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casper-spills · 5 months ago

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·:¨༺ ♱ 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑱𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 ♱ ༻¨:·

ᴘɪʟᴇ 1 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 2 ~ ᴘɪʟᴇ 3

Discaimer: Tarot reading is for entertainment purposes only and should never take the place of professional therapy or professional legal, medicinal or financial advice.

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♡ ᴘɪʟᴇ 1 ♡

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉

King of Pentacles Upright

Keywords & Signs: Saturn, neptune, aqua, ocean, cliff, forest, stargazing, earth, green, spotlight, picture frame, certificate, 14, 3rd house, gemini, mercury, gibbous moon, starseed

Messages: 'You're very close to achieving your goal' 'What sparks your curiosity and inspires you?'

This month seems very focused on your work life or career in particular. You will find yourself thinking and working hard to learn more about your role. Perhaps you have just gotten a promotion or you could be an intern shadowing somebody. You will be processing and learning how to lead/run a business and you will be thinking about how you can communicate effectively. You are being asked to remember to stay disciplined to keep the business abundant and secure.

If you are not employed, you might be someone who takes a leader role and keeps up with a lot of responsibilities in your family/friend/social circles. It could also mean you will be presented with a work opportunity this month!

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

Seven of Cups Upright

Keywords & Signs: Mirror, vanity, brown, zen garden, ballroom, desert, twins, shadow self, water, leo, neptune, 7, 10th house, capricorn, saturn, reputation, new moon in capricorn, dance

Messages: 'Your hard work is paying off' 'Do something to change your energy'

Traits of your current or potential partner: Positive: dreamy, intuitive, imaginative, spiritual, innocent, kind, sweet, forgiving, compassionate, lucid dreamer, psychic, sensitive, empathetic, optimistic, ambitious, abstract, big/thick hair, elegant walk, broad shoulders, tall, tanned skin, warm skintone, bright smile Negative: delusional, naive, unrealistic, overly ambitious, childish

If you are single, you may already have a few potential partners you could be considering at the moment. You are being asked to choose carefully. If you feel as though you have to choose and settle for one option then it probably means that none of them are right for you. Trust your gut. Some may not be who they seem.

If you are already in a relationship, then you are being asked to address any issues that may come up within the relationship and take steps to strengthen the bond. The honeymoon phase may be starting to wear which is completely natural, and so, you are faced with the reality of the relationship and you are indulging less in fantasies and wishful thinking. This doesn't have to be a bad thing. It is a natural part of every relationship.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔

Knight of Cups Upright

Keywords & Signs: Water, balance, bored, snow, brown, capricorn, eclipse, cross, meadow, ritual, 2nd house, taurus, venus, posession, mercury, picses, 12, full moon in capricorn, protection

Messages: 'Call back your power. Cut the cords. Soul retrieval' 'The end of a tough cycle approaches'

You could be trying to gain some extra income at the moment with new ideas. You could be someone who is trying to use their creative skills to earn a bit of money, perhaps an artist? It may be painting, nail art, photography, etc. You could also be a writer or a composer.

This is your reminder to not be discouraged! You might feel like you're not doing enough or earning enough. You feel like maybe you're being too ambitious. You are doing just fine and you are not doing anything wrong. Stay motivated and push through! You have so much to share, it would be a shame for everyone to miss out on what you have to offer.

If you are trying to save money and budget, remember to have good discipline and spend responsibly. You may sometimes be too optimistic with how much you can spend which is okay sometimes, especially when you need to treat yourself after a long day, but make sure you're keeping track of just how much you're able to spend.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉

The Star Upright

Keywords & Signs: Performance, pole dancing, purple, gate, orange, pyramid, mountains, desert, egypt, scorpio, mercury, 17, 4th house, cancer, moon, full moon eclipse, light

Messages: 'You've been training for this for lifetimes' 'Conclusions are within reach'

This month you are being asked to pay attention to matters related to your genitals, reproductive system and your rectum.

If you have been trying for a baby and have been struggling then you may be in luck this month! Make sure you are seeing a doctor consistently to ensure the health of you and your baby.

If you are someone who does not want to get pregnant, make sure you are taking extra precautions using contraception.

Generally, this reading is positive. You could be someone who has had problems with these areas of the body and in this month of July, you will have a time of healing. Not many of you will need to worry but it is always good to pay attention to your health and take the right precautions.

♡ ᴘɪʟᴇ 2 ♡

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉

Two of Coins Reversed

Keywords & Signs: 3rd house, gemini, mercury, communication, neptune, fish, giraffe, storm, blue, earth, green, full moon in virgo, stairs, lightning, 2

Messages: 'You are good enough' 'Wait. Postpone. Pause. Say no'

This month seems focused on your workload and your priorities. You may have been feeling overwhelmed and feel like you're struggling to maintain your schedule. You will be learning how you can keep yourself organised and manage your time. You could also be struggling in some of your relationships due to your busy schedule and you might find it difficult to keep up with your social life. This month, you will also be figuring out how you can balance your work life and your social life. You are being asked to stay realistic with how much you are able to do and turn down opportunities that are no longer in alignment with your goals. Reassess your priorities.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

King of Wands Reversed

Keywords & Signs: Fire, 14, imrama, full moon in capricorn, 10th house, capricorn, saturn, reputation, moon, virgo, orange, brown, doors, claustrophobic, caves

Messages: 'The end of a tough cycle approaches' 'Listen to your heart'

Traits of your current or potential partner: Positive: Secure, consistant, loyal, feminine, nurturing, gentle features, bright eyes, lean, curvy lips, delicate nose Negative: Emotional, sensitive, resting bitch face, prudish

If you are in a relationship, you or your partner may be exhibiting controlling or aggressive behaviour. There may be a lack of trust in the relationship due to the nature of how it started. You or your partner may have rushed into this connection because of superficial or shallow reasons such as a gain in social status, fame, money, etc. You are being asked to remind yourself to think before you act and to address these issues to strive for a open and honest connection.

If you are not in a relationship, the King of Wands reversed warns against arrogance, recklessness and lack of self discipline. You may be feeling pressured to rush into a new relationship. You could be the kind of person who typically has high standards for potential partners and you feel like you have to lower these standards and settle for someone for shallow reasons. You are being asked to take your time and think about what it is you actually want. Don't cave into the social pressure.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔

Seven of Swords Upright

Keywords & Signs: Air, arrows, new moon in leo, warrior, sword, 7, 2nd house, taurus, venus, uranus, leo, orange, centre, spotlight, posessions

Messages: 'Have you answered your deepest calling?' 'Confidence is your key to success'

You may have felt like you had to resort to deceitful tactics when it comes to your finances lately. Perhaps, if you are running a business, you could be inflating prices for example. Alternatively, you could just be more secretive about your financial position and leading people to think you are not in a secure enough position to pay for certain things or to lend money when in reality, you probably could and you just don't want to.

Some of you may have been saving up for something big which could be why you are not lending money or spending as much. You are being asked to have more confidence in how you spend your money and remember that you are always entitled to your money and whatever you decide to do with it is your business.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉

The Chariot Upright

Keywords & Signs: 7, ink blot, horse, star, voice, cave, full moon in aquarius, purple, moon, taurus, 9th house, sagittarius, jupiter, opening, persecution, expression

Messages: 'Share your voice' 'Bring love into the situation'

This month you are being asked to pay attention to matters related to your throat, neck, vocal chords, tonsils, thyroid and your intestines.

If you are currently going through some obstacles regarding your health, you may have struggled with a negative mindset for some time but soon, you'll feel a sudden burst of energy and a new sense of urgency to address these issues. You'll become determined to start an exercise routine to help you heal or maintain good health.

Some of you might be performers or singers so perhaps you'll be doing vocal exercises or routines to ensure the health of your voice.

Even though your road to recovery may be difficult, you will overcome these obstacles and you are being asked to remember to talk about these problems with your support group or loved ones.

♡ ᴘɪʟᴇ 3 ♡

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉

Page of Coins Horizontal

Keywords & Signs: Earth, 11, mecury, libra, 11th house, aquarius, uranus, hope, whale, dolphin, ocean, mutable moon, field, egg, green, horizon

Messages: 'Nothing is yet set in stone' 'Call in your tribe. You don't have to do it alone'

This month seems to be focused on your personal development within your work life and your social life. You may have a lot of hope for the future and you are thinking a lot about your long term goals. This could be a financial opportunity or networking. Perhaps you have already made a strong start and layed the foundations for future success.

However, you could face some challenges this month. You might procrastinate and struggle to follow through with your goals. You are being asked to seize your opportunities while you can and to remove any distractions that might be holding you back.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

The Sun Horizontal

Keywords & Signs: Light, 19, training, void of course moon, north node, rahu, libra, 8th house, scorpio, pluto, debt, beams, swing, trangle, pyramid, moon

Messages: 'Nothing will come of this situation' 'You have been training for this for lifetimes'

Traits of your current or potential partner: Positive: secure, consistant, loyal, feminine, domestic, nurturing, glowing complextion, dimples, symmetrical face, cupids bow Negative: emotional, sensitive, dramatic

If you are in a relationship you might be feeling insecure about your connection. At times, it could feel like you're on a rollarcoaster where one minute you feel like everything is absolutely great and then the next, you feel left out in the cold by your partner. You can't seem to tell whether the relationship has lost is spark or not and you might start to think you should rethink marriage arrangements. There could be some hidden issues in the relationship that will be surfacing soon regarding, inheritance, change, pregnancy, jealousy or money. You are being asked to spend quality time together and remind eachother of why you got together in the beginning and to have trust that these problems can be resolved. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

If you are not in a relationship, you could be feeling content and you're enjoying the aspects of being single but you're also open to future romantic opportunities. This month, it seems like there is a relationship coming your way! However, you might struggle to find your footing. You could be coming across as egotistical and it might seem like you are bragging a lot which could put off potential partners. You're being asked to try not to focus too much on impressing them and to just be yourself. Just dial it back a bit and you'll do just fine.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔

The Magician Upright

Keywords & Signs: Purple, cat, 1, transformation, waxing moon, magic, performance, infinity, cancer, venus, 6th house, virgo, mercury, service, throne, healing

Messages: 'The energy is gaining momentum' 'Things are changing at a cellular level'

This month it looks like your finances are heading in a positive direction! You could be thinking about partnering up with a business or merging accounts with somebody or perhaps you want to open a new bank account. You will also be presented with new financial opportunities such as a promotion or an offer to make extra money. It could even be an opportunity to mentor someone or be mentored by someone. You are being asked to put your original ideas into practice and to be smart with how you play your cards with certain people.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉

Four of Coins Upright

Keywords & Signs: 4, full moon in aries, storm, lightning, snowstorm, north node, rahu, pause, orange, scorpio, 8th house, pluto, debt

Messages: 'A fiery climax approaches' 'Say no. Now is not a good time'

This month you are being asked to pay attention to matters related to your genitals, reproductive system and your rectum. Some of you are very prone to pregancy the month of July and if that is not something you want then you are being asked to be especially cautious this month. For others, you may be suffering from constipation or water retention. You might find it helpful to pay attention to your salt and fibre intake.

You also could be holding on to some old emotional or psychological baggage. You might find it helpful to talk about it with a friend or a professional to release some of these issues.

♥Thank you for your support!♥

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poisonf0rest · 5 months ago

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Waxing Gibbous

Tonight the nightmare is different.

It is dark and the forest path before you is doused in red, the full moon soaked in inky crimson that bleeds into a deep purple, the twisted branches clawing into the sky like fractures. Despite the blood moon looming closer and closer, you continue to run, feet hitting the cold earth as thorny brambles and grasping hands claw at your legs.

No, not running. You are chasing something. Someone.

But with each step you are left further and further behind, breathing in ragged huffs before you trip against the undergrowth, falling, your screams muffled against the dirt that fills your mouth and clogs your throat.

A blink, and you are standing.

The moon is no longer a bleeding red, and you think this was what the world looked like before the sun died— light filters in between the rustling leaves, coloring the sweeping grasses in a golden hue, flowers dotting the landscape with a kaleidoscope of colors now incomprehensible to you. It was beautiful, and you wanted to cry.

Standing in the midst of the sea of grass was a man. A beacon of fire as the sunlight kisses his crimson curls, and when he turns he makes a sort of face you don’t completely understand, expression foreign and suffocating. You think it looks a lot like peace.

You begin towards him on instinct, walking, then breaking into a run.

But you aren’t fast enough.

Halfway through the field the ground gives way beneath you, grass growing taller and taller— or perhaps you are falling further and further— as the earth swallows you whole once again.

And before you no longer stands a man. But a Beast.

A snowstorm howls against the castle walls, and the ancient stone does little to protect the grand hall from the sheer cold. The Beast curls in upon itself against the center of the room, dark fur and contorted muscles a blight against the vibrant red carpet that trails from the arched doorway to the stairs at your feet. You’re sitting on a throne, you realize.

“Closest of kin, last bearer of Our blood. Kneel afore Us, or get thee gone.”

The voice echoes down the throne room, and only when your mouth closes do you realize those words were yours.

But neither the Beast nor the hundreds of statues that litter the hall respond. They remain frozen, like long-forgotten gods of old that time had finally reclaimed. For a moment, you think you are the only living thing left in the castle. And then the Beast moves. Its jaws open, wretched howls leaving in what would seem to be words, although the language is not one you understand.

You feel your head nod regardless.

“Moon-scented Hunter, thou'rt dear to Us. Gods and men have cursed Us so, and yet thy remain at Our side till the bitter end. What is it that binds thy so?”

Finally, the Beast raises its head, and you feel something crack inside you as you gaze into those familiar crimson eyes, eyes that hold the flames of the sun and the chill of the winter storm. He speaks again, howling as he moves into a kneel, twisted bones and excess limbs nearly making the pose nearly indistinguishable.

“Ah,” you laugh, a cold, bitter sound. “We know this path well. For there is none other that leads to such deplorable ruin of men and gods alike. There is no curse more twisted than love.”

This time when the Beast speaks, it sounds a lot like pleas. And yet you know there is nothing you can do for him, for history moves in vicious cycles, and not even the stars can defy destiny.

And yet his insolence amuses you. Few dare to defy fate, and fewer still dare to fight it through all their lifetimes. Such a powerful love. Such a tragic story.

You stand from the throne, body weightless as you descend the stairs and stand before the Beast. With every breath he seems to turn more and more human, fur receding and bones snapping back into natural shapes.

Kneeling, you mirror his pose before placing your palms in his. Slowly, the claws retract into hands, each ridge and scar so hauntingly familiar that you would have recognized them even with your eyes closed. “We await thy return. For the honour of Cainhurst.”

Which is to say, give me every reason not to stay, and I will love your monsters regardless.

Which is to say, I still dream of kissing your claws and teeth.

Which is to say, I love you.

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

You wake up.

You don’t remember a thing, but you swore you dreamt of ashes.

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

There are thirteen days of hellish silence until you hear the rhythmic knock from the clinic window.

You resume the current experiment you were in the midst of running- analyzing a sample from Vicar Amelia’s corpse- in a vain attempt not to show just how relieved you were at Diluc’s return. If you saw his face again, filled with fire and renewed snark, you're not sure you could keep yourself from running straight into his arms. So you keep your back turned even as the window slams shut.

Turning the knob of a microscope, you clear your throat. “I’ll admit I was beginning to get worried when—”

A crash, something shatters.

Jumping, you turn in time to see Diluc stumble forward, knocking over another set of vials before his knees give out, blood trailing from the window, across the floor.

“Saints.”

You barely catch him in time to stop his head from slamming into the table.

He reeks of gore and death, just as he had when he died in your arms. He’s dying. He’s dying again.

Hauling Diluc on your back, you’re cursing in heaves as you drag him towards a rusted tub in the corner of the clinic. His larger frame crushes yours as you struggle to push him into the bath, water sloshing around the both of you as he slips under, massive arms and legs hardly contained in the metal keg. The lack of heating in the dregs of winter means the water is freezing, and your teeth chatter as you fight to keep his head raised. And yet, even after being dunked in the numbing temperature, the Hunter hardly gives more than a low groan of discomfort.

Are these all remaining wounds from the Vicar Amelia fight?

Straining, one arm keeps Diluc from submerging entirely as the other begins frantically stripping away layers of bloodied clothes, revealing more and more wounds. Once you’ve secured his head and arms on either side of the tub you stand, scrambling together stitches and blood vials.

No. These ones are new.

Forcing his mouth open, Diluc is barely conscious enough to swallow the blood, movements sloppy as red mixes with the crusting black trailing down his chin and neck. By the time you’ve gotten rid of all his clothes, the tub was filled with a brown, rusted slosh and numerous rounds of dressing.

Diluc’s head rolls to the side, hitting the metal rim of the tub with a thud as he attempts to speak, only for a hoarse groan to leave instead. You hush him, whispering into his temple as you pad his head onto a makeshift pillow, leaving for a moment to collect alcohol and more cloth for his wounds. His fangs were out. You pretend not to notice.

“This might sting.” You shake away the tremor in your hands, kneeling behind him as you begin scrubbing off crusted blood. “I don’t understand, how did you leave the Dream with these wounds?”

With complete honesty, you don’t understand much about the Hunter’s Dream. Even less about how it came to be, or how it was even possible to begin with. But with your previous involvement with church Hunters, you understood it was where Hunters returned to once they died, a sort of temporary limbo before they returned to their hunt in Yharnam, healed as though Death had never touched them in the first place.

But you suppose Death took a piece of them each time, for they never really returned whole. Not in the ways that mattered.

Whipping the cloth down Diluc’s back, your hands pause as they rub over two new scars, each one etched in a raised gnarled growth from shoulder to ribcage. Claw marks, you realize. From Vicar Amelia.

And right under them were several newer scratches and stabs, still bleeding as you pressed the cloth to them.

Pushing Diluc up gently, the Hunter goes easy, pliant against your touch. “How long?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You grit your teeth, accidentally scrubbing harsher against his fresh wounds. Diluc lets out a muffled hiss. “How long have you been back from the Dream?”

For a moment the only sound is the drip of the faucet as it leaks into the tub. He’s not answering. Your hands fall to your sides, fists clenched around the rag.

“Nine,” he whispers. ” Nine days.”

“Nine days.”

Nine whole fucking days that you thought you might never see him again. You hurl the cloth into the water and walk around to face him, palms ramming onto the edge of the tub. “Why?”

You stare down at him and Diluc stares right back, brows furrowing as he leans closer, water sloshing around him as his hand lifts to your face. Without thinking you’ve already leaned into his touch, biting back a sob as the warmth from his palm rests against your cheek. His touch burns, even with the freezing water now dripping down both your bodies.

Calluses decorate his palm, scorched skin rough against your jaw. Your eyes trace down in silence. His arms are laced with scars raw and deep enough to look as though they were still bleeding, his shoulders and chest are filled with old wounds cutting through curly patches of red hair in a history even his semi-immortal body couldn’t re-write, and in the corner of your eye you see his left thigh encircled with a gnarled line that takes you a moment to recognize— it’s where he tore his own leg off.

Living proof of every death he has died. Of every death denied to him.

You had thought the first time you would see Diluc naked you would have thrown a joke or two, made some sort of innuendo or inappropriate joke just to watch the tips of his ears turn redder than his hair. You had imaged it a hundred times, playing out in a hundred different ways.

But never like this. Not while you map every wound on his body like a coroner trying to figure out which finally sounded his death knell.

Lifting your hand to his, you brush his knuckles against your lips.

“Kiss me.”

He does.

Water splashes onto bloody tiles, Diluc’s body surging forward as his hand cups your jaw, pulling you into him as you nearly fall into the tub too, barely catching yourself against his broad chest. You try very hard not to think about the rest of him, wet and bare, underneath you. It’s not working.

Your free hand snakes around his neck, fingers knotting themselves into the unruly mane of his hair as it sticks to his back and shoulders in crimson curls. Unlike every other time you’ve enticed his affection, Diluc quickly demands more, his tongue already pressing against your lips as he coaxes your head further back to grant himself easier access.

“Wait don’t,” you begin, cut off by Diluc’s lips. “Your stitches might come un–” He kisses you again. And again. Your words turn to ash, burned away by the passion you’re suddenly overcome by.

He’s consuming you, igniting you in your entirety and you can only welcome the flames.

Somewhere against your dwindling sanity you know this display was little more than a calculated performance. Perhaps this was just to curve your anger. Perhaps it was simply meant to distract you. Perhaps it was to distract himself.

But with each insistent press of Diluc’s tongue against your own, each ghosting prick of his fangs against your bottom lip, you find it increasingly harder to care.

Another rough tug drags you closer to the Hunter, and your hand slips against the wet metal rim of the tub, a sharp hiss caught against your throat as you yank your arm back. A thin line of red drips from your palm, swirling into the bath.

The scent of blood stabs the air, the flood of rust and copper rushing through Diluc’s skull, into his lungs, and lower still.

Superhuman strength wrenches you backward as he reels away, one hand restraining your bleeding hand and the other wrenching over his face as he looks away, stifling both his nose and mouth. His chest heaves, each breath coming out in ragged huffs visible in the cold air.

You can still see the glint of his fangs through the gaps in his fingers.

You frown. “Tell me, Hunter, do you wish to drink?”

Diluc tenses beneath you, refusing to meet your gaze. You swear he’s leaning as far away from you as he can without quite literally shoving you onto the floor. His hand muffles his words, and you can hardly make them out against his palm. “It’s hardly about what I want.”

Always being the goddamn martyr.

“Why?” You tense against his grip, fighting to meet Diluc’s eyes. “Why must you keep doing this?”

“I do not know what you’re referring to.”

You thrust your chin towards his body, towards the new wounds that mutilate him, anger cracking your voice. “This! All of this! Why, when I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m capable of helping?” His grip turns harsher. You pretend not to feel it. “Let me help you.”

Before you release it you’re standing, Diluc forcing you to your feet as he places more distance between the both of you. He released you at arm's length, but gods does he feel so much further away?

“Again, I fail to see what it is you’re referring to.”

“Do you?” A sharp laugh, and you catch his wrists, thumbing at his scars as your eyes trail the rest of them. “You think this fixes it? You think forcing yourself to suffer will alleviate you from your guilt?”

“And what do you know of guilt,” a growl, “Doctor?”

“Do you truly think there’s anyone who has failed more people than a doctor? As though I don’t have the blood of more innocents on my hands than you do.”

You swallow, daring to step closer and raise a hand, only for Diluc to flinch away from your still-bleeding palm. He refuses to look at you. Why won’t he ever look at you?

“Our suffering will not bring them back, Diluc.” He still keeps you at a distance, and you relent, leaning your head against his bloodied knuckles as you exhale slowly, deeply. He doesn’t let you come any closer. You don’t force it. You simply stay put, forever at arm’s length, bracing yourself against his palm as if just to remind him that you are here, you are with him, and hoping that, for now, that alone will be enough.

You know this type of self-destruction well. The violence- the pain- it silences the voices.

You can’t remember their screams if all you can hear is your own.

“It will not give them peace, it will not make them forgive you, and it will never give you freedom from the memories.” If it did, the nightmares would have ceased years ago.

But that’s the funny thing about grief. Sometimes, it’s the only thing left when all the anger has finally burned and died out. Diluc knows this, being alive for centuries has taught him well, as he is doomed to repeat that same spiral of anger and violence and suffering until it finally kills him.

What does he know, if not grief? What is he, if not this rotten husk of anger and rage? What is left?

Just a beast and a boy fighting for control over a broken body.

But then he feels the warmth of your breath, every exhale shaky and heartbreaking as your lips quiver against his palm, and he cannot help but want to hold you.

“Today was my birthday.”

The burning pressure against your wrists disappears, and Diluc sinks to the floor, falling back into the tub as his arms and leg hang out. Head knocking against the metal rim, you watch his throat bob in silence before you kneel down beside him. His hand finds yours, and, ever so slowly, his pinkie finger intertwines with yours.

When Diluc continues, his words come out in a rasp, each one lodged against his unbeating heart before they spill out. “I try not to remember. One year I attempted not counting the days, hoping I’d simply forget,” a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Come early spring frost and I still could tell it was the morning of my birthday. The world won’t let me forget.”

After all, he killed his mother the day he was born and killed his father the day he became a man.

He had lost all the family he’d ever known on this day.

He was so young back then.

“Every year I visit them, far west from Hemwick Charnel, on a cliffside overlooking the castle and the sea.” Diluc’s words come easy now, and you begin disinfecting his wounds again as he talks, the slow rumble of his chest comforting as his body begins stitching itself back together. “I was picking lamp grass when I was ambushed by a horde. I didn’t know where else to go but here.”

A hum, and you let go of the cloth. “For what it’s worth, I am glad.”

Diluc turns to look at you with a raised brow. “Glad?” He’s about to continue when you gently shove his head, correcting yourself with a snort.

“I’m glad you were born. I’m glad I got to meet you. After all, who else could I blackmail into my service with a rifle and a vile of blood?” He laughs, the sound rough and warm. You can’t help but laugh too.

Leaning forward, you brush aside the long, wet strands of hair from his shoulders and place a kiss to the nape of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of smoke and ashes.

“Happy birthday, mon ch��ri.”

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

Yharnam seems to be cursed with late winter storms, and this April is no different.

You once swore you’d take snow over the typical rain or hail, but the relentless blizzard outside has you second-guessing that now. For the entire day now it has been impossible to see even three feet beyond the windows, a foggy white blanketing the city.

The children had fallen asleep hours ago, all seven of them huddled close as you tucked them under layer upon layer of blankets, Diluc and you taking turns to make sure they were warm and secured.

Now you and the Hunter retreated back to your own quarters, a small room nestled above the orphanage and the clinic. It sufficed though, and between the library set up in the corner of the room and the fireplace crackling before the seating area, the two of you easily fell into a comfortable routine.

Despite having read and reread many of your books– the majority being medical, philosophical, or the guilty pleasure novels that you‘ve expertly hidden throughout the shelf– you choose a new romance book to take back to your armchair and instantly curl up in it.

You’re only fifty pages in when you’re disturbed by an amused huff from your Hunter.

“May I inquire as to what is so amusing?” You peek over the pages, glaring slightly. He just had to interrupt you as soon as it was getting good.

Diluc hums. “Nothing in particular. It’s just that whatever you’re reading is causing you to make a rather strange sort of face.” He mimics you, brows scrunched before a smirk cracks across his lips at your scowl. He tilts his head, smile never dropping. “Your heart rate spiked.”

There is no way you’re admitting to reading pure filth in front of him, so instead you clear your throat, shifting your fingers so they cover as much of the title as they could. “Yes, well, this requires a lot of concentration so excuse me.”

"Of course. Concentration."

Diluc chuckles, the sound low and smooth and utterly horrible for the purity of your thoughts.

Crimson eyes flicker to the small crook where your neck and shoulder meet, just barely covered by the silk of your nightgown, and his tongue drags over his fangs as he forces in a deep breath. All your shifting in your seat allowed the billowing neckline to slip past your shoulder, exposing the delicate skin, and you could practically feel the Hunter’s gaze burning into you.

You know he can hear your heart flutter in tandem with that treacherous twisting of your stomach— a sort of unholy anticipation when you spot the brief flash of hunger across Diluc’s face.

Logically, you knew this was akin to tempting the Devil with sin. And yet that damnation tasted so sweet.

Your poor Hunter was already so far on edge from being unable to go out to hunt due to the heavy snowstorm. Early spring, and yet the winter was relentless in its hold over the city. You only managed to keep Diluc inside by assuring him that the Beasts would despise the cold just as much as anyone else would, and if there were one night where he could rest easy, it would be tonight.

And yet it seemed as though both the words rest and��easy were completely foreign to your Hunter.

All the more fun for you, really.

Uncrossing and recrossing your legs, you allow your nightgown to hike further up your thighs, letting out a sigh as the fire crackles and snaps. Diluc’s grip tightens against the armrest of his chair, the leather upholstery cracking under his knuckles. The Hunter can’t stop the slow glide of his eyes over your body, catching himself wondering if you had even bothered to wear anything beneath the flimsy slip of clothing, banishing the thought instantly with a flushed face.

But not before you catch it.

“Oh? What’s wrong, my dear Hunter?” You snap your book closed, setting it on the nightstand before stalking across the room. “Now you’re the one that seems rather… distracted.”

He swallows, hard. “And you seem rather intent on tempting me, even after I remember advising you against doing so. Specifically on a night such as this when I haven’t hunted nor fed.”

“I’m right here. You need not ask.”

A strained grunt. Diluc’s eyes burn into yours as you find your way to his chair, almost predatory in the way they catch your every movement. It excites you even more. Leaning down, you brace your hands against the armrest, caging him beneath you.

The fireplace is alight at your back, silhouetting your every curve, mimicking the desire burning both in your gaze and lower still. Saints, you can’t tell what you want more— to devour him or let him devour you.

Both.

Both would be acceptable.

You fall forward, thighs slipping atop Diluc’s own as you lower yourself onto him in one slow motion. His hands come up, and you guide them to your waist, each palm large enough to cup the entirety of your hips. It sends another trill of wicked excitement through you.

The glint of the fire catches against his fangs. Perhaps it’s the lingering effect of the dreamroot you smoked earlier, but you can’t help yourself, thumbing at his lip as you tilt Diluc’s jaw up. He goes easy, opening his mouth as you gently prod at the razor-sharp teeth. Behind those twin fangs his gums swell slightly at the top, a large cavity trailing down into the root of his teeth.

Thumbing it gently, you retract your fingers just long enough for Diluc to say, “Venom glands.”

A hum, both your hands now lifting to his jaw as Diluc’s arms meet you halfway, urging you to slow despite your excitement. Whether for your sake or his you did not know.

Diluc’s hands remain at your wrists as you gently push his lip up, sliding your thumb along his fangs, pressing against the gland until a steady stream of venom trickles down the long tooth.

It’s mostly clear, an unassuming amber in color, and yet the moment it drips onto your skin you feel the dizzying effect of the venom takes hold. Your eyes follow the trail, certain it must be a type of neurotoxin by the way it’s numbing your fingers and wrist as it trickles further and further, muscles relaxing involuntarily as they fall victim to the venom. If it was this powerful at mere contact, you shiver to think at what it might be capable of at injection.

“Does all Vileblood venom act the same?”

“Not,” Diluc grunts as your grip against his jaw shifts. “Not quite. Every individual’s toxin varies, and the effect depends on both participants.”

Gliding your fingers down his neck, the Hunter beneath you shivers. “How so?” Dropping your hands, you let them rest upon his shoulders.

“Different lineages hold different properties: paralysis, hemorrhage, coagulopathy, necrosis. But the chemical effect differs between partners, it’s impossible to tell how any one individual would react.”

You snort. “Partners? Seems a little too consensual of a term for what your kind does. Perhaps,” You lean forward, “Preying?” Rock your hips into his as your lips brush his neck, “Hunting?” A gasp, and you pounce, “Devouring?” You bite.

The sweet sound of Diluc’s moan rewards you, and you pull back in time to watch the bruise fade back into the pale column of his neck. His throat bobs, eyes flickering back to your own neck.

He’s so obvious sometimes.

“I’ve been wondering, do Vampires have favorite spots to bite? I’d assume major arteries, makes for easier…” You guide his hands further down, allowing them to roam until they thumb at the dimples against your lower back. “Access?”

Diluc’s mouth opens, dry, his mind failing him at every turn when it comes to you. You laugh under your breath, dragging your fingers up your body, allowing the thin silk of your robe to slip off both of your shoulders, exposing inches of soft, delicate skin. “Don’t tell me you’re a clichè and just go for the neck? Or perhaps this frustrating gentlemanly façade is to hide even more perverse tendencies? Well? Are you hiding something from me, mon petit monstre?”

“No.”

You lean in, teasing. His gaze drops lower. “No?”

“Avoid arteries. They—” Your hands fall from your chest, one grabbing Diluc’s jaw, forcing him to look at you, as the other begins toying with the lace of his blouse. A beautiful blush clings to his face, dusty red from the firelight as it burns at his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Saints, he’s so warm under your touch. “They’re too messy. It’s a balance between force and mercy.”

By the time he’s done talking you’ve finished opening his shirt, hands greedily exploring the newly unveiled skin as you hum in response. Hard planes of muscle are ridged with curls of thick red hair, cut only by singes and scars, and you bend to kiss each one, nestling yourself further onto Diluc’s lap as your lips continue to worship him.

“Force and mercy, hm?”

You once offered to heal them, to stitch up loose gashes and dress older wounds in ointments. But Diluc refused. Now, as your tongue traces a scar from his chest to his sternum, you begin to understand why he collects these reminders of failures long ago. He believes it to be an atonement, his physical proof to pay for every sin he’s convinced he’s committed. So be it. You’d love them regardless.

A kiss to the gnarled skin before you move further, lips brushing over another patch of burns before you sit up, taking in the view before you.

There is something horridly addicting in bringing the apex predator of the world to your mercy. Diluc was doused by firelight, bare chest tinted with blush and the slick aftermath of your ministrations, skin matching the crimson of his unruly mane of hair now cascading down the couch and sticking to his sweat-slicked muscles. His eyes meet yours for only a moment before they dart from your lips to your neck and back again.

Everything about him was blinding, so furiously red it burned.

You shiver.

That moment of weakness was enough, however, and Diluc lifts you easily. His powerful grip forces your hips flush against his, body towering over your own as your chests brush with every ragged inhale, head dipping to rest his forehead against your own.

He’s trembling. Elongated fangs have sunk deep into his bottom lip, blood trickling down his chin, dripping onto your breasts. Every muscle in the Hunter’s body is tensing and yielding again and again, fighting every instinct with the control he so piously boasts.

Ever the fucking gentleman.

You grumble, pushing yourself forward, deliberately shifting your hips against his own, smirking at the low gasp he makes against your ear. It is as your dear Hunter said: force and mercy.

One hand palms at the hard planes of muscle down his torso, nails digging into his abs, watching as the red lines disappear as soon as you make them. It only tempts you to try harder. Maybe use something sharper. The other hand works to lift Diluc’s face to your own, drinking in the heavy blush that coats his cheeks, eyes hooded with a bleary fog, unable to look away from your neck as his own black blood stains his lips and chin. And yet he still refuses to bite you.

You have half a thought to force the Vampyr’s fangs into your skin on your own when the man finally moves. You don’t register it at first. One moment his forehead is braced against yours as you perch atop him, and the next you’re pinned against the arm of the couch, Diluc looming over you as he kneels between your thighs. The fire snaps in the background.

Diluc lowers his face an inch, grazing the tip of his nose along your neck. Beneath your hand, his chest heaves upward as he inhales a slow, greedy breath of your scent. Breathe. You scream at yourself to remember to breathe.

“You’ve yet to answer my question. Where, Diluc,” another brush along your neck, this time with his lips. Your voice trembles. “Where would you bite me?”

Too far. You knew this question was pushing him too far, you knew the fool you played to even dare press his limits, to tempt him with forces you couldn’t begin to understand or control. But gods old and new be damned, you were tired of constantly trying to figure things out.

It was its own kind of discovery, the surrender to instinct.

And so you do nothing except tilt your neck further, allowing him to brush his lips over your neck again and again. With each movement you arch further into his lap, feeling that heat and hardness grind up into you, mere friction enough to override every rational thought.

Finally, Diluc stops. A heavy breath fans the lower crook of your neck, stopping just above the curve of your shoulder. “Here.”

It’s a command as much as it’s an answer. Diluc dares to kiss you there, finally, opening his mouth as you feel the warm nudge of his tongue, fixating on that spot until something seizes him, a deep growl reverberating through his chest.

Diluc shudders and parts his lips, lingering just above the damp spot, every exhale a cold gust against the hyper-sensitive skin of your neck. You don’t dare move, either in fear of scaring him away or luring him further you do not know. Instead, you shift your hand once resting upon his shoulder into his hair, coaxing him to press harder. His tongue traces a circle on your skin as he obeys.

You stifle a moan. The devoted mix of kisses and nips was going to leave more than a mark, and that thought alone rid you of any remaining control. Deliberately, you grind harder against his thigh, the firm pressure of his muscles sending your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Yet you continue, meeting the painfully hard strain against his trousers with every soft roll of your hips.

Diluc groans. Fisting your nightgown in his hand, he forces the two of you together, bending you backward with the force of it as his mouth opens wide against your throat.

"Please," you whisper.

You feel the twin pricks of his fangs, hovering just above your skin, just enough to feel them. Ripples of fear and desire and terror and anticipation shutter down your spine. Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of every place Diluc touches you, his nearly bare chest heaving against your own, the heat of his breath on your neck, the weight of his hand on your waist. The roar of your blood in your ears. The pounding of your heart.

Right as you feel the pressure begin to sink into your throat, you lose your balance, the force of Diluc’s hold pushing you back as you slip off the couch and hit the table.

The cracking of wood breaks the both of you from the trance.

Diluc is breathing heavily, bangs shielding his face as he cages you against the table with his arms, one hand protecting the back of your head from the impact that would have otherwise rattled your skull as the other braces your back. He’s straining though, as if he himself is trapped between standing up and descending upon you once more.

“…Temptation.”

Your head snaps back, falling against the table with a thump as you try to meet his gaze. Raising a hand, Diluc laces his fingers between your own before bringing it against his jaw, nuzzling into your touch.

Finally looking at you, you stifle a gasp at the sight. His pupils are bleeding, turning the whites of his eyes into an inky red, so deep they are nearly black, pupils themselves dilating and constricting like a beast’s.

“You are temptation.”

You manage a wry smile despite the lust and fear burning throughout your body. “Your temptation.”

A smile. “My temptation.”

And with that you tug his face down to your own, ramming your lips together. Diluc protests against you, words muffled into the sloppy kiss, his resistance half-hearted as his tongue already works to meet you halfway, trying ever so desperately to steer you away from his fangs. That won’t do.

You prop yourself up with one elbow, feeling the weight of Diluc’s body drop onto your own, pinning you to the table as his lips claim yours this time. It’s more tongue and teeth than anything else on your part, nipping his bottom lip as your eyes catch on his fangs once again. The taste of his own blood lingers from where he bit himself, and you moan before pushing your tongue forward, allowing it to push up against his teeth, feeling two clean gashes trail down the muscle as it drags along the length of his fangs.

The taste of your blood fills Diluc’s mouth. He flinches, pupils blown wide.

You pull just far enough to say, “Drink.”

He does.

There’s a low growl, a sound more beast than man, and Diluc consumes you with the savagery of a wild animal. His lips chase yours, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he feeds. It’s twisted, the sounds you’re both making and the web of blood and saliva that drips between the both of you, the very act of him feeding off your tongue enough to be considered sacrilege.

But, Saints above and gods below, you never want him to stop.

Pressing the hot muscle into Diluc’s fangs again, you feel a numbing sensation seize your tongue, losing control as the warmth from Diluc’s mouth and his natural venom rupture every nerve and muscle, chasing down your spine, compelling you to grind even harder against him. Every kiss is tainted with the obscene sounds of him swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood, the creaking of the table as your hips rut into each other no better than animals in heat, and the moans that echo along with the snap of the fire.

It is still not enough.

Breaking the kiss, Diluc’s lips chase after your own, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, thoroughly drunk off your blood. Not that you’re faring any better, nightgown bunched at your waist and slick to your skin from sweat, blood smeared across your lips and chest.

A dark smile cracks along the Hunter’s mouth, glinting with blood-stained fangs as he snarls, “Addicting.”

Saints. The way he said that word echoes in your skull and you whimper, clenching your thighs around his waist and pulling him closer still. Diluc obeys, pressing your bodies together so tightly you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.

Without thinking your hand is already trailing down every straining muscle of Diluc’s body, scratching down his chest and abs until it grinds against the searing heat straining against his trousers. The Hunter keens, pushing into your body as he gasps, hardly giving himself a moment to breathe before claiming your lips once again.

You’re trying your best with the atrocious number of belts and laces that block you from your goal, and yet to no avail as your mind can hardly think straight between the insistent press of Diluc’s lips on yours and his venom running rampant in your veins.

Another whine and you give up on the trousers entirely, laying your palm flat against his clothed cock. He bucks into your heat, and you marvel even through your lust-dazed mind at his sheer size, having to rub both hands down his length to simply feel it all.

Diluc gasps, tearing his mouth from your own as he licks the remaining blood from your skin until he forces himself from your lips. “Don’t. Don’t do that, else I really might lose control of—”

You do it again, cruelly grinding your palm into his length before dragging your fingers up again, nearly coming up to his lower abdomen as you thumb the mass of red curls disappearing into his trousers. Oh, gods, you need him, now.

The Hunter hisses as your movements get rougher, jaw snapped shut as he thrusts into your hold, the force of it enough to drive you and the table you’re pinned upon backward. You can hardly stop yourself from imagining that power, that sheer size buried deep within you. All-consuming. Addictive.

You’re about to press up again when his hand catches your own, yanking both up and slamming them above your head. A whine, and you thrash beneath his grip, arching against him. But Diluc no longer responds, his body rigid as he witnesses the mess he’s made of you.

It’s instinct, the way you beg and whine for him. It’s merely a prey’s response to a predator coaxing them into a false sense of bliss before the kill.

“You deserve so much better.”

And then the warmth above you disappears, leaving you cold and empty and aching, alone with only the crack of the fire and the silence of the night.

Diluc was gone.

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you, and you fall limp onto the table as you stare up at the ceiling. “Fucking bastard.”

Even with the fireplace at your back, there is no mistaking the sudden chill of the room, and you force yourself to sit up despite the horrid mix of Vampyr venom and raw desire making your limbs tremble with every movement. Saints, everything ached, the room spinning as you stumbled onto your feet. Not trusting your legs enough to make it to your chambers, you opt to collapse against the couch, another delirious whimper seizing you as you lay sprawled against the leather.

You hate him.

Saints you hate him and you hate him for leaving you while the growing need between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole. The leather was deliciously cool against your flushed skin and you writhe against it, another breathy moan slipping past your lips as you turn to face the door.

Your quarters were on the third floor, two above the clinic and one above the orphanage. There were only so many rooms Diluc could have fled to, at least until the snowstorm subsided.

For now, though, he is stuck in the house. Curse or blessing it may be.

You bite onto your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood- you wonder if he can smell it- as your hands glide downwards, ghosting over the bruising remnants of Diluc’s touch. Oh, you hate him. You hate him so much. Even the brush of silk against your skin was becoming unbearable, and you slip past the nightgown, letting it bunch at your hips.

Even amidst the venom and lust, your logical side begins to panic— heavens forbid you’re loud enough to wake a patient or the children sleeping only a floor below.

But you know that with his senses Diluc can hear everything.

And that alone would make this punishment worth it.

Call it retribution.

A hand slips beneath your undergarments and Saints, fuck, you were dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. But you remember the bastard voyeur undoubtedly listening in and force yourself to slow down. Instead, you rub slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to drive your head back into the armrest, waves of heat rippling through you.

With a broken whimper, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a breathless moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. Saints. It’s not enough.

You whine, and yet force yourself to draw each movement out, the twist of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the lewd wet sounds of each movement. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the tip, this time two plunge back in, and your back arches off the couch with violent tremors as you imagine it was Diluc’s hand instead. Your Hunter’s hand, hot, rough, and big enough to send you reeling with a mere touch. Deeper and deeper, he’d push you to breaking, and your free hand claws into the leather at the thought of it.

It’s Diluc’s voice rings in your head, and you see that dark smile, glinting with blood-stained fangs as he snarls. “Addicting.”

Addicting.

A sob, and you force your fingers curling up in self-inflicted cruelty. It’s Diluc’s hips that grind into you with relentless fervor, it’s Diluc’s hand that brings you closer and closer to the edge until you draw blood from your lips, and it’s Diluc’s name that leaves your lips in silent screams as you finally come again and again until the room fades to black.

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

You’ve ruined him.

Gods the fucking taste of your blood lingers in Diluc’s mouth, every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every beastly urge and simply consume until—

Diluc sinks his fangs into his arm with a groan, forcing mouthful after mouthful of blood down his throat in hopes that the bitter taste of his blood covers your own.

It’s not enough. Not even close. The hunger had hardly subsided and his dick was still begging for release, heavy and controlling, demanding his very sanity as he stumbled into one of the abandoned patient cubicles. Your voice, broken and desperate, rings against the base of his skull, and the memory alone is enough to send new ripples of heat down his spine.

Throwing himself onto the cot, Diluc shields an arm over his face, attempting to block out the sounds of your moans, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the taste of you still raging through him. But even the slightest movement only succeeds in making the rough seams of his trousers rub against his cock, the friction enough to make him grit his teeth, fangs sinking into his bottom lip.

And then he hears your voice again.

He goes deathly still, afraid he’s begun to hallucinate in this lust-induced haze. But no, there is no mistaking it. From where you are, a floor or two above, he hears the rapid stutter of your heartbeat, your stifled cries, and the slick, wet sounds of your hand as it—

“Saints,” he’s gasping for air, ”kill me now.”

Diluc knows you’re torturing him.

His ears strain against his will, and Diluc catches another whimper from you when suddenly the scent of your blood hits him like a bullet. You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding and his cock is throbbing in time to your weakening heartbeat.

You really do turn him into a beast. It’s sinful.

One hand unbuckles his trousers, fumbling them down as the other stifles another moan, sound low and tortured. Diluc’s pace matches yours, and as he hears the slow rub of your fingers against your core, he in turn grips his cock, pulling it from its confinements as it springs against his abs. Saints, he’s leaking enough to coat his palm in slick already, excess dripping onto his thighs.

It’s easy, with the taste of you in his mouth and the breathy voice of you in his head, to imagine it’s your hand gripping him instead. He hates himself for how much harder he gets at the thought of it.

But Diluc hardly gets to dwell on it, any semblance of embarrassment is swallowed whole by greed as he hears your pace quicken. Listening to you intensely as you fuck yourself on your hand, his jaw clenches as he grounds himself in time to the beat of your heart, hips stuttering as he gives himself a painfully rough jerk.

With each pump his hips rut faster, erratic movements rocking the cot as the groan of the frame is covered only by the slick slap of skin and his muffled whimpers. Diluc’s mind wanders, and he can’t help but remember how you writhed beneath him, dark blush tainting your features and that cruel smile flickering across your face. What face are you making now?

He pictures you below him once more, but someone as unpredictable as you would never be satisfied with that for long. Would you push him down? His eyes flutter closed and he indulges in your noises that reverberate through the wall. Would you tie or chain him up, each movement slow and cruel as you used him to your heart’s content? Granted, he could break free from any sort of restraint, but would he want to?

Fuck. He’s not going to last.

Desperate, Diluc digs his nails into the soft underside of his cock and with a prolonged squeeze starves off his orgasm, thighs trembling from the pressure. Diluc thinks you’d do the same. You’d tease him, you’d send him to the brink only to stop, a cruel sort of devotion only you could give him. The thought alone is enough to send his head rolling back, mouth open as he growls out your name.

It must be poison. Your blood must have gotten him addicted.

From the room above your pulse stutters, and he feels each beat of your quickening heart on his tongue, he feels it against his cock, and as soon as you moan a broken mantra of his name, Diluc knows he is doomed.

You must be his damnation.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin imagines #bloodborne #vampire #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc smut #genshin diluc #poisonwrites

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daisyswift3 · 2 months ago

Text

The Elevator 🌔

I think I know what this message from 🌋 is referring to. Lizzy McAlpine just released the deluxe version of her album Older today and she titled it Older (and Wiser). I’m pretty sure Older is related to Gracie’s song Older on TIWIFL (see this post for more on the Gracie Lizzy connections). Lizzy’s Older and Gracie’s Older are both related to the Peter Pan metaphor. I think the deluxe album being titled Older (and Wiser) indicates that Peter is getting ready to grow up -> “I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser.” Taylor is no longer going to be an anti-hero, she is instead going to be a hero.

(x)

The first track on Older is The Elevator and the lyrics of this song match perfectly w Labyrinth (and Labyrinth is related to the Bejeweled mv bc Taylor takes an elevator from the 1st to the 13th floor):

“It wasn’t slow it happened fast” -> “You know how scared I am of elevators, Never trust it if it rises fast, It can’t last”

“And suddenly the only thing I (Peter) saw was you (Wendy)” -> “Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love, Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again”

Also, the plane -> The Tortured Poets Depart 🛫🛬 -> “I thought the plane was going down, How'd you turn it right around?” -> LWYMMD mv where Taylor clips the wings of her TS6 plane (karma the lost album) -> Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (which is referenced in the Karma mv) using the same plane metaphor: “When are you gonna come down? When are you going to land?” This song is abt Elton choosing to walk away from fame which is also what the Bejeweled mv is abt (Castles Crumbling).

If you look at the Spotify canvas for The Elevator, a calendar is shown w several dates and this is where the math comes in. Some of the dates are 11/10, 10/28-10/30, 11/6, 11/7-11/10, 10/24, and Oct 28. 11/10 mirrored is 10/11 like @lyricstoojesus said, and 10/11 is the first quarter w 58% illumination which is mentioned in the 🌋 message. The waxing gibbous phase 🌔 starts on 10/12. The Elevator calendar has some very interesting things written on it. One of them is “Piano Taylor” which is on 10/11-10/12. This could be what that 🌋 message was trying to point us to. Perhaps this is a hint that we should pay attention to Taylor’s next piano surprise song. Plus 12 mirrored is 21 which is one of Gracie’s songs (see this post for more on the 12 and 21).

Another thing that caught my eye was “Richter.” This could be referring to the Richter scale which measures the magnitude of earthquakes. Gracie just recently played Fault Line as a surprise song on Oct 2. This song uses an earthquake as a metaphor for a relationship falling apart. “I know you're a fault line, but I'll break too, Crackin' at the same time, does it shock you?” Interestingly, Aaron Dessner described the song “us” as “an earthquake of a song.” So putting these easter eggs together, they could be saying that “us” (that is the tortured poets + us true fans, "you + me = us") is the earthquake in the song Fault Line; the relationship that's falling apart in Fault Line is the one between Peter/James (the tortured poets) and Wendy/Betty (us true fans). It could also be saying that this relationship will be the thing that burns the lover house to the ground and starts the revolution, the "volcano." The Elevator calendar may be foreshadowing when the first cracks from this earthquake will start forming, 10/10. Ginger anon mentioned the cracks in the facade that turn into a chasm.

The last thing I wanted to point out is “Codesmith” which is written under “Monday, Wednesday, Thursday” and next to “Oct 28” which is a Monday. The wk of Oct 28 is the same wk as Halloween which is on a Thursday. I have no doubt sth big will happen this wk since this was the whole purpose of the 🎃 messages.

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strawberrybasilsorbet · 2 months ago

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Jilytober Day 9

Finished this @jilytoberfest story a little late again! This microfic went in a darker/sadder direction than I expected (CW for funeral planning), but I really like it. Hope you enjoy!

October 9th Prompt: "You literally checked your phone 3 seconds ago"

"Sirius Black."

Lily picked at her roast beef. James bounced his leg, looking at the mirror in his palm.

"Sirius Black. Padfoot. Sirius Bl—"

"He said that he'd call you when he got home," said Lily. "James, the food is getting cold."

Lily, her fiancé, and the spectre of Sirius Black sat in the kitchen of her three-room flat, allegedly eating supper. The man himself was off someplace in London, sneaking into his brother's funeral.

After a pause, James turned to face the table, setting the mirror upright against his glass. He spooned some potatoes onto his plate and took a bite. "It's good," he said.

"Thanks." And they fell again into uneasy silence.

There had been no announcement in the Prophet, but — through some pure-blood whisper network that was opaque to Lily — the Prewett brothers had heard. A small service, family only. Closed casket.

Sirius had claimed to be looking for an answer: whether his brother's body had simply been mutilated beyond repair, or whether the rumors were true, and the House of Black hadn't been able to recover a body at all.

James hadn't wanted him to go. He was convinced that Sirius's Death Eater cousins would discover and attack him, and had told him so, repeatedly. When this line of persuasion had failed, James had tried to insist on coming along as backup, but Sirius had refused. He hadn't given a reason.

Out of options, James had insisted that Sirius take the Cloak, at least. An invisible man would be less conspicuous than a giant dog, and in this rain, it was likely that at least part of the ceremony would be indoors.

"Sirius Black."

"James, you literally checked the mirror three seconds ago."

"But what if—"

"Sirius is a grown-up," Lily snapped. "He told you he'd call when he can."

James gave the clock on the wall a pointed look. "Lily, it's been four hours."

"Maybe the funeral's not over yet."

"It's after six."

"Maybe he needs a minute, James!"

James stiffened, snapping his face back toward Lily. At least he'd stopped bouncing his damn leg. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I haven't got a problem. You're being ridiculous."

James gave her a long look. "Fine," he said. Then, deliberately, he turned his back on her. "Sirius Black."

Lily shoved her plate away, stood, and stomped out of the kitchen.

She didn't understand why she was so upset. Lily had never even spoken to Regulus Black. If it weren't for his distinctive resemblance to his brother, Lily might never have noticed him in school at all. He'd been skinnier than Sirius, and he'd had a gaunter face — but with his dark hair and gray eyes, the resemblance between Regulus and his estranged brother had been as plain as the resemblance of the gibbous moon to the full. (Tuney had always been thin).

Lily dragged her hands over her face and took a deep breath through her nose. She counted to four, held it, then breathed out again, as Alice Longbottom had taught her after that battle when a curse had nearly ripped open her torso.

(Tuney had always been thin. It was the one thing she'd always been able to lord over her talented, popular sister, leaving magazines open to photos of Twiggy and boasting about her dress size.)

Sirius hadn't spoken to his brother since he'd finished school, more than a year ago. Lily hadn't spoken to her sister in at least as long. Petunia's invitation to her wedding had been returned, unopened.

And her fiancé hadn't understood. You don't deserve to be treated like this, James had said firmly, gently, as he'd held her against his chest. Lily had been crying her eyes out, clutching the sealed envelope. Your family is supposed to support you, Lily. They aren't supposed to be cruel.

The worst part hadn't even been his words, but the horrible weight that they had lifted from her heart. The immensity of the comfort — the relief — that she had felt; the warmth, like she had finally found a home.

If James had spoken such poison to Sirius, whose brother was now dead — well. It was no wonder, to Lily, that he did not answer.

A chair scraped in the kitchen, and she heard her fiancé's loud footsteps as he followed her into the sitting room. Lily wasn't surprised. Neither she nor James were the type to let a provocation lie; it was one of the reasons they fit together so well. He had barely entered the room before Lily rounded on him.

"If the Death Eaters murder me," she spat, "will you invite Petunia to the funeral?"

James stopped dead. He'd entered the room with his mouth open, ready with some argument that Lily had cut off, and his chin bobbed awkwardly as he processed the unexpected question. Like a fish.

"Well?" It was an accusation. "Will you?"

Raindrops tapped against the sitting room window. James stared. Finally, he said, "You aren't going to be murdered."

Lily raised her chin, although it trembled. "I could be."

"You won't."

"But I could be." When they'd buried Edgar Bones and his little children, the service had been in a magical village. Muggle-Repelling Charms had blanketed the entire Wizarding quarter of the town, including the churchyard. "Would she be able to come, even if you did? If I die in this war, James, will my sister even be able to see the grave?"

A bitter hiccough of a laugh escaped her. James tugged on his hair with both hands and closed his eyes. The fight went out of his posture, and he seemed to let out all of his breath at once, like a flag when the wind is gone.

Without a word, James took a few steps toward her, put both of his hands on her waist, and walked her to the sitting room couch. Collapsing into it, he pulled Lily sideways onto his lap, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist. He rested his forehead against her temple, burying his face in her thick red hair.

They listened to the rain.

Lily could not tell how much time had passed before James spoke. "My family are all buried in Godric's Hollow," he said quietly. "It's been half-magical since before the Statute of Secrecy was passed. There are Muggles buried in the graveyard there, too. It wouldn't be like the Boneses."

Lily swallowed. "I didn't think you'd—"

"Noticed?" James took her left hand with his free arm, lacing his fingers through hers. He turned his head to look at the ring there. "I did. But if I'd never known you, I probably wouldn't have."

He squeezed her hand and released it, then turned his face back into her hair. "Anyway," he said, still quiet, "that's probably what we would do. But if you wanted something different—"

"No," Lily cut him off. "No, that's— that's fine."

"Okay," James said. He took a shaky breath, but when he spoke again, his voice was steady. "As far as the rest of it — I don't think Petunia would need an invitation. I imagine she'd be the one writing them."

"She...would?"

"If she were willing," said James. He shrugged. "I think she'd be better at that part than me. Obituaries, flowers."

"You hate Petunia."

"I don't hate her." Lily turned to face him, skepticism in her expression. Behind his glasses, James's hazel eyes were sincere. "I don't. And...and even if I did, I—." He looked down as his voice broke. "I wouldn't do that to you, Lily."

She looked down, too. "Oh."

"I promise. I wouldn't."

"I...I believe you. Thank you." James nodded but did not speak. The rain lulled, and the silence was suddenly unbearable. Lily swallowed. "What...part would you be better at?"

"What?"

"You said my sister would be better at flowers."

James raised his eyebrows. "Tracking down the bastards who'd murdered you."

"Oh. Right."

"Right."

James's left arm was still wrapped tightly around Lily's waist, but with his right, he began to run his hand up and down the side of her body, from her shoulder to her hip and back again. "Lily. It's not the same."

Of course it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same, because Regulus Black had been a pureblood and a bigot and a child of money, and none of it had saved him.

What did Lily and Tuney have?

It was like peering into a cracked mirror. It had been ever since she'd heard. And then, there was Sirius — who was popular and talented, who was different from his family, who'd gone away, who'd been rejected — Sirius, whom she should have been able to connect with, to understand—

And yet.

"The idiot should never have joined in the first place," he'd told Gideon Prewett, tossing his head. "He deserved it." Whether Sirius had been trying to avoid damnation by association, or whether he'd meant every word, Lily could not guess. But the words had been a cold knife in her gut.

She'd really been starting to like Sirius.

"Lily? You're shaking," said James, still running his hand along her side. "What is it?"

She looked away from him. "Tuney wouldn't even come," Lily said in a wobbling voice. "She'd call me a freak and say that I brought it on myself." James said nothing. "You know she would."

He crushed her to his chest. Lily burst into sobs.

James rubbed circles into her shoulders as he rocked her back and forth. Lily took quick, gasping breaths against his chest, soaking the front of his robes with tears and snot. She didn't know if she was wailing for herself or Tuney or James, for Regulus Black or Edgar Bones or Bones's little daughter — didn't know if what she felt was fear or grief, or if it was the childish voice that cried out inside her, had been crying out for years and years, because sisters were supposed to be forever.

"I love you, Lily" James said, his voice choked. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

And they sat, until she'd cried herself out and he'd trailed off and the rain had finally stopped. Still, they did not rise, but held one another in silence.

"James Potter."

They both jumped.

Sirius's voice, emanating from James's pocket, was hoarse. "James Potter." James looked at Lily uncertainly. His eyes were red.

"It's okay," she said, shifting off of his lap and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Go. Tell him I send my love."

James hesitated for another moment before nodding. He pressed a kiss to Lily's forehead, then stood, taking the mirror from his pocket as he left the room. "What took you so long?" she heard him say, but she could not make out the reply. Both voices grew quiet as James walked further into the kitchen.

Lily looked around the sitting room from her perch on the sofa, not quite lost, not quite found. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it tightly to her chest.

On the coffee table, there was a vase of flowers. She reached out to touch them, coaxing their petals to open and close beside one another on the stem.

#jilytober2024 #31prompts #prompt 9 #james potter #lily evans #jily #hp fanfic

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theoraclereader · 29 days ago

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Truth Spell: "Unveil the Veil"

Materials:

A white candle (for clarity and purity)

A blue candle (for truth and communication)

A piece of clear quartz (for focus and amplification)

A sprig of sage or rosemary (for cleansing and truth)

A mirror (effective for self reflection)

Spell Steps:

Cast a Circle: Create a sacred space by cleansing the area with the sage or rosemary. Visualize a protective circle of light surrounding you.

Light the Candles: Place the white and blue candles in front of you, and light them as you say:"Light of purity, light of truth, reveal what’s hidden, show what’s proof."

Hold the Quartz: Take the clear quartz in your hand. Close your eyes, and focus on the situation you wish to uncover or clarify. Visualize a veil lifting, allowing you to see or hear what is true.

Recite the Incantation: Speak the following words three times:"By candle's flame and crystal’s light, Unveil what’s hidden, reveal what's right. Let truth emerge, both bold and clear, What’s clouded now, soon shall appear."

Gaze Into the Mirror : Using a mirror, look into it and focus on your intention. Envision the answers coming to you, or visualize honesty radiating in your life and relationships.

Close the Spell: Thank any energies or deities you called upon. Extinguish the candles, saying:"As I will, so shall it be, The truth revealed and now set free."

Keep the Quartz: Carry the clear quartz with you for a few days to keep the spell's influence active.

Magical Timing:

Day: Perform this spell on a Monday (day of intuition) or Wednesday (day of communication).

Moon Phase: A waxing gibbous moon enhances the flow of information and brings clarity, while a full moon is ideal for truth revelations.

Astrological Timing: Perform the spell when Mercury is direct (no retrograde), ideally in Gemini or Virgo for clear communication or in Scorpio for deep, hidden truths.

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thatshowthingstarted · 1 year ago

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Sword (jian) and scabbard, probably made in the court workshops of the Yongle Ming Emperor. Chinese, Ming Dynasty, early 15th century.

The hilt is of gilt iron. The grip is of gibbous rectangular section, punched with small circles to imitate ray skin. Down the centre of the front is a raised spine bordered by tiny flames at either side.

The pommel is of trilobed form, bordered at the front and rear by bands of golden scrolls. The front panel of the pommel is chiselled and fretted with a dragon surrounded by interlacing flames, with triple claws on each paw. At the rear of the pommel, the central panel is decorated with a monster mask (kirtimukha), surmounted by a silvered crescent and golden disc, and with human hands, also surrounded by flames. At either side of the pommel are the Eight Buddhist Emblems of Good Augury (ba jixiang): the wheel of law (dharma), the standard, the treasure jar, the pair of fish, the endless knot, the lotus, the parasol and the conch shell of victory.

The guard is embossed in the form of a monster mask, surmounted by a silvered crescent and golden disc. The face is punched with circles, the canine teeth silvered, the eyebrows and whiskers chiselled and gilt. The horns are in the form of crab claws. At either side of the mouth is a paw in the form of a human hand. The head is surrounded by scrolling curls of mane. The rear of the guard is rendered as the underside of the jaw, with a set of silvered teeth, and a narrow beard running into a throat of alternate silvered and gilt bands.

The blade is associated but is probably a later replacement of Tibetan manufacture. It is formed of pattern-welded steel, of diamond section, straight and double edged. The pattern welding produces a mirrored pattern of addorsed crescents at either side of the medial ridge. The tang is of rectangular section, tapering towards the pommel, with a large expanded peg-hole towards the end. The edges have been ground and sharpened.

The scabbard is of wood covered in green stained leather and bound with gilt iron. At the throat is a V-shaped cut out at the front for seating the blade, and a scalloped cut-out in the leather to accommodate the guard. The throat retains traces of the scarlet silk with which it was lined. The iron binding comprises a long, facetted strip running all the way round either edge.

There are eight transverse bands at the rear, the uppermost and fourth of which are wider than the others, and extend round the front of the scabbard forming suspension loops. The edging strip has four main facets, with an additional narow facet at either side. It is decorated with scrollwork in gold running down each facet, and matching that on the pommel. At either end is a set of three golden lotus leaves.

The front panel is divided stylistically into upper and lower sections. The upper section is decorated quite plainly; a series of five beaded transverse bands divide it into six sections, and there are three vertical bands of fretted four-petalled rosettes in each section.

At the throat is a cusped section with a beaded border, below which is a band of flames. The ornate lower section has six smaller segments, divided vertically and horizontally by fretted 'vajras', each with a 'yinyang' symbol in the central knop. The half-'vajras' at either side emanate from the heads of lions, and the vertical bands of decoration at either side are formed by rows of flames.

Above and in the middle of these divisions are two square panels, each containing a cusped lozenge shaped central medallion, the corners decorated with interlacing flames. The uppermost of these two panels contains two dragons intertwined amid flames, with the heads at top right and bottom left; the lower has two similar dragons, with thicker bodies, and with their heads confronted at the left and right.

The chape section is decorated with a large panel of interlacing flames, within a beaded border. At the rear of the scabbard, the upper band is decorated with alternating gold and silver scrollwork, and terminates in a rosette at the front. The next two narrow bands are decorated with silver scrollwork only. The fourth is decorated at the rear like the top one, but is extended accross the front in a broad band; it is chiselled with four medallions decorated with gilt characters on silver grounds, and surrounded by interlacing gilt flames. The three lower bands are decorated in gold scrollwork.

The rear chape panel has a small, flat piece of rather coarse, scrolling interlace at the bottom, and narrow bands of petalled rosettes at either side.

A four character Tibetan inscription on the lower suspension loop reads 'khi'u ga ral gri' (honourific sharp sword).

China, 15th century (About 1420),

Leather, Ferrous, Gold, Silver, Semi-precious stone, Silk, Wood,

Dimensions:

Blade Length: 30 inches

Overall (sword) Length: 35 inches

Courtesy: Royal Armouries Museum, Leeds, United Kingdom

Sword (jian) and scabbard, probably made in the court workshops of the Yongle Ming Emperor. Chinese, Ming Dynasty, early 15th century.

#art #history #design #style #sculpture #silver #gold #semi precious stones #royal armouries #leeds #silk #wood #sword #jian #scabbard #ming #15th century #yongle #imperial

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nelapanela94 · 2 years ago

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Can u do one that reader is a Marley warrior and she leaves Levi to go back to Marley with Levi and they meet again when the scouts attack Marley

Hi Anon, I hope I got this right!

TW: Angst, love during war times, canon violence.

WC: 1.6k

Some bonds are unbreakable. They survive everything.

The sea kindles its own symphony, a humming tune pulsing and murmuring with cadence, the waves crawl gently to the shore and their foam sizzles into the sand. Seagulls squawk above him, diving into the water for the last catch of the day, and the palm trees rustle, clawing to the sky.

The sun slowly dips behind the horizon. The horizon, a thin seam that stitches together the canopy of the sky and the flat of the sea into a line of silver. Unreachable, never ending.

The yellowish beam gilds the gamboling clouds, suffusing the sky with a blend of violet and orange streaks.

Somewhere beyond that line...

Who would've thought that there was a world outside those walls.

The breeze tousles his hair, and the briny air sails into his lungs. A drizzle of sand thrashes against his shins, and his shirt is tugged at in some places, stuck to him in others.

Sand and water slip through his toes, silkily; four years swiftly gone like that, through the gaps, taking away the memories, erasing the moments. And there were so many things left unsaid.

Silver burns his skin, and the edges of the gemstone threaten to gash through his palm.

His tongue is pressed against the back of his teeth, containing, as if it would stop his incandescent rage, pain and disappointment rippling through every inch of him.

How much pain is a person suppose to endure? How damn you have to be to lose everyone you care about?

He did not shed a single tear for you in all that time, the pain nestled in his chest, swelling around the thorn he just can't pull out.

But it's time to put an end to his misery.

His shoulders relax. He winds up his arm with all the strength he can muster, and finally let go of the ring. It glints with the last glow of the day, his eyes following the perfect parabola until it plops into the water, the depths slowly engulfing it.

How stupid he was, falling for your lies. You awoke in him feelings that had been dormant for a lifetime, showed him the bliss of dancing under the moonlight. You read all the stories etched on each of his scars. You swept him of the ground and made him believe that this world is not a terrible place to live. He fell on his knees and kissed your feet.

He was going to propose. The only thing he was sure of was that he wanted to spend the rest of his days with you. He had practiced the speech before the mirror countless times so that his nerves wouldn't betray him when time would come. Though no matter how much preparation, he knew he'd stammer and quiver all the way through, the velvet bound box jiggling in his clammy hands.

But you were gone before he had the chance to kneel.

And he finds himself wondering, like he so often does, what you’re doing at this very moment. Buying flowers in the market, eating ice cream, strolling in the park, or if it is raining, maybe curled up in the couch reading a book, making tea, taking a hot bath.

He spent four years trying to scrape you off his head, four years itching to hold your hand again.

If only he could see you again?

He tucks his hands into his pockets and closes his eyes, but the boulder of resentment doesn't crack. Throwing the ring didn’t put an end to the story. To a chapter, maybe, but there are plenty of blank pages to fill.

He sucks in a long breath that squeezes back his tears, swivels around, and pads back to the harbor for the tea.

You've been flitting, and tossing around in bed for the past hour, turning the pillow to the cool side, fluffing it and bashing it with a fist. Two bells toll in the distance, and the moon slices your face with a sliver of light. She hangs big and yellow and gibbous.

It's going to be a long day. People from all over the world have been gathering in Liberio for the festival and Tybur's conference. People have worked hard in setting up stalls to impress the foreign visitors, but you just weren’t in the mood for festivals. You long for this day come to an end and get back home to your lonely routine. The white uniform perched on the wall across the room is the eternal reminder of that day and the hardest decision you’ve ever made.

Torn between the devotion to your nation and the love of a man. Not just any man, the love of your life. Two souls died the day you took the green cloak off and turn your back to him. You just couldn’t see the marbled eyes of a broken heart. What you did can’t be forgiven, and you must live with that for the rest of your life.

Forward! Forward! For today Marley is ours, and tomorrow the whole world!

Soldiers chant on the street, swinging pewters, stubbing cigarettes on the cobblestone road, bragging about love affairs. Menacing and friendly at the same time, and you wonder how some people would relish in torturing other humans. Shooting an enemy is the most merciful act amidst war, most prisoners are brutally punished, famished and forced to work until their bodies give up, others used for experiments, flayed alive, fed to dogs, turned to titans, your stomach churns and your shake your head to push those harrowing images away. And those guys down there are comrades, some even friends.

But they didn’t see what you did during those five years in the island. You mingling with the demons, that after all are normal people, thriving, anchored to the past maybe, fighting for their freedom.

What is in the blood?

Levi was far from being what you imagined a demon to be.

Behind his aloof and impassive demeanor, hides the most caring, selfless, and protective human being. And you hurt him, the tenderest heart, you crushed it in your palms. But you chose your country, your people, what you thought home was, and when you came back, you realized that home is what you left behind.

When the moon gives way to the sun, you slip off bed, wash your teeth and brew tea. How sad it is to heat the tea pot for one.

You dodge into the kitchen table and wrap your hands around the warm cup, steam still oozing into a spicy swirl. The smell of his room and office comes back to you every morning, and when you take a sip, his lips materialize.

You sprinkle water on your face, take a shower, slip on into your uniform and sling the shotgun on your shoulder. All units have been summoned to Liberio for this evening. A rumor huddles in every corner. The enemy is moving closer and might strike during the festival, we must be prepared.

Where are you now? You sigh, lost in the waves that crash against the ceramic. You bring your fingers to your mouth. A billow of nostalgia.

The sky cracks.

Intercoms crackle. Like the hum inside a seashell. You are on your own now. There are not instructions to follow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins, tearing all the will to go on living. The clatter of zeppelins grows louder from the east.

Your heart beats with frenzy as panic zigzags on the streets. You focus now on evacuating townspeople. Prostitutes, spinsters, men over sixty. Non-believers, procrastinators, drunks. The orphans, the poor, the stubborn.

It’s like an avalanche descending on the city and there aren’t mountains nearby. The earsplitting sirens have fall into a deafening shrill. Suddenly everything is inaudible. The roar has become loud enough to break the membranes in the middle ear. You’re dizzy, and the world moves in slow-motion as is you were trapped in a dream, unable to scream, unable to move.

Windowpanes rattle in their housing, and doors soar away from their frames. Bricks burst into powder and clouds of debris spout in the sky. Dirt and dust sail straight into your lungs. Automobiles turn in fireballs, and flames scamper up walls. The fires pool, and the wind strengthens them, making them ripple like tide waves along the streets.

Something explodes above. Roof slates blow into the air, and then it all turns black.

When your consciousness switches on again, reality spins around. You still can’t hear a sound, ashes make the air unbreathable. But the rotting pain in your crushed arm is the proof that you're still alive.

You tug up the helmet, and the first thing you see is the gun’s muzzle aiming right between your brows, and even if you want to say “shoot me” you can’t. You can’t string words together; you can’t open your mouth.

Tears swell in your eyes, and a wistful smile curves in your lips. The world is falling apart, but yours is rebuilding.

“Levi,” you mutter the name when the edges finally smooth. His pupils have overtaken the gray of his eyes, his face, his beautiful face is rucked up with hatred. Or resentment, pain perhaps? He tosses the gun away and grabs you by the collar of your uniform. He hauls you; the warmth of his shallow breaths scorches your bleeding cheek.

“Shoot me, please shoot me.” You cough a clog of blood. “May the last thing I see before I die be your face. Just give me that.”

You close your eyes, and wait for him to reach for the gun, aim at you, pull the trigger. But instead, you feel his heart beating against your chest, his strong arms wrapped around you, and for a second you wonder if you’re dead and this is heaven. Even if you don’t deserve it.

He sobs and his tears blend into the cradle of your neck. The second time in your life you see him cry.

“Don’t die.” He blubbers. “Don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, Levi.” Through the pain, you wrangle out your words. Every breath is like sandpaper scraping your throat. “I know I don’t deserve it but at least, let me ask for your forgiveness.”

“You’re not dying, Y/N, you’re not dying on me tonight,” he snarls, and holds you tighter.

Neither of you is listening to each other.

“I never wanted to fight Levi, but during war times, we don’t have control over our lives. All those dreams we shared, that’s the life I saw for us. A little house in the country side, and orchard, kids playing around. Perfectly ordinary lives.” Your voice sinks to a feeble whisper. “You gave me those dreams.”

“Shut up!”

He clears his throat and his head cools down to think. He tears a piece of his cloak and ties it around your arm to stop the bleeding. All he wants to do is to hold you in his arms, to hear your laugh, to see the spark in your eyes and your smile. To feel your skin and his fusing.

His heart is pounding while yours struggles to beat.

After all, we can’t erase the past, no matter how much we want to. We are free to make our choices, but we fall prisoners of their consequences.

You’re no longer trapped in rubble, it no longer smells of smoke and gasoline. You breathe on your own, you’re wearing clean clothes. The whiff of bleach is pungent it makes you sneeze, and with a sneeze every inch of your body quivers with pain.

“Hey.” You swallow the lump in your throat and groan.

He peels of the wall, smiling, arms folded on his chest. “Don’t move, you halfwit.”

That’s him.

“Thank you.” You cough. “Why did you do it? Why did you save me?”

“It was my duty.” He drags a chair and sits next to you.

“But I’m the enemy.”

“Cut the nonsense and rest.” He growls, looking out the window, his cheeks singing as if he was talking to his teenage crush.

The hospital should be crammed, understaffed, people weeping and shouting, but you have a room for yourself, and it’s quiet. It just doesn’t make sense. How long have you been asleep?

“Where am I Levi?” You turn to him.

“Home.”

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#Levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman/reader #levi ackerman/you #Levi ackerman attack on titan #levi aot #levi attack on titan #aot #attack on titan #snk #snk levi #aot Levi #Levi ackerman fic #Levi ackerman x y/n

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blueberryfruitbat · 2 years ago

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Local mirror dimension edgelord ugly crying over tiny penguin son, more at 11.

#my art #dark meta knight #dmk #kirby #metadede #mirror metadede #gibbous #mirror gibbous #kirby fanart #kirby oc #My brain has been rotating the mirror family recently so expect more asshattery #no one is immune to gibby's small baby-ness

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geraldofallon · 4 months ago

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Neathy Tarot

In light of the most recent exceptional story, I got thinking about the 77 Major Arcana in tarot decks of the Neath. For my own reference as well as if anyone else wants to look at this, this is a list of confirmed cards (without meanings - I’ll eventually make a separate list for that), as well as speculation on what other cards could be with my reasoning.

For starters, let’s clarify something - Neath decks actually contain 78 Major Arcana cards, with the numbers going up to 77. We know this because we have a confirmed card for number 77 but we also have a confirmed numberless card. This was probably done so they could number the deck 0-77 (because arc numbers) but also be able to avoid confusion with real world tarot decks, which contain 78 cards total including Minor Arcana.

Then let’s establish influence. There are arguably four “main” tarot decks with varying orders and names for the Major Arcana. The Rider-Waite deck was developed in 1909 and is generally the most well known. Despite being anachronistic, based on the names and placement of cards that are the same to surface decks, this would appear to be the deck used for reference by the devs and writers so that is the deck I’ll be using as well.

In terms of placement, tarot cards are where they are for a reason - I’ll probably write up a separate post about that eventually, making some speculations about the placement of the Neathy Major Arcana.

Buckle in, because this is about to get long…

Confirmed Cards

These are confirmed cards that have a confirmed placement in the deck.

(0) 0. The Mushroom

I. (1) through V. (5) unknown

(6) VI. The Lovers

(7) VII. The Chariot

VIII. (8) through X. (10) unknown

(11) XI. Justice

(12) XII. The Hanged Man

(13) XIII. Death

(14) XIV. Temperance

(15) XV. The Devil

(16) XVI. The Tower

XVII. (17) unknown

(18) XVIII. The Moon

(18) XIX. The Sun

XX. (20) unknown

(21) XXI. The World

(22) XXII. The Interloper

XXIII. (23) through XXIX. (29) unknown

(30) XXX. The Udder

XXXI. (31) through XLVIII. (48) unknown

(49) XLIX. The Mask

L. (50) through LXVI. (66) unknown

(67) LXVII. The Star

LXVIII. (68) through LXXVI. (76) unknown

(77) LXXVII. Judgement

Then there are confirmed cards with no confirmed placement. These are the confirmed ones taken from our surface tarot deck, and likely have their same placement, however given that both The Fool and The Star have been moved, it cannot be said with certainty that these fall in the same place as their surface counterparts.

The Magician/Juggler - located I. (1) in surface tarot

The Hierophant/Pope - located V. (5) in surface tarot

Wheel of Fortune - located X. (10) in surface tarot

Confirmed invented cards which have been given no placement as of yet include:

The Gibbet

The Vegetable Lamb

The Bluecap Mine-Sprite

The Boat

The Mirror

The Lyre

The Garden

The Stalactite

The Gibbous Moon

The Bat

The Blacksmith

This brings us to 31 out of 78 cards confirmed without a doubt.

Semi-Confirmed

These are ones I am less certain of, as they are based on my interpretation when reading and could be different to others.

The Sword - confirmed as a card, written as a Major Arcana, but could be confusing given that swords are one of the suits used in neathy Minor Arcana (which seems to be no different than surface Minor Arcana)

Pincushions - a confirmed card, but the name is up for debate. I interpreted this as the name of the card, but it could also be nameless as of now: “A closing of the mind. Imprisonment. Pincushions.”

The Bandaged Man - yes, the Bandaged Man is the Eight of Swords, a Minor Arcana. However, based on the fact that Neathy decks change and shift strangely, I got the sense that the card shows up either as the Eight of Swords OR the Bandaged Man, with the Bandaged Man included as a Major Arcana, especially as he is listed in Sidebar Snippets being lumped together with other Major Arcana

The Sacristan - same situation as the Bandaged Man

Some other semi-canon Major Arcana include the old destines. Confirmed through Word of God, Bruno has said that the Irem destinies correspond to Tarot cards because he felt like the previous destiny names sounded like Major Arcana, suggesting that the old destinies have their own cards as well:

“In practice, the new Destinies are named with a mix of ‘real’ Arcana names and ‘neathy’ Arcana names – suggesting that the old Destinies are also found somewhere in the Neathy Tarot. It does after all have 77 whole major arcana (and is presumably very hard to shuffle).”

Gloom

Appetite

Authority

Gleam

The Curator

The Memory

The Oath

The Revelation

Backstage

The Instrument

The Road

Passion

Torment

There are 17 semi-confirmed cards in total. If all of these semi-confirmed cards are counted with the canon cards, that brings us to 48 out of 78 cards.

Speculation 1

The remaining surface tarot cards have not be confirmed to be included in Neath tarot, however they most likely are part of the Major Arcana, even if they are not in the same spot or have different meanings.

The High Priestess/Popess - located II. (2) in surface tarot

The Empress - located III. (3) in surface tarot

The Emperor - located IV. (4) in surface tarot

Strength - located VIII. (8) in Rider-Waite surface tarot

The Hermit - located IX. (9) in surface tarot

The Fool - located 0. in surface tarot, meaning that if it is included in Neath tarot it would have a new placement

There are 6 cards here. If these are included with the confirmed and semi-confirmed cards, that comes to 54 out of 78 cards.

Speculation 2

In surface tarot, many of the cards correspond to zodiac signs, and the same is confirmed in the Neath. Now, obviously none of the surface cards have identical names to their corresponding zodiacs, however when it comes to the Sign of the Chiropteromantic Zodiac, two of the zodiacs have corresponding tarot cards: the Bat and the Lovers. This means that there is an argument to be made that the rest are Major Arcana cards as well.

The Crow

The Rat

The Bear

The Shepherd

The Lady

The Lantern

The Cat

The Spider

The Hunter

The Rose

This next group comes from the opportunity card “Something Colourful” in which you find cards lying in the gutter. They are not described with numbers, but rather pictures and descriptions of what the card says about your character.

The Rose

The Eye

The Diamond

The Raven

Note that the Rose is found on both those lists, further cementing for me that they are Major Arcana. Now a lot of this overlap can be written off as reoccurring motifs in the game, but still.

There are 10 zodiac cards and 4 colourful cards. If you were to include both in the deck, remove 1 to account for the overlap of The Rose.

Speculation 3 SPOILERS

The next group of cards is the Deck of Hungers featured in the Seeking Mr Eaten’s Name storyline. The cards are numbered, such Ace of…, Six of…, Queen of… etc. I would argue that if you remove the number part of the card title, you get Major Arcana. My reasoning for this being, three cards that overlap with other speculated groups (and one confirmed Major Arcana): Two of Bats, Three of Roses, and Four of Eyes. Removing Bats due to the Bat already being canon, the Deck of Hungers speculated Major Arcana would be:

Hungers

Roses

Eyes

Lights

Pearls

Words

Regrets

Feasts

Inks

Ways

This is an additional 10 cards. If combining with the lists above, keep in mind the overlap of Roses and Eyes.

Speculation 4

Amongst the quote unquote hardcore Fallen London fans, it is well known that much inspiration was taken from the T.S. Eliot poem, “The Waste Land”, including a fortune teller with tarot cards that do not appear in regular decks. These are the ones that I think would be the least likely to be included in Neathy decks, but are included here for posterity’s sake.

The cards that appear in this poem are:

Phoenician Sailor

One Eyed Merchant

Belladonna, The Lady of the Rocks

There are only 3 additional cards here.

Speculation 5

Last but not least, is a sole card that seemingly has no other possible explanation than to be one of the Arcana. The Ace of Hats! Its name also would lend credence to the suggestion of the Deck of Hungers’ inclusion in the Major Arcana.

Hats

Total

If you were to include every single one of these cards, you’d end up with a deck of 82 Major Arcana. Removing the additional Rose overlaps, as well as the Eyes overlap, brings us down to 79 cards.

I think if one wanted to include all of these somehow, my argument would be those semi-confirmed cards - that perhaps the Sword, the Bandaged Man, etc are considered Major Arcana when they crop up in readings, but the rest of the time do not appear in the deck at all and are therefore not numbered parts of the Major Arcana. This brings you down below 78 cards, with some additional wiggle room.

There is also the possibility of combining cards - Lights/The Lantern, The Crow/The Raven, Appetite/Hungers, Ways/The Road, etc.

Or you could just remove Hats and call it a day.

#fallen london #my post #neathy tarot #tarot of the neath #the neathy tarot featuring all 77 of the major arcana

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