#cauldron crusade

[mekanikaltrifle]

Most important bit of non-canon character interaction I have ever written. Hands-down. Atlanta Sabbat war and Bloodcurse who?

[coffee-in-veins]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Crusader/Highwayman (Darkest Dungeon), Reymas, background Jester/Leper (Darkest Dungeon), Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Highwayman (Darkest Dungeon), Crusader (Darkest Dungeon), Jester (Darkest Dungeon), Leper (Darkest Dungeon), Plague Doctor (Darkest Dungeon), Occultist (Darkest Dungeon), Heir (Darkest Dungeon), Grave Robber (Darkest Dungeon), multiple background OC heroes Additional Tags: Non-Linear Narrative, Established Relationship, Denial of Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Survivor Guilt, Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Loathing, Self-Disregard, Self-Harm, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, therapy isn't invented yet, Body Horror, Crimson Curse actually mutates people into bloodsuckers, social segregation, Canon-Typical Violence, Mutilation, Period-Typical Homophobia, this is still Gaylet though, Character Death, i mean it's DD character death is expected here, Dismas creative and explicit cussing, Implied Sexual Content, explicit sexual content in future chapters, Social drama, Religious Bigotry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, no beta we die like seekers in DD1, Crimson curse (Darkest Dungeon), i'm in reymas hell and it's cozy in here Series: Part 1 of Nowhereland’s Apocrypha Summary:

Ruin came to Hamlet, and a new incurable plague sweeps across the lands, turning people into monsters and blurring the line between friend and foe. Amidst the tangled thread of inner fighting, religious hysterics and double-crossing intended to keep the feeble peace, an odd dance takes place: one step forward and two to the side, as a supposedly unbreakable relationship between two unlikely "dearest friends" hobbles time after time over the stumbling stone of their feelings towards each other. But this dance of affection, desires, devotion and lies, however pleasurable and painful, can't last forever. Yet another eldritch horror descends upon surrounding lands, leaving both men wishing that they were if not straight, then at least straightforward with each other from the start.

=== Updates every two weeks, on Tuesday

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

Also, having Africa and conservation as a joint interest was a mistake.

I think that was because Harry had no real interests of his own other than partying, getting high and playing video games. He's just as empty as his wife in that regard. In fact I think he's actually worse. If they looked inside of him like they did Meghan in South Park, all they see would be a seething cauldron of rage and resentment.

Just as Meghan's been single white female-ing Kate, Harry has been doing that too to William all his life. And it's even more disturbing cos as u said, Meghan wanted Kate to be her bff but with her as the main bitch and Kate as the lesser friend. While Harry hates William, his archenemy. He wants whatever William has (money, family, Kate, interests, importance, respect, character, height, Diana's face and his special bond with her) and better. Failing that, he'd drag him down to his level. Thus the reputation and character assassination attempts by projecting his own flaws (envious, violent, malevolent, shady, sinister) onto William and accusing him of things he himself is guilty of (cheating, leaking and briefing against his family, betrayal, bullying, shady dealing).

See what happened in his hacking case. William had actually been the one who set things in motion that led to the leveson inquiry and press reforms when he reported his suspicion of a hacking to the police. But Harry twisted it around and painted William's private settlement as a secret shady dealing to appease the tabloids while claiming himself as the hero on a crusade using an old case that had been dealt with a long time ago when HE actually had been the one who fraternized with reporters in exchange for favorable coverage.

He is twisted and malevolent. No matter what happens with his marriage, the brf needs to make sure he stays away from William and his family. He wants to see William ruined and his faux concern about the Wales kids felt sinister and was telling -- he wants them to be as messed up as he is to vindicate himself and to punish William.

This is very insightful. It’s also kind of creepy when you take into consideration the rumors about him and Pippa.

[rwac96]

Batman Contingencies: Ragna The Bloodedge

Agamemnon Contingency: "Man of The Azure"

Ragna The Bloodedge, also known as the "Grim Reaper", is an SS-Class Criminal wanted dead or alive by the Novus Orbis Librarium. This organization claims to be the protector of Ragna's Earth. He wields a powerful mystical Grimoire called the 'Azure Grimoire', parts made from a deceased world-ending threat called the 'Black Beast'. As a child, Ragna lived with his brother Jin and his sister Saya, under the care of a nun known as Celica Mercury. A trio of orphans brought in by one of the Six Heroes, Jubei, lived quite a peaceful life in a village until tragedy struck. From what I've gathered, a yellow-eyed man burned down the church they lived in, killed the nun, kidnapped Saya, and convinced his brother to slice off his Ragna's arm. He would've died if it weren't for the intervention of a vampiric Observer, Rachel Alucard.

After this tragedy, Ragna spent his adolescence training to properly wield the Azure Grimoire, which is now his new right arm and is one of the more potent and dangerous Grimoires in his world. Under Jubei's tutelage and Rachel's advice, despite her childish and teasing demeanor, Ragna prepared his crusade against the Librarium, destroying the Cauldrons in the Hierarchical Cities. Upon the 13th City, Ragna would face a Boundry Device android known as 'Nu-13', usually a cold killing machine, perversely welcomed their 'union'.

This would've been Ragna's end, and the return of the Black Beast that the Six Heroes vanquished long ago, if it weren't for the bravery of a rookie NOL soldier known as Noel Vermillion. This contingency is in case Ragna would go to extreme measures to stop the machinations of those who ruined his life, or if the Azure Grimoire began to transform him into the Black Beast.

The first thing to do is to separate Aramasa, the Blood-Scythe, a weapon that transforms from a sword into a scythe. It works in tune with the Azure Grimoire, the artifact that can manipulate various body parts of the Black Beast through "Soul Eater" and heal himself with "Blood Cain". It's as if it's a vampiric characteristic, which would need to look more into his relationship with Rachel. Close-quarters combat would end disastrously, meaning that a spell would render the Azure Grimoire null. If the confrontation goes poorly for him, he will use concealment magic to hide himself from man and animal. To counter this, a mystical artifact or spell would be needed to counter against it. From further research, he wields a device called the 'Idea Engine', which would prevent the Grimoire from being suppressed and prevent the artifact from corrupting him.

Should Ragna become desperate in a battle, he would be forced to remove the limiter, using the Grimoire's full power. His speed and strength increase, but his sanity also diminishes. If in this state for a prolonged time, he would eventually attack friend and foe, causing unimaginable collateral damage. But, thankfully, it doesn't last, but it will erase his memories. Being in an amnesiac state, Ragna would be vulnerable to a villain who would present themselves as an altruistic individual.

Ragna reminds me of Jason all too much, his rage is worse and his stubbornness to see a task to the end, even if it pits him against allies. Should Ragna decide to become the world's enemy, subduing him could prove difficult.

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

THE DREAMERS IN THE DAYLIGHT: HIGH LADY

Scene: Feyre takes the Stand

WARNING: This fic is strongly Feysand-critical, and contains OCs who do not have their backstories described in the below scene. This is a scene from my fic, the Dreamers in the Daylight, which is in drafting stages. I've made efforts to tag properly here on Tumblr but please be forewarned when you read.

With the chime of a bell, the court was now in session.

Feyre sat up straight on the stand, recalling her lessons with Rhys. Look only at Eunomia - not the Night Court. Here, against her, it would be no good to show vulnerability. The Keeper of Laws and Scales had no feelings - a heart of pure stone - and she would take Feyre's natural desire to seek her mate's support and guidance as a weakness to exploit. She must only be the High Lady of Night, seated above everything and everyone.

Eunomia thumbed carefully through her stack of papers and files. Feyre spared a glance for the assembled Courts in the galleries above then. As expected, Tamlin was seated near the rail, flanked by his young sentry. He watched as Eunomia, satisfied now with her organization, straightened her back and approached the bench. The Keeper's golden robes swished softly around her sandaled ankles as she stepped lightly across the mosaic floor.

Feyre drew her eyes to Eunomia's just as Tamlin shifted his gaze to the bench. To her.

She schooled her face unto cool neutrality, despite the surge of anger she felt.

They really were two little peas in a pod, Feyre thought.

She expected the sound of Rhys's dark, melodious laugh at her remarks - but there was only silence.

The spell - the invocation of Truth - it had blocked their abilities. For the first time in years, Feyre was utterly alone inside of her own head.

A pang of unease struck as she instinctively dug down for that bridge, that bond - but there was nothing. Only quiet and memories. Her own memories, and nothing of Rhysand.

Feyre risked a glance at the assembled Night Court - her sisters, her family, her mate. Nesta was busy caring for Nyx, but Cassian had arrived, seated on Rhysand's right side.

Her mate locked eyes with her, and nodded.

"My lady, I have asked you a question. "

Feyre emerged, into reality. "Repeat it, if you please."

No apologies. Not for this female - not now. Eunomia repeated, "I have asked you to identify your name for our record."

"Feyre Archeron, the Cauldron-Breaker, High Lady of Night, Defender of thr Rainbow."

"Strike the High Lady's additional titles," Eunomia said, with a glance towards the shifting quill scratched notes on an endless roll of parchment. The quill immediately drew lines through its previous work. "In future, my lady, please use only your name and your official titles for identification purposes."

"If you insist."

"I do, thank you. Do you understand your duties here?"

"I am to tell the truth."

"That is correct. You swore an oath. Do you also understand why you are here?"

"I am here," said Feyre, "to correct a great injustice and misunderstanding that you seem to have about my Court."

Eunomia didn't rise to the taunt. "Can you elaborate on your point?"

"The Night Court has not always been a steadfast or reliable ally and friend to the peoples of Prythian," said Feyre, putting a hand over her heart as she addressed the assembled lords and ladies. "However, your accusations - your crusade - is in vain. You seem to have some strange ideas about our role in the tragic events of the past. I believe that we will be able to correct your misunderstandings today."

Silence was to be expected, but Feyre decided that she had made a decent show of it. The trick was not to be overly flashy - trying to make herself more eloquent never served - but to be sincere, and she was. They had to remember that Eunomia was at fault. She had called this trial for revenge. The Night Court's mistakes were their own.

Eunomia merely raised an eyebrow. "Very well. Let's begin, then. Can you describe your duties as High Lady of Night?"

Feyre replied, "I manage correspondence and arrange meetings. I also preside over the Hewn City on occasion. I listen to and hear our people’s concerns, and alleviate them. I organize and find solutions to our problems. I find it best to interact personally with our people – to meet with them as individuals, rather than as a faceless mass of subjects. I also teach in Velaris.”

"What do you teach?"

"Art. I'm a painter."

"I see. And what else?"

Feyre blinked. "I'm sorry?"

And winced - that was too close to an apology, even if she hadn't meant it as such. She should have said, "I beg your pardon?" or "Excuse me?" or something else more - High Ladyish.

"What else is there?" Eunomia asked. "Do you have any other responsibilities?"

Feyre's gut suddenly clenched. "I don't like what you're implying."

"I am not implying anything. It is important, before we proceed, that we have the most accurate information. I am asking if you have any other responsibilities that you may have neglected to mention."

Inhale, exhale. Her explosion of temper had saved her once, but not now. Not now. "No, that's all."

"I see. You have described some managerial duties. Can you elaborate on this more? Do you manage any of the Night Court's correspondence with foreign nations?"

"No."

"Do you manage anything with regards to trade, either between foreign nations or the other sovereign Courts?"

"Not directly, no."

"Do you manage anything with regards to the Night Court's military - for example, do you train and manage units of soldiers?"

"No."

Feyre winced again. She'd gotten into a rhythm and answered without thinking. She was a fighter. A warrior, like her mate. She should have said yes - even if, technically, Eunomia's question was not about her own fighting prowess.

But the Keeper merely continued, "Do you manage any diplomatic relations between the other sovereign Courts of Prythian?"

This was a trap. This was a trap. Without her bond with Rhysand, filling the emptiness inside of her, she might as well have been that teenage girl in the woods, freezing and alone again. Eunomia's eyes were as gray as the skies above the barren trees. Always, the winter, in her memories. "No," said Feyre.

"I see. So, you have now described for us your duties. You are High Lady, and in that capacity, you interact personally with the people of the Night Court, and manage certain tasks – but you are not involved in trade, diplomacy, the military, or international relations. Am I understanding correctly?”

Damn her. This was her goal - to make Feyre so small, and weak, and flushed with shame. "That's not right."

"I am repeating what you have told me. Recall that you swore an oath to speak the truth."

"I haven't lied, but you -"

High Lady of the Desk. She'd made that joke to Rhysand, privately, in their own bedroom, and yet, Eunomia had somehow aired it out in front of everyone. She'd minimized it. There was no High Lady in Prythian, until her. No females who ruled as equals with their mates, until her. And yet, Eunomia made it so insignificant.

I don't think I could handle it... if they called me High Lady.

She felt each pair of eyes, watching her, as if they could see what was under her skin. As if they could see what was in the mirror, lurking just beyond her subconsciousness. Her true self, which only Rhysand really knew, which she had done so much to conquer. To accept.

When she didn't answer, Eunomia replied, "That's fine. We can move on. Perhaps you may clarify some other things for me."

She went back to her table and drew up one of her files.

"As you know, I have spent a considerable amount of time speaking to witnesses and constructing a timeline of the relevant events. I am going to read for you the timeline that I have constructed. Please stop me at any point if I have something incorrect. To my understanding: the curse upon this land was broken in midsummer. Six months passed, and you began planning your wedding to Lord Tamlin –” Here, Eunomia pointed to where he was seated in the gallery, “– and presumably, began to assume the duties of the Lady of Spring. However, your wedding was interrupted due to a bargain that was struck between you and Lord Rhysand –”

Here, again, she pointed, and Feyre seized the opportunity to look at him again. Her beautiful, perfect mate. She ached for his voice in her head, his dark power flooding through her, soothing her as it always, always had. His sparkling eyes were full of emotion, and Feyre heard the echoes of him, telling her to be strong. Be strong. Be brave.

She could do it, if he was here. This was only another obstacle that they would overcome, as she and Rhysand had always overcome everything - together.

I love you, Feyre thought. She let it shine out of her. I love you more than life itself. More than anything. She knew that it would reach him, even though her thoughts were shielded from his.

Eunomia was still speaking. “You spent intermittent periods in the Night Court, as a result of this bargain. However, in the winter of that year, there came a point when Lord Rhysand did not return you after the expected week was past. Two months later, you returned to Spring, after the bargain was severed by King Conand the Second of Hybern. Is this timeline correct, to your estimation?”

Feyre lifted her chin. Nothing would break her. Not even this. "That's correct, yes."

"Very well. At what point, then, did you become High Lady of Night?"

The silence in the courtroom was utterly complete. Feyre felt her hard-won confidence teeter, standing on the ledge of that old insecurity. Two months - but Velaris was home. The Night Court, her family. They were hard months, to be sure, and all the work that had come after - no. No, she couldn't take this away, too. She couldn't reduce the love that Feyre's family shared. She had spent so long trying to forget those dark times, and yet -

"My lady," Eunomia prompted. "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

"It was just before I was taken back to Spring.” Not returned. Feyre wouldn’t give her that, wouldn’t pretend that she’d gone back willingly. “We went before the priestess – Rhysand and I, after I found out that he was my mate.”

"Were there any witnesses, apart from the priestess?"

Feyre felt a chill run down her spine. "We have a certificate. It's notarized properly."

For a horrifying moment, Feyre waited for Eunomia to say, "But how could you possibly know that, since you are illiterate?"

But Eunomia merely replied, "Yes, I have a copy in my records. I am asking if there were witnesses."

"It was a private ceremony," said Feyre, and by the fucking gods, there was no way to sound confident now. Not when she saw so clearly the path that this was treading down. "We intended - later - to invite our family."

"So, there were no witnesses at your marriage and mating ceremony."

Feyre closed her eyes. "No. There were no witnesses."

"And when you ascended your throne, did Lord Rhysand give you any official responsibilities?"

"No. I wasn't made High Lady for any official agenda. I was made High Lady because we love each other, and because we are partners."

Eunomia simply nodded, not reacting to her words. “So, you were made High Lady in a secret ceremony, with no witnesses, and you were then returned to Spring with no official responsibilities.”

"I just told you it wasn't secret. With Hybern on our doorstep, attacking us, kidnapping my sisters -"

"But it was a secret," said Eunomia, pinning Feyre in place with her sharp voice. "You had no witnesses, and didn’t tell anyone. In fact, no one outside of the Night Court knew that you had become High Lady until after you had left the Spring Court a second time, after months had passed. You were not debuted formally before the High Council until well after the invasion of Prythian had begun.”

There it was - the crux of the argument. Feyre bit her tongue, and said nothing, so Eunomia moved on.

"In your current capacity as High Lady, you do not directly or individually handle any matter relating to foreign relations, trade, military, or inter-court diplomacy. Yet you immediately returned to Spring upon your ascension as High Lady of Night. Can you explain to me why that is?”

"It wasn't immediate - it was because of Tamlin. Because of what he did with Hybern -"

"Forgive me, but I'm not sure what you're trying to say. Are you suggesting that you became High Lady before your mating ceremony, because of Lord Tamlin's involvement with Hybern?"

“No.” Feyre felt – heavy. Stupid. Stupid, stupid ignorant human. Unworthy. Unimportant. "I became High Lady because I love my mate."

"Then, why did you return to Spring?"

She was utterly ruthless, immovable. Worse than Nesta. Conspiracy, sabotage, and insurrection. Justice and revenge. Feyre stared in amazement at the Keeper, who merely folded her hands behind her back to wait for her response.

"I didn't do anything wrong," said Feyre. "When I was taken back to Spring, I did what was necessary."

"Necessary."

"Yes."

"Define necessary," said Eunomia.

Feyre repeated, "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I am not asking if you think you did wrong. I am asking you to define what actions you took in Spring that you deemed necessary. What was your goal?"

Tamlin's eyes - so watchful, even from beneath his golden mask - were on her now. Feyre felt them most of all. His eyes had always been on her. Watching, but not seeing. Not until it was too late. Him, and now Eunomia - this was all their fault.

"He had made some sort of truce with Hybern," said Feyre, deciding that she wouldn't even spare him a glance of contempt. "I assumed that he cared more for his people than he did - that they would be safe."

"This does not answer my question. What, exactly, was your goal when you returned to the Spring Court, despite having been mated, married, and ascended upon the throne of the Night Court? What, exactly, did you deem it ‘necessary’ to do while you were there?”

Thrice-damned she-devil, Feyre thought, barely leashing her fury. Eunomia was going to force her to say it out loud, as if it wasn't in her precious timeline of "relevant events." As if they didn't know what the justice of Night looked like.

“I tried to tell – Tamlin,” said Feyre, stumbling somewhat over his name. She’d rarely spoken it aloud since the end of the war. “I tried to tell him that I wasn’t going back to the Spring Court, but he didn’t listen. He never listens. So, I had to return – so that he wouldn’t hurt me, or my family.”

"Did you tell him that you had become the High Lady of Night?"

"No." Of course not.

Eunomia, for some reason, didn't push her on this. "What was Lord Tamlin's reaction, when you returned to the Spring Court?"

He'd held her. Feyre remembered how devastated she'd been, to be away from her new mate. She recalled how much she'd wanted to rip Tamlin's arms from his body, to break the hands that were touching her, since they didn't belong to Rhysand. She also remembered that there had been tears in his eyes. Tamlin had always been a surprisingly emotional creature. He had only ever wanted to keep her safe, regardless of how it made her feel.

"He was relieved, I think," said Feyre. "He seemed to think he was rescuing me." Then, remembering herself, she added dismissively, "I wouldn't know for sure. You'd need to ask him."

"Rescuing you? From what?"

"From my family. My mate."

"But you didn't tell him that you had been mated to Lord Rhysand. You told no one that you were High Lady of Night."

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

Feyre stared at her. Tamlin had been cursed to hold a heart of stone, but this? This was another degree. "I wouldn't expect you to understand that kind of situation."

“Then please, my lady, enlighten me,” said Eunomia, “as to why you would formally join another Court, in its second-highest position of power, and fail to disclose that information to your former fiancé, after he believed – as you say – that he was rescuing you from your own Court. You have to understand that this strains credulity. And furthermore, you still haven’t answered my original question. What actions were necessary, after you returned to the Spring Court?”

The audacity of her. The sheer arrogance.

"I did nothing wrong."

Eunomia sighed. "I request the court's permission to treat the witness as uncooperative."

The spells lining the edge of the room flared slightly, and Feyre felt as the magic crept into her throat, twisted around her vocal chords and pull. She gasped.

"My apologies, High Lady," said Eunomia, without so much as an ounce of sincerity, "I realize this may seem harsh, but I must say that you are being extremely vague in your responses. Please, speak as clearly as possible, and provide relevant details to the court going forward. Otherwise, I dare say that we might be here all day."

Feyre had never hated anyone more than she hated Eunomia, in this moment.

The command from the Keeper of Laws and Scales was absolute. Feyre could not, dared not refuse anymore.  The binding spell – the Authority of Truth – was strong, and there was no ability that she possessed that allowed her to bypass this. Even Helion’s sharp magic, latent within her, yielded before Truth. Feyre felt the memories rise to her mind, unbidden. Her secret, innermost thoughts, her feelings, her dreams and her fears –

"I needed to punish them," said Feyre. "For what they did to me."

"Who is they? What happened?"

"I was drowning."

"In a lake? Please, my lady -"

“No,” Feyre snapped. “I was suffering – after what happened Under the Mountain – and no one in that entire damned Court lifted so much as a finger to help me. Tamlin was making it worse, smothering me, lashing out with his magic – and even when I’d escaped, he couldn’t let me be happy. So when he came to drag me back, I decided to show everyone the kind of monster that he really is. I showed them all his true self.”

Eunomia paused, just a moment. She regarded Feyre, but was as inscrutable as ever. Then, she said, "So, you felt that the Spring Court had become inhospitable to you. You left for the Night Court, became High Lady – and did not tell anyone that you had formally renounced your ties to Spring, or to Lord Tamlin. Then, you returned to Spring, to punish them – all the while failing to disclose your true intent. Am I understanding you correctly, my lady?”

Saying it like that was - wrong. Wrong, somehow. Feyre bit her cheek, trying to resist.

"I was only -"

"It is a yes or no question, my lady. I will remind you again that you swore an oath."

The Authority of Truth was squeezing her throat. Feyre choked out, "Yes."

When the pressure was relieved, Feyre coughed, and added, "But – it was to protect Velaris. They couldn’t know about Velaris, not back then. I wanted everyone to be safe but our people –”

Eunomia waved her hand dismissively, and turned to face the assembled gallery.

"The court appreciates and thanks you for your testimony today. This concludes my presentation of the evidence on charges of conspiracy - "

"It wasn't my fault!"

She rose to her feet, the shout in her voice causing Eunomia to turn right on her heels.

“My lady, I will not ask you again. You will show respect to this court and these proceedings, or I shall treat you as hostile. Please, sit down.”

"You don't get to do this." Feyre's voice was breathy to her own ears. Her blood pounded. "You don't get to rewrite the narrative of what happened."

"My lady -"

"You have no idea. No idea what it was like for me - and you don't get to brush my suffering aside because it's convenient for your political agenda -"

"Political agenda?"

For the first time, Eunomia's face revealed a flicker of emotion.

And it was rage.

Pure, incandescent rage, a mirror to Feyre's own. So, there was a heart, after all, somewhere in Eunomia's chest. But she couldn’t be satisfied that she’d gotten a reaction out of the Keeper of Laws and Scales. Not when Eunomia marched back to her banister, reached into one of her many files, and drew up a set of papers.

"My lady, do you have any idea how many children died during Hybern's invasion of the Spring Court?"

Feyre grimaced. Not my fault. Justice. "No."

“Six hundred and thirty-seven,” said Eunomia. “The Spring Court’s records are better intact than most, due to their circumstances during the reign of the so-called High Queen. However, many of their villages were completely flattened, reduced to ashes, and their records along with them. So, given the fluctuating nature of refugee populations, and the expected gap in recordings – we shall say that six hundred and thirty-seven children of Spring died during the invasion of Hybern, that we know of. I suspect that the true count is much, much higher."

Block it out. Forget. Remember - it was not her fault. Feyre closed her eyes.

“So, earlier, you said that you assumed – rather than directly ascertaining – that Hybern had made some deal with Lord Tamlin, wherein the rights and dignities of the Spring Court’s people would be respected even if he lost his authority,” said Eunomia. “You assumed that an invading army would spare the females, elderly, and the children, is that correct?”

No. Not like that. Feyre didn't want to think of it. Didn't want to believe.

"I made an error in judgement. I didn't consider whether we'd need the Spring Court's armies - to fight Hybern, later."

"Just the armies," said Eunomia, dryly.

There was damnation in her tone. I am a murderer. From the moment she'd become fae, there had been blood on her hands. From the moment she'd entered Prythian, in fact. But the Spring Court - no, it was different. It wasn't like Velaris. It wasn't her home, even when Feyre lived there. It was Tamlin. Tamlin was Spring, and he was the Court. He was the one that she'd braved the Mountain for, the one she'd cared about. He was the one she'd wanted to destroy.

So, she hadn't thought about the Spring Court at all.

"Do you have anything else that you would like to add to the record, or shall I conclude the proceedings now?"

When Feyre did not answer her - there was nothing that she could say, to that, anyway - Eunomia approached the bench and handed her the sheets of papers. Feyre was too stunned to do anything except take them, with numb fingers, and regard the list. Names, ages, places of birth and residence. It was a thick packet.

"Since you were unawares before," said Eunomia. "Here. You may wish to inform yourself of the facts before you return to this court."

And with that last condemnation, Eunomia once again faced the gallery.

"My lady, you may step down from the bench. The court thanks you for your time and testimony today. This concludes the presentation of evidence in regards to charges of conspiracy against the Spring Court. We are now adjourned for today."

The spells flared one last time, and the bell chimed. The magic dimmed and receded like a tide, and Feyre felt the threads of her own magic resurface.

Darkness flooded her - sweet night. Darling.

Silently, she reached across the bridge for her mate. Feyre exhaled shakily, relieved when she found him. He filled her head with warmth, with stars, with love. She had survived, though she felt now that she may have been skinned alive.

Rhys, tell me everything is going to be okay.

For the space of one heartbeat - two - three - four - she received no answer.

Rhys?

At last, Feyre looked up.

She saw Eunomia carefully folding her papers, and tucking them under her arm before she bustled out of the doors. She saw the Courts of Summer, Autumn, and Winter rising to depart. She saw Thesan lean over to engage Helion in conversation - and at his side, Daphne, looking satisfied.

Footsteps approached - her Court. Her family. Feyre smiled, relieved for just a second - until she saw the looks on their faces.

Rhysand surged forward, extending a hand to help her down from the bench. Feyre squeezed his cold fingers, and did not let go as she stood, and stretched. He quickly seized the packet from her hands, and handed it to Azriel, who tucked it away just as quickly, out of sight. Cassian was looking pale, but extended his wings just so, as if to block them all from sight of the others. Elain was wringing her hands, half-turned away to where Eunomia was already disappearing out of the court's main entrance.

Worst of all was Amren.

"What were you thinking, girl?" she asked, low with disappointed. "What happened?"

"Not now, Amren."

Rhysand's voice was harsh, his face tight as he drew Feyre against him, to his side, rubbing her arm.

"What is it?" she asked, looking around at them. "I thought -"

"Not now," Rhysand repeated, gentler, but he still did not look at her. "We need to rethink our strategy. Mor -"

"I'll go," Azriel said.

He half-glanced at Elain, who was not looking at anyone. Her eyes were still on the gallery, eyeing the faeries who were slowest to depart. The Day Court, especially - Feyre realized that she had not seen Lucien all day, had not even looked for him. But Azriel showed now reaction, and turned to stride quickly out of the courtroom.

Rhys, what did I do?

Feyre gazed up to him. Her mate, her great love, the father of her son.

Amren's gaze simmered with unusual contempt, gazing at her High Lord.

"If we coddle her," she said, "then she will never learn."

Rhysand growled, "Not here, Amren."

"No," Feyre said, blood pounding in her ears. "No, Amren - tell me. I need to know."

Rhysand's distress made itself known to her through their bond, feeding Feyre's own - but he said nothing when Amren glared at Feyre and hissed:

"You admitted to the charges. She asked you if you hid your true intent from the Spring Court, on behalf of the Night Court. That is conspiracy. You said 'yes.'"

It wasn't her fault. She'd done nothing wrong. Those dead children, dead faeries - that wasn't her. It was Hybern who had killed them. Tamlin, who had failed them. Feyre had survived everything, and gotten justice for the harm done to her. Justice.

But the spell must have had an aftertaste - because she couldn't admit it. It would be a lie.

Rhys...

It's alright. The dark rumble of his voice still soothed her. We'll figure it out, darling. We'll fix this.

Together.

My fault.

[yugonostalgia2019]

How do you make it through the Slaughterhouse Nine clone arc? It just feels like endless “who would win” mashing your dolls against each other hypotheticals? Nine cherishes could beat three teams working together, etc—feels like it’s impossible to care about any of the characters involved and what happens

Great question! See I also didn't appreciate the S9k arc until my 2nd read-through. It definitely suffers the most from the missing 2 Chicago Wards arcs that should've been written - the abrupt transition really throws off the otherwise very well paced book

However, the S9k arc is really important for *Taylor*

Remember that no one but Cauldron knows anything about GM - Taylor's acting hypothesis is that Jack will cause a 2nd trigger during his mayhem that ends the world. So this moment is EVERYTHING that Taylor has been working towards for over two years - the reason she left the Undersiders, the reason she works her Wards to the bone, the reason she's been on a one-girl crusade to make allies and break uncooperatives. So in a lot of ways, it's Taylor's time to shine. She took Dinah's 'prophesy' more seriously than anyone, Chevalier lets her take the lead, and we get to see her at her most badass.

Jack, on the other hand, is in it for the fun and chaos - he treats 8 out of each 9 clones as totally expendable - it's boring to have more than one crawler or more than one Winter - his ideal scenario is watching the fireworks as 8/9ths of them die, and taking one of each remainder and creating a much more tightly focused marauding band.

Meanwhile, we get to see Dragon unleash her full potential, after years of incremental freedom she can undercut the S9 at all fronts - the 8 cherishes are a great example - Jack wasn't counting on Dragon's progress so those 8 cherishes on the bus were intercepted long before they reached their destination and started wreaking havoc.

Plus, there was a lot of cool & tense shit that you just gotta enjoy, before the real tragedies begin

[t4t4t]

a pogrom is violence against jews, you nazi whore. terrorists getting their balls blown off because israel rigged their pagers with explosives is not a fucking pogrom, go shove a sharpened stake up your ass till it cracks your skull

".... In a brief space I can only say that the part of life spent in Arbeit, the triviality of existence in a commodity market as seller or customer, worker or client, leaves an individual without kinship or community or meaning; it dehumanizes him, evacuates him; it leaves nothing inside but the trivia that make up his outside. He no longer has the centrality, the significance, the self-powers given to all their members by ancient communities that no longer exist. He doesn’t even have the phony centrality given by religions which preserved a memory of the ancient qualities while reconciling people to worlds where those qualities were absent. Even the religions have been evacuated, pared down to empty rituals whose meaning has long been lost.

The gap is always there; it’s like hunger: it hurts. Yet nothing seems to fill it.

Ah, but there’s something that does fill it or at least seems to; it may be sawdust and not grated cheese, but it gives the stomach the illusion that it’s been fed; it may be a total abdication of self-powers, a self-annihilation, but it creates the illusion of self-fulfillment, of reappropriation of the lost self-powers.

This something is the Told Vision which can be watched on off hours, and preferably all the time.

By choosing himself a Voyeur, the individual can watch everything he no longer is.

All the self-powers he no longer has, It has, And It has even more powers; It has powers no individual ever had; It has the power to turn deserts into forests and forests into deserts; It has the power to annihilate peoples and cultures who have survived since the beginning of time and to leave no trace that they ever existed; It even has the power to resuscitate the vanished peoples and cultures and endow them with eternal life in the conditioned air of museums.

In case the reader hasn’t already guessed, It is the technological ensemble, the industrial process, the Messiah called Progress. It is America.

The individual deprived of meaning chooses to take the final leap into meaninglessness by identifying with the very process that deprives him. He becomes We the exploited identifying with the exploiter. Henceforth his powers are Our powers, the powers of the ensemble, the powers of the alliance of workers with their own bosses known as the Developed Nation. The powerless individual becomes an essential switch in the all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing God, the central computer; he becomes one with the machine.

His immersion becomes an orgy during the crusades against those who are still outside the machine: untouched trees, wolves, Primitives.

During such crusades he becomes one of the last Pioneers; he joins hands across the centuries with the Conquistadores of the southern part and the Pioneers of the northern part of this double continent; he joins hands with Indian-haters and Discoverers and Crusaders; he feels America running in his veins at last, the America that was already brewing in the cauldrons of European Alchemists long before Colon (the Converso) reached the Caribs, Raleigh the Algonquians or Cartier the Iroquoians; he gives the coup de grace to his remaining humanity by identifying with the process exterminating culture, nature and humanity.

If I went on I would probably come to results already found by W. Reich in his study of the mass psychology of Fascism. It galls me that a new Fascism should choose to use the experience of the victims of the earlier Fascism among its justifications."

Fredy Perlman, Antisemitism and the Beirut Pogrom, 1982.

[floatingcamel23]

categorizing mobs 3 (special edition)

IM BACK LETS GOOO- today i bring you three unique categories of mobs. two are exclusively from minecraft dungeons while the last one is shared with all spinoff games. lets start!

this is the enchanted mobs. stronger, faster and harder to kill.

enchanted: ench cow, ench creeper, ench pillager captain, ench illager, ench sheep, ench enderman, ench piglins, ench enders, ench spider and ench skeleton.

next are the ancients. these are found in the ancient hunt.

ancients: ????? (i call this one the spore bull), abominable weaver, abyssal eye, ancient terror, barrage, cursed presence, first enchanter, frostwarden, grim guardian, haunted caller, oozing menace, pestilence conjurer, scuttling menace, solemn giant, seeking flame, the swarm, the tiny scourge, the tower, the unending, thundering growth, unbreakable one, unstoppable tusk, vengeful mariner, vigilant scoundrel, watcher of the end, wind beard, (the next ones are the unused ancients with no name so i gave them one.) ancient blaze (infernal storm), ancient cave spider (the poisoned mandible), ancient creeper (catastrophic explosion), ancient evoker (the undying), ancient spore thrower ( the spore horde), ancient ghast (white menace), ancient wildfire (blazing baron), ancient frozen zombie (the frozen), ancient husk (the famine), ancient icologer (the snowstorm), ancient jungle zombie (rain jungle guardian), ancient magma cube (mother menace), ancient mossy skeleton (camouflaged hunter), ancient piglin (nether crusader), ancient piglin hunter (wrathful boar), ancient redstone cube (the boulder), ancient skeleton horseman (the apocalyptic rider), ancient stray (winter siege), ancient sunken skeleton (rotten diver), ancient vindicator (the army), ancient wind caller (the storm caster), ancient wither skeleton (the plague), ancient wither skeleton archer (the plagued bowman).

the last one is from every minecraft game. they are actually in all games. the one and only, BOSSES!

bosses/minibosses: drowned necromancer, elder guardian, enderman, endersent, evoker, ghast, illusioner, pillager raid captain, vindicator raid captain, wildfire, all ancients, ancient guardian, arch illager, corrupted cauldron, heart of ender, jungle abomination, mooshroom monstrosity, nameless one, redstone golem, skeleton horsemen, redstone monstrosity, tempest golem, treetop whisperer, vengeful heart of ender, wretched wraith, giant cave spider, giant royal guard, obsidian monstrosity, warden, breeze, ender dragon, wither, PAMA, wither storm, giant enderman, giant ghast, giant magma golem, larger icy golem, prismarine colossus.

see you next time for pt 4!

[furasims]

SCLC mega recap!

Welcome to the dramatic and ever-changing world of the Pessoa family—a swirling cauldron of dreams, struggles, and unexpected love affairs! We left Viola (the Second Gen heir) as a no ordinary single mom; she's a comedy queen and sitcom star who climbed her way to the top, all while managing a household full of twins. A sim-life superhero, if you ask me.

Her daughter Octavia became a mysterious teen who embraced her vampire lineage to delve into a life of nocturnal adventures with her father Caleb and her intriguing aunt Lilith. What darkness and light have they unlocked in Forgotten Hollow?

Cornelius, Octavia's twin brother, is the epitome of resilience! He battled the chaos of youth, aced his way through college, and decided to change the world.

Now a top-notch politician, he's married to the fabulous Mezquite, and they have two dynamic children: Sara and Devante.

Devante, the explorer, ventured into university and sprinted off to Selvadorada, the mecca of archeological treasures. From ancient ruins to vibrant cultures, his postcards are more than mere paper; they're slices of his soul.

Sara, our Oasis Springs artisan, turned her green thumb into a crafting empire, filling homes with handmade furniture that's to die for. But oh, the drama! Her marriage crumbled when Ella Jr, her high school sweetheart, fell under the spell of the ageless vampire, Auntie Octavia.

Thrown into emotional turmoil, Sara's kids navigated the chaos in their own unique ways. Rhys, a gentle soul, found refuge in the serenity of nature, while Adeline ignited her passion for eco-activism, becoming Sulani's youngest crusader. Now Adeline is on the verge of adulthood, and the air is thick with anticipation.

So, grab your popcorn and brace yourselves, because Adeline's coming-of-age promises to bring a whole new wave of drama to this already sensational family saga!

[doofus-and-dragons]

"You needed five stitches after "accidently" stabbing yourself with a bread knife, if you're still claiming that's what happened-" "I am." "-then you'll forgive me for worrying when you use sharp knives."-Martin Blackwood, Episode 53, Crusader, The Magnus Archive

The jonmartin is strong in this one. I can smell it. It's brewing. Hobble bubble toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble and all that.

[mekanikaltrifle]

In (the World of) Darkness

(Inspired by @cruddyart’s character lineup)

I’ll post some summaries here for you all, just so we’re up to date on everyone (and as a handy quick reference guide if you are ever unsure who these bastards are :D)

(edited to add some links to songs for the little guys. Most have a ‘theme’ and a ‘current vibe’ for where they’re feeling in their relative narrative spot. Most are not super cheerful!)

Top Row (2021 characters):

- Domino Giovanni (formerly Dom Winters), 10th Gen. clan Giovanni neonate. Independent/Clan aligned. Sired in 2006 at age 26. (Game: Alien Hunger/Harbour of Resentment 2006-2009, currently active).

American (origin: Denver, Colorado)

Personal Theme/ current vibe

Result/victim of strange Kindred scientific experiment into curing vampirism, the results of which were lost. Betrayed by their teammates, nearly decapitated before they were enlisted into the Family and Clan Giovanni. Budding necromancer, former Counter-Strike champion.

- Andrew Serafim, 13th Gen. clan Toreador antitribu fledgling. Sabbat aligned. Sired in 2020 at age 27. (Game: Cauldron Crusade/Atlanta Chronicle, 2020), currently active

English (origin: South London)

Personal theme/ current vibe

Part of the winning team in a Sabbat Bat Race, hours after Embrace. Has a ghoul in his long time friend Madelaine Webb. Immensely athletic and dexterous, previously a national-level aesthetic gymnast in life. Insanely tall.

- Glass Man, 13th Gen. clan Nosferatu neonate. Camarilla aligned. Sired in 2003 sometime in his mid-late 20s. (Game: Boston Nosferatu Chronicle, 2007, currently inactive)

American (origin: Syracuse, New York)

Personal theme

Has access to out-of-clan Fortitude, is a trainee assassin and poisoner. Previously was a junior doctor in life. Enthusiastic free-runner, covers his whole body at all times.

Bottom Row (2022 characters):

- Ms Lina Meijer, 10th Gen. clan Malkavian fledgling. Anarch aligned. Sired in 2012 at age 30. (Game: Den Haag Chronicle, 2012, currently active)

Dutch (origin: somewhere in South Holland, the Netherlands)

Personal theme/ current vibe

Embraced in a mass-Embrace of three, became embroiled in a bloody civil war in Den Haag and Rotterdam. Currently hiding out in Malaga in Spain, hoping things will quiet down. Very able combatant. Has a firearm illegally.

- Dr Dani Reyes, 12th Gen. Tremere fledgling. Independent aligned. Sired in 2020 at age 32. (Game: Atlanta Chronicle Part 2/ A.Rubra, 2020, currently active)

Mexican (origin: Guadalajara, Jalisco)

Personal theme/ current vibe

Was originally a ghoul, and then Embraced in a violent manner by Silas via their domitor Atlas. Known to have committed diablerie in the interest of saving an ally’s life and destroying a genocidal maniac. Honestly just wants a nap.

- Mai Le Pham, mortal. Aware of the supernatural, first encounter in 1997. Aged 30. (Game: Cognitohazard, 1997, currently active)

American (origin: somewhere in the desert, South California)

Personal theme/ current vibe

Investigated eerie happenings in her apartment block with a couple others, only to find the place full of Slashers. Befriended a Deviant by virtue of being unfazed by/oblivious to their odd vibes. Was shot in the abdomen, and healed using demonic blood, and then made a sacrifice of her own blood to the ‘angel Gabriel’ to get free of a strange alter-dimension. Currently on a road trip to Phoenix.

[lipstickchainsaw]

Worm character meme: Ingenue. Teacher. Saint.

Starting me off with three arguably bit villains, huh?

Ingenue genuinely terrifies me. Like many Ward-era villains, she's all about that subtle loss of control, but with her it's even more insidious, and the way this is explicitly tied with the most intimate of relationships just genuinely put me on edge, when we got to her interlude.

We don't even get the catharsis of seeing her beaten/seeing a character resist and surpass her influence in the way Ward had Victoria deal with so many other masters, so she's still out there.

Also, I didn't have a hero AU before I answered this ask, but now I've started considering it and holy shit can you imagine her trying so goddamn hard to push boyfriends to do good, with her power always nudging them in horrific directions despite her best efforts. Turning her into an 'I can fix him!' kind of character when she consistently fails to do so.

No idea if 'overrated' applies here, because I don't think Teacher is rated particularly highly anyway, but he's just so incredibly boring. He's vaguely interesting in Speck as his modus operandi is a neat mirror to Taylor's descent, in that his power got him stuck on a very specific spot on the 'take away people's autonomy to make them part of a genius' machine' scale, which Khepri has just enough time to wave at before she races past it, but in Ward he just exists too far away from what Victoria's doing that we don't get enough time to engage with him, and so I just don't give much of a shit.

Also, resurrecting Cauldron and trying to emulate their methods when it came to stopping another apocalypse and coming across as even worse because he lacks the established institutional momentum of a long-established secret society, and the way he's going about trying to save the world just seems considerably less considered than what Cauldron did.

In the end, he seems to mostly exist to be a discount Cauldron for Ward to grapple with, in part to have Contessa dismantle the sins of her past, in part to match the themes of people trying to recreate the pre-apocalypse institutions without considering whether they still make sense, insofar as they ever did, but neither of those things are really about Teacher as a character, so eh.

Saint has such an inflated sense of his own importance. Much like Assault picking his name to deliberately annoy Battery and change the meaning of her name, Saint picked his name specifically to reference his (imagined) relationship to Dragon, and it brings across specifically how self-righteous he is. It captures his worldview exactly and it's really fucking annoying, but he carries it through into how he styles the Dragon suit he stole.

Obviously, like many characters in this story, he struggles with letting go of his crusade, very fitting in Taylor's story, but we see him deal with this more explicitly during the assault on Teacher's compound, where he's still going with it even after it has stopped being an even remotely reasonable concern. The interesting thing is that he struggled with this without having an alien supercomputer hooked up to his brain (except for when he got hooked up to Teacher's).

And yet, he still qualifies as bad with his powers, because he's an idiot who couldn't let go of the power he had over Dragon, justifying it to himself so he had a reason to go back to Teacher and get another dose. His story's arguably one about addiction, but it's not really examined as such, and his ideological stance sucks so bad I'm not really interested in exploring it as such.

[antigonewinchester]

yeah, i absolutely think (based on some discussions i've seen) that some people take calling sam angry as a judgement, when i use it more as a shorthand for his iron-strong sense of self; sam is willful and has strong convictions, which can lead to anger when he thinks those are being infringed on. it's also why his failures, typically moral ones, hit him so hard. when he makes a decision, he's all in because he believes it's the right thing to do, and often has several arguments for why that is. when that faith is shaken or based on a false premise, very interesting things happen... there's something there, too, about lucifer parallels re: sticking to their guns in the face of consequences, but i will stop typing now 😅

I think people often look at anger as an emotion and only see it as negative, and that at times the show itself can have a judgemental attitude towards anger, which leads to it seemingly having such a 'bad' connotations in fandom discussions, unfortunately :/ Agree with you too that what people sometimes name as "anger" is really Sam's assertiveness and strong-will, although that can get into nuances and maybe nitpickiness of how one defines anger vs. assertiveness and all that. And also that Sam, esp in earlier seasons, is just angry sometimes.

Idk how much you know about (or believe in) Enneagram personality typing, but I really like the read of Sam as a type 1: controlled, idealistic, and perfectionist, with a basic wish "to be good" and a basic fear of "being corrupted/evil."

"Ones are conscientious and ethical, with a strong sense of right and wrong. They are teachers, crusaders, and advocates for change: always striving to improve things, but afraid of making a mistake. Well-organized, orderly, and fastidious, they try to maintain high standards, but can slip into being critical and perfectionistic. They typically have problems with resentment and impatience. ... Although Ones have a strong sense of purpose, they also typically feel that they have to justify their actions to themselves, and often to others as well. This orientation causes Ones to spend a lot of time thinking about the consequences of their actions, as well as about how to keep from acting contrary to their convictions. Because of this, Ones often persuade themselves that they are “head” types, rationalists who proceed only on logic and objective truth. But, the real picture is somewhat different: Ones are actually activists who are searching for an acceptable rationale for what they feel they must do. They are people of instinct and passion who use convictions and judgments to control and direct themselves and their actions. In the effort to stay true to their principles, Ones resist being affected by their instinctual drives, consciously not giving in to them or expressing them too freely. The result is a personality type that has problems with repression, resistance, and aggression. They are usually seen by others as highly self- controlled, even rigid, although this is not how Ones experience themselves. It seems to them that they are sitting on a cauldron of passions and desires, and they had better “keep the lid on” lest they and everyone else around them regret it."

Really fits w/ what your describing with Sam's convictions and how hard he tries to live up to them, and how crushed he feels when he fails to do so. Type 1 is also one of the "anger" types (which includes 8, 9, and 1), where as I understand it, anger is a major aspect of their shadow/darker selves, with 8s directing their anger outward, 9s denying their anger, and 1s directing their anger towards themselves.

Looking at the Sam - Lucifer parallels is also intriguing through a type 1 lens. They've definitely both got that same determined to-do-it-no-matter-what streak! And in Lucifer's conversation w/ Dean in 5x04, he can't seem to accept the moral complexities and ambiguities of humanity ('"And I said, "Father, I can't." I said, "These human beings are flawed, murderous."') ala the ethical black & white thinking that can often afflict type 1s, and that Sam also struggles with, in seeing himself as either wholly good or wholly bad, no in-between.

[celepito]

In Guilliman's eyes, Lorgar saw a wealth of purest, depthless hatred. A hatred not formed from one action and one event, but a chemical cauldron of emotion strong enough to twist even the calmest, most composed demigod in the Imperium. Anger flared in those eyes, of course. More than anger, it was rage. Frustration tainted it further; the desperation of not understanding why this was happening, and the ferocity of one who still believes he might find a way to stop it. Hurt - somehow, seeing the hurt in Guilliman's eyes was the worst of all - also poisoned the mix and made it rancid. This wasn't the pure rage of Corax on the killing fields - the fury of a brother betrayed. This fury was saturated into something much harsher and much more complex. It was the pain of a builder, an architect, a loyal son who had done all that was ever asked of him, and had seen his life's work die in foolish, spurious futility. Lorgar knew that feeling, had known it since he knelt in the ashes of the Perfect City, the entire settlement destroyed by Guilliman's fleet on the Emperor's orders. For the first time in all the years of their wildly disparate lives, Lorgar Aurelian and Roboute Guilliman connected as equals. To his amazement - and the shock leaving him cold blooded - Lorgar felt ashamed. In his brother's face he finally saw real hate, and in that moment he learned a lesson that evaded him all these decades. Guilliman had never hated him before. The Ultramarine had never undermined his efforts; never hidden his sneers while presenting false indifference; never held a secret joy over humbling Lorgar's religious efforts in Monarchia and the Great Crusade beyond. Guilliman hadn't hated him. Not until now. This was hate. This was hatred in totality, fuelled by a fortune of pathos. This was a hatred deserved, and it was a hatred that would see Lorgar dead, with the song unfinished and the False Emperor still enthroned at the head of an empire he didn't - in his ignorance - deserve to lead. The Bearer of the Word felt a sudden, burning need to explain everything, to justify himself, to tell how this was all necessary, all of it, to enlighten humanity.

YOU KNOW NOTHING OF ANGER TRAITOR

[xppledsxrpxnt]

Female, magnificently ancient, 7'9'', blond, purple-eyed.. I enjoy long walks on the beach and dancing beneath the moonlight. I've always dipped my fingers very deeply into witchcraft and I enjoy a good cauldron bubble. I'm an artistic soul, I pour my heart into my works (sometimes literally), and I love & breathe music on a daily basis. I'm something of a domestic personality, and I enjoy drinking the blood of my partner. Really in the end, I'm really just like any modern woman trying to have it all: A loving husband, a family, and managing the time to seek out the dark forces and join their hellish crusades. ♫

Describe your muse on anon and my muse will say if they would date them or not. | Accepting

"Yes. Always for eternity. Yes." The normally reserved man's tail curled a bit happily.

[oliverbraid]

CHARITY

Royston de Deniers’ red tie hangs loosely under his white collar. Untied, the two lengths overlap across his chest, making the shape of an overemphasised awareness ribbon. The thicker end of the fabric showcases the gold outlined logo of an octagon, circled with the name of Jellyby High. In this livery of a diagonal crusader, he brushes by the long, green, polyacrylic curtains carrying his ammo backstage. He edges through a tight corridor made of MDF sheets, one drilled for Pluck-a-Duck, one complete with drainpipe for Splat-the-Rat. These wait in the wings for this afternoon’s planned fete. The disturbance of the curtains knocks out their breaths of embedded dust, hair and DNA. These motes puff into the assembly hall from which the curtains conceal Roy. The particles, donated from both pupils and teachers, swirl up into the thick shafts of window light. They circle around like scrunched up raffle tickets, moved by the centrifugal force of a tombola. All these fragments of humanity consolidate into the bouquet of the hall; hormone-soaked gym socks, deep tomato from cauldrons of beans, and the grease of amateur dramatics face paint. Roy arranges his artillery on the floor and squints, through the polka dot bandana he wears across one eye, at the twelve black journals. Internally he practises the opening lines of the surprise public offering he will make for his peers.

He had paid a pound during registration, along with his fellow pupils, to dress how he pleased for today only. His form tutor, Miss Radclyffe-Hall, had collected each of their coins in an envelope. There they glittered, just like the little single stud in her ear. Her own outfit remained unwaveringly like her regular appearance, the usual polo shirt and shorts. Under the fabric the flesh of her calves bulged out.

*

A Written Ambition I have a dream that one day I will write a story, or a book of some kind. Writing and books have carried my through difficult times and I want to pay back that service in my own way. I haven't trained for this and I know I need practice. For now I am trying my best to practice this and I plan to update my writing in small chunks here. It isn't edited and it's mostly explorative at this stage.