#Arafel

[arafelartist]

My beautiful cat, Flower, looking fancy and content.

[nnamierart]

bust for @/thedarknesssings! ♡

[voidishwings]

Going a LITTLE insane about Arafellin hair bells right now, because outside of a Southlander context in combat, they’re Borderlanders, they fight the Dark One, the bells are SUPPOSED to make a sound while they’re fighting, and would effectively scare off the ravens and rats that act as the Dark One’s eyes and his spies. Wearing something in combat, against the Shadow and otherwise, that would ‘scare off the eyes of the Lord of the Grave’ when they bring death to another, acting like a protective “ward” in a sense in battle. Is any of this explicitly said in the books? Not really, but it’s my interpretation.

[thestormthatrises]

"...the Lord has said he will dwell in thick arafel (Darkness)" 1 Kings 8:12)

"Clouds and thick arafel (Darkness) surround him" (Psalm 97:2)

"For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness (arafel) the peoples; but the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you" (Isaiah 60:2)

"That day will be a day of wrath, a day of distress and anguish, a day of ruin and devastation, a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness (arafel)" (Zephaniah 1:15)

"Do not fear the Ixians. They can make the machines, but they can no longer make arafel. I know. I was there." Leto Atreides II, God Emperor of Dune

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 2:  Burnt

Prompt 2: Horizon - FFxiv Write 2024 Characters: Arafel de Courcelle, Fiera de Courcelle, Addifore Adelrik @nnamierart. Content Warning: Mentions of blood and injuries, reference of nudity.

“Arafel?”  The feminine voice sung his name with a familiarity that made his chest ache.  His eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a sharp breath despite having no need to breathe.

Red-streaked black curls tumbled across the warm chest he was using as a pillow with the lift of his head.  His crimson gaze locked on the face of the man asleep beneath him.  Calling Addifore’s recovering state sleeping might’ve been far too nice.  Blood still streaked his throat, the holes his fangs left behind littered his skin, and bruises blossomed between the scabbed wounds.

“Arafel!  You never talk to me anymore.” Her pitch perfect voice continued her whining.  

She was right.  Arafel had not spoken to his wife since the night he learned of what she’d done. The night everything he thought he knew of truth and love shattered, leaving him hollow.  A shell of a man that he’d never acknowledged until that moment. He was dead. So was she. Their lives were nothing more than dust, notes in peerage books at best. Notes that were wrong.  None of them mentioned his daughter either.

“Arafel, darling. Please.”

His gaze rested on the covered hand mirror propped up inside an elegant silver holder designed specifically for it. For her.  Beneath that soft cloth shimmered a reflection of a red-haired woman of great beauty. Arafel needn’t lift the cloth to know she lurked on the surface even now. The faint glow of her presence emanated through the spaces in the weave of the cover. The faint click of the clock hand counted away the minute he held silent.  

“Not in the mood to talk, Fiera.”  Arafel’s figure shifted, sliding against Addifore’s prone body until he lay against his side instead. Fingertips swirled in idle loops and circles across his bare chest.  

“You never are until their novelty wears off.”  Her tone took on a vicious note, dripping with venom.  “Disgusting how you fucked the meat this time.”  The glow of the mirror dimmed, leaving the room cast into darkness once more.  

The look in Addifore’s eyes reminded him of the rising sun.  The snap of gold on the indistinct horizon of dark lashes promised both salvation and condemnation.  The vampire glanced away, a sneer curling his lip and leaving a single fang exposed.  He still wasn’t worthy of standing in the sunlight.  

[sand-and-spice]

Regarding the word "Tiran-Arafel" in the first episode of Dune Prophecy. Google Translate says that the Hebrew word tiran means the same as the English word tyrant.

1. Can anyone with more knowledge of the Hebrew language, confirm that this is true?

[biblichor]

This cat is the love of my life

[haveyoureadthisfantasybook]

vote YES if you have finished the entire book.

vote NO if you have not finished the entire book.

(faq · submit a book)

[vashmerylweek]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Trigun (Anime & Manga 1995-2008) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Meryl Stryfe/Vash the Stampede, Milly Thompson/Nicholas D. Wolfwood Characters: Vash the Stampede (Trigun), Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Milly Thompson, Meryl Stryfe Additional Tags: vashmeryl week 2023, Day 8 - Beach Day, there had to be a reason they were so relaxed in the car, sun sand and emotional constipation, lots of millywood here too, how do you have a beach day with no oceans, Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini, Fluff, super fluff, with fluff sauce, wolfwood is such a pain, except to milly, blushy Vash and Meryl Summary:

A rare rainstorm causes the gang to make a detour on the way to Southern Cornelia. Written for VashMeryl Week 2023 Day 8 prompt = Beach Day.

[human-antithesis]

Destruction Ritual - Destruction Ritual (Demo) [July 17th, 2021]

Lineup:

Hervé Queyroix - Vocals

TerrorReign - Guitars, Bass, Keyboards

Arafel - Lead Guitar

Guest/Session:

Thomas Hennequin - Drums

[sivar-ffxiv-hub]

Set me free, I've been caught in you Overcome with a heartsick voodoo

Vallerin w/ Arafel ~ @thedarknesssings

[arafelartist]

Decided to Sketch my all-time favorite Decepticon, Armada Starscream!

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

My mom made this ugly troll to sell yesterday and he is so damn cute.

[twistedmanul]

Meet the artist:D

Help I've become real

Diez

Also pls ask me abt Pallas cats,,,

Just look how silly they areeee

[kjcorveau]

Snippets: Arafel Courcelle

Red rivulets stain the wall. Streaks of pride raked into the plaster by claws burning with your prayers. He twists this. A knife in one hole after another. Turn the blade. Push it deeper. Watch him pull it free. Tongue dragging along the metal warmed by the chosen meat of the night.

He walks through the darkness, pulling it around him like a coat. Comfortable like the old friend you lost yesterday. Sweet tips his tongue, words dripping like the venom that slithers along his teeth. Come now, a step closer. Watch the flow of his figure, a metronome to the tick of your soul, a viper’s dance to the rhythm of your heart.

Walk this way. He’ll lead you through streets and snow. His hand never touches yours. Always wrapped around your throat and heaving you closer. Like a last breath, a final word. His lips frost your skin but you will warm his. Once more, once more. Walk this way.

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 1: Once Upon a Time

Prompt 1: Steer - FFxiv Write 2024 Characters: Arafel de Courcelle, Fiera de Courcelle, Addifore Adelrik @nnamierart, and a Lady Rosaire (a lady borrowed from @houserosaire 's family's past) Content Warning: Blood.

They say peace follows farewells. In the chance of bidding those dear to our hearts fair passage, we who are left behind gain a calmness of mind and heart.

I say who are they anyway?

I’d state the year, but days all blend together after a point, so instead I’ll say when I was a young man barely grown into my ears, my father saw fit to arrange my elder brother, Alderic, and I marriages. His occurred first, of course, seeing as he was the Viscount de Courcelle’s heir and far more important than his gangly spare. My younger sister, Rosine, had already been betrothed for some time. Such was the way of nobility then, children naught more than pawns to move on a board where few truly understood the game.

War consumed us back then, and we were not yet weary of the fight. Tradition and family glory meant raising Alderic to be a fine knight, and though my father tried with me, my strengths lay not in the sword or the lance, but in books. Perhaps if I had been the third son, he’d have agreed to send me into Halone’s service via the cathedral or the Tribunal. He did not permit this and instead, when I was allowed near the city, I spent my time flitting between the Arcaneum and the Scholasticate. My youth, otherwise, was spent in the countryside on my father’s estate, a place now frozen beneath snow and ice and memory.

The bride my father selected for me was a lovely girl, stout-hearted and fair of face with dark chocolate-hued hair that flowed in waves to her waist. She adored chocobos and loathed getting her feet wet in the rain puddles. Her ability in fencing surpassed my own, a fact I appreciated. All in all, we may have made a sound marriage, that Lady Rosaire and I, if it had not been for the fire in the third row of the Scholasticate’s Arcane History class.

The Lady Fiera outshone her classmates by mere presence alone. Her smile struck like a wildfire, furious and easily burning the viewer to the core. Emerald eyes glittered with mischief and good humour, and I was not the only lad desiring her gaze. The Sanguemont good looks and fire-red hair helped her stand apart from the more dowdily-dressed young ladies in attendance.

Belief in love at first sight was a laughable thing to us young men back then. Lust at first sight on the other hand ran amok through the male ranks, feats boasted over and equally scoffed at. To say I lusted for her was not a wrongful claim. I did, shamelessly so. By that time, I had earned a place as the professor’s assistant in the arcane classes. My skill with aether manipulation far exceeded most my age. I have no doubts it was my position that granted me a chance with her. Those of a cerebral nature in any school setting were often the last a pretty girl ever think to look at, so when she asked for assistance with her studies, I eagerly agreed.

Days turned into moons, and my regard for the Lady Fiera only deepened. Her wit and ample kindness underlying the wilder desire to see and do all she could proved itself more intoxicating to me than any liquor or drug could manage. The toll paid became my heart, something I lay readily in her hands to care for ever after with our marria—

“What’re you writing?” The deep voice sliced through Arafel’s thoughts, dragging him from the intricate loops and curves of his hand writing at the tip of a silver-tipped, raven-feather quill to the pair of curious eyes gazing down at him. Addifore’s gaze flicked from the vampire toward the leather-bound notebook lying open on the desk in front of Arafel.

“Nothing of import. Memoirs of my youth, or what little I recall.” A slight shrug accentuates his words, followed by the nonchalant snapping of the journal closed. His crimson eyes darted to the side, sliding over the figure of his lover and taking in the flecks of blood, the bits of mud clinging around the base of his boots. “Did you find supper?”

“We did.”

“Excellent. I’ll finish this later.” Arafel pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. A single claw tipping the end of an elegant finger stroked along the contour of Addifore’s jawline, uncaring about the thin line of blooming red he left in his wake. “I do love watching you dine.”