#Library Catacombs Party

[nightonthemountain]

Right, anyone coming to the Catacombs Mixer, you know the password.

Use the entrance in the Potionology section

[nightonthemountain]

Not sure how @styxhealthnsafety got the password to the party, but LET'S GOOOOO!!

Tequila

[leletha-jann]

Cracking me up that the 2024 Olympics opening ceremony is what Europan Paris is like ALL THE TIME.

There are creatures in the catacombs that will eat you. There are intrepid parties of kid explorers who probably need rescuing. Masked figures parkour across the rooftops.

Artwork comes to life. Mechanical ships sail through the streets. Opera makes things explode. Black women SLAY in a variety of genres.

ART IS HAPPENING. People are flying through the air. Fashion is happening. Fashion is happening to you.

There are threesomes in the library. There are submarines in the Seine. Statues are rising from the river. What if we try space travel, oh we got distracted. Queerness takes over bridges and throws parties. That one guy has definitely turned himself blue.

Mechanical horses run down the Seine. The Eiffel Tower shoots laser beams. Hot air balloons float through the sky.

If a river monster puts its head up, no one will be at all surprised.

(Also, there are minions.)

This is Europan Paris every damn day.

...Good luck, Colette! Have fun being in charge of all that!

[shieldherostuffs]

Royalty AU

Just had the thought of Naofumi being the first, but ignored and sometimes condemned prince of a Kingdom. The title of Crown Prince was given to his younger brother as soon as he was old enough since Naofumi didn't show enough talent or want for the crown.

However, after seeing how Naofumi turned out, a lot more pressure was put on his younger brother. Naofumi watched as famous teachers and tutors from all over the land were called and hired to teach and train his younger brother from the moment he could walk and talk, leaving him little to no free time to relax or enjoy any hobbies he may have found.

Meanwhile, Naofumi was left as alone as anyone could afford, though he still had to study, of course. A prince of the Kingdom couldn't be seen lacking. He'd spend his abundance of free time either in the royal library or sneaking into the Castletown, just to spite his parents, should they ever find out, though he doubted they would, with his little they seemed to care.

However, one day, after his brother's 16th birthday and the official announcement of his bachelorship and right to the throne, Naofumi was walking through the royal gardens in the evening, as the party was dying out. While walking through one of the more secluded parts, with tall, maze-like rose bushes, he finds his brother sitting on a bench crying his eyes out.

After listening to his brother's woes and hurts, Naofumi realized his little he'd actually been part of his little brother's life and vowed to change that. He offered his brother support and advice and tried to help lighten the load of his studies enough to free up a little time for relaxation.

However, the moment their parents found out about Naofumi helping his brother, they decided that the little time the two had freed up could be spent learning even more. So, they hired more tutors and reached.

Naofumi had felt guilty, and apologized again and again, despite his brother knowing and saying that it was okay, he'd just been trying to help. As another apology, Nafoumi showed him his second-favorite secret, second only to sneak into the town.

A secret net of catacombs beneath the castle grounds, including one larger room that Naofumi has fashioned into his own little private library and relaxation spot. Apparently, the majority of the catacombs, except for the main exit-entrances had been forgotten to time, and Naofumi had made a game out of exploring them.

However, only two years later, Naofumi's brother fell ill, too overworked from what the healers told, too stressed from all his lessons and piling duties to the kingdom. Despite the healers stating that the best cure would be resting for a while, their parents decided that despite being bedridden, Naofumi's brother could still study a bit while resting.

He didn't get better at all and only became sicker and sicker until he was so overworked that his body became weak and he couldn't leave his bed without help.

When it was declared that the Crown Prince was too sick to do his duties, the King and Queen suddenly turned their eyes back to their first son, the one they'd as good as thrown to the side and left to his own devices. This didn't sit well with Naofumi, as they started buttering up to him and handing all of his brother's duties over for him to complete in his brother's name until he'd gotten better.

However, the longer his brother had been and continued to be sick, Naofumi grew more and more resentful, until he couldn't take it anymore.

Not only was he cast to the side, his brother was also bedridden, his parents didn't truly care for either of them outside their usefulness, the court was riddled with serpents pretending to be advisors, the kingdom was headed into bankruptcy because of the court and nobility, but the people were planning something against the crown!

Unwilling to endure the decline of his kingdom any longer, Naofumi would once again sneak away from the castle, but this time, he wouldn't return for a long time.

Instead, he'd find the leaders of the group planning to overthrow the crown and strike a deal. If they let him sit on the throne after their overthrowing, he'd promised that he'd save this kingdom, and if he couldn't he'd willingly lay his neck under the executioner's blade, as long as they spared his brother. The deal was struck, and they started planning, beginning with Naofumi sharing his nearly-finished map of the forgotten catacombs.

Months later, in the dark of the night, the resistance would sneak into the catacombs under their leaders' and Naofumi's lead, and storm the castle from within. After helping apprehend his parents and throwing them in the dungeons, as the morning sun rose and the cheers resounded through the castle and town, Naofumi would go to his brother's chambers and find him finally looking a little healthier.

[sdyd]

* halloween location prompts, a series of horror and halloween based location prompts, but can be use year round.

haunted house, a haunted house attraction

graveyard, a graveyard late at night

spirit, a spirit halloween store

hospital, an abandoned hospital

mortuary, an abandoned mortuary with blood still on the embalming tables.

woods, the woods late at night

cabin, an abandoned cabin in the middle of no where

lighthouse, an old lighthouse

alley, an alley on the bad side of town

park, an abandoned but still functional amusement park

ghost town, an abandoned mining town from the 1800s

prison, an abandoned and supposedly haunted penitentiary

church, an abandoned church

castle, an old castle said to have belonged to a mad scientist

catacombs, a series of sprawling catacombs under a bustling city

lake, a lake deep in the woods in the middle of the night

mountain, a mountain trail on a dark and stormy night

ruins, abandoned ruins far from civilization

battleground, an old battleground said to be haunted by fallen soldiers

library, an abandoned library

pumpkin patch, a pumpkin patch in the early afternoon

maze, a corn maze in october

party, a party on halloween night

opera, an abandoned opera house

theatre, a rumored to be haunted old theatre

butchery, an abandoned butcher's shop

[terribleterrestrial]

[ARCHIVED]

Hello hello, Tumblr!! I, TT, am the author of Apocalypse Abandon hosted on MSPFA!

This is a post asking for help with said comic! Currently, I am looking for a background artist, and anyone familiar with CSS/HTML coding! The work should be fairly simple however I do not have the income to pay a wage or anything like that. You will never be trapped working on it, though, and you are so free to back out any time!

Even if you believe yourself to be bad/average/etc at those skills, I would still love to have you on board if you want to expand them and improve along with me and the rest of the team (of uh.. two people right now haha). Below the cut is a short plot summary (without too many spoilers) and a few pieces of art (art will come as it is made and be uploaded here) you can peruse to see if you'd be interested in helping out. If not, i humbly request your reblog so I can find ppl who are :3

Apocalypse Abandon is a fancomic taking place (originally) on Earth C. It is very much meant to mimic Homestuck and sort of bring back some of the nostalgia of the Early Days whilst still showing a new, interesting story! It starts four main characters at first: Jule Jackson, Cris Warner, Xael Grison, and Remy Lalonde. These four, on the 13 of April 202X, are alerted by the Godtiers that it is their turn to save the universe by creating a new one. Despite half of the party (Xael and Cris) living in a post-apocalyptic Earth C overtaken by plant life, they manage to make it work! Jule is a gentle young lady with a green thumb and a love of crafts. She is the most active online and the youngest of the bunch. She is both clever and kind, a Sylph of Time, a savior. Cris is a bookworm, and even lives in a library! He is a big fan of Rose's work, having read everything she ever wrote on her adventures and SBURB. He is strict and precise, a Knight of Mind, an archivist. Remy is the "son" of Roxy Lalonde. He is a direct genetic replica of her, and yet tries his best to be his own person. He is not so fond of his mother, who has fallen victim to existentialism and back into bad habits. She has become something of a mad scientist these days, mixed with a cat lady. Remy is a shy and mindful young boy, he doesn't know what is future holds. A Page of Void, an opportunity. Xael is a little rascal, sometimes seeming more animal than human. That’s exactly how he likes it! He scavenges for food, chipping his teeth on bones, and sleeping soundly curled up in the catacombs. He is ravenous and rabid, a Prince of Doom, a destroyer.

I dont have a TON of the plot planned out, as I prefer to write as we go along. I am always open to suggestions from anyone and happy to co sider them!!

Once again, PLEASE at least reblog this, especially if you read this far. It would seriously help me out so insanely much. Thank you for reading!!!

[fredbydawn]

Man, I hate it when you get food in a dream and put it away for later and then forget that it was a dream, like I was just sitting around and then I got excited cuz I was like "oh yeah I have those 3 candy bars I stole from the frat party" but then remembered that the frat party in question was in the catacombs beneath a waterlogged library that may or may not be haunted by a pair of vampires, like -_- why does the subconscious get to play pranks on you, I just wanted to make s'mores

[ignotabackwoods]

Department 4 of 8: Department of Death and Obscurity

[Description:

Said to inhabit the catacombs hidden under the school, no one is quite sure how they get there as it is a close guarded secret amongst the department. These catacombs are said to house an extensive library containing a plethora of texts lost to humanity for centuries. Bookcases line several walls and are regularly added to as students discover more that has been destroyed by the sands of time. The remaining blank walls are said to contain messages chiselled in scripts of the past; Egyptian hieroglyphs meld into Latin and cuneiform to tell vast stories and stupid jokes. Cave paintings are deciphered in old Cyrillic and a language distinctly here is written out in extensive detail. The students have done their best to create a home in the underground tunnels and rid them of the lingering staleness. Many of the DDO students were polyglots before enrolling and now spend time learning the languages of old, taking to speaking in a confusing amalgamation of all of them making them hard to understand by other departments. One of the most secretive departments, they tend to keep to themselves out of sight. They come out mostly for classes or to get updates on any discoveries that may have been made about previously undiscovered societies once living in or near the town. Not much is known about these students but they are known to throw the best themed Forest parties on the rare occasions that they interact with the rest of the student body.]

[sisterdivinium]

Can there be anyone so unwise as to counter the old adage that says knowledge is power? And doesn't the simple view of full bookshelves lend itself to the idea of their owner, keeper or beneficiary in some way being knowledgeable and, therefore, worthy of our time and respect, if not admiration? The burning and censoring of books throughout history does not clearly indicate what power they ultimately possess, how dangerous they can be in the "wrong" hands, to the "wrong" minds?

Books are knowledge are power, true or apparent. The library of Alexandria was built thanks to and in service of an empire; the Bibliothèque Nationale de France traces its origins back to the collections of kings; we may have not known rulers who took to heart Plato's ideal of philosopher-kings, but those who would govern would do well to associate their names with wisdom, as XVIIIth century despots attempted to do. And even if one's pretensions are less lofty, that quotation often attributed to Cicero says it all: "a room without books is like a body without a soul" — if these words have been repeated time and again it is because we recognise in them a degree of truth. A room without books also denounces a "body" devoid of a "soul", it seems to say — and who would want to be seen thus?

It is no wonder that the owners of the mansions JC and his gang break into use books as decoration, just as the man who was in possession of the Medici Vatican catacomb map does: even if these people are mindless and ignorant, they would not want to seem so to the eyes of the world. A handful of books casually organised atop a shelf or on a centre table is enough to disguise the truth and confer on their owners some amount of respectability.

Others, however, are not content with the crumbs of symbolic power that only a few books here and there provide. Their hierarchical position requires more, much more — and so the likes of father Vincent, cardinal Duretti and Mother Superion are once and again framed by a glorious array of old books when they preside at Cat's Cradle office.

Their person is made more solemn, their words gain weight which they would otherwise lack if they did not sit here on this chair, in front of this bookcase. Behind their discourses of guidance or their orders stands an unending army of authors, tome upon tome of lore, "old teachings" which infuse these three characters with greater power in the exercise of their function.

Therefore, in these scenes, these books serve as a visual sort of argumentum ad verecundiam. John Locke describes this rhetorical device as using the "opinions of men, whose parts, learning, eminency, power, or some other cause has gained a name, and settled their reputation in the common esteem with some kind of authority" and this would then dissuade the other party from contesting whatever was said, for it would be insolent for them to "adhere to [their] own opinion against the current stream of antiquity; or to put it in the balance against that of some learned doctor, or otherwise approved writer". So it is with these characters who represent each a step in the chain of church command, their authority further reinforced by the volumes at their back; we needn't know their titles or authors as long as we understand that the priest or nun right in front of them embodies the tradition they represent, as an extension of it — and should, consequently, be heard, trusted and obeyed.

The lonesome chair already enjoys the barrier of the table in between its occupant and those on the other side, but the bookshelf deepens the chasm between both subsets of people, strengthening the claim to authority of whoever takes the prominent seat. Were it not so, Vincent and Duretti would not have briefly faced off to have it for themselves.

So great is this connection between books and power that even Jillian, during her conversation with Vincent, is herself solely framed by a shelf behind her. Vincent, from his position, does not necessarily see this, but we, as viewers, are quite clearly informed of how this place is Jillian's domain, of how she is the authority here, at ArqTech, as if her body language alone were not a sufficiently potent message already.

Which isn't to say the effect is identical to that witnessed in regards to the religious characters: these, in their dark clothing, in their dark room, seem to blend in with the books and their shelves, whereas Jillian Salvius's garb is bright and contrasts with the piece of furniture we are presently occupied with. This could indicate her own individual relationship to tradition, as opposed to how Vincent, Duretti or Suzanne see it: Jillian is aware of it, informed on it, but she is not bound to it as representatives of the Catholic church are. She maintains a distance, without blurring the lines between herself and what a long, astounding gallery of minds has said throughout the ages. This, of course, ties in perfectly well with her refusal to see faith and science as antagonistic, however dissimilar they might be. Jillian recognises tradition, knows it, but does not submit to it without question.

This conciliatory point of view might be a hard sell for some people, but, to return to the issue at hand, we know of another pair of things that work perfectly in tandem, which is books and power.

Only there are moments when this influence is exercised not by an entire assemblage of books as much as by a single significant volume... A sacred book — not the voices of numerous scholars through time, but the voice of God himself, along with the freedom to act in His name, in His interests so long as one holds such a book close.

As Pope, Duretti is repeatedly seen carrying a copy of the Holy Bible.

In a time of crisis, he secures his identity and his power as "king of kings" by wielding this particular book wherever he goes. Whether he uses it to assert himself as the first among his peers in a conclave or to justify his torturing of a cardinal in a crypt, what matters is that the Bible in his hands says that this is all permitted. It is the word of God and its power that flows from the book and into the man.

The very ink of a sacred book is holy. If one is already deterred from questioning what a myriad of thinkers has put forth and filled libraries with along the centuries, who will question the greatest authority of all that is God?

Of course Adriel, as powerful as he is shown to be, does not neglect the production of a holy book of his own. The printed word possesses a force like no other. He attempts to build his reign not only with his magic tricks, but with ink and paper as well, establishing it from the ground up with pillars of books with which to support his power.

Even Mary, as she attempts to reach Beatrice's conscience, uses a Bible to "awaken" her, throwing it on her lap as a concrete reminder of moral duties, of vows taken, of the dedication to her sisters, so she will not simply accept what are obviously absurd orders — those were given with the backing of the Cat's Cradle books, but what do all those sages represent before the Bible, revelation, justice, truth itself?

Beatrice returns the book... But the strategy works. We know it is effective when we see her joining Mary and Ava later on. Perhaps even Vincent is affected by the power of this one book, given how he leaves the church shortly after Mary picks it up; the very sight of it might have compelled him to at least superficially come clean — "I might as well have pulled the trigger myself" he soon afterwards says, all but confessing his part in Shannon's murder.

Of course books are not relegated just to this "mystical" sort of power. They do truly contain knowledge and it is truly invaluable. Books are how the OCS informs itself on tarasks, on the origins of the order, and even on the capabilities of the halo through the records left by previous warrior nuns. Without this intelligence, they would be stuck and purposeless — for books provide also the power to do, to act, by giving the reader the proper tools to tackle problems and change the world around her.

If we respect and look to the legacy of literature and tradition, it is because we know its importance is not mere illusion. The connection between books, knowledge and power is no coincidence.

Through books, we learn of everything — science, culture, belief... We may glimpse into the past, know of events that happened aeons ago but still colour the world of today, understand who we are through who we have been. Humanity has been documented, at least beginning with the invention of writing, and we depend on that documentation to guide us, to enlighten us as to the facts perceived and experienced by those who came before us.

For no, facts do not lie... But what we forget is that, as sister Frances reporting on Ava, the hand that tells the facts might.

The Bible contradicts all we know of how our planet and its lifeforms came to be; the book Vincent has Ava study about Areala is full of misunderstandings, chief among them the idea of Adriel as angel and benefactor; Shannon's account of Adriel's "bones" is revealed to be incorrect... Books contain mistakes, books contain lies. Arthur Schopenhauer says that "the strata of the earth preserve in rows the creatures which lived in former ages; and the array of books on the shelves of a library stores up in like manner the errors of the past and the way in which they have been exposed."

Perhaps some falsities are malicious while others are the result of ignorance which could not possibly be corrected at the time of writing — but the fact of error remains, the fact that people were empowered into action by these errors, into leaving negative marks on the world, remains.

Women as "biologically inferior", the Sun "rotating around the Earth", this very Earth as "flat"... Much of what has been written in books is plain rubbish. The printed word is understood as sacrosanct, but it is nothing but the spoken word of fallible, partial mortals such as ourselves set to paper — and we give it too much credit at times.

In another essay, Schopenhauer continues to criticise those who base their learning on reading alone: "reading is nothing more than a substitute for thought of one's own. It means putting the mind into leading-strings. The multitude of books serves only to show how many false paths there are, and how widely astray a man may wander if he follows any of them."

Mother Superion, from her post in front of all those books, energised by them, was beguiled, as was Duretti, by Vincent; Vincent himself was deceived by Adriel, as an unwitting Jillian. All of these characters placed next to collections of books were duped. The "old teachings" could not save them from error. In fact, they might have pushed them more strongly towards it.

Even among the dead OCS members we see what is probably a Bible splayed nearby, perfectly impotent in saving the women who were massacred despite all the power it is thought to have.

It is not only God that inspires blind faith — so, too, can the faith in tradition blind us as a sort of religion and religion is, of course, the opium of the people, as Marx shrewdly pointed out. Dogma is dogma, "tradition" is not all-knowing, also because, Simone de Beauvoir reminds us, it is terribly biased, even more so if we recall the fact that our protagonists are women: "the representation of the world as the world itself is the work of men; they describe it from a point of view that is their own and that they confound with the absolute truth".

Yet all is not lost.

That books are as imperfect as we are does not diminish their value as long as we understand their limitations. If we ascribe to them that which is reasonable, if we follow Yasmine's example and recognise that there are blanks, missing information, if we refuse to revere them as absolute truth but look upon them with a critical eye instead, they will serve us all the better.

The book she brings with herself in approaching the surviving members of the OCS is essential to the success of their mission. And, as full of details as it is, including an account that disproves Adriel's goodwill as depicted in the volume Ava had read, it also leaves certain things out. Yasmine knows of the Crown of Thorns through it and that it will prove an inestimable weapon against the would-be angel, but she does not know how it manifests when touched by the warrior nun — peculiar as it sounds, she knows that she does not know and this approach is part of her strength. She is aware of the lack, the imperfection of information, and this allows her to derive the sufficient amount of knowledge which will then be enriched by interaction with the real world.

What's more is that Yasmine, as bookish as she is, also lets herself complement her learning by "reading" directly from the pages of life as she deepens her relationship with the other sisters. Yasmine, as well-read and book-wise as she is, is also still on the path of greater enlightenment; her studies do not make her "better" compared to the other women. They complement her as she complements them — as a reader must complement what she reads.

"Thoughts put on paper are nothing more than footsteps in the sand: you see the way the man has gone, but to know what he saw on his walk, you want his eyes", Schopenhauer tells us again. We should heed our ancestors' warnings and learn from their experiences, but we are all creatures of the present, of our own modernity, and we must all make use of a "modern approach" in conjunction with what we know, lest the failings of our forefathers misguide us.

Even non-fiction reads somewhat like fiction, for none of us are omniscient. We all make undue assumptions and mistakes. The very root of science is, after all, dependent on proving and disproving theories, searching for the more correct interpretations of the phenomena studied with the aid of material evidence that human development might bring. We are surrounded by "stories", interpretations liable to change.

And stories do have meaning, they give us a deeper understanding of things by operating in different levels of our cognition, just as Warrior Nun does... But we must be careful in dealing with stories, taking them all for granted.

Knowledge, real knowledge, does not come from mindless repetition of what others before us have said, no matter how much they have filled themselves with the authority of the ages. Thoughtless obedience is not the way. It is necessary to dissect the "stories", weigh the words brought before us, examine and create meaning for ourselves.

"To trust the word of another is one thing; to trust our own reason is a different thing," says saint Augustine, of all people; "to take something on authority is a great timesaver and involves no toil. If this way has any attraction for you, you may read in the extensive writings of great and good men what they thought should be said about these subjects as a safe and easy guide for the unlearned ... But, if you cannot bridle your eager conviction of coming to the truth by reason, you must be prepared for long, hard, and circuitous riding, pursuing the path where reason beckons — that reason alone which is worthy of the name, that is, right reason. Not only is it right, but it is also sure and free from every semblance of falsehood, if man can ever attain to that state where no false argument or specious pretext can make him betray the truth."

This is what Warrior Nun tells us about books, about life. Read, but be smart about it; know tradition so you may challenge it when necessary instead of conforming to whatever it is others would forcefully impose on you through the sheer power of antiquity alone. An appeal to authority, whatever the authority, is never enough if we seek truth.

So when Ava sits where Jillian had sat and is framed by the shelves that framed Jillian, something different is at play. The camera focuses on her, the books are blurred behind her. We know Ava reads, she even mentions Shakespeare in season two, but in this particular moment she is contrasted with "tradition" and highlighted to its detriment. In this particular moment, she is with Beatrice, hearing her story. In this particular moment, Ava must be detached from tradition, outside of it, aware of it but choosing to abandon it as mere background noise, because she does the opposite of what "tradition" would have demanded of her — instead of rejecting and condemning Beatrice, she embraces her fully.

There is still a connection to Jillian's own rupture with conventions in this same environment and disposition, as both women challenge established thought, only Ava does it for someone else's sake, without bitterness. She exits tradition not to fight or exert dominance, but to settle, pacify, love.

Books are indispensable. Tradition has forged us all, for or against it, and we must learn to take from it all that we can, leaving behind what hinders us.

Without burning anything, however, for even error teaches us and might, paradoxically, set us on the right path somehow. These other books remind us of our mistakes and it is only by knowing them and acknowledging them that we might go forth without repeating them. Better, then, to keep them around, even if in the back of our shelves... But still within our libraries.

[royce-melborn]

i fucking forgotttt there was supposed to be a scene where kipps follows them out of the party SMH!!!!!!!!!!!! adding that to the long list of kipps scenes they cut. justice for kipps forreal.

Yes dude!! I liked that bit like it makes sense how he'd end up at the catacombs then. tho the bickerstaff house got to me the most though WHY DO HIM SO DIRTY???

I don't even know his whole character arc yet since I've only read the two books but it was still a great set up to his (and his teams) characters and stuff instead of just having the one scene in the library and the fight at the end 😑😑

[wait-still-rendering]

here is the original outline of The Strange Case of Kairi Uchida (which probably needs another title at this point). It is unfinished, but I wager it would have been like 50+ chapters long if I did finish writing it out lol. :) Enjoy what may never be.

@kessielrg @coffeetime88

Terminus

OUTLINE

The Strange Case of Kairi Uchida

1: Autumn - Strange occurrences are happening to Kairi so she goes off in search of answers and is now missing.

2: Downpour - Sora attempts to gather as many clues as possible that are related to Kairi’s disappearance.

3: Wayfaring Streets - With the help of Riku and Selphie, Sora heads for Radiant Garden to look for Kairi.

4: Catacombs of the Mind - Kairi attempts to piece together what is happening to her. The girl from the mirror guides her to Hollow Bastion’s castle which leads to a shocking discovery. 

5: Terminus - Kairi has a choice to make and it isn’t an easy one. Sora and co find Kairi, but both parties are torn away from each other at the last moment. The shadowy monsters from before appear within the castle which triggers a lost memory for Sora, Riku, and Kairi.

6: The Mirrors of Time: As Sora and co explore the castle and its various traps, they come across a room full of mirrors and learn about an urban legend—the Heartless. 

7: Astray - Kairi and Xion attempt to find a way back to Sora and co, but instead stumble upon a library that Kairi distinctly remembers visiting. The only problem is Radiant Garden and Hollow Bastion were separated before Kairi’s birth. They find a new ally in Roxas.

8: Murky Waters - Stuck in the room of mirrors, Sora, Riku, and Selphie must find a pathway through the mirrors. 

9: Torch - It's a race against time to find the exit before the castle is overridden by Heartless. Kairi attempts to find a way to communicate this sentiment to her friends on the other side (Sora, Riku, Selphie.)

10: Bindings of the Undercity - Both groups fight their way out of the castle, but with no way back to Hollow Bastion’s entrance. They soon stumble upon a ghost train. The party is split on whether or not to get on or try to find a way back to Radiant Garden. In the end, Kairi boards the train leading to the rest of the other members to also get on. The train leads them to what they soon learn is the Underworld.

11: Tidal Waves - As they have no choice but to move forward, tensions rise. Kairi finally learns why strange things have been happening to her.

12: Storm - A fight breaks out within the group which leads to an accidental teleportation.

13: Clockwork - The gang finds themselves out at sea in an unfamiliar airship. It isn't until they land that they find out they have traveled into a foreign reality.

14: Shards - The flickering starts up again for Kairi who now knows the flickerings are memories of different lifetimes.

15: Childhood Pathways - The gang comes across a photo album filled with memories from different lifetimes. Endings. They have a choice to make. 

16: The Door to Oblivion - Heartless appear once more. Kairi sees flashes of the Keyblade Graveyard. 

17: Celestial Affairs - They land in Scala ad Caelum, a bustling city full of spirits from all times. Five houses rule over them—Bear, Snake, Unicorn, Fox, Leopard.

18: Walls of the Silver Palace - The group splits up in order to investigate the five houses. When they uncover a new discovery, they must either prepare for war or find another reality to jump to. 

19: Paradigm Madness - Fearing the uprising, everyone flees Scala ad Caelum and finds themselves in unfamiliar territory once again. It isn’t until they gather their barings that they realize they are centuries back in another reality in a place called Gaia. Selphie remembers scraps of another lifetime in Balamb Garden. 

20: Breaching Threads - As the gang travels through Gaia (FF9), they attempt to find their footing. They soon come across a familiar face. Roxas grapples with the unhappy memories he has of his past life.

Characters

Kairi Uchida

Selphie Tilmitt

Riku Miyano

Sora Irino

Xion Hikari

Roxas Uchiyama

Don't trust blindly. 

Sora was never one to wake up early. His thin blankets lay on the ground as they always did no matter how many times he attempted to wrap himself up in them at night. Destiny Islands was hotter than the blazing sun on its worst days and mildly chilly on its best days. 

It should have been indicative to him that something was not quite right when he looked at the time and saw the red numbers spread out. 

5:02 in the morning.

Tangles of clothes were strewn across Sora’s bedroom floor. When he awoke at exactly 5:02 that morning, he let out a string of curses as he stumbled over the combined mess of dirty laundry and a half-read book aptly placed near his bedside. 

Most days Sora wouldn't dream of getting out of bed at such an ungodly hour, but it was as if an unknown entity forced him out of his slumber.

He looked toward the calendar. November 3rd. Kairi would be home soon. A smile found its way to his lips. 

Perhaps Sora should have realized there was something horribly, horribly wrong, but Sora did not have that epiphany because he had no reason to believe anything was wrong. The quiet of early morning almost made Sora crawl back into bed, but when he caught sight of a streak of white, his weariness dissipated. It was snowing.

It was snowing on Destiny Islands.

He snapped a quick picture before sending it into the group chat so Riku and Kairi could see.

Hours from now, Sora would be on a train heading for Radiant Garden with Riku and Selphie in tow.

Kairi’s hands trailed alongside the smooth spine of one of the more ornate books within the castle’s library.

[readingwreck-omen-dations]

Under The Surface by Diana Urban

Ruby is terrified to cave to her feelings for Sean and risk him crushing her heart.

Sean is pumped to spend a week with Ruby in Paris on their senior class trip, and he’ll wait however long until she’s ready to take things further.

But when Ruby’s best friend sneaks out the first night to meet a mysterious French boy, Ruby goes after her with two classmates, but caves to another temptation: attending mystery boy’s exclusive party in the Paris catacombs, the intricate web of tunnels beneath the city, home to six million long-dead Parisians. Only they never reach the party.

Genre: YA, Survival Thriller, Crime

Age: 13+

TW: violence, character death, descriptions of dead bodies, perilous situations, organized crime and ritualistic murder

I picked up this book at my local library. It looked promising, and I've always been a fan of a good cave thriller, so I knew it would at least make the ten-year-old in me happy (and probably have her quaking in her boots). It solidly delivered plenty of suspense, intrigue, tragedy and horror while pretty seamlessly integrating the love story and relationship dynamics (platonic, romantic and parental alike). It even has a map!

Spoilers below the cut.

This book was NOT the right book to read at bedtime when I had to be up early the next day, but guess who did exactly that three nights in a row?

Survival horror/thriller is my favorite genre, I'll be honest, and I've been terrified and fascinated by underground spaces since I was an itty-bitty kid and watched Tom Sawyer. So, despite ticking all the boxes I liked, this book STILL managed to surprise me with just how effective the storytelling was. Being stuck in a cave or in the wilderness with no connection to the outside world is scary; being stuck *right under the streets* and still being unable to reach it? That's a little bit worse, to me. All of that, while being chased by cultists and surrounded by both long-dead and freshly murdered corpses, is kind of a freaky cherry on top.

I loved how messy the characters were, and how interconnected they all were. Ruby's entanglement with Sean is cute, and didn't feel forced the way a lot of romances do (not to mention it being a real force that drove the plot! Without it the girls might have never been found. It would've been so easy to stick Sean in the situation with the girls, but making him an outsider was the best way to go).

Ruby and Selena's resentments toward one another felt totally genuine — especially after Val's involvement in their fallout, and what really happened between them, became clear. Selena and Aaliyah's relationship is very sweet, and I liked Aaliyah teaming up with Sean to help find more clues. Julien's character and his dynamic with the girls just gets more enigmatic from the moment he's introduced, and it all pays off beautifully.

And that leads me to the deaths. They're devastating. This is a spoiler review but I'm not gonna say *who* dies, but several people don't make it out of the catacombs, and it's the most unfair and tragic thing that could've been written, but it works perfectly. It was never going to be fair.

One of the things I loved most was the map. I love when there's a map in a book. I've never been to the Paris Catacombs so I can't say how accurate of a map it is, but it was very well laid out. The symbols on it, namely the X's, were all a little confusing at first, but once I figured it out it became an actually really clever tool for creating suspense, and I started anxiously flipping between the map and whatever page i was reading.

all in all, it's a great scary read and I'm glad I didn't pass it up!

[digitalbyte357]

Spooky Video Game Music No. 284: Rainbow Cemetery- ‬Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (PS1)

Castlevania returns to this list again and it’s another song from the ever popular Symphony of the Night. As mentioned before, Dracula’s Castle is one huge place. It has many different types of places. From a colosseum, a huge library, a church and many others, Dracula’s Castle is quite the labyrinth. We mentioned the Abandoned Pit a few years ago but what if we go deeper? Alucard ends up in the Catacombs, which is as you expect, where the dead go to rest. However, don’t expect it to be empty though. From wereskeletons, many skeleton enemies, slimes, gremlins and many other types of enemies, it’s quite a dangerous area. Not to mention there are some rooms where lava is which could imply that Alucard might be near to Hell. He must be prepared once he finds the boss of this scary place, the dreaded Legion…

The song does start foreboding and intimidating but afterwards, a funky beat plays. It’s quite catchy and joyous like there’s a party in the Catacombs. It might not sound scary but it does still feel unnerving, especially with the piano notes at 1:25, like the song is letting you know how dangerous the area is. It’s like the song is taunting the player and Alucard over a false sense of security. Yet, it still has that spooky atmosphere to it. It’s quite fitting for a Halloween party. Maybe Dracula or Shaft comes to the Catacombs to party with the enemies if things get boring. 🎃

[mystical-blaise]

THRILLER NIGHT: A CRESCENT CITY KINKTOBER EVENT

Something Evil's Lurking in the Dark

Thriller Night: Part 6 - Declan x Marc

Declan Emmet is a male on a Death Day mission of discovery. One he had entirely resigned himself to alone. Until a storm rolls in, forcing him to face his greatest fear—and revealing wicked things hidden in the dark.

Content Warnings: NSFW, M/M

Read on Ao3

Author: @mystical-blaise | Masterlist

This is the sixth installment of Thriller Nights: A Crescent City Kinktober Event. Make sure to check out the rest of the collection and the other amazing authors!

Part 1: Ruhn x Lidia by @hlizr50

Part 2: Hunt x Bryce by @headcanonheadcase

Part 3: Ithan x Wolf Mystic by @headcanonheadcase  

Part 4: Hypaxia x Celestina by @damedechance

Part 5: Fury x Juniper by @vikingmagic33

Part 6: Declan x Marc by @mystical-blaise

Part 7: Flynn x Ariadne by @ofduskanddreams

Part 8: Tharion by @damedechance

Thriller Night Masterlist

Declan Emmett hurried the short distance from the parlor to the library, eager to review what, if anything, they'd caught during the seance. Despite suspecting that the entire thing was complete bullshit, excitement prevailed.

Placing the recording devices down, he took a seat at the sturdy mahogany table, his makeshift command center for the overnight stay. The library was the perfect location. Centralized and quiet, with plenty of space for his array of laptops, monitors, and stacks of carefully packed backup equipment. Far enough from the thumping base and partying in the kitchen. 

He'd learned the lesson long ago that laptops and parties don't mix. Fun fact; melted jello shots and a keyboard were a terrible combination.

Note to self, Flynn still owed him a computer. 

This night at the haunted house was Dec's idea after Lidia had nixed any notion of yet another drunken, rowdy celebration at their shared home with a fuck no. Not that he blamed her one bit. Cleanup was a bitch and a half. So now, at his suggestion, they were here at the "haunted" house on the outskirts of Lunathion.

While the remaining members of Team Fuck-You might have come for spooky Death Day revelry, Dec was there for an entirely different purpose: to document proof. Some evidence that secondlight was now free to roam, free to exist. Perhaps even some vindication for a younger Declan who used to hear things go bump in the night in his childhood home—and the reason he still secretly hated the dark. 

Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone other than Ruhn and Flynn. And that was only after they'd witnessed him in a near panic attack. After all, he would have never made it out of those damn Avallen catacombs without their encouragement. Their loyalty.

Muffled laughter traveled through the far wall as the gathering carried on without him—and had carried Marc with it.

Not that he could blame his boyfriend. As of late, the two of them had been like ships passing on the Istros. The entrepreneur, now CFO of his own company, had been stuck late to work almost every day, cutting into every single date night for nearly three weeks. 

Three. Weeks. Three very long, frustrating weeks.

It wore on both of them. Stress and exhaustion showed in the circles under the shifter's usually brilliant topaz eyes, in his lumbering stride. So much so, Declan even felt guilty for asking Marc to assist with tonight's setup. 

His boyfriend deserved a night to dress down and chill, to have fun. 

But perhaps selfishly, the fellow techy had hoped he'd want to chill with him. Find what he was up to interesting to spend some time together staring at the monitors.

Yeah, real fun. Like he said; selfish.

Back to the task at hand, Declan glanced between the two screens; one streaming live while the other allowed him to pull up any previously recorded video. Plugging in the video recorder to transfer the file, he put the stupidly expensive, noise-canceling headphones on his head as he studied the green-hued footage.

Each nightvision camera had been placed strategically in and near the locations that stories claimed were the most haunted. Unfortunately, all Declan was seeing was evidence of other activities.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me," he grumbled as he stared at the screen, staring at Ruhn and Lidia emerging from the study, a fine sheen of sweat over their brows and a shit-eating grin on the Crown Prince of the Valbaran fae. Rewinding a little further back and raising the volume, Declan heard exactly the reason for Ruhn's pleased expression.

Gods knew he'd heard those same noises plenty of times coming from his roommates' bedrooms on too many nights.

A deeply masculine groan sounded over the audio.  

Declan set his head in his hand. "Ruhn, I swear to Urd. You couldn't keep it in your pants for one godsdamn night?"

And apparently, Ruhn and Lidia weren't the only ones having trouble.

Next, there was a wobbly-legged, disheveled Bryce who blew a kiss at the camera before she and a smug Hunt strolled back into the kitchen. Quinlan gave Athalar's ass a good slap before the door closed behind them.

Then there was Fury glaring up at another camera poised outside the door to the basement. A look that promised death if he followed her to presumably wherever June was. Noted. For his own safety, he promptly turned off the basement camera feed.

Moving to another view, there were Ithan and Willow, walking down the stairwell from the third floor, her pigtails and pants askew. His arm slung over her shoulder, trying to help fix the hair best he could, ultimately resorting to plopping a baseball cap down atop her head. He kissed her blushing cheek, a look of pure masculine pride lining the pup's handsome features.

Rolling his eyes and shifting in his seat, Declan switched over to the live. All six cameras seemed normal—except for one. 

The master suite on the second floor. 

Stories claimed that a crying woman in white, as pretty as Luna herself, was seen pacing the room and floor. Other stories told of a more devious shadowy figure slinking through the drafty halls. He had Marc mount a camera in the room's upper southwest corner, in perfect view of the entire space and the open doorway. In case the alleged specter was wandering the halls, the stairs—the very same that had caught Ruhn and Lidia.

But although the camera registered a signal in that room, there was nothing but a blank box on the split screen. 

He squinted, moving to the other monitor to review the older footage to see if there was anything. There. And just as a tall, shadowed figure. There was an oily sheen to the humanoid form as the silhouette moved incredibly fast across the lower right of the screen—

Lightning and thunder flashed and clapped in unison, plunging the house into utter darkness.

A distant, slurred, hey, who turned off the fucking light, joined the chorus of muttered curses and surprised shrieks sounded through the plaster and lath walls of the old mansion.

Thanks to the portable backup battery, there was still the dim glow of the steadfast monitors and the constant hum of the computers—for now. Even so, the rest of the house was nothing beyond but a void.

Shit.

A foreboding creak resonated in the dark.

"Guys?" Nothing. "Guys, this isn't funny." 

Was he… alone?

No. No fucking way. The rest of them were just being dicks. That was all.

The sudden familiar, unjustified panic of his childhood crept up his spine. Like bony fingers reaching out of the past, out of the shadows, reaching for him again. Declan stiffened, swallowing hard as he reminded himself of what his parents used to calm him. The dark wasn't bad. The sounds were just the wind or the house settling. Repeating those same words of reassurance, he reached out for one of the three compact flashlights he'd packed just for this instance.

His thumb pushed on the rubber button. Click—and nothing. 

"Come on," he said, shaking it as if that would actually work. With a press of the button again, still nothing. Bringing it closer to the bluish dull glow of the monitors, he removed the batteries. The fresh ones he'd put in just before he'd packed up. How could they be drained already?

Nervously, he picked up the third flashlight—his backup for his backup that Ruhn had made fun of—finding it oddly lightweight. Too light. Unscrewing the back, he found the battery pack empty.

Godsdamn…

Okay. No problem, he just needed more light. Any light. His phone. 

He dug into his back pocket and found… nothing. Not even his spare lighter. Fucking Flynn.

Given all the mirthroot his roomies brought, one of those fuckers had to have a light. Hel, maybe Ruhn could use that barely useful sparkle of light he possessed. Or better yet…

Bryce. Or even Athalar—if they would have remembered to keep their godsdamn walkie. 

As if any of them would have remembered given the keg Tristan had rolled in earlier.

"Shit. Shit. Okay. Okay." Declan sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Calm the fuck down. You know what you need. You need…" Something to do. To focus on.

His eyes skipped back to the glowing flat-screen monitors, to the battery-fueled cameras still rolling. Straight back to the blank square on the bottom right corner of the six-split screen.

The mission pushed his fear aside, much like it did when he was out in the field with the Aux. Give Dec a task, and he was on it regardless of what was going on around him.

He could find out why the camera wasn't working. Fix it. Totally forget about the weird shadowy figure in that damn room that had something to do with it.

No, just fix the damn thing. You're a problem solver, Declan. Mr. Reliable-as-fuck.

In the darkness, he felt around the floor, finding his smaller duffel bag filled with some equipment and supplies. 

Even with his fae eyesight, he could barely see shit. His eyes caught on one device on the table. He grabbed for it, muttering a please work under his breath as he pressed the power button.

The thermal camera's screen flared to life.

"Thank Urd," Declan breathed out as made out the different heat signatures of the shelves and books, the table, and his equipment, giving him a visual of the space in the darkness. 

And gave him the boost of confidence to set the strap of the duffel over his shoulder and go in search of the room with the broken camera.

With the space lit up on the screen in shades of violet and blue, cold on the spectrum, there were some fading oranges on the steps from when some guests had walked. Declan took the stairs hurriedly, praying to all the gods that there was no one behind him.

But he just had this feeling.

That prickling on the back of his neck and a niggling of his fae senses. 

Finally reaching the landing on the second floor, he relied on the small visual representation of the long hallway, counting the doors until he reached the one on the far left. And he swore as he walked he smelled sweet… smoke.

Cigar? No…

Wait? Wasn't there a story about the original owner?

He shook that thought out of his head. Probably someone with the fucking mirthroot getting blazed.

His hand reached for the doorknob to the master suite and—

Creak.

Not daring to turn around, the genius just called out, "Hello?"

He could hear Flynn in his head—while mock slow clapping—going, Smooth, Dec. Hello? Really, dude? What if it's a killer-stalker, huh? And then Ruhn's voice chimed in with, Yeah, you just gave away your position. You're an Aux member, remember? Use that giant brain of yours.

Yeah, he was an Aux member, trained for combat. He survived the Drop. His Ordeal. The latter barely. And he still couldn't shake the same feeling he'd had that night in that terrible cave—the feeling of being followed.

Fuck this. 

He spun around, pointing the camera back down the hall, finding only residual heat from his own treadmarks on the planked floor, all glowing orange and yellow. Even farther back to the landing.

But no weird floating, undiscernible blobs or misty humanoid figures. Just his overactive terrifying imagination mixed with his fear and wanting to actually see something.

Confidence renewed and led by the camera, he took the knob and strolled into the room with the busted equipment.  

The room was… 

Empty. 

Nothing but the sounds of lashing rain and the howl of the wind banging the louvered wooden shutters sealed over the windows. Not even the lightning graced Declan with a bit of illumination in the reportedly most haunted location in the pitch-black house. 

Basically, Declan Emmet's nightmare scenario.

On the thermal, he could make out the ethereal, hazy violet silhouette of a large bureau against the far wall covered with a sheet like a shroud. Heavy curtains covered the windows, blocking out the outside world. And then there was an ornately carved, massive four-poster bed.

A low massive blur of orange and yellow zipped passed through the image. Something with glinting, burning eyes.

And then it was simply… gone. 

"What the…?"

Panning the room, he tried to follow the direction of the unknown shape.

Something slid around and rubbed against his leg. All he could think of was a hand grabbing for him under the bed out of the shadows of Hel just like in his childhood…

"Boo."

He spun around as a crouching form on all fours rose onto two legs, keeping his camera pointed like a weapon. A towering, muscular male figure rose up in the viewfinder. Declan's heart nearly fucking stopped.

"Burning fucking Solas! You scared the shit out of me!"

Marc's squared, broad shoulders moved with his deep chuckle on the thermal. And if Declan wasn't so pissed off, he might have taken more time to appreciate the entire glorious, naked build delineated by the heat signatures more thoroughly.

"That was you that touched my leg?"

He smirked. "My tail, to be exact."

Cursing under his breath, Declan rolled his neck, his shoulders, and made his way to the wireless camera mount. The camera now oddly twisted to face the corner. 

With the battery icon already flashing red, the warning that death was imminent, Dec set the thermal to point upwards to give him some ambient light as he worked, swiveling the equipment around back into position. No need for his tools after all.

"Dec," came that low, familiar voice. 

"What?" he snapped back after adjusting everything back in place, assuring the only way the camera was moving again was if someone fucked with it. Which is exactly what he suspected had happened. A prank. Another prank, anyway.

"Hey, Dec, are you mad?"

He didn't reply to that, because what could he say? Yeah, he was pissed and annoyed and—

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Declan! I was just having a little fun. You were the one who wanted to come here. You convinced me it would be fun for Death Day." 

"Yeah, and that's what everyone else is doing. But you also know I was taking this seriously, too. But if you'd rather go hang with them…" He blew out a curse, dragging a hand through his dark red waves, tugging at the ends in frustration. "You know what? Forget it."

"Hey," Marc breathed out, the sound ever closer. Dec refused to turn around. Those massive hands gently grasped his shoulders, rubbing up and down over his biceps. "I know out of your housemates you're the most responsible but—"

Declan huffed out a laugh, nearly shrugging off Marc's touch. "And what about you? You're the epitome of responsibility."

"Maybe dating a hot-as-Hel party boy has made me want to have some fun. Live a little."

"You mean I gave you a personality?"

With a chuckle, he gave Declan's shoulders a rub, then another. And Dec could feel the tension melt away with each ministration of those magic hands.

"No, smartass," Marc replied, his fingers kneading harder. "You make me want to cut loose and have a good time. When I'm with you, I don't have to be—"

Declan sighed with gratitude and forgiveness, leaning into Marc's working palms. "Don't have to be the sexy-as-fuck start-up tech company founder?"

Lips trailed the back of the fae male's neck. "Exactly. You make me want to have fun again, Dec. I shouldn't have at your expense, though. I apologize if I scared you."

"I'm sorry I flipped, babe. I'm just a little on edge," Declan admitted in his relaxing haze, his eyes adjusting to the dark, and still seeing nothing. Still, he was grounded by Marc's reassuring touch, his own hand coming up to rest upon the leopard shifter's much larger one.

"Mmm… I can tell."

"I just… I saw something when I was a kid in my room. I mean, this was before all the shit we know now about what the Asteri was doing with the secondlight. Before I really knew about Hel, you know? My parents didn't believe me, but I swear to all that's holy, Marc, there was something in the dark in my room." Something evil lurking in the dark, a demon reaching for him. Despite himself, he still shuddered at the very thought. 

Marc's firm grip continued to knead muscle, those full lips placing tender kisses on the back of Dec's bare neck, making him blush in the night. Almost like a fog, the ancient bedchamber became thick with desire. As electric as the sky outside.

"That's why I'm determined to find some evidence, Marc. Maybe just to prove I wasn't crazy. Hel, we have a damn necromancer; if there are spirits here, there should be something… if spirits can now freely roam around." Or if they were indeed stuck here in hiding from the Under King for centuries. "And I know it's Death Day, and I know all my friends want to party. It's supposed to be a night of—"

"Mischief," Marc offered before the briefest touch of his lips to the tip of Declan's delicately arched fae ear. Another soft press of lips. "I love that about you, Dec. How focused you get on a task. How determined you are."

"Well, someone has to be. Everyone else here is so focused on fucking—" His lips pressed together, holding in a grateful moan as those fingers continued to work at the tension.

"You don't say. And how do you know what everyone was doing, I wonder? Declan Emmet, were you watching?" Marc asked with feigned outrage.

Even though he couldn't see a damn thing, Dec still twisted his face to peer over his left shoulder. "You make me sound like a perv. It wasn't on purpose."

Marc's warm breath brushed his lips. "I'm sure. They're a horny bunch. But I bet it still turned you on, just a little."

Declan wasn't going to respond to that accusation—even though the shifter's words were on point. Yes, he was turned on, just a little. Maybe it had started from all the dirty sounds caught on the microphones, but now it only had to do with the beast of a male standing behind him.

The handsome male whose wide palms were now skimming from his shoulders and over his biceps.

"What—" Declan swallowed hard as the heat of the towering shifter pressed into his back, searing him deep as it always did. Maybe it was the residual autumn fae in him, but he was attracted to the depth of his warmth, inside and out. Then a wide hand skimmed over the front of his shirt, down further still. Lower and lower, until he reached the top of his black jeans, that he finally managed to finish his ask. "What are you doing?"

Marc's dark chuckle brushed against the shell of his ear. "Like you, I'm eager for evidence, Declan." Teeth nipped and tugged on his earlobe, on the steel hoop in his ear. Lust shot through him, his body responding to the wicked little nip in the dark. Declan gasped, tipping his head back in a groan as that wandering touch cupped him through the denim, finding his hard length. "There it is."

"Fuck," Declan hissed, unable to hide, unable to feel anything. Unable to think about his goal for the evening. Not when the heel of that palm was rubbing him in rough circles. Not when his hips were pushing against that hand, desperate for more sensation.

"You like that?" Marc crooned.

Declan groaned, his erection uncomfortable in the confines of the denim, the delicate skin digging into the metal zipper. 

When his hand reached back to pull Marc to him, he knew what he would find. With his clothes long removed before he shifted, only beautiful bare skin and corded, hard muscles remained. Aside from his shifter genes, his physique was delineated by years of regimented workouts and healthy eating. Marc was thorough, practiced and put together in all things. But if his sexy, put-together, tech executive wanted to cut loose tonight. If he wanted to let loose with Declan, then so be it. 

"Dec," Marc hissed as the redheaded male ground back against him to the tempo of the hand working his front, the shifter's hardness already a taunt against his ass. 

"What?" he asked teasingly. "You want me to let loose and have a good time tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Marc said, his words ending with a grunt as Declan bumped him backward.

Despite not being able to see Marc, Dec turned around to face him. "Then let's let loose. Get on your knees, babe."

Over the howl of the wind outside, he heard the shifter's knees hitting the wooden floor before him.

Declan whipped off his gray t-shirt, tossing it away to some corner. His hands went to the button of his jeans, popping it open. Then he towed the zipper down, taking his time, the sound of it somehow more arousing in the absence of light, of sight. As he worked his jeans down his thighs, he grabbed hold of his cock.

"Godsdamn," Marc growled.

With the satisfaction that he could bring the mighty leopard shifter to heel, Declan gave himself a pump. Then another, slow and firm, his head falling back and eyes shut with the wringing pleasure. "You and your damn shifter eyes. You can see me, can't you?"

"Fuck yeah. And I love what I'm seeing."

Wrist twisting on the upstroke, his thumb smeared the bead of liquid gathering over the tip. And he swore the enormous leopard shifter whined at that. Good.

Still stroking himself, Declan followed the alluring scent of sandalwood and rain and heady arousal until he could sense the body heat radiating off the other male. 

He cursed as his head dropped back, his grip tightened, and the pumping became rougher and faster. "Open."

Heat puffed over throbbing skin, a tempting combination of hot and wet. Marc's tongue slid back and forth as Dec tapped his stiff cock against it. From the base to the tip, that talented tongue laved unprovoked, tormenting and flicking every sensitive inch. 

With his mind almost blown with need, he couldn't stop the demand welling up from his lips. "Oh fuck, Marc"—his breath caught—"suck me."

And holy Hel, he did. No hesitation, only a satisfying growl before Marc's mouth closed around him and sucked him down, his hand peeling Dec's away so he could take control. That hand wrapped around his cock while the other clamped onto the fae male's hip, those fingers biting into the flesh of his ass— 

Grasping Marc's head, Declan thrust his hips forward.

He wished he could see it. See himself disappear in that sensual mouth, sinking in as topaz eyes blazed into his own. But, burning Solas, the blind feel of him in the darkness… The way Marc's cheeks hollowed out and his tongue swirled around, coating him in the warm sensation of his mouth, his lover's enthusiasm dripping down his length to his sac. His own rapid panting blended with the enthused sloppiness and pleasured hum of the supplicant, sexy male before him.

A wandering finger slipped in between the crevice of his ass, circling the tight hole there. Circling endlessly. An opening, tantalizing tease. Until that thick finger finally pressed in.

Unable to stop himself, Declan bucked forward, forcing himself down Marc's throat until the shifter's nose met his pelvis. "Fuck!"'

Marc merely chuckled darkly, sinking his finger deeper and deeper. Declan wasn't even sure how either of them could breathe. They were frantic, muscles straining and flexing, racing to the edge. With each passing moment, Dec's brow beaded with sweat.

He moaned, scraping his fingernails across Marc's scalp. His hand tightened on the back of that head in plea and warning. His shifter male only loosed a muffled groan, still sucking and fingering him.

Climax came on as suddenly as an autumn storm. Shaking from head to toe, his damn knees nearly gave out as his release spilled over and over. And Marc took it all. Didn't let up, still working him as the last blissful tremors of orgasm ebbed. In a lazy glide, his boyfriend's mouth drew off of him and that digit slipped out, making him shiver.

"Gods…" Declan swallowed hard, trying to regain balance. Marc pressed a sweet kiss to the scar across his stomach. "Babe, that was—" 

His words cut off with a rough, demanding kiss. The taste of himself on Marc's tongue went directly to his head, still dizzy with pleasure and desire. They both groaned as the shifter's hard, demanding length pressed against Dec's stomach, spurring his own back to attention. 

Marc always did that to him. No matter what, with him, he always seemed ready to go. 

"Luna fucking save me," Marc said with a groan, grabbing onto his partner's ass to bring him closer, as they writhed against each other. That finger teased Dec again from behind with just enough pressure to drive him wild. "I want to fuck you so bad. You have no idea how bad. If only—"

"I brought lube."

With an erotic chuckle, Marc slowed the roll of his hips and asked, "What?"

"I-fuck. I brought lube."

Marc snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

Declan reached down, gripping Marc's thick cock at the base, taking satisfaction at the hitch in the larger male's breath. "Always prepared, seldom disappointed." 

"I would expect nothing less from a former Otter Scout. Bet you know how to tie all sorts of knots, too."

His hum practically a purr, Declan answered with, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Oh, make no mistake, I do. But not this time. Right now, I need to fuck you and in order to do that, I need that lube. So where are you packing such a thing?"

"In my bag. I actually brought it to loosen the stuck screws holding up the cameras. It was all I could find in a pinch." A pinch was an understatement. All of his mechanical lubricants had mysteriously disappeared. Declan didn't want to know the why or the what. "So I just took the first thing I thought of."

"In the duffel you brought with you?" Declan nodded vigorously, his mind solely on the drag. He pushed his hips forward, the friction alone of their dicks against one another nearly enough to make him come again. But before he could, Marc was gone.

There was a brief rustling sound over to the left and then—

Kissing him senseless, breathless, pants still tangled around his thighs, Dec was marched backward, stumbling until his back met something. That something unyielding and rounded against his spine. They kissed and kissed and it only stopped when a deep, rasping voice demanded as he tugged on the open flap of denim, "Off."

He didn't have to be told twice, already shoving them off, removing everything in a blur. Stripping until it was just the two of them, skin to skin, clothed only in darkness. 

In a blink, Declan was spun around, his hands finding and clasping around the carved wood pillar now at his front. A bedpost, he realized absently.

"God, have I told you how much I love your back, Dec? These shoulders." Whack! Dec jumped as a splayed palm came down on his rear, then rubbed out the slight hurt. "This perfect ass of yours. It's the prettiest sight."

"Well, at least you can see me. I feel like it's unfair that I can't see—" Declan's scoff turned into a moan as something chilled slid between the seam of his ass.

Pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot below Declan's ear, his boyfriend's whisper a silken persuasion. "It's just the two of us here, alone and together. Embrace it, Dec. I'll always lead you out of the darkness if you let me."

And Declan knew at that moment Marc always would.

The wet slide of a tongue down the column of his neck had Declan's hips bucking backward, feeling that massive cock slipping against him. 

Marc's cool, coated fingers found their way, pressing, pushing into him, working him just enough. One… Then two… Fuck, three fingers. Even after all this time, after all their bouts together, the leopard shifter still took good care. Something he was eternally grateful for. 

Declan was no slouch of a male. As a member of the Aux, he took good care of his body. But the leopard shifter still dwarfed him, made him feel small. Marc was flawless. Chiseled dark-skinned perfection with broad shoulders, perfect for holding onto. And while Dec had seen a variety of fine dicks in his day, had experienced his fair share—nothing and no one compared to Marc Rosarin.

No one ever would.

Not to mention, none of the males before had a pierced cock, either. Not even the draki he'd had an intense, albeit brief, fling with. 

Who would have thought that out of all of them, the one pierced there was the put-together tech entrepreneur? And, Solas, what that little barbell of steel through the tip could do… 

As fingers slid out, he heard that telltale click and squirt, followed by a hoarse groan in the darkness. Though he couldn't see it, the fae male could picture it clearly. How Marc's forehead furrowed as he stroked the thick liquid over his shaft. The dark, rigid length of him glistening and ready, already weeping with need.

A soft kiss on his shoulder and a settling grip on one hip helped tip the redhead's head back as another jarring drip of cold fell on his skin.

Declan gripped the post, his knees widening as he braced himself. His brows drew together as that broad blunt head started to push in. Slowly easing, gliding in inch by delicious inch. Each gain intensified the pressure, the burning stretch that tensed them both.

After another slow thrust, Dec's body had time to adjust as Marc stilled. All the while, the broad, calloused palm spanning his flank caressed and soothed as if the solid wall of male behind him was the one with the true healing power. 

"Fuck, you're still so tight. Have I told you how amazing you feel, Dec? Like you were made for me." 

Declan shivered at the gruff possessiveness in his voice. Shaking. He was shaking. Was going to jump out of his skin. Godsdamn. There was more power in everything without sight. Everything was more sensitive. Words. Touch. Already too good. Already too full.

Still, he was greedy tonight. For Marc to be with him. To take everything, to have everything. To swap his earlier fear with this pleasure only this male could give him. 

"Marc, it's okay if you don't—" A grunt and groan followed. "Don't be gentle tonight."

Knuckles tilted Declan's chin upward. Marc's words were full of gravel when he asked, "You sure?"

While Declan could not see Marc beyond a hazy silhouette, he knew Marc could clearly read his intentions. "Yes."

"You got it, tiger." 

Gripping him by the hips, Marc's mouth slammed on Dec's at the same time his pelvis surged forward, driving all the way in on a single thrust. Holy fucking Hel, Declan had to force himself not to scream, not to lose it all right there.

Ragged breath puffed against his mouth, both of them trembling as Marc held himself still again, both of them trembling and throats bobbing.

And then Marc was moving, pulling out before plunging back in. Each time, Declan could feel the drag of chilled metal, stroking deep to hit that spot that made him see stars. 

He rocked back into it, bracing and trying to keep up with the rhythm as every sliding thrust shoved him farther into the solid wooden post, jostling the entire bedframe.

So full…. So deep… So deep inside him…

Declan's desperate whimper had Marc fucking him even deeper, hitting that spot over and over. 

Something in the pathetic sound must have begged for more, because a brawny arm came around his torso, bearing his back, his weight, to the shifter's sweaty, muscled front as he continued to pound him into oblivion. Every hammering thrust bounced his erection against his abs. Had Marc's balls slapping off his ass. 

Everything was wild and frenzied. Primal. So much that Declan could almost imagine what Marc's sharp claws would feel like gently scraping across his skin. Wanted that lick of pain. Wanted to bruise.

He was climbing higher and higher, his spine tingling with the need to come. Marc reached around, cupping his balls with a squeeze, before he fisted Declan's cock, gripping him tightly.

"Shit!… Marc!" Dec panted through gritted teeth.

"Are you close? Can you do it, tiger? Can you come for me again?"

Declan's response was little more than a yelp as those hips slammed into him.

With that slippery hand jerking his dick, that swollen cock fucking his ass, Declan couldn't hold back. 

Too much. It was too good.

Everything went taut and dark, then bright like starlight behind the eyelids Dec didn't even realize he'd closed. He cried out as he came all over Marc's hand, smearing between fingers and over skin as Marc didn't let up.

It went on and on. Those powerful hips behind kept their pace, going and going until—

"Fuck!" Marc shouted, burying himself to the hilt, each pulse kicking deep inside, over and over. With one last shudder, finally spent, the shifter's head fell forward until his forehead rested on Declan's mussed red waves. 

The hand on Declan's front shifted until it spread over the center—over his heart.

And then everything went still as the wind whistled outside around the house, rattling the shutters. They didn't move, simply held each other in the dark, relishing in the silence, soaking in their love for one another.

"You okay?" Marc asked, pressing a tender kiss into his hair that shot straight to Dec's heart.

"More than okay."

Slowly, gently, carefully, Marc slid out, caressing along Declan's spine as he did so. "That was…"

"Yeah…" Declan said. 

"I'm sorry."

Still wrapped in his arms, he turned around to face him. Declan wound his arms around Marc's neck. "For what? The best sex of my life?"

"Best sex so far," Marc countered, sighing before he continued. "I'm sorry I disappeared earlier. Made you think I didn't care about you. Truth is, I was in the kitchen to grab us some beers—I was on my way back to you when I got sucked into a conversation. You know how that crew can be. But you have to know the only reason I came to this party tonight was to spend time with you, Dec. I've missed you."

Softly and sweetly, he kissed him. "I've missed you too, babe. Now, can you find my bag? And my clothes? I still can't see shit."

After pressing his lips to Dec's forehead, Marc laughed, untangling himself from the fae male's arms. "Sure thing, tiger. Only if you promise to grab my clothes from the other room."

Declan snorted, wishing he could watch Marc walk away. Because, damn. "Didn't think that whole shifting leopard prank through, did you?"

"No, I did not. Here," he said, handing Dec his bag. He set it down, squatting to feel for supplies. "When we get back downstairs, I'll grab those beers I promised and we'll park it in front of those monitors. Maybe make out a little. What do you say?"

Declan couldn't hide the smile in his voice as he said, "Sounds great."

"Good. But first I need to clean up."

Declan was already taking out wipes, water, and hand sanitizer. Things he had brought with greasy hands and malfunctioning equipment in mind originally, but... "Always the Otter Scout," he quipped, blindly tossing his boyfriend the towel.

Marc laughed huskily. "Indeed, and I'm so very—ah, Hel."

"What?"

"I forgot you readjusted it before we…" He cleared his throat. "I don't know how to say this, Dec, but the camera was pointed at us the entire time."

His amber eyes snapping up, his face heated with the realization. "Oh fuck me."

"Already did, but if you want to go again, I'm more than happy to."

Merciful Cthona. Leave it to Declan Emmet, tech genius, to accidentally record a nightvision sex tape after making comments about no one else being able to keep it in their pants.

Tag list: @hlizr50 @daevastanner @damedechance @headcanonheadcase @vikingmagic33 @ofduskanddreams

[mirthfulbrewist]

Dungeon Starter Ideas

Last edited: 10/02/2021

A wise DM once said, “you’re only as original as the obscurity of the things you steal from.”

So here’s a few ideas I stole from my brother, books, TV, other DMs, and my own campaign notes! These descriptors can be purely atmospheric, or you can use the unique circumstances to complicate things for your players!

I’ve marked the ones I’ve actually played with a ♥, in case you want to hear some specifics of how it went. I’ll be updating this list, so keep your eyes open.

Locations:

♥ A translucent and fragile-looking spire made of ice, amber, glass, or crystal

The hollowed insides of an old, giant tree (dead or alive)

Above the beanstalk, up in the clouds

♥ A forgotten underground tunnel system connecting two cities

A ruined castle half-buried in snow/sand/earth/water

An abandoned mining pit

A Labyrinth, complete with a wandering monster, and a curse which breaks navigational magic

The forgotten corridor between dimensions where outsiders, stragglers, and ideas live

The Moon

The bones of an ancient, colossal creature

♥ A magic library, with living books and other hazards

♥ An abandoned Frankenstein lab, or construct factory

A high-security bank, prison, etc.

Twist:

♥ This dungeon seems to appear and disappear at different intervals and locations, meaning coming in (or leaving) is sometimes impossible

♥ Gravity works strangely here. You may find yourself upside-down to the rest of the world, standing on floating platforms that crumble and break in odd directions

♥ This is a pocket dimension with its own set of rules--perhaps literally using the rules of a different board game, arcade game, or rpg

♥ There is a spirit living here who represents the dungeon itself. It is ancient, enormous, eccentric, and with uncertain morality.

The place was built too small or too large for the party (Kobold made, Giant made, etc.)

♥ Magic is distorted here, and spells sometimes cause wild magic surges, or fail entirely

♥ This place has funhouse elements--slides, platforms, and silly, gamey rituals that must be overcome

These are hallowed/desecrated grounds, and as such the land has some effect on holy/unholy magic

♥ This is a malleable mirror/dream world, built by someone’s psyche

Party members swap bodies when they enter. Enjoy your new character sheet!

Inhabitants:

Local beasties have moved in and built nests

♥ A gang or cult has made this their base

The original host is long dead, but half-broken sentries still patrol...

Mimics everywhere

This place was built and guarded specifically to keep THAT THING contained...i.e. monster types with specific abilities and resistances

♥ There are prisoners who must be evacuated, and monsters which are best left alone...but which are which?

♥ Haunted by ghosts

Mostly/entirely abandoned, but prickling with traps and hazards

Note: There’s no reason you can’t mash a bunch from each list together. Have your ruined castle be on the moon. Have your magical library be a shifting labyrinth. Have your mine be harvesting mana from the bones of a long-dead magical creature. It doesn’t even need to make sense--maybe these catacombs were built like a funhouse by a lich with a strange sense of humour. Get weird with it!

My brother’s wonderful holiday one-shot got me inspired to add a little confusion and whimsy into my world, and so I pass my inspiration on to you. Have fun!

[crooked-city]

The Flights and Their Treatment of the Dead

Note that individual clans will have their own culture and rituals, all of this is just sort of broad generalization

Earth: The dead are often kept at home if at all possible, old lairs often have several generations of skulls, skeletons, and sometimes even lovingly mummified dragons, rituals are often elaborate and loving, there are ceremonies to celebrate the beloved dead several times a year, and benevolent necromancy (of the divination-oriented kind) is very common, and even young hatchlings often know how to ask an ancestor many generations back for help through those methods.  Clans that are mostly Snappers will often have locations on their migratory routes where they keep their ancestral graves and will celebrate when they hit that point, excited to once more reunite with their ancestors and ancient heroes. (Rockbreaker’s Ceremony often coincides with many Snapper clans hitting these points in migration)

Fire: Cremation is HUGE for them for obvious reasons, their rituals full of song, though the song is often solemn. Often the funeral pyres are the same fires used to forge weapons, and those close to the honored dead, especially warriors, will often be granted weapons forged in the heat of those pyres, the bond between them believed to make the weapon strike true

Wind: Big community events, meant to celebrate the life of the fallen dragon, outsiders may even be drawn into the little festival of their life and told about how great the community’s lost friend is, and invited to celebrate them too. Some pockets perform sky burials, believing that birds will carry the souls of the dead on the winds with them, others have adopted cremation from the Fire flight so as to cast the ashes of the dead on the winds instead

Water: Solemn, Divination is often used to learn the wishes of the dead, large dragons like guardians are often cast to the depths to become something akin to whalefalls. In the Tidelord’s absence, dragons who have moved to The Sea of 1000 Currents from Earth are often asked to help through necromancy instead of traditional Water Divination. Ornate memorials are often made from shells, and offerings for the dead are often left there.

Lightning: Rituals are brief and to the point, thanking the dragon for their work, and the bodies are used for various kinds of scientific testing to further benefit the community and perhaps the entire flight. After all testing is done the remains are sometimes returned to the clan they came from (Especially if the dragon’s family hailed from a different flight and might have specific wishes for the bones or other preserved parts), but are often respectfully composted to feed gardens of useful plants.  Ridgebacks will often return “borrowed” items to the families (Or equivalent items if those have in turn been borrowed or used up)

Ice: Funerals often consist of regaling the dragon’s deeds, though not as celebratory in nature like Wind’s party funerals.  Bodies are often frozen and placed in Ice Catacombs to be easily visited, often with tablets recording their great deeds for the flight. Memorials for Tundras (and those who knew Tundras) often have personal possessions that carry the deceased’s scent so their friends and family can always recognize them. Gaolers and other honorable protectors and guards might have their frozen forms placed to guard important places from beyond the grave

Shadow: Similar party atmosphere to Wind, though more private. The dead’s possessions are often gambled for amongst attendees (And most dragons will look the other way if you cheat for something that’s of great personal importance to you). Graves are often marked by swathes of beautiful glowing mushrooms, one of the only flights that consistently buries their dead.  There’s always an empty seat at any game table at funerary events to allow the spirits of the dead to join in playing, their mischievous souls may feel spurned if they’re not also allowed to play, and if the dead win a game for their possessions those items are buried with them (And many dragons will attest to witnessing the dead play)

Light: The dead are mostly honored by meticulous record-keeping of their lives, academic and scholarly achievements being considered a point of great honor for residents of this flight. They tend to keep catacombs.  Dragons of great honor in any field often have their bones bejeweled like those of saints, and are sometimes displayed in libraries of their work.  A Pearlcatcher’s pearl (Or that of a dragon that was once a Pearlcatcher but changed breeds) can sometimes be found in these saintly displays, otherwise they are bequeathed to someone close to the dragon in question.

Plague: Bodies are generally left to be reclaimed by the land, though bones are often removed to be made into tools, and decorations granted to those close to the deceased. Sometimes hearts are preserved and given to a partner or dear friend of the deceased. Some pockets, mainly clans that mostly consist of Mirrors and/or Wildclaws, perform ritual cannibalism instead of leaving the meat to become part of the Scarred Wasteland, with the heart being consumed by someone particularly close to the beloved dead

Nature: Nearly identical to Plague, but with less bone toolmaking (Though it’s not particularly uncommon), heart preservation is far rarer here.  Burials that are used to form gardens are occasionally practiced, with slightly more intent put into it than letting the body be reclaimed by nature.

Arcane: Like in Light there’s a heavy focus on honoring a dragon’s scholarly pursuits, and on bejeweling the dead though rather than covering a corpse in gems, they prefer to straight up turn the dragon into a crystalline artifact. (Often displayed in observatories and libraries related to their work) Fae will often preserve their dead in amber instead of the usual crystallization