#i'll stick what i like to write

[alteredphoenix]

I've only just now realized that I've never written a fic that makes use of the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag. I think the only fic in my repertoire that would even be remotely applied to would be that one old W*W fic with brief non-con - but the scene itself is so brief (as well as fabricated) that I personally think it's not enough to justify using the tag.

As dark as my fics can get, none of them really go far enough to warrant being considered Dead Dove. I think I can chalk this up to not having the stomach nor the mental fortitude for it.

[zerguette]

Carol and Rupert designs! :D

Gosh, i love this woman a lot, AND BABY PRICE, i actually went with playing with military uniform/gear designs, and decided that his is modified (by himself with the permission of Galeforce).

Still, next ones should be Dave and Jhonny and Henry/or Charles. Also idk if it would be better to make a side blog for this, debating it(and yeah if you got asks abt their designs and some lore, feel free to ask :D)

And, some doodles

[becca-e-barnes]

Hiii I have nothing to do at work so of course I have to day dream about different dark!Bucky scenarios (I do not condone cheating but this is really hot to me aaaa)😩 like imagine your husband and Bucky have always had an ongoing rivalry, They worked together, went to college together, hated every ounce of each other. One night you’re at the bar with your friends when Bucky comes over to you and buys you drink after drink after drink, taking you back to his house. He’s throwing you on his bed and ripping your clothes off, kissing you hungrily. “Get ready baby, this is gonna be much tougher than you’re used to.” “Please.” “Yeah? Is he not satisfying you baby? This pretty pussy deserves to be treated right, luckily I’m here now.” He’s so rough with you, fucking you harshly, the dirty talking is driving you crazy. He’s so cocky and cruel, bending you in several different positions and pounding into you for hours. If only you had seen the camera… (part 2??? Bucky making your husband watch the video 😭) -💒

This, a thousand times over 😵‍💫 and I can just imagine throwing all the stuff at him that you wouldn't dream of doing with your husband. Maybe your husband really doesn't let you explore your fantasies and if you've got one chance to do that, you're determined to take it.

Especially if Bucky is quite a bit rougher than you're used to while still being so respectful. He got the impression that you're not being fucked how you want to be and he wants to give you everything you dream of when you touch yourself. He's not necessarily rough with you because he wants to be. He's rough because that's what you want.

If he's feeling extra filthy too, he'd fuck you in the bed you share with your husband. You're on your hands and knees on the bed, presenting your glistening pussy to him, enjoying the sensation of him smearing your arousal over the tip of his cock.

"Fuck, do you know how bad I want this?" He hums quietly, trailing his leaking tip over your slick folds. "Do you know how badly I want to press inside you? You've made such a mess. Bet you feel like fuckin' Heaven and he doesn't even appreciate it."

With his free hand, Bucky grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing just enough that you feel it hurt.

"Don't want to rush this though." His tip lines up with your entrance, teasing the little fluttering hole and God, you're desperate. "I want to take my time. Want to make sure every time your head hits this pillow, you remember how it feels to have every. Last. Inch of me slip inside you."

You can't have him wait any longer though so you press your hips back onto him, feeling just the tip slide into you. "Good girl, that's it. Fuck yourself on me. You need this, don't you? You need to be fucked right for a change."

He's not wrong. You couldn't stop now, even if you wanted to so you keep going, taking all of him. The weight of him inside you is delightful.

"Oh God, you're perfect. You feel like you were made for me." He doesn't dare move. Instead, he takes a second to just enjoy the wet heat of your body and the snug fit of you around his cock.

"You are. A fucking. Dream." He tests the water with a few shallow thrusts, rutting his tip against the sweet spot inside you. You're so wet, you're convinced you must be dripping onto the sheets and your eyes roll back in your head at the very thought.

This is how sex is supposed to feel. You didn't think you could crave anyone the way you do now. "Buck, please." You whimper, rolling your hips back against him, pressing him as deep inside you as possible. "Don't be gentle."

You hear him groan and feel his fingertips trail down your spine, making you arch your back into the bed. "Is that what you need, sweetheart? Can tell just by looking at you that you need it hard and fast and rough tonight. I'll be gentle with you tomorrow morning, I promise. Gotta work some of that tension out of you first. Bet you haven't cum in months."

You don't like that he can tell so easily but you're not surprised either. The first sharp thrust knocks the air from your lungs but all you hear is a pathetic sob, followed by the crack of a hard spank to your ass and the blossoming, stinging pain he's inflicted.

You're not surprised that it only makes you wetter.

[thaliagrayce]

y'know what we don't talk about enough? Hazel died. We talk about how she grew up in the 30's and 40's and we talk about how out of place she feels in the modern world, but! She died! She was dead! She has spent more time dead than alive, and not by a close margin!

How does that effect a person??? We got some of it in the flashbacks, but once those caught up with her present timeline and she shared them, they just kind of... disappeared. And she was a regular girl with some weird past experiences. That's one way of doing it, sure!

I think it would have been a lot cooler if she was just a touch creepier. If she felt a little bit Wrong. Yeah, in general she's more approachable than her brother, she's more sociable and less closed off, but. If you actually spend any time with her, it can be difficult to tell which child of the underworld is actually more unsettling.

Hazel is bright of personality and has a dazzling smile, but sometimes she'll just... shut down. She'll go completely blank for like half an hour and nobody knows what to do with it. Sometimes she forgets she's alive. Sometimes she'll spout the grimmest shit you've ever heard like it's nothing, she won't even notice it's weird until the room goes quiet. She spent decades in Asphodel, which is designed to make people forget about themselves and wander around for eternity, only she didn't have the luxury of forgetting! Wild! After she comes back to life, sometimes she forgets that she's allowed to Do Stuff now. She can spend so long sitting and staring at nothing. Sometimes she'll start crying on cloudless days because it hits her again that she can actually feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and she can hear birdsong. Every little mundane experience is a blessing and she will make you remember that in the most foreboding way possible.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Still wild to me that the Avatar team saw a guy write a love story between a stick and a monkey and were like "This is the guy who we need to write Rangshi and Yangvik" and then he ended up making two of the best couples in all of the Avatar-verse TT0TT

[doubledyke]

How do you believe Eddy actually is without his Bro mask? I mean, I don't believe he would be radically different or anything- he probably still has his hotheadness, stubborness and egocentrism- but he would also be a bit more chill, more openly caring and more helpful and friendly towards his buddies and another people?

Still quite flawed and bratty, but also much more of a nice guy at the same time, summing up.

brother you just opened a whole ass can of worms on this here page

eddy angst and eventual fawning below

even after bps i imagine eddy's guard is gonna be allllllll the way up for a long time. nonetheless, he's ecstatic to be welcomed into the in-crowd. finally, an excuse to wear all those clothes he keeps in that closet o' dreams. his shoulders loosen up a bit over time, he's cool, he's getting invites to all the shindigs. he's chasing this conditional acceptance so much that he might even drift away from the eds for a while- ed and edd not exactly being the partying types.

but he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. right on his neck. waiting for the moment he says or does the wrong thing. or the moment his searing rage burns through this newfound passivity. he's just doing what everyone else does, what everyone wants him to do. asking someone how they're doing even if you don't really care, laughing when someone tells what could be construed as a joke. and standing up real straight, since double dee's always talking about "posturing" for some reason.

keeping up that front is exhausting though.. some nights he'd rather stay home, but if he did that he might never get invited anywhere ever again. and another of kevin's easyriders anecdotes, jonny's weed-fueled conspiracy theories, rolf's political proselytizing, and nazz's aggressive dancing sure as shit beats spending time with his own thoughts.

yup. this is the life.

the ticking time bomb explodes when someone accidentally bumps into him at one of these parties, and the uncomfortable laughter this elicits from his peers plunges him further into a sea of red, his ire hopping from one head to the next as he drunkenly gives them all what for. he lays into his peers in a way he's only ever seen edd do, then storms off into the inconveniently well-lit night, never to be seen or heard from again... until the next day at school, where to his horror, everyone is still being cool towards him? they're asking him if he's okay?? he should be fine, once he's picked his jaw up off the floor.

but they were supposed to hate him, give him a shiner to go along with the bruises he left on their collective ego. somethin' don't smell right, and it's not just the mix of mike's hard and last night's supper embedded between his shoelaces.

the only solution is to isolate, of course. out of sight out of mind. he starts showing up for school less and less, and when he's there it's not like he's paying attention. what's the point? as far as he can tell, his options were laid out before he was off his mom's tit: join dad at the dealership, or end up in a seaside trailer, running two-bit scams to supplement the part-time income he'd get as a ride operator. you don't need no stinkin' degree to push a button.

graduation comes and he doesn't go cuz you wouldn't catch him dead in one of those stupid ass hats and matching tablecloths. plus "getting older" is depressing. really depressing. as such, he becomes depressed. i wrote in painfully dumb detail what i think that might look like in the fic i was working on, so i'll spare you a rehashing of that.

anyway, his depressive episode subsides a bit and for the first time in his life he's looking inward. what does he want to do? who does he want to be? better yet WHO IS HE??? that's the thing with eddy, he has no idea who he is, and is terrified to find out. it was easy enough to mirror his brother when he mistook fear for respect. but no one is scared of him, and no one respects him, especially now that they see what a loser his brother is. so what does he have to lose by being himself? whatever that means.

at the forefront is that big lavender question mark that's been looming over his head since he was in diapers; the only "mental illness" his dad acknowledges as real.

he has another mini crisis when he is forced to accept that he's gay. followed by a torrent of relieved tears. relief mixed with horror, as it all makes an embarrassing amount of sense now. admitting that everyone was right SUCKS, but he'll look past that for the time being, and enjoy the fleeting lightness in his chest. it feels eerily similar to the day everyone found out the truth about his brother- minus the agony of cracked ribs.

his brother... oh shit, his FATHER. wipe those tears away mary. you better not be caught puffy eyed and red faced in this house son, 'less you been brawlin'.

anyway if i continue i'd be spoiling that fic i mentioned cuz i do plan on continuing it in some form or fashion eventually. the point of that fic is to pretty much go over what i think happens to eddy to get him to the point that he FIRST realizes and accepts he needs to heal at all, and then can begin the long, non-linear process of restoring what was taken from him by the hands of people who were supposed to love and protect him. that's the only way he'll be able to learn who he is and gradually let that take place of the caricature that was forced upon him.

accepting that he's gay is gonna seem like a breeze once he starts digging in to the real ugly shit. but it absolutely has an affect on his personality both as a kid before he realizes it and going forward as an out and proud adult. if you think he's flamboyant in the show...

but yes, his true personality is still, as you said, cantankerous, boisterous, egomaniacal, etc. perhaps becomes a bit more sophisticated with age lmao. take the way he acts in season one and a dash of season three in there for the best example of what i imagine he might be like on an average day in his adult life.

he'll always deal with anger management issues and depression, he's gonna have days, weeks, months where he's season 5 levels of unhinged. but like we all do, he learns to cope in ways besides bashing his skull into the nearest wall and/or tree. but don't get me started on that.

just as a side note, and not because you implied this or anything, but people who struggle with anger aren't bad people, and anger isn't inherently bad. he has every right to feel the rage he feels imo. i feel like removing those less "desirable" traits from him entirely really detracts from his fantastically complex character.

as far as how he treats the people closest to him go read @gettingfrilly's analysis of eddy and empathy for a much more informed, concise and well worded take than i can provide. my opinion is that it's a struggle for eddy to show kindness and consideration but he will get there in time with the right support. his fear of intimacy and vulnerability is something i hope to touch on in the fic too, so i'll save my ramblings on that topic for a later time.

overall, most of eddy's personality i wouldn't want to change, but it will mature and take on different forms as he gets older. his brashness, his humor (dude is so goddamn funny), his low tolerance for what he considers bullshit, his stupid charm, his ridiculous vanity. they all make him who he is and i wouldn't change them for the world!!

he's not going to get along with everyone and there will be people who simply don't like him, but once his barbs have been sanded down a bit, i think eddy would be really well liked by the people around him whose personalities and interests jell with his. his snark and gallows humor would be easily integrated into the many kitchens and bars he works in, and he'd have no trouble making friends. he's charismatic as all hell, and surprisingly cultured. i feel like people don't give him enough credit for how smart he is, but i see it. his confidence and resilience ensure that he WILL be successful in the things he sets out to do, it's just a matter of time and a little luck.

[million-golden-drachmas]

𝖯𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗅 𝖡𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗈 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦 by @percy-and-rachel-events (late entry)🔸 "She looked like a million golden drachmas"

Remember when Percy surprisingly memorized Rachel’s phone number? Let's just say that he was also surprised when he caught himself replaying the view when Rachel looked like a million golden drachmas in his head. 

We arranged a meeting in Times Square. We found Rachel Elizabeth Dare in front of the Marriott Marquis, and she was completely painted gold. I mean, her face, her hair, her clothes—everything. She looked like she’d been touched by King Midas.

- Percy Jackson and The Olympians, The Battle of the Labyrinth

Percy sometimes came to the front of Marriot Marquis to see Rachel, painted gold, standing still like a statue as a form of art, and collecting donations at the same time. He remembered the first time he saw her in such a state, he thought it was weird to see her in gold, she looked like a statue of a famous person or an actress. 

Then in the next summer, Rachel and Percy drove around the stretch of beach on the South Shore. On a such hot August day, Rachel wore a white blouse over her swimsuit and pulled her hair up in a ponytail. Percy had never seen her like that and he just spontaneously thought that she looked like a million golden drachmas…

Maybe he told himself it was weird to see Rachel in gold for the first time, but perhaps unconsciously he was impressed. It must’ve been so remarkable that he instantly thought of her looking like a million golden drachmas when he saw her being pretty.

[seraphiism]

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐈 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢𝐢 ) ;

( THERE'S THIS SOMETHING INSIDE YOU THAT'S ROTTING AWAY & YOU FEEL IT ALL ALONG. )

characters : uni • dreya quote cr : sylvia plath ; haruki murakami a/n : reader is not necessarily the chief ﾟ. » pt. i

↬ uni ࿐ ࿔

BUT THE SUN CANNOT SURVIVE WITHOUT THE MOON, JUST AS THE DARK CANNOT THRIVE WITHOUT THE LIGHT, & IN THE DEPTHS OF REFLECTION SOUGHT, THERE IS SOMETHING SO LONELY LINING THE CRACKS OF MIRRORS RUINED.

there is something missing, something destroyed, something WRONG in this fragmented heart : desolate in frozen solitude, filled with a crying grief and semblance of betrayal. how it grows colder and colder and colder with every beat, every sickening pulse that fills her with a forsakening untold. even the sweetness that lingers on her tongue turns into some kind of poison anyway, but bitterness is all she knows, so she indulges in something that will slowly ruin her from the inside and out.

BUT IT'S ALL MADE OF POISON IN THE END, ISN'T IT? all made of something fake, something wanted and desired and yearned for, something born from superficiality. how fickle this all is, the wanting to mold yourself into someone made for the spotlight. there is too much deceit in this world, and seldom is there purity with exception of those she dares trust.

but you-- you, she does not understand. there is something so innocent about you, something she recognizes, and she cannot tell whether it breaks her heart or makes it beat all the more. you recognize her pain, her despair, and she is quick to blame your genuineness on something mocking, something feign. but it is very much real-- always has been, and somehow, it almost breaks her, the glass cracking slowly and surely, until the mirror shatters, until it reveals the sorrow beneath the surface.

she cannot do this. it will hurt all over again, and then she will be left alone, just as she has been for years too long.

"it's alright, uni." you murmur, and in the way you gently offer your hand, there is heartache. "i see you. it's alright."

no, she cannot do this, she thinks. this will hurt all over again-- but what if it doesn't? what if you see beyond the reflection? she stares at your hand, then your eyes, and in her gaze, there is a quiet hesitation, but a quiet relief.

slowly, she places her hand in yours, and how it trembles in the subtle of ways, but you hold it until it stops, until there's trust found in the little distance between your palms.

↬ dreya ࿐ ࿔

& THE DRIVE FOR DISCOVERY AND DIVINITY IS ALSO THE DRIVE TO DAMNATION ; IT WILL LEAD YOU ASTRAY, LOST LAMB. BE CAREFUL.

in the eternal nightmare, there is no peace to be found. such is the nature of nightmares : horrendous, harrowing, hideous. this landscape is not one you know, the constant shifting in the atmosphere unsettling, illusions past both frightening and disturbing. the dissea is filled with mania and corruption, and somewhere, there's a higher being, an entity, that is filled with a want for more. it'll consume, overtake, and it'll laugh in the face of good and evils, because it knows it has won.

it is too easy to get lost in this labyrinth. too easy to get lost in the haze of it all.

too easy to get lost in something that isn't yourself.

you see it : these flickers of memories, of confusion, of fascination, of the downward spiral in loss of identity and autonomy. you see how dreya's determination dwindles into something akin to desperation and doom, and you cannot reach her. not always. but there's something meant for the saving, and even if she may be gone, even if she isn't entirely there anymore, you have to try.

so you do. you follow the phantoms, try to make something out of nothing, because you can sense her. it's a chase, it's the long run -- and even when you think you've managed to allow her to regain herself, suddenly, it's over, and the cycle repeats again. but you never give up. you can't.

so you keep going. you keep going and going, until you find yourself face to face with her. you can see the corrosion in the figure before you. you can see the corruption, the fading of a brilliant mind, and in the fog of her eyes, you can see a distant memory of what was.

"you've come back." the words are soft, gentle-- and if you listen carefully, there's an uncertainty, almost. a questioning. "are you here to take me back home, my guide?" a kindness somewhere in the abyss.

you force a smile, and there is a devastation in the traces of it. because you'll try, you will, but you know that she can never go home. she's too far gone now, the mania infused in her being.

"yes, dreya." you tell her, and you cannot hide the sorrow in your voice. "it's time to go home."

[byanyan]

can i just be emotional on main for a sec & thank y'all again for sticking with me & supporting my weird little brand here these last few months while i've been like. worse than ever about getting any writing done? just like. hhh. all of u putting up with my shitposts & liking the hcs and whatever else i shove out onto the dash while i'm struggling with energy for replies, and everyone who still wants to plot & develop our dynamics despite me being the WORST at keeping up with dms (& being somehow even worse at being the one to actually initiate dms), and!!!! those of you who continue to indulge me by sending me asks despite the fact that you've been waiting 5 years for me to reply to our thread!!! i appreciate u guys sm, like i don't think u actually understand just how much. i mean this so sincerely: thank you

[stratocumulusperlucidus]

I'm trying to write my lil taynick fic and pretty much everything is written except everything that involves penises??? I have 3.5k and barely any smut?? When it's supposed to be pwp???

Writing about something you have no experience of is hardddd, i already struggled with this for my tentacle fic, and now i'm back on google/quora/reddit researching the weirdest, most basic stuff about dicks (honestly bless the people who answer those questions in great details)

And all the while i keep thinking about this panel in Gender Queer: a memoir where e considers going on tinder to get experience in order to write smut lmao like i'm not brave enough to actually do it (and also it would be weird) but it is extremely tempting rn

[koka-mi]

I dunno why but I keep thinking abt the way I used to spend my nights two years ago

I remember around 6-7pm (in the autumn/winter) or 7-8pm (in the spring/summer), I'd lock my bedroom door, bring my tablet and headphones up with me onto the roof and play songs that I liked I watched the sun set. The songs were mostly either sapphic-coded (like sofia by clairo, strawberry blonde by chloe moriondo, etc.) or something ambient and soothing to me (like colorful interlude by sublime jupiter or rhubarb/#3 by aphex twin). I don't remember why though..I guess I just liked those types of songs back then xp

sometimes I'd bring my sketchbook with me too and sketch out random things like landscapes or characters from fandoms I was in at the time. Or I'd bring my journal and write about my completely nothing day. Most of the stuff I wrote was about the same but it's still nice to look back at them :3

Was it the safest for 14 year old me to just chill on the roof? Probably not. But tbh I didn't care at the time xD I honestly wouldn't have minded dying there.

I was at like.a reaaaaally low point in my life. Probably at my worst. Like I would cry everyday over little things and I found it extremely difficult to take care of myself. I guesss when I was out there on my roof watching the sun set with nice music in my headphones I actually felt..peace?? for once?? I dunno how to explain but it was suuuper nice I remember ^^ and it was nice to let out good cries up there.

I guess I can't help but remember this fondly and find it kinda nostalgic even though it was only two years ago and when I was not.doing great :'D I'm better nowadays luckily but hadhehdjwd makes me emotional sometimes.

[risingsunresistance]

shader pictures :]

[icewindandboringhorror]

finally finished all of one character's entire quests/optional dialogue/questions/etc.... 100,000 words... .... aughhh

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 6

Shadow Beast

The Twilight Princess fan in me really came out on this one huh? I blame the sleep deprivation. We never quite addressed the effects of the Twili Magic on Twilight and how it's only sheer force of will and the fact he's so darn kind, Midna's influence and Time teaching him the Song of Healing first being the main factor in making sure he doesn't fall huh? Even more so than the One Cutscene. We also need to talk more about the fact we technically kill Midna's people and how by the end of it all Twi is so changed by the Twilight Realm who's it's own can of worms that, much like Time he can't quite go home as himself me thinks, as a treat to myself

Mostly Twilight x Reader, this goes out to all of the folks who never quite recovered from Twilight Princess and the fact we never got that sequel (I mean it gave us BOTW and TOTK and Wild, but at what cost?), but can be read as Link x Reader either on the platonic or romantic.

Don't think there's any warning this time but might edit later if needed.

Actually yeah there is one warning

TW:

References to body horror typical to Twilight Princess, though I recommend not reading it I'd you're squeamish period.

Even after so long, you and Twilight could still remember the beauty and solemnity of the Twilight Realm, with it’s zircon skies with clouds of trapped fire and rains of viper obsidian.

The silence of the infection upon the realm of light broken only by the echoes of the howling elegy of the Twili and Interlopers who came before creeping over the land like rot and wither over flowers, the lament of the lost spirits of the people and animals of Hyrule falling over your spirit like a shroud, a shared hymm from two worlds reality had been twisted, only both of it’s princess, one filled the luster of empyreal sorrow in her mind and one with the scorch abyssal fury in her heart knowing to see the reflective tragedy befallen to their people. With Link as the one who restored the memory of what once was in both worlds as divinity and calamity sang in his bones and you a witness to the restoration of harmony to the discordant symphony, the two different songs of light and shadow refusing to let go of either of you in an eternal duet.

(Once touched by magic, it shall never leave the one if holds onto Twilight may have been the one with the Beast in his soul, with the howl of a wolf, the bite of shades in his veins and the lament of innocents taking precedence over anything purely because he learned how to silence the whispers of the one’s who made a grab for heaven’s throat and we’re pushed in the cracks of reality for their prideful vánitas even as he could taste it in the back of his tongue, twining around his ribs and overgrowing into his shattered mirror heart like vines, flowering with the divinity and eternal nature of the Hero’s Spirit, already having the hunt of the Fierce Deity in it’s veins and the remains of cursed divinity welcoming the new aspect merrily so he could bear it. The song of the innocent wrongly punished among the sinners rang into your mind, scratched at your skin and dug it’s claws around your throat, chocking you with sorrow and regret, more willing to leave gouges than to let go of someone’s who’s looked into the reverse side of the sacred realm and wept with grief for it’s people and the curse of it’s beauty.

It would never leave you, Link or Zelda, who learned who love the darkness the way Midna did, madness and unsightly delight and all.)

While the people of Hyrule merely became trapped as observers at best, if they were lucky, Midna’s raging grief and resentment quickly became obvious, once she revealed that rotten Zant had done to her and her people, twisted into a new form, distorted in body and trapped in mind like the animals and beasts of Hyrule, their pain driving them in becoming feral attack hounds for the usurper, their howling screams as much sorrow, wailing in an attempt to let their agonized, tortured souls to escape from it’s mouth, a futile attempt to flee from the strain of reality forgetting their true form in favor of Zant’s twisted design, of being used as sentient canvases for cruelty and ruthlessness, of their will being stepped over in favor of corrupting recreation.

Of how it only didn’t quaff down at Midna’s mind because of the nature of her ephemerality, fully beloved by the Realm of Darkness, of how she loathed him for it and wouldn’t wish her fate of that of her people’s on any living or dead soul, once she came to love the Realm of Light through Zelda’s sacrifice.

Which was why, when you saw three of the victims of the telltale twisting from darkness utilized with the intent to drive one insane, a familiar looking plate of stone engraved on the remains of ashes from their identity, the curling of distorted, solid darkness making crooked mishapen manes, bent out of shape from their too long torso and long, long arms adorned with twitching, deformed claws, you feel very justified in way your blood froze, holding onto Wild’s arms and yanking with all you had so his shot will miss, his yelp of surprise swallowed by the bone cracking, blood curdling screech from one of the beasts as a Skyward Strike grazed it’s petrified flesh.

You feel something warm drip down your ears, taste the promise of violence and the cry of lost souls on the back of your tongue and swallow it down as the memory of the Twilight Realm attempted to bite and crack your ribcage to quaff down your heart, to devour it bones and all, calling out in desperation, “Don’t! That’s a person!”

Sky freezes, as still as a statue, Legend curses the heavens crimson in a way you are so glad Wind isn’t around to hear as he retreats Twilight snarls, the wolf in him revolted and disgusted, you wonder if the Twilight is singing in his mind too as he restrains himself from reaching for the crystal as nails just a tad too sharp invite droplets of blood to one hand, grimm as a graveyard “We need to get them together anyway, felling just one won’t be enough.”

You grimace, releasing Wild, keeping your eye on the Shadow Beasts and another on your group, pointedly not mentioning the twitch in Four, amethyst clouding his gaze and the prism of his eyes turning gray with memories you and Twilight both knew all too well, of the grimace in Time’s otherwise stony countenance, you’d wished to avoid bloodshed of whoever was turned against their will, but you and Twilight both knew that might not be possible, death, unfortunately, might be the greatest mercy you can grant these poor souls.

(The Twilight is harmonizing in your ears, jeering, you feel the Interlopers insanity and the Twili’s lament on your teeth. As lovely as it could be cruel, the merry feeling upon meeting, the sorrow at a parting.

If you ever see the Shadow, you might just try indulging the echo by offering it’s blood as tribute. You'd make it hurt. The fact it learned the spell used to deform reality in such a way was cruel and vile.)

“Legend, how is your magic?” shoots Warriors, analyzing, calculating, it snaps the purple back into Four’s gaze, brings his mind back to focus as he reaches into his inventory for his Moon Pearl, Twilight is circling the beasts with single minded purpose, herding them together and prowling as he would as a wolf, Wild thankfully listened to your warning and had switched from the more destructive Flame and Lightning Arrows to ice ones. It doesn’t contain them for long but it gives a few precious seconds to strategize.

Legend catches on, switching to the Ice Rod on one hand and grasping his own Moon Pearl with the other, Sky has another Skyward Strike ready, but doesn’t release it, you switch from your sword to accepting a Magic Rod tossed at you from Wild, “Good enough.”

You breath in shakily, the symphony of the Twilight Realm has quieted, more lament than anthem as it’s Hero steps back, returning to your side, he nods grimly, “... Then, let’s end this quickly.”

You know your will boys will do their best to heal them, and failing that, you hope that they’ll hear the requiem of the Twili rather than the lament once they’re at peace, that they'll find some form of threnody.

It is a horrible thing, to be forced to die as a beast.

[coffeebanana]

I know I rambled about this yesterday a bit, but it's actually stupid how much it works for me turning writing into a game where I'm "fighting monsters" by writing words (4thewords.com). Because instead of procrastinating and worrying my words aren't Good. Enough. (even though I know drafts are allowed to be bad) I'm like, "Well I have 45minutes to write these 200 words," which is so easily doable I don't even NEED to be focused (though word counts and time limits vary by monster). But the sooner I win the battle the sooner I can get the silly points and rewards and fight another monster and why is this working so well?

It's not just that it has me writing more than usual/not procrastinating, it's that it has me not caring if the words are good. And NOTHING else I've tried has been able to do that for me anywhere near this effectively.

[meownotgood]

it feels so good to finally have time to work on my fic again!!!!