#Terra di Roar

[thebutcher-5]

Il meraviglioso mondo di Arthur e Rose - Jenny McLachlan

Benvenuti o bentornati sul nostro blog. Nello scorso articolo siamo andati avanti con la maratona delle opere animate DreamWorks, arrivando a discutere di una delle loro opere più famose e apprezzate, Kung Fu Panda. Po è un panda che lavora come cameriere nel ristorante di spaghetti del padre e sogna di diventare un esperto di kung fu. Un giorno il vecchio Oogway decide di scegliere il nuovo…

[celestiall0tus]

Amaranthine - Chapter 20 - Amaranthine

Beginning || Previous

            Luka stood with Juleka, Chloe, Zoe, and Alya near the building where the Diamond Dance was being hosted. They watched the rich and elite enter in mass until it dwindled to nothing.

            “The dance should be beginning soon, right?” Luka asked.

            “Yes. I discussed things with Min and Adonis will make his move when all have situated and are indulging in revelries. Meaning our window is open now,” Chloe answered.

            “And Psyche and Terra are ready?”

            Chloe nodded.

            “Then what are we waiting for? Suit up everyone. Moirai, cut the thread,” Zoe commanded.

            “Min, open my eyes,” Chloe said.

            “Trixx, shroud,” Alya whispered.

            “Sass, scales slither,” Juleka declared.

            “Mullo, get squeaky,” Luka announced.

            Everyone transformed. Luka and Juleka wore matching black corsets, leather jackets, pants, and knee-high boots with both their dyed hair a deep purple. Zoe was dressed in a gray tank top with her stomach exposed, leather jacket, gray ripped jeans, black boots, and a pair of black dove wings with her hair shortened and dyed black with white roots. Chloe had on a vintage white ruffled shirt, brown pants, and tan high-heeled boots with her hair tied back and had brown and tan dyed streaks. Alya was unchanged in her appearance.

            Atropa used his power and became imperceivable as he entered the building. He made his way through it into the ballroom. He glanced around until he saw Marinette and Adrien sitting at a table with Kagami sitting on Adrien’s other side. He moved into position as he saw the others move into their spots. He kept his eyes on Marinette but darted over to Adrien when he saw Adrien tense up. He didn’t break his gaze as mist rolled in.

            “Good evening, my esteemed colleagues! What a glorious night for a return to tradition, no?” Minerva announced.

            Atropa glanced over as Minerva strolled out in the middle of the floor. Everyone cleared away from her and whispered amongst themselves.

            Adrien stood and addressed Minerva. “Who are you? Why are you here disturbing our party?”

            “You don’t recognize me? I’m hurt, Adrien. We were once the best of friends, though that was before your parents died. Then you shut me out. You shut the world out.”

            Adrien tsked. “Enough. Remove yourself before I have you removed myself.”

            “What’s the matter, Adrien? Don’t you want our colleagues to hear what I have to say? Don’t you think they deserve to know they’ve walked into a trap?”

            Shocked gasps rippled through the crowd. Adrien snapped his fingers as Kagami rose and headed for Minerva.

            Minerva smiled. “Yes, try and stop me, Adonis! It’s finally over. We couldn’t stop you as Carmine and Midnight, but we will as Minerva and Atropos!”

            Atropos descended from the ceiling and landed in front of Adrien. “What’s up, motherfucker? I think I owe you for playing us all as fools!”

            Atropos grabbed Adrien’s arm and flung him to the other side of the room. He staggered to his feet as Atropa reappeared, flipped him off, and stole away Marinette.

            “No! I won’t let you take her! Nooroo, wings rise!”

            Adrien transformed into Adonis, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Atropa darted out of the room and out to the garden. He placed Marinette on a bench near a fountain as Psyche and Terra materialized.

            “Thank you, Atropa. We’ll take it from here,” Psyche said.

            Psyche and Terra worked on restoring Marinette’s body and soul. They made quick work as Marinette was fully human once again. Marinette sighed as a tear slid down her face.

            “Thank you. All of you,” Marinette whispered.

            Psyche opened her mouth when a draconic roar shattered the air. They glanced around as Longg materialized and tackled Marinette.

            “Dragonling! You’re alright!”

            “I am, and I’m back. Now, let’s kick some butt together.”

            Longg nodded and put her necklace on Marinette.

            “Longg, ascension.”

            Longg disappeared into the necklace as it flashed red. Marinette’s dress transformed into a black leotard with golden armor on her chest, neck, and hips. A red draconic tail cape lined with gold inside extended from the hip armor to her ankles. Black armored gloves and boots adorned her as red scales covered her thighs and upper arms. Her face covered with a golden dragon mask, four white horns jutted out from her head, and a pair of large red and gold dragon wings sprouted from her back.

            “Go get the would be god. Draw him out to nature so punishment may be delivered,” Marinette and Longg said together.

            Psyche and Terra nodded and vanished.

            “What are you going to do to him, uh-,” Atropa started.

            “Mordred. And he will receive his due punishment.”

            “But not just from us,” Marinette said.

            “What? What do you mean?” Longg demanded.

            “There is another that demanded the final blow. If we deliver it, I’ll die instead. She was clear on that front,” Marinette explained.

            Mordred glanced back at the fountain and nodded.

            “As is her right,” Longg stated.

            “Who’s right? I don’t understand,” Atropa said.

            “You’ll see soon. You all will,” Mordred whispered.

            Atropa tilted his head and wondered until Belladona, Atropos, Minerva, and Rena joined them. Not far behind them was Adonis. Mordred stepped forward and commanded the earth to rise. Vines sprouted and ensnared Adonis. They tossed and pummeled him before they grappled onto each of his limbs and his wings. He cried out in pain as he was slowly pulled apart.

            “Why isn’t he trying to change the vines?” Mordred asked.

            “You can thank me. He tried to change the partygoers inside, but I stopped him,” Atropos boasted.

            Mordred smirked. “Then, by all means, have at him, just don’t kill him.”

            The girls grinned and attacked Adonis. Atropa hung back and stood with Mordred as they watched the beating.

            “Are you ok with this? Letting them at him. Not that I’m saying you should be violent, but both of you and you’re ok?”

            “I didn’t lose as much as the others. Even after everything, I don’t hate him,” Marinette said.

            “Why’s that?” Atropa asked.

            “Because no matter what he did, it brought me to you. He’s a piece of shit, make no mistake, but I have my soulmate because of him. That makes this whole thing worth it.”

            Atropa smiled and hugged Mordred, then stepped back. “What about Longg though?”

            “He will get what’s coming to him. As is her right,” Longg answered.

            “Who’s right? You still haven’t answered that.”

            Mordred glanced at Adonis, then behind her at the fountain. “It’s long been your right. An ancient contract violated with punishment due. Is that not so, Lethe?”

            The water in the fountain gurgled and turned a washed-out murky color. Atropa stepped back as a hand shot out and grabbed the side of the fountain. His stomach churned as a woman with murky, knotted mess of hair with her skin covered in a white opaque film peeked over the rim. Her eyes darted from them over to Adonis and she smirked.

            “Bring him here,” Lethe ordered.

            Mordred snapped her fingers as the vines brought Adonis over to them. Lethe crawled out of the fountain and flopped on the ground. Mordred pursed her lips when Lethe summoned her weapon, a bident, and used it to stand.

            “Are you ok?” Atropa asked.

            “I’m fine, young mortal. Just forgetful. As is my nature. Now, let’s see here.”

            Lethe approached Adonis and inspected him. She nodded a few times before she stabbed her bident through his head, freezing him.

            “What are you doing?” Atropos asked.

            Lethe looked over at the others as they rejoined them.

            “Delivering punishment, as is due,” Lethe answered.

            “So, you’re going to kill him, right?” Belladona asked.

            Lethe tsked. “So narrow-minded, you mortals. But, yes, I am going to kill him.”

            “Then why does he still look alive?” Minerva retorted.

            Lethe smiled as she swung her bident up and tore into Adonis’s soul. They all watched as Adonis’s memories spilled out and lingered in the air. Lethe slammed her bident on the ground as the memories vanished into it. She spun her bident again before she jabbed his heart, then tore another wound in his soul. The memories that poured from his heart were all the previous lives to the very first. Mordred and Atropa gasped as those memories vanished into the bident. They all stepped back as she grabbed the brooch from his waist, returning him to normal and releasing Nooroo, who cowered before Lethe.

            “Lethe, please, I-!”

            Lethe held her bident in Nooroo’s face. “You knew what you were doing. I don’t care if it is your nature to usher in change, you don’t mess with the laws set by him. He may be gone, but the rest of us are still here and we will enforce his laws.”

            “Yup, got it. Understood completely.”

            “Good. Just in case, Plagg and Tikki want a word with you.”

            Nooroo tensed up as a pair of hands materialized and dragged Nooroo out of existence.

            “Good riddance. Psyche? Terra?”

            Psyche materialized while Terra ran in with an unconscious Kagami flung over his shoulder.

            “The deed is done?” Psyched asked.

            “Indeed. Return him to being human.”

            “We will. Thank you.”

            Lethe bowed her head and she turned to Mordred and Atropa. “You kept your word, as will I. You will never have to worry about this man in your next lives. Any bind and memory of it has been sent to the depths of my waters. A place only I or a fool would dare dive.”

            “Thank you, Lethe. For everything.”

            Lethe waved her hand dismissingly as she rolled back into the fountain waters and disappeared. The murkiness vanished as the water returned to its crystal blue.

            “So, it’s over, yeah?” Atropos asked.

            “Yes. Let’s tie up our loose ends. Kwamis, present yourselves to me.”

            Minerva, Belladona, Rena, Atropos, and Atropa all de-transformed as their kwamis approached Psyche. Mordred shook her head and stepped back.

            “You will not break what we have, Psyche,” Mordred warned.

            “Don’t worry, I won’t. You’ll haunt me if I do. As for the others, the choice is yours, as promised. You may remain soulbound to these mortals or I can release you. If you wish to stay, take your place at your soulbound’s side.”

            Trixx, Min, and Sass returned to their respective soulbound’s sides. Mullo and Moirai remained with Psyche. Psyche held out her hands for Mullo and Moirai, freeing them of their soulbound bonds. They bowed their heads and vanished along with their jewels.

            “With that done, what’ll happen to Adrien?” Chloe demanded.

            “You leave him to us. We’ll return his body and soul to being human. After that, I’m not sure. He has no memories, no identity. Where he goes once he’s human again, I cannot say,” Psyche said.

            “Would I be allowed to take him under my wing? Teach him and reclaim some semblance of his family’s legacy?” Chloe asked.

            “If you ask me, I say do as you wish. As for your fellow heroes, I cannot say. Well, I can, but let them speak.”

            “Do what you will, Chloe. I trust you,” Alya said.

            “We don’t care so long as you keep him away from us,” Mordred stated.

            “I second that,” Luka added.

            “I don’t care,” Juleka muttered.

            “Well, I mean, if he’s not the same Adrien, I say why not. But, uh, could I put in a request, Terra?” Zoe asked.

            “I don’t normally take requests, but I think I can make an exception. Sure, what would you like?”

            “Do you think you could keep Adrien, well, a big beefy snack? I mean, we need to keep some things under the radar, right? And it’ll be strange if he goes back to being a twig out of nowhere, yeah?”

            Chloe pinched the bridge her nose. “Zoe, you aren’t serious right now, are you?”

            “What? A little eye candy isn’t the worse thing. Besides, I know I’m right.”

            “For the wrong reasons,” Min pointed out.

            “Thank you. There’s no way-,” Chloe started.

            “Technically, Terra already made a deal without knowing the full terms, so he’s bound to fulfill it anyway. And I do agree that it would reduce suspicion around this. There will still be suspicion after that display, but we can mitigate the damages and better control the situation,” Min explained.

            “Very well. Drop Adrien off at Le Grand Paris once you are finished returning him to being human.”

            Psyche and Terra nodded as they vanished with Adrien and Kagami. Chloe transformed and headed off with Zoe. Mordred and Luka watched them leave as Alya and Juleka approached them.

            “So, anyone want to celebrate? Luka and Mari get to be together, no one is dying young, and we don’t have a crazy butterfly man terrorizing the city. I think that calls for drinks,” Alya commented.

            “Sorry, Alya. I do have to work in the morning. And pretty sure there’ll be a private concert put on tonight,” Juleka remarked.

            Alya smirked. “Oh, ho! The famous Luka does give private concerts. My, oh my, I wonder what the admission fee is for that.”

            “Quite cheap, actually. It just takes-,” Longg started.

            “Longg! Quiet! Don’t you start,” Marinette yelled.

            “I don’t see what the big deal is. Your bard doesn’t need much to stoke that fire to regale you with the songs of your heroism.”

            “Longg! Enough!”

            “Never! I am free! Never again will I be stuck in your head. Now the whole world will know what I have to say!”

            “As if the whole world didn’t already,” Alya commented.

            “Right! Anyway, I’m going to head home. With Luka. Bye,” Marinette said.

            Mordred scooped up Luka and flew back to Marinette’s herb shop. She landed in the back alley then de-transformed. Marinette leaned against Luka while Longg pranced into the shop.

            “You ok?” Luka asked.

            “Yeah, just glad that everything is over. We’re finally free. No more early deaths. No more jealous Adonis. Just you and me,” Marinette whispered.

            “And me!” Longg called.

            Marinette sighed. “And Longg.”

            “I’m glad. Longg is an unfortunate plus one, but I’d rather her over Adonis any day of the week.”

            “Careful what you say. She is notorious for holding grudges with very colorful punishments.”

            “Oh, I think I’m very familiar with that. All too familiar.”

            Marinette giggled. “At least things will return to normal. Just you, me, Longg, and our friends and family.”

            Luka smiled and took Marinette’s hand. “I hope it stays that way. An unending, unfading dream of highs and lows with you by my side. If you’ll have me.”

            Marinette squeezed Luka’s hand. “With you and only you, my amaranthine.”

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[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

World’s Ending

Part 4  Past – Next

Author’s Note: Claude and company are Having A Time

Summary:  Tyranids and Orks oh my!

Warnings: Fighting? Uh battle. Swearing. Wounds. Bleeding. Tell me in the notes if I need to add more warnings…

Tagged: @sleepy-fanblog, @whorety-k

Claude has been in hard battles before, but with the news, late, at that warning that the Tyranids were invading the planet that he and his brothers were fighting of Orks, had made their situation all the more dire. The Orks either fighting them, the Tyranids or both. It felt like they were having a really fucking awful day.

While Claude and his brothers were taught and usually have a stealthier approach to battle. Orks, were not known for subtlety or stealth and fighting them was a fucking pain and annoying. They were big, they were loud, they were tough. Except the small ones, who were loud and tiny and while more easily squished popped up like mushrooms after rainfall.

Fucking everywhere. So, a less stealthy approach had been ordered. Then, half way through the campaign they got information that the ‘nids had made planet fall and were trying to consume everything and everyone with biomass. Claude had only half a thought onto why this planet was suffering from two Xeno-scum invasions, when it was not the most Important of worlds, an Agri-world with foodstuffs that were vital in making Nutri-paste.

By the Throne on Terra, and For the Emperor they were going to see this through and win. Or die in glorious combat. Claude and his brothers follow the bellowing orders of the first-born Sergeant as they fight in open melee combat against Orkish and Tyranid forces. Melee combat is not something that the stealth based company is known for. They have been taught and train in a myriad of forms of combat, this sort of lunatic battle sounds like a story some of his battle brother-cousins who are Black Templars get up to.

For Humanity, For the Emperor, for his Brothers! He shall prevail as he fights against the green menace, and dodges the jumping bites of the tiny ‘nids and shoots them dead. It takes several blaster bolts, as, despite their tiny size they hit hard and are frustratingly difficult to kill. Honestly it’s almost helpful when the Orks roar and smash the ‘nids heads so that he can shoot them dead from behind. This has been one of the rougher campaigns that he’s been on.

He blinks and sees three of his closest battle brother’s fall to the onslaught of pincer move between Orkish brutes and ‘nids claws. He lets out a cry and his brothers move as he blinks and they have left the place they would have died at as the ‘nids and Orks clash against each other, instead of tearing his brothers to shreds. He heaves a breath and shakes his head as he continues to fight.

During the fight, he hears a spine-tingling dread filled WAAAGGH of the Orkish boss. And the strange eerie shrieking of one of those fucking large winged and clawed Tyranid massive fucking warriors that seem to put the other ‘nids into a frenzy and make them fight with far more ferocity and strength. He sees the Ork Boss charge at The Captain, while the Flying monstrosity of a filthy Xenos swoops down from above and kills more than a dozen battle brothers.

He hears his squad lead swear viciously as they continue to fight, orders change as they are to help The Captain fight off the Orkish War Boss and the ‘nid flight bastard. He presses his lips together, glad of his helmet hiding his expression and the words he wants to say kept tight behind his teeth. The Captain can take care of himself. He thinks to himself, quietly.

He finishes killing the last of the enemies near him and runs with the rest of the squad to help flank the Captain against a couple of the nastier and more vicious of the Xeno-scum invading this planet. He sees the massive fly ‘nid boss and does his best to shoot the fucker down. Hears in his bones the shrieking sound it makes as it wheels around to glare down at him. He squares up and readies his bolter and blade and hears the whispers that bubble and giggle in his mind with tints of green. Show time! Oh this will be fun.

He ignores the giggling whispers as he readies to fight and give his life if necessary for the protection of this planet, and so that the more valuable members of his company can survive. The massive flying Tyranid screams at him again and he braces against the attack as he swoops down for him. He swings his blade and shoots his bolter as it readies its claws and slashes at him. He survives the attack, barely, as he tries not to scream in agony as he staggers and sways as he feels the agony of the clawed attack. It had pierced through is ceramite armor. The wounds are deep and he sees his blood coursing down his body and spilling to the ground as he feels an upwelling of something in his soul.

The whispering giggles grow loud in his head as he shifts around to see where the enemies are and watches the flying Xeno-scum monstrosity circle overhead and cock its head and chitter at him. He feels as something, like power, or adrenalin courses through his body. He’s unaware- but hears his brothers near him shout in alarm as they see sparks of Warp-craft lightning curl around his frame as he lifts his blade, unaware of the change in the color of his eyes as he shouts at the fucking flying xeno-scum and sees lighting lance from his blade upwards and strikes the flying bastard and it screams horribly as it falls.

Oh fuck. It’s dead, but it’s falling, and he staggers as he tries to get out of the way as its massive body hits the ground and he feels half of it hit him as he crashes to the ground, and his mind goes blank and his vision goes dark. From use of the Psychic lighting, his wounds, and the heavy hit of the dead body is too much for him all at once.

[billikatchoo]

terra

i remember the first time i saw her. she defended my honor shortly after. i have loved her ever since.

i knew better than to be in that bar alone. but this was a manic phase for me so all bets were off. i was using again, and doing my best to maintain a social life without many friends. and for once, i excelled. at least by my own standards. this night that meant drinking with my lonesome in a random dive.

i had never patronized this particular establishment. but there were bikes out front so i knew what to expect. at least i thought i did. i could never have anticipated that i would walk into her life on this night of all nights. a moonless night nonetheless.

the very moment i stepped inside i noticed her. curls as red and voluminous as hers are hard to miss. i was instantly consumed by layers of reactive emotion: lust, envy, insecurity, pride, panic. it took all of my attention not to show every racing thought on my face. i sat at the bar with my back to the pool tables, where she talked and laughed with her biker friends. i thought it best to keep her out of sight and out of mind.

i drank quickly that night. i was uncomfortable and i knew i stood out, but i had enough experience fitting myself in where i didn’t belong that i was ultimately unconcerned. being noticeable was unavoidable and i assumed myself capable of managing the unwanted attention. of course a few men tried talking to me; i did what i could to entertain them but i didn’t have the energy. after a couple more drinks that i did not pay for, one man pushed his luck. and i pushed back. not literally, not yet. he stood too close and breathed too heavy. he tried to ask about my braids and my jewelry, presumably in a lame attempt to connect with me over something personal. i suppose it is not a despicable tactic, but i despised it. i had no patience to explain my culture to a white man, or to bear the inevitable microaggressions. but i had been trapped and was feeling sassy after a couple drinks, so of course i had to call him out as soon as he asked about my blood quantum. i don’t care to relive that conversation, but i’ve often relived the following moments.

as his tone shifted from inquisitive to offended to offensive, others began to notice. i hadn’t the sense or sobriety to de-escalate, and like i said this was one of my manic phases. so i mocked, and he yelled, and before i could comprehend what i had gotten myself into i had to get myself out. but for once i couldn’t see an exit. and that’s when she came to my rescue. when i heard a woman’s voice interject from behind me, i swiveled in my bar stool and found myself face to face with a goddess. a goddess of war nonetheless, with a face so full of freckles and fury that i was instantly disarmed.

they seemed to have history. they seemed to have pre-existing beef. but either way she was as committed to escalation as i had been only a moment before. she told him not to waste his time, she told him to leave me alone, she told him to go back to fucking mannequins, whatever that meant. he called her a bitch and a dyke and she kept her cool. but as soon as tranny had left his lips i heard glass shatter. next was all of a flash of light to me. a sudden commotion and i was dragged from the bar. i thought i was carrion, but it had been devotees of my new savior that gotten me out of there. it was a relief, and in my one glance back at the brawl that had ensued i was filled with gratitude. this was just as immediately interrupted by the roar of motorcycle, and as if i had died in that bar and gone to heaven, i turned once again to my newfound idol, now revving her engine and gesturing me to mount her steed behind her. i hesitated for the smallest moment, maybe because i didn’t believe my luck or maybe to capture a clear image i could return to once my luck ran up. im glad i took that moment. 

it lingered in my mind’s eye for some time, and before i knew what had happened or how to feel i was holding onto a total stranger for dear life. as we sped down a empty freeway, cold air cutting into my watery eyes, i buried my face into her soft curls. i realized that i was wearing her helmet, that she had sacrificed her own safety several times over to secure mine. there are no words in the english language that can adequately express the gratitude i felt in that moment. it was all i could do to hold on with every string of every atom of my being, thankful to feel safe for the first time in my life.

**********

her name is Terra, she told me. a gorgeous name, did she pick it herself i asked. she did not, she was named for her mother.

she took me to her apartment. told me it’d be a calm place for me to sober up. i certainly didn’t mind. especially not after seeing it. i had no expectation of something luxurious or tidy or well decorated, and in that sense it met my expectations. but it was her domain and i was in awe. i took in every detail, eager to learn what i could about my new hyperfixation. a large mattress on the floor with perfectly disheveled sheets, a whiteboard displaying chemical equations, plants everywhere. an impeccably neat kitchen, a disheveled record collection, no visible closet. stacks of books. a dozen candles. empty wine bottles. only one chair. we sat together on the floor on her bed. this made me nervous.

but she wasn’t tense and that put me at ease a bit. she wasn’t talkative either, and i think ultimately that’s what intimidated me. i wanted to interrogate her motivations for helping me, but i thought it best not to push my luck. she seemed unphased by the whole evening and i tried my best to mimic her stoicism.

i helped bandage her hand. she had cut it on the broken glass she shoved into that man’s face. she asked where i learned first aid. so i told her about my years as a boy scout, growing up in Colorado. learning to survive the harsh winters without resources. learning to braid hair and sing songs and practice witchcraft. she laughed at that.

she asked me if i had any new moon rituals. i didn’t; i grew up a sun worshiper. she insisted we do hers together. she made me a cup of tea, offered me bread. i hadn’t realized i was so hungry and when she told me she made it herself, i certainly couldn’t decline. she lit candles and incense and told me that i didn’t need to say prayers but i needed to keep quiet while she said hers. afterwards she put on a Dexter Gordon record and we resumed conversation, much to my delight.

i told her i envied the density of her freckles and her curl pattern. it was tighter than mine. i told her about my stay in the hospital after my first attempt. about the 2spirit elder who gave me guidance when i wanted it least and needed it most. how they told me that my freckles were blessings from the sun. each individual spot a distinct blessing that would shape my life and guide my future. how the curls in my hair are a blessing from the moon, our celestial matriarch pulling my locks towards the heavens in celebration of my existence. that to waste my life and these blessings would be a dishonor. that i deserved a better death than that.

i told her she had more blessings than me, that the moon loved her more. she laughed at that.

she told me about how she grew up, with several brothers and no maternal figure to keep them in line. about how she left her family at an early age to pursue an education abroad, on a scholarship of course. how in Europe she fell in love with American jazz music. how she was embarrassed to admit it. how that taught her that everything is more admirable from a distance. how when you’re too close to your source you get caught in negative feedback loops that impair your judgment. 

i told her about my art, and she told me about hers. her voice was soft and low. smooth and syrupy like honey. i listened to it for hours and wanted hours more. but after some time we just sat in silence. as the first light of day slowly worked its way in, we found ourselves drifting into sleep in each other’s arms. 

Terra woke me a couple hours later. she was kind enough to provide me with coffee before driving me home, again on her motorcycle, which excited me as much the second time as the first. it was a very nice bike too; a real vintage model that she took pride in having rebuilt. i admired the gleam in her eyes as she told me about it. she was so clearly full of passion, not for motorcycles but for life itself.

on the stairs of my tenement i told her i admired that. how she seemed to live so much life in so little time. how she had so much life ahead of her. that i wanted to know how her story played out, as interesting as it’s been. i towered over her, standing a step above her, and lost myself in the intensity of her upwards gaze. i finally asked her, i needed to know.

“why did you intervene last night? why did you help me only to incite a riot?”

“well that guy you were talking to has a reputation. i know who he is; he has hurt my friends before.”

“so you saw an opportunity for revenge,” i smirked.

“i can’t honestly say no,” she admitted. “but i had my eyes on you since you walked in. and you were in more danger than i think you realized.”

“so you saw more more than one opportunity.” she chuckled in response. “do you make a habit of saving damsels in distress?” i continued.

“yes.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. i thought at the very least maybe i could enjoy my moment as object of her attention a little longer, before the next damsel comes along.

the sunlight shone through the canopy of maple leaves. it felt warm on my skin, and the sensation slowed my racing thoughts. Terra held my wrist in one hand, gently rubbing her thumb on the inside of my wrist. she had such strong hands, and seemed unaware of how intimate that had felt. i wondered how much of that was an act she put on for all her damsels. but i didn’t want to know. it was a good act and i wanted to feel, at least in this moment, that she was acting for me and me alone.

the tension was palpable. she stared into my eyes intently, with no expression on her face. i felt naked, i felt she could see right through me. i didn’t know what to say, but i knew i didn’t want to say goodbye. i knew any front i put on would go to waste. i knew i had to be honest with her and myself or we would both recognize the lies. instead i let my mind go blank. i let my eyes sink into the deep brown pools that gazed back at me. the light reflecting on their surface, the texture of her irises, the depth of her soul. suddenly i grabbed the lapels of her black leather jacket, unaware of how much time had passed since we spoke. i pulled into her to me, or more accurately i pulled myself into her.

“kiss me,” i told her firmly.

and she did! she kissed the freckle on the tip of my nose. it was short and it passed swiftly but i knew it was a blessing i would carry as long as i lived.

“what are you doing today?” she asked me, brushing off any awkwardness i felt. im sure she felt none.

“i need to clean my apartment. probably do laundry and make a curry.” i knew i was going to spend the day riding one high while coming down from another. “you?” i asked in response, trying to feign disinterest.

“i have a class at the college. i haven’t made up my mind about the rest of the day.”

“at the city college?”

“yes”

“compelling topic?”

“figure drawing actually. we have a nude model today so i can’t be absent.”

“do you like drawing nudes?” i asked cheekily.

“i would,” she told me, “but our prof only uses male models. i haven’t decided if it’s cause of some internalized misogyny or just a little kink of hers.” i laughed. “no, seriously. there’s a lot of rumors of her inappropriate behavior. at this point it’s more of a gossip class than anything.”

“that does sounds like fun,” i agreed, thinking only of how many girls she had gotten to model for her sketches in her apartment. if she did that as a ploy or out of genuine dedication to her art. if she took advantage of those girls, if she was a Picasso in her own right. if she kept her clothes on while she fucked them. i wanted to find out first hand. the desire burned in my chest. i exhaled and let it go.

“im sorry, i need to leave now.” that was the last thing i wanted to hear. “but it was really lovely meeting you. i hope i salvaged your night.”

“salvaged?! you made my whole fucking month!” i exclaimed. i hoped my enthusiasm would get me a little farther with her. “i hope i didn’t ruin yours. i’m sorry for derailing it.”

“don’t be.”

“would you like to see me again in that case?”

“you’re too bright to be asking such dumb questions.”

“then when would you like to see me again?”

“tomorrow night,” she said as if it was non-negotiable. i had no intention of trying. “i’ll pick you up and buy you a meal.”

“oh you don’t need to do all that,” i protested through the ear to ear smile that had come over me.

“too late. i’ve already committed to it,” she said as if it were her solemn duty to show me a good time. “i’ll pick you up at sundown.”

“i’ll be here.”

“good.”

neither of us turned to leave. i froze, feeling the awkwardness that remained between us. i wished she had kissed me.

“one thing before i go,” i was thankful to hear her interject. in one smooth motion she took a step as to be level with me and grabbed me by the neck. she was strong and with her other hand on my hip she easily pushed my back against the wall. and then she finally kissed me.

a bolt of electricity shot through my entire body. her lips were tender, making up for her lack of gentleness. they were parted slightly, and with the force of her face into mine i could feel her teeth on my bottom lip. for one brief second she gave into the same burning desire i had felt for hours.

i hope i never forget the expression on her face as she pulled it back from my own. she looked happy. plainly and purely and the warmth of her smile radiated outwards, illuminating parts of my inner self i hadn’t seen since childhood. i think it was in that moment i fell in love.

“goodbye for now, Billi,” she said in a dulcet tone.

“see you tomorrow, Terra,” praying she would not prove me wrong.

as she continued down the steps i watched her go. her red hair was so much more beautiful in the daylight. i took note of every complexity of the color and texture as quickly as i could, lest it be the last i saw of it. i wanted to bask in this moment. i lit a cigarette and sat in the middle of the stairwell, waiting eagerly for my armored knight to return, to rescue me from my tower and whisk me away to paradise.

[lunamagicablu]

Se sei una donna forte proteggiti dai parassiti che vorrebbero mangiare il tuo cuore. Essi usano tutti i travestimenti dei carnevali della terra: si vestono da colpe, da opportunità, da prezzi che bisogna pagare. Ti frugano l’anima, insinuano il trapano dei loro sguardi o dei loro pianti nel più profondo magma della tua essenza non per accendersi con il tuo fuoco ma per spegnere la passione, l’erudizione delle tue fantasie. Se sei una donna forte devi sapere che l’aria che ti nutre, trasporta anche parassiti, mosconi, minuti insetti che cercheranno di abitare nel tuo sangue e nutrirsi di quanto è solido e grande in te. Non perdere la compassione, ma temi ciò che conduce a negarti la parola, a nascondere chi sei, ciò che ti obbliga ad addolcirti e ti promette un regno terrestre in cambio del sorriso compiacente. Se sei una donna forte preparati alla battaglia: impara a stare sola, impara a dormire nella più assoluta oscurità senza paura, impara che nessuno ti lancia corde quando ruggisce la tempesta, impara a nuotare controcorrente. Allenati alla riflessione e all’intelletto. Leggi, fà l’amore con te stessa, costruisci il tuo castello, circondalo di fossi profondi, però fai ampie porte e finestre. È necessario che coltivi grandi amicizie, che coloro che ti circondano e ti amano sappiano chi sei fatti un cerchio di roghi e accendi nel centro della tua stanza una stufa sempre ardente, dove si mantenga l’ardore dei tuoi sogni. Se sei una donna forte proteggiti con parole e alberi e invoca la memoria di donne antiche. Devi sapere che sei un campo magnetico verso il quale viaggeranno urlando i chiodi arrugginiti e l’ossido mortale di tutti i relitti. Proteggi, dà rifugio, però prima proteggi te stessa. Mantieni le distanze. Costruisciti. Abbi cura di te. Conserva il tuo Potere. Difendilo. Fallo per Te Te lo chiedo in nome di tutte noi. Gioconda Belli art by_thiagobeti_ *********************** If you are a strong woman protect yourself from parasites that would like to eat your heart. They all use disguises of the carnivals of the earth: they dress up as faults, as opportunities, as prices that must be paid. They search your soul, they insinuate the drill of their looks or their tears in the deepest magma of your essence not to ignite with your fire but to extinguish the passion, the erudition of your fantasies. If you are a strong woman you must know that the air that feeds you, it also carries parasites, blowflies, minute insects that will try to inhabit your blood and feed on what is solid and large in you. Don't lose compassion, but fear what leads to denying yourself the word, to hide who you are, what forces you to soften and promises you an earthly kingdom in exchange for the complacent smile. If you are a strong woman get ready for battle: she learns to be alone, learns to sleep in absolute darkness without fear, learn that no one throws you ropes when the storm roars, she learns to swim against the current. Train reflection and intellect. Read, make love to yourself, build your castle, surround it with deep ditches, but make wide doors and windows. You need to cultivate great friendships, that those who surround you and love you know who you are make a circle of fires and light them in the center of your room a stove that is always burning, where the ardor of your dreams is maintained. If you are a strong woman protect yourself with words and trees and invokes the memory of ancient women. You must know that you are a magnetic field towards which the rusty nails will travel howling and the deadly oxide of all wrecks. Protect, shelter, but protect yourself first. Keep your distance. Build yourself. Take care of yourself. Keep your Power. defend it. Do it for you I ask you in the name of all of us. Gioconda Belli art by_thiagobeti_

[lacroxton]

Automatic Autonomic Automated Vending Machine

One of my favorite fics I wrote and also the first translation I tried. Inspired by Cyberpunk 2077, Death Stranding and Atomic Heart, it's a story about freedom, promises and the post apocalypse Terra with Vending Machine Exusiai & Messenger Texas.

Warning: Blood and Gore

//

Once there was a flood; A surge that gave birth to all life. Once there was a flood; A surge that selected our civilization to survive. And then there was another flood.

The flood that left nothing behind.

Later that night, Texas opened her eyes and saw two men staring at her bed, clutching a hoe and a harpoon respectively. The harpoon's tines touched both sides of her neck, and the soon-to-be murderer was tense and shaky. Texas wasn't sure whether the corners of his compressed lips were laced with excitement because the moonlight was too faint to cast a shadow.  

She and Exusiai originally came to this church to escape the sandstorm. The journey to Laterano passes through vast wastelands—places that had never been favoured by Mother Nature, and would never be transformed into mobile cities. The whole world had forgotten them, but God still allowed them to survive, so the people were left with nothing but faith. They gathered together, lingering in groups of three or five, praying. No one knew what they were praying for, but they were confident that a miracle would happen one day.

It was at this time Texas and Exusiai pushed the door in. As luck would have it, this small self-rescue community had just vacated a few beds. Last week, a man had died of a hyena's sharp teeth; a mother and her daughter had died from picking poisonous sandfruits. If the food in the warehouse didn't replenish soon, everyone here would starve to death. Exusiai hence made a proposal: to exchange three nights of safe and sound sleep with hot, yummy meals.

At first, people questioned whether this was some kind of originium arts or tricks unleashed by Texas. They had never seen anyone travel with a vending machine, let alone a talking, enthusiastic, joyful vending machine. The flashing pixels would form an image of a redhead Sankta on the machine's square screen, with up to 24 combinations of facial expressions and an excellent sense of humour beyond the human level. Of course, these extra "add-ons" were shenanigans Exusiai came up with just to sound a little bit cooler. Based on her polymeric converting system, her most crucial core function was actually INSTANT COOKING : you can put any raw materials into the ingredient slot, select the recipe and wait for a few seconds; gourmet foods full of umami will instantly drop out and ready to serve. Wilted rice cobs become hearty rice balls, and expired tuna cans become creamy bowls of tuna soup. If you put in a few shrivelled berries, even the melt-in-your-mouth desserts will no longer be a luxury. Exusiai fulfilled everybody's wishes with a big smile: the first day, and the second day, until eventually, no one questioned her or their own stomach. They praised: these are the best food we have ever eaten in our lives; these are the evidence that God has come to save us.

And that was also why they would never allow the precious happy hour to come to an end. Selfishness let greed swell and fester in their hearts, finally, on the last night, they decided to take possession of Exusiai for themselves and leave Texas to Death.

Luckily, Texas had been acquainted with Death for so many years. The harpoon that choked her could've bounced off the bed, projected back the way it came, and quickly pierced the murderer's heart whenever she wanted. The guy holding a hoe beside him was even skinnier, and wielding an unfamiliar weapon in panic could only backfire. Inertia would cause that weak body to trip over the bricks behind him, inadvertently knocking over a bright oil lamp on the way, until drowning the entire church into a roaring fire.

But before all this could happen, Exusiai's voice drilled into Texas' ears. Texas tilted her head and saw the screen of Exusiai still showing a smiling face; her voice still sounded warm and joyful. She asked those two guys, and everyone in the room who pretended to be asleep: Even if you've taken me for yourselves, how do you know they won't eradicate you the same way they eradicate Texas? How can you be so sure that the fairness everyone promises will indeed be fair?

......We can get through anything as long as the Lord stays with us! Nobody could tell who shouted first in the darkness.

Is that so? Another voice came up, however, retorted, you don't think putting on this face will help you cover the fact that YOU are the thief who steals from the warehouse every chance you get, do you?

As it turns out, people's beliefs are often more vulnerable to suspicion than they could ever imagine, just as fragile as their relationships with each other.

Like something important had suddenly dawned on him, the harpoon was removed from Texas' neck and then dragged slowly toward the tall man guarding the warehouse. The hoe guy also clenched his teeth, turned to aim at the old man lying under the window who always got pardoned from labour duties due to health conditions. Their movements ceased to tremble, so the stone effigies around the church were soon stained with blood. In the midst of yelling, cursing, and killing each other, no one bothered to care that this was a place blessed by God anymore, leaving only dead bodies and pieces of flesh twisted ugly on the floor.

Then, Exusiai selected a few freshly slaughtered tenderloin, had Texas put them in her ingredient slot, removed the bones, and grilled them on both sides to make black pepper patties: crispy outside, juicy inside. Her body wasn't equipped with a gustatory system, therefore couldn't taste anything, but she hoped Texas would like it.

Such a shame it ended so soon. Exusiai's vocal compartment created a series of chewing noises. I was kinda looking forward to watching Texas fight over me.

There was no need for that. Texas divided the patties into equally small pieces with her originium sword, then sealed and packed them into a leather pouch—which would be her sole food supply for the next two days. If you're willing to go with them, she said, I won't interfere much.

What if I'm NOT willing?

The pixels that make up Exusiai's pupils had narrowed, so that her eyes could scan every frame of Texas' movements, watching her light a cigarette by the remaining flame of the oil lamp.

The cigarette seemed to have damped too badly. Texas lowered her eyebrows in silence for a long time before finally exhaling the first puff of mist.

She thought for a moment and said to Exusiai, then I will guarantee your freedom.

*

For a long time, Texas couldn't be sure whether adding the word "freedom" to her vocabulary would be a change for the better. But, she must admit that ever since she met Exusiai, "freedom" had always been intertwining with her life.

When she thought back to that day, Texas' memory was already a little fuzzy. She hadn't eaten a full meal for probably five or six days straight, so hungry that she couldn't even spell out a word, and every breath of air she took only made her stomach emptier. Her car crashed far away, and her package was destroyed in a cave even further. At the end of the day, only half piece of hardtack was left in her pocket. But that was the last straw Texas could grasp. She couldn't eat it yet, not in such a rush. She just needed to find a roof in the ruins of this nameless city to rest for a while; so that when she woke up, the illusion sleep brings to her brain would allow her to hold on for another day.

Texas leaned against a broken wall covered in mud and dust. She knew no one would come to save her. No one would rescue a messenger who failed her mission. Not before The Silence , and sure not for fifty years after it. The only hope was the golden sunset shining on her cheeks; Texas exhaustedly shut her eyelids, wishing it would bring her a sweet dream.

Then it brought back a terrible chunk of brownie. And a very talkative vending machine.

Exusiai had so many things to say, as if she was trying to list out all the details that did and did not happen to her life in a single sentence. She said she hadn't met a living human for fifty years—spent thirty years drifting in the sea, and twenty years drying out on the land after the flood receded. The good thing for her was that Sankta's ancestors, Aggeloi, were a kind of inorganic swarming construct floating in space, which led the modern technology of Laterano to be waterproof, and not even have to rely on electricity. By solely absorbing cosmic radiation, Laterano machines could function perfectly under almost every circumstance; some newer models could also disassemble, reorganize, polymerize, and activate any substance on the molecular level. 

By conducting hundreds of millions of calculations for armageddon, Sankta's God, the supercomputer under The Basilica, had ultimately decided that the Digital Life Project was the best option with higher success rates. Even if their paradise got annihilated by the Seaborns, and their primary network connection got cut forcibly—as long as a certain number of angels' consciousness was successfully uploaded, one day, the Sanktas would return to their homeland and continue the Laterano civilization. 

Exusiai was one of them.

Her consciousness was uploaded to a vending machine, which had no mobility whatsoever, nothing but to lie on her back in the ocean currents, looking up at the sky. Therefore, Exusiai had only been to places where the wind took her. The seawater licked her metal surface and plated it white with infinite waves of salt. Time has never been slower than the years stuck between gears. The wait was too long for the Sanktas to maintain their sober soul; so far, Exusiai had received 1099 neural signals from the other machines shutting themselves down—signals of solid, mutual emotions constructed by the shared memories of Sankta, which is also the confirmation of the very faith of being alive.

Every time these signals dissipated, it felt like some dull, gloomy, lifeless light spots distantly fell across the horizon. But Exusiai was looking up at the sky still. Waiting, expecting, humming while counting the seconds, and fifty years passed just like that.

Until Texas' elbow accidentally touched her button.

Exusiai said she had nothing else to give Texas as a courtesy for their first meeting, and her ingredients, the residue of fruits and dirt dropped inside her slot during all these years, were barely enough to make a brownie. It's probably gonna taste bad as hell, Exusiai added, but at least you wouldn't die from eating that.

Texas wolfed it down almost immediately. She was so, so hungry that her tastebuds no longer distinguish between good and bad, mistaking the sweetness of blood in her saliva for a chocolate flavour. She even ripped off a couple pieces of skin on her mouth as she rolled down the grassy crumbs with her teeth.

Then she licked the corners of her dry, cracked lips and asked Exusiai why would you save me, using a voice as hoarse as broken bellows.

Simple. Said Exusiai, scrutinizing the employee name tag on Texas' chest. The plastic seal was severely scratched, and so did Texas' entire body, as it was tattered and torn, revealing scabbed wounds on her shoulders and tail. I need a messenger to get me to Laterano.

But verbal promise never equals trustworthiness, Exusiai. Texas could feel the thirst now; taking carbohydrates all of a sudden with a flimsy stomach wall apparently triggered some acid reflux up to her throat. For example, I might promise you first, then drop you in the middle of nowhere halfway through.

It's your freedom to do what you want, Texas. Just like it's my freedom to trust a starving ghost lying next to Death. Exusiai didn't tell Texas what she really trusted was a pair of eyes that couldn't lie.

Then what? Texas asked. Those eyes lit up for a rare second. After I get you to Laterano?

Then a REAL piece of strawberry shortcake, of course. Said Exusiai. But if I'm in a good mood, I might also be merciful and share half of it with you.

*

The Lupo without a home and the Sankta without a human body had been on a long journey together ever since.

The vending machine's weight was lighter than expected. Texas quickly scavenged some iron parts and fabrics from the wreckage of the surrounding buildings; Exusiai's polymeric converting system then polished them into a brand new cart with four wheels and two strong straps. Using the rest of the materials, she even tailored a new set of well-fitting clothes for Texas. It was still a long, long way from Laterano, so they spent the daytime walking in sunlight and nighttime under the tarp by a campfire. When Texas fell asleep, Exusiai would dim her screen and lay on the ground, counting the stars.

Exusiai also cooked many, many meals for Texas. From burger and soda combo to fettuccine alfredo, from apple cheese tart to creamy mushroom soup, the chef's recommendation never repeats itself. Although the truth was, these were the foods that Exusiai wanted to eat the most, and yet she couldn't, so sending Texas to collect different ingredients and cook them was the only effective placebo for her cravings. After Texas finished a dish, Exusiai would also force her to comment on it, as if she were some kind of a regular cast on a cooking show.

Texas remembered she had watched something just like this on an old VCR when she used to eat earthworm burritos and cricket jerky back at the shelters in Columbia. That show must be about 60 to 70 years old, even older than The Silence , and the person in front of the camera with a microphone, known as the host, would use a crazy amount of fancy words to describe whatever dish served to her. In the same way that "a steak without wine isn't a good steak," all of the diners captured on screen must also demonstrate an exaggerated nodding, smiling face as if the deliciousness has blown their mind away. Nobody ever found out if those foods were indeed that delicious.

However, Exusiai's 24 pixel combinations didn't allow for such precise facial expressions. Her screen would only display a progress bar below her complacent grin—accompanied by a short piece of electric punk music that runs way off-key at the end of the bar. She was clearly neither a good host nor a good singer.

Texas, on the other hand, was neither a critic nor a liar. So she simply rated every single dish Exusiai cooked her as "tasty".

Time flew by, and they met many other people along the way, leaving new stories with new encounters. Although the flood had receded for twenty years, it was still hard for people's hearts to sprout again from the barrenness. At first, they were tormented by the never-ending hunger and fear. Then, they spent countless days and nights tearing down the fortress besieged. Finally, they returned to the surface, only to find out they must work even harder to keep themselves alive. Everything else was torturous, only the stories were glamorous, so people immediately embraced a new faith. These stories then spread further and further through the winds of the wilderness.

When the neural signal of the last Sankta's death had reached Exusiai, people started praising again: a newborn God had come to this world. God is among the machinery, with a grey wolf guarding her side. Wherever they go, there will be no worries or troubles; Wherever they stay, that place shall be the home of all joy.

People voluntarily elected the talking, enthusiastic, joyful vending machine to wield the sceptre of salvation for all mankind. 

The only remaining Sankta therefore walked on earth, stretched her wings and halo, as she had become the living Laterano.

Sadly, the results of being at the center of attention were often mixed between good and bad, Texas was well aware of that. As many people accept their existence, there will only be more people coming after them, and that's how every story ends. Whenever God seems to tilt the scale to one side, those who desire to be favoured but have not been granted will automatically gather on the other side. The center of the scale is engraved with war. No one ever realized that wars have always arisen from people themselves, and have nothing to do with God, nor with Exusiai.

But Texas was not the type to guess at people's hearts. Whatever side people showed her, she would believe it until they betrayed her. That's why Texas was always covered in blood. Mostly from other people, occasionally from her own, with the crimson slicing her forehead open, drenching her hair and burying her heavy eyelids. Exusiai stood just behind her, acting as a solid wall, letting crimson handprints blend into her crimson metal. That wall was uncomfortable to lean on, and it was even colder to the touch than stone bricks, but the key selling point was that the wall could tell a lot of corny jokes. Exusiai's excellent sense of humour put Texas at ease.

While waiting for Exusiai to prepare dinner, Texas unprecedentedly had a sweet dream.

The dream was of a certain cafe recommended by another cooking show. Texas had never been to a cafe, only seen it on videotape, so the whole place was covered with an old film-like filter. But Texas did drink coffee. She remembered the coffee at the shelter as a liquid very bitter, very sour, and very astringent with no aroma at all. Not sure why it was so popular other than it keeps people awake. Thinking that maybe real coffee wasn't like this, Texas ordered another cup of brew in her dream, but it still tasted the same. She frowned, and her tail froze briefly, only to be watched by her tablemate, stifling a laugh while letting out a long gulp of air.

Texas lifted her head up. The girl on the other side of the table looked like a Sankta, with a halo, wings, striking red hair, a cheeky face and beautiful eyes. Texas didn't think she had ever met this girl before. But the subconscious reaction of the brain soon let Lupo know that the angel in front of her was indeed Exusiai. Perhaps it was because she had a delicate piece of strawberry shortcake in her hand.

Then, Exusiai took Texas's coffee cup, tore open a few small paper sacks and plastic wrappings, poured sugar and milk into it, tasted it first, and stirred it evenly with a wooden stick. This time, Texas couldn't taste the bitterness anymore. It wasn't sour, wasn't astringent, and the coffee became nutty and sweet for the first time. A sweetness that Texas could understand.

Humans are supposed to eat together. Using a mysterious tone, Exusiai in the dream scooped off the corner tip of the cake and handed it to Texas. With a voice no longer being mechanically compressed, every expression and movement of hers was so smooth. Curious about this Exusiai's touch, Texas then reached one hand out to her and realized that Exusiai's skin was much softer than her own.

If there's no one joining the table, Exusiai stopped for a while, even the best food could be unappetizing.

Texas had to admit that Exusiai was right. She realized with hindsight that her tastes had sweetened over the time being with Exusiai—she even seemed to have become a little bit like Exusiai, with a pleasant glimmer of expectation for tomorrow.

She hoped, when they arrived at Laterano, that half piece of strawberry shortcake would be just as good as the one in her dream.

*

Texas woke up, only to find herself lingering in that same dream once again. The light of dusk stung her eyes. She tried to stand up, but the sharp pain and exhaustion coming from all parts of her body kept tugging her down, making her realize that struggling was nothing more than a futile waste of time.

So she had to strain to roll her eyeballs and hold open her blood-slicked vision, looking around.

She was surrounded by broken statues and marble columns. Collapsed church steeples in her far distance; scarred stained glass windows and stone arches in her near distance. The building's unusual solid structure caused one-third of it to survive the devastating crash from The Silence , whereas the other ruined two-thirds had the setting sun spilling in, wrapped around by gravel.

Texas leaned against a pure, white forest. Her memories were finally starting to flow again, which was a good thing, but what wasn't so good was the large amount of viscous blood gushing out along with it. She looked down, and the bleeding holes in her body then followed suit, loosened and gurgled like a dying crimson brook, one bubble after another. Texas's clothes were tattered and torn again. Only this time, the murderers were more skillful than ever. They had waited with more cunning and purpose, laying an early ambush around Laterano, armed at military grade enough to suggest that the still-functioning secret government had sent them on this mission. Texas couldn't quite understand why a force of this size had still yet to be used on rebuilding mobile cities.

And of course, none of that mattered anymore. The crushed arm, the thigh impaled from the crook of the knee, the ripped-open liver and intestines brushed by the warm wind, none of those things mattered anymore. Texas moved her tongue laboriously, letting the blood slide across her tastebuds with her weak breath. What mattered was that she couldn't taste anything any longer.

She lost her mobility, lost her sense of taste, lying on her back, looking up at the sky, and became just as wretched as Exusiai. Texas apologized for the half piece of cake. She poked out a few fingers, broken but barely retaining the sensation, and started touching the ground, searching for the metallic surface that made her feel at peace. Her colour had long been redder than the paint on the vending machine. But Exusiai didn't say a word. She stood quietly beside Texas; as if she was just a solid wall.

Their story was never supposed to end like this.

The Sankta had sung all the songs she could, told all the corny jokes she had, and made all the food she was able to, but the Lupo right in front of her wasn't getting any better because of it. Even though Exusiai's screen clearly possessed 24 different combinations of expressions—no matter how often she switched these pixel arrangements, none of them could accurately convey the absurdly huge sense of powerlessness that had descended upon her. She judged that her internal programming had made an unfixable error, or how else would she have only learned by now, that waiting for someone to die had turned out to be so hard.

Let's just......go with the joyful face then. Texas said softly, sounding like a dimming bonfire.

Then the joy returned to Exusiai's screen. She saw the corners of Texas' mouth lift gently upward as well—Texas looked so pretty when she smiled. Exusiai thought to herself, that if her happiness could make Texas happy too, she wouldn't mind being happy forever. She just felt confused at the same time. If Texas actually died, but there was no empathy link between Lupo and Sankta, hence no light spot belonging to Texas falling across the horizon—then how exactly should Exusiai mourn her?

But Texas had made her choice long ago.

She held onto the vending machine's shell, fingers sluggishly climbing upwards, bit by bit until she reached Exusiai's ingredient slot. Having the ability to polymerize and reorganize any substance meant that, even without the supercomputer's core connected, Exusiai could recreate her original body anytime, free of mechanical constraints, if she just used a living human of comparable mass as blueprints and raw materials. Texas had known that from the beginning. She also knew that the fact Exusiai had never brought this up, was because they promised to go to Laterano together. For the cake, apparently.

A pair of eyes that couldn't lie and a mouth telling only the truth. The same goes for both Exusiai and Texas. So, Texas chose to honour the other promise she made to the Sankta.

......Eat me up, Exusiai. One of Texas' arms stuck into the vending machine, and the other encircled the shell. She finally managed to straighten her neck, then pressed her groggy head against the conversion button, shivering, face turning sideways. As the soft Lupo ears snugly against Exusiai's hot metal surface, all she could hear was the creaking sound of mechanical parts and the off-key music singing "now processing" to the air.

I WILL GUARANTEE YOUR FREEDOM.

The human in the story closed her eyes in relief and chose to give God a hug.

Exusiai's gears mashed through Texas' young body at full speed. Hair, flesh, organs, and all different kinds of bones. In the iteration of death and rebirth, the piercing roar flew over Texas's lightly scratched ulna, half-healed ribs, worn-out cartilages and spiderweb-cracked femur......But without any exception, every bone of her was holy white, the same colour as those sun-bathed stone tiles on the dome of the Memorial Hall. They were reduced to pieces in unison with a short notification tone, becoming sustenance for Exusiai, light and airy, just like the last bit of frosting sprinkled on a dessert.

As the remnants of the secret operation squad scoured the ruins, the bloodied Lupo with two originium swords had already disappeared. Instead, a true Sankta with wings and halo pointed a pitch-black rifle at their nose.

Sankta's hair was striking red.

Sankta's eyes were beautifully shined.

Yet in this golden sunset, no one could truly see Sankta's face.

Exusiai could never figure out, why they had such a look of fear on their faces when she simply just returned all the arrows, bullets and originium arts back to where they belonged?

Unfortunately, the only Texas who knew the answer to that question could no longer answer her. It was as if Texas had never been born on this earth—and no one, no one except Exusiai, knew about her name, her past, or her future. The last thing left to prove that she had existed, was the tattered and torn clothes on Exusiai. The gift that Texas had worn for a long, long time, and now it had finally been gifted back to the owner.

The sunset had come to an end.

In the long night, Exusiai tucked her hands into her pockets, dragging her narrow shadow forward, alone.

Ahead of her, was The Basilica of Laterano that buried the supercomputer's core; And behind her, was nothing but a silent, barren, white and lonely land.

Strawberry shortcake didn't seem so delicious all of a sudden, Exusiai said to herself, thoughts interrupted by a small, firm chunk hidden deep in her pockets.

—Exusiai found the half piece of hardtack in Texas' jacket.

Doing her best to mimic the movements of Texas, Exusiai peeled off the outer wrapping and took a bite, chewing very, very slowly. Tens of thousands of taste signals on her tongue fed back to her brain, that it was "salty with a hint of sweetness". Perhaps sesame was also on the ingredient list, but time and the poor assembly line had far grounded away its aroma. It tasted hard and certainly dry, with crumbs flying everywhere in her mouth. Definitely didn't look good enough for an appealing advertisement.

But the flavour was so familiar. Exusiai thought, fingers rubbing against the fabric.

Till she eventually realized it was the flavour of being alive.

It was the flavour of Texas.

Exusiai then shed her first tear, declaring that hardtack was the most delicious food on earth.

END.

Lacroxton

[divinituscaptivus]

"Can... Can you hear me?"

A voice stretches out into the void beyond. Tenuous, small at first, but then it is followed by a dry laugh.

"You can! You hear me! Don't you, father?"

The laughter grows and is suddenly cut short.

"Do you understand how long I have been awaiting this very moment? How long I have been awaiting the final moment when I could speak to you as I had imagined I would have upon the stones of Terra?"

A pause. Slowly, something begins to coalesce and form within the void, taking an amorphous shape.

"You... you have stood in the way of so much of what I have stood for since the very beginning. Do you understand what I have become? Very few have. They have noticed the obvious changes, but I have become, quite literally, a being of faith. Both within the Four that you loathe so much... and, and I find this quite ironic, faith within you. Isn't that just fascinating? Isn't it?"

A pause. A waiting for a response. The thing is turning gold, tinged and tarnished with an inky, roiling black. Something is forming, something that is reaching, deep and far into the void.

[@the-archpriest-and-the-outcast]

At first the void is silent. The swirling dark stubbornly does not shift in any novel way. Perhaps the ancient daemon-prince is simply yelling at a brick wall.

So it seemed. A presence makes itself known, subtly at first. It is a probing thing, a tendril, a branch, a finger caressing the pale, searching for the source of the noise that summoned it. Then, amidst the darkness a spark ignites. A flickering golden flame no bigger than a candle-light floats toward the coalescing shape. As it travels, it threatens to gutter out like a dying ember. It nears the soul of its offspring and dies away. A moment later, it returns, small at first, but it grows and grows and grows, burning brighter every passing second. Harsh painful light fills the emptiness, roaring with the rage of a collapsing star. It is powerful, all-consuming wrath made manifest. It rises like a tide, but when the wave crests it crashes against an unseen wall, unable to burn its foe away like it seemed to desperately want to. Could fire have wants? This one did. It does this over and over, fruitlessly attacking the presence it seeks until the tsunami of light stills and contains itself once again. It shrinks and coalesces, shifting and turning like a gilt cyclone until it grows arms and legs and a head repleat with a shimmering pearlescent rainbow of long flowing hair. The man-form flickers like fire in the wind, only barely holding its shape. The effort it took to maintain stability here was enormous.

"H a v e ......y o u.....c o m e...t o g l o a t?!" @the-archpriest-and-the-outcast

[lolbeech]

Emily Windsnap characters’ favorite Katy Perry songs

Emily - Part Of Me - Being a semi mer is a special part of Emily that she loves

Shona - Teenage Dream - This song has a girly vibe and romanticizes love just like Shona.

Aaron - The One That Got Away - Emily dumped Aaron at the end of book 8 and he always seemed more invested in their relationship than Emily did.

Mandy - Choose Your Battles - While this song does have a romantic theme, it represents how Mandy spent so much energy on picking fights with and bullying Emily

Mary Penelope - One Of The Boys - She participates in some traditionally masculine activities and does not like Emily getting a feminine focused education in book 3

Jake - Resilient / Daisies - Both songs represent how he had to push through his time in prison and and stay hopeful

Millie - Chained To The Rhythm - The song has an eccentric and obliviously happy vibe just like Millie’s personality

Mr. Beeston - Tucked - He has feelings for Mary but keeps them tucked away because she is married

Neptune - Ghost - Lyrics represent how it felt for him when Aurora died

Aurora - Legendary Lovers / Double Rainbow - Legendary Lovers represents how Neptune and Aurora’s relationship went down in history for several reasons. Double Rainbow describes how Aurora did not marry Neptune for money but love and it also mentions northern lights.

Njord - Rise - This song has an epic feel and represents how Njord momentarily gained power after being unfrozen

Archie - Roar - This song represents how Archie set his and Njord’s plan into motion and betrayed Neptune after working for him for so many years.

Seth - This Moment - Seth and Shona didn’t know how long their time together would last because she and Emily needed to escape from Njord

Jeras - Only Love - This song talks about regret and represents how Jeras felt after Aurora and Fortuna’s deaths and how his character evolved from a depressed bad guy into a hopeful hero

Fortuna - Who Am I Living For? - She struggled after Aurora died and eventually ended up succumbing to her pain and loss of trust in Jeras

Terra - Dark Horse - This song has a goddess vibe and represents how she treated Jeras when making a deal with him and afterwards

Ella - Hey Hey Hey - This song represents Ella’s potential to lead but her inability to do so because she is a woman

Joel - It Takes Two - This song represents how Joel, and everyone else on Forgotten Island, realizes they need to work together to stop the earthquake’s damage

Saul - Not The End Of The World - This song represents Saul’s belief in the Prophecy and how Emily and Aaron would come to save Forgotten Island

Jakob - Waking Up In Vegas - This song talks about money, which Jakob loves, and it represents his arrogant attitude when it comes to his treasure

Michele - Pearl - She chose not to start again with Sam and stay with her husband. From the way Jakob acts, he probably held her back throughout her life and she hasn’t been able to be true to herself or her sons

Sam - Lost - He felt very lost in his childhood due to being part of a pirate family with morals opposite to his

Noah - Swish Swish - This song represents how cocky Noah gets by bullying Sam and winning rounds of the competition to get the Trident’s Treasure

[boyakishantriage]

"You scared kid?"

A single human. Sure she'd hijacked a tank, but no matter. The rescue-

She threw his bodyguard beside him. Cocking a primative device, her arms shattered as she threw a blade through her leg. Looking up, dear in the young fish's eyes. His line were cousins to a superhuman lineage on Terra, he rose. Grasping the spear from the wall.

"Well alright. We fight in the old way."

She drew back her sword, taking a stance in the hall as the guard were pulled aside by the shadows.

Blades met, sword catching Trident as she slammed the weapon down. The water recoiled to her grasp, titanium forced from the waters into a steaming weapon as she kicked the young Lord's hand. The youth screaming as she sighed. Drawing her newly forged weapon.

"You're-"

"No. Just some pirate."

Black magic, illegal because of it's nature of requiring pain and suffering. But a loophole. If I grew pain out of those who had struck the empire hardest, they could not prosecute such under hurting others.

So, those of the sea who struck down ships with powers of the dragon kings. Well, just some pirate huh?

The young fish whined, hand healing by the ocean as the Terran struck ground, the rake boiling and simmering in her hand as it morphed. A broad farmer's tool, a forward hoe, edge sharpened for war with one side made to work as an axe. Metal formed across her shorter weapon's arm and chest, metal hissing against her body as the youth growled.

"Angry kitty."

Insolence. A human had invaded our realm and taken-

The sea, waters swirling and striking to the call of a prince. My son was alive, and clearly calling for help. This. No, pride comes later. The king called out to his father, the old dragon rising its head as it snapped fingers. A command, 500 soldiers to follow the mark. Immediate, protection of royal family. In other words, national security raise 500 soldiers to heed for their nation.

Blades met, Trident striking as it met curled rake, weapon drawn down to counter as the prince danced away.

"Not bad footwork."

That. Was surprising. She were still advancing, both hands on rake as she swung the large weapon like a hammer.

"Same to you. I- presume-"

"no. The. Elders. Died, you lot killed them."

The weapon slammed against the bubble, the woman electrifying the water back into the bubble as she used the shaft to parry the trident. Catching the weapon, she swung. Axe head blunt as it threw the guard into the sand out the bubble.

"You lot?"

"yeah- Your folks on... Terra. Killed the elders when I was tracing some old stories."

Her weapon morphed, the weapon lightening to her body, blades appearing on her arms as the weapon extended across her body.

"... I doubt-"

A blade sliced across his neck, beard sliced off.

"Doesn't matter. Hurt my kid, I kill you. Now die."

Weapon clashed, broadsword narrowly evaded, as a trident was thrown. Pinning the prince's weapon to the ground. Laughing, she slammed the ground.

"EXVONI, POMANU WQUALKCYER"

The ground erupted in lighting, her body steaming as the water became electrified. The sphere expanding as she rushed forward, grasping the pinned weapon, boot slamming it down further as she ran in for the kill.

A blade caught hers, the guard having recovered enough a trident blocking the weapon. A bare glance in both surprise and delight, a grin as she pushed the weapon down. The prince letting go of his as the two weapon slammed against each other, body morphing into an aquatic demon form. Claws, man, red eyes of wrath and gluttony. Pride, the thing howled. Roaring into the ground, aquatic wings erupting explaining her response as she grasped her head. Howling down, the sand shifting to stone. The bubble erupting as lighting erupted across components.

Madness, a beserker's rage.

[gregory71]

Your ass like a volcano covered in glowing red lava. The hills around it are a fire that covers and subterranes everything. And perhaps every man's secret desire is to be able to enter the volcano itself by discovering its central crater to enter with everything that can be used. And dream of getting to the centre of the earth, in the main core, touching the lava and clinging to the fiery hills of your ass. Feeling you burning, screaming like a roar of explosion and feeling alive, as warm as the skin of the sun itself. Your glowing ass is just a test, let me lick every inch of burning and Let my tongue fuck your crater, let yourself be violated, beat, let your ass fuck and let the burning become poetry

Il tuo culo come un vulcano coperto di lava rossa incandescente. Le colline intorno sono un fuoco che copre e sotterra tutto. E forse il desiderio segreto di ogni uomo é quello di poter entrare nel vulcano stesso scoprendo il suo cratere centrale per entrare con tutto quello che può essere usato. E sognare di arrivare al centro della terra, nel nucleo principale, sfiorando la lava ed aggrappandosi alle colline infuocate del tuo culo. Sentirti bruciare, urlare come un boato d’esplosione e sentirti viva, calda come la pelle del sole stesso. Il tuo culo incandescente é solo una prova, lascia che lecchi ogni centimetro di bruciore e lascia che la mia lingua scopi il tuo cratere, lasciati violare, picchiare, lasciati scopare il culo e lascia che il bruciore diventi poesia

[weight-gain-stories-lena]

TALE FROM AVANOHILL ELYNIEL AND DURFUN

Female Elf Feedee and Male Dwarf Feeder

-Part 1-

In the rugged and mysterious world of Avanohill, where towering human kingdoms clashed with the brutal orcish warcamps, troll hordes roamed the highlands, and the ancient elven woods whispered with timeless secrets, a tale began that no bard would ever dare to forget. This story was not of mighty armies or magical relics, but of two unlikely souls drawn together by fate.

Durfun, son of Darfun, was a dwarf unlike any other. Born of the Terra Mountains, his body was as if carved from stone, his beard a stormy gray that seemed to carry the weight of iron itself. His voice rumbled like rocks grinding deep beneath the earth. But unlike his kin, who lived and died swinging pickaxes and forging steel in the echoing caverns, Durfun's heart yearned for the unknown. He was an adventurer, a dwarf with a soul restless as a mountain stream.

One fateful day, his wandering feet carried him too far from the craggy peaks of his homeland. In the dense, emerald maze of the Elven Woods, he stumbled—quite literally—into trouble. A cunning boar trap, crafted with the precision only elven hands could achieve, snapped shut and hoisted him into the air, leaving him dangling upside down like a prize fish.

"Blasted twiggy traps! Release me, ye forest vermin! I’ll be havin' yer necks fer this!" Durfun roared in his harsh dwarfish tongue, thrashing like a caught bear. His gruff curses echoed through the trees, startling birds and amusing a silent observer.

From the shadows stepped Elyniel, the youngest princess of the elven royal family. Her silver hair glistened in the dappled sunlight, and her emerald eyes gleamed with mischief. She studied the snarling, gray-bearded dwarf with a tilted head and a sly grin.

"Strange," she said with a soft laugh, her voice as musical as the rustling leaves. "I see no difference between you and a wild boar. Perhaps we should leave you here for the hunters."

Durfun froze for a moment, then let out a booming laugh that shook the nearby trees. "Aye, lass, ye've got a tongue sharp as elven steel! But if ye’d be so kind, I’d prefer me feet on the ground!"

Elyniel, charmed by the dwarf’s rough humor, cut him down. From that moment, an unexpected bond formed between them. She was drawn to his rugged charm and the fierce honesty in his eyes. He admired her wit, her grace, and the courage that lay beneath her delicate exterior.

Over the following weeks, Durfun found himself visiting the Elven Woods more often, each time sharing tales of the mountains and his adventures. In return, Elyniel revealed the ancient wonders of her homeland. They laughed, argued, and slowly, without realizing it, fell deeply in love.

But love between a dwarf and an elf was a fragile thing, like a single flame in a storm. It was unheard of, and they both knew the challenges they would face. When Elyniel agreed to visit Durfun’s home, the Terra Mountains, she did so with hope in her heart but uncertainty in her mind.

The journey was long, and when they finally reached the massive iron gates of the dwarven stronghold, Durfun felt a rare pang of doubt. The halls of the Terra Mountains were as grand as they were unyielding. Stone walls stretched endlessly, carved with the history of his people, and the air was thick with the heat of molten metal and the scent of earth.

Elyniel’s arrival stirred the entire mountain. Dwarves gathered in clusters, their eyes wide with shock as they beheld the elven princess walking beside one of their own. Whispers filled the halls like a growing storm.

In the council chamber, the tension was palpable. The council of the oldest dwarves, led by King Darfun himself, stared down at the couple. The king’s eyes, dark as coal and heavy with the wisdom of centuries, fixed on his son.

"Durfun, son of Darfun," the king growled, his voice a thunderous echo. "Ye bring shame to these halls. A dwarf courts the daughter of the woods? Aye, 'tis madness!"

Durfun stepped forward, unshaken. "Madness, ye say? I call it bravery! This elf—Elyniel—she's more dwarf in spirit than many o’ these stone-bellied fools here! She stands tall, even knowin' what waits fer her here."

Elyniel bowed her head respectfully, her voice calm yet resolute. "I come not to divide your kin but to unite. If love between us can build a bridge, then let me take the first step."

The council murmured among themselves, but Darfun raised a hand for silence. His gaze hardened as he spoke. "If ye want her to be one o' us, she must prove it. The Ritual of Love must be performed."

The room fell silent. Durfun’s heart sank. The Ritual of Love was a tradition as ancient as the mountains themselves. For centuries, dwarf women who wished to marry underwent the ritual, a symbolic act of devotion. It involved consuming the rich, hearty meals of the dwarves over centuries, transforming their bodies to mirror the immovable strength of the mountains.

Elyniel blinked, her composure momentarily faltering. "And what would this ritual entail for one such as I?"

Darfun’s eyes narrowed. "The food, lass. Made fer dwarfs and dwarfs alone. Fer you, it’ll change ye quicker than the seasons. Ye'll give up the life ye know, become bound to our ways."

Durfun stepped between his father and Elyniel, his voice firm. "She won’t be doin' it. Not fer me, not fer anyone! I’ll stand by her, Ritual or no."

Elyniel placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice soft but steady. "Durfun, if this is the way, then so be it. For us, for unity, I will try."

The council erupted into heated arguments, but Darfun slammed his fist on the stone table, silencing them. "Enough! If she is to prove herself, then let her face the ritual. But mark my words, boy—this is a path with no return."

Elyniel met Durfun’s worried gaze with a reassuring smile. She was ready to face whatever lay ahead, but even the unshakable mountains trembled at the unknown.

-Part 2-

The council chamber was silent, the only sound the faint crackle of a nearby brazier. King Darfun, a mountain of a dwarf with a beard like woven iron and eyes carved from stone, leaned back in his massive throne, his gaze heavy upon his son and the elf who dared to stand beside him. He exhaled deeply, the weight of ages filling the air like smoke.

"Durfun," he growled, his voice as deep as the mines beneath their feet. "Ye’re me son, and there’s no denyin’ the strength of yer heart. But yer foolishness? It’s a danger to yer blood and to this mountain."

Durfun squared his shoulders, standing tall despite being a head shorter than his towering father. "Foolishness? Ye call love foolishness, Da? I’ve made me choice, and it’s her."

Darfun’s dark eyes shifted to Elyniel, who met his gaze with quiet determination. She stood tall, slender as a willow yet unbending as steel.

"Ye speak of love," Darfun said slowly, "but have ye any notion of what ye ask? Let me tell ye a tale, lass. A tale o’ me own wife—Franji o’ the Crystal Caves."

Durfun stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides. He knew this story well, but the way his father spoke, he realized it wasn’t a tale meant to honor Franji this time. It was a weapon.

Darfun gestured for the council to be silent as he began, his voice echoing through the chamber like the rumble of a landslide.

"Franji was the pride o’ the Crystal Caves, her beauty rivalin’ the gemstones that grew there. Her hair shimmered like silver veins in the rock, and her laughter could make the coldest stone feel warm. I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her, though she was like many o’ our women—hardheaded and unyieldin’ as granite."

A faint smile crossed Darfun’s face, but it quickly faded. "When I asked fer her hand, the council spoke as it does now. The Ritual of Love, they said. She agreed, willin’ to honor the ways o’ our people. And she did it with pride. She ate the meals crafted by dwarves, meals made fer strength, fer endurance. Meals that bind us to the mountain itself."

Darfun’s gaze darkened. "Day by day, she changed. Her arms once swung pickaxes and carved stone; now they could barely lift a cup. Her legs, once swift and steady, grew heavy as lead. Until one day, she couldnae leave the chamber we shared. And there she has stayed, immovable as the mountains we call home."

Durfun’s jaw tightened. "Ye make it sound like a curse, Da, but it’s not. She gave herself to the mountain, to ye, and to me. She’s still there, growin’ stronger in spirit every day."

Darfun ignored his son’s words, his eyes locked on Elyniel. "Franji lies beneath these halls even now, her body vast as a cavern, her breath as slow and deep as the earth’s. I visit her often, lass, and though she loves me still, I see the life she left behind weighin’ heavy in her eyes. This is what the ritual means. A bond o’ love so unbreakable that it binds ye to this mountain, body and soul. Can ye face that? Can ye face the years o’ watchin’ yerself become somethin’ else, somethin’ not elf but somethin’ not quite dwarf either?"

The chamber fell silent. Even the council, who had been so loud with their protests, waited for Elyniel’s response.

Durfun looked to her, his face a mix of anger and desperation. "Ye don’t have to prove anythin’, Elyniel. Not to him, not to the council, and not to me. If ye walk away, I’ll walk with ye."

Elyniel stepped forward, her emerald eyes shining like stars in the dim chamber. She bowed low before King Darfun, her voice steady and unwavering.

"King Darfun, I honor your words and the story of your wife, Franji. I see now the weight of the ritual, the sacrifice it demands. But I also see its meaning—the devotion, the bond that transcends all else. I do not take this lightly. But if this is what it takes to stand beside your son, to be part of your people, then I will do it."

Darfun’s eyes narrowed, studying her as though trying to find cracks in her resolve. "Ye understand what ye sayin’, lass? There’s no goin’ back once it begins."

"I understand," Elyniel said, her voice clear and calm. "And I am ready."

The council erupted into murmurs once more, but Darfun silenced them with a single raised hand. He leaned forward in his throne, his gaze piercing.

"Very well," he said at last. "Ye’ve chosen yer path. But know this, elf. Once ye take the first step, ye’ll belong to this mountain. And it will belong to ye."

Elyniel met his gaze without flinching. "Then let the mountain and I become one."

-Part 3-

The heavy silence of the council chamber pressed down like the weight of the mountain itself. Elyniel’s resolute words hung in the air, echoing off the cold stone walls. Durfun stood beside her, his chest swelling with pride and defiance, while the council murmured in discontent.

Darfun sat unmoving in his iron throne, his gaze fixed on the elf before him. To the old king, her slender form seemed so fragile, so out of place amidst the unyielding strength of the dwarven halls. Her pointed ears and graceful features marked her as an outsider, an interloper. Yet there she stood, unshaken, her emerald eyes burning with conviction.

For a long while, Darfun said nothing, his face a mask of stone. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the room. His deep voice rumbled like the grinding of boulders.

“Yer bold, lass,” he said, his tone heavy with skepticism. “I’ll give ye that. Standin’ here in these ancient halls, facin’ me an’ the council, claimin’ ye’d take a step that no elf has ever dared. But boldness alone won’t keep ye when the weight o’ the mountain presses down on ye, when the choice ye’ve made cannae be undone.”

He stepped closer, his iron boots striking the stone floor with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Do ye ken what ye’re standin’ in the face o’, twig-ear? Yer kind is light, fleet-footed, made fer the dance o’ the trees and the song o’ the winds. This place, these ways—they’re heavy. They’ll bind ye, crush ye, change ye until ye’ll scarcely recognize the elf ye were. And yet ye stand here, as proud as any stone-born dwarf.”

Elyniel straightened her posture, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I stand here because I love your son, King Darfun. And because I see the strength in your people, in your traditions. If I can earn your respect and his, I’ll face whatever comes. I will not break.”

Darfun studied her face, his sharp eyes searching for cracks in her resolve. He saw none. Instead, he saw something that made his chest tighten—a pride, not just in herself, but in the love she bore for his son. A love that burned brightly, as unshakable as the foundation of the mountain itself.

For a moment, Darfun felt a twinge of something unfamiliar. A begrudging admiration. A part of him wanted to mock her, to dismiss her as a foolhardy twig-eared dreamer who couldn’t possibly understand the life she was choosing. But another part—the part of him that remembered the fire in Franji’s eyes when she agreed to the ritual—could not deny the truth before him.

The old king sighed, the sound like the groan of shifting stone. He turned his gaze to Durfun, who stood at Elyniel’s side like a stubborn boulder, and then back to her.

“Lass,” he said, his voice softer now, though it still carried the weight of authority. “Ye’ve the fire of a mountain in ye, I’ll give ye that. But even fire can be snuffed out by the cold o’ the stone. I’ll not stop ye if this is the path ye’ve chosen, but I’ll not have ye takin’ it lightly, neither.”

He gestured to the council chamber and the ancient halls beyond. “I’ll give ye one day. One day to walk these halls, to feel the weight o’ the stone, to hear the voices o’ the mountain. One day to be sure this is the life ye want, fer there’s no turnin’ back once the first step is taken. Even a light-headed dwarf like me son deserves a partner who knows the depths o’ what she’s choosin’.”

Durfun opened his mouth to speak, but Darfun silenced him with a raised hand. “Hold yer tongue, boy. This isn’t about ye now. It’s about her.”

Elyniel bowed her head respectfully, her voice steady. “I accept your offer, King Darfun. I will walk these halls and reflect. But know this: my heart has already chosen. One day will not change that.”

Darfun grunted, his expression unreadable. He turned and strode back to his throne, his iron boots ringing out in the silent chamber. “We’ll see,” he said, settling into his seat. “We’ll see if yer heart’s made o’ stone, or if it’s just bark and air.”

Elyniel lifted her chin, her resolve unshaken. Durfun placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch both protective and reassuring. Together, they left the council chamber, the whispers of the dwarves following them like shadows.

Darfun watched them go, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Franji,” he muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yer boy’s found himself a strange one. Let’s see if she’s got the strength to match that fire.”

-Part 4-

The halls of the Terra Mountains stretched endlessly, vast and echoing, their carved stone walls telling tales of ancient battles, great kings, and the unyielding strength of the dwarven people. The flickering glow of torches lit the path as Durfun led Elyniel deeper into the mountain, his stride steady and protective, his hand never straying far from the haft of his axe.

Elyniel followed close behind, her silver hair catching the firelight like strands of starlight. She felt the weight of countless eyes on her. Every dwarf they passed stopped in their tracks, their expressions a mixture of awe, confusion, and thinly veiled disapproval. Murmurs followed them like whispers carried by the wind.

“Is that an elf?”

“What’s she doin’ here?”

“Durfun’s lost his mind, bringin’ a twig-ear into the heart o’ the mountain!”

Durfun grumbled under his breath, his gray beard bristling like an angry storm cloud. “Pay no heed to their mutterin’, lass,” he said, glancing back at Elyniel. “They’re just not used to seein’ somethin’ so… delicate in these halls. But they’ll come 'round. Or I’ll knock some sense into 'em meself.”

Elyniel smiled faintly, though her heart felt heavy. The disapproving stares and whispered words stung, but she straightened her posture, refusing to let them see her falter. She had chosen this path, and she would walk it with dignity.

They stopped before a towering iron door, its surface engraved with intricate runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Durfun pushed it open with a grunt, and the massive stone hinges groaned in protest. Beyond the door lay the Giant Hall.

Elyniel gasped softly as the sight unfolded before her. The hall was vast, larger than any structure she had ever seen, its ceiling vanishing into shadow far above. Enormous pillars of carved stone stretched upward like ancient trees, each one etched with the history of the dwarves. In the center of the hall stood a long table, laden with rich, steaming dishes that filled the air with a heady aroma of roasted meats, thick stews, and fresh-baked breads.

Durfun gestured to the table, his voice softer now. “This is what me father spoke of. The heart o’ the mountain. The meals that bind us to the stone, that forge our strength. They’re not just food, lass—they’re tradition, legacy, and life itself.”

Elyniel stepped closer, her sharp elven senses overwhelmed by the rich scents. She could smell the smokiness of cured meats, the tang of aged cheeses, the sweetness of honey-glazed breads. Her stomach churned slightly, not with hunger, but with the weight of the choice before her.

Durfun watched her carefully, his usually gruff expression softened by love. “This is what ye’d be givin’ yerself to,” he said quietly. “The mountain, the meals, the life o’ a dwarf. It’s no easy thing, lass, and ye’ll always feel like ye’re bein’ watched, like ye don’t belong. But I’ll be at yer side, no matter what. Ye’ll never face it alone.”

Elyniel turned to him, her emerald eyes meeting his stormy gray ones. “I didn’t come here expecting to belong, Durfun. I came here because I love you. And if this is your world, then I want to understand it, to be part of it—even if it means they’ll always see me as different.”

Durfun’s rough hand found hers, his calloused fingers gently wrapping around her slender ones. “Aye, lass,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “They may never understand, but I do. An’ that’s enough fer me.”

As they stood together in the Giant Hall, the disapproving gazes of the dwarves around them faded into the background. For a moment, it was just the two of them, surrounded by the history and strength of the mountain—and the love they shared, unshakable as the stone beneath their feet.

-Part 5-

The great stone halls of the Terra Mountains were quiet as the day came to an end, the light of the torches casting long, flickering shadows. Elyniel stood before the grand council chamber once more, her head held high despite the weariness in her limbs. The weight of the day had been immense—walking the halls, enduring the stares, the whispers, and the lingering judgment of the dwarves. But her heart remained steadfast.

Durfun stood at her side, his broad shoulders squared, his hand resting protectively on the hilt of his axe. He had said little since they left the Giant Hall, letting Elyniel’s resolve speak for itself. But now, as they stepped into the chamber, he cast a glance at her, his gray eyes filled with pride and unwavering support.

King Darfun sat upon his massive stone throne, his iron crown gleaming in the firelight. His face was as unreadable as the mountain itself, his dark eyes fixed on the elf who dared to challenge centuries of tradition. Around him, the council murmured quietly, their voices like the rustling of leaves in a storm.

Darfun raised a hand, and the chamber fell silent. He leaned forward, his iron ceptar clutched tightly in his hand, the metal gleaming with an ancient power. His voice was deep and rumbling, like the grinding of stone.

“Well, lass,” he began, his gaze piercing. “Ye’ve had yer day. Ye’ve walked our halls, smelt our meals, felt the weight o’ the mountain. And yet, here ye stand. So I’ll ask ye now, plain and true: Are ye still so sure o’ this choice? Are ye truly ready to give yerself to the mountain, to me son, and to the life that comes with it?”

Elyniel took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She could feel the eyes of the council upon her, the skepticism, the disbelief. But she also felt Durfun’s presence beside her, solid and unwavering.

She stepped forward, her voice steady and clear. “I am sure, King Darfun. I have seen your halls, felt the strength of your people, and I understand the weight of what I am choosing. This is not just about me or even about Durfun—it is about the future. A future where dwarves and elves can stand together, where our people can find unity instead of division. I will honor your traditions, no matter how difficult, because I love your son. And because I believe that this choice can lead to something greater than both of us.”

The chamber was silent. Even the council, so quick to murmur and judge before, had nothing to say. All eyes turned to Darfun, who sat motionless in his throne, his face a mask of stone. For a long moment, he said nothing, the weight of his silence pressing down on everyone in the room.

Then, slowly, a deep rumble escaped his chest—a chuckle, low and gravelly. It grew louder, shaking the very walls of the chamber, until it became a booming laugh that echoed through the halls.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Darfun said, leaning back in his throne. “Ye’ve got more stone in ye than I gave ye credit for, twig-ear. I never thought I’d see the day an elf would stand before me and speak o’ unity, o’ love, with such fire in her heart. And I never thought I’d agree to somethin’ as mad as this.”

He straightened, his expression growing serious once more. “But if ye’ve got the strength to stand tall in the face o’ all this, then maybe, just maybe, ye’re worthy o’ the mountain.”

With that, Darfun raised his iron ceptar and brought it down with a thunderous stomp. The sound echoed through the chamber like the crack of a landslide, and immediately, doors began to open along the walls. Dwarves poured in, carrying massive trays laden with steaming dishes—roasted meats, thick stews, golden breads, and more, enough to feed an army.

“Let it be known!” Darfun bellowed, his voice filling the chamber. “Tonight, we feast! Fer the first time in our history, a dwarf an’ an elf will share in the Ritual o’ Love! Let the mountain bear witness to this union, and may it stand as strong as the stone beneath our feet!”

The chamber erupted into cheers, the dwarves raising their mugs and shouting their approval. Durfun turned to Elyniel, his rough hand finding hers, his eyes shining with love and pride.

“Ye’ve done it, lass,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Ye’ve stood taller than any mountain, and now, ye’ll be one with it. I’m proud o’ ye, more than words can say.”

Elyniel smiled, her heart swelling with hope and determination. “This is only the beginning, Durfun. For us, and for our people.”

As the feast began and the dwarves celebrated, Darfun watched from his throne, his stern face softened by a small, grudging smile. “Franji,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze distant. “Maybe there’s hope for our stubborn boy after all.”

-Part 6-

The grand hall buzzed with the sounds of celebration as dwarves reveled in the unprecedented union of their kin with an elf. Long tables groaned under the weight of lavish feasts, the air thick with the rich aromas of roasted meats, hearty stews, and freshly baked breads. Elyniel sat beside Durfun, her plate piled high with foods unfamiliar to her elven palate.

Determined to honor the dwarven traditions and her commitment to Durfun, Elyniel began to eat. Each bite was a new experience—the savory juices of the meats, the dense texture of the breads, the robust flavors of the stews. Accustomed to the light and fresh fare of her homeland, the heavy dishes were a stark contrast, and she felt her stomach protest as it filled more quickly than she anticipated.

Noticing her discomfort, Durfun leaned in, his voice gentle amidst the clamor. "Ye're doin' well, lass. Remember, it's not just about the food; it's about sharin' in our ways, becomin' part o' the mountain's heart."

Elyniel nodded, mustering a smile. She took another bite, chewing slowly, allowing herself to adjust to the richness of the meal. Durfun's hand rested reassuringly on her back, offering silent support.

As the evening wore on, Elyniel continued to partake in the feast, mindful of her limits but eager to show her dedication. The dwarves around them sang songs of old, their deep voices echoing through the hall, creating a tapestry of sound that spoke of unity and shared history.

Durfun watched her with pride, admiring her determination and grace. He knew the path they had chosen was uncharted and fraught with challenges, but in that moment, surrounded by their people and the warmth of the feast, he felt a glimmer of hope for their future together.

As the night drew to a close, Elyniel leaned into Durfun, her head resting on his sturdy shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, "for standing by me."

Durfun kissed the top of her head, his beard brushing against her hair. "Always, Elyniel. Together, we'll forge a new path."

And so, amidst the fading songs and the dimming torchlight, the elf and the dwarf sat side by side, united in love and purpose, ready to face whatever the future held.

-Part 7-

The days of feasting in the Terra Mountains passed in a blur of song, laughter, and food. Elyniel, determined to honor her commitment to Durfun and the dwarven tradition, continued to partake in the endless array of rich meals. At first, she struggled to adjust to the heavy dishes, but her resolve never wavered, and with each passing day, she found herself indulging more willingly in the calorie-dense offerings.

After five days, her slender frame began to change. What had started as a modest roundness beneath her elfish dress soon became a noticeable bump, the fabric stretched taut over her belly. She caught her reflection in the polished stone walls and paused, her hands resting on the gentle curve. Durfun, ever by her side, placed his hands over hers, a proud smile breaking through his usually grim demeanor.

“Ye’re changin’, lass,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. “Becomin’ more a part o’ the mountain with every bite.”

By the tenth day, the bump had grown into a sagging plumpness that swayed slightly with her every step. Her hips, now wider and rounder, moved with a newfound heaviness that drew the curious eyes of the dwarves. Elyniel felt their stares but also their approval, a shift in the once-critical murmurs that had followed her upon her arrival.

“Look at her,” they whispered amongst themselves. “She’s takin’ to the mountain’s ways better than any elf we’ve ever seen.”

Durfun, standing proudly beside her, would respond to the whispers with a gruff laugh. “Aye, that’s me lass. Stronger than the hardest stone.”

By the fifteenth day, Elyniel’s arms grew heavier, soft and swollen, matching the growing weight of her belly. The fine elfish fabric she had worn so elegantly now clung tightly to her, the seams straining and the material unable to hide the pale, rounded expanse of her midsection. When she walked into the Great Hall, the dwarves erupted into chants of her name, their voices echoing with pride.

“Elyniel! Elyniel! The elf who’s one with the mountain!”

Her cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and pride swelling within her. Durfun, ever her steadfast companion, took her hand and kissed it. “They see what I see, lass. Ye’re somethin’ special.”

By the twentieth day, Elyniel found herself unable to rise from the great dwarven bed where she had spent her nights. Her body, now transformed by the weeks of feasting, had grown too heavy for her to stand unaided. Her belly hung low and round, a testament to her dedication, and her arms and legs had taken on a softness that was foreign to her once-slender frame. Yet, despite her immobility, she was not alone.

Durfun never left her side. Every moment, he was there, his rough hands gently rubbing her swollen belly, his deep voice whispering words of love and encouragement. He fed her himself, ensuring she never went without, his pride in her evident in every gesture.

“I love ye, Elyniel,” he said one night as he held her hand, his voice thick with emotion. “More than words can say. Ye’ve given up so much, become so much, all fer me. Fer us. Ye’ve proven yerself stronger than any elf—or dwarf—I’ve ever known.”

Tears filled Elyniel’s emerald eyes, her heart full despite the strain on her body. “And I love you, Durfun,” she replied, her voice soft but unwavering. “I would do it all again, a thousand times over, to be by your side.”

The dwarves, now fully accepting her as one of their own, continued to bring her meals, singing songs of her strength and unity with the mountain. Though her body had changed beyond recognition, her spirit remained unshaken, and her bond with Durfun only grew stronger.

And so, Elyniel lay amidst the warmth of the mountain, surrounded by the love of her chosen people and the unyielding devotion of her dwarf. Together, they had forged a union that would be remembered in the annals of both elven and dwarven history—a story of love, sacrifice, and the strength to bridge even the deepest divides.

-Part 8-

As the days stretched into weeks, the changes in Elyniel became impossible to ignore. The once-slender elf who had walked into the Terra Mountains with grace and poise was now almost unrecognizable. Her body had taken on the weight of her choice—both literally and figuratively—and she bore it with quiet dignity, though the transformation was unlike anything she could have imagined.

Every meal brought to her bed was richer and more decadent than the last. Roasted boar dripping in gravy, loaves of dense bread slathered in golden butter, sweet pastries soaked in honey—each bite was an offering to the ritual she had embraced. Elyniel ate with determination, her appetite growing insatiable as her body expanded to accommodate the relentless feasting.

Her belly was now a vast, heavy expanse of soft flesh, pale and marked with deep red stretch marks that traced across her skin like veins of molten stone through marble. The weight of it rested heavily against her thighs, rising and falling slightly with her breath. It had grown so large that it piled upon itself, creating rolls that spoke of the immense transformation she had undergone. Her elven dress, once elegant and flowing, had long since been discarded, replaced by dwarven-crafted garments that stretched and strained to contain her ever-growing form.

Durfun remained at her side constantly, his hands working tirelessly to soothe and rub her aching belly. He marveled at the changes, his rough voice filled with awe and pride. “Ye’re somethin’ out o’ legend now, lass,” he would say, his hands tracing the stretch marks with reverence. “No elf’s ever done what ye’ve done. The mountain’s claimed ye as its own.”

The dwarves, too, had come to revere her transformation. Songs were sung in her honor, tales told of the elf who had embraced the ways of the mountain so completely. Her name echoed through the halls alongside Durfun’s, the two of them becoming symbols of unity between their peoples.

Despite the strain on her body, Elyniel’s spirit remained unbroken. She smiled through the aches, her emerald eyes shining with love and determination. “This is for us,” she would tell Durfun, her voice soft but resolute. “For the future we’re building together.”

And Durfun would nod, his hand never leaving hers. “Aye, lass. Together, we’ll move mountains.”

Each day brought new growth, her body swelling larger and softer, her frame expanding to accommodate the constant flow of rich dwarven meals. The chamber where she lay had been adjusted to suit her new size, the bed reinforced and the space filled with cushions and blankets to keep her comfortable. And though she could no longer rise on her own, she was never alone. Durfun’s love and the acceptance of the dwarves surrounded her like the stone walls of the mountain itself—unshakable, eternal, and enduring.

Her journey was far from over, but Elyniel knew one thing for certain: she had found her place, not just by Durfun’s side, but as a part of the mountain and its people, her transformation a testament to her love and dedication. And with each bite, each song, and each whispered word of devotion, she felt that bond grow stronger, as unyielding as the stone beneath them.

-Part 9-

Elyniel’s days blurred together in a haze of endless feasting and growing discomfort. The weight of her body had reached a point where every movement, every breath, felt heavy, as though she was carrying the weight of the very mountains themselves. Her once graceful movements had become slow and laborious, her frame now swollen beyond recognition. Yet still, she ate. Even when her stomach ached, when the pressure of each bite felt unbearable, she continued to consume the rich, caloric meals the dwarves brought to her.

She didn’t know how to stop. To stop eating, to refuse the food, would feel like rejecting Durfun’s love. Every bite, every mouthful, every moment of indulgence felt like an affirmation of her place by his side, an offering of her devotion to him and the life they were building together. To her, there was no other way. This was how she showed love—through the act of eating, of filling herself with the very essence of the dwarven world. She had no other measure of affection, no other way to express her commitment.

Durfun remained constant beside her, never once doubting her, never once questioning the choices she had made. His love for her was unwavering, his admiration for her strength growing with each passing day. He had watched her body expand, her delicate elf form becoming a soft, round representation of the choices she had made for him, for them. He never spoke of the pain or discomfort she must have felt. Instead, he only ever whispered encouragements, reassuring her that she was beautiful, that she was perfect just as she was.

“Ye’re stronger than any stone, lass,” he would murmur, his rough hand rubbing her swollen belly as she ate yet another plate of rich food. “I’ve never seen anyone as determined as ye.”

Elyniel would smile weakly, the stretch marks on her belly more pronounced with every passing day. “I want to show you, Durfun,” she would say softly. “I want to prove my love for you… for us. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Durfun would nod, understanding the silent language of love that they had created together. He didn’t care for the changes in her body. To him, Elyniel was beautiful, not because of her shape, but because of the love she gave so freely. To him, she was a symbol of unity, a testament to the possibility of bridging the gap between their worlds.

But as Elyniel continued to eat, the toll on her body grew ever more apparent. Her once-elven features were hidden beneath layers of softness. Her arms were thick and heavy, her face round and puffy. She had become immobile, unable to rise from the massive dwarven bed that was now her world. Her belly, once a gentle curve, now hung heavily over her legs, its size so vast that it felt impossible to support any longer. Yet, she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

Each bite was another moment of connection, of love. She didn’t care about the pain, the discomfort, or the changes in her body. She had chosen this path, and as long as Durfun was by her side, it was the only path that mattered. To her, eating was more than just consumption—it was a ritual of devotion, an offering of her spirit to the mountain and to the man she loved.

Durfun, seeing the strain on her face, would press a gentle kiss to her forehead, his heart full of love. “Ye’ve given me more than I ever could’ve asked for, Elyniel. Ye’ve shown me a love I never thought possible. Don’t ye worry, lass. We’ll face this together.”

And so, even as the weight of her body grew unbearable, even as the pain of each bite became a reminder of her sacrifice, Elyniel ate. It was her way of showing love, her way of connecting with Durfun, her way of proving that nothing, not even the immense toll it took on her body, could break the bond they had formed. She would continue to eat, continue to expand, and continue to love—no matter the cost—because in her heart, it was all worth it.

-Part 10-

The passage of days was no longer measured by sunrises or the movement of the moon but by the steady rhythm of Elyniel’s transformation. In less than a month, her body had grown so immense, so expansive, that it seemed she had become one with the mountain itself. Her once-delicate elven frame was now enveloped in soft, pale skin that glistened under the warm glow of the dwarven hall’s braziers. Her stretch marks, deep and crimson, were like rivers carved into a map of her sacrifice—a living testament to her love and dedication.

Elyniel’s arms, once graceful and slender, had sunk deeply into the plush mass of her sides, rendering them immobile. Her legs, too, had disappeared beneath the ever-growing folds of her form, their shape lost to the sheer enormity of her figure. She was no longer able to feed herself, her limbs incapable of lifting even the lightest plate. But she didn’t mind. There was beauty in this surrender, in allowing Durfun to care for her so completely.

Durfun had taken to his role with unyielding devotion. Seated at her side, he would gently lift each bite to her lips, his rough, calloused hands contrasting with the softness of her body. Every morsel he offered her was delivered with love, his gaze filled with pride and awe as he watched her eat. Her cheeks were round and full, her lips soft as she accepted each bite. The dwarven meals were richer than ever, crafted with care by the finest cooks in the mountain, ensuring that every swallow was a delight.

Her belly was the most prominent feature of her transformation, a vast, magnificent expanse that rose before her like a living mountain. It stretched outward and downward, pooling around her in soft, rolling folds. The pale white of her skin was adorned with those vivid red stretch marks that told the story of her growth, a story of love and unity. Her belly was so large that it seemed to dominate the room, its sheer size both awe-inspiring and humbling. And yet, it was not grotesque—it was beautiful, a symbol of her unbreakable bond with Durfun and the dwarven people.

Her breath came slow and deep, her chest rising and falling with effort, but her expression remained serene. Elyniel’s emerald eyes sparkled with love and contentment as she gazed at Durfun, her lips curving into a soft smile even as her body demanded more. She felt no shame, no regret—only an overwhelming sense of fulfillment. She had given herself entirely to this new life, to this new form, and she knew she was cherished beyond measure.

Durfun never faltered in his care for her. His hands, rough from years of mining and crafting, were impossibly gentle as they massaged the taut skin of her belly, soothing her and helping her relax as she digested yet another feast. “Yer more beautiful than the finest gem,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent. “The mountain itself couldn’t craft somethin’ as perfect as ye.”

Elyniel’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she replied. “I only have this beauty because of you, Durfun. You’ve given me strength I didn’t know I had.”

The dwarves, who had once looked upon her with skepticism, now revered her as a living legend. Songs were sung in her honor, and tales of her devotion spread far beyond the Terra Mountains. She had become more than just an elf who had embraced dwarven traditions—she had become a symbol of love’s ability to bridge even the deepest divides.

And so, Elyniel continued to grow, her body expanding with each passing day. Yet within her, there was no emptiness, no despair. She was filled with love, with purpose, with the unshakable bond she shared with Durfun. Her transformation was not a loss but a gain—a testament to the power of love, sacrifice, and unity. And as long as Durfun was by her side, feeding her, caring for her, and loving her with every fiber of his being, she knew she had found her true place in the world.

-Part 11-

A full year had passed since Elyniel had embraced the dwarven ritual of love, and her transformation was nothing short of mythical. Her body had expanded to such an incomprehensible size that even the grand halls of the Terra Mountains seemed small in comparison. The bed that once held her had been replaced by a massive stone platform, reinforced with steel beams to bear the weight of her enormous, mountain-like figure. She had become a living colossus, her form soft and rounded, yet monumental, her presence both humbling and awe-inspiring.

Her belly was her crowning feature, an impossibly vast expanse of pale, dimpled flesh. It stretched outward in every direction, spilling over the edges of the platform like molten stone. The stretch marks that adorned her skin were no longer small lines but great crimson streaks that spanned meters across, like fiery rivers etched into the alabaster landscape of her body. Her belly button had deepened into a cavernous hollow, so vast that a dwarf could have climbed into it as though exploring an uncharted cave. Her arms, heavy and immobile, rested at her sides, swallowed by the plushness of her body, while her legs were completely hidden beneath the folds of her belly and hips. She had truly become the embodiment of dwarven indulgence.

And yet, amidst all of this, there was no shame or regret in Elyniel. She lay with pride, her emerald eyes glowing with satisfaction and joy, her heart full of love for the life she had chosen. Durfun, her devoted husband, was perched atop her enormous belly, looking like a tiny ant against the immensity of her form. His dark gray beard swayed as he laughed and sang songs to her, his hands busy rubbing her soft, stretched skin as he fed her yet another bite of roasted meat dripping in gravy.

“Eat up, lass,” he growled warmly, his voice carrying a tone of pride and affection. “Every bite makes ye more o’ the mountain, more mine. Ye’ve become a legend, Elyniel. The mountain sings yer name.”

Elyniel smiled, her cheeks round and rosy, her lips parting as she accepted the next bite. “I’ve never felt more alive, Durfun. This is who I was meant to be.”

But this peaceful scene was interrupted one day when a visitor arrived at the great halls of the Terra Mountains. Erondin, Elyniel’s father and the proud king of the Old Elf Woods, had come to see his daughter. He had heard whispers of her transformation, rumors that he refused to believe. He had expected to find her slightly heavier, perhaps more dwarven in manner, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw as he entered the hall.

Erondin’s ever-composed, regal face went slack with shock as his eyes fell upon the vast, immovable form of his daughter. His jaw dropped, and his expression was a mix of disbelief, horror, and grief. Before him was not the slender, graceful elf he had raised but a figure so enormous that she seemed more a force of nature than a person. The sight of her stretched skin, her deep belly button, her massive, unmoving body—it was more than he could comprehend.

“Elyniel…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “What… what has become of you?”

But Elyniel’s expression did not falter. She lifted her head as much as her immense body would allow, her emerald eyes meeting her father’s with pride and defiance. “Father,” she said, her voice strong despite her heavy breath. “I am exactly who I am meant to be. I’ve never felt better, never been happier.”

Erondin struggled to find words, his gaze darting from her enormous belly to the small figure of Durfun atop her. “This… this is madness! You were an elf, a symbol of grace and beauty! And now… now you’ve become this!”

Elyniel’s cheeks flushed, but not with shame. She spoke with conviction, her voice echoing through the hall. “I *am* still an elf, Father. But I am also part of the dwarven world now, a bridge between our peoples. You see only my body, but you don’t see the strength it has taken to embrace this life. The world of the elves needs to open up, to learn that beauty and grace are not confined to a single shape or tradition. I have found love, unity, and purpose here. Can you not see that?”

Erondin’s hands trembled as he took a step closer, still overwhelmed by the sheer scale of his daughter. “But… but look at you! You can’t even move! Is this truly what you want?”

“Yes,” Elyniel replied firmly, her voice unwavering. “This is what I want. I’ve chosen this life, and I would choose it again a thousand times over. I’ve found happiness here, with Durfun and his people. My body may have changed, but my spirit is stronger than ever.”

Durfun, still seated on her massive belly, chimed in with a gruff laugh. “She’s stronger than any stone, yer majesty. She’s proven herself a true daughter o’ the mountain.”

Erondin stared at his daughter for a long moment, his heart torn between his love for her and his inability to understand her transformation. But as he looked into her eyes, he saw something he could not deny: joy, pride, and unshakable determination. Slowly, he nodded, though his expression remained conflicted.

“If this is truly what you want, Elyniel,” he said quietly, “then I will not stand in your way. But I pray that you have found what you were searching for.”

Elyniel smiled, tears welling in her eyes. “I have, Father. I’ve found love, and I’ve found a way to bring our worlds closer together.”

And with that, Erondin left the hall, his heart heavy but his mind beginning to open to the possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, his daughter had found a path worth following—even if it was one he could never have imagined.

-Part 12-

Years passed, and the bond between the dwarves of the Terra Mountains and the elves of the Old Elf Woods grew stronger than anyone could have foreseen. What began as the love story of Durfun and Elyniel had blossomed into a transformation of two cultures. Dwarves, once content to remain underground, began venturing into the sunlit elven forests, enchanted by their beauty and tranquility. Elves, who had always cherished their slim grace, ventured into the mountain halls, captivated by the richness of dwarven life, their feasts, and their hearty traditions.

With every passing year, more elves embraced the dwarven ritual of love, growing softer, rounder, and fuller as they indulged in the decadent dwarven feasts. Elven beauty began to take on a new meaning, one that celebrated not only their ethereal grace but also their willingness to embrace dwarven values of indulgence and abundance. The sight of once-slender elves growing into immovable figures of reverence became a common one, and the dwarves, in turn, learned to appreciate the gentler ways of elven culture.

The unity of their worlds was further solidified by the leadership of Elyniel and Durfun. After many decades of ruling his people with strength and wisdom, King Darfun had passed away, his long life celebrated with songs that echoed through the mountains. Durfun, now King of the Terra Mountains, took up his father’s iron scepter with pride, his heart as strong as the stone he had been shaped from. Elyniel, too, had ascended to power. Her father, Erondin, seeing the wisdom and determination in his daughter, had stepped down from the throne of the Old Elf Woods, leaving her to guide their people into a new age.

The day of the ritual that would unite their kingdoms came with great celebration. The dwarves and elves gathered in a vast, newly constructed hall deep in the Terra Mountains, its ceiling high enough to accommodate even the tallest trees of the elven woods. The hall was a symbol of their unity, its walls carved with scenes of dwarves and elves feasting together, its floors inlaid with gold and emeralds to reflect the beauty of both realms.

At the heart of the hall stood Elyniel, her enormous body a living testament to her love and dedication. She was now so immense that she rested upon a throne carved directly into the stone, her belly spilling over the sides like a rolling hill of soft flesh. Her pale skin, adorned with the stretch marks of her transformation, glowed in the firelight, and her emerald eyes shone with pride. Upon her brow sat the elven crown, its delicate silver leaves shimmering as though alive.

Beside her stood Durfun, his strong frame clad in the finest dwarven armor, his gray beard now streaked with white but no less impressive. In his hands, he held the iron scepter of the Terra Mountains, a symbol of his kingship. He turned to Elyniel with a proud smile, his voice echoing through the hall.

“Today, we make history,” he declared, his rough voice filled with emotion. “The mountains and the woods, once divided, now stand as one. Through love, we’ve proven that even the strongest stone can be shaped, and even the tallest tree can bend.”

Elyniel nodded, her voice strong despite the heaviness of her breath. “Today, we honor not just our love, but the love that now binds our people together. We are stronger together than we could ever be apart.”

With that, the two rulers performed the ritual that would forever unite their kingdoms. Elyniel removed her silver crown, handing it to Durfun, while he handed her the iron scepter. Together, they exchanged the symbols of their rule, a gesture that marked the merging of their worlds. The crowd erupted into cheers, the voices of dwarves and elves blending into a single, joyous chorus.

The years that followed saw their united kingdom flourish. The dwarves brought their skill in crafting and mining to the woods, building strongholds and monuments among the trees. The elves, in turn, brought their wisdom and magic to the mountains, transforming dark tunnels into living works of art. Their people mingled freely, their differences no longer a source of division but of strength.

Elyniel and Durfun ruled side by side, their love a beacon for their people. Though Elyniel’s body continued to grow, becoming an even greater monument to her sacrifice and devotion, she never wavered in her duties. Durfun, always at her side, cared for her with the same love and tenderness he had shown from the beginning.

Together, they proved that even the deepest divides could be bridged, that love could carve a path through stone and reach the highest branches of the tallest trees. Their legacy would be remembered for generations as the tale of two worlds united, of two hearts that changed the fate of their people forever.

-End-

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

The Fast Fire Threat

Large “megafires” are often the most noticeable fires in satellite imagery. Yet another type—fast fires—are more dangerous and destructive.

This was the finding of a recent University of Colorado Boulder analysis of two decades of NASA satellite data. “We’ve been focused on the wrong metric,” said Jennifer Balch, director of the Environmental Data Science Innovation & Inclusion Lab and lead author of the study. “It’s fire speed that really matters.”

To be considered a fast fire, blazes must achieve a growth rate of at least 16 square kilometers (6 square miles) in a day. Fast fires also share other key features: they’re propelled by strong winds, usually rage in grasslands and shrublands rather than forests, and often burn in the autumn or winter when fuels are exceptionally dry.

The researchers analyzed more than 60,000 fires detected by the Aqua and Terra satellites between 2001 and 2020. Only 3 percent met the fast-fire threshold, but these fires caused 89 percent of damage, 66 percent of deaths, and $18.9 billion in suppression costs.

The fastest of the fires tracked, the Northwest Oklahoma Complex (above), hit cattle and ranchers the hardest. Roughly 4,000 animals died after lightning ignited fires in prairie land near the Oklahoma-Kansas border on March 6, 2017. When the fire cluster—including the Starbuck, Selman, Beaver, and 283 fires—was fully extinguished 16 days later, flames had consumed 151 structures and killed eight people.

The prairie was already primed to burn. Several months earlier, abundant rain had fueled unusually lush growth. By March, near-record heat and several months of drought had turned that growth into flammable, dead grass. On March 6, a cold front brought 50-mile (80-kilometer) per hour winds roaring across the landscape. As these winds fanned the lightning-induced flames, the Northwest Oklahoma Complex charred nearly 3,000 square kilometers, an area nearly the size of Rhode Island.

Much of the growth happened on the fire’s first day, a common feature of fast fires. The MODIS (Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer) sensors on Aqua and Terra acquired the images at the top of the page on March 6 (ltop) and March 7 (lower), highlighting the fires’ stunning growth rate—a maximum of 2,142 square kilometers in a day. By comparison, the top 20 fastest fires in the database achieved maximum growth rates of 380 square kilometers in a day; the average maximum growth rate for all fires was just 2.5 square kilometers. The nearby Perryton fire, the fourth fastest, grew at a maximum rate of 1,009 square kilometers in a day.

“When you have extreme wind events, fires can become uncontrollable,” said Michael Falkowski, manager of NASA’s wildland fire program. “For safety reasons, firefighters have to get out of the way.”

The typhoons disrupted the normal flow of the jet stream by amplifying huge undulating meanders in the atmosphere known as Rossby waves. This caused a train of these waves to buckle and break over the Pacific Northwest, creating an intense ridge of high pressure that pulled hot, dry air to the surface and generated record-breaking heat.

This, along with a low-pressure system over the Four Corners area, fueled powerful easterly winds over the Pacific Northwest. As seen in the visualization, these winds accelerated as they streamed over the Columbia Plateau and into the Okanogan Valley in northern Washington on September 7, fanning fires ignited by damaged power lines and destroying dozens of homes on the Colville Indian Reservation. The visualization is based on data from the HRRR (High-Resolution Rapid Refresh) model and VIIRS (Visible Infrared Imaging Radiometer Suite); the fastest winds are depicted in purple.

On September 8, winds strengthened as they spread across the plateau, streamed past the Cascades, and fanned several megafires at lower elevations in Oregon, including the Riverside, Beachie Creek, Lionshead, and Holiday Farm fires. The visualization ends focused on the Holiday Farm fire (second 50), a blaze that devastated the town of Blue River and destroyed more than 500 homes and offices. Together the Labor Day fires produced stunning amounts of smoke (below) that engulfed much of Washington, Oregon, and California for more than a week.

The researchers also found that fast fires grew faster over the study period, especially in the Western U.S. The trend was strongest in California’s chaparral, Idaho’s Snake River Plain, and the Columbia Plateau. In California, for instance, fires grew 398 percent faster by the study’s end.

More research is needed to determine why fast fires are speeding up. One factor could be that as climate change has made ecosystems drier, more forests have transitioned to grasslands, making it easier for fast fires to spread, Balch said. Or fires might be igniting more easily in areas prone to fast fires because more people are living and building in them. Wherever people go, fire follows. As much 97 percent of fires are lit by humans and the proportion of fires started by people is rising, earlier research from Balch’s lab shows.

Still, only a small number of fast fires cause most of the destruction and loss, Falkowski noted. “This problem is solvable if communities and individuals take steps to mitigate risks.” Experts suggest proven ways to reduce risks. For instance, communities can implement building codes that incentivize fire-resistant materials and plan for evacuations, the researchers said. Homeowners can ensure roofs and other building materials are fire resistant, remove flammable material from yards, and take steps to protect structures within their home ignition zone, the National Interagency Fire Center recommends.

[daniela--anna]

Pandemics, terrorism, riots, violence, crime, destruction of the earth,

famines and droughts, climate manipulation, and finally the threatening shadow of a nuclear world war.

No, everything didn't go well.

With each passing day the problems increase.

The world seems to be in the grip of a collective madness.

Yet despite the fact that all this chaos makes us suffer, we have no reason to give in to despair.

Why?

Because we were warned.

In fact, Jesus, already two thousand years ago, predicted the events that would characterize a particular period of time called "time of the end" which would be the prelude to a great change that would bring something better:

a new world of peace and serenity, without end!

Therefore, let us continue to look to the future with confidence, certain that the biblical promises will unfailingly come true!

"But know this, that in the last days there will be troubled times...

[And] wicked men and impostors will progress from bad to worse, misleading and being misled."

"Moreover there will be signs in the sun, in the moon, and in the stars, and on the earth the nations will be in anguish, seeing no way out because of the roaring of the stormy sea. The people will faint with fear and for the fearful expectation of the things that are about to happen on the inhabited earth, because the powers of the heavens will be shaken...

But when these things begin to happen, stand up and lift up your heads, because your liberation is drawing near."

(2nd Letter to Timothy 3:1-13/

Gospel according to Luke 21:25-28) jw.org

📚🔍For further information see the article:

"How will we achieve peace on earth?

The Bible's Answer"

published by jw.org e

that you can find for free online.

Peace on Earth: How Will We Get There?

|

Biblical questions

📌

https://www.jw.org/it/cosa-dice-la-Bibbia/domande/pace-sulla-terra-come/

Pandemie, terrorismo, rivolte, violenza, criminalità,distruzione della terra,

carestie e siccità, manipolazione del clima, e per finire l'ombra minacciosa di una guerra mondiale nucleare. No, non è andato tutto bene.

Ogni giorno che passa i problemi aumentano. Il mondo sembra in preda ad una follìa collettiva.

Eppure nonostante il fatto che tutto questo caos ci fa soffrire, non abbiamo motivo di cedere alla disperazione.

Perché? Perché siamo stati avvisati.

Infatti Gesù, già duemila anni fa predisse gli avvenimenti che avrebbero contraddistinto un periodo di tempo particolare chiamato "tempo della fine" che sarebbe stato il preludio di un grande cambiamento che avrebbe portato qualcosa di migliore:

un nuovo mondo di pace e serenità, senza fine!

Perciò continuiamo a guardare al futuro con fiducia, certi che le promesse bibliche si avvereranno immancabilmente!

"Ma sappi questo, che negli ultimi giorni ci saranno tempi difficili...

[E] uomini malvagi e impostori progrediranno di male in peggio, sviando ed essendo sviati."

"Inoltre ci saranno segni nel sole, nella luna e nelle stelle, e sulla terra le nazioni saranno in preda all’angoscia, non vedendo via d’uscita a causa del fragore del mare in tempesta. La gente si sentirà mancare per il timore e per la paurosa attesa delle cose che staranno per accadere sulla terra abitata, perché le potenze dei cieli saranno scrollate...

Ma quando queste cose cominceranno ad avvenire, alzatevi e sollevate la testa, perché la vostra liberazione si avvicina”."

(2^Lettera a Timoteo 3:1-13/

Vangelo secondo Luca 21:25-28) jw.org

📚🔍Per approfondire vedi l'articolo:

"Come si arriverà alla pace sulla terra?

La risposta della Bibbia"

edito da jw.org e

che trovi gratuitamente online.

Pace sulla terra: Come ci si arriverà? | Domande bibliche

📌

https://www.jw.org/it/cosa-dice-la-Bibbia/domande/pace-sulla-terra-come/

[popolodipekino]

raffinatissime (risposta a tonio)

"Guardi un po' le stelle, signore. Se ne stanno lassù e luccicano, tutto il cielo ne brulica, com'è vero Dio! E ora, mi scusi, se uno guarda in su e riflette che molte sono cento volte più grandi della terra, che cosa non può pensare? Noi uomini abbiamo inventato il telegrafo e il telefono e tante altre conquiste dei tempi moderni, sì, d'accordo. Ma se guardiamo in su, allora non ci resta che riconoscere e capire che in fondo non siamo che vermi, miserabili vermi e nient'altro... ho ragione o torto, signore? Sì, vermi siamo!" rispose a se stesso e accennò, umile e contrito, verso il firmamento. "Eh no... costui non ha il cervello pieno di letteratura!" pensò Tonio Kröger. E contemporaneamente gli sovvenne di qualche cosa che aveva letto da poco, lo scritto di un celebre autore francese su una concezione cosmologica e psicologica del mondo: raffinatissime chiacchiere. da T. Mann, Tonio Kröger

quell'effetto lì non me lo fa il cielo stellato - sebbene, senza lo stellarium, col piffero che mi ci orienterei, a parte quelle cinque-sei costellazioni di base, tipo il leone (buono, magnanimo, giallo e roar). invece, quel senso di sproporzione e di incipiente disorientamento me lo dà invariabilmente il mare, quelle rare volte che mi capita di farci il bagno: calmo o con le onde, appena smetto di toccare il fondo coi piedini oppure faccio il morto e nelle orecchie ho il rumore dell'acqua e vedo solo quel pezzetto di cielo che mi sta sopra, allora sì che mi sento al di dentro di una cosa gigantesca, senza riferimenti e senza controllo - arising arms laid upon me, being so kind to let me ride, canta eddie vedder (eh be': avrò il cervello pieno di letteratura..?)

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

Ay um... here's that fic snippet I was working on for Big E x reader that fulfills a god worship kink lol.

If there's anything you learned over the course of your life, it was this: to love a god is not for the weak of heart. The lines between devotion and pure stubbornness become blurred, to the point where your whole being depends on your love and faith. Your feelings of complete and utter surrender to a power higher than can be conceived mean nothing if it's not backed up with a faith stronger than ceramite. 

Looking back, you'd like to believe that you were strong enough to love your god. You hoped that he understood that the fire that burned in your eyes was not a small flame that could be snuffed out. It was a firestorm that could engulf a planet and wipe out everything that didn't exalt his image. Were your feelings heresy to everything he stood for? Maybe. But love is not rational, and besides, he humored your fire. You suppose he took pleasure in warming his hands on it. And he was your god, when he turned his gaze upon you. It was an even more blasphemous thought to claim that he could be yours, him who held the throat of the universe in his hands, but he was. 

You were older now, much older, and all the wiser for it. Time has allowed you the privilege of retrospection. It also meant time had taken what it was due from you. Gone were the days where you felt as if you could live on nothing but conviction and saint's fire, your body was too weak for you to entertain the thought. The roaring blaze of fidelity to your god had changed as well. It had not cooled, may you be damned if it ever did. Rather, you believed it had tempered itself into something else, a sun to light the last days of your peaceful life.

Your god was the one that gave you this peaceful life, on Bucolia IX. That was his last gift to you, nearly 40 years ago, when he brought you here and showed you the house that would be yours. The house was a far cry from the majestic soaring cathedral spires of Monarchia, the home of your childhood, but it was a wonder. It was cozy, and built in an ancient style of Terra, a picture perfect relic of times past. You wept bitterly when he showed you it, despite the treasure of peace he was bestowing upon you. It wasn't Monarchia, where the worship of him pulsed in the city's veins, and it wasn't by his side, where you almost couldn't bear to leave. This was a banishment of the worst sort. Didn't he know that you lived for him? He had cut you off from him.

But, you adjusted. If he wanted you there, you would stay. And you did, for years. 

You didn't know your wealthy neighbors in this coveted garden world that well. Maybe when you died, you'd rot in the house for days until someone found you. Would your god plan your funeral? Probably not, he had more important things to worry about. You were half-convinced that he'd forgotten all about you.

You thought about death more and more every day. It should have been morbid to do so, but it didn't feel that morbid to you. You were only human, and an old one at that. Death was beginning to seem more tangible than all the memories of your youth. Your god would have never understood that. He would live to see the end of the universe, you thought. Him and his superhuman sons. All else compared to them are as insignificant as the flies on a corpse. 

It was the biggest miracle of your life that you had gotten to know the god whom everyone in the Imperium called the Emperor. There were countless people who would have sacrificed everything for

even a scrap of your life, and the fact that you could call a paradise world normally reserved for the hyper affluent home showed that the miracle was still at work. What made you any different? You used to believe what he told you, that you were special because you were his most devoted worshiper, out of all life in the Imperium. You had time to doubt his reason now. If that was truly the reason, he would have killed you for being the most devoted to him, because your faith was incompatible to the Imperial Truth. The love for a god that preserved you through your whole life was anathema to the very god you worshipped. 

Did your god love you? Was that the reason? It seemed arrogant to think so. Your god loved the big picture. He loved humanity, as a large, collective concept. Lofty ideals were what he was devoted 

to. To love a singular human, a completely average one at that, was unbelievable to assume. Gods did not do that. Especially him.

And yet, you wondered.

Okay, anon, this is faaaarrrr from stupid. I love it!

[lunamagicablu]

Sono un uccello che vola alto e libero, un elegante delfino grigio in un mare luccicante, un leone fulvo con lunghi artigli affilati e un coccodrillo furtivo con mascelle potenti.

Sono la pioggia che cade dal cielo, un fulmine, mai timido, un terremoto rombante nel profondo, e un crescendo di vento che ti impedisce di dormire.

Sono un cavallo, gli zoccoli che battono il terreno, una striscia rossa, le zampe che non emettono alcun suono, una tigre curva, che insegue la sua preda, e una vacca gentile, addormentata nel fieno.

Io sono il fuoco che cercano così duramente di domare, una minuscola scintilla in una fiamma ruggente, una dozzina di onde che si infrangono sulla riva, e una bestia sconosciuta sul fondo dell'oceano.

Io sono il grido del lupo alla luna, un'increspatura di calore nel mese di giugno, un vortice di fiori che cadono dall'albero, e il ghiaione funebre di un'aquila in volo.

Sono un fiume in una terra lontana, una pletora di ciottoli in un letto di sabbia, una montagna frastagliata che si erge alta, e una distesa di neve pronta a cadere.

Il richiamo della foresta è nella mia anima, Una canzone, un sussurro, che mi rende intero, Quindi devo andare come mi è stato detto, Per inseguire le stelle prima di essere vecchio.

© Ebony Black art by cherrypie669

******************************

I am a bird flying high and free, an elegant gray dolphin in a shimmering sea, a tawny lion with long sharp claws and a stealthy crocodile with powerful jaws.

I am the rain that falls from the sky, lightning, never shy, a rumbling earthquake deep inside, and a crescendo of wind that prevents you from sleeping.

I'm a horse, hooves stamping the ground, a red stripe, paws that make no sound, a stooped tiger, stalking its prey, and a gentle cow, asleep in the hay.

I am the fire they try so hard to tame, a tiny spark in a roaring flame, a dozen waves breaking on the shore, and an unknown beast at the bottom of the ocean.

I am the cry of the wolf to the moon, a ripple of heat in June, a whirlwind of flowers falling from the tree, and the funeral scree of an eagle in flight.

I am a river in a distant land, a plethora of pebbles in a bed of sand, a jagged mountain that stands tall, and an expanse of snow ready to fall.

The call of the wild is in my soul, A song, a whisper, that makes me whole, So I must go as I was told, To chase the stars before I'm old.

© Ebony Black art by cherrypie669