#yozies

[probably-unreliable]

The Ebon Dragon ~

[angelnumber27]

my big baby

[raddlounge]

yozy in RADD LOUNGE

[paragonrobits]

The question goes: What is Malfeas?

Malfeas is a place. Apart from the infinite potential of the Wyld, the definition of Creation, the none-space that is Elsewhere, apart even from the void that tortured Autochthon has subjected himself to, Malfeas is a region that is both prison and the imprisoned. It is a city; a very large city. To those of other worlds, it would seem quite large beyond imagination, but with very real limits. Some say it would be as large as the orbit of the solar system; others estimate smaller. Malfeas is the physical city in which most of the Yozis are part of, largely defining them by where they are not; as Kimbery is the acid sea at its borders and interiors, Cecelyne the liminal space outside it, and Qaf outside it altogether, Malfeas is the realm that most demons regard as the observable reality.

Malfeas is a person.

Not in the conventional sense. The gods are mightier than mortals, containing multitudes of seemingly contradictory elements; Luna is chiefest known among them, but the Unconquered Sun is known too for that he is supremely compassionate, supremely courageous, supremely controlled and enduring all at once (and perhaps this, and his grief at what his Chosen have done in his name, is why he submits himself to the Games of Divinity, for it is a terrible burden to be perfection in all things, forever). The Primordials are even more vast than the gods, a pantheon unto themselves, aspects of an individual thing given their own immense power.

But the city of Malfeas screams. It howls and buckles underneath the pitiless light of his own embittered heart, that is Ligier the Green Sun. And Ligier speaks the fundamental truth of Malfeas, as the once-proud king of all that could be is tormented, defined by pain so much that if Malfeas ever truly stopped hurting, he may no longer be Malfeas at all. He is reforged by his pain, and by his rage he is recast; the pain and rage flow together, feeding on itself as his hate spirals outwards and then inwards.

He hurts so deeply and fundamentally. It is the heat that makes his hatred the awful light that kills so cruelly, the hidden fire that burns far more hideously than even the most imaginative Solar god-king dare implement. The light of the green sun hates Malfeas, more than all, and this is the truth of Malfeas above all else.

His heart tells him, You don’t deserve to be happy.

It is this thought that makes his relief in the beauty of dance and performance so terribly brief; this brief echo of the Universe Emperor all the more painful for its briefness. It is there when his layers crash against each other, futilely trying to harm himself in his own fury. It is there when his light blazes forth and inflicts the most horrific deaths imaginable. It is there in a hundred different ways and shapes.

Malfeas is many more things. Malfeas is many feelings, pain and rage and magnanimous contempt to hide the suffering that defines him. He is shame and grief, for deep inside some part of him that remembers his murdered kinder heart thinks they betrayed me for I had failed them and it is his pain that he does not understand what he did. He is the strange and alien world of Hell, its prison and most infamous prisoner, his heart the iconic light of the Infernal Exalted who rage against the things they hate just as he does.

But perhaps much may be said not in who or what he is, but in the things made of him.

And so the mind’s eye turns to a curious sculpture upon Creation, in a place where memory and thought alike shy away from. None remember it, but they know the horror and sickening dread of it. Nothing happens to them there, but there are worse things than even the horror of Green Sun Wasting sickness. The Great Maker, in his exile, has a replica of this within his garden of tributes to his estranged siblings, and perhaps he crafted the real one in his shame.

It is a many-angled thing, of long spikes and needles. It is a thing of horror, ugliness, and would suffice as a warning. It contains no sculptures of murdered Ruvelia, nor artistic attempts to convey the glory that Malfeas once was before he was bound in hateful flesh and made to know pain. There is nothing there, but it is enough to look at those angled points, those barbs and spears, and see the cracks in the world that were made as the Empyrean Chaos was broken into the agonized misery of Malfeas.

There is writing there. It is not Old Realm; it predates even that ancient language, and much of it is nigh-impossible to translate. It is a feeling. It is grief and horror, shame and rage at a thing that was perhaps thought necessary then, but something that has scarred the world, an act of unspeakable violence and cruelty.

This sculpture, some claim, is the very spot where Ruvelia was murdered. And with her death, the Empyrean Chaos became Malfeas; limitless light and might without sinew burned, becoming green flame and molten black stone and brass, screaming in the agony of her final moments forever. To sleep within a mile of this is ill-advised, for then one feels the awful nightmares of her final moments, just as Malfeas himself always will.

And perhaps, then, one may truly understand the same agony that defines Malfeas, as is written down in this place where he was broken, an acknowledgement of the atrocity done to him. This seems clear enough, in a translation of the first lines of that old script:

This is not a place of honor.

No esteemed deed is commemorated here...

[cowardsword]

I could fix her

[yozi-port]

[yozzers]

ive ben thinking abt this oc a lot recently

[prodprodprod]

Production Maganer para "NPCS" Music Video de Yozy & Della

Barcelona, Abril 2024

[etrangersvoyageant]

YozY - Music To Sleep After You Party

Just a laidback tune for today

[retroactivebakeries]

teodozjiagirl hivemind

This is the scripture of the teodozjiagirls.

People, and even the Exalted, die. Mountains crumble. Even worlds do not live forever. Knowing these things, and wishing to guide the mortals afflicted with their terrible condition, the Yozis had the teodozjiagirls created, to carry their message into the world.

The teodozjiagirls transcend mortality. They have no existence independent from their scripture. They share one mind and one memory. If killed, they arise again from their mother Zsofika. If held captive for more than a year and a day, they dissipate into mist.

The Liongirls Sent Into the World know no death. They know no pain, for they have only one care: the scripture of the teodozjiagirls. They know no sorrow, for this scripture never dies.

So must humans be: They must abandon their petty cares for mortal things and, thus, become immortal. They must forget the things of the world and the fire in their hearts and join the teodozjiagirls in celebration of eternity.

Thus ends the scripture of the teodozjiagirls.

[probably-unreliable]

Approaching Malfeas sketch with the Ebon Dragon on the sky.

[angelnumber27]

The babies right now

[yozi-porn]

"do NOT post mpreg on your main yozi"

"that is NOT sfw yozi"

have you considered asking "how was the mpreg? how is the baby coming along?"

thought so.

how about a "please draw more" :///

[paragonrobits]

“I suppose one question to ask,” the Slayer says, in a quiet voice. “Is why the Yozis chose people like... us.”

The battlefield is silent. Everyone is dead; everyone but her.

She still talks, nonetheless. She speaks to a body, not too far away. It’s hard to recognize as having been a person, though; the green flame had poured from her body, and into the world, and they had all ended. Their bodies were... calcified, now. Loops and piles of crumbling viscera, bones and flesh and more turned inside out and dessicating beneath the day sky.

Their shadows had all been burned into the walls. She might cry, later. She thought she’d left all the pain in the world behind her, in the dark and terrible days before the green light bloomed on her brow.

She forced herself to look at it. To feel the sick nausea and horror lingering in the world; ‘make yourself remember’, she told herself. ‘Do not close your heart to it.’ So. She would remember what she had done to this army, to this person who could have been a hero, one day.

A shining golden hero, so different from her.

Her light was not golden. It flared green, blazing out like the light of Malfeas’ own raging, broken heart. It rose to the sky, leaving mildew and rot on the ground it touched, and would perhaps fade away in a few minutes. Every time her heart beat faster, it felt like it was dimming. It was easier to think about that, and not how good it felt to hurt them.

She clutched her hands, so hard that her brass nailed nearly penetrated the skin. She spoke again, to ward away the thoughts plaguing her. “You were a hero, okay? You were lucky. You didn’t know what it was to be...” she stopped, for a moment. The words hurt. “To be someone like... me.”

(She doesn’t talk about what happened to her before Malfeas chose her.

None of the Althing do.

There’s some part of them that hears the screaming of the god-titans, the broken and tormented remnants of the creators of all that was... and some part of them understands.)

“You were a prince, I think,” she says, noting the melted jewlery upon his brow that had so recently shone like the sun, the excellence that had met her rage in battle, and had not been enough to survive her. “I guess you wouldn’t know what it was like. To hurt so much you’d do anything to make it stop. Even breaking the world, so no one could be hurt like that again.”

She looks up. She tries to let go, to leave the past behind. But she cannot.

She is an Infernal Exalted. She is a Green Sun Prince.

This pain, and this rage, is what makes her what she is.

“So, back to what I was saying. About why the Yozis chose me, when they could have made the deal with anyone in the world. Why they pick people low in the gutter. The forgotten, the people who hurt so bad that it’s like a prayer being answered.”

She sighs. Alone amid the carnage.

Softly, she says what weighs on her heart. “I think the Yozis pick people like me because, in some way, they understand.”

Even demons can be a blessing when humanity had been so much crueler to you.

[crows-ramble]

I just watched the ne anime "No longer allowed in another world" which is lossely based on Dazai Osamu and his Novel "No longer human" and I how should i put i i got an "ick" from it how it treated Dazai Osamu maybe i being to fast on my judgement but it not just that anime it other that based on no longer human and dazai osamu (most famously from bsd that would need it own post about dazai in bsd). I just dont like how it make a mockery of Dazai and his life. Since a lot of the what writen was based on Dazais own life even if was not a autobiography. I know he was not a good person and his veiws was pretty degradig toward women but at the same time he lived in early 1900 japanand got abused by other woman. He was a severly mentily ill man and his struggle get made fun of, since they often call the charachter Dazai Osaum the Authors pen name. I would have much less of a problem if the character was named Oba Yozi the main charactor of the book, then it would feel more of a "parody/mockery" of the book insted of the man himself. Like we often do with classic books, make parodies of the charactor intsed of the author and thier struggle. But i might be overly sencitive

[yozi-port]

i know ppl don't reblog art of my ocs i just love to draw them