#half a corpse half a poet

[half-a-corpse-half-a-poet]

A Poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness, and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds

-Percy Bysshe Shelley

#percy bysshe shelley #poetry #writers and poets #the tortured poets department #half a corpse half a poet

[eveschild]

The way that after Patroclus died, Achilles slept next to his corpse, fought a river God, butchered Hector and dragged his body around Troy several times with his chariot.

“He is half of my soul, as the poets say”.

Patroclus literally was Achilles’ impulse control. He was the half with the empathy and the generosity and the immense kindness. When he died, all that was left of Achilles was a human weapon.

Literally how destructively beautiful is that. Imagine the depth of this love. *lets out a mental guttural scream and sob*

#the song of achilles #patroclus #achilles #greek posts #greek tumblr #greek mythology #madeline miller #book quotes #book review #books and reading #patrochilles

[sky-kiss]

Say You're Mine for the Ages

A/N: This is…essentially spoilers for my longfic lol. But it could change by the time I get there. Also, all those kinks I said were gonna be in this? They ain’t. Naw. I’m in corpo hell this week. There is no sexiness in corpo hell. 18+, named D!urge. All that.

You can also read it here if you prefer.

R/T: Say You're Mine for the Ages (18+ ish)

Silence. 

Silence. 

At the end of all things, in the wash of blood and madness, all was still and silent. Raphael wondered if it wasn’t some trick—perhaps he’d gone deaf. The rustle of fabric as Baalphegor crossed the caldera promised he had not. She cut a striking image against Cania’s monochrome terrain—cinnamon and ash—as she crossed to Mephistopheles’ corpse. 

The poets liked to speak of the emptiness of such victories—vengeance would leave one hollow, they said. Raphael felt anything but—the Fiend howled in his head, some great beast adding its song to the Archduke’s more flowery exultations. Won, he’d won. Mephistopheles dead, the Lord of Murder dead. Bhaal’s essence…

…Bhaal’s essence. It tasted like blood; it felt like raw power. It was standing at the eyes of the storm, feeling the winds tear at you, and laughing. The power of true divinity—his.

Theirs, he corrected, a shiver chasing along his spine. Where was the irritation the thought should have elicited? Where was the fury? The emptiness, the loneliness, the rage, as he clawed ever upwards? 

Silence, Raphael thought, closing his eyes. All was silent.

The Archduke felt his Duchess as she crossed to him—like strings of power or flesh, sowing parts of her to him, shared tissue, shared power. There was a resonance—divinity her sire imbued to her by virtue of birth and the mated essence he’d stolen. 

“Look,” she breathed. Joi lifted her hand to his temple, tracking downwards along his cheek and the trickle of blood. His Duchess stared, searching his face as if seeing him for the first time. Her free hand curled behind his neck. “Look at you.” 

Raphael traced her lower lip. “Name me—you have earned the honor. Be the first.” 

“Raphael,” she murmured, stroking his face. Her eyes burned—green like envy, flecked with gold—his queen, the joining point of so many sins. Her voice was low, her words a hymn. “Archduke of Avernus, Lord of Ambition—a god.” He shivered, kissing her—this thing, this goddess, this other half of his divine essence—drowned in the taste of her and the rush, completed…whole. Her fingers threaded through his hair, inhaling the air he breathed into her lungs. His Joi spoke against his lips. “My god.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

The silence broke. 

There was only noise in the aftermath—Mephistar's citadel and its halls, all full of music and laughter. Lords and Ladies from each of the Infernal Courts rotated around him, offering their praise. False praise, yes—every smile was the edge of a blade pressed to his back—but why should that matter? The devils no longer looked upon him with disdain. They stared with jealousy. 

And Asmodeus offered a new title—the son of Hellfire's birthright.

"Hail, Raphael," the Dark Prince said, voice dark. He held his goblet high, dark hair hanging loose over his shoulders, handsome like roaring thunder. "Archduke of Cania, Prince of the Eighth, Lord of Ambition." Raphael sat up straight, jaw squared. A feast hall of Dukes and Duchesses, all eyes fixated upon him. Asmodeus sat at the head of the table, Lady Baalphegor on his left. And the place of honor? His. The Lord of the Nine's eyes glittered like rubies. "Hail Raphael—Right Hand of Asmodeus."

They cheered for him—hated him, this half-blooded bastard who had moved so far beyond every devil assembled. Raphael bowed his head and held up his goblet. 

His Sire's throne, realm, title—everything belonged to Raphael. Mephistopheles' name would fade to nothing, and there would be only Raphael.

Blood thundered in his ears. The words rose to his tongue, heady and well-practiced. The devil might even have meant them, as magnanimous as he felt. Raphael stood, bowing his head. "Hail Asmodeus, Lord of the Ninth—the Shield of Law, a wall against the Abyss and her chaos. Without him," he flicked his gaze from the Lord to the Lady Baalphegor, beautiful, seeing too much. She tipped her head to him, hiding a smirk in her wine. "The tide would wash over us, one and all."

The corner of Asmodeus' lips ticked up. Ah, clever boy, it said. 

The Lady of Murder shifted beside him, eyes dark, smiling as he took his seat. Joi slipped her hand into his, touch settling on his upper thigh. Heat radiated from her skin, through the robes, licking outwards—she squeezed. 

The conversation turned towards more neutral ground: the Blood War, Raphael's plans for Cania, if he would continue his Sire's experiments—banal. 

Joi's touch strayed upward.

Why should they be denied? 

~~~~~~~~~~

How many centuries had he spent wandering Mephistar’s halls? 

It was a tale for the poets: the cambion child, alone, his Sire’s eyes upon his every move, and pureblooded devils waiting for the slightest misstep. 

He had outlasted and surpassed them, one and all. Cania and Mephistar were his, and he intended to stake his claim well and truly. He would contact the Ice Devils, and he would…

…would…

It’s difficult to think. 

There’s a savagery to his divinity, worse when she’s near. The threads binding them together drew taut, as if she’d yanked them, pinned the strands beneath her heel to keep him close. Raphael tipped his head back to make room for the press of her lips and chuckled. Joi’s teeth scraped across his pulse, sucking a vibrant purple bruise on his throat, more stark against his red skin.

“They want you dead,” she murmured—but with the Lady of Murder, this was far from a warning. She radiated pride and adoration, and her touch spoke to reverence. 

"It is the way of the Hells." He fisted a hand in her braid, tugging hard enough to create space between them and force her to look at him. Joi smiled, and the relative sweetness of her expression belied the underlying hunger coiled between them. He traced her cheek. "Greedy little beast—you want them to try." He nipped at the tip of her nose, avoiding the press of her lips. "Try to kill me." 

"Try being the operative word, my love—I'd never let them get far." 

Raphael clutched her throat, dragging his lips up and across her forehead. "Tell us why."

He knew the answer: to kill for him—to defend what belonged to her. Greedy, he thought again, but not unkindly. Joi's right hand found Raphael's—she brought it to her lips, kissing the back of his knuckles. Such a tangle of limbs, so tightly entwined but still…lacking. 

Age had a way of putting carnal appetites into perspective. The satisfaction of owning or conquering flesh paled in comparison to a kingdom. It could not compare to power. The needs of another would never compare to his own. 

But his Duchess was power, not a foreign entity but an extension of himself, twinned, mated. 

He could want her—it was no different from pleasuring himself. 

Raphael squeezed. "Answer."

 "Because," she breathed. "You are mine—I protect what is mine." 

~~~~~~~~~~

Mine—growled into the flesh of her inner thigh. The devil dragged his teeth across the sensitive flesh, biting hard enough to draw blood. Raphael sat back, admiring the ruin of his Duchess—sweat-slick, skin painted with an amalgamation of blood and her arousal. He dragged his thumb through the worst of it, painting ragged lines of crimson up to the apex of her thigh. She sighed, spreading her legs—beautiful. The Lady of Murder remained so lovely, fangs flecked with blood. 

His blood, hers—did it matter? He thought not. 

“Ah, but look at you,” he purred, voice pitched low, like every bad idea, every promise made in the darkest stretches of the night. Some sick thrill chased along his spine as he watched the muscles in her stomach flesh, her pulse leaping as he sunk his fingers back into her spent body. If he closed his eyes, the world would take some dizzying turn. His Duchess cried out, hooking her right leg around him to draw him close. 

Soon, so soon, but he wanted to revel in this final indignity against his Sire. Mephistopheles’ private chambers were alive with sound—the new Duchess of Cania, voice pitched in praise to Raphael, reaching for him, worshiping him. She came apart around his touch, shuddering, arching, tail thrashing until he twined his with hers. 

How delightful, how delicious to have such a creature so securely bound to his will. 

Joi pushed up on her elbows, shaking, crooking a finger at him. “Come,” she ordered. 

And he smirked, leaning over her, shifting his weight to rest more comfortably in the cradle of her thighs. She sighed, reaching between them to find his length, leading him—he seats himself so easily. As if she’s made for him, molded, and that gratifies his pride more than he’d care to admit. “And who are you to order me?”

They knew the answer too well, their shared divinity twisting and tugging—rapture every moment he sank into her, screaming fury every time he pulled away. Together, one, for the first time since their victory in Gehenna. 

“Your Duchess, your goddess…” she sank her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, panting, whining, canting her hips to take him deeper. He should cut out her tongue for her impudence. Tear out her eyes for staring at him so sweetly. So many things, all so far off. “Beautiful Raphael—my love.” 

 Hers, greedy beast, the truth of her claim written in the lines scored down his back. Hers, the sentiment underpinning every heresy she breathed in his ear—their churches would grow great. They would push into the Abyss. They would remake it in their image. 

They would shape eternity. 

So let it be done. So decreed Raphael, Lord of the Eighth, God of Ambition, Right Hand of Asmodeus. 

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x dark urge #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #oc: joi #look i dunno what this is #but i did finish it #longfic

[lyralit]

ꜰɪꜰᴛʏ ᴛʏᴘᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ: [ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱʏ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ]

Witch - an evil person depicted with magic powers

Faery - a small being that has magic powers, often with wings

Elf - a supernatural creature depicted with pointed ears and capricious nature

Ogre - a man-eating giant

Wizard - a person depicted with magic powers

Warlock - a practitioner of witchcraft

Knight - a mounted soldier in armour who serves the throne

King - the ruler of a country

Banshee - a spirit whose wailing warns of impending death

Gnome - a dwarfish creature who enjoys hoarding treasure

Nymph - a spirit of nature who lives in rivers and trees

Selkie - a person on land and seal in the water

Merperson - a half person, half fish who lives in the water

Leprechaun - a small, mischievous sprite

Crusader - a fighter in medieval crusades

Mage - a magician or practitioner of magic

Halfling - the offspring of a human and member of a magical race

Henchman - loyal supporter of a person

Witch hunter - a person who hunts witches (alternatively, fae)

Hunter - a person who hunts animals

Seer - a person who can see the future

Dwarf - a member of a race of short, humanlike creatures who typically live in underground mines

Archer - someone who shoots a bow

Necromancer - someone who can raise the dead; the practitioner of dark magic

Cleric - a priest or religious leader

Rogue - a character capable of sneaky and nimble tricks

Bard - a poet who typically recite epics or song

Demon - an evil spirit or devil

Dragons - an often fire-breathing giant winged reptile

Ghost - an apparition of a dead person

Werewolf - a human who transforms into a wolf under a full moon

Shifter - a human who can transform into an animal

Psychic - a human who can tell the future

Gods - a superhuman being with mythical (and often unlimited) powers

Angel - a spiritual being often represented as an attendant to a god

Troll - an ugly creature depicted as a giant or a dwarf

Vampire - a corpse who may transform into a bat and uses long, pointed teeth to suck the blood of humans in the night

Dark elf - an evil supernatural creature depicted with pointed ears and capricious nature

Undead / zombie - a corpse come alive

Orc - a member of an imaginary race of humanlike creatures, characterized as ugly, warlike, and malevolent

Golem - a clay figure brought to life by magic

Ghoul - an evil spirit or phantom

Goblin - a mischievous, ugly creature resembling a dwarf

Lich - an undead creature

Imp - a small, mischievous devil or sprite

Paladin - a knight renowned for heroism and chivalry

Thief - something who steals property, especially by stealth and without using force or violence.

Priest - an ordained minister of the church

Druid - a priest, magician, or soothsayer

Human - a species of primate characterized by bipedalism and a complex mindset

#fifty types of #fantasy characters #writerblr #lyralit #creative writing #writers #writing #writblr #writing ideas #writers block #writing prompts #writing fantasy #fantasy #high fantasy #fantasy writing

[ovidiana]

Lucan in Averno

Inspired by Sonya Taaffe’s poem (text under the cut)

Lucan in Averno by Sonya Taaffe

Halfway off the path nobody keeps to,

the poet meets himself in Hades

like a creditor on the stairs, a started ghost

with a face of wet ashes and wrists hollow as wax

the stylus dug too deeply, emptying of words.

Scared, with a cynic’s grin, he holds out

a half-corrected scroll, laurels frozen in his hair

like hemlock. Is he whispering his name?

Am I whispering it for him?

So casually we practice this blasphemy,

raking up the dead, their rings and calcined bones.

My tongue between his teeth will speak

of Cato, Caesar, and a nameless soldier’s corpse,

my fingers follow Nero’s razor cuts.

The past will lead on, saying nothing more

than what it has already ceased to say.

#lucan #sonya taaffe #lucan in averno #marcus annaeus lucanus

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Todoroki!Reader

Warnings: siblingxsibling incest, just wanted a reason to write dabixsister smut, filth, non con, agedup!reader, prohero!reader, dub con, turn back now while you still can, slightly naive reader, nicknames used, degradation, cannibalism mentioned in passing, cunnilingus, 18+ only, children protect thine eyes and avert your gaze to something sweeter

Words: 1619

Summary: Uh oh, looks like Dabi has finally caught you.

“Pretty girl” Dabi cooes before his tongue makes a long, flat strip along the slit of your pussy making you meal and arch your hips up to meet his mouth “My pretty girl.”

God how corrupt he was. So much so that he didn’t care that he dragged his baby sister along to damnation.

Fuck did it feel good though as his fingers dig into the swell of your ass, controlling your movements. The strong, long muscle of his tongue fucking your cunt into oblivion. You didn’t care about forsaking your family when Dabi was between your legs having himself a grand ol’ time making you cry out his name.

He was cruel in his affections. Though Dabi made sure it was a cruelty that had your thighs quacking and ass clenching in his palms.

You feel like your clit is about ready to combust from his abuse of it. Dealing it nips with his teeth when you tried to move away from him. A small punishment compared to the lovebites that trail along the inside of your thighs. There’d be no way to hide them with the tights of your usual costume. Dabi dealt with them quickly.

Face burning from the intensity of his lips. The slight slippery texture of the staples along his mouth felt every now and then.

You try and crawl away from him for the upteenth time, but Dabi's fingers dug harder into the muscles of your thighs. He made sure you weren't going anywhere until he was done.

You tried fighting against him. The entirety of your fight you mentally chastise yourself for falling for Dabi's trap. For a while you'd been able to evade him in this cat and mouse game. Shoto would be able to talk you out of confronting Dabi in whatever dark corner he was lurking in.

Wanting to apprehend him before he hurts the rest of your family drove you to seek him out. As long as he lived you and Shoto would never be able to break free from the harm Enji Todoroki as long as Dabi lived. He would hold this against not just the man he had main beef with, but harmless Natsuo and Fuyumi too. Dabi would keep reminding the public what Endeavor did to his wife and kids and how the world would now pay for it.

Tried resisting the urge to fall for his taunts, his mocking little names that he attached to you. Your older brother needed to be stopped. And if anyone could go toe to toe with Dabi, it was possibly you. Endeavor was still wary about fighting his own son whom he'd thought dead. And while Shoto possessed his half and half quirk, the heat of his flames couldn't compare to Dabi's bright blue.

However, the heat of your blinding white flames could give Dabi a run for his money.

Heat and combustion converge to birth a transcendent luminosity. Well, that was how Shoto often described it. You never knew he was a poet.

That night just wasn't your night.

You were already running low on fumes by the time you encountered Dabi.

It was like he was waiting for this perfect opportunity where you weren't in peak condition to detect his footsteps approaching. Not even the reek of cigarettes that clung to him tipped you off.

Now you found it near impossible. Body betraying every rational thought that was trying to breach past the surface as he devoured you from the inside out. Plus he threatened using a quirk-destroying drug on you. The very same that robbed the now pro-hero known as Lemillion when he was younger.

The prospect of losing your quirk was worse than being assaulted. You didn't know what he would do once you were caught. Never thinking it could become reality. Initially you think maybe he'll kill you and throw your corpse at Endeavor and Shoto's feet. Rub in another victory for the villains.

Hungry. So fucking hungry Dabi was when the moment came where he finally caught you. You were fast, like a shooting star, when you used your fire quirk to propel yourself through the sky. Like Endeavor did. But Dabi wanted it more. Since first reconnecting with his beloved sister, it was all Dabi could think of. His dreams were plagued by your sweet mewls.

Fingers rip away the material of the bottom of your uniform with vengeful talons.

The same fingers that now delve past your sopping wet folds that have a vice squeeze around the digits as you squeal, attempting once more to put distance between you and Dabi yet also bucking your hips against his fingers.

What scared you most about this whole thing was how mind numbingly amazing he was making you feel.

Oh it was fucked up for sure that he made you sob and cry from the pleasure that choked you. His obscene slurping of your pussy actually accomplished in making you more wet.

The first man to touch you like this. . . and it was Touya of all people. Your older brother. Someone who was supposed to protect you.

You feel sick like you're on the verge of throwing up. But each time you think you were going to hurl, a surge of pleasure courtesy of Dabi's tongue and fingers pulled you from the brink. Felt like he was giving you whiplash as you went from crawling out of your skin in disgust and earth shattering ecstasy.

Did you want him to stop? Yes. . . No. . . You didn't know anything anymore. Your life was already terrible in the past and you barely just finished healing from what Endeavor put the family through. This was something not even your therapist should know about.

When you try to cover your face from the heat of your own shame, Dabi hisses and viciously bites your labia. Up until then you'd been moderately quiet but that bite caused you to cry out loud.

"Nuh-uh. Let me see your fucking face, Miss Hero. Wanna see the dumb expression on it when I make you come." He takes another vicious nip to your labia, making sure you would obey unless you wanted your pussy to become his chew toy. Tremors run through your arm as it slides away from your face to reveal the beads of tears that accumulate in your eyes and the bright red hue of your cheeks. Your bottom lip is chewed raw from your efforts to remain quiet.

How pathetic. You were supposed to be a prohero yet there you were splayed out in front of your villainous brother.

When your thighs seize and your body quakes, your head grows hazy and so light that you think you'll faint. Your orgasm ricochets in your bones, slick walls of your cunt convulsing around Dabi's fingers. That shit eating grin flaming wider across that it puts stress on the staples that hold his face together.

"Haa. . ." A breath is exhaled from him as he cruelly slides his finger out of you, fighting against your vice grip on them. "What would our father have to say about your behavior?" The crotch of his pants grow uncomfortable, the head of his cock smooshed against his zipper. Oh, the thought of Endeavor finding the both of you in this compromising position got him even harder. The shock that would seize the face of Japan's number one hero.

And if the rest of the world found out, well better for Dabi. Everyone would know that you belong to him. That he alone tainted the baby of the Todoroki family. The Spare Twin that no one cared much for. Your big brother doubts there's anyone in the world who adores and loves you more than he does.

His thumb smears the mess of your pussy across your puffed and tender. Enjoying the way you whine and squirm as he continues to overstimulate your already tender cunt. He knew you would be delicious, but never anticipated you being this fucking good. Dabi didn't want to pull away but there was more fun to be had before anyone goes looking for you.

For a moment he thinks back to the phone in his back pocket. A titillating idea comes to his mind of taking a picture of you in this state and anonymously sending it to Endeavor's agency.

Dabi wanted to enjoy this moment though. Possibly for the first time in years, Dabi manages to push Endeavor far out of his mind. Instead he lets himself be consumed by the sight of your chest heaving and the bright red that rose to your cheeks. You half-heartedly glare at him. He had half the mind to steal you. Take you away. Tomura highly advised against it. While you weren't the show stopper like Shoto, you were still very important to the public eye. They didn't need the heroe's efforts growing tenfold because a fellow prohero was kidnapped by them.

Instead, Dabi would just have to take what he could get and attempt to display discipline though he felt like a ravenous animal as he grazes his teeth against your skin. Your body radiates heat against his tongue, salt from your sweat delighting his taste buds. How on earth was it possible for someone to taste so good? It made him contemplate cannibalism. Would your meat taste just as good?

His hand lands on his belt, contemplating the pretty mess he's made of you. He'd have to wait until next time to truly claim you.

Leaning down to your pussy lips one more, Dabi gives it a passionate kiss that has you squealing once more. "Until next time, Miss Hero."

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #dabi todoroki #my hero academia dabi #dabi x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #tw dark content #tw dark themes #tw dark fic #mha fanfic #mha #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader

[aronarchy]

A letter to President Joe Biden from Poet Mosab Abu Toha

Mr. President of the United States, Merry Christmas to you and your family and loved ones.

Unlike previous years, this is the first time I’m not sending of receiving Christmas greetings and wishes.

I’m writing to you from Cairo, where I’m staying with my wife and three kids, the youngest of which, three years old, helped us get out of Gaza. Whereas everyone in the world is visiting their families and friends and exchanging kisses and hugs, I’m unable to contact my parents and siblings and their children, the youngest of whom is four months old. I cannot be sure whether my mother and father have food to eat and water to drink, whether they are breathing.

I was born 31 years ago in a refugee camp, just a few kilometers from where Jesus was born. People in the world are commemorating the birth of Jesus, while we are mourning the death of our families. Every day Israeli tanks retreat from certain areas, Gazans discover corpses, mostly of children decaying, in the streets and under the rubble of houses.

We have been asked repeatedly to evacuate our houses in the north and head to the south. Yesterday Israel bombed a neighborhood in Maghazi, in south Gaza, killing at least 88 people, mostly children.

My colleague Ismael and his parents, children and siblings evacuated their house in north Gaza and stayed in Nuseirat camp. Three weeks ago, only his wife and two of his sisters survived.

Children constitute around half of Gaza’s population. After each air strike and artillery shelling, children, along with their parents and siblings, lose their lives. They are buried under the rubble of their bedroom, which used to be their playrooms.

I’m trying to imagine the future of these children, who have witnessed at least four wars in the past nine years. Those children who were pulled amputated from under the rubble or lost members of their families. What will become of them? I’m sure that not even the smartest psychologist or psychiatrist can fathom a right answer.

I’m not asking you in this letter to impose a two-state solution, nor am I asking for the bringing back of the lives of children and their families.

I’m asking you as a power to impose a ceasefire as soon as you read my letter.

After the ceasefire, drones can stay in the sky. We don’t mind anyone watching us retrieve the bodies of our loved ones. We don’t mind the whole world watching us rebuild our houses and schools and plant our gardens.

May next Christmas come while Palestinians have their own airport and seaport, because it has been my dream, not only to see Gaza from a plane window and from a distant ship, but to also take my family and friends to Times Square on Christmas Day, to have lunch in Washington DC, and later to show them the elegant campus of Syracuse University, where we both studied. I also would love to welcome my international friends to Gaza, to take them to the strawberry farms in Beit Lahia, and to watch the sunset on the beach. For peace and for children and for humanity, let there be a ceasefire.

Yours Faithfully, Mosab Abu Toha

#repost of someone else’s content #twitter repost #Mosab Abu Toha #ceasefire now #Palestine #Gaza

[breakandbuildfiction]

Danny Phantom-- Appearances

Okay I admit I love fics and headcanons where Danny looks and comes off as something distinctly or just slightly not human to everyone. I think its a cool concept that his two forms bleed together as he uses his ghost powers in human form, transforms often and for varying periods of time, and does more casual stuff in ghost form. But if that happens to Danny, wouldn’t it happen to Dani as well?

I like to picture it like this: Danny is powerful, a fighter, a king by conquest, and thinks of himself as both having died and being alive. His Obsessions are Protection and Space. He has an Ice Core and thanks to his affinity for star gazing likes the dark more than bright lights. So as his powers mix with him going through puberty and such he develops traits. He grows tall, like as tall or even slightly taller than his already giant of a father. His pure blue ice colored eyes shine softly like stars. His skin is what poets call moonlight pale with an almost silver sheen. His hair is almost like a black hole its so dark. He has a gaze that only ever looks as empty as a corpse or as piercing as a fairy tale king’s. His canine’s look more like true fangs and all his teeth are white as snow. Despite never seeming to work out beyond running he’s built like a Greek hero statue. His fingers look too elegant for someone built like he is and his nails almost look like he filed them into points. And whenever he talks in anything other than a whisper or a mumble his voice carries and echoes in a way that it’s impossible to ignore a single word.

Then you have Dani. She’s more powerful than most but she never really had a reason to become anything overly special so its more just because she was born like that. She’s a free spirit, someone who broke their chains and now lives unbound by any kind of ‘destiny’ and goes and does as she pleases. She’s a traveler, a wanderer, an explorer. She likes meeting new people and seeing new places around the world. She sees herself as someone who was just born different and thinks that since she was always a half-breed she never really died, meaning she was more... human adjacent. Her Obsessions are Discovery, Freedom, and Experiencing Wonder. So as she grows up her body takes these things on. Her eyes are the blue of a warm spring day’s sky, her hair dark as a winter night. Her smile is welcoming and filled with perfect teeth. She has a healthy fair complexion that never burns or tans. Her hands are soft despite the many hands on tasks she does. She was just above average height and had a physique that was lean and graceful, her walk almost fluttery as if she was almost dancing whenever she moved faster than a slow walk. When she talked her words were lilting, soft, and clear, easily drawing people into conversations. Her gaze was welcoming, joyous, and expressive, putting people at ease when they locked eyes with her.

Danny was a inhumanly powerful being, his might impossible to miss or ignore. He was a King who had cut down demons and godly beings alike and now stood atop their defeated forms.

Dani was a maiden from a fairy tail. She captured people’s attention and hearts without even trying or meaning to. She was something everyone wanted to grab a hold of or become, but both desires were forever out of their reaches.

What do you all think?

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dani phantom #eldritch danny #headcanon #being a halfa is weird #glowing eyes #inhuman danny #when jazz introduces her siblings to people they freak out #people love dani #people are scared of danny #no one in amity notices that danny looks weird #danny doesn't realize he looks scary #when danny goes on vacation people freak out #cultists love him

[yuri-is-online]

You Simple Vile Monstrosity: Rook and the Flowers of Evil

My other two dumb history posts have at least a semblance of fun fact to them, but this is mostly going to be literary analysis and some theory. There's some interesting stuff here sure, but I don't really think it adds much to the overall landscape of twst theories. But it does make Rook make more sense to me so I am making this post anyway.

So without further ado, if you are like me and enjoy reading twst theories, you might know that the beginning lines of Twisted Wonderland are something we have been debating the meaning of since the game came out really. While I think we have been closing in on their true meaning as Chapter 7 progresses along, the phrase "Flowers of Evil" can actually refer to something specific: a french poetry collection of the same name (Les Fleurs du mal in french) by a poet name Charles Baudelaire originally published in 1857. The collection was extremely controversial, but today it is highly lauded and has inspired several other literary works, including a manga series by Shūzō Oshimi of the same name. I found out about the poetry collection while working on this request and finally finished reading it... and another essay by Baudelaire for reasons we can talk about later on in the post. For now let's talk poetry.

Beauté! 100 Points!

I don't speak french, so I read an English translation done by Aaron Poochigian that does contain the original french text in the back half of the book. The Flowers of Evil is split into seven-ish parts: The Flowers of Evil (just containing "To the Reader"), Spleen and the Ideal, Parisian Scenes, Wine, Flowers of Evil (again but with 12 poems this time), Revolt, and then Death. The sections are more or less organized by the subject of the poems, Spleen and the Ideal is the largest with Baudelaire musing over what the ideal concept of beauty is while Wine deals with getting drunk (on wine mostly if you can believe it.) One of the things that jumps out very quickly about Baudelaire's work is that his concept of beauty is almost synonymous with his concept of evil. He writes a lot about maggots eating corpses, about decay, he has a few poems that talk about vampires appearing to be the highest form of beauty but really being husks of rotted flesh; it's all very much about this acceptance that evil is a part of life and human nature, so therefore there must be beauty in it. The concept of "ideal beauty" must by it's nature be divorced from the concept of "morality." When Rook talks about the potential for Leona or Malleus to kill him and how beautiful that would be, I think he means the act of destruction itself would be beautiful. The circumstances surrounding it and the consequences of it are irrelevant to the concept; this is also why while he initially says he cannot find the crimson lotuses in GloMas beautiful Deuce accuses him of doing just that after everything is said and done. He cannot find beauty in Rollo's actions, but the visual and the fight are beautiful because of the effort he and the other students put in to stop them. And perhaps most importantly, it's why he is willing to drink Vil's poison and look upon what is supposedly ultimate ugliness and say "In this moment you are the fairest of them all." Because how could an act born out of such raw and genuine emotion be anything but?

Le Chasseur D'Armour, The Hunter of Love

Baudelaire wasn't just a poet, he fancied himself a critic and wrote multiple essays, the one I read for this post is The Painter of Modern Life. Which is actually a collection of several but they are all related, and I was directed to them by this wordpress post. In it, Baudelaire muses over how things can be both beautiful and ugly, and why:

"Beauty is made up of an eternal, invariable element, whose quantity it is excessively difficult to determine, and of a relative, circumstantial element... which severally or all at once, the age, its fashions, its morals, its emotions."

He was talking about fashion plates that depicted outdated costumes, but his point was more or less that if you strictly look at the design of the costume they look ridiculous: ugly. But when you take into account their historical value (these particular plates were all from the around the time of the French revolution) they become exceedingly important: beautiful. He also mentions in this same essay the importance of not just taking into account the opinions of so called "masters" and sneers at people who think they understand what is beautiful just because they have seen a painting done by a professional:

"... to declare that Raphael, or Racine, does not contain the whole secret, and that minor poets too have something good, solid and delightful to offer... that we might love general beauty, as it is expressed by classical poets and artists, we are no less wrong to neglect particular beauty, the beauty of circumstance and the sketch of manners."

In chapter 5, while helping Vil judge the auditions for VDC, Rook gives every audition 100 points because, well, in his mind they are all an example of perfect beauty specifically because they are the work of amateurs, and that is no less valuable to him or less worthy of praise that the work of the master. Now granted he clearly does value professional quality (he did have reasons for voting for Neige other than being a massive simp. Valid ones even if loosing does sting) but that's only in the context of strict rules and guidelines. When Rook is asked for his opinion, while he certainly does believe there is an absolute, academic definition beauty, he doesn't place any value on where that beauty comes from. Baudelaire muses over how human life "accidentally" puts mysterious beauty into the world, and the true appreciator of beauty must make himself not strictly a poet but:

"...an observer of life, and only later set himself the task of acquiring the means of expressing it... For most of us... the fantastic reality of life has become singularly diluted. [But he] never ceases to drink it in; his eyes and memories are full of it."

I strongly dislike suggesting in these posts that xyz is "the definitive reason" for why a character acts the way that he does, but I do think it is very interesting how well this describes Rook's ethos. He thinks of himself as a hunter, but in order to do that he needs to observe. Sure he takes it to exceptionally extreme lengths, but it makes him one of the most lively members of the NRC cast. Baudelaire is right, there are a million things about life we miss on a day to day basis wherein true beauty lies, but Rook sees all of it. His eyes, memories, camera, and secret photo albums are fit to burst with it.

My Noble and Beautiful Flower of Evil

I mentioned the opening text at the beginning of this post, and I stand by my interpretation that the phrase "flower of evil" it uses likely is not a specific reference to any of the poems themselves... beyond the obvious note that it is a collection of poems about finding beauty in, well, evil and most of the characters are based off of villains.

But there was something that started gnawing at me when I read the introduction to my translation, which was written by a poet named Dana Gioia. It was a very well written summary of Baudelaire's life and the significance of his work, but it mentioned a connection that I have seen brought up in twst theorizing before: Edgar Allen Poe.

You see, Baudelaire was obsessed with Poe. To the point that (according to the introduction) "He considered Poe a sacred martyr for art and referred to him as 'Saint Edgar.' In his morning devotions, Baudelaire prayed first to God and then to Poe."

I have nothing to say on that (because really what could you) but the point that Gioia wanted to make in that introduction was that Poe had a massive influence on Baudelaire's writing style. He wrote multiple essays on his work and translated them into French because he felt like Poe deserved the recognition, so while Gioia used this to argue that Poe's influence on Baudelaire shouldn't be underestimated...

I can't find the post, but someone was talking about how Malleus's mother's name Meleanor is very similar to "Lenore" and I recall people sort of brushing that connection off. I don't that name is a coincidence. I think the poem "Lenore" might very well have been something thought about when constructing her character, and that the themes in Poe's work might be very relevant to the overall story of Twisted Wonderland.

Something about ravens and telltale hearts just feels like they fit; maybe we have got it all wrong and Yuu's visions aren't coming from the mirror in Ramshackle, but the floorboards.

Semi- Unrelated Fun Facts:

If you read the name Baudelaire and thought to yourself it sounded familiar, you might have be thinking of the Baudelaire children from A Series of Unfortunate Events. This isn't exactly a coincidence as the author of the series admits to his writing being heavily influenced by Charles Baudelaire to the point he actually wrote the afterword to the translation I own.

Dana Gioia is the former Poet Laureate of the state of California, something that deeply confused me. Apparently the Governor of California appoints someone to a 2 year term and they travel around the state to promote poetry and literacy which is apparently something that 46/50 U.S. states and D.C. does to????

My glorious motherland of Pennsylvania is not one of these states, apparently we only ever appointed one, then eliminated the position entirely after he retired, and then started just. Handing out ones to people in individual cities and counties. Which is so par for the course here I don't know why I am surprised.

One of the first things any college level literature course will try to drill into you is that you don't examine the life of an author when examining their work. It might sound silly, but I think Baudelaire is a great example of why that's important. The man was addicted to drugs and sex, refused to get a "real job", lived off his inheritance from his wealthy father and eventually whatever money he could convince his mother to send him his entire adult life, and had her use her political connections to bail him out of legal trouble multiple times.

If I thought too hard about that it would make his lines in "Skeleton Laborers" (Nothingness is treacherous.//Even Death is a deceiver.//Alas, forever and ever,//work may be awaiting us) fall terribly flat, which I think does them a disservice. The man was very talented and I am glad he wrote them because I felt very seen when I read them.

Baudelaire opened his publication with a note to the reader, but he made it a full poem entitled "To the Reader." I liked the ending stanza so much I used a version of it to title my blog, and eventually my current masterlist: (Boredom! Moist-eyed, he dreams, while pulling on//a hookah pipe, of guillotine-cleft necks.//You, reader, know this tender freak of freaks-//hypocrite reader-mirror-man-mytwin!)

Likewise the title of this post is also taken from part of a poem, "Hymn to Beauty" (Beauty, you simple, vile monstrosity,//I cannot care about your origin,//provided that your gaze, smile, feet show me//a sweet infinity I have never known.) I think that fits Rook's ideals rather well, don't you?

#twisted wonderland #twst rook #rook hunt #character analysis #twst theories

[beaft]

october 18th

today's spooky poem is neil gaiman's "vampire sestina", featured in the collection "smoke and mirrors". as any poet will tell you, a sestina is a fiendishly tricky beast, so i'm always impressed when i find a good one - and this is, i think, a good one! you can read a little more about sestinas here, and if you've got some free time on your hands, you might try your hand at writing your own. (well, why not?)

VAMPIRE SESTINA

I wait here at the boundaries of dream, All shadow-wrapped.  The dark air tastes of night, So cold and crisp, and I wait for my love. The moon has bleached the color from her stone. She'll come, and then we'll stalk this pretty world Alive to darkness and the tang of blood.

It is a lonely game, the quest for blood. But still, a body's got the right to dream And I'd not give it up for all the world. The moon has leeched the darkness from the night. I stand in the shadows, staring at her stone: Undead, my lover... O, undead my love?

I dreamt you while I slept today and love Meant more to me than life - meant more than blood. The sunlight sought me, deep beneath my stone, More dead than my corpse but still a-dream Until I woke as vapor into the night And sunset forced me out into the world.

For many centuries I've walked the world Dispensing something that resembled love -  A stolen kiss, then back into the night Contented by the life and by the blood. And come the morning I was just a dream, Cold body chilling underneath a stone.

I said I would not hurt you. Am I stone To leave you prey to time and to the world? I offered you a truth beyond your dreams While all you had to offer was your love. I told you not to worry and that blood Tastes sweeter on the wing and late at night.

Sometimes my lovers rise to walk the night... Sometimes they lie, cold corpse beneath the stone, And never know the joys of bed and blood, Of walking through the shadows of the world; Instead they rot to maggots. O my love They whispered you had risen, in my dream.

I've waited by your stone for half the night But you won't leave your dream to hunt for blood. Good night, my love. I offered you the world.

—Neil Gaiman

#october poems #fun fact when i was in undergrad we had a tutor who HATED sestinas. hated em. #one of his big rules when he handed out poetry assignments was NO SESTINAS #which is of course the best way to ensure that every student in your class will at some point write you a sestina #never underestimate the bloody-mindedness of english literature students

[half-a-corpse-half-a-poet]

I'm born again when you read my poem and die when you forget my name.

-R. Clift, Voices in Giant Cities

#R.Clift #voices in Giant cities #poems and poetry #writers and poets #the tortured poets department #dark academia #half-a-corpse-half-a-poet

[divinesymmetry]

Pride Month list part 2: book edition

I read a lot (and I mean a lot) of queer books, especially during my YA phase ages 15-17, but here are a few that have particularly stood out to me, and why you should read them:

Maurice by E.M. Forster (published posthumously in 1971): everything you'd want from an early 20th century romance, except it's gay, and arguably the best piece of 20th century queer literature

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (2019): absolutely heartwrenching, will have you gasping for air in between sobs, and it's written by a poet so you KNOW the prose is amazing

Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart (2022): set in 1990s Glasgow, will absolutely rip your heart out and tear it to shreds

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo (2021): 1950s lesbian coming of age during the red scare, need I say more?

Don't Cry for Me by Daniel Black (2022): written in the form of letters, from a Black father to his gay son

Swimming in the Dark by Tomasz Jedrowski (2020): for some reason, no one seems to have read this, and they absolutely should have. will, once again, leave you in sobs (I am beginning to suspect I might cry easily)

My Government Means to Kill Me by Rasheed Newson (2022): another underhyped one, about race and sexuality during the AIDS crisis

Un Garçon d'Italie by Philippe Besson (2003): one of the narrators is literally a rotting corpse, that should be intriguing enough

A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood (1964), Confusion by Stefan Zweig (1927), Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown (1973) and Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin (1956) because, if you're like me, you're desparate to find queer literature from before the 1990s

Angels in America by Tony Kushner (1993), much quicker to read than to watch though, unfortunately, you do not have Andrew Garfield as Prior Walter in the written version

Ace of Spades by Faridah Abiké-Iyimidé (2021) starts with a quote from Get Out and that tells you everything you need to know

Ziggy, Stardust and Me by James Brandon (2019) is surprisingly rich for YA, exploring homosexuality in the 1970s, conversion therapy and Native American identity

Crush by Richard Siken (2005) if you're more into poetry, particularly the kind that will bring you physical and emotional pain

Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel (1986) because you can't not read Alison Bechdel

The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun (2021), The Feeling of Falling in Love by Mason Deaver (2022), and She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen (2021) are the perfect romcoms if you want to switch your brain off for a few hours (or emotionally recover from half of the other books on this list)

For the similar list I made about movies, click here

Happy Pride!🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

#please give me more recs #particularly lesbian and trans #stone butch blues is on my tbr as we speak #yes ive read carol no i will not recommend it #we do not stan patricia highsmith in this house #pride month #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq books #queer #queer literature #book list #book recs #literature #gay #trans #book recommendations #writers of tumblr #gay literature #lesbian #bisexual

[presiding]

For the Poet Who Told Me Rats Aren't Noble Enough Creatures for a Poem

Because you are not the admired nightingale. Because you are not the noble doe. Because you are not the blackbird, picturesque ermine, armadillo, or bat. They've been written, and I don't know their song the way I know your scuttling between walls. The scent of your collapsed corpse bloating beneath floorboards. Your frantic squeals as you wrestle your own fur from glue traps.

Because in July of '97, you birthed a legion on 109th, swarmed from behind dumpsters, made our street infamous for something other than crack. We nicknamed you "Cat- killer," raced with you through open hydrants, screeched like you when Siete blasted aluminum bat into your brethren's skull— the sound: slapped down dominoes. You reigned that summer, Rat; knocked down the viejo's Heinekens, your screech erupting with the cry of Capicu! And even when they sent exterminators, set flame to garbage, half dead, and on fire, you pushed on.

Because you may be inelegant, simple, a mammal bottom-feeder, always fucking famished, little ugly thing that feasts on what crumbs fall from the corner of our mouths, but you live uncuddled, uncoddled, can't be bought at Petco and fed to fat snakes because you're not the maze-rat of labs: pale, pretty-eyed, trained. You raise yourself sharp fanged, clawed, scarred, patched dark—because of this alone they should love you. So, when they tell you to crawl home take your gutter, your dirt coat, your underbelly that scrapes against street, concrete, squeak and filth this page, Rat.

Elizabeth Acevedo

#poetry #elizabeth acevedo #dishonored #billie lurk #i love rats as a metaphor for the empire and for billie #and this is SUCH a peak example of why #absolutely wonderful reading as well i highly recommend watching it - great use of your time i promise #Youtube

[sarahphantom1234]

Octavinelle x Reader

Warning: Yandere, OOC, Thalassophobia.

_________________

From a young age, I did not like the sea.

Or sea creatures.

I'M afraid of it.

The feeling of being pressed deeply, hearing nothing, the liquid suffocating, invading the mind, thinking that it has become a corpse for the sea monsters to eat, it is not pleasant. little bit.

I admire divers, sailors... Or simply people who like to swim.

Because of that, when I came to the new world, to the new school called Night Raven College, I was disgusted with the sea creatures of the Octavinelle family, even though they were only a few, very few.

But because of that, the Leech twins often came to talk to me, and I did nothing but bow my head to avoid looking at their sharp teeth.

When I saw it, I thought that my own body had been bitten in half, the blood was wide and patched everywhere, and a little bit of consciousness felt the pain of dying over and over again, then being swallowed. gobble.

I fear them.

I tried to hide from those two as much as I could.

But maybe it only works a few times.

They could find me anywhere, and so I was dragged to Mostro Lounge.

I heard that the head of Octavinelle's house was an octopus, named Azul Ashengrotto, imagining those proboscis squeezing me, I shivered with fear.

But what's wrong with that senior Azul? Every time he saw me, he blushed, even if it was fleeting, and then faced me like a gentleman.

I don't really care, I'm uncomfortable or "afraid" around them, but I still respect them.

Respect like the seniors.

Just like that, ticking and ticking, as time passed, I thought they would get bored, but maybe I was wrong, they liked me even more than before.

Just dragging me around, going back and forth at Mostro Lounge, I'm so bored.

But miraculously, they asked me to go to the beach to play, I quickly refused, after that time, I also tried to hide from them more.

Maybe this time because I was determined to be very careful, so whenever I met their silhouette, I would run- hide or run very fast.

Just like that, I kept on hiding, the last time I hid was around recess, because of that I left my friends and ran away, I immediately hid in a bush, crouched down. To fit the shade of the tree, cover your mouth to keep from making a sound.

I feel the chill shivering, but isn't the weather warm right now? Sneaking a little glance, the first thing I saw were sharp eyes searching for me, I was very panicked, quickly turned my head, restrained myself to stop shaking, those eyes, the eyes of ocean killers.

I swear I don't want anything to do with them, I'm telling the truth.

The flashback is enough, now I guess I have to focus on my studies as well.

So fast! It's already evening, I have only a simple dark clothes, the dim moonlight makes one's mind hazy, there are glittering stars, fresh air, how strange it looks...

I walked slowly to the coast, the golden sand caressed like a kiss on the soles of my feet, I felt all my senses, my eyes saw the calm sea, my ears listened to melodious voices like the lyre of the poet Orpheus.

But why, I can't control? My feet keep going, follow that voice and forget the way back, fear screams, but why won't my body listen?

Or is it because the songs seem to be separate but harmonize?

Oh, please make me deaf now, even if I trade the best song, I won't be content to go down to that terrible ocean.

I say that, but I still go, close to the sea, the wind creates a wave that cools my feet, what do I see in my eyes now?

Twin brothers in mermaid form and Azul sunbae wiggle their tentacles.

They raised their hands for me to catch, then gently pulled me under the sea.

My head is sinking, so deep...

They stopped singing, I was able to move too, my body moved, but they held me tight, my strength was not enough.

Just as my oxygen was running low, I tried to look up at the faint light of the moon.

Do not!

I beg you!

I bow to you!

Please don't take away my last hope, please remove the tentacles wrapped around my eyes, please don't whisper those words in my ears!

I'd rather be a flower forgotten on the side of the road, let people push and pedal.

Or vow to become a bird with its wings broken, waiting for Death to take it away.

Please don't force me to take that medicine, even though my eyes are covered, but I feel that my legs are glued together like glue, the itchy skin is gradually becoming painful, something is sticking out of the skin. mine!

I screamed, I could breathe underwater. No! This is what I fear the most, becoming a mermaid!

The tentacles on my eyes are removed, what do they show me? The fishtail with its silvery glittering scales.

I don't want to! I don't want to be the animal I fear the most, I don't want to be like the fairy tales tell, live more than 300 years and the soul becomes a sponge, please give back my eternal soul!

They pulled me deeper, and deeper, so much so that I couldn't see the moonlight shining down on this blue sea...

I wish it was all just a dream.

#yandere x reader #yandere octavinelle #Yandere Octavinelle x reader #DTW #dtw #Disney Twisted Wonderland #yandere dtw #yandere dtw x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst azul #twst mc #twst floyd #twst jade

[kendrixtermina]

You know what? I don't condemn Hamas actually

If I lived in Gaza, I wouldn't vote for them for the same reasons I'm not voting for any traditionalists, but seeing as:

there don’t actually seem to have been any gratuitous ISIS-style atrocities such as rapes, indiscriminate massacres or beheadings, rather, ISRAELI GOVERNMENT DEMONSTRABLY BOMBED THEIR OWN PEOPLE with ppl admitting this in mainstream Israeli Newspapers. Israeli Newspapers! Not Hamas, not Al-Jhazeera.

they're not even that extreme in their present form compared to the 80s, & made repeated peace offers (Cooome on. I doubt we'd be seeing so many women Doctors, Poets and Journalists in Gaza if they were like ISIS or even the Taliban.)

that they made sure elderly hostages had their meds (its better to be a hamas hostage than an USA citizen, apparently....)

that there was a concrete military aim (release of unlawfully detained Palestinian Prisoners)

and that Israel has a track record of shooting at or locking up/torturing peaceful protesters even if they're children

I just learned Palestinians are HALF the population. Half the Population can't vote?! And when they got to have their own elections, Israel put Gaza on lockdown cause they didn't like the results.

I am confident calling the attack a legitimate armed resistance operation.

Human rights orgs gave been complaining for YEARS about those prisoners. There have been reports of beatings, rapes, torture, mentally ill teens thrown in solitary… but no one suceeded at getting them free. I wonder if some if the Hamas fighters wanted to save imprisoned family members.

I'm struck by the part of the article where one of the escaped hostages mentions a militant (whom she describes as being at most 20) being star struck with her fruit bowl and sheepishly asking if he could eat a banana. It had probably been a while since he saw one. I wonder what became of him.

Those who made peaceful resistance impossible make violent uprising INEVITABLE.

This is not even about morality, it's cause & effect. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks, or if they "should". You brutalize people, some fraction will always fight back. It's a fact.

EDIT: That said, to be clear: Collective punishment would still be wrong even if they were, in fact, the worst of barbarians. We don't kill all North Koreans for the actions of Kim. We don't pile up the corpses of Russian children because of Putin. They didn't leave German civilians without food or water because of Hitler.

#gaza #free gaza #palestine #free palestine #israel #hamas #watermelon

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Okay I’m so sorry I won’t draw god au garroth because I can’t draw beards for shit and dudes basically naked anyways.

Here’s some of his lore tho lmao:

(Under the cut because this is a long post)

Garroth is one of the original deities to have been worshipped by the followers. The followers first knew of the ground, and then of lakes and rivers, before they knew the oceans and seas- his domain. As such, his father is god of all land, every inch of ground down to the planets core is his domain, Zianna is god of rivers and lakes, and Garroth is god of oceans and seas.

The separation of rivers and lakes from oceans and seas seems unneeded to outside observers, but where rivers and lakes were small, and the water often (though not always) salt-less, the oceans and seas were seemingly endless, and ridden with salt. They believed that the salt of the earth met the water of the river and the salt caused it to grow, and amass a strength that exceeded the mother - and as such Garroth was born, which is also an explanation for why some rivers were salty too.

Garroth often adorns himself in gems, pearls and sea glass, with hair the pale yellow of sea foam, eyes the blue-green of the water, and skin the tan of the sand.

He is known to be a benevolent god, bestowing upon humanity fish to eat, and land upon which to travel, but his wrath is feared. It is not often invoked, but when his pride turns to anger, men turn to corpses, ships turn to debris, and Garroth’s body, the ocean, turns into a graveyard. His flux of moods can also be attributed to the presence of another god, the moon goddess. They say that she pulls him to shores in promise of them meeting, but her domain forces her to remain in the sky, so that his efforts are fruitless. Sometimes he makes waves as tall as mountains in hope to reach the skies to see her.

He is one of the better documented gods, due to the importance of him, and is represented by many symbols that vary upon the area and branch of the religion, most noteable ones being three waved lines to represent the ocean, or simple fish sketches. In most art work, he is shows to be varying degrees of half-man, half-fish, though he ultimately always has a humanoid head (some artwork does suffer from this, fish don’t suit human faces)

Whilst there is heavy amounts of evidence for him having feelings for the moon goddess, there is too much lost about her over time for anyone to be certain it was reciprocated, or if it was anything beyond an extremely affectionate friendship.

One piece of literature, a book of poems dedicated to the gods and illustrating a colourful storyline for them, claims that he made pearls so that he may always see the moon, even during the day. For this reason, both him and the moon goddess are heavily associated with pearls.

During the entirely of The Hunt, he is mentioned a total of four (known) times, and for the rest of it he is either absent or the material stating otherwise has been lost. He seems to have sided with the followers, though as media continues to present him as being close to the moon goddess after wards, there is a chance that this changed, or that there was more to The Hunt than what has been resurfaced. Some historians believe this was simply an oversight as not many people would consider the ocean a playing factor in the Hunt aside from the events at the cliffs of O’Khasis, where he is in fact briefly mentioned.

Despite being an ocean god, he did have heavy associations with dragons and is patron god of messengers due to details in the book of Wyverns by the poet Sabbhoy that involve him and a golden wyvern who’s name roughly translates into Raven or Crow in modern languages.

#I’m a little crazy with this lore. I have so much. so many details #even names of poets who write about them and pottery makers who detailed their battles on terracotta #it gives me something to do #aphmau #aphverse #aphblr #aphmau au #aphmau god au #i feel like I should name this au I just don’t know what