#preventing child drowning in Black communities | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twilightpackfanatfics · 4 months ago

Text

Twilight Pack Fanatfics Short Story Challenge June/July 2024 Top Three Placements Are:

Congratulations to all Top Placements and a huge thank you to all participants! We hope you'll join us for the next challenge. (Please remember that winners are decided by kudo counts and any contributions from the challenge host are not eligible for top placements.)

First Place: Something In The Woods by SpottedDirtFrog. Rated M. Jacob/Bella. Summary: Shifting is no blessing, and neither is the curse of imprinting that comes with it. The wolves become more animal than man when they imprint, and their chosen takes the brunt of this fact. The Pack is horrified by this, and with each imprint, they try to prevent the fear the first imprints experienced. But no one expected the leech lover to be Jacob's. You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/56565004 Second Place: Just For Tonight by AlecWinters. Rated Explicit/NSFW Leah/Bella Summary: Bella is overwhelmed with her impending wedding. In fact, it feels like she’s drowning, like she can barely breathe as the day grows closer. The night before her big day, she manages to get away from the Cullens under the pretense of clearing her head of the wedding jitters. Only, she ends up on Leah Clearwaters' porch, as if fate had pulled her to the door. You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/56695735 Third Place: Until Next Time by EdwardsMate4ever Rated M. Jacob/Edward. Summary: Jacob Black hates betraying his best friend, but the heart wants what it wants... You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/57154543 Honorable Mentions: Lose Yourself by BkhChica. Rated M. Bella/Paul. Jasper. Summary: Bella has been promised to Edward since her childhood. After a conversation with her best friend, Jasper, she finds herself kidnapped beside him. Can they escape? Why does she find her captor so damn sexy? You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/57349165

The Blood Devotion by Thebig__Goose Rated M Jacob/Bella. Edward. Summary: A killer has been rampaging throughout Forks, leaving a bloody trail of bodies across the community. Jacob is a seasoned detective assigned to catch the killer who has destroyed the Cullen family. Just as Jacob believes he is close to solving the case, his feelings for an old flame complicate things. Bella Swan has been accused of being the vicious serial killer who slaughtered the Cullens. Will Jacob be able to catch the killer who has an unquenchable blood thirst? Or will the devotion to protecting Bella Swan devour everything he is? You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/56723617 Satisfied by GoOasis726 Rated M Jacob/Bella Summary: Already juggling being Alpha, college, and the constant presence of his idiotic friends, how does Jacob deal when the bane of his childhood existence moves home? This is an Enemies to Lovers One-Shot entry for the Twilight Pack Fanatfics' June/July 2024 short story challenge. Humor and Smut. No child imprints. No Cullens. You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/56540560

Guilty As Sin by MrsRosalieLahote Rated M Leah/Jasper. Summary: Leah couldn’t imagine things being any worse in her life, until the spirits that be showed her they could. She found her new form of torture in the eyes of Jasper Hale. You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/56916580

Alpha's Orders by GoOasis726 Rated M Paul. Jacob. Summary: When Paul and Jacob can't seem to get along, Sam and the council order them to bond by spending three days together. The results are very different than what either of them expected. You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/57213448

His Fated Mate by Izzy__Nava Rated Explicit. Edward/Bella. Summary: Bella hates her life. Her parents treat her like a child, despite not living with them. Her friends are fake and use her for the money she has. She hates attention and dislikes talking to strangers.

She tries minding her own business, going through the motions despite her hate of it all, all the while trying to live a normal life. She thinks about getting lost, in her head, moving to somewhere where she doesn't know anybody.

She is working at her job in the bar when she runs into a mysterious biker one night.

What will happen when her entire world falls asunder when she realizes that the normal life she is living isn't hers to live? You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/57266917

There Were Signs by IamMp Rated M Bella/Mystery Wolf. Summary: When is privacy considered a secret and if you have a secret are you obligated to share it? You may find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TwilightPackFanatfics060724/works/57337933

#twilightpackfanatfics #twilight fanfiction #twilight #twilightfanfiction #wolfpack #shortstorychallenge

3 notes · View notes

americanlifeguard · 3 months ago

Text

Too many children are drowning. These changes can help.

Drowning is the No. 1 cause of death among young kids. This is a travesty — and a fixable problem.

By Leana S. Wen, Washington Post

Drowning is the No. 1 cause of death among young kids, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recently reported. In 2022, the latest data available, 461 children ages 1 to 4 drowned, an increase of 28 percent from 2019.

The disturbing report also documented significant racial disparities. This is consistent with a 2023 analysis from the Consumer Product Safety Commission, which found that 21 percent of all drowning deaths were among African American children. Among 5- to 14-year-olds, African Americans made up 45 percent of deaths.

These numbers tell a grim story of tragedy and inequity. Here are three policy changes that can help save lives:

Increase supervised community swimming spaces.

The CPSC report shows that 80 percent of child drownings occurred in residential settings. That means most kids died in their own home or that of a neighbor, family member or friend. Of these drownings, 91 percent were kids younger than 5.

There are several reasons residential settings can be especially hazardous. In many instances, the kids were playing without adequate supervision, or they were supervised by older children or adults who don’t know how to swim.

Increased access to community swimming spaces, such as lifeguarded pools and beaches, can improve safety. It can also help reduce inequities. The CDC study included survey data that showed 67 percent of Black adults spent no time at a swimming pool in the past six months, compared with 44 percent of White adults. Communities should invest in recreation centers with year-round pools as well as efforts to make more natural bodies of water swimmable.

Ensure there are enough lifeguards.

Last year, a third of the country’s 309,000 public swimming pools were closed or opened only sporadically because of a growing lifeguard shortage, the American Lifeguard Association reported. This is a travesty — and a fixable problem.

Solutions include making lifeguard training free, incorporating that education into high school and university curriculums, and increasing pay and offering more flexible hours to attract more employees.

There should also be more opportunities for people to make lifeguarding their profession. Traditionally, many lifeguards are teenagers who see the work as a one-time rite of passage. To ensure an adequate workforce year-round, there should be a career path for those who choose to lifeguard full-time. Such a career could be integrated with other public safety roles. For instance, emergency medical technicians could work shifts on ambulances as well as at the pool.

Teach kids — and adults — how to swim.

It should come as no surprise that teaching kids water safety reduces their risk of drowning. A study in JAMA Pediatrics concluded that participation in formal swim lessons reduced the risk of drowning by 88 percent.

Full story: https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2024/07/30/drowning-kids-swimming-safety/

#lifeguard training #lifeguard class #lifeguard course #swimming #lifeguards #health & fitness #swimming pool #swimming training #lifeguard #news #washington post

0 notes

yougetoneshot · 3 years ago

Text

Suicide Squad: Reversal

What if team 1 and team 2 switched missions?

Focus is on Team 1: Flag, Harley, Captain Boomerang, Savant, Mongal, Weasel, Blackguard, TDK, and Javelin

Everyone lives AU

Chapter One

Flag looked around at his team and lamented his choices in life. His eyes fell on Harley, the therapist turned supervillain with a penchant for hyenas and large hammers. She was clapping excitedly at the despair of the man across from her struggling with his seatbelt.

“This thing’s a werewolf?! Yo, I don’t mess with werewolves, get me outta here!”

Captain Boomerang’s roaring laugh filled the entire helicopter as he joined Harley in enjoying Blackguard’s panic.

“Sit down! He’s not a werewolf. He’s a weasel.” Flag snarled to quiet down the situation. Blackguard was his least favorite addition to his team which was saying something considering weasel, the beast villain he’d just believed was a werewolf, was equally as useless. He’d begged Waller not to add him but she insisted his strength would be an asset despite his low IQ. At least the weasel didn’t talk.

“Get ready for the drop.” The pilot called back to Flag who nodded and ushered the others to stand as the back of the helicopter opened over the water.

“Go!” He yelled as the first of his team leapt from the chopper. Javelin, whose name pretty much encompassed his entire personality aside from the added foreign accent, hit the water first. He was followed by TDK, a villain Flag actually didn’t know anything about but trusted Waller enough that he must have some strength of benefit to the team. Savant, the forgetful genius fighter, and Mongal, the alien tyrant, jumped next. They were followed by Harley and Boomerang who made a competition over who could do the best dive. Flag had to shove Blackguard out before he and weasel jumped. As they all hit the water they heard the sound of weasel struggling against the current.

“Did no one find out if he could swim?!” Flag growled into his communicator. The team back at base remained quiet as he moved to help Savant save the unsavory beast from drowning.

“Is he dead.” Waller’s irritated tone buzzed over coms as Savant shook his head.

“He’ll live.”

An explosion lit up another part of the island and Flag furrowed his brow. “Waller-“

“It’s fine. Keep on mission, Flag.” Her tone sounded knowing so he pushed any concern for it aside. He had to trust her. What other choice did he have?

The rest of his team trudged onto the beach and groaned about being wet. He once again lamented not having a proper military team as Harley and Boomerang began convincing Blackguard he was covered in leeches. The dim witted villain was frantically and a bit too loudly checking himself for the leeches as Flag moved towards them. “Shhh! Stop messing with him or you’re going to get us all killed! We don’t have much time before a patrol comes by. We need to get deep into the jungle and make camp.” He grabbed Blackguard by the shoulder to stop him from ripping his clothes off. “There are no leeches on yo-“ Flag’s sentence halted as he spotted it- not a leech but definitely something akin to it stuck to the back of Blackguard’s neck. “Don’t move.”

“What?! Why?!! What is it?!! There are leeches aren’t there?!-“

“I said don’t move!” Flag pulled a knife from a holster around his thigh and began prying the small mass from Blackguard’s skin. The criminal howled which prompted Flag to slap a hand over his mouth. “Shut up or I’ll let this thing stay on your neck.” He finally provided enough leverage to pop the creature off of Blackguard’s neck and send it careening into the sand where it dug down into the dune like a tremor.

“…what was that.” Harley’s eyes were locked onto the spot in the sand that the creature had sunk into.

“Just a leech. Now come on, we need to get off this beach.” He waited for his team to all make it off the beach before he noticed a light in the distance.

A sharp pain in his shoulder then another in his leg sent him sinking to the sand. He heard shouts down the beach and yelled at his team to run as Harley moved towards him. “Go! Stay on mission!”

Waller echoed Flag’s order into Harley’s earpiece.

“Come on. He’s right, Harls.” Boomerang tugged her back into the foliage as soldiers surrounded Flag. “They ain’t gonna kill him, right?” Harley looked up at her Aussie pal and he tugged her down to hide in the brush.

“I dunno but we’re dead if we stay here.” He whispered into her ear as they watched Flag be apprehended.

“This changes nothing. You will still need to find the Thinker and infiltrate Jotunheim.” Waller’s voice hissed through their earpieces. “Don’t take this as some opportunity to bail. I can still monitor you from here without Flag’s supervision. One wrong move and I’ll blow your heads off. Now move.”

As Waller finished her threat, Harley looked around at the group who were all looking at her. “What are you looking at me for? Do I got something on my face?”

“I think they’re looking at you to lead us.” Boomerang whispered in her ear.

“Leader? No. Uh uh. I ain’t a leader.” She turned to Boomerang to argue in a less than hushed tone. “Boomer, I don’t know the first thing about leading a bunch of idiots!”

“Hey!” Blackguard hissed. “We can hear you.”

“Oh sorry, I meant six idiots and a lummox.” She sassed but then quickly realized he thought she was complimenting him. Harley turned back to Boomerang. “We are so doomed.”

“I believe in you, Harls. What would you do if you didn’t have a team?”

“I dunno. Probably get disguises?”

“Then that’s a start. Let’s go find some disguises.”

The group had little issue getting into town and breaking into a department store. Even here on this tiny island, American corporations had made their mark in the most American way- overpriced apparel.

“Alright everyone. I want you to look your most Corto Maltese-esque-ian.”

“What?” Half of them chimed in and she shook her head frustrated.

“Just don’t look like a tourist, yea?” She shooed them away to pick their own disguises. After a while, Javelin approached her in bright plaid overalls with no shirt underneath and a vibrant pink hat.

“..that is… PERFECT!” Harley clapped excited then noticed weasel next to him with a large novelty mustache stuck to his face. “Oh my, I didn’t even recognize you. That’s so good. Keep it.”

“I dunno, Harley none of these clothes fit me.” Blackguard walked over in what was clearly a child’s tshirt that hugged him like a crop top. Harley suppressed some laughter but nodded. “No. You look great. Promise.” She nudged Boomerang as he was shuffling through some AC DC shirts to find his size. He lifted his head and spotted the very tight children’s clothing clinging to Blackguard. He was less than successful at containing his laughter.

“He loves it.” Harley nodded.

“Then why’s he laughing?”

“Oh it’s just a joke I told him earlier. Nothing to do with you.”

“..oh.. okay!” Blackguard joined the other two members who were done picking their disguises.

Mongal returned in a large fluffy red dress and Harley gave her two thumbs up. Savant came back in plain jeans and a white v neck. Harley stopped him and plopped a ball cap on his head that said “World’s Best Grandpa” before giving him approval. TDK finally returned dressed like a cowboy complete with chaps and a cowboy hat. Harley had chosen checkered black and red jeggings paired with a workout top that said “would rather be sleeping” and a red leather jacket. Boomerang had finally found the appropriate sized AC DC shirt- sans sleeves as he tugged them off and tossed them aside.

Harley looked over the group one last time before placing her hands on her hips confidently. “Let’s go catch a Thinker.”

Outside the club, Harley briefed the group in the small van they’d stolen from a very cooperative Pepsi delivery guy. “Okay, the plan is to blend in and wait for this Thinker guy to show up. He should be here anytime in the next three hours so we gotta stay alert. That includes you.” She gestured to Javelin.

“Why do you single me out?”

“Because that devilish accent of yours could get us caught. Best if you stay quiet.”

“But-“

“No. Your voice is now a precious gem that you must protect at all costs. Not another word.”

He nodded sadly as Harley turned to the rest of the group. “Let’s go.”

The group walked into the club and despite having a giant weasel with them, managed to get on great with everyone there. Most of the drunken patrons thought they came from a costume party and Weasel was wearing some kind of Halloween costume. Harley had the group split up to look for the Thinker. She paired them up with Mongal and TDK taking the back door, Boomerang and Savant at the pool table in the corner, Blackguard and Javelin on the dance floor, and she took the bar with Weasel by the entrance.

After about an hour, Harley started to become bored. As entertaining as it was watching Weasel get drunk, Boomerang lose at pool twice in a row to Savant, and Javelin teach Blackguard how to do the Cupid shuffle, she was getting antsy for a fight. Lucky for Harley, a fight was walking in as Corto Maltese soldiers walked in escorting the Thinker.

“I’ve got eyes on the Thinker.” Harley nodded over to Javelin who was by the jukebox. He then pressed a few buttons and Ballroom Blitz blared through the club. “Time to party, boys!”

Harley ran full speed at the nearest soldier and slid down between his legs to pop up behind him right next to the Thinker. She gave him a smile. “You might wanna duck.” Harley grabbed the back of his head and pushed it down as Javelin nailed the soldier posted behind the Thinker with his javelin from across the room. Boomerang took out the first two soldiers and Savant used his pool stick to prevent more soldiers rushing in from the entrance from getting closer to the group by targeting pressure points on their bodies with absolute precision.

At the back door, Mongal and TDK were having a blast letting a soldier walk in only to hang them by their vests on the tall coatrack mounted to the wall and knocking them out. Weasel ran around downing all the drinks of the patrons who’d abandoned them to leave the establishment. The entrance began to flood with more soldiers until Blackguard lifted the large jukebox and hefted it at the doorway with complete ease, halting the music and leaving the room in complete silence for a few moments.

“…you telling me you coulda done that the whole time?!” Harley choked out in shock. “I didn’t know he could that- did you know he could do that?!” Harley looked around at some of the rest of the group who shook their heads. “That coulda been very useful to know, just sayin.”

“Who are you people?” Thinker questioned irritably.

“Hey!” She shook him by his shirt collar. “We ask the questions round here!” Harley began shoving the Thinker towards the back exit as the team followed. They all squeezed back into the Pepsi delivery fan with Thinker placed in the middle of them.

“Okay, Bumble Ball Head, you listen good, you’re gonna take us to Jotunheim.”

“You’ll never make it past the front door. They already know what you’re trying to do. Your little friends on the beach have already been taken care of too.”

“..wait.. there were other people on the beach? Did we leave somebody else?!” Harley began counting the group as Thinker furrowed his brow confused.

“Are you not the Americans? The ones with the shark man?”

“Wait there’s a shark man?!” Harley squealed. “You mean to tell me Waller sent another team with a shark man and he wasn’t on my team?!”

“I don’t like sharks.” TDK brought up nonchalantly. “They could bite your arm off, you know?”

“Yea but not if you was friends with them, right?” Harley proposed and TDK shrugged.

“Fair point.”

“You’re all mad.” Thinker interjected.

“Well, that ain’t nothing new.” Harley chortled. “Now, tell me about the team at the beach. What happened to them?” Harley furrowed her brows as she raised a knife. “And if you ain’t telling me the truth, I’ll start cuttin off them pegs in your head.”

“They were apprehended and taken to the capital. With the exception of the shark man who is now a delightful new subject for me to experiment on.”

“Oh, you are just a piece of work, you know that?!” Harley waved the knife at him then looked at the group. “Listen, I ain’t much of a planner but seems to me like we could use all the help we can get getting into Jotunheim. We should go rescue the rest of the team to help us.”

“If they’re even still alive. El Presidente isn’t exactly keen on Americans. He’s likely already publicly executed them by now.”

“Well ain’t you just a bucket of rainbows!” She bonked him on the head with the back of the knife before looking back at the group. “It’s worth checking to see if any of em are alive.”

“I agree.” Savant nodded. “We got power in numbers, especially if the others are just as gifted in their abilities.”

“Right, anyone oppose?”

Mongal raised her hand slowly and Harley blinked a few times while pouting out her lips. “Yes?”

“I think we left the werewolf.”

Harley looked around at the group and sure enough the Weasel was not there. “Oh, fudge!” She sighed and nodded for TDK at the back to go back inside and fetch him. He returned with an unconscious and smelly Weasel, tossing him inside the van before it drove off towards the capital.

- Stay tuned for Chapter 2! -

#the suicide squad fanfiction #Rick Flagg #Harley Quinn #Captain Boomerang #Savant #Mongal #The Weasel #Blackguard #TDK #Javelin #Rick Flag #Suicide Squad Reversal #SSR Chapter 1

67 notes · View notes

padawanlost · 4 years ago

Note

How advanced was Anakin when it came to his Force abilities people seem to believe he didn't really care about it nor seem that interested besides power which seems kind of true

He was ‘extraordinary’ :P

Don’t ever feel bad for being extraordinary, Anakin. – Obi-wan Kenobi in Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth by Karen Miller.

He wished he did. If it was a simple matter of Force-leaping the perimeter fence, no problem. But it wasn’t just the fence they had to deal with, it was the laser grid in front of the fence—and more than likely on its other side as well. “You’ll be fine, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan. “I doubt anyone will ever break your Temple leap record.” The one he’d set just over a year ago. The one that had smashed Mace Windu’s leap by nearly fifteen meters. No, probably no one ever would break that. But it wasn’t himself he was worried about.[Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Childhood in the Temple. Playing hide-and-seek with his fellow students because he was still too young to travel the Republic with Obi-Wan. Vanishing was one of a youngling’s most important lessons—but the Temple Masters hadn’t needed to teach him. He knew that Jedi trick already. Much later, he realized he’d been doing it for years. That slavery had given him this one, priceless gift: the ability to disappear at will. He’d used it to hide from Gardulla—eventually, not soon enough—when she came ranting with her whip. From his mother when he didn’t want to come in to bed. From Watto, when he was tired of chores in the workshop. From Sebulba and Aldar Beedo and Gasgano, when the Podraces’ most vicious pilots were out for blood and fighting them wasn’t an option. He’d even used it twice while racing. Had somehow managed to vanish not only himself but his Pod, startling his targets so badly they’d both crashed out as he zoomed by, laughing. He hadn’t told anyone in the Temple that. Knew they’d never believe him, because that depth of vanishing wasn’t meant to be possible. Certainly not for a child of eight. But it had been. He could do that. So now? A man grown, with the Force obedient to his will? Hiding from a stupid security cam was a piece of poodoo. No sweat. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

THE NEXT STORM-shield generator overloaded just as Anakin reached it. He had a split second’s warning, one hammer blow from the Force. The storm seemed to hold its breath— —and then exhaled in renewed fury as the generator erupted in a burning light show of sparks. With a scream like a wounded animal the shield directly overhead collapsed and a maelstrom of theta particles poured through the gap. He acted on instinct—and out of sheer bloody-minded terror. Throwing up his hands he used the Force to hold back the stream of theta particles, and with a shout of rage became one with the storm shield. Rejected the storm. He thought he could feel his blood bubbling. He was losing himself, disappearing within the scarlet vortex of the Force as it consumed him and transformed him into fire. And there was his mother, whispering again. He can help you. He was meant to help you. Furious, Anakin stood alone against the storm. … ON CORUSCANT, in the Temple, Taria Damsin and Ahsoka shadowdance with their lightsabers. Shadowdance within the Force. Open and trusting they swim its light tides—and as one are swept up in a tidal wave of fear. Shock twists them and they stumble, fingers loosening. Lightsabers fall. Shocked younglings whisper and wonder what to do … … as Yoda, in meditation, is shocked out of his communing by a sense of danger sharp as pain. Hand pressed to his head he seeks for understanding, seeks to see what has happened. But the dark side is a jealous shroud. It keeps its secrets close. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Siege]

Mace took a shallow breath and closed his eyes. “Look inward, Anakin.” “I don’t want to,” Anakin said breathlessly, his voice jerking. “I don’t like what I see.” “Is it possible you see nothing more than the tensions of approaching adulthood?“ Mace asked. “No!” Anakin cried. “I see… too much, too much.” “Too much what?” “I burn like a sun inside!” The boy’s voice rang out in the chamber like a bell. [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

“No! Stop it, please!” Anakin yelled. “Help me stop it!” The rumbling of his ascending power drowned out this plea for his master to come and prevent a hideous mistake. I am so afraid, so full of hate and anger. I still don’t know how to fight. […] Anakin raised his hands in the twin and supremely graceful gestures of Jedi compulsion. Pure willful self flooded his tissues. The urge to protect and to destroy became one. He straightened and seemed to grow taller. His eyes became black as pitch. “Stop it, please!” Anakin shouted. “I can’t hold it back any longer!” […] Ke Daiv stepped toward her and lifted a hand. She was almost too afraid to look at his face, but when she did, she screamed. His eyes had turned white, and the flesh around his head and neck had cracked. He was bleeding profusely, and his dark orange blood dripped down over his shoulders. He was trying to say something. Jabitha backed away, speechless with terror. [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

"Could you give us just a little boost. .," Anakin pleaded. "You know, up and out?" Obi-Wan did, and Anakin lit off their jets at the very same instant. The jolt did not distract him from reaching out with out stretched fingers, grazing a curve of worm skin, and grabbing a scale. Somehow they lifted to the first shield and slipped into the updraft of a discharged canister. Spinning, knocked almost senseless, they were drawn up through a port. Obi-Wan felt Anakin's small arms around his waist. "If that's how it's done. .," the boy said, and then something-was it is his Padawan's newfound skill at levitation? — lifted them through the next shield as if they lay in the palm of a giant hand. Obi-Wan Kenobi had never felt so close to such a powerful connection with the Force, not in Qui-Gon, nor Mace Windu. Not even in Yoda. "I think we're going to make it!" Anakin said. [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

#ask #anon #anakin skywalker #sw meta #meta: anakin #txt

109 notes · View notes

sagamemes · 4 years ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGGED BY: TAGGING:

#rp meme #aesthetic meme #rp aesthetic #muse aesthetics #muse aesthetic #tmafears #* meme.#* misc.#* request.#part two coming up... soon.

234 notes · View notes

gameofdrarry · 4 years ago

Text

Wizards Hearts Recs: 12 Grimmauld Place Setting

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Colliding By Design by Asterie Rated: Explicit Words: 21491 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Interior Decorating, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Witch Weekly, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Auror Harry Potter, Interior Designer Draco Malfoy, Hipster Wizarding London Summary: Draco Malfoy has used his time under house arrest to launch a promising career in interior design, and Harry Potter has inherited a magical house in desperate need of renovation. It’s an age-old story, brought to you with a little “help” from Witch Weekly Magazine. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Only Ash Remains by Saulaie, shilo1364 Rated: Teen and Up Words: 66870 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Depression, Disability, invisible disibilities, Healing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Grimmauld Place, Malfoy Family, Malfoy Family Feels, POV Harry Potter, Community: harrydracobang, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018 Summary: One year after Harry defeated Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, he still has no idea what to do with his life. He’s been living at No. 12 Grimmauld Place with Hermione and Ron, but they’ve spent the past few months on an extended stay in Australia to try and restore Hermione’s parents’ memories. Alone, he feels set adrift. Everyone else is focused on enjoying their summer before Hogwarts reopens (after a one year rebuilding period), but without Ron and Hermione, Harry doesn’t know if he can go back. Everything changes when the Malfoys dramatically re-enter his life, and together they learn to live again. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 keep it down by warmfoothills Rated: Explicit Words: 13657 Tags: Living Together, Housemates, omg they were roommates etc, Grimmauld Place, switching POVs, between the boys and ginny also gets a couple of interludes because we love her!, backyard quidditch, Yoga, Masturbation, references to draco/others, including blaise, not so accidental aural voyeurism, not so accidental aural exhbitionism, Clothes Stealing, shampoo borrowing, wall sharing, rugby and denial (harry), snobbery and slobbery regarding food (draco), Massage, a long hot summer, bit of breathplay, one small linny reference, it’s porn but i make you read 10k of faffing about first, an EXCESSIVE amount of parentheses, harry’s an idiot, draco’s only slightly less of an idiot Summary: Malfoy’s an inconsiderately loud roommate and Harry’s over it. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 almost heaven by M0stlyVoid Rated: Explicit Words: 12432 Tags: Sentient Magical House, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Malfoy Manor, House magic, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Sex Magic, Rituals, Happy Birthday Tacky!!, Minor Character Death Summary: Draco’s father dies. Harry’s house has a tantrum. When it turns out the two are related, Harry has to decide how far he’s willing to go to set his home to rights. And when Malfoy ends up looking like that, Harry finds he’s willing to go a lot farther than he ever thought he would. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 I could be wrong, I could be ready by harryromper Rated: Mature Words: 57343 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second War with Voldemort, POV Alternating, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Romance, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, wizarding houses, House magic, Magic, Families of Choice, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter), Magical Theory, Brooklyn, Roller Coasters, Socks, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Professor Neville Longbottom, Curse Breaker Bill Weasley, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Godric's Hollow, Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, H/D Erised 2018, Community: hd_erised, Lovers to Friends Summary: At first Harry wonders if they’ve managed to destroy his vaults and are trying to tell him in the most oblique way possible. But when he turns the page he realises they’ve found a vault. A vault in the name of Lily and James Potter. The parchment trembles a little in Harry’s hand. He takes another gulp of wine. Harry Potter left Britain after the war and didn’t look back. Ten years later, when Gringotts discovers a vault containing his parents’ belongings—including their badly spell-damaged wedding rings—he’s forced to face up to friends and family who’ve grown in ways he could never imagine, a wizarding London rebuilt beyond his expectations, and the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s the entirely unforeseen problem of Draco Malfoy. Featuring pureblood wizarding traditions, ancestral magic, open mic nights, marriage equality, a diner in Brooklyn, and the return of Fleamont Potter. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Modern Love by tackytiger Rated: Explicit Words: 61322 Tags: Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Slow Burn, Oblivious Harry Potter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, idiots to lovers, Politics, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Songfic, Friendship, Found Family, Mentions of Cancer, References to Illness, Chemotherapy, references to canonical child abuse, references to canonical deaths, References to Depression, Drunkenness, Sad Harry Potter, Church Services, Hymns, Atheism, Kissing in Church, Religious Discussion, Light Angst, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Minor Injuries, Blood and Injury, Gay vicar, Original Character(s), Original Character Illness, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Scars, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Minor Draco Malfoy/ Sexy Tall Vicar, Draco Kisses Someone Briefly That's All I Promise, Magic/Muggle Relations, Jealousy, Family Drama Summary: Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what's he doing right, that Harry isn’t? Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years. And that’s what starts it all. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 In Every Universe by skeptique Rated: Mature Words: 27179 Tags: Dubious Consent, More Detailed Warning in End Notes, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Several Dracos Malfoy, depiction of mental health issues, Depiction of Anxiety Attacks, Brief Mentions of Drowning (in a dream), Mystery, Multiverse, Parallel Universe, Canon Content Warnings Apply, Moral and Ethical Quandaries Abound, Implied Drug Use, alcohol use, Smoking, Biracial Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Minor Character Death, A Very Light Sprinkling of Smut Summary: They sent Professor Harry Potter to search for Unspeakable Draco Malfoy. Draco has stolen a Firebird, an experimental magical device from the Department of Mysteries that lets you enter parallel universes as yourself. As Harry traverses from universe to universe, he begins to think Draco might be the one searching for him. A story about whether knowing what's possible makes it possible. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Haunt the corner of my eye by harryromper Rated: Teen and Up Words: 23358 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Mystery And Angst With A Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Student Draco Malfoy, Healer Luna Lovegood, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Number Twelve Grimmauld Place Summary: Harry’s life is very much on track. After a successful career as an Auror, he’s set to become the youngest ever Minister for Magic. But strange things are starting to happen at Grimmauld Place. Items he doesn’t recognise are appearing left and right, and somehow he never feels quite alone. There’s only one thing Harry knows for sure: it has something to do with Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Portrait of a Marriage by glitteringvoid Rated: Mature Words: 130626 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Proposal, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship, Relationship Discussions, Enemies to Friends to Something More, Lack of Communication, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Consent Issues, Internalized Acephobia, Ferrets, Bickering, Asexual Draco Malfoy, Touch-Averse Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Can't Cook, Slow Burn Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship, Minor Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Dubious Consent Summary: Harry didn't want to marry Malfoy, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and Malfoy looked so smug and well - now they are married, and the house still doesn't like him, and Malfoy only looks more smug. Draco didn't want to marry Potter, he really didn't, but he also does want this house and he never seems to be capable of escaping Potter anyway, so if he is already doomed to being married off he might as well decide for himself what he is worth, sign the papers and ignore everything wrong with that plan until physically no longer possible. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Litany by thistle_verse Rated: Mature Words: 7170 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Pandemics, Quarantine, Isolation, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Wizard's Chess (Harry Potter), Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Touch-Starved, Drinking, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Ghosts, Guilt, Lists, H/D Erised 2020 Summary: With the wizarding world on lockdown due to a magic-draining pandemic, Harry is stuck in Grimmauld Place, bored and alone—until the ghost of Draco Malfoy shows up to haunt him. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Cleaning Up The Mess by Samunderthelights Rated: Teen and Up Words: 3469 Tags: Drarropoly: Founders Edition - A Drarry Game/Fest, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, 12 Grimmauld Place Summary: Harry has been hiding away at 12 Grimmauld Place, trying his best to clean up the place. He has fallen into a quiet and boring routine. But when Draco shows up at his door one day, asking for his wand back, that quiet and boring routine of his is about to be broken. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Grimmauld Christmas Curse by crimsonheadache, inspired_being, kitty_collab (kitty_fic), Ladderofyears, Vaysh Rated: General Words: 2323 Tags: Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Christmas Tree, Christmas Decorations, Aunt Walburga (portrait), Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Meme Insert Summary: "I'm telling you, Hermione, the house is out to get me." Harry poured two cups of tea and passed one across the kitchen table. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry, it is not out to get you." Or is it? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Distractions by pottergerms Rated: Explicit Words: 2239 Tags: Grimmauld Place Summary: Kingsley was not his friend. He was not a paperboy. And Harry Potter was definitely not the hottest thing alive. ❤️ Read on AO3

#12 grimmauld place #harry potter #drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

19 notes · View notes

aestheticreposts-galore · 4 years ago

Text

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

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

#aesthetics for the entities #bolding post #aesthetic

34 notes · View notes

derireo · 4 years ago

Text

rooftop talk ↦ itaru & izumi

Maybe Izumi was glad that the gamer nerd ended up being the person who discovered her hideout on the rooftop.

It's been years since she last talked to someone like this.

「 2.1k words 」

cw: mild hurt/comfort, family complications. can be connected to the workaholic.

Izumi wouldn't say she was depressed but going back to an empty home probably wasn’t the best feeling. She’d rather admit she was lonely.

Her father disappeared when she was fourteen, never leaving a note of any sort. He was a good father, that man, so it was like a punch to the face when Izumi and her mother woke up to his things no longer in the house and the car no longer in the community garage.

His disappearance left Izumi's mom to take care of the bills of the house, the groceries, and her school tuition.

This meant working multiple jobs. This meant coming home for a couple of hours and then leaving again. This meant blaming Izumi for something she couldn’t control. Her mother even had the audacity to glare at her whenever they were in the house at the same time, but Izumi could only choose the option to ignore it.

That was all she could do if she was living in her mother's house and so to lessen the chances of running into her, Izumi got a job at the convenience store at the young age of fifteen. She was given shifts on the weekend at first, but she begged for graveyard.

If working late into the night ‘til morning was what was going to reduce the risk of running into her mom at home, she’d take it. She'd even rather sleep at the school.

And Izumi’s manager was reluctant in giving her the shifts, knowing that she was only a child in tenth grade, but the desperation in her eyes had him yielding. He couldn’t say no if that was really what she wanted. She had told him that her mother had given her permission after all, and they needed someone to work the graveyard shift anyway.

So, years passed, with Izumi working nearly every night until morning only to then go to school afterwards, taking her naps during lunch break and then another nap at home when she had the day off. Each second, minute, hour, and day was spent in silence. The only sound that would fill her ears at home would be the scratch of her pencil against paper or the whistling of the rice cooker.

She grew accustomed to this silence that lived inside the house alongside her and absolutely hated the noise at school. The laughter behind everyone’s eyes as they talked with their friends, the bullies who would pick on the sickly boy in the corner of the room, to the stampeding of students running down the hall drove Izumi crazy.

They were the reason why the rooftop was her home now.

She didn’t have any friends, nor did she enjoy having fun at the expense of others, so when Izumi discovered the doors to the rooftop, she knew she had hit the jackpot.

It was a breezy spring day when Izumi visited the rooftop for the umpteenth time.

Students weren't allowed to visit the rooftop as the place was used as a hideout for those who wanted to skip their classes and for those poor victims who were dragged here to get beaten down by their cruel bullies. The doors had been barricaded indoors by the teachers, a large, rotting plank having been slipped through the handles while old desks and chairs sat in front. It was like what you would see in a horror movie set in a high school.

It was spooky looking enough to steer naughty students away, but not enough to scare Izumi. The school wasn't known for ghosts, after all—not that she believed in any, and she needed a place to kill time. She threw that wooden plank to the side and dragged every single piece of abandoned furniture out of the way when she first came across it.

And so, here Izumi was. Sitting on the ground with her legs dangling on the edge of the roof with an old, iron railing keeping her safe from falling and going SPLAT.

Quiet. She thought to herself, sliding her arms through the barred railing with her fingers outstretched. The breeze slithered through the cracks between her fingers as it blew her light brown hair back, cooling her already chilly skin.

The silence is stifling.

The sound of the door clicking open made Izumi pause her thoughts, arms still held up in the air as the wind blew at her uniform skirt and the sun kissed her skin.

She turned her head to see a boy, probably her age, frozen in his tracks. He wore thick rectangular framed glasses and had messy blond hair that covered them. She noticed the bento box that was tucked under his arm as well as the small gaming device in his hand. Pursing her lips, she took a chance and guessed that maybe she wasn’t the only one who knew that the rooftop had opened again. Albeit secretly.

The boy took a flustered step back in order to leave the rooftop, but Izumi shook her head and waved her hand. She didn’t mind cutting her break short if he needed time to himself.

“It’s cool.” She said. “You can stay.”

She scooted back and bent her legs to release herself from the railing, skin dirty and grey with dust. The breeze had made her hair all tangled and cool to the touch, and she dragged her calloused fingers through the strands while her other hand pushed her body off the ground. Her black sneakers picked up an ugly ashen hue too, but she decided not to care too much about it as she looked at the boy again and nodded.

His lips parted in surprise when her brown eyes focused on him, and he waved his hand that held his device to keep Izumi from leaving.

“Sorry, I didn’t know someone was up here. Don’t go.” He apologised.

His stiff body was blocking the doors, preventing her from leaving like she had planned. His shoulders were hunched forward as he stood with terrible posture and his glasses perched right on the tip of his nose.

The silence between them was uncomfortable as Izumi struggled to come up with an excuse to leave. She didn’t know it, but her face was terribly expressive, and the boy was able to tell that she was conflicted.

He spoke before the silence drew longer. “We can share the rooftop together… I was only planning on eating my lunch here.”

The suggestion held no ill intent, but Izumi was still reluctant. She crossed her arms over her chest with pursed lips and raked her eyes up and down the person’s body. She’d never seen him around before, that’s for sure. He probably (hopefully) didn’t have any interest in her.

“Itaru.” The boy piped up again, voice meek. “My name’s Itaru Chigasaki. I’m a senior like you.”

Izumi uncrossed her arms and took a step back. She had most likely heard of his name before, but rarely paid enough attention in class to remember. Izumi’s feet were careful as they brought her back to the spot where she sat not too long ago and waved Itaru over with her hand, beckoning him to join her.

“I’m guessing you’ve seen me around if you know that we’re both Grads.” She spoke quietly, pushing her legs through the spaces of the railing again as the boy reluctantly shuffled to her side.

He nodded to confirm her guess and kept his distance away from the rooftop’s edge.

“We share Homeroom together.” Itaru said, popping open the lid to his bento box. “You’re always half an hour late.”

Izumi pressed her lips into a thin line and looked out into the city, going silent. The sunshine painted the buildings with a shimmery gold as the wind whipped through her hair. The cool but sunny weather was great on a lonely day like this, and Itaru gazed at Izumi with curiosity as he shoved a piece of sausage into his mouth with some rice.

He would never admit it but Itaru had come up to the rooftop today in hopes of catching Izumi here. And boy, was he glad to have swallowed his anxiety and pushed open the rooftop doors.

The last time he had seen her here, she was in tears, letter in hand. He could barely see the writing on the envelope that she had dropped on the floor, but he recognized the black scrawl spelling out ‘From: Papa’.

There were crystalline beads rolling down her cheeks then, sleeves stained with tears and dirt as the paper in her angry hand crumpled. Itaru remembered how she cried out into the roaring wind that day, and how her voice was drowned out by the school bell.

Itaru’s reminiscing was abruptly interrupted by the clearing of Izumi’s throat. She made it seem like she was going to say something and the audio cue reminded Itaru to chew his food.

“Yeah. My job ends in the morning.” She answered him, resting back on her palms.

The blond glanced at her through his fluttering fringe. “Don’t you get tired at all?”

It was an innocent question, but Izumi still laughed. How would you respond if someone asked you the same thing?

She turned her head in Itaru’s direction and sent him a kind smile. He paused in the middle of shoving rice into his mouth to patiently wait for her answer.

“Don’t you get tired at all?” She asked.

Itaru fish mouthed. “Well. Sometimes. When I study a little longer than usual, yeah—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Izumi laughed. The corners of her eyes crinkled and she gave Itaru a genuine smile, knocking her fist into his shoulder as if she’d known him for years. “You knew what I meant, right?”

Her tone was full of warmth despite the fact that she was laughing at him, but Itaru didn’t seem to mind. Her amusement wasn’t at his own expense, and Itaru felt comfort in that.

“I do get tired.” He sighed softly, biting at the ends of his chopsticks.

Years of trying to blend in to the crowd and avoid those who only caused trouble for him wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Plus, someone had found out that he was a total gamer nerd and people decided that that was good enough of a reason to push him around. That meant Itaru had to give up on hiding because of the rumor that quickly spread, and he didn’t have the heart to ask his mom for another transfer.

“Then you’ve got the answer you were looking for.” Izumi shrugged. She took a glance at the gaming console he had resting in his lap and went back to looking at the city. “I’d feel the same way if I was the kid who got bullied for liking video games.”

Her voice was gentle, but the last statement felt like a punch in the gut. Itaru put down his lunch box while swallowing the food in his mouth to defend himself, but Izumi kept talking.

“What’s wrong with having a hobby? Wasting money on games is so much better than wasting time hurting somebody's feelings.”

Itaru felt his throat tighten. “...Exactly.”

The bell rang just as Izumi gave Itaru a comforting pat on the shoulder, signifying that their lunch break was finally over.

The corners of his mouth lifted up into a smile and Izumi let out a pleased hum at the new expression. She removed her hand from his shoulder and heaved herself up from the ground, brushing off the dirt on her legs and skirt.

“It was cool meeting you, Itaru.” She said casually, holding out her hand for the boy to take.

Gratefully, he quickly packed his stuff up and tucked it under his arm before taking her hand, hauling himself up with the help of Izumi.

“You too.” He exhaled, out of breath for some odd reason. Itaru’s heart felt like it was going to burst with joy at (hopefully) having made a new friend.

He watched as she pulled her hand away from his and started her own trek towards the rooftop doors, her hair and skirt flowing behind her prettily as the gentle breeze picked up again.

Itaru called out to her before she left. “Uh. Izumi.”

She turned around, walking backwards this time.

“...I’m sure you’re doing so much more than you think.” He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t want to say that he knew how hard she’d been working, so he was just going to leave her to wonder what he meant.

“If you need someone to talk to… I’ll be around.” Itaru coughed.

“Sure. I’d love to take you on that offer.” Izumi chuckled. She waved her hand goodbye and waited until Itaru waved back to exit the rooftop first, the sound of the wind blowing cut off by the shut of the door.

The cold atmosphere that filled the top floor of the school blanketed Izumi and she sighed at the loneliness of it all.

Maybe replacing the silence in her life with a friend wasn’t such a bad idea.

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! fic #itaru chigasaki #izumi tachibana #itaizu #?

24 notes · View notes

rockislandadultreads · 4 years ago

Photo

Dark Fantasy: book recommendations

Nightwise by R.S. Belcher

In the more shadowy corners of the world, frequented by angels and demons and everything in-between, Laytham Ballard is a legend. It’s said he raised the dead at the age of ten, stole the Philosopher’s Stone in Vegas back in 1999, and survived the bloodsucking kiss of the Mosquito Queen. Wise in the hidden ways of the night, he’s also a cynical bastard who stopped thinking of himself as the good guy a long time ago. Now a promise to a dying friend has Ballard on the trail of an escaped Serbian war criminal with friends in both high and low places—and a sinister history of blood sacrifices. Ballard is hell-bent on making Dusan Slorzack pay for his numerous atrocities, but Slorzack seems to have literally dropped off the face of the Earth, beyond the reach of his enemies, the Illuminati, and maybe even the Devil himself. To find Slorzack, Ballard must follow a winding, treacherous path that stretches from Wall Street and Washington, D.C. to backwoods hollows and truckstops, while risking what’s left of his very soul . . . .

Into the Drowning Deep by Mira Grant

Seven years ago, the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a “mockumentary” bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a maritime tragedy. Now, a new crew has been assembled. But this time they’re not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life’s work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

Spells of Blood and Kin by Claire Humphrey

In her extraordinary debut, Spells of Blood and Kin, Claire Humphrey deftly weaves her paranormal world with vivid emotional depth and gritty violence. Bringing together themes of death, addiction, and grief, Claire takes readers on a human journey that goes beyond fantasy. When her beloved grandmother dies suddenly, 22-year-old Lissa Nevsky is left with no choice but to take over her grandmother's magical position in their small folk community. That includes honoring a debt owed to the dangerous stranger who appears at Lissa's door. Maksim Volkov needs magic to keep his brutal nature leashed, but he's already lost control once: his blood-borne lust for violence infects Nick Kaisaris, a charming slacker out celebrating the end of finals. Now Nick is somewhere else in Toronto, going slowly mad, and Maksim must find him before he hurts more people. Lissa must uncover forbidden secrets and mend family rifts in order to prevent Maksim from hurting more people, including himself. If she fails, Maksim will have no choice but to destroy both himself and Nick.

Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James

In the first novel in Marlon James's Dark Star trilogy, myth, fantasy, and history come together to explore what happens when a mercenary is hired to find a missing child.

Tracker is known far and wide for his skills as a hunter: "He has a nose," people say. Engaged to track down a mysterious boy who disappeared three years earlier, Tracker breaks his own rule of always working alone when he finds himself part of a group that comes together to search for the boy. The band is a hodgepodge, full of unusual characters with secrets of their own, including a shape-shifting man-animal known as Leopard.

Drawing from African history and mythology and his own rich imagination, Marlon James has written an adventure that's also an ambitious, involving read. Defying categorization and full of unforgettable characters, Black Leopard, Red Wolf explores the fundamentals of truths, the limits of power, the excesses of ambition, and our need to understand them all.

#fantasy #fantasy books #dark fantasy #reading recommendations #book recs #recommended reading #ibrary #tbr #to read #booklr #book list #reading list

8 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years ago

Text

Childe Kadathine From the Tower Came

A gloom strangled the dusty valley. Old rock towered over darkest depths, drowned in fog and shadows. The waning sun of a late afternoon could not pierce the clouds and natural walls of jagged stone crags.

Jutting out in between them, atop a crumbling cliff, stood the Tower of Woe. Like a nail that dared to defy the natural order of things, it loomed, partly bathed in light from the setting sun, partly cast in the valley's dark. Hewn eerily smooth by human hands and fashioned in ways that suggested its makers remembered a cyclopean era, the tower's bleached slabs shared the age of the stone surrounding it.

An impossibility that had survived for thousands of years, resistant to destruction. An impossibility made real by sorcery, impervious to the sands of time.

The beaked edges of the structure almost took the shape of two claws, one grasping the earth beneath the tower, and the other reaching out to grab the heavens by the throat. Devised by an ancient civilization of devious wizards who fancied themselves greater than divinity, its shape inspired awe in the brave, and dread in the feeble-minded.

It thrummed with arcane energies. Any who beheld it quaked with an air of unease, permeating the entire valley. So far removed from civilization that only few ever survived the journey across a wasteland to reach it, and even fewer possessed the strength to brave whatever terrible secrets the tower held.

Not a single bird chirped. No insects buzzed. Animals avoided this desolate valley, draped in a deafening silence, save for a soft hum that emanated from the lonesome tower. A rumbling.

Red light cast by fire shone out and flickered from the myriads of narrow, glassless windows upon the face of the tower.

Something had come alive in its depths.

A wizard from Korvosa, Furio Falco, returned to the mouth of the valley. He returned to the Tower of Woe where he had dwelt and researched its many oddities.

Gravel and stone crunched underfoot, and though he was barely over thirty summers old, the uneven and precarious path forced him to use his ornate cane to secure his every step.

Calling it a path, however, was a stretch. Few mortals had tread upon it in the past millennia. So few that it still bore the footprints left behind by Falco's master, the Knight in Black named Septisanthas, who had discovered the ominous tower several years before leading the wizard there.

Claws of a dragon had scarred the tower's top and the pinnacles of the rocky spires framing the valley alike. Standing testament to the vale's third guardian, Karathrax.

The dragon had served well in preventing any raiders from approaching the tower, and the absence of such marauders afforded both Karathrax and Septisanthas their leave to attend other matters.

Now, Falco was all alone with the thing underneath the tower. He walked alone to the looming edifice, its narrow entrance from which eerie red light glowed, beckoning him to return.

The cool mountain air contrasted with the blazing heat of the sun he had basked in outside the valley, temperatures now clashing to make the wizard's head throb uncomfortably in the onset of a headache.

But the hours away from the tower had helped clear his mind. Helped center him and shed all excess thoughts as he had meditated out in the open, mulling over what magic he might need to employ next in examining the awakened thing in the depths.

An unliving mystery.

Clanking and clattering sounds echoed throughout the hollow center of the tower, bouncing off sharp-edged pillars and angular walls, punctuating the wizard's entry and descent, competing with the rapping of his boots as he took each step down the spiraling stairwell. Down hundreds upon hundreds of steps. Leaving him too much space to wonder what the creature was doing down there to cause such ruckus.

Heat from the lava pits beneath the tower rose, drying out the wizard's nose and leaving him with a tingling sensation, and turning his mouth to feel like he had been chewing on cotton.

He wondered what secrets the creature may reveal if it could still speak coherently. The clanking continued all the while.

Did the creature rail against its metal bondage, he wondered?

It sounded much less inert than after its initial awakening.

Falco stopped in his tracks at the end of the stairs, at the end of the long hallway leading to the Chamber of Catechisms. The air down here was close to blistering hot, prompting him to loosen the tight collar of his fine red vest.

The clanking had also gone silent. Only the monotone and growling rumble of the tower's churning machinery, perpetually powered by the lava pits, filled the air.

It could have broken free, he now worried.

SHWINK.

The wizard had drawn his silvery sword, previously hidden inside his cane, and approached the pointy-arched gate at the end of the hallway. The dark red light from the lava pits wavered here. The machinery rumbled loudest.

Sculptures carved into the masonry of the massive gate still sent chills down Falco's spine, even after having visited this chamber time and time and again. They depicted the old god-king and his armies subjugating all manner of monsters and legions, chained, and tormented under the grasping, greedy claws of their cruel emperor.

Falco stopped again before passing the gate. He expected the creature to jump out from the shadows of the corridor, from hiding places situated between opulent marble statues. Sneaking up on him unheard, all sounds it made drowned out by the bubbling of the lava pits and the churning of giant gears.

He scanned the walls, eyes nervously searching every dark spot. Swiveling to see the thing at the edge of his vision, always out of sight; a figment of his imagination, or his eyes playing tricks on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Marched onwards, ready to unleash his most powerful magic. Then immediately rethinking his strategy. The sword would do little. He never really used it other than as a threat or deterrent. And he mentally prepared to use magic for egress, rather than battle.

Whatever this thing was, he was certain that his thin, fine blade could do little to harm it.

For it had no flesh to cut. No organs to pierce.

He lowered the sword, keeping it by his side as a precaution, uncertain what it might communicate if the creature saw him near with the weapon raised. He set his jaw and continued onward. Had to face this thing. Speak with it.

It had spoken. Little, merely a string of disconnected words that failed to form a sentence. But the words it had uttered were pregnant with sophistication, they bore intelligence, and came on wings of the ancient tongue.

It might be able to shed so much light on the forgotten empire. To illuminate the mysteries its emperor and armies of wizards once held in their golden-clawed clutches.

Chains and ancient torture devices drooped drearily from the spiked iron fixtures upon soot-blackened walls. Heat rising from the dizzying depths of the pits below the iron grates distorted the air.

The creature stood out in the open. Free. Standing barely bigger than a tall man, its presence exuded something eerily menacing.

It turned. Its yellow robes flowed. From underneath its deep hood, its steel, expressionless mask faced Falco. Hollow eyes stared back at him, beyond which only unfathomable darkness lurked.

Was it angry? Confused?

Free from the shackles they had locked it in upon its awakening—the manacles still affixed to its wrists, with pieces of heavy broken chains dangling uselessly from them. Chains with the integrity to hold the strongest of men, and reinforced with magic to restrain even giants, even after all the years since their forging.

Almost as if to demonstrate the futility thereof, a shining, gilded hand of the creature curled its fingers around one of the shackles still wreathed around its wrist.

It grabbed. Squeezed.

The metal whined as it bent apart, crunched, and deformed under the iron vice of its grip. The creature twisted and pulled without any visible effort until the metal shackle broke apart, then clattered onto the iron grates at its steel-tipped feet, slipping and jangling until the broken shackle fell down hundreds of paces into the lava below the Chamber of Catechisms.

Falco cleared his throat and mustered all his courage to flash a defiant grin.

Delivering his best impression of what the forgotten empire's tongue must have once sounded like, he called out to it with bright and optimistic melody, "Greetings."

"Greetings," replied the creature with none of the feigned enthusiasm. "I am now fully awake."

The way it enunciated gave Falco pause. The stresses on syllables surprised him. If the creature harbored no hostility, it could also prove to be an invaluable resource in learning how the old Thassilonians once spoke before the end of their world.

The creature wrenched the other manacle from its wrist, producing the same unnerving spectacle of effortlessly destroying it and discarding it the same way as the first. Harboring no more doubts about it in his mind, Falco's first response to any sign of hostility would be to use magic to help him escape.

There was no way he could fight this thing alone.

"Pardon the, uhm, you know," Falco said, tipping his head to gesture at the sorry reminders of chains they had kept the creature in.

The masked metal creature reared its head and stared at the wall they had chained it to.

"You were wise to take such precautions for your own safety," said the creature. It spoke in a constant dull monotone, mirroring the constant, grinding rumble of the tower's machinery. Turning to face Falco again, it added, "Your attire is strange. I have never seen such fashion throughout the empire. Have new kingdoms risen in the west?"

Falco pursed his lips and pondered. The thin leather of his glove gripping the hilt of his slender sword now audibly cracked, reminding him of the tension throughout his body.

"Many kingdoms have risen and fallen since you last walked this earth. I am not sure you would recognize this world any longer."

The wizard became acutely aware of the distance between him and the steel creature.

Twenty paces. He had always been a good judge of measurement.

Asked the creature, "What year is this?"

"'Tis 4708 of the Absalom Reckoning."

The creature paused, then said, "I am entirely unfamiliar with your calendar."

Falco nodded, now feeling a painful reminder of the tension in his neck. It coupled with the dry sensation in his mouth, and the throbbing of his temples as his head began to ache.

"By my estimate, it has been around ten thousand years since you went to sleep. Your makers did well in constructing your form. It had been, uh, inert all this time, as far as I can tell."

"I am no construct. I am not even of your world."

It took a step towards Falco, and he instinctively took a step back in response. They both froze. The gears continued to grind; the tower continued to rumble incessantly.

"Fear not. I will do thee no harm unless you seek to render unto me the same," the creature said emotionlessly.

It did not help. Falco pondered what allegiance he should explicitly espouse—or feign—in the face of this strange entity. This tower had once served as a place of painful punishment, purposed for spies and traitors who had crossed the god-emperor.

This thing—had it been captive here? Or jailor?

But the creature interrupted his thoughts.

"I am not of your realm. I am child of Leng," it said.

The mention of the nightmare realm sent shivers to run down Falco's spine. He only knew that dread name from scarce legends, things barely known to even the greatest scholars who dedicated their lives to studying the mysteries of the Dark Tapestry and the Great Beyond.

"I chose to replace my flesh with the metals and innovative wonders of your realm, and before you, now, stands the wondrous result of this marriage between two very different worlds."

It raised its hands high in demonstration, allowing the wide sleeves of its yellow robe to openly display the mechanical marvels of its hands. Splayed its fingers, then balled them into fists. Its body put those of iron golems to utter shame, resembling more of a clockwork than a crude machine. The metal and gold linings upon all its edges shimmered in the glimmer of deep crimson light.

"Truly curious," said Falco. The irreverent wizard's voice trembled with newfound reverence.

The mystery of this creature continued to unfold, raising more and more questions.

"Why would you forsake your original body? I have been led to believe that you—your kind—you are made of the essence of dreams."

The hollow stared into Falco's eyes. Watched him. It stood still, neared not further.

"The essence of nightmares," it corrected him. Without melody. Menacing words, spoken without malice. "Immortal, yes. But as I stand before you, now, does my very being, here, before you, differ that much? I traded one form of immortality for another. My second body has advantages that my first did not, and vice versa. I prefer this form."

Falco mulled over what the denizen of Leng told him. Could it be a sophisticated golem, spinning a yarn and pulling a fast one on him? Some wizards did pull elaborate pranks in creating such devices.

"You can put your blade away," it said. "It will do you no good against me. If I wanted to dismember you, I would have already done so."

Falco gritted his teeth and his lips pressed against one another so hard that they turned into a thin white line. In an elegant flash, he sheathed the short sword back into his cane, blew a strand of frazzled hair from his face, and shifted his weight.

The tension remained.

At any rate, with his hands free, he could more easily flick his wrists and accurately draw the arcane glyphs necessary to conjure a spell, and the creature was indeed correct: he and his blade would not be able to put a single dent into that thing's mithral shell.

"What is your name?" he asked it.

It folded its hands in front of itself. Metal joints clicked harmoniously, and long, wide sleeves slid together, concealing those gilded digits.

"The Yellow Monk."

Falco arched a brow and mulled it over before responding, "That is a title."

"And yet it was the name most commonly used by your kind to address me."

"What about the, hm, less commonly used one, then?"

A chuckle erupted from behind the mask. Short, clipped. Soft. But chilling.

Unnatural.

"The Kadathine," it said with little pause to follow. "Another title, but I never had a need for a name, prior to arriving in this world of yours. Titles serve just as well."

"Alright. Yellow Monk it is," Falco muttered with a sigh. Then louder, he spoke, "I will have you know, that Thassilon has long fallen. And ten thousand years have likely passed since the Claimer held the Resplendent Throne."

The creature paused and took another step towards Falco. Its joints clicked, something mechanical whirred in its bowels.

The wizard stood still, hoping not to offend this bizarre being's sensibilities.

Nineteen paces away.

"He has not yet risen from the Eye of Avarice?" asked the Yellow Monk.

"No, but I've heard that name before. According to lore, it is secreted away in his hidden golden city. Scholars, such as I, and treasure hunters alike, we have all sought to find it, but to no avail. Perhaps you can tell me if it is even real? Or you know where that fabled city lies?"

"I do."

Another step.

Eighteen paces away.

Falco swallowed again. The heat here was unbearable, but it was not the heat that drove sweat to erupt from his pores.

"Do you care to share? Enlighten me, please."

"I will not. Enlightenment is attained on one's own. It is a result of one's own efforts."

Another step. Seventeen paces away.

"Ah, so you were one of the Claimer's loyal servants during the days of his rule?"

"I was, until I was not any longer. Gaze upon my golden robe, and see the gilded lines fused to my body. Know this: they were gifts from the Claimer. Rewards for my loyalty."

"But not any longer—was that why you were here? We—I—was led to believe that this tower—the Tower of Woe—that it was used to exact punishment on the god-king's unruly subjects. Why were you here?"

Another step. Sixteen paces away.

"I refused to consign myself to his return after sequestering himself to the Eye. As a toll for my transgression, the Claimer ordered me dismantled and smelted down within the forge of this tower. Most Exalted Ceoptra and her Wardens of Wind were tasked with my systematic destruction. The last thing I recall was the rune giants plucking the limbs from my torso."

Fifteen paces away. Falco's nervousness swelled, crept closer towards fear and outright panic.

This creature was entirely unpredictable.

Its tale so implausible that it refused to resemble fabrication. So bizarre that it had to hold truth.

The Yellow Monk chuckled again. Clipped once more, eerie in how cold and calculated its laughter felt. Like it had learned to emulate human laughter, but never understood it.

"Someone must have miscalculated, given how you and I now speak this freely."

"Fascinating," Falco blurted out. "You are fascinating. I know it may be a lot to ask, but—may I study you?"

Another step. Fourteen paces away.

At ten, Falco figured, he would flee.

"Study me? That is a fascinating prospect. And a mutual interest. I may want to study you more than you wish to study me. For instance, you must possess understanding of the arcane arts. Was it you who reassembled me?"

Thirteen steps remained between them.

"Yes. Y-yes, that was my doing," Falco said, clearing his throat again. The heat here had parched it so quickly that it felt like sandpaper. "Well, my understanding, now, is that you are an enemy of the Claimer."

"Incorrect," said the Yellow Monk.

"What?"

"Incorrect," it repeated.

"But he ordered you dismantled. Destroyed."

"Yet I do not deem him enemy. And furthermore, where is he now? Ten thousand years, so you said. He should have long returned yet remains absent."

"If all tales are to be believed, then he's trying to claw his way back into this world as we speak. Are you not concerned about him finding you and finishing what he started?"

Twelve steps.

"No. I am but a speck of dust in his grand designs. Where I came from, many other beings made of nightmare follow. The Claimer thinned the borders between our worlds. So much so that a feather suffices to pierce the parchment-thin barrier."

Eleven steps.

Falco's muscles, taut as steel chords, felt like they teetered on the brink of snapping apart. With delay, he recognized the grinding of his own teeth.

"If I helped you find the Claimer before he fully returns to your world, I would surely only draw his ire again. But as it stands now, I am free, and he remains entrapped in a prison of his own making," said the Yellow Monk. "What of me would you study? What would you have me tell thee?"

"Hm, all things considered, if you truly hail from Leng, then there is much I could learn from you about it. The reality of its existence is still a hotly-debated subject among my peers."

"I can assure you, Furio Falco—it is real."

A jolt shot through the wizard's body.

"How do you know my name?"

"Time and dreams are a strange thing. Time does not flow like a river, and all dreams flock eventually to the onyx walls of Kadath, afraid they can never escape its impossibly high summit, even more than Great Old Mhar awakening in the Fossa, and the howls of the hideous hounds of Tindalos, as they chase you across lost shores, the stink of fear escaping your skin. Their barbed tongues and eyeless maws reach out and snap at you, always just out of reach. Are you escaping them, or are they driving you somewhere?"

"W-what—what are you? What are you really?" Falco breathed, taken aback.

The Yellow Monk had described nightmares in all-too vivid detail—nightmares he had experienced before.

"Just another doorway to Azathoth," whispered the Yellow Monk.

Another step.

Ten paces away.

Yet Falco hesitated. Even without the influence of magic, this "Yellow Monk" compelled him to stay and listen. It held so much knowledge. So many answers that could be coaxed from it—if only he posed the right questions.

Just a few steps more, then he would take his escape.

He promised. He silently promised that to himself.

"Are there more—more of your kind? Did the Claimer draw more of you into this world?"

Nine. Nine paces away.

"Yes, and no. He opened a door and bid us enter. We stepped through of our own volition. Curious to explore your world, invited inside without needing our black ships to cross the darkness between the stars."

Eight.

"Fear me not, young man. Unlike my kin, I have chosen this marvel of metallurgy for a body. I have no designs on taking or experimenting on your kind. I have long outgrown such childish curiosity. I seek merely to perfect myself."

Falco frowned, interjected, "Perfect yourself? What do you mean?"

"I seek to become a perfect being. No god, no king. Does your world not perpetually live in question of their rule? Wonder if they truly exist, or if it is but human ambition and belief that gives them form? I can tell you, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the Old Ones exist. I know their names, and I can gaze upon their countenance without losing my mind. And I seek to join their ranks upon the day of my glorious return home."

Seven.

The Yellow Monk approached slowly, but Falco knew this slowness was deliberate. Chosen. For as powerful as the thing was, as easily as it had torn off its shackles, it likely possessed speed sufficient to cross the dwindling distance between them in the blink of an eye.

It always had.

"So that when one of your kind closes their eyes, and they glimpse the Dreaming Shore, and the Nameless Rock, and the Spider Vales—they will see my gleaming form. Brilliant, and shining out from the gloom, serene and immaculate and imposing. A beacon to guide the way, a blinding light that inspires awe even among the shantaks and the High-Priest Not To Be Described."

Six.

Another chuckle, more bone-chilling than any before. Clipped again, a mere mimicry of human sentiment. This close, the dim red light from the lava below reflected ominously on the sharp edges of Yellow Monk's mask.

"Fear me not, Furio Falco. I may not care if the Claimer returns or not—if that is the way that things were ordained for your world, so be it. No, I exist outside of whatever struggle he represents—his five-hundred-year rule was but a footnote in the annals of history. No, I yearn to broaden my horizons. And I believe you could teach me many things of your world, and of your new age."

Falco knew not what to ask. The sheer cascade of knowledge and gibberish that spilled forth from the Yellow Monk's mask staggered his thoughts. His mind circled and cycled at a thousand leagues a minute.

"And if all else fails, I am ever in search of worthy opponents to measure my strength against. Perhaps you—"

Five.

Five paces away, Falco flicked his wrist and blurted out the incantations necessary to vanish. In a flash of green light, leaving behind the stench of sulfur and a brief distortion of the air where he stood mere seconds ago, he had disappeared.

The Yellow Monk turned. Looked around.

Reached out and pawed at the air where Falco had stood before him.

"Very well. I shall await your return. If you hear me, there is nothing to fear. I, too, would like to know how I have awoken after all this time," said the Yellow Monk. "And I am sure you have so many more answers to provide."

But nobody was there to hear his dull, menacingly monotonous words.

Falco had not just turned invisible, he had escaped the place in an instant, bending space and time and reappearing at a safe distance, well out of sight from the Yellow Monk, outside the Tower of Woe.

Falco ran, stumbled, and staggered down the rough-and-tumble path of the valley.

Gathering his thoughts would have to wait.

Unraveling the Yellow Monk's mysteries took a rank well behind his will to live.

And in his next nightmare, they would meet again.

—Submitted by Wratts

3 notes · View notes

reizor · 3 years ago

Text

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

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

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

#feel free to take this from me <3 #long post tw #‣ 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀.┊❛ 𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 . ❜#‣ 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.┊❛ 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃. ❜#i enjoyed this quite alot #some of it from hajime's perspective and some of it from izurus :')

3 notes · View notes

aidemint · 5 years ago

Text

𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐊𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐔𝐛𝐮𝐲𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐢

Word Count: 1781

Warnings: Mentions of smoking

I told myself I would stop smoking, for the sake of my own sanity. I'd already thrown out all the nicotine I had and invested the money in books. Judging by how many novels I'd bought with the new budget, it was a good decision. A step in the right direction, considering that I was a writer.

Sighing as I organized the pile of books on the floor, stacking them so they fit perfectly into my bookshelf, I grumbled as I fought the urge to go out and suck on my pipe. Maybe there were leftovers still stuck in there. Once I realized my thought process, I shouted and hurriedly stuffed the novels into their place and fumed. Stomping out the door, I wanted to do something to stop this toxic cycle.

I should do something different. There has to be something to do.

Maybe my horrible life was a byproduct of all the shitty decisions I made so far. My publishing company didn't fail me, at least. I couldn't say that my career was a total flop, and I had a consistent paycheck, but I just felt so damn sad and lonely all the time. Sure, I was whining, but it wasn't for no good reason.

Plus, it wasn't like I hated every single thing on the planet Earth, I was just in a rut. Motivation was fleeting and I didn't have enough energy to chase after it. Not without an excuse, at least. I spent my days tirelessly writing and working my ass off for deadlines. To think I once enjoyed writing -- that was a long time ago, when I was a child. I'd daydream for hours, weaving fantasies in my head like I was on mushrooms.

How I wished to get a glimpse of the old days, to feel what I felt way back when I wasn't like this. I was so sure I was going to die alone and miserable, since I broke all the old connections I had when I started my career. It wasn't part of the contract or anything, I just felt that if I were to be mature, then I should sever off my childhood -- drop it like a lizard to its cut-off tail.

My jaw clenched as I spotted my pipe on the ground. I picked it up, squinting in distaste, debating about whether I should or shouldn't go to the market to get another good smoke in. I could drown out my worries that way.

Scoffing at myself, I took the fragile wooden tube and broke it in half, tossing it into the bushes.

How stupid.

Two days later, I was still in that same mood. But instead of twiddling my thumbs and lounging around like some lazy pig, I tried to pick up a new hobby while still reminiscing at the old days.

Ah, to be young.

I sounded like some old geezer.

But I kept thinking.

I miss everyone.

A week passed and I could safely say I was in a better mood. My cravings weren't as bad, and I tended to chew on mint leaves rather than suck on that damn wooden pipe.

Maybe for this reason, the universe decided to gift me a surprise.

The invitation arrived by crow. I was outside, doing some garden work when that black bird flew in front of me, its beady eyes analyzing every single one of my features. For a moment, it seemed hesitant to come near, but the creature eventually hopped its way to my feet and dropped a note by them.

I could have imagined it, but it seemed as if the crow gave me a slight bow before flapping it great wings and flying away. Eyeing the rolled-up parchment carefully, I picked it up and unraveled it, curious to see what message was displayed inside.

(Y/N),

I hope this letter finds its way to you without interruption. It's been a long time since we've last spoken, so before we get to the technicalities, I'd like to know: how are you? Hopefully you're in a prosperous position, one of good wealth and balance. I remember you always went on about becoming a renowned poet, and I think you're quite close to achieving that dream. Just yesterday I bought one of your books, and the limericks and clever haikus are quite entertaining.

Anyways, the real reason I wrote to you so late in our relationship is that I've been meaning to see you again. The last time we met, if I recall it correctly, was ten years ago -- far too long of a time for friends to be separated, no?

During these years, I imagine that a lot has changed. You're out and about, pursuing your dream and accomplishing your wildest dreams. It's admirable, to say the least. Though my disability hinders the possibility of me becoming a sumo wrestler, I am doing better than expected (even though I live with that disappointment).

I've just realized, in the middle of my jest, the topic has suddenly shifted to me. It's unpleasant, seeing how little control I have over my words. Please accept my apology, (Y/N), as I don't expect you to become suddenly infatuated with my life, nor does the meeting represent a discussion about the current events happening in my little "circle."

I just truly want to catch up with you. One of my greatest wishes is to see you again after all these years. I've missed our kinship.

So please, I implore you to come. There will be a guide outside of your house an hour after this crow is delivered. Please do not be frightened by the methods taken to bring you to my estate -- I'm sure you understand based on our previous history together.

I'm looking forwards to our potential reunion.

- Kagaya Ubuyashiki

My teeth tugged at my bottom lip as I closed the scroll, feeling tears well up in my eyes. With a tidal wave of memories flooding back into my mind, I couldn't help but want to cry. Kagaya was one of the people that made my childhood worthwhile. I'd met him when I was eight, while he was nine. We spent our free time together, however small the amount was.

Despite being so young, we were always busy. I took advanced courses at home, tutored by poets and writers from across the community. My parents did all they could to help me on my way to success, which I was grateful for. I never knew what Kagaya did, as he always kept it a secret, but I appreciated him nonetheless. He seemed so mature, even at age nine.

The way he thought was like a philosopher. Whenever I showed him my work, he'd bring about inquiries that would dumbfound even the greatest of my masters. I wondered how he did it and always wanted to be like him -- diligent, thoughtful, understanding.

Even now as an adult, he never fails to blow me away with his humility.

Sighing once more as I swept the stray tears off of my face, I pocketed the scroll and continued to do my garden work until the guide came. I was just about done when a masked figure strolled up to my home and asked me if I was (Y/N) (L/N). In response, I nodded and exchanged greetings before hopping onto their back and being blindfolded by the figure.

"I hope Master already told you about the procedure," they muttered awkwardly, "It's to prevent information from leaking." I laughed lightly and waved the thought away. Too excited to see my old friend again, the commentary bounced off me like rain to an umbrella.

"It's a smart idea." With that, the guide hauled me onto their back and took off running along their designated path.

Once I could finally see again, I blinked for a couple moments to let my eyes adjust to the blinding light. Though my vision was blurry and I couldn't quite make out the scene in front of me, I sensed multiple presences waiting for me at the entrance to the estate. When I'd finally cleared all the fog out of my head, I felt myself instinctively draw in a small gasp.

There Kagaya was, standing in the middle of a group of colorful figures. He wore a small and docile smile, gently waving at me from a distance. I quickly thanked the guide as I slid off of their back and made my way over to him. The ravenette regarded me with a kind look, and spread his arms as a welcoming gesture.

All the world's noise seemed to come upon deaf ears the closer I got to him.

Though his lips moved and the trees rustled, all I could hear was the sound of my own heart beating, thrumming through my eardrums. The sound of the flowing of blood in my veins became more prominent as I got increasingly star-struck.

Was this reality? Or just another twisted dream that came back to haunt me?

I wanted to believe that it was real. I desperately prayed, in that moment, that this was real. Maybe in a few seconds I would wake up, breathing heavily, covered in sweat in my futon on the ground. Then I'd squeeze my eyes shut again, crying for the sweet dream to come back to me. But as my staggers became steadier, and those steady strides quickened, I had a newfound energy to hope.

To believe that my life wasn't so hopelessly lost.

When the tips of my fingers reached my friend's kimono, my heart blossomed. The silk seemed to greet my touch like they already knew each other, despite the sensation being so foreign. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I wanted to collapse onto the ground and sob until my eyes fell out of their sockets.

To think that the connections hadn't been severed, but rather weakened, was the greatest relief I'd ever experienced. It spurred me to think that maybe I could reconnect with the outside world rather than keep to myself all the time.

The possibility of not being alone and feeling a socially ambiguous made my insides tingle with excitement -- with childish wonder. There was someone who still cared for me, who still waited for me all these years, who was kind enough to reach out and contact me, the recluse, the hermit.

When I fell into his arms, breathless, I closed my eyes and finally smiled.

I could smile again.

And be thankful.

And finally feel like I was somebody.

I couldn't have asked for anything more.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kagaya #kagaya ubuyashiki #imagine #oneshot #reunion #kagaya x reader #anime

82 notes · View notes

darkobssessions · 3 years ago

Text

August 7th, 2021

For shame, for shame cover her hair For honour, for disgrace, don’t you care! What will the neighbours think? What will the family say? Play it safe, keep her sweet Keep her unconscious of the urges that long to tear her from you Reward only that which is acceptable, hope she does not see through you A candy here, a pat on the back there, an allowance for good behaviour A rare unfussed permission to go out She is her mother’s daughter, what will they say if she is anything but? Give her admonition, give her material affection But withhold emotional depth; what could she do with support, if she felt like going after her wayward desires? For shame, for fear, for God’s sake, don’t let her out of your sight And take the cries as proof that the discipline is working A child is a child at 7, 17 and 27 Feed her contradictions, for she does not know better What you don’t face, you give access to paint her skin, to touch her tender soul and fertilise soil for a thorn tree, deeply rooted and thickly knotted And then you wonder where such black will sprouted from How such devil whim makes her disobey, why her face darkens and she withdraws, into a space you cannot corrupt She refuses the candy now, she does not beg She is empty of rebellion, a wilted grain sack You have won, or so it seems; your seeds are a good and righteous daughter Oh the shock, the horror When she escapes, and manipulates and blames Finds herself alive in another’s life, with a man Bends your favour and tarnishes your name She knows not better, as she never learned the word no Though you repeated it with gusto She is lost at sea, ill equipped for the greedy attention unprepared for the conviction of her melancholy Far from home, she is at once liberated and taken over by misery You reinforce the stereotype saying; what happens out there stays there, just don’t you dare bring it home No longer the golden daughter, she has fallen She has been demoted to a role suiting to her wayward demeanor She was given leeway in places you could not touch, but now, under your roof She is called and texted, as thought the roof will cave in if she dares to have some independence And you stamp your feet and cry, childish as you are She has to shoulder the burden of breaking a curse and navigating your displeasure You find it selfish that she found a self, preferring the drowning mess of never, ever leaving the nest For shame, she might turn out to be a lesbian She might defy us, live with a man She might run, and not in the dark either, they would see, they would see Blacken the windows and shroud the doors We tried to protect her honour, and we forgot the girl There beyond a place you can touch, lies her uncorrupted soul After all the toil, the rebellion and the mistakes Is an aspect that was borne of the strife Awoke because of the hardship Connected with an overarching principle, awoke her zest for life and passion Trembling, she may call with abandon that she is a doll no more, a projection of your fantasy, and an acting out of unconscious urge She is alive, she is larger than life She is desires unheard of and unspoken of in such a cloistered community She is deviance and divergence, shame and beauty She is Eros, wisdom, sexual mastery She is the tears that fell and fertilised an offshoot of the thorn tree Beautiful pomegranates, bleeding red A transformation, a rite of passage, a death and a rebirth She is everything you longed to not happen Everything you tried to prevent Scorn, and scorching hate, shame, misery, mastery and delinquent sin She is on top of the world of cracked dolls She is arisen from the whispers and the admonitions She has set fire to your gas lighting and rendered the misperceptions impotent Severed heads, gushing blood, the destroyer, the challenger of every false ideal Come to claim penance for the irreverence of the living God She is, and has always been living in the flesh among you And she rises to a new dawn, unashamedly brazen.

1 note · View note

hungover-and-broke-student · 3 years ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGGED BY: @brokentoys

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

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

1 note · View note

dutydreamed-a · 3 years ago

Text

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

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

#there are many names in history (codex).#i did NOT think abt her end vibes post-veil until just now. weeps

1 note · View note