#Desolation of Eden

[conscious-naivete]

anyone else listen to desolate eden? i think it took me over an hour of listening to realize one of the narrators is like. malevolently evil

[everythingunderthesky]

Ended up fiddling with which of the Shakespeare quotes to use! Final results:

There Is Not Anything Which Returns to Nothing, But All Things Return Dissolved Into Their Elements, From The Terror Of Flight Or The Gloom Of The Grave, I Wanna Kiss You

...I really like this!

so if we follow blood of eden naming conventions, your name should be:

'Line from A Shakespeare Play' + 'Line Your National Anthem' + 'Line from... any song from the early 2000s???'

so i would be

If You Have Tears Prepare To Shed Them Now In Full Glory Okay Now Ladies

and i'm okay with that

[pact-weapon]

He has an air of desolation, as though he remembers an edenic wilderness from which he was captured and cannot return unto

[bamfaholic]

From Eden to Sit at Your Door | Part 3 |

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Kurt Wagner x Reader | 2.6k words

A/N: We're finally getting to the fluff! :3

Support me on my AO3!

As you both enter the desolate building, you curl in on yourself. There are cobwebs everywhere, and the dust has you sneeze.

“Gesundheit,” The elfish man chimes in. “You need not be afraid, friend.” His smile has turned weak, but never left his face. He lifts sheets off some furniture, mostly pews, which kicks up more dust. It irritates your nose, having you sneeze more.

As you reach the podium, the stir has a flock of pigeons pick up and fight to get to the support beams first. You let out a little shriek, caught off guard by the feathery guests. Kurt only chuckles.

“Home, huh?” You say, arms crossed. “I think you need a duster…or two.”

Kurt laughs, but it’s cut short with a choking cough. You think you see blood on the corner of his mouth, but he wipes it away before you could truly know. “Ah, I know. But as I told you, it has been some time since I’ve been home.”

Kurt kneels before the cross and whispers a prayer. He clutches the rosary from before tightly, pressing his hands to his forehead. You stand there awkwardly, seeing the bleeding man pray to his savior nailed on a cross. Once finished, he lights a candle, before rising.

“Come, I will take you away from this dusty room, Sneezy.” His eyes have grown slightly mischievous as he offers you a hand.

You tell yourself you’re only humoring as you chuckle in response, “Oh, don’t insult the spiders’ handiwork, they’re skilled workers.” You gently take his hand.

His grin is back, bringing life and light to his features. His eyes illuminate the dim environment as he guides you through a few hallways. He brings you to a comfortable bedroom, illuminated with large candles that have cooled wax drips pooling at their base. There’s one large bed, and it looks recently slept in. The blankets are kicked to the side, pillow ajar. A bench on the other side of the room is covered in supplies.

Kurt sheepishly chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “So... This is where I have been staying.” He heads right to the bench, pulling out a robust first aid kit and plopping down his crimson stained swords. It’s full of creams and vials you can’t recognize by sight alone. So he really did have a barrel of antidotes.

You sit down on the bed, and sink. It’s delightfully soft, and the blanket is rather warm too. You watch curiously as Kurt pulls out a suture kit, first grabbing the forceps. He reaches around his back, attempting to reach the pieces of glass. He struggles, immensely. The tips of his ears darken, a pretty indigo, as the time painfully ticks on.

“Do… Do you need help?” You offer, feeling so out of place in this room.

A beat passes. “A-Aye. That would be… Appreciated.” He huffs, lowering his arms in defeat.

You crawl beside him, kneeling on the ground. His face is that bright purple too, you notice. He gently places the forceps in your hands before turning his back to you. “Please let me know if I hurt you.” You mutter, before beginning. You target the biggest pieces first, knowing they would be easiest to grab. You try to go slow, but with enough force to get each piece out.

Kurt sharply inhales, his claw-nails scratching the cement floor as you pull out each piece. They tink in the metal pan beside you, leaving bits of purple blood behind. The smaller pieces are far more difficult, but you manage just fine. Your heart aches for Kurt, though, as it’s clear this isn’t the most pleasant experience.

“There.” You softly say, setting the forceps down. “Nothing seems to deep to need stitches.

“Thank God.” He sighs, relaxing his tense muscles. “Thank you, friend, truly.”

He begins to get up, but you grab his wrist. “No, sit, let me help. You’ve helped me plenty.” His eyes only stare, mouth slightly agape, but he refuses to protest. He resumes sitting, but stretches out his legs.

You gently blot away the blood and clean the wounds, much to his dismay. “Can you take your shirt off for me?” It’s too late when you realize how intimate that could be, turning a furious red. The blush trickles all the way up to the tips of your ears.

“Ja,” Kurt stumbles over himself, “Of course.” He carefully undoes his suit enough to wiggle his arms free, his back then following suit.

His bare back is now in front of you. You mindlessly delicately trace a finger tip down his defined muscles. His raw strength must be incredible.

Ha, you think to yourself, Incredible Nightcrawler indeed.

You continue to be gentle, barely touching him as you clean his wounds, pulling more hisses from his lips as the alcohol burns away any possible infection. You get the small scrapes and knicks too, and then notice all the scarring. Most, if not all, seem old. Very old. Again, without thinking, you touch him.

“What happened here?” You whisper.

He’s silent, and your heart jumps into your throat. You fear you crossed a line without intending to and are moments away from scrambling before he reaches behind and places a hand over yours. “Whips.” He begins. “Whips, from the circus.”

You swallow hard. Ah, right. He had mentioned the horrific conditions. “They… They did this to you?”

“Aye.” His eyes cast down. “If I failed tricks, if I did not bring in enough money, if they felt like it.” His voice trails off. “What good is a pet if it does not entertain nor make money?”

“Pet?” You scoff. “Kurt you are not some pet. You- You’re-“ That tongue of yours is going to get you in hot water one day, “You are the most awe-inspiring man I have ever met. A legend, if I dare say so.”

He chuckles, turning to face you. You both now sit on the cold floor, your hot breath on the other. He looks so winded, tired, like he hasn’t slept in ages. “I am happy you think so. I know most do not.”

You blame the adrenaline, the chance there’s still drugs in your system, anything and everything as you reach up to cup his cheek. “You saved my life, Kurt Wagner, and I must thank you for it. You showed me kindness, and even took the blow for me.”

You hear his heart pound against his ribcage, his face hot. “Ah, I guess I did-“ He nervously chuckles, leaning away from your touch. “But that is the job of an X-Man, no?” He leans back, pulling his face out of your palm.

Your heart sinks, and you can’t place why. “I suppose…”

You look away, letting your eyes scan the room. The candle light makes it feel warmer, the walls reflecting the flickering yellow flame. Beside the bed you notice a poster with an awfully familiar figure hand painted on it. The Nightcrawler. A part of you wishes to have seen him soar in the air, but knowing the cost you’re happy he’s now an X-Man.

Kurt rises, rolling his shoulders back. They crack as he does this, and then he stretches his arms up, his tail shooting straight out as well. “Stretching is good for you, friend.” He says with a small smile. “I do it every morning, noon, and night.” He snaps himself in half next, touching his toes. He loosens his neck last, and then rummages around in a bag.

“I’m glad you’re dedicated.” You slightly chuckle. “I don’t think I could ever be a trapeze artist.”

“No,” Kurt laughs, “No you could not. Too much… Needing your eyes.” He admits as he continues to dig.

“What was it like?” You pique his interest, the sharp tip of one of his ears flicks. “Doing such feats?”

“Like being an angel.” He admits, sighing dreamily. He pulls a thin tank top out, tossing it over his head. “I flew.” He mumbles softly. “I brought joy and smiles to those who saw me and did the unthinkable. I believe that to be tasks of angels.” He snakes out of the remainder of his suit, and you breathe a sigh of relief seeing he had shorts on underneath.

He returns to digging in the bag, and you chew on his words. He pulls out a few more items, turning to you. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

“Huh?” You’re stumped. “For what?”

He hands you a beautiful, handcrafted cane, something you only ever dreamt of owning. It was exactly your style, the grip being comfortable for long use, and adjustable to the correct height. “For making you lose your cane.” Both his sharp fangs peek out in this smile. He really is proud of himself, and his wagging tail is giving it away.

You return the grin, running your hand down the smooth craftsmanship. “It’s… It’s beautiful.” Your smile widens, “Thank you.”

“It was no problem, really. Besides, do not thank me yet,” His nose crinkles, just like before, “I have more gifts.”

He pulls out a change of clothes for you, your white cane, and a few snacks from your cupboard.

“I may have… Snooped. Only a little!” He swiftly raises his hands in defense. “I had a feeling we would have to lie low, and so who am I to make someone uncomfortable when it was me who dragged them into this?”

You’re far too focused on the warm fuzzy feeling in your tummy to even assume the worst of Kurt. He had your trust wholeheartedly. “It’s alright.” You chuckle. “Thank you.”

A yawn worms its way out of Kurt, “Ah, apologies. Too much excitement for one day.”

“You can sleep, you know.” You motion to the bed. “You should, you have done a lot today.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I can’t take the bed from you. I will sleep elsewhere.”

“Where, precisely?”

“…From the beams?” His embarrassment is endearing and palpable.

You snort. “You are not hanging upside down like a bat.” You get to your feet, propping your canes on the wall. “Go on, get into bed Kurt.”

He stammers, turning even more purple. “B-But, where will you sleep?”

You are pushing him gently toward the bed, “I don’t know, I’ll figure it out.”

You manage to get him on his back, reaching for the blanket when he snatches you up. You squeak as his arms wrap around you. “If we are to argue, then we will both bear the burden!” He jokes, laughing.

Your entire body burns, blood rushing to your face. You hear it happening to him, too. He adjusts you both, and luckily the bed is large enough for you both to lay comfortably on your side. He takes the wall, so he can see the door, and makes himself as small as possible, corkscrewing his tail around one leg. He pulls the soft blanket over top and blows out the single candle.

The snuffed light has you limited in where you can focus your gaze. Unfortunately, for you, all you have is the soft glow of his eyes.

“Goodnight, Schatz.” Kurt says through a yawn. His damp curls fall in his face, and his eyes slowly flutter shut.

Your heart does a few flips at the Schatz. He couldn’t possibly mean it, could he? Your insides are warm, you’re melting into the sheets. His breathing slows and remains soft. He so quickly fell asleep; he must have been exhausted.

You try your best to sleep, closing your eyes, but it’s too loud. You hear the faint trickle of a creek, the occasional flutter from the pigeons, the skitters of the rodents. It’s all too much. You had grown accustomed to the ambience of your flat, the water dripping, soft talking, the cars driving by; but this was all new.

You couldn’t even toss and turn, stuck in your one position. You huff.

“Struggling to sleep?” You could have jumped seven feet. Kurt had one eye open, analyzing you, that devilish grin on his face.

“How did you know?” You whisper back.

“I have my ways.” He chuckles. “Also, I can feel how tense you are.”

A few moments pass, the only sound is both of your breathing.

You open and then close your mouth, swallowing. “I… Yes. It’s too loud.”

“I can imagine.” He sounds so sleepy, like he could drift away in an instant. “It must be so difficult to be so in tune with sound.”

You give a small nod. “You could say that.” You sigh, closing your eyes. “I can hear a creek, the mice, the pigeons…”

Kurt doesn’t offer a reply, instead gently running a hand through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

You must bite your tongue to prevent any squeaks. “A-Anyway-“ You putter out. “Since I can’t sleep… Do you mind if we talk?”

“No, go on. Speak freely, you are safe in the house of God.”

You begin with a burning question. “How do you do it?” You adjust yourself slightly, trying to make yourself comfortable. “Walk around in the open?”

“Ah well… There are plenty of sympathizers. Many who keep to themselves and mind their business. Most are too cowardly to enact on their hatred and biases.” He pulls his hand back to himself. “I have long ago learned to ‘mind my own business.’” He laughs. “A friend of mine would disagree, he would say ‘give them a piece of your mind, bub.’” He effortlessly says those words in an Americanized accent, you can’t help but giggle.

“I hope to never cross that friend of yours.”

“Ah, well, he is soft at heart.” Kurt rolls onto his back, his shoulder brushing up against you.  “It takes much for him to bare his claws.”

“Mmm…” You gently chew the nail on your thumb. “Have you… Always been blue? I hope that doesn’t sound insensitive.”

Kurt lightly chuckles, “Ah, you are alright friend. But, yes, I was born like this. Blue and fuzzy.” He gently wraps an arm around you and pulls you close, having you rest your head on his chest. “There, you can listen to my breathing and heart instead of the scampering of our fellow squatters.”

You feel like air has gotten thicker, you can’t seem to breathe right. You aren’t certain if he’s being flirtatious or genuine. You hear the thump thump of his ventricles opening and closing, the rushing of blood through his veins. Softer is the air filling his lungs.

He is fuzzy, like a teddy bear. You mindlessly paw at it. “Mmm… Soft.” You mutter, sleep finally clutching you in its grasp. If Kurt heard you, he pays it no mind. “Do you like being a mutant?” You yawn.

“Of course.” He begins, softly smiling. “I could not be without it. I am a mutant, and without that I would cease to be.” He ruffles your hair, easing you further into sleep. “I find joy in my identity, and I regret taking so long to do so. I only hope you experience the same some day, friend.”

Your eyes flutter closed, the warmth radiating from him was intoxicating. You tried to ask more, this was your chance, after all, but slumber was the ultimate victor. You both drifted off, in the old church, huddled together.

It was the best sleep you had in a very, very long time. The only sour note was that when you woke up, the bed was empty.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Follow this work and read my others on my AO3

[katakaluptastrophy]

Let's be very clear about what the Houses do.

When Gideon fantasises about leaving the Ninth, this is what she imagines:

Not for Gideon a security detail on one of the holding planets, either on a lonely outpost on an empty world or in some foreign city babysitting some Third governor. Gideon wanted a drop ship—first on the ground—a fat shiny medal saying INVASION FORCE ON WHATEVER, securing the initial bloom of thanergy without which the finest necromancer of the Nine Houses could not fight worth a damn. The front line of the Cohort facilitated glory. In her comic books, necromancers kissed the gloved palms of their front-liner comrades in blessed thanks for all that they did. In the comic books none of these adepts had heart disease, and a lot of them had necromantically uncharacteristic cleavage.

A drop ship of infantry. Armed with those infantry standard two-hander swords. Their job is to secure the initial bloom of thanergy. Which sounds like a very antiseptic way of saying that a House invasion starts with a suicide squad of teenagers whose job it is to cause as many casualties as possible, so that the necromancers have something to work with. Teenagers like Gideon, desperate serfs or just wanting to make something of themselves, sold a promise of sex and glory, economic assets of their far-flung Houses until their untimely deaths.

But how useful their deaths, and those they take with them are! To the necromanvers of the Second, who can drain your thalergy as you die screaming. The Third, who can draw energy from the corpses littering the battlefield. The Fourth, who can turn them into bombs...

Until the subdued planet can be flipped, a contract put in place, a profit exacted. That Third governor installed.

Later, John explains to Harrow how planets are flipped:

So back at the start we’d drop in a single Lyctor, unnoticed, to start the thanergy reaction. Not to flip the whole planet, you understand, just to get the juice flowing.” He made a hand gesture for get the juice flowing, which made your head hurt. “Then within an hour or two you could send down a team of adepts and be confident they’d have all the reserves they needed. Nowadays we can’t afford to use Lyctors, so the first strike falls to the men and women of the Cohort, and they do a magnificent job…but the old way was neater, and kinder too, I think.

And in NTN, Aim describes her own harrowing experience as a displaced victim of what happens after that invasion, after the long and exploitative economic contract, and after the planet finally succumbs to its flipping:

The usual. It had been under contract for a long time. I mean, we were the third settlement wave, they built the Crescent in the bones of two other cities, you couldn’t dig up anything without finding remnants of a people we’d never known. The microbial population didn’t show signs of serious decay until the moment before the sea went anaerobic. The things crawling out of there … they seemed to mutate all at once … The Houses pulled support, said they’d prep us for an early move, but they left minimal forces in the barracks. We dug up old caches of materiel and used them. On the mutants from the sea, on the animals as they changed, on one another, on the Houses when they saw what we’d got our hands on and came back to take control. Blood of Eden was there too, you know. And in the end the Houses won and most of us surrendered and we were moved. Two moves later, and I’m here. There’s still a facility on Lemuria, of course. A decade later the Houses made it safe for geopolymer refining. It must be desolate.

And so you get the "lonely outpost on an empty world", the assignment Gideon saw as so unglamorous.

[mormon-character-tournament]

btw I looked this up and it turns out I know these guys XD I worked with them on their first project, Celestial Horizons. But it turned out I wasn't as big of a sci-fi fan as the rest of the crew and I was swamped with other stuff at the time so we parted ways. They're super cool though, I'd highly recommend listening to Celestial Horizons as well

Hey! If you want a really good story with purposefully coded, practically-canon Mormon characters, I would HIGHLY recommend the sci-fi podcast Desolate Eden. Aside from the abundance of Themes because it was made by a largely LDS team, there's a character who believes in God, has a lot of public speaking experience from being "heavily involved in his congregation," and his theme music is literally based on Lord, I Would Follow Thee. The characters are all complex and nuanced, the story is compelling, and it can be very impactful to a knowing LDS audience.

Hey this sounds super cool! Thanks for the reccomendation

[murasaki-cha]

Tcf part 2 chapter 396

Oh man I need a moment... no I'm actually crying right now and shaking super bad, this scene got me super emotional god damn.

"Eden Miru."

Cale stopped walking. Because Sherritt called Eden Miru.

[.....]

"Eden Miru, you deserve to be born with the blessings of many."

[.....]

She hesitated and paused for a moment before opening her mouth agaiп.

"I created a castle for my children."

[.....]

"I prepared for those children to grow up without any shortcomings."

To provide a home for children. Decorate the inside. Even now, Sherritt has created her own existence. Still-

"But there was one regret."

Sherritt raised his head and looked at the ceiling.

Something I regretted even though I had prepared everything.

"I felt very sorry you had to be born in that quiet and desolate castle."

[.....]

"So I always imagined."

Maybe it was because of regret, but I imagined, no, I was greedy.

"I thought how wonderful it would be if my children were born amidst the cheers, joy, and blessings of so many people."

Still the egg did not move. Sherritt couldn't see Eden Mir. She just talked.

"I am a great Dragon Lord. If my blood carries on, I have no doubt that my children will also be great. And this has been true."

[.....]

"But because of that, because of being great, it is not that I wanted to receive the blessings of so many. What, what greatness could a dragon have? There are many who have done greater things than I have."

Cecilia's eyes wavered. And Kale looked at Sherritt looking back at this place. She opened her mouth, looking at Eden Mir.

"It' because-"

After a moment's hesitation, she said.

"Because I'm a mom."

Shake. The egg moved.

Eden Miru responded.

"So, I want my children to be loved by everyone."

Cale felt his eggs tremble. It's not because it was scared. The unbearable passion was felt even outside the eggshell. The egg is getting hotter and hotter.

"I wanted the birth to be filled with joy and cheer rather than silence an desolation."

Sherritt drew a small smile on her expressionless face. And he said to Eden Mir.

"I got that wish today."

[.....]

The egg was constantly shaking and moving. It's as if a living thing inside an egg is struggling to get out. Cale took a step forward. Dragon half-blood Cecilia stared blankly at the sight. Cale stood in front of the portal and held the egg out to Sherritt. Sherritt reached out. But her hand stopped in front of the portal. She leaned over slightly and whispered to him.

"I will be hoping that you are born safely."

[.....]

"Come see this mother."

Sherritt gestured. Raon came closer. Raon stroked Eden Miru's egg. Sherritt looked at them with affectionate eyes and spoke to the two children.

"I will always be waiting."

Come see mom anytime. As always, I'll be waiting.

[lieutenantfloyd]

CRAWL - Feyd Rautha x Reader

[A sequel to Creature]

Word Count: 1.5k

Rating: Mature

Summary: A journey marred with horrors is reaching its divine conclusion. Now, you must reemerge and claim what’s yours.

Warnings: Major character deaths, blood, violence, torture, religious themes, domestic violence, implied Stockholm syndrome, heavy canon divergence, pregnancy, psychopaths in love. Feyd and reader very much a match made in hell. (This is a dark fic. Please heed the tags!)

Authors Note: I'm making it known that I never write more for my oneshots, but this story has literally had me in a chokehold for two months. Because of that (along with the fact that Creature is my most popular fic to date) it only felt fair to give it an official ending. This fic was also heavily inspired by Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token.

Read on AO3

The time since your ceremony has been counted using your instincts alone. 

Days on Geidi Prime are many hours longer than on your home planet of Kaitain. The blackened sun distorts shadows in a way you have yet to get accustomed to, seeing as you’d only seen the world outside the Harkonnen palace twice since your arrival.

With his sexual vulnerability made obvious to you on your first night together, Feyd-Rautha had taken it upon himself to re-correct the dynamics of your union. He has conducted this in the only way he knows how—frigid isolation punctuated by crippling violence.

It didn’t take long for the cracks to appear in your mental state, and it was an even shorter time until he broke you completely. Laying alone in a featureless room, you wished you were somehow stronger. Able to fight back physically, or at least shield your mind from his attacks. Nothing in your life was left up to chance, and you couldn’t help but begin to wonder if the skills you pleaded for were purposefully left out of your lengthy Bene Gesserit training. Even if this wasn’t the work of careful planning by The Sisterhood, the visions soon made clear to you how this agony was the only way forward. The sole path towards destiny.

It was only as the nature of his punishments shifted that you realized your apparent weaknesses were truly a gift in disguise. Each bloodied mark laid on your skin was now a wordless promise. Feyd-Rautha had brought diligent ruin to who you once were, working in blessed tandem with your visions to quiet even your smallest urge to resist.

Time moved faster after this, if only because it now went uncounted.

Your days were spent lurching in and out of consciousness. The pain inflicted by your demented husband brought forth more forbidden knowledge, and together they took complete hold of your body and mind. It was only a matter of time until reality became wholly indecipherable.

-

You come back suddenly. A shiver jolts down your spine as definitive reality forces the horrors out of your mind. No longer inside that desolate room, you languish in the silks of Feyd-Rautha’s bed.  Your senses have heightened greatly in however long you’ve been away, and your palms have grown ravenous for a blade. It was all clear to you now. Endless possibilities take the form of paths, the fate of the Imperium lies in which artery you choose to follow.

You reach outward with a newfound steadiness, waking your fated groom from his rest. His skin—porcelain in both pigment and temperature—scorches your own as he pulls you atop him.

He’s molded you in his image. A perfect creature with teeth that will tear flesh from bone with a mind as sharp as his blades.

Now, only pleasure remains.

-

The busy air is still like an ocean suddenly devoid of its moon. No longer waking up with ringing ears, you’d nearly forgotten what mournful screams filling silence sounded like. Behind you, Feyd-Rautha’s blade is buried deep in Paul’s beatless chest. The remaining members of the reemerged House Atriedes were subdued while you granted his most fanatical followers the gift of joining Paul in death.

Your sharp eyes barely grace your sister Irulan before she steps behind her father with a loud gasp. You wished for nothing more in that moment than to see yourself through their eyes—the ones widened in total horror.

It was after your reawakening that you learned how your visions of clandestine conversations and plans within plans were not just mere visions at all, but memories of before and prophecies set ahead. You weren’t sure how much your kith and kin knew about what you’d become, but you couldn’t wait to deliver your sermon.

“I’m sorry to hear about your Baron.” The emperor voices carefully. Testing the waters with a question directed towards House Harkonnen’s infamous brothers. You don’t miss his slight—how foolish it is to pretend as if surrendering his own blood to the monsters didn’t turn you into something even worse. When neither Feyd nor Rabban answer, you take the floor.

“Like Paul, it was a quick death brought on by his own shortcomings. Both deaths are unworthy of sorrow, especially from someone in your—position.” you taunt.

For those outside of Geidi Prime, The details regarding the Baron’s last moments are muddy and confusing. You see questions of who and how dance across the Emperor's eyes but you don’t answer. When one wretched being is divided between two bodies, the action of one is the doings of both.

“Well, congratulations on your ascension to the throne, Baron Feyd-Rautha.” The Emperor responds curtly. It's another slight towards you, but this time you yourself don’t bite.

“Don’t placate us.” Feyd-Rautha threatens as he steps in front of you, purposefully mirroring Irulan’s and Shaddam’s stance.

“With his death, my uncle has given me what’s always been mine,” he starts “and now you must do the same,” you finish. Another gasp escapes Irulan as the Bene Gesserit cry out. The Emperor doesn’t flinch.

"Do you want to commence the honors, or shall I?" Feyd asks as you step past him. Your knife already coated in the blood of your father before his sentence draws to a close.

-

Irulan, in exchange for her life, agreed to a transition of power and self-exile on Kaitain. There’s no ceremony when signet rings stamp decrees, just as there’s no theatrics when you and Feyd-Rautha receive the titles that grant you joint control of the known universe.

When her part is done, Harkonnen soldiers are quick to usher Irulan away. Whatever happens to her now is at their discretion, but you still hope they’re gentle. A thought that confirms the small soft spot for your older sister as the last remaining remnant of who you once were.

You board the Guild ship with one thing on your mind. A competing mix of adrenaline and relief threatens to throw you off balance with each step. Still, you march onward. Smiling as Feyd-Rautha instantly appears at your side. He places a firm hand on the small of your back while his dark eyes scan you over. You welcome his touch, the months of pain and agony brought on by his hands now heavily distorted in your mind. As such, both large and small displays of affection had become common between you both. Though the intensity of his affection had grown greatly since your personal physician informed him you were in the early stages of carrying an heir.

Hesitantly he removes his hand. allowing you to ascend the final steps alone. You sink into your father's throne only seconds before Feyd takes claim of the empty floor space in front of you.

Instantly the same vision from the night of your ceremony comes back to you, only this time it’s stitched together with your own memories. 

Staring down at Vladimir Harkonnen as he lay dying on the concrete just beyond that disgusting tub he dared to invite you into. The look of overwhelming horror in the eyes of each member of your former great House as you reunited today. Your current view from atop these gold steps.  

Each aspect blurs into one complete image. Feeling you shudder, Feyd-Rautha finds your hand and guides it gently to his chest. You share only the briefest look, but you see in his eyes that he recognizes this moment as well. You place a kiss to his temple, and after a steadying breath, he motions for the last of Paul’s fighters to be brought before you.

Your soldiers stop a few steps down from you, but Feyd beckons them closer so the man is abandoned to the right of Feyd and directly in front of you.   Leaning forward, you tilt the fighter’s head upward with the tip of your blade until his eyes meet yours. Beyond his teary heartbreak, a fire is still smoldering. You smile at this sign of a true fighter. Crimson blood catches the light, glistening against your ink-colored teeth.

"Stilgar..." you breathe, your voice turns each syllable to nothing more than a hiss.

You and Feyd move in tandem, allowing you to stretch further forward, though he ensures your soft hand never leaves his chest. Your blade digs further into the underside of Stilgar’s chin until you're given enough purchase to run your sharpened teeth across his neck. He doesn't flinch as you nip the rough, tanned skin laid across his jugular and carotid artery.

This one is strong. Feyd could make such a beautiful example out of him.

Pulling away from Stilgar, you only briefly consider keeping him as a pet before catching sight of Feyd-Rautha. He stares up at you with adoring eyes, though the rest of his striking features are twisted as he snarls in jealousy. Never one to deny Feyd even a single one of his desires, you offer him your blade’s handle.

"Do you want to commence the honors, or shall I?" you purr into his ear. 

Your question is answered only by the heavy weight of the knife easing away as it's taken from your hand.

[hotricebowlsoup]

oh, you gotta keep the crows away

(evamon, 1.8k, relationship study, canon compliant + my own flourishes)

She’s the first you meet. The world began when you leaned in close and she snapped her eyes open, boring into yours.

Your trust is not misplaced in the Ultimate Liar, ironically. From the moment you meet her to the end of your first trial, she speaks fluidly in your language, facts and truth.

Even when she disrupts the suffocatingly optimistic atmosphere with a well-intentioned warning.

Oddballs stick together, you bitterly suppose, as everyone shoots you dirty looks after agreeing with her sentiment. You convince yourself you’re not doing this for her, you’re not doing this for anyone—

The glimpse you catch of her fisted hand and furrowed brows makes your noisy mind come to a stop.

You leave the courtroom before you can bear to look back again.

It’s not really a surprise when you wake up the next morning, cast out from the main group after your shenanigans yesterday. Nor is it surprising to be cast out with her. 

The so-called “Ultimates” flock to Wolfgang like a herd of sheep to its shepard, brainless and dependent. Desperate to grasp at hope in this desolate sanctuary. Between the two of you, you figure he’s more snake-like than you are, giving the hungry mindless purpose like a carrot on a stick, the tempter who offers the apple to Eve.

But then your Liar shares something exclusive with you for the first time, and your spite towards Wolfgang’s cult matters no more.

(If you’d known the poster in the laboratory was Eva’s apple, perhaps you could’ve saved the only person who truly knew you.)

Although, your Eden crumbles a little after the rather anticlimactic reveal.

It baffles you, why anyone would choose to play the role of someone dangerous in an already dangerous situation. It baffles you because that’s the last thing you’d do, and the last thing you’d thought someone of her caliber would do. It baffles you because her now demolished lie was the reason you both are outcasts.

It baffles you because you thought she, your Liar, was the only one you could trust.

-

When free time begins, your legs bring you to her at once.

You find her in the underground level, where you first met. She tells you she’s avoiding the others; you hope she doesn’t mean you, too.

“I expected the Ultimates to wear their titles with pride,” You point out, very aware of the depressed look on her face. “But for you, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“It doesn't… fit well.”

She tells you about her world, enclosed in a box, obstructed by a frame. Despite her best efforts to push beyond the boundaries set upon her by others, they are nothing.

Who reads a literature essay written by a highschool mathlete?

It’s not something you can relate to, since you’ve never bothered to stray towards a path that doesn’t lead to a podium. You don’t know how it feels to make a greater, scarier name for yourself yet ultimately fail because of a silly title that defines you forever.

You don’t know what keeps you listening to her. Even when she cracks her first joke with you, and calls you gullible.

You don’t know what pulls you back to her in your next available time.

She tells you about her world again, because you’re her only willing audience. That she, an Ultimate, was treated lesser than a dog for her talent. That she, instead of attaining recognition and awe like you did with your title, lost all friendships the average girl should’ve had.

Despite your attitude, you couldn’t help but feel bad for her. (Even if you find it kind of funny how her hair untwirled itself when she spoke of her depressing story, too.)

It’s unexpectedly mundane after she leaves, you find. Probably because the Ultimate Debater can’t stand a silent house.

That’s probably it.

-

Your roommate is with you when she seeks you out for the first time. The Ultimate Influencer unabashedly makes a big fuss when Eva tries to pull you away alone, and if you weren’t already waiting for the next opportunity to speak to her, you would’ve found Kai’s (rather loud) concern to be well-intentioned.

Or maybe not, you suppress a sigh, as he walks away giggling to himself, muttering “freaking mathlete” under his breath.

You keep your eyes on her. She’s silent, eyes trained on the floor. Her hand fists her long sleeves, like the sight from the courtroom you couldn’t forget even if you tried.

Her eyes flutter upwards, meeting yours. You ignore the loosening of her grip, or the slowing of her heaving chest, in favor of keeping your eyes trained on hers. When she exhales calmly after a few moments, you feel yourself relaxing along with her.

Alone again in the underground level, she gives you another piece of her.

“Why are you showing this to me?”

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and you feel like a stupid math question. “Because I’m worried, duh.”

Duh. Slang sounds kind of weird coming from her. It feels unnatural, unpracticed, like she’s never spoken it before. You know why, and you surprise yourself by keeping your words to yourself.

But she surprises you more. “It’s because… I trust you.”

You?

“I’m… really sorry about how things turned out.”

What for?

“The other students wouldn’t have treated you unfairly if it wasn’t for me.”

It is, well, kind of her fault, but you figure you’re unlikeable enough to gain enemies by yourself. You had a choice to stay silent after the trial, but you deliberately chose to take her side.

And, when you look at her downcasted expression, how could you bear to blame her for any of it?

As a consolation of sorts, you give her a small piece of you, too.

Wolfgang’s blackmail is handled delicately by her, yet the words from her mouth are harsh and crude. While you agree that your classmates weren’t… intellectually capable of distrusting Wolfgang, there’s an extremely transparent reason why they didn’t believe Eva instead.

“Why did you do it?”

“...Huh?”

“You knew you were in a dangerous situation. Why would you draw so much negative attention to yourself like that?” You hiss the next part with equal amounts of condescension and worry. “Don’t you realise how much danger this has put you in?”

When she gives you a look that you can instantly recognise, you realise how frightening it is that you can read her quickly. “You know you can’t run away this time. Give me an answer.”

“Because…” 

Before today, despite your closeness with her, there was always a line that couldn’t be crossed. Before today, your Liar stayed in her bubble, guarded and untrusting from past experiences.

But you have burst through her bubble, your arms outstretched, the first light in Eva’s world. The wall shatters around you both. You can see her. You can feel her. Damned be it if you two were forced comrades, with no obligation to mingle— you will erase the distance that separates her from you.

The facade is finished, the line is crossed, and you see she’s a sheep at heart, donning the mask of a carnivore. To see yet another sunrise, another sunset, without the fear of being someone’s dinner.

With a phantom ache in your chest, you implore her to trust you as you do the same for her.

Then, she does something you’ve never seen her do before.

“...Hm.”

She smiled.

-

The longer the time you spend with her, the goofier your impression of her is.

And yet, you keep returning to her.

-

“Eva.” Silence.

“ Eva. ”

Your Liar barely spares you a glance, before returning to her game console. This girl…

Bending down a little, you tap her hand to pull her gaze upwards. Her hand is soft. Her gaze is intense. Her face is close.

You pester her about the console. She simply ignores you, puffing out her cheeks and pouting to the side. “If I partake in conversation, will you leave me alone?”

“That’s an eloquent way to get me to shut up.” 

“...It’s not that.”

“So you do want to have a conversation.”

Triumphant in your victory, you allow the edges of your lips to twitch upwards. Your cheeks hurt a little from the lack of exercise.

She stares at you for a short while, and it dawns on you this was probably the first time anyone saw you smile.

(Your smile is quickly erased as she continues to play theatrics with a poker face, making you question your sanity whenever she attempts to joke. It’s unimpressive, it’s bizarre, it’s… endearing.)

“And you never know…” She murmurs, matching the smile you lost. Your heart stops for a split second. “...maybe I’ll change my mind and play in the tournament later.”

Your Liar is subtly different from the girl you first met. Here, sitting in this chair, she looks more relaxed and content than ever. Her bubble is shattered, yet she is safe. With that smile on her face, even with her eyes closed, she’s almost radiant.

It pains you to say it, but smiling is a good look on her.

You don’t recognise yourself when you start wishing she’d do it more.

-

When the class trial inevitably came, you’d known your Liar would be actively participative, pointing her finger at those she had good reason to suspect.

You just never thought you’d be at the end of it.

As the usually composed Eva Tsunaka gradually gets more agitated, you try to dismiss the betrayal as her vengeance after you called out her name with a shaking voice.

Without knowing, your heart breaks. Once. Twice.

Without knowing, the bubble you burst is back up. The wall is rebuilt, stronger than ever. The line you thought you crossed was further than you realised. She is unreachable, unreadable. She is no longer yours to know. The panic, the hatred on her face… where is the girl who smiled and shared secrets with you?

Fact is undeniable. An argument holds no water if there is no indisputable evidence to back it up. Not that you are unconfident in your theory, or that you are hesitant to bring her to justice.

It just breaks your heart a third time to demolish her with the same language, facts and truth, that you found solidarity with her.

You will make sure this is her final lie (to you).

-

The rebuilt bubble that obstructs her from you matters no more. Not when its occupant is dead, anyway.

However cruel and gory her execution was, you can’t bear to look away from the one person you believed and hoped was on your side.

The end comes, after an excruciatingly long time. The courtroom is enveloped in a deafening silence. All of you watch as the crow’s feather, unmistakably hers, flutters to the ground. It never moves again, no matter how long you look at it.

A part of you wonders if she truly was the Ultimate Liar all along.

It doesn’t extinguish the wetness on your cheek, o r the bubble you feel forming around you.

[radio-zephyr]

【Then leaf subsides to leaf, So Eden sank to grief 】

tragedy of the 999th round

id in alt :D turn up brightness/click for quality, and as always, rambles below the cut :] v

i love 999th round's characters, they are all so very dear to me. In this piece I really wanted to focus in on 999yjh and uriel, specifically that moment where yjh is wasting away from the outer god contract, and uriel is cradling his crumbling body, begging him to stay awake and unable to do anything to stop his decay. The pose inspo originally came from this photo: (disclaimer that if this photo has any really troubling connotations im not aware of, please let me know!)

i wanted to take this and make the pose a bit more desperate, mournful, tragic. the original already has such a feeling of tragedy, quietness, tenderness that i wanted to preserve, and i tried to show it in the way uriel has interlaced her fingers through yjh's hand, cradling it and lifting it so carefully as she hunches over his body, her other hand gripping his shoulder and refusing to let go.

Uriel herself is missing her wings. I wanted to show her powerlessness in the face of these circumstances. It doesn't matter who she is, what she has accomplished, in this moment there is nothing she can do to save him. The halo is frazzled, breaking apart-what can uriel do? what will she do now that yjh's gone? how could she ever let the person she loves go？

And yjh- the blankeness of his face - I wanted to have a feeling of desolation- so close yet so far, brought to ruin by his own convictions, sacrificing himself over and over for his companions, culminating here-here, where he cannot go on, wasting away. The bright starburst over his heart-he is about to regress, doomed again to his hell of eternity.

The eyes weren't originally planned, but i had to include secretive plotter somehow, just because i love how he, in his attempt to get 999th yjh to succeed, realized that he was the one who had doomed himself. Idk, something something going back in time to try and fix things doesn't work, that horror at the realization that you were doomed from the start, that you were the cause, etc. So I had to include him somehow, desperately gazing down upon the scene.

Overall I wanted to capture a feeling of the tragedy and tenderness of 999th round's yjh and uriel's relationship, this devastating moment caught in an almost gossamer thread of time, where everything is picture perfect, like a painting commemorating those final feelings. Not sure if that's what i achieved, but i'm pretty happy with the result :D

And i'm just realizing, but the colors look different on mobile vs desktop :0 its a bit washed out on desktop..hm.

Closeups (of the parts I really liked) :3 (as you can tell i spent a lot of time on the clothes. they were really fun to do :0 i think i'm starting to really figure out how i like to shade them :D)

And here’s a fun alternate version I did for fun v

[ineffableaddiction]

I just realized something interesting.

A Companion to Owls

I’m a bit obsessed with this minisode for so many reasons.

Note: I’ll be referring to Crawly/Bildad as Crowley for this analysis seeing how it’s his current preferred name.

Let’s break this down first.

Just in case there’s a snowballs chance in Hell someone doesn’t know what i’m referring to, it would be this:

As we know, this episode has Job’s trials as a backdrop to the personal growth and developing relationship between our two favorite eternal beings. (Seriously… just look at them)

So, where is the title of this minisode from? Why, The Bible, of course!

Job 30:29 - I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.

Side note: The above is from the King James version. In other versions, “ostrich” replaces “owl.”

Interesting side note: Job 39:13-18 discusses how the ostrich leaves her young without a thought and doesn’t care if they survive. But I digress….

Back on topic, what does the Companion to Owls verse in The Bible mean? What point is it trying to make?

The point… the point is…. it references desolation. Isolation. Loneliness.

The theme of loneliness weaves its way through the minisode.

The minisode, from a more critical view, is Aziraphale’s story, about his sacrifice and willingness to lie to do what is right. Eden wasn’t just a fluke. Uz was more deliberate than Eden. It was planned. He was fighting to save the children, and he sacrificed himself for them. He convinced a demon, his possible friend, to work with him, and faced a lot of hard truths on that journey.

No, he didn’t Fall. But it irreparably changed Aziraphale. He became isolated. Desolate. Lonely.

Now, we get to the final point. Who is the owl?

Crowley.

In Hebrew, there is another point to owls. Owls are Unclean. Forbidden. (there’s a reason they aren’t seen as food.)

So, Crowley represents the forbidden. The unclean (or Fallen). He is desolate, lonely.

If you don’t believe me, then I present this to you:

No, I’m not looking at the scene. I’m looking at what Crowley is wearing.

Yes. The glasses.

These glasses are:

Nite Owls.

There is seriously nothing that was left to chance by the artists who created these seasons. I freaking love everything about this.

(This is what happens when I go down rabbit holes about a certain redhead’s eyewear)

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU Lore

This Google Doc will have more details while this post is more simplified

Preface:

I'm going to be ignoring canon quite a bit for this. I'm not particularly fond of the overall worldbuilding in canon so far. I don't like the portrayal of religious figures(*cough cough* Adam *cough*). And the morality is very inconsistent. So this AU is for me to bend things to my preferences.

To be clear, my intention is not total theological accuracy(that would be hard anyway, since it's pulling from various doctrines and traditions of primarily Abrahamic belief systems), but I do want to be purposeful about what I change. I know Hellaverse is not claiming to be accurate either, but blatant disregard to the borrowed theology can be bothersome, because it can misrepresent and disrespect religious people, particularly Jewish and Christian in this case.

Although I still depart from the original Bible story, I wanted to do it in a respectful way. I will inevitably incorporate elements of my own beliefs, but it’s not going to be a fully accurate representation of them. It's still fictional worldbuilding.

To me, this show is about the possibility of redemption for anyone. That nobody is beyond hope.

Nothing is set in stone, and I’ll update this as needed. More under the cut. It's a basic rundown of what I have so far, so I recommend looking at the Google Doc linked at the top for more details.

Jesus will not be in this, plot holes regarding the existence of Christianity will be blatantly ignored. Adam is not a misogynist jerk. Lilith has a slightly different origin. Heaven is not awful, and Hell is complicated. Sexual innuendos will be toned down because I'm too ace for it.

--Simplified hierarchy--

Heaven:

The Creators

Seraphim (elder seraphim aka the 7 virtues, Radiant)

Saints (Archangels, Citizens)

Cherubim (Mature Cherub, High Cherub, Low Cherub, Premature, Immature)

Hell:

Goetia (nobel class= Lucifer, Charlie, Sins, Calamities)

Sinners (Lilith, Overlords, Fallen Saints, Denizens)

Imps (7 breeds)

Cryptids (Monsters, beasts)

Cursed

Abyssians/eldritch horrors

Creation and The Fall:

Adam and Eve were the first humans. Abyss created Lilith to tempt them to sin. Lilith was just as innocent as Adam and Eve, but did as Abyss instructed. She became friends with them. Helel was an angel of light and befriended all three of them(other angels did as well). But Helel especially liked Lilith. She convinced him to help her find the forbidden fruit.

Lilith offered the fruit to Adam and Eve, which they both took. The fruit gifts knowledge of good and evil, but also introduced death and the ability to sin. Lilith's attempts to tempt them to sin afterwards broke their friendship. Lilith felt abandoned and didn't know what went wrong. She ate the fruit as well, at Helel's suggestion.

When the elder seraphim came to cast Adam and Eve out of Eden, they discovered Lilith and wanted to cast her into The Abyss. But Helel came to her defense, along with several other angels. They were accused of rebellion and cast into The Abyss with Lilith. The elder seraphim renamed Helel to Samael, so they could pretend they were different people. The Abyss corrupts the forms of those who were cast into it, so Helel, Lilith, and the other fallen angels were mutated into their demonic forms.

Helel created a realm within The Abyss and tamed some of the creatures there. This place became a sort of safety net that caught those who fell from Heaven or Earth, saving them from the Abyss. He's not actually aware he did that, so he just thinks everything is terrible. He called it Azazel(which means "to remove or separate from god" and refers to a desolate place. He was feeling a little depressed about being cast down.)

Because Helel brought light to the darkness of the Abyss, he was called the Lightbringer, and took the name Lucifer Morningstar.

Lilith wanted kids. But struggled to conceive because sinners can't reproduce. She eventually made a deal with Abyss, and was able to have Charlie.

[imagine-darksiders]

On the staircase of the destroyed church, his fiery aura illuminated the once-golden paintings on the walls.

Her trembling and scarred hand was so frail in his giant one, yet he never held something with so much care and gentleness with that death-bringing limb.

For her, in that desolation and land on nothingles, War was the sun at the end of the night.

"On my honor, on this world, on my life, I swear..."

Never has his voice seemed so secure and strong.

"That, until my name is clean and balance restored, I shall protect you, last daughter of Eden."

My GUY!?

[brightmalcolm]

When a child first catches adults out—when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just—his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child’s world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing. - East of Eden by John Steinbeck [in/sp]

[mxalexwhat]

Magnus Archives but make it Hozier

Here's my Spotify playlist for TMA Hozier. Its always evolving. Some fears just don't have a good 1 to 1, but with the new Unreal Unearth album, its gotten better

JonMartin - Wasteland, Baby!

Tim/Sasha* - Who We Are

Basira/Daisy - Unknown/Nth

Elias/Peter - From Eden

Jon/Oliver - Abstract (Psychopomp)

Agnes/Jude - Cherry Wine

The Buried - Work Song

The Corruption - In A Week

The Dark - De Selby

The Desolation - Arsonist's Lullaby

The End - All Things End

The Eye - Dinner & Diatribes

The Extinction - Be

The Flesh - Eat Your Young

The Hunt - In the Woods Somewhere

The Lonely - To Be Alone

The Slaughter - Shrike

The Spiral - Sedated

The Stranger - Someone New

The Vast - Almost (Sweet Music)

The Web - Movement

*or JonMartin MAG200 or JonTim MAG119 if you're feeling extra spicy

[bardic-tales]

Day 10 | Day 12

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 11 - Favorite Place on the Planet

We’re diving into one of the more evocative and deeply personal parts of Bianca’s journey: her favorite place on the Planet. While most characters might find solace in the familiar or the serene, Bianca’s sanctuary lies in the most unlikely of places: the North Crater. What begins as a cursed landmark becomes a sacred monument to her pain, rebirth, and willpower.

This piece explores how Bianca turns desolation into divinity, forging a home from ruin, where she and Sephiroth can exist beyond judgment. It's a story about finding beauty in the broken, and how sometimes, the most meaningful places are the ones we create for ourselves from the ashes of who we were.

Possible Trigger Warnings: abduction, body horror, captivity, emotional trauma, existential dread, experimentation, medical abuse, memory loss, psychological abuse, PTSD, self-perception issues, violence

Bianca’s favorite place on the Planet isn’t some bustling city or tranquil Grassland. It is the North Crater, a location most would consider desolate, cursed, or irredeemably ruined. But to Bianca, it is a sacred wound carved into the world, much like herself. It is where she awakens after her escape from Shinra’s labs, cradled in Sephiroth’s arms and delivered from one form of torment into another.

The Crater becomes a place of rebirth: painful, violent, and far removed from the world she once knew. It is here that she begins to reclaim her agency, not in the safety of civilization, but within the jaws of chaos itself. This space becomes hers not because it is gentle, but because it understands her in a way nothing else on the Planet ever could.

Using the fragmented remnants of her reality-warping abilities, Bianca builds a storybook cabin amid the jagged terrain, surrounded by conjured trees and impossible flora. Her own contradiction was carved into the Crater’s desolate landscape. It is a sanctuary born not of peace, but of will. The flowers do not grow naturally. She forces them into bloom through sheer desire. Every vine that curls along the scorched stone is proof of her defiance against a world that tried to consume her.

In this false Eden, Bianca and Sephiroth live as two divine exiles, creators of a realm divorced from the Planet’s judgment, as he works to bring forth his grand schemes. Her magic reshapes the Crater, not to heal it, but to remind it -- and, ultimately, herself -- that destruction can also give way to twisted, beautiful rebirth.

This self-made home is more than a dwelling. It is a manifestation of her trauma and transformation. The North Crater represents the cosmic grief she carries: where the Planet bleeds and where Jenova's legacy festers. Yet Bianca doesn’t flee from this decay. She embraces it. It becomes her cathedral, her sanctuary, and her battlefield. In constructing something beautiful in a place so ruined, she claims power over the very cycle of ruin that once dominated her life. To her, comfort is not found in safety, but in control. And it is here where she controls everything: time, space, memory, and matter, as she works to master her own powers with Sephiroth's help.

In contrast, Nibelheim is a location she cannot bring herself to revisit. It is where her fall began, where her failure to save Sephiroth—both from Shinra and from his own awakening—still echoes like ash in her lungs. Nibelheim is haunted. Not by ghosts. No. But by potential.

She is haunted by what could have been if she had acted sooner, if fate had bent just slightly in their favor. Her memories of Nibelheim are scorched by fire, betrayal, and guilt. Nibelheim is just another corpse in her past, buried under the soot of what was lost.

Thus, Bianca’s favorite place is not one remembered. It is one created. The cabin in the North Crater is a contradiction, much like she is: a cradle of beauty and ruin, gentleness forged from violence. It is the only place on the Planet where she feels untouchable, not because she is safe, but because it is hers in a way nothing else ever was. It is where she and Sephiroth write their own mythology, free from the expectations of gods, men, or fate.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon