#The Divine Doom - deleted scenes

[about-feathers-and-claws]

Divinity Original Sin 2 : About Feathers and Claws -  The Divine Doom Deleting scenes make me want to draw them.

-------------------- [Deleted Scene] --------------------

“So... how is that book, uh?”

Sandor blinked, “Do you want me to tell you about it?”

“Well... Unlike all that other stuff you usually talk about, I probably will get it.”

Ifan averted his eyes down for a moment.

Sandor believed to see a small fragment of insecurity. Raised eyebrows, he remained silent for a moment, surprised for such revelation. Putting aside the book he was reading, he observed Ifan who a bit uncomfortable hid his face in the curve of Sandor's neck. 

Ifan was not a scholar. His knowledge of the world had always come from experience, from mistakes, from small teachings that other people gave him along his life. All what Sandor knew, that vast amount of fancy complicated words, of long logical procedures, of languages, of sources and books and authors; all that was completely out of his reach. He could follow the simplest concepts, but it was easy for him to get lost quickly. He knew he was not particularly the best companion for a scholar. And a scholar could not be the most suitable for him either. Still yet, here they were.

“Is it not boring for you?” Sandor said, his voice tinged with hesitation. 

“Give it a shot. You have been reading that book since I know you. Almost.” 

Sandor frowned. “Indeed, it's the same author but it's not the same book.”

Ifan closed his eyes, nuzzled in Sandor's neck breathing that scent of home-made bread that he liked so much, and embraced the man, letting his body relax. Sandor's voice, soft and calm, in combination with his warmth in that comfortable bed was the best combo to fall asleep. 

“Well, what is it about?” Ifan insisted.

“It's a romance story, you know it.”

“Who with who?”

“You really want me to tell you all the details?”

“I'm not going to read it. I prefer your voice narrating it.”

Sandor smiled in a silly way and moved in the bed to be more comfortable. He slid his arm under Ifan's neck and caressed his long hair while talking. “It's the story of a Knight, defending the Empire from an foreign nation. There is a lot of political stuff. He found in the enemy line a Mage that he could not kill in an encounter.”

“Why? Too powerful?”

“No. The Mage had amber eyes. It's a feature of people of an almost extinct tribe that the Knight is part of. The Knight has been shamed for that past all his life, so he was under different magical procedures to change the colour of his own eyes. They turned black. It's an interesting concept, you know? Because he is described as the embodiment of moral and rightness, but his actions are twisted and dark, pretty much like his eyes.”

“Mhn?. So, he is all about shiny armour but dark insides?”

“A bit. It's more like a consequence of his inner battle against himself. Don't accept yourself and you will be twisted by your own nature. That kind of thing.”

Ifan only sighed a bit heavy, as if the concept had resounded a little bit in his mind. Then, he felt Sandor's fingers scratching his scalp gently. Ifan left a peck on Sandor’s neck. 

“It doesn't look like a romance so far.” Ifan said.

“There are two more characters. The enemy Mage of amber eyes, who is attacking the Empire, and the son of the Queen of the Empire, who has been interested in the Knight since children.”

“Ah. A love story that started from childhood?”

“Kind of. The Knight and the Prince always played as friends, crossing certain limits in their teenage years. They... they had their first time together, in secret. It was lovely to read that part.” Now it was Sandor who sighed as his muscles tensed. “Exploring each other's body, their ability to feel, to share...” he swallowed hard, as his fingers tensed a little bit on Ifan's scalp. “First times shaping them, linking them, making their bond deeper...”

Ifan lifted his face a bit and saw Sandor's eyes. They were lost in the ceiling, only for a moment. Then, they lowered to see Ifan's. A long silence remained between them, observing each other.  It was hard to say anything that could ease that pain in Sandor. It was part of his scars. Ifan only stretched his neck and kissed Sandor in his lips, returning to nuzzle his neck. 

“So... the romance stops there?” Ifan said. 

Sandor cleared his throat and continued, “No. When the Knight fought against the Mage, and saw his amber eyes, he was shocked. He could not behead the Mage so he took him prisoner. His soldiers interviewed the Mage with hard manners. One day, when the Knight went to the dungeon to see the progress, he found the Mage heavily wounded. The soldiers of that Empire hated that tribe. The whole series tells you that the tribe of the Sun Eyes were savages that attacked the Empire every time they could. They had massacred whole towns and killed and tortured people who were under the Empire protection. They were evil, so it was expected that the Mage would be treated that way. However, the picture of his mistreated body made the Knight wonder about his own present and his own secret. Would torture have been his future, had he not changed the colour of his own eyes?. Somehow, that wounded Mage was the answer of his thoughts.”

“Mnh, it doesn't sound like a bad story to read.”

“Do you want me to stop? So you can read it later?”

“No, forget it. I’ve told you already, I prefer the sound of your voice.”

Sandor beamed and accommodated his body on the mattress, noticing how immediately Ifan lifted his heavy body to allow him to do so, returning to his neck immediately afterwards. Several pecks were left there.

“Well. The Knight observed the bloody tortured body of the Mage, and his intense Sun Eyes looking at him, with hatred. You can't pretend before me, the Mage said. He could sense the Knight's true nature. The Mage knew that the Knight was one of them.”

“He needed to kill that Mage right there, before he could speak and use that secret as blackmail.” Ifan said, his mercenary mind stepping ahead.

“Too late.”

“Uh?.” Ifan lifted his head and looked at Sandor. “He had already spoke to the torturers?”

Sandor nodded, arranging Ifan's hair behind his ear. “They were setting a trap for the Knight. That scene was interesting too. The Mage confessed him that he had spoken about his secret. The soldiers were just trying to confirm his past, since for the first time, they wondered why the Knight had so many holes in his family story. So, the Knight had to run away, but he wanted to hurt that Mage for what he had done. For ruining his life. So he took him and left the Empire forever. They ended up in a cave where the Knight had decided to torture the Mage to his death, but the defiance of those Sun Eyes was a terrible weight for him. He couldn't. He only could punch him. And bursting into tears, the Knight shouted at the mage all the ordeals he had to pass through in order to have a life far away from the curse of the Sun Eyes tribes. The Mage told him that he was silly, that there was no curse. That only one to truly blame was the Empire. The Mage explained the tribe's perspective. How the Empire had taken them as slaves, had used them as workers to death, had stolen their cities, and destroyed millenia of culture and knowledge. No book from the Sun Eyes had survived the raging and euphoric systemic erasure of the Empire. The Empire rewrote the whole story of the Sun Eyes. All convenient lies. That was the last step to complete the massacre. Only a few children were spared that survived far away from the borders of the Empire. The Mage was one of them, and he wanted to spread the Truth.”

“The hell of a story. The romance is not important.”

“No, it is. The Mage and the Knight spent so many years in exile, reconnecting the Knight to his heritage, opening his eyes to the Truth, that they fell in love. They became the last of their kind: one proud of being a Sun Eye, the other, ashamed of it, with his feature contaminated. Their romance is full of contradictions and revelations. The scenes of those two are incredibly... hot.”

Ifan laughed. “Why?”

Sandor cleared his throat. “Sex with magic.”

Ifan blushed, burying his face in Sandor's neck. “Don't tell me you got ideas from them.”

“No, they are not Sourcerers. But the electricity thing... well... It gave me a lead.”

Ifan chuckled, his rumbling chest resonating against Sandor's ribs.

“The drama starts when the Knight joins the cause against the Empire and has to face the Prince. The Prince loves him so he is desperate to recover the Knight. He promises him that he would protect him from the Empire hatred, that he would manage to convince his Mother to accept their relationship now that the Knight has been uncovered as a Sun Eye too. That he still trusted in him deeply. And the Knight faltered.”

“Hell, no!. Don't tell me the asshole kicks the Mage.”

“Did you remember the other night you were worried about my tears?” Sandor said, a bit ashamed of the fact.

Ifan chuckled, “You told me it was the book.”

“It was that scene. The Mage could not compete with the childhood love. And the Knight betrayed him. They set a trap for the Mage. And the last one of the Sun Eyes, with amber eyes, died.”

“What? That's terrible!”.

“The scene was terrible. The Mage was still loving the Knight as he died, knowing it could have been very different if the world were not be so cruel. And the Knight, quite late, was mortified with the sight of the Mage being killed with a massive cast of ice around his body. The cold suffocating him to death. A death that, in the fantasy of this book, rips always the Sun from their eyes. Quite poetic. The Knight felt hollow with that execution. But it was too late to do anything. He was now the last one of his kind, but one who had tarnished his nature in all senses. He was a betrayer. And remained by the Prince's side. He kept sleeping with the one who had loved him without knowing about his nature, the one that kept encouraging him not to be who he truly was. Just because they were children when everything started. They kept trying to maintain things like they used to be in that more innocent time... and so far... that's the story. First times are something too engraved in a person's soul. They have a unique weight.”

Sandor's tears ran across his cheeks, as he analysed the story loudly. Worried, Ifan rested his body on his elbows and wiped Sandor's tears, smiling gently at him. “It's a story, Sandy.”

“It's something that has been happening for many, many centuries. The name or the ranks of the characters may be different. But this story… has happened thousands of times. It must be happening right now too. Imagine that... poor mage. First times shape a person too deeply.” His lips trembled.

Ifan lent in, kissed him slowly and gently. He looked into his eyes, caressing his temple. “Maybe. But...Don't worry, Sandy. You don’t have amber eyes. And I'll be choosing you in any story.”

That terribly cheesy phrase made Sandor smile, and a couple of tears fell accidently while accepting that strong embrace around him.

[asukaskerian]

You mentioned the bone people being maybe pro omega or something the Uchicha ally list (unless I misread?) and I wonder if there’s any clans that are pro omega that aren’t …as inbred for lack of better wording.

i was gonna answer your question very enthusiastically and then --

"inbred" :X

yeah so the hyuuga consider that alphas are violent meatheads prone to duels and betas are too territorial so every single ruler they've had has been an omega but i am sure as hell not going to say something about them not being inbred so back to the plotbunny mines i go. XD

also because i'm never gonna use it, have this deleted scene about a hyuuga oc meeting the hagoromo clan head :

"Hyuuga-dono," he greeted, pushing away from the wall to give a polite nod of his head, equal to equal.

"Uchiha-dono," Hyuuga Hisae, current clan head and unrepentant omega, greeted back, her big white eyes fixed on him and entirely ignoring the Hagoromo at his side. Considering her bloodline it was extremely unreasonable to imagine she hadn't noticed Raiha. Great. Politics.

On his other side Yoritomo had reached for his elbow; he offered it by reflex, helping the old man stand even though he hardly needed it, and cursed the fact that he and the Hyuuga were the noble clans and that meant he was on the spot for introducing these assholes. Surely it was divine punishment for being somewhat of an asshole himself.

"Well-met. Allow me to make known to you Uchiha Yoritomo-san, an Elder of my clan, and Hagoromo Raiha-san, who leads the Hagoromo clan and is a trusted ally."

Yoritomo's etiquette was impeccable and so was his greeting bow. "A pleasure," Hagoromo Raiha said, not even bothering to lie in a believable way, or to bow half as deep as she ought. Madara didn't sigh, or roll his eyes, or anything that might imply he was not in agreement with his clan's long-standing ally.

"Well-met, Uchiha-san," Hisae said back. "... Hagoromo-san." Madara could tell Raiha had been this close to getting a -kun, never mind that she was probably five good years older. Ugh. "Allow me to make known to you my litter-brother, Hyuuga Hizuru."

She didn't introduce the other Hyuuga shadowing her, but then again Madara hadn't introduced the two Uchiha guards hovering in the corner. Noble clans might be allowed bodyguards in the crowded great room that was the daimyo's sib's exhibition room, but it still wasn't polite to notice them.

He still knew that they were her blood-related, older siblings, and that Raiha was going to make it a point to address the alpha of the set as an equal and probably start a fight.

"It has been quite a while, Hyuuga-dono. Have you been well?"

"Quite, thank you. But I hope we do not interrupt anything important."

Not even bothering denying she was interrupting and knew it. His ancestors grant him patience, he had thought people would know better than to put Uchiha Madara in the position of the peacekeeper. "It was nothing much," he said, a little dryly. "Trading news of common acquaintances."

And then Yoritomo smiled his benevolent old man smile and bowed, voice cheerful, friendly. "We were lamenting upon the coming doom of the Senju. Many of us are concerned about the recent revelation of Tobirama-kun's... temperament."

--that son of a bitch.

"Oh, but forgive this old omega for being so bold, Hyuuga-sama, we all know that your clan has flourished being led by mothers with a stern, loving hand. Sadly, it doesn't seem many other clans benefit from your enlightened perspective."

Hyuuga Hisae slowly moved her blind staring eyes to Madara, who tried not to break a tooth gritting them. "Could not omegas become Uchiha clan heads?" she asked after a very long pause that Madara couldn't read as anything else but 'trying to figure out some way to answer that is not starting a fight'. Her voice was so blandly curious.

"They can indeed, and no clan law stops them, they just haven't in recent times. It's just the way the babes were born and the temperament they showed."

Though Madara had to go up at least six generations to find a clan head who had also been from an omega litter, and as for one who had been an omega... He wasn't sure. Omega-and-beta littermates were better for peacetime and diplomacy, and they hadn't had some of that in a very long time.

"Truly."

"Indeed." He didn't grit his teeth somehow. "My own litter-brother would have been clan head before me had he lived."

Izuna's littermate never would have been, but Madara was fairly sure that was because Anaguma had been timid, not that he had been omega. Izuna himself would have managed.

[englass]

Hello ❤ hope you have a nice day 💖 can i request #14 from the dark prompts please?

Heya hun!!! Honestly, the day has been hot, but we push on. I hope your day has been good!! 💖 Hope you don't mind, but I went for a Fantasy AU for this one; I was super struggling with the prompt and the only thing I could think of was, "oooh, John as a mage..." so we kinda get that. The whole thing is more set up then anything else, but I didn't want to delete anything...

14. “You’re too sweet, darling. What type of monster would I be without you?”

- - -

There had been tales, whispers amongst the women and men of people going missing; of them being snatched off darkened paths and empty roads. Some reckoned it was a beast, spoke of a monster that was stealing people away to fuel their wicked appetite. Others thought it to be bandits, or other unscrupulous groups looking to profit off of the lives of inconspicuous civilians. But there were a handful, the few like yourself, that felt the shift in the air; that could feel the remnants of something foul and forbidden coiled around the scenes.

It had worried you greatly, the thought of such dark magic set loose in the town you had made a home of. Often you found yourself lost in your own mounting anxieties as the reports grew more and more frequent, and rumours gradianted into a much dreaded possibility. Even though you were no stranger to the darker arts, proficient as you are in the art of Summoning, you had never delved too far into its catalogue. In fact, Summoning was about all you ever touched and even then, amongst some other magically inclined individuals, it was considered somewhat of a lesser art; not as destructive and therefore not as notable as others.

However, just because you never strayed into more questionable arts doesn’t mean you know not of them. You’re aware that there are some dark arts that are a bit more accepted amongst the magically inclined than others, used for educational purposes and approved of as a means to protect oneself. Really dark arts are just offensive abilities, so no matter what there is always an element of wariness when it comes to the potential of such arts. As long as you utilise them in an acceptable manner there will be no questioning, no inquiries into your character.

For those not accepted though it is typically because they cross some form of moral or ethical line, taking an individual down a path that alters them irremediably. Stains the core of their aura with the makings of something dreadful, corrupts them until they lose all that makes them as they are.

Admittedly, if not studied correctly or the thirst for knowledge becomes too consuming, then any art can destroy a person; can set them down that very smart path. And sometimes a person can destroy the values of the art and stretch it into something it is not designed to be. There are many stories of Healers’ playing Maker, of a Conjurers’ calling going terribly wrong, of Astrologians’ going insane from their divinations. Once you were almost entranced by your own Summon; a rookie mistake, terribly embarrassing to recall.

Magic in general is a dangerous art and care will always need to be taken. But there are some arts where that danger is part of the art, and those are forbidden. They will always cross the line, and they will never fail to destroy a person; and that person will never fail to destroy others.

That’s what scared you so much about the recent happenings of the town. To think that such a person was lurching about the place, taking people off the street for who knows what nefarious reasons, terrified you. The idea that you could be next, that the stability of your own aura could be at risk because of this rogue caster sickened you. It tore you apart.

And John saw that.

It was a relatively small town, filled with all types of people coming in and out from across the region and the different towns within it. For a long time though the only people you knew that did magic was a spirited Pyromancer called Sharky and some eccentric Apothecary who lived on the outskirts called Larry (you were convinced the man tested his own potions on himself). The first you met when you had summoned a Kelpie to help you put out a fire he had accidentally caused a bit too close to your home, while the latter you had met by chance while looking for ingredients.

That had changed once the Seed brothers had moved in close to the town. They were surprisingly open about their magical inclinations and while the town wasn’t outrightly hostile they were openly suspicious of the three. You had even been a little suspicious of the three, not understanding their reasons for being so forward to a none magically inclined town; it could be dangerous to do so. Ultimately though they suffered little consequence of their reveal, other than strange looks and quiet gossip made of them. You had been envious of that freedom, to be forthright about what you were, but thought better of it. To reveal such a truth after so long would spell disaster for you.

Not even a full lunar cycle had passed before Joseph, the middle brother of the three, had made a point to come seek you out, introducing himself and his brothers to you. It had been a wholly uncomfortable encounter, especially the instance where he had suddenly questioned what arts you had studied. Desperately you had tried to deny it but thankfully the oldest brother, Jacob, had merely sighed and apologised on Joseph’s behalf. As an ex-Paladin turned Enchanter he had fully understood your need for secrecy and had been your saving grace during the whole thing. From then on the brothers become quick acquaintances to you, whether you wanted them to be or not.

Joseph was… okay. He made for interesting conversation no doubt and oftentimes his words gave you pause to think on things, but he could be a touch preachy at times, especially about his beliefs and divinations. Jacob on the other hand had become a confidante of sorts. You didn’t often talk, but when you did the conversation held well enough and his advice was always sound. He was also honest about his thoughts and opinions on a matter, and while you didn’t like being called out when you messed up you did respect his outlook. Your relationship with the youngest brother, John, however was a special one.

It had taken him a few days after the initial introduction to strike up a conversation with you, and for the most part he had purely asked you about yourself. But somewhere between admitting how long you’ve lived here and him nervously revealing himself to be a Conjurer, you had developed a fast trust of the man. It was unexplainable, completely foolish of you, but there was just something about him that you thought was pleasant; a believability to him. He was the first you deliberately told about your darker studies and thankfully, being of similar arts, he had taken it exceedingly well. You had even bonded over the differences and similarities between your chosen studies. He had become a dear friend, and only became dearer as the years went by.

So John noticing when your worries began to eat at you didn’t surprise you. He knew you extraordinarily well, sometimes it was even a little spooky how well he knew you, but it was also an odd comfort. He knew just what to say to put you at ease, to assure you that you would be safe and even going so far as promising that he himself would protect you from such a fate as those missing. You still had doubts, but his care was touching.

If only you had learned the truth sooner.

“My friend, please,” you cry, wrists shackled uncomfortably above you, the metal cutting into your skin, “I beg of thee, stop this! Such practises are a blight to the soul, you will doom yourself if you continue. I know not what it is you wish to accomplish, but please spare them this torture! Spare yourself! Surely there has to be another way, John; surely!”

John merely chuckles quietly, slowly shaking his head as he does so. “Oh, you’re too sweet, darling. Even now, as you are, you still think of me and my well being before yourself. Not to imply you have anything to fear, of course; you know I would never hurt you. I merely mean it as an observation. It is a charming trait, that sweetness of yours. It’s part of why I fell for you so.” He turns to you then, up to his elbows covered in blood. The person before him is still alive, but barely, their breaths shallow and their skin a deathly pallor. To think he was a Hemomancer this whole time…

“But why waste words on their behalf when they would never deign to do the same for you? You had to hide yourself, deny what you truly are just to be accepted by these lowly worms for years. Tell me, where is the fairness in that? In what world should we sequest ourselves away from those weaker than us, those deemed less worthy by the Maker themselves?”

Crossing the space in a few long strides he stops before you, bloody hands cupping your cheeks gently even as you try to turn away from him, bringing you back to stare helplessly into his sparkling eyes, “Don’t you see, sweet one? You are beautiful, in every part, as you are. We were blessed by the Maker, but they will never see that, blinded as they are. They will never appreciate our arts, our gifts, or even us as people, no matter what we may do or sacrifice for them. If I need to subject myself to risk to show them their place, to create a world that you need not hide in any longer, then I’ll do so gladly and without hesitation.”

Shaking your head softly, face still captured within his hands, a tear slips unbidden down your cheek. “But it will consume you. You’ll become a monster.”

“Maybe,” he admits, tone oddly calm as he carefully brushes beneath your eye with his thumb, smearing blood through the track of your tear, “but I wonder, what type of monster would I be without you, do you think?”

Perhaps it is vain of you, but something tells you that he would be another beast entirely without you chained to him as you now are…

[fadedtemporarytattoos]

Divinity

I wanted to preface this by saying that I’m incredibly new to tumblr. I totally goofed it and accidentally deleted an ask. Thankfully, I had already written out a oneshot for said ask. I apologize to twilightna and I swear it won’t happen again!

Warning: This contains obsessive yandere behavior regarding Valentino. In this oneshot, there are violent and inappropriate tendencies. Viewer discretion is advised. 

               It was cold on the way down, despite what most would think. Time refused to pass, to bear witness to the scene before it. The clocks stopped ticking and tocking and the metaphorical metronome keeping everyone in time vanished. 

     The clouds whizzed by, refusing to offer a lifeline, but that did not stop her from trying to grab hold of them. One moment she was walking through the gardens admiring the flora and fauna, the next she was hurtling through the inky sky down into the abyss below. She didn’t know how or why it happened. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she was sure of it. The God she knew would never subject her to this fate. 

     Hell was a lot different than she imagined it to be. Instead of being met with pits of fire and screaming souls of the damned, she was met with a booming metropolis of demons, young and old, basking in their sins. Neon signs flashing drugs, sex, and booze illuminated the dank city streets while people bustled from place to place, avoiding various projectiles as they came. Vending machines sold various vices, and prostitutes stepped out of cars shamelessly, with a few more bucks shoved haphazardly in bras, waistbands, or pockets. 

     Perhaps she was the most surprised by him, at least at first. He was a pimp, that much was obvious. A big, red coat embellished with fur adorned his form, and he smelled of cigarette smoke and, what she would learn later on to be, strawberry lube. She first made eye contact with him as he stepped out of his car. He had two promiscuously dressed women hanging from both of his arms. When he first saw her, he immediately halted. His eyes racked up and down her figure before his mouth broke into a wicked grin. He strolled over and grabbed her hand, introducing himself as Valentino. 

     Now, she was no fool. Y/n knew better than to toil with demons, but it was only so long before she fell into his constrictive clutches. Life in hell was not easy, and she had no choice but to earn her keep, even if that meant betraying everything she had ever known. It took exactly one month for Valentino to go from authoritative and charming to obsessive. It started off small, he wanted to know where she was and what she was doing frequently. She assumed that this came with the territory of the job and thought nothing of it. It slowly extended to him keeping tabs on her and keeping her at the studio constantly, even overnight. If she ever mentioned leaving, he would become aggressive and violent. 

     He was no stranger to using force to make her obey. She would often sit in front of her dressing room mirror tracing the abstract finger paintings that he pressed into her throat and collarbones. He would often stand behind her with calculating eyes, watching her in the mirror as she took in his handiwork. He would smile softly as she mourned her skin, once pure and unblemished, now covered in splatters of green, blue, and purple. He would shush her softly, telling her that he wouldn’t have done this if she had just obeyed, if she had just listened to him. After the fact, he would usher her to put on makeup to cover up and get dressed for the next big show. 

     Despite her jaw-dropping appearance, her shows were very exclusive and very hard to get into. There was also a no touching policy, something she was extremely grateful for. Very few would see the angel sinfully contorting across the stage, rippling like water and flowing like the waves. Her angelic beauty was used to fuel the sick desires of various aristocrats and sycophants. Each and every one of them smiled wolfishly at her, eyes filled with malicious intent and an insatiable hunger. The lights flashed various colors and illuminated her as she became everything that she never wanted to be. All the while, Valentino sat directly across from her watching as she tore herself apart from the inside out. He’d softly blow smoke out of his nostrils as her body rolled to the sultry music bumping in the background. He’d take in her fishnet clad legs, eyes flickering between her lips, breasts, and legs. He would lick his lips before taking a sip of his red wine while maintaining eye contact. He coveted the little pieces of heaven that lurked in her irises with  so much fervor, that he drank them up until there was nothing left. He sipped on her soul until shadows permeated every single atom of her being. 

     She had no choice but to fall apart in front of him again and again, doomed to relive the same torture day after day, night after night. She was forced to wrap her heavenly hands around the pole, forced to forget the divinity that once fueled her. She splayed her body in front of the very being that she despised most of all, and, at that moment she knew, nothing in heaven above could save her from him.

[onewingedxngel-moved]

One-Winged Angel Lyrical Analysis

Hmm. I wonder. Is this an analysis? Or am I just pointing out the obvious? Oh, who cares, let’s jump right in!

Estuans interius Ira vehementi (Burning inside with violent anger)

This one is rather obvious. Sephiroth is filled with rage, even after the Nibelheim Incident, his anger never left him. It’s bound to his soul. He burns with hatred for humanity, for the planet itself, because they are the reason he exists... and his existence is a very painful one, as we will see next...

Sors imanis Et inanis (Fate- monstrous  and empty)

Ow. Just ow. How dare you do this to my cold, shrivelled heart? How dare you make me FEEL!

I think this is about how before Sephiroth was even born, he had been condemned to be cursed with a horrifying existence. Before he’d even been concieved, his fate had been sealed: he would be brought into the world for the sake of the JENOVA Project, led by arrogant scientists (Lucrecia, Hojo, and yes, Gast) working for a greedy, power-hungry company. An abomination cursed by fate. Monstrous and empty.

He was exploited from birth. An empty fate where he was condemned to be a tool, trained to be a killer from a young age. His existence held no true meaning, except that of a mere weapon. He was just... a killing machine. And, beneath Shinra, that was all he’d ever be. Even when he rebelled against them, so desperate to be more than just a simple experiment, to be the ‘superior’ being he believed he was... all he caused was more bloodshed, ironically behaving just like the weapon he was trained to be. 

He was doomed from the start. Because he simply would never have come into existence had it not been for the experiment.

Veni veni venias Ne me mori facias (Come come O come, do not let me die)

I’m not entirely sure what the ‘come’ may be referring to, but since it’s paired with the ‘do not let me die’, I believe it’s the lifestream. He wishes to devour the lifestream, beckoning it to come forth towards him, so he may become a God... a being of immortality.

Although it’s never been explicitely stated, I think it’s heavily implied throughout FF7- the original game, the compilation, and the remake- that one of Sephiroth’s biggest fears- if not, the biggest- is permanent death. He is desperate to avoid his end, and thus, he implores the lifestream to merge with him so he may never have to die.

Almost as if he’s... begging it to keep him alive. 

Gloriosa Generosa (Glorious, noble/generous/kind)

Hmm. This is a difficult one. Considering Sephiroth’s angelic appearance, I’d certainly call him glorious. The word carries rather divine connotations.

Generosa seems to have multiple potential meanings. In one translation, I’ve seen it be translated into ‘noble’, in another, into ‘generous’, while google translate says it means ‘kind’.

In my opinion, none of them are particularly fitting, since Sephiroth is very much established as a tragic beast. However...

Since these lyrics are in the background- this could be a bit of a stretch, but- could it be pointing to certain traits Sephiroth held before Nibelheim? Yet, that still doesn’t work, because although he was certainly glorious (canonically without particularly wanting to be), and he did have a soft side to him (as seen in deleted scenes), those days were just full of lies. He was still being used and exploited, he was merely yet to discover that. So... it doesn’t really work with the context of the other lyrics.

Maybe it could represent what he strives to be? Ascending into a glorious and noble God, in opposition to the monstrous anathema he was born as. I think this interpretation works best. And with the voices singing it rising in the background, justaposed with ‘come come O come, do not let me die’, it could represent how his wish draws closer and closer, almost within reach...

Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I think. I got it!

AC Edition’s Lyrical Analysis coming soon.

And yes, I am aware that these lyrics are lifted from the Carmina Burana. I’m merely trying to look at them in the context of the game.

[miscellanyofmusings]

Grimscribe Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Grimscribe. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, gore, nihilism, unreality, body horror, clowns, and insects.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: (If you are a multimuse blog, specify what muse you are filling this out for.) Tagged by: Tagging:

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 The Last Feast of Harlequin

A place behind the clownish mask / an enthusiastic urgency / sunny fields and farms / steeply roofed houses / a weird distortion of perspective / an album of old snapshots / a pointed hat jauntily askew / a billboard displaying a group of grinning vegetables / a neutral, bureaucratic voice / blue-green ink / a brilliant and profound circus of learning / a quotation from Poe’s “The Conqueror Worm” / a feeling of frigid numbness / dull, earth-colored scenery / the snowfalls of late autumn / black, ragged clumps of abandoned nests / the thin light of a winter afternoon / poles raveled with evergreen / holly wreaths / green lights / green streamers / peacock green floodlights / an eerie emerald haze / chthonic divinities / miniature candy canes / colored lights that bloom out of flower-shaped sockets / a chilling brilliance of manner and expression / sea-green lights / the face of an adept clown / a heart bathed in green / another coldness within the cold / warmly wrapped bodies and green-scarved necks / worried and guilt ridden glances / a wormy mass / the black void of winter / the brightness of an artificial spring / a great green rainbow / green gleaming streets / the dark immensity of a winter night / an effect of stricken horror and despair / an inhuman likeness more proper to something under the earth than above it / a festival within a festival / depressingly pallid clowns / the particular kind of hatred of resulting from some powerful and irrational memory / optimistic greenery in a period of gray dormancy / a kind of obnoxious intelligence / freezing atop an icy throne / commitment to a meaningful mania / bodiless invisibility / seeing without being seen / a sea of zigging and zagging celebrants / the darkness of narrow country roads / innocent normalcy / icy wind / trembling with cold / lanterns that beam with dazzling and frosty light / cadaverous clowns / the apex of darkness / a long snowy robe / moody malignancy / pure unlived lives / all the many shapes of death and dissolution / a dirge for existence / a sea of thin, bloodless faces / icy beauty / a moment of frozen trance / the death known to those whom the gods have first made mad / the welcoming glow of green / slow and silent and entrancing / a velvety white abyss / the paradise of the unborn

The Spectacles in the Drawer

A double-handled dagger with a single blade of polished stone / tall cabinets / ceiling-high shelves / tantalizing arcana / glistening fog / a tedious clarity / a cyclone of strange patterns and colors / spasms of sardonic hilarity / a pale-blue blade / stiff, crackling pages / a seeker of recondite knowledge / undying hope / a gutful of shame and regret / a small and silvery knife / a razor-sharp letter opener / a pair of old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles / everything that fascinates / the wish to look away / an infinite and overwhelming scene / the dazzling diffusion of all known universes / landscapes without end / landscapes that are themselves alive / a life unknown to mortal eyes / form and motion / design and dimension / cilia wriggling / mammoth shapes lurching in outline / an obscure oceanic niche / a mere fragment of all that there is to see and to know / labyrinthine astronomies / constant transformations of both appearance and essence / a witness to the most cryptic phenomena that exist or could ever exist / the ultimate thing waiting to be born / still greater visions / a cataclysm which will be both the beginning and the end / unbearable anticipation / ecstasy and dread / the ultimate source of all manifestation / the absolute and the wholly unknown / a revolution of all matter and energy / the visions remaining active inside you, deep in your blood / to be dazzled in the worst way / the total substance of things / an occultist auction / a disreputable quarter of a foreign city / a student of the Gnostics / artificial eyes / a malicious aim to undermine / a child’s awkward embrace / rusty scales / cockeyed bookcases / broken toys / standing ashtrays / desolate bazaars / the charm of disenchantment / a tilting mirror / a climate of dull horror / sinister whispers that make no sense yet seem filled with meaning / sensations of infinite expansiveness and ineffable meaning / astronomical emotions / a mutilated carcass / something of terrible rawness / a torn and flayed thing / microscopic precision / twitching and quivering like a gory heart / hellish giggling / a haunting, lifelong memory / unfathomable depths of feeling / to suffer over and over / a way to kill a dream / the sheltering shadows of one’s home / sobering shadows / a cold and stagnant peace / esoteric ecstasy / vulgar pain / a broad expanse of empty field / a mosaic of mirrors / a shocking galaxy / redundant reflections / dark stars on a silvery firmament / to see with countless eyes / a body ripped raw / a gallery of glass and gore

Flowers of the Abyss

The first rank scent of autumn / a glass of water / a thirsty walker of the woods / a pale flower amongst the dark summer trees / a ghostly flower of autumn / grayish planks / a pallid lily / a pulpy toadstool / a roof of rippling shingles shaped like scales from some great fish / sea-green and sparkling / attic gables with paned windows / the tip of a tear / hundreds of raindrops / light rain / an icy autumn storm / a fragrance damp and decayed / walking ahead of the clouds / the echo of hollow words / a long crooked arm / malodorous gardens of misshapen growths / an oval mirror in an ornate frame / cobwebbed corners / tilting books / something shapeless and nameless / something dampish and submerged / something swampy and abysmal / the pure cold of an autumn storm / a dusty green bottle / a sparkling glass / a world of frozen light / cool and limpid water / the hardness of a jewel / a small music box / stars of sound / twilight shadows and silence / infinitesimal flakes of light / barren decor of dead days / yellowish haze / silvery tones / a tenebrous expanse / unknown exploits / the madness of things / a vagabond of the universe / a drifter among spaces / a mess of hacked pieces / dark horizon meeting dark horizon / a universe of darkness / a convulsing tangle of shapes / the radiant entrails of hell / rain-softened soil / parted waters rushing to remerge / corrupt waters / sticky and pumping veins / slimy tendrils / aberrations of the abyss / a night-gowned figure / a crowd carrying lights / lamps and lanterns bobbing in darkness / clusters of flames / buried like a forgotten dream

Nethescurial

Delicate, crinkly script / greenish-black discoloration / dark waters / moonlit skies / earth mounds / mountain peaks / northern leaf and southern flower / each star and the voids between them / blood and bone / watchful winds / murky waters below / contorted rock formations / pointed pines and spruces of gigantic stature / sea-facing cliffs / stagnant fog / an omnipresent evil / a sleeping sense of doom awakened into full vigour / evil, beloved and menacing evil / sunshine and flowers / darkness and dead leaves / some shaping force of demonic temperament / wartlike hills / tumorous trees / oil lamps scattered about / a sacral glow / a degree of mutual ease / the verdigris of centuries / decomposing jade / pandemonism / cold gray waters / a mere mask for the foulest evil / an absolute evil whose reality is mitigated only by our blindness to it / the universe as a dream / the feverish nightmare of a demonic demiurge / an abstract monster of metaphysics / an altar of coarse stone / skinny shadows / to be actually bound in blackness / white-faced shadows / luminous smoke / glowing, ectoplasmic haze / something thick and oily and strangely colored / an ancient anonymity / spirits beyond all hope or consolation except in the evil to which they would abandon themselves / a ceremony of the chosen / an ancient, darkened mould / petrified lichen / wrought iron tracery / great overgrown gardens of writhing coral / a chaos of little carvings / a world of demonic faces and forms / oneiric visions / inkish waters / an infinitely extensive body of evil / the gods of the ordinary world / dream-induced illusions / visionary intrusions / a banquet of fear / what is squirming beneath every surface / penetrating the usual armor of objects / dark and greenish / garbled whisperings / an island of grass and trees in the middle of the city / globes of light balanced on slim metal poles / a glowing orb / set in the great blackness above  / trees swishing overhead / muddied green / walking some indefinite time along some indefinite route / strings of colored lights / a tall, illuminated booth / clownish creatures / expressionless faces and dead puppet eyes / slow, monotonous phrases mingling like the sequences of a fugue / the faces of the living and the dead / wind-blown trees / the greenish darkness of the night / mold-colored smoke / a squirming, creeping, smearing shape / a great deformed crab / the black oceans of infinity / the island of the moon / the cancerous totality of all creatures / oozing ichor / dying in a nightmare

The Dreaming in Nortown

A solitary perdition / a mind to remember the stages of their downfall / a mirror to multiply their abject glory / a memoir of dreams / peculiar powers of sympathy / a decaying and spacious apartment / an ill-mapped world of dreams / a slightly infernal aroma / an acrid combination of tobacco and autumn nights / a small red glow / a long threadbare overcoat / many pungent Octobers / the remote heights or depths of an artificial paradise / the stumbling words of a returning explorer / a stuporous and awed voice / midnight assemblies / in the grip of strange mystical ecstasies / long red hair / esoteric development / a general tenor of chaos / a quality which may or may not make for good company but which always offers promise of the extraordinary / a contrived noisiness / a strange catalogue of sounds / low moans emanating from the most shadowy chasms of dream / sudden intakes of breath / the suction of a startled gasp / abrupt snarls and snorts of a bestial timbre / expressions of unknown turmoil / the calm darkness of the night / staccato groans / the entire audible spectrum of nightmare-inspired terror / mingling overtones of awe and ecstasy / a willing submission to some unknown ordeal / the deeper registers of somnolence / the smell of a freshly lit cigar / the dun colors of dawn / a flood of eidetic horrors / fleeting scenes of nightmare / a reverberating slam / a note scrawled upon a slip of paper / a disproportionate anxiety / the imagined threat of a reprimand / the frayed end of a disciplinary whip / colors twisting in blackness / a tentacled abyss / bone-colored stars / a dream-distorted voice / a spiral notebook with a cover of mock marble / mystical masochism / feats of occult daredevilry / glimpsing the inferno with eyes of ice / a doomed determinism / the striving for horrific dominion over horror itself / wobbling glitter / a field of venomous colors / the glistening inner skin of deadliest nightshade / the entrancing fragrance of fear / the city’s lurid glamor / cryptic badges whose significance is known only to the initiated / comic colors from an electric spectrum / a chilly autumn evening / engraved brass / dingy neon / a black autumn sky / scattering sparks across the sidewalk / flea-market antiquities / calling feline-voiced / colorful chaos / neon signs streaming across the night / clothed in flashing colors / a many-hued phantasmagoria / a flickering and disorderly rainbow of dreams / a multitude of indecisive thoughts and impulses / a brick and neon landscape / a frigid and fragrant October night / darkness and a voice / a coarse scream / a pulsing opalescent aura / a delirious blend of images derived from nightmare/ an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon / a field of fear / a painfully lush iridescence / a burnt-out patch of earth / newspapers mutilated by time / two fresh cigars / a thin book-like box / a scene from some Boschian hell / a hideous series of transfigurations / the screaming mass of a damned soul / an abyss of nightmares / explorations in a hell of one’s own choosing

The Mystics of Muelenburg

Trees made of poster board / houses built of colored foam / mud and dust and ashes / a nightmare of nonsense / fantasy, that misty domain of pure meaning / dim and empty storage space / an ancient armchair / reposing far beneath crumbling rafters / surveying remote worlds / a burst of fireworks / buzzing like flies in the blackness / glow worms flitting in the blinding sun / to keep the sun in the sky / to keep the dead in the earth / a universal vice / a parasite of chaos / a maggot of vice / the prospect of absolute terror / men in the mouths of demons / withholding heaven’s light / the pointed shadows of peaked roofs and jutting gables / faded artifacts of a dead town / high castle turrets / grayness undisturbed / ashen twilight / the yellow light of lamps / sumptuous chambers / humble rooms / the lost luxury of shadows / an infinite vault of glowing dust / a deception by demons / old deities formerly driven from the earth / shadows streaming horribly / the twitching light of a thousand candles / prismatic jewels / a greyish whirlpool / indefinite twilight / the blackness which is the domain of death / necromantic learning / drunken dialogues / unparalleled credulity / fluidity, always fluidity / an ornamented void / the stars and moon / the legions of the dead

In the Shadow of Another World

Walking down streets at twilight / watered lawns / the edges of leaves / pale specters within a fog / the infinite sky itself / gently stirring trees / old silent houses / strange cities disguised as clouds / the depths of a vast, echoing abyss / a blurry little window with a crack in it / a tree-lined street / a pale sky at dusk / peaks and porches / worn wooden steps / dreams and vapor posing as solid matter / a fabulous overlap of properties / petrified flesh / gigantic bones from great beasts of old / chimneys and shingles / a shadow on the horizon / a thing of nightmarish beauty / impossible hopes / a kind of ceremonious desolation / translucent festivals / the faraway sounds of mad carnivals / an instinct for mystification / dubious spectacles / trumped-up histrionics / immaculate to the point of being suspect / a plush and well-tended mausoleum / where the dead are truly at rest / oppressive awareness of other times / secret conspiracies with departed spirits / the unnatural mood of twilight / sinister echoes / dark, polished floors / lofty, uncobwebbed ceilings / a malign presence in the cellar / an insane shadow in the attic / thaumaturgic curios / a hermetic chant of the heavens / no hint of hauntedness / an innocent ambiance / a spiritual wasteland / spiritually antiseptic surroundings / a twisting and tenuous stairway / shattered panes of glass / misshapen glyphs / the shadowy nuances of clouds / a twisted kaleidoscope of colors / the aura of stained-glass cathedral / some obscure desecration / prismatic lenses / that of the dead or the demonic / an eclipse of this world’s vision / a quivering translucence / iridescent sterility / the aftermath of a strange exorcism / neither hallowed nor unholy / a pristine laboratory / a science of nightmares / a small, lamplit library / night’s darkness / a voice that’s accustomed to speaking of miracles / mystical freakshows / a grave sincerity / dissonant overtones of fear / the shadows of another world / forms of specter or demon / the eyes of the flesh / a luminous hell / psychic survival / hopelessly dreaming / terror recollected in tranquility / mazy trauma / the sensations of the soul / a monstrous mystery / a theoretician of nightmares / crude and cryptic designs / a remote and shadowy stage / an adept of pasteboard visions / mucilage and gauze / pulling the strings of light and shadow / shadows gathering / a strange radiance / phosphorescent panes / superlunary light / some cosmic tapestry / a haunted world / the marriage of insanity and metaphysics / a spectral ontogeny / a pageant of nightmares / sunlit bazaars in exotic cities / transparent masks / insectoid countenances / moonlit streets in antique towns / a strange-eyed slithering / dim galleries of empty museums / a ghostly mold / the sullen hues of old paintings / sticky luxuriance / pulpy warmth / an uncanny flux of sounds / cadaverous generations / sculptures of human coral / bodies heaped and unwhole / limbs projecting without order / eyes scattered and searching the darkness / a monument to Terror / a maze of interconnecting doors / spectral monstrosities / the cover of masks / the concealment of stones / feverish properties and intentions / a framed phantasmagoria / grotesque transfigurations / a systemless cosmogony / the caprice of the immaterial / weirdly lucent rooms / chaotic fantasies / narrow, spiraling stairs / the gazing eye of some god / a pyrotechnic craze of colors /  a vibrating echo of vocal utterance / swirling sights / a vacuum and a void / doubtful strategies / unknown and extravagant possibilities / occult theories / arcane analyses / the irreducible certainty of nightmare / great shadows in the stars / an infinite catastrophe / protective sigils / the full glare of starlight / stars and shadows / privileged arcana / the enchantments of hell / cold sunlight / the visionary time of twilight

The Cocoons

A gloved hand twitching / a rather unapologetic tone / egg-shaped pills / a half-glass of water / a soft grinding noise / a quietly urgent voice /  blotched vapors /  a growl of exasperation / unpeopled avenues / a mass of shadows / a landscape without pattern or substance / the moon shining / a doubtful glance / a devastated plain / an open field heaped with debris / bits of glass and scraps of metal / lunar spaciousness / a skeletal structure with all markings of identity scraped off its bones / a densely tangled nest of houses / the dull light of the moon / a yellowish swatch of illumination / high wooden fences / a ruined turret grazed by moonlight / a minor mania / a cobwebbed corner / a blank battered wall / warped floor moldings / a watery light / the quivering light of candles / an old-fashioned film projector / the whirring of a projector / a visual record of a scientific experiment / dark wiry appendages /  a pair of slender snapping pincers / tiny translucent wings / glistening but useless / malicious eyes / a dubious look / candles flickering like fire-flies / a cold swamp of shadows / a collection of bones / dazed silence / a clockwork world / sunrise schedules / lunar routines / a pandemonium of forces / a phantasmagoria of possibilities / the shadow of a laugh /  a curious hedonism that can’t be controlled / the vagaries of omnipotence / breeder of indulgence / languorous exhaustion / a psychic matter / unheard of habits / languorous exhaustion / a clown’s oversized grin / bliss on the brink of apotheosis / a universal process of transfiguration / restless skittering / a pitiful delight / giddy pride / demoniac undercurrents / the grotesque ultimatums of creation

The Night School

A high, full moon shining among the spreading clouds / shadows singing with the clouds / a slowly flowing mass of mottled shapes / a kind of unclean outpouring / the black sewers of space / the wall of night /  smoke, dense and dirty, rising up to the sky / the spastic flames of a small fire / a slender gentleman / a dark suit / broken bones / the process of degeneration / the mulchy rot of autumn or early spring / yellowish light / dark scabby bricks / ruined factories / ravaged mausoleums / abandoned orphanages / a blossom of the cemetery or the cesspool / guttering candles / blurred remnants of past lessons / cloacal forces / time as a flow of sewage / drowning in the pools of night / a thousand molting autumns / the melting soil of spring / a pair of yellowish eyes / undiluted darkness / a darkness far greater than the night itself / consolidated darkness / the science of a spectral pathology / a philosophy of absolute disease / the metaphysics of things sinking into a common disintegration or rising together / dark rottenness /  filthy smoke from some smoldering source of expansive corruption / the scent of corruption / the nostalgic perfume of autumn decay / the feculent muskiness of a spring thaw / smoky blackness / the offal of worlds in decline / the dark compost of those about to be born / the primeval impurity In which all things are founded / native putridity / pieces of paper with strange symbols on them / the very face of a plague—pustulant, scabbed, and stinking terribly / a black fog / many voices crying and calling from total blackness / tightly packed earth in a grave / the disease of the night / bright flames / the noise of a fire and the wind / a full moon / shining bright and blurry / a luminous mold / the great sewers of night

The Glamour

A fine aura of fantasy / both blurred and brightened / a starless evening / diamonds of plate glass / old buildings of dark brick / the display window of a toy store / a chaotic tableau of preposterous excitation / mechanized monkeys / fated antics / tiny cymbals / the destined pirouettes of a music-box ballerina / a newly sprung jack-in-the-box / strangely picturesque / dreamily illuminated / sculptured frosting / a winter landscape of swirling, drifting whiteness / snowy rosettes / layers of icy glitter / a glacial kingdom / a brilliant arctic scene / a vitality of enterprise / a glossy light / the placidly enigmatic expressions of a different time / faded lighting / an old photograph / the kind of acute anticipation that a child might experience at a carnival / a possessing impulse without object / wretchedly aglow / a long, narrow corridor with a single light set far into its depths / a strange shade of purple, like that of a freshly exposed heart / a purple lamp / arterial light / a deep pink / a richly blooded brain / a beating heart / wispy shrouds / sparse hairs sticking to the scalp of an old corpse / purple-tinted glass / the darkness of a theater / a swarm of filaments / an elaborate chandelier / a sickly, liverish shade / an operating room where a torso lies open on the table / a palette of pinks and reds and purples / diseased viscera imitating all of the shades of sunset / headstones in a graveyard / endless filthy alleys / long desolate corridors in an old asylum / the dripping passages of a sewer / a dust-blinded window / a dark unvisited cellar / a mirror gone rheumy with age / facets of murky crystal / cobwebs / long pale threads / hazy purple light / the slow curling of thin smoke / a great rectangular web / the ever-mutating images of clouds / a surge of dark elation / a sudden chill announcing bad weather / a vibrant presence / an expression of avid malignance / inner webbings / swirling fibers / wild shocks of twisting hair / a portrait of atrocity / lust for sites and ceremonies of mayhem / writhing cobwebs / reaching tendrils / graveyards and alleyways / a joyous hysteria / a pale purple / sinister and seamy regions / spectral ambiance / all pervasive purple coloration / the labyrinth of a living anatomy / palest pink / a purple light / putrid chambers and cloisters / an infernal land / fleshy, gelatinous integuments / translucent tissue / the theater of a mad surgery / hair-thin sutures / unseen hands designing unnatural shapes and systems / weaving a nest in which possession would take place / the weaver and web-maker / an old puppet-master / setting a helpless creature with new strings / through eyes unknown / purple shadows / a type of degraded rapture / a seizure of debauched panic / webs of hair / great evil / an appeal for deliverance / eyes that would see what should not be seen / stray threads pulled from a sleeve or pocket / a paralytic silence / eyes gazing fierce and malignant / a purple glow / two shafts of the purest purple light / an old woman with glowing eyes

Father Sevich’s Visit

A manner at first vaguely troublesome and afterward rather attractive / the arrival of a priest / the very echoes of the air / mellow afternoon sunlight / dark wooden floors / pale contortions of ancient wall paper / invisible games / abstract dread and a bizarre sort of indebtedness / a thick maze of propositions / a well-made bed / a relentless failure / cloistral tunnels / vaulted penetralia / a single column-clutching hand / the necessary features of fear / a maddening task / a series of completely irrelevant expressions / misty-eyed wonder / cretinous bafflement / smiling in an almost amiable way at one one’s impending doom / the trap of expectation / a sleepy whisper / the sound of soft conversation / the world of good manners and polite talk / a look of incompleteness / some unfinished effigy in a toy maker’s workshop / something vital to expression / the purple-robed mysteries of priesthood / animated eyes / withered things reeking of medicine and prayer / a painfully delicate subject / varnished wood / salvation through suffering / sacred horrors / the divine destiny toward which the paths of anguish have always led / volumes of blessed agony / an attitude of prayerful pleading / torturing demons / a single squatted devil / bristling lashes that sprout like weeds / an explosion of miniature grotesquerie / a brief and calculated absence / a modest fund of moral energy / a macabre icon / profane lessons / a countenance of true terror / a ridiculously empty slate / an off-stage atrocity / a cycle of mute, incredible lore / anthropomorphic mist / an eerie lividity / unconscious hours of darkness / a chronicle of truly unspeakable things / the light of every constellation in the visible universe / the oppressive mysteries of the autumn season / thick orange crayons / black cats / black paper / a hopeless urge for innovation / a tiny white collar / dripping with fever / hat and cloak and walking stick / narrow, nocturnal streets / a fairy-tale vision / serpentine lanes / the distorted glow of street lamps / the thinnest blade of moon / a narrow niche / an unpaved lane / a small courtyard surrounded by high walls / the stars above / jaundiced lamplight / a stairway of cut stone / the earth and absolute blackness / tiny lights glimmering like stars / clouds of shadows / some golden metal / a caricature of serenity / a hand as white as the whitest glove / chaotic rays / underworld starlight / a certain expression of rarefied scorn or disgust / indignant shadows / black, ankle-high shoes / the natural nightlight of the moon / an infernal aura or an angelic halo / a planet revolving its unspeakable tonnage in the blackness of space / a small bottle of holy water / secret denial and privilege / a smile of deep contentment

Miss Plarr

Misty, drizzling days / sharp, urgent rappings at the front door / a world of darkening mist / mist-covered locks / listening with intense expectancy / the world’s chaos of faces / a seething luxuriance / dark battlements of clouds / a mute and sullen twilight / a stone-gray sky / those days all shackled in gloom / a fugue of noise / the livid radiance of moonlight / the wild shape of some night-blossom / some strange and cruel kingdom / an intimate dungeon cell reserved for the most exclusive captivity / constant, noisy marauding / sedentary or stealthy rituals / an abyss of unspoken reproaches and suspicions / some ancient seagoing vessel / an old oil lamp / a series of quite fascinating lectures / a kind of brutality and an air of exile / deliriums of earth and sky / fog-bound islands in polar seas / shadowed realms littered with dead cities / peaks lacerated by unceasing winds / a bluish slime / the proper way to behave / the great mists of spring / murky sheets of ice / a world of shadows bound in place / the sound of something that stings the air / the hissing of rainy afternoons / immense blades sweeping over vast spaces / expansive wings cutting through cold winds / long whips lashing in darkness / intangible sympathies / a dark mesh of nightmares / a foul nest in which one’s own suspicions are swarming / links to a strictly mundane order / a briskness that seems to be an effort / a heavy spring dampness / lost to the world of wholesome practicalities / a hypnotic and fateful determination / a child’s weakness for prospects of misadventure / a fog-smothered landscape / a pale, floating web / an immense and awful kingdom / a patternless conglomerate of crystals / a misty graveyard / angular and many-faced monuments / the mountainous and murky thunderheads of a rainy season / the very essence of a storm / a matter of suspicion and conjecture / atrocious potential / fogs and mists and gray heaping skies / a conspicuous stridency / a dour mystique / a gray mist / skies of hissing rain

The Shadow At the Bottom of the World

Some feverish intent / sheaves of cornstalks standing brownish and brittle in a newly harvested field / a sky of empty light / fiery leafage / something dark, something abysmal / small shadowy voices / sweet wine turning to vinegar / a hysteric brilliance / displays of thorn apple, sumac, and towering sunflowers / crooked roadside fences / a moonlit field / a bright round moon / nocturnal solitude / patched-up overalls / worn flannel / the withered leaves of cornstalks / moonlight spread across a dead field / a great idol in shabby disguise / a sacred avatar out of season / fidgeting bemusement / a leaden vault of clouds / pure sunlight / misty dreams of the past night / a vine-twisted stone wall / dormant vines / a strange network of dead veins / calculated grayness / radiant leaves / legions of local cicadas / a dark fungus / of the blackest earth / a rich loam / a bog of shadows / an abyss in the outline of a man / the feel of wind and water / a few shifting flames / flames of only the slightest warmth / black flames / the molten texture of spoiled fruit / a shriveled scarecrow / an armory of axes, shovels, and other implements / an eccentricity of the harvest / a viscous mire / innumerable insects laughing / sprouting blackness / a perverse reluctance / the great shadow of a moonless night / the dark rustling depths of the season / the glass globes of streetlamps / the dense leaves of elms and oaks and maples / blazing auras / the frigid aurora of dawn / frost-powdered earth / shadows and corn shocks / countless insects chattering unseen / the feverish life of the earth / the wrinkled grimace of decay / corrupted by vile impulses / a mound of soft dirt / the darkish grooves of ancient bark / the mottled complexion of old flesh / a multitude of crooked smiles / a freakish mask painted with russet, rashy colors / a virulent intensity / an autumn night when fields lay ragged in moonlight / moist and fertile shadows / a hollow-eyed howling malignity / the cold emptiness of space / the pale gaze of the moon / the depths of an extraordinary harvest / insecure hints and delvings / the luxuriant shadow of trees / the mocking plumage of a strange season / an array of whims and suspicions / scraps of lush color / gold and crimson hieroglyphs / deathless leaves / an ill-formed village / a hideous impersonation of a face / leprous masks / knotty shadows / a subterranean craze of roots and tendrils / an underworld riot of branching convolutions / gnarled ornamentations / autumnal decay / knives and axes and curving scythes / countless colored leaves / pronouncements of dire or delightful curiosity / a dull trance / a wild luminousness / a diamond-bright fever burning within / perennial strangeness / tenacious foliage / softly glowing against a black sky / an untimely nocturnal rainbow / a harvest of hues / peach gold / pumpkin orange / honey yellow / winy amber / apple red / plum violet / the pyrotechnics of a new autumn / a thousand glittering dreams / a rigid scarecrow / a patchwork of shadows / a quivering glow / a premature craving / an expertly whetted blade / a betrayal or deception on the part of creation itself / something buried deep within appearances / something that wears a mask to hide itself / holding a spatula like a weapon / moldering shadows / a dreamless sleep / a sudden rage of mortification / the remains of a dismantled scarecrow / an ashen autumn morning / the feeling of blood / a bottomless grave

[turquoisedays]

Grimscribe Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Grimscribe. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, gore, nihilism, unreality, body horror, clowns, and insects.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Tagged by: Me, myself and I, because I’m ALWAYS A SLUG FOR THOMAS LIGOTTI.

Tagging: @choujin @mothersins @flowerytruth (You decide which muse! >:3c) @givealls (For Kazuma mayhap?) annnnnnnd my other blog.

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The Last Feast of Harlequin

A place behind the clownish mask / an enthusiastic urgency / sunny fields and farms / steeply roofed houses / a weird distortion of perspective / an album of old snapshots / a pointed hat jauntily askew / a billboard displaying a group of grinning vegetables / a neutral, bureaucratic voice / blue-green ink / a brilliant and profound circus of learning / a quotation from Poe’s “The Conqueror Worm” / a feeling of frigid numbness / dull, earth-colored scenery / the snowfalls of late autumn / black, ragged clumps of abandoned nests / the thin light of a winter afternoon / poles raveled with evergreen / holly wreaths / green lights / green streamers / peacock green floodlights / an eerie emerald haze / chthonic divinities / miniature candy canes / colored lights that bloom out of flower-shaped sockets / a chilling brilliance of manner and expression / sea-green lights / the face of an adept clown / a heart bathed in green / another coldness within the cold / warmly wrapped bodies and green-scarved necks / worried and guilt ridden glances / a wormy mass / the black void of winter / the brightness of an artificial spring / a great green rainbow / green gleaming streets / the dark immensity of a winter night / an effect of stricken horror and despair / an inhuman likeness more proper to something under the earth than above it / a festival within a festival / depressingly pallid clowns / the particular kind of hatred of resulting from some powerful and irrational memory / optimistic greenery in a period of gray dormancy / a kind of obnoxious intelligence / freezing atop an icy throne / commitment to a meaningful mania / bodiless invisibility / seeing without being seen / a sea of zigging and zagging celebrants / the darkness of narrow country roads / innocent normalcy / icy wind / trembling with cold / lanterns that beam with dazzling and frosty light / cadaverous clowns / the apex of darkness / a long snowy robe / moody malignancy / pure unlived lives / all the many shapes of death and dissolution / a dirge for existence / a sea of thin, bloodless faces / icy beauty / a moment of frozen trance / the death known to those whom the gods have first made mad / the welcoming glow of green / slow and silent and entrancing / a velvety white abyss / the paradise of the unborn

The Spectacles in the Drawer

A double-handled dagger with a single blade of polished stone / tall cabinets / ceiling-high shelves / tantalizing arcana / glistening fog / a tedious clarity / a cyclone of strange patterns and colors / spasms of sardonic hilarity / a pale-blue blade / stiff, crackling pages / a seeker of recondite knowledge / undying hope / a gutful of shame and regret / a small and silvery knife / a razor-sharp letter opener / a pair of old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles / everything that fascinates / the wish to look away / an infinite and overwhelming scene / the dazzling diffusion of all known universes / landscapes without end / landscapes that are themselves alive / a life unknown to mortal eyes / form and motion / design and dimension / cilia wriggling / mammoth shapes lurching in outline / an obscure oceanic niche / a mere fragment of all that there is to see and to know / labyrinthine astronomies / constant transformations of both appearance and essence / a witness to the most cryptic phenomena that exist or could ever exist / the ultimate thing waiting to be born / still greater visions / a cataclysm which will be both the beginning and the end / unbearable anticipation / ecstasy and dread / the ultimate source of all manifestation / the absolute and the wholly unknown / a revolution of all matter and energy / the visions remaining active inside you, deep in your blood / to be dazzled in the worst way / the total substance of things / an occultist auction / a disreputable quarter of a foreign city / a student of the Gnostics / artificial eyes / a malicious aim to undermine / a child’s awkward embrace / rusty scales / cockeyed bookcases / broken toys / standing ashtrays / desolate bazaars / the charm of disenchantment / a tilting mirror / a climate of dull horror / sinister whispers that make no sense yet seem filled with meaning / sensations of infinite expansiveness and ineffable meaning / astronomical emotions / a mutilated carcass / something of terrible rawness / a torn and flayed thing / microscopic precision / twitching and quivering like a gory heart / hellish giggling / a haunting, lifelong memory / unfathomable depths of feeling / to suffer over and over / a way to kill a dream / the sheltering shadows of one’s home / sobering shadows / a cold and stagnant peace / esoteric ecstasy / vulgar pain / a broad expanse of empty field / a mosaic of mirrors / a shocking galaxy / redundant reflections / dark stars on a silvery firmament / to see with countless eyes / a body ripped raw / a gallery of glass and gore

Flowers of the Abyss

The first rank scent of autumn / a glass of water / a thirsty walker of the woods / a pale flower amongst the dark summer trees / a ghostly flower of autumn / grayish planks / a pallid lily / a pulpy toadstool / a roof of rippling shingles shaped like scales from some great fish / sea-green and sparkling / attic gables with paned windows / the tip of a tear / hundreds of raindrops / light rain / an icy autumn storm / a fragrance damp and decayed / walking ahead of the clouds / the echo of hollow words / a long crooked arm / malodorous gardens of misshapen growths / an oval mirror in an ornate frame / cobwebbed corners / tilting books / something shapeless and nameless / something dampish and submerged / something swampy and abysmal / the pure cold of an autumn storm / a dusty green bottle / a sparkling glass / a world of frozen light / cool and limpid water / the hardness of a jewel / a small music box / stars of sound / twilight shadows and silence / infinitesimal flakes of light / barren decor of dead days / yellowish haze / silvery tones / a tenebrous expanse / unknown exploits / the madness of things / a vagabond of the universe / a drifter among spaces / a mess of hacked pieces / dark horizon meeting dark horizon / a universe of darkness / a convulsing tangle of shapes / the radiant entrails of hell / rain-softened soil / parted waters rushing to remerge / corrupt waters / sticky and pumping veins / slimy tendrils / aberrations of the abyss / a night-gowned figure / a crowd carrying lights / lamps and lanterns bobbing in darkness / clusters of flames / buried like a forgotten dream

Nethescurial

Delicate, crinkly script / greenish-black discoloration / dark waters / moonlit skies / earth mounds / mountain peaks / northern leaf and southern flower / each star and the voids between them / blood and bone / watchful winds / murky waters below / contorted rock formations / pointed pines and spruces of gigantic stature / sea-facing cliffs / stagnant fog / an omnipresent evil / a sleeping sense of doom awakened into full vigour / evil, beloved and menacing evil / sunshine and flowers / darkness and dead leaves / some shaping force of demonic temperament / wartlike hills / tumorous trees / oil lamps scattered about / a sacral glow / a degree of mutual ease / the verdigris of centuries / decomposing jade / pandemonism / cold gray waters / a mere mask for the foulest evil / an absolute evil whose reality is mitigated only by our blindness to it / the universe as a dream / the feverish nightmare of a demonic demiurge / an abstract monster of metaphysics / an altar of coarse stone / skinny shadows / to be actually bound in blackness / white-faced shadows / luminous smoke / glowing, ectoplasmic haze / something thick and oily and strangely colored / an ancient anonymity / spirits beyond all hope or consolation except in the evil to which they would abandon themselves / a ceremony of the chosen / an ancient, darkened mould / petrified lichen / wrought iron tracery / great overgrown gardens of writhing coral / a chaos of little carvings / a world of demonic faces and forms / oneiric visions / inkish waters / an infinitely extensive body of evil / the gods of the ordinary world / dream-induced illusions / visionary intrusions / a banquet of fear / what is squirming beneath every surface / penetrating the usual armor of objects / dark and greenish / garbled whisperings / an island of grass and trees in the middle of the city / globes of light balanced on slim metal poles / a glowing orb / set in the great blackness above  / trees swishing overhead / muddied green / walking some indefinite time along some indefinite route / strings of colored lights / a tall, illuminated booth / clownish creatures / expressionless faces and dead puppet eyes / slow, monotonous phrases mingling like the sequences of a fugue / the faces of the living and the dead / wind-blown trees / the greenish darkness of the night / mold-colored smoke / a squirming, creeping, smearing shape / a great deformed crab / the black oceans of infinity / the island of the moon / the cancerous totality of all creatures / oozing ichor / dying in a nightmare

The Dreaming in Nortown

A solitary perdition / a mind to remember the stages of their downfall / a mirror to multiply their abject glory / a memoir of dreams / peculiar powers of sympathy / a decaying and spacious apartment / an ill-mapped world of dreams / a slightly infernal aroma / an acrid combination of tobacco and autumn nights / a small red glow / a long threadbare overcoat / many pungent Octobers / the remote heights or depths of an artificial paradise / the stumbling words of a returning explorer / a stuporous and awed voice / midnight assemblies / in the grip of strange mystical ecstasies / long red hair / esoteric development / a general tenor of chaos / a quality which may or may not make for good company but which always offers promise of the extraordinary / a contrived noisiness / a strange catalogue of sounds / low moans emanating from the most shadowy chasms of dream / sudden intakes of breath / the suction of a startled gasp / abrupt snarls and snorts of a bestial timbre / expressions of unknown turmoil / the calm darkness of the night / staccato groans / the entire audible spectrum of nightmare-inspired terror / mingling overtones of awe and ecstasy / a willing submission to some unknown ordeal / the deeper registers of somnolence / the smell of a freshly lit cigar / the dun colors of dawn / a flood of eidetic horrors / fleeting scenes of nightmare / a reverberating slam / a note scrawled upon a slip of paper / a disproportionate anxiety / the imagined threat of a reprimand / the frayed end of a disciplinary whip / colors twisting in blackness / a tentacled abyss / bone-colored stars / a dream-distorted voice / a spiral notebook with a cover of mock marble / mystical masochism / feats of occult daredevilry / glimpsing the inferno with eyes of ice / a doomed determinism / the striving for horrific dominion over horror itself / wobbling glitter / a field of venomous colors / the glistening inner skin of deadliest nightshade / the entrancing fragrance of fear / the city’s lurid glamor / cryptic badges whose significance is known only to the initiated / comic colors from an electric spectrum / a chilly autumn evening / engraved brass / dingy neon / a black autumn sky / scattering sparks across the sidewalk / flea-market antiquities / calling feline-voiced / colorful chaos / neon signs streaming across the night / clothed in flashing colors / a many-hued phantasmagoria / a flickering and disorderly rainbow of dreams / a multitude of indecisive thoughts and impulses / a brick and neon landscape / a frigid and fragrant October night / darkness and a voice / a coarse scream / a pulsing opalescent aura / a delirious blend of images derived from nightmare / an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon / a field of fear / a painfully lush iridescence / a burnt-out patch of earth / newspapers mutilated by time / two fresh cigars / a thin book-like box / a scene from some Boschian hell / a hideous series of transfigurations / the screaming mass of a damned soul / an abyss of nightmares / explorations in a hell of one’s own choosing

The Mystics of Muelenburg

Trees made of poster board / houses built of colored foam / mud and dust and ashes / a nightmare of nonsense / fantasy, that misty domain of pure meaning / dim and empty storage space / an ancient armchair / reposing far beneath crumbling rafters / surveying remote worlds / a burst of fireworks / buzzing like flies in the blackness / glow worms flitting in the blinding sun / to keep the sun in the sky / to keep the dead in the earth / a universal vice / a parasite of chaos / a maggot of vice / the prospect of absolute terror / men in the mouths of demons / withholding heaven’s light / the pointed shadows of peaked roofs and jutting gables / faded artifacts of a dead town / high castle turrets / grayness undisturbed / ashen twilight / the yellow light of lamps / sumptuous chambers / humble rooms / the lost luxury of shadows / an infinite vault of glowing dust / a deception by demons / old deities formerly driven from the earth / shadows streaming horribly / the twitching light of a thousand candles / prismatic jewels / a greyish whirlpool / indefinite twilight / the blackness which is the domain of death / necromantic learning / drunken dialogues / unparalleled credulity / fluidity, always fluidity / an ornamented void / the stars and moon / the legions of the dead

In the Shadow of Another World

Walking down streets at twilight / watered lawns / the edges of leaves / pale specters within a fog / the infinite sky itself / gently stirring trees / old silent houses / strange cities disguised as clouds / the depths of a vast, echoing abyss / a blurry little window with a crack in it / a tree-lined street / a pale sky at dusk / peaks and porches / worn wooden steps / dreams and vapor posing as solid matter / a fabulous overlap of properties / petrified flesh / gigantic bones from great beasts of old / chimneys and shingles / a shadow on the horizon / a thing of nightmarish beauty / impossible hopes / a kind of ceremonious desolation / translucent festivals / the faraway sounds of mad carnivals / an instinct for mystification / dubious spectacles / trumped-up histrionics / immaculate to the point of being suspect / a plush and well-tended mausoleum / where the dead are truly at rest / oppressive awareness of other times / secret conspiracies with departed spirits / the unnatural mood of twilight / sinister echoes / dark, polished floors / lofty, uncobwebbed ceilings / a malign presence in the cellar / an insane shadow in the attic / thaumaturgic curios / a hermetic chant of the heavens / no hint of hauntedness / an innocent ambiance / a spiritual wasteland / spiritually antiseptic surroundings / a twisting and tenuous stairway / shattered panes of glass / misshapen glyphs / the shadowy nuances of clouds / a twisted kaleidoscope of colors / the aura of stained-glass cathedral / some obscure desecration / prismatic lenses / that of the dead or the demonic / an eclipse of this world’s vision / a quivering translucence / iridescent sterility / the aftermath of a strange exorcism / neither hallowed nor unholy / a pristine laboratory / a science of nightmares / a small, lamplit library / night’s darkness / a voice that’s accustomed to speaking of miracles / mystical freakshows / a grave sincerity / dissonant overtones of fear / the shadows of another world / forms of specter or demon / the eyes of the flesh / a luminous hell / psychic survival / hopelessly dreaming / terror recollected in tranquility / mazy trauma / the sensations of the soul / a monstrous mystery / a theoretician of nightmares / crude and cryptic designs / a remote and shadowy stage / an adept of pasteboard visions / mucilage and gauze / pulling the strings of light and shadow / shadows gathering / a strange radiance / phosphorescent panes / superlunary light / some cosmic tapestry / a haunted world / the marriage of insanity and metaphysics / a spectral ontogeny / a pageant of nightmares / sunlit bazaars in exotic cities / transparent masks / insectoid countenances / moonlit streets in antique towns / a strange-eyed slithering / dim galleries of empty museums / a ghostly mold / the sullen hues of old paintings / sticky luxuriance / pulpy warmth / an uncanny flux of sounds / cadaverous generations / sculptures of human coral / bodies heaped and unwhole / limbs projecting without order / eyes scattered and searching the darkness / a monument to Terror / a maze of interconnecting doors / spectral monstrosities / the cover of masks / the concealment of stones / feverish properties and intentions / a framed phantasmagoria / grotesque transfigurations / a systemless cosmogony / the caprice of the immaterial / weirdly lucent rooms / chaotic fantasies / narrow, spiraling stairs / the gazing eye of some god / a pyrotechnic craze of colors /  a vibrating echo of vocal utterance / swirling sights / a vacuum and a void / doubtful strategies / unknown and extravagant possibilities / occult theories / arcane analyses / the irreducible certainty of nightmare / great shadows in the stars / an infinite catastrophe / protective sigils / the full glare of starlight / stars and shadows / privileged arcana / the enchantments of hell / cold sunlight / the visionary time of twilight

The Cocoons

A gloved hand twitching / a rather unapologetic tone / egg-shaped pills / a half-glass of water / a soft grinding noise / a quietly urgent voice /  blotched vapors /  a growl of exasperation / unpeopled avenues / a mass of shadows / a landscape without pattern or substance / the moon shining / a doubtful glance / a devastated plain / an open field heaped with debris / bits of glass and scraps of metal / lunar spaciousness / a skeletal structure with all markings of identity scraped off its bones / a densely tangled nest of houses / the dull light of the moon / a yellowish swatch of illumination / high wooden fences / a ruined turret grazed by moonlight / a minor mania / a cobwebbed corner / a blank battered wall / warped floor moldings / a watery light / the quivering light of candles / an old-fashioned film projector / the whirring of a projector / a visual record of a scientific experiment / dark wiry appendages /  a pair of slender snapping pincers / tiny translucent wings / glistening but useless / malicious eyes / a dubious look / candles flickering like fire-flies / a cold swamp of shadows / a collection of bones / dazed silence / a clockwork world / sunrise schedules / lunar routines / a pandemonium of forces / a phantasmagoria of possibilities / the shadow of a laugh /  a curious hedonism that can’t be controlled / the vagaries of omnipotence / breeder of indulgence / languorous exhaustion / a psychic matter / unheard of habits / a clown’s oversized grin / bliss on the brink of apotheosis / a universal process of transfiguration / restless skittering / a pitiful delight / giddy pride / demoniac undercurrents / the grotesque ultimatums of creation

The Night School

A high, full moon shining among the spreading clouds / shadows singing with the clouds / a slowly flowing mass of mottled shapes / a kind of unclean outpouring / the black sewers of space / the wall of night /  smoke, dense and dirty, rising up to the sky / the spastic flames of a small fire / a slender gentleman / a dark suit / broken bones / the process of degeneration / the mulchy rot of autumn or early spring / yellowish light / dark scabby bricks / ruined factories / ravaged mausoleums / abandoned orphanages / a blossom of the cemetery or the cesspool / guttering candles / blurred remnants of past lessons / cloacal forces / time as a flow of sewage / drowning in the pools of night / a thousand molting autumns / the melting soil of spring / a pair of yellowish eyes / undiluted darkness / a darkness far greater than the night itself / consolidated darkness / the science of a spectral pathology / a philosophy of absolute disease / the metaphysics of things sinking into a common disintegration or rising together / dark rottenness /  filthy smoke from some smoldering source of expansive corruption / the scent of corruption / the nostalgic perfume of autumn decay / the feculent muskiness of a spring thaw / smoky blackness / the offal of worlds in decline / the dark compost of those about to be born / the primeval impurity In which all things are founded / native putridity / pieces of paper with strange symbols on them / the very face of a plague—pustulant, scabbed, and stinking terribly / a black fog / many voices crying and calling from total blackness / tightly packed earth in a grave / the disease of the night / bright flames / the noise of a fire and the wind / a full moon / shining bright and blurry / a luminous mold / the great sewers of night

The Glamour

A fine aura of fantasy / both blurred and brightened / a starless evening / diamonds of plate glass / old buildings of dark brick / the display window of a toy store / a chaotic tableau of preposterous excitation / mechanized monkeys / fated antics / tiny cymbals / the destined pirouettes of a music-box ballerina / a newly sprung jack-in-the-box / strangely picturesque / dreamily illuminated / sculptured frosting / a winter landscape of swirling, drifting whiteness / snowy rosettes / layers of icy glitter / a glacial kingdom / a brilliant arctic scene / a vitality of enterprise / a glossy light / the placidly enigmatic expressions of a different time / faded lighting / an old photograph / the kind of acute anticipation that a child might experience at a carnival / a possessing impulse without object / wretchedly aglow / a long, narrow corridor with a single light set far into its depths / a strange shade of purple, like that of a freshly exposed heart / a purple lamp / arterial light / a deep pink / a richly blooded brain / a beating heart / wispy shrouds / sparse hairs sticking to the scalp of an old corpse / purple-tinted glass / the darkness of a theater / a swarm of filaments / an elaborate chandelier / a sickly, liverish shade / an operating room where a torso lies open on the table / a palette of pinks and reds and purples / diseased viscera imitating all of the shades of sunset / headstones in a graveyard / endless filthy alleys / long desolate corridors in an old asylum / the dripping passages of a sewer / a dust-blinded window / a dark unvisited cellar / a mirror gone rheumy with age / facets of murky crystal / cobwebs / long pale threads / hazy purple light / the slow curling of thin smoke / a great rectangular web / the ever-mutating images of clouds / a surge of dark elation / a sudden chill announcing bad weather / a vibrant presence / an expression of avid malignance / inner webbings / swirling fibers / wild shocks of twisting hair / a portrait of atrocity / lust for sites and ceremonies of mayhem / writhing cobwebs / reaching tendrils / graveyards and alleyways / a joyous hysteria / a pale purple / sinister and seamy regions / spectral ambiance / all pervasive purple coloration / the labyrinth of a living anatomy / palest pink / a purple light / putrid chambers and cloisters / an infernal land / fleshy, gelatinous integuments / translucent tissue / the theater of a mad surgery / hair-thin sutures / unseen hands designing unnatural shapes and systems / weaving a nest in which possession would take place / the weaver and web-maker / an old puppet-master / setting a helpless creature with new strings / through eyes unknown / purple shadows / a type of degraded rapture / a seizure of debauched panic / webs of hair / great evil / an appeal for deliverance / eyes that would see what should not be seen / stray threads pulled from a sleeve or pocket / a paralytic silence / eyes gazing fierce and malignant / a purple glow / two shafts of the purest purple light / an old woman with glowing eyes

Father Sevich’s Visit

A manner at first vaguely troublesome and afterward rather attractive / the arrival of a priest / the very echoes of the air / mellow afternoon sunlight / dark wooden floors / pale contortions of ancient wall paper / invisible games / abstract dread and a bizarre sort of indebtedness / a thick maze of propositions / a well-made bed / a relentless failure / cloistral tunnels / vaulted penetralia / a single column-clutching hand / the necessary features of fear / a maddening task / a series of completely irrelevant expressions / misty-eyed wonder / cretinous bafflement / smiling in an almost amiable way at one one’s impending doom / the trap of expectation / a sleepy whisper / the sound of soft conversation / the world of good manners and polite talk / a look of incompleteness / some unfinished effigy in a toy maker’s workshop / something vital to expression / the purple-robed mysteries of priesthood / animated eyes / withered things reeking of medicine and prayer / a painfully delicate subject / varnished wood / salvation through suffering / sacred horrors / the divine destiny toward which the paths of anguish have always led / volumes of blessed agony / an attitude of prayerful pleading / torturing demons / a single squatted devil / bristling lashes that sprout like weeds / an explosion of miniature grotesquerie / a brief and calculated absence / a modest fund of moral energy / a macabre icon / profane lessons / a countenance of true terror / a ridiculously empty slate / an off-stage atrocity / a cycle of mute, incredible lore / anthropomorphic mist / an eerie lividity / unconscious hours of darkness / a chronicle of truly unspeakable things / the light of every constellation in the visible universe / the oppressive mysteries of the autumn season / thick orange crayons / black cats / black paper / a hopeless urge for innovation / a tiny white collar / dripping with fever / hat and cloak and walking stick / narrow, nocturnal streets / a fairy-tale vision / serpentine lanes / the distorted glow of street lamps / the thinnest blade of moon / a narrow niche / an unpaved lane / a small courtyard surrounded by high walls / the stars above / jaundiced lamplight / a stairway of cut stone / the earth and absolute blackness / tiny lights glimmering like stars / clouds of shadows / some golden metal / a caricature of serenity / a hand as white as the whitest glove / chaotic rays / underworld starlight / a certain expression of rarefied scorn or disgust / indignant shadows / black, ankle-high shoes / the natural nightlight of the moon / an infernal aura or an angelic halo / a planet revolving its unspeakable tonnage in the blackness of space / a small bottle of holy water / secret denial and privilege / a smile of deep contentment

Miss Plarr

Misty, drizzling days / sharp, urgent rappings at the front door / a world of darkening mist / mist-covered locks / listening with intense expectancy / the world’s chaos of faces / a seething luxuriance / dark battlements of clouds / a mute and sullen twilight / a stone-gray sky / those days all shackled in gloom / a fugue of noise / the livid radiance of moonlight / the wild shape of some night-blossom / some strange and cruel kingdom / an intimate dungeon cell reserved for the most exclusive captivity / constant, noisy marauding / sedentary or stealthy rituals / an abyss of unspoken reproaches and suspicions / some ancient seagoing vessel / an old oil lamp / a series of quite fascinating lectures / a kind of brutality and an air of exile / deliriums of earth and sky / fog-bound islands in polar seas / shadowed realms littered with dead cities / peaks lacerated by unceasing winds / a bluish slime / the proper way to behave / the great mists of spring / murky sheets of ice / a world of shadows bound in place / the sound of something that stings the air / the hissing of rainy afternoons / immense blades sweeping over vast spaces / expansive wings cutting through cold winds / long whips lashing in darkness / intangible sympathies / a dark mesh of nightmares / a foul nest in which one’s own suspicions are swarming / links to a strictly mundane order / a briskness that seems to be an effort / a heavy spring dampness / lost to the world of wholesome practicalities / a hypnotic and fateful determination / a child’s weakness for prospects of misadventure / a fog-smothered landscape / a pale, floating web / an immense and awful kingdom / a patternless conglomerate of crystals / a misty graveyard / angular and many-faced monuments / the mountainous and murky thunderheads of a rainy season / the very essence of a storm / a matter of suspicion and conjecture / atrocious potential / fogs and mists and gray heaping skies / a conspicuous stridency / a dour mystique / a gray mist / skies of hissing rain

The Shadow At the Bottom of the World

Some feverish intent / sheaves of cornstalks standing brownish and brittle in a newly harvested field / a sky of empty light / fiery leafage / something dark, something abysmal / small shadowy voices / sweet wine turning to vinegar / a hysteric brilliance / displays of thorn apple, sumac, and towering sunflowers / crooked roadside fences / a moonlit field / a bright round moon / nocturnal solitude / patched-up overalls / worn flannel / the withered leaves of cornstalks / moonlight spread across a dead field / a great idol in shabby disguise / a sacred avatar out of season / fidgeting bemusement / a leaden vault of clouds / pure sunlight / misty dreams of the past night / a vine-twisted stone wall / dormant vines / a strange network of dead veins / calculated grayness / radiant leaves / legions of local cicadas / a dark fungus / of the blackest earth / a rich loam / a bog of shadows / an abyss in the outline of a man / the feel of wind and water / a few shifting flames / flames of only the slightest warmth / black flames / the molten texture of spoiled fruit / a shriveled scarecrow / an armory of axes, shovels, and other implements / an eccentricity of the harvest / a viscous mire / innumerable insects laughing / sprouting blackness / a perverse reluctance / the great shadow of a moonless night / the dark rustling depths of the season / the glass globes of streetlamps / the dense leaves of elms and oaks and maples / blazing auras / the frigid aurora of dawn / frost-powdered earth / shadows and corn shocks / countless insects chattering unseen / the feverish life of the earth / the wrinkled grimace of decay / corrupted by vile impulses / a mound of soft dirt / the darkish grooves of ancient bark / the mottled complexion of old flesh / a multitude of crooked smiles / a freakish mask painted with russet, rashy colors / a virulent intensity / an autumn night when fields lay ragged in moonlight / moist and fertile shadows / a hollow-eyed howling malignity / the cold emptiness of space / the pale gaze of the moon / the depths of an extraordinary harvest / insecure hints and delvings / the luxuriant shadow of trees / the mocking plumage of a strange season / an array of whims and suspicions / scraps of lush color / gold and crimson hieroglyphs / deathless leaves / an ill-formed village / a hideous impersonation of a face / leprous masks / knotty shadows / a subterranean craze of roots and tendrils / an underworld riot of branching convolutions / gnarled ornamentations / autumnal decay / knives and axes and curving scythes / countless colored leaves / pronouncements of dire or delightful curiosity / a dull trance / a wild luminousness / a diamond-bright fever burning within / perennial strangeness / tenacious foliage / softly glowing against a black sky / an untimely nocturnal rainbow / a harvest of hues / peach gold / pumpkin orange / honey yellow / winy amber / apple red / plum violet / the pyrotechnics of a new autumn / a thousand glittering dreams / a rigid scarecrow / a patchwork of shadows / a quivering glow / a premature craving / an expertly whetted blade / a betrayal or deception on the part of creation itself / something buried deep within appearances / something that wears a mask to hide itself / holding a spatula like a weapon / moldering shadows / a dreamless sleep / a sudden rage of mortification / the remains of a dismantled scarecrow / an ashen autumn morning / the feeling of blood / a bottomless grave

[lairofsentinel]

“Sandor, I’m not going to steal that... thing. Even less that I know it’s for that damned mirror.” “But... I’m in great need of that compound.” “No.” “What if... I can pay for your services...?” “Are you serious?” Ifan's disbelief was transparent in his voice. “A contract?” “Sandor!” “I need that filoxitelina!”

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Divinity Original Sin 2 : About Feathers and Claws -  The Divine Doom Deleting scenes make me want to draw them.

[a-damson-in-distress]

From Dusk Till Dawn - Chapter 5

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: Sakura was searching for a purpose. Madara was thirsting for revenge. Little do they know their fates intertwined centuries ago. Once he broke free from his banishment, he would usher in a new dusk. Until he realised that she was his dawn. Historical/mythological AU.

Note: Salutations, my lovelies. I’m back from the dead. So I know most of you will have probably forgotten this fic even exists (hell, even I forgot lol), but guess what - IT’S BACK BITCHES! I honestly have no idea what came over me today, but somehow I got reminded of this blog and the fics I started here, so I decided to dig it up out of the depths of my browser history, and you know what? I totally forgot how much fun I had writing these and that daaaaaaamn I had some good stories going on, which were in desperate need of updating, if only to ease my guilty conscience. 

Speaking of which, I honestly have no excuses for going AWOL for so long. I know some of you may have been bummed, because I think this fic did have a teeny tiny bit of a following, but honestly guys, this writing blog was only one of my many hobbies and it was never meant to take up too much of my time. It was one of these things I occasionaly devote my time to, but that was always doomed to be second place to my life/relationship/university responsibilites. But on the bright side, I did finally get my Bachelor’s degree, whoooo! Buuuuuuuut I am still at uni doing my Master’s, sooooo ya know - still not going to be a regular thing here. 

Anyways, TL;DR: I wanted to update this little nugget here out of pure nostalgia and curiosity to see how many of you will still remember the story, to see how many will appreciate and like this update and depending on your reaction, I might actually take up writing again. Goodie, I’m excited to be back. Have fun! :)

Oh also, please check out the first 4 chapters before reading this one, since - you know - I let so much dust settle on this story none of y’all will probably know what’s going on. 

EDIT: I had to delete the links to the first 4 chapters, because this chapter wasn’t showing up under the madasaku tag or any of the other tags, but as soon as I deleted the links it did? Soooo yeah whatever, fuck you Tumblr links. You’re gonna have to scroll through my blog to get to the other chapters, I’m sorry. I’ll figure out a way to post all of it in one piece, promise. Have fun and let me know what you think! :)

500 years ago…

The heavens stood still.

Silence.

Death.

Victory.

Tsunade watched a tired Jiraiya fall to his knees and let out a pained groan. Allowing a nervous sigh to escape her lips, she closed her eyes.

They did it. They finally did it. After decades of warfare, bloodshed, and carnage, they finally managed to seal away the bane of their existence.

The last of the dusk gods had fallen.

Opening her eyes again, she let her tired gaze wander across the scene of their final battle. Slain gods lay scattered across the barren field, the ashen ground beneath them stained in the colour of their blood.  Giant craters burning with the dreaded flames of the underworld tore through the otherwise idyllic scenery of the heavens like wounds from blade. The black flames of the dusk god’s feared Amaterasu eating up what little was left of the trees that once made this surrounding a forest.

It matters not, she kept telling herself. He is gone. And the dawn gods shall rebuild.

Just as Tsunade was about to join Jiraiya to take a look at his wounds, an ear-piercing screeching tore through her head, forcing her to her knees. Barely managing to open her eyes against the penetrating pain in her mind, she watched the other surviving gods around her writhe and hold their heads in agony.

All of a sudden, the screeching ebbed, giving way to a low hissing sound before a mysterious voice whispered into all of their ears:

At the fall of dusk, at the fall of old, spring shall bring forth his keeper,

who will call to him until his return at the night the darkness swallows the heavens.

Young and weak, the Eastern light shall seek out the old power in the West,

who will envelop her in darkness to unleash their true might.

Dawn will be his light, and dusk shall return.

It was only when the throbbing pain in her head finally dissipated that Tsunade dared to look up. The remaining gods looked at each other questioningly.

They were familiar with this pain, with this feeling. The hissing voice in their head. The dawn gods all knew what this was.

A prophecy. Foreshadowing the return of Madara.

The survivors did what they could to tend to the wounded on the battlefield. When no one else could be saved, the gods set them aflame and watched their bodies dissipate into golden dust, releasing their divine essence into the vast expanse of the universe, praying for them to be reborn again. Then, they retreated to their respective homes – or what was left of them – to lick their wounds, celebrate their survival, and grieve the death of the fallen.

Tsunade felt a heavy sadness weighing down her heart that night. Despite their unimaginable victory over the mightiest god to ever grace the face of the heavens, they had lost so many. She knew more peaceful times lay ahead of them now, and yet she felt restless. It had been ages since the universe had whispered a prophecy into their ears. And this one was particularly unsettling.

Dusk shall return.

But they sealed him, Tsunade reminded herself. And with one of Hashirama’s seals, no less. She was the one who studied the dusk god’s inscriptions, who knew his incantations like the back of her hand. She was certain Hashirama’s seal would be enough to imprison Madara for the rest of his miserable days.

And yet, mere minutes after the dawn gods managed the unthinkable and sealed away the last dusk god, the universe decided to warn them of his return. And prophecies always came true, the dawn goddess knew that much.

Not only that, but the prophecy also spoke of some Eastern light, who would supposedly help him unleash his true might. A cold shiver ran down Tsunade’s spine at the thought of Madara teaming up with such a force of nature that will grant him even more fearsome powers than he already had.

Yet the goddess of healing had no time to dwell on her worrisome thoughts, as her mind picked up the desperate prayer of a mortal couple. Never one to abandon the ones in need, the blonde goddess raced down into the mortal realm and materialised unseen in the living room of a small hut. She watched the couple on their knees, huddled together in front of the fire. They were rocking back and forth, with the woman holding a small bundle in her arms and the man raising one arm pleadingly into the air, calling out to the goddess of healing to save this poor baby.

This baby? Is that not their own child, Tsunade thought suspiciously. Babies do not just fall from the heavens.

Taking one step closer to the fire, the goddess suddenly felt a divine glow emanating from the bundle in the woman’s arms. Tsunade would recognise that anywhere – the essence of the gods. This was indeed not the mortal couple’s child, but a newborn of the dawn gods.

Still hidden from the mortal’s view, she leaned down and caught a glimpse of pink hair and emerald green eyes, staring knowingly, yet tiredly at her. As Tsunade stretched out a hand towards the babe to check its body temperature, a tiny chubby fist suddenly enclosed her index finger. This little touch was enough to flood the goddess with a feeling of warm motherly love.

Tsunade knew in that instant that this deity shall be hers to raise, care for, and love.

With her divine power, she mentally reached out to the mortals and willed them to lay the small bundle on the floor by the fire. She watched them carefully lower the baby and step back from the fire, worriedly glancing around the living room and waiting for something to happen.

In the blink of an eye, the small bundle was gone. The couple sighed in relief and fell into each other’s arms, knowing their beloved goddess of healing would take care of that weak little girl.

“Do you really think that was a wise choice?”

Tsunade ignored Jiraiya’s incessant nagging and kept bouncing the little babe on her arm. Immediately after taking the young goddess from the mortal’s hut, she returned home to her half-standing palace in the East, where some of the surviving gods have retreated to recuperate. One of them being Kakashi, the feared god of lightning, who was pinning her with a scrutinising gaze.

“Jiraiya’s right, you know. Tonight, of all nights, with this new prophecy looming above our heads… Have you even thought for a second that she could be this Eastern light, his keeper that was prophesised?”

Tsunade scoffed and shot him a challenging glare. “Please, Kakashi, don’t be paranoid. It was just one of the millions of prayers I receive every day. Only this time, it happened to involve a newly born dawn goddess, instead of a weak mortal. Just because she is one of us, does not mean she is tied to the prophecy. In fact, we should be thankful our pantheon is growing again after we lost so many.”

“The prophecy clearly said that at the fall of dusk some kind of keeper will emerge who is destined to help Madara unleash his full power upon the heavens. The fall of dusk was tonight, and after decades of no new deities, tonight is the night the universe decides to give us a new goddess, during spring no less? Coincidences like these might happen to the mortals but not in the heavens,” Shikamaru grumbled before taking a well-deserved puff from his ivory kiseru.

Rolling her eyes at the god of wisdom and strategy, Tsunade switched the little bundle to her other arm and kept bouncing her up and down, before she said, “What you all fail to see is that she cannot be the Easter light from the prophecy, since I found her in a mortal village in the middle of nowhere, not even remotely close to anywhere East. And don’t you think that if such a powerful force destined to be tied to Madara emerged that we would not have felt its birth? Elemental abnormalities, time standing still, earthquakes – anything that might indicate a new divine force has emerged. But there was absolutely nothing when this little goddess here was born. In fact, she is so tiny and weak, I honestly doubt that she will have a purpose grander than making flowers grow, that’s how harmless she is.”

Tsunade saw the uncertain faces around her, their doubtful gazes boring into her determination to keep the babe. She had to convince them, somehow. She could not just leave a part of her divine family, especially now that her kin was nearly wiped out. As soon as the young goddess had touched her, Tsunade felt responsible for her. She had to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her head screaming at her to listen to the prophecy.

Yes, there were too many coincidences, Tsunade had to admit that herself. The prophecy clearly talks of a female, emerging during this particular night, during spring. All of which applied to the little dawn goddess in her arms.

But there was no way she could be the Eastern light; the goddess was not tied to any particular region. And Tsunade could not – for the life of her – imagine this tiny, frail little thing would be capable of stoking the fire of Madara’s wrath to the point that she would be the one to unleash his true might.

Shaking away her doubts, Tsunade gazed into the tired emeralds of the little girl in her arms. A smile spread across her lips when the tiny goddess snuggled closer to her chest.

There was absolutely no way she would abandon this little thing, not now after she lost so many of her family.

Raising her head, she shot a determined glance at all of the surviving deities in her presence and exclaimed, “I will not resign this precious goddess to a prophecy we have not even fully deciphered yet. None of us know what half of that steaming pile of donkey dung even means, so nobody is going to determine her fate based on any of that. Besides, even if she really is this keeper of his, this way we can at least raise her on our side. Teach her our story, our ways, our kindness. She will never be corrupted by him if we have the power to tell her the things we want her know. If he really does come back and they really do cross paths, there is no way she will choose him. I will tie her to me as tightly as she tied me to her.”

Lowering her caramel eyes, she cast a loving glance at the newest addition to her family and whispered softly, “I will protect my daughter from him. No matter what.”

Went to him… willingly … kidnapped … she chose him … sacrifice …

Sakura’s muddled mind started picking up fragments of speech as she slowly started to wake from her slumber. Forcing her weak body to sit up, she cast a disoriented glance around her only to find herself in her chambers at her mother’s palace.

All of a sudden, memories started flooding her mind and she felt her heart rate pick up.

Madara.

She finally met him. She was in his palace. She was so close to getting some answers. A blush crept up her neck at the thought of his calloused fingers holding her chin in place as he was leaning closer to her, before… Before the dawn gods laid siege to his palace to take her away from him.

Wait, from him? Where did that thought come from? Since when did Sakura think she belonged by his side? She had only known him for a few moments and from what she had seen on the battlefields, he was not a god whose company she should be yearning for. And yet, she had never felt so strong, so alive as when being close to him.

And now that they were separated, her old familiar frailty had returned as well.

The young dawn goddess could feel frustration bubble up inside her. Rarely did she get mad at something or someone, but her constant state of weakness had been a source of anger for all of her short life. And the one being who could rectify that just had to be her mother’s mortal enemy and the one who had been waging war against her kin for the last weeks.  

Sakura felt like throwing something against the wall. Alas, all the smashable things in her room were solid gold or heavy ivory, all of which was too difficult for her to even pick up now. In Madara’s presence, however, she felt like she could carry the entire heavens on her shoulders.

Her depressing thoughts were interrupted when she felt the voices on the other side of her door grow louder.

“Look what Tsunade’s tying down has brought us. She went to him, willingly. All that keeping her close was for nothing!”

“She is so weak, she cannot even open doors without struggling, and you really think she made that trip all the way to the Western end of the heavens on her own? He clearly kidnapped her. We are lucky he left her alive for whatever reason.”

“Then tell me why she was reaching out to him when I-“

The angry voices were silenced when her mother suddenly burst through the doors and stomped into her room, glowering at Sakura with a furious expression.

“What in the heavens were you thinking?!”

[the-rogue-apostate]

Out of the Darkness

Hi everyone, and welcome to "Out of the Darkness"! Just a few things I'd like to get out of the way:

Karalynn Bristow is not a human noble; want to put that out there first and foremost. It's solely a preference thing; you'll know what she's about pretty soon.

I will take liberties with a few canon details here and there, and I'll be happy to point them out or even offer explanations if anyone wishes me to.

This story is the first of three total stories encompassing the Inquisition storyline. HOWEVER, there will also be what I like to call "deleted scenes" that I'll post as separate works; basically little snippets here and there that don't necessarily need to be in the main story.

This will eventually lead to Cullen/Inquisitor, though the bulk of the romance will begin in the next story. If you're familiar with the romance from the game, you'll likely know what I mean.

I want to thank my good friend @veridium-bye!. She helped me a great deal in editing this thing, and indulged me in my ideas and rants about lore and whatnot. Please check her out, she also writes great fics! 

Generally, I will post a chapter every few days; if that changes, I will let you know.

All right! Thanks for reading my schpiel, let's get into it!

P.S. - some of you might wonder why I describe Leliana as wearing "dark armor" - I envision her in my head looking like she does in the "Dark and Worn - Leliana Remade" mod: (minus the green eyes the mod gives her)

Also, here’s a link to the story on Ao3!

Forward

The Chantry, the dominant religious organization in Thedas, is law.

It is rooted in four core principles which shape its very rule:

Firstly, magic is a corrupting influence in the world, and it should only be used to serve man; never to control him.

Second, Humankind’s sin of pride destroyed the Golden City, the seat of the Maker, and created darkspawn. The darkspawn are the living embodiment of that sin, and it is these creatures that released the taint upon the world.

Third is that the blessed Andraste was the bride of the Maker, a prophet and martyr whose ultimate sacrifice must be remembered and honored.

And finally, Humankind has sinned and must seek penance to earn the Maker’s forgiveness. When all people unite to praise the Maker, He will return to the world and make it a paradise.

Every Chantry in Thedas preaches this, and yet Thedas could not be farther from the Maker’s return. Humans are the only race to openly practice and participate in this religion, and as such, they are quick to segregate themselves from the other races of the land. Elves, dwarves, and Qunari; few members of each race may claim to believe in the Maker, but as such, none would be allowed to serve in the Chantry under any capacity.

And let us not forget those who are most segregated from the world under Chantry law; the mages.

In Thedas, with the exception of Tevinter, humans and elves born with the ability to wield magic are quickly taken into Chantry custody and housed in Circle towers. It is there they are taught how to use their abilities under the watchful eye of the Chantry’s templars. They are evaluated, monitored, and eventually undergo a harrowing to prove their mettle. It is considered a true success for a mage to pass their harrowing, but even so, becoming a full-fledged mage in the eyes of the Circle does not guarantee their freedom. No, under Chantry law, mages are deemed too dangerous to live amongst regular civilians and must remain confined to the Circle tower for the rest of their days. And despite the Chantry’s claim that it is only to ensure the safety of civilians and mages alike, it has been considered an outrage by the latter for ages.

And in 9:37 Dragon, a mage who had been living outside of the Circle, better known as an apostate, was finally driven over the edge by this injustice. He was called Anders, and his rage drove him to a breaking point which caused him to destroy the Chantry of Kirkwall in an explosion that shook the whole of Thedas.

And with that, the Mage Rebellion was born.

One by one, the Circle towers fell. Mages everywhere cast off the shackles of the Chantry and fled to their freedom. But it was not without resistance. The Templars of the Chantry, whose services were long taken advantage of, answered the call to arms and began hunting down these apostates. Their efforts were long taken for granted, however, and eventually they, too, rebelled against the Chantry.

By 9:40, the Chantry’s infrastructure was crumbling and on the verge of ruin. It’s leader, Divine Justinia V, made a final desperate attempt to end the violence once and for all. She called the mages and the templars to meet at her Divine Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in Haven. If both side of the war could not reach an agreement here and now, Thedas would most assuredly be doomed.

At least, that is what most people thought. That the Mage-Templar War was the greatest danger they faced.

Little did they know that the true danger had yet to reveal itself.

A danger, despite knowing the core principles upon which they are based, that the Chantry did not expect.

Lucky for them, however, that in the face of an unexpected danger, there comes the opportunity for unexpected heroes.

Perhaps, then, the Maker has not entirely turned His back on Thedas after all…

 Chapter 1  

 Everything hurts.

 My head, my back, my knees, my…hand…?

 My left hand…

 Where am I…?

In her groggy waking state, Karalynn Bristow attempted to comprehend these thoughts – though her crippling exhaustion was not making it easy. All was made clear, however, as her eyes drifted open to reveal an unfamiliar sight.

She was kneeling on the floor in the center of a dungeon. It was dark, cold and damp; and she wasn’t alone. Surrounding her were four men, presumably guards, and their swords were drawn and pointed directly at her. Not only that, her wrists had been tightly shackled and chained to the floor.

This realization woke her up just a bit more.

Kara whipped her head around to look at each guard as she tried to figure out who they were. Their armor was unfamiliar, and their faces covered by their helms, but they guarded her with purpose. But what the hell could their purpose possibly be? Where was she? How did she even get here? And why was she in shackles?

These questions swirled around in her head, and her panic started to worsen. She was ready to open her mouth and demand answers, but any attempts at speech were immediately cut off by a sudden green light flashing out of nowhere. From what she could tell, its origin point came from the floor, and after her eyes adjusted to the brightness she lowered her head to investigate. Fortunately, it didn’t take her long to realize it’s true source.

 What the fuck is in my hand?

The green light flashed once more, and this time it was accompanied by a searing pain in her palm. She cried out, clenching her hand into a fist. The pain subsided after a few seconds, as did the light, but she felt no relief.

The door to the dungeon flew open with a bang. The lighting was low, even through the door, so she could only make out two silhouettes. Two women, it appeared, both tall, one donning a hood while the other carried a sword on her belt. The woman at the front approached her with purpose, and her features revealed themselves clearly.

She was indeed tall, with short black hair and a long scar adorning her pale cheek. She couldn’t quite make out the color of her eyes…only that they were drilling a hole into her very soul. Whoever this woman was, she clearly wasn’t happy. She slowed her pace as she approached and began walking around the back of her. Kara was certain she was going to feel a blade through her spine at any moment.

The other woman approached her, though most of her features were hidden by her dark hood. She donned dark armor from head to toe, and from what Kara could tell, she was glaring at her as well.

It was now becoming clear that these people, whoever they were, thought she was a criminal. Why, however, she had yet to find out. In truth, she was more concerned with the glowing shard embedded in her left palm.

In the midst of her internal concerns, however, she almost didn’t notice that the dark-haired woman had leaned down close to her head.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now…”

A more foreboding sentence could not have been spoken, and the woman’s thick accent made it twice as menacing. All Kara could do was turn to face her and furrow her brow in confusion. As much as she hated to admit it, she was scared.

No, with everything that was happening, she was terrified.

“The Conclave is destroyed,” the dark-haired woman continued, resuming her slow strut around her. “Everyone who attended is dead…”

Her tone was clearly laced with grief, but it made her no less intimidating. She stopped suddenly, turning on her heel and thrusting a finger in the young woman’s face.

“…Except for you.”

Kara was more confused than ever. What Conclave? What did she mean everyone was dead, except for her? How did this happen, and what does it have to do with the mark in her hand?

 …Wait.

 The Conclave…The Divine Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I was there…

“What do you mean ‘everyone is dead’? What happened?” she finally managed to choke out hoarsely.

The dark-haired woman grabbed her shackled left hand and held it out in front of her, glaring. The mark flared up once more, and Kara winced.

“Explain this!” she demanded, thrusting it back down to her knees.

“I can’t!” she shot back, sharper than she’d intended.

“What do you mean you can’t?” she questioned, her tone indicating she was growing impatient.

“I mean I don’t know what the hell this thing is, or how it got there!”

Kara couldn’t help but yell, as she was growing more and more frustrated. She immediately regretted it, however, as the woman lunged forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“You’re lying!” she growled, tightening her grip.

A mix of fear and anger boiled within Kara. It was clear this woman wanted to kill her for a terrible crime she didn’t commit; and there currently was no way for Kara to prove otherwise. As this woman continued to rough her up, Kara thought about her options. She could conjure a fireball, throw it in the woman’s face…but she wasn’t the only adversary in the room. The soldiers surrounding her would cut her down in a second. And no matter what she did, she was still locked tightly in her shackles.

But before she realized it, the hooded woman stepped forward and pulled the dark-haired woman back. Kara exhaled quietly.

“We need her, Cassandra!” the hooded woman told her.

Cassandra…

Cassandra nodded, stepping back even farther and straightening up. The hooded woman then turned back to Kara, studying her. If there were ever a chance to talk her way out of this, it was now.

The problem was, she didn’t know what to say. Then she remembered what the dark-haired woman said a moment prior.

“…everyone who attended is dead…except for you…”

“Are…are all those people really dead?” she asked, her voice still hoarse.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” the hooded woman asked.

Kara thought for a moment, though she worried her exasperation was beginning to show on her face. She could probably tell these people she knew nothing until she was blue in the face, and it wouldn’t satisfy them. It frustrated her even more than it frustrated them, her not being able to remember a damn thing before…

Wait…there is something…

“It’s all really fuzzy…” she began, staring at the floor as she tried to concentrate. “but I remember…running.”

Breathing heavily, her chest on fire, Kara took off as fast as she could. Where she would go, she had no clue. She had no idea where she was, how she had gotten here from the temple. All that mattered was that she outran the-

“Spiders. There were these giant spiders chasing me,” she continued. “There were at least a dozen of them, and they chased me to this-“

Rock face. There were what appeared to be steps embedded within, sticking out enough for her to just barely get a grip. She scaled the rock as fast as she could, but the spiders were gaining. She looked up, desperately searching for a sign that the top was near. The spiders were at her heels, and she could feel herself getting weaker. But then-

“…I saw a woman,” she remembered, clearly surprised by her own memory.

“A woman?” the hooded woman repeated, just as surprised.

“Yes…I-I don’t know who she was though. I couldn’t make out her features…but she…reached out to me…”

It was clear that the hooded woman’s curiosity was piqued, though Kara was having trouble remembering further. Cassandra then stepped forward and ushered the hooded woman towards the door.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she instructed. “I will take her to the rift.”

The rift?

The hooded woman nodded, then disappeared down the hall. Cassandra then turned back to Kara and approached her once more. Kara leaned back slightly as she knelt down in front of her, but was surprised when she began unlocking her shackles.

“What did happen?” Kara asked her. She realized that they didn’t tell her how the Conclave was destroyed, and she was genuinely curious. More than that, she wanted to know how she herself survived it; more than the rest of them did.

Cassandra quickly pulled a smaller set of shackles from her belt, fastening them to Kara’s wrists so that they were now locked closer together.

“It…would be easier to show you,” Cassandra explained, pulling Kara to her feet.

She turned and headed through the door, Kara quickly following suit. It was when she began to move, however, that Kara realized just how weak she was. Her knees still hurt, as did the rest of her legs, and she was fighting off a relentless pang of dizziness. She then wondered how long she had been unconscious…and just what exactly she went through before she was taken to the prison.

When they finally reached the front doors, Cassandra pushed them open. As Kara walked out slowly, she realized it was nighttime. She recalled entering the Temple during the day, so she knew it had to be at least a few hours later…

A flash of light caused Kara to avert her eyes for a moment, but when she looked back up she was met with a terrible sight. High up in the sky, a decent distance away and up above the mountains, there was a gaping hole in the clouds. It was massive, and the clouds around it morphed into a cyclone and glowed a blinding green. More than that, there was more of the green glow pouring out of it into the valley below, and green debris flying out of it in all directions. It didn’t even look real; it couldn’t be real.

“Maker…” Kara muttered in horror, unable to peel her eyes from it.

“We call it ‘The Breach,’” Cassandra explained. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

Kara looked at her with disbelief. “’The world of demons?’ You’re talking about the Fade?”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, and it’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

So it was an explosion…but how could an explosion blow a hole through the Veil?

“How could an explosion possibly do that? And you said it’s growing?” Kara was beginning to panic, but Cassandra was surprisingly calm. They may have been dealing with this longer than she thought.

“We are unsure. But unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Just as she finished her sentence, a large crack erupted through the air. A shockwave of bright light shot outward from the Breach and lit up the sky. Not even a second later, the mark in Kara’s hand erupted in the same fashion and sent a burst of pain through her entire left arm. She cried out, extending her arms out in front of her and fell to her knees. She grit her teeth as she rode out the pain, and after a few moments, it was gone. Cassandra knelt down in front of her as she attempted to slow her breathing.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you,” she explained, gesturing to Kara’s hand.

 “Killing me?!”

“It may be the key to stopping this, however, there isn’t much time.”

Kara’s patience was running thin, especially now with the realization that this mysterious mark was draining her very life away. She wanted answers, but Cassandra merely wanted results. Either way, the confusion of it all was really starting to piss Kara off.

“What do you mean ‘it may be the key?’” Kara asked her, trying to keep her tone steady. “The key to doing what?”

“Closing the breach. Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however, and yours.”

With her last sentence, Kara finally started putting the pieces together in her head.

“I see…you people think I’m responsible…not just for the explosion, but for this thing in my hand,” she declared.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “Someone is responsible for this, and you are our only suspect. As for the mark on your hand, all that is clear is that something went wrong. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

Kara exhaled. As much as she hated to admit it, especially with her very life on the line, this woman was right. If everyone at the Conclave was indeed dead (which seemed likely considering the gaping hole right above where the Temple once stood), and she was the only one to miraculously survive, why wouldn’t they suspect her? She also thought about the obvious aspect to it all; that there is a danger threatening the world worse than anything she had ever seen. Whether she was in shackles or roaming free in the wilderness, she had to do something. She had to help close this Breach and save the few people she still had left in the world.

“You really think this mark can help close that thing?”

“That is what we believe,” Cassandra replied plainly.

“All right. If that’s the case, then I want to help. I don’t know if this thing will even work, but I know I have to try.”

Cassandra nodded, and the slightest hint of a smile crossed her lips as she helped pull Kara to her knees. Kara nodded in response, and the two of them began to make their way towards the camp nearby. There was still something nagging in Kara’s mind, however, something big enough to stop her dead in their tracks after just a few paces. Cassandra turned and looked at her in disbelief.

“What is it?” she asked impatiently.

“I’m sorry, I just…” Kara began, hesitating. “It’s…Cassandra, right?”

“Yes…” she replied slowly, confusion spreading across her face.

“Right…before we go, Cassandra, just tell me one thing. Who do you work for?” She was almost afraid to hear the answer. Cassandra sighed. “I am…was the Right Hand of the Divine to Divine Justinia V. I am an agent of the Chantry.”

Damnit...

[ardent-x]

I predicted a war a month ago, and I see it happening already. WARNING: Read before you panic.

Some of you may know that the last time Uranus was in Taurus was when WW2 broke out. Needless to say that freaked me out. 

I definitely did not want to believe such doom and gloom predictions, but I started sensing some tension in the air. It’s like everything was getting thicker and SOMETHING was brewing behind the scenes. 

One night, I was visiting my best friend. She would ALWAYS make me watch 300, but I was always like “Ew, no , bleh, no. I don’t wanna watch movies, esp that one...” but this night I was like.. well what the hell. Lets see. After 3 years of our friendship, she would make me see that movie with her because it was favorite, but I kept saying no, and I see why I waited 3 years too. 

There was something about their ideology that was highly spiritual. The belief of a beautiful death, the willingness to sacrifice for freedom, sacrifice for something greater than themselves, a belief in a better future. I was curious, and checked that back then Uranus was in Sagittarius. Freedom. Belief. 

But there was one scene in particular that triggered some knowledge in me. A clear seeing if you wish. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qx5NdxMamaI

It’s rare that we are blessed to find our equals. The whole Twin Flame theory... I honestly have no idea where it arose from or how. But if you want to visualize ancient twins, this is how they looked like. In times of survival, no one had time for love. So this is what happened , when you met your equal. The ego was to great to surrender, and wars began. Why do you think one of the most famous and cliche saying is “Make love NOT war” ... because it’s the same goddamn thing. Because your enemy is your greatest love, your greatest equal. Perhaps that’s why the Twin Flame emerged, because it was preparing us for a more loving war. A war against our one egos. We are all alone in this battle, but we are all in it together. No one can defeat our own ego, but ourselves. 

In a sense, humans are here to lead battles. With little awareness, the battles were physically manifested. Externalized. The enemy was always us, so we killed other people. Because we are one. 

After that scene, as dramatic as it may sound, my head was spinning, and all kinds of words and images were flowing through my head. This is what the war would be. The battle of egos. Could we make it this time? Can we prevent an externalized war? I think we got what it takes. 

Some more months ago, I had another vision. I saw many young people from all races, coming together on a battlefield. They were all dressed in red indian battle wear, with war masks, but they had no weapons. And I kept hearing “A legion is rising.” That was long before I found out about Uranus moving in Taurus. I had no idea what it meant, but it felt powerful. 

Now the puzzle is slowly coming together. 

For the past 2 weeks I’ve started seeing people fighting all around me. All of my friends, fighting for their ego, cursing, swearing, getting in physical fights, people breaking up. I’d go home late at night, and see strangers getting into fights, yelling. It became overwhelming and draining to watch, what the hell was going on? Has the world gone mad? Indeed, this is how wars begin. 

Taurus is the sign that rules our self-esteem. It’s a stubborn and reclusive sign that holds thightly to its beliefs and its own “ego”/self-esteem. Uranus wants to break things.  I myself fell a victim to that, because I’m not bigger than the great plan. 

This is one of the reasons I wanted to delete all of my Twin Flame posts. Because something about it feels like a complete and utter bullshit. Way too many people on this path, lack way too much knowledge to even follow it, and that can be dangerous. What else was the problem during the Battle of Thermopylae? We had a false god. A self-proclaimed God King. False idols, false beliefs. This is extremely dangerous. What’s worse, I see people getting offended when their belief is question, jumping to attack. Does that sound familiar? 

Yes, I mind sound more blunt and straightforward, it might sound rude to some people, blame it on my Saturn dominant, or Aquarius rising, but either way, the truth must be spoken and the beliefs must be challenged, and people should stop taking everything personally, when it’s not made personal.

One astrologer made a research on a group of people that believed in Twin Flames frantically. They all had heavy Neptunian charts, or afflicted Neptune, that was leading them to delusion and escapism of reality. This can be dangerous. I’ve said in many previous posts that this journey should have never been made so public and commercial, because it triggered a wave of people who wanted  to board the train without even knowing what they were signing up for. You can’t “call in” your Twin Flame. They are either here or not, and it doesn’t matter what you do. In fact, each person can be your Twin, at a certain stage of developement you have reached. And this is where the danger comes. Because people who reach a spiritual level, they would attract the same thing in their life. And it’s normal to have shared dreams, synchronicities, visions , etc. But guess what... you can outgrow that person, and bam. They aren’t the so called Twin anymore, simply because you don’t vibe with them, and they can’t seem to step up on your level. 

There is just something unhealthy in this Twin Flame community. I’m not here to say Twins don’t exist, even though it’s a controversial topic , but with something as such that we cannot proof or see, it’s best to have an open mind, and by open mind I mean, accept the possibility we could be awfuly wrong and delusional. Because people who don’t accept that, risk the danger of falling from a VERY high place, and the hit to the ground will be extremely painful and shattering. 

It could be just me, it could be the collective, but I feel a strong need for some sort of change and transformation in this journey, because something is already outdated, holding people back from experiencing true growth. As a matter of fact, the whole label is becoming toxic. 

A few days ago, someone told me they don’t consider the “sad” stories of twins, that include separation, the “divine masculine” chosing a “karmic” partner, the runner, the chaser and so on. This is a very ignorant comment. If someone believes they are alone on that journey, then this is sign number one of delusion. This is a collective mission, if one brother or sister falls, we all fall. So you can’t simply ignore what doesn’t suit you, and take in what suits you. 

It’s time for harsh reality check up, as unpleasant as it may be. But no transformation of reality comes if stay in an imaginary world. Sometimes we gotta face the reality in order to transform it. We just have to work with what we have, it has always been that simple. 

[about-feathers-and-claws]

This series contains a half-canon half-headcanon map with a glossary and a fic split in two parts. 

Part 1: Map of Rivellon with places related to this fic (including the ones that are headcanon) and a glossary of terms and characters based on Divinity messy lore and headcanons.

Part 2: The Search for Divinity. Fic that covers all the in-game events without repeating scenes we played. It ends with sharing Divinity with everyone.

Part 3: The Divine Doom. Fic 100% headcanon based on Divinity lore as much as possible (as Larian’s incoherence allows). It covers all the events a year after the end of the game.

A 4th part has been added, in which I gather the most significant pieces of crappy art I've done related to this fic besides some extra deleted scenes.

[about-feathers-and-claws]

Ifan always liked to feel his partner’s weight on him. It was a delightful dissonance between his survival instinct and his desires of not wanting to be alert, for once.

Hard weight on his body was always related to death-or-life situations. It meant being reduced to the ground by an enemy,  a rock falling on him, a danger. But when it was Sandor’s, that weight was not only light, but simply sweet. It was wrapped with that home-made-bread scent, a soft warmth, thousands of caresses and gentle breathing on his skin.

There was no need to be silent, to be sneaky, to be cautious anymore. In Sandor’s bed, he only could be he; a soft song of pleasure and lust, or just a calm night of skin-to-skin. There was no danger.

He could relax and strip all those heavy sides that were part of his life: the assassin, the Lone Wolf, the crusader. It did not matter how bloody his hands were, or how many sins committed, everything could be left aside embracing that naked vulnerability knowing it was not going to be used and betrayed. He could trust blindly in that bed, in that light weight, in those sad brown eyes. A home where a tired and wounded soldier could come back.

Divinity Original Sin 2 : About Feathers and Claws -  The Divine Doom Deleting scenes make me want to draw them.