#Malignant Allure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainforestakiie · 5 months ago

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Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer part 05

The Imp

@inubaki this is the end of the Imp! for now anyway. i might write one last part, but this is the end of the story i had in mind? i hope you enjoyed it!

‘A Priest observing that one of fathers in his charge seems to be heavily distracted by something no one else can see. Father Adam had come to them young, an unwanted fourth child to a Nobel family hoping to gain the church’s favor. Life is hard for Adam whim continues to wait for his family to return for him, growing into despair until one day he suddenly improves. He claims he’s spoken to an angel. And, to his credit, does give information far beyond what any child should know. But the older Adam gets, the more distracted he becomes. More happy, but conflicted. Till one day he disappears.'

The Imp (Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03. Part 04. Part 05

"Luci?"

Adam's voice trembled, reverberating through the oppressive blackness of the basement like a lost whisper seeking solace. Time had stretched thin, an endless stretch since his last descent into this forsaken place. As his eyes adjusted to the murky gloom, memories surfaced with a disconcerting clarity, flashing images of a once familiar space now enshrouded in eerie desolation. His vision wavered, like shadows dancing in the periphery, distorting the memory of the basement's former allure—a place now forgotten and forsaken.

The basement was an oppressive cavern, its walls seemingly closing in as Adam's footsteps echoed with a hollow finality. He shuffled forward, his breath hitching in his throat. The air was thick, laden with an acrid stench that clung to the walls like an unspoken secret.

A decrepit bookshelf, weathered and bent, loomed at the end of the room, its once-gleaming surface now obscured by a thick layer of dust. Shelves, arranged with unsettling precision, displayed an assortment of grotesque curiosities—jars filled with preserved meat, suspended in a nauseating, gelatinous fluid that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

The basement opened into a claustrophobic chamber; its dimensions obscured by the oppressive shadows cast by flickering candlelight. Murals, painted with eerie and writhing designs, seemed to twist and coil, their colours shifting in the erratic glow. The centre of the chamber was dominated by a solitary, dust-covered table, upon which lay ancient parchment—a relic from another era.

A mannequin stood as the table's centrepiece, draped in an ethereal, snow-white gown that cascaded like a ghostly waterfall. The fabric, once pristine, was now marred by malevolent apple-like patterns and disturbing, petal-like embellishments that seemed to shiver and shift with a sinister intent. The dress's neckline was adorned with feather-like designs, and a spectral veil, hanging like a death shroud, obscured the mannequin’s face, trailing to the floor like a mournful wail.

In stark contrast, behind the mannequin, two vases overflowed with real purple and white roses, their vibrant hues a jarring contrast to the lifeless blossoms that filled the rest of the room.

The memory was vibrant. Adam practically expected to witness it again…

A sense of foreboding washed over Adam as he rounded the sharp corner, his skin crawling with unease. His oversized sweater clung to him like a shroud as he peered around the bend. His breath caught in his throat, his heart leaping into his chest in a frantic rhythm. Before him lay a grotesque tableau—a sea of candles, their wax dripped and congealed, forming grotesque stalactites that clung to the walls like malignant growths. A solitary black candle burned with a sickly, wavering flame, placed ominously in front of the mannequin.

Adam’s knees buckled, his eyes widening in horror. The mannequin was no longer adorned in its haunting bridal dress; instead, it stood in ghastly nudity. Its head was missing, and it bore six twisted, unnervingly lifelike arms protruding grotesquely from its torso. The sight was horrifying, a nightmarish distortion of something once innocent. Blood, dark and glistening, dripped slowly from the bottom of the mannequin, pooling beneath it like a macabre offering.

"L-Luci?" Adam’s voice broke, barely more than a breathless whisper as terror gripped him.

He took an involuntary step back, his eyes fixed in horror as the mannequin’s dismembered arms began to move. Each limb rose and fell with a slow, deliberate motion, accompanied by a sickening, wet squelch that seemed to echo from the depths of Adam’s soul.

His face turned ashen, and he staggered back, seeking refuge behind the corner of the wall. His hands flew to his face, trying to shield himself from the abomination before him. Tremors racked his body, each shudder a testament to the profound fear that had taken hold of him.

Adam took a step back, a visceral chill creeping up his spine as the unsettling sound of bones snapping and cracking filled the air like the macabre symphony of a forgotten graveyard. His breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as his senses were overwhelmed by the rising tide of dread. Desperate to escape the nightmarish scene, he turned sharply, his mind racing with only one thought—escape.

But what lay before him was not the familiar stretch of the basement or the comforting presence of the dumbwaiter he had hoped for. Instead, he faced a pair of imposing double wooden doors, their surfaces intricately adorned with stained glass. The fragmented patterns and twisted designs in the glass seemed to writhe and pulse, mocking his desperate need for escape with their ominous beauty.

His heart leaped into his throat, pounding against his ribcage with the force of a trapped animal. Adam stumbled forward in shock, his hands instinctively reaching out to grasp the cold, carved wood of the doors. Panic surged through him as he pushed against them, his fingers clawing desperately for purchase. But the doors, heavy and unforgiving, refused to budge. He felt the weight of his own terror dragging him down, his attempts to steady himself failing as the reality of his situation crashed down upon him.

In a disorienting blur, Adam tumbled through the doors, his body colliding with the cold floor beyond. The world spun around him, the once-distant sounds of cracking bones now an oppressive cacophony filling the space. He lay there, dazed and breathless, the harsh light of an unknown source casting sharp, jagged shadows across the room. Each flicker of light seemed to twist and writhe, amplifying the creeping dread that clung to the edges of his vision.

The room he found himself in was a chilling contrast to the basement's grim decor. The walls were lined with oppressive, dark wood panelling, and the air was thick with a musty, oppressive weight. Shadows danced along the walls, moving with a life of their own as if mocking his futile attempt to escape. The oppressive silence that followed was a stark reminder of his isolation, each heartbeat echoing louder in his ears as he struggled to rise, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

Adam's mind raced, struggling to make sense of his surroundings as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. The fear that had been a distant, abstract terror now surged forward with crushing intensity, pressing down on him with every breath he took. His eyes darted around the room, seeking any sign of an exit or an explanation for the nightmarish transformation of what had once been a seemingly normal basement. But the room offered no answers, only the eerie promise of further horrors yet to be revealed.

The double doors creaked open, and Adam was met with a sight that both mesmerized and horrified him. Before him lay the interior of a church unlike any he had ever known. The grandeur of the space was overwhelming, an eerie contrast to the grim basement he had just fled.

He found himself standing on the threshold of what could only be described as a grotesque parody of a wedding. His bare feet, chilled by the cold marble floor, touched a long carpet that undulated in dark crimson and jet black, stretching all the way up the aisle to an altar that seemed to beckon with malevolent intent. The carpet, an unsettling blend of blood and shadow, drew a stark line through the room, leading to the place where vows of eternal love were supposed to be exchanged.

Rows of wooden stools, dark and polished, flanked the carpet on either side. Black rose petals were scattered across the floor, their inky colour creating a stark contrast against the immaculate white of the petals. The scent of decay mixed with the fragrance of the roses, adding a sickly sweetness to the already oppressive atmosphere.

The church's interior was vast and imposing, a cathedral of nightmares that dwarfed anything Adam had ever encountered. Pillars of deep, blood-red stone lined the walkway, their surfaces veined with patterns that seemed to writhe in the dim light. Above them, towering stained-glass windows depicted a horrific transformation: an angel falling from the heavens into a world engulfed in flames. The angel's once serene visage twisted with each successive window, becoming increasingly monstrous and grotesque, its fall depicted with a cruel artistry that sent shivers down Adam’s spine.

A gasp escaped Adam's lips as he tried to retreat, but the double doors slammed shut with a deafening thud, locking him in. The sound reverberated through the vast chamber, leaving his ears ringing and his heart racing in terror. His legs, trembling uncontrollably, buckled beneath him as he stumbled forward, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrific spectacle that unfolded before him.

At the top of the aisle, Adam’s emerald eyes darted nervously from side to side. The wooden stools, once intended for a congregation of joyous witnesses, were now occupied by shadowy figures. These mannequins, draped in dark, tattered garments, were seated in every spot, their features obscured by shadows. They stared blankly ahead, their presence an unsettling reminder of the perverse ceremony that was about to take place.

The sight of the shadowy mannequins, seated in eerie silence, filled the church with an air of sinister anticipation. Their vacant eyes and silent stillness were a grotesque mockery of the usual warmth and joy associated with weddings. The oppressive silence was broken only by the faint rustling of the black rose petals, carried by a draft that seemed to whisper dark secrets.

Adam's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to process the horror around him. The altar at the end of the aisle, where the bride and groom were meant to stand, was now adorned with sinister symbols etched into the stone. The once-sacred space had been twisted into a macabre stage, and Adam felt a cold sweat break out across his skin.

The oppressive beauty of the church, with its blend of romantic and horrific elements, seemed to close in on him. The juxtaposition of the elegant, yet malevolent, surroundings left him paralyzed with fear. His mind raced with frantic thoughts as he realized he was trapped, forced to bear witness to a nightmare that blended the sacred with the sinister, the romantic with the repulsive.

As Adam stood paralyzed at the top of the aisle, his mind reeling from the grotesque spectacle around him, a sudden and jarring shift occurred. Without warning, a bouquet of black roses appeared in his hands. The flowers, their petals an abyssal black, seemed to absorb the dim light that filled the church, creating an unsettling contrast against the stark white of the scattered petals on the floor.

Adam's fingers curled instinctively around the bouquet, his grip tightening as if seeking some tangible anchor in the midst of the chaos. His gaze, drawn upward by a magnetic force, was pulled to the ceiling where a pentagram was etched into the stone. The symbol, sinister and arcane, seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, casting eerie shadows that flickered and danced with each tremor of the church's dim lighting.

A sudden jolt of recognition snapped Adam from his trance. He turned sharply, his heart skipping a beat as he saw a figure standing near the altar. It was a nun, her habit dark and ethereal, blending almost seamlessly with the surrounding shadows. She moved with a deliberate grace, her presence both solemn and eerie. Before Adam could fully comprehend the situation, the nun extended a hand toward him, her eyes locked with his in a piercing gaze.

"Emily!" Adam's voice broke the oppressive silence, the name escaping his lips in a desperate gasp. His eyes widened with hope and fear as he tried to follow her. He staggered forward, his feet stumbling over the carpet, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency.

But the nun’s figure seemed to dissolve into the rows of shadowy mannequins. She vanished into the sea of lifeless forms, her presence retreating into the eerie congregation of seated figures. The once-prominent figure of Emily seemed to dissolve into the darkness, leaving Adam alone with the chilling emptiness of the church.

He stood frozen before the walkway, the bouquet of black roses still clutched tightly in his trembling hands. The grandeur and malevolence of the church pressed in around him, the sight of the mannequins, their blank stares fixed in haunting silence, amplifying his sense of isolation. The pentagram above him seemed to mock his confusion, its dark symbolism an unspoken promise of deeper horrors yet to come.

The aisle stretched before him, a sinister path leading to an altar that promised nothing but darkness and dread. Adam’s gaze flickered helplessly from the dark, imposing altar to the rows of mannequins that seemed to silently watch him with their soulless eyes. The oppressive beauty of the church, combined with the vanished figure of Emily, left him in a state of paralyzed horror, each beat of his heart echoing with the dread of what was to come.

"No..." Adam whispered shakily, his voice barely more than a breath against the oppressive silence that filled the church.

He stumbled backward, his legs unsteady beneath him, until his back hit the cold surface of the double doors. Panic surged through him as the haunting melody of 'Here Comes the Bride' began to echo through the church, distorted and slow, as if played from some otherworldly source. The notes crawled under his skin, filling him with a dread that made his heart hammer wildly in his chest.

"No, no, no, no," he muttered frantically, his voice rising as he spun around to face the doors.

The bouquet of black roses slipped from his fingers, scattering across the floor like dark, wilting remnants of a dream gone horribly wrong. He didn’t care. His hands flew to the shiny doorknobs, gripping them so hard his knuckles turned white. He twisted and pulled, trying desperately to force them open, but they wouldn’t budge, not even an inch. It was as if the doors had fused with the very walls, sealing him inside this nightmare.

Then, a soft touch—a feather-light brush against his shoulder—made Adam freeze, his whole body stiffening as cold prickles erupted along his skin. His emerald eyes widened in terror; his breath caught in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t. Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned, biting back the cry that rose in his throat.

"No!" Adam bellowed, his voice cracking the silence like a whip.

The entire church seemed to freeze, as if someone had pressed the pause button on reality itself. The music stopped mid-note, the flickering candlelight stilled, even the suffocating weight of the air seemed to hold its breath.

"No! I won’t— I won’t do this!" Adam’s voice wavered, his hands trembling at his sides. "I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to marry you, Luci!"

Standing before him, mere feet away, was a figure both familiar and foreign—a twisted reflection of someone Adam had once known. Luci, but not Luci. His presence dominated the space, a strange mixture of elegance and terror that made Adam’s stomach churn.

Dressed not in the ghostly white suit Adam once imagined, Luci now stood in a sleek black suit, the fabric so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it. A deep blue vest peeked from beneath his jacket, a colour that shimmered like midnight waters. Luci’s platinum blonde hair, unnaturally smooth and perfect, framed a face that was eerily enchanting—too perfect to be human.

His alabaster skin glowed with an ethereal light; his cheeks touched with a rosy hue that felt more like a painter’s deliberate stroke than something real. But it was his eyes that made Adam’s blood run cold. One gold, the other ruby, both gleamed with an almost playful malevolence. They were beautiful—horrifically beautiful—and they locked onto Adam with an intensity that made him feel utterly exposed.

A massive, elaborate black top hat crowned Luci’s head, adorned with a ring of purple roses on the verge of decay, their petals wilting yet somehow holding on to a tragic beauty. Nestled among the flowers was the familiar sight of Basil, the little white snake that always accompanied Luci, now wrapping itself around the hat’s brim, its white scales slowly morphing into a golden hue. The sight was so disturbingly intimate, so familiar, that Adam felt his heart twist painfully in his chest.

Luci’s grin stretched wide, too wide, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, as if he could barely contain his amusement. The smile looked like it would tear his face in half. His hooves—cloven and gleaming like polished onyx—clicked rhythmically against the stone floor of the church as he shifted, his posture relaxed yet predatory. He leaned in slightly, his arms crossed behind his back, allowing the shadows around him to darken and grow, curling at his feet like hungry tendrils.

"T-Tell me the truth." Adam’s voice faltered, but he forced himself to stand straight, his knees shaking beneath him. He swallowed thickly, trying to summon courage where none existed.

"Did—did you push Steve?"

Luci's eyes flashed with something primal, a flicker of cruel delight dancing in their mismatched depths. His grin widened even more, impossibly, and a soft, rumbling chuckle escaped his throat, vibrating through the thick air of the church. When he finally spoke, his voice was like velvet, smooth and melodic, each word caressing the air with a beauty that sent a shiver down Adam’s spine. It was the first time Adam had ever heard Luci speak, and it was the most hauntingly beautiful sound he had ever experienced.

"Did I push Steve?" Luci repeated, his voice low, dripping with amusement, the words curling like smoke in the space between them. The question echoed, bouncing off the high arches of the church, making Adam shudder with every syllable.

Adam gasped, stepping back instinctively, his whole-body trembling under the weight of Luci’s voice. It was so gentle, so intoxicating, yet it carried an undercurrent of something dark, something deeply wrong. The shadows around Luci swirled, growing deeper, darker, as if the church itself was bending to his will.

Adam’s breath came in ragged gasps as Luci’s form loomed closer, his golden and ruby eyes gleaming with a satisfaction that sent a cold chill racing through Adam’s veins. He could feel the weight of the truth pressing down on him, suffocating him with its inevitability.

The truth he had been running from was standing before him, grinning with a terrifying, twisted glee.

Adam’s breath came in shallow gasps, his whole-body trembling as he forced himself to face the nightmare standing before him. His legs felt weak, like they might give out at any moment, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to confront Luci, even though every fibre of his being screamed to run. His voice, when it finally emerged, was shaky and barely above a whisper.

“D-Did you try to hurt Steve?” Adam stammered.

His eyes wide, watching as Luci's grin stretched impossibly wider, like the Cheshire Cat from a twisted fairytale. Luci’s mismatched eyes—gold and ruby—sparkled with a dangerous, gleeful light, his sharp teeth gleaming.

“Did I… push Steve?” Luci repeated in mockery, each word dripping with amusement.

He took a step closer, the sound of his hooves clicking against the stone floor like a death knell. Adam gulped, his legs nearly buckling as Luci’s cold, sharp finger traced lightly over his cheek, sending a jolt of fear down his spine. The imp’s touch was both tender and terrifying, a predator toying with its prey.

Adam’s voice broke as he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. “The fish… the fish always dying in the church—was that you? The shadows… haunting every corner… the nightmares, the thing in my wardrobe. Was it all you?”

Luci chuckled darkly, his finger trailing down to Adam’s chin, lifting it slightly, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Everything I’ve done,” Luci purred, his voice like silk, “I did for you, Adam.” His words oozed with twisted affection, his eyes glowing with a sick kind of devotion. “I move the world for no one… but I did it for you.”

Adam recoiled slightly, stepping back in a feeble attempt to put some distance between them, but Luci moved closer, his presence overwhelming. Adam’s back hit the cold, unyielding surface of the double doors, but they did not budge. Panic surged through him as Luci loomed ever nearer, his breath ghosting over Adam’s skin.

“D-Did you hurt Emily?” Adam asked, his voice breaking as the weight of the truth began to crush him. “Did you take her sight?”

Luci’s grin split his face wide as he leaned in even closer, his shadow engulfing Adam.

“Emily…” Luci mused, his voice rumbling like thunder, “Aas getting too close. She would have gotten in the way, Adam. I couldn’t let her take you away.”

Adam’s heart pounded violently in his chest as he tried to comprehend the horror of Luci’s words.

“You… you blinded her… you did that to her.” His voice cracked, the betrayal raw in his throat.

“She would have taken you from me,” Luci said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I gave you everything, Adam. A family… a friend… a partner, a husband. Children.”

As Luci spoke, Adam’s gaze darted to the benches, where rows of China dolls sat, clapping their hands and tossing black rose petals over him. The sound of their childish giggles filled the air, making Adam’s skin crawl.

Adam stumbled backward, his feet catching on the edge of the aisle, and he fell onto his backside, grunting as he hit the cold stone floor. His green eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared at Luci in horror. The imp stepped closer, his hooves echoing ominously in the vast, haunted space.

“I saved you,” Luci whispered, his voice soft but laced with dangerous affection. “I saved you when you were a child, Adam. When they kidnapped you, when they were going to sacrifice you. I brought you here… to keep you safe. Untouched.”

Adam’s mind reeled. His memories of that night were vague, shrouded in darkness, but now they surged back with brutal clarity. Luci had been there. Luci had always been there. His protector… his captor.

Luci’s eyes gleamed with a sickening kind of triumph as he crouched down before Adam, his long fingers reaching out to gently brush a strand of Adam’s thick hair from his face.

“I’ve done everything for you,” he whispered, his breath cold against Adam’s skin. “I want you, Adam. I want your soul. I want you to be mine.”

Adam whimpered, biting his bottom lip as tears welled up in his eyes. The church had fallen deathly silent, as if the very building itself was holding its breath, waiting for his answer. Adam’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to steady himself. He could feel Luci’s eyes on him, burning with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

He swallowed hard, meeting Luci’s gaze with trembling resolve.

“Did you hurt Steve?” he repeated, his voice weak but determined. “Did you hurt Emily?”

Luci’s smile faltered for the first time, his golden and ruby eyes narrowing. He slapped his hands onto his knees and stood up with a flourish, mocking Adam’s persistence.

“Why do you care so much about them, Adam?” he sneered. “Why do you care so much about that nun and this church?”

Adam’s legs were shaking as he forced himself to stand, his voice wavering but growing stronger.

“So, you did hurt her,” he said, his voice laced with bitter realization. “You hurt Emily.”

Luci rolled his eyes in exasperation, his lips twisting into a dangerous smirk.

“I had to,” he said coldly. “She was getting too close. If she kept going, she would’ve taken you away from me. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Adam’s breath hitched, his heart breaking as he thought of Emily—kind, caring Emily, who had always been there for him.

“She was my friend,” Adam cried, his voice cracking. “She cared for me!”

Luci huffed, dismissing the pain in Adam’s voice with a wave of his hand.

“She would’ve taken you away,” he repeated, his tone sharp with jealousy. “I couldn’t let you leave the church.”

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides as anger flared in his chest, burning away some of his fear.

“Why?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Why couldn’t I leave?”

Luci’s grin returned, colder this time, his eyes gleaming with possession. “Because you’re mine, Adam. You must become mine in this church.”

Adam scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips despite the fear still gnawing at him. “Why would I ever want to be with you after everything you’ve done? You’ve hurt the people I love. Why would I want to stay with you?”

Luci’s laughter echoed through the church, a sound so chilling it made Adam’s skin crawl. The imp’s smirk twisted into something even darker as he stepped closer, towering over Adam.

“Do you really love them, Adam?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Do you really love Steve?”

Adam blinked, confused, his voice soft as he answered, “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Luci threw his head back, laughing at him, the sound harsh and mocking, cutting through the air like a blade.

Luci's eyes glinted with a sinister light, that unnerving mix of seduction and cruelty flickering within their depths as he studied Adam’s tear-streaked face.

"How could you love something that's not real?" Luci's voice was a velvet whisper.

His lips curling in a twisted grin as he began to circle Adam, slow and predatory. The soft shuffle of Luci's boots on the floor sounded like a snake slithering through the silence. Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath growing shallow.

“What are you talking about?” Adam stammered, eyes darting toward Luci. But Luci was moving too fast, his figure gliding through the shadows like a spectre, impossible to pin down.

Luci’s voice slithered into Adam's ear, a deep, purring growl, “Think about it. Really think.”

He was behind him now, breath hot against Adam’s neck. “Look back at your memories, Adam. Look closely.”

Adam tried to keep track of Luci’s movements, his eyes flicking around the dimly lit room, but Luci was gone—vanished into the gloom. The only figures in sight were the mannequins, their vacant, glassy eyes watching. The China-dolls too, their cold porcelain faces cracked, grinning grotesquely in the flickering candlelight. A sense of suffocating dread coiled around Adam, squeezing his chest as nausea churned in his stomach.

Luci’s words echoed through his mind. Really think... really look...

And so, he did.

He thought of Steve. The bright flash of red hair, that freckled face that always wore a mischievous smile. The way Steve's laughter had filled Emily’s room the first time they met, how Steve’s hand had brushed his, a spark that had ignited something deep inside him. Adam’s brow furrowed as he remembered Steve sharing his bed after that first nightmare, the warmth of his body, the gentle comfort of his presence. How Steve had carefully tied the wardrobe doors shut, keeping the monsters away. He thought of the birthdays, the gifts Steve had given him, the way his heart had leapt with each of those small tokens of affection. His first kiss... it had been Steve. It had to be.

But as Adam replayed the memories, cracks began to appear.

His smile faltered, brows knitting in confusion.

Why hadn’t anyone else ever spoken to Steve?

He remembered the children outside, the nuns... Steve had been with them, but... but had they ever really acknowledged him?

Eveline, Steve’s twin. But Adam had never actually seen them talk. Never seen them in the same room, come to think of it. Steve always claimed to be speaking with Sister Sera... but only ever after storming away. The figure who consoled him... was that really Sister Sera?

Adam’s heart pounded so loudly now it felt like it might burst. Sweat gathered at his temples, and his stomach twisted violently.

He whispered, almost pleading, "No... no, no, no..."

It couldn't be right. Steve was real. He had to be. Steve was his first love, his first friend, his—

A hand touched his elbow.

Adam spun around, and there he was—Steve. Tears welled in Adam’s eyes, and before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around Steve, clutching him tightly. Steve’s embrace was warm, familiar. For a moment, the panic in Adam’s chest melted away.

"Steve..." Adam sobbed, burying his face in Steve's shoulder. "You're real. You’re here."

But then Luci’s voice drifted through the room again, soothing, mocking. "There, there. Don’t cry, Adam. Everything was... necessary."

A cold shiver ran down Adam’s spine. He squinted through the haze of his tears, pulling back just enough to meet Steve’s eyes—only they weren’t the same anymore. Steve’s gentle amber eyes had darkened, shifting into an unnatural shade of ruby and gold. Adam’s stomach dropped. The comforting warmth of Steve’s body began to warp, his hands no longer tender but clawed.

The wide grin on Steve’s face stretched further, too far, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth. Adam’s breath hitched as he staggered backward.

"No..." Adam choked, shaking his head as the truth unravelled in front of him.

From behind Steve, something twisted into view—a long, pointed tail, curling like a serpent in the shadows.

"You, see?" Steve's voice, no—Luci’s voice—crooned, rich with satisfaction. "There was no Steve, Adam. There was only ever me."

Adam’s heart shattered, the weight of betrayal crushing him from within. His knees buckled, and he stumbled back as Luci—no longer Steve, but the demonic figure with glowing eyes and that devilish smile—advanced toward him.

Luci’s voice dripped with a perverse sweetness, his blackened claws reaching out. "Your love was real, Adam, but it was always for me. You just didn't know it."

Adam sobbed, raw and broken, "Why? Why would you do this to me?"

Luci’s lips curled into a smile that was both chilling and seductive. "Because I needed you to love me, Adam. To teach you the depths of love... and ensure you would never leave me. I couldn't risk losing you after Emily." His tail flicked behind him, a menacing swish in the dark.

Adam's hands trembled as more tears spilled down his flushed cheeks, each one burning with the sting of betrayal. “So…everything... everything was a lie?”

Luci’s voice softened, almost tender as he cupped Adam's face, forcing their gazes to meet.

"No, my love," he whispered, his eyes gleaming. "It wasn't a lie. Every moment was real. Every touch, every kiss. It was all true..."

He leaned in, his lips brushing Adam's ear. “But it was always me.”

Adam's body had become a shadow of itself, worn down to the bone by the relentless weight of despair. He trembled as he stood, his legs barely holding him up. His muscles, once strong, now felt like wet paper, fragile and numb. His breath was shallow, coming in ragged gasps, his entire being exhausted to the core. His eyes, dim and hollow, stared up at Luci—or whatever Luci was—with a mixture of fear and resignation.

"Who... who are you?" Adam's voice cracked, barely a whisper, as if it was all he had left.

Luci’s eyes glinted, his head tilting to the side in a slow, unnerving motion. A low hum vibrated from deep within his throat, almost melodic, yet tinged with menace. As his head shifted, the sickening sound of skin stretching, snapping, and cracking filled the air, echoing through the desolate church like the crack of thunder.

Adam flinched as six massive wings erupted from Luci’s back—towering, grotesque, and yet achingly beautiful. They were a macabre blend of white and red, streaks of crimson running through the pristine feathers like blood. They stretched wide behind him, impossibly large, casting a haunting shadow that seemed to swallow the light.

Horns sprouted from Luci’s head, jagged and black, curling upward until they rose even higher than the brim of his tall top hat. And then, as if the darkness wasn’t enough, a small golden snake—Basil—slithered lazily around the tip of his horns, its delicate body twisting and coiling as a flame ignited at the centre, casting flickering orange light over Luci’s face. His eyes—once seductive and golden—now burned with an intense, blood-red glow, fully demonic.

Adam’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart racing as he watched eye-like patterns ripple across Luci’s once elegant black suit, blinking at him like something alive, something otherworldly. Each eye seemed to stare directly into Adam’s soul, watching, waiting. His gaze faltered, drifting to the monstrous shadow that stretched from Luci’s form, growing, expanding, until it aligned perfectly with the stained-glass window behind him.

The window depicted an angel—the most beautiful of them all, God's favoured one, the brightest light of Heaven. But Adam’s blood ran cold as realization hit him like a hammer. The glass showed a fallen figure, wings torn and broken, cast down from Heaven’s grace into the fiery abyss below.

Adam stared in horror as the shadow seemed to merge with the image—Luci’s form lined up perfectly with the depiction of the Fallen Archangel. The one who had been banished. The one whose name was whispered in fear and hatred, the one who ruled over the flames that scorched the damned.

Lucifer.

The name hung in Adam’s mind, but his lips trembled, unable to form the word.

Luci—or Lucifer—leaned in close, so close Adam could feel the warmth of his breath against his cold skin. One clawed hand gently cradled Adam’s cheek, the gesture deceptively tender. But behind those glowing eyes was something ancient and terrifying. Luci's smile was a wicked curve, wide and sharp, dripping with satisfaction.

"You already know who I am," Luci whispered, his voice like silk, dark and velvety, wrapping around Adam’s senses, suffocating him in its allure. “Say my name. It’s written upon your soul.”

Adam's lips quivered, his entire body trembling as he tried to speak.

"L... Lucifer..." he finally managed, the name escaping his lips in a weak, broken whisper.

At the sound of his name, Lucifer trembled with delight. A shiver of pleasure ran through him, and his wings fluttered behind him, their crimson edges glowing faintly in the dim light. His clawed hand slid down, taking hold of Adam’s frail hand, his touch both cold and electric. With a slow, deliberate motion, Lucifer lifted Adam to his feet, guiding him with unnatural ease.

“What... what happens now?” Adam’s voice was weak, his question laced with desperation and fear.

As if in response, the bouquet of black roses that Adam had dropped earlier—fallen, forgotten—suddenly lifted from the cold stone floor. The petals, once scattered, gathered again, the roses reassembling themselves into a perfect bouquet. They hovered in the air beside him, waiting, almost expectantly.

Lucifer’s eyes never left Adam’s as he directed Adam’s trembling hands to take the bouquet, his fingers lingering, brushing against Adam’s skin in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. His other hand came up to caress Adam’s cheek, his thumb stroking the tear-streaked skin as if offering comfort, but his smile betrayed something far darker.

“You will marry me,” Lucifer whispered, his voice like a lover’s promise, but twisted with something sinister. His wings curled around them both, creating a suffocating cocoon.

“You were mine from the very beginning, Adam.” His words dripped with an ancient, terrible truth. “The first man. My soulmate. You were always destined for me.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his body felt numb. His mind screamed for him to run, but his legs were frozen, his will erode by exhaustion and fear. The weight of Lucifer’s words crushed him, his fate sealed from the very beginning of time.

The flames from Basil’s tail flickered brighter, casting long shadows over Lucifer’s face as his grin widened, sharp and terrifying. The bouquet of black roses pulsed in Adam’s hand, cold as death itself, but so beautiful it hurt to hold them.

“You belong to me, Adam,” Lucifer whispered, leaning closer until their foreheads touched.

“You always have and this time…nothing will take you away ever again.”

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #au #guitarduck #fanficiton #horror #imp

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sapphicbookclub · 10 months ago

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Mortal Follies by Alexis Hall

It is the year 1814 and life for a young lady of good breeding has many difficulties. There are balls to attend, fashions to follow, marriages to consider and, of course, the tiny complication of existing in a world swarming with fairy spirits, interfering deities, and actual straight-up sorcerers.

Miss Maelys Mitchelmore finds her entry into high society hindered by an irritating curse. It begins innocuously enough with her dress slowly unmaking itself over the course of an evening at a high-profile ball, a scandal she narrowly manages to escape.

However, as the curse progresses to more fatal proportions, Miss Mitchelmore must seek out aid, even if it means mixing with undesirable company. And there are few less desirable than Lady Georgianna Landrake—a brooding, alluring young woman sardonically nicknamed “the Duke of Annadale”—who may or may not have murdered her own father and brothers to inherit their fortune. If one is to believe the gossip, she might be some kind of malign enchantress. Then again, a malign enchantress might be exactly what Miss Mitchelmore needs.

With the Duke’s help, Miss Mitchelmore delves into a world of angry gods and vindictive magic, keen to unmask the perpetrator of these otherworldly attacks. But Miss Mitchelmore’s reputation is not the only thing at risk in spending time with her new ally. For the rumoured witch has her own secrets that may prove dangerous to Miss Mitchelmore’s heart—not to mention her life.

Genres: historical, urban fantasy, romance

Order from Blackwell's and get free worldwide shipping!

Listen to the book on audiobooks.com here!

#sapphic books #lgbt books #wlw books #booklr #book recs #historical #paranormal

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greenlyren2 · 1 year ago

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Heavy Rains

Aemond Targraryen x Reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Prince Aemond Targaryen had always preferred the dark veil the night offered. When somber hours hide one from prying eyes and boastful mouths. The only one who holds you accountable - the pale moon, rolling lazily in the mirky sky above the blackwater.

It did not start out as a preference for the little prince. When he was young, sleep seemed to be a doleful lady, ready to escape him at every cost. Aemond foolishly tried to catch her every night, but she was skilled in the mazes of the dark hours. When the prince realized rolling around in his silk sheets was futile, he started visiting the library, the gardens, later in his life – Vhagar.

He found serenity in it, the quietness of the night seemed to have a presence of its own which followed him everywhere. A hazy figure that tugs at one’s heartstrings and renders the mind wistful.

However, Aemond’s fondness of the witch’s hours had started to dissipate. He was a husband now, of a few moons admittedly, but he was a dutiful spouse. The Mother had blessed him with a beautiful wife, one which he felt he did not deserve. The prince had accepted his faith as a second son, ready to be betrothed to some disagreeable woman.

But that was not the case, the gods bestowed him with a beauty so great, he could hardly believe. She was strong-willed, intelligent and honorable. The lady granted him a kindness the prince had never felt before. She had no expectations of him, no malignant gossip had poisoned her mind, she wanted to get to know him for herself, her heart on her sleeve.

It was an arduous process for the prince, to show the true colors of his soul, but he persisted. The hours after sunset became a respite for the couple. A sanctuary for their blooming love, a place where to roam the depths of the other person. Aemond found himself anticipating their time together more every day. Where he would drown himself in his books and his lady wife would embroider or paint.

He would often marvel at her poise, follow her skillful fingers as they thread along with his good eye. Remember the patterns of her breathing, watch as her face would scrunch up ever so slightly in concentration. Where her eyebrows would meet in confusion when she wouldn’t get something right from the first time.

It was a haven, in which where few words were spoken at first. But as the moons grew warmer, their talks blossomed. It started with formalities, the continuation of the courting process. Family histories turned into objects of ire and desire. As Aemond would remember all the things his lady favorited – the blue hue of the Forget-me-nots in the Keep’s gardens, the melody of her favorite tune, the end of her favorite story.

As his lady started including dragons in her embroidery pieces, and listening to the afflictions of her husband. He was hard to open up at first, she admits. But with time, with gentle care, steadily the prince would tell her of his ancestors, of his colossal dragon, of his mother and sister.

Though, there was one thing he seemed unbent on, the gnawing insecurity which ruined his countenance, at least that’s how the prince thought of it. In his lady’s opinion it was a striking mystery which allured her to the depths of her being.

The center of many a story, where most of the time the prince is a cruel perpetrator of awful violence, the jewel set behind a wall of leather, the patch and the scar that painted the fair face of Aemond Targaryen. It was a forbidden subject, one guarded so well its mere existence seemed unreal at times. His lady wife understood, with time, he’d tell, she would often think.

It was now that Aemond would start to hate the fast feet of the dark lady of the night. How swiftly she would pull the strings of late hours, and steal his precious time with his lady. Buried in obligations and documents, the prince would wane away in his chancery. Locked away from the joy of being with his wife.

Unfortunately, now was one of those nights. Aemonds’s hopes of being with his lady faded away as he traversed the dark corridors of the Red Keep. The prince realized he was right as he opened the dark mahogany doors of their chamber. All candles put out, a soft blue hue painting the room. The white linen curtains dancing with the gentle summer breeze as their partner, the faint smell of lavender lingering in the air.

His heart sang and twisted as he saw her, sprawled out gently on the bed. Hair laid out as a maze of tree roots on the satin pillow, light sleeping gown alluding to the beauty of her body. An opened book next to her – a futile attempt to pass the time until Aemond would come back. She was the picture of sublimity in his eyes, the Maiden could only envy her. She made his blood run hot and mind turn blank.

The prince’s thoughts were harshly interrupted by a rumble of thunder from outside. Realizing he was still at the front door, he gently closed it and went to the terrace. A light rain had started washing away the stuffy summer air. The prince’s hands found purchase on the delicate marble parapet. Aemond’s eye scorched the planes of King’s Landing, seeming to be lost in thought. If it was day time, he could see Vhagar from here in the outskirts of the city.

Aemond disliked weather like this, and in the deep belly of this point at night. It was bound to conjure up vexatious thoughts. As his good eye found the top of a building to lose his gaze in, his mind roared. In times like this, confusing the sound of rain droplets with the ones of blood was easy. He felt a mere boy of thirteen once again, grotesquely crouched down on the floor at Driftmark, clutching at his lost eye, eardrums burning with screams. Hearing the delicate drops of his blood hit the floor.

Thunder soared as Aemond gripped the parapet harder, hair slick with rain water and jerkin wet. His eye fell heavy as his scar felt it might open raw every moment. White hot rage ran through his veins as a furious thunderbolt. Vhagar’s infernal roar could be heard echoing in the mirky sky. This state of borderline frenzy was an endless loop of fury which he often found himself in.

Suddenly a pair of delicate arms disturbed the prince’s trance as they rested around his waist.

“It is only me, my prince.” A melodious voice echoed in his ears.

Aemond fought with everything not to tremble in his wife’s grasp, ferociously shutting his eye, not having the courage to face her.

“You will get cold out here, my lady. I couldn’t bear it If you were to fall sick on my behalf.” The prince tried to persuade her, not wanting to drag her into the depths of his ruinous mind.

Her grasp on him became harder, as the lady rest her forehead on the wet leather on Aemond’s back. A direct act of her strong volition, she knew the battles her husband fought alone – out in the open and in his head. She could be by his side in this one, she would never abandon him.

“As will you, Aemond.” She felt him tremble in her grip.

“I never liked storms as well, especially as a child. I would hide under my mother’s covers as the thunder would rage outside.” She gave out a slight huff, trying to put him at ease.

At moments like this he would always shut her off. Though she never persisted, it never irked her. His lady was more than content to sit in silence, be there for him as much as he allowed her.

Both stood as the wind blew and the sky wept over them for some time. Aemond carefully turned around as he gently grasped the forearms of his lady wife and witnessed her dejected countenance. The prince despised himself for making her feel this way. Her wet hair sticking to her forehead as her lashes glistened with rain drops.

“How do you think I lost my eye?” Aemond suddenly yelped out, her name falling with the preciseness of a prayer from his lips. It was time he thought, to be done with this nightmare and ask her. He knew how the commonfolk viewed him – a twisted monster from tales which mothers used to scare their children. He knew the ladies in the court were terrified of him. Most importantly, he knew all too well what he thought of himself.

“What me and the others think of you is of no substance, Aemond. What matters is what happened, and only you can tell me that.” She said sorrowfully, beyond pained to see her husband this way.

She reached a delicate hand to caress his face, thumb following the path of the darkened scar. Her gaze falling from his eye, to his nose and finally his lips.

“What I think is that you’re beautiful, and I pay no attention to children’s tales. I know you for who you are. You are my valiant husband, with piercing evidence for the greatness of his dragon.”

Aemond trembled beneath the vigour of his wife’s words. His face calmed, as he went to remove his eye patch. Her lips fell with admiration as he revealed himself to her.

In the socket of his right eye lay a magnificent sapphire, worthy of a prince. The blue of the stone shines as a pearl would at the bottom of the blackwater. A star in the sky.

Her other hand clasped around his face and she utters as she holds him lovingly “You are as if carved from the Gods of Old Valyria, my love. You are astonishing.”

Aemond’s heart soared as he fully opened himself to her, every crevice and every part of his persona was bared out for her to witness.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The prince moved to kiss his wife passionately, enveloping her in all his care. His lips met her with a feverishness that made the cold night light with warmth. Her hand moved to his silky moonlit locks and tugged there, as she gave all of herself to him. Aemond caressed her soft cheek as he poured all the love he held for her.

Breaking their embrace in a breathless mess, the prince rested his forehead on hers.

“I love you, my lady.” The prince whispered only for his wife and the rain to hear.

She gave him a chaste kiss in response.

“We could make you new memories. Fond ones.” The prince said hastily to his wife, eager to please her.

The rest of the night was spent on the back of Vhagar, traversing the night skies and the summer rain soaked their clothes, laughs echoing in the water beneath.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond oneshot #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond one eye targraryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fic #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic

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saints-who-never-existed · 8 months ago

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"Adding to the attraction of the Franklin story was the Arctic landscape that had subsumed leader, ships, and men.

In the nineteenth century very few Europeans—apart from whalers had ever been to the far north. It was one of those perilous regions attractive to a public still sensitive to the spirit of literary Romanticism—a place where a hero might defy the odds, suffer outrageously, and pit his larger than-usual soul against overwhelming forces.

This Arctic was dreary and lonesome and empty, like the windswept heaths and forbidding mountains favoured by aficionados of the Sublime. But the Arctic was also a potent Otherworld, imagined as a beautiful and alluring but potentially malign fairyland, a Snow Queen’s realm complete with otherworldly light effects, glittering ice-palaces, fabulous beasts—narwhals, polar bears, walruses—and gnome-like inhabitants dressed in exotic fur outfits.

There are numerous drawings of the period that attest to this fascination with the locale. The Victorians were keen on fairies of all sorts; they painted them, wrote stories about them, and sometimes went so far as to believe in them. They knew the rules: going to an otherworld was a great risk. You might be captured by non-human beings. You might be trapped.

You might never get out."

Margaret Atwood in her Introduction to Beattie & Geiger's 'Frozen in Time: The Fate of the Franklin Expedition'.

#Margaret Atwood #Quote #Franklin Expedition #History #Historic Context #Had this in my drafts for ages - an ingredient in my never-ending mental mise en place #Feels most relevant now to my current thoughts on narrative and classicism and epic poetry etc.#I could do without the reference to 'gnome-like inhabitants' really but I suppose it does make sense in context

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fartasticdurge · 3 months ago

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Nec-romance

part 2/9

Join Bellara in this premiere serial as she recounts her companion's most thrilling and inspirational moments, adding her own artistic interpretation and revealing insider details directly from the characters.

Feel the allure of necromancy engulf you as you ascend from the cool, silent lower halls of the Necropolis to the windswept, Fade-drenched vista of the Lighthouse, mirroring the romantic journey of Rook and Emmrich.

Outlined are specific scenes or moments Bellara thinks some of the members of the Book Club would like.

She didn’t realize it at the time, but when Rook first laid eyes on the professor, his mask of the Flame of the Last dropped with a dramatic flair as the last of the skeletal workers picked up an axe and started working, the first notes of butterflies settling in her stomach would later become so much more understandable. She felt it all over. Her attraction to the hero, a powerful, but properly contained tingle, nearly exquisite.

“Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch.” He walked down the stairs, each step echoing in the stillness, and a smile played on his lips as he looked at her.

As her charming companion enthusiastically shook the professor's hand and enthused about his Fade expertise and theoretical applied metaphysics courses, Rook cleared her throat.

“I’m Rook.”

And it was as clear as day, even then, as the professor looked into her eyes, that they were meant to be. Neither of them knew it then, of course, but it was as if the green glow that permeated the Grand Necropolis was pulling invisible strings, tying them neck deep in nec-romance.

“Charmed.” The professor uttered the words, not realizing the magic that would soon unfold.

“I like that bit with the flaming skull.” Rook stared at him, her jaw hanging open in disbelief, her posture radiating the fierce discipline of a Minrathous Shadow Dragon warrior.

“It’s nothing really, just an evocation of the Flame of the Last Steps.”

“Looks great!”

“Thank you! You know, I’m never quite sure how these spells strike someone from outside Nevarra.”

Their eyes locked, already lost in each other's words, a silent promise hanging between them. The longing in their gazes would only deepen as the days and weeks unfolded, their shared work a catalyst for their growing connection. But then, a piercing, chilling screech ripped through the air, shattering the binding spell and forcing them apart.

“I’d be pleased to continue our conversation after I tend to some small business here.” The professor cordially said as he looked between Rook and her companion.

The hallways of the Grand Necropolis were foreboding, dangers lurking in every corner, be it from usual reshuffling chambers, malign spirits, demons or other manifestations, but neither could keep the two from sneaking glances at each other.

Watching them fight together was like a choreographed dance of sword and spells, the clash of steel echoing through the air, punctuated by the crackle of magical energy. Though she might have been caught off guard by her own reaction, a sense of satisfaction lingered as she heard Emmrich’s praise, making his words all the sweeter. While she appreciated the support of everyone around her, a part of her wished that his voice would cut through the noise, his words the ones that truly mattered to her. She wanted him to see her at her best, something she was naturally good at, and it was a feeling she couldn’t compare to anything else she’d felt before.

The enemy, a blur of motion aimed at Emmrich as he was lost in his spells, was met with the cold, sharp edge of Rook’s sword. She spun around, a shiver of dread and fear running down her spine, her eyes finding Emmrich’s in the chaos. For once, she was at a loss for words as the sickly green light of the Necropolis would likely make anyone look dead. But to her, he was more beautiful than the sun's golden rays illuminating the majestic Grand Proving Arena, a stunning structure in the heart of Minrathous, bathed in the midday sun, just as Emmrich, an architectural wonder in his own right, was bathed in the emerald glow of the Grand Necropolis.

“Well struck, Rook.” Emmrich concluded as Rook sheathed her sword, with no imminent danger lurking nearby.

“Let’s get back to the Lighthouse.” Rook managed to reply as she shook her head of poetic thoughts and odd imagery filling her mind. He was an old professor, and his combat skills were decent, but he left his left flank exposed one too many times already, which is why she had to cut in before someone could get to him. Or at least that’s what she told herself to justify the way her heart pounded every time she looked away from him, just to glance back and make sure he was safe.

“You can tell me why you’ve sought out a Fade expert on the way.”

You would think that without Rook having a proper understanding of magic and the Fade, she would not truly grasp the professor’s wide collection of books on Unnameable Elements, The Song of the Chambers, the Waking Scroll, Fellmarch Manuscripts and even his charming companion, Manfred. Yet, as she stood beside him, watching him command the force behind his spells and rituals, and come with most diligent of explanations for every eerie and odd necromantic and Fade situation, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

With the determination of a true warrior, Rook, who couldn't deny the attraction she felt for the professor, set her sights on conquering him as she had many others.

At first, everyone was taken aback by this, most of all, him. Especially as the subject of necromancy caused discomfort among some of their companions, the young warrior's unwavering admiration for the older professor, evidenced by her persistent compliments and her staunch defense of him against any criticism of his person or his scholarly pursuits, proved both intriguing and unsettling to others.

Upon entering his room one afternoon, the sight of a corpse on the table did not seem unusual to Rook, who had grown accustomed to such occurrences. If she did still found it unsettling, she certainly gave no indication of it.

Emmrich, employing the familiar gesticulations of the corpse whispering spell, cast the incantation, the room awash in green sparks and ember light.

“Let flame rekindle your sight. Let breath and light rise again.”

The cultist victim was reticent to give out any names, and Rook was starting to be concerned, but as Emmrich’s stern words reached out to the spirit, she felt her heart beat faster, and her breathing quicken at the sight of him. It was then that it dawned on her that he was not a man in need of her defense. He lacked the traditional warrior's attributes she did, but he held absolute dominion over his necromantic craft. She couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for it.

With determined steps, Rook navigated the familiar stairs to Emmrich's quarters, reaching the top of the building where he found Emmrich leaning against a dresser, a skull held in his hand, the light reflecting off its surface and illuminating his features with a sparkling gleam. She was captivated by him under the light of the Lighthouse, as she was under that of the Necropolis or any other source of light, for that matter. She was, however, determined to accomplish a particular objective.

“Ah, hello, there!” He enthused as soon as he saw her, his smile churning her insides much like any time before a battle. But unlike those times, she did not push them aside, but gripped them tighter to draw the strength to say what she wanted to say for so long.

“I was just admiring how carefully the Fade is woven into this place. As cultivated as a palace garden.” He continued, seemingly oblivious to her turmoil, with the same level of excitement he held for anything regarding learning potential. She wondered if she could make herself into such a topic that he would be interested in studying her. But alas, she backed out like a coward at the last moment and said something else.

“That’s old elven stuff for you: Magic everywhere you look–also where you don’t.”

Rook gritted her teeth and groaned internally. Her replies never seemed to match up to any of his eloquent remarks, yet his next words took her by surprise.

“I do envy you, Rook.”

“What? Why?”

“A Shadow Dragon, facing down perils in Minrathous and beyond? Not to mention traveling with Varric. The adventures you’ve already had!”

She’s never considered those to be enviable times. But he always had a way of making her feel important. Special. Wanted. “I guess I have had some pretty great times.”

“I’d love to hear about more of them.”

“Really?”

She was always surprised by his interest in her. What would a Fade expect, a well-established professor and Mourn Watcher among the Mortalitasi, to find interesting about her? Certainly not sword-fighting tactics.

“Work was always my excuse not to travel.” Emmrich said as he looked away, a hint of sadness creeping in his voice. “But now that I’ve joined you, I’m finally exploring outside Nevarra’s crypts.”

“You know, you cut a pretty intriguing figure yourself.” Rook replied, her words, dripping with a casual flirtation, effortlessly easing the tension she felt. ”Do you really think of me as some grand adventurer?”

“Well, something thrills at traveling with such a dashing young woman who’s racing to stop an apocalypse.”

Rook couldn’t help but smile. Unlike her, he was really good with words. And those words coming from him certainly did something to her.

“Especially if she’s shown unexpected interest in a new companion?”

And there it was. That was the moment Rook was looking for as she stomped her way up the stairs. She might have not been as eloquent or as charming as he was, but he still noticed her despite her flaws.

“Well, the distinguished looks don’t hurt your chances.” She spoke in a teasing manner, yet her words carried a weight that betrayed the lightness of her tone.

“I’m fortunate you think so,” Emmrich replied as he looked at the skull in hand, a smile still playing on his lips. “May I show you something of the greater Fade here?” He asked as he looked into Rooks's eyes.

“Go ahead.”

Rook was still in that phase where she couldn't decipher his intentions, and her mind raced with possibilities, picturing everything from a passionate kiss to a chilling stab, even conjuring up terrifying images of him using her dead body for some dark necromantic ritual.

Emmrich stood from his spot and spoke in that deep voice that send a shiver down Rook’s spine. “Close your eyes. Take a deep breath.”

Rook did as she was told, though Emmrich caught her as she opened an eye a second later just to see what he was doing.

“Slow. Deep.”

As his hand rested on hers, leading her towards the skull's peak, Rook wondered if the magic she felt emanated from within her or the mystical energy swirling around them.

His hand was cold as he placed it on top of hers. An unexpected surprise. The man was as mysterious and alluring as the magic he wielded.

“Be borne on the great currents. See now as they see.”

Rook opened her eyes and all around her the magic that permeated Emmerich as he cast his spells flowed all around her, all manner of wisps and sparkles of the Fade, emotions and visions enveloping her felt like nothing she ever felt before. Yet, as she heard his voice once more, so much closer to her than he had ever been, his hand still on her, magic all around them, it was him that stirred her more than any death magic ever could. She looked into his amber eyes, warmed by a soft glow of Fade light that held secrets of autumn leaves and honeyed woods drawing her in, like peering through a window to a golden afternoon caught in stillness.

“When I talk to the dead, their echoes abide with me. Thoughts and passions. Hopes and desires.”

With a familiar flair of his hand, the spell ended, and he pulled away slightly, smiling.

“The shades of death have greater depths than you may know, Rook. If your attentions go beyond charming flattery... That would interest me, indeed.”

There it was. Laid out in a way she never could have done with words alone. But she was never one for words alone. She was a woman of action, and she took a step closer to him, ready to pounce on him and conquer her fear, licking her lips in anticipation, only to flinch as the hiss and clatter of Manfred behind them drew them apart. She reached out instinctively for the hilt of her sword and found nothing, as she was not wearing armor in the Lighthouse.

*Pleased hiss.*

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #fanfic

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richincolor · 9 months ago

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New Releases - Week of June 4, 2024

It's pretty amazing, but we're watching for ten different books this week.

London on My Mind by Clara Alves – Nina Perrotta translator Push

Sixteen-year-old Dayana has always dreamed of visiting London — to walk along the Thames, take pictures outside Buckingham Palace, and maybe even get a glimpse of Arthur, Prince of Wales, whose marriage has been all over tabloids. But the trip of her dreams turns into a royal nightmare when her mother passes away. Now, Day must leave Rio de Janeiro to live with her estranged father and his new family in London.

As it turns out, the U.K. isn’t exactly Day’s cup of tea. She struggles to forgive her father for walking out on her and her mom all those years ago; fights with her stepsister constantly; detests her stepmother; and she can’t even see One Direction in concert because they’ve been broken up for ages. All she wants to do is trade the rainy skies of London for the sun and beaches of Rio.

That’s when she runs into the girl of her dreams — literally: The coincidentally named Diana, a witty, funny, redhead who was in the middle of . . . escaping Buckingham Palace? Something isn’t right here, but it makes Diana all the more alluring. As time passes, and the two girls grow closer, Day can’t help but wonder if there is more than a little truth to the rumors surrounding Prince Arthur — and if Diana might be involved somehow. Is it all in her head, or could Day be caught up in a real-life royal scandal?

Malicia by Steven dos Santos Page Street YA

Four friends, three days, two lovers, and one very haunted theme park

On a stormy Halloween weekend, Ray enlists his best friends Joaquin, Sofia, and Isabella to help him make a documentary of Malicia, the abandoned theme park off the coast of the Dominican Republic where his mother and brother died in a mass killing thirteen years ago.

But what should be an easy weekend trip quickly turns into something darker because all four friends have come to Malicia for their own

Ray has come to Malicia to find out the truth of the massacre that destroyed his family. Isabella has come to make art out of Ray’s tragedy for her own personal gain. Sofia has come to support her friends in one last adventure before she goes to med school. Joaquin already knows the truth of the Malicia Massacre and he has come to betray his crush Ray to the evil that made the park possible.

With an impending hurricane and horrors around every corner, they all struggle to face the deadly storm and their own inner demons. But the deadliest evil of all is the ancient malignant presence on the island.

Four Eids and a Funeral by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé & Adiba Jaigirdar Feiwel & Friends

Ex-best friends, Tiwa and Said, must work together to save their Islamic Center from demolition, in this romantic story of rekindling and rebuilding by award-winning authors Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé & Adiba Jaigirdar!

Let’s get one thing straight: this is a love story.

These days, Said Hossain spends most of his time away at boarding school. But when his favorite hometown librarian Ms. Barnes dies, he must return home to New Crosshaven for her funeral and for the summer. Too bad being home makes it a lot harder to avoid facing his ex-best friend, Tiwa Olatunji, or facing the daunting task of telling his Bangladeshi parents that he would rather be an artist than a doctor.

Tiwa doesn’t understand what made Said start ignoring her, but it’s probably that fancy boarding school of his. Though he’s unexpectedly staying through the summer, she’s determined to take a page from him and pretend he doesn’t exist. Besides, she has more than enough going on, between grieving her broken family and helping her mother throw the upcoming Eid celebration at the Islamic Center—a place that means so much to Tiwa.

But when the Islamic Center accidentally catches fire, it turns out the mayor plans to demolish the center entirely. Things are still tense between the ex-friends but Tiwa needs Said’s help if there’s any hope of changing the mayor’s mind, and Said needs a project to submit to art school (unbeknownst to anyone). Will all their efforts be enough to save the Islamic Center, save Eid, and maybe save their relationship?

Louder Than Words by Ashley Woodfolk and Lexi Underwood Scholastic Press

This amazing collaboration brings together two inspirational Black artists, NYT bestselling author Ashley Woodfolk and actress Lexi Underwood, for a story about the transformative power of art as protest and its capacity to change the world.

When Jordyn Jones transfers to Edgewood High, it’s her opportunity to forget everything that happened at her old school. To forget what she and her friends did. To forget who she used to be. That was a different person — this is a fresh start. Now she’s someone new, someone better.

Except it’s the very first day of school, and somehow everyone already seems to know who she is. But Jordyn soon finds a group of friends, and she even starts talking to Izaiah, a soccer star who shares her love of art. Life is good. That’s until an anonymous podcast called Tomcat Tea begins revealing humiliating secrets about Edgewood students, ruining their reputations and in some cases their futures. Jordyn and her friends know they have to do something—and this is Jordyn’s chance to prove to herself that she’s changed.

Jordyn’s plan to take down the podcast throws her into the spotlight, and as the momentum builds, so do the risks—because Jordyn has a secret of her own, one that could ruin everything . . . and that a mysterious harasser online is threatening to expose.

With riveting prose, New York Times bestselling author Ashley Woodfolk and acclaimed actress Lexi Underwood balance an insightful depiction of the power of art as protest with asking some of the biggest questions facing teenagers today—in an era where mistakes can be picked over endlessly online, who is worthy of forgiveness? Can someone ever really change?

Barda by Ngozi Ukazu DC Comics

Darkseid is…and life on Apokolips is tough—but then, it is hell after all. And no one knows this better than Barda, Granny Goodness’s right hand warrior.

But Barda has a secret…she is in love. Or she is drawn to the idea of it anyway, whether it be the beauty of a flower, her affection for her closest friend, Aurelie, or the mysterious and fierce enemy warrior, Orion, who is the only match for Barda’s strength.

But when Granny decides Barda is becoming too soft, she assigns Barda a task that might be more than she can handle—to break the seemingly unbreakable Scott Free. And as Barda questions why Scott has such hope and what he might have done to promote such hatred from Granny, she finds herself drawn to him in a way she never expected.

The only thing is, we do not speak of love on Apokolips…

Don’t Wait: Three Girls Who Fought for Change and Won by Sonali Kohli Beacon Press

Follows the stories of three young women activists of color fighting for some of today’s most pressing movements of defunding the police, environmental justice, and arts education

Girls of color have always been on the front lines of the fight for equal rights—to vote, to learn, to live—even when they are the last to benefit from the outcomes of their work. In Don’t Wait , journalist Sonali Kohli follows three teenager’s’ efforts to make their communities safer, healthier places.

Don’t Wait highlights what propelled the teenagers into their activism to their experiences organizing and incorporates Q&As with important lessons from activists who have led the way.

The three teen activists

· Nalleli has lived across the street from an active oil well in South Los Angeles and at age 7, developed serious health problems. Nalleli and her mother take on an oil company and become environmental justice activists.

· Kahlila, following the murder of George Floyd and looking to help fight back, becomes involved with Black Lives Matter movement in Los Angeles and fights to defund school police in one of the largest school police forces in the nation.

· Sonia, an accomplished singer who was grappling with finding an creative outlet in the pandemic, strove to increase access to arts education in schools across California.

As the young women transitioning from teen to adult activists, Don’t Wait reflects the powerful lessons they’ve learned in their activism while building movements in their communities that will continue to live on as they move forward.

Looking for Smoke by K.A. Cobell Heartdrum

Since moving to the Blackfeet Reservation with her parents, Mara Racette has felt like an outsider, taunted by her tight-knit classmates for growing up far away. So, when a local girl includes Mara in a traditional Blackfeet giveaway to honor her missing sister, Mara thinks she’ll finally make some friends.

Instead, a girl from the giveaway, Samantha White Tail, is found murdered.

Because the members of the giveaway group were the last to see Samantha alive, each becomes a person of interest in the investigation:

New-girl Mara, who hated Samantha for being particularly cruel.

Grief-stricken Loren Arnoux, who was Samantha’s best friend until her sister’s disappearance drove a wedge between them.

Class-clown Brody Clark, whose unreciprocated crush on Samantha is an open secret.

And tough-guy Eli First Kill, who has his own complicated history with Samantha.

Despite deep mistrust, the four must now take matters into their own hands and clear their names. Even though one of them may be the murderer.

In her powerful debut novel, Looking for Smoke, author K. A. Cobell (Blackfeet) weaves loss, betrayal, and complex characters into a mystery that will illuminate, surprise, and engage readers until the final word.

Moonstorm (Lancers #1) by Yoon Ha Lee Delacorte Press

In a society where conformity is valued above all else, a teen girl training to become an Imperial pilot is forced to return to her rebel roots to save her world in this adrenaline-fueled sci-fi adventure—perfect for fans of Iron Widow and Skyward !

Hwa Young was just ten years old when imperial forces destroyed her rebel moon home. Now, six years later, she is a citizen of the very empire that made her an orphan.

Desperate to shake her rebel past, Hwa Young dreams of one day becoming a lancer pilot, an elite group of warriors who fly into battle using the empire’s most advanced tech—giant martial robots. Lancers are powerful, and Hwa Young would do anything to be the strong one for once in her life.

When an attack on their boarding school leaves Hwa Young and her classmates stranded on an imperial space fleet, her dreams quickly become a reality. As it turns out, the fleet is in dire need of pilot candidates, and Hwa Young—along with her brainy best friend Geum, rival Bae, and class clown Seong Su—are quick to volunteer.

But training is nothing like what they expected, and secrets—like the fate of the fleet’s previous lancer squad and hidden truths about the rebellion itself—are stacking up. And when Hwa Young uncovers a conspiracy that puts their entire world at risk, she’s forced to make a choice between her rebel past and an empire she’s no longer sure she can trust.

Storm: Dawn of a Goddess by Tiffany D. Jackson Random House

Before she was the super hero Storm of Marvel’s X-Men, she was Ororo of Cairo—a teenaged thief on the streets of Egypt, until her growing powers catch the eye of a villain who steals people’s souls.

Few can weather the storm.

As a thief on the streets of Cairo, Ororo Munroe is an expert at blending in—keeping her blue eyes low and her white hair beneath a scarf. Stealth is her specialty . . . especially since strange things happen when she loses control.

Lately, Ororo has been losing control more often, setting off sudden rainstorms and mysterious winds . . . and attracting dangerous attention. When she is forced to run from the Shadow King, a villain who steals people’s souls, she has nowhere to turn to but herself. There is something inside her, calling her across Africa, and the hidden truth of her heritage is close enough to taste.

But as Ororo nears the secrets of her past, her powers grow stronger and the Shadow King veers closer and closer. Can she outrun the shadows that chase her? Or can she step into the spotlight and embrace the coming storm?

The Love Interest by Helen Comerford Bloomsbury YA

Seventeen-year-old Jenna Ray has just been saved by the world’s newest superhero, Blaze. And, in the eyes of the public, that means one thing: Jenna Ray has been cast as the Love Interest.

No. Not happening. Not if Jenna has anything to say about it (even if Blaze is actually quite sweet and cute).

But her plans to defy the HPA (the Heroics and Power Authority) and turn down this new role are thwarted when the Villains begin to take an interest in her and offer a life-changing proposition; become Blaze’s Love Interest, while avoiding catching feelings for him, to uncover the HPA’s secret plans and find her missing mum.

To make matters even more complicated, just as Jenna starts to embrace her new-found career, she discovers she might be more on the side of the superheroes than she ever imagined …

#young adult books #new releases

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ludo-nadir · 2 months ago

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The Greater Good

At the start with a heart bright and pure, A sword of justice, noble and sure. Through jeers or adulation, the task allured, A path of righteousness, the soul assured

But to secure the light, to right the wrong, A sacrifice to be made; the cost was long. “Their lives mean little,” they would tell their soul, “For the greater good, I pay this toll.”

But each wound they drew, each barb they cast, Brought poison to the ideals once held fast. And yet the crowd yearned for more– The innocent cries they would ignore.

As time wore on, and hands grew stained, The once noble purpose twisted, morals unchained. Pleading cries turned to silence in their cold ear, For it was then decided to face this trial with no fear.

As the days drew on, the fire within, which once burned pure Mangled from the darkness, turning right to rancour. For the “greater good,” the lives to unmake, The soul within would crack and break.

What once was just turned to biting pain, A rapid spiral of violence adding to the endless chain. Those deemed unworthy numbered countless, indeed, But from within their lowly fate was sown a seed.

In the end it was the lives that had once been spurned, Those cast aside wrought the mighty’s downfall, dearly earned. For from the devious, maligned night, Light became the darkness once vowed to fight.

At the apex of the trial the truth shone clear, T’was the arrogance of the soul revealing a heart of fear That blinded the hero from the sins that had been done– The champion, long ago sought to be, became undone.

#ludo works #poetry #freeform

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jesterbenedicte · 6 months ago

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The Eclipsed Symphony

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Cyberpunk, Occult Horror

*In the heart of New Elysium, a city suspended between the corporeal and the cosmic, shadows wove their dark tapestry across the neon-drenched streets. Here, amidst the techno-futuristic sprawl, the lunar eclipse was not merely an astronomical event but a harbinger of chaos, a symphony written in the language of the unknown.

Chapter 1: The Rhapsody of Eclipse

Vesper Kane, a cyber-sorcerer with eyes that reflected the city's synthetic glow, stood at the precipice of the abandoned opera house. Once a beacon of artistic grandeur, now it lay forgotten, a relic suffocating under layers of grime and time. Vesper's leather trench coat flapped in the wind, a canvas of shifting colors and electric veins. He was here on a mission, but not one dictated by the mundane—the eclipse had stirred something far older and more malignant.

“Vesper Kane,” a voice whispered from the shadows, slithering into his ears with the seductive allure of a forbidden melody.

He turned, his gaze locking onto a figure cloaked in a shroud of spectral mist—Noa, an enigmatic figure from the underbelly of the arcane. Her presence was both a blessing and a curse, a reminder of powers that should remain undisturbed.

“Are you here to witness the symphony or to stop it?” Vesper asked, his tone both intrigued and wary.

Noa’s eyes gleamed with an eldritch light. “The music of the eclipse is not for mere mortals, Vesper. But the cosmic harmonies are entangled with our fates tonight.”

Chapter 2: The Echoes of Forgotten Aria

As the eclipse began, the city fell into a surreal silence, broken only by the distant hum of neon and the occasional, distorted sigh of the wind. Within the opera house, the air grew colder, each breath a visible puff of mist. The grand chandelier, once a symbol of opulence, now hung like a ghostly relic, its crystals refracting the dim, otherworldly light.

In the center of the stage stood a figure not of flesh and blood but of echoes and shadows. The Conductor, an ancient being whose music could unravel reality itself. His baton was an obsidian wand, thrumming with an eerie rhythm that seemed to resonate with the heartbeat of the cosmos.

“Welcome to the final performance,” he intoned, his voice a tapestry of time-worn echoes.

Vesper’s heart pounded. This was not merely an occult ritual but a conduit to realms beyond human comprehension. The Conductor's symphony was a crescendo of chaos, a complex weave of notes that promised both transcendence and destruction.

Chapter 3: The Dance of Dissonance

The eclipse reached its zenith, casting a shadow that warped reality. The boundaries between dimensions blurred, and the cityscape morphed into a living tableau of surreal and nightmarish visions. Streets twisted into impossible angles, and buildings bled colors unseen by human eyes.

Amidst this turmoil, Noa began to chant in an ancient dialect, her words a counterpoint to the Conductor's melody. Her spellwork was delicate and fierce, a dance of light and darkness, weaving a protective barrier around Vesper and herself.

“This is not just a performance,” Noa said, her voice a trembling thread in the void. “It’s a battle between creation and obliteration.”

As they fought to maintain the fabric of reality, the Conductor’s symphony surged, each note a blade seeking to rend the veil between worlds. The air crackled with eldritch energy, a cacophony that threatened to tear the very essence of existence apart.

Chapter 4: The Silence Beyond the Notes

With a final, wrenching note, the symphony ended, and the eclipse began to wane. The city slowly returned to its semblance of normalcy, the oppressive atmosphere lifting like a shroud. Vesper and Noa, exhausted and scarred, stood amidst the remnants of the opera house.

“We’ve merely postponed the inevitable,” Noa said softly, her eyes reflecting the last vestiges of the cosmic light.

Vesper nodded, understanding that the battle was not won but merely delayed. The symphony of the eclipse was a prelude, a haunting overture to a greater cosmic ballet.

As they walked away from the opera house, the city seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Yet, beneath the neon façade, the echoes of the night’s performance lingered, a reminder of the thin veil separating reality from the abyss.

Translate:

Глава 1: Рапсодия затмения

Веспер Кейн, кибер-колдун с глазами, отражавшими синтетическое сияние города, стоял на краю заброшенного оперного театра. Когда-то маяк художественного величия, теперь он лежал забытый, реликвия, задыхающаяся под слоями грязи и времени. Кожаный плащ Веспера развевался на ветру, холст меняющихся цветов и электрических вен. Он был здесь с миссией, но не продиктованной обыденностью — затмение пробудило что-то гораздо более древнее и зловещее.

«Веспер Кейн», — прошептал голос из тени, скользя в его уши с соблазнительным очарованием запретной мелодии.

Он повернулся, его взгляд остановился на фигуре, окутанной пеленой спектрального тумана — Ноа, загадочной фигуре из недр арканы. Ее присутствие было одновременно благословением и проклятием, напоминанием о силах, которые должны оставаться нетронутыми.

«Вы здесь, чтобы стать свидетелем симфонии или остановить ее?» — спросил Веспер, его тон был одновременно заинтригованным и настороженным.

Глаза Ноа сверкали жутким светом. «Музыка затмения не для простых смертных, Веспер. Но космические гармонии переплетены с нашими судьбами сегодня вечером».

Глава 2: Отголоски забытой арии

Когда началось затмение, город погрузился в сюрреалистичную тишину, нарушаемую только далеким гулом неона и редкими искаженными вздохами ветра. Внутри оперного театра воздух становился холоднее, каждый вздох — видимым облаком тумана. Большая люстра, когда-то символ роскоши, теперь висела как призрачная реликвия, ее кристаллы преломляли тусклый, потусторонний свет.

В центре сцены стояла фигура не из плоти и крови, а из отголосков и теней. Дирижер, древнее существо, чья музыка могла разгадать саму реальность. Его палочкой был обсидиановый жезл, гудящий в жутком ритме, который, казалось, резонировал с сердцебиением космоса.

«Добро пожаловать на финальное представление», — пропел он, его голос был гобеленом изношенных временем отголосков.

Сердце Веспера колотилось. Это был не просто ��ккультный ритуал, а проводник в сферы за пределами человеческого понимания. Симфония Дирижера была крещендо хаоса, сложным переплетением нот, которые обещали как трансцендентность, так и разрушение.

Глава 3: Танец диссонанса

Затмение достигло своего зенита, отбросив тень, которая исказила реальность. Границы между измерениями размылись, и городской пейзаж превратился в живую картину сюрреалистичных и кошмарных видений. Улицы скручивались в невозможные углы, а здания истекали цветами, невиданными человеческим глазом.

Среди этого хаоса Ноа начала петь на древнем диалекте, ее слова были контрапунктом мелодии Дирижера. Ее заклинания были тонкими и яростными, танец света и тьмы, сплетающий защитный барьер вокруг Веспера и ее самой.

«Это не просто представление», — сказала Ноа, ее голос был дрожащей нитью в пустоте. «Это битва между созданием и уничтожением».

Пока они боролись за сохранение ткани реальности, симфония Дирижера набирала силу, каждая нота была лезвием, стремящимся разорвать завесу между мирами. Воздух потрескивал от сверхъестественной энергии, какофонии, которая грозила разорвать саму суть существования на части.

Глава 4: Тишина за пределами нот

С последней, мучительной нотой симфония закончилась, и затмение начало угасать. Город медленно возвращался к своему подобию нормальности, гнетущая атмосфера развеивалась, как пелена. Веспер и Ноа, измученные и покрытые шрамами, стояли среди остатков оперного театра.

«Мы просто отложили неизбежное», — тихо сказала Ноа, в ее глазах отражались последние остатки космического света.

Веспер кивнул, понимая, что битва не выиграна, а просто отсрочена. Симфония затмения была прелюдией, навязчивой увертюрой к большему космическому балету.

Когда они уходили от оперного театра, город, казалось, вздохнул с облегчением. Однако под неоновым фасадом все еще звучали отголоски ночного представления, напоминая о тонкой завесе, отделяющей реальность от бездны.

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