#verse : dark souls. — ashes to ashes.

[onigiram]

TAGS. i didn't like the other ones asjbfjbsdjgb

[toheel]

tags

[solarenchanting]

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 ── .✦ gojō satoru x fem!reader

should you call him on his birthday?

note: inspired by the song, “birthday” by disclosure, syd, and kehlani; notably the first verse and chorus sparked the inspiration of this fic + specific items are indicated to be meaningful to fem!reader + use of 24-hour time.

part two: birthday wish

the dim, yellow light of your desk lamp glowed in your home office. its warm glare illuminated your surroundings, the familiar decor accompanied by its shadows. the bookshelf filled with your favourite books, various framed portraits of your favourite artworks on the wall, the sheen glint of the laminate floor.

sandalwood lingered in the air, the thick bamboo stick burned slowly into ash. the remnants of gray dropped onto the wooden boat burner. with a turn of your shoulder, you’d see it perched on the windowsill.

the ticking sound of the pendulum clock, its silver swinging weight swaying side to side, fell in rhythm with the soothing pitter-patter of the rain tapping against the window.

to anyone else, this would be heaven.

to have the exquisite blend of sandalwood—woody, creamy, ambery, and slightly sweet scent—creating a mellow and calming ambience, paired with the warmth of the desk lamp and the steady rhythm encouraging you to relax?

definitely heaven.

however, in reality?

you were in hell.

a plethora of paperwork — forms, rosters, letters, reports — and files lay on your mahogany study desk, barely allowing the dark reddish-brown surface to show. your laptop was on, the brightness on the lowest level, with an email that did not find you well. your notebook was open, a black ballpoint pen in hand, sliding rapidly across each page you wrote, each document you signed.

your tired eyes darted around, solely focused on the work in front of you. whether it was scanning the content of whatever document you came across, watching the movement of your hand as you wrote, or glancing between the keyboard and the laptop screen—your eyes roamed everywhere.

everywhere except the bookshelf filled with your favourite books that you couldn’t afford at one point.

everywhere except the various framed portraits of your favourite artworks that you never thought you would own.

everywhere except the wooden boat burner that held the sandalwood incense, bought as a replacement for your old incense holder.

everywhere except the pendulum clock that hung on the wall, the one that caught your eye when you were window shopping that one time.

everywhere except those gifts that were from—

your hand froze—along with your body—stopping at a random syllable of a word you were writing, the grip on your ballpoint pen loosening as it fell from your hand, landing with a soft thud onto your notebook.

your eyes widened, a shock passing by, before you closed them. an exasperated sigh escaped from your lips, your hand moving to hold your forehead as you propped an elbow onto the desk, leaning forward.

you were doing it again.

your mind was wandering off to him.

him with hair as white as the late december snow that fell in tokyo.

him with those beautiful, soul-piercing, blue eyes that were reminiscent of a clear sky on a summer’s day in august.

him with that damned blindfold, which he always took off in your presence because he knew how much you loved his eyes.

him and that—

no. stop it, [name].

he’s nothing but an old flame.

well, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past year and four months—not like anyone’s counting—since you left him behind.

ever since december began, he’s been on your mind. he’d randomly pop up at the most inconvenient moments. you’d see his favourite bakery, walk past his favourite stores in the mall, or spot something you knew he’d like.

opening your eyes, you lifted your head from your hand. you leaned against the backrest of your chair, arms lazily placed on the armrests with your hands resting downwards, and your head tilted upwards the dim-lit ceiling.

there was only one reason behind this.

your hand found its way to the pocket of your sweatpants, pulling out your phone, and bringing it up to your face. your thumb pressed the power button for a second, the blue light of your emitting onto your face.

and there it was—the reason you’ve been behaving the way you have for the past six days—plain as day.

00:57

Saturday, 7 December

Calendar・my love ♡

instantly, you pushed yourself forward once more, dropping your phone onto the desk amidst the scattered paperwork. you fell back into your previous position, elbow propped on the desk, hand pressed against your forehead. your free arm lay flat on the desk, fingertips tapping rhythmically on the wooden surface.

the home screen of your phone staring at you with that fucking notification glaring at you.

if it had been anyone else you cut ties with, and if you’d forgotten to erase traces of them on your phone, you would've swiped left—out of sight, out of mind. hell, you would’ve deleted it the moment it came across your screen.

if it had been any other day—and not the fucking 7th of december—you wouldn’t have cared. there wouldn’t have been a second thought. not even a last thought, as that would mean it’s still a thought.

you wouldn’t be sitting here, staring at your phone, wondering what he’d say to you, wondering if it would be a huge mistake if you…

should you…?

should you call him on his birthday?

you bit your lip, furrowing your eyebrows, and stopped tapping your fingers. once again, you leaned back into your chair, your phone in your hand this time with your thumb hovering over the screen.

you could call him, just to make sure he’s okay.

or would he prefer that you didn’t—prefer that you simply let him go?

before you could consider anything, you sat up straight, your thumb swiped across the screen. your thumb swiped across the screen, and with swift movements, you entered your pin and clicked on contacts, scrolling down until you found it.

gojō satoru ・090-xxxx-xxxx

his old number.

but is it even working?

a/n: happy birthday to gojō satoru !! <33 happy gojō satoru day, everyone !! especially to the gojō satoru lovers <33

iʼd say this is my contribution but itʼs a sad fic (?) (also the mentioned song helped me write this, of course).

regardless, i hope this is enjoyable to whoever comes across it !! :)

much love from me to you ♡

[vercxs]

♰ 𝐖𝐄𝐁 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ( dabi )

sfw + slightly suggestive. female hero! reader. dabi is a bit ooc. kind of bittersweet too. 900+ words.

silence hung in the air, the only sounds echoing to the corners of the ceiling are steady breathing. this clearly isn't supposed to happen. you're in his cheap and small apartment, his blanket clinging to the curves of your body which rise and fall with each slow and even breath.

touya's lips brushed against the skin of your neck, all so playful and teasing that it bears hundreds of eerie spiders to crawl down your spine. "shouldn't you hate me?" touya asked in a soft whisper, his lips still pressing against your skin as his eyes flickered to your face. "i'm a villain and you're a hero."

you hadn't answered him, and you didn't want to. not now, not any sooner. maybe that was for the best, because touya himself is so unsure of himself if he even wanted to know whatever word that might slip out the tip of your tongue.

neither of you knew what twisted fate this is for him to stop seeing you as another of those measly, self-righteous heroes which he despised and loved incinerating to ashes. touya's eyes still gazed over your facial features before they averted to your neck, pressing one last soft and rather chaste kiss.

his fingers are on your neck now, tracing over the love bites he had left. you are like his canvas as he draws on them, leaving his artwork all over. his touch is so gentle in a motion so slow and reverent. it was almost as if he was trying to imprint his bites onto his own fingers, a sense of pride in his tainted heart when he knew you'd be the one walking around in daylight with all these marks.

"do you hate me?" he repeated, words holding such a different weight to them that it makes you glance at him, eyes locking onto his piercing turquoise ones.

"i— i don't know..."

touya's gaze flicked back to you, eyes narrowing slightly at your response. there was a moment of silence, an empty silence, as he took in your words and how your eyes seemed to hold so many unspoken feelings.

"you don't know..." he repeated your words softly, like a broken vinyl record that was stuck at one specific verse of a song. he moved even closer to you, the heat of his body radiating against yours. "then why are you here?"

"because i can't stop myself from coming back. coming back to you," you said while your gaze averted somewhere else. touya didn't liked that you looked away from him so he held your chin to once again lock his gaze onto yours.

the man knew it all. he knew that you couldn't stay away, even though you knew you should. it was the same for him. he never should have laid his fingers on you, on your skin, let alone done all the things he had. but here you both were... tangled up in each other and entwining your fates against each other.

"you should hate me," he murmured, his fingers that held your chin moving to trace along your jawline.

"you should hate me too."

touya's expression darkened further at your words. he should hate you, but he couldn't. no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't summon up the anger he reserved for heroes. with you, everything was different. it's so damn different until it makes him question his sanity.

"i definitely should," he admitted, "but i don't."

you looked into his eyes, a little smile forming on your lips. "we're both kinda fucked up, aren't we?

"that's an understatement," he let out a scoff, similar to a chuckle, and replied, a hint of humour in his voice. he was familiar with his own brand of darkness, but seeing it reflected in you was both strange and oddly comforting. "we're both fucking fucked up. but i guess that makes us a perfect match."

"a match made in hell."

"you're right," touya trails with a glint of amusement in his eyes, voice low. "two broken souls, finding solace in each other. it's almost pathetically poetic." his fingers ceased to caress your cheeks before he pulled back slightly. "but i wouldn't have it any other way."

it fueled the insides of touya when you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as if you never wanted his warmth against your skin to leave. your lips then found their way to gently press against his, moving around so slowly and so intimately that it makes touya forget that you are even a hero nor was he ever a villain.

you pulled away shortly after, letting out a soft sigh as you leaned your forehead against his, his eyes fixed on yours. this was a stolen moment, a secret that could never last.

"fate's a cruel mistress," touya whispered, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. his hands moved up your back, pulling you closer, as if trying to savour every second with you. "but right now, i don't give two shits about what's written in the damn fucking stars."

"forget about fate, touya... i want you right now. over and over again. until we forget each other's roles in this world."

bittersweet kisses and wistful touches are then given to each other for their web of sorrowful romance.

©VERCXS. do not steal, copy, or alter my works.

[hearthandheathenry]

All About Samhain

Samhain, typically pronounced "sow-in", is an ancient Gaelic festival originating from a pagan spiritual tradition. It falls on November 1st in the northern hemisphere, but celebrations start at sunset on October 31st due to old Celtic timekeeping. It falls about halfway between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice. The holiday also ushers in the end of the harvest season and the start of the dark months ahead, a.k.a the winter.

Samhain is marked as one of the most important fire festivals of the Celts, and is mentioned even in 9th century Irish literature. It was such an important time of year that neolithic passage tombs in Ireland aligned with the sunrise around this holiday, predating any historical text on it. Samhain was a celebration of large feasts and gatherings and was said to be a time where the portals to the otherworld were open and when spirits were close. However, the festival was not recorded in great detail until more early modern times.

At that time, it was mentioned how cattle were brought down from the summer pastures and slaughtered, special fires were lit for protection and cleansing, and offerings were made to the Fae and to the departed souls thought to visit their loved ones on this liminal holiday. Mumming and guising (wearing costumes and going door to door reciting verses in exchange for food) were recorded at this time. Divination also seemed to be a big part of celebrations at this time, usually involving nuts and apples.

In the 9th century, the western church declared November 1st All Saints Day and later November 2nd All Souls Day. It is believed that modern Halloween is influenced by all of these different holidays and their traditions since most of American Halloween was inherited from Irish and Scottish immigrants.

Samhain played a big role in Irish mythology, and many tales were passed down about this time of year and eventually written down by Christian monks in the Middle Ages. Most tales tell of large feasts, interactions with the Fae and the Otherworld, and of making offerings around this time of year within those tales.

In some Medieval texts, it is said that Samhain at Uliad lasted 3 days before and 3 days after, or a whole week. There were great gatherings where they held meetings, drank, feasted, and held contests. Bonfires were noted in many texts, often being lit by Druids and used to relight hearthfires and for sacrifices to the Gods. By the early modern era, they were most common in the Scottish Highlands, and by the 18th and 19th centuries, the fires, smoke, and ashes were said to have protective and cleansing powers. They were also used for divination and had a ritual involving laying stones around the fire, one for each person, and then left overnight to observe in the morning. It is said that if one of the stones had been mislaid, then that person would not survive the year. Other older customs suggest throwing the stones into the fire itself instead.

Divination on Samhain usually revolved around death or marriage. Apples and hazelnuts were common divination tools for these games and customs, apple bobbing being a common one even way back then. Food and drink were also used for divination, along with animals and dreams people had later that night.

Samhain was also noted to have many traditions involving the Fae and the deceased. People would take extra precautions to protect themselves against the Fae or even give offerings to appease them. It was also thought that the dead would revisit their homes, seeking hospitality in the cold, so places for them were set at the table. Thankful souls were thought to bring blessings, while a wronged person could bring revenge.

Mumming and guising were also recorded in the 16th century, where people would go door to door in costume and recite verses in exchange for food, sometimes for the feast itself. It was suggested that those who disguised themselves as Fae would be protected, but other sources talk about representing the old spirits of winter who demanded reward in exchange for good fortune. However, disguising as Fae led to many young men taking the step to play tricks and pranks on people as well, leading to Samhain being nicknamed "Mischief Night" as far back as the 1700s.

Modern pagans today seem to celebrate Samhain in many different ways, incorporating ancient traditions from a few of the overlapping festivals and ways unique to their own practice. Overall, it's a wonderful and fun time filled with feasting, fires, dressing up, and honoring the dead. Samhain has survived many generations despite the time passed and traditions varying throughout the years.

Samhain Associations:

Colors - orange, red, yellow, black, purple

Food - apples, pomegranates, nuts, squash, alcohol, ciders, breads, sweets

Animals - cattle and other farm animals, nocturnal animals

Items - carved vegetables, treats, protective totems, disguises

Crystals - obsidian, carnelian, bloodstone, citrine, onyx, smokey quartz

Other - bonfires, divination, costumes, mumming, feasts, death, souls, Fae

Ways To Celebrate:

carve a vegetable to represent a spirit (carve a pumpkin)

go mumming and guising (trick-or-treating)

have a bonfire

have a feast

enjoy some cider or mead

dress up in a costume

practice divination

play games like apple bobbing

honor your ancestors

leave offerings to the spirits

prepare your home for the upcoming winter

cleanse and protect your home

make a simmer pot

create an altar

gather with friends and family

give treats to others

[babysbreathatmyfuneral]

When my journey on this earth is done,

And my final breath is drawn,

Do not dress in mourning black,

But wear the colors I won’t come back.

Let the light I held so dear,

Shine through you, chase every tear,

Celebrate the love we shared,

In bright hues, let my spirit be bared.

As you gather to say goodbye,

Play that song that lets me fly,

“I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free,”

Let it carry my soul, let it set me free.

Surround me with petals, pure and white,

With baby’s breath, soft as night,

In that space, let love abound,

As I return to sacred ground.

Cremate me, let my ashes fall,

In a place where peace stands tall,

Plant a cherry blossom where I lay,

Let it bloom with each passing day.

When your heart feels heavy and lost,

Come to my tree, whatever the cost,

Water its roots, speak to its leaves,

In that quiet, your heart reprieves.

My dogs, my loyal, faithful friends,

Their journey with you now begins,

Keep them close, don’t let them part,

In their eyes, you’ll find my heart.

There’s one more task I leave to you,

My poems, those whispers, true,

Gather them close, bind them with care,

Let my voice echo everywhere.

In every line, my soul’s laid bare,

In every verse, I’m always there,

Publish my words, let them breathe,

In that book, my spirit weaves.

Let my thoughts drift into hands,

Of those who search, who understand,

Through those pages, let them find,

A piece of me, a piece of mind.

Remember me not in sorrow deep,

But in the joy that love can keep,

For though I’m gone, I’m not far,

In your heart, that’s where we are.

When the days feel long and dark,

Let my memory be your spark,

For I am more than flesh and bone,

I’m in the love that’s always shown.

Your love has been my light,

Guiding me through every night,

Now I leave, but not for long,

For in your heart, I still belong.

And when your time on earth is through,

I’ll be waiting, still with you,

Together again, where souls reunite,

In love’s embrace, in endless light.

[desultory-novice]

Apologies AU - Good Ending Drop

Hey, everyone. It was my goal to finish Apologies in tandem with the Tournament, but for health reasons, I won't be able to as I planned. Because I tied the story to the tournament and don't feel like untangling it again and making everyone wait more, I'm going to give you all the ending spoilers, as I promised I would if I became unable to finish the story.

What I'm about to describe is THE Good Ending. The True Ending I had planned out almost from the beginning!

-

In the main-verse...

Susie, who sees too much of herself in Adeleine, decides to take matters into her own hands to bring the girl's older brother back.

She takes the vial of Dark Matter Swordsman DNA that was harvested from King Dedede. Meta Knight catches up with her and argues against it. It's foolish, dangerous, and liable to be nothing but painful to all parties involved. But Susie anticipated interference and asked Zan to bodyguard her. When Zan arrives (late) to the lab, the argument has caused the vial to begin to react to all the negativity in the room. Zan recognizes its contents as Dark Matter and insists on calling Lord Hyness, who in his own quirky way, analyzes their problem and suggests that while the contents are too weak to survive on their own, a resurrection could be possible, using Void's powers to mimic a hive queen, supplying whatever creature emerges the power to survive on Popstar without burning up into ash...

-

In the tourney-verse...

White-Haired Noir is at peace with his life and has come to accept the death of his precious little sister many years ago, but...a part of him still wishes to make Adeleine happy.

Using his fairy-born dimension sight, he discovers an Alternate Noir who is 98% percent compatible with main-verse Noir. This is the Purgatory!Noir from the Re_Birthday post. And he drags this unstable, utterly clueless Noir out of this peaceful void without his permission and secretly "volunteers"  the massively confused, un-alive but un-dead teen boy for the Kirby OC Tournament.

It is White-Haired Noir that is the "good" voice on phone and in Noir's head, encouraging rationality. His goal? Get Noir some friends. Get him to face up to/open up to people about his past. And get him caring about his life enough that he wants to live...! 

White-Haired Noir has seen what the main-verse Star Allies are attempting and knows that the odds of them actually bringing "Noir" back instead of just an emotionless monster are low without a compatible "Noir Soul" (haha) to inhabit the new vessel.

Over the course of many in-tourney events, including Noir learning to have faith in the sibling bonds he built with Gooey despite being Dark Matter at the time, learning to separate himself and Adeleine as individuals instead of clinging to her to his own neglect, privately opening up to King Dedede, who put the pieces together post-possession, about some awful stuff Noir put up with for years in secret from Raquelle's father (who privately loathed Neichel AND her kids and took it out on Noir) to "pay" for Adeleine's good life...

And lastly, using the power of wishes to interrogate if THIS Noir's true wish is to die and be free, to have never been born, to have had a normal "perfect" life, or if he simply wishes for a second chance to be with those he cares about... White-Haired Noir determines that Tourney!Noir is ready and reveals his plan to him. Noir confesses to him that he really does want to live and be with his family again and offers up his stronger soul for Susie and the gang's vessel.

-

Back in the main-verse...

The experiment is a success! They have brought, well, something back. It is not quite like Dark Matter Swordsman in form, nor is it exactly a human boy. It looks a little bit like a spiky haired-Gooey.

After some tense questioning of the emotionless, memoryless, unresponsive goo, it...suddenly seems to awaken. With the voice of a deeply shaken and scared young boy, the violet-eyed blob questions the mad scientist, cultists, and masked man surrounding him... Where the hell is he? And where are his little brother and sister?

Meta Knight welcomes Noir back to the world of the living.

Later, after Noir has time to dress himself in an appropriate scarf, Adeleine and Gooey are brought in and it is a happy and tear-filled reunion all around as Noir confirms that, while this form is strange, it's not dangerous and he's not in pain. He is then re-introduced to King Dedede, whereupon it's revealed that even though Noir likes him, he's still a snarky teen punk at heart, as he sasses the king horribly. (Dedede has gained another kid, but at what cost? XD)

...And that's it.

That's the ending to Apologies I've held onto for nearly a year.

For reading through all that, here is a short comic I drew a while back of the reunited family having a snowball fight in White Wafers.

-

(Not to unnecessarily over-explain the story but because the comic is a little vague, I have to tell you that no, Noir does not ever return to human after his revival. I meant it when I wrote in several places that their parting on Shiver Star was the last time they'd see each other "...in this form." This is merely meant to depict a moment in which Adeleine, seeing her brother alive and smiling and laughing and having real fun for the first time in so long, is able to imagine his old self smiling and is at peace that her brother is finally free from the hurt and misery he bore up with for so long.)

(...And yes, he has a long, silly tongue just like Gooey. Which is why he hides all but his eyes behind the scarf. Gotta keep up that cool older brother look even as a little goo creature! While Noir can't become human - frankly, he doesn't miss having a human body, given the stuff in his adolescence and being over-stressed, underfed, under-slept and just overall sick all the time in his later teens - he does eventually acquire the ability to shift into his old "Swordsman" form for short bursts of time.)

-

(Lastly, you might wonder how I could have had this exact ending in mind from almost the beginning when so much of it is tied up in recent posts like the tourney? ...Well, originally what was going to happen to allow Noir to be properly resurrected into the Dark Matter Goo body is that the Dream Rod from Star Allies was going to appear in response to a grieving Adeleine's wishes to see her brother again, bringing Noir-as-Swordsman back. At least for a LITTLE while, as it would be revealed that with Zero dead, Noir, who was entirely composed of Dark Matter at this point, couldn't survive on Popstar. Every moment he was there, his body was burning.)

(Still, he lasts long enough to have one final talk with Adeleine that helps heal him from the torturous events of DL 3 - in which we learn a highly disappointed Zero drove Noir to the absolute breaking point, shattering his mind and his newly regained soul. Adeleine also tells Noir she has finally realized everything he did for her during their childhood and apologizes to him for not seeing it before. With dawn on the horizon, Noir asks to look over Adeleine's sketchbooks with her before the end... He dies one last time, peacefully, while Adeleine finally gets to properly mourn him.)

(Then, all the "main-verse" sections proceed to happen as stated above!)

-

(...Okay, okay. One last thing. There was also an alternate ending planned where Magolor, taking advantage of the fact that Merry Magoland was built on a nexus point, finds a way to reunite Adeleine and White-Haired Noir - still a teen in this version - using his theme park as a union point, as special birthday gift for Adeleine.)

(I was kinda fond of this one for reuniting the timelines, but it opened up a lot of questions such as, if Magolor made it so that Noir and Adeleine from two different dimensions can see each other as long as they're both in Magoland, could others from the WH Noir-verse see the main-verse this way? It invited too many questions, so that's why I scrapped that one and just let White-Haired Noir grow up instead.)

[resident-problem]

***Spoilers Ahead***

So I'm reading the Chant of Light, as one does and this might be prophesy of the events of Dreadwolf? This is from the the Canticle of Exaltations by the way, which I guess (to all my former and current Christans/bible knowers) is basically the Thedas equivalent of Revelations.

This section of the Canticle is specifically signs of the Maker's return, so that's cool ig

"Seven times seventy men of stone (Titans?) immense

Rose up from the earth like sleepers waking at the dawn,

Crossing the land with strides immeasurable,

And in the hollows of their footprints

Paradise was stamped, indelible. (The Rumbling Part 2, now with more Titans)

And I heard from the East (Par Vollen/Seheron?) a great cry

As men who were beasts (outdated and gross referrence to Qunari?) warred with their brothers,

Tooth and claw against blade and bow,

Until one could no longer be told from the other (Qun and Tal Vashoth?),

And cursed them and cursed their generations.

And those who slept, the ancient ones, (reference to Old Gods? Or maybe Evanuris) awoke,

For their dreams had been devoured

By a demon that prowled the Fade

As a wolf hunts a herd of deer.

Taking first the weakest and frailest of hopes,

And when there was nothing left,

Destroying the bright and bold

By subtlety and ambush and cruel arts.

The ninth (there are more? Anyone know ehat this is referring to?) sacred mountain (Temple of Sacred Ashes, also location of Breach) upon which rests

The mortal dust of Our Lady ascended

Whole into the heavens, to be given high honor

In the Realm of Dreams forever.

And around it, a chorus of spirits sang:

"Whatsoever passes through the fire (Holy Andrastian rite, essentially baptism which is practiced in the Chantry, so I wonder what this is actually referring to)

Is not lost, but made eternal;

As air can never be broken nor crushed,

The tempered soul is everlasting!"

(Don't know where else to put this, but in Origins, if you bring Oghren along during the Temple of Sacred Ashes quest, he essentially confirms that there is a large amount of Lyrium present in the Temple. Which (and this is speculation) could be the cause of the Ashes curative properties. Not to mention in the beginning Inquisition, Cassandra mentions that the mountains in the area are full of old mining complexes. And Varric also points out the Red Lyrium in the Temple. So there may, potentially be a corrupted titan beneath the temple?)

And I looked up and saw

The seven gates of the Black City shatter,

And darkness cloaked both realms."

(If you're one of those who also believes that the Old Gods are some sort of lock (seven "locks", seven gods) keeping the Evanuri at bay, this could be a reference to that.)

The previous prophesy appears to loosely be the events of Inquistion, excluding the part where Andraste herself rides forth and proclaims the return of the Maker. So they are possibly coming true, just not exactly as written.

After having read that, I can see why so many thought that the Inquisitor genuinely was a servant of Andraste, and that it actually was Andraste in the Fade instead of Divine Justinia. Would've been neat to hear that verse in game, maybe as a way to convince the Inquisitor that they are an agent of the Maker's will. I feel like it would've made some of the religious fervor surrounding the Inquisition make more sense.

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

A Million Miles Apart In This Room

Astarion x Dark Urge Poetry / ➹content/tags: angst, guilt, hurt, romance

Commission for @aristenfromwarsaw ➹pairing: SpawnAstarionxDark Urge Aristen

Lost lovers and vampire years of one’s life, piling up, drag me down Heavy like a thorn’s crown Falling to the ground, faces forgotten rotting autumn leaves How should I spawn deserve Aristen’s love and a heart’s peace? Wretched, torn, bleed and broken In my name the cruelty of blood awoken I should die, I should burn But for your heart, Astarion, I do yearn My body a graveyard, my soul the coffin I lie in Dead in the ground, forever remembering my sin Decaying, decaying, decaying Death obeying A vampire’s heart dead and cold, but still able to break Suddenly awoken by Aristen’s true love’s fate Cruelty, cruelty – written upon my face Never deserving the touch of love for a slayer’s grace Grimace in the mirror, “Monster!” Children should scream Nothing more as the shadow of their dark dream They call me “hero”, even though I should no longer be How could I set Astarion’s enslaved soul free? Beautiful sorceress of storm and light, like an idol you shine I wish so much to make you mine Or would my bloody, dirty hands only defile you? Because this is all I can do… Locks and skin of silver and snow You seem so pure like the stars that your name does know My heart’s dear But shedding this fresh fallen snow with blood is my fear Biting on glass, choking on words Memories they all do hurt Will I ever prove myself worthy of your love? When a dark urge within me only deserves a death’s shove Memories they hurt, they burn, bursting me into flames Burning my body into ashes, until nothing remains My eyes craving for light But my soul drawn and bond to the shadows of the night By heart and curse Good or worse Will I ever prove myself worthy of your love? When my song seems sung by a mourning dove I wish I would burn, forgotten forever, all angels and my name begone Then the darkness would have lost and would have won But you see no darkness in me, I feel Only how could I be with you, when falling night thickens my fate’s wheel?

Who will come to save me now? Who will come to save me now? Am I worth of redemption? Am I worth of redemption? How could I deserve your saving? How could I deserve your saving? Will I ever be worthy of your love? Will I ever be worthy of your love?

➹a/n: Picture of Astarion and her Dark Urge Aristen by @aristenfromwarsaw

She commissioned a poem about the self-loathing of Astarion and Aristen because of their bloody past and despite both think the other one is their saving, they do not think, that they deserve love and saving. Both are traumatised and feel rotten to the core. Astarion feels not pure enough to be with the friendly, helpful Aristen and she is full of guilt because of her bhaal origins.

I hope I could bring this theme request to life. (Blue are of course Aristen's thoughts and black Astarion's; so I have it in my bard book)

The style of writing is based on a medieval poem in which a woman talks and negotiates with death. The verses are also divided into her lamentations and death's answers.

Unfortunately, I can no longer remember the name of the poem or who wrote it.

My poem is not intended to depict a direct conversation between Astarion and Aristen, but their inner thoughts that are consuming them.

The similarity, as if they were questions and answers, is all the more intended to express their despair. The strong closeness with the simultaneous unbelievable distance. Distance although so close in spirit. Distance although physically close and perhaps in the same room, because of the trauma that lies deep inside them.

That's why it's so important to talk to each other. To make your thoughts and feelings known.

Words may sometimes be superfluous and can be misunderstood. But - please - if you love someone, make sure you tell them that. Tell them how important they are to you and show them.

[kuroneko1815]

Tyranny of a lost love

Callisto loved her but he had known that too late. As he stared out at the beautiful day, he cursed it too. Behind him the bed was empty, a proof of his failure. Her absence like a monster gnawing on his very being, the silence haunting him. There would be no more smiles, no more sharp words, no taunts luring him in until he made her beg, spread out on his bed, tangled together and her words of devotion only for him.

He had bid her a final goodbye today, watched as her body was forever entombed in a grave for the two of them, their child dead with her. The Eckharts hadn’t come, too busy fawning over their newly returned daughter, over the girl that had caused all of this. That miserable wretch who had accused his Princess of all manner of wicked misdeeds, he had stopped them but not in time for them to beat the life out of her.

Her broken body etched forever in his mind and soul. The Eckharts had made a nuisance of themselves in the meantime, celebrating the engagement between their precious real daughter and the Marquis, joining his brother’s faction and slandering him.

He cared not for it.

“Your highness?” Porter asked him from where he stood on the other side of his room. Baroness Eloise by his side.

“I love her.” He said dully, voice devoid of life and emotion, just as he now was. “I wanted to protect her, protect them, forever.”

Porter was silent for a moment.

“What do you wish to do?” The aide asked.

“Burn them all to the ground.” He said, a flame lighting up in him. Penelope had wished him to be the perfect emperor, but he couldn’t do that with those filth still walking about.

“As you wish.” Both Porter and the Baroness replied.

-

-

Cedric watched his Liege as he issued out commands. He’d known this to be a possibility for years. Perhaps he should be against this, others certainly would. But Cedric had been sixteen when he followed a twelve year old crown Prince into battle, watched as he stained his hands with blood, destroyed his innocence, butchered his own soul in order to obey the commands given to him by the Emperor and to prove himself to a thankless empire.

The Crown Prince who kept his studies even in the battlefield, who did his work as both the leader of the military and the crown prince, had done the work of practically every other Imperial family member, and yet all he received from high society was scorn and ridicule, the barbarian prince, and assassins every other day or so.

And to see him fall for the first time, to see shades of the boy he’d been resurface around the woman he loved had been so very uplifting. To see the shadows and darkness chased away as he gazed at the Lady, the gentleness with which he held her, the excitement upon his upcoming nuptials, and of his secret impending fatherhood. And then too see it all ripped away, Cedric hadn’t been surprised by the path that the Prince chose to take.

There were many who would follow him to such a course of action, Cedric included. Not just for his liege but for the sake of his friends among the mages as well. His friends who had been trampled on for generations because of their magic when they were so very useful. Far more useful than those corrupt, insolent, uppity nobles in their gilded homes who knew little of the world beyond their halls and balls.

-

-

He had made sure to make a nuisance of himself, a bigger, more effective nuisance. One that constantly undermined his brother and his faction. Destroying the relations between the citizens and those certain nobles further, sowing seeds of distrust and discontent.

He bid his time, he chased down any rumours from Penelope’s days in the streets, his informants more well versed in the art of street gossip and the shadier sides of the world. And he found one in particular. The pink monster, a tale of a little girl with pink hair and blue eyes, angelic in face, but would devour a man whole, sucking the life from them and leaving them as ashes.

Now which demon did he know of that did that? The Laila was known to be a goddess this time around, and that description was quite specific, narrowing it down to two girls within the capital at the time. Penelope and Ivonne Eckhart.

But Penelope had been well known and still well loved among the people of the street, that meant that the monster had to be Ivonne.

He found a wicked sense of humour in the fact that the Marquis, the pure white gentleman of high society would soon be sharing his bed with such a vile thing.

And then he heard tales of his brother’s movements and he smirked. A coup was it?

-

-

In the end, the Marquis brought his bride to be into the Palace, had supported the coup in such a state. Whether he did so willingly was no matter to him. The Eckharts had participated and so doomed themselves as well.

Callisto played the part of hero and caught them in the act. What he discovered was that the Laila could heal the host body with life forces, he threw the brothers in first, made the Duke watch what his daughter had done to his sons. Made him remember how he’d cast out his other child.

He had no sympathy.

The Marquis had escaped his grasp but he hunted him even now. It wouldn’t be much more until he caught him.

Outside the doors, the new Emperor was hailed, the golden hero of the Empire. Many families had been purged from nobility, many more loyal servants and soldiers uplifted into nobilities ranks.

-

-

Winter Verdandi watched it all from a cave far away. Too late had he awoken from the thrall. He had destroyed an innocent girl, the Crown Prince… no, the new Emperor’s love. And had inadvertently caused her death.

It set about a path of silver tongued tyranny for the Golden Prince.

He looked out at the capital, at the buildings being rebuilt after the Laila had unleashed the Golden Dragon. So many… so many lives had been destroyed by his actions, so many lives lost. The faces of his apprentices appeared in his mind, the fear and betrayed looks they’d given him as he allowed Ivonne to take them, to devour them, it was too much.

He set about making things right as he stepped into the ritual’s circle and felt the flames lick in to his skin.

-

-

The spell had been done too many times. Far too many to even be counted. The soul that had suffered so many agonizing deaths and moments had shattered long before the spell had even been cast.

Time froze, unable to accommodate the glaring absence needed to complete the reversal.

Fate compensated.

The soul was remade, a child was born in a new world. Parallel experiences mirroring the ones she had suffered through in one world, only this time, she was born in a place and time where she had a choice.

Fate decreed only in death. Death came, but could not fully reap.

The child grew into a woman who fell unconscious and woke up in the other life.

And so time reset, now able to proceed along the many paths it could take.

Obviously I’m on to my angst phase again. I guess I’ve been working on too much fluff behind the scenes too, including a new Imperial Domesticity instalment. So I needed to balance it out.

[nomorefstogive]

Funfact, there us a yugioh archetype based on dark souls. Look up ashened. It would be amazing to see your reactions and analysis on it if you want to.

Hello, again I am sorry for the delay with this, I will be answering both this ask and your previous one regarding the Umbrella Academy Dance Off idea in this one reply.

First, let's start with the most humorous of the pair, that being the dance off, I am admittedly not that experienced with Umbrella Academy, but the image that post has painted in my mind left me chuckling for quite a while after reading it.

As for how such a thing would occur in a SAGAU setting...hmmm...I have two ideas for the matter, the first involves Venti's one true love and the other involves the one thing you can always expect to occur when such wildly devoted individuals over hear something and make an assumption.

The first one, as I stated, involves the one true love of the Tone-Deaf Bard; Booze. To be exact, it involves the acolytes getting drunk off their asses at a celebration and someone, perhaps even the reader themselves, inadvertently starting the dance off as a means of showing off for the reader who, along with the other sober participants, is watching with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment at the mess before them.

The second involves the acolytes being sober...well...oaky all of them but Venti who is rarely, if ever truly sober, with them misunderstanding something the reader says and trying to impress them at a ball or other such form of celebration, with the ensuing chaos being a game to try and court the readers favor...or make them die of embarrassment and laughter, they are not certain because while some of them can dance...others...well...the kindest descriptor is an epileptic chicken with a strobe light tied to its face running around with a sparkler shoved somewhere sensitive...in other words, a mess.

As for the Ashened, it does indeed remind me a great deal of the Soulsborne series, the naming schemes for the characters, along with the link to fire and a constant cycle of conflict, with their souls having been trapped within an unending cycle of battle for a nation and cause long swept under the ashes and dust of the past.

The character designs seem like they would be quite fitting in the gritty and grim setting of the Soulsborne verse as well, along with the mechanic the main boss of the deck seems to have involving consuming the souls of the fallen to enhance its own strength. which calls to mind the Lords of Cinder from DS3...a dragon Lord Of Cinders...oh that is a nightmare that will haunt me for some time.

Veidos...hmmm...why do I suddenly hear Dark Eater Midir's theme?

The idea of them being trapped in a cycle does make me wonder just how powerful each of them would be when they are taken out of their ashen city, as, assuming we are following the logic of the Souls genre, they would have been growing in power and skill with each life and death as they gained the souls of their fallen comrades to further fuel their struggle against extinction made flesh.

Which also asks just how powerful Veidos would be if he does indeed absorb all of the fallen inhabitants souls should he be pushed too far, with the surge of power likely placing him on par with, if not superior, to the Archons in terms of sheer destructive power, and that is assuming he does not also gain their memories and power to further enhance himself.

I am curious as to just what would happen should their cycle end, as it seems to be caging Veidos and preventing it from taking any actions against the rest of the world due to it appearing to be trapped with them, assuming I am reading this correctly, so I wonder if the cycles breaking would herald him being released on the world in full, or if they would have worn him down over the aeons spent battling him.

Regardless of that matter, the idea of them having been fighting for so long that not only has history forgotten their names, but it is likely their entire nation has long been swept from the maps, which would cause no small amount of chaos should it be discovered as the nations would likely try and search for whatever wealth and power is hidden in the ruins of the nation, only to be pulled into the cycle, likely being viewed as enemies by the people of Obsidim.

I feel that by the time they are able to bridge the language barrier or convince them that they are not on the side of Veidos, that iteration of the cycle would likely have reached its conclusion, with those dying being enveloped by the same power that seared the Ashened warriors souls into their city and thus joining in bein g trapped in the cycle until it is at last broken with Veidos' death.

Something that will not come easy.

That is all I have for now, sorry for the delay with this again, take care and stay safe.

[obae-me]

Tainted Reflections- CH 15

Start This Story From The Beginning!

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Misery Craves Company

Warning: This chapter contains Blood, Gore, Violence, Burning, Overall Disturbing Imagery.

As Always, Read Safely!

----------------------------------------

Bodies. A seemingly endless amount. A torrent of grinding teeth and claws. The screeching roared down on them like a waterfall. Glowing eyes of different sizes and colors stared down at them, so many they dotted the darkness with their own galaxy. Spit and blood dripped onto their cheeks from the feral mass. Close. Closer still.

A snap. Sparks formed between the fingertips. Azure lightning bolted upwards, illuminating the area for a split second. A snapshot of horns and teeth. However many they originally imagined, there were more. Much more. The air clapped with thunder, the echo rolling around the stone walls. Deafening. Debilitating. Those closest to the initial blast exploded. Eviscerated from sheer power alone. The flash tore through the wall, cutting through demons, metal, and brick like butter. Yet, in total, it had struck only a tiny portion of the storm. Not enough. For every one destroyed, a dozen more would be there to take their place.

Wind whipped. Harsh gales spun around them in circles. The deadly forms were thrown off course, smacking against the enclosure with a lethal crack. But the hurricane wasn’t finished. The draft began to condense, taking shape. Gossamer crows with shining yellow eyes swirled protectively. With a single synchronized cry, they were sent spiraling upwards. Pulled off of walls, pecked from their places, torn to shreds, plenty of the hive was obliterated in seconds. Corpses fell to their place at the bottom of the pit, but there were still so many alive in comparison. Not enough. The army plummeted towards them.

A single breath. A flame in the palm of an open hand. Tossed into the air with a flick of a wrist. As soon as it struck a figure, the victim was instantly incinerated. Not even enough time to scream. Engorged, the fire grew bigger, consuming more, feasting on the souls of the damned. It spread, the inferno blazing. Blinding. Ash began to drift down in sheets. However, a few more resilient demons held together with nothing but bones and an unrelenting homicidal soul managed to come through, even if they were half melted. Quantity verses quality. Not enough. Something snuffed out the firewall.

Mammon was caught first. A demon who had been resorted to a chest, head, and one arm snagged his shoulder with a grasp of nothing but bone. Before Greed could do anything about it, Lucifer destroyed it, grabbing the demon by the back of the head and tearing it off his brother.

And then the rest came.

A flood of snarls and slashes. Cocooned, it was difficult to see where the others were. Every so often one could catch a glimpse of blue or yellow. But aside from that, they were all lost in the sea of flesh and bone. The demons were weak, that much was apparent. There were just so many. Staving off every single attack took every bit of concentration, trying to keep from getting pulled down in the current. However, if this was all they needed to worry about, soon they’d reach the end. Three of the most powerful demons in the Devildom could manage a simple army like this on their own.

Something in the air shifted.

Diavolo threw several bodies off of him. Taking the face of one enemy in his hands, he used the limp body to bat several others away from him. “Lucifer!” No answer. “Mammon!” The same. Although, to be honest, the prince could hardly hear his own shouting. Everything was drowned out by hundreds, perhaps thousands of angry voices. Most of which were incomprehensible howls of corrupt devils who had lost most of their senses eons ago. Although those who had clung to whatever sliver of wit that remained were squalling his name. Diavolo, Diavolo, Diavolo. A hum- a chant- from the mob who wanted nothing more than to see him dead. Or worse. Definitely worse.

Something smelled like sulfur.

Every attack was feeble, paltry at best. Against royal blood, none of these prisoners stood a chance. But still, if Diavolo lost his focus for even one moment, a grip at his ankles or his wings would push him back downwards. At this point, he had no idea where he was in comparison to the others. Was he close to the bottom? Had he only moved a few inches? Not even he could fully tell. The only thing he knew right now was that the rabble was beginning to bother him. Did he go full out and destroy the rest? Would his companions get caught up in it? Lucifer might be able to take a hit from him, but would Mammon? Too risky.

Something in the distance began to hum.

At this point, a bit of guilt began to root at the back of Diavolo’s mind. He’d dragged Lucifer and Mammon in with him, demanded it of them even. Had he made a mistake? Mammon was already a bit injured. Would they get hurt further? If something happened to the second eldest brother of the Sins, would the others ever forgive him? Would Lucifer forgive him? Your choices bring nothing but misery. A hushed whisper seemed to slip past the barbaric wailing and into his ears. Diavolo had nearly forgotten… Pain and suffering follows in your wake. It’s in your blood. You’re destined to create torment. The prison was a force to be reckoned with as well. Failure of a demon. Failure of a prince! Concentration lost for just a moment. A cluster of limbs latched onto his wings. A choked out gasp of shock bubbled in his throat as he fell. The weight sent him spiraling downwards for a moment. Flames sprouted from his pores, licking across his skin. Those touching him were soon turned to dust. A pant. A small bead of sweat running down his forehead. This was getting out of hand.

Apparently he was not the only one thinking such things. A little further below him, light began to pour out in all directions. Between the shadows, Lucifer stood out in the darkness. Bright. Shining. Steadfast. Like always. A beacon for him to turn to. A four-pointed glare. A morning-star.

Diavolo allowed himself to lower further down the chamber, diving to Pride’s side. “You’re okay,” the prince sighed a bit, allowing himself to smile even as he noticed blood running down Lucifer’s cheek.

“Get below me.” An order most would not have the audacity to even think much less say. Only three people could get away with such things. Barbatos, Lucifer, and more recently, MC. From the look on his face, Diavolo knew there was no reason trying to argue, especially not during battle. The prince hovered a little bit below his right-hand-man, his closest companion. Back to back, spines pressed up against one another, they tackled the cluster.

It wasn’t long before the third member of their party noticed the light. However, he was much further below, more off to the side, fighting to push upwards. Mammon was holding his own, but gashes and tears were clear on his body. Lucifer noticed these details, his eyes flicking between Diavolo, his brother, and the seemingly endless amount of enemies. Pride looked distressed.

“I’ve got him!” The prince broke away. A few weights crashed into his back as he swooped down. Diavolo shook them off, refusing to be swept away so easily. A ripple of flame spread out from his sides, culling the herd enough to dip down to the right. His hand grasped Mammon’s wrist, refusing to let him drown in this mess. A large hand dusted the demons off Greed’s body as if they were simple insects. “I got you,” he shouted, wings spread wide enough to shield Mammon enough to breathe. “We’re almost through.”

A pulling sensation. A vacuum created on the upper end of the chamber. The mob got pulled away, thinning. In the distance, there were twisted screams of anguish. Diavolo felt his breath torn from him. The space around him grew sweltering, buzzing, that same scent of sulfur so strong, his nose felt like bleeding. He suddenly had the sense that something far above him knew exactly where he was…

“Diavolo!”

The air stopped churning just a moment before the world went silent. Then a deafening thrum droned through the prison, sounding as if the depths of the universe had just been torn open just to bellow. Heat. Light. Experiencing every sensation at once so much so that it felt like white nothingness. There was no pain. Just this immense pressure, the faint observation that he was being crushed. Then as soon as the world began to rebuild itself around him, he blinked away the spots in his vision. Sound trickled back in slowly, giving way to a ringing in his ears. After far too long, his body jump-started, gasping for air and coughing out the ash and blood in his lungs. The stench of sulfur faded, the only scent remaining the nauseating and overwhelming aroma of death and decay.

He had fallen all the way to the bottom of the pit, where the corpses of all the enemies rested. A few still twitched, desperate to not let their light die out. But it seemed to be the end to all of them. No more rained down from above. And yet, Diavolo had the sensation that the fight was far from over.

Rolling over onto his stomach, it took him a second to find the strength to push himself onto his feet. This feeling of weakness… of disorientation, it was foreign. Perhaps he’d become complacent in his strength. He’d only felt something similar once. A long time ago, right after he’d made Lucifer and his brothers the new council. An icy-hot pain that had left faint branching scars over his chest. When he’d almost been killed by the old council. The markings of Revenge.

But there was no pain this time.

This world, this pocket dimension- whatever it was- contained many surprises inside. Most of them, as you had experienced thus far, were surprises better left hidden. Clearly this place had been abandoned. Better to leave sleeping dogs lie as the saying goes. Or in this case, terrifying biological and magical weapons of warfare. However, perhaps the biggest shocker of all was how eager and quick you were to strip yourself nearly bare in this frigid hidden bunker in this worse-than-hellscape. Holding the clothes you’d peeled off the mannequin in front of you, you had to wonder if it would fit properly. Although, it didn’t matter to you much if it was too snug or too loose. All that mattered was if it was warm. Warm enough to keep you from freezing out there. Warm enough to be able to not feel like a burden to the twins. Warm enough to get out of here.

Settling the dagger and worn-and torn-clothes on the desk, you began to tug the pants over your legs. The specific outfit you had picked out of the array of armor seemed the comfiest of the bunch or at least the easiest to get into. Too many of these sets contained metal plates or chain-mail or far too many fastenings and leather straps. This arrangement was as simple as you could get. Black pants created with a heavy, denim-like fabric. A single strap attached to an empty sheath tightened around your thigh with a simple silver buckle. A new home for your dagger. A deep green tunic was tugged over your head, a small ivy pattern embroidered around the collar. Dark brown boots laced up to your knees. The leather they were made of was almost splotchy, stained around the toes. You ignored that detail. Better for your sanity that way. There was also a matching leather chest-plate, one that wrapped your torso, stopping just above your midriff. It would be difficult to put it on yourself. The others could help with that later. A simple pouch rested against your hip with a new belt around your waist. But best of all- the article that stood out the most to you- was a charcoal-colored cloak. Tight woolen threads were woven together, created to be draped over the head and arms, pinned together by your left shoulder by a large circular brooch.

Thank the realms. It was sturdy. Insulating. Mobile. In addition to all that, there seemed to be some sort of magic knitted and stitched into every inch of fabric. For, as you slowly discovered, the outfit shifted to fit your body perfectly. It was as if Singrid knew someone would be by eventually. Perhaps she had expected someone to pick up the mantle someday. Another scorned human pushed too far, stumbling down here to find anything to keep them and their vendetta alive. A pretty apt description for you right now. Although, as much as you wanted Iktio dead, you wanted your precious Sins alive more. Hopefully such an attachment to the damned wouldn’t have the famous demon-hunter cursing you from whatever plot of dirt served as her grave.

With another passing glance at the weapons around you, you nodded your head. You’d be back. If miracles still existed, the weapons themselves wouldn’t be hexed. If you, Beel, and Belphie could get geared up… But, speaking of those two, you should return with food. Until you all were ready to leave the house, there was no sense arming yourself up to the teeth just yet.

Grabbing the dagger off the table and putting it into it’s new sheath by your leg, you walked out of the hidden room. It was easy work pulling the matching blade from the wall. With the ‘key’ removed, the stones glowed one more, shuddering as it swung shut, seemingly sealing. Looking down at your palm, you wondered what you should do with the second dagger. Take it with you, or leave it here in the unfortunate event that someone else gets trapped here? Squeezing the hilt tightly, you made your decision. Take it with you. Make it so no one else would need it. You also didn’t want to leave the opportunity for Ikito to find this place. Sure he was a demon, but who knew what he was capable of?

It tucked away nicely for now between your body and the belt around your waist. Then you quickly got to work grabbing whatever food would fit into your arms. Racing up the steps- careful to avoid the one you’d slipped on before- you fled from the cellar. As your head poked out from the entrance, you spotted Beel pacing nervously just a few feet away from the doors. His head perked up as he caught you in the corner of his eyes. In just three long strides, he was right in front of you, carefully helping you out with his arms at your sides. You could tell from the way his mouth moved, that he was about to express his worry. But then, as he took in your new attire and your armfuls of food, he simply smiled.

“This is great!” He exclaimed, looking almost normal with the way his eyes shined and his stomach growled. For once, though, he ignored his own hunger, sharing some of the load as he took various ingredients from you.

“More than great! We’re going to be okay!” Although as you said that, something in the back of your mind psychically slapped you. Don’t jinx it. Shaking your head a little, you returned Beel’s grin. “There’s more down there!” In a rather rushed and excited tone, you explained everything you had seen past the steps. Although, the more you went on to explain the weapons room, the more the smile on your companion’s face fell.

Taking the last of the food from you, he stared past your shoulder, back at the doorway. “Are you sure it’s safe to be wearing that?”

No. Was anything completely safe in this place? You weren’t even sure that this home was as safe as you were considering it to be. However, standing out here in the snow, you didn’t feel that deathly chill nipping at your fingertips. Your steps felt stronger, more assured. “Like I said, Beel. I think this place is meant as a trap for demons, not humans. The clothes are fine.” A doubtful moan left the base of Beel’s throat, but aside from that there was no protest. It’s not like you could blame him. These were threads of a demon-hunter. “Go take those inside the house. I’ll bring up more!” Without waiting for his go-ahead, you sprinted back down to the cellar, repeating the motions from before and frantically plucking anything you could, balancing some extra jars under your chin.

Struggling to get back into the house, you managed to twist the knob with two fingers, swinging the door open with the tip of your foot. Frantic footsteps could be heard coming in your direction. Gluttony snatched everything he could out of your grasp, shutting the door behind you. “MC…” Your name was muttered softly, dripping with concern. “Don’t take on so much.” Hypocrisy aside, you nodded, lowering the hood to the cloak as you practically pranced into the kitchen.

God might’ve abandoned this place, but Manna came graced to you under the guise of potatoes. Hunger overcame you like a savage plague, gnawing at your innards. You hardly remembered stepping closer to the table, a random vegetable in your hand that you were seconds away from sinking your teeth into. But Beel was faster, grabbing your wrist and prying the food from your hands. “What—“

“I’m sorry… I know… I know how hungry you are,” Beel apologized, looking truly torn up about this. “But I need to check it first. Please… to make sure you’re safe, let me check this all first.”

Jaw still slightly open, you actually looked at him with a bit of frustration before it fizzled out of you. Malnourishment pounded in the back of your head, but despite the pain, you agreed. How silly would it be for you to suddenly choke on poison? A tragic and ungraceful end, much like Snow White, except for instead of an apple, it was a dirty tuber. Beel pulled back one of the kitchen chairs for you to sit in. After you’d settled down, he began to use his culinary and olfactory demonic superpowers to good use. Although even among demons, his talent was rather extraordinary. Smelling for rot or mold or toxins. He’d pick something up, spend a few minutes being completely thorough in his findings, and then set it back down. Eventually he came across an orange, peeling off the wax shell meant to serve as extra preservation. Citrus flooded your nose. Your mouth actually watered at the scent, watching Beel strip the fruit before peeling it apart. A sniff, and then it was actually handed to you.

“I think it should be fine, but still—“ His words wavered as you began to shove the sweet slices between your lips, the nectar glistening as it threatened to slip down your chin. A swift flick of the tongue prevented that. It was magnificent, like you’d never eaten anything else like it in your lifetime. Is this what Beel felt at all times? Is it why he enjoyed food so much? Even now, as satisfying as it was, you felt your body screaming for more. As you ate, a bit more color returned to his face, as if your sustenance was sustaining him by proxy. He began to peel another orange for you. This time, despite the survival instincts telling you to devour it whole, you split it in half for him, holding it out in an almost pleading manner. Seeing Gluttony go without eating was all too painful to bear. He hesitated for a moment, but then gladly took it, grabbing another chair and bringing it closer to you. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking a seat, his knees touching yours. Slowly, he ate a slice. Success. You had eaten, Beel had eaten, and there was still plenty to go. “I think all this would make a nice stew. Or maybe a stir fry.”

“I don’t care what we do, just throw everything into a pot and I’ll eat it at this point.”

At that, the demon even chuckled a bit, a deep bubbly one that remained contained behind his lips as he chewed. “I’ll chop the vegetables?”

“I’ll boil some water I guess,” you said with half a shrug. “Plenty of snow outside to take from. I could probably use some to clean Belphie’s wounds too.” Silence filled the air. “He’ll be okay.” Although you knew you were trying to convince yourself just as much as him. Finishing your orange, you stood, a hand on his shoulder. “He just needs to sleep a little, and he’ll be just fine.” Please be fine, Belphie, you thought to yourself. With a knowing glance between the two of you, you broke off to accomplish your own tasks.

Old house meant old cookware. Cast iron pans and pots, Dutch ovens. Sturdy. Heavy. Very quickly you realized you had picked the wrong job. You lugged a pot outside, sighing a bit as you nestled it into a little mound of snow. A wooden ladle clinked inside. You squatted down a bit, beginning to use the spoon to shovel the frozen powdered-water into the pot. It was mindless work, but you were pretty glad to be doing something. Focus helped keep the thoughts away. Labor worked away the jittery anxiousness. Soon the pot was full. With a grunt, you lifted the whole thing, heading back towards the door.

A faint screech sounded off in the distance. An inhumane one that had steadily become more familiar to you the longer you stayed here. It echoed through the trees, making it all the way to your ears. When it did, the sound twisted, rasping, calling out your name. Beel had said they were little more than weapons. They should not have had any other goal aside from destroying demons. That being said, the cry that disturbed your ears and the fallen snow had a note of desperation in it.

It was alive. And it was angry.

But for now, it sounded distant. Hopefully it would stay that way. For now, you’d push it aside. Food and water were more important. Beel and Belphie were more important. You rushed inside the house a little quicker this time. Passing by Beel to head to the fireplace, you caught a glimpse of his face. He had heard it too.

Pain. There was no pain. A good thing. Yet a bad thing. There should be pain. Which meant—

“Oi!” A crack of a shout echoed through the chamber. Diavolo looked up and then over to see Mammon scrambling over a pile of bodies like it was simply rubble, tripping over crooked fingers and stubbed horns. Greed found solid ground, his shoes making crisp sloshing noises as he marched over the lake of blood. The prince had hoped a massacre like this wouldn’t occur, but… Mammon grabbed the thin golden chains that draped over Diavolo’s waist, tugging them, angry and desperate. “What happened?”

Despite the last several minutes being a complete blur, Diavolo had an inkling as to the event that had just taken place. A blast, a shadow, a familiar frame wrapped around his own, no pain. And the longer he thought about it, the easier it was to connect the dots between the blank spaces. Please, fates, tell him he was wrong. “I…” Hesitation is ill begotten of royalty, but in this moment, Diavolo couldn’t find the words. New plans, the next steps, things he normally knew how to think up in a heartbeat, they were gone. The only thing that flooded his addled brain was panic. If he was right—

“Diavolo!” Mammon screamed, the tail-end of his cry cutting out, his voice on his last legs. “Where’s…Lucifer?…”

The glow of the Morningstar was nowhere to be seen.

They needed to find him. Now. “He has to be around here somewhere,” he answered, a breathless pant to his words. Although, as he dashed off for the search, his eyes worked on scanning for not just one, but two people in particular.

Flipped, now at the top of the prison once more, Diavolo traversed through the dips of the vaulted ceiling that now served as the floor. Mammon searched the various bodies that lay clustered across the expanse, making sure not to stray too far from the prince. As they turned over corpses and dug out demons, they both shared the same bittersweet hope that one of them would be Lucifer. Just as long as he was alright… The space wasn’t too large, about the size of one of the castle’s grand ballrooms. However, in this manner, in the aftermath of a battlefield, it seemed endlessly vast. Not to mention, the prison was still working on breaking down his mind, attacking the weakest parts of his psyche and hoping he would turn as mad as the rest of these prisoners. He felt as if he was going in circles… You’re nothing without the people around you. But you could have everything, be the most respected ruler in the Devildom. You could have everything you wanted… if you would just…

“Lucifer!” The name bounced off the walls and snapped Diavolo out of his daze. Mammon grunted as he pushed a few deceased away, taking a set of ankles in his hands and pulling his brother free. “I found him!” Heart filled with sudden relief, Diavolo took a step forward.

A flash in the corner of his eye. A few seconds. A swirl of wind behind him as he scooped Mammon and Lucifer into his arms and managed to drag them a stone’s toss away. That same booming rumble shook them to their core as a line of light scored across where they had just been. Whatever had been caught up in the magic was dissolved. Diavolo raised himself from the ground, tensing his jaw to get rid of the ringing in his ears. Another flash, faster this time. Diavolo cursed as he dove forward once more. A searing pain. The prince gasped a little as the light flashed just above them, grazing the back of his leg. His skin burned, but was still intact. The blast had been weaker this time.

Before another attack, Diavolo wrapped each of his arms around the Sin’s waists, flying up quickly before diving down back to the floor, running, throwing random up random flames and unused bodies in the air with a gust from his wings. After several methods of distraction, Diavolo forced everyone behind the cover of an arch, hunkering down amongst some of the remains of the dead. Hopefully that would buy them some time. “Are you—“ He whispered, turning his head towards Lucifer. A jolt of panic suddenly ran down his spine.

Lucifer looked the worse for wear. It was hard to tell if he was even conscious. Eyelids hardly opened before they twitched shut again. Blood ran from somewhere under his matted black hair and from his nose. Breathing was shallow, little more than a gentle wheeze. One of his beautiful wings was crooked, feathers singed, falling off in bloody clusters. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The front of his body, from his neck down to his waist was… disfigured…defiled…devastated. Clothes that were burned away completely only clung to the back of him from weakened tatters around his shoulders. Skin had fried away, showing lower tissue and filaments of muscle. Although, even now, Lucifer’s body was hard at work trying to put itself right. Flashes of pale magical light sparked under the nerves and through the veins. He was patching himself up as best as he could, even if he was unresponsive. It was a terrible sight, but as much as Diavolo felt like crying, he knew Lucifer would be okay. Pride couldn’t be killed so easily. But this meant he was in a state of vulnerability… He could scarcely move now, much less fight.

They had to get him out of here.

Mammon’s eyes wavered, glistening with tears he refused to spill as he held onto his brother’s shoulders. “Hey… get up, won’t ya?” His voice cracked a little too loudly.

The air was sucked from the room again, a hum building up quickly. “Move!” Diavolo demanded, giving Greed a push as he held Lucifer up off the ground with both his arms. They both jolted forward as fast as they could. Once more, magic blazed behind them, a single heartbeat away from sweeping them up into it’s destructive force. A few rapid vibrations rippled through the air. “Keep running!” Four shots in succession. One hit the wall behind them. One nearly hit Mammon’s wings, but missed. One struck Diavolo’s foot. One struck Lucifer’s leg as it jutted out from Diavolo’s hold. It burnt a hole in Lucifer’s clothes and left a mark, but not one nearly as bad as the first time.

They weren’t desperate shots either. Diavolo could tell. They were deliberate, each and every one. Not full misses by any means. They told Diavolo that Mammon could hardly escape the shots and with Lucifer in this state…he was dead weight. Something told the prince that the next blasts wouldn’t be so generous. They had to get out of here.

Running for their next cover, Diavolo tried peering through the darkness. Through the shadows, one particular patch seemed darker than the rest. The hallway. If they got up there, it was a straight shot to the doorway. A straight shot. The fact settled into Diavolo’s stomach with a biting coldness. There would be no cover in that hallway. There wouldn’t be enough time to fly down there and open the door without getting engulfed in the spell of destruction. Not unless Diavolo took it head on. They knew that. The guilt in Diavolo’s soul nearly consumed him. This whole thing…was a clever trap. And he led everyone straight to it.

Humming. Charging. The next blow was building up. This next one would be deadly. Catching Mammon by the back of his jacket, he tugged him into a seating position behind a mound of ash and bone. He handed Lucifer over to his brother.

“What?…” Mammon wondered, a familiar flicker of realization in his eyes. Always cleverer than he let on.

“I’m heading to the door. It’ll take some time to open, so I need you to wait till it’s ready before you and Lucifer escape.” His head craned around the barrier, trying to see if he could tell exactly where the attacker was.

“Just me and Luci?” He gritted his teeth a bit, adjusting his hold on the limp Pride. “No way! He’ll kill me if he finds out I left you alone! You’re the prince!”

“I know.” Diavolo looked up at the swirling darkness of the prison, watching blood drip down the curved inner walls. “If I try to leave on my own, Beleth will kill you two without a second thought. If I let you two leave…” Well, he wasn’t quite sure what the end result would be. Would he die? Would his plans and his kingdom fall to ruin? Would there be outrage? Joy? Who would run the kingdom without royal blood? You’re making a mistake, the temptations of a demon seeped into his brain. Let them die for you and survive. Or, would he win this fight and escape? Was this a test? To see if he was strong enough to be prince? Beleth had always been the paragon of pure strength. Always believed that the powerful were the only ones worthy to rule. And once Diavolo took over, they believed him weak. That the humans were weak. That the angels were weak. And so trying to befriend them was a sign of fragility. If Diavolo could defeat Calamity itself… “I’ll lead this next blast and run to the door. If I’m right, Beleth will charge up another one for me. After that second shot, the door should be open, so take Lucifer and get out of here.”

“But—“

“That’s an order.” Diavolo’s authoritative voice stunned Mammon into silence. There were more words he wanted to say. Things he wanted to share should they be his last message… but he couldn’t think like that. There was always hope to be had, that’s what he always talked about. Countless times had people called him too positive, too naïve. But he had to be optimistic. He had to believe he was strong enough for this. He had to trust he was meant to rule. Time was running out. And so, giving the two brothers one last look, he smiled. “Take care of Lucifer for me,” he uttered, before dashing out from behind the barrier, his eyebrows furrowing, anger filling the base of his throat with fire as he screamed, “Beleth!”

The burst fired, heat instantly evaporating the sweat off his skin just by being close to it. Luckily, Diavolo had adjusted himself enough to the pattern of the signs by now. He dodged it completely, lifting himself up into the air as soon as the magic shot off. The light was blinding, the sound drowning out everything with it's resounding pulse, but the prince soared over everything, his wings tucking in closer to his sides as he shot straight through to the hallway. The magical flames tried to ignite themselves in his presence, but the sheer force of his body wheeling past them snuffed them out.

The door. Just up ahead, the stone slightly outlined through the fog. The magic of whatever twisted the prison didn’t affect it apparently. The walls around him seemed distorted, a twirling tunnel, spinning around his body until the world felt right-side up again. Diavolo landed before the stone door, the click of his feet summoning the pillar from the ground. Slow. It was so slow. Raising dramatically from the floor, each passing second felt like agony. Footsteps echoed far off behind him. His palm on the slab of stone as it reached his waist. The smell of sulfur, the hum and heat so overwhelming, his vision swayed. His wrist restrained like before. No getting out of it now. With a sharp pain, his blood was drained from him. The prison was satisfied with his sacrifice, but Beleth was not. The doors creaked. Escape just mere feet from him. A single ray of moonlight touched his face.

Then that’s when he felt the pain.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

how does josh feel about house dagoth and dagoth ur?

Hello! Oooh some complicated feelings are definitely going on in Joshi's mind. Most of these feelings are not his own and there's a lot of mixing going on as he pieces everything together. Josh has always had dreams about faceless creatures and golden masks. Usually they are waiting in the shadows as he watches Sun's Death over and over again. Sometimes he hears the voice of a woman that he doesn't recognise and can't quite make out. Rarely does he see the creatures following him in the shadows. Just flashes of gold or an eyeless void. Nightmares run in his mother's family and Soul Sickness almost as frequently. It had always been something that was hidden, his mother would get them, as did her mother before her and so on. You just dealt with it. Josh wouldn't begin connecting these dreams and his apparent Soul Sickness directly to Dagoth Ur until after he'd spoken with the Urshilaku's Wise-Woman on the topic. This is because ever since he'd returned to Vvardenfell his dreams had become more vivid and the creatures have started coming out of the shadows. Speaking to him about things he didn't understand. Pulling him towards a volcano. It always starts the same way. A volcano towering before him, the pyroclastic flow hitting him like a wall, vaporising him with the heat and force of it all. Then the dream changes and he finds himself trapped in a dark chamber, something made of ash takes his tongue or a towering figure in a golden mask whispers sweet nothings to him as his body is violated with him being able to do a thing about it. He wakes up scared and confused every time. Yet he has no idea what he's seeing, only that whatever is happening involves this masked bastard inserting himself into his worst memories and high jacking them in some strange, twisted amalgamation of everything that has him quaking in terror.

He doesn't understand what he's saying. The masked figure's voice seems like it should be comforting, but all he feels is utter terror in his presence. He acts with a familiarity that Josh is uncomfortable with. Like he's taken the place of someone else and he's the only person who's aware.

He blurts something about this out by accident to Mehra Milo who suggests he might have Soul Sickness and should submit himself to the Temple. He tries to walk it all back by blaming the imagery on his alcohol habit. It does have him worried, however. Josh doesn't have another dream until he's travelling to the Urshilaku camp. This is where he learns who this masked stranger is and that he should be cautious. He has Soul Sickness, and this Soul Sickness would only worsen once he became one of the Ascended. He starts disappearing into the call of the hive. The call was constant and had him madly chanting hymns to the sixth house whilst writing verse in his own blood on the floor. At this stage, he's absolutely terrified of the Sharmat. All he hears every second of every day are the calls of the Sixth House. Calling him back to join them in service to Dagoth Ur. Arisen amongst the legions below. They keep calling him Nerevar.

He is not Nerevar and he is not the Nerevarine.

It is only when he finds himself taking refuge in Holamayan that he finds the connection. The reason he and so many other Dunmer are finding themselves unable to find a restful sleep. They all share the same blood. It had always been a fact that the Sero clan had trouble joining a Great House. They were a wealthy clan, generally speaking with most of their wealth derived from ebony mines on the mainland. They just could never seem to succeed in joining the Redoran. Something would always come up. Some technicality that excluded them from Great House politics, even when they were making bank. That was of course, until House Hlaalu started accepting clans like theirs in the late Third Era. Finding out that he's related to the main Dagoth line way far back during the First Era was not what he expected to find. Nor did he expect to find his father's line claim's the Hortator as their sire, then again it kinda is the literal translation of the name Ensirhaddon (our Lord has blessed us with a son). At this point he's just beyond confused. He isn't the religious sort and he certainly never bothered paying attention to his history lessons when he was a kid (well the parts that didn't involve the Dwemer anyway). He's confused and he needs more answers. So he steals the relevant tomes from the Dissident Priests and books it straight to the Urshilaku. Things wouldn't become clearer until he'd put on Moon-and-Star and found that he was still alive afterwards. Complete with some bastard First Era Warlord taunting him until he flakes and lets him gain full control. The merger never went to plan and Josh ultimately became the dominant personality, with Nerevar taking over when Josh is too exhausted to fight him off. It also gives him access to Nerevar's memories. This is when all the dreams start to click. Why he felt like he was "standing in" on someone else's intimate moments. Because he was. Love that fell into utter betrayal. That is what he was reliving through his Sleeper Dreams. Josh is meant to be a vessel, a puppet. He was never meant to be the one to face Voryn. He was just a convenient body for Nerevar to take control of in order to enact his revenge on all who'd wronged him. On all who wronged them. Josh has no say and no part in it. Not until he wakes up with his hands around that masked bastard's throat. Ultimately, Nerevar couldn't kill the man he loved again, even after all the betrayal and the curses and the destruction. He just couldn't do it. And Josh can feel all of it. He's trying his best to forget seeing the man he loved being carted away with no knowledge if Erra was even still here. He needed to forget in order to reach the Citadel. Then Nerevar took over just as he broke down from the realisation that Erra might not survive his injuries, only to find himself striking a killing blow to the man his less welcome head mate loved more than anything. A man- no a monster who's actions had most likely killed his husband. He feels Nerevar's love for the old Chimer Lord before being blinded by his own anger and sorrow. He drives Dagoth Ur into the magma below. A life for a life. The cavern collapsing around him. He feels nothing but deep sorrow over the whole ordeal and it isn't all Nerevar's. Something stuck with him too as they both grieved their losses and licked their wounds. In the centuries since, Josh has been better able to separate his feeling's from Nerevar's. It was not his sorrow to hold yet everything hurts. He still has dreams where he connects to what remains of the infected after Red Year, always seeking him out in the darkness. He's the only heir of House Dagoth left who has this hive connection. His subjects want him to come home and take control.

They're his inheritance after all.

[dent-de-leon]

“Once upon a time,” sang melodious Elatis, enveloping him in her warm embrace, “There was a happy family.”  

Her honeyed words flowed saccharine sweet; a litany of pretty lies glistening in rose glinted glass. He welcomed her gladly, opening his mind to the Dream—for of all the mages who held his chains, she was by far the closest thing to kindness. 

Mollymauk fell into a deep sleep, dreamed of another world amidst a sea of glistening stars. Warmth, connection, a thousand hearts all beating as one. The faces of his mother and father. His dear sister. His lost brother. The burning light of every departed soul returning to the earth. Singing the cherished verses of childhood plays and ballads, losing himself in the steps of a merry dance. Here he is himself again, whole.

And for the longest time he was content to dream--to forget.

Until he started to become real again, stirred awake in the mages' prison.

The sight that greeted him was an eerily familiar one, the same empty stone walls he'd stared at for months upon months. A domed, high vaulted ceiling that cradled a softly glowing crystal crest, its otherworldly azure light bathing the whole chamber in ethereal radiance. The gentle thrum of whispering minds reverberating all around him, a chorus of disparate voices drowning out the rest of the world--a soft murmur that became a rushing current, a roaring tidal wave, a tempest sea--

It was almost enough to drive him back into the cold embrace of that terrible, clawing Emptiness.

The Dawn Crucible was a temple to the ineffable world of dreams and endless possibility, an archive of countless dreamers' dazzling fantasies and worst nightmares. A research facility dedicated to..."The work," as Elatis echoed gravely again and again, lost in a distant trance, her awestruck crimson eye burning into his flesh. A library built of a thousand sleeping minds.

At the very least, dreams are an escape. Exciting, unpredictable. The prime material plane is monotonously dull in comparison--he opens his eyes in the same luminous chamber, the same cold cell. Back always aching when he rises from the freezing stone floor on shaky feet, the world slowly drifting back into focus. The chains cut into his raw, blistering skin if he wanders too far. And he still carries the mark of every blood red Eye, every aching scar.

He stopped dreaming about escape a long time ago.

And yet, for all its constants, the waking world finally surprised him. Another wizard stood before him, hand pressed to the bars of his cell. Not the philosophers who marked him with their brand, tugged and tore at the threads of Fate that forever bound him. Not the other grand mages of the Convocation, the reigning nobles and wealthy aristocracy of Aeor. The hungry eyes as they bled him dry, all the eager spectators and patrons who reveled in the somnovem's cruel experiments.

When Tealeaf opened his eyes again for the first time--in the longest time--he was met with a strange visitor. His soft, wistful gaze was morosely melancholy. Haunted. Deep dark circles etched under his gentle blue eyes, his pretty face buried in layers of dirt and grime.

Molly could feel the magic stirring in his veins, a rush of warmth and the scent of ashes. Raw and tender in a way none of the Convocation or philosophers ever were. A patch of sunlight in the dead of winter. A feeling he had just the name for.

"Magician."

[disturbnot]

i gotta know! because your character and your take on him are so unique! what ideas do you have about supernatural and where he'd fit in that world? care for a little headcanoning going on? cause i gotta see this. i'm intrigued!

as it so happens, dear new friend, i do have an ancient spn verse that i can make an attempt at blowing the cobwebs off of. although i'm going to preface all of this with the fact i haven't watched spn in quite a long time; i had my old verse for ash back in 2014, so some of the details have gotten a little foggy (both for the verse itself and for canon spn lore—i am LONG overdue a rewatch!) but i'll do my best to recount what i can for you. :)

if i recall correctly, ash's spn verse story is prefaced by the death of his father—a hunter that lived somewhere near the southwest us/mexico border at the time and originally hailed from mexico. i believe he and his wife/son were settled in arizona, but i could be wrong (details schmetails). anyway, one night ash's pops is off out on a local hunt; a scheduled descent of tzitzimimeh from the stars—skeletal demons of aztec mythology that are said to compose the stars at night. this shouldn't have been too much of a trial on paper, and yet the man is bested by the swarm. UNFORTUNATELY, the man's ever curious and wayward son snuck out of the house to follow him that night and found his father's body, with tzitzimimeh still on the prowl in the dark. but those weren't the only otherworldly entities slinking around the badland steppe, something else was stalking. it wasn't stalking for humans, though—it was stalking for the tzitzimimeh. the benevolent yet formless essence of the god quetzalcoatl pursued the demons, and found the devastated child in dire need of care and protection. quetzalcoatl, unlike many other primordial/progenitor gods, is of utmost benevolence. seldom partaking in their flesh or their sacrifice, it regards and holds humanity, all life on earth, with a fondest love known only to great mothers. and it aches for the child, yearns to help. it also keens for a vessel. in its nebulous form of abstract light, its powers are minimal, but with material hands... maybe not so much. maybe there is something it could do for the boy. what if it gave the boy the chance to correct this mortal wrong someday? how could he say no? two or three decades later, the boy has gotten old, bones burning with a latent primordial power the god is only too gracious to temper; his body does not deform or decay before quetzalcoatl's brilliant grace, for it sleeps somewhere within, at peace until it is needed for its own agenda against fouler gods. with time, it has become inextricably entangled with ash's soul—he could no longer tell you where he ends and the blessed serpent begins. goes without saying that this precarious union afford ash some very unique and powerful gifts... well, in exchange for a great glowing target on his back. tale as old as time, yes? either way, he carries on his father's livelihood and has worked long and hard as a hunter himself, albeit a hunter with significant advantages (not that this has gotten him all that close to avenging his father) — he likely specialises in cryptids and supernatural animals/creatures. back in 2014, i think i had it down that his mother was also dead, but? idk i will probably change that. i might change the whole thing! who knows? but this is what i have for the moment. tysm for asking, dixon! :D it was fun getting to ponder this again after so long on the shelf. 🙇‍♀️

[fukuokadivision1]

SUMMIT OF DIVISIONS (MIHANASA & Kiya Kara Ver.)

Bring the Beat!

[All:]

Here we go (here we go), east and west

Connecting divisions (divisions) with this microphone

Old and young, come together and make our voices a chorus

The battle is locals vs. Chuohku

Here we go (here we go), you and me

Right and left, me and you

Overcoming blood relations and troublesome connections

Anyway, this party, let’s get it on

A night where shocking oaths crowd around

The no.1 mic that aims at our days

Let us drink and sing, get wired as we like

A party night limited to only one stage, make love

Hop, skip, and jump, taking the initiative asap

Let’s get started

Reverberating sound and hearts

If we don’t have fun, there’s no point

Let’s go!

[Sanyu:]

In a world that's obsessed with the norm

I spit rhymes in a storm, breakin' the form

"Average," they say, but I won't conform

I'm the queen of the ring, not just another swarm

I shed the label, it's a societal scorn

Normal's a myth, in my truth, I'm reborn

From the ashes of the past, my spirit's torn

In the beat of the streets, a new rebel's sworn

[Tasuku:]

Fate's a gamble, destiny's a lie

I'm the master of my path, under the sky

No dice, no cards, no fate to defy

I carve my own way, never gonna say die

[Ming:]

For the lost souls in Fukuoka's nights

We stand as guardians, igniting their rights

In slums we rise, our bond ignites

MIHANASA's vow, to reach new heights

[All:]

A night where shocking oaths crowd around

The no.1 mic that aims at our days

Let us drink and sing, get wired as we like

A party night limited to only one stage, make love

Hop, skip, and jump, taking the initiative asap

Let’s get started

Reverberating sound and hearts

If we don’t have fun, there’s no point

Let’s go!

[Ryūzō:]

In the shadows of my past, I've danced with death's embrace

A silent whisper in the dark, a ghost without a trace

From ninja to professor, I've found my space

Teaching truth in every verse, in every line I face

The darkness of my history, a canvas for my art

The former life I lived, the pain was off the charts

But in this classroom, I've found a brand new start

Kiya Kara's my redemption, Sendai's where I impart

[Takumi:]

In the gym where spirits soar, I'm the force that never rests

Pushing limits, breaking sweat, putting wills to the test

Life's a challenge, face it head-on, that's my quest

With every drop of sweat, we're becoming our best

[Kotono:]

Medicine and physics, my dual domain

Healing bodies, teaching minds, in the academic lane

For my sister, lost but not in vain

I'll unravel every mystery, break every chain

[All:]

Here we go (here we go), east and west

Connecting divisions (divisions) with this microphone

Old and young, come together and make our voices a chorus

The battle is locals vs. Chuohku

Here we go (here we go), you and me

Right and left, me and you

Overcoming blood relations and troublesome connections

Anyway, this party, let’s get it on

A night where shocking oaths crowd around

The no.1 mic that aims at our days

Let us drink and sing, get wired as we like

A party night limited to only one stage, make love

Hop, skip, and jump, taking the initiative asap

Let’s get started

Reverberating sound and hearts

If we don’t have fun, there’s no point

Let’s go!

Fukuoka! (Hey!)

Sendai! (Ho!)

Edogawa! (Hey!)

Shizuoka! (Ho!)

Kobe! (Hey!)

Kanazawa! (Ho!)

If you stan them, put your hands up! (Ho!)

Boys! (Hey!) Girls! (Ho!)

Gentlemen! (Hey!) Ladies! (Ho!)

Middle aged men! (Hey!) Mature women! (Ho!)

If you're there, raise your voice! (Ho!)

[Sanyu:]

Step to me, you'll learn quick why "normal" ain't my tale

I'll unleash a damn storm, and watch as you all flail!

Try to chain me again, I'll shatter your scale

MC Rogue's wrath, in this fight, I prevail!

[Ryūzō:]

Cross my path, you'll meet shadows where death once tread

An assassin still lingers, my silence, your dread

Dare to challenge my peace, I'll paint your end in red

Kage's blade, leave opposition in shreds!

[Tasuku:]

Life's a gamble, step up, it's time to cash in your chip

My destiny's mine to wield, this rap battle's my grip

Ante up, face the storm, I'll sink your ship

Katame's resolve, watch your footing slip!

[Takumi:]

Think my class is tough? Oppose us and feel the sting

I'll school you in pain, let the real lesson begin

Corporal's my game, with each verse I bring

GUTS on the stage, feel the punishment I sling!

[Ming:]

Monsters roam our land, but none as fierce as I'll be

Threaten my kin, my city, unleash the beast in me

For the children's future, I'll fight, you'll see

Miss Ming's fury, a protector's decree!

[Kotono:]

Dare to harm us, I'll show you Chuohku's dark side

Experiments of horror, a past I won't let slide

My knowledge, believe me, it's a terrifying ride

Shiki's secret weapon, you've nowhere to hide

[All:]

Here we go (here we go), east and west

Connecting divisions (divisions) with this microphone

Old and young, come together and make our voices a chorus

The battle is locals vs. Chuohku

Here we go (here we go), you and me

Right and left, me and you

Overcoming blood relations and troublesome connections

Anyway, this party, let’s get it on

A night where shocking oaths crowd around

The no.1 mic that aims at our days

Let us drink and sing, get wired as we like

A party night limited to only one stage, make love

Hop, skip, and jump, taking the initiative asap

Let’s get started

Reverberating sound and hearts

If we don’t have fun, there’s no point

Let’s go!