#they are sometimes a shadow in a cloak or the cloak itself

[ask-the-bone-boys]

something i have been wondering, whatever happened to swapfell gaster/riverperson? idk if i'm remembering it right but it was a different more void-y gaster that got karma to come to the void with him right?

oh thats definitely a point i'm gonna have to HEAVILY rework in the reboot bc it is VERY clunky and handwavy atm, i believe my idea for that at the time was a result of a scrapped concept where Slime Man Gaster was able to "possess" other, not-erased Gasters in different universes. I think I was gonna play with that a bit more with my Papyrus-Gaster AUs like Retro or Smiley, but it just didn't end up fitting into the story at all :/ In hindsight it really doesn't make sense for Slime Man's lore anyway lol

I also had an idea that it was Shadow Riverperson/Slime Man (they're the same person btw!) the entire time, just presenting as an older Gaster that looks close enough to Swapfell Gaster to be convincing. If this was the case though, Karma wouldn't have been able to see them!

if i were to try to explain it in a way that actually works now, I could say that Swapfell Gaster was the one to lead Karma to the core as somewhat of a "trade" to get Fluff back. I'll be so honest the dude is a piece of SHIT and definitely prefers one grandson over the other so this kinda thing wouldn't be entirely out of his wheelhouse.

By the time they actually got to the Core, he would've slipped away and let Slime Man handle the rest. They have a lot more influence over the Core than anywhere else, so they'd be able to bait Karma into the void all by themselves :)

[averlym]

ghostwriter (their grandma would tell them she'd lose half her soul)

[alittlebitofloveliness]

@zvoiderror000 @sipping-wxterfalls @obsessingoverl This is the full fic that goes with the out of context snippet you all seemed excited about

***************

Darry hadn’t been sure it was even worth putting together the funeral. After all, few folks had loved Johnny Cade, and even fewer had loved Dallas Winston, and most of them were the five who remained, all but three of whom were unemployed. He’d managed to scrape together money for headstones, albeit cheap ones, but a funeral- even a joint one- so soon after mom and dad was more of a strain on the budget than Darry could realistically handle, even with Soda and Steve offering to pitch in.

Then the parents of all those little kids Johnny and Pony saved had contacted him out of the blue, offering to help cover expenses and for all his pride Darry didn’t have it in himself to turn them down. Johnny and Dal deserved a proper burial any way he could manage to make it happen, and if that involved taking a bit of charity, well, for once so be it. It sure as hell wasn’t like Mr and Mrs Cade were going to pay to make sure Johnny was properly laid to rest.

So he’d taken the money and made the same terrible phone calls he’d made eight months ago, contacted the same vendors, and booked the same small room at the same small funeral home, feeling sick to his stomach the whole time. Pony had helped, more than he had eight months ago, had chosen Johnny’s casket from the few they could afford and written a eulogy he refused to show to anyone until the service itself. Darry didn’t begrudge him, trying to tamp down the guilt that came with the relief that cut through him every time he looked at his baby brother. It felt wrong, planning the funeral of two of his best friends, knowing that if the universe had offered him any sort of choice, he'd have still chosen Ponyboy and doomed them both anyway, every time. It’s a hard truth, a horrible one, but Darry has grown used to confronting such horrible things as of late, even if he can only ever confront them in his own head. 

After a few weeks of planning, the day of the funeral seems almost underwhelming. Soda and Ponyboy are once again dressed in the outfits they wore to mom and dad’s funeral, Ponyboy somehow looking twice as lost as he did then for all he’s grown almost half a foot taller. Soda is a shadow of his usual self, drawn in behind the careful mask he dons when he doesn’t want anyone to see what he’s really thinking, but the cigarette in his hand is enough to give Darry a good idea of his tenuous mental state.

Pony climbs the steps of the funeral home in the same dreamlike manner he’s adopted since the night of the rumble, the same cloak of oblivion he’d shrouded himself in for months after mom and dad passed, the one he’d only just started to lift off himself before Darry ruined it all with his temper and that slap. Sometimes he thinks he will never truly be able to undo the damage he caused that night, all the consequences of one despicable rash action.

Soda loiters near the stairs, Steve a supportive, grim faced pillar beside him, their shoulders pressed together and pinky fingers linked in a way they probably think is subtle. Darry wants to tell them they’re too close, warn them yet again about being in public and what people might think, but today he doesn’t have the energy. Besides, it’s not like there's anyone coming. All of them, from Two-bit to Ponyboy, know the only folks this funeral is for is them, the gang. If anyone else shows at all it’ll be a miracle. So he leaves Soda and Steve and the obvious, secret love that could kill them both by the door, and goes inside to check on Ponyboy.

His younger brother hasn’t stepped into the small chapel yet, instead he’s sitting with his back against the wall and his legs sprawled out, half hidden behind a small side table. The picture of Johnny that is supposed to be beside the guest book is clutched in his hands, and silent tears are running down his face, his tiny form shaking violently with suppressed sobs. 

Shit. The sight of it chips another shard off of Darry’s thrice broken heart. This poor kid. This sweet, sweet kid, who’s been through more in the past year than most people go through in a lifetime. Darry can’t help but wonder if his baby brother is ever again going to know a life without pain. 

“Hey little buddy,” Darry’s knees crack as he kneels down beside him, tossing an arm around his brother's shoulders, “how’re ya doin’?

It’s a stupid question, and they both know it, but it startles a choked off, surprised laugh out of Ponyboy, and it feels like a bigger win than winning the state football championship back in high school.

“M’alright,” Pony glances around as if making sure they’re alone before snuggling into Darry’s side a bit. He’s been awful cuddly since he got back home, but fourteen and a greaser is still fourteen and a greaser, and Darry knows Pony would die before he let anyone outside the gang find out about his newfound clinginess. 

“You sure?” Darry tightens his grip on Pony and drops a kiss on his gelled hair. Today is gonna be a hard day for all of them, but things like this always hit Pony worse, and he’s worried about him. He’s still so young, only fourteen. Darry himself had seen some rough stuff by the time he was fourteen- you couldn’t grow up in their neighbourhood and not see some stuff you wished you hadn’t- but back then he’d had dad to talk things through with and mom to lie to him and promise everything would be okay. Compared to that, Pony has nothing, just two brothers who love him but can’t protect him, and now a dead best friend to mourn on top of his parents.

“No,” Pony shakes his head, letting out another watery laugh, this one verging on hysterical, “no, I’m not okay. Sometimes I think I’m never gonna be ok again.”

“Baby…” Darry doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t cut out for this, isn’t meant to be a guardian or a parent or whatever he’s become, and he’s never been good with emotions anyway. It’s always been Soda’s job, since their parents passed, to deal with the feelings while he deals with the bills, but Soda is his little brother too, has decided not to feel today so that he can cope, so Darry is once again all Pony has. He wishes he could be enough, or at the very least think of something to say, but he isn’t and he can’t. Instead, all he can do is rock Ponyboy as he cries and wish the world wasn’t so horrifically cruel. At the very least he wishes he could reassure him…but Darry doesn’t like to lie, and the truth is that lately he isn’t sure Pony will be ok. Lately, his brother seems uniquely broken in a way Darry isn’t sure he can fix. 

Johnny would have known what to do. He and Pony would have gone for a smoke on the porch and talked in low voices, and somehow whatever he’d said would have brought Ponyboy back to himself. But Johnny is gone, isn’t coming back, and Pony might just stay this empty shell because of it. The thought makes something dark and cold creep into his chest, but Darry is a realist and learned a long time ago that ignoring uncomfortable things does not simply make them go away, as much as he might wish they would. Johnny is gone, and Pony is different, and things will never be the same as they were. That’s that.

“I just…” Pony manages once he’s cried himself out, “he- he was the only person who completely knew me without me havin’ to tell him. I’m never gonna find anyone like that again in my whole life I don't think, and that…that’s terrifyin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pony nods fervently, almost begging him to understand, and fuck it, Darry is trying because he isn’t Johnny and he isn’t Soda but he’s still trying his best, “I miss Dal too, of course I do, but losin’ Johnny is just- different. He dug me and I dug him and I just-I’m really gonna miss him. “

“Sometimes,” Pony’s voice breaks, but he soldiers on, “sometimes I wish I coulda died in his place. Or Dal’s. That way we’d at least be together.”

“Don’t say that!” Fear so cold it burns flashes through Darry, and he squeezes Pony tighter, as if the mere thought is a blow he could shield him from, “Please baby, don't ever say that, I couldn’t survive without you. Soda would go clean crazy I-”

“Cool it Dar,” Pony shakes him off, “I know that. I ain’t stupid and I don’t got a death wish either. I just miss him and I…wonder, sometimes. That’s all.”

“Well quit your wonderin’,” Darry scolds. He can hear himself getting harsh, the way he always gets when he’s worried, and tries to even out his tone, “that sort of wonderin’ does more harm than good. I wouldn’t trade you bein’ here for the world and I know for a fact Johnny and Dal wouldn’t neither. Savvy?”

Pony looks at him for a moment, and there’s such fear in those eyes, such grief, and yet so much trust it makes Darry’s heart ache in a completely different way.

“I savvy.” he says at last, and Darry internally sighs in relief. This conversation isn’t over, and Ponyboy has never been one to let things go, but at least, for the moment, he is safe.

The door opens then and Soda and Steve reappear, flanked by Two-bit with his mom and sister. Darry climbs to his feet, pulling Pony up beside him and they take a deep breath and all enter the chapel together.

For a second he stands there frozen, completely caught off guard, heart swelling with an odd mixture of gratitude and something else that isn’t quite grief, but has the same bittersweet tinge. 

There are more people inside than Darry expected, which is to say, there’s people there at all. He’d fully believed the only ones who’d bother coming to Johnny and Dal’s funeral would be the gang and Two’s family, but Tim Shepard and a few of his guys are clustered near the back door, looking uncomfortable, and Sylvia Devares is as cold eyed and sour faced as ever, but present nevertheless, sitting in the second row of chairs, glaring at Dally’s casket as if she expected him to sit up and start cussing her out any second. There’s no sign of Mr or Mrs Cade, but there’s a dark haired girl probably a year or two younger than Ponyboy sitting next to a tired looking man in his forties that Darry remembers Johnny staying with sometimes when he was really little, before Mrs.Cade cut her family out of her life for good. It’s strange, Darry thinks, seeing the love people don’t express until it’s too late. It has to have been nearly a decade since Johnny last saw his uncle and baby cousin, yet here they are, waiting to say their goodbyes.

Darry speaks quietly with the funeral director and the service begins, some local pastor kicking things off with a short sermon. Darry knows Dally probably would not have chosen a clergyman to speak at his funeral, but he also probably would have told them to have a beer in his honour and chuck him in the ground; and knowing how much Johnny had liked going to church with Pony, the sermon seemed appropriate. If he’s being quite honest with himself, Darry isn’t at all sure heaven or hell exists, but he also isn’t willing to gamble when it comes to Johnny and Dally’s souls. If a qualified preacher putting in a good word with the big man could get them a chance at eternal happiness, Darry would gladly sit here for fifteen minutes listening to him talk. If Darry’s being honest, if Dally’s gonna get into heaven, his soul needs all the help it can get.

It’s after they’ve all said a final amen, but before Pony has managed to start the eulogies, that the door creaks open and one final mourner slips inside. She’s clearly trying to be inconspicuous, but the timing of her arrival and the fact she clearly isn’t from around here make it so every eye in the room turns directly on her the second she gets through the doorway.

The first thing Darry notices is how skinny she is. He’s known a lot of folks in his time that are somewhat underfed, but this woman is better described as emaciated. The second thing he notices is how sick she looks, with her pale face, puffy eyes, and hunched posture; and the third is her white blond hair and pointed ears, two features he’s only ever seen on one other person.

“Who’s the junkie?” Tim Shepard sidles over and murmurs in Darry’s ear as the woman takes a seat in the second row of chairs, and Ponyboy clears his throat and starts Dally’s’ eulogy.

“Hell if I know.” Darry murmurs back, and it’s true. Dallas never mentioned anything or anyone from his past, and the gang had always respected that. He has no idea who the girl might have been to Dallas, just figures there must be some sort of familial relation.

“Well damn. Mighta been useful to know he had family who like smack,” Tim shrugs, “coulda got her a decent price at least.”

Darry glanced at the girl’s slumped posture and the way she kept scratching at her arms, and winced. Drugs are an aspect of the east side he’d always found particularly unsavoury, simply based on how visibly they could destroy someone. There were slower poisons, yes, like booze and gambling and hate, but drugs were simply more obvious. There were plenty of addicts that bummed around the train tracks or out near Brumly territory, and much as Darry hated to admit it, Tim’s assessment of the blonde was spot on. She was clearly hooked on smack, and from the looks of it, had been for a while.

Pony finishes the eulogies, voice shaky but more composed than Darry would have expected, but he barely hears him. All he can see is the back of the girl's blonde hair and the points of her ears. For some reason it had been easier to grieve Dallas when he felt like one of the only people who could mourn him properly; but this girl has clearly travelled who knows how far to attend this cobbled together funeral, and now some part of Darry feels like maybe he should have publicized it wider, spent some time really looking for Dallas’ next of kin. Not that he would have known where to look, but maybe it was selfish to just assume their ragtag pieced together family was truly the only family Dallas had. After all, everyone comes from somewhere, right? Maybe he should have tried to learn more about Dallas’ somewhere. 

A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Dallas himself tells him not to be stupid, that Dallas was a kid who’d left where he came from and never looked back once, a kid who had died after losing the only person he couldn’t stand to lose. This girl may be here now, the voice says, but whoever she was clearly meant nothing to the person Dallas was when he died. It still does little to assuage the guilt slowly curdling in Darry’s heart.

The funeral director smoothly wraps up the ceremony without Darry having to do anything, mentioning the refreshments in the other room and reminding everyone to say their final goodbyes as they’d be closing the caskets in half an hour before moving to the graveyard. There’s a part of Darry that’s grateful that making the announcement didn’t fall on him, and a larger part that dreads the next half hour but dreads the minutes after it even more fervently. 

A line at the caskets forms quickly, the scant mourners each taking a turn to say their own goodbyes, and it would be almost sweet if it wasn’t so grim. 

Mrs. Mathews and Susie go first. Neither one of them glances at Dally for long, but Darry can’t really blame them for that, considering they hardly knew him. Both women linger longer next to Johnny, and Susie drops a tootsie roll into the casket with a sniffle. Those two were buddies, Darry knows. Johnny used to crash at the Mathews’ place almost as much as he crashed at their house, and Johnny and Susie’s matching gentle souls had bonded them quickly.

Tim and his guys go next, and they linger longer beside Dallas. None of them say much really, but there’s a tightness in Tim’s jaw that speaks more to regret than anger when he finally mutters an ‘asshole’ under his breath and stalks away, his gang following behind. Darry doubts he’ll show up to the cemetery, but can’t exactly begrudge him for it. It was good of Tim to come at all, mostly because if the roles were reversed and it was Tim lying there instead, Darry isn’t at all sure Dally would have done the same. 

Sylvia goes next, and her glare doesn’t waver, but whatever rant she’s murmuring to Dallas seems heartfelt for all of its rage. She doesn’t even glance at Johnny on her way out, and it should make Darry’s blood boil, but it doesn’t, not really, because everyone knows Sylvia Devares doesn’t care about anyone but herself, so if Dally meant enough for her to show up at all then she really must have cared as much as she could. Those two were a dumpster fire even at their best, and nothing about them ever gave the impression they were in love, but Darry knows better than anyone that you don’t need to be in love to love somebody in a way that could destroy you. 

Johnny’s uncle and cousin step up the small dais, and the old man says something in the language Johnny’s mom stopped letting him speak the same year she stopped speaking to her family, the one Johnny tried teaching to Ponyboy just to spite her. Whatever he says, it’s a blessing meant only for Johnny, but Darry can feel the weight of it, the love, the regret, the pain, just from the man’s tone. Johnny’s cousin glances once more over her shoulder as they leave, black eyes twinkling just the same as Johnny’s used to, and for a second it’s hard for Darry to breathe.

Now it’s the hard part. Ponyboy, for all his evocative words and stubborn strength, has not looked at Johnny’s body since he stepped into the room, and the second he does he lets out a horrible sound, something between a choked off whimper and and a sob, before darting from the room like something is chasing him. Maybe something is. Darry knows all about how memories can be specters. 

“I’ll go,” Soda stops him from following after Pony with a hand on his shoulder, “you say your goodbyes.”

Dary almost protests, almost tells him to say his own goodbyes while he still can, but there’s shadows in Soda’s eyes, and a strickenness to his face. Suddenly, Darry remembers the way Soda had panicked back when they closed the caskets on mom and dad, how his face had turned white as harsh breaths forced their way through clenched teeth, and he realizes that maybe this is Soda trying to save himself; so he nods and offers him the closest thing he can manage to a smile before Soda turns and follows Pony out the door, leaving Darry with Steve and Two-bit.

Two-bit is blubbering where he stands in front of Dally, and Steve is misty eyed beside him with a hand on his shoulder. Darry knows he should comfort them, play big brother to the brothers who are still his, just not by blood, but there’s something about watching the other people who cared say goodbye that is healing a piece of him, and he can’t bring himself to move. Not yet.

Eventually, Two-bit’s sobs give way to hushed murmurs and begging, Steve’s solemn facade cracking a bit as a single tear finally traces down his cheek. Darry swallows against the lump in his throat, wishing there was a way to make this easier for them and knowing there isn’t. This is one of those things they’re just going to have to feel.

“We’ll see you out there, Superman,” Steve claps Darry on the shoulder as he guides Two-bit out to the parking lot, the redhead already in the process of lighting a cigarette. Not for the first time, Darry is inordinately grateful for Steve Randle and his unmatched ability to be supportive without ever being overbearing.

He steps up the dais, steps muffled by the cheap carpet of the funeral home, but seeming to echo nonetheless. Johnny and Dally are arranged side by side, cleaner and more put together than they ever were in life. Darry hadn’t had any nice clothes to send for them to be buried in, but they wouldn’t have wanted them anyway. They’re both in jeans, Dally in a black t-shirt, and Johnny in a blue one, his jeans jacket pressed and arranged neatly around his small frame. There’s the same uncanny wrongness in their corpses that there was in mom and dad’s that make it impossible for Darry to be able to pretend they’re sleeping or any other such platitude people try to lie to themselves with. Dally’s skin, while pale in life, is now so white it’s waxy, seeming even more stark against the contrast of his shirt. Johnny’s unnatural stillness is so unlike his constant fidgeting it’s almost startling, and his face so peaceful is eerie. Jumpy, gentle, fierce Johnny Cade never looked so calm in life as he does in death, and the realization is a whole new kind of sickening.

A presence at his shoulder is the only thing that keeps a tear or two leaking out. When Darry looks over, the blonde girl from earlier is standing quietly a half pace behind him, her sunken eyes fixed on Dally with such sorrow it’s hard for him to look at. 

“You knew him.” Darry says. It isn’t a question.

“I did,” The girl agrees, “or at least I used to.”

When he was alive, even after years in Oklahoma, Dally’s voice always kept a burr of the yankee accent but this girl is full Brooklyn, and the oddness of it to his country bred ears almost has Darry laughing, despite the seriousness of the situation. Luckily, the girl doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes still locked on Dallas, for all she’s conversing with him.

“How?” Darry wonders. “How did you know him, I mean?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” Not anymore, at least. Not that it had mattered before, but he’d always been curious about Dallas, the only one of their gang whose background was a true mystery.

Silence reigns for a minute. Darry watches a wasp buzz around the flowers on top of Dally’s casket. 

“He’s- he was- my brother,” the girl admits, voice breaking, and Darry can’t keep the shock off his face. He’d thought, based on the resemblance, that she might be a cousin or something, but a sister? 

“My baby brother,” the girl repeats, almost to herself, and Darry’s heart clenches. It isn’t just the bone deep anguish comprised in those three words, it’s the way they force Soda and Pony to the forefront of his mind. Sure, Dally wasn’t anything like either of his hard headed, stupid, secretly sweet brothers, and it’s clear whatever relationship Dally had with his sister isn’t anything like how Darry’s own is with his, but this girl has still lost her baby brother. Darry had got a taste of what it was like to lose Ponyboy for a week, and it nearly killed him. He’d been lucky enough to get Pony back. Dally’s sister will never get him back.

“I..I’m sorry,” Darry chokes, “I didn't know. I would’ve tried to invite you or let you plan stuff, I-”

“Don’t.” She cuts him off, and for a second its Dallas glaring at him. Then he blinks and her glare has faded, and he can breathe again, “You did the right thing. There’s a reason he left New York. He wouldn’t have wanted me anywhere near the planning of this.”

She doesn’t say he wouldn’t have wanted her there. Darry figures it might be implied anyway.

They lapse into silence again. The air in the chapel smells like incense and cleaning chemicals, a stiff, heavy, artificial mixture that seems like a strangely fitting smog over the day.

“He wasn’t always like that, y’know?” Dally’s sister bursts out, like she’d been trying desperately not to say it and been unable to keep silent anyway.

“Like what?”

“Like..he wasn’t always the way he was when he left. The way he was when he found you guys. He didn’t always hate everything.” 

Darry tries to picture it, a Dallas Winston who wasn’t jaded and callous to the point of cruelty sometimes, a Dallas who lived instead of just surviving. Try as he might, he can’t quite manage it.

“What was he like? Before?”

“Quiet,” The barest trace of a smile tugs at her chapped lips. “Smart. Kind, before he forgot how to be.”

“He didn’t forget,” Darry tells her, thinking of the million and one ways Dally had helped out the gang, refusing any and all thanks for it, “he just wished he could have. But he was still kind. In his own way.”

“Well that’s something, I guess,” the half smile fades and she sighs, gazing down at Dally’s still face with so much regret Darry could drown in it. “He deserved better.”

“They both did.”

“Before he left I mean. He deserved a chance, and I…I couldn’t give it to him. Not since that first hit.”

“Oh,” For a second Darry thinks she means an actual physical hit- then he realizes, “oh.”

He’s never been good with words, and right now is no exception. He doesn’t have a clue what to say. Luckily, she just gives him a sardonic grin and keeps talking.

“I was ten when Dally was born. His mom left when he was like, two, and our dad is a fucking asshole, so I kind of raised him. I had to. But I was ten. I didn’t know what I was doing, and he always wanted to know.”

She shakes her head ruefully. 

“‘Raya,’ he asked me once, ‘how come everyone else has a mom and I don’t?’ I didn’t know what to tell him. Then it was ‘Raya, how come Joey’s dad never hurts him like dad hurts us?’ and ‘Raya, what’s in dad’s cigs that make them worse than yours?’ and on and on until he stopped asking because I never had a good answer. Then he started going out by himself, and getting mixed up with the wrong people and then it was too late. He was, what, seven? maybe? the first time he got jumped, and he wasn’t even the littlest kid in our neighborhood it happened to. He never really had a chance. And then I went to that party, and-and I-I couldn’t…and he left. And he never came back.”

“Sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her eyes, “I didn’t mean- I just- I think you were good for him. Better than I was. You and your friends. I saw the pictures of you in the paper, after the fire and the shooting and everything, and there was one…he was in it, with this one,” she nods to Johnny, “and the other little one, and he was smiling. He didn’t smile much, even when he was real little. I figure anyone who could get him to smile and who bothered to plan a funeral must have been good for him.”

“Sounds to me like you did the best you could,” Darry tells her, because hell, he does the best he can and fucks it up, and so does Tim Shepard, and so does every older sibling who has ever had to be a parent when they themselves were still a child, “I think you were good for him as much as you could be.”

“Maybe,” Raya says, “maybe not. It doesn’t matter now anyway.” 

“It matters,” Darry says, because he’s seen too little love to not know how important even the imperfect kind can be, “you loved him, so it still matters.”

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Her lips purse, causing her sharp cheekbones to stick out even further.

“I need a smoke,” is all she says, casting one last look at Dally’s still face before turning on her heel and stalking out the door without looking back.

Darry doesn’t follow her, even though it feels like maybe he should. He’ll see her when they end up at the graveyard and if he doesn’t, well, he’ll have known she’d said her piece. 

He turns back to the caskets, taking in one unloved boy and a boy who wasn’t loved enough. Boys he’d loved like his own family. Boys he’d let down, no matter how hard he tried not to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it isn’t enough and it never will be but what else is there to say? “I tried.”

He stays there until the funeral director comes, shutting the coffin lids, locking two more of Darry’s family away from the world that never treated them right.

He squares his shoulders. Takes a deep breath. This day isn’t over, and his surviving family still needs him. 

Darry Curtis goes back to trying his best.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

To The Wolves

This was written as an entry for a contest. The theme was "masquerade" I played fast and loose and just focused on the "mask" part. It was a lot of fun. This is a Red Riding Hood retelling.

CW: Attempted non con, (Not by the narrator) Knot, beast form.

Originally On A03

Every year, once harvest was done and winter was about to begin, the village I watched over would perform a ritual. With the crops now reaped, they would sow the seed of their unions, in the hopes that their pack numbers would increase. 

I was an ancient One. Older than the fields I roamed. Larger than the village itself. While such a form would be cumbersome, I took up space elsewhere.

I was a whispered prayer. The howling of wind. A burnt offering. A scratching at the shrine door. A carving on a wall. A shadow moving across the ground. An image in a scroll or book. A sight just out of the corner of an eye. 

They called me “Hunt” and “Harvest”. But the few who had laid eyes on me called me by another Name. I answered to all of them. For what is a God without believers? 

As Winter’s chill settled in, I could see the villagers tirelessly working. They carved wood into masks. Many used the pictures of me in ancient texts as reference, but each one had their own unique form. A symbol of their devotion. Once they wore it, they would be acting on my behalf. While not as powerful as a direct offering, it was a gesture I preferred. 

They had chosen a woman to don the vestments this year. Not a maiden, nor a crone. Young enough to run and be free, but old enough to know what she was getting into. Unclaimed and untethered.

She worked with the matriarch of the shrine, creating cakes that could fit into the palm of her hand. Each one was prepared and placed in a wicker basket. They called the older woman “Grand Mother”, for all her work in keeping up with the myths and offerings. 

Those who weren’t taking part had to be shut inside, threats of me gobbling up any one who disobeyed. Sometimes a bit of fear was necessary. While I had never harmed a human under my protection, no one wanted to be the first. 

As darkness fell, Grand Mother went on ahead. She vanished into the treeline, the light of her lantern bobbing up and down until it faded from view. When she arrived at the shrine, she would wait there until morning.

The Mask Makers followed shortly after her. Some howled, some sang, many simply panted and grunted with the effort of the sprint. Soon, their voices also vanished into the night. 

The woman had been stripped of all her earthly belongings and name. She was given the basket and a crimson cloak. It fell over her shoulders, and hung just above the ground, but did little to preserve her modesty when she walked. 

Bare feet kicked up dirt as she walked to the edge of the village, the basket hanging from the crook of her elbow. She would not even be allowed sandals for her journey, only her faith to protect her from what lay within the woods. 

A howl in the distance signaled that she was to start her journey. 

At the edge of her home, she paused. The light of the moon illuminated her path. While she had grown up near the forest, it was a different thing entirely to see it at night. 

Once she got to the treeline, I could see her resolve waver. While she didn’t slow, her steps became more cautious and calculated. Shoulders slightly raised, jaw clenched, she listened. 

Clutching the basket close, she allowed herself to shiver. The chattering of her teeth filled the empty night. 

Bringing her hands to her lips, she held them close and continued to walk forward. A harsh wind whipped the cloak around, nearly ripping it from her shoulders. The force made her gait more serpentine, but she managed to right herself. 

The first one came from the trees, his eye holes slightly too big. I could hear his panting as he stalked closer to her, taking care to not snap a twig or step too heavily.

She saw him in time, her body going stiff. One hand snaked into the basket. 

When their gazes locked, he stood upright, eyes greedily studying her form. He took a few steps closer to her. 

“Lady Red, Lady Red,” His voice was muffled by the mask, but it was clear enough. “What have you to eat?” 

Slowly, she withdrew her hand from the basket. A small cake was in her palm. 

Holding it out to the man, she cleared her throat. 

“Dear Wolf, Dear Wolf. Here, have something sweet.” Her whole body was shaking. Whether from the cold or fear, it was hard to tell. 

The cake nearly fell from her grasp before the man finally took it. Clutching it tightly, he ran off back toward the village. I could taste its sweetness as he gobbled it down. My power increased slightly, tethering me further to the land. 

She watched him run, before rolling her shoulders and pulling the hood of the cloak up. Back straight, she began to walk again. 

Her steps, no longer cautious, were still slow. Calculated. The gait of someone determined but not reckless. The residue from the cake still clung to her hand, but she didn’t seem to care. Now that it was over, she allowed herself to feel relief. 

But it was short lived. 

I could hear the whispers as the others began to move. Some closer to her, some toward the shrine. Plans being made. I followed their words, and I could tell they knew I was listening. Shivers went up spines, some slapped the back of their necks when they could feel my breath on it. A few jerked their heads in my direction when they caught a glimpse of my shadow. 

One sprung forward, jumping into her path. The ears on his mask were slightly too large, making him look more like a coyote.

She slowed to a stop, eyes wide like a doe. Breath came from her lips in a foggy cloud. Goosebumps traveled across her flesh as she stared. 

“Lady Red, Lady Red,” The voice rumbled from behind the mask. “What have you to eat?” 

This time, she stood firm and didn’t hesitate. Once more, she pulled out a small cake from the basket. While it didn’t shake in her grip, there was a bit of reluctance as she extended her arm out to the man. 

“Dear Wolf, Dear Wolf. Here, have something sweet.” 

The man stared at her a moment longer, then leaned forward, shifting his mask up. She averted her eyes, holding the cake out insistently. 

He took the cake directly into his mouth, lips brushing against her hand. A few strands of drool remained on her palm, which she discreetly wiped on her thigh when he turned away. I could taste it again, and found my own mouth watering further. 

Once he had devoured the morsel, he stared at her once more, before dashing off back to the village. 

She put a hand to her chest and let out a sigh of relief. Her stride picked up again, and she seemed more determined than before. The light of the moon seemed to shine brighter than before, bathing the entire area in a silvery glow. 

I had been watching her so closely, I almost didn’t see the man in the bushes. But I did see the chips in his mask, where the mouth would have been. The jagged edges poked into his lips, a few drops of crimson welling. He followed behind, not announcing himself like the others had. 

Putting a hand over his mouth, he stifled his breath and continued to keep pace with the woman. Every so often, he would reach out, his hand brushing against the cloak’s fabric. I knew a hunter when I saw one. 

We all stopped at the same time. 

Craning her neck, she looked for her pursuer. Her eyes widened. Clutching the cloak tight, she attempted to draw it closed around herself. I could tell she wanted to call out to the man, to get him to come into view. But the words seemed caught in her throat. 

I saw him shift his form, starting to rise, and for a moment I felt relief.  

However, rather than announce himself, he pounced on her. The action was so sudden she didn’t have time to draw in a breath and scream. I don’t think she realized what was happening until he was on top of her. 

Armed with only her faith, she finally cried out the ancient name I’d been known as: 

Warg . 

The basket snapped in two, cakes spilling all over the forest floor. Steam curled off the top, and they blackened. 

I hadn’t taken on a physical shape in years, but I found myself coming out from behind a tree. To not frighten her, I took on the body of a human male in a rather intricately carved wolf mask, furs wrapped around my torso. Amusingly, the pelt’s tail dangled between my legs where one would be in my other form. 

The tree groaned as I rested a hand on the trunk, nails far too long to be human digging into the bark. A growl rumbled in my throat, tearing through human muscle that hadn’t used it before. It became more of a death rattle, and I worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Compressing my being down to a form so small had me ready to come apart at the seams. 

But I wasn’t one to ignore an offering. 

Pausing, the man looked up at me. I could see beyond the mask, the thoughts racing through his mind as he attempted to place who I was. Muscles went taut, and I could see flight or fight warring as he weighed the options. 

I strode closer, jaw clenched to prevent another snarl from escaping my lips. Even though I was around the same size as him, he seemed to notice the power rolling off me. 

Slowly, he slipped off the woman and scrambled away apologetically. The words became curses as he scurried away, the Grand Mother’s title on his lips. 

The woman stayed on the ground, eyes still wide. Each action that followed seemed to be a struggle with how much she shook. Finally, she turned on her side to face me. Attempting to stand, she sucked in a breath when her knees gave out. 

I stood back, debating whether or not to offer her my hand.

Shivering, she managed to struggle to her feet. 

Upon seeing the ruined basket, she covered her face. Suppressed sobs shook her, and I felt a pang of sympathy. Through no fault of her own, the ritual had been halted. 

While she had no idea that she had summoned me prematurely, it was obvious something had gone wrong. If the next harvest failed, she would bear the guilt. Although I knew her attacker would be punished, by myself or by the other villagers.  

Picking up the remaining pieces of the basket, I offered it to her. Once she took them, I could feel a shift in the wind. The scent of the approaching men. 

They’d heard the commotion and came running. They went to call her old Name, but stopped themselves. 

Despite my better judgment, I snarled. It ripped through my very being, and I could feel myself starting to become undone. I debated on changing my form right then and there, but I didn’t want to frighten her more than I already had. Instead, I began to walk. 

I could smell the fear. The confusion. The worry. 

Who is this stranger in our woods? What has he done to Lady Red?

In the light of the moon, I could see the shadow of my true form. A fierce wind howled, and I followed it, vanishing from sight. 

I could hear her running steps. No longer afraid, or maybe more so than ever, she sprinted for the shrine. All that needed to be done now was for her to make it inside. Hopefully the broken basket would be explained away and the night could come to a close. 

I could hear her voice call out for the Matriarch. 

“Grand Mother? Are you there?”  

Silence answered. 

I saw more fear take over her face. Confusion. This was clearly not the way things were supposed to go. 

Peering inside the shrine, I saw the cushion, where the elder had been kneeling, was empty. Sniffing, I followed the scent out the back and into the woods. The smell of gold was strong. The scent of the Broken Mask clung to it. 

Sneaking through a window, I slunk through the Holy Room. Masks from previous years lined the shelves, along with baskets, cloaks, and old recipes. The hearth was still warm, the embers from the fire still glowing. 

Growling, I resisted the urge to run out of the shrine and chase down the pair. 

Once more, Lady Red called from outside the gate. 

Behind her, I could see the approaching silhouettes of the masked men. 

I felt my form shift again, taking on a smaller, more delicate shape. I’d only seen the Matriarch a handful of times, but I hoped darkness would conceal me better. Taking one of the vestments, I wrapped it around myself.

Kneeling on the mat, I faced the front room. 

“In here, dear!” 

The door opened and she came inside. Through labored breaths, she attempted to tell the events of what had just transpired. Before she could get to leaving the village, I saw her stiffen at the sight of me. 

The longer she stared at the disguise, the more it seemed to fall apart. I could feel the power rippling off me, filling the room. I fought between compressing myself and holding up the illusion, or giving in and letting my true form come forth, consequences or not. 

“My, what big eyes you have.” She said, voice shaking. Still, she took a step closer and squinted at me in the dark. 

“The better to see you with.” My throat was scraped raw from the words 

“What big ears you have,” She continued, teeth chattering. 

And yet, she came to the side of the mat. Close enough I could smell her breath and fear. Kneeling next to me, she rested at the edge of the cushion. It was just enough to tilt me, ever so slightly, in her direction. 

“The better to hear you with.” Once more, the voice coming from my form was not made for a human throat, and I could feel it becoming raspy. 

“... And what big teeth you have.” 

We stared at one another. I could feel her warmth, despite the shivering. 

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. I expected fear, anger, worry.

But there was none. Her eyes were wide as realization of what I was dawned on her. Lips parted slightly as she took in a shallow breath to steady herself. 

I allowed the form to unravel. While I still would have been bigger than the shrine in my truest form, I allowed myself to appear as something closer to my nature. Wind whipped through the air, stoking the embers back to life. As the orange glow mingled with silver, I saw my lupine shadow dancing on the wall and carvings. 

My tongue lolled out of my mouth as I inhaled her scent. White fangs flashed in the dark, saliva dribbling onto the floor. 

Despite the warring emotions, I managed to keep my mind. 

“Lady Red, Lady Red, what have you to eat?” My true voice rumbled from deep within. 

Her eyes went down to the ruined basket, then the old offerings lining the shelves. However, she quickly made up her mind. Untying the cloak, she let it fall to the floor. 

“Dear Wolf, Dear Wolf. Here, have something sweet.” 

The hands that had been trembling only a moment before were steady as they cupped my jaw. Fingers buried themselves in my fur, nails far too short to ever be a threat scraping against my skin. 

I wasn’t one to ignore an offering. 

I licked her palms, tasting the residue of cakes and dirt. Making my way up her arm, I stopped at the crook of her elbow, the scent of the town still clinging to her. I moved across her waist, leaving a glistening trail. 

I made my way down to her navel, letting my breath roll over pebbled skin. Condensation formed, a few drops mixing with forming sweat and rolling down. 

Parting her thighs, I lapped at the growing wetness between them. Fingers tangled in the scruff of my neck as her breath caught. She fell back on the mat, legs splayed open for me. Trickling folds invited me to devour them further. 

Massive paws were on either side of her, claws tearing through the fabric of the cushion. I continued to lick, fangs ever so slightly teasing at flesh. Despite my best attempts at being gentle, I still left marks. Nothing a human could ever leave. Soon, she was covered with them.

If she felt pain, there was no sign. In fact, her legs wrapped tighter around my head. I growled a warning, but the noise only seemed to excite her more. Moans and sighs echoed off the wooden walls. 

Such a tribute wasn’t one to be devoured in a couple of bites. I paced myself, drawing out each roll of my tongue, pressing a paw onto her when she attempted to make me speed up once more. 

Once more, she was quaking. As she shivered around my tongue, I could feel a need rising inside both of us. The seeds of harvest needed to be sowed. 

She must have noticed me dripping, because I was finally released. I stared at the dripping wet, panting heavily. My tongue was close enough to tease it, making her back arch and a shuddering groan escape her. 

Without a word, she rolled over onto her stomach, presenting herself to me. Once again, instinct threatened to take over, and I forced myself to remain in control. The literal earth shattering strength I had would make short work of a delicate human body. 

No sacrifice had ever been put through such a trial of faith before. 

Despite all the preparation and her resolve, she was tight around me. Almost too much. Fists gripped the cushion as she gasped in surprise. This was no human male rutting while wearing a mask. And if I had my way, no hands but mine would ever touch her in this way again. 

Once I was inside, my body moved of its own accord. Thrusts were punctuated with grunts and pants, paws covering her hands. I could feel myself being drawn back in when I attempted to pull out, almost like a game. 

The motion seemed to help her regain the ability to speak, and soon she was calling out my name over and over. Her hips rocked back, taking me in deeper than before. Initial resistance turned to eagerness, almost too much. 

As she came back onto me, I met her with a rhythm of my own. My name was called more times in those few short moments than it had been whispered that entire season. 

Such piousness should be rewarded. 

I leaned down and licked her cheek in an attempt to be tender. Salt tinged my tongue. Although I knew she wasn’t weeping from sorrow, I still forced myself to slow. My efforts only made her more wild, and she hilted me. 

My head shot up toward the moon, and I had to resist the urge to call out and stake my claim. I was glad she was facing away from me, because I worried what would happen if she realized that she could make a God see stars.

The thought of her becoming more bold made me shudder. With fear or excitement, I couldn’t say. It was a line that was easy to to blur. 

I ground my hips against her, and felt the release. As it filled her up, I felt a clench that held me fast. I swelled as she did, knotting. Our cries of ecstasy became labored gasps. The sensation sent another shock through me, spurting more into her.  

As she came down from the act, I took her into my arms. Despite being slick with sweat, she was all too eager to huddle up against me while I was still inside her. My hand went down to her stomach, and she shivered at the touch, still tender. 

I knew the villagers would be coming to the shrine in the morning, to see the result of the ritual. 

The seeds had been planted. The sowing had begun. 

I wondered what they would reap come next harvest. 

Something told me that my own pack would be growing soon. 

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Bloody Sword

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, bloody sex, fingering, profanation, smut, angst, violence, beheading, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He remembered little of the moment of their nuptials and coronation itself, hearing only the loud thumping of his heart, a host of doubts running through his mind. He had waited so many years for this moment that he decided it couldn't be real, that something had to happen to shatter it all.

He thought that her younger brother would not bend the knee, that he would have to kill him and then she would hate him, that he would have to take her as his wife by force and watch her wither and fade before his eyes for the rest of his days.

He could not describe the relief he felt when he heard the loud words from outside the temple of young Lord Walford announcing that he was relinquishing his claim to the crown, only to see his sister a moment later in the gown he had gifted her, red and black, the colours of his house.

He lifted his chin higher, looking at her with a kind of pride − she looked beautiful and dignified, not a trace of fear or doubt on her face. She was looking only at him − he could see in her eyes that she was doing this of her own free will and he allowed himself to be enveloped at last by the peace he so much desired.

The crown that Criston had placed on his head appeared heavy and uncomfortable, but he thought that was what it was meant to be, to remind him that nothing was certain and given forever, that he had to be vigilant, that he could not afford to put his mind to sleep like his father.

Riding his horse towards the fortress amidst the cheers, he imagined with a tightened throat that his mother was already waiting for him there, ready to throw herself into his arms and embrace him, telling him how proud she was of him. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, knowing it would never happen.

That night her body and her closeness blurred in his mind the weight of his crown, the grief of feeling lonely and empty, her warm hands clenched on the skin of his back as he rooted into her again and again, his lips joined with hers in lazy, hot, sticky kisses, her soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their arms.

His restless nights were filled with silence and warmth; he was finally able to sleep again, and although he was sometimes awakened by nightmares, seeing and feeling her body snuggled into his, he only sighed with a sense of relief, pressing his face into her hair, thinking only of her scent and the softness of her body until his eyelids closed again.

To him, his wife was like a lit candle in the dark, cool chamber of his heart, emanating a warm, pleasant light that did not blind him, but showed him the way, made him regain his sight.

Watching the helpless efforts of the ladies of the court to catch his attention, he felt amused − their desperation made him grin ironically, causing them to blush in embarrassment, their cheeks rosy with shame.

They did not comprehend his nature, the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind, his coldness and distance, his bottomless desire to remain in the shadows, to hide even as he remained king.

His wife understood him, his need for solitude, allowing him to spend his days on his duties, patiently waiting each day for the evening when they were reunited.

Although he would never admit it openly, he adored missing her, adored suffering at the thought that, however much he wanted to, she would not come to him without a reason, would not interrupt his training or council, would not seek his attention, focusing on her own affairs.

A few hours of anguish without her presence each day was enough that when he saw her lying in his bed, bare, waiting for him, he would simply sink into the pleasure and relief of her body.

Being deep inside her, he felt safe.

She was his refuge − inside her he would hide when the heavy crown he carried on his head overwhelmed him.

Apart from her, he had nobody and trusted no one.

It seemed to him that she was a lost part of him, that years ago something inside him had shattered into pieces and it appeared that what was left of her fitted into his parts, creating something entirely new and satisfyingly certain.

He appreciated the strength of her character, her maturity and her wisdom, the fact that she knew when to be silent and when to speak, that she never undermined his authority, that she always listened to him with concentration, advising him as best she could.

"All Lord Marrey wants is gold coins. He flaunts his wealth and his position at court. However, that is not what worries me, but what will happen if someone dares to offer him a better price."

She said wrinkling her eyebrows, her face turned to him in profile − she gazed thoughtfully out of the window into the night, stroking her arm involuntarily, her body clad in a richly decorated gown of blacks and reds, her beautiful shoulders bare, her sleeves reaching almost to the ground.

He lifted his gaze to her face, stirring with his hand in his goblet the remnant of wine that was left there, only to lift it to his lips and tilt it, drinking all that was in it, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"What do you propose, wife? Should I, in your opinion, kill or lock up anyone who might betray me in the future?" He asked coolly, leaning against the back of his chair with a loud creak of wood, stretching out on it comfortably, the wine he had drunk so far making him feel warm.

Although he tried for a moment to focus on what she was saying, his gaze stopped on her bare back, emphasised beautifully by the bold line of her gown, wondering if she had been walking around the fortress like this all day, letting the guards shamelessly stare at such a large part of her exposed flesh.

He licked his lower lip at the thought, running his hand over his chin musingly.

"Aemond." He heard her impatient voice and felt himself shudder, lifting his gaze quickly to her face − it was extremely rare for her to speak to him like this − she only did it in private and only when he frustrated her with something. "His case really worries me. If you wish, I'll speak with him myself."

He pondered her words in silence for a moment, tapping his fingertips against his armrest.

"And what are you going to do? Ambush him?" He asked impassively, crossing his legs with a loud creak of his chair, leaning to the side with a loud sigh of fatigue, looking at her back again.

Just like when he had the mask on, he could watch her all day from hiding, look at her expression, her profile, her long eyelashes, her eyes and mouth, her agile, light movements full of dignity and serenity.

While he was like an aggressive flame burning everything, she was like the surface of a lake, letting him extinguish himself in the coolness of her reason, in the tenderness of her heart, making him manage not to cross the thin line that separated him from madness.

"I can propose that his daughter become my lady in waiting, and also suggest that I help him find a suitable candidate for her husband." She said calmly, playing with the three ruby teardrop necklace that adorned her beautiful long neck, his gift to her after their wedding night.

He loved fucking her when she was wearing nothing but this, the colour of their red combined with the black of her hair and the light of her body beneath him made them glow with fire in his eyes, the same kind he felt when their bodies connected in a tight, sticky, hot embrace.

He hummed under his breath, lowering his head, looking away, staring at his hand, playing with his fingers.

"Do as you see fit, wife. I will not interfere with your choice of ladies in waiting or the reasons that guided you." He said lowly, rising from his chair with a loud creak of wood and approached her with a confident, lazy step − her eyes grew large, a warmth and trust in her gaze, something that invariably surprised him.

He grasped her chin in his palm and lifted it slightly, stroking her skin with his thumb.

"Let's go to bed. There are a few things I want to convey to you. Among them, what I think of your bare back."

The next day there was to be, as there was every month, a gathering in the throne room, the lords and the townspeople could bring their issues and problems before him.

His Queen, to his satisfaction, willingly attended these meetings, at first standing by his side.

Later, however, he found it undignified that his Queen was not allowed to sit for so many hours, so he ordered a smaller throne to be created and placed next to his, on which she took her place from then on.

She never interjected without being asked, only speaking up when he requested her opinion in public, which was often when the matter was delicate, involved someone's hurt and misfortune and required a more understanding, compassionate approach.

He was pleased each time to hear that the words coming from her mouth were thoughtful, filled with wisdom but also with empathy and concern, without sounding hysterical or despairing, maintaining the solemnity of the situation.

He knew that outside the walls of the fortress, despite the fact that many lords were hostile to her, the people of the kingdom feared and respected him, but it was her they loved, seeing in her gestures of mercy and her support for the poor her value, which he also recognised.

He raised an eyebrow when a woman was brought before them, surprised that from afar he could see how unnaturally green her eyes were, her gaze sharp and assured, her black hair loose, her dress, though the garb of a typical bourgeois woman, perfectly accentuated her mature, feminine shapes.

"Your Grace. This woman I present before you is Alys Rivers, better known to some as the Witch of the East. She is known to foretell the future. I have brought her here because I thought the skills of someone like her might be of use to our King." Said Lord Ronwell, the same one who expected him to marry his daughter.

He refrained a grimace of amusement with the last of his strength, finding it difficult to restrain himself from glancing at his wife, knowing that a fire that could burn cities down probably shone in her eyes.

His words seemed to him a poor excuse for what he had been trying to do for a long time, which was to lessen her influence over him as Queen, to divert his attention towards another woman.

He hummed under his breath, crossing his legs, stretching comfortably on the throne, deciding he would take his time with the situation − the thought of his wife, whom his guards were surely thinking of at night, being jealous of him pleasantly tickled his ego.

"Speak, Alys, Witch of the East. Foretell me my future." He said with a sneer, cocking his head − he heard his wife let out a quiet breath of air with impatience.

She knew why he was doing this, that it wasn't even about this woman, that he was teasing her.

Alys Rivers walked boldly forward, climbing step by step higher, startling him and his wife, a brazen look on his face. He pressed his lips together, feeling discomfort and rage, wondering whether to stop it or not, and then the woman spoke.

"Your Queen will bear you a son with dark hair, a future King, beloved by the kingdom. You will have six children, but only two with your wife." She said softly, looking at him with a slight smile. He felt a squeeze in his throat, involuntarily glancing sideways − his wife was pale, her eyes open wide, her lips clenched into a tight line.

He laughed, running his hand over his face, unable to believe that she had allowed herself to say such a thing in her presence.

"And the daughter of which lord will experience the pleasure of carrying my children inside her?" He asked with a sneer, guessing that she had surely been ordered to say such a thing.

"I shall receive that honour, my King." She said with a sensual smile and he froze, lifting his gaze to her in disbelief, looking at his wife again, regretting that he had allowed her to speak at all. He licked his lower lip, feeling discomfort in his lower abdomen, looking away with rage.

"Hold her." He said dispassionately to his guards, rising from his throne − they immediately grabbed the woman by the shoulders and forced her to kneel, her gaze changed, her confidence gone from her face, her breathing loud and ragged.

"− my King − I −"

"− give me your sword −" He ordered dryly, extending his hand to Criston, who looked at him horrified, but reached for his blade without a word and slid out his weapon with a loud clatter of steel.

"− please, my King, have mercy − I have been ordered to say so −" She mumbled out, seeing the determination and coldness painted on his face.

The most important thing he had learnt over the years of observing people was when they lie.

When she stood in front of him she was not at all frightened, what she said was not uncomfortable for her − she truly believed that with her words he would destroy his wife's trust in him and eventually become his lover.

He was not going to rely on fate in this matter.

However, it was not his opinion or her plea that mattered to him. He looked over his shoulder at his wife's face − she was staring at him, pale, her eyes red, full of tears, full of pain caused by this cruel humiliation she had suffered because of him, her breasts rose and fell quickly in a shuddering breath, her nostrils twitching restlessly.

I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to offend my Queen.

He had never lied to her.

"Who ordered you to say such things, woman?" He asked impatiently, leaning the tip of his sword against the stone floor, placing his hands on the hilt, towering over her, complete silence reigned around them.

The woman swallowed loudly, no longer daring to look at him, feeling that he stood over her like an executioner.

"− Lord − Lord Ronwell −" She mumbled quietly, all around them he heard sounds of disbelief and argument − someone shouted that Lord Ronwell was a traitor, the man however shook his head.

"This woman lies, my King!" He said enraged and horrified, clearly not suspecting that the situation would take such a turn.

Loud arguing and shouting echoed around him, which quietened immediately as his blade swished through the air and the woman's head tumbled down the stone steps to the floor below, several ladies of the court squealed loudly, horrified by the sight.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said extending his hand with a sword towards Criston, surprised and horrified, his tunic all dirty with blood.

He turned to look at his wife's reaction − she was staring at him with her eyes wide open, her lips parted in disbelief, the heat in her gaze from which his cock throbbed hard.

She wasn't disgusted or afraid of him.

She understood that he had defended her honour.

That he had done it for her.

"My Queen. Forgive me that you had to listen to those disgusting words. Take her body and let us move on." He said indifferently, sitting down on his throne again, expecting them to continue as if nothing had happened.

His wife surprised him as soon as they were alone in his chamber, clinging greedily to his lips, grasping his cheeks in her hands − he groaned low, feeling the throbbing in his breeches, reciprocating her kiss with a loud click.

"− let me wash my hands − they're filthy −" He breathed out into her mouth, but she shook her head, grasping his hand in hers and pressing it to her face, in her eyes heat, longing, gratitude and desire from which he felt himself get completely hard.

His thumb, all slick with the blood of this brazen woman ran over her lower lip − he shuddered when he felt her run her moist tongue over his skin.

"− fuck −" He growled, grabbing her jaw with his hand, clinging aggressively to her lips. She bit him and he groaned low, surprised, lifting her gown, hitting her bare buttock with all his strength. "− how dare you − how fucking dare you treat your King like this −"

He hissed, turning her violently to face the table, clamping his hand in her hair, forcing her to bend over, her cheek pressed against the table top. She panted loudly along with him as he lifted the fabric of her gown with a swift movement, revealing her naked hips before him, her womanhood all pink and swollen, glistening from her moisture.

"− fucking knew it − my little wife is bloodthirsty, hm? − isn't she? − so jealous −" He gasped feeling his heart pounding like mad − he slid his finger deep inside her without warning and groaned weakly, feeling how her walls clenched around him, how aroused she was, her thighs trembling whole before him.

"− please, husband − please, I need it −" She mewled sweetly, innocently, her face and buttock dirty from the blood from his hand − there was something frightening and at the same time so arousing about the sight that he felt like his cock was about to explode.

"− what do you need? − speak, sweet wife, your King listens to you intently −" He said mockingly, sliding his finger in and out of her, once in a while pressing and massaging the spot hidden between her folds, each time bringing out of her a loud, pathetic cry, her body trembling all over, her lips parted wide in pleasure.

"− g-gods, take me − fuck me − please −" She begged desperately. He gasped low at her words, unable to deny her, sliding his finger out of her, quickly untying and lowering his breeches − she whimpered loudly when his swollen manhood slapped against her buttocks.

"− quiet − lay still and let me in −" He growled, with a sure, deep thrust of his hips pushing the head of his cock into her hot interior. He clamped his hands on her buttocks and began to slam into her with a loud moan of relief − she whined loudly in pleasure, clenching her fingers on the table top, her eyes squeezed shut, her eyebrows arched as if in worry.

"− gods, you're leaking − the sight of me beheading that whore made you so fucking wet? − hm? −" He gasped, rooting into her even faster, squeezing her soft buttock with his hands, watching with delight how his fat, swollen manhood stretched her tight, fleshy core with his every thrust.

"− p-please, don't stop, keep going −" She mewled, responding with her body to the movements of his hips, her wet, hot muscles sucking on him greedily, wanting to keep him inside − he was horrified at how sacrilegious and intense this experience was.

"− I'll kill anyone − anyone, gods, just say the word − I'll give you everything −" He burst out and she sobbed loudly. He felt a wave of pleasure shake her body, her walls were clenching around him so tightly he was running out of breath − he slammed into her like mad, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud clicks of her moisture.

"− my beloved King −" She whimpered with difficulty quivering all over, his heart pounded so hard he felt like it was going to rip his chest open, a convulsion shook his body.

"− just like that − oh, fuckkk −" He exhaled, clenching his eyes and tilting his head back, panting hard, feeling a wonderful, overpowering relief, his seed spilling deep inside her at last.

They were both breathing loudly and shaking, unable to believe how strong their fulfilment was − he put his hands on either side of her head, trying to calm himself, his cock twitching all over deep inside her.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked horrified, breathing heavily, reminding himself that they had fucked each other so hard that they could barely get the words out.

He sighed in relief sliding out of her when she nodded, he heard her hiss quietly. He stared for a moment wordlessly at the trail of his spend that trickled down her thighs, his hand reached up to her hot buttock and squeezed it tentatively.

"Let's take a bath."

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[cantstoptheimagines]

Curador (Muerte | Puss in Boots: The Last Wish)

Series Masterlist 

Summary — Muerte aches at the sight of you whenever he comes home.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Soulmate AU; helping a lover with their injuries (includes mentions of blood); established relationship; takes place directly after the movie; writers’ law states that every time an animated wolf comes into existence, I must write a fic; in my opinion, we should be calling him ‘Muerte’, so that’s what I’m going with; a huge thank you to my dear friend, Yoshino, for helping me with the Spanish translations.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 639. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ You will receive the same injuries as your soulmate (unless deadly).  ➳ Since Muerte is Death (straight up), why not make Life? I envision the Reader in this to be a spotted deer, who will be referred to as ‘Vida’. And who knows? I might turn this into a one-shot series if people enjoy it enough. Let me know what you think! 

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule  

The slamming of a door made your ears twitch. You paused, eyes narrowing as you listened to the creaking floors within your home. A damp cloth was pressed against the corner of your lip, dotted with small specks of blood. 

Footsteps slowly grew closer to your room. A quiet sigh escaped your lips when you realized who they belonged to. Having a lover with nearly silent movements did nothing but cause you panic sometimes. 

You returned your attention to the small mirror in your grasp. A shadow moved about the room and a cloak was tossed next to you on the bed. Looking up at the towering figure in front of you, your gaze found red eyes staring back at you. More specifically, staring at the cloth against your lip. 

“El gato lives,” he muttered, his deep voice sending shivers along your spine. “I have given him another opportunity to prove himself.” 

A small smile made itself known, “Is that why your attitude seems so foul?”

He hummed quietly, ignoring your teasing remark about the infamous Puss in Boots, whom he had been chasing for some time now. His startling eyes were still zeroed in on the cloth. 

“You really need to stop playing with your food, Muerte.” 

His eyes snapped to yours. They narrowed into slits, shining with irritation. He snapped his jaws to the side, huffing loudly as he looked away from you. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing quietly.

His claws wrapped around the hilt of one of his sickles. The mirror was quickly tugged away from you and tossed onto the bed. Your head was forced to tilt backwards as the sickle’s sharp blade was placed beneath your chin. 

Anyone else may have had fear coursing through their veins. You, however, weren’t worried at all. 

Muerte stepped closer until his paw could replace the blade. The sickle was quickly returned to its sheath while he looked down at you with a blank expression. You allowed him to tilt your head back even further as he took up the space between your thighs.

“Cállate, Vida,” he ordered.

His claws wrapped around the cloth, finally removing it from your lip. It, much like his cloak and your mirror, quickly disappeared from sight. Your injury reflected his own, signaling to the world that the two of you were a perfect pair. 

“It hurt when you got it,” you said. “I wasn’t expecting it.” 

His expression softened. You leaned into his touch as one of his claws caressed your cheek.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he muttered.

You gave him a small smile, along with a shrug of the shoulders, in an attempt to make him feel better, “It’s okay. No harm truly done.”

His grip loosened, allowing you to take his paw into your grasp and hold it in your lap instead. He lowered himself to his knees. Due to his tall stature, kneeling allowed his gaze to become even with your own as you sat on the bed.

“Ojalá tuviéramos un vínculo menos doloroso,” he continued. “Por tu bien.” 

“I don’t,” you replied, squeezing his paw tightly. 

His brow furrowed and his eyes searched for any sign that you may have been lying to comfort him, “Mi corazón—” 

“It lets me know you’re still there,” you whispered. “It lets me know you’ll be coming home soon.” 

He tried to hide a smile, looking away from you. That only lasted for mere seconds, however, since he couldn’t resist your gaze for very long. His red eyes explored your features. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the cut on your lip. 

“Déjame ser tu curador,” he muttered, and then he kissed you again.

“Always, Muerte,” you whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek and pressing a gentle kiss against his nose. “Always.” 

Spanish Translations, In Order of Appearance: ➳ Curador (de enfermos) — Meaning “healer (of the sick)”.  ➳ Muerte — Meaning “death”. ➳ Vida — Meaning “life”.

➳ “El gato...” — “The cat...” ➳ “Cállate...” — “Shut up...” ➳ “Lo siento, mi amor.” — “I’m sorry, my love.”  ➳ “Ojalá tuviéramos un vínculo menos doloroso... Por tu bien.” — “I wish we had a less painful bond... For your sake.” ➳ “Mi corazón...” — “My heart...”  ➳ “Déjame ser tu curador.” — “Let me be your healer.” 

[y-rhywbeth2]

D&D Vampire Lore Dump #4

Weaknesses and Cures Featuring that pesky sunlight problem, and how to get around it. Overview of other limitations and weaknesses of their condition (running water, invitations, etc) and how to get around those, vampires being extremely annoying to kill and how to make them stay dead, and the four ways I know of that can cure vampirism.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER FOR FIRST TIME READERS: D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest. Larian themselves have not written BG3 totally compliant with some established D&D lore or the original games. If you want canon to work a certain way in your headcanons/fanfic, go ahead.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

Sunlight is basically instant death and will kill vampires within moments of touching their bare skin. Even if vampires can walk in sunlight, vampires can't access their abilities while the sun is still in the sky. A sunstone, if left in the sunlight to "charge" take on an energy that will rebuff vampires with an effect much like sunlight exposure (but weaker) if they attack an individual wearing/holding the gemstone. This disorients them, cuts them off from many of their powers and inflicts a small amount of damage.

There are ways that allow vampires to walk in sunlight, although their powers will be disabled during daylight hours.

Liquid Night is a vampire sunscreen that will protect the wearer from sunlight.

Clearly, going off of BG3, the Netherese had magic that could do it. (Netheril, according to one story, was an empire whose initial magical foundation was specifically the school of necromancy, under the guidance of the priests of Jergal/Withers)

Fiends are happy to take/destroy your soul in exchange for the ability to walk in the day, as the Greater Vampire creating succubi can attest.

Vampires grow more powerful with age. One of those ways used to include that they became increasingly resistant to sunlight with age, and by the time they were 1000 years old they were fully immune to it. After almost two centuries of undeath, Astarion may be strong enough to avoid immediate death and this may be why he doesn't burn to a crisp immediately when the netherbrain dies.

Necromancers can create enchanted objects that protect vampires from the sun. One example being the Cloak of Dragomir in BG2.

They can also just keep to the shade or wear clothes that provide enough shelter to keep the sunlight from touching them. A deep hood or a parasol can help.

Vampires don't usually consider such things worthwhile, as they don't see much point if they lose their powers. They generallyhave no desire to be in the sunlight for its own sake as most vampires instinctually hate sunlight.

Vampires instinctually recoil from mirrors and hesitate to step in front of them. This hesitation will typically pass in seconds or moments. In 1e they had reflections, but their reflection turned the hypnotic properties of their gaze back at them or at least, they thought it could. After that they lost the reflections, and it's thought that the absence causes an instinctual distress for the remnants of the vampire's human psyche (reminding them that they're an accursed dead thing who's lost everything).

In a similar manner to their lack of reflection, vampires also do not cast shadows upon their surroundings.

-

Vampires who don't rest in/on their dirt-bed (usually a grave or coffin, sometimes a bed with a mattress stuffed with the appropriate type of soil) are destroyed. A vampire that can't get to its sanctuary before sunrise is utterly screwed. They tend to have multiple safe havens with prepared resting places, just in case. Vampires who will be traveling sometimes use a bag of holding, essentially taking their grave with them.

Some have suggested that the dirt dependency is actually just superstition and a vampire can sleep wherever it wants, but nobody's successfully convinced a vampire to take the risk of testing that.

-

As said previously, vampires are healed by negative/necrotic energy and harmed by positive/radiant energy (including heal spells)

Holy symbols can repel them, but the specifics can vary based on source. On the one hand there's one that says that the faith and belief in the holy symbol is what gives it power, and on the other there's one that says that the symbol is only useful in the hands of a priest. Only the symbols of Good and Neutral aligned deities have repelling properties. Evil clerics can still try to Command Undead however (the evil variant of Turn Undead - instead of repelling/destroying the undead you seize control of them.)

In terms of clerics and paladins attempting to Command/Turn Undead, vampires are susceptible to it, but are also the most resistant of undead, so it's difficult and risky.

-

Vampires are repulsed by garlic - it doesn't harm them and can't keep them at bay forever, but a vampire will hesitate before approaching. Some vampires also randomly develop other "allergies". Salt, rose petals, rice, mistletoe, lilies, small children singing, dove feathers… could be anything, really. It's generally linked to the individual vampire's own personality and beliefs. If they believe it should repel them then it may have warding powers against them.

-

Vampires will dissolve in bodies of running water like rivers or the ocean, because the running water forces them to turn into mist and washes them away. However, running water's only a problem if they're immersed in it. They can fly over it (be that with the fly spell or by shapeshifting into a bat), be carried over (bodily carried by a person, or in a boat, or by bridge, whatever) or use the water walk spell and just walk across like a basilisk lizard.

They are however, blocked from crossing a body of running water over three feet wide in mist form, for some reason. There's no answer for this, but I'd guess the vampire cloud picks up water particles and grows heavier, eventually sinking onto the water or something...?

At least 3/4 of the vampire's body must be submerged for it to count as immersion - and it must include the entire torso (the heart in particular must be below the water). The vampire must be held under for three minutes. It doesn't exactly kill them, but as their body is now thousands of particles distributed through the waterways, unable to reform, the vampire is effectively gone for good.

-

Vampires are also extremely annoying to kill. They can only be damaged with enchanted weapons or weapons plated with silver.

Upon death their body turns to mist and they return to their resting place, where they reform their physical body but are rendered vulnerable. A vampire can be paralysed by piercing their heart with a wooden stake... and then, sometimes, you get the unusual ones who need to be staked with a specific wood...! Once they've returned to their coffin the body must be damaged enough to be considered destroyed. Decapitation is a favourite method, but the main point is just to inflict as much damage on them as possible. Vampires begin to regenerate once they return to their coffin, and need to be dealt with quickly, hence the stake to pin them down while you start hacking them apart. Luckily for their would-be-killers they often wake up disoriented.

-

Vampires can't enter houses, or holy sites of residence like monasteries without permission, and can't enter sanctified graveyards of religious organisations. They can't enter temples, as these count as the residences of the deity worshipped there. A guest cannot invite somebody in, the invitation must come from a permanent resident.

Unless the owner of the house is the one who extends the invite, the invite only counts as a one time offer and the vampire needs to be invited again once it leaves the premise - so you can get invited in by a child, but for the ability to come and go as they please, a vampire needs permission from the parents/guardians in charge of the family and house. An invitation taken through use of enchantment magic or just plain coercion counts as a legitimate invitation.

They can also just take a third option and find a way to kill everyone inside from afar and then just walk through the door once there's nobody left alive to own the property. Also if the building no longer exists, for whatever reason (like if it mysteriously burns down), then they don't need an invite to get to whatever's inside. Or buy the building - if the vampire legally owns the house, and the residents are their tenants, then the vampire does not need an invite.

Public areas, inns, public graveyards and non-residential buildings do not count. Vampires can come and go as they please here.

Other people's graves can also count as privately owned residence upon which the vampire cannot intrude, hilariously. The final resting place of the deceased counts as belonging to them - providing they received burial rites. Vampires can however just animate the corpse and have it leave, at which point it ceases to be a resting place and they can do what they like. It's not stated whether they can also use speak with dead to ask permission.

---

There are four ways off the top of my head to cure vampirism. Most of them aren't cheap:

Firstly is the wish spell, which can be used to cure vampirism in one of two ways:

Using the spell to rewrite reality. You force reality to bend to your will and turn the vampire into a living being. Using wish this way is extremely taxing on the caster and may harm them permanently. They will basically be bedridden for a given amount of time and there's something around a one in three chance that you'll never be able to cast the spell again.

In its 5e variant, wish can replicate the effect of any spell below 8th level (including resurrection) while ignoring all the requirements of the spell itself.

Next up is divine intervention. Deities can remove vampirism, though the extent and conditions may be limited by their portfolio.

Amaunator (the ancient Netherese sun god, precursor to Lathander) had a temple over in Amn. You have to take the vampire and the heart of the vampire who turned them to the statue of the ancient sun god in an abandoned temple, place the vampire in the arms of the statue with the heart and it completes a ritual that restores them to life. This was part of a quest in Baldur's Gate 2 where your love interest (who may have been Jaheira) was turned into a vampire and needed curing.

Eldath, a minor goddess of peace, has also been known to restore some level of mortal life to unhappy vampires.

And then resurrection spells. The time limit on resurrection exists because when calling a soul back to its body there are numerous obstacles.

The body needs to be in a state fit to go on living. If it's too damaged or decayed putting the soul back is a waste of time.

The soul must be both willing and able to return. It has to still exist, to start with. If the soul has a new life it probably can't be recovered (be that by being sent back to the material plane for reincarnation in another life, or remade as a fiend or celestial). If the soul has been absorbed by their deity or into the fabric of the planes it can't be recovered. If the soul has been destroyed then you're shit out of luck.

The longer the target has been dead, the more likely the above scenarios are true and that the spell will fail. Also restoring a body and calling a soul from across the planes is extremely powerful, taxing magic that's hard to pull off, which makes it harder to succeed. Hence the time limit.

Vampires have the advantage that their body is perfectly preserved and intact and the soul is still on the material plane, and there's an argument to be made that this makes them resurrect-able.

Greater vampires are not resurrect-able as their soul is either annihilated or has been taken to the Lower Planes and tortured until the person has been turned into one of two varieties of barely sentient blobs of rancid flesh trapped in eternal agony. Wish may still work, but it may have a 50/50 chance of failure.

There's also the elven High Magic spell Gift of Life, which as it says on the tin, restores an undead being back to life. The catch with this one is that knowledge of high magic is dying out, so finding an elven archmage who can and will cast it on you is extremely difficult and probably involves a lot of favours and proving yourself.

[marigold-hills]

june 3: library | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 599 PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART • FIRST PART

They’ve used the map for a very many purposes, some nefarious, some less so, but never usually like this: to stalk one of their own.

Not stalk, Sirius reasons, with himself, because such distinctions are important. Search for. Keep track of. In a friendly, concerned manner.

Because it’s 2am, and Remus isn’t in bed, and he came out of the Potions exam looking pale and a bit defeated in his Moony way: withdrawn, shoulders narrowed, crease between eyebrows. And so, so tired.

Sirius finds the tiny set of footprints with Remus Lupin attached to them in a corner of the library. Not surprising, to find their Moony there, but the library closed at the reasonable hour of 7pm and as much as Remus was being a bit obsessive over studying, he didn’t usually go as far as breaking and entering.

So Sirius is concerned. Sue him.

James and Peter both fast asleep (and how could they be, when one of their own was missing!), Sirius pilfers the Cloak and makes his way through the castle.

The library smells like a part of Remus, an integral inch of him – books and parchment and ink, dust with magic interwoven into its particles. Moonlight falls through the tall windows, the only light, except…

There, in the alcove Remus favours, a single lit oil lamp casts a soft orange glow. Remus is always the comfort of autumn but doubly so now, lit up like this, his curls golden and the light touching him like rays of a sunset and Sirius feels it, this want, this urge he can’t name that makes him want to bite or to tattoo stages of the moon against his sternum. Remus deserves good things only – care and gentle affection – and Sirius fears this thing that sometimes overcomes him, how it wants to break Remus just to hide inside of his marrow.

Remus must hear his footsteps because he turns towards Sirius, profile in a sharp contrast of shadows and light, and Sirius thinks oh, thinks I don’t understand.

“What are you doing here, Pads?”

“How did you know it was me?” Sirius wanders, removing the Cloak.

“I’d recognise your smell anywhere.”

“I smell?”

“No, you dumb thing,” exasperation and fondness, “comes with the territory. My little secret, of the furry variety. Remember?”

Right, if course. The moon is looming, soon to be full. It accounts for some of the renewed darkness underneath Remus’ eyes. Sirius hasn’t seen the full moon with his human eyes in a long time, but he remembers it was beautiful. He remembers the shadows on its face, craters left over by something ancient and savage, and his Moony – their, their Moony – is like that too, shadows on brightness and scars as memories of pain.

“Why aren’t you in bed, Moons?”

A shrug, a nonchalance. “Fell asleep revising. Figured I might as well keep going instead of trying to cross the castle back without any of our helping aides.”

Sirius reaches out. It’s not unusual. He’s. Touchy friend. But he presses the pads of his fingers into the divot underneath Remus’ left eye, soft and slow, and it’s not like any touch he remembers ever giving.

“You need to take care of yourself,” he says, or maybe he doesn’t because the words are a swallow and a stone and they don’t cross the distance between their eyes, locked onto each other.

(Sirius thinks there’s something here I should pay attention to. Important. Open your eyes.)

“Guess you can be right sometimes after all, Pads. Come on then, take me to bed.”

(And he thinks: oh.)

NOTES:

this is part tree of a 30-part series of shorts: I’m aiming for them all to be readable as standalone but are a part of a bigger story (better read together and in order, in my opinion) if it doesn’t make much sense by itself do let me know, I want to give this a good go :)

i wish we saw more of the library in the movies. I mean, a magical library? Amazing.

@bowielover420 @tealeavesandtrash @digital-kam @moon-girl88

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

[inoreuct]

Headcanons for Zoro and Sanji as Hades and Persephone? 👀

HERE WE GOOOOO. buckle up. this is LONG.

sanji’s persephone. the breathtakingly beautiful god of spring, kind and charming with wit sharper than a grain scythe and a marvellous capacity for divine rage. he’s a whiz in the kitchen (it’s sanji. duh.) and has a green thumb to boot; up on the surface he has a garden that’s his pride and joy, where he grows his own fruits and herbs and vegetables and rare blooms, occupying a plot of land together with the cottage that he and zeff (more on him later) stay at whenever they can.

zoro’s hades. intimidating as all hell (heh), has a MAJOR resting bitch face, and a three-headed dog with the heads named wado, kitetsu and enma. he’s a good man, just VERY emotionally constipated and he’s never had to woo anyone before; it should be illegal for someone that powerful to be so awkward but he IS.

he goes up to the surface one day to take care of underworld business, something about dead souls escaping— and he sees sanji in his garden, on his knees in the dirt, gathering herbs with his hair a mess, golden as the sun and all over his face and when he flips it aside to talk to zeff his smile is even brighter. zoro feels his heart lurch so hard he wonders if he’d gotten cardiac arrest.

and as previously mentioned, zoro has NO IDEA how to talk to this beautiful— god? nymph? human?? he doesn’t know. he doesn’t care. he wants to get to know his mystery guy but he doesn’t want to freak him out, so he just thinks FUCK IT I’LL BRING HIM TO MY HOME AND FIGURE IT OUT FROM THERE. totally not a bad idea.

zeff’s demeter. protective, sometimes TOO protective, the god of agriculture practically raised sanji himself; barely anyone even knows that he HAS a son. he has fields upon fields of grain; rice, oats, wheat, whatever sanji requires to cook and bake to his heart’s content. the entire valley where their cottage resides is known to be zeff’s territory, and he doesn’t hesitate to rain holy vengeance down on whoever trespasses.

which is why zeff is so mad when zoro pops out of the literal dirt and whisks sanji away. it’s not fun for any of the human farmers on earth that day.

when zoro brings him to the underworld, sanji’s pissed as fuck; kicks and yells the whole way down, then knees him in the balls and nearly rips out one of his earrings before strutting off like he already owns the place. what about his garden? zeff? all the humans he has a soft spot for?? who the fuck does this king of the underworld think he is, plucking sanji out of his life like this?

meanwhile, zoro lies there curled up on the ground as wado licks at his face, and for the first time in his life he wonders if making a plan would have been a better idea. he asks his shades to gather information and learns that sanji’s the god of spring, zeff’s son in all the ways that matter; but even if he hadn’t been a god, zoro would have easily made him immortal if he’d wished. the thought is wild and so out of character for him that he sits there for even longer until the shades tell him that sanji’s demanding to talk to him.

sanji finds the throne room but on the way he’d already passed multiple chambers filled with gold, crystals, extremely rare night-blooming plants— he walked by a cave with its walls encrusted with rubies as big as his head. but he misses the sun. he misses his flowers and his herbs and fuck, he had a bundle of rosemary drying in the kitchen. he really hopes he’ll get to see it again.

the shades are all polite, if a little wary, but they seem to relax more when he smiles at them. the throne room is massive, a cavern with stalactites dripping from the ceiling and ending in wicked points, and the throne itself is a twisted amalgamation of iron and volcanic glass, gold and bleached bone and pure, sparkling diamond.

he doesn’t even flinch when zoro enters with his sweeping black cloak and his liquid, inky shadows, just pulls his lip up in a sneer; he doesn’t give a shit who this big shot is. doesn’t care for the crown of ivory and obsidian set atop his brow. he knows where he is, knows exactly who he’s dealing with, and he stomps right up to zoro, shoves a finger in his chest and says, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing.”

the shades obviously didn’t see the whole getting-kneed-in-the-family-jewels spectacle, because there is a collective audible gasp. the court goes deadly quiet. zoro feels his shadows subconsciously swirl around him, building the silhouette behind his back into something out of a nightmare, but he makes an effort to disperse them as soon as sanji looks.

“i want. to court you,” he ekes out, eyes big and mouth pinched, and sanji suddenly realises that this man is just very, very awkward and obviously has not interacted with many living people for a very long time.

and no matter about anything else, zoro looks earnest. he takes a deep breath and his shoulders shift beneath his cloak, lifting his chin— but his expression screams pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes and sanji… doesn’t have the heart to say no. what will a few days hurt, right?

so they come to an agreement. sanji will spend a month in the underworld and allow zoro to court him, and if by the end of that time he doesn’t want to stay, zoro would personally see to it that he got home safe. he isn’t a prisoner, either; he is free to wander in the upper world for half the day. twelve hours of sunshine, and twelve hours in zoro’s domain.

if sanji’s honest with himself, the underworld honestly isn’t bad; zoro spares no expense to ensure he's comfortable even though he doesn't come see sanji himself very often in the beginning.

(sanji doesn't know it yet, but it’s because zoro's deathly terrified of sanji genuinely hating/fearing him or the underworld, or not being happy. he'd brought sanji down because he'd fallen hard and fast in love but if sanji ever truly did want to leave, it wouldn’t be a question. zoro would send him back up with his weight in jewels and gold as recompense.)

it's a little lonely, but not horrible; sanji befriends the shades and talks to the passing spirits, and word spreads that the king's crush (oh, zoro would have a conniption if he heard) is to be treated with the utmost respect, not just because of the order zoro proclaimed but because he deserves it. sanji is kind and understanding and snarky and fun to be around, but he also gives solid advice and he's a good bit more emotionally aware than zoro. the shades haven’t gossiped this much in years and honestly zoro’s concerned about their work ethic, but he walks past a tea-spilling session one day and hears sanji giggle and all thoughts of stopping it fly right out of his brain.

zoro snoops around secretly and finds out that sanji’s birthday is within the month. the last day of their stipulated month, in fact. so he calls in a favour from luffy (apollo!! the sun god!! his best friend!!). he spends two weeks, almost three in a cave he’d picked out, carefully pulling gemstones and groundwater to the surface, getting his shades to bring down soil and seeds and consulting with dead farmers about how the hell he’s supposed to pull off what he wants to pull off, because he HAS to pull it off.

all the while, he’s still courting sanji; having tea with the god of spring, trying not to embarrass himself and mainly just trying to win sanji over. he gets so enthralled by sanji recounting a story once that he drops an entire crystal teapot, heart hammering as one of his shades phase through the ground and catches it before it can shatter. sanji looks a little perplexed about how it suddenly disappeared, but zoro urges him to go on and he lets it go.

(zoro had never been that panicked in his entire immortal life.)

i can’t believe it WE NEED A PART 2 I’M OUT OF CHARACTERS

(part 2 here)

[cemeteryspider]

Dearie~ Part 2

Alastor x Singer! Reader

Summary: Alastor waits for his chance to finally be reunited with you

Trigger Warnings: Violence, blood, exploitation, manipulation, revenge, and overall dark themes

Word Count: 1224

Previous | Next

Alastor woke up on the cold concrete with crimson blood spilled around him. A note lay in front of him but he remembered the conversation quite well.

See you never, Has-Been ~Vox

Swiftly, Alastor conjured inky black tentacles that snatched up and tore apart the note. He let the torn up pieces be carried by the wind into the sky. This would not be the end of the Radio Demon and his love. Nor would this be the last Vox saw of him.

With a sinister resolve, he cloaked himself in shadows, transporting to an old friend.

~~~

As the years rolled on, you found yourself relentlessly passed around by the Vees, each day ensnaring you in a new performance or appearance dictated by their capricious desires.

Under Vox's control, you were forced to guest-star in an array of macabre shows, becoming the centerpiece of his infernal entertainment empire. Many ads starred your shining face and within a year the once all-powerful overlord was replaced by an actor who lived life through others.

For Velvette you modeled at every show and ad campaign she wanted you in. It could range from the ugliest costumes to the skimpiest lingerie Hell has ever seen. You were ripped to shreds in every fashion talk show and magazine only to be built back up to be torn back down.

For Valentino, you took care of his highest profile clients. Avoiding videos or pictures was imperative, safeguarding your image as Hell's coveted poster girl in the twisted realm of infernal celebrity. After all, you were bad but not that bad.

The relentless passage of time bore down on you, the weight of each day settling not just on your shoulders but seeping into the marrow of your bones, a haunting exhaustion. You found yourself wishing for Alastor's return, but alas the cards were not stacked in your deck, only in the Vees.

You worked tirelessly and kept up with Hell's most influential people despite being on a short leash. You talked to many people, and you knew how to get what you wanted. You spoke to talk show hosts about current events and who was most powerful and how Hell changed with each passing day. Fellow models usually gossiped about frivolous things, but sometimes they would slip up useful information like when overlords fell and who died during the extermination. Some wealthy clients talked business when you were around and you became an encyclopedia of who was connected to whom.

Not to mention that you met very important demons through your jobs and gaining allies was becoming a more useful skill with each passing day.

~~~

After dealing with his employer Alastor was finally back in the Pride Ring. New and improved some may say. Screens, like omniscient sentinels, adorned almost every conceivable surface, projecting Vox's influence across the sprawling canvas of the Pride Ring. Clearly time had been good to him.

Alastor on the other hand had used his time to plan. Time for the revenge to simmer and brew into something truly utterly bitter. Seven long years of watching his Darling be used by the demon who managed to best him, allowed him to draw up his sinister plot.

Unbeknownst to Vox, a shadow was casting itself over his dominion. Nothing seemingly stood in Alastor's way, yet the impending storm was invisible, silently gathering its strength.

A sardonic smile tugged at Alastor's lips as he wove the threads of his revenge, exploiting the very vulnerability he had once sought to assist Vox in overcoming during their fleeting acquaintance.

He stood by a screen watching Lucifer's daughter pitch her hotel. Very unsuccessfully.

Amidst the towering screens broadcasting Vox's shows, Alastor sensed the malevolent pieces of his grand design falling into place, each detail a shard in the mosaic of his revenge. Every detail and nuance aligns to bring about the demise of Vox and the liberation of his Darling.

~~~

One part of being so successful is to be able to get things quite easily. Stealing wiring from vanities and circuit boards from old televisions.

Though it was supposed to be hush hush, many of the powerful people couldn't help teasing you that her boyfriend was back in town to get his ass beat again to be saved by another girl, Charlie Morningstar.

That's when you started to assemble a makeshift radio, a desperate attempt to breach the infernal walls that separated you from Alastor.

It took many weeks of stealing small items and talking to Vox about wiring to finally complete a (Semi) working radio.

With the makeshift radio finally assembled, you anxiously tuned through every channel, the urgency in your actions mirroring the desperation to reconnect with Alastor.

~~~

Alastor, with a determined focus, waded through the channels, guided by Angel Dust's cryptic hint that someone sought to reach him. Angel wasn't sure whom, due to the fact that the information had -passed through many to get to him. The static crackle of the radio filled the air.

Nothing was working until he heard the voice of his sweet angel.

"Fools rush in to where angels fear to tread and so I come to you my love my heart above my head"

Your voice was melodic and each note held perfectly in tune. You sang with gusto and a sadness that he knew came from your heart.

"If there's a chance for us then I don't care. Fools rush in where wise men never go, but wise men never fall in love so how are they to know"

His smile became more real. Realer than it had been in all of his seven year absence. He was closer than he was to getting you back yet still through the radio your voice felt so far away.

"When we met I felt my life begin again, so open up your heart and let this fool rush in"

As the song's final notes lingered, Alastor's voice, a lifeline through the radio, faded into a slight crackle. He felt the weight of anticipation, a heartbeat frozen in the ether between separation and reunion

"Dearie, how I have missed your gorgeous voice"

A sharp, audible gasp reverberated through the airwaves, a sound resonating with the weight of revelation. He heard your heels clicking over to meet him.

"Alastor, Darling?, Is that really you"

"Yes my love and do not worry, we will be together again soon"

"Alastor, I've missed you so. I feared the cruel silence would be our only communication, that I'd be forever denied the sight of you."

"Trust me, Dearie, you will be freed soon enough. Nothing can keep us apart"

A frantic tapping could be heard from your side of the radio.

"Alastor, I need to go, I love you Darling"

"I love you too mi amor"

With a slight crackle he stopped broadcasting his voice over the radio and he heard the radio on your end being shoved under something so it could not be seen.

~~~

"Sugar, who were you talking to"

Alastor seethed at Vox's voice. He would pay in due time.

"No one, just fine-tuning my chords for tomorrow's performance."

"Good good, sweetheart, keep those chords moving"

He chuckled but not a single peep came from you. Your conversation with Alastor caused a shift in you. Maybe soon Vox would fall. Maybe there was still hope yet.

~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

The song you were singing is called "Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear to Tread" by Ricky Nelson, it is a great song and it is worth a listen. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and are enjoying this story so far.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: This is my first time ever writing fanfic. I have been reading fanfic on this godforsaken app since I was 12, and have been encouraged blindly by my best friend to post this. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: Steam

The walk back to your chambers was a quick journey. The hair on your arms stood up, as the ever present feeling of being watched surrounded you. The soft sound of your footfall echoed in the mostly empty wing of the Red Keep where your chambers resided.

The art on the walls of the Keep had been changed to Queen Alicent’s tastes. Bland colours and entirely not Targaryen, replaced the once brightly decorated halls and walls of your old home. You followed the torches until you reached the heavy oak of your doors, having them opened by a Knight of the Kings Guard; his white cloak standing stark against the dark corners of the corridor. 

As he pushed open your door you asked him to summon your maids. 

“Could you please fetch Aella and Saria for me? Have them prepare some water for a bath.” 

He bowed his head, “Yes, my Lady”, pulling your doors shut.

Your chambers were the same as the ones you had as a child, most of the furnishing and decor had not changed, though some things had. The room, however you could tell, had been unused since your departure many years before.

The windows looked out towards the sea, the moon softly reflecting on the water, flickering with the waves. A shadow could be seen above, a great beast flapping its wings to push itself and its rider higher into the sky. Its looming shadow slipped between the clouds rolling in, and you prayed a storm would blow in from the sea and knock Aemond off of Vhagar and into the ocean below him. 

Vhagar was the largest dragon in the world, fitting for your uncle as he had the largest ego in the world. You often joked to your brothers that he was most likely compensating for his manhood. Unlike his brother, you had not heard of his conquests with any women, or men. He was entirely elusive, a man with little or nothing to say, that many knew naught about except for his anger. 

Lost in your thoughts, Aella and Saria knocked on your chambers and you bid them to enter. Aella was young, no older than two-and-twenty. She had bright curly red hair that was always tightly pulled away from her face in braids that formed a low bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a deep brown and she had a dusting of freckles upon her nose and cheeks.

Saria was the opposite. A few years older than you, her hair was as black as night, and silky smooth, worn in a similar style to Aella, but with flowing bangs that framed her face. Her eyes were a bright blue and her skin was a deep olive.

Aella and Saria came with you from Dragonstone and had served you for many years. Both were kind and trustworthy, and you would sometimes dare to call them your friends. 

The girls carried two large metal buckets each; steam rising high out of them. The two maids walked across the stone floors and placed them against the far wall. More maids walked in, carrying more steaming buckets of water and a large metal tub, placing it next to the burning fireplace, and began to fill it.

“Will you be joining the King for dinner, My Lady?” Aella asked, lifting one of the buckets letting the water carefully fall in as to not splash upon her or the ground.

“I will,” You replied, “I have not seen my Grandsire the King for many years. I’ve missed him,” You paused and thought, “and Prince Aemond extended a very warm invitation for me to join.” You looked up to see Aella and Saria give you a knowing look.

They had both witnessed the one-eyed Prince torment you since your recent arrival, and have listened to your younger selves stories of his sudden random bullying before the loss of his eye. Such a sudden shift in him which had surprised you both. 

Some days it was as though he had forgotten that he hated you then, talking to you excitedly about something he had learnt in the library, before realising his mistake and scowling, stalking off away from you. 

You had never truly understood the shift, but it was only ever in the open, before the eyes of court that he did it. If you were tucked away in private, he would speak to you kindly as he always had. You had shrugged it off as a child, but as you had gotten older, you realised that perhaps Alicent had been the reason for it.

“I wish to look my best this evening. It has been a long time since I have been in the presence of my family, and I want to make sure they know of how I have grown.” 

Saria came behind you and began to unlace your dress, pulling it softly over your head. 

Your slip was loosened by a tie at the front and it dropped down, pooling at your feet. The large copper tub had steam rising over the top, the light from the fire reflecting off of its side created a beautiful light that danced upon the wall.

Lifting your foot you stepped over and into the water, letting the stress and anxiety of the day melt away as you sank deeper into the tub. Leaning up against the high lip of the back, Aella lifted your braids from your neck and over the top, slowly untangling your hair and brushing out the strands.

Saria walked across the room and over to a large wooden wardrobe, which sat beside the bed. Dancing dragons were carved into the doors, with the faint remnants of paint covering them, with soft gold leaf detailing lining the trim of the wardrobe.

It was one of the last things left in this room that was yours, making you think that perhaps Queen Alicent did have a heart after all. Opening the two doors, Saria reached in and began pulling out gowns to present to you. 

“What about this dress Princess?” She held a deep red gown with a high neck. The shoulders pointed upwards and held the sleeves of the gown together with gold chains. The long sleeves were inwardly lined with a golden silk and there were black embroidered Godswood branches reaching along the hem and bust of the gown.

“Beautiful but no, I am wanting black for this evening.” 

Aella continued to braid your hair back, whilst you rested in the tub. 

Saria went back to the wardrobe and brought forth another dress. This time it was a black, short sleeved one. Gold embroidered flames licked at the bottom of the gown, which split at the front up towards the fitted corset of the waist. A golden skirt peeked through the split, which shimmered like the fireplace.

The neckline was modest and although it was one of your favourites to wear back home in Dragonstone, you felt that the dress was more of a summer gown, and the coolness of the night that nipped at you made you think this dress would be too thin.

“I think I want something more mature. They haven't seen me since I was young, I am older now and wish to show it.” 

You closed your eyes sinking further into the water to think for a moment, Aella pouring oils into the bath to soak your skin.

“Are any of the new dresses from Dorne?” You inquired, opening one eye to look at Saria.

The dark haired girl paused in thought, then hurriedly walked back to the wardrobe. 

The next time she stood before you, she held a new gown you had not worn nor seen before. 

“This is new from Marba, the tailor in Dorne.”

It was a dark black, sweeping gown. Its neckline plunged sharply into a deep V, dark black leather wrapped tightly around the waist and was embroidered with black vines that looked like dragons tails. The sleeves were long and open, that hung off by the shoulders that were lined with drooping gold chains. The inner lining was a deep blood red.

It was unlike any gown you had seen before.

Slowly you stood, Aella holding out her hand for you to take to help you out of the tub. Steam slowly rising off of your body as she pressed a warm towel to dry you, softly pushing your undergarment over your head to wear. You walked towards Saria, who held out the dress for you to inspect.

Up close, the black embroidery shimmered like threads made of Onyx, and the leather was finely stitched together to pull the waist into a tighter shape. The chains on the sleeves were thin and wound together like long chainmail braids, so delicate it draped softly and weightlessly as to not misshape the gown.

The plunging neckline was like most dresses witnessed in Dorne, but not nearly as often in King's Landing.

“It is beautiful, thank you Saria.” You smiled, “Help dress me, I’m sure they are expecting me soon.” 

Saria held the gown and helped you into it, lifting it over your head and pulling it down. The inner lining was soft on your skin and the leathered waist was a new but not unwelcome weight against you. Slipping your arms through the sleeves you heard the soft jingling of the chain detailing, they looked similar to a warriors chainmail, and you thought for a second that you looked as if you were dressed to go to war. 

Though this thought was not entirely unsubstantiated. Queen Alicent, your two uncles and aunt all still to this day wore green, were referred to as the Greens and were still waging a silent war against your mother and you all.

You thought of how your uncle Aemond would react to seeing you in a dress like this, but that thought was short lived as Saria began to tighten your gown, pulling in your waist which then lifted your breasts. You giggled at the prospect of irritating the prudish Queen Alicent, as Aella began to fuss with the finishings of your hair. 

The dress fit you perfectly, and your hair was swept back in small intricate braids which were held together by golden charms, the rest of your hair sat softly down your back. 

“You look beautiful Princess,” Aella spoke breaking the silence, “they are sure to see how you have matured with your years away from the Keep.”

 She and Saria smiled softly and dabbed small drops of perfumed oils behind your ears and upon your wrists.

Ensuring that you were ready, Saria and Aella began to clean your chambers as you walked to your door, having the Knight open them for you.

Taking a deep breath you stepped out and began to walk behind the Knight. His white cape swayed behind him as you walked down the corridor to feast with your family again after many years apart. 

[n0cturn4]

𝙺𝚎𝚕𝚔𝚞

“𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐹𝑜𝑟, 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐴𝑡 𝐴𝑙𝑙” - 𝑂𝑐𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑊𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠 (1993)

S𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘚2

In the vastness of the skies, where the stars twinkle like diamonds in a black cloak, a singular creature soars amidst the celestial expanse. On a full moon night, while the stars dotted the dark sky like shimmering diamonds, the unnamed winged creature delved into its deepest memories. There, it revisited the moment when it contemplated the infinite cosmos, its thoughts flying as freely as its wings, yearning to discover more than just the limits of the vast starry sky.

Each night brought with it a sense of restlessness, a silent call echoing in its heart and urging it towards the unknown. It was as if the stars beckoned it on a journey that had yet to be completed, and it was determined to uncover its purpose beyond the beloved constellations.

However, even in its tireless pursuit, the winged creature began to realize that sometimes, the true meaning lay beyond its grasp. As the nights passed and its wings cut through the lonely skies, it found itself enveloped by a growing melancholy, a sense of loss that accompanied it with every beat of its winged heart.

And so, even as it longed to fly away from its village in search of answers, something inexplicable kept it tethered, as if an invisible force held it firmly in place. No matter how much it stretched its wings and soared into the sky, it always ended up returning to the familiar ground, its heart heavy with the weight of a longing that could not be explained.

While the winged creature rested in its tranquil clearing, its wings tucked in for rest, its tail revealed itself as an essential part of its sleeping ritual. Gently curled around a sturdy branch, the tail of the winged creature served as a comfortable support as it surrendered to restorative sleep.

As the winged creature drifted into slumber, its keen senses captured the soft sounds of Pandora's forest. Between the whisper of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal animals, a strange sound broke the stillness of the night: hurried and restless footsteps echoing through the darkness.

Suddenly awakened, the winged creature rose from its repose, its wings extending promptly as it prepared to investigate the origin of the mysterious sounds. Its eyes, shining with silent determination, scanned the surrounding environment, searching for any hint of danger or intrusion.

Among the shadows of the trees, it caught fleeting movements, indistinct shapes darting swiftly through the forest. With senses alert and heart pounding, the winged creature prepared to follow the unknown steps, ready to face any challenge that crossed its path.

This teenage Na'vi, with short hair swaying to the rhythm of his run, contrasted with the slender silhouette of the trees. His furrowed brows in concentration betrayed an urgency in his step.

Watching with fascination and curiosity, the winged creature felt its heart pulsating in tune with the excitement of the night. With wings flexed in readiness, it prepared to follow the Na'vi, guided as much by curiosity as by the determination to unravel the mystery behind the young man's nocturnal run.

As it hovered in the shadows of the forest, the winged creature silently accompanied the Na'vi, its presence almost imperceptible among the towering trees.

As the winged creature approached the teenage Na'vi, it realized that he was no longer in a frantic run, but instead immersed in serene contemplation of the surrounding environment. He paused in a clearing in the forest, his eyes expressing reverence for the beauty of Pandora's nature.

The Na'vi gazed in admiration at the twinkling stars that dotted the night sky, as if each one told a unique and captivating story. His eyes danced between the shadows of the trees and the silhouettes of the forest creatures, capturing the vibrant essence.

In the instant the winged creature approached the teenage Na'vi, a small and unexpected noise echoed through the forest. The sound of a twig breaking under the creature's paw disrupted the serene peace of the night, causing the Na'vi to startle with surprise.

His eyes widened momentarily, capturing the sudden movement of the winged creature. For a moment, the Na'vi seemed tense, his posture stiffened in alertness at the unexpected noise in the calm of the forest.

Aware of its own presence and the startle it caused, the winged creature retreated gently, its eyes expressing a sincere apology for the incident. It raised its wings in a gesture of submission, trying to convey to the Na'vi that it posed no threat.

Despite the differences between the winged creature and the teenage Na'vi, a special connection began to emerge between them, a bond that transcended the barriers of their distinct species. Like distant sisters who reunite after years of separation, they discovered an unexpected affinity, a harmony that flowed between them like a gentle stream.

Though reluctant to part from their newfound friend, the teenage Na'vi recognized the importance of returning home quickly, where he would be safer from imminent dangers. He cast a final farewell glance to the winged creature, promising to return to meet her at a safer time.

The winged creature, though saddened by her new friend's impending departure, nodded in understanding, knowing that the teenage Na'vi's safety was paramount. She waved her hands in a farewell gesture, promising to keep watch and protect the forest until they could meet again. And so, as the night progressed and the stars twinkled in the sky, the winged creature remained as a solitary guardian of the forest, eagerly awaiting her friend's return and the hope of better days.

With its wings tucked in and its tail carefully wrapped around itself, it plunged into a peaceful sleep, seeking refuge in the safety of the cave's darkness.

The soft light of the moon filtered through the natural openings of the cave, bathing the interior in a silvery glow. The distant murmur of the forest echoed through the stone walls, creating a gentle symphony that cradled the winged creature in its comforting peace.

Within the cave, the winged creature found temporary refuge from the concerns of the outside world. It dreamed of distant landscapes, its mind wandering freely among the realms of imagination as it rested under the protection of earth and stone. As it slept, the winged creature breathed deeply, feeling safe and protected in its hidden sanctuary. Despite the challenges and uncertainties that awaited outside, there in the quiet darkness of the cave, it found a sense of peace and serenity that enveloped it like a comforting embrace from nature.

𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 ღ

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕬𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑𝖚𝖘 𝕷𝖆𝖕𝖘𝖚𝖘

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Who doesn’t want a Spartan? Also thank you @kit-williams for practically being my mentor. This can also be found in my “ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ” if you would like to be tagged.

TW: Google Translation, Violence?

I woke up with a start, catching the hand that dared to reach for my face. Eyes boring into the person's soul while they tried to yanked their hand away.

Another, different hand caught my offending wrist. Their hand, stronger, bolder, and rougher. Pinning my hand back against the bed while his icy blue eyes; barely hidden by the shadow of his mask, stared down at me.

It left me frozen for a moment, staring into the icy depths of his eyes. A certain devotion in them that left my skin prickling.

He was a towering man with warm olive skin, and dawned in bronze armor with an almost unseeable face glaring down at me. Oh he was definitely a sight to see when waking up.

Jumping into ‘flight or fight,’ I gave a right hook to his helmet with my other hand. A crack echoing out as the soldier stumbled back, surprised while I pulled myself on top of him like a koala, trying to take off his red cloak. The previous person shouted out, and rambled in a language I didn’t understand. Irritating me as I struggled to get this moody man’s damn cloak.

He kept moving in circles. Tipping over things as he tried in every possible way to get me off his back. His hand sometimes wrapped around a limb, but not at a good enough angle to throw me off properly.

Damn it, man built like a goddamn mountain! Just let me take your cloak, and we will be good. Just stay still a little while longer- damn it! Fine!

Reaching up, I grabbed a wooden beam above me, and hung there for a second. Waiting for the soldier to recover.

The man stumbled, his head snapping up to look at me. Eyes absolutely furious. Quickly, I used my legs to wrap around his helmet when he came forward, his hands coming up to my thighs trying to dislodge me.

Putting most of my body weight down on him. I grabbed a hold of his helmet and leaned to the side, going full dead weight on him as we both fell to the stone ground. A loud clunk, and thud going off from our fallen body’s. A grunt coming from the soldier.

Successfully taking the cloak off from him. I didn’t account for his hand pressing into my ribs, a groan leaving my lips. Legs loosening around his helmet as he quickly pulled himself away.

Scrambling to get up on my own feet again, not intending to be pinned down by a chiseled man that I have no doubt that would keep me pinned underneath him. I made haste for the nearest window and jumped out of it.

“Angelus lapsus!” I heard the soldier shout when I jumped from the window. My feet landed harshly onto a wooden roof that broke beneath me at the sudden weight.

Straw surrounded me as my breath left my lungs. My mouth gaping open as I couldn’t breathe, like I forgot how too. My body, trying to curl up on itself to protect the most vital parts of itself.

Slowly shuffling around on the ground. Chuff-like sounds came from me as I struggled to regain my breath. I felt incredibly itchy, dirty even. To be in a bundle of hay, much less a stable of sorts.

Grabbing onto a wooden fence. I pulled myself up on it. My hand beginning to pulse when I slugged that bronze helmet of the soldier. Probably breaking a finger or two by just doing that.

With huff, I looked up at the soldier who looked down at me from the window I jumped from. His shadow only being seen as he quickly moved away from the window.

Using the slight time advantage, I wrapped the cloak in my hands around my shoulders. Hopefully covering me just enough that no one will get suspicious. Especially in the morning.

I wasn’t a fool to know I was in a different timeline. The bronze warrior, the different languages spoken, and the way the houses are made, and decorated are very different from the modern era. Smelled a lot cleaner too.

Flipping up the makeshift hood I’ve made from the cloak. The cloak smelled like it had a musky mint scent that hung to it, and it was a rather clean cloak too. There weren't any tears or stains on it. Was it a brand new cloak? Or was the soldier a clean person?

Stumbling my way out of the stable. I made my way through the streets of this…town? City? In hopes to get out of it quickly. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this timeline. Who knows what the people of this time would do if they found out I was not from here?

Another wheeze left my mouth while I cradled my aching hand to my chest. My other hand rested on the corner of a house to stabilize myself.

I could feel that some of my ribs had broken as I touched them lightly with my hand. It’s light pressure on both sides not helping the pain as I felt around for the broken ribs.

I don’t even remember having an event that developed into broken ribs. All I remember is taking a well needed rest, and now I’m here? That didn’t make any sense, why would I end up here in all of the places? In all of the worlds? In all of the timelines?

“Angelus lapsus!” The same soldier yelled, his voice sounded deeper, demanding up close. A spear lodging into the stone in front of me. My nerves jumped at the sound of it being thrown.

Looking back to where the man stood on top of a stone staircase. I gave him my own glare while I straightened up to look at him. His eyes not backing down from mine when I put my hand on the wood of his lodged spear.

Taking the spear from the stone. I gathered enough strength to throw it backup to him. His body moving swiftly sideways, catching the damn spear with ease. His stoic eyes never left mine as I realized this man had a lot of experience.

A spike of unease shot through my nerves. This wasn’t a man I could just kill. He was a man that I had to fight, or lose to, and neither of those options seemed worth it right now.

“Angelus lapsus. Veni huc.” The bronze man spoke again. His form suddenly felt unimaginable to stand 15 feet from. He was much taller than a few moments ago.

Taking a step back when he took one forward. His shadow nearly engulfed my own figure. We both watched each other carefully. Unsure what the other would do.

Would they dash for it? Rush me? Throw me into a wall? Pin me down? Throw their spear again? Just what exactly will the other one do?

His next step chose the decision for me as I turned back around to run away from the soldier, making a dash for it. No way in hell was I gonna try to tackle a man built like a mountain. The dude was at least 7 feet tall! I thought Spartans were 5 '9 on average?

The bronze man shouted out again in his language, that I still have yet to understand what the hell he is saying to me.

What type of language is he speaking to me? It wasn’t Greek. It was more of an ancient language, perhaps Latin? Was I in an Ancient Greek timeline?

I mean, that part could have been more obvious of how the soldier looked. He had the bronze armor of the Spartans and the red cloak they chose as their banner color.

Turning down a tight alleyway I could hear woven baskets falling over that the Spartan tripped over, a growl coming out of his mouth. Urging me to be just a little bit faster than I was despite having some broken ribs that make it painful to run, even twist.

Turning down another alleyway in hopes to avoid his sights. I ended up in a dreadful dead end. A very tall shadow slowly casting over my smaller form.

“Angelus lapsus.” The man’s monotone voice came out again, sending a shiver up my spine when I turned back to look at him. There was something about him that made him feel off. Something I can’t place.

Jumping back, a yelp came from my mouth as he threw his spear into the wall next to me again. Its point very well longed into the wall this time as I looked between him, and the spear before using it to my advantage.

Jumping onto the spear and climbing on top of the dead end wall, nearly tipping over to the other side. A curse of his language came off his tongue from behind me.

Using the wall a bit longer to hopefully get farther away from the Spartan. I slid off the wall when I thought it was safe before zigzagging my way through the ancient city that used to be in shambles. Getting lost a couple of times myself with all the corners I’ve turned.

Pausing to take a look around my surroundings. I wanted to find the best way to run away from this Spartan that seemed to make it his personal mission to collect me. To possibly bring me back where I woke up from.

However, not seeing anything in sight, not even a dock, my only available option was to find a way out of this city and make my way through the surrounding area. From what I assume would be a forest.

Making my way through the quiet night of the city I felt like I could feel an infinite set of eyes on my back since the Spartan had pursued me. My shoulders, heavy with anxiety.

Oh, how am I gonna find my way back to my own timeline in a primitive place like this? There was nothing here for me to figure out on how to get back. Was there even a way to get back?

I sighed and shook my head, slowly going through the city more with at least something to keep me going, and that’s to keep away from the Spartan.

The Spartan, who is only a couple roads down. His eyes staring down my form before slowly pursuing once more.

“Angelus lapsus, ego te capiam.”

ℕ𝕖𝕩𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐮𝐬 II

[flywolfwriting]

Throw Me in the Deep End

Charlie was proud to say she was not afraid of the dark. It certainly impressed the other seven-year-olds in her class, and her parents always told her how proud they were that she had conquered that fear so young. That she was so brave for sleeping without a night light. 

It was even mostly true. She could sleep in her own room, and could sneak about the manor in the middle of the night without her heart in her throat, but sometimes it still quickened, and if she looked out the windows her breath caught. She was still only seven, after all, and it was a big, scary world beyond the safety of the manor walls. 

It took her time to settle into their New Orleans holiday home. She learned the creaking of the walls and the whispering of the wind, grew accustomed to the way shadows cloaked her temporary bedroom. She kept the curtains open for just that small glimmer of moonlight and buried her head under her blankets to keep from looking outside. 

She didn't say anything to her parents, though, not even when her mom woke her before sunrise to take her on an early-morning walk. They drove for ages with Charlie napping in the backseat, until her mom pulled over and told her they'd arrived. Charlie hugged close to her, but put on a brave face when Lilith led her into the bayou. She protested only a little when directed to stay put for a moment, her plea cut off with a firm, "You're mommy's brave little girl, aren't you?" 

Charlie wanted so badly to be so she nodded and did as asked. She watched her mother disappear into the darkness and waited. 

And waited.

And kept waiting. 

The song of the bayou played around Charlie and her trembling fingers clutched the hem of her shirt tightly as she tried not to imagine glowing eyes creeping closer around her, silent tears streaking her cheeks. 

Finally she could take it no more and with a sob she raced back the way they'd come. 

"Mommy!"

—---------------------

Alastor loved nights like this, when the shadows clung to him like cobwebs and the crescent moon offered just enough light to avoid stepping into the alligator-infested waters. He could see the glint of their eyes watching as he dumped the duffle bag and opened it. They moved closer but didn't creep onto the small finger of land he stood on. They simply waited, and when he threw the first limb into the water they struck, the still bayou turning into churning bodies fighting for meat. 

Alastor threw the next piece, quietly humming as he watched them feed. This was almost the best part, second only to the moment blood welled under his fingers and his victim realized they were about to die. He kept the best cuts to himself, of course, but the gators seemed to appreciate his treats all the same. 

When he finished he loaded the bag with soil before tossing it in, tucked his gloves back into his pocket, and set off with a spring in his step. 

That was when he heard the sob.

Alastor froze, listening carefully. The bayou was full of strange sounds but he had learned them all, knew each creak of wood, the splash of an alligator sliding into the water, the hum of every insect. He slipped into the shadow between the trees and waited, his knife at the ready. They weren't truly deep within the bayou itself; he couldn't risk the noise of a boat. It was plausible someone had followed him. 

What came next was a greater shock: a child, a little girl, stumbling into view. 

No, they weren't deep, but dawn had yet to crack the sky and they weren't near any roads. 

Alastor resisted a sigh and tucked his knife back into its sheath against his thigh and stepped out. 

The girl let out a short scream and fled.

“Wait-” Alastor called, then took off after her. He couldn't see her anymore but he heard her footsteps, another short scream, and the expected splash as she fell into the water. 

And then a more familiar kind of splash.

Read More

Next Part

[aois-amaterasu-painting]

The GazettE - DOGMA book + lyrics translations

Ruki:

The current situation the GazettE finds itself in. And the attitude we are trying to uphold there. The title track reflects this most vividly. At the same time, it also contains a kind of antithesis.

Uruha:

Once the concept of the album was decided, this song remained true to the image I imagined while thinking about touring with such a worldview. In other words, it also marks the beginning of the flow of time from now on. Without fearing misunderstanding, I think it's a straightforward song that should be easy to understand, even though it may not seek expansiveness. It is precisely the song that embodies the theme of "dogma," nothing more or less than that.

Aoi:

"DOGMA" is "DOGMA." There's no other way to put it. Since I first heard this original track, I've always thought it's the song most suitable for this title. When the word "dogma" came up and we discussed what it means, this song resonated the most. Without this song, I feel like this album itself would have been completely different; it's that important.

Reita:

"DOGMA" is zero, and at the same time, it is one hundred. The title track that suggests such thoughts. Naturally, it's only when all the songs gathered here come together that "DOGMA" comes into existence. But at the same time, this song itself feels like it encompasses everything.

Kai:

A door that had naturally loomed before us for a long time. It was very solid and not easy to open. The powerful image of the door opening with a sound. Of course, it didn't open naturally; we finally managed to push it open ourselves. We had always been convinced that what we were seeking was there, but we had sometimes stretched our legs in different directions while trying to complement what we lacked. Here, however, we faced that door head-on... As a result, what allowed us to open it was the power of the "experience" we had accumulated until now.

DOGMA: Translation

The facades are beginning to crumble Sins dissolve into faint echoes The teeming masses of society are the carcass of greed

I deny everything I deny all of it I deny everything

The rite I must face is cloaked in darkness and isolation Only there will truth be found

I devour the dogma of the frenzied mob And overshadow them with “unadulterated blackness”

Rebelling against the herd mentality, directly opposing set boundaries I’ll be a brain-dead god

A blood-stained future burning in shadow Transforming into an idol, moving towards truth

I’ve witnessed the death of greed Frenzy unleashed in these eyes Flock of puppets Growing hate I pity you Hate your life Flock of puppets Growing hate

Overthrowing God, here we offer death

The sound of countless voices and clapping is heard from that direction We shall become one with the shadows And die the most excellent death

I will blacken out this world Darkness in the world Starts tonight

RAGE

Ruki:

Anger. This song is heavily imbued with anger. "DOGMA" isn't an album rich in emotional ups and downs; here, there's not a trace of "joy" or "pleasure," only "anger" and "sorrow" instead. It strongly reflects what we have felt as ourselves in the current situation, from 2014 to 2015. Our attitude is packed into this too—namely, the feeling that "the GazettE should be like this." In other words, this song is also a manifestation of "dogma."

Uruha:

Among the prominently intense songs on this album, this song stands out as most fitting for its position more than any other. From its introduction onwards, it felt like deciding the setlist for a live performance. The key lies in its speed and explosive power. In a sense, it's an overt song, but placing it here was necessary for the album itself.

Aoi:

"Anger," as the title suggests. It might seem overly simplistic to sum it up in just that word, but it's a song that exudes tremendous intensity. In recent years, the quality of demo recordings has improved, and the impression of the song itself has often remained unchanged from that initial stage.

Reita:

Truly a song that should be placed as the second track. What I seek in a second track is a sense of energy that feels like something is about to explode. I deeply resonate with Ruki's lyrics full of anger.

Kai:

An intense finishing move that erupts at the entrance after opening a heavy door. I think this song, placed here, has a quality that makes everything afterward fall into place no matter how it unfolds. Similarly, if this song explodes early in a live performance, it naturally sets up anticipation for what comes next.

RAGE: Translation

[Are you ready?]

Sad old geezer How do you use us? Too late this asshole cannot be saved

“Pride” “envy” “rage” “sloth” “greed”… Your mortal sins drive your very existence to madness

Stacked away Skanky waster You should know your shame Such a shithead All saints shall die Shitty loser You should know you’re lame Such a dickhead All saints shall die

Because there will never be a world that I can know We cannot change this fact, it is done Z Generation is our Last one

sad old geezer How do you use us? Too late this asshole cannot be saved

“Pride” “envy” “rage” “sloth” “greed”… Your mortal sins drive your very existence to madness

Because there will never be a world that I can know Everything was a lie, such deceit

I can no longer even see the moon I once loved so much

Because there will never be a world that I can know We cannot change this fact, it is done Z Generation is our Last one

Stacked away Skanky waster Hey ! You should know your shame Hey ! Such a shithead All saints die Shitty loser Hey ! You should know you’re lame Hey ! Such a dickhead All saints shall die

DAWN

Ruki:

In 2014, we went through a tour themed "redefinition," where we were made aware of things and reaffirmed what we should do. This song strongly reflects that significance. At our 13th anniversary Budokan performance (March 2015), I think we were able to show that we are evolving, and there's a sensory overlap there.

Uruha:

Another intense song. Right from the start, it relentlessly unfolds with intensity. By the third track, it's a declaration that we're not settling down yet. I don't think we've ever placed a song of this nature in this position before, but in this case, there's meaning in having this song here. Some people actually had the opinion that it might be tiring to listen to nothing but intense songs from the beginning. But personally, I wanted to push through with this momentum.

Aoi:

This song also embodies the image of "dogma." It's so iconic that it could have justified being titled "DOGMA" as well, in my opinion. It's that powerful of a track, akin to the title track.

Reita:

Above all, the chorus's unpredictability is intense. It expands the world of the entire album in one fell swoop. It brings a type of element that hasn't been present in the GazettE before, and there's freshness in whether you can imagine this chorus from the way the song begins.

Kai:

A song that resonates with "DOGMA" in my mind. Despite being relatively up-tempo, it fundamentally differs from what's typically considered an upbeat song, with a heavy weight pressing down. There's a kind of feeling of the former self pursuing darkness.

DAWN: Translation

I sing, digging up [memories of] my past I’d loved so completely From within the depths of the void Time stood still while the distorted dark clouds Swirled all around

I was bound up in innumerable shackles And I want to lose myself in the reality reflected in the chaos around me

I’ve already had a lethal dose of misfortune The ruined gallows towers above me

Overcast sky, Counting song the sound of approaching footsteps

Wild party with emotions running high A merry-go-round of deepest red unfurled That day was the beginning of it all 13 stairs foretell the metamorphosis

Moving past my momentary confusion these roiling emotions rise up [these roiling emotions rise up] [Moving past my momentary confusion  these roiling emotions rise up] Hung up high on that 13th stair

The beautiful answer redefined becomes the new dogma

I was bound up in innumerable shackles And I want to lose myself in the reality reflected in the chaos around me

I’ve already had a lethal dose of misfortune The ruined gallows towers above me

Overcast sky, Counting song the sound of approaching footsteps

Wild party with emotions running high A merry-go-round of deepest red unfurled Accompanied by the end of  peace I lay my hands on the blackened altar Wild party with emotions running high A merry-go-round of deepest red unfurled That day was the beginning of it all 13 stairs foretell the metamorphosis

An evil spell my life

DERACINE

Ruki:

Rootless. It's not that the roots aren't growing, but rather, sometimes in real life, there are situations or relationships where you feel like cutting off those roots yourself, even though you've grown as a person, when the other person refuses to change. It's something that has existed since long ago. It's about feeling like wanting to forget even your own roots.

Uruha:

Among the songs on this album, this falls into the slow category. It hits at the first wave of change that arrives. It's difficult to describe this feeling, but it has a characteristic of being somewhat inorganic.

Aoi:

Initially, the word "dogma" gave me an impression of something inorganic and emotionless. Actually, there's a certain religious connotation to it, but it should also carry a sense of inorganic and emotionlessness. In reality, this song is very close to that "dogma" image for me. It's like I should dig deeper into that world from here.

Reita:

Among the tracks on this album, it's the only one with a transparent image. At the same time, I think it's one of the few songs here with a distinct atmospheric feel. There's a satisfying feeling in being able to beautifully bring out the resonance of the low tones.

Kai:

I feel like this song appearing in the first half of the album can provide a different kind of impact. Initially, I imagined it might be a more inward-feeling song, but as soon as the vocals entered, it expanded tremendously. This is a nuance that hasn't been present before, I think.

DERACINE: Translation

In the womb Was the fate decided? I’m going to be sick The feelings that I hid 4…3…2…1 That can’t be counted overpowering grief

In a maze [Cradle and grave] Raw scar Can’t get back Lie, Coward, Bullshit

My heart is disturbed by you

In the womb Was the fate decided? I’m going to be sick

There are no words that can make our future beautiful [again now that] it’s been torn apart So now I’ll fly away from that love

In a maze [Cradle and grave] Raw scar Can’t get back Lie, Coward, Bullshit

My heart is disturbed by you

Go away I say good-bye to hateful you once again Go away I say good-bye to hateful you Forget up to now with me

In the womb Was the fate decided? I’m going to be sick

I know your ugliness [No restraint] My feelings for you never change [No complaint] My life is dirty now [No restraint] Such a life is sad

[In a maze [Cradle and grave] Raw scar Can’t get back Lie, Coward, Bullshit]

[Go away I say good-bye to hateful you once again Go away I say good-bye to hateful you Forget up to now with me]

BIZARRE

Ruki:

The lyrical focus revolves around what I personally think about so-called juvenile crime. Without fear of misunderstanding, I have a vague feeling that maybe the way juvenile crimes are judged in today's Japan might be "off." Any punishment is decided according to manuals, but in reality, the severity of a crime cannot be measured in such terms.

Uruha:

It's a very calm song, and it carries a certain inorganic* quality. Within the entire album, this part might give a somewhat flat impression, but it exudes a strange feeling as the title suggests... How to describe this texture in terms of genres aside, I think it's a song filled with elements of madness and trickiness.

Aoi:

A song that exudes an inorganic atmosphere. Because of its inorganic nature, it's difficult to explain in words. But undoubtedly, this is also an indispensable piece of the "DOGMA" puzzle. It was born because of the existence of this concept.

Reita:

A song with an inorganic impression. Even as a player, I deliberately tried to cut out all unnecessary elements and erase human-like qualities. However, despite being a very dry world, there's something strangely compelling about it.

Kai:

At the stage of completion as a recording, this song stands out as one where it's hard to predict how it will come across in a live setting among the tracks on this album. It's a song that could lean towards emphasizing intensity, or swing towards a darker direction... In that sense, it has a fascinating duality of extremes. Therefore, depending on how it's placed in the live setlist and what songs surround it, it could sound completely different.

*"inorganic" in the context of the discussion about the song is "無機質" (mukishitsu) in Japanese. It refers to something lacking organic qualities, often used metaphorically to describe something that feels cold, emotionless, or mechanical. In the context of music or art, it can describe a certain detached or sterile quality.

BIZARRE: Translation

In my spinning, spinning field of vision Someone was violated over and over again In my spinning, spinning field of vision They were violated

Scared eyes of the crowd This gate is to hell That famous bad face [She is bizarre…]

Exaggerated, puffed-up delusions And unformed personalities, An unbridled curiosity that is shattered self-control, With no limits to their bizarre lust, Obsessed with pushing boundaries and Their brutal nature shown in their eyes Are their perverted qualities

scared body This gate is to hell Scared body With greedy eyes scared body This gate is to hell Scared body Death valley

They make their living committing atrocities, the source of immature retribution They deserve death for the pain of loss [they cause]

Exaggerated, puffed-up delusions And unformed personalities, An unbridled curiosity that is shattered self-control, They’ll keep laughing even if you lock them up Their pervasive darkness has creeping roots A generation of impulsive behavior That reality can’t break through

scared body This gate is to hell Scared body With greedy eyes scared body This gate is to hell Scared body Death valley

They make their living committing atrocities, the source of immature retribution The deserve death for the pain of loss [they cause]

Their eyes bask in the terrible spectacle, seeking pleasure until they die

WASTELAND

Ruki:

Nowadays, there's a tendency where the internet judges everything, be it politicians or anyone else. People can easily engage in bashing, even towards figures symbolizing the nation or otherwise, and everyone starts to feel afraid in response. It makes you feel like it's the end of the world in such a society.

Uruha:

After a series of intense songs, there's a sense of descending here. It feels like finally, a song with some air has appeared. Up to this point, the songs have had a tendency to be dense both in terms of sound and arrangement, but with this song, amidst its existential darkness, there are gaps, expanses, and a fluctuation in the air.

Aoi:

When I first imagined the concept of "dogma," what came to mind was, for example, ritualistic scenes or someone being absorbed into something ecstatically... It was trying to express such things that led to the creation of this song. It might not be a direct match for the theme of "dogma," but I think this song was born precisely because that word was presented beforehand.

Reita:

Truly something unique to us right now, or rather, within what's considered the visual kei genre of music, there's a dark, Gothic feeling, something that feels like only adults can handle. This song is exactly that. It's a song that suits us better now than ever before.

Kai:

I think we've had songs with a heavy atmosphere like this before, with a similar tempo. However, in the case of this song, there's a sense of exhilaration somewhere within it. It feels like a beam of light shining through the dark world, creating a sensation of expansiveness. While the imagery may evoke a desolate landscape, it's not entirely pitch black; there's something piercing through. The identity of that "something" might be something I'll come to understand in the future.

WASTELAND: Translation

The thousand eyes that can kill even God Transform into heretics that devour the rules When the time comes and right and wrong disappear It will all end with a blood-red moon

Falsehoods becoming profound sins Judging innocence in their transgressions

The thousand eyes that can kill even God Transform into heretics that devour the rules When the time comes and right and wrong disappear It will all end with a blood-red moon

Embracing the taboo

The bare essence of the world's existence Bound in shadow Descending into chaotic darkness Eyes of the apostles elevated to divinity

Blurring imbalance, a chance to seize

The cunning entanglement of duplicity As time falls, it gives birth to the conflict between good and evil The world of ugly filth and despair

The unveiled divine doctrine of exclusivity Bound in shadow Descending into chaotic darkness Dancing with the taboos

The thousand eyes that can kill even God Transform into heretics that devour the rules

INCUBUS

RUKI:

This is like a nightmare from hell. I've had the same unpleasant dream over and over. Or perhaps something unpleasant actually happens, and it repeats like a trauma in dreams. In reality, I've experienced something like this, and during the production of this album, there were times when it was particularly frequent. It's not just about things I find unpleasant; sometimes dreams also bring wishes like "it would be nice if this happened." However, the reason we have such dreams is precisely because reality isn't like that. I think dreams mostly show us the opposite.

麗 (Uruha):

Among the many intense songs on this album, this song also heads firmly in its own direction. Amidst its intensity, it also reveals glimpses of a beautiful development that could be interpreted as bewitching and sublime, combining a sense of speed with elegance.

葵 (Aoi):

This too embodies a sense of "dogma." In a way, it might be the song that most strongly evokes that feeling. However, listening to the lyrics, it feels like it's speaking to something. From the title "INCUBUS," you can also feel nuances of yokai* or monsters. Dictionary-wise, it means "nightmare," right? It might just be speaking to that. Even though RUKI's singing style doesn't necessarily convey that feeling of speaking to someone.

REITA:

This song also packs a considerable punch. The contrast between its strength and the beauty of its chorus is exquisite, resulting in a high-quality song that isn't just about momentum.

戒 (Kai):

Among the songs on this album, this one falls into the melodic category. The contrast between light and darkness is very clear. It's not like being dazzled by a strobe light but rather an image where light and darkness switch sharply. In that sense, this song also has a duality and is a song that requires a lot of effort.

*Yokai (妖怪) are supernatural beings or phenomena from Japanese folklore. The term "yokai" is often translated as "monster," "spirit," "apparition," or "ghost," but these translations don't fully capture the breadth of yokai diversity and characteristics.

INCUBUS: Translation

I cannot get out away now from the maze

Un, deux, trois Reality and nightmares intersect in the night And spread forgotten memories over my parched tongue They keep clinging to my mind that won’t wake up Traces of countless loveless days gone by

The things that “you” want I don’t even know what they are Even now I feel that feeling of fear spreading down my spine

I arise to broken nights

My dreams are depressing I remember them, and each time, I pray that I can forget But their shadow will never disappear Still my eyelids slip closed

God, is this a sign Tell me my crime Is it my fate to suffer

Uninvited one

Un, deux, trois Greed and courtship psychological trauma Reality and nightmares that can never be escaped They keep clinging to my mind that won’t wake up Traces of countless loveless days gone by

The things that “you” want I don’t even know what they are Even now I feel that feeling of fear spreading down my spine

I arise to broken nights

All these sad memories flood over me Even if I try to cover my eyes, they won’t go away Because I can still see myself In that never-ending dream

These repeated dreams won’t pass me by It’s a nightmare and a lie

I can’t change fate Even if I die

These repeated dreams won’t pass me by It’s a nightmare and a lie

So fuck the why And get lost

I cannot get out away now from the maze

LUCY

RUKI:

This song is condensed with a kind of anger. It's about various conflicts, being deceived, and not exactly an accusation, but rather a song connected to human greed, I guess.

麗 (Uruha):

It's a song with strong hard rock elements. However, rather than directly exposing that, it reflects our established approach within the album's loud and intense flow. I feel like we've solidified our way of handling such musical tastes. This song also stands out as one of the prominent "colors" of intensity in this album.

葵 (Aoi):

I suppose this would also be considered an angry song, right? There's a strong sense of edge in the sound. However, it's not just a simple angry song; it's different from mere hatred or listing grievances. It feels more like frustration towards things that are hard to accept. It's a song where such feelings are vaguely expressed. It's definitely not a type of song we've had before, and you could say it's a very the GazettE-like song. It's hard to explain more specifically, but I feel it's something we can identify with.

REITA:

If we were to say something idealistic like "cheers from the fans" are the driving force behind this band, deep down, I still think it's anger. I feel like this song expresses that the strongest. Honestly, I feel like once again, this band is made of anger.

戒 (Kai):

It gives off an image of just rushing forward. However, it's not simply about being fast; there are moments where you must firmly put the brakes on, and it's not a song where you should just seek the rush. In other words, the way it runs isn't easy. It's a song I'm looking forward to facing in live performances.

LUCY: Translation

Fascinated by the darkness, your hands scrabble in a hive of greed

Conformity steeped in pleasure: Vice Half-crazed and writhing Your crafty antics are reaching heights of sheer stupidity

Lucy Your vice masquerading as godliness is [finally] exposed 「Greed」「Lust」「Folly」「LIE」「Bluff」「Crime」 Over again Don’t look away Eat me

Vital ability your character is lacking That material is ripped away from you just like that If you could be tamed, I’d keep you

Swallowed up by your greed, you forgot you were being strangled

Conformity steeped in pleasure: Vice Half-crazed and writhing Your crafty antics are reaching heights of sheer stupidity

Lucy You’re hanging, a slave to love on the King’s Highway 「Greed」「Lust」「Folly」「LIE」「Bluff」「Crime」 Over again Aggression comes next Lucy Your vice masquerading as godliness is [finally] exposed 「Greed」「Lust」「Folly」「LIE」「Bluff」「Crime」 Over again Don’t look away Eat me

You’re trying to flee, my dear Lucy

GRUDGE

RUKI:

This was inspired by the American movie "Gone Girl". It's about the extreme emotions of a woman, stemming from the desire to control, which is pure yet taken to extremes.

麗 (Uruha):

Regarding the guitar, it seems like a relatively calm song, but it reflects Aoi's character as the composer. It has a beautiful flow with subtle fluctuations, combined with a kind of intensity that creeps up gradually. That was my first impression of this song.

葵 (Aoi):

This is also my "dogma". While bringing out quite a muddy aspect, I tried to introduce a heavier feeling as well. When embodying the concept of "dogma" into a song, various emotions were intermingling within me. If I were to say this song straight up embodies my personal "dogma", then "WASTELAND" would be the further exploration from here.

REITA:

It's not coolness in the sense of being detached, nor is it stylish in that manner, but I think it's a song that's refined in our own way. I feel it's beautifully composed in terms of its atmosphere. The fact that this has come together as a whole is because of the experiences we've had thus far. If we had tried to create such a song in the past, it would likely have been more cluttered with various phrases. It seems like a song that is both simple and intricate. Rather than cramming in multiple answers, it's about sticking to one straight answer. That's exactly what this song is.

戒 (Kai):

Describing this song in words is extremely difficult. Each scene that makes up the progression of the song is quite clear. For me, I didn't want it to end in a cramped feeling. When you try to grasp it from your own perspective, it tends to become narrow, so I made sure to incorporate the images that other members also hold, and tried to grasp the song itself with as broad a perspective as possible. While other songs presented similar challenges, this song may have been the most difficult in that sense. I remember crossing my arms and deeply contemplating when I first listened to the original track.

GRUDGE: Translation

If I could, I would hold you in my arms As we descend together into the icy sea

We’ll sink so deep that we won’t be able to rise again, and in those dark depths Your confession – broken, shattered, scattered – Won’t reach my deaf ears My sea of resentment

I leave behind only words and broken memories as death creeps closer I am no longer the ‘me’ you once recognized

I am completely unable to stop myself From hating that look of concern in your eyes

I can’t say when all the threads that bound us together came undone I’ll never hold your hand in mine Or feel anything [for you] ever again The raw wound that is ‘me’ Has left behind nothing but a shadow

I leave behind only words and broken memories swimming in your clear eyes I am no longer the ‘me’ you once recognized

A moment of hesitation hangs over your head And the look you give me is one like you’ve seen something disgusting I wonder what kind of person you think I am [When] you can’t even comprehend suffering

I can’t say when all the threads that bound us together came undone I’ll never hold your hand in mine Or feel anything [for you] ever again The raw wound that is ‘me’ Has left behind nothing but a shadow

The memory of blood welling from brimming eyes will stay with me I’ll save you with my cold serenity

In the sea of resentment We’ll embrace our sins We will never escape [As we sink] into the fathomless depths

PARALYSIS

RUKI:

The weak self. This also stems from a story based on a certain incident. Amidst relentless brutal incidents, there are cases where both the perpetrators and the victims fall into such depths due to their own weaknesses. This is about the helplessness in such situations. Ultimately, people can be driven to death by it.

麗 (Uruha):

There are aspects of this song that go beyond the religious imagery of the entire "DOGMA" album, aiming for something more exposed and aggressive. Personally, I have a feeling like, "I could die playing this..." It's not about fast playing, but rather a relentless pounding of the right hand. In that sense too, it's a song pushing towards its limits.

葵 (Aoi):

This is truly about pushing limits. It's a challenge to the limit, or rather, it goes beyond that. But inversely, I was drawn to it out of simple curiosity. In that sense, it might deviate from the artistic image of "DOGMA," but in terms of playing, it might be the most impactful song with a character that breaks free from conventions.

REITA:

In terms of playing, this was the most challenging. As a bassist, this song had the highest difficulty level. The vocal shouts are also packed intensely. In the latter half of the album, this song strongly expresses the desire to deliver a final blow. And that blow is overwhelming. I feel its position in our live performances will naturally become apparent.

戒 (Kai):

A song that expands its scope while being intense. Initially, when listening to the original track while predicting its development, it was a series of "Oh, it's different" and "Oh, is it going this way?" moments. Intensity is an important weapon for us, and this song made us realize it could be increased anew.

PARALYSIS: Translation

Die and restart

These feelings that became entangled out of instinct Hurt more than I can even comprehend I can’t know it

Hide out Lies are stacking up There’s no blank space left It’s all been bedecked with tricks

I close off my heart because of my own weakness

My life is buried in loneliness [Even if] I try to throw it all up the loneliness always keeps coming back again

Distress I bought into that powerful, dubious love, and nearly drowned in it Everything dissolved into that illusion but nevertheless, for some reason, my heart was at ease I didn’t even realize that my emotions had become paralyzed, or that this reality is insubstantial I can’t know it My fate

Creepy the past inside me I want to bury it The facts inside me Once more so it won’t ever come back Past…Buried…Forever [Before I die] Am I so clever? [Until I die] Past…Buried…Forever Can you still see it?

My built-up desires have reached their limit as if just begging to be loved But I can’t see how that will ever happen

Creepy the past inside me I want to bury it Past…Buried…Forever [Before I die] Am I so clever? [Until I die]

[Distress] I bought into that powerful, dubious love, and nearly drowned in it Everything dissolved into that illusion but nevertheless, for some reason, my heart was at ease…

Die and restart

DEUX

RUKI:

About the two personalities within myself. Within myself, there exist such aspects. For example, there's a part of me that wants to dash across the road, and there's another part that puts the brakes on that impulse. Even when I understand the danger of jumping from a high place, sometimes curiosity about what would happen if I did jump can arise. This inner struggle between reason and curiosity might also be a form of dual personality.

麗 (Uruha):

This song was actually intended to be a single. It's structured in a way that should be enjoyable even if released as a single. It has proper vocal elements, intense parts, and overall, it offers a variety within a single song. Of course, it's also an essential piece for this album, but I think it stands well on its own as a single.

葵 (Aoi):

This is the kind of song that could have been released as a standalone single given the opportunity. In fact, we performed it during the March Budokan concert, and for an album like "DOGMA," it plays a role at the entrance, making it accessible to the audience. It could be likened to the "candy" in "carrot and stick" approach. Especially within this intense album.

REITA:

This is a song we've performed live before, so many people might recognize it. Not that it's the only one, but within this album, I think it holds a position as a "precious vocal piece." When you touch upon it as an individual piece of music, the feeling might be slightly different.

戒 (Kai):

Beautiful grotesqueness. That's the impression I get. For instance, if blood were dripping down from the top of a wall, it would normally be considered a grotesque sight. However, the contrast of bright red blood against a pure white wall is aesthetic, I believe. Similarly, this song possesses not just a grotesque aspect but also a beautiful one.

DEUX (TWO): Translation

This inescapable answer is gripped by despair; I hope it’s all just a dream[Because] this is an Inferno

You’re my enemy You make that clear when you sabotage my dreams that won’t come true Scary night Split mind bringing only Pain I’m praying for a Nightmare

Weakness draws near to my closed-off heart as it floats in the darkness of unconsciousness It’s scary to sleep in lonely silence, but whose fault is that?

This inescapable reality is gripped by despair; I hope it’s all just a dream [Because] this is an Inferno

You’re my enemy You make that clear when you sabotage my dreams that won’t come true Scary night Split mind bringing only Pain I’m praying for a Nightmare

Cut off from my destination, bewildered, the barrier around my mind is torn apart and my heart wound up breaking Innocent eyes full of yearning slip closed when the emotional storm has passed; without so much as a sound [tears] overflow

Our weakness superimposed atop one another, you and I will rot in the bottomless darkness Sleeping in lonely silence, weakness blossomed into isolation; but now all I have to do is take a step forward I won’t be of two minds anymore

You will become my dream

I sleep in lonely silence, broken as I am So mesmerized by “the end” that awaited me, I jumped Terror bared its fangs again but I’ll abandon my hesitation Wouldn’t even death be sweeter than slowly growing comfortable with being toyed with?

[FATE]

-We will die-

BLEMISH

RUKI:

About the parts of myself that I think are no good, or something I lack within myself. People try to fix such flaws or try to put an end to their past, but there are times when you can't change yourself easily. I feel like my shadow is distorted because of my past. Humans live in the present while trying to repair it, but the past cannot be changed. Even if you think you've changed it, you end up realizing that you're still the same.

麗 (Uruha):

To tell you the truth, during the song selection meeting, this spot was the only vacant one. Among several candidate songs vying for this position, I really wanted the chorus of this song here, no matter what. It wasn't just about the song but specifically about having that chorus here to create a moment of openness. As a result, by rearranging the flow leading up to that chorus, this song was reborn. I think within the entire album, this chorus itself becomes a crucial moment.

葵 (Aoi):

When you think of "dogma," it gives a sense of something absolute, like a doctrine. This song feels like confronting such an absolute. It has a somewhat authoritative stance or coercive force to it. When dealing with "dogma," I had the impression that it inherently carries such elements.

REITA:

In developing the live performances accompanying the album "DOGMA," this song is absolutely necessary, indispensable. Of course, it's not limited to just this song, but it should be a very clear song. I also feel it's a song that equals our current selves.

戒 (Kai):

The immediate image when listening is a vivid red. Not like blood-red, but more like a clear, vibrant red like a red strobe light. When RUKI initially brought the original version to the early song selection meeting, it had a stronger digital tone. However, if left as it was, it would have stood out from the album's world. It was later redesigned. Still, because it existed in the initial stages, it was easy to expand upon its imagery.

BLEMISH: Translation

Killing my past

[Fuck this] 

I set out, my pulse racing, but something was missing In some respects, I had always been in denial about my own existence

I seem to lose all dazzling light Can’t understand this broken sight

Redo the pain, pain, start all over I want to kill the past I feel the shame, shame, it’s never over (SHAME, SHAME) These days I’m better dead

I want to be reborn

leave me alone I had to stifle my cries when I caught sight of my own twisted shadow

Shite Fuck What’s happened to me Why is it always just like this? Go to hell

God damn it fuck What’s happened to me Why is it always just like this? Go to hell

Redo the pain, pain, start all over I want to kill the past I feel the shame, shame, it’s never over Why do these days last?

Redo the pain, pain, start all over I want to kill the past I feel the shame, shame, it’s never over These days I’m better dead

In darker dreams A goddess speaks to me And it seems I cannot see the light Out of sight And reborn somewhere else Don’t just abandon me Please Please Please Please

FUCK YOU

OMINOUS

RUKI:

In a world that symbolizes ourselves lately, it feels like we've been standing there for a while. Moreover, I wanted to create a feeling that there's something more to come...

麗 (Uruha):

At the demo stage, it had a relatively cleaner song image. As the original composer reworked it and it became titled like this, the flow leading up to the chorus became more murky. Initially, there was surprise in how the chorus is so beautiful while the first half is murky, but I think it became a magnificent song with convincing grandeur suitable for the flow of the album "DOGMA." It was born beautifully but grew murky. Truly ominous.

葵 (Aoi):

This could have also been named "DOGMA," I feel. Actually, it naturally seems somewhat similar to the title track, using the same sound as in "DOGMA" in this song as well. I think even RUKI himself might have seen these two songs as a continuation or a pair. Because there's "DOGMA," there's also "OMINOUS," or rather, it's apparent that he wanted it to be that way. I believe this album wouldn't have been complete without this song. Just like how a book cannot be complete without its back cover.

REITA:

I didn't initially expect this to be the closing song. However, once the idea of placing it last came up, I couldn't imagine it anywhere else. Now, I can't think of any other place for it but here. It's a song that leads the world of "DOGMA." Without this song, the album might have ended up shallower. It was necessary to conclude it as something deeper.

戒 (Kai):

An image of everything turning pure white. However, it's not just about ending simply; rather, it's about opening another door... That might be the exit. Like "DOGMA" served as the entrance, this is quite a heavy door as well. There's an image that links with "DOGMA." These two songs have a relationship of front and back, yet they are also integral to each other.

OMINOUS: Translation

Sleep… Count me down… Again

So I’ll close my eyes As I turn to face you

My prayer shattered into ruins Is reflected in your eyes as you spread your wings to fly

I see you whirling with nightmares Through a sky thick with darkness

Don’t forget That the heart can’t die Don’t forget Really, dreams don’t always mean what they seem

True… Dread

Sleep… Count me down… Again

This cycle of constant change is ominous I fall into the recurring darkness

It steals away my formless future and whenever I step forward The sky darkens until I can no longer see I’m killing myself with loneliness and even my screams Won’t bring any rescue

Sleep… Count me down… Again

...

UGLY: Translation

Play in the circle Come pay for your filthiness The bloody scaffold and bitch

Please die… Before I die Lies and boastful eyes

Evil fame Inside SHARP 2 It’s completely distorted and Insane

Death to Traitors Scaffold and bitch Hatred ringing out, violated, nothing but a number Death to Traitors Scaffold and bitch Forgetting to beg [is a] Crime

This pain doesn’t reach you You, living with lies You can’t sleep beside me Are you still alive?

Play in the circle Come pay for your filthiness The bloody scaffold and bitch

Please die… Before I die Lies and boastful eyes

Evil fame Inside SHARP 2 It’s completely distorted and Insane

FUCK Traitors Scaffold and bitch Hatred ringing out, violated, nothing but a number Death to Traitors Scaffold and bitch Forgetting to beg [is a] Crime

Lies will always come tumbling down You are ugly and falling apart Even now you stand at the edge of the death’s abyss

Are you still alive?

Death to Traitors Scaffold and bitch Hatred ringing out, violated, nothing but a number Death to Traitors Scaffold and bitch Forgetting to beg [is a] Crime

DEPRAVITY: Translation

What isn’t written on that paper Are the absurd pretexts and hushed-up truths

Can you praise a God who doesn’t call it a sin To heap violence upon his devout believers? [You should die] That’s how it always is with the hidden side of the truth In bitter tears [Somebody has drowned]

Linked hearts And the hopes that traveled between them: What will be lost when the undesired end comes?

Looking back to the past, was it really as depraved as it seemed? My mind is filled with Despair

What isn’t written on that paper Are the absurd pretexts and hushed-up truths

Can you praise a God who doesn’t call it a sin To heap violence upon his devout believers? [You should die] That’s how it always is with the hidden side of the truth In tears of blood [Somebody has drowned]

The darkness that completely engulfs me won’t let me go

Crushed by my helplessness I lived through sleepless nights Destroyed by my weakness I couldn’t even cry anymore

Linked hearts And the hopes that traveled between them: What will be lost when the undesired end comes?

GODDESS: Translation

Suffering day after day My reason for living Is to embrace the answer that scratches the surface

Trapped inside, drowning in what I can’t see, I’m unable to believe in “someday” These bleak thoughts are my sacrifice that will one day begin to thaw into a selfless, smiling heart Drain

I want to become the stars that fill the silence Giving voice to my multitude of sins, growing louder until it’s distorted Floating in a haze within this shallow sleep Your hand gently caresses my crippling despair as I face this moment

Suffering day after day For all eternity I simply wish that I might live [But] it’s the end of me…

Trapped inside drowning in what I can’t see, I’m unable to believe in “someday” These bleak thoughts are my sacrifice that will one day begin to thaw into a selfless, smiling heart

I can’t become the stars that fill the silence Giving voice to my multitude of sins, it kills me as I struggle [If only] I could share my  grief that can’t be put into words [If only] I could face reality and live accepting my crippling despair…

UNDYING: Translation

Sleep… Count me down… Again I won’t arise from this

Black philosophy: the only thing left behind is a future engulfed in misery When your unclear reality becomes a hindrance, what can you believe in? what can you hope for?

Ominous shadows completely obscure this sky Spreading my wings, I will circle them for all eternity

7 　“Disjointed thoughts” 6 　“Retribution and separation” 5 　“The gallows” 4 　“Wishes and the future” 3 　“Forbidden words and crushing heaviness” 2　 “Broken dreams” 1 　“Betrayal”

I deny all of it Smothered in blackness [Sleep…Count me down] Dancing with death [Count me down…Again] Come, let’s end this

I screamed to drown out everything else Have I changed at all? What did you see in the ever-darkening sky? My heart has been broken

Too late the truth that gushes forth was smothered by the darkness

7　Foolish courage Crawling, smeared with destructive desires 6　Eyes feigning apathy will bring the ruin of evil 5　[Foolish courage] [Crawling, smeared with destructive desires] 4　I mock even the God I’ve fooled 3　[Foolish courage] [Crawling, smeared with destructive desires] 2　[Eyes feigning apathy will bring the ruin of evil] 1　[Foolish courage] [Crawling, smeared with destructive desires] 0

The sky that represents eternity is nothing but sad

Life, don’t change my fate God, entomb my hate

Their depth of meaning begins to vanish along with the power of these words And even if I can see the end The dream I had was full of unforgivable hopes I can still see it even now

[Even now]

I’m drowning in the depths of the endless tide of sin

MALUM: Translation

I saw the abyss Like a nightmare

Morally bankrupt and completely drenched in red like a demon In the indiscriminate inhuman depths of extreme greed even my fantasies are half-hearted The shards of this life are scattered

“Her body heat can’t be felt anymore”

Why did you KILL? Though I lament She can’t return

In a garbage heap,  I degenerate into a beast dripping with malice I will never forget The meaning of it

Until you die / I will live Until it KILLS you It will never end I know Until you die / I will live Until I KILL you Pray as your eyes gaze down into the “abyss of death”

Why did you KILL? Though I lament She can’t return

In a garbage heap, I degenerate into a beast dripping with malice I will never forget The meaning of it

I’m already like this

Until you die / I will live Until it KILLS you It will never end I know Until you die / I will live Until I KILL you Pray as your eyes gaze down into the “abyss of death”

What do you think of the death I dealt you in retaliation? The nothingness will continue to spread until everything [is covered] And in it, even your reason for living brings you nothing but ruin.

VACANT: Translation

[Even] as we’re tangled around each other I understand That it can never go back [to how it was]

What do you think? The answer is discolored by my self-condemnation I’ve lost sight of [our] perfect world That trick of my unconscious mind Prevents me from even dreaming

The setting sun brings to mind the “parting” that will happen one day The cherry blossoms simply flutter amidst the sound of my never-ending tears Their fleeting life will fade as the days pass by, and my grief continues to grow Even now it won’t leave me

Just don’t forget That the end will certainly be just like that day

[Even] as we’re tangled around each other I understand That it can never go back [to how it was]

On that wall of indifference [between us] that seems as if it could one day crumble away [I pin] the end and all my broken dreams

In the misery of being unable to reconnect our threads now untied, Time begins to pile up on itself, stopped dead in its tracks

The cherry blossoms merely flutter I can’t escape that day It’s as if you’re vacant, and you’re withering

I count the wishes you left me with

I grieve that I can’t change the way things are now And remember What I lost on that day

... MASS lyrics book All lyrics translations are from Defective Tragedy blog, I did some changes to Dogma and Wasteland because I felt the need to (I study DOGMA lyrics like a religious text, because it is one). The Dogma book members comments are translated by ChatGPT. All scans are from The Archive. Tumblr has once again messed up the formatting, sorry about that.

Notes to self: Ruki calls dogma the antithesis - in hegelian philosophy it is the negation. antithesis was also written on 15th anni merch, specifically the black shirt aoi wore. Inorganic feel - deracine - in the womb, Ninth mother/ Matrix, Uruha said The Mortal is about AI, so the Matrix, while babylons taboo is the ninth cover art track. 99.999 is the most inorganic of them all but its also the sum of all their previous works. Ruki directly confirms that dawn and 13th anni is about the scarlet woman and the redefinition tour was part of the intro to dogma. 13th anni - 13 dogma songs - 13 the number of the high priestess card, she is on the cover of dogma. Also dawn lyrics literally say answer redefined becomes the new dogma. Deux - the 2 triangles of a hexagram. Blemish - redness, like a red strobe light. was supposed to have a stronger digital tone?? Inorganic??? ninth goddess. Strobe light at the beggining of the mortal live. Bizarre 3x inorganic, she is bizarre. red visualiser, composed by uruha- gate to hell - bab - the mortal - in hell. Ominous - whiteness ( it reads more like redness to me with the heart being torn open and bleeding in the dogmatic final performance. Blood is smeared on ninth cds but also ugly vid and also spookybox lucy cd. Did ruki mean ninth with more to come or ugly? probably both. But Kai said exit door and Door is Daleth so ninth. Maybe it's the whiteness turning into redness. ) lucy + barbarian.

[hrizantemy]

Wrote this because imagine being a girl growing up in Hewn City.

Darkness seemed to follow me, a shadow that extended far beyond the reach of the sun. It was in every alleyway I passed, creeping through the narrow gaps between buildings, pooling in the corners where the streetlights failed to penetrate. Even in the daylight, when the world should have been bright and welcoming, there was always a sense of something unseen lurking just out of sight, waiting for the opportune moment to reveal itself.

Every man I encountered seemed cloaked in this darkness, their faces partially obscured, their intentions hidden behind a veil of shadows. Their eyes, cold and unfeeling, were windows to a world I could not fathom but sensed was fraught with danger. Conversations were laced with an underlying menace, a threat that whispered through the air like a secret only I was privy to. Trust became an elusive concept, something I could no longer afford.

But the worst of it was when I closed my eyes. The darkness was no longer an external force; it was internal, residing within me. It pulsated behind my eyelids, a living entity that wrapped itself around my thoughts and dreams. Sleep offered no respite, only a deeper descent into a realm where the shadows had full dominion. I would awaken, gasping for breath, the weight of the darkness pressing down on my chest, refusing to let me go.

There was no escape from it. It was as though the darkness had become a part of me, woven into the very fabric of my being. No matter how far I walked, no matter where I went, it followed. It was inescapable, an ever-present reminder that light and hope were distant dreams, perpetually out of reach.

Sometimes, the darkness felt more than just a presence; it felt like a force, an overwhelming tide that threatened to sweep me away. There were moments when it surged, rising up to consume me entirely, and in those moments, I felt an unsettling sense of surrender. The world around me, with its harsh lights and unforgiving realities, seemed less appealing than the void that beckoned.

The thought of being consumed by it wasn't frightening; it was a tempting escape. The darkness offered a strange kind of solace, a promise of release from the endless struggle of existing in a world that never quite felt like my own. It whispered sweet nothings, coaxing me with the allure of silence and stillness, a place where the relentless noise of my mind could finally be stilled.

There were times when I stood on the precipice, teetering on the edge of letting go. The pull was strong, an almost gravitational force that promised to envelop me in its cool embrace. In those moments, I wouldn't have minded if it took me. I would close my eyes and feel its tendrils wrapping around my soul, drawing me deeper into its depths. There, I imagined, I could find peace—a cessation of the ceaseless torment, the unending cycle of fear and uncertainty.

It was worse when I felt this way because it made the darkness seem not like an enemy, but a friend. It was a dangerous comfort, a seductive promise of escape that was hard to resist. The line between surrender and survival blurred, and sometimes, I felt myself slipping. The idea of being consumed entirely, of disappearing into the void, was no longer terrifying but almost desirable. In the face of such an irresistible force, my will to fight weakened, and I found myself wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, it would be easier to let go.