#and inflicting grotesque horrors upon innocent people

[ruushes]

Hello I just discovered your blog because I love Bg3 and your art is just *keysmash* 😍😱💚 You named your Tav Lux and your Durge Nox? That is beautiful! Normally I'm most obsessed with my own Durge (her name is Maev 😊) but you got me hooked and I would love to know more of them! Are they shape shifters/trans/androgynous? (Correct me if I'm wrong but I think I spied both male and female forms 🧐) I love your design and the concept that Nox is like a cat, innocently playing with half dead things while the others witness it with shock and disgust 😆

💕💕🩷💜🩵THANK YOU for asking about my creature i love them so much 😭😭😭😭💕💕 answers under the cut so i can ramble contentedly and here is a wip of their cult leader days vs their return to baldur's gate (i just got to act 3 and they are Going Through It)

they originally started as a tav w/ the name lux, short for the tiefling virtue name luxury, then i restarted w/ them as a durge and the name nox bc it was like the opposite of lux (night vs light). they've evolved pretty far from the original lux character in terms of backstory, motivations and priorities, though personality-wise they're still pretty similar. i'm still considering whether i want to preserve/develop lux as a separate tav 🤔

they like to change up their gender presentation but tragically (in their opinion) are unable to physically change shape (major point of sibling rivalry with orin). i guess the best term for them might be genderfluid, or polygender? they're fine w/ any pronouns and gendered words but tend to most enjoy androgyny and ambiguity

and yes you get it..! that's a good analogy, not exactly innocent but amoral in the literal meaning of the word, like outside of mortal morality. cause they're not mortal ultimately and even by the end of the game struggle to see anything wrong with their enjoyment of violence and killing

they think about things less in terms of right and wrong and more in terms of what they care about and how they're affected (though they do throughout the course of the game begin to redevelop their very beaten down and atrophied sense of sympathy). luckily for everyone involved they want to be Loved and can compromise by mostly only enjoying socially acceptable violence and killing lol

#nox #my ocs #my art #bg3 #talkin #i love this bitch #my babygirl. my rotten soldier. my little cabbage #THANK YOU FOR ASKING i love to talk abt them 😭😭😭😭 #if you're familiar w jujutsu kaisen they're a little based personality-wise on mahito who was one of my favs (rest in slorrrp king) #especially wrt the playfulness and the not seeing anything wrong with being the way they are #and being cute! #and inflicting grotesque horrors upon innocent people

[pawnshopsblue]

most insane thing i stumbled upon this week was waltz with bashir. at first i thought i misunderstood the movie but no it really is an idf soldiers woe is me narrative where he says look! were soldiers and we also have ptsd and we feel immense guilt after inflicting ghastly horrors upon completely innocent people but literally idgaf. it may just be me but i do not think that a massacre thats part of a larger campaign of ethical cleansing should be a backdrop for a soldier’s sob story. like are u kidding me. are u fucking serious. like go art or whatever but the movie is a disgusting exploitation of palestinian trauma. and yes the lebanese militia did have a role in this but im not seeing them make movies where theyre like oh no :( i was a literal war criminal enforcing genocide and now i feel bad for it :( its just sick sick sick how the whole premise and plot of this is just a lack of self awareness and a grotesque trivialization of human suffering in the face of actual imperialism. like do u get it. it wouldve been completely different if he actually acknowledged that the idf has done some truly terrible things and their methods are inhumane and the whole conflict is just a slow paced genocide but its all about him and his guilt. and then he went on to get critical acclaim for it bc the soundtrack and the animation style made him an intellectual at cannes or whatever disgusting

#like this is a social experiment right #i dont like talking abt this but im so disgusted. its sick and twisted + the fact that it is literally considered a masterpiece when its. #again. an exploitation of a hugely traumatic event where he was the perpetrator of this trauma #i have no words for how grossed out i feel

[meandrose]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[biserapink]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[blueliwo]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[historyhologram]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[elenabga]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[everythingist]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[clothdesignbg]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[bookingbg]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[birdbeaty]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, outerspacebabe7!

For @outerspacebabe7. Happy holidays, I had already started writing the fic before we could find each other to get answers to questions, but I steered this fic in ways that it would still fit a lot of your preffered tropes. I hope you like it and thank you for inspiring me to write this fic. <3

Read On AO3

*****

I’ll make War for you

The smell of blood is rancid. It coats the palate of his mouth and tongue and it goes down his throat. Most of it is already dried on his upper lip but it doesn’t mean the bleeding has stopped. Shadowhunters were meant to withstand torture, poisoning, cuts and bruises. But no training prepared you to withstand the horrors your own people could inflict upon your body.

Because society dictated no secrets were to be held, once you were starting to have secrets, you would become fallen. The more you held on, the more you were a traitor to the state and its rules of control, supremacy and leadership.

Alec holds secrets, more than one, and all were sealed away in his mind. A bastion of discipline and conviction. A soldier of purpose and strength. He stands fearless. His body aches, his breathing tears away through the silence of the dungeon. The walls are pristine white where the light never dims. Showing off how grotesque the masquerade of Nephilims ‘spotless’ ideals could be.

The blood on the walls could never be washed away no matter how hard they scrubbed.

He suppresses his hiccups of panic as he sees the menacing stele hovers over the agony rune on his solar plexus. He has to calm down, he has to breathe, he has to take a hold of himself. There is a silent prayer on his lips for them to stop. But his begging always makes the matter worse.

“Give me names, Lightwood.” The inquisitor, a nameless face, looks at him. Their fingers tap a regular rhythm on their arm. Alec has been down here long enough to know what comes next.

“Never,” it takes effort but he’s strong enough to muster the strength. He spits the blood of his broken nose on the floor.

Agony makes his whole body jerk and the feeling of invisible needles wiggles its way under his skin. His vision whites out, a groan, a scream of anger passes his lips. They were going to have hell to pay, every single last one of them.

Magnus breathes in. It took him too long to find the weak spot in the wall. The fighting is happening up front. Warlocks, werewolves and Seelies fighting shadowhunters one by one. Arrogant Nephilims, they never suspect to be attacked from the back, thinking their defenses are strong enough.

He draws the sigil on the wall with his left hand, keeping his other one free in case shadowhunters do decide to check up on the wards on this side of the mountain. Angelic magic is powerful, but the blood of a prince of hell is stronger. He takes a step back, waiting for Meliorn to give him affirmation of position. He plays with the cork on the potion’s vial to keep his focus.

It doesn’t take long before there is a magical vibration in his communicator. He concentrates his power to tune into the frequency.

“The way is clear, your majesty.” Meliorn’s voice sounds strong and pleased. Which meant the assault on the southern gate had gone marvelously.

“Very well, keep the distraction going, I will locate Alexander’s cell by myself, have the others concentrate on liberating the other prisoners.” Things were going according to plan.

“Yes, sir.” There is the chime of the spell on the communicator dimming.

He breathes in.

He throws the uncorked vial to the sigil. The wall pulsates before it thickens. The explosion goes all the way through. The air gushes out. It’s fresh and cold. For the very first time in weeks Magnus feels he can breathe again. The mountain rumbles and the ground shakes. Once the High warlock is certain it wouldn’t collapse on itself. Shadowhunters weren’t stupid. They wouldn’t venture blindly in a freshly created passage way. He moves his hand as he invokes the fires that will help him through the tunnel..

There was a time where he would have chosen a more peaceful solution. But the time for compromised had died out when Aldertree had come in power. Destroyed everything what the institute should have stood for. Nephilims turned into mindless husks and downworlders changed and experimented on.

Magnus hadn’t stood for it, Alec hadn’t stood for it. The uprising had been inevitable. Magnus, being a prince of hell, took his place as monarch and downworlders marched for war. Many allied, many perished, sacrifices were made.

The High warlock mutters an incantation. The air is soaked out of the passage way. He walks forward as a protective bubble keeps himself safe from suffocation and dizziness. There is mountain dust around him everywhere and his steps sound hollow.

He could smell the stench of sulfur and ozone, the two scents associated with angelic magic, as he comes closer to the light. The fires around him dissipate. He approaches. There are runes allover the opening. Locking runes, repelling runes, banishing runes. Everything to keep any downworlders at bay.

Well thought, well planned out, but not enough to make him waver. They didn’t think of covering up the entire wall. Magnus clenches his fist and the magic impulse blasts the tunnel wide open, crumbling the wall to ash and dust. The runes fades.

Magnus steps into the light, there are bodies, some dead, some just knocked out from his suffocation spell. He closes his eyes as he whispers another incantation. He inhales and his vision goes gray, a wisp light appears, ready to guide him toward Alexander.

It doesn’t take long as he fights some leftover guards in every corridor. He’s swift enough to not let anything end in pain. He’s angry and rage builds up. Usually he’s more in tune with his feelings of revenge, more in control. But the longer he seeks out the right way. The more he doesn’t hold back.   the more he approaches where Alexander is been held prisoner.

Magnus doesn’t need a map, or a history lesson to know where he is going. There are the cells for simple prisoners, the ones for living out your sentence while you await final judgment, then there are the cells for downworlders or especially strong criminals. But Alexander isn’t there.

Anger keeps on simmering underneath his skin. He knows when he enters the inquisitorial wing. It’s cleaner, more sophisticated, the hypocrisy drips from the ceiling up to the beautiful immaculate tiles bellow. It is smeared with the invisible blood of mostly innocent people who were on the wrong side of the law in the eyes of the clave.

Magnus comes to an intersection and the wisp vibrates before taking off to the left. All the way to the end of the corridor. There are people in the other rooms ready for ambush. With a snap of fingers he makes sure they stay locked. He walks through and the sudden bang of people and weapons clanking against the now sealed doors. There is cursing and Magnus cannot keep himself from having a side smile adorning his face; The smell of ozone permeates the air but any rune would be useless against his magic. They can struggle all they like, they won’t be getting out.

He smiles as he waves his hand. The door obliterated against the opposite wall. He steps inside and blocks the first knife that’s out there to get him. He keeps a energy shield up as another shadowhunter tries to slit his throat. He feints a fall and turns on himself as he deviates an attack. There is a pained scream as Magnus deflected the shadowhunter’s attack to stab his colleague. He moves away. There is fire in his hands.

They burned with an invisible fire before they bleed on the floor. There are screams of anguish and Magnus silences them.

Alec is smiling, he’s battered and bruised, there is dried blood and the tension in his muscles is taut and strong. Magnus feels his whole heart flutter with the feeling of finally have found back his love. It feels like things will be alright again.

“The sight of you being shackled to a wall will never fail to make me feel weak on my knees, Alexander.” Magnus says as he steps forward. He steps over charred and broken bodies.

“Liar.” Alec has trouble looking up and his nose looks like it had been repeatedly beaten and badly mended again. He can only see through one eye and with a gentle caress of magic Magnus tries to settle Alec’s pain. There is relief in his face and Magnus feels himself smiling back.

“Who says I wouldn’t fall to my knees at the sight of you ?” he quips as he scans Alec’s body for more serious or even deadly injuries.

“You submit to no-one, Magnus Bane.” Alec’s voice sounds raspy through the grin on his lips, he isn’t broken, because Alexander doesn’t break. But the tone is heavy enough to transpire the unfathomable fatigue he is probably feeling. Magnus takes a step closer, he lets his hand ghost over Alec’s shackled hands.

“That is true, but I’m rarely myself when I’m around you, my love. I would let the whole world burn if it means I get us to be safe.” The next sentence is a whisper. “As I recall, I’ve submitted to you before and will do it again, Alexander, My Alexander…” He lets the name linger between them. And Magnus feels himself lose his breath.  

“Kiss me.”  

Kissing Alec is like the heavens breaking open to finally let peace reign over the turmoil inside of you, it’s unique, ravaging, calming, it’s thunder and rain. It’s the tearing down of the pain and it restores order in your mind, Magnus’ mind. From the movement of lips to careful touches and a slip of tongue, it’s the little things. Even if Magnus avoids to go too hard, too passionate. It is heated and careful. And it reminds them on how much this is all they need, all what they would ever need. Sex isn’t part of it, never part of it. And Magnus’ kiss is soft and strong and welcoming. It grounds them and makes them feel alive in ways no other thing ever would.

Magnus cups Alec’s cheek before breaking the kiss. He’s out of breath, so is Alec. Alec winces before he relaxes when Magnus’ soothing magic overflows most of his face to heal his broken nose; when the last dregs of magic fade Magnus kisses Alec’s forehead.

“Let me unshackle you.”

He tries to keep Alec up but Magnus doesn’t expect him to walk, he had been held on his tiptoes for days. The fact that Alec is even remotely on his feet feels like a miracle. Alec buries his face in Magnus’ hair, finding comfort in the smell of sandalwood, reminding him of home, their home;  

“Do you need a Stele ?” Magnus feels Alec mutter a yes and a whine. Magnus conjures a portal as he summons a stele to his pockets.

“Mission accomplished,” his final order resonates as a booming voice over the whole settlement.

Soon they will be home.

Alexander will be safe.

And the next attack could be coordinated.

The end

#outerspacebabe7 #malecsanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

[takonei]

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 3, deadly life (Part 5)

Note of the author: ... Heavy stuff incoming. Sensible souls beware.

Chapter 3: What is beyond humans’ control - Deadly life

...

Kaito’s face blanched. Shuichi could faintly see sweat drops on his temple.

"I... I’m...”

He felt bad for the biker.

He was the only one with decent knowledge in mechanics and able to do Keebo’s maintenance while both Tsumugi and Ryoma were sick.

The responsibility of Keebo’s death fell on him.

He was the one responsible.

He was the reason why the robot wasn’t with them anymore.

Even if Keebo wasn’t human, he was still considered a part of the group. And to Monokuma, he was a participant.

He had a conscience -though less developed than a human’s-, he had thoughts, desires, and even though he didn’t express them much, Keebo did have emotions.

The thought of his friend being executed like Tenko and Maki for a tiny maintenance mistake he didn’t have full control upon...

That terrified Shuichi.

Now that he thought about it, how many of them were responsible for others’ deaths? Or even attempted to kill?

Miu tried to, but couldn’t bring herself to actually do it.

Kaito killed Keebo on accident.

Kokichi was the reason why Kaede was the victim of the second case.

Kirumi murdered several people in the past.

Ryoma, as a war mechanic, built weapons that killed people.

That left five people innocent.

Only half the group had never tried to and/or ended someone’s life.

... And he didn’t count the blackened who killed Himiko.

Did they already have blood on their hands before committing the crime?

Who knows.

The courtroom was silent, the others slowly realizing the truth.

Miu was looking away. The guilt seemed to flow back to her. Perhaps a part of her knew how he was feeling.

Ryoma looked angry, but kept his emotions to himself. Now was probably not the time to lash out at Kaito, and he knew it.

Kirumi, Kiyo and Rantaro, even though they were not the most expressive, had hints of pity on their faces.

Tsumugi was staring at Kaito, a neutral look on her face. She didn’t look satisfied by the results, but she didn’t look annoyed either. How could she be so calm in a situation like this?

Angie was hard to read. Was she not caring about Keebo’s death? She was simply waiting for something to happen, but couldn’t bring herself to start the conversation.

And Kokichi... He looked more troubled about what was coming than the fact Kaito was indeed, the second blackened.

They all investigated Keebo’s death to know what Kokichi even had those last few days.

Was the truth even worth achieving? Was it worth putting a “killer” stamp on Kaito’s face?

Monokuma may have said he would have forced them to investigate Keebo’s death anyway, but they still chose to go along with it.

Shuichi had a horrible feeling.

“And now...” Monokuma broke the silence. “I have to complete my part of the deal!”

The others turned back to the bear- except Kaito, who was still looking at the ground.

Kokichi was even more afraid than Shuichi.

“Drum rolls for Kokichi’s condition, please!” the mascot yelled.

Before the remaining Monokubs could start the noise, Rantaro interrupted them. “Just tell us already.”

“Kids these days! No sense of humour!” Monokuma pouted. “Very well! In that case...”

“Kokichi did, indeed, have the despair disease, even though his symptoms differed from the others!”

Shuichi unconsciously held his breath.

“And... What were my symptoms...?” Kokichi hesitantly asked.

“Puhuhuhuhu! Well what would be more suited for you...”

“... Than the reverse disease!”

Shuichi raised an eyebrow. “The... Reverse disease?”

He glanced at the others. They were just as confused... And then his eyes landed on Rantaro. The medic’s face became as white as Kaito’s.

Does he know?

“... Oh no.” Rantaro muttered low enough to be heard only by Shuichi's musician ears and perhaps the two girls on his sides.

“It’s pretty simple actually!” Monokuma continued. “This disease will reverse your talent! So for the ultimate karma who’s very existence rewards good people and punishes the bad ones...”

“An ultimate karma with the reverse disease will punish innocent people and reward the bad ones!”

Shuichi could barely mutter “What does this have to do with anyth-”

Before he realized.

Himiko.

Himiko was the one to care about Kokichi the most.

So much that she stayed around him almost the entire time he was sick.

So much that when she wasn’t at his side, she felt guilty for leaving him alone.

She never was afraid of his talent and the dangers around it.

She still helped him get through everything that happened in the game.

And when they found her dead this morning...

... She was unrecognizable.

Wounds covering her body, bones and joints broken, stabbed in all places, and a grotesque graffiti of angel wings behind her back painted with her own blood.

And all this torture inflicted while she was alive.

They were all wondering what she even did to deserve such a cruel fate...

... But the answer was right here. Right in front of their eyes.

Like a reversed wheel of fortune unable to stop spinning.

Like a blind judge unable to distinct the virtue from the vice.

Kokichi and the disease offered the astronomer a fate worse than death.

And he had no control over this.

Karma rendered an unjust judgement and took the life of the one who deserved it the less.

...

Shuichi’s eyes slowly widened in horror.

The others felt as shocked and terrified as him as they realized the harsh truth.

Even Ryoma and Tsumugi who were the most stoic people of the group were appalled by the reveal.

First Kaede, and now this? Kokichi had finally started to accept his talent thanks to Himiko, and she perished because of it.

What did Kokichi even do to deserve this?

Wasn’t being the cause of Kaede’s death enough for Monokuma?

“Haha... Hahahahahahah...”

The violinist’s eyes shifted to the small boy.

He was hysterically laughing.

For what felt like an eternity, a delirious laughter filled the courtroom, dumbfounded eyes fixated on him.

“What did I even expect? It’s always my fault. It always has been. Whenever something bad happens it’s always me. Whenever someone suffers it’s always me. And if it’s not my fault well guess what? It’s still me somehow.”

The tone of his voice sent chills down Shuichi’s spine. It was like he already accepted it.

How used to this type of situation was he?

How much blood did he have on his hands because of his talent?

“Well! You got your answer now!” He outstretched his arms, a wide smile on his face. A joyful gesture not fitting a normal reaction at all. “If it’s karma that killed Himiko, then you have your blackened! It was about time I pay for every death I’m responsible for.”

Shuichi blinked. “What...?”

"It’s my fault she died, right? Then it’s only fair *I* get to be executed.” he continued.

In his voice wasn’t regret nor sadness.

It was madness. Tiredness. Dreadful acceptance.

A plea to end his life.

When he broke down last trial, it was already hard to look at.

But this was different.

They were all so convinced his condition would be a major clue to the case that they forgot why Monokuma even put them in this killing game.

It was to make inflict them despair.

And he was excelling at doing do.

Rantaro himself was starting to panic. “Hold on, we can’t just execute you, we don’t even know if you’re-”

“Who cares about that! Karma ended her life, end of the story! I’m the culprit you’re all searching for!” He yelled desperately.

“Even if ‘karma’ is part of this, we don’t even know who was the one to kill her. So unless you killed her we have no reason to vote for you.” Kirumi countered.

“SHUT UP! You have no idea what you’re talking about! There is one person responsible for her death here, and it’s me!”

Kiyo tried to calm down the conflict. “I probably will never understand what you went through but we need to-”

“There’s nothing to understand! Himiko is dead because of me and this despair bullshit! I am the blackened here!”

“Then let’s settle this right now.” Tsumugi slammed her hands on her podium.

Shuichi snapped out of his shock. “What do you-”

“Monokuma, I have a question about the rules.” she asked.

Everyone turned to the prodigy.

“Who counts as the blackened in a case exactly?”

The robotic bear laughed, paws on his mouth.

“The blackened is the student who commits the killing. So no matter how much someone is indirectly responsible for someone’s death...”

“... Only the person who does the final blow is the blackened!”

Rantaro frowned. “The final blow...?”

“Or in the case of a poisoning, it’s the person who gave the substance to the victim who is the blackened!”

The courtroom went silent.

“... That settles it.” Tsumugi declared.

No matter how much karma was part of the equation, Kokichi was not the blackened.

The boy looked beyond mad.

“That’s still on me! I’ve seen people die by my fault, Himiko is no exception!”

“Kokichi, please!” Rantaro yelled, surprising everyone.

He winced when Kokichi’s desperate eyes landed on his.

“It’s... Horrible. Even I have never seen such a horrible death before. And I’ve seen a lot of stuff over the years.”

“Then just vote for me already! I-”

“But.” he interrupted. “I refuse to believe an invisible concept such as karma was able to physically do anything to Himiko.”

“We still have a culprit to find. The real blackened.” Kirumi continued.

Angie looked up. “We didn’t talk about Himiko’s death that much, didn’t we?”

Shuichi took a deep breath. “I still... Have trouble realizing someone went that far in a crime...”

“I’m telling you I am the culprit! I am the reason Himiko died! I should count as the blackened!”

Kokichi was not giving up. 

Shuichi had trouble staying calm.

This whole trial was heartbreaking.

"Kokichi, are you the one who drugged me and killed Himiko?” Rantaro strongly gripped his podium.

“No! But I should still count as the blackened!”

“You are not the blackened for this! We have to find the real culprit, Monokuma said so himself!”

“I know I’m responsible for this! Just stop it already!”

“No! We have a murder to solve, we need to do justice for Himiko!”

“No one needs to die other than me here! There’s only one person who deserves a punishment and it’s me!”

“Can’t you see that whoever did this did not have a state of mind that could be described as remotely sane???”

Rantaro yelled desperately.

Kokichi stopped.

“Rantaro...” Ryoma turned to him. “What do you mean by that?”

“The killer could have just stabbed her and leave and yet...” he explained. “... I think whoever did this had lost every little bit of sanity they had. Which is why my theory is...”

“... That the killer had the despair disease and either never told any of us, or lied about their symptoms.”

Shuichi didn’t even know why he didn’t think of it this way. It felt obvious, on second thought.

“And do you think you can rule out some suspects?” Kiyo asked.

Rantaro thought for a second. “The first one we can rule out is Kokichi. Since Monokuma himself told us the real symptoms, and he even defended me about the soporifics.”

The violinist could see Kokichi clenching his fists, gaze to the ground.

Miu raised an eyebrow. “Can’t we also say Tsumugi and Ryoma are innocent? The monokubs pretty much confirmed their symptoms!”

“That’s what I’m doubting.” Rantaro replied. “Do you really think the monokubs would tell us if someone lied about their own symptoms?”

“Are you suggesting we’re lying?” Tsumugi glared at him.

The medic wasn’t phased in the slightest. “Aren’t you the one suspecting me all the time? Or only you are allowed to suspect other people?”

“Let’s not argue right now.” Kirumi interrupted them before things would go wrong.

Kiyo seemed to be pondering for a moment. “... Monokuma, I have a question about the disease.”

“Let’s see, what is your question?”

“Supposing the killer did have the despair disease. Do they remember their own crime?” he asked.

... If they didn’t, things would get really problematic.

“Excellent question! Even though it is tempting not to answer, I shall give you this detail!” the bear exclaimed.

“As much as a case where the murderer doesn’t remember their crime is interesting and has a lot of potential, for this case, if the killer did have the disease, they do remember their crime!”

“Then in that case we can rule out Tsumugi. She was the first one to tell us that she didn’t remember the last few days.” Kirumi explained. “And I don’t think Ryoma would have agreed to follow her and fake amnesia as well, if she was lying.”

“We can also rule out Ryoma in the process. He was with Rantaro and I for the first part of the investigation and told us the same.” Kiyo added.

“So we got Kokichi, Tsumugi and Ryoma out of the equation. Which is a start.” Rantaro concluded.

“However we can’t keep trying to rule out suspects like this.” Ryoma raised a hand. “If we don’t solve the murder as a whole we will get nowhere.”

Shuichi unconsciously nodded. “That’s right... I think that’s the best for now.”

“We have to solve Himiko’s murder entirely.”

#ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 au #beta au #main story

[everythingist]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled

[everythingist]

Tragic Tales Unveiled

As we continued our journey through the ravaged village, each step revealed new horrors—testaments to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon its inhabitants.

A Heartbreaking Encounter

At the next house, a grieving man halted our progress. With tearful eyes, he pointed to the spot where his blind brother had perished in the flames, his remains reduced to calcined bones. Despite his anguish, he failed to grasp the solace that his brother’s release from suffering should bring, instead consumed by inconsolable grief.

Innocent Victims

Across the street, the grim sight of two children’s skeletons lay side by side, their tiny skulls marked by ghastly sabre cuts. The massacre had claimed the lives of countless innocent children, many subjected to unimaginable horrors. Eyewitnesses recounted chilling tales of infants impaled on bayonets, a grotesque manifestation of twisted beliefs.

Twisted Beliefs

The perpetrators of these atrocities acted upon a perverse interpretation of religious doctrine, believing that the slaughter of infidels, regardless of age or innocence, guaranteed them a place in paradise. In their misguided zeal, they spared no one, even ripping unborn infants from their mothers’ wombs to swell their tally of victims Tour Packages Balkan.

Streets of Sorrow

As we ventured further into the heart of the town, the streets became a haunting labyrinth of death and despair. Human remains littered the ground, with hardly a house left untouched by the carnage. Women, consumed by grief, wandered aimlessly, their mournful cries echoing through the desolate streets.

Agony Unveiled

In one heartbreaking moment, a distraught mother led us to a corner where the remains of her daughter lay, her once-flowing hair now entangled amidst the rubble. The mother’s anguished cries reverberated off the walls, a stark reminder of the unbearable pain inflicted upon the innocent.

Unimaginable Suffering

As we bore witness to the anguish of the survivors, it became clear that the scars of this tragedy would linger for generations to come. Each wail, each sob, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss endured by the people of Batak.

#Tragic Tales Unveiled