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eldritchdiplomacy · 8 months

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Bottom Table OT3: The Playlist

We, like Jinnah, will mourn our lads forever

(click for song explanations!)

Take Me Out To The Ball Game - Ed Meeker

"Eldritch Harrahs," He says, fingering the bright red laces on a baseball like a rosary

Team - Lorde

Classic poly theme, living in ruins.

"And everyone's competing For a love they won't receive 'Cause what this palace wants is release."

Ravenous - Autumn Orange

Impeccible vibes.

Eat Your Young - Hozier

Post-war heroes left in slums with their ghosts

"Come and get some Skinnin' the children for a war drum Puttin' food on the table, sellin' bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young"

Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac

A shiny jade jewel in said slums

"She rings like a bell through the night And wouldn't you love to love her? She rules her life like a bird in flight And who will be her lover?"

Boats & Birds - Gregory & The Hawk

Children without souls

"If you'll be my boat, I'll be your sea A depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze I live to make you free, I live to make you free…"

Hearts a Mess - Gotye

Sean Fucking Finnerty

"You have lost too much love To fear, doubt and distrust, it's not enough You just threw away the key to your heart Don't get burned 'cause nothing gets through It makes it easier, easier on you That much more difficult for me To make you see."

Love In The Time Of Socialism - Yellow House

Teenagers all in love with each other

"But I am home wherever you are near There's no life in anything When you're not here."

Whatever Fits Together - Skullcrusher

I mean…

"Do you ever look back? Does it all fit together? If we're here, does it matter? (If we're here, does it matter?)"

Marked For Death - Emma Ruth Rundle

Marion & Jean

"Who else is going to love someone like me that’s marked for death? Who else is going to be with me when I breathe it all?"

Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect - The Decemberists

Marion & Sean

"And here I dreamt I was a soldier And I marched the streets of Birkenau And I recall in spring The perfume that the air would bring To the indolent town Where the barkers call the moon down The carnival was ringing loudly now And just to lay with you There's nothing that I wouldn't do Save lay my rifle down"

Hard Times - Ethel Cain

The Exorcists' Daughter

"Tell me a story About how it ends Where you're still the good guy I'll make pretend 'Cause I hate this story Where happiness ends And dies with you."

Edith's Theme - Crimson Peak

The Lighthouse

Say Yes To Heaven - Lana Del Rey

Sean & Jean

"If you go, I'll stay You come back, I'll be right here Like a barge at sea In the storm, I stay clear 'Cause I've got my mind on you I've got my mind on you…"

Sunlight - Hozier

Sean & Jean & Marion

"All the tales the same Told before and told again A soul that’s born in cold and rain Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight And, at last, can grant a name To a buried and a burning flame As love and its decisive pain Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight."

Your Protector - Fleet Foxes

The Circle of Needle & Thread

"As you lay to die beside me, baby On the morning that you came Would you wait for me? The other one would wait for me."

The Mother Road - Chelsea Wolfe

The doc who knows she'll never lead a normal life, have a normal love.

"I do not have a child But I'm old enough to know some pain And I'm hell-bent on loving you Women know what it is to endure."

Running Up That Hill - Placebo

All too stubborn to let each other die.

"Oh, come on, baby Oh, come on, darlin' Let me steal this moment from you now Oh, come on, angel Come on, come on, darlin' Let's exchange the experience…"

A Vampire's Heart - Peter Gundry

Doplegangers

Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

Jean, Sean, & Marion

"I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you…"

Oh, To Dream Of Such Eldritch Things - Autumn Orange

The Compromised Lightkeeper

A Shot Rang Out - Emily Jane White

Sean FUCKING Finnerty, Marion, Jean

"Dreamers we aren't few But I don’t want to bury my dreams with you."

The Ghost On The Shore - Lord Huron

Man down

"Die if I must, let my bones turn to dust I'm the lord of the lake and I don't want to leave it…"

Call Your Mom - Noah Kahan

You can't do this to Peggy, bud.

"Medicate, meditate, save your soul for Jesus Throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason Don't wanna drive another mile without knowin' you're breathin' So won't you stay, won't you stay, won't you stay with me?"

Funeral - Phoebe Bridgers

War boys wearing the same face, so many hearts.

"And last night, I blacked out in my car And I woke up in my childhood bed Wishing I was someone else, feeling sorry for myself When I remembered someone's kid is dead…"

Francesca - Hozier

Jean & Marion re: Sean

"Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm since I was born How could I fear any hurricane?"

Is Your Love Strong Enough? - GWTDT

"Just one beat of your heart And stranger than fantasy I knew from the start It had to be the place for me Someone that I would die for There's no way I could ever leave."

Death With Dignity - Sufjan Stevens

The Survivor

"Spirit of my silence I can hear you, but I'm afraid to be near you And I don't know where to begin And I don't know where to begin…"

My Love - Florence + The Machine

The Next Step

"My arms emptied, the skies emptied The buildings emptied…"

#candela obscura #candela obscura spoilers #bottom table ot3 #ot3: veterans’ affairs #marion collodi #sean finnerty #jinnah basar

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wolf-zer0 · 3 years

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red sky at morning, red sky at night

rating: teen and up

relationships: no romantic relationships

major characters: CaptainSparklez, CaptainPuffy, Nihachu, Ranboo, Tubbo

tags: alternate universe - fantasy, families of choice, found family, minor unnamed character death

He’s had many names given to him over the years. Some fit better than others.

His first comes from his parents. He arrives in the dead of winter, howling in his mother’s arms like the cold wind outside. His father tells him years later how with pride, knowing deep in his heart that his firstborn had the drive to survive. He is told how his mother, exhausted but delighted, gifts him with two syllables.

Jordan.

It fits well enough, as it is all he’s known. There are no wild treks into the wild beyond here, no scorching heat of lava-filled valleys nor ice cold chill of long dead realms. There is only a farm, and a field, and a small family that slowly grows larger. There is just a boy with a name and bright eyes looking to the future.

He hears his first name in many different shades and tones as he grows. Bright and cheerful, regretful and remorseful, livid and incensed. Each sounds the same, but each are weighted differently. He hears it from his siblings, slurred from learning to speak then clear and ringing through the fields. He hears it from the nearby village when his father brings him to market, welcoming and warm.

It’s in the village that he first feels it. A tug in his gut, quiet but insistent, that leads him to a battered board at the edge of the market. A message board. Weatherworn papers are tacked one on top of another, fluttering in the fall afternoon breeze. Printed in faded inks are words he’s never seen before. Promises of wealth and glory. Calls to adventure and exploration. Maps of vast cities and far off countries he tries and fails to wrap his young mind around. For the first time, his comfortable world with his comfortable name seems too small, too snug. It still fits, but it doesn’t seem as right anymore.

He follows his father to market every month without fail, gazing at the changing papers and dreaming. Dreaming of finding a place that feels right, more right than this unchanging corner of the world. He barters for stories from the traveling merchants, eyes wide as they tell him of palaces carved from ice and forests that stretch for miles and miles. He haggles for trinkets from traders, fingers tracing intricate knickknacks and strange coins hailing from far flung corners of the world. He sits at the foot of the fishmonger’s stall, listening to tales of shimmering water and billowing sails and dreams.

His family tries to understand, tries to figure out what they must do to keep him home. Keep him safe. His father forbids him from returning to the village for market day, sends him into the fields for hours upon hours to keep his wandering heart busy. His mother frets over him at every chance, refuses to let him out of her sight for more than a breath. They tell stories of the horrors of the outside world. Beings with wings wielding swords of fire that can level mountains and fill valleys in a single breath. Gods who walk amongst mortals, hiding shimmering antlers and star-swirled eyes behind a human mask. Creatures that entice and cajole from shadowed forests, their smiles too sharp and their eyes too keen.

They spin tales of war, of destruction, of death and all that, and he only wants it more.

He makes his choice at the end of winter. Wakes before dawn, gathers his meager belongings in a threadbare rucksack, pens a short, somber letter filled with apologies he’s not sure he means and promises he’s not sure he can keep, and closes the front door quietly. (He doesn’t think he’ll ever open it again, and he’s not sure if he’s truly sorrowful or thinks he should be.)

(He’s not. Not about this.)

His second name comes from his own ignorance. After leaving the crushing tightness of his childhood, he wanders. Joins the crew of a merchant vessel and sails away. For years, he works and he watches and he wanders. He sees the vast cities in the frozen south, the dark forests of the fair folks’ domain, the small towns and villages that dot the coastline.

He finds himself comforted by the ocean beneath him. It dances with constant momentum, rising and falling as the bow cuts through the waves. As they sail on, he finds himself enamored by the way they sparkle in the bright sunlight. He says as much to the others, and they laugh. They mock him for his innocence, for his lack of experience, for his wide eyed adoration, and they christen him with a new name for a new life.

Sparkles.

The name is far too tight, tighter than what he had before, and he can’t get rid of it. It sits like a weight around his neck, an anchor that keeps him pinned to the deck. He may be an adult now, but he’s barely one and he knows. So he keeps his head down and he keeps his eyes to the water.

The captain is not kind. A nobleman born and bred, he does not see his crew as people. He treats his favored as kings, and his unfavored as beasts. The unfavored beg for scraps and receive crumbs. Ask for bunks and receive straw. Wish for kindness and receive disgust.

Nothing seems to change, until it does.

He’s not sure when he saw her first, her bright white curls hiding long pointed ears, but he knows he didn’t think much of her. She’s years younger than him, eyes still bright with the call to explore and grin still wide with the promise of the future. The favored doesn’t like her much, much like they don’t like him much, and tell her so. She throws a braid of wooly hair over one shoulder and doesn’t so much as flinch.

Her sharpened gaze turns from the cowering forms to him. The moment she lays eyes on him, she softens and he knows she’s not going to go away.

He’s glad she didn’t.

With Puffy, his second name becomes less a noose, leaving him gasping for air, and more a jacket, the comfort of a teasing poke in his ribs and nights filled with whispered laughter. They sit on deck and talk of the homes they left, the lives they passed, the family they miss. (She tells stories of a brother, here one moment and taken the next. He listens, though he has no stories of his own to tell.) She helps him hem the seams, stitch the tears, make it fit where it once didn’t.

She stands beside him when the seas grow dark and churn with a brewing storm they barely survive. She stands behind him when he refuses to bow to boatswain’s demand he take a third night watch in a row. He stands beside her when she tells him of her years long search for a long gone sibling. He stands behind her when she confronts the captain about his treatment of his men. They stand together when they urge the unfavored to mutiny and succeed.

They drive the captain and those still loyal to him from the ship, stranding them on an island near a well known trade route. The rest, battered and bruised from months of mistreatment, bask in the knowledge that they are free.

He earns his third name then.

Captain.

It fits like nothing else has.

(Though he decides to stay with the ship, he knows Puffy cannot. Her search, like his, is far from over. And though their paths diverge, she makes him promise to meet again. He does.)

(He thinks he’s never meant a promise more.)

Years pass, and he grows into his names. He rarely hears the first, only from close friends and when formality dictates. He grows to enjoy the second now that is more often tinged with awe and admiration. He loves the third like nothing else he’s loved before. Where the first was tight and the second was heavy, the third is clear.

The third feels like wide open blue sky above a wide open blue sea. The third feels like a crisp wind catching in the sail, pulling them to the great beyond. The third feels like the swooping wings of seagulls and albatross and osprey. The third feels like home.

He travels the world. He meets new people. He tours the halls of the vast imperial palace to the south and receives a black feather as a token of friendship. He negotiates with the fair folk and trades faded books of long lost history for scrolls of untranslatable magic. He does everything he desires, and still feels the tug to do more. To find somewhere. Something. Someone.

His fourth name is one he never wanted.

He knows all too well that knowledge of his endeavors have travelled far across populated lands. Tales that spin courage, humor, and wit into a tapestry of a hero. So he’s not surprised when he receives a missive from the Captain’s Council, an invitation to join their number.

He accepts.

The Council is nothing and everything like he expects. He expected the ire of the old blood, of course. Old men in silks and brocades, faces pinched in distaste at the mangy newcomers. Men like them don’t accept change very easily. What he didn’t expect was the new blood. People like him, with the sea in their blood and the wind in their ears. People who want to make the world change, and change for the better. People who he knows.

People like Puffy.

She’s grown just as much as him, standing in her thick coat with a blade at her side, but she’s still vibrant and fierce as the last time he saw her. She stands tall and proud, surrounded by an air of confidence and skill. When their eyes meet, he watches her eyes glitter with that same fire he saw years ago and feels a grin grow on his face that matches hers. He never thought he could keep this promise, but he thanks whatever god is listening that he could.

After the meeting, they retreat to an rundown bar far in town and talk for hours. She tells him about her fleet, ships of people she trusts and who trust her in return. She tells him about her brother, found wandering the streets without memory but with a scarred body. She tells him about everything and nothing, and he does the same.

They talk about plans. Neither says it out loud, but the tugging, the drive to wander, has lessened. Not faded, never faded. But lessened. They talk about putting down stakes, relinquishing day to day operations to their subordinates, training the next crop of seafarers and wanderers. Nothing is set in stone, but wheels turn regardless.

Weeks pass into months and he finds himself enjoying his duties. Until the Admiral, the man regarded as leader of not only their Council, but their country as a whole, disappears. They search for any sign of him: shipwrecks, debris, bodies. They find nothing. Some say he is not dead, merely missing. They cannot attempt to replace him until they find confirmation. Others say they cannot wait to find a new leader. There is movement on the horizon, and a small nation like theirs could crumble like sand sculptures without someone to unite them.

The old blood licks their lips in anticipation. He knows them all to well after these months. All hungry for the title and power, with no care for the duties and responsibilities that follow. He knows that they expect the new blood to fall in line as they have in the past, give up the fight without struggle. He knows it will never happen the way they want.

Because he knows the new blood is just as hungry for change.

(He’s hungry too.)

It goes to a vote. Each Council member is eligible, regardless of their time sitting. The vote takes hours, members whispering in corners and sending needled glances at one another. He sits with Puffy and waits. The vote is called.

(Deep down, he knows what will happen. He just doesn’t want to admit it.)

The council grants him his fourth name.

Admiral.

He understands, but he doesn’t. He has experience in leading, in handling himself under pressure, in navigating troubled waters and logistics with a level head and a clear eye. He’s not old enough to be considered “old blood” but not young enough to act without thinking. He is compromise.

The name fits strangely. It’s not painful, not in the way the second was. It sits on his head like a crown, not unwieldy but always present. It is not painfully tight, but it fits snug around his throat. He’s not sure he’s the right choice, not sure he should be given the honor and duty that comes with it, but he does not try to run away. Something settles in his chest as he takes up the mantle, something he isn’t sure he’s ever felt before.

(It feels closer to what he’s been running towards. But it’s still not right.)

His fifth and final name comes in many fragmented parts from three entirely unexpected places.

The first piece is a young woman, near in age to Puffy, living in the city. She and her family move in to a building near his home soon after his promotion. They open a bakery on the first floor and the smells of warm breads and sweets always drift lazily into the streets, drawing in customer after customer.

Niki is soft spoken and caring, but when he visits he can see the same edge of steel that lines Puffy’s spine hidden in her eyes. And he knows all too well that she’ll grow into a force to be reckoned with should she get the chance.

He never tells them of his position, cherishing the short moment of normalcy as he banters with her father, gossips with her mother. He tells Niki stories of traveling the world over muffins and coffee, of the different things he’s tasted and the places he’s seen. Her eyes gleam, steel and honey brown in equal measure, and he sees the same want that’s driven him for so many years.

No one expects a fever to sweep through their country like a fire, taking hundreds of innocents including Niki’s parents. He consoles her as best he can, but knows he can only do so much. She carries her grief with a strength most find admirable. (He finds it painful. No one as young as her should have to carry on like she has. But she does regardless).

He does what he can, offering a warm place to sleep and food on the table and a shoulder to cry on. He tells her it’s okay to not be okay, to let herself break if she needs to. He offers to help her piece things back together when she’s done. (He doesn’t expect her to accept. When she does, he feels the insistent tugging recede. He chooses to ignore it).

(She gives him his fifth name late at night, months after the funerals. He wakes to her crying at the kitchen table and sits with an arm around her shoulder. In the haze of her grief, she lets the name slip out unheeded. He does not say anything, merely tightens his hold and fights back tears.)

The second piece is a young man. Well, at first he thought he was a young man. The new face wasn’t all that hard to spot: tall, lanky, with pointed ears and two toned hair. He first saw him standing alone and out of place, eyes blank and hands shaking, on a walkway near the bay.

He calls out to the young man carefully, voice soft to prevent startling him. The young man whirls around quickly, chest heaving and fists curled close to his chest. When the Captain first sees his face, he’s struck by just how young he is despite his height. Fear and confusion fill his red-green eyes as he stares at the Captain.

He does his best to calm him, asking soft question after soft question in the hopes of helping. Their country is fairly far from the mainland, a series of small islands clustered together on the edge of a great continent. Unannounced newcomers are few and far between. Newcomers like this are unheard of.

He learns that while Ranboo remembers his name, he remembers very little otherwise. The only things that are solid and stable are brief glimpses of panic, of darkness, and a faint, unfinished melody. He learns that Ranboo has no idea how he arrived. One moment he was standing in a dark room, surrounded by crushing stone walls and pitch black, and the next he was blinking in the bright sunlight at the port. He learns that while Ranboo remembers his name, he remembers very little otherwise. He learns that Ranboo has no memory of family, of home, of anything but static. (He looks at the child, because despite his height he is still so young, and the tugging grows harsher. Insistent.)

So the Captain welcomes him with open arms.

(He doesn’t even consider doing anything else.)

When they return home, Niki takes one look at Ranboo’s shaking form and immediately pounces. The Captain’s heart swells with pride as she talks to him, hands gently guiding their newest addition to a spare bedroom near hers.

Puffy is quick to tease when she first comes for dinner and sees a reluctant new face lurking in the corner of the Captain’s home, but there’s none of the heat or edge she usually carries. She meets the Captain’s eyes with a knowing smirk that he refuses to acknowledge.

(If he barely sleeps that night to check for signs of nightmares, that’s no one’s business but his own.)

(He gives him his fifth name when he joins Niki in the bakery. She is patient when attempt after attempt comes out blackened and shriveled, and the Captain gives him the encouragement and praise he needs to continue. In the joy that follows his first success, he shouts the name with pride. He does not say anything but offers congratulations and pride, warmth spreading in his core.)

The third and final piece is hidden inside a chest, floating in the middle of the ocean. It’s been so long since he’s sailed, since he’s seen the endless blue beneath endless blue, since he’s felt the freedom that comes with his third name. He takes to the ship and the sea with ease, shedding the weight of his title and position if only for a moment. He knows Niki and Ranboo are safe ashore, Niki waving of his concerns with a steady smile and Ranboo offering a bag of only slightly charred cookies as a safe travels gift. (He knows it's not farewell. He knows he’ll return. But there’s still a tug, a need to search.)

The bobbing smudge of brown in the sea catches his attention quickly, and he calls for all hands. They cast their nets into the frothing waves, failing and failing to snag it until finally, finally, someone catches hold and they drag it aboard.

The chest is unlike any he’s seen before, leaping fish and swirling letters carved into pristine wood. He runs his hands over each strange mark, surprised at the way they hum beneath his fingers. Though he’s travelled and explored farther than most, he has little experience with magic. The tugging in his gut turns to pulsing, each beat louder and more insistent than the last. (It tells him he’s found it he’s found it he’s found it the last piece the last part its here.) When he touches the strange lock-like marking in the center, the lid of the chest releases with a hiss. His crew flinches back, muttering about superstitions and curses amongst themselves. He ignores them and pulls back the lid. The muttering, the breeze, the hiss of the water beneath the keel falls away.

There is a child, asleep atop sea green pillows and carefully wrapped in blankets. Soft brown hair falls into sleep-relaxed eyes, a small plush toy clutched in one hand. There is no note, nothing to identify who the child is or where he came from. Nothing to tie him to a home. To a family. The Captain stands frozen, unsure but unbelievably certain. He takes the child in his arms and the last piece clicks into place.

The child never wakes, even as he carries him from the ship to home. The Captain leans his head against his shoulder, feeling the soft puffs of air tickle his neck. Niki opens the door quickly when he knocks, a welcome ready on her lips and Ranboo waiting behind her. When he places a finger to his lips and moves further into the house, their eyes grow wide and curious.

He lays the child down in his bundle of blankets, carefully securing the plush toy (a small bee, yellow fuzz faded and worn from years of attention) in his hands. When he’s certain he’ll remain asleep, he tells the others of the chest, of the markings and the missing note and the strange buzzing magic that urged him to open it. Niki insists on redecorating an old office, left dusty and stagnant for years, into a room. Ranboo worries about how the new child will react to the new space, far too familiar with sudden changes and blank spaces. They gather old clothing, toys, books, and he wonders why he ever thought to worry. (They felt the same urge before the door opened, the pull to complete their little unit, but they’ll never tell him. They don’t tell each other. It goes unspoken.)

When the child wakes, surrounded by unfamiliar faces in an unfamiliar place, there’s no fear. No terror, no screaming, no hiding in corners or running into streets. There are curious blue eyes, careful questions, and cautious optimism. He tells them his name (Tubbo), his favorite colors (green and yellow), his favorite animal (bees), and the last thing he remembers (warm arms and shiny scales and tears filling ocean blue eyes.)

The Captain doesn’t know what to expect, but he finds comfort in Tubbo’s boundless energy. He had feared for nights of crying and days of anger, but there’s nothing like that. Tubbo says he misses his family sometimes, but he loves his new one more.

He attaches himself to Niki quickly, following her and chattering away about nothing and everything. Niki listens with a good natured smile and unprompted questions, basking in the undiluted attention her newest shadow gives her. Ranboo is cautious at first, afraid his long limbs and uncontrolled abilities would harm the younger boy. Tubbo brushes past his concern with the grace of an elephant, clutching clawed fingers as he drags him on some adventure or another. Puffy swings him up onto her shoulders, practice sword in hand as they proclaim their conquest on the whole world. The Captain sits him down at his desk and shows him what he does, letting him trace figures along map trade routes and tell stories of what happens in different parts of the world. (None of them are true, but he listens and reacts appropriately all the same.)

He gives the Captain his fifth name in the middle of the afternoon, hand in hand with him as they wander through the market. Niki is not far behind them, chatting to an old friend over bread and textiles. Ranboo trails behind them, gazing at the bustle around them and fiddling nervously with his shirt buttons. (The Captain thinks back to so many years ago, when he was following his own father to the market, the world small and quiet and comfortable, without the weight of so many names.)

Tubbo sees a stall with honey, bees buzzing around lazily, and tugs on the Captain’s hand fervently as the name falls from his lips beside pleas to go and look.

Dad.

He still doesn’t say anything, but the warmth that spreads as he feels Ranboo’s eyes over his shoulder, Niki’s smile at his back, Tubbo’s hand in his own, lets him know that this name, his fifth name, fits perfectly.

(His fifth name might be his most prized of them all.)

(Soon, he finds himself called his fifth name more than his third. Tubbo finds a friend, a spitfire blond with a smtarbright heart, and his two brothers and winged father follow not far behind. There’s a ram flanked by a fox and a duck, a barefoot fae with his own ragtag band of misfits, a strange man in a purple rabbit mask, a collective of scholars and architects with a penchant for chaos and destruction, and a man with the voices of gods rattling inside his head. But he doesn’t mind it one bit.

His fifth name always did fit the best, after all.)

#find steel in silver au #fsis au #captainsparklez #captain puffy #tubbo #niki nihachu #ranboo #mcyt au #mcyt fanfiction #cross-posted on ao3

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rayshippouuchiha · 4 years

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Whispers: How would you go about a Naruto grows up out of Konaha Au? Like imagine in the orphanage/his home he falls through the floor to a forgotten tunnel system from War time that's been dug further by animals and he losses his way and stumbles out, outside of Konoha's walls and he just decides to keep walking away. Maybe a encounter lets him know about Uzushiogakure and he just decides rather than being alone in Konoha he'd be better alone in Uzu.

Naruto is quiet when he’s born, is red faced and blue eyed and golden haired and silent.

Kushina stares down at him, at her little maelstrom made up of all of the colors that have come to define her life, and all she can do is ache.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it was supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be happy.

“My little prince of eddies and tides,” she murmurs, tears dripping down her face to land like raindrops or sea spray on his whiskered cheek, “Mama’s little storm. I’m so sorry.”

“Kushina,” Minato’s there, eyes bright with love and agony as he trails one calloused fingertip down Naruto’s now damp cheek with an exquisite sort of gentleness. “Look at him, he’s beautiful. My son. Our son. Our little bud finally bloomed. It’s so good to finally meet you, Naruto.”

“Minato,” Kushina half sobs, arms curling tighter around her baby, “Minato we can’t …”

“We have to,” Minato grits out. “The village.”

“They’ll be cruel to him, Minato,” Kushina insists brokenly, viciously, a half feral sort of thing gnawing at her heart. It feels like a promise. Like premonition. “My baby. Our son. They’ll be so cruel.”

“No,” Minato refutes softly, voice certain and strong. “No. They’ll love him like the hero he is. This has to be done, my love. He’ll have a good life, I promise you. Sensei will be here, and Kakashi-kun. You just have to have faith.”

And, in the end, Kushina loves Minato and she loves their precious Naruto, but she also loves Konoha.

It’s the only home she has left. It’s where she found love. Where her little maelstrom will grow and learn and be.

So she gets up, fresh from the birthing bed, and she tightens her headband, and with Minato’s faith and her love in her heart she goes to do her duty at her husband’s side.

‘Protect him,’ Kushina prays silently to the old spirits from her childhood, to the things of salt and sun and deep deep waters. ‘Love him, protect him, keep him safe for always.’

Left behind, left alone and cold, Naruto wails.

~~~

Minato’s faith has always been stronger than the things in which he placed it.

Kushina’s love has always been as vast and unstoppable as the sea.

~~~

Naruto’s life is … sharp.

It’s the only way he can think to describe it.

The sharp sting of the matron’s slap against his cheek. The sharp tug on his hair as she hacks away at it until only messy, uneven golden spikes are left. The sharp bite of hunger curling in his stomach and his heart day after day after night.

The sharp slice on his soul every time someone screams or glares or spits in his direction.

The sharp copper taste of blood in his mouth when he’s caught trying to sneak his way through the festival because it’s his birthday and he just wants.

Naruto is a boy made up of kunai edges and senbon points who lives a life composed of shattered porcelain and razor edged hunger.

He bleeds and he bleeds and it’s all just …

Sharpness.

~~~

Something lurks in the back of Naruto’s mind.

Churns away in the corners of soul.

Builds and builds in strength hidden deep inside the bony cage of his skull.

A whirlpool spinning ever tighter with every passing moment.

A maelstrom gaining strength with every breath.

~~~

Konoha should have held Naruto tightly, should have loved and protected him, this prince of leaves and deep water.

And yet …

~~~

“I want to go home,” Naruto whispers to the falling rain, head tilted back and eyes wide and unseeing as the rain water washes his tears away.

Naruto’s heart aches for something he can’t quiet describe, for a place and a people and a feeling he’s never seen, never known, never felt.

Home is the best word he can think of for the source of that pounding, churning, longing that lives inside of him.

‘Then come home,’ something whispers in the back of his head, a thousand overlapping voices mixed together and sounding like the crashing of a wave against a shore that Naruto has never seen but somehow knows anyways. ‘Come home, little spiral, come home. Come home, tiny maelstrom, come break upon shores that will cradle you, upon sands and stone that love you. Come home, little prince, come home to the reefs and the waves that have been waiting for you. Always for you.’

For a moment Naruto can’t breathe.

Because his head feels full and he’s never even thought of something like this before.

Leaving.

The very idea of leaving Konoha frightens him. It seems like such an impossibly large thing, leaving this too sharp village that hates him behind.

It feels almost like a betrayal of some kind, the very thought of leaving the leaves and trees that birthed him.

And yet the rain falls harder and the whisper grows louder and Naruto yearns.

~~~

Naruto’s attention is drawn east these days.

Always east.

Because …

Konoha is sharp.

And all Naruto wants is somewhere warm and soft and welcoming.

~~~

The Academy says they’re all leaves of the great tree that is Konoha.

Naruto sighs, turns his eyes towards the east and his face into a sun-salt breeze that isn’t really there.

~~~

Naruto dreams about sunlight and waves. About flashes of brightly colored fish beneath the surface of water so clear it looks like glass.

He dreams of pink sand and red coral and golden sunlight glinting off of a blue blue blue ocean.

Naruto wakes up with the taste of salt water on his lips and the feel of sea-sun on his skin and a heartbreak almost too big for him to feel churning in his chest.

Naruto wakes up and he wails for a place he’s never seen.

A home he’s never known.

~~~

Naruto knows things now that he doesn’t remember learning.

But then …

No one ever really teaches him anything anyways.

~~~

Naruto is tired of sharpness.

He wants to feel the sea-salt wind against his face for real.

Wants to feel the golden warmth of sea-sun glinting off blue blue blue waves.

Wants to feel the push-pull of the hungry tide as it eats at the pink sand beneath his feet.

Naruto wants…

Naruto wants …

~~~

Naruto wants to go home.

~~~

‘Little spiral,’ a voice croons in the dark of the night, in the shadows of his dreams, ‘little prince, tiny storm, my own, my very very own. Come home. Come home. Come home.’

~~~

Beneath Naruto’s skin and behind his eyes and curled around his soul something ancient yawns itself awake.

‘Interesting,’ a creature that has felled mountains whispers into the depths of a mind just beginning to change.

It watches as the sea eats away at metal walls and rusted pipes and a sewer slowly becomes something more.

~~~

Here is the question:

What is the strength of a tree to the might of the sea?

~~~

Here is the answer:

Leaves wither, branches break.

Trees die.

Oceans?

Oceans endure.

~~~

Everything Naruto owns fits into a single bag.

Everything he’s ever wanted has always been out of his reach.

Everything else has always just been … sharp.

~~~

Here is the question:

What are walls to a maelstrom?

~~~

Here is the answer:

Konoha’s walls are tall and strong but they are meant to keep things out.

The sea is not a thing to be caged.

~~~

Hair shaggy and clothes ragged from months spent moving, Naruto buries his toes in warm pink sand, turns his face towards the sea-salt-sun, and smiles.

#Whirlpool Calls Him Home AU #Naruto #not sure what pairing I'd want for this one yet #but we all know what it's inspired by #I kind want to do it KakaNaru #but I could see it being SasuNaru #ItaNaru #ShikaNaru #too I guess #mickybloginb379 #RayRambles

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amysgiantbees · 3 years

Text

My Hero Academia 1A students sorted into DnD

If they don’t have a background then they have the scholar background as they’ve all attended the adventuring school Ultra Academy.

So firstly Tsuyu Asui is a half Grung half human sailor shepherd circle druid. She has the Mobile feat. She uses a spear and light armour in battle. She isn’t particularly interested in the gods, but her favourite is Habbakuk, god of animal life and the sea, and she always makes sure to make offerings and prayers to all of the sea gods before making a voyage.

Katsuki Bakugo, he’s a 1/4 orc and human wild magic barbarian.* He has the Crusher and Chef feats. He uses two spiked maces and has minimal armour. His top stats are intelligence and strength, charisma and wisdom are his worst ones. He admires and occasionally prays to Heironeous but doesn’t like to rely or seak help from the gods. He knows common, orcish and sign language for both. His father, Masaru Bakugo, is a College of Glamour bard. His mother, Mitsuki Bakugo, is a College of Glamour bard who specializes in yelling very persuasively and having beautiful clothes.

Mina Ashido is a tiefling with a copper draconic bloodline for her sorcery. Her favourite spell is acid splash. She uses a sling and has no armour only incredible looks. She doesn’t particularly follow any gods but her favourite is Sune. She has the feats Alert and Performer. She’s proficient in both poisoners and herbalism kits.

Koji Koda is a shepherd circle druid firbolg hermit. He has the Animal Handler feature. He doesn’t usually use a weapon but carries a quarter-staff just in case. Follower of the neutral nature god Obad-Hai. His familiar is a rabbit (or an owl sometimes) named Mustard. Summon Nature’s Ally is his favourite spell. He knows Common, Elvish, Giant, Druidic sign language and can also speak common.

Fumikage Tokoyami is a kenku ranger with a black eagle companion named Dark Shadow. He has the Crossbow Expert feat and Shadow Touched. He uses a heavy crossbow and has a ton of knives. He had a phase where he followed Tharizdun, god of eternal darkness before he admitted that he couldn’t follow a chaotic evil, treacherous god. He’s moved on to Kelemvor, the lawful neutral god of the dead (and Milil god of poetry and song). He really likes the Raven Queen too.

Izuku Midoriya is a multi class human Champion fighter and an Oath of Glory paladin. He has the Observant and Charger feats. He uses a sword and shield. His top stats are strength and intelligence, constitution is his dump stat. He has great respect for the gods in particular the demi-god All for One, Heironeous and Torm the god of self sacrifice and courage. He’s a paladin in the service of All for One but externally pretends to serve Heironeous. His father left when he was a baby and his mother is a baker and Divine Soul sorcerer who’s favourite spell is Mage Hand. He’s proficient in the calligrapher’s kit.

Princess Momo Yaoyorozu is a human noble maverick artificer. She has the Skilled and Quick-Smithing features. She uses a quarter-staff. Her family follows the goddess of wealth and trade, Shinare. Their family symbol is the sun - as the sun is often a symbol of creation. So they also have a history with the god of Pelor, who also has the sun as their symbol. There is a sacred tree to Pelor in the family’s gardens. Her family rules from Musutafu the capital of Kara-Tur.

Prince Shoto Todoroki is a half elf half human noble sorcerer from white and red draconic blood lines. He has the feats Mage Slayer and Weapon Master and thus uses a rapier. He’s a prince on the run from his father currently going by the alias Perry (because I nicknamed him Katy Perry because he’s hot and cold... I know I’m hilarious). He doesn’t follow is merely very respectful of the gods.

Denki Kaminari is a human storm sorcerer. High charisma, low intelligence. He has the War Caster and Linguist features. He has a lightning rod like staff. When he’s out of spell slots roll a D4. Even he’s fine, odd and he’s short circuited and his intelligence is down to 1 until he’s had a short rest. If the last spell he casts hits though he does triple damage. He is a follower of the storm god Kord, part of the Greyhawk pantheon.

Yuga Aoyama is a scourge aasimar college of glamour bard who at 10th level will have moonbeam as one of his Magical Secrets spells. He uses prestidigitation CONSTANTLY for sparkles. He uses a dulcimer and a light crossbow. He’s also proficient in the shwam and pan flute. He’s a follower of Sune, goddess of love and beauty.He has the feats Fey Touched and war caster.

The Honourable Tenya Ida has a custom mix of both the backgrounds noble and inheritor. He’s a centaur Open Hand monk. He multi-class’ three levels into Clockwork Soul sorcerer to get haste (he comes from a long line of Clockwork Soul transmutation sorcerers). He has the feats Mobile and Inspiring Leader. He has a short sword and an empty fist for battle. He favours Paladine, god of rulers and guardians. His family is the lord and lady of Neverwinter.

Mashirao Ojiro is a Swiftstride shifter Way of the Open Hand monk. Swiftstride shifters are known for being dexterous, graceful and quick. So they often have features from, when they shift, feline creatures. Ojiro grows a tail when he shifts that’s somewhere between a cat and monkey or a kangaroo, making him particularly agile. He also sometimes has animalistic eyes and teeth when he shifts. He has the Martial Adept and Athlete feats. He just uses his fists to fight. He follows Majere, god of meditation and honor. Dexterity is his top stat, charisma is his worst one.

Ochaco Uraraka is an air genasi, a pinky orange one like a cloud at sunset. She’s a transmutation wizard, with one of the spells in her book being levitation. She has the feats lightly armoured and tavern brawler. She uses her fists in hand to hand usually but she’s got daggers stashed on her too. Her favourite deity is Dol Arrah, goddess of sunlight and honour.

Eijiro Kirishima is an earth genasi (although he dyes his hair and ends up confusingly looking like a fire genasi). He is a Path of the Bear Totem Barbarian warrior. He has brown, earthy skin and eyes like rubies. Also he has the Tough and Durable feats. He likes to use his fists or a great-sword. He’s a somewhat casual follower of the Path of Light - a philosophy of light and self-improvement. He also follows Kord, god of storms, athletics and sport.

Rikido Sato is a goliath path of the berserker barbarian. But instead of a typical rage he eats sugar to help him get into the mind set and make it more powerful. This is from his parents who are both bakers and bards. Their bardic magic comes from the alluring quality of their cooking instead of music or sex appeal. He inherited a bit of this baking magic which is how he can do this. If he spends an action before entering a rage eating something high in sugar he gets to double his rage attack bonus die for the next three rounds. He also has the Tough and Durable feats (maybe chef too). He likes to use his fists or a great-axe. He isn’t overly interested in the gods but his favourite is the neutral god of stone giants and art, Skoraeus Stonebones.

Mezo Shoji is a wild-hunt shifter, which are known for their sharp and insightfulness. The animal that he borrows aspects from is the starfish. Which can have between five to eight arms with an eye on each. He’s a way of the Astral Self monk, with an incredibly high perception. He has the Observant and Alert feats. He’s a hand to hand man. He likes Balinor, god of beasts and the hunt best.

Kyoka Jiro is a human bard from the college of valor. She’s proficient in all instruments. She has the keen mind feat and performer. She has a slingshot too. She likes Branchala, god of music best.

Hanta Sero is a human conjuration Clockwork soul sorcerer. The sticky floor spell is one of his favourite spells, and has the Empathic feat. He uses a whip. He’s not particularly interested in following any deity in particular but has a soft spot for Kord since like half his bros follow him. He’s proficient in herbalism kits. his beanie/wizard hat is his arcane focus.

Toru Hagakure is a changeling arcane rogue. She has the Shadow Touched and skulker features. She has lot of KNIVES! The deity she favors is Leira, chaotic neutral goddess of illusion. Her parents told her that when she was born she was blessed and chosen by Leira with a birthmark of her symbol - a spiral in a triangle - on her left hand. Which is why her changeling abilities are so powerful as to let her go invisible.

Minoru Mineta just doesn’t exist. It sucks that possibly the only character with dwarfism in the show is such a creep but there’s barely anything else in his character to build on so he’s just not there. If he did though he’d be a gnome wizard who favored the sticky floor spell best (like Sero) and long range attacks. He’d respect women and tend to hyper-focus on things he likes. He has a very dirty mind and loves inappropriate jokes but isn’t a dick about it. He’d follow Olidammara, chaotic neutral god of revelry.

* I think that having racial attributes like greater strength in orcs is BS and I’d rather delegate attributes according to culture, or more background details. Which is why Bakugo is part orc. Because I like the head-cannon that many orc tribes value self sufficiency highly and that asking for help should be a special sign of trust and mutual respect. Which resonates a lot with Bakugo’s character. Similarly high elves have a reputation for aloofness and coldness as they view no mistake as insignificant. You never know whether a hundred years down the road it might come back to bight you in the ass. So carefulness is prized by many. But there are cultural subsets and it changes by country. Just a lot less racism and a lot more cultural diversity.

#bnha #my hero academia #mha #mha dnd #myanalysis #mha headcanons

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arch-archivars · 3 years

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aesthetics for the entities, part i + ii. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i. the buried. weighed blankets. drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil and sand piling on top of you. hugging so hard it hurts a little. cramped hiding spots. letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool. walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale. lonely subways. feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you. looking for something below. cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts. hands calloused from digging. knowing that your purpose is just below the surface. entering your final resting place before it kills you. a storm drowning you out. dust and sand speaking to you.

ii. the corruption. insects. a close imitation of the natural course of life. an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans. an untreated wound. containment. breaching containment. unbreathable air. fungi. one with that you love. one with what loves you. a corpse unfit for a glass case. hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs. honeycomb patterns. an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist. an ugly death where a glorious one is owed. blood on a handkerchief. parasites. something pushing up the sewer. a mask to keep something out. trypophobia. knowing you belong. death weeks after impact. fever. food that’s gone off. pandora’s box. death behind a glass.

iii. the dark. shadows. lights that turn off by themselves. the feel of cold marble. a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see. hiding under a blanket. white, clouded eyes. months without going outside during sunlight. pouring dark. unscrewing lightbulbs. black matter. light sensitivity. a starless night. time before light was created. a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to. withering plants. a world without a sun. footfalls in an empty house in the night. a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should. desperate reach for a flashlight. clothes that hide your shape. staying unperceivable. winter months in the north. an empty church.

iv. the desolation. senseless pain. warmth of faith. wax where skin should be. a blazing fire. heat without a source. the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon. the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood. inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one. a candle without a flame. an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur. plastic explosives. burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room. never touching a loved one. disfigurement. a kiss that ruins you. the scent of burning fat. a tattoo that terrifies its viewer. the agony of hellfire displayed as art. auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather. a ripple in the air. trying to cool down in vain.

v. the flesh. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling. never quite happy with how you look. the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter. a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts. a twisted bone. long nights working out. more than one heart. appearance that shapes like clay. a bag of bones. bone broth in a pot. knowing to fear pigs. the butcher’s shop. plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance and appearance only. teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity. fenced in with one way to go.

vi. the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambiling with death. as old as the universe. soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii. the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t watch away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyerism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.

viii. the hunt. sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstorous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

ix. the lonely. an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets. waking up to see everyone gone. fog. point nemo. a house too big to hear your family members in. alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it. separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be. a blinding spotlight. the least missed in your friend group. streets without lights in the windows. isolation. not truly knowing your friends. your friends not truly knowing you. need for silence. fear of crowds. staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you. a ship alone at sea. depression. knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realise they’re gone. a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x. the slaughter. a game of tag. senseless violence. a true crime hobby. improvised weapons. blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger. history books that spare no details. an injury you want revenge for. war. counting kills. songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock. unspeakable horrors. anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming. a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs. a weapons collection. not knowing the names of who you kill. too many to remember. loss of hope. there’s no heroes in war.

xi. the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallusinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xii. the stranger. wax figures. a close approximation of a human face. a borrowed appearance. a strange smell. glass eyes. furs and pelts. a dance. a song of a choir. the uncanny valley. stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus. a puppet with no strings. mannequins. glitter and sequin. a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew. stolen identities. stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker. hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at. a faked accent. concealing. forgetting who you are. forgetting who others are. a replacement no one notices. images that look posed. the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii. the vast. open spaces. carnival rides going up and down. fear of heights. endless infinity around you. your insignificance in an universe. stomach turning at a drop. fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip. the sway of a cable car. an adventure holiday. losing track of where the surface is. miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it. loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears. a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith. motion sickness.

xiv. the web. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unrealiability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny lengs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

+ the extinction. the end of an era. apocalypse movies. the alarms of warning systems. a desolate landscape. end of the world cults. nihilism. the last written history. a changed world. no survivours. old prophecies. a thousand predicted ends. a new chapter. an end with no escape. catastrophes. a calendar counting down. breaking point. overindulgence.

TAGGED BY: @radioways mwah !!

TAGGING: @stfreds / @meinliied ( martin or rikar ? ) / @lorefound ( barnabas ) / @mistiqued ( maxwell ) / @vulpesse / @killedfirst / @ghrisha

#〉〉swallowing mud / swallowing glass / the scent of blood —— » inspiration . cecil #/#not me annoying my non - tma mutuals #with tma memes #indulge me <3

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hungover-and-broke-student · 3 years

Text

esthetics for the entities, part i. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

v. the flesh. body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling. never quite happy with how you look. the terror of an animal waiitng for slaughter. a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts. a twisted bone. long nights working out. more than one heart. appearance that shapes like clay. a bag of bones. bone broth in a pot. knowing to fear pigs. the butcher’s shop. plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance and appearance only. teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity. fenced in with one way to go.

xi. the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

TAGGED BY: @brokentoys

TAGGING: steal it! @monomaniiametus @tricksterreformed-a @acriminallawyer

#ooc #tag meme #this was fun thanks for tagging me <3 #long post

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thepilgrimofwar · 3 years

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Liminal

[Follow up to: The Door for Him Backstory for Context: The Curious Case of Apartment 547 Musical Embellishment: Go Tomorrow]

Two and a half years. Two and a half, long, bloody years. Through war, famine, and the chaos that proceeded in their aftermath, Zharia had looked for her father. The Sunguard had said that he was deserter--that the final lead they had of his whereabouts was the ship that had smuggled him out of Quel’thalas at the very height of the Phoenix Wars.

But she knew Arrenir better than that. Her father did not run. When backed into a corner with nothing to lose, he’d have thrown himself into the fire over and over again until he or his enemies were dead. He must have taken that ship for a good reason, she just needed to figure out why.

For two and a half years, she had searched. Now, at last, her leads had finally brought her to Apartment 547.

Technically no one owned it anymore. All three co-owners were dead or presumed dead. Even so, getting the keys from the City Council of Dalaran was no issue, seeing that she was a blood relative to one of them. But when she slotted the key into the front door, she realized that it had not been locked.

Zharia swallowed hard, both excited and afraid of what she might find here. She prayed, Light upon Light, she prayed that she would not find her father’s corpse upstairs. Not after everything they had been through together, not after she had brought him back, and not after almost losing him to misery during The Fall.

But Apartment 547 seemed normal. A layer of dust had taken residence upon the sheet covered furniture. The pots that Lirelle had left in their conservatory had become soil beds for new life. The kitchen and dining table, where there had been so much laughter and joy in the past, stood still with a contented silence. There was no death to be found here. No blackened stains of old blood, no smells of rot.

Zharia made her way up the stairs as rays of sunlight pierced the frosted windows of the apartment. It highlighted the dust that she was disturbing, coiling and floating upwards as she slid her palms over the guard rails. She had never visited personally but from the way Arrenir used to laugh at the time, she knew that the best years of his life were spent here. The rooms on the second floor were empty, save for the smell of sunbaked linen. Excitement had begun to fade as the fear that this was yet another pointless lead filled her heart.

But her fear quickly turned to dread when she made it to the top floor and saw the door at the end of the hallway. It was ajar.

No you fool. No, no, no.

Arrenir had told her about the doors long ago. He had wanted to get her opinion on their nature, seeing that she was a woman of logic and reason. Zharia had told him that they were the workings of a man who could not let go of a past--much like he used to be. She had warned him to be careful with them, lest they tempt him with their empty promises.

She was immune to the alluring claims that they could take you back in time, because unlike many others--often the ones who were time obsessed--she was not as naive. Zharia knew that in order to get where she was today, many things needed to have fallen in place exactly as they did.

Even so, she could not deny that the thought of going back and fixing past mistakes was attractive, but the idea also opened up the possibility of so many other things going wrong. So in the end, she was glad to leave the past behind. It meant that the mistakes she could have made could no longer touch her. It was as Arrenir had told her, once upon a time, ‘that to fix one’s mistakes, it needed to be done in the present, not within the reach of the past.’

The man who had left the door ajar, the door at the end of the hallway, was not the man who she thought her father was. The Arrenir she knew would have never run--not from war--never from life. In a way, this revelation was so much worse than finding his body. It was suicide, only of a different kind.

Zharia stormed towards the door and pushed it wide open. The walls of the hallway seemed to narrow around her, but she ignored it. Dead, alive or something in between, she was not going to let the apartment stop her from tracking down her father.

As if sensing her intent and picking up on her desires, the hallway beyond the door warped and changed. Space seemed to compress until there was but a singular door for her. One that looked exactly as the one that had been left ajar.

“Much obliged,” she muttered as she opened it up to a hallway that led back into Apartment 547. Another Apartment 547.

Everything was wrong. Because everything was right.

She could tell by hopeful chatter in Silvermoon’s streets, and by the way that eternal spring clung to the air of Eversong woods. It was as if the winter, born from the Phoenix Wars, had been nothing more fleeting nuisance instead of the catastrophe her people had suffered. Heading to the Dawnspire, Zharia passed Goldsea where its fields remained unblemished by the ravages of war, and through Autumnvale whose residents had raised a monument to the heroes who had so courageously given their lives for it.

As she gazed upon the alabaster towers of the Dawnspire Citadel, it was clear that the years had been kind to the Sunguard, this Sunguard. Here, following the war, they seemed to have the gratitude of the entire Thalassian nation in their debt. Here, they had been the Honor Guard of a new era of peace. But as abundant as it had been for the guild, the talk of passersby made it clear that it wasn’t nearly as bountiful as it had been for its leader, who apparently was expecting his third child in two years.

The old Guard had retired. Zharia gathered that from the bored receptionist who had been staring at the gates that were never breached, in the courtyard that had never seen blood. According to the girl that manned her uneventful station, the officers had all stepped away for a new generation of leaders. Officers Shadowsunder and Stormsummer had married and now looked to mend the House of Sunders of Shimmervale. The Sunfires had turned their duties to their children once more. Sunshard received a lordly commission of her own: a fleet from the crown itself. And as for Firestorm, the old man had finally settled to administer his realm of Shallowbrook.

When it finally came to the topic of her father, after much gossipping, the receptionist was all too happy to inform her that he had too settled away from the Guard. Marrying one Lirelle Dawnbrook.

Zharia paused at a lovingly crafted door to a cottage by the sea. A part of her didn’t want to knock. It would be so easy to turn around now, head back through the door at the end of the hallway and consider her father dead. But she needed to know if it was him. Really him. The man she had sought for so long.

Is where you went, you old fool?

The door swung open, revealing a war-scarred man with tied crimson hair. “Oh, Zharia? I didn’t realize you were visiting your father today,” he said with a smile.

“Sederis?” Zharia cocked her head involuntarily.

“We’re having a little reunion dinner tonight, but I suppose it wouldn’t be too much trouble if you joined us,” Sederis said, looking back into the cottage where a woman toiled away in the kitchen. “Right dear?”

“We’ll have more than enough food for her if you just leave her some!” she replied with a laugh before joining Sederis at the door. The woman wrapped an arm around her husband’s growing waistline and extended the other to shake Zharia’s hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met dear,” she said. “Ny Dawnbrook, Lirelle’s sister.”

Zharia stood still for a moment, stunned by the sight of the man who had long been dead. She hadn’t known him personally but Arrenir had spoken fondly of him, once upon a time. “Zharia,” she croaked, before shaking the offered hand. “Arrenir’s daughter.”

“Well come in,” Sederis said, welcoming her inside her father’s cottage. “He’s at the beach with Lirelle, probably catching crabs or some other nonsense!” The crimson haired man chuckled. Zharia had never seen him so happy. The times she had seen him in her own time, Sederis had always seemed to carry a weight about him. A burden that he no longer carried in either world.

She made her way inside as the couple returned to the kitchen, aiming to fill the house with the aromatic smells of roast meat and baked garlic before the sun set. It was a quaint place, with exotic plants around every corner, each of them flanked by display cases filled with beetles and bugs.

You never put anything you loved on display. You never wore anything on your sleeve. Why now? Why here?

Her thoughts were cut short when she reached the back door to the cottage, one that opened up to a pristine beach. There, amongst white sands and gentle waves, she saw him. Arrenir Silversun, treading lightly upon rocky tidepools and pointing things out for Lirelle who followed in his wake.

He waved at her.

She waved back.

“Your father will be along shortly,” said Lirelle as she arrived back at the cottage, thrusting her thumb behind her. “He got caught up wrestling a mudskipper for an aquatic crustacean he wanted.”

“Hasn’t changed a bit,” Zharia replied. “How are things?”

“Things are good, The Crows are having a well deserved break after putting down a rebellion against Lord Dumbass’ vassals over there.” Lirelle gestured in Sederis’ general direction before adding, “I told you so!”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Sederis waved her off like a bad smell as he continued grilling dinner.

Zharia shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve...I’ve been away. Expedition overseas. A rebellion?”

Lirelle sighed as she leaned against the doorway. “You met my sister? I assume she failed to mention that she’s next in line to Dawnveil after my father eventually croaks it. Anyway, the only way she’d marry was matrilineally, and Sederis decided that he wanted to marry her.”

Sederis cleared his throat, carrying two skewers of meat in each hand. “Long story short. A few nobles got uppity because the Emberglades could end up with the Dawnbrooks in a generation. So we crushed them. End of story.” The Lord of the Emberglades leaned in to kiss his wife who batted him away, already preoccupied with a pan of paella. Seeing that he wasn’t wanted, he shifted over to Lirelle offering a peace kebab. “Thanks by the way.”

“Your gold was most welcome,” Lirelle replied with a smirk. She took a bite of her peace offering as she joined her sister in the kitchen when Arrenir finally appeared at the doorway to the cottage.

“Zharia, I didn’t know you were coming!” Arrenir bellowed as he wiped his boots on the welcome mat before taking them off.

“Neither did I,” Zharia responded.

A long silence followed, filled only by the chatter of the other guests in the kitchen as it slowly dawned upon Arrenir that something there was something amiss. She watched as the realization spread across him like fire.

“Zharia?” he said at last.

“Hello father,” she couldn’t bring herself to smile. A storm of emotions circled within her as she tried her best to speak.

“Dinner is served!” Sederis called out to them, interrupting the moment as he set a spread of food on the table.

“We’ll talk later?” Arrenir asked, as if to confirm that she would be staying long enough for them to speak.

Zharia nodded.

“We visited Thandiel’s grave,” Sederis said somberly as the evening began to wind down, and drinks became uncorked. “Esheyn came with a bouquet of flowers. Biggest and brightest she’s ever grown. Personally I think the old Bloodknight would’ve much preferred a good bourbon, but I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture nonetheless.”

“We’ll be sure to leave her some the next time we go,” Lirelle replied. “Have something decent in one of your stashes we could borrow?”

“Stashes?” Ny raised an eyebrow at her husband who merely shrugged.

“Look, I committed to drink less, not banish every hidden cache of alcohol I have,” he said.

Lirelle snorted. “He probably doesn’t even remember where half of them are. And I can tell you where the other half is hidden.” She started ticking locations off on her fingers, “Way behind in the back of the cabinet in your bathroom, under the huge pot in the kitchen that Elan never uses, in the corner of my shed…the usual.”

“Well,” Arrenir interjected. “Highdawn’s death anniversary is coming up, so that’d be the best time for us to visit. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a second visit from the two of you,” he said with a smile.

“Will do,” Sederis said with a nod, and as the dinner drew to a close, the mellowed out Lord of the Emberglades rose to his feet and insisted on doing the dishes despite Arrenir’s protests. “Guest, or not guest, seeing that my brother is buried in paperwork and is not here...I’m the only one without more catching up to do.” The Pilgrim of War donned an apron, rolled up his sleeves, and with a weightless smile began to clean up.

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” said Ny, standing with her husband. “I’ve got to scold my sister here for not visiting home often enough.”

Lirelle stood up. “I visit plenty!”

“Ever since you two built your cottage, you’ve been coming back here between leading your campaigns with the Crows...” Ny trailed off as she left for the living room with Lirelle who chased after her elder sister with an incredulous look on her face.

Arrenir laughed at first, waving the both of them off until he was left at the dining table with Zharia. His Zharia.

She sat as she had throughout dinner, in a daze. Surrounded by the living dead, she wondered how differently their counterparts would’ve been if only they had lived.

“We should talk outside.”

They sat upon the deck that overlooked the seaside. Stars dotted the skyline, reflecting off a dark and undulating sea below. Zharia couldn’t bring herself to speak at first, unsure if doing so would lead to catharsis or a gaping wound that would never close. But she needed to.

Arrenir broke the silence first, staring at the night sky as he did. “I--I never thought I’d see you again. It’s good to see you Zharia.”

“Is it?” she spoke at last. “You ran. Away from it all. Away from reality. Away from me.”

“I did,” Arrenir replied, staring at the night sky. “I’m sorry.”

She scoffed. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Arrenir spoke quietly as he turned towards her to look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry for abandoning you without a word. I’m sorry I left you without a body to bury and with questions, millions of questions, left unanswered.”

Zharia saw that there was genuine pain in his eyes. Her father didn’t do what he did lightly, that much she could see. And as Arrenir reached over to embrace her, she flinched at first, but quickly leaned into his shoulder and descended into tears.

“Why?” Zharia sobbed, shedding tears of grief and anger. “I never mourned you because I knew you weren’t dead. But this, this, is so much worse than that! Do you understand what you’ve done? You chose to go to a place where I can’t follow. Do I mean that little to you!?”

Arrenir held her as she yelled into his shoulder. “You mean the world to me,” he said softly. “I thought by coming here, I could do better. Be a better father. Be a better soldier. Be a better man. It was only after everything--the war, the life I built here--did I realize that you wouldn’t be a part of it.”

“And yet you never came back,” Zharia sneered as she tore away from her father’s embrace. “I guess it’s because you found what you were looking for.”

Arrenir looked back at the cottage he had built. The life that he had earned for himself through fire and blood. From each plank of its construction and each display case filled with the collections he had gathered. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I did.”

“Good for you.” Zharia said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Because this, all of this, is wrong. It belongs in another life. To another Arrenir. A life you’ve stolen it from him by coming here.”

Arrenir shook his head. “He’d have made the same mistakes I made. Nothing would have changed.”

“Would it?” Zharia shook her head. “I’m going now, back to where you ought to have been. Where your friends are dead and where your daughter is missing a father.” She rose from the deck. “This will be the last you’ll see of me.”

Arrenir swallowed hard, trying his best to choke back his tears. “Goodbye Zharia,” he said. “It was nice seeing you again. I was hoping that you’d stay--”

“Save it,” Zharia spat and turned to leave her father behind. “You raised me well enough to know not to run from my mistakes.”

After long moments spent in deep thought, Arrenir finally returned inside to find that it was quiet. The kitchen was spotless, plates and pans drying on their respective racks. The living room still bore the scent of tea, but it was clear that his guests had already gone.

“Lirelle?” he called out to his wife but received no response. After checking each room of the cottage he finally found her on the front porch that overlooked her garden.

“Who the fuck are you?” She asked.

“How much did you hear?”

“Hear? Do you think I’m blind? I figured something was up the moment she spoke to me,” Lirelle glared at him. “She came through the apartment, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Arrenir said, knowing better than to mince words with her. “And so did I.”

“I always wondered why you became less insufferable to be around all of a sudden,” Lirelle said. “I thought it was because you finally understood who I was.”

“You aren’t wrong, though the only difference is that the realization happened elsewhere.”

“So I married a dupe,” Lirelle rested her face in her hands. “You’re not even my Arrenir.”

“I am your Arrenir,” he said, folding his arms. “Your Arrenir would’ve continued to be insufferable. Trying too hard to be something he thought you wanted him to be. And failing.” “Speaking from experience?” his wife got to her feet and folded her arms. “Fail with one Lirelle, but wait, don’t worry, there’s an infinite more to choose from! All you need to do is keep crossing fucking dimensions until you succeed in pinning me down. God I’ve got to be the worst Lirelle of the lot,” Lirelle spat as rage welled up inside her. “So is that it? Is that why you came here!?”

Arrenir looked her in the eyes and held her ire-filled gaze. “No,” he said. “I came here because you died.”

“What?”

“Sunstrider Isle, fighting Dame Everleigh’s forces. But instead of crushing them together, we had parted on poor terms. You died there, with Sederis.”

Lirelle’s demeanour changed and she sat back down. “And the Crows?”

“Died with you, save for a few. Garris sent me your death letter.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head, trying to wrap her head around how differently it could have all played out. “So you came here, because your Lirelle died.”

“You’re my Lirelle,” he responded without hesitation. “The Lirelle where I came from was never mine. Neither were you until you gave yourself to me.”

“Really?” she said skeptically. “I bet if I had died on that field, like she did, you’d just have jumped ship again. Gone to another door. Tried again. Again and again until I lived.”

“No.”

“No?”

Arrenir shook his head. “I didn’t come here because I wanted you to live. That wasn’t my regret. My regret was that I didn’t ride out with you. I came here, to this world, because I wasn’t there with my friends when everything came to an end. I should have been. I would have been, if I wasn’t so damned selfish.” He brought his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “I came here to die with you. If you had fallen, I’d have fallen with you. Because I love you. You.”

Epilogue

“Take me home,” said Zharia as she climbed the final steps to the top floor of Apartment 547. The door at the end of the hallway waited for her, already open. She took one final look at the world she was leaving behind. A better, brighter world, but not her’s. For better or for worse, this one belonged to her father now. She had hoped for catharsis--to bring her father back--but it was clear he was no longer the man she remembered. But even so, Zharia was content with closure.

I’m glad you found what you were looking for. I’m glad you finally found yourself. I just wish I could’ve been a part of that.

Goodbye, father.

She stepped through and the door to this world closed behind her, never to be opened again.

-fin-

I’ve been meaning to write this for a long long time. First, I told myself I’d do it after the Phoenix Wars. Then I told myself I’d do it after the Guild’s last day. Again, when I told myself I’d do it after The Emberglades Civil War.

I guess it took so long because I’ve always meant for this story to be a symbolic goodbye. As the last story I’ll ever write for WoW and it suppose it was hard saying goodbye to characters that I’ve role-played as for 5 years. Some even more than that. It isn’t the end of course, I’m still game to keep role-playing them from time to time. But as for the arcs that I’ve been doing since the Emberglades Saga go, this will be the last one.

I want to thank everyone who has made these last 5 years probably the best ones of my life. Guildies, raiding buddies, friends, and everyone who suffered with me through my Emberglades Civil War Campaign. Special shout out to Sean for not only for letting me use his Roll20 system to bring that story & campaign to life but for leading the Guild that has left so many fond memories for so many people over the years.

Photo Credit: Toast_91

#Arrenir #The End

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notstolen · 4 years

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aesthetics for the entities. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

vi. the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambling with death. as old as the universe. soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii. the hunt. sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstrous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

vii. the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t look away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyerism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.

xi. the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xiv. the web. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

xiii. the vast. open spaces. carnival rides going up and down. fear of heights. endless infinity around you. your insignificance in a universe. stomach turning at a drop. fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip. the sway of a cable car. an adventure holiday. losing track of where the surface is. miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it. loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears. a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith. motion sickness.

tagged by: stole it from one of my other blogs

tagging: @xwhiterabbitx, @lonexwolfe, @desolationtrial ( for ari since i think you might’ve done this for norman already? )

#dash games.

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teletapedarc · 3 years

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aesthetics for the entities, all of them. bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. repost. do not reblog. from @sagamemes. under the cut bc it’s long as hell. TAGGED BY: no one TAGGING: you.

xi. the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xiv. the web. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realizing it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

#💧 》 ⤻ BRIDGETTE ◞ aesthetics !

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cloakedinfall-a · 4 years

Text

aesthetics for the entities bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

xiv. the web. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unrealiability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

TAGGED BY: stole it.

TAGGING: @theaterism <any of them> @dcigrxtia @tragicblood @runnerkiller @pickdroses @fartemis-crock @rxdhairxdsirxns @nullcide @discipulusmaleficus @bustcdkneecaps <elias>

#veres~musings #/theater #/he might actually be vast holy fuck #bustcdkneecaps

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desolationtrial · 4 years

Text

vi. the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambling with death. as old as the universe. soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

viii. the hunt. sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstrous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

vii. the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t look away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyerism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.

xi. the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xiv. the web. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

Tagged by: @notstolen Tagging: @the-mind-of-xelyn, @detective-with-one-arm, @dpds-finest, @shotdownbutstillalive, @swatteam60, @wearera9

#dash games.#long post.

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hyperions-angel · 4 years

Text

aesthetics for the entities.

bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

(original post on sagamemes here & here; this is post combining both into one long post under the cut)

i. the buried.

weighed blankets. drowning. the comfort of a loved one’s weight. soil and sand piling on top of you. hugging so hard it hurts a little. cramped hiding spots. letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool. walls pressing in on you. not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little. dragging the last second before you have to inhale. lonely subways. feeling like one with the earth. a layer of dirt on you. looking for something below. cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts. hands calloused from digging. knowing that your purpose is just below the surface. entering your final resting place before it kills you. a storm drowning you out. dust and sand speaking to you.

ii. the corruption.

insects. a close imitation of the natural course of life. an illness in a community. a rag that dirties more than it cleans. an untreated wound. containment. breaching containment. unbreathable air. fungi. one with that you love. one with what loves you. a corpse unfit for a glass case. hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs. honeycomb patterns. an ecosystem within a person. a curse passed on. the hubris of a scientist. an ugly death where a glorious one is owed. blood on a handkerchief. parasites. something pushing up the sewer. a mask to keep something out. trypophobia. knowing you belong. death weeks after impact. fever. food that’s gone off. pandora’s box. death behind a glass.

iii. the dark.

shadows. lights that turn off by themselves. the feel of cold marble. a beaked creature in the night. the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing. touch of something you can’t see. hiding under a blanket. white, clouded eyes. months without going outside during sunlight. pouring dark. unscrewing lightbulbs. black matter. light sensitivity. a starless night. time before light was created. a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to. withering plants. a world without a sun. footfalls in an empty house in the night. a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should. desperate reach for a flashlight. clothes that hide your shape. staying unperceivable. winter months in the north. an empty church.

iv. the desolation.

senseless pain. warmth of faith. wax where skin should be. a blazing fire. heat without a source. the third or fourth tragedy in the family. losing everything you’ve ever held dear. so much to live for, gone so soon. the smell of gasoline. touch that scars. coffee cup that never goes cold. scorch marks on wood. inescapably warm air. a child born in fire. death of a loved one. a candle without a flame. an altar in the middle of the woods. animals with burnt fur. plastic explosives. burning hot metal. sweating in an interrogation room. never touching a loved one. disfigurement. a kiss that ruins you. the scent of burning fat. a tattoo that terrifies its viewer. the agony of hellfire displayed as art. auburn hair. little clothing in cold weather. a ripple in the air. trying to cool down in vain.

v. the flesh.

body horror. factories. a hunger for something more filling. never quite happy with how you look. the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter. a very good meal. the liquid of a perfect steak. fighting your worst survival instincts. a twisted bone. long nights working out. more than one heart. appearance that shapes like clay. a bag of bones. bone broth in a pot. knowing to fear pigs. the butcher’s shop. plastic surgery. something alien inside your body. a hunger in the gaze laid upon you. unwitting cannibalism. forgetting what you used to look like. being admired for your appearance and appearance only. teeth marks on skin. scars from wounds that should’ve killed you. cooking in scarcity. fenced in with one way to go.

vi. the end.

the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambling with death. as old as the universe. soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii. the eye.

googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t look away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyeurism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.

viii. the hunt.

sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstrous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

ix. the lonely.

an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets. waking up to see everyone gone. fog. point nemo. a house too big to hear your family members in. alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it. separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be. a blinding spotlight. the least missed in your friend group. streets without lights in the windows. isolation. not truly knowing your friends. your friends not truly knowing you. need for silence. fear of crowds. staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you. a ship alone at sea. depression. knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realize they’re gone. a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x. the slaughter.

a game of tag. senseless violence. a true crime hobby. improvised weapons. blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger. history books that spare no details. an injury you want revenge for. war. counting kills. songs of soldiers. a knife-block on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock. unspeakable horrors. anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming. a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs. a weapons collection. not knowing the names of who you kill. too many to remember. loss of hope. there’s no heroes in war.

xi. the spiral.

sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xii. the stranger.

wax figures. a close approximation of a human face. a borrowed appearance. a strange smell. glass eyes. furs and pelts. a dance. a song of a choir. the uncanny valley. stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus. a puppet with no strings. mannequins. glitter and sequins. a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew. stolen identities. stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker. hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at. a faked accent. concealing. forgetting who you are. forgetting who others are. a replacement no one notices. images that look posed. the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii. the vast.

open spaces. carnival rides going up and down. fear of heights. endless infinity around you. your insignificance in an universe. stomach turning at a drop. fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip. the sway of a cable car. an adventure holiday. losing track of where the surface is. miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it. loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears. a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith. motion sickness.

xiv. the web.

undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realizing it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

+ the extinction.

the end of an era. apocalypse movies. the alarms of warning systems. a desolate landscape. end of the world cults. nihilism. the last written history. a changed world. no survivors. old prophecies. a thousand predicted ends. a new chapter. an end with no escape. catastrophes. a calendar counting down. breaking point. overindulgence.

tagged by: @maliwan012

tagging: @numericalassassin @thehandsomeasshole @redjaybird

I’m not sure I did any of this right but I tried my best! Thank you for tagging me in this, it was super fun! Also sorry for the long post and small font, I wasn’t able to change it.

#hyperions-angel #( tag meme. )#( tagged. )#( tw. )

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maliwan012 · 4 years

Text

aesthetics for the entities.

bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

(original post on sagamemes here & here; this is post combining both into one long post under the cut)

vi. the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambling with death. as old as the universe. soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii. the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t look away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyeurism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.

viii. the hunt. sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstrous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

xi. the spiral. sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xii. the stranger. wax figures. a close approximation of a human face. a borrowed appearance. a strange smell. glass eyes. furs and pelts. a dance. a song of a choir. the uncanny valley. stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus. a puppet with no strings. mannequins. glitter and sequins. a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew. stolen identities. stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker. hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at. a faked accent. concealing. forgetting who you are. forgetting who others are. a replacement no one notices. images that look posed. the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiv. the web. undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realising it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

+ the extinction. the end of an era. apocalypse movies. the alarms of warning systems. a desolate landscape. end of the world cults. nihilism. the last written history. a changed world. no survivors. old prophecies. a thousand predicted ends. a new chapter. an end with no escape. catastrophes. a calendar counting down. breaking point. overindulgence.

tagged by: no-one! stole it from @sagamemes (idk if you’d mind me @’ing u but uh <3 thank u for making this thing!) tagging: @mysterybusiness , @agentbeyond , @floyb , @gracesmuses , @grenkids , @hyperions-angel , @skiesking , @elegys , @sonicbreak , @writedisaster , @ everyone who sees this (or else.. :gun: /jk)

#long post cw #was it harder to die? or harder to be the one who survived? | headcanon & meta.#a little fun and work. | dash games.#(OHGH)#ask to tag

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deivorous · 4 years

Text

vi. the end. the last page of a book. nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares. a skeletal hand. the grip of the grim reaper around your throat. existential pain. ivory dice. flatlining in a hospital. gambling with death. as old as the universe. soul and spirit tied to an object. a dream where you die. closing your eyes for the last time. the plead of a dying one. knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it. a thousand cords tugging you towards your end. skin that’s freezing to the touch. an act of desperation. someone’s life for yours. an eternity spent alive. the cost of your selfishness. watching your own burial. causing your own burial. the smell of death. numbness to fear. words from someone gone. meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe. multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii. the eye. googling something you shouldn’t have. eureka moments. the unforgiving lens of a camera. witness reports. hidden libraries. eyes of different colours. feeling of being watched. a death recorded in tape. a tragedy you can’t look away from. endangering yourself for knowledge. truth. analog records. a symbol of an eye. a watch tower. compulsion to document. turning on recording devices without thinking about it. saving the evidence before the person. extracting information. truth or dare, without the dare. a thirst for knowledge. books that speak to you. coordinated shelves. cataloguing systems. voyerism. police report you can’t put down. reasoning your way out. smell of old papers. books that read you back.

viii. THE HUNT. - sharp canines. sore calves after a run. the scent of blood. an adventure for the journey’s sake. the adrenaline right before the kill. a whistle’s echo. the woods. the doe eyes of a prey animal. your own breath in the air. sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters. hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started. staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run. a set of footsteps behind you. blood dripping from bare hands. barks and growls. focused eyes. a victim going limp under your hands. a mouth full of fresh blood. catching the scent of something monstrous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

ix. THE LONELY. - an apartment too small for a double bed. completely vacant streets. waking up to see everyone gone. fog. point nemo. a house too big to hear your family members in. alone in a faceless crowd. a mask with nothing behind it. separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be. a blinding spotlight. the least missed in your friend group. streets without lights in the windows. isolation. not truly knowing your friends. your friends not truly knowing you. need for silence. fear of crowds. staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you. a ship alone at sea. depression. knowing your friends are better off without you. talking to someone only to realize they’re gone. a family too large to notice you there. safety in being alone.

x. THE SLAUGHTER. - a game of tag. senseless violence. a true crime hobby. improvised weapons. blinding rage. intent to kill. a horrific day in a quiet community. a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger. history books that spare no details. an injury you want revenge for. war. counting kills. songs of soldiers. a knifeblock on the counter. a pool of blood. shellshock. unspeakable horrors. anger pushing you forward. unimaginable pain. not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming. a fully human monster. an authority sending its lessers to their deaths. kill or be killed. unedited wartime memoirs. a weapons collection. not knowing the names of who you kill. too many to remember. loss of hope. there’s no heroes in war.

xi. THE SPIRAL. - sleep deprivation. corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves. losing possessions. losing people. losing your sanity. corkscrew curls. rows of funhouse mirrors. optical illusions. a separate reality. walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing. blank spaces in documents. hallucinations. wrong proportions. a nameless thing. a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind. blind faith. losing track of names, labels, categories. distorted sound. an imperfection in a glass that twists the view. loss of time. a garish colour. doors that open to nowhere. lies. an unnatural laugh. jokes and tricks. illusions. a doorway. a sculptor with a wild imagination. limbs in impossible angles. doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible. fractals you can get lost in.

xii. THE STRANGER. - wax figures. a close approximation of a human face. a borrowed appearance. a strange smell. glass eyes. furs and pelts. a dance. a song of a choir. the uncanny valley. stitching yourself together. the colours of a circus. a puppet with no strings. mannequins. glitter and sequin. a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew. stolen identities. stolen skins. a machine imitating humanity. the anonymity of a service worker. hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at. a faked accent. concealing. forgetting who you are. forgetting who others are. a replacement no one notices. images that look posed. the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii. THE VAST. - open spaces. carnival rides going up and down. fear of heights. endless infinity around you. your insignificance in an universe. stomach turning at a drop. fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip. the sway of a cable car. an adventure holiday. losing track of where the surface is. miles and miles of nothing around you. staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it. loss of control. a fall that doesn’t end in death. glass floor to the view below. terminal velocity. the sound of wind in your ears. a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building. falling into nothing. feeling your feet let go of the ground. a leap of faith. motion sickness.

xiv. THE WEB. - undecipherable code. a puppeteer holding the strings. power over the weak-willed. strings of fate. manipulation. an arranged accident. a hundred minions doing your bidding. cobwebs. spiders. a laid trap. never voicing discomfort. outwitting a cheater. doing things without realizing it. red string across a corkboard. finding something lost where you were sure you checked. power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you. an entangled death. a thousand tiny legs and fangs. shady forum threads. something important gone missing. suspiciously disregarded case. a missing witness. connections. the world wide web. power of victimhood. gullibility. no control over your own decisions. an invisible leash. mass psychology. a horror film in the making. scapegoat. never remembering to ask for a name.

+ THE EXTINCTION. - the end of an era. apocalypse movies. the alarms of warning systems. a desolate landscape. end of the world cults. nihilism. the last written history. a changed world. no survivours. old prophecies. a thousand predicted ends. a new chapter. an end with no escape. catastrophes. a calendar counting down. breaking point. overindulgence.

Stolen! from: @paismurcielago Tagging: Its free real estate

#[ aesthetic meme ]#[ Repost Games || OOC ]#// long post

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wiresdonttalk · 4 years

Text

aesthetics for the entities.

bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. this is based on a horror podcast; potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

(original post on sagamemes here & here; this is post combining both into one long post under the cut)

i. the buried.

ii. the corruption.

iii. the dark.

iv. the desolation.

v. the flesh.

vi. the end.

vii. the eye.

viii. the hunt.

ix. the lonely.

x. the slaughter.

xi. the spiral.

xii. the stranger.

xiii. the vast.

xiv. the web.

+ the extinction.

tagged by: no one

tagging: anyone who wants to do this

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