we have to come to such extents... I did like seeing the flame of life flickering in your eyes~"

I crouched down at the last moment, avoiding the fatal bullet, and threw myself at his legs to make him lose his balance. Surprised, he did not expect my move and fell onto the ground, letting go of the firearm. I grabbed it.

"I... I don't want to die...!" I threatened him with the gun "But I don't want to join the Mafia either...! Corpses strew the alleys of Yokohama, and they are made by you...! I don't want to be a killer..."

"I'll give you a simple choice." He stared at me with his unique eye "Kill me this instant and escape, or follow me. Whatever you choose, you'll have to take lives...~ So? What will you do, Ogawa Yōko...~?"

"I don't know...!!" I cried "I... I just wanted to live normally... I never wished to have an ability...! That so-called power is killing me... If only I could give it to someone else...!"

"You can't. An ability is a part of its user. It is anchored in you. It is the reflection of your inner wishes and fears... It is you." He softened the slightest.

"I... I never desired not to ever sleep..." I was now frantically sobbing "I never desired to know everyone's secrets... I... I never desired to be born with an ability... So, why...? Why was it me...?"

"That..." He gently took the pistol from my shaking hands "Is a question you have to answer by yourself..."

"Mmh... Thank y —"

I found myself pinned to the ground strongly the next moment. The man's foot pressed at my head, crushing my skull with a force that made me tremble in fear. I did not dare moving anymore.

"Why, human beings are so easy to fool..." He sighed, removing his foot to harshly tug at my hair "Give them one or two comforting words and their barrier falls like a sand castle... That's disappointing."

I was afraid. That person was holding me; a single move, a single action from him and I could die. At this moment, the pressure I was feeling reminded me of a particular event which had occurred, long ago, at the mansion I used to live in. It was the moment my parents had decided to call agents of the underground to take care of their business problems.. Rivalled by another trading company, the father's slowly started decreasing. His methods were too ancient, not innovative enough, and his products were never renewed. Oblivious to these problems, he had requested the Port Mafia to sabotage the other company's business... And a tall man surrounded by a menacing aura had entered our mansion, accompanied by a young boy which face was bandaged just like the one of the man holding me down. The boy... I recalled he had not looked much older than me... If they were the same person, then he was unrecognisable. That night, I had sneaked out of my bedroom, suffering from insomnia as usual, and had eavesdropped behind the door of the lounge. They had signed a contract to obtain some kind of jewel my parents owned to pay for their debts. I did not remember its name, but it was an odd one. Afterwards, I had been caught and brought inside by a guard, and our eyes had met, his, empty and lifeless, and mine, terrified, tired, yet holding onto my pitiful life. If the one hurting me at this moment was him, then I did not want to enter the Port Mafia... I did not want to be turned into a monster as well.

"You manipulated me..." I realised.

"I said the truth, but I took a voice you would find reassuring. So... You could indeed say I manipulated you~" He snickered.

"Why didn't you go to the end...?" I questioned "Why didn't you manipulate me into willingly entering the Port Mafia...?"

Silence. I gritted my teeth, hoping I had not upset him. He could kill me at any time...

"I wonder... Is it because I am an idiot or because I wanted to enjoy breaking you...?" He honestly wondered "What do you think~?"

"... We both know I won't survive saying you are an idiot..." I mumbled.

"Then, the matter is settled~" He let go of me, much to my disbelief "Don't worry, I never intended to kill you~"

"What...? But if I refused...?"

"You can't refuse." He told me, more seriously "Because I am your only salvation, the only person on this Earth who can help you."

"How would you be...?" I raised an eyebrow.

The fact he had touched me... It had indeed given me a minute of quietness... Could it be an ability...?

"No Longer Human." He smirked "The power to cancel any ability as long as I touch the user...~ I am certain it could be useful, in your case... Have you never wished you could sleep? Dream? Have you never desired some rest? That's why, you don't have the choice but to enter the Port Mafia~"

"I'd rather die..." I defended, without much conviction.

"Liar~"

I did not know what to do. I did not want to become a mafioso, but in the other hand... Being able to rest, to sleep, would be such a bliss... I had always dreamt to experience the sweet state of unconsciousness, ever since I was born. I was a right about to fulfil this desire, but at the cost of turning into a killer... And I had troubles determining whether my sanity or the bestial part of me would win. Taking people's lives... It was not such a difficult job, was it...? Pulling a trigger was not quite the complicated move, was it...? The gunshot would echo in my ear, but my job would be done... Yet... It was so inhuman, so immoral...

"One of my hobbies is watching dilemma playing in people's eyes." The man interrupted my thoughts "You truly don't disappoint~"

"I... I don't have much of a choice, do I...?" I looked at him "I must go with you... Or I'll end up dying there... Because you'll kill me..."

"I said I didn't plan to kill you, though?"

"That is if I comply. But if despite presenting me your most interesting ability I were not to accept... Wouldn't you need to eliminate me...?" I asked.

"That is an option I did not consider..." He admitted before smiling slyly "Because I was certain you would come...~"

"... What is your name...?" I clenched my fists behind my back.

"Dazai Osamu. I am your new superior from this day on." He introduced himself "And the one you'll depend on...~"

"Then, Dazai-san... Before we leave, I would like to know... How did you find me...?"

"I've been after you ever since the robbery, after all. It was not too difficult following your track. I was originally supposed to buy you at the auction, but the Boss was only willing to pay five thousands for you...~ That's your worth. Five thousands~ To be honest, I would not have needed to negotiate with you, had I successfully bought you back there, but it doesn't matter, does it~?" He glanced at me "Because I won...~"

The part of me which liked believing in people wanted to trust him, and it did. But the more composed part supposed all of this friendly talk was an act and warned that I would soon be deceived by his true self. I ended up following him, nonetheless, because he had been right; I was not willing to follow a righteous path at the cost of my life.

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#bsd #bsd oc #bsd fanfic #bsd dazai #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc

[mrneighbourlove]

Evil’s Bane: Ch 9. Everyone has Something to Lose

The wrath that filled Leere was unfathomable. Separated from her allies, she had no reason to believe that they might still be alive. Everything in Inferos and the Tower of Death had pushed her limits so quickly. Time felt off and she had no grasp of her spacing around her. Was she in the middle of the tower, transported close to the ground, or not even in it anymore? The very least she could process she was in what looked like a massive hall. It held rows and rows of pillars from the ground to the roof, and down each end it appeared the room was endless. About a couple fields of distance away, there was a massive obelisk, illuminated by the moon piercing its light through very large glass windows the size of small fields. Using her staff as a cane, she ventured forward, wondering if she could use the Obelisk as a magical conduit to bring the entire tower down.

"So you finally arrived." A smooth voice called out from the dark. Destroyer was there in the endless hallway, standing in the Obelisk's shadow. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd show up at all. Aren't princesses taught to be on time?"

Leere stopped walking, her staff echoing far as she planted her hilt into the floor. “Perhaps. But a Sage is never late or early. They arrive precisely when needed. And they hate cliches. Such as the Dark Lord waiting at the top of his tower.... step in the light.”

"Now, now, you should know that family sometimes share traits, especially since my brother loves to make an entrance... or more specifically, his host." Destroyer was actually not so terrifying. He was beautiful; an array of scales that reflected the various colors of the ocean. Two navy horns sprouted from his head which was coated in silver hair, and a pair of blue wings adorned his back. He was a long, lost creature of legend... a Drakkan; the fabled half-dragon, half-human. A long tail flicked behind him as his clawed, raptor-like feet gently touched the steps as he descended to Leere. "Though I'm sure that I am not what you expected. There was a slight... well... mix-up with our hosts, you see."

“Is that right?” Leere was alarmed by the appearance at first, but then steeled her will. Appearances after all could be deceiving. “Is it because you deserve the title of a snake who slivers in the dark?”

"Very perceptive of you." Destroyer chuckled, very amused by her expression. "You see, thanks to Tzitzimime, I obtained the host everyone adored; an innocent healer of his kind." He then held up one hand. "Then my dear brother inherited the host who everyone would fear and abhorred; a snake who would devour and use others."

“I’ll ask this once. Why? Why join forces with the Devil? Because you feel so hurt and alone at the loss of your long-lost love? Is that why you want to destroy this world? You can’t mature and grow up like everyone else in the world?”

"Oh, trying to get all psychological on me? Make me feel guilt? Admit my mistakes and repent? Perhaps I should reflect upon these actions... yet, I care not for the opinions of a meager human." Destroyer pretended to be offended, clutching at the center of his chest. "My only goal is to be rid of everything my brother created. When he is gone, when his creations are gone, then it shall be just Kaksa and I. No more interruptions, no more work, nothing but the void and us. Tzitzimime can have this little planet for all I care."

Leere looked at him with contempt and fury. “Then that makes you the most dangerous being I’ve ever encountered. Your insanity dooms all of life. For my family, my country, and all of life, I’ll do what I must.”

Taking a battle stance, Leere activated the blade on her scythe. Her staff she gripped glowed a soft red, and the plasma of her blade shined a mighty blue. Both colours basked her image with a fierce light.

"Oh, why do you look so worried, 'tiny princess'?" Destroyer mocked Leere with the title that Bonegrinder had given to her. "Surely you must know that the Mortuus aren't of my brother's work. Your kind are the result of Tzitzimime trying to sow some of his seeds in one of my creations. Tempting them, warping them... making them better. I quite enjoy the madness and bloodlust." He then snickered when she took an offensive stance. "You think you can defeat me with a gardening tool?"

“I will defeat you. And I’ll take your head too.”

Leere’s eyes filled with bloodlust and she began her first strike. With a swing of her scythe, she charged a sickening red energy, throwing an energy slash at him. The blast missed when Destroyer ducked, but it cleaned right through the obelisk like it was a bullet traveling through butter.

"Impressive for a human that earned the title of Shadow Sage." Destroyer glanced at the ruined Obelisk. "Now, it's my turn." The deity only had to touch the ground with his hand and the floor started to disintegrate. His objective was to bring Leere closer, putting her in a difficult position.

Leere ran forward, hopping from tile to tile. He wanted her to get close? Fine. But she’d make him see that only made her more ferocious. As she drew closer, she summoned a wall master from behind him. The flying fist struck Destroyer in the back of the head. As he was off balance, if only for one second, Leere drew in close enough to make a clean cut across his chest. The plasma of the scythe burned incredibly well against her opponents’ skin.

Plink, plink, plink... a few scales scattered across the tile, sounding like falling coins. Following another cut, flesh fell with a wet plump on the floor. Yet, the Destroyer was hardly fazed. While effective, he simply stood upright, his body healing. The God could push through any pain, for he had no fear of feeling it. It seemed he possessed that same ability to heal his host, just like Prama did for Bonegrinder. Both of the brothers refused to let their host die until their work was complete. "Didn't your mother teach you any of her wisdom?" Destroyer sneered at the princess with a sinister grin. "In battle, aiming for the head is the most affective move... yet, here, that wouldn’t help you anyway." With his giant wings, Destroyer gave a mighty 'whoosh' of wind and knocked Leere backwards, before purposely grabbing the burning scythe right on under the blade, spinning her around with it, and slamming her down three times against the tile floor.

Leere felt her head spin and blood spurt from her mouth. He was just like her brother. She doubted that even if she had a bomb, she could kill him. Klinge couldn’t do the same to Bonegrinder. So that left Leere with one option. The one thing she knew that she could affect Bonegrinder with, so maybe it could work against this prick. Blood magic. Grabbing his arm, she immediately started to leech him best she could. “Die you Bastard.”

"Ah... blood magic. One useful thing that I managed to pull from the discarded shadows of my brother." Destroyer's movements were suddenly slowed, fighting against her control. "Unlike you, though, 'tiny princess'... I am not alone."

“You are the one alone. You’re a pathetic pile of death worshiping garbage! What’s the matter? Scared of dying? Like all of the people you want to erase?”

Both hands of hers reached up to squeeze up around his neck. She had to focus. Even if it meant sacrificing her life, she’d snuff the life out of him.

"Heh, the Goddess Zarazu would love it if I did worship her but she has the God Ba'puu to do that." As Leere reached for his throat, he then said, "You can try to kill me, it won't work... though, I'd be more concerned about Tzitzimime.I think he has something of yours."

“...What?”

Suddenly, a tentacle with a blade tip stabbed from behind Leere and through her stomach. It wouldn’t kill her, but it was enough to stop her concentration on the Destroyer. Now that her hands dropped to her side, he could clamp his own around her throat. The Shadow Man whispered behind Leere, planting a finger on the back of her head. He drained her of magic, leaving her powerless. “Take her. The ritual will begin with her suffering and torment.”

Leere’s mind went fuzzy, and her body fell into the arms of the Destroyer as if she was some poor roofied girl. “N-no. Bonegrinder....” The Shadow Man grabbed her scythe, impressed by its build. “Think I’ll keep this. Top of the tower. The little meat bags are waiting for you to put her in place.”

"Now, now, why are you calling for the host of my brother?" Destroyer asked the princess with a snide chuckle. "After all, he tried to warn you and you wouldn't listen. We can sense each other, you see, 'tiny princess'. He desperately wanted to save you, but now... he's as trapped as you are." When the chaotic deity gave his order, Destroyer unfurled those huge wings and started to fly to the top of the tower. "You should have listened to him while you had the chance."

~

The section of tower Bonegrinder and Black found themselves in was eerie. The hallways were slimy, with hard black walls that were very nest like, as if they were shrunk down to a wasp’s catacomb. This flesh was growing over what used to be a metal hallway. The only light sources were windows still uncovered, moonlight still peaking in.

Black was sure that Bonegrinder would be furious with him for not choosing to go to Leere. Yet, the woman made her choice. She wanted to try to save some of these already damned souls. Personally, Black was beginning to question her sanity as well. True, Bonegrinder had his moments, but at least he admitted he was somewhat insane, mainly due to two souls sharing one body. Leere was... something else. Fortunately, Bonegrinder was still alive and well, but... out of his rational state of thought, mumbling to himself. The Wraith was certain he could hear Prama's whisperings, trying to help the Anagari get a grip but failing to do so. What the Wraith did not know was what Bonegrinder was seeing... the corpses of his family.

In the not too far distance, someone stumbled out of a door. A Mortuus cultist, walked a few steps forward, until finally his top half fell backwards as his legs fell forward. Something had cut him in half on the other side of the door.

"Bonegrinder, you need to come with me." Black had knelt down beside of the Anagari, trying to get his attention. "Leere will require our aid if... she's not already dead, but we need to get out of here. Destroyer is very close and... I believe that Tzitzmime is as well."

Bonegrinder did not even hear Black. All he heard was the words of his deceased family. His daughter with her birdsongs. His son requesting to go hunting. And his beautiful wife... his Brightscales, as he once called her... was asking why.

Voices whispered out to Black, as if the tower itself was taunting him. ”You can’t save her. She’ll make us whole.”

The Tower of Death could feel its purpose about to be realized. The walls had glow of red go up and down its walls. Suddenly, the corpse that was collapsed not too far away quickly mutated into one of the ghouls seen before. Hissing, it sniffed the air, until it saw Black and Bonegrinder. Angrily, it clawed its way back into the way it came, as if wanting to escape them.

THWACK!!!

Black cut off the head of the ghoul quickly, so it would not go and find friends to bring back later. Prama, meanwhile, was fighting like mad to Bonegrinder. Between all the suffocating darkness and using much of his magical excess to heal the Anagari, the deity was struggling.

"You big, fat, lump of flesh, get your scaley ass moving! Modoc!!! Move it!!! Leere needs you!!! Black needs---oh thank me, he's here."

Black tried again, moving the Anagari's head to look at him. "Bonegrinder, come on, you can't let old ghosts haunt you! What happened back then was not your fault!!!"

Behind the door, Black could hear someone hacking apart more ghouls.

"...? Hades? Is that you?"

No answer. Just droplets hitting the ground. Followed by a thick splat.

On the other side, Bi-Hanzo was still trapped within his own personal hell. He learned the “truth”. He could see it with his own eyes. And it was all so, so terrible. Grasping a map off a wall, he was reading it carefully. As one last remaining ghoul grabbed his leg, he lurched back. With a quick kick he knocked its head right out the door.

"... Hanzo?" Black did not expect the man to make it this far alive. While his magical talents were impressive, many others of the 'good' Mortuus had succumbed to these monsters.

Bi-Hanzo didn’t hear him, tearing papers off a wall and rummaging through them. “It’s all connected. They have every location of our villages down to the coordinates. Our bodies. They’ve been kidnapping and harvesting our bodies. For what? For this tower? For their precious gods?!!!” The man sounded unhinged.

"That's an easy answer, it's because these people are demented and Tzitzmime is their deity." Black was not in the mood for a mental breakdown at the moment. Once more, he tried to rouse his master. "Bonegrinder, please, we need to leave. This place is getting fouler by the minute and I am concerned for all of our sakes.”

When Black turned to go back to his master, he paid for his lack of human understanding. A massive block of ice encased his body from behind, and Bi-Hanzo brought his attention to Bonegrinder. “You. This is just as much your fault as Destroyah! You vile god of creation.”

"....!!!" Black was not expecting for Hanzo to turn on him. The ice trapped his movements momentarily, but he was able to slip his physical form into the shadows to break free. Before Hanzo could touch the Anagari with his magic, Black had shot out from behind the man, getting him in a headlock. He held a blade at Hanzo's throat. "Try that again, and it will be your head rolling."

Bi-Hanzo had more then enough time with Black’s threat to turn into mist, and phase through him. Solidifying behind him, he thrust his arm forward, using physical contact to steam Black’s body to a boiling point. As the Wraith swiped at him, Bi-Hanzo broke off. Taking a stance, the guardian was ready to kill. “No. I will take yours.”

Black underestimated exactly how much magical knowledge Hanzo had. He yelled when the steam scorched his skin and leapt backward from the Mortuus. This man was trouble. He should have killed him earlier.

"I've lived lifetimes. You're a child compared to me." Black growled at the Mortuus. "You will not touch my master."

“I’ve killed plenty of undead and mad Echidnans. You’ll be no different.” Cooling the air, Bi-Hanzo fired off large icicles at Black, but in the direction of Bonegrinder.

"I'm not an undead and I'm not an Echidnan. Not fully, at least, of either..." The Wraith managed to deflect the shards of ice and kept a defensive stance. Nothing would harm Bonegrinder, not while he could still roam this earth. He stomped one foot to the ground, causing the shadows to shift underneath Hanzo, latching onto the man. "You won't win."

“I’ll kill you both! You’re a follower of the fallen god Proxamus! He only creates suffering!” Struggling off the shadows, Bi-Hanzo froze the floor underneath them. Slamming his fist on the ground, more bladed icicles shot upwards to stab into both Black and his master.

Black reacted quickly enough to swallow Bonegrinder in the shadows and spit him out, but did not possess the energy to avoid the ice spikes the same way. He managed dodge most of them, but was still sliced by the frost. The Wraith was done with this nonsense. Maneuvering through the ice, he blinded Hanzo with one of his flash bombs before sinking the sword into the man's heart. "I serve no one but Bonegrinder."

Once again, on instinct of being blinded, Bi-Hanzo turned himself in a mist form. If he could see an attack coming, he could avoid the damage. Stepping away from Black, he rubbed his eyes as he solidified. “You serve the God of Creation trapped in flesh. He could save my people, but he only cares for himself! Kenshi. Lang. All the others. I will avenge them!!!”

Ranting, Bi-Hanzo kept put up a solid wall of ice between himself and his targets. Only in his mental struggle, their were a few openings now. Suddenly, as if a spell ended over him, he gripped his head. The image of Black and Bonegrinder was groggy behind the ice. “... Wait. What’s going on? My head....”

Black saw that Hanzo was distracted. He took this as a chance to strike. Throwing his dagger at the man, the Wraith hit Hanzo right between the eyes.

Black gasped, stumbling backwards. The dagger didn’t pierce enough to kill him outright, unable to reach his brain. But none the less he screamed. “W-what are you doing?!?!”

"You attacked my master and myself, I should be asking you, you damn idiot!"

Parts of his body were solidified, others were misty, such as his head. It didn’t look like he’d last long. “I what? Oh god. Oh god not yet.” The ice wall broke apart, starting to turn into vapour, another sign of Bi-Hanzo dying. “Where’s the sage?”

"If I knew that, why the hell would I tell you?" Black stood over Bonegrinder, hoping the snake would be rousing soon from his nightmares.

“She was right.” Bi-Hanzo’s breakdown was starting to come back to the man. Pointing at a map in the room over, he breathed heavily. The knife had fallen out when his head turned to mist, but the blood was still pouring down his face. “There’s a map with our villages. If you gave a damn, you could save them before...” His eyes slowly widen, as if he came across something truly horrible. “Oh no. They have her. Spirits save us. Can you hear them? Taunting us? They have her.”

"You are wrong in assuming that I would care about the people who once hurt the only person who gave a damn to help me." Black watched as Hanzo started to fade into nothing. "It's hard to feel guilt in this state. If you're worried about the Shadow Sage, then pray to your fallen god to save her. Or for a miracle. I'm no god."

“Please. You must.”

Suddenly, from the darkness, a monster as large as Hades stepped out behind Bi-Hanzo. It was a creature with a head of six bulbs for eyes, legs as thick as tree trunks, and six clawed arms protruding from its body. To be blunt, it was the most alien looking thing Black had ever seen. The man turned to it, in an almost suicidal trance. “An Angel...”

It looked like he was about to hug it. That was when the Abomination stabbed into his body, it’s arms sharper than any blade Black held on him. Bi-Hanzo was shredded as if he was simply a pig for the slaughterhouse. This would be a good moment to run.

"...!!!" Black stilled, feeling a sense of absolute dread wash over his being. How could he fight this... this thing? It was not a creature he knew how to kill. Was it a hellspawn? It had to be; he knew of nothing else it could be.

"... Modoc..." The Wraith muttered under his breath, eyes wide and trying not to make any sudden movements to agitate the monster further. "Wake the fuck up or we're both going to get eaten."

Inside of Bonegrinder's head, the Anagari floated in a void. He had withdrawn from his physical surroundings and was trapped inside of his own mind. There, Prama was suspended in front of him, in all of his glory. The Maker, the creator of all light and creatures of it, tried to console, Bonegrinder. "You cannot give up yet, Modoc. There is still much to do and to be done."

"He is so tired, Prama, so tired. Please, please let him sleep the eternal rest and be with his family again. Let him die."

"And what of your precious friends? The ones you call your 'children' and look after?"

"They will all be fine."

"What of Leere?"

"The tiny princess no longer listens to him. She will not listen now."

"She is in danger. Will you not help her?"

"How can he now?" The Anagari looked so defeated. "If he goes, you will be at risk. Without you, the world will descend into madness. If he stays away, Chaos could become whole sooner yet either way, the prophecy will be fulfilled."

"If Chaos forms into a whole from a fragment, then everything could be lost. This world, myself, and Kaksa. I do not want to risk her... would you want to risk your beloved Brightscales?"

The Anagari's eyes narrowed. "Don't call her that. That is his name he gave her, reserved for him to call her alone."

"Would you?"

"... no. He would not. He could not imagine it."

"Then you need to wake up and go."

The Abomination made no hiss, no scream, no roar like any of the ghouls or cultists in the tower. It simply strolled up to Black calmly to tear him piece to piece.

Black stood his ground, ready to fight... yet before he could, Bonegrinder's massive tail thwacked the Hellspawn away from the Wraith. Surprised, the Wraith did not expect the Anagari to recover so soon. "...?! Bonegrinder?! Are you---"

"He will be fine. We must find Leere. We've not the time to deal with this thing."

The Abomination cracked its neck back into place as it picked itself up from the ground. With the pace of a silent killer, it kept walking at a modest speed towards them, all its limbs ready to grab the next tail or person that drew too close.

"Do you have enough reserve to use your shadows to move us to her?"

"That... would be a stretch. But I will try."

"Then do so."

With that... the two disappeared from the shadows.

The Abomination nearly missed grabbing them. No matter. The Tower of Death had a mind of its own. It had to keep Bonegrinder and Black away from Leere. And it would send its Angel in the right direction to catch them once more. Nothing good would escape this hell.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626629526442655744/evils-bane-ch-8-looming-dread

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626631967066243072/evils-bane-ch-10-evil-anew

#Crossover #Appreciate your thoughts commented! #ridersoftheapocalypse #Leere #Leere Dragmire #Dhakk #Bonegrinder #Black the Wraith #Horror #Malus

[windschildfanfictionwriter]

Sooooooooo... *wiggles next to you* ... Any projects? Any one-shots? Any ideas? Involving Ron? *wiggle wiggle*

Lots of projects! Not so great at one shots, but I’ve got some pretty good stuff coming up. Some involving Ron and some in other fandoms. 

I’m working heavily on Grim Knight: Hogwarts Year 1

--------

Ron wandered into the forest, feeling the air cool as the sun began to set, the darkness of the surrounding area a comfort. He wasn’t afraid of the creatures in here. They would fear Ron, scatter about like the wind, because Death trailed him. The creature had appeared even before Ron had left the castle, seeming content to just watch from afar for now.

It was a dog today. A scruffy looking black terrier. It ran ahead of Ron and he allowed it, meandering into the woods and enjoying the peace and quiet. Even if Ron’s life was complicated, the classes, at least, were fairly easy to understand so far. Simple spells and reading material that explained a lot of the stuff that Ron already knew. He suspected the first couple of months at Hogwarts would be that way. Muggleborns were new to all of this and it wouldn’t be fair to not go over a lot of the more basic stuff that children of magical families learned naturally growing up.

Ron heard the rustle of creatures moving about and scanned the darkening forest for them, but they weren’t close enough to see. He pulled out his wand and lit the tip, stopping short as a large bundle of white flowers came into view around the base of a tree. He crouched down, watching as a dragonfly landed on some of the white petals. Quicker than an Auror’s spell, tendrils of green leaped from the center of the flower, grabbing ahold of the dragonfly and ripping into pieces, dragging it into the center of the flower and darkening the white petals red and black.

“Wicked,” Ron breathed.

He was definitely going to have to ask Professor Sprout what sort of plant that was.

“My babies,” the Grim purred. Ron turned to see Death had morphed into her favorite human form. The frighteningly beautiful woman had her forehead pressed against that of a dead winged horse. It’s teeth showing and ribs protruding underneath bat like wings. He approached slowly, weary of any creature the Grim talked so lovingly to.

She glanced back at him, her pitch-black eyes looking amused at his caution. Ron sent her a look before taking one bold step forward. The dead horse like creature’s ears flattened against its skull and it took a cautious step forward, nudging the fingers Ron had gingerly lifted.

It was warm. He felt fur beneath his fingers even though the creature appeared mere skin and bones. It keened in delight and Ron found himself grinning, stroking the side of its head in excitement.

“Animals don’t normally like me,” Ron mumbled, glancing at Grim expectantly.

She gave him a savage grin that somehow only made her look more hauntingly beautiful. After these last few years though, Ron just wrinkled his nose at the creature, unimpressed.

“You are a Vanguard,” she said simply. “Humans may be too thick to sense it in you, but animals are more attune to nature. These thestral’s though… they are of my own making. They clean up after me.”

Thestral was a word familiar to him. Ron tried to remember where he’d heard the word before, but shook it off soon enough.

“How do you mean?”

“They devour the flesh of carcasses left behind in the wake of death.”

Ron eyed the thestral.

“So, basically, it's an overgrown vulture.”

His chest clenched in that painful way that told him Grim was squeezing his heart. He glared at her, unafraid of any pain she might cause him in her annoyance. Her cool disapproval looked back at him but slowly, she released her fist, and the subtle ache in his chest disappeared.

“You should be pleased,” she hissed. “It is an animal that will not flinch away from you in fear. You’re desperate need to make friends can be met here.”

“Oh, great, that’s fantastic,” Ron muttered mulishly. “I’ll just forget about human contact then. I’ll skip into the forest of death after school and my heart will be warmed by the generous love of corpse horses.”

The thestral blew into his face.

“No offense,” he added, stroking its mane apologetically.

“Try your hand with the humans then,” Grim jeered. “I’m sure your winning personality will have them flocking to you.” Ron glared at the ground, idly flipping Death off in a gesture that would have his mum holding her heart. 

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

I think Ron sounds a little too old for Elevan here so I might change it a bit. Re-read Philosopher’s stone to get more of the tone down. I can do little kid and I can do grumpy teen, but that time in between is a little harder for me.

[nyxshadowhawk]

Nyx’s Complete List of Goth Names

Abaddon: From Greek, means "destruction" or "demon of the pit."

Acheron: The River of Woe in the Greek underworld.

Achlys: Greek primordial goddess of poison, misery, and sadness, personification of the death-mist.

Adonis: Means "lord" (as in Adonai). In Greek mythology, the most beautiful youth in the world, loved by both Persephone and Aphrodite. Died tragically.

Adrian/Adrienne: English, from Latin; means "from Hadria" (the Adriatic Sea). I've heard sources saying it means "dark one," but I haven't been able to confirm this. It's still a really cool, kind of gothy name. (Also the real name of Alucard from Castlevania.)

Ahriman: The Zoroastrian devil/evil god.

Akeldama: Means "field of blood," a place in Jerusalem associated with Judas.

Alastor: Greek, means "avenging spirit."

Alcmene: (Female) Means "might of the moon," Heracles' mother in mythology.

Alecto: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "unceasing."

Altair: The brightest star in the constellation Aquila (the Eagle), from Arabic, meaning "the bird."

Amaranth: (Female) Greek; a mythical purple flower that never fades, a symbol of immortality.

Amethyst: A dark purple crystal, associated with wine and preventing drunkenness.

Andromeda: Greek, means "thinks like a man," the name of a princess in mythology, a constellation, and a galaxy.

Anubis: Jackal-headed Egyptian god of death and embalming.

Arcana: From Latin "hidden, secret" (literally "to shut in a chest"), refers to secrets or mysteries. Also refers to the groups of cards in a tarot deck (the major and minor arcana).

Arianrhod: Means "silver wheel," Welsh goddess of the moon, stars, and the flow of time.

Artemis/Diana: Greco-Roman goddess of the hunt, the moon, and virginity

Asmodeus: Means "wrath-demon," a Goetic demon appearing in a number of texts, representing luxury, sensuality, and lust. (Also Asmodai)

Asphodel: A white flower planted on graves, said to grow in the Greek underworld, and therefore heavily connected with death.

Astaroth: (Unisex) A demon in the Ars Goetia (from the Lesser Key of Solomon), described as a male demon and a Duke of Hell, but the name likely comes from the Phoenician goddess Astarte (or Ashtoreth), who is a version of Ishtar (Babylonian) and Inanna (Sumerian).

Astor: A French and German name from Occitan, meaning "goshawk." A goshawk is a bird of prey. I've read on naming sites that this name was originally a derogatory term for young men with hawk-like, predatory characteristics, but I haven't found anything to confirm this. This is the name of my alter-ego and one of the main protagonists of Shadowbook.

Astra/Astrid/Asteria: From Greek, "star." In Greek mythology, Asteria was a Titaness of astrology and prophecy, the mother of Hecate. An aster is also a star-shaped flower.

Atropos: The last of the Moirai (Fates), who cuts the thread at the end of life.

Autumn: The darkening part of the year, when everything is dying, and Halloween happens.

Azrael: The name of the Angel of Death, means "whom god helps." (Also Asriel)

Azazel: A Watcher's name, means "scapegoat." Taught humanity the arts of weaponry and cosmetics. Commonly associated with demons and evil.

Baphomet: A goat-headed, winged deity associated with Satanism; obscure etymology.

Bastet: Egyptian goddess of cats.

Belial: A Hebrew name meaning "worthless," a name of the devil or a demon.

Belladonna: Also called "deadly nightshade," an extremely poisonous plant that causes hallucinations and death.

Bellona: Roman goddess of war

Bezaliel: Means "shadow of God" or "damaged," a Watcher's name.

Blodeuwedd: Pronounced "bluh-DIE-weth," means "flower-face." A Welsh goddess who was turned into an owl.

Bram/Brom: Technically short for Abraham ("father of a multitude"), the author of Dracula, Abraham "Bram" Stoker.

Bran: Welsh, "raven." The name of Bran the Blessed, a giant and king of Britain in Welsh mythology.

Branwen: (Female) Welsh, means "white raven" or "fair raven."

Breksta: Lithuanian goddess of night, dreams, and twilight.

Caligo: Latin word for “mist,” “gloom,” and “darkness.” (Calignes is the plural, which could also work) (feminine)

Calypso: Greek, "she who conceals." The nymph who kept Odysseus imprisoned on her island.

Carmilla: A lesbian vampire from the gothic novel of the same name, predating Dracula. The name seems to have been invented by the author.

Cassius: Roman, "empty, hollow."

Ceridwen: Welsh enchantress or goddess who stirs the cauldron of poetic inspiration.

Cernunnos: Celtic forest god depicted as having a stag's antlers.

Chiroptera: Literally means "hand wing," the order of bats in taxonomy.

Circe: Means "circle." In Greek mythology, a sorceress who turned Odysseus' men into pigs (and later helped them).

Cora: From the Greek name Kore, meaning "maiden." A name for Persephone. (Also, Coraline.)

Cornix: A princess transformed into a crow by Athena in Ovid's Metamorphosis.

Corvus/Corax: Corvus corax is the scientific name of the common raven.

Crimson: Dark, rich red, the color of wine or blood. One of the Gothiest colors that isn't black. It's very easy for this to sound banal or cringey, especially if it's a character's given name, so use with caution. Scarlet works, too, if you want something easier to use as a given name.

Damian: From Greek, means "to tame," tends to be associated with demons or vampires, a bit cliche at this point.

Dantalion: A Goetic demon, the name is particularly cool.

Desdemona: A tragic character in Othello, comes from Greek and means "ill-fated." Can be shortened to "Mona."

Desmodus: The genus of common vampire bats. (D. rotundus)

Devana: Slavic version of Artemis/Diana, goddess of the hunt.

Dorian: The corrupt, depraved, nearly immortal and astonishingly beautiful protagonist from The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Turns out Oscar Wilde invented the name; it did not exist before the book was written.)

Dracul: Romanian, "devil" or "dragon." What really needs to be said?

Ebony: A very dark wood.

Echo: In Greek mythology, a nymph who was cursed so she would only repeat the names of others; died while pining after Narcissus.

Edgar: Anglo-Saxon, "rich spear." The name of the one and only Edgar Allen Poe (also, my cat).

Eidolon: A type of spirit or ghost in Greek liteature. Also a genus of bats.

Eirlys: Welsh, "snowflake."

Elatha: An Irish god, described as the "beautiful Miltonic prince of darkness with golden hair." Not sure what the source for that is, but cool!

Elvira: Spanish, means "foreign true," a stereotypical Goth name (and the name of the Mistress of the Dark!). Actually, I first ran across the name in reference to a vengeful ghost called Elvira Blood in New England folk legend. Spooky!

Empusa: A kind of Greek female demon (similar to Lamia) that served Hecate.

Endora: Comes from the Witch of Endor, a Biblical sorceress.

Endymion: In Greek mythology, a handsome shepherd whom Selene fell in love with. Zeus granted him eternal sleep so he would never age. Means "to dive, to enter."

Erebus: Greek primordial god and personification of darkness.

Esmeralda: Spanish name meaning "emerald." (Also, the heroine in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.)

Ethelinda: Anglo-Saxon, means "little serpent."

Euryale: Greek, means "far-roming," the middle Gorgon sister.

Eurynomos: Greek chthonic spirit of corpses.

Eventide: It could work as a name.

Fenrir: A wolf demon in Norse mythology, the son of Loki.

Finvarra: Irish, King of the Fairies (and sometimes King of the Dead), a benevolent entity that ensures a good harvest and abundance.

Gabriel: The angel. Means "warrior of god." Gabrielle also works (and is the name of Lestat's mother).

Gehenna: A Hebrew name for Tartarus or Hell.

Golgotha: From Hebrew, "skull," the place where Jesus was crucified.

Grimm: The surname of two German brothers who recorded a classic collection of oral folklore and fairy tales, many of which are very... well, grim.

Habundia: A Celtic name for the queen of witches and night creatures, possibly another name for Nicnevan. Etymology uncertain.

Hades: The Lord of the Underworld in Greek mythology (also the name of the Underworld itself).

Hawthorn: A type of shrub steeped in folklore, associated with fairies and with Beltane (1st May).

Hecate: Greek goddess of witchcraft, magic, the occult, the moon, necromancy, the Underworld, and the crossroads. Means "worker from far off."

Hellebore: A type of evergreen flower, some species of which are poisonous. Believed to summon demons, also believed to cure madness.

Hemlock: A plant used to poison people.

Herne: "the Hunter," a ghost that haunts Windsor Forest (sometimes identified with The Horned God).

Hesperos/ia: The evening star.

Hypnos: The Greek god of sleep.

Iblis: Satan in Islamic lore.

Idris: Welsh, "ardent (passionate, fiery) lord."

Igor: Russian, "bow-warrior." Became famous as the name of Frankenstein's hunchbacked assistant, even though he doesn't exist in the book and his name in the original Universal film was Fritz.

Ingram: Swedish name meaning "Ing's raven."

Iolanthe: Greek, means "violet flower." (eye-oh-LAHN-thay)

Iseult/Isolde/Isolt: A tragic lover in Arthurian legend.

Jasmine: A type of flower, in this case referring to Cestrum nocturnum, or night-blooming jasmine.

Kali: Hindu goddess of destruction, name means "the black one."

Kasdaye: Means "hidden power," the name of a Watcher (another name for Tamiel). (Unisex)

Kiara/n: Gaelic, means "little black one."

Kimaris: A Goetic demon. (Male)

Kokabiel: Means "angel of the stars," a Watcher.

Lacrimae: Latin word for tears.

Lamia: A female demon in Greek folklore who devours children. The name of the witch in the film version of Stardust.

Lenore: A variant of Eleanor (also a good name), means "foreign," the lost love of the protagonist of "The Raven," also has her own poem.

Leshii: A Russian god of hunting, similar to Veles

Lethe: River of Forgetfulness in the Greek Underworld.

Leviathan: From Hebrew, "twisted in folds," a Biblical sea monster. Sometimes associated with Midgard's Serpent.

Libitina: A Roman goddess of corpses, funerals, and the dead.

Ligeia: Greek, the name of a Siren, also the subject of a Poe story of the same name.

Lilah: Comes from the Arabic Leila, meaning "night."

Lilith: Means "of the night" or "screech owl." In Hebrew mythology, Adam's first wife and the Queen of Demons. She refused to submit to Adam, so she left Eden and began screwing around with demons. Often considered a succubus or vampire, or a champion of feminism. A lilim is also a succubus or incubus.

Loki: Trickster god in Norse mythology with ambiguous morals.

Lorelei: German, means "murmuring rock," the name of a German Siren.

Lucius/Lucifer/Lucien: All mean "light" or "light-bringer," a name associated with Satan.

Lucy: From Dracula, also could be a shortening/feminization of Lucifer. (Still means "light.")

Luna: The Roman personification of the moon.

Lycoris: A Greek word that means "twilight," the name of an Asian red flower, associated with death and the underworld (much like Asphodel).

Maeve: Comes from Gaelic, means "the intoxicating one." Associated with the Fairy Queen Mab.

Makaria: Greek goddess of blessed death, a daughter of Hades and Persephone.

Mania: Etruscan/Roman goddess of the undead, ghosts, and underworld spirits, goddess of madness. Also a modern medical term referring to a specific mental illness.

Mara: A name steeped in darkness, referring to a nightmare spirit (nightmare), a (benevolent) goddess of death in Latvian mythology, a (male) demon in Buddhist mythology, and a Sanskrit word meaning "death."

Medea: In Greek mythology, the sorceress who helped Jason, but then went on a murderous rampage when he left her. Considered to be a priestess (or, rarely, daughter) of Hecate.

Megaera: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "grudge."

Melanie: Greek, "black" or "dark."

Melantha: Greek, "dark flower."

Melinda/Mindy: English, "black serpent."

Melinoe: Greek goddess of ghosts, nightmares, and madness, a daughter of Hades and Persephone.

Mephistopheles: The name of the devil in the Faust legend, could be from Hebrew and mean "disperser of lies," or from Greek and mean "does not love the light."

Merle: (Unisex) from French, "blackbird."

Mina: From Dracula. Short for Wilhelmina, a German name meaning "will-helmet."

Morana/Marzanna: Slavic goddess of winter and death.

Morgan/Morgana: From Welsh, means "sea-circle," the name of Morgan le Fay, a sorceress in Arthurian Legend (who may be good or evil, depending on your interpretation).

Morpheus: The Greek god of dreams, the main protagonist of Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics. (Also, The Matrix.)

Morrigan: An Irish goddess of death, battle, and ravens, name means "great queen."

Morwenna: A Welsh name meaning "maiden." ("Morwanneg" is the name of the witch in Stardust.)

Nepenthe: A magical drug from the Odyssey that cures sorrow and causes forgetfulness.

Nephthys: Means "lady of the temple," the Egyptian goddess of the dead, mate of Seth and mother of Anubis.

Nergal: Mesopotamian god of death, war, and destruction.

Nicnevan: Queen of the Fairies in Scottish folklore. She is the Scottish version of Hecate.

Nightshade: A family of plants including tomatoes, potatoes, and eggplants, but also the notorious deadly nightshade.

Nisha/nt: A Hindi name meaning "night."

Nocturne: Self-explanatory. Refers to a night prayer, a musical composition evoking night, or a night scene in art.

Nyctala/Nyctea: Two obsolete genera of owls. Nyctala is the genus of Boreal owls before it was changed to Aegolius, and Nyctea was the genus of Snowy owls before it was changed to Bubo. Both probably mean or are related to "night."

Nyctalus: A genus of bats.

Nyctimene: A princess from Ovid's Metamorphoses who was so ashamed at having been molested by her father, she refused to show her face in daylight. Out of pity, Minerva (Athena) turned her into an owl. Also a genus of bats.

Nyx: A Greek primordial goddess and personification of the Night. (also Nox)

Oberon: From French, means "elf-ruler," the name of the Fairy King in A Midsummer Night's Dream (Referred to in one scene as the "king of shadows").

Obsidian: A shiny black volcanic stone.

Onyx: A type of banded stone, most famously black. (The word comes from the Greek for "fingernail.")

Ophelia: A tragic character in Hamlet, which probably comes from Greek and means "help."

Orcus: A Latin word for Hell, and a Roman god who punished the dead (possibly an epithet of Hades/Pluto).

Orion: A hunter in Greek mythology, and the famous constellation.

Orlok: The name of the ugly-looking vampire from Nosferatu.

Orpheus: Greek name, possibly comes from the word orphe, "darkness." The name of a demigod with an impossibly beautiful singing voice who attempted to rescue his love from the underworld, failed, and then died tragically.

Pan: Greek goat-horned god of nature, herds, and lust, induces "panic."

Pandora: Name means "all-gifted." In Greek mythology, the name of the first woman, who opened a box that unleashed evil upon the world.

Pandemonium: The capital city of Hell in Paradise Lost, name literally means "all demons."

Persephone: Greek Queen of the Underworld, wife of Hades, and goddess of springtime. You probably know her story. Her name might mean "thrasher of grain" (which would make sense for an agricultural goddess), but could also mean "slayer."

Phaenon: Means "shining" in Greek, refers to the planet Saturn (which has long been associated with darkness in mythology, being the furthest planet from the sun that is observable with the naked eye).

Pluto: Hades' Roman name, also the ninth planet, or what was the ninth planet.

Ransley: An English name meaning "raven's meadow."

Raven: This is by far the most cliche Goth name there is (I originally created this list to provide alternatives to the name “Raven”), but it’s classic, it’s simple, it’s unisex, and it’s undeniably Goth. 

Ravenna: Self-explanatory, also an Italian city.

Renwick: Scottish surname meaning "raven settlement."

Sable: A word referring to the color black.

Salome: From Hebrew shalom, "peace." The daughter of Herod and Herodias, unnamed in the Bible, who requested the head of John the Baptist and danced the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Samael: Means "venom of God," a vicious angel of death, the mate of Lilith. He is not technically a fallen angel, but a servant of God who does the dirty work.

Sekhmet: Egyptian goddess of war and destruction, with the head of a lioness. Her name means "power" or "might." Her epithets included "Mistress of Dread," "Lady of Slaughter," and "She Who Mauls." Ra had to stop her from killing people by getting her drunk on beer that was dyed to look like blood.

Selene: Greek personification of the moon. (Includes "Selena" and variants.")

Senka: Basque name meaning "shadow."

Seren: (Unisex) Welsh name meaning "star."

Seth: A name of Set or Sutekh, the Egyptian god of evil, chaos, and storms. He killed his brother Osiris and cut his body into pieces, and then was defeated by Horus. His head is that of an animal that looks kind of like an aardvark but is not an actual existing creature (at least not anymore). He was associated with the color red and the desert. His name possibly means "one who dazzles."

Shadow: Self-explanatory.

Silas: From Greek, means "from the forest." In The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, it's the name of a [spoiler]vampire.

Silver: The color of the moon, and it looks nice with black.

Sinistra: Technically, it's Latin for "left," but it obviously has "sinister" connotations.

Skiá: Greek word for "shadow" or "shade."

Skotos: Ancient Greek word for "darkness," especially the darkness of death or the netherworld, or obscurity.

Skuld: The last of the Norns (Fates), representing death. Means "debt."

Sombra: The Spanish word for "shadow."

Somnus: Roman name for Hypnos, sleep.

Spyridon: Greek name referring to wicker baskets, which implies wealth. Could also be connected to the Latin spiritus, which means breath or spirit. Usually shortened to Spyro.

Stella: The Latin word for "star."

Stheno: Greek, means "forceful." The eldest of the Gorgon sisters.

Styx: The River of Hate in the Greek Underworld, the most famous of its rivers. The souls of the dead are ferried across it by Charon, and the gods (foolishly, if you ask me, seeing as they always regret it) swear on the Styx to make unbreakable oaths. The word "Stygian" means "of the River Styx" and refers to something very dark or abyssal.

Summanus: Roman god of nocturnal thunder.

Sylvia​​​​​​/Sylvana: Latin, "from the forest."

Tanith: Phoenician, "serpent lady."

Tartarus: The deepest hell-pit of the Greek Underworld, where evildoers are punished.

Tempest: A wild storm, from the Latin for "time."

Thanatos: The Greek personification of Death.

Tiamat: Babylonian primordial dragon goddess.

Tisiphone: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "murder-retribution."

Tristan: Welsh, "riot, tumult." (Although it sounds like the Latin tristis, which means "sad.") The name of Isolt's lover in Arthurian Legend, and the name of the protagonist in Stardust.

Valerian: Roman, means "strength" or "valiant," also the name of an herb.

Vega: (Unisex) Latin from Arabic, means "falling" or "swooping," a star in the constellation Lyra. It is one of the brightest stars in the entire sky.

Veles: Slavic horned god of cattle, forests, magic, and the underworld.

Veliona: Slavic goddess of death

Velvet: A fabric that most goths love to wear.

Vervain: An herb (verbena), meaning "sacred bough," considered a magical or holy herb in multiple cultures.

Vesperus: (or just Vesper), a Roman name meaning "evening." (Vespera for a girl)

Vespertilio: A genus of bats.

Victor: The first of the trio of gothy male "V" names, means "conqueror," as in "victory." Frankenstein's first name. (Victoria also works for a girl.)

Vincent: The second of the trio of gothy male "V" names, also meaning "conquering," from Latin.

Vivian: The Lady of the Lake in Arthurian legend. From French, means "lively."  (Another name for the Lady is Nimue, which is Welsh and may be related to the Greek word for "memory." She sealed Merlin in a tree.)

Vlad: The third of the trio of gothy male "V" names, the name of Vlad Tepes or "Vlad the Impaler," the real-life Romanian prince who inspired Count Dracula. It's Slavic and means "ruler."

Willow: A beautiful and mournful-looking tree.

Winter: The dark, cold season. Unisex!

Yvaine: Scottish, means "evening star," the name of the star in Stardust.

Zagreus: The name of a chthonic Greek god who was potentially a son of Hades and Persephone or Zeus and Persephone, considered in Orphic lore to be Dionysus before he was dismembered and reincarnated.

Zillah: Hebrew name meaning "shadow."

#names #goth names #writing #gothic names #character names #mythology #gods and goddesses #literature #gothic lit #name list

[badlandsloop]

Ikoria Bonder Fanwalker: Lamar, Accomplished Hunter & Morovesh, the Encroaching Fear

As a youth in Skysail, Lamar developed special druidic powers. He had the ability to revitalize natural things, plants, animals, minerals, etc. Using this magic he could invigorate a dying or dead plant. Regrow limbs or horns on living or dead beings. Grow Ikoria’s warning crystals as though they were still firmly planted in the ground. He was responsible for tending the garden balloon where his family lived.

One day a malfunction caused Lamar’s home to plummet into Indatha. Miraculously, his power grew a protective cocoon that saved his family from the crash. That night however a horrific nightmare slaughtered his entire family and tore out his left eye. He swore then to be the greatest hunter, to exact his revenge.

Lamar followed his path of vengeance, hunting deadlier and deadlier prey with his massive crossbow, Awakening. This weapon has six arms that rapid fire footlong bolts from six barrels. He also wields special bolts embedded with various plant and animal parts and crystals. Using his magic, he revitalizes the poisonous plants or venom glands within these bolts to slowly kill his prey. The crystals remain active and glowing, since they are nearby the monster they are lodged within. He used his druid magic to repeatedly harvest slain monsters. He infuses the corpse with magic, allowing valuable parts (horns and organs and such) to re grown and sold. Eventually he gathered enough experience to take on the nightmare that slew his family.

Morovesh is a nightmare anaconda. Her species is endangered as it is the favored prey of Nethroi, Apex of Death. While her mother was pregnant with a brood, Nethroi killed and revived her. Morovesh and her siblings then existed within a corpse, fed by a womb suffused with dark magic. As such, she became something unique. The Death-Dweller’s magic allowed her the power to become a mass of darkness and smoke. In this form she cannot be harmed and can enter the mind of other living beings to feed on their fear. She hunts this way, haunting her prey for days before crushing and devouring their body.

By devouring the minds of monster and human, Morovesh has become uniquely ambitious. She wishes to hunt and kill Nethroi, the beast that created her. She spent her life hunting stronger and stronger prey steadily mutating more power.

These two ambitious hunters found themselves tracking the same target. The nightmare that killed Lamar’s family. The two stalked it for days, each exacting their devastating tactics. They converged simultaneously to finish it off. Each was surprised they had help, yet neither could harm the other. As Lamar’s poison bolts slowed the nightmare’s body, Morovesh crushed its body. Ignoring the feeding snake, Lamar went to take his prize, his prey’s eyes. He took two and used his magic to replace is lost left eye. 

Full of fear and flesh, Morovesh turned her attention to Lamar. She delved into his mind but found no fear, only ecstasy. This flood of emotion ignited the hunter’s planeswalker spark and flung him from Ikoria. While on a new plane, with a nightmare anaconda in his mind, the eludha bonded the two expert predators.

Lamar is confident and determined to a fault. He cut his long dreads short to mirror Morovesh’s tendrils. He wears studded monster leather armor and a metal half mask to cover his glowing yellow green nightmare eyes. He has black hair and dark skin and his human eye is green.

Morovesh is roughly 35 feet long. She has dark green scales with black patterns that resemble eyes. She has ten arms with hooked talons for grasping prey. Her “hair” is smokey prehensile tendrils she uses to grip Lamar when he rides her head.

Lamar and Morovesh compliment each other well. They have similar hunting styles and similar ruthless ambition. They work in tandem around the planes hunting and killing and growing in strength.

#mtg #mtgikoria #fanwalker #oc

[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

FOREWORD before we dwell into this mess: some of the events described here, just so you know, are actually real. Specifically, the fire that consumed Chartres and the collapse of the choir of Beauvais. It just wasn’t the devil, just shitty master builders. The Sacré Coeur does not exist. I made it up. I named it Scaré Coeur cause every fucking church in France in the 13th century was called Notre Dame and I need a break.

Also, though this is set in the 13th century, the Latin prayer you’ll read is actually from the 19th century, before some pesky historian comes bothering me -- I KNOW, I just don’t give a fuck cause this is fiction. It’s the same with the latin quote about the devil, I KNOW it’s from that one book fake satanists made it cool though it’s actually about witch-hunting and not that deep, but fuck it man, it’s what we get.

Moving on to some Christian horror (I hope to God you understand what Frail plays into here). Be warned of some gore and extremely violent themes ahead.

The man stood, silent and still, at the centre of the choir. He did not look ahead at the altar; instead, his back was turned to the Cross and he inspected every believer that sat on the pews, heads bent in devotional prayer. Abbot Odo though there was something disconcerting to him. He was so still one could easily mistake him for a forsaken statue, and his eyes were cold and buried deep into his craggy face, pale skin poorly stretched over his semblance, marked by angular wrinkles that crisscrossed around his sockets and the corners of his lips.

The silence that settled seemed to emanate from within himself, and realizing this, abbot Odo made the sign of the cross and swallowed a deep sigh. The man standing at the choir raised his head to the dome above him, his eyes dancing across the angular ribs of the tall vault, and his hands came together like in a prayer, but they relaxed at his lap instead. He dressed in black: black cape flapping freely around his shoulders, and black gambeson beneath chainmail. A scabbard hung from his waist, from which the bright silver pommel protruded. His trousers were scratched and ragged, as if worn through many travels, and abbot Odo could swear there were stains of red.

He wanted to believe him a knight. Many came to the Sacrée Coeur to pray, to cleanse themselves of hellish visions acquired in the battlefield – their brothers cut to pieces, members chopped with the swing of an arm, and cries of pain and misery that would forever resonate inside their ears. They believe it to be for God, but came back with the desolation of a Godless mind. They had seen burning hot oil poured onto the bodies of the foot soldiers clambering a rope ladder, up the walls of a fortress, and prayed for Jerusalem as their skins came peeling off, flesh bubbling red and pink in jarring pain as their eyes bulged for one last cry of horror. They had watched the lances and wheezing blades stab their friends though the chest, and the sound of cracking bone and gurgling blood echoed still in their consciences. Mumbled prayers from dying men became litanies they would forever repeat, and poison shook them in shudders and cold sweat as they lingered between the worlds. Before their eyes, desolation, but hope too: hope that, now, having fought in the name of God, the Pearly Gates would offer them Eternity, hope that a life of bloody brutality, away from their families, babes and pregnant women left behind, would at least be worth a noble death and a heavenly pardon.

But abbot Odo knew there was always a moment of hesitation, a moment where – haunted by this life of constant warmongering – they would face Christ and the Elders in their Judgement and tremble in fear of being cast out of heavenly Jerusalem. They feared mercy existed not for a man earning crowns in the business of death. They feared they had acquired a fondness for blood, a passion for swinging a blade, and on the moment the Archangel would weight their souls, their corrupted selves would reveal a life tarnished by bloodlust. They feared it would be the Devil the one to see their taste for putrid flesh and broken bone, and in the flames of Hell, they would remain shackled to constant torment.

Many came to the Sacrée Coeur to pray, to release themselves, to find absolution in the bosom of the Virgin, or seek inspiration and salvation from Saint Matthew. Many found solace and piety in tears shed before the image of Saint Stephen, while others adored the image of the dragon below Saint Theodore, and thought all their nightmares existed there, in the monstrous creature. Perhaps they had led a similar battle, and who they had fought was not the Saracens nor the barbarians from the north, but the evil cast unto the world by Satan himself.

For a brief moment, abbot Odo thought the man standing at the choir could be one such man, seeking redemption by bringing his hands together for something other than holding a sword. But as abbot Odo blinked his eyes, he realized he was wrong. Very wrong.

He had heard the tales before, had even witnessed it once. The Devil tempted in many a manner, seeking to blend in with the world it sought to scorch and destroy, to wipe it clean of beauty and serenity, sowing death and destruction – and sometimes, the Devil was successful. Of all the tales of Satan taking the shape of something recognizable, hiding its horns and demonic tail – something terrifyingly friendly – the one that frightened abbot Odo the most was when he appeared as a man.

He could be a haggling one, clad in ratty clothes, ripped shirt and dirty nails, hand stretched out with pious eyes as he begged for a silver coin to support a wife and a child, seeking charity out of those with good in their hearts, only to reveal himself as a skinflint disgrace, drunk and relishing in sin, between the bosoms of harlots and gambling in dingy, filthy towns, dragging the innocent into his vices. He could be a noble of clean-shaven appearance, wearing a finely stitched doublet and a cape held by the wealthiest of brooches, offering a helping hand to a woman who carried a basket, only to snatch her away and maim her with depravity and filth, stealing her honour, her earnings and her life, until her naked corpse would be found afloat in the river, drained of blood. Sometimes, he was even a man of Faith, wearing the robes of a clergyman, though no cross would ever be visible on their chests, and they would sneak into abbeys and bring about the sins to sow depravity all around, and destruction would follow: fires devouring the altar, food thrown in the waters and gone to waste, wells poisoned and a community sentenced to starvation and drought – and the brothers resting eternally, with blood squirting out of their throats and guts spilling out of their bellies, limbs sawn off and teeth pulled out. Most daunting of all, they always seemed to do it to each other.

The Devil would wipe his hands clean and say with a grin: my work here is done.

But there was one other abbot Odo knew of – the one he had seen before. He was a traveller – sometimes a merchant, sometimes a knight – and he carried in his clothes the dirt and filth to prove it, though never a horse, a mule or a wagon. It was said that, when he took the shape of a wanderer, carrying sword or dagger, he did not seek to corrupt others; he did not attempt to plant the seed of sin in the innocent, nor tempt a believer into wickedness and villainy. His goal was not to cause bloodshed, not to spread about the corpses of the innocent, not to steal the honour of a young maid. His goal, then, was to destroy.

To destroy the House of God through the hands of His own believers.

He had first heard of him when he was initiated in the Fontevreu Abbey, of a fire that had engulfed Chartres and destroyed near all of its main church: the people watching in horror as the flames rose to the tower and licked the bell atop; the tears shed at the sight of the house of Mary being engulfed by the scorching blaze. A priest had salvaged the mantle of the Virgin, hiding the relic beneath his clothes, and against the columns of rising smoke, coughing out the ash and fending off the flames, he saw, standing in the middle of the choir, a man: a man as motionless as any statue, with eyes glinting red, no pupils to be seen but a dark, hollow slit, like those of a snake. The flames licked his body, but he did not burn; the shadows danced around him like whores of Babylon, and small, blackened talons caressed the edges of his hands and feet. From behind, as the fire rose to a hellish rebuke, big and engulfing wings spread, and his mouth tore abnormally wide, sharp teeth and hissing tongue, his skin undulating before the dancing shapes of blackness that embraced him, brows jutting forward and claws ripping the skin of his fingers. The priest blessed himself and ran, certain it was the Devil that had destroyed the holy home of Mary. Yet against the auspices of Satan, he had saved Mary's blessed mantle.

Two years before he arrived at the Sacré Coeur, abbot Odo had stopped briefly in Beauvais to witness its constructions. Abbot Odo had been marvelled at the sight: the wooden scaffolding rising tall and high as the sounds of pickaxe and stilettos against the stone echoed by. On the ground, thin lines marked the church's nave, and he walked with awe in his heart, down to the choir, projecting a dream onto those lines he saw grow into steady walls, slender columns and thick piers. It was even taller than Amiens.

Abbot Odo had stood in the middle of the choir, observing the intricate vaulting above his head, the nerves dashing across the white stone in a promise of grandeur. Then, he had looked back and found a man there, right behind him. He wore a great black cape, closed around his body, which only allowed his tarnished, worn-out leather boots to be seen, and no weapon in sight. His hands moved and joined each other on his lap, but he did not pray. Then, abbot Odo looked into his eyes and there he saw the mark of Lucifer: bright red like blood, and two black slits for pupils – and in an instant, the earth quivered and began to shape to Satan's will.

He heard a scream and a crack; a gust of wind swept past, so strong he saw women holding on to their veils with a cry for help, and children collapsing on their feet as the gale made the foundations of the cathedral tremble. But the man stood. Like a tree rooted to the ground, he did not shudder. Another crack, and abbot Odo saw the wooden scaffolding snap and break, and people came falling down like rain, smashed on the ground, their skulls cracked open and blood pooling beneath their bodies. The wind sang, and the man remained – motionless and cold. His eyes glinted, and shapes danced around him, talons sweetly fondling his shoulders, and the darkness that loomed seemed to seduce him like a harlot. He parted his lips, tearing across his face into an ugly, gut-wrenching smile, and pointy teeth peered into a grin of malice. Though it had been a sunny day, the skies filled themselves with thick, grey clouds, and the wind blew stronger than anything abbot Odo had ever witnessed.

He blinked his eyes, and within a moment, the man was gone, but something remained; when he watched the vault above him crumble and stone began to rain down on the people below, at last, he turned back, ran into safety, and saw a devilish shape draw itself against the walls. A figure danced, crowned with horns and jutting talons at the edges of its fingers, and black wings spread behind, setting flight before the destruction it had just sowed, watching victoriously the men of God crushed to death by heavy boulders.

The ceiling fell, and the beautiful cathedral of Beauvais was shrouded in ash and dust. From the rubble, groans of pain appeared, and as the wind stopped, the ground began to paint itself red. Outside, the cries of women rose to the skies, and thick grey clouds slid away, casting light into the Devil's destruction.

Now, he stood again before him, and abbot Odo felt an urgency beneath his skin. The man lowered his gaze and found the abbot's; a sweeping wind blew, and his eyes – deep red and with two slits for pupils – glinted. His lips tore menacingly into a smile, a smile abbot Odo had known before – a smile of all malevolent things, disjointed and fearsome, ripping his elastic flesh until threads of skin stitched themselves together like a ripped, ragged cloth.

Abbot Odo gave a step forth, but the ground quivered; he stopped, glanced around. Everywhere, eyes snapped open and heads rose from prayer, and the imminence of disaster settled slowly. A woman grabbed her child by the hand and ran through the nave and out the door, but the others watched; abbot Odo thought he should leave, but there was something he needed to do first.

He would not let Satan win again.

"Leave!" He shouted. "Leave now!"

He was unsure if he was expelling Satan or passing a message to the believers, but nobody moved; abbot Odo launched himself forward before the man who stood impeccable, his hands softly resting on one another above his lap, those sharp teeth glinting as shadows began to swirl around him like trusting companions of all his heinous acts. He heard a crack and stopped; behind him, men and women raised their eyes to the ceiling above, and abbot Odo felt a bitter urgency of stopping an impending Apocalypse.

He gave another step, but stopped once more. Now, something pushed him back, and it hurt to keep his eyes open. He grabbed the thick chain around his neck and pulled the heavy silver cross from beneath his clothes; the touch brought him comfort yet it prickled his fingers, and through his chapped lips, he murmured a prayer – but his words wafted by unheard, for he was now in the domain of the Devil. When he snapped his eyes open, the man in front of him was twisting and shaping himself into his true form; abbot Odo blessed himself once, twice, three times, as he watched the horrid transformation take place.

He heard bone crack, joints snap, and flesh bubbled beneath the undulating, quivering skin. On the clothes around his body, holes formed as it if they burned from within, and the abbot saw the chainmail burning bright red as it melted and sunk into his skin, slender columns of smoke rising from his insides. His shoulders popped as he shook them, pointy and angular like two flying buttresses spreading outwards, and the arms bent back and forth in inhumane ways; from his hands, long claws ripped through his flesh, blood slithering in thick drops, as the creature opened its mouth to let a slick, rubbery tongue out, and a bellow that carried the deep stench of sulphur and rot wafted in the air. It smelled of burned flesh. It smelled of a thousand corpses. It smelled of a hundred fetid things the abbot deemed only worthy of a battlefield. It was the spirit of all men of war sentenced to hellish torment by the scale of Holy Michael, the souls of the damned who had killed for pleasure. Those who did not seek to repent before Saint Theodore, because they had never slain the dragon.

Abbot Odo quivered as much as the ground, and inside his chest, his heart pumped in cold dread. Drenched in sweat, he clung to the silver crucifix and prayed – an endless string of prayers, stitched together by his rapidly moving lips, as he watched, horror gripping his throat, robbing his lungs of air – and the creature danced in dark and red. The shadows now rose almost as high as the Devil, and they lurched themselves at the body of their Master; from below his twisted, animalistic feet, the floor cracked and lines of red and orange shined through. Abbot Odo began to feel incredibly hot, as if a volcano erupted below his very feet, and the silver of his cross started to burn the tips of his fingers.

Then, the walls and ceiling began to cave in; abbot Odo saw the fissures in the stone crawling like worms, past the shadows, like water running upwards, and trembled when the first loud crack echoed. A boulder fell, smashing pews to splinters, and above him, a hole tore itself open to let in the sunlight that fought and lost against the grey clouds. The creature in front of abbot Odo raised a hand, and a loud clang sang across the hollow nave – the front door was shut.

Abbot Odo looked back and saw people – trapped people – banging on the thick wooden doors with their fists. Then, in a fit of silent madness, they all stopped – frozen to their feet entirely – and their eyes painted themselves red. Their mouths opened, a collective hiss resonated around in unison, and they all lurched at each other. Before it began, abbot Odo somehow felt a stench he thought to be of hatred.

Horrified, abbot Odo saw their finger dig into their clothes, fingernails ripping skin apart and poking their eyes out; they grabbed candelabra, pieces of wood and broke, with inhuman force, the stone sword of St Theodore, and slashed their bellies until bowels wrapped in red slithered out like demonic snakes; he saw with paralyzing terror as they were driven into heinous insanity, falling deeper into the Devil's temptation, killing for pleasure with not a cry of pain, but many a growl of delight. They killed, they maimed, they tortured each other; and when the pain wasn't enough to satisfy their hunger for blood, they filled their hands with torn-off flesh and shoved it deep into their mouths, or dug their sharp teeth into their legs and arms. Breathless, abbot Odo watched as they devoured each other, as Hell materialized before his eyes and the Damned consumed the poor innocents entirely, who ate and clawed until blood fell from their teeth and their chins painted themselves in red – until they fell into lifeless beings, and the nave was riddled with the maimed corpses of God's creatures.

It seemed to last forever; it seemed time stopped so Satan could relish in his creation. And abbot Odo, gripped in paralyzing terror, watched.

The ground quivered again, the walls trembled; those who had not died at the hands of the Satan's madness looked up and saw as death approached in the form of a boulder that smashed their skulls and crushed the rest of their bones. The smell of sulphur rose, but now it blended with the stench of a thousand battlefields – blood and flesh, dirt and fire. The walls shook, and soon, the house of God would crumble over Satan's victims.

Before the abbot, the man was not a man anymore, but the Devil in full. Abbot Odo saw the curling tail behind it and the slender claws of its hands clench; its tongue curled and twisted, and from its mouth came a malodorous stench abbot Odo could not identify anymore. And the walls shuddered, and the ceiling groaned. The world was not coming to an end, but it might as well have begun then; the Devil made the wheels turn.

Then, the creature tore its lips open, and in a guttural growl that reverberated in a cold vibrancy all around, it spoke:

"Opus dei potest opere Diaboli omnio vitiari."

Abbot Odo collapsed on his knees, and fatigue possessed him. Clinging to his cross still, he watched the holy altar crumble down, candles tumbled over and their flame kissing the fabrics of curtains and flowers sweetly enough that they rose. The eyes of Holy Mary became engulfed by a sea of bright orange and yellow, and the paint of her stony face cracked and melted, until a skeletal remnant of her beauty remained; the vestments of Saint Anne crumbled into ash, and the babe on her lap fell over, its little head cracking and smashed to a thousand pieces; like in a demonic omen, the book of Saint Matthew, albeit of stone, burned and withered into cinders, and the abbot could swear the dragon at Saint Theodore's feet began to move, its sharp teeth sinking into the saint's ankles, thick blood pouring out as the statue's eyebrows arched and the eyes bulged in horror.

Abbot Odo looked up at the stained glass of the clerestory and wept. Once, its blue lights had been celestial, and a tinge of red had passed through only as a reminder of the Sacré Coeur's imperial might, of the Virgin's reign as Holy Queen of the Heavens. Now, her eyes looked back at abbot Odo in agony, and the ambience inside the cathedral had lost its celestial blue tone entirely. Everything was red – blistering, daunting red, where black shapes hovered and danced, the walls blemished with the shape of their flapping wings, and beneath the sounds of spluttering wood and the high-pitched clinks of shattering glass, he heard someone sing in tongues.

"Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio," abbot Odo began to pray, and in a swift gush of courage, he moved against his every quiver and stood. Rubble and ash surrounded him, the air thick, prickling his eyes and throat. Abbot Odo thought of covering his mouth with his habit, but then his prayer would be muffled. So he screamed louder: "Contra nequitiam et insidias diabolic esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur—" he ran, though not to the door, but to the choir, straight to where that nefarious beast stood, and hoisted his crucifix with a growl: "Tuque, Princeps militia caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen!"

The cross in the abbot's fingers shined, and though the pain that shot through his fingertips blinded him, he remained; slick, bubbly silver began to melt, fusing with his skin, but he did not falter. Archangel protect us, he begged in a murmur, and protect this world in Light, through God's might, against the Evils we face.

Abbot Odo had always thought himself a man of physical weakness, unfit for battle. He had never sought a sword because the horrors of war did not appease him. But as God had willed, he was made to be a Knight of Peace.

The beast roared and shuddered, its talons retrieving into the putrid flesh that melted like wax, and danced a horrid dance of pain and anguish as it slithered through the cracks of the ground. Stood in terror, abbot Odo watched – watched as the flames diminished as if they were sucked away by the scorching winds of Hell, reeking of sulphur all around, and a thousand screams rose to the air into a deafening, blaring song of the damned that cracked the glass on almost every standing window. The black shadows winced and shrivelled; screeches, like nails scraping against glass, pierced through the abbot's ears, and the air was filled only with dust and ash – thick and grey as his hand rose in solitude amidst the destruction.

Then, everything was silent. Abbot Odo blinked his teary eyes open and watched the dust settle. A short moment later, the doors flung themselves open, and people stopped at the threshold, watching with horror the sea of bodies covered in blood, chunks of their flesh stuck between their teeth, arms and legs cut off by a ravaging possession of the Devil, killed at each other's hands for one last consummation of Satan's will.

The deafening, dreadful silence was slowly replaced by muffled weeps, cries and moans of anguish and horror. Nobody came inside. Nobody dared touch the dead. A dozen pairs of eyes looked dully at the broken ceiling above. The fire had stopped, disappeared entirely, and all it remained was the black mark of its scorching flames.

Abbot Odo looked at the altar. Amidst the wreckage, of piles of broken stone and scorched wood, molten wax and chipped off paint, the rose window stood. It cast celestial blue and royal red glints onto the floors, licking its marred stone with the grace of Heavens.

He did not feel shrouded in the Grace of God when the sun moved and the colourful lights brushed against his dingy skin.

Finally, abbot Odo looked back wistfully at the sea of frozen, bloodied horrors that filled the church nave, in blood and flesh and broken bone. 

He had defeated the Devil, but the Devil had won still.

___

Past challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #Odo isnt even a french name lmaooo #my wordtober

[mademoisellegush]

Foolish Heart

pairing: Chargestep, (Julia/F!Sidestep)  warnings: adult themes, minor spoilers for one scene of the retribution open alpha in the last part  1716 words  beta’d by @echoise

You don’t know what it is, but there’s something about Solana that feels… real. 

Undeniable, palpable in a way nothing has been since you fell and woke. She laughs at one of your dumb jokes, and there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to make that happen again.

“Idiot,” she sighs, but the corners of her lips turn up, grey eyes crinkling, alight, and something churns in your gut at the sight. Nerves, you think, and pick her up like she hates, making use of your whole extra twelve inches over her to carry her around to Anathema’s vexing delight and Sentinel’s fond disapproval. You like putting your hands on her, and how she calls out your name, julia julia julia-

 You stay up braiding each other’s long hair like schoolgirls, sitting on your shitty couch in your apartment that feels too constraining compared to the ranch of your childhood, and when she scoots closer after to watch some movie she’s never seen and you put your arm around her, the twist your stomach does isn’t a surprise.

You tell her “I’ve never kissed another woman before,” courage singing in your veins, hands shaking as you peel off her mask, the smell of plasma and blood and sweat in your throat, and then you kiss her, nervous and bold, and something inside you breaks a little at how unreal this all feels.

You dream, and she’s astride your hips, fully dressed like always while you’re still in your nightshirt, she leans over and kisses your neck. She tugs your braid, and you feel the shape of her body, soft flesh and muscles against your own, calloused hands over your chest, she moves and back in your bed you-

You never want to wake up.

You crash asleep wearing last week’s clothes, breath heavy with grief and beer, and you dream. You keep seeing her, and how she looked as she stepped out, and-

You go to sleep, and you keep dreaming of her. It hurts to see the sun, because that’s what she called you (Iliotropo, ilio, sunflower), and that’s what you called her (sol, sol, sol, the sun bright and shining down on you as she held your hand across the table while you ate dinner with your mamá), so you stay inside, blackout curtains drawn, and burn through public goodwill like the flames licking your broken heart.

You go to sleep, and you remember-

-pushing her down on your couch and she’s watching you and you kiss along her neck and she laughs when your half-undone braid falls on her face and you laugh too. You don’t think about it when she tugs you to kiss you, devour you, face in her hands, you can’t control the static in your brain and in your skin when you finally, finally understand the hunger (for you, she wants you, the most genuine person you’ve ever known sees you as you are, and still chooses you) and then-

 Nothing, because she panics when-

 She panicked. So you set ground rules for yourself and you paid so much more attention because you couldn’t believe you hadn’t been careful enough; you let her initiate everything because you wanted her to know she was in charge; you-

You wake up, alone in the dark, and you cry. 

You see her again, seven years after everything shattered. 

You feel like you’re falling all over again, and “Solana? Is that you?” slips past your lips and spills over her like a wave; chocolate cake crumbs drop everywhere, and the frown she wears is hers; blushes, red red red like her scarf (that you shoved in a box after Heartbreak, then wore for years and years until it was all frayed and washed out and you cried, like a child, over an article of clothing), and for a precious moment you’re a decade younger and you’ve just stolen a kiss, two, three, against a wall before going out to speak to the cameras. Foolish, foolish heart, and you want to reach out and touch her, make sure that it’s her (you’ve heard things, you’ve seen things, and you can’t believe-) but you also know how she gets, you remember the panic, so you let her pick the pace. 

You talk, and she talks, and she lets some things she didn’t want to tell you escape her, and that hurts (and you feel betrayed, but not by her, never by her, you should have been better). Not the knowledge she hides things from you, but the fact you couldn’t help her, can’t help her. You let her down and now she doesn’t trust you enough to ask for help again. This is on you.

You love her, except now it’s not a realization while you grieve. It’s tangible, she’s right opposite you, and if you tear up when she hugs you first you don’t mention it. Nothing can happen, but you can still hold her.

 You’re wide awake, and the sun is shining on your face and in your arms.

You use your time at the dojo well. You have many worries on your mind, and miles to go before you sleep but now, with your past catching up, you still find your thoughts turning back to Solana. You left with the promise to see her again, her number and the assurance she would (reluctantly) try to help Angie. She's got issues of her own, still desperate to build walls and hold it all within herself, but you broke those down the first time. You've seen her secret garden of roses, the best of herself that shines through even if she refuses to admit it.

Speaking of roses, that’s the reason you’re here this morning. From afar she looks… very familiar, but you know that already. Grey eyes, brown hair, a wide open face belying caution. You put on your most dazzling smile, because you know she is someone’s iron in the fire, and this is one acquaintance you must cultivate. She’s fighting pretty hard against some invisible enemy, so you approach carefully, hakama and belt marking how you do belong here, maybe more than she does. Like your Rangers suit, or whatever you throw on to go under the spotlights. Masks that you wear, and only ever one person seemed to get through to the real you - lost now, because even if you got her back, you didn’t. 

Silly Julia.

She’s crying. She’s crying, and you’re not proud of yourself, but. You tell her she looks like a friend of yours, “more than a litte,” and she seems puzzled by that (so are you, foolish heart, that something in Rose reminds you of your sun) and you laugh, and you flirt, and she flirts back, and so you can keep an eye on her, and for once something in your lonely, lonely life seems to go right.

One (side)step forward, two steps back, one sunflower lost, one rose found.

You wake to find her at the hospital, looking oh so worried at the machines beeping around you. Not the first time, not the tenth, and you’re reminded of a lifetime ago when she kept watch almost like this (you were in your suit, not these frills, and she was in hers, not those randomly thrown on sweaters and scarves, and she had held your hand when you woke and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, not even jumping at the static, and you had loved her a little more for it). You call her close to you, and she looks, grieving, and it hits you then, how much she hurts, but you're hurting too, and you can't let it show.

You almost kiss, but you make the mistake of bringing up your date - and how was she supposed to take it, being replaced, being left out, even if nothing had been going on and she had rejected your invitation - and she offers to come see her, see Rose. You say no, because... you're embarrassed, because you do like Rose, but you love Solana, but nothing is clear with her and with the way your investigation is going you can't let her get involved, not unless she wants to. And not with this new villain, who put nearly all the Rangers in the hospital. 

She walks out, not even listening to you as you yell after her disappearing form that you'll talk later, and you press down on your foolish little heart.

Whatever bits weren't crushed under your broken rib, anyway.

You’ve never been so content. So peaceful. It has nothing to do with after-sex relaxation, intimacy raw in your teeth, on your tongue, in your heart; healing at last from half a decade of regrets with a heartbeat-

a heartbeat-

no heart but your own in your lonely blacked out room.

The sheets still smell like her, like you; your skin still bears the scrapes and the kisses and the tears you both shed over the other like ablutions washing off everything left unsaid to leave behind only the certainty that she was there, in your arms, and she held you in turn, and she said your name again like she did a lifetime ago -julia julia julia, and then, ilio, ilio, my heart - and you traced her scars in the dark, no light to guide you but that the certainty this was real, so real.

You know this, because you sat with her on your couch, smelling human, feeling human and known, the culmination of twelve years of loneliness and tragedy that had burrowed in your bones like worms in a corpse. 

And she said…

and she spoke… 

and she revealed…

terrible, terrible things, and she had to calm you down, and for that and many things more you are ashamed.

No light in your apartment, but what little comes in from outside. You caress the camellia, not yet blossoming, on the table, a relic. Like you, but the plant must be treated much more reverently than yourself. Maybe you’ll grow your hair back, when all is said and done, and go back to Sol’s hands in your hair, swift and tender, braiding it as it used to be. 

Today, there are things you must do, and then. Tomorrow, you’ll seek the sun.

#fallen hero: rebirth #chargestep #ortega #sidestep #oc: solana birchwood #this was a lot of fun to try and hash out; ive never done a 5+1 before #please reblog if you liked it; i worked hard on this

[otonymous]

Promises (SLBP Kansuke)

Description: Kansuke finally makes good on his promise to you…in unexpected ways. Warnings: ***Spoilers for SLBP Shingen’s MS - PLEASE DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T DONE HIS MS YET!!*** unless you want to ruin the surprise, angst/dark All characters & SLBP owned by Voltage Inc. Word Count: 1434 (approx. a 7-minute read, according to Bear Pro)

AO3: Read here

Author’s Notes:  This is my first fanfic ever written!  The writing was done months ago, but I have only found the courage to post it now, after being inspired by @dangodaifuku’s gorgeous pinky-swearing Kansuke art.  

Also tagging @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons because your masterlists were my proverbial rabbit hole into the wonderland of SLBP fan fiction!

The lantern in your bedchamber suddenly extinguishes, eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips as you are plunged into a gentle darkness, lit only by the soft glow of the moon peeking out occasionally from behind the clouds.  Had you not been so preoccupied with grinding the herbs in your mortar to the right consistency, it would’ve occurred to you that the air in the room had been particularly still that night, the shoji doors having been drawn tightly shut to keep out the chill in the fall air.  

You heave a defeated sigh, taking it as a sign to crawl into the inviting embrace of your futon and cease working on Lord Shingen’s medicine.  Rubbing the strain from your weary eyes, you start returning ingredients to the physiker’s chest he entrusted you with before he left for battle.  

Kansuke.

Lately, the days have melded together into an interminable cycle of busy work: cooking in the kitchens during the day and preparing Shingen’s pills by night, your hands flying in a desperate bid to keep themselves occupied lest your mind wander to the darker corners of your heart.  Despite your tireless efforts, the medicine you make just barely meets his needs, your Lord having returned from the battlefield much worse for wear.  Of course, this wouldn’t even be an issue if Kansuke were here, as skilled at compounding remedies as he was.

If only he were here.

After the last bottle has been returned to its rightful place within the lacquered chest, you delicately lower the lid to hear it shut with a soft thud.  That sound, whilst practically imperceptible, seems to carry with it the raw emotions of a howling wind, stirring up the beginnings of a dreadful panic within your chest like the funnelling of dead leaves towards the eye of a storm.  It sounds like…

The sealing of a lid on a wooden coffin.

The soldiers of the Takeda clan who survived the battle to fight another day had long since returned to Tsutsujigasaki.  Lord Kansuke was not among them.  He hadn’t ridden up to the castle gates alongside Shingen, ebony hair disheveled and olive skin flushed with exertion and fatigue.  Hadn’t silently glared at his Lord when he tried to brush off the severity of his worsened health.  Hadn’t returned to give you the chance to tell him that the man you love has always been him.

Yes, unbeknownst to even yourself, Kansuke’s gentle yet steadfast demeanour had planted a seed deep within your heart, silently growing with every subdued display of his kindness and consideration. By the time you realized the truth and extent of your feelings for him, it was already too late.  Shingen was a jealous man after all, and Kansuke much too loyal to even think about touching his Lord’s woman.  Besides, you were never really sure he felt the same towards you, his stoic face refusing to give anything away.  And so you resigned yourself to wholehearted devotion to the Tiger of Kai, willing your feelings for his omnipresent shadow to wither and die.

You glance at your reflection in the extravagant dressing mirror standing in the corner, one of Lord Shingen’s many beautiful gifts.  The eyes of the woman in sleeping robes staring back at you are coldly accusatory in the moonlight, recounting your crimes.  You couldn’t ignore the fact that you could still feel the searing heat of Kansuke’s pinky finger wrapped around your own, his amethyst eyes intense as he intoned with utmost solemnity “a thousand needles if you lie, drink them well and you shall die.”  Couldn’t deny that even with Shingen by your side, your gaze still lingered on Kansuke’s face during meals when you thought no one else was looking.  But perhaps worst of all, you couldn’t forget that your wanton heart had sought out Kansuke before your Lord when the men returned home from war so many weeks ago.

“I doubt he’ll be coming home anytime soon, little lady,” Saizo had murmured then in response to your frazzled question regarding Kansuke’s whereabouts.  And yet, you let yourself cling to whatever small shred of blind hope was present in his words: anytime soon doesn’t mean never.  So, with that tiny ember in your heart to keep the frost at bay, you refocused all your attention on caring for Shingen, as you had promised Kansuke to do.  After all, he too had made a promise to return home to you.  And promises made with the pinky are absolute.

“Kansuke!”

Suddenly unable to bear the silence, his name leaves your lips as surely as the tears from your eyes, your desperate whisper reverberating about the room in a chorus clamouring for total honesty.  There, spurred on by the coaxing sincerity that darkness brings, you finally come to terms with the deadly beast threatening to devour your heart:  

He’s not coming back.

All of a sudden, you feel it: another presence in the room.  Someone is watching you intently from the shadows, their gaze infinitely tender in its affection.  You smell him before you see him: bitter herbs and wind-blown hair.  The coppery tang of spilt blood.  Making to rise, your eyes widen as if searching for some clue that would tell you if the vision before you is a dream or reality.

“Lord Kansuke, is…is that really you?”  You venture timidly as the shadow glides closer and closer.  Outside, the clouds part to allow moonlight to stream in at the exact moment he stills, quiet as a ghost and close enough to kiss: raven wisps of hair falling over beautiful amaranthine eyes, turbulently searching your own in a rare show of unveiled emotion.  Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you grasp your courage by the reins and will your deepest, darkest secret to unravel in your eyes: that your heart has only ever had room for him.

Unspoken understanding plays across his face.  Kansuke has found you out and finally, the ever hopeful bud in your heart is allowed to bloom.  His hands slowly come up to cup your cheeks, calloused thumbs delicately wiping away tears you forgot had fallen.  Your heart has never felt so full as when you feel the gentle press of his forehead to your own, his nose nuzzling yours as he whispers before taking your lips in a kiss that steals your breath away:

“I’m home, as promised.  And we’ll never be apart again.”

At this moment, you are so happy you could die.

It is almost sunset the next day by the time Shingen finally finds her, body rigid and dressed only in sleeping robes, lying next to Kansuke’s armour-clad corpse beneath a bare cherry tree high up on the mountains bordering Kai.  Even in death, the smile on her face takes his breath away.  And somewhere in the back of his mind, Shingen recognizes that he was madly in love with a woman whose heart never fully belonged to him.  With her delicate, pale hand entwined so tightly with Kansuke’s that you can barely tell he’s lost a finger, she looks peaceful, content…found.  For the life of him however, Shingen cannot figure out how she managed to find Kansuke’s body — now in the advanced stages of decay after being exposed to the elements for so many weeks — so far from the castle.  Nor can he fathom the reasons why she would be dressed only in her sleeping robes.

Despite his near crushing sense of loss, Shingen still finds the strength to gently smile through his tears at the tragic sight of the two most important people in his life.  He recites a short prayer, deciding to allow the pair another night together before sending his retainers to retrieve and bury the bodies.  He turns his magnificent black steed back towards the castle at a gallop in a bid to outrun the pain seizing the very core of his being.  Behind him, the sun slowly sets on the lovers, their marital bed a blazing pyre of orange and red light.

Thanks for reading!  More stories available here! 💕

#slbp #samurai love ballad party #slbp kansuke #slbp shingen #yamamoto kansuke #takeda shingen #sfw #angst #fanfic #slbp fic #slbp kansuke fic

[clairen45]

Visions of Paradise: deal with it!!!

Guys, I recently found out that this post I did in early 2018 had “mysteriously” disappeared. I am suspecting that Adam and Eve’s nakedness from a Cranach painting was too much to take for Tumblr. Anyhow, I am reposting the stuff ... minus the “infamous” painting! I am shocked to the core.... I was not even notified about the disappearance of this post... Good thing I had kept a copy!

Every Paradise is a Paradise Lost. This is obviously true in Star Wars as well. It is easy to see some elements drawn from the Bible, Dante, and Milton in the Star Wars’ rewriting of visions of Paradise, Hell, and even Purgatory, as well as the classical Fall from Grace and loss of innocence. So let’s take a journey in the worlds of the Skywalker trilogy, but, unlike Dante, “Ye who enter here” do not “abandon all hope”, for “hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it… you’ll never make it through the night”.

Dante’s trilogy was not the first trilogy ever invented (you can date the concept back to Greek plays, like Sophocles’, or to ancient India with the Mahabharata), but this epic poem could be a determining influence for the structure AND themes used in the current Skywalker saga. Some lines from the movies actually seem to come straight out of Dante’s poem. For example:

From a little spark may burst a flame… (Dante) / We are the spark that’ll light the fire that’ll burn the First Order down (Poer Dameron)

The secret of getting things done is to act. (Dante)/ Do or do not. There is no try. (Yoda)

Consider your origins. You were not formed to live like brutes but to follow virtue and knowledge. (Dante)/ Luminous beings are we…not this crude matter. (Yoda)

Dante’s poem comprises three parts (Hell/Purgatory/Paradise) composed with 33 songs each, with an internal structure that emphasizes the number 9: 9 circles of Hell, 9 rings to Mount Purgatory), 9 celestial bodies in Heaven. The current trilogy presents 3 parts, composed of 3 movies each, thus for a total of 9. The journeys of the characters, as they travel through the different systems of their galaxy far far away, is not without evoking some of the trials met by Dante and his guides (Virgil and Beatrice), though not as systematic, and in a less fluid progression. Each trilogy wavers between visions of Hell, Paradise, and Purgatory, even though we could consider that there might be a possibility, in fine, for a progression that possibly mimicks Dante’s journey from the Dark to the Light, from the fall from Grace in the PT (a la Milton), back to a possible resolution in the ST (as in the Bible after all, and with love in sight, a la Milton and Dante).

VISIONS OF PARADISE

Each FIRST installment of the trilogies presents us with a lost paradise: Naboo in the PT, Alderaan in the OT, Takodana in the ST. What do all these worlds have in common?: lush greenery, water, lakes, waterfalls, gorgeous castles or castle-like structures.

They are also most decidedly the place of the mother, a stance that strays from the male-centric vision of a Garden ruled by God the Father and Adam, the creature made in His image. Naboo, Alderaan, and Takodana are literally and/or symbolically ruled by female figures: the elected Queen of Naboo, Padmé Amidala; Queen Breha Organa on Alderaan; Maz Kanata on Takodana. In the symbolic of Star Wars, these three women are mother or godmother figures: Padmé is the mother of Luke and Leia, Breha Organa is the adoptive mother of Leia, and Maz plays a bit the role of a fairy godmother to Rey, by giving her the saber and her advice.

What do these places of paradise also have in common?: they get smashed, right off the bat, by conflicts, attacks, war, utter destruction in Alderaan’s case. Every paradise is a paradise lost… Moreover, these visions of paradise, like the Garden of Eden, actually already hold the seed to their own destruction, they are not as guiltless as one might presume: Naboo is already rife with inner conflicts between the Naboo and the Gungan, and the core of the pristine and exquisitely civilized home to the city of Theed is peopled by devouring monsters; Alderaan (that Leia presents as peaceful) is probably a spy nest plotting the Empire’s destruction (rightfully, but still, not as innocent as portrayed); and Takodana’s castle is actually Mos Eisley Cantina glossed-over with a castle, a derelict version of the past splendour of Naboo and Alderaan. 

So, to sum up, the vision we get of paradise in EVERY trilogy of the saga is that of the homeplace, the womb, the place of the mother, destroyed or attacked, and the characters forced to leave it behind, or snatched away from it. It is the classic myth of coming of age, with the initial trauma of being separated from the mother, something that you could link with the article I wrote about the metaphor of growing up in Star Wars.

There are also some interesting differences of course. Naboo and Alderaan are intimately connected with two leading female characters: it is the birthplace of Padmé, and the adoptive home of Leia, a place that they both see as a happy place, with lots of fond childhood memories (in Padmé’s case explicitely in AOTC). For both women, it is also a place they will never be able to come home to, because it is ultimately connected with death. Padmé wanted to give birth to her child on Naboo, but will only come back as a corpse.

For Leia, it is the death of her entire adoptive family, and the annihilation of the whole planet as a test to the new power of the Death Star. As the first released version of Paradise in  Star Wars (albeit not chronologically for the story), Alderaan is actually really interesting: this was a Paradise that we were meant to never see, the Paradise that was promised but never attained, as we watched with horror, along with Leia, the destruction of a planet that we did not know one thing of, but that she described as a peaceful place. It took the brief glimpse at the end of the PT, in ROTS, to see what Alderaan looks like.

Takodana, on the other hand, has nothing to do with any of the leading characters, not even with the main female character. As far as we know at this point, this is not her home planet or a planet linked to her childhood or her family. It is irrelevant to her personal background. Yet, it is clearly presented to Rey as a vision of Paradise, and becomes “incidentally”  the place where she gets her first brush with the Force (through Anakin’s lightsaber) and gets to meet Kylo Ren.

So, to come back to the notion of Paradise, in the Biblical story, and in Milton’s poem, when you think of Paradise, you think of Adam and Eve. And, as far as the shoe fits, this can only seem to apply to Naboo and Takodana… with twists. Padmé and Anakin do NOT meet in Paradise, they meet on his homeplanet, Tatooine, that hardly qualifies to the title (sand…. yuck…). PM ends with both of them on Naboo though, during the celebration after the victory against the droid army. When they meet again, it is on Coruscant (not Paradise, obviously).

So, to come back to the notion of Paradise, in the Biblical story, and in Milton’s poem, when you think of Paradise, you think of Adam and Eve. And, as far as the shoe fits, this can only seem to apply to Naboo and Takodana… with twists. Padmé and Anakin do NOT meet in Paradise, they meet on his homeplanet, Tatooine, that hardly qualifies to the title (sand…. yuck…). PM ends with both of them on Naboo though, during the celebration after the victory against the droid army. When they meet again, it is on Coruscant (not Paradise, obviously). But for them as a couple, Naboo is the place where they fall in love, share a first kiss, and eventually get married (and have sex…one can only assume…).

Adam and Eve seem at first glance a non-issue in the OT, even though, if you really want to nitpick, the fact that Han and Leia do share the last kiss of the movie in a forest has to mean something on some level. I will argue later that there is a rewriting of Adam and Eve, but with a variation.

In the ST, though, the Adam and Eve subtext is obviously back by having Rey and Kylo meet in a forest on a place that is designed as a vision of Paradise insofar as it reminds us visually of the planets that have so far represented Paradise in this universe.

And even more as the characters are clearly construed (admittedly by the cast and directors) as two halves. If Eve is most of the time represented as being formed with Adam’s rib, some have argued that there was a misunderstanding or a mistake in translation and that she was actually “a side of” Adam, aka his half (hence, my better half when talking about your spouse…). Much has been said about the fact that Kylo departs this place symbolically claiming Rey as his bride: by carrying her in his arms and insisting that he has all that he needs. Eve is also all that Adam needed, the one that was meant to be his.

THE TREE, THE FRUIT, THE SNAKE

In the Biblical tale, they all go together. We all know the story: the Tree of Knowledge is planted in the Garden of Eden and its fruit is forbidden to Adam and Eve; Eve gets tempted by the snake and they both eat of the fruit; they become aware of their nakedness and feel shame, and are subsequently cast out of Eden.

In Star Wars, it is always there somehow, and always in part 2, but again with some variations or twists. First, as I pointed out before, in OT and ST, the eviction out of Paradise has already symbolically taken place in part 2 (destruction of Alderaan and abduction of Rey).

But in the PT, the scene of the fruit does take place in Paradise, as Padmé and Anakin are having dinner on Naboo. Fruit is the main course (duh!), but because the apple would have been too obvious (though in all frankness, you can debate about the fruit of knowledge being an apple in the first place), they go with pear. Padmé/Eve is about to eat the fruit, but Anakin/Adam takes it from her using a Force trick, in order to impress her with his “knowledge” (So, wow, fruit flying is the way to impress the ladies), cuts it and then sends a piece back to her, that she finally gets to eat.

So, they are sharing a fruit and she is the first one to eat. Classic. Right afterward, Anakin comes at her with his burning feelings of love, pressuring her into a more physical relationship. They cannot pretend being innocent anymore. Is there a seducer, a snake hidden there? Anakin tries to seduce Padmé, so he can be seen as a snake, but waiting in the wings, we also have Palpatine plotting and already whispering ideas to Anakin. Since Palpatine is from Naboo, aka Paradise, he is the snake lurking in the Garden, and he was already trying to manipulate Padmé/Eve in PM.

In the OT, the Tree of Knowledge pops out in a surprising place: on Dagobah, that hardly qualifies as a vision of Paradise. At best, this is rather Purgatory or Limbo, that swallows things possibly into oblivion (Luke’s X-Wing, R2D2), and a place of exile for Yoda. When Luke is tempted to go into “the cave”, the cave in question looks more like a tree than anything else. Like Alice’s rabbit hole, this is a gap among the roots of a vast tree, and teeming with reptilian creatures. The snake is unavoidable.

And the knowledge that Luke gets out of there is fear, and a big hint about himself and his origins: his face under Vader’s mask. But, at first glance, no fruit, and no Eve. But in the OT, Luke/Adam also has a half, except that this half is not a possible sexual partner, but his twin sister. This is clearly a variation on the story. And in this respect, while Luke is in limbo with his tree of knowledge, Leia, on Cloud City, gets an interesting image:

The sculpture at the center of the room could function as a variation on the Tree of Knowledge, also known as the Tree of Life, with this model of the helicoidal structure of the DNA being the secret of Life itself. As Leia will kiss Han in the same scene, and is about to confess her feelings to him by the end of the movie, this also brings back in the notion of sexuality. And the DNA sequence functions both as a reminder of Leia’s lineage (as sister to Luke and daughter to Vader) and the possible outcome of her relationship to Han (… now that we know through the ST, Ben Solo of course). The notion of motherhood, and having children is heavily connoted in the Bible. It takes Eve to be cast out of Eden to become a mother, motherhood goes with pain, suffering, and loss, since suffering in childbirth is Eve’s punishment for eating the fruit and disobeying God. Obviously, in the ST, motherhood has brought its fair share of suffering and loss for Leia, despite the love she has for her son. Finally, it is quite interesting that this “tree of knowledge” is found on Cloud City, a warped representation of Heaven. At first glance, it is almost a litteral representation of a celestial haven/Heaven. Yet, it is deceptive, and turns out as a place of torture and suffering. In a nutshell this is NOT Paradise. It is Hell designed to look like Heaven.

In the ST, the Tree of Knowledge is, as in the OT, found in a place that is normally designed to be a sort of limbo/purgatory, the place of exile for Luke. Yet, it is not as dark and swampy as Dagobah. If Luke was apprehensive about his experience with the tree, Rey seems to go there without fear, called to it through visions and voices.

Are these voices and visions her snake, her own seducer? It is very ambivalent, because her visions and voices mix Kylo, Yoda, Obi-Wan, Luke, and an unknown voice on TLJ that recalls bits and pieces (though very faintly!) of the Jedi code:

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.

As a reminder, in Rey’s Force vision on TFA, we get to hear Obi-Wan and Yoda, and we can see Luke and Kylo. We can only assume that Rey has had visions of Ahch-To before, and the way we assume this is through the information that Kylo extracts from her during the interrogation scene. Though, at the time, she does not know herself that it is the place where Luke is hiding. In the scene, through the hissing and rattlesnake sound heard when he removes his helmet, Kylo is clearly construed as a snake, the one trying to seduce Rey. TLJ carries on with that idea when, at the beginning of their second Force bond, Rey calls him a “murderous snake”. Yet, he is also the Adam to her Eve, as we saw from their meeting in the forest, and besides the snake part has already been cast: obviously one does not go by “Snoke” just for any reason. “Seduction” here is also a complicated matter. Rey may be seduced by Kylo, but Kylo is also in danger of being “seduced” by Rey and the Light. And he was also the one “seduced” by the snake/Snoke in the first place.

The Tree of Knowledge, in this installment, is for the first time a litteral tree of knowledge, and not a metaphor, since it is a library, a place where Rey can access knowledge through books. Not an apple. Not a pear. Not a vision. It is actually pretty ballsy to use the metaphor and get rid of it altogether. Yep, tree of knowledge, you guys. Look at that ray of light shining through to showcase the books: tada! Books=Knowledge.

And when the necessary knowledge has been acquired (Rey took the books she needed), well, just literally dispose and get rid of it. It is JUST a tree after all.

There is added knowledge, of course. Otherwise, it would not be Adam and Eve… The torching of the tree takes place after Rey has found out the truth about what happened between Ben Solo and Luke, and touched Ben. There is symbolic carnal knowledge. Just before the hand touch scene, she has also seen him almost naked and felt shame, or embarrassment, like Adam and Eve after eating from the fruit. Throughout their scenes, both flesh (some of it, anyways) and souls have been laid bare. And Luke storming in the hut where they are physically reaching out for each other is pretty much a rendering of a Godlike figure storming in to find out that Adam and Eve have been naughty, despite his specific orders.

There is also a fruit in the ST. A lingering shot on Rey in Maz’s castles, almost minutes before she gets her first brush with knowledge (the “first steps” from her vision when touching the saber), and her first brush with desire/Adam/Kylo. Not such a gratuitous shot if you consider that the movie took the time to show us her usual fare in terms of food, ie the rations from Unkar Plutt, and that she very likely never has had any of this before. So this is very much Eve biting the apple from the VERY FIRST TIME!

MORE ON ADAM AND EVE…

There is a scene in Milton’s Paradise Lost that can be compared with Rey’s experience in the cave. In Book IV of the poem, as summed up here:

Eve tells Adam of her first awakening as she came to life and how she wondered who and where she was. She found a river and followed it upstream to its source. Her path led to a clear, smooth lake, and Eve looked into the lake, seeing an image in its surface, which she soon discovers is her own. She hears a voice explaining to her that she was made out of Adam, and with him she will become the mother of the human race.

Of course, a lot of ideas are interesting in view of TLJ (and TFA):

the term awakening used by Eve (”when from sleep     I first awak’t”)/ Rey as the awakening of the Force

 Eve, like Rey, wonders about her part in     all this (” much wondring where and what I was”)

Eve looks at her face in the water/ Rey finds a     mirror after plunging deep in the water

Eve tells her story to Adam/ Rey is telling about     the cave to Kylo

Eve learns that she will be the mother of a     multitude/ Rey sees an infinite line of her image

In conclusion to the scene, Eve goes back to Adam     and says: “Whom fli'st thou? whom thou fli'st, of him thou art, His flesh,     his bone; (…) Part of my Soul I seek thee, and thee claim My other half:     with that thy gentle hand Seisd mine, I yielded, and from that time     see How beauty is excelld by manly grace And wisdom, which alone is truly     fair”. / Rey reaches out for Kylo’s hand, and then ships herself straight     to him.

This essay is obviously  a first part of a longer project… Check out Visions of Hell.

Let’s close this post on the ending of Paradise Lost, as Adam and Eve are about to leave Paradise:

The World was all before them, where to choose Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide: They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow, Through Eden took thir solitarie way.

I know that for some this is the expected conclusion to both Reylo and the Skywalker saga, as Kylo and Rey leave to a place of exile. Why? Because if Kylo is to be redeemed some people simply cannot imagine him pardoned for his crimes. And if he is to live, a lot of people will tell you that he has to live in exile. Which, to me, and a lot of fellow bloggers, seems like the most stupid ending… especially if he ends up alone. I can, for myself, totally imagine Kylo redeemed AND happy. But if he had to go into exile, he could still be redeemed AND happy provided that Rey comes along, which I also totally see her doing. And as in Milton’s Paradise Lost, they could leave, hand in hand. But whether that means they are cast out of Paradise, I do not think so. If anything, all these movies and stories in the Star Wars Universe have not painted us this galaxy as a Garden of Eden. I think it is high time to imagine Adam and Eve happy.

#reylo fandom #reylo fam #star wars meta #reylo meta #star wars parallels #star wars symbolism #paradise in star wars #star wars fandom #nolite te bastardes carborundorum

[thesilentinquisitor]

About Evren

Basics

Name: Evren Tanith Anubis

Aka: Lady Anubis, Lady Inquisitor, the Emperor’s Jackal, the Silent Inquisitor, the Bone Witch. Aunt/Auntie Evren to many. Known to the Neverborn as the Fourteen-Eyed Jackal and the Crowned Devourer In Golden Chains. Evy or Eve to some.

Originally: Evren Tanith Burakgazi.

DOB: 21st December, 989.M1 (Sagittarius). Appears to be in her late twenties or early thirties.

Gender + Sexuality: Agender/demigirl. Poly-panromantic greysexual, with slight preference towards women when it comes to relationships and men when it comes to casual flings.

Origin: Liverpool, UK, Terra. Mixed Egyptian and Turkish, identifies as English.

Rank: [30k] Grand Inquisitor. Officially, she is the seeker of traitors and rebels, acting as a scalpel to cut out the cancer before it grows large enough to warrant calling in the Space Wolves or Night Lords. Unofficially, she seeks out artefacts, creatures, and people of great power and destructive potential and contains them, sometimes neutralising them or turning them to the use of the Imperium. These include Chaos or Warp-powered artefacts, xenotech, creations from before the Age of Strife, items from alternate universes, and things of stranger, more obscure origins. Her mission and means are highly secretive, with few beyond the Emperor and Malcador the Sigillite being aware of her true mission.

[40k] Loyalist Renegade/Inquisitor: After the Tomb Jackals were banished and wiped from the records at the end of the Heresy, they spent several centuries engaged in a Repentance Crusade in the Eye. However, they soon emerged and began engaging with the Imperium again, albeit under false names with false histories. Evren uses a fake Rosette to pass as an Inquisitor of Ordo Hereticus or Malleus.

History

Abilities:

Flawed Perpetual: Requires energy and biomass to regenerate lost body parts; she must eat an arm’s weight to get an arm back. Large healings leave her weak and sleepy from hours to days after; regrowing more than 50% of her bodyweight will cause her to fall into a coma. Will regenerate from the largest part remaining or the one with her head. Other parts die after an hour and are usually consumed to regain biomass. Never ‘dies’ but will lose consciousness if sufficiently injured. 

Living Cancer: Thanks to her mother’s hasty dying pact and Malal’s sick sense of humour, Evren can best be described as a sapient infectious cancer. Her cells are constantly regenerating and can revert back to stem cell level to allow her to regenerate limbs or organs. Her cells replace any foreign organic material inside or added to her body - grafted-on limbs will change into copies of what she lost - which means she was never able to bear a child, even before she removed the required organs. Given sufficient time and material, she can convert corpses into copies of her or, if a live cell sample is placed in a nutrient broth, grow a new body from scratch over a period of roughly two and half months.

Gamma-level Psyker: biomancy/physiokinesis/chloromancy, telepathy, telekinesis, kine-shields. Studied and mastered necromancy from the post-Heresy-era onwards. Has an incredibly precise control over her magic and a long list of memorised spells, though her range is middling to poor. Good at sensing fluctuations in the Warp.

Biomancy: Her first and strongest discipline. Though she was first trained as a healer, Evren has turned what she learnt to the causes of torture and interrogation, shaping flesh and bone like wet clay. She knows dozens of methods for instant killing, as well as how to keep a victim alive long after they should have died. Her speciality is the draining of energy from victims, leaving them dried-out husks.

Chloromancy: An offshoot of biomancy devoted to the control of plants. She can create fully-grown plants from seeds in seconds, even if said seeds are inside someone’s stomach at the time. Evren’s presence enlivens plants - grass lengthens in her footsteps and flowers bloom where she uses her magic.

Necromancy: At the price of another life, Evren can bring back the dead - either has barely-sapient drones or exactly as they used to be. Those too damaged or rotten to be brought back properly are made into corpse-constructs - shambling creatures made from mismatched parts, sometimes with dozens of eyes or arms for legs - or as disposable troops. Can also summon, banish, and sense ghosts or spirits - not via any natural ability but the use of charmed props and equipment.

Daemonology: Has studied the lore of daemons, so can summon, banish, restrain, and otherwise deal with daemons. After her pact with Malal, she can access their Chains of Binding, which can make most daemons her slaves.

Strengths/Weaknesses:

+ Biology, genetic manipulation, botany: Excels in the sciences of life. Can create new species of plants, animals, and bacterium in her lab, for everything from relieving famine or curing diseases to bioweapons. Has an almost instinctive knowledge of cell function and makeup. + Occult knowledge: Widely read in the nature of magic and the Warp. Has memorised many spells, curses, and cantrips; draws protective sigils and wards with ease. Knows secrets that would drive many insane, which has had an impact on her sanity. + Resistant to pain and torture: Both thanks to experience and her ability to use biomancy to shut down her pain receptors, she can resist most interrogation techniques. When put under great stress, she will put herself into a coma. + Stealth and terror tactics: Can become all but imperceptible thanks to a combination of magical and mundane techniques. Trained in tracking, assassination, sabotage, recon, torture and interrogation, intelligence gathering, and item/personnel retrieval. + Shapeshifting: Disguising herself as others, of any height, weight, or bodyshape, is easy for Evren thanks to her biomancy. She deeply dislikes changing her skin tone and avoid it whenever possible. ~ Evren has autism, what was formerly known as Asperger’s Syndrome. - Suffering mentally: Her traumatic life experiences and knowledge of the universe has given Evren a depression and PTSD, both of which seem resistant to treatment. She suffers from panic attacks, nightmares, and is psychologically triggered by enclosed spaces, the colour yellow (especially hooded robes), pregnant women, and the sight of certain religious artifacts. She uses various meditation techniques and marijuana for her anxiety. - Cannot see into the future through dreams, visions, or third-party methods: she cannot scry, cast runes, or use the Tarot. To seers, her future actions are shrouded in darkness. Some report hearing the roar of static and feeling the attention of something dark fall on them, heralded by seeing dozens of blank, white eyes in the darkness. Others see dozens of extremely disparate futures to the point of being overwhelmed. - ’Perpetual’ nature causes her body to reject all non-organic implants, such as the Black Carapace: organic implants and transplants can be accepted via biomancy. - Must have a source of energy/food or healing abilities slow. Must have a source of energy/food or her healing abilities slow until they cease to work entirely, due to the high energy demands of her body, leading to wounds remaining open even after an ordinary human would have healed. Starves at the rate of one unenhanced, though her enhancements allow her to consume many things considered inedible. - Weak to things that destroy cells/atoms, i.e. atom bombs, strong radiation, gauss flayers, fire, being thrown into the Sun. Deeply fears Necrons for this reason. - Highly affected by Blanks. Cause painful rashes/skin peeling, bleeding from the eyes/nose, intense migraines, and seizures depending on closeness/length of exposure. Her healing factor is deadened to the point where one could kill her with a knife and a bit of patience. - Bad at spelling and mental mathematics, to the point of dyscalculia.

Personality:

+ Loyal, protective, generous, loving, charitable, friendly, patient, determined, optimistic, intellectual, courageous, devoted, flexible, playful, artistic, imaginative, trusting, forgiving.

- Liar, braggart, snobbish, patronising, glutton, literal-minded, coddling, depressive, zealot, hoarder, hypocrite, merciless, sadistic, vengeful, spiteful, stubborn, nosy, impulsive, selfish, clingy, melodramatic.

- Evren’s motivation in life is the protection and wellbeing of humanity; to this end very few actions are considered ‘too much’ or ‘too far’. Like the SCP Foundation before her, she will inflict pain and death on hundreds or thousands to save millions or even billions. - Highly curious, she is full of questions at all times and loves to explore. - Friends and family mean a lot to her; she values her brothers’ happiness highly and possesses an undying loyalty to the Emperor, even if she often doubts him. - She still has great faith in humanity and believes that most people are good - Has a 'better the devil you know’ attitude, used to enduring horrible things if it meant keeping humanity safe from even greater horrors or even annihilation - She has a deep-seated disdain for religion and identifies as a misotheist, having never met a 'god’ worth worshipping. Secretly she dreams of toppling the gods and perhaps even taking a little of their power for themselves - she’s sure she would use it better. - Due to the fact it was the last time she felt 'normal’ or 'like herself’, Evren is obsessed with the culture of the 1980s to 2020s and has gone out of her way to preserve artifacts from that era, including her favourite popular media. She enjoys cartoons and anime. - Despite, or possibly because of, living through the millennia-long suppression of magic by the Foundation, Evren is openly, unapologetically proud of being a psyker and campaigns for the better understanding of her fellow magic-users. - Secretly, she is somewhat of a coward and flees from anything she is sure can kill her, though she once managed to explore a Necron tomb with her Legion. - Often overwhelmed by her duties, she is full of doubts and often second-guesses herself - Is a hopeless romantic, in love with love, but treats sex casually - to her, it’s just another fun thing two or more people who like each other can do together

Likes/hobbies: Magic and studying magic, archaeology, history, exploring ruins or nature, tomb-raiding and grave-robbing, botany and gardening, cartoons comics, horror books/movies, making clothes and jewellery, puzzles/riddles, cooking, coffee/recaff (the more elaborate, brighter-coloured, and highly-flavoured the better), Turkish and Egyptian cuisine, dancing, singing, playing the piano.

Hates: Chaos-worshippers, the Chaos gods, religion in general, not being able to know things, traitors and backstabbers, letting down a friend, enclosed spaces, going hungry, wasting food, offal, eye contact, people who take advantage, corrupt officials, people who don’t care for others, Astartes who look down on humans, almost all Commissars not named Ciaphas Cain, the fact she has to remove all her body hair to wear her bodyglove comfortably. After the Heresy, she despises Iron Warriors and Word Bearers to the point where she’ll drop anything to kill them; it’s her dearest dream to sacrifice Erebus and Kor Phaeron to Malal.

Looks:

Height: 5′7″ (original) / 8′3″ (current). Can and will change her height with biomancy.

Eyes:

Golden with hints of brown. Dark rimmed irises like a wolf (or a chicken). In the 40k era, they turn white with black sclera when channelling the power of Malal.

Wears kohl eyeliner in the ancient Egyptian style, eyeshadow in shades of blue or red with a streak of gold. Long lashes usually enhanced with mascara.

Well-groomed, s-shaped eyebrows with a ‘hook’.

Possesses a unique, prototype in-built ‘prey-sight’ that allows her to see into the infrared spectrum and track targets by body-heat. Unfortunately, it also reduces her ability to see detail such as writing/screens and people’s faces, turns the world into a blobby mess of colour, and gives her crippling migraines if she uses it for more than five minutes. Her pupils are dilated and her eyes appear glazed during use.

Has a transparent, protective nictitating membrane.

Skin:

Brown, vaguely russet. Blushes easily, freckles in strong sunlight thanks to the Jackal geneseed. Some moles – aka ‘beauty spots’ - across her body and limbs.

No scars or wrinkles save for a line of small, round scars along her spine and faint marks on her stomach as if something with five claws slashed her from ribs to hip.

Removes all hair below the neck with biomancy, to keep it from catching in her armour and bodyglove; without that, she has dark body hair and a ‘treasure trail’.    

Tattoos in gold ink of runes across her ribcage, arms to elbows, and on her stomach, spelling out incantations of warding and banishment; intricate magical diagrams and sigils cover her back from shoulders to hips. These act as protection against daemons, increase her magical abilities, and make her touch painful for any with above a certain amount of Warp energies inside them. Designed to ward off danger and interrogating Chaos worshippers, she cannot touch Sanguinius or Magnus with her bare skin without causing burning pins-and-needles tingling. Touching a daemon causes them severe pain, like touching a red-hot poker.

In the 40k era, she bears the brand of Malal on her stomach; the black-and-white skull mark only appears when she’s channelling the Outcast God’s power or consumed with thoughts of vengeance. At all other times, it’s invisible.

Sensitive to touch and ticklish, especially around the - ahem - chest.

Body:

Lean but muscular with long limbs/torso. Broad shoulders, slim waist, and powerful thighs. A six-pack and strong arms. Often compared to an Amazon or Valkyrie.

Disproportionate on close inspection, with her arms almost as long as her legs; can give an Uncanny Valley effect. Long stomach/spine between ribcage and hips; has three more lumbar vertebrae than normal. Long fingers, toes, neck.

Small chest - ‘small but perfectly formed’ as she sometimes says.

Highly flexible and double jointed, capable of impressive contortionist acts. Often cracks her joints to the point of sounding like an old man; is prone to aches and pains after too much flexing, which she eases with long baths.

Possesses all Astartes organs aside from the Mucranoid, Melanchromic Organ, Black Carapace, and Lyman’s Ear; her Sus-an Membrane has a malfunction that, whenever she activates it, plagues her hibernation period with horrific nightmares.

Lacks the Black Carapace and interface ports thanks to her Perpetual nature, so she syncs with her custom-made Power Armour (Mark IV variant, replaced by a Mark VI variant post-Heresy) via a series of needles that pierce her spinal cord.

Has several experimental organs not used in the final Astartes model: Angius Ligament (lets her stretch her jaws like a snake), Tanax Gland (produces a sticky, glue-like saliva that dries quickly on contact with air), Pera Organ (a second stomach), and Runco Node (a gland in the brain that, at times of great stress, releases hormones and chemicals to dull her feelings of pain, fear, and despair; in some circumstances, Evren goes into a trance-like state where she can only think of killing enemies and lacks morality, mercy, or a conscience. She never remembers her actions afterwards and the Jackals have sworn never to tell her).

Face:

Greatly resembles her Papa. They have the same eyes, brow, nose, and cheekbones. Diamond-shaped face with a strong jaw. Beauty spot near left eye.

Eight canine teeth; all teeth sharper and more pointed than normal.

Long, flexible tongue. Unsurprisingly, she’s also a very good kisser.

Wears a brown or berry-coloured blush and lipstick in maroon, berry, navy, or black.

Faceclaim: Jessica Penne.

Hair:

Black, glossy, falls in loose curls. Naturally thick and heavy. Soft and silky.

Shoulder-blade length and worn parted at her left side with a side-fringe.

Doesn’t often change her hairstyle, but she has experimented with various styles and lengths. Tends to go between straight and curly on a whim.

In battle, it’s braided and curled into a bun under her helmet.

Clothes:

Linen tunics, tight cloth trousers, long waistcoats, and long, fur-lined (often leather) coats. Soft leather knee-high boots, leather boots, flats, and ankle boots – never heels. Doesn’t wear socks. Wears black, white, gold, shades of red but usually crimson or maroon, and shades of blue from navy to turquoise.

Gold, copper, and bone accessories –  from her kills, both animal, xenos, and human. Usually hand-made. Loves rubies, aquamarine, lapis lazuli, coral, and sapphires. Likes Egyptian, jackal, space, floral/plant, and skull/bone motifs.

Wears lots of rings, bracelets/bangles, and necklaces when off-duty.

Has a large hat collection, with hats for every occasion, but she most often wears a wide-brimmed black hat with the brim tilted just so. Hat never falls off because it’s held in place with a hatpin topped with a silver skull.

Attitude/Bearing:

Due to her autism, she rarely makes eye contact, has dulled facial expressions/RBF, tends towards a monotone voice, and stims by twining her hands, playing with her hair, or pressing her palms together. Looks at people’s noses or ears, as a rule.

Stands and walks with almost unnatural grace and flexibility. Very light feet. Will casually bend her limbs backwards to reach something or turn her head like an owl.

Has a faint Liverpudlian accent and a deep voice; the accent is a deliberate affectation and vanishes during times of stress, replaced with a Terran accent.

Daemon-Princess of Malal Form Evren can ‘summon’ small parts of her daemon form into her human body, such as horns, claws, eyes, and wings; her most common trick is to summon wings, pure black and flat as paper, the feathers razor-sharp.

Soul: To psykers and daemons, her soul appears to be glowing with a bright golden light that can be almost blinding. There’s an impression of many wings, eyes, and teeth and a burning crown. Her tattoos appear as literal golden chains and the influence of Malal as a spreading darkness centred around her solar plexus.

Equipment

Mark IV/ Mark VI Corvus Power Armour: Adjusted to her disproportionate frame, the biggest change is around the joints of the armour; plating has been re-shaped and in some cases removed to allow a much higher degree of flexibility. Instead of the classic ‘beaky’ helmet it has the white jackal mask worn by the Legion’s command ranks. The inside is coated with runes and sigils of protection, purity, and banishment. The pockets and waist pouches are much bigger on the inside than the outside.

Force Sword (Asurludu): Designed and built for a user who places speed and flexibility over strength, longer and lighter than the usual model. The hilt and blade show some influence from ancient Turkic designs. The blade is decorated with an ‘evren’ - that is to say, the dragon from Turkic mythology - and the grip is bound in dark blue.

Daemon Sword: A black-bladed daemon sword with an ornate gold hilt, decorated with obsidians and moonstones, and a scabbard decorated with many eyes. Contains Snuffer Of Faith’s Candlelight, a Guardian of Contradictions who displeased Malal and was sentenced to eleven thousand year’s imprisonment within the sword. Screams and wails when wielded. Can and will devour mortal souls and daemons alike.

Various grenades: Krak, frag, flashbang, and ‘Banisher’ - produced and equipped solely by the Tomb Jackals Legion, they contain blessed salt, iron, silver, and holy water. Evren often forgets they’re there or to replenish her supply, to the annoyance of her armoury staff. She retorts that her throwing arm is so bad they’re all but useless anyway.

Dataslate: Connected to the Weigher’s central database and intranet, Evren can call upon thousands of years of information in seconds. She can also connect to others’ dataslates and send messages to their ships or voxes. It can fold in half like a book and be used in either orientation. Most files are in Esceapian or Turkish; anything sensitive is protected with instakill memetic agents that cause fatal seizures and brain haemorrhages in any who haven’t been through the right psycho-programming.

Combat Knife: Carved with runes, it has a devastating effect on daemons and other creatures of Chaos. The default combat knife wielded by all Tomb Jackals and Shadows.

Bolter: She once owned a master-crafted, artisanal-made Crusade-pattern Bolter that was destroyed just after the Heresy, during their Crusade in the Eye, and never replaced. Since then she’s owned a variety of firearms, either losing them or giving them away. Her current weapon, as of 40k, is a Godwyn Mark Vb Pattern.

Snacks and drinks: Since both magic and healing drain a great deal of her energy, it’s important for Evren to stay well-fed. She keeps a supply of high-protein, high-fat, and high-sugar rations in the form of bars and drinks, fortified with iron and calcium, as well as more normal foodstuffs such as jerky, candy bars, and bottles of water.

Inquisitors’ Rosette: Before the Heresy, this took the form of the Emperor’s personal aquila in gold, with the SCA symbol on its breast, as a badge or a pendent. In the 40k, Evren wields the rosette of the Inquisition when going undercover. Kyete acquired it, as well as the official papers and paraphernalia, from a Custodian who owed her a favour. The rosette takes the form of the stylised I bearing the winged skull of a jackal.

First Aid Kit: For minor wounds she can’t or won’t heal with her biomancy.

#[ooc post] #[evren's personnel file] #[legion documents]