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[idylium]

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[ishwarpurigoswami]

Cleaning tips for Onyx

Cleaning tips for Onyx

Onyx Marble Care & Maintenance Guidelines:- Onyx is a beautiful natural stone because it offers unique patterns and colors. Because of their chemical composition, the primary care for these stones is the same. Though, keep in mind that they are more porous than granite, so more care and maintenance involve because they are calcium-based. This means Onyx Marble is very susceptible to acid…

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[t4tower-of-t4terror]

But If I Know You, I Know What You'll Do

Malleus x reader fluff

It gets harder and harder to sleep during nights at Ramshackle. You don't mind your semi-shitty bed and ratty blankets. You've learned to ignore the constant draft and the ghosts and the fact that Grim snores like a vacuum cleaner. You couldn't really do anything about any of that.

It was your dreams that kept you awake. They were often prophetic, showing a drawn-out story like an animated movie playing for hours. You didn't know how they could perfectly mimic your real-life events.

But between these prophecies were something far worse. You dreamed of your old life. Your old home.

Sometimes you woke up crying, longing for the world you left behind. Sometimes you woke up crying because you know that this world, where you will forever be an outlier, is better than that one. Either way, you were tired of crying. You were tired of pulling Grim close to you solely because you needed to know that you weren't alone.

And so sometimes you would walk. Walk outside of Ramshackle. Walk until your feet took you somewhere new. Walk until your thoughts were gone and your tears left weird tracks down your cheeks.

Here you were now, standing in front of Diasomnia. You had walked to the mirror chamber and ended up here. Why here?

You knew subconsciously that you had a fondness for Malleus. But it was just a fondness. That is all it could be. That is all you would let it be.

And yet.

Here you were, in front of the fae prince's doorstep. You had walked through their stone gates. Somehow the large wooden door in front of the dorm had opened for you, as if it knew who you were searching for.

Your feet dragged. It was late, but you knew he would be awake. He always was at this hour. You trudged to his door, knocking against the wood.

When Malleus opened it, he was shocked to see you, of all people.

"Child of man, what are you doing in Diasomnia?" Malleus asked, before noticing the tear tracks. Noticing how you shook, not from the ever-present chill of the dorm, with it's neon green flames.

He ushers you into his room. Into the soft green candlelight. He looks so pretty in the moments where you can feel the tenderness in his gaze. The flickering light emphasizes his inhuman nature, carving out the valleys of his sharpened cheekbones. You understand why so many revere him, especially in this environment.

"Are you alright?" you can hear the soft concern in his voice.

And then the dam breaks.

He is the prince of Briar Valley, and yet he holds you so close. You feel like glass in his embrace, like you will shatter if he lets go of you.

You cry about the way you don't want to go back to that old world. You don't want to see those people again. It's so much kinder to live in an existence where your past cannot get you. Where the people who hurt you don't even exist.

But it's ironic to you that the world where you are forever outcasted is the kinder one. The world where you are forced to clean up other people's messes, to put others back together after they fall apart. Overblots and kidnappings and more fucking overblots! And nobody can even comprehend why you're so tired.

And Malleus, tall beautiful faerie prince Malleus, listens to every word. And he pulls you close and runs his hand through your hair. And he tells you that he will make this world kinder for you if he needs to burn it all down and start it all from scratch.

But when he takes your hand, he winces. When you pull his fingers away, you realize your ring had scorched him.

"My apologies for my reaction. Is your ring by any chance made of iron?" he asks, his voice smooth and rumbling like thunder in a summer storm.

You nod, not trusting your voice. That ring was wedged deep in your pocket when you had showed up here. It was one of your only reminders that your old world had even existed, besides your existing memories.

"Ah. Iron tends to burn fae folk like myself. You by no means have to remove it, I just thought you would benefit from the knowledge"

And you slid it off of your finger in that instant. You stand before a man who promised to make you safe and happy, and he expects you to hold onto the things that harm him?

The metal clatters against the dark hardwood. It says more than any words exchanged between the two of you could possibly convey. You take his hand into yours and lift his palm to brush your lips against the wound. You both are aware of your lack of magic, but Malleus swears he has been healed in that moment.

Malleus pulls you to his bed. His covers are the most beautiful smoky purple you have ever seen. They feel lavish. You sink into the warmth. He sinks beside you.

When you are comfortable beneath the sheets, you are pulled to rest on Malleus' chest. He holds your hand while you lay, with one arm around you.

The two of you have all the time in the world for words. All the time this universe will provide to ask each other what was to come of this. But tonight you would let the soft scent of briar roses and smoke lull you to sleep.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x yuu #malleus imagine #malleus hcs #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twst x reader #twst x you #twst x y/n #twst x yuu #twst fluff #malleus draconia fluff #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x mc #twisted wonderland fluff #twst fic #disney twst x reader

[helloalycia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 [𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑] // 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤

summary: with only your guilt to sit with, you can't help but worry for Alicia's wellbeing and think about what you said to her.

warning/s: mentions of death and injury.

author's note: and this is the final part! hope the person who requested this feels i met the brief haha, that’s all for now but i’m working on some other stuff :)

one / two / three / masterlist / wattpad

After cleaning up and getting into a fresh pair of clothes, all with Ofelia's help, I was able to get into a less volatile state and return to the Clarks, who were still pacing outside the medbay. When they spotted me, they paused and smiled a little, putting me at ease.

"Hey, sweetie, how're you feeling?" Madison asked.

"Better," I answered truthfully, before looking between them both. "I just want to apologise for before. I was hysterical and it wasn't appropriate. Not when your family member is in there, hurt."

"You don't need to apologise," Nick said, nudging my arm. "You're scared. We all are."

I swallowed hard, unsure what to say.

"They're almost done in there," he told me. "They're just wrapping her wounds and we can go in."

At this good news, my heart seemed to return to its normal pace for a moment. "She's okay?"

"She will be," Madison assured me. "It looked worse than it was, but you got her back in time."

I could have cried again at hearing this, but I figured they'd seen enough of my tears, so I settled for a sigh of relief.

The three of us stayed out there for a little longer, Ofelia soon joining us, before we were allowed inside to see her. It was hard for me to imagine anything other than the bloody mess I'd left her there as earlier, but when we approached her bed and saw her looking much better, cleaner and safer, I knew she was truly okay.

Madison and Nick rushed to her side instantly, taking a hand each as she was still unconscious. I felt like I was intruding as Ofelia and I stood to the side, giving them a moment. And then Madison looked up, nodding to me.

"D'you wanna see her?" she asked encouragingly, but I shook my head.

"It's okay," I politely declined, feeling incredibly awkward and also unable to look at her without feeling a sense of shame wash over me.

They didn't say anything about it, and I risked glancing at Alicia once more, my heart aching, but in a different way, when I saw her pale skin, closed eyes and still figure. I couldn't stay here, not when I knew what I'd said to her last – so I dismissed myself before giving them some space, knowing it was for the best.

A few hours later, I was sat outside my cabin, fingers playing with the zip of my jacket mindlessly, when Ofelia found me.

"She's awake," she rushed out breathlessly, a smile on her lips.

I raised my eyebrows, standing up instantly. "She is? Is she– is she okay?"

Ofelia laughed, nodding. "Of course. She's asking for you, c'mon."

She was asking for me? Even after everything I'd said to her?

I nodded slowly, then quickly, then followed after Ofelia when I realised Alicia was waiting for me. It was as if a stone was lodged in my chest as I approached the medbay, walking inside and seeing Alicia's bed, surrounded by her family. When Nick and Madison saw me, they smiled with relief.

"You're here," Madison said, before looking to her son. "C'mon. Let's give them a minute."

I swallowed thickly as they left for a moment, Ofelia squeezing my hand before doing the same. Sucking up a deep breath, I approached Alicia's bedside, eyes falling to the conscious Clark girl as she looked up at me, eyes tired but alive.

"Hey," she started when I didn't, her voice raspy and quiet.

Naturally, my eyes took in the state of her, double checking to make sure she was truly okay. The colour had returned to her cheeks and she seemed pain-free, probably because of the meds running through her IV, and her body was covered by a blanket, so I couldn't see her bandaged wound. Still, she looked pretty weak and it left me with a horrible taste in my mouth, knowing it was because of me.

"You weren't here," she continued, taking a slow breath. "They said you left."

I opened my mouth, "I–", but stopped when my voice broke, taking a second to collect myself. For God's sake, why couldn't I keep it together?

"It's not as bad as it looks," she tried to reassure me, glancing down at her body, before offering me a small smile.

I blinked my tears back, shaking my head. "Isn't it?"

Her smile faded, green eyes boring through mine cluelessly, and I began to frown guiltily.

"You wouldn't have gotten hurt if we hadn't argued," I told her regretfully, "if I hadn't said what I did."

"Y/N, you couldn't have known it was booby trapped," she said, before reaching out her hand towards me.

I grabbed it, squeezing it gently, but I still felt horrible. "But we could have gone together if I hadn't pushed you away."

Embarrassed yet again, I turned my head and forcefully wiped my tears away, the thought of almost losing her reigniting them.

"It's okay," she tried to reassure me, tugging my hand with what little strength she had.

"It's not," I muttered, voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Alicia."

"Don't be," she said sternly, tugging my hand harder, forcing me to look down at her and see the determination in her eyes. "You brought me here when I could've died. You saved me. I should be thanking you."

I clenched my jaw, trying to stop the trembling, and let go of her hand. She began to frown, eyes flickering between mine.

"Don't push yourself away again, please," she begged, eyes becoming glossy. "You might not need me, but I need you."

My heart ached as she stared at me, refusing to look away, her heart on her sleeve. I'd almost lost her, just as I'd feared, and it hadn't mattered whether I was with her or not. Losing people was impossible to prevent and it could happen, just like that. It almost had with Alicia, and I could've lost her having acted so horribly towards her. God, I was a fool.

"When my mum died, it happened so unexpectedly," I suddenly said, knowing I was making no sense, but everything was coming out all at once. "I wasn't prepared, and it's the hardest thing I've ever had to go through."

"I'm sorry," she said considerately.

I shrugged. "You don't need to be. It happened randomly. Just like losing people in our tribe did. Death doesn't have a warning label, and I stupidly thought I could push people away so I'd never have to feel loss again."

I closed my eyes, pausing as I tried to collect myself, not wanting to cry again. And then Alicia's hand slipped into mind, and I opened my eyes, holding tightly as I met her green, attentive stare.

"My dad, he won't talk about it, but he does the same. It's why he struggles to trust people," I continued. "As much as I hate that about him, I take after him. And I don't want to anymore... I'm tired of being alone. I... I don't want to push people away anymore."

"You don't have to," she said with certainty.

"I know," I murmured. "Because almost losing you today only reminded me that it could happen any time, anywhere, no matter the circumstances. And I just– I don't want to ever lose you, not like this, not after all the horrible stuff I said to you."

She looked between my eyes, searching. "What are you saying?"

I took her hand between both of mine. "I'm saying that I need you, too. And I'm so fucking sorry. And, if you forgive me, I'd love to have a second chance. One that I won't screw up."

My heart was hammering so loudly in my chest that I wouldn't have been surprised if she could hear it in the silence that followed. Her hand between mine made my skin go numb, and the longer she said nothing, the more anxious I grew. Had I fucked it?

"Of course, you idiot," she finally muttered, before smiling weakly.

I exhaled deeply, feeling a weight off my chest, and then she pulled me down and wrapped her arms around my neck the best she could, hugging me. I tucked my head into her neck as I tried my best to return her hug, despite her laying down, and my guilt was somewhat shrinking.

"I know I'm not good at talking about how I feel," I said to her, pulling away but cupping her cheek, hovering above her as I held my weight up with my other hand. "I'm going to try to be better, I promise."

She closed her eyes, hand behind my neck and pulling me closer so our foreheads were touching. "I know. I appreciate it, Y/N."

I revelled in the moment for a few seconds longer before pulling back, smiling down at her. "You should rest."

"I will," she promised. "You'll stay this time, right?"

I squeezed her hand in response. "I'm not leaving."

Her lips curved into a tired smile, eyes watching me and making me nervous, before closing contently.

As promised, I kept Alicia company for as much as I could during her recovery. Over the next few days, when her family weren't sat with her, I'd stay by her side and try to take her mind off things.

One lunchtime, I was making her a tray of food to bring back to the medbay when my father bumped into me on the way back to her.

"Hey," he said with a smile. "What're you up to?"

I lifted the tray in my hand slightly. "Just getting some lunch for Alicia."

He nodded, eyebrows raising. "Ah, yes, of course. Y'know, it's nice to see that you've both resolved whatever argument you were having. It was starting to get weird, watching you ignore each other."

I smiled a little. "Yeah... it was my fault, but we've sorted everything out now."

"Well, you've been spending basically every waking moment with her since she got hurt, so you'd find the time, wouldn't you?" he joked, but it still made my face heat up with embarrassment.

"I just want her to be okay, dad," I tried to say dismissively, but it wasn't very believable.

He nodded, humming in agreement, eyes looking out ahead. I assumed the conversation had ended there, until he looked back to me casually.

"You like her, don't you?" he asked.

I blinked, trying not to choke on my own spit. "I'm sorry?"

An amused smile appeared on his face as he gave me a knowing look. "Y/N, dear, I'm not blind. I know my own daughter. You care for Alicia, in a way more than a friend does."

If I wasn't warm before, I certainly was now, especially the longer he stared at me, awaiting confirmation. But I was too cornered to speak. It's not that Alicia and I were hiding it, but there was nothing to share just yet, with everything being so new. I hadn't even had chance to prepare an answer.

"it's okay," he assured me, noticing I wouldn't speak. "I won't say anything to Madison. But she's not blind either."

Swallowing hard, I finally looked up at him. "Is it wrong of me to like her?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. Alicia's a good girl. And she seems to care about you a lot. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters."

I wasn't sure what I was expecting him to say, but that seemed good enough as I began to smile with relief, glad he approved. He pulled me in for a side hug, wary of the tray in my hand, before squeezing my shoulders gently.

"You should head back or she'll be wondering why you're taking so long," he said lightheartedly. "After all, you've breathed the same air for the past forty-eight hours."

"Dad," I whined, embarrassed yet again.

He laughed before leaving me to it, and only after I was sure I wasn't bright red in the face did I head back to Alicia. When she spotted me, she gave me a smile, already sat up.

"Here you go," I said, returning her smile and setting the tray on her lap.

She looked down at it, grabbing her fork. "Ooh, it looks great, thanks, Y/N."

I took a seat on the chair beside her bed, quiet as she dug in. My eyes drifted to the bed as I zoned out momentarily, thinking about my exchange with my dad earlier.

"You okay?" Alicia asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

I looked up, meeting her eyes. "Oh, yeah. I... just thinking."

She quirked a brow, amused. "About?"

I leaned back into my seat. "My dad knows about us both."

She paused, fork lowering to her plate. "What?"

"He just said it then. I'm not sure how he knows, he claims he's not blind, but yeah. And he thinks maybe your mum knows too."

She was surprised, but nodded. "Oh."

I hummed, looking away awkwardly. We hadn't talked about telling anyone, so I wasn't sure what she was thinking.

"Is that a bad thing?"

I glanced at her, raising my brows. "What?"

She nodded slowly, looking at her plate. "If they know that we both... that we're more than friends. Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course it isn't," I said, surprised at her reaction, though I wasn't sure what to expect. "I just– I wasn't sure if you wanted them to know."

"I don't mind," she admitted, before smiling a little. "If my mum brings it up like your dad did, then great, otherwise I'll tell her soon."

I nodded in agreement, hiding my smile. "Okay. Sounds, er, sounds good."

She nodded too, stifling her own smile as she returned her attention to her food.

"Okay, pick another letter," Alicia said, pen to the scrap of paper as she waited. "And not 'a', 'e' or 'u'."

"So almost all the vowels aren't in the word," I said with impatience. "Seriously, what word did you pick?"

She laughed, saying nothing as she waited for me to choose again. We were playing hangman and I was losing terribly, but it didn't matter so much because it was keeping Alicia's mind off her injury.

Before I could think of another letter to guess, the sound of someone approaching made us both look up and we saw Nick walking towards us, probably to spend some time with his sister.

"Ladies," he nodded towards us, settling on a chair on the other side of Alicia's bed.

"Hey," we greeted him in unison, and I was about to ask if he wanted to play with us before he spoke up again.

"So, you guys are dating now, right?"

I widened my eyes slightly, as Alicia looked just as surprised, neither of us expecting his bluntness.

"What?" she asked him.

"Mum mentioned it," he explained.

Alicia cursed quietly, whilst I wasn't sure how to respond. I knew she'd told Madison yesterday, but not Nick. Not that it was a secret, but we didn't know he knew.

"Relax," he said, laughing. "I'm just teasing you. Thought it would be funny to see your faces, and right now, they're hilarious."

Alicia and I exchanged embarrassed glances, her cheeks dusting pink, before looking back to Nick.

"For the record, I called it," he added with a knowing look.

Alicia rolled her eyes playfully. "Not funny, Nick. But at least you know."

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks yet again, especially when he began to laugh, glancing between us both. At least everyone important to us knew now.

It was almost two weeks later when Alicia was growing antsy in the medbay, adamant on getting up and stretching her legs. Of course, she was still wounded and couldn't do just that, but we'd managed to source her some crutches to let her enjoy at least a little bit of time outside.

"Okay, carefully now," I told her as she swung her legs off the side of the bed. "No rush, Alicia, okay?"

"I know, sorry, I'm just excited to get out of here," she admitted, before gently pushing herself off the bed and into a standing position.

I stood before her, ready to catch her in case she fell. Once she straightened up, she toppled forward slightly and I was luckily able to stop her from going anywhere, my concern taking over.

"Careful," I repeated nervously, not wanting her to aggravate her injury. "You okay?"

She nodded, squeezing my arm reassuringly before accepting the crutches I handed to her.

"Harder than I thought, sorry," she mumbled, before settling her weight on the crutches.

"Maybe there's a wheelchair or something we can find," I tried to help, "if you're not up for walking just yet."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "C'mon, I'm not completely useless, am I?"

I rested a hand on her forearm comfortingly. "I didn't say that."

She sighed, before shaking her head. "I'm okay. Just want some fresh air."

"Okay," I agreed, before taking a step back. "Whenever you're ready, Alicia."

We took a stroll out of the medbay and around the ranch, giving her time to get used to walking with the assistance of crutches and also letting her enjoy the fresh air and change of scenery. A lot of the ranchers were happy to see her, having befriended her in the past, and shared some conversations with her before making sure I promised to take care of her. It was sweet, and it especially made my day to see Alicia looking a lot happier than she had these past few days.

"You've gotta show me the garden now," she said after another rancher greeted us. "I've gotta see how ruined it is since you've been slacking on your duties."

I couldn't help but crack a smile at her joke. "Last time I checked, I was slacking to keep you company in the medbay."

She laughed, before leading the way to the garden.

"Ofelia has been keeping an eye on it," I assured her, before we stopped in the field where the section Alicia and I managed was. "See? Just like it should be."

"Mhm," Alicia hummed, before shooting me a smile. "I suppose it's looking good."

I rolled my eyes playfully before tugging her towards a nearby bench. "C'mon, you need a break."

"Sorry, mum."

I refrained from glaring at her as we both sat down, and I chose not to comment on the relieved sigh she let out when she had a minute to relax. An 'I told you so' would have felt good though.

"How're you feeling?" I asked instead, resting a hand on her knee.

She grabbed it instead, holding it as she spoke. "Not in any pain, if that's what you're worried about. The fresh air is nice. So is spending some time with you."

I tried not to laugh as I raised an eyebrow her way. "What, like the past week hasn't been enough?"

With a deadpan expression, she shook her head. "It hasn't."

I didn't know what to say, sensing half of her teasing self was being serious. Instead, I looked the other way, feeling my cheeks heat up as she smiled, still watching me.

Thankfully, she changed the subject and we both sat there for a little while longer, talking about the garden and the ranch and anything else she wanted to. It was funny how, even though we'd spent the past two weeks keeping each other company, I still had so much to talk to her about. She was the best company to be around.

Eventually though, I checked my watch before realising we'd been out for too long.

"Your next dose of meds is due soon," I said regretfully, not wanting to leave. "We should head back."

Judging by her quiet groan, she didn't want to leave either, but she nodded and straightened up, stretching her arms.

"Back to the medbay we go," she said, yawning.

I stood up before stepping before her to help her up too. I didn't anticipate how close she would be stood to me though, and when she smiled softly, I grew very, very distracted by her lips.

"Y/N," she muttered with amusement, making my eyes flicker to hers briefly. "The crutches?"

I nodded, eyes falling back down to her lips. "Yeah..."

She laughed when I didn't move, but I couldn't help it. Her lips were pink, soft-looking and enticing, and all I wanted to was lean forward and kiss her. I hadn't found the courage to kiss her properly, not since the last kiss we shared when I ran away afterwards. She'd forgiven me for it, sure, but I didn't want to push my luck and rush things between us. It had only been two weeks since we'd started up a relationship.

Swallowing hard, I stepped back and tried to snap out of it, instead grabbing her crutches that were leaning against the bench. As I was about to hand them back to her, she called my name, making me look up. I didn't get chance to think as she suddenly pressed her lips to mine, hands cupping my neck and pulling me close.

I closed my eyes in a second, melting into her touch and her lips and wrapping my own arms around her waist, refusing to let go. It was amazing how perfect she seemed to fit against me, and how I didn't want it any other way.

My lips were numb when we finally pulled apart for air, and when I opened my eyes, I was submerged in pools of green.

"You think too much," she said quietly, a soft smile on her face.

I swallowed hard. "I know."

Her hands were still around the back of my neck, fingers moving and sending shivers down my spine. "Sometimes, it's okay not to."

I exhaled gently, smiling a little. "If only it were that easy."

She let out a sharp breath from her nose, trying not to laugh. "You'll get there," she promised, before kissing me again, though this time much slower and softer than before.

#alycia debnam carey #alicia clark #fear the walking dead #alicia clark imagine #alicia clark x reader #ftwd #alicia clark x you #fear the walking dead imagine #feartwd

[attollogame]

hi!! i've looked up and down your blog & can't seem to find somewhere i can read your the idol story-- i remember i really enjoyed it way back when it was on ao3, but you did say that you would take it down when published. is there anywhere i can find it? i'd love to buy it!!

I'll do you one better <3

The Idol

There is no one in the community who can say, with absolute certainty, when It arrived. It was as though one day we all woke up in synchrony to find Its great, twisted form looming over the temple-goers. Gone was the image of our patron god, replaced with one of an entity even the most educated of our priests could not discern. 

Naturally, there was an investigation. 

Self-proclaimed mages and scholars alike approached the statue to run their hands along the cold stone surface. They documented each notch and crevice that carved out Its form and they had artists—the most skilled in the city—map out the features so that we could look upon Its face in Its entirety. 

The outcome of this order was nothing short of sacrilegious.  

The Idol, as It would come to be known, appeared as though a man who knew of a god only by word of mouth had tried to replicate its form in the most defamatory of ways. Six great wings extended from Its body; four outstretched to cover the temple walls, and two folded in to cover Its gaze, as though It deemed us unworthy to look upon. Eyes, which should have been on Its face, were instead interspersed between the delicately carved feathers. Their gaze held malice within it. 

“It is a parasite, Malchus,” my mother hissed when I asked her about It. “It slithered out from whatever den It was sired in, and now calls our home Its own. It will uproot and consume us all by summer's end.” 

She was not the only one with this belief. I had heard the whispers of the clergy as they exchanged their thoughts about our predicament. The doors to the worship chamber were sealed until further notice—a first in over three decades—and any tribute to our patron god was directed to take place within our own homes. The temple went from the heart of the community to a shell of its former self within a few days; my mother, a temple cleaner, now spent most of her time dusting away cobwebs rather than mud trekked in by weary travelers. 

Our entire manner of living was usurped by the arrival of this one, singular beast. 

What did I think of it? I, the boy who hid behind his mothers skirts as priests walked by, who immersed himself in the murmurs and the prayers of the terrified within the altar room? 

I could not see with my eyes—a trait I was born with, barring me from knowing any reality other than darkness. To me, what the Idol was or what intention it held was of the lowest priority in my life. 

____________________________

Against my mothers predictions, it took several years before any changes began, and they did so when Phameus collapsed outside of the chamber. 

I remember hearing the sound of his body hitting the floor, his choking breaths and twitching limbs making contact with stone. The temple healer—a man by the name of Adon—had dragged him out of the halls and into the healing chambers mere meters away. I had been listening from the shadows up until the moment that the chamber doors slammed shut, to which I then crept forward until I hovered just outside their wooden barriers. 

I only managed to capture brief snippets of the conversation within, all of which came from Adon himself. Growing bored with the discussion, I had moved to draw away from the doors and back to my own chambers when a new, unexpected voice broke the reverie. 

I was familiar with Phameus. He was a soft-spoken man and the youngest to join the clergy. Phameus had been born with a stutter that had remained prevalent even after coming to the temple, which caused him to trip over words and draw out sounds. The voice within the room belonged to neither him nor Adon; it did not stutter, it was not soft. It sounded as though multiple beings sought to speak at once, with no discernible gender to be pried from the mix, uttering words in a tongue I could not comprehend. 

It spoke only for a moment before the healing chamber doors were forced open and Adon himself fell through.

I could hear his shock. I could hear the way his nails scraped along the stone and how they accompanied the whimpering cries that clawed their way out from his throat. I could smell that vile stench of piss and something older, something rotten, hanging off of his body. 

I pressed my back against the wall as heat flooded out from within the healing room. If Adon registered my presence at all, I was given no acknowledgement before he clambered to his feet and bolted down the hall. 

I was left in silence. The voices had ceased, and when I tilted my head towards the healing chamber to hear evidence of another presence, the silence only prevailed. If Phameus had been inside with Adon at any point, he was not there anymore. 

“I told you,” my mother had moaned when I recounted the events to her later that night. “I told you! It is a parasite! Not only has It infected our home, but now It parades through our community with the mask of our clergyman on Its face!” 

I did not respond, choosing to busy myself with dinner instead. In my mind I replayed that voice with the different pitches and timbres Its words had carried. I had only been able to make out a few, brief snippets before Adon shattered the moment; 

Ihr clya cæn.

To the clergy, perhaps they held significance. But to a temple cleaner's son such as myself, they were as meaningful as the dirt that gets swept away. 

__________________________

Another year passed before It spoke again. 

We of the temple came to the agreement that whatever had happened to Phameus was tied to The Idol, which still stood silent in the sealed off worship chambers. Explaining this theory to the community—especially Phameus’ father—had proven a fruitless effort. In response to the clergy’s claims, the civilians rose up with threats of violence against the temple; they were willing to rip the wood apart with their bare hands if it meant that whatever resided behind those doors would be returned to the unholy land that sired It. The Head Priest—a towering, bitter man—had taken on his most placating tone and ensured the community that he and the others would deal with the situation swiftly. 

They did not anticipate The Idol to have an agenda of Its own. 

The voice, which I had heard a year prior in that chamber hallway, now came back through the mouth of Jezebel, another temple cleaner like my mother and I, and one who was born into the most unfortunate of circumstances. She was a timid girl who spent many of her days slouched over cleaning rags, and when she was not doing that, she sought for the shadows in the corner of the rooms to hide her away. She was precisely what the clergy wanted in a cleaner—silent, out of sight, out of mind. 

Which was why we were all taken aback when she stumbled into the meeting chamber in the early hours of the morning light. I knew right away when that fragrance returned—that horrible, rotting smell that had clung to Adon's body when he fell before me—what had happened to her. Jezebel was no longer silent. She broke through the doors wailing like a flock of demons were pursuing her, tearing at her clothes and her flesh with every step she took.  A sickening, dripping noise filled the chamber, and with each droplet that hit the stone the rotten scent only grew. 

One.

Two.

Three.

I counted them as they collided with the tile below. The rate of contact was heavy; whatever was spilling from her body to the earth below was thick, and dense, and coming in great volumes. 

We did not speak—but Jezebel did. 

“Pious fathers,” she whimpered, her voice that strange cacophony of tones that had sung in my nightmares for a year now, “do you keep me locked away to stave off your misfortune? Or perhaps my arrival was too abrupt for your feeble hearts?” 

A heavy silence had descended on the hall as we waited for her to continue. I was sure she was smiling—perhaps at all of us, perhaps at the Head Priest, or perhaps at me in specific. It must have known that I was one of two who bore witness to It before. I, like a lamb facing a wolf, shrunk behind the Head Priest in search of comfort, the scent of incense my only guide to reassure me it was him. 

“Come, father. Let me share my thoughts with you like all the others have—a confession, of sorts. Let me give you answers to the questions that burn in your mind from the mouth of the plague itself.” There was joy in her voice, but it sounded broken, and disjointed, and terribly wrong. The Head Priest descended from his podium at her call and although I gripped onto his hands and his robes in a bid to stop him, he shrugged off all of my attempts. I could only be an unwilling audience to the disaster that was set to unfold.  

The others watched them vanish into the worship chambers together. I listened intently to the sound of their footsteps, my hands wrung together with anxiety—not for the well being of the Head Priest, but for the answers being spoken behind those doors that we continued to remain un-privy too. 

It was on this day, the day of Jezebel’s grievance and The Idols honeyed offering, where my role in this tale first began. 

___________________________

Time passed since that reckoning in the meeting chambers. Jezebel, much like Phameus, vanished shortly thereafter; all that was left of her presence was a vacant corner where she once stood. Her absence soon became as forgettable as she was until the day she finally spoke. 

The Head Priest had returned to us in silence. He refused to entertain anyone for several hours, and when he finally did emerge from his rooms, he granted us merely a taste of the bitter fruit he had consumed. 

We were not to speak the name of our patron god any further. All icons, altars, and idols of his presence were to be removed henceforth. I remember the outcry of the community, and I remember the Head Priest's comments; it was under jurisdiction that these actions were taking place. Remove the patron god, or we would gradually begin to see a reduction in our community numbers. The Idol had already claimed two; Jezebel and Phameus both had shrines in their honour buried in the back of the community. I was one of few who paid tribute to them. 

Losing a child was the worst punishment to face, and no one wanted to endure what their families had. The loss of a child meant a broken branch in the family lineage—something that, in many of our cases, could never be repaired. 

So a pyre was built. A great, roaring flame that seemed to laugh as it crackled, bellowing out ashes that recounted our history. It was the body of the god, I remember thinking. The scent was that of his flesh bubbling and blistering in the flame and the crackle his despondent cries as his memory was torn away. 

We had fed our protector to the beast in our house, and now we stood as nothing but pariahs to our beliefs. 

___________________________

“I think I know Its name.” 

Sidon’s voice breaks me from my memories and I twist in confusion. He is around twenty three years old, the same age as I, but he retains the boyish attitude of his youth. His hair is a chaos of curls, which I know from the times I played with them between my fingers, and he stands out against the dreariness of the temple as my own private source of comfort. Even now, the devious tone he carries is foreign to this place. 

“What do you mean?” I ask, allowing only a hint of uncertainty to creep into my voice. “Whose name?”

Sidon barely hesitates as he turns me towards where, many years earlier, our Head Priest had come to his final conclusions. Life has drawn to an ebb and flow since this time. We, having grown to become cleaners ourselves, now spend most of our time wiping away the black slime that seems to seep from the temple's decaying foundations. The rotten scent that filled the air around Jezebel has taken a permanent residence in the halls. Even those who pass the worship chamber doors fall out of their conversations and into silence, as if convinced that even breathing in that direction will curse them. 

Truthfully, it might. 

“The Idol. It is not truly a god, you know,” he hums, tapping my right wrist—a quirk he does when speaking to ensure I listen. “Eitan says that he saw It crawling back beneath the statue's feet. Since when do gods crawl on the ground like men?”

Sidon’s words sit heavily in my mind as I ring out my rag in a contemplative silence. The studies that he and I had listened to while growing up made clear the differences between ourselves and our patron god; his divinity prevented him from stepping onto the earth that we reside on, for doing so would taint his form. To hear that The Idol we now worship to preserve our lives crawls beneath the floorboards like a common rat is uncomfortable knowledge. I drop the rag down into the bucket and turn my head towards where I know Sidon stands. 

“What do you mean to do about this?” I muse, wiping my hands on my pants. “It would be good to remember that Eitan is not the most honest. He smuggles extra bread rolls underneath his shirt nearly every night.” 

A scoff is the only response I receive, followed by the thump of Sidon dropping his own rag. I bet his hands must be as black as the night after our cleaning. I know mine surely are. “That's why I told you. I want you to come with me to find out just how true Eitan’s words are. If they're false, then we have nothing to worry about.”

“And if they're true?” I shake my head. “Sidon, you and I have both heard of the consequences inflicted upon those who enter the worship chamber. The miasma, the night terrors, those are real. Eitan’s words may be false, but what those people endure daily is certainly not.” 

I turn away to make it clear that the discussion is over, but I am stopped in my tracks when Sidon wraps his hand around my right wrist. His grip is warm and comforting, and he reaches up with his other hand to cup my chin. I know he's smiling at me before he even speaks, and the image I've carefully constructed in my mind from touching those upturned lips fills me with warmth. I know I'll do as he asks before he even asks it. 

“One night, for a few moments. We sneak in through the servant entrances, we check The Idol, and then we leave before anyone suspects a thing.” His thumb caresses the inside of my wrist, and I bite down on my lip. Cheater. “Please?”

I stand facing away from him, caught between my morals and my affections for the man holding my wrist. It's not a hard choice to make in the end; I, like my mother, wear my heart on my sleeve. 

“Fine,” I sigh, closing my eyes as I do so. “One night.” 

______________

The air feels static as I wait for Sidon to come. I had spent the entire day meticulously rearranging my chambers in order to keep my mind off of things, only to find myself falling back into rumination with each shift I made. I was fortunate enough that, before the chambers were closed, my mother had been the individual assigned to clean by our patron god’s feet. I grew up within those walls, basking in the scent of incense and sage while the faint sounds of my mother’s sweeping filled the air. I wonder how different it will be for Sidon and I when we go in there tonight. 

I wonder if this is worth the sacrifice of those memories?

My answer is given to me by a quiet rapping against my door. I get up from the bed and crack open the door enough so that I can capture the scent—dirt and miasma—of my dear friend. He presses a single finger to my lips to indicate my silence before grasping my wrist. I nod and slip out of the room, closing the door behind me as softly as I can. As soon as I'm standing out in the hall with him, Sidon turns on his heels and sets off at a brisk pace, hardly waiting for me to collect myself. 

“Sidon!” I hiss under my breath, dogging after him like some child following their parents’ steps. “Sidon, slow down!” 

Whether he heard me or not I’ll never know, because as soon as we round the corner Sidon comes to a stop, causing me to collide into his back. I don’t need to ask him the reason for his pause. 

Because this? This didn’t make sense. 

My room is at least twenty minutes down the hall from this chamber. I know this because I had specifically chosen the farthest room from the chamber that I could possibly afford; I didn’t want the darkened energy that seemed to hover around the entrance creeping its way into my room at night. I already had horrible visions of unseen hands wrapping themselves around my throat, of a body pressing against mine until I cannot move, of eyes like predators watching me from all corners, always watching. I didn’t need them to get worse. 

“Sidon,” I began again, reaching out to touch his arm, only to have him jerk away from my reach. He doesn’t even grant a response as he moves past the worship chamber doors and towards a side-hall where the servants entrance resides. I stand, rooted in place with uncertainty. All of the anxieties that I try so hard to repress are now blooming in my chest and dancing their way through my veins, blurring my thoughts and quickening my breaths as I hear Sidon’s footsteps disappear. 

This is wrong. In fact, this is not just wrong, it’s downright criminal. We shouldn’t be trying to deduce the divinity of whatever resides within this chamber; we should be trying to banish It, like the community wants. We aren't meant to play martyr in this life. 

And yet, I can’t let him do this alone. If I let him go in there and die for whatever being, god or not, that slumbers beneath that Idol’s feet, then I, too, would die regardless. 

So I force my feet to move. I force myself to take step after step, and I follow Sidon.  

_______________

The chamber is exactly how I remember it from years before. The scent of incense hangs faintly in the air, and there’s a certain warmth that pulls at my heart. It reminds me of the stories I heard as I grew up; of kindness, of love. The tiled floors still cause my footsteps to echo out, bouncing off of the towering ceiling I know hangs above us, and I can’t help but stretch my arms upwards. 

The only difference is The Idol. I know that It sits there, watching me relive my childhood joy. Six wings. Hundreds of eyes. A great, looming body that stretches out to me. The only difference now is the dripping sound that I hear, a sound that brings me back to Jezebel’s reckoning. It’s the black liquid that we’ve been cleaning from the temple foundations for months, steadily flowing from The Idol to rot away the temple floor beneath Its body. 

“Come,” Sidon murmurs, his voice still booming in the repressive stillness of the room. “The entrance is at the feet.”

“Did Eitan tell you this?” I ask, following after him. Sidon offers no response—but something tells me that he’s smiling, that my question amuses him. As I approach The Idol’s base, the rotten scent seems stronger here than anywhere else, to the point that I’m swaying with the emotions I feel. I clench my jaw as I follow after Sidon. 

Eitan, for once, is truthful. As soon as Sidon and I reach the final step, I feel a gust of cold, bitter wind brush along my cheeks. A soft swear escapes from my lips as I drink in its touch. Sidon says nothing. Instead, I hear him approach the entrance, his hand pressing against The Idol’s base with a soft thump. 

“Let’s go,” is all he offers as he moves further from where I stand. My mind draws a blank and I find myself unable to say any words of protest before his footsteps vanish once more. We had agreed to confirm that the creature crawled on our grounds; we had not agreed to go hunting after It like fools. I hesitate again, torn between what I know is right and what my loyalty to my beloved says. Once again, the decision is easily made. 

I approach the hole and, taking a deep breath, I follow into the abyss. 

________

There's a room beneath The Idol’s feet. It’s a cavern so vast that I find it hard to determine its actual size. The sound of water hitting something solid echoes through the air, and fragrant decay hangs heavy around us. I stumble a few times as I follow Sidon’s fervorous steps. He’s moving so quickly that I find myself out of breath and I’m forced to press my hand against one of the walls. 

I feel a wetness on my skin. Even as I pull away, I know it isn’t water. I flex my hands into fists and try not to think about this as I continue to follow Sidon down. 

“How long do you intend to keep us here?” I murmur as we make another turn. We’ve turned so many times now that I’ve lost count—surely we’re just walking in one great circle? 

“Just a bit further ahead,” Sidon replies, increasing his pace once more. My brow furrows in concern as I continue to trail after him. My mother’s words are ringing through my mind right now, scolding me for all the irresponsible decisions I’ve ever made, and how this one surely is the greatest. I trust Sidon with my life, yes, but that doesn’t mean I wish to lose it any time soon. 

I only know he’s stopped when I bump into him. He’s unnaturally still, even for Sidon’s standards, and I reach out to press a hand on his broad back in concern. 

“What do you see?” I ask. He is my eyes in this moment. 

“Stars.” He steps forward and I do as well, ever trailing. We must’ve entered another room because the walls seem farther apart than before; there’s a cool breeze brushing against my cheeks again, carrying that heady, rotten scent on its back. I push forward to stand beside Sidon rather than behind, and my feet come to a stop at the edge of what seems to be a drop. 

A cavern, perhaps? A chasm? 

Maybe this is the entrance to the underworld our priests have so desperately sought?

“Sidon,” I murmur again, “where do you see the stars?”

“Everywhere.” Sidon’s hand comes down to grasp my arm. “They are everywhere, Malchus. Dots of light, swirling around our heads, just waiting for us to fall. They create patterns and tell stories of the people who live before us. They are burning so brightly.”

His finger taps my wrist. 

My left wrist. 

“This means they are close to their end, no?” 

My heart drops to my stomach as I let his words sink in. I cannot see with my eyes. Despite this, I should have asked the others, I should have been concerned with The Idol’s appearance. Phameus, Jezebel. My mother said once that It paraded through our community with the mask of a clergyman on Its unholy face. 

It seems to have traded that for the mask of my lover instead. 

“You've been watching me for many years, have you not?” The Idol sighs, continuing to tap my wrist. I don’t move against Its advances. It would be a death sentence for me to do so, so close to a drop like this. 

I have been made a fool. 

 “We've been visiting each other in our dreams since the moment you stood outside of that healing chamber, have we not?” It laughs, Sidon's voice now substituted for a tone that sounds of both man and woman; it slithers like a serpent over my body and into my mind, burrowing itself deep into my thoughts. I shiver at the intrusion. "Although you still have yet to see me."

"Something I'm grateful for." This is all I can offer. My loss of sight has granted me a blessing in that it's spared me from seeing The Idol’s grotesque form. There's a tutting noise as It moves closer. 

"Not good!" It sighs, hot breath fanning over my face. "Do you know I was once called the most beautiful of the divine? I used to have others, both mortal and not, kneeling at my feet, begging me to grace their bedchambers each night. I was the source of wars, of betrayals, of events that shaped the very history you exist for!"

There's a horrible spitting noise as The Idol pulls back. When It leans close again, It smells of the rotten fragrance that parades the entire chamber.

"Sweet Helen was a mere trinket compared to the likes of me." 

"Then why are you here?" Death seems unavoidable to me at this point. Even if The Idol lets me go, I have no knowledge on how to return to the surface. No one knows that I'm here. I will walk forever until I finally collapse, and Sidon… 

My heart aches as realization settles in. Sidon has likely met the same fate as Jezebel and Phameus.

"If you are so desired by man and god alike, why do you spend your nights crawling along a temple floor like a common cockroach?" I flinch as The Idol’s grip tightens. "This seems unbefitting for someone who puts the renown Helen to shame, no?" 

"Your sharp tongue exists to balance out your lack of eyes," The Idol hisses, pressing closer to me still. "No human would dare speak to me in such a manner. Little dreamer, I have killed for far less." 

"Then why am I still here?" The question rises in my mind like the morning sun, burning out the shadows that colluded my thoughts ever since The Idol first began to speak. If It has killed for less, why does It allow me to remain? 

"Why have you not consumed me like you did Phameus, or Jezebel? Like… like Sidon, or those that came before them? Why lure me here?"

The Idol remains silent against my questioning. It's only when the words begin to die on my tongue and the last traces of my voice carry out to the darkness that It moves. I'm pushed back as It steps in front of me, blocking me from the chasm below. 

It's tall. I can visualize Its six wings and innumerable eyes in my mind, the horrible descriptions the community members provided me with as vivid as a dream. My breath catches in my throat as It leans closer, closer, until Its unseen mouth is inches from my own. 

It means to consume me. 

"You wanted someone to hear you," I whisper, my breath mingling with Its own. "That is all you ever wanted. That is why you wore the face of the community, why you attached yourself to Phameus, why you made Jezebel run through those doors. That is why you wore the face of Sidon to lure me down here. I am the only one who has heard you." 

There's a moment of silence, and then a low, rumbling sound emanates from The Idol. It grows and grows in volume until laughter fills the chamber, booming around me like the performance of a thousand men. My hands come up to cover my ears and The Idol captures them in Its own. 

"You humans love to make yourselves the central characters, do you not? Every event always needs to tie back to you somehow. It never fails to amuse me." I feel The Idol run Its thumb along my wrist. They feel like human hands still, as warm and as comforting as Sidon's were. The thought of this parasite still wearing his face makes my stomach roll. 

"However, I'm not laughing at you this time." A sigh, one that sounds as though it carries the weight of a thousand years. "I'm laughing at myself. Your lack of sight has forced me to dance into your mind, Malchus. You paid me attention when no one else would. I suppose this has made me pliant."

"Pliant?" I'm unsure if I like that response or not, but The Idol gives me no chance to decide. 

"I want to let you see," The Idol whispers, Its lips ghosting across my own, "And if you watch with me, I swear by my word I shall let your community be."

I inhale sharply at this. The Idol could be lying for all I know; the Head Priest did tell us that demons enjoy speaking honeyed-promises to lure the unwitting into their embrace. 

But this can save my mother. This can save my community. I can ensure that no Jezebel, no Phameus, no Sidon, ever occurs again. Saying no to a promise like this, even if it drips from the lips of a liar, would be signing a death sentence for thousands.  

So, I nod. 

There is a sharp pressure as It connects Its mouth to my own. I move to pull away, to escape from Its embrace, but my limbs raise a protest against my mind. I feel my body tumbling to the floor, and before I can react, the darkness I know is replaced with a darkness unfound. 

________

I'm in a room, lying in a bed of silk and satin, blanketed by a ceiling of stars. They shift and flow like gentle waves, as though a nebulous sea is above me. When I stare around the room, I realize I'm not the only one present. Others reside in the corners and the floors; some look like myself, some remain an amalgamation of wings, eyes, and teeth, bejewelled and wrapped in velvet and silk. The air smells bitter, like sex and sacrilege, and heady breaths break a heavy silence. 

My eyes dart frantically, drinking in every color and shape I have missed in my twenty three years of life. Lost in the sensory overload, I only become stabilized when my gaze settles on the figure who resides beside me on the bed. 

Unruly dark hair, marked pale skin, and inky black eyes that are both empty and as vibrant as the stars above. They catch my gaze, and their kiss-swollen pink lips spread into a smile that gives both promises and damnation at the same time. Its teeth are white and as sharp as knives—the teeth of a predator.  

"I want to let you see." 

I drown in the darkness once more. 

________

I’m in a chamber. I think it must be similar to how I always imagined the worship chamber, but it lacks the warmth and comfort that the home of my patron god once held. It’s a cold, unforgiving environment in here, with its distance only emphasized by the darkness that engulfs the room. The nebulous stars that drifted above my head now dance all around me, comprising the walls and the ceilings with their shifting, effervescent forms. I drink in the galaxies and the planets as they circle by, right until my gaze drifts to the figure on my right. 

The Idol is beside me. I was true in my predictions—six great wings spread out, two that cover Its eyes and four that expand Its presence. Hundreds of eyes lazily watch myself and the other occupants of the room as though we’re providing It with sparse entertainment. It wears a robe, and a crown of stars above Its head that accompany a horned halo. Its hands are still that of a man’s, although they look as though they’ve been dipped in the stars that shine above us, and they reach out to grasp my hand as a man's would. 

“Watch,” is all It directs, and I oblige. There are others in this room with us, but I cannot discern their forms like I could the bedchamber. The Idol whispers to me about every single one. 

There is a gray presence in the corner, which seeps malevolence and despair as It hovers just above the floor. The Idol leans close. “Devourer in the mist, born of bile and tears.”

Another is a tall, slender man who seems to carry himself in similar gait to a Lord, broken only by the smile on his face. The Idol clicks Its tongue. “A Stalker among the stars. He has a strange affinity for your kind.” 

A third that I turn my attention to is nothing but an essence of mist, hovering between the stars that encircle the room. The Idol notices I watch It, and a bitter laugh escapes from Its throat. “Father, The Void. I was born of his rib, which he tore out of his body with his own two hands. He, like I, has a hunger which shall never be satiated.”

A shudder races through my body. I feel as though It’s watching me, despite the lack of eyes, and I force myself to turn away. The Idol provides no better comfort; It watches me with a too-wide mouth, hosting an array of sharp teeth within that are decorated with the black slime I have spent so many years cleaning. It looks amused at my misery. 

“And what are you?” I finally ask, “Which of this pantheon of horrors are you?” 

The Idol does not reply. It simply continues to watch me with a smile, right up to the moment that the stars erupt and the figures that accompany us become nothing more than wistful nightmares. 

________

When I wake again, I’m in agony. It runs through my veins like a sedative and morphs all my thoughts into terrible blurs. A shattered gasp slips through my lips as I press my blackened hands—

Blackened… hands?

I stare down at them in silent confusion. These are not my hands. I have never seen my hands before, but I have had the same ones for twenty three years, long enough to become accustomed to their feeling. My nails are not the talons of a predator. My skin has been stained with the black slime I clean, but not like this. I have no place for black, molten feathers to fall from, yet they surround me like a blanket of my own design. 

I taste rot on my tongue. 

My body moves on its own accord and forces me to raise my head, to look at the product of my actions. Stars dot the ceiling above me—they dot every ceiling I have seen on this hellish journey—illuminating the body that lies prone on the bed, its shadowy form far more still than what I saw in that chamber. 

The sight, the toxic smell, the heat that seems to oppress the entire room, causes me to double over and retch. Black bile spills from my mouth and hits the floor and I stare at it in a numb shock, unsure of how to process it. The agony in my body continues to throb; my neck, my chest, my stomach, my—

“Do you understand?” The Idols voice breaks through my panic-driven thoughts. I cannot see It in the darkness, but I hear It as though It's standing right in front of me. “The oppressed always prevail, little dreamer. The harder you try to stop something from happening, the higher its chances of failure become. I tasted sweet autonomy when I lived on your Earth—when I danced with your kings, when I caused your cities to crumble, when I consumed the flesh of your mothers and your sons—and I never wanted to lose that.” 

Hands touch my neck, my chest, my stomach, everywhere that I ache. I feel The Idol’s form looms over me. “So I had to take it back. Ach ewyll bah-eh mira mir-lil .” 

I don’t know what else It whispers in my ears that night. When the shadows come again to carry me out of this memory, I welcome them like a salvation. 

________

I don’t know at what point I end and The Idol begins. We become entangled in the past, It and I, like two lost stars seeking home in the never ending skies. We are so bright in our moments that we burn out, only to be born again in the next breath. Our hands fumble to lock in a vice-like grip, both of us afraid of losing and both of us too proud to admit it. I let It consume me in return for a taste of Its life; a deal that, although consequential, holds benefits for us both.  

We are only in the past for a moment but these moments weave a thousand years of emotions into my heart. I see It rise amongst the gods—as beautiful and loved as It claimed to be—and I see the moment that It fell from grace. I feel Its despair as It wakes in my world, as It travels from village to village, trying to discover the pathway back to the stars. I feel Its hunger, Its desperation, so powerful that tears fall down my cheeks. I feel Its desire, Its pain, and I do my best to soothe it all. I cannot change the past, but I can control the narrative. 

The Idol is my eyes, so I become Its heart. 

It allows me to press my hand over every scar and wound It so carefully conceals beneath the guise of confidence and allure. It wears a mask of a thousand faces—each one different from the next—but despite the disguise each new mask brings, the face underneath never changes. I reach out to trace my fingers around the edges. I want to lift that mask so I could see the name of the parasite that wraps itself around me. It does not move, even as I begin to reveal the smooth flesh of the chin underneath. 

It’s only when I get to Its lips, kiss-swollen and dripping black, that It calls for the darkness to hide It once more. 

________

I open my eyes to nothing. The pressure of The Idol’s lips against my own is the only tell that I am, in fact, back in the chamber. I taste toxin and rot on Its tongue, which swirls within my mouth as though seeking to consume me. I let It. I don’t move or respond until The Idol finally pulls away. I don’t speak when It does. I can’t. 

What does one say after living a thousand lives? 

“Did you enjoy the sights? Did they answer all that you wish to know?” It asks, a breathless whisper in the night. I mull over my answer carefully; I have never seen before, and the sights that I bore witness to—despite the terrors they contained—sit heavily in my mind. I know that I’ll replay them to myself for years to come, because they are the first and the last things I’ll ever see. 

One question remains unaddressed, though. 

“Which of that pantheon of horrors were you?” 

I make one change to the original question, because it finally occurs to me that I worded it wrong. The Idol no longer is; The Idol was, which is why It never deigned a response the first time. I am met with a silence, a long, exhausting silence, before The Idol finally laughs. 

It’s the laugh that a dog would give before tearing out a rabbit's throat. 

“Thousands of secrets revealed, and you still pine for the one that I did not give?” It traces a hand along my cheek as It asks this. The touch feels like blades digging into my flesh. “I should cut out your tongue for the audacity alone.”

I wait for It to continue. I know It isn’t done yet. 

“But you have been pliant with me, little dreamer. You have weathered yourself through a gods tale, danced with me when I requested, and I suppose that is grounds enough for a reward.” The Idol rests Its chin upon my shoulder, and I hear the smile in Its voice. “I will tell you, and then I will depart, and you will never speak word of what happened here tonight.”

No words come out of my mouth in response. If this is the deal It wishes to make, who am I to protest? The Idol, sensing my willingness, tilts Its head so Its lips are pressed against my ear. I pause in my thoughts as I feel something soft brush against my arm. Feathers. 

“I have had thousands of faces and thousands of names for the many years I have lived among you. The Envious, The Prodigal Son, The Void, The Harbinger of Greed.” I feel It smile again, and something wraps itself around me. It’s warm and comforting, like a lover's embrace, and the soft texture of feathers gently kisses my skin. “But you, Malchus? You may call me ‘Ymnar.” 

As soon as the words slip from Its mouth, I feel a terrible pressure rise up in my chest. A thousand eyes are watching me from the shadows, scrutinizing my every movement and breath. I feel claws and wings wrap tighter around me as though they’re afraid to let me go. That terrible, toxic scent grows in intensity, and my hands begin to dig into the darkness in front of me in a bid to make my escape, to make any escape. Agony throbs through my body, 

Then, nothing at all. 

I am floating in a nebulous galaxy—a forgotten speck, an essence of nothing, set in a direction it knows not itself, and I can only welcome the free-fall when it finally comes. 

________

There is no one in the community who can say, with absolute certainty, when It arrived. It was as though one day we all woke up in synchrony to find Its great, twisted form looming over the temple-goers. Gone was the image of our patron god, replaced with one of an entity even the most educated of our priests could not discern. 

There is, however, one person who can say with absolute certainty when It left. When I awaken to the warmth of sunlight upon my face, I am alone. The Idol, which had grown to become a staple in our lives, is gone—as though It had never existed to begin with.  

Naturally, there’s an investigation.

I am asked over and over again what occurred the night Sidon disappeared. I can give no answer. I sit, mute and numb, listening to the priests argue from the next room over. Mages and scholars alike throw out theories, all which are refuted. With no leads, the chaos soon eventually fades away. We all simply wish to move on. We all simply wish to forget.

 My mother and I both relinquish our positions as temple cleaners and elect to settle into a quieter life. I fall into an occupation of a story-teller; my elaborate tales of entities in the stars, of a temple cleaners journey with a Harbinger of Greed, draw in enough crowds that I can retain a stable income. 

In the wake of The Idol, The Head Priest cleanses and blesses the worship chamber, but when I ask about the chamber beneath the floors, I am met with nothing but confusion. The black slime ceases appearing from the foundations. No more funeral altars are built for missing children of the community. 

Life drifts back to how it was. 

Except for my dreams. 

Although it's far rarer now, sometimes there are moments in the night in which I believe It—’Ymnar—to be near. The faint smell of rot, a soft pressure of a hand on my chest, the sensation of feathers brushing along my skin. In my dreams I see a thousand eyes peering at me from above—Yarich’s own mockery of the galaxies It can never return to. They stare at me in unblinking silence until I, inevitably, raise my arms to embrace them. 

I don’t shy away from It anymore. I have lost the point where I end and ‘Ymnar begins. Even thousands of miles away, we are still as entangled as we were in Its memories. It shows me things, things that I will never experience again in this life, and so I welcome It back each night that It comes. 

Despite my better judgment, ‘Ymnar has become my eyes, and so I remain Its heart.

#char:sysba #char:malchus #thank you!!!

[dionysia-ta-astika]

LARPing

I was accused of LARPing again. I get accused of LARPing, and of hubris, by people who see that I don't worship the gods properly, so I must not take them seriously. I am told that I have not been initiated. That the gods will strike me down, and put me in my place and then I'll be sorry. And I was sorry. I wept.

You kicked down the door with a big box of costumes, painted green with gold clasps. And you sat atop it with a winning smile. You asked me, “What shall we play? “Let's play pirates, and ride on the high seas, and turn the sailors into dolphins. “Let's play wizards, knights and castles. Grab your sword, and your armor, and your book of spells, and we'll save a princess from a dragon. “Let's slay Medusa, like you did once when you were seven, using your fairy princess wand as a sword, swinging it by the star until it broke. “You were Perseus, then. You climbed on Pegasus' back, and he took you to Olympus, where we, your siblings, waited for you.”

I asked, “Why wasn't I struck down like Bellerophon?”

And you said, “There's a big difference between being invited, and kicking down the door claiming you deserve to be there.”

I look at the box and I say, “I want to play Shaman.”

I know how problematic that is. I know that shamans are spiritual leaders from Siberia I know how insulting it is for a colonizer like me to imitate Native Americans as a childish game, Dressing up in fur and feathers like a bad Halloween costume And listening to New Agey "tribal" music While I dance around an altar that I built out of feathers and rocks and other natural talismans I'd collected and little figures of deer and elephants and leopard-print scarves spread under a fake plastic campfire that burned in the center of it all.

But I remember how it felt. It felt powerful. It felt ancient.

You smile and say, “It was powerful, and it was ancient. “You were not imitating any real indigenous rituals, except to burn sage and call it "smudging." “Everything else was your own. It was your ritual. A child, reaching back, back through the mists of time “To find the oldest ritual in the book. “Before there was theatre, there was LARPing. “Before there was writing, there was dance.”

And I said, “Lord of Dappled Pelts, give me that feeling back.” You open the box. Inside are fawnskins and leopard skins, feathers, bones, animal skulls, Rough-hewn masks, with empty staring eyes, as primeval as the soil. You put a horned mask on my face, and dress me in furs, and braid feathers into my hair and put a necklace of bones around my neck that rattles with every step. Before there was theater, there was LARPing. There was the shaman, in their animal mask, behaving as the animal does, dancing round and round the ritual fire until they don't know the difference between man and beast, real and unreal, day and night. And you are there, where you've always been, in the dance. Casting the illusion over our eyes. The mask is a glamour, the stage, a farce. Storytelling itself, an enchantment cast over an audience as they watch and listen, enraptured, fully believing what they feel and see. It is old magic. I found my gods by LARPing. I put on a white sheet, like a makeshift peplos, and made an olive crown out of pipe cleaners and construction paper and gold glitter and I drank nothing but white grape juice, the blood of the vine, and pretended it was ambrosia, and it was. I threw my paper leaves and thought the gods were listening, and they were. Back then, I didn't ask whether they were real or not, or whether what I was doing was historically accurate or not, or whether I was guilty of hubris for pretending that I, too, was a god. You and I dance around our ritual fire decorated with stones, and feathers, and figurines grapevines, pinecones, and phallic objects and other fetishes, wearing our pelts and our animal masks. I lose my name, my face, my gender. I am made and unmade. In the primeval woods, in a time before the dawn of civilization, industry, writing, art, theatre religion, liturgy, sacrifice, humanity itself, we were LARPing.

#poetry

[box-architecture]

Analyzing… Analyzing…

Negative.

With a a huff, D.R.E. slammed the refrigeration unit shut. He was halfway through the time frame of his assignment, and he was becoming increasingly aware of its slim odds of success. There would be no penalty for failure, but D.R.E. was competent, the best of the best, and to fail at his directive (no matter how stacked the odds were against him) felt unacceptable.

An intense crash sounded behind him. D.R.E. blinked, head swiveling without regard for its body.

Oh. The earth robot had knocked itself into a pile of garbage. Again.

It was (painfully) obvious the outdated bot had been following him for the duration of his exploration, the small beeps and Redstone ticking would be giving away its presence easily, but along with its strangely clumsy nature, there was some wonder at why it attempted to evade detection at all.

Odd. (Silly. Stupid.)

He watched the robot dig itself out, mapping out his next location to scan as it vocalized its frustration. He needed to keep searching, of course. He needed to follow the plan, the Directive. But…

More information could be considered tangentially related.

The redstone bot was sinking into a junk pile, shouting in stressed exclamations. D.R.E. picked him up with as much care as he could, flying them towards a cleaner surface beneath the night sky. It squeaked, but made no attempts to attack, which he appreciated. It really wouldn't be great for their first conversation to be hindered by annoying miscommunication.

Gently, he set it down. Its eyes peeked up at him from where they had hidden, and slowly it unfolded, outdated solar panels flipping to face him.

"Oh." It said. D.R.E. let his face flicker for a moment in thought.

"Oh." He agreed. Conversations were,,,, not his strong suit. He would start with something easy. "Name?"

It's panels raised in surprise. "Oh. SAM."

"Sam." D.R.E. hummed. Like the SAM-E's on the ship. Possibly the original model, which meant it had been strong enough to survive all these years. D.R.E. approved.

"Name?"

"… D.R.E."

"Drea-mmm?" Sam tried. Despite himself, D.R.E.'s LED smile glowed a little warmer.

"No. D.R.E."

"Dream." Sam repeated, rolling a little closer in excitement. It waved at him, shaking Redstone dust from out beneath his claws.

The Redstone glowed dim on its arms, obviously manually applied over the years to keep it going. D.R.E. pulled an arm close to inspect it. The flaps on the back of Sam's torso wagged.

"Redstone. Old." He murmured. Robots hadn't needed to function through Redstone in centuries.

"Hm?" Sam was making an odd rumbling noise now, practically knocking into D.R.E. He allowed it, assured in his own ability to neutralize a threat should it become one.

"Redstone." D.R.E. said. He ran a finger up it's arm in example, before pointing to his Eye Of Ender peeking out of his own chest. "Ender Eye."

"Ender." Sam squinted at the Eye. Lightly, it dragged a claw across the pupil. It opened to scan the limb.

Analyzing… Analyzing…. Negative.

Obviously.

Sam startled suddenly, jerking away and grabbing D.R.E.'s arm. He let himself be dragged along towards a storage unit with confusion. A threat? Should he be aiming a weapon?

"Dream." It urged. "In. In in in."

"Sam?" He asked. The dust storm began to pick up around them, and he realized the issue. "Sam!"

"Dream. In." Sam commanded, and they went in. The large door slammed behind them.

It was dark. And then it was not.

Sam was eager to show its strange, pre-ship contraptions, its eyes wide with delight as D.R.E. fiddled with pistons and glowing stones and the strangest music player D.R.E. had ever seen. He chirred at the cockroach ("Fran," Sam buzzed with affection,) and glided to the screen Sam was attempting to invest him in. It was sweet, someone wanting his attention for something other than new orders to follow, a new directive to accomplish, even if he didn't understand half of what he was being shown.

(His directive beeped in the back of his memory, reminding him of what he was supposed to be focusing on. It was fine, though. Just until the storm stopped.)

He felt claws nudging into his fingers.

"Hm?" D.R.E. let his head roll idly. Sam's tail flaps wagged.

"Dream!" It said as it tucked its head into the curve of his neck. The odd rumble started up again, louder than before; D.R.E. rested his head on its own to see if he could feel the vibrations.

"Sam?"

Sam's solar panels tapped against the glow of D.R.E.'s smile before pulling away to clap. It beckoned D.R.E. over to where more oddities were piling up. A gnarled blue thing was shoved into D.R.E.'S hands as Sam looked to him for approval.

What a strange color. He scanned it.

Analyzing…. Analyzing….

Confirmed.

Oh.

(He would not know of Sam's panic until much later.)

-

Dream didn't look at him as they were both led away to…. somewhere? The ship was wholly unfamiliar to SAM, outside of the little screens on Earth. He'd never seen the humans in the flesh (or if he had, he no longer recalled,) and the design of the ship seemed to run wholly on Ender Eyes, the familiar Redstone Crimson absent in favor of glassy, glossy green.

Dream was familiar. He was the only reason SAM wanted anything to do with the ship anyway, which was why he gently tugged on Dream's hand with his claws, hoping to slip their fingers together.

The hope was crushed as Dream tugged his hand away. He glared, his usual smile flat and mirthless.

"SAM." He said sternly. SAM shrunk into himself. He knew Dream was still mad about the plant being missing, but they were together now, so they could absolutely go look for it later after they held hands, right? SAM didn't see a problem with that. Hand holding wouldn't interfere with plant finding. He was sure of it.

Dream suddenly drooped, anger falling away as they entered a room filled with more robots. He sighed and waved SAM off, letting himself he pulled away by a large claw and into a separate room.

Immediately another claw came down on him as he tried to follow.

"Dream," SAM called out as he scrambled to get away. He was plonked into a separation area, Redstone dust clouds in his wake. "Dream!"

What followed in the next few moments happened very, very fast.

SAM barely registered the removal of Dream's head (the depressed smile vanishing completely as he was deactivated) before he was destroying the containment cube. In a fervor he was grabbing at the claw with Dream's head and tearing the precious orb out of its arm to cradle. There was some sort of mania happening with the bots behind him, but he ignored it in favor of pushing Dream back together.

He was barely aware of the distressed noises he was making, desperate as he failed to get Dream to come back. It was fine if he never held SAM's hand again, really, he would give up hand holding forever, he just wanted Dream to come back!

He was nearly toppled over as another bot rolled to them. They shoved SAM to the side and leaned forward to inspect his work. With a tsk, they took the orb from his claws (ignoring his enraged squawk and attempts to fight them) and activated the Ender Eye on Dreams chest, setting the orb on top of the body as it begun to float.

A familiar lime smile appeared on its face. It scrunched in confusion.

"What?" Dream asked, twisting his head every which way. SAM followed the movements with complete and utterly joy.

"Dream!"

Dream looked over SAM's head, and the confusion became alarm. "SAM!"

It was then that SAM realized the room they were in was completely destroyed, and partially on fire.

The robot beside them made an amused noise before rolling out the door, ignoring the robots rioting all around.

(Tech-No. 8 was having an excellent day, and as he watched the warning signs appear with pictures of the strange SAM-E and D.R.E., he decided that it was likely to get even better. If they lived through this he might even get to make fun of D.R.E. for bringing home an incompetent sparkmate)

-

#sfw boxing #backposting #awesamwastaken #Techno just wants anarchy on an authoritarian ship #is that too much to ask #also Sam made Dream look like an idiot in front of his superiors #this is a crime #and the punishment is no hand holding #There was a PLAN Sam #the plan was GIVE PLANT TO PEOPLE #he had a JOB Sam #Also to replace the og Sam's gas mask. SAM-E's mouth area is solar panels #also he gets a tail and claws/paws because. I have demons.

[quitealotofsodapop]

@latvian-spider; referencing this post about Reborn! SWK & LEM accidentally making tree babies. They show up and are *covered* in baby monkeys that look like them.

Peach: "How?" Smokey: "Gardening mishap." Peach: "That raises further questions!" Liang: "Genius here [points thumb at Smokey] swallowed the pit inside of the manfruit he stole from the abbey. It gets stuck in his body, he hocks it up and buries it on the Mountain. We both tend to it on-and-off for the next year. We both check it one day and *pop!* tree full of baby monkeys." *room is silent* Dasheng: "...WHY?" Liang: "Turns out the pit and sapling of the ginseng tree absorbs the Dao of its surroundings. It stuck around us for so long that the only "fruit" was monkey demons with our genetics." Sugar: "Wait... isn't the ginseng tree perennial? It grows a new batch every couple thousand years..." Smokey: "Our tree sorta withered in on itself when the last baby fell - like it sorta expended all it's energy. Probably why only the tree at the abbey produces multiple fruitings." Plum: "I mean its definitely a lot cleaner than childbirth, I'll say that." Smokey, a baby climbing on his head: "Higher chance of unexpected yields though." Xiao Qi + the 5 Stone-fruit baby monkeys: *happy chirping!*

Reborn!SWK and LEM basically had mutliple Jttw stories together before they realised that they were taking care of the same Baby-Fruit tree.

The names of the 5 bonus fruit babies and their identifiers are;

Xiǎoxìng/小杏 ("little apricot"). Very light brown fur. Likes to charm people and "sing" (sounds like chirping) along to music.

Xiǎotáo/小桃 ("little peach"). Mostly white fur that turns into a gradient of light tan, like the colours on a peach. Calm and curious.

Xiǎolǐzi/小李子 ("little plum"). Mostly dark brown-black fur, has a sour look on their face most of the time. Grumpy/sleepy.

Xiǎoyīng/小樱 ("little cherry"). White fur with some fawn-like brown spots. Bright red face marking. Giggles at everything.

Xiǎozǎo/小枣 ("little jujube"). Dark brown fur, looks like a mini-Smokey. Very mischievous.

The Reborn couple ("fruitiedads") saw the stone fruit association and went all in. Plus the kids all have nature powers like their big brother, so it fits. Xiao Qi is a delighted older brother.

#wukongverse #jttw inspo fan children #monkey king reborn #monkey king reborn au #sun wukong #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #fruitiedads #fruitiedadsshipping #qi energy #journey to the west

[loveletters2myself]

homemade cleaning products you can make.

all purpose cleaner

dr bronner’s sal suds + water

add essential oil of your choice or leave as is.

bathroom scrub

mix dr bronner’s sal suds + baking soda + water.

dish soap

mix sal suds + water + essential oil of your choice (optional)

glass cleaner

mix white vinegar + water

disinfectant

mix 70% isopropyl alcohol + touch of water

i personally add everything into glass spray bottles for easier use.

make sure what you clean, using these products, are safe to use on certain finishes/furniture! for example, the isopropyl alcohol should not be used on painted wood. vinegar should not be applied on marble, granite, and other natural stone + stainless steel appliances.

#📎

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #14

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: brief murder, offscreen sex

Once upon a time, a hundred years ago or more, there was a temple boy. The title was a bit of a misnomer, really. Ambrose was a grown man at 21. But he was no priest, and if you lived at the temple and weren’t a priest, you were a temple boy. Or girl, or assistant. 

Ambrose’s job was to keep things clean and tidy. To sweep the polished floors, launder the tapestries, water the plants, and secretly open the windows when the priests used too much incense in his opinion. That last part wasn’t in the job description.

It was monotonous, but it was a job. It allowed him some anonymity anyway, his parents wouldn’t think to look for Ambrose here. No one paid attention to the temple cleaners when there was a chance to run into a god. 

Ambrose wasn’t a worshiper but he knew better than the fanatics. He’d peeked and seen the serpent god a few times, and he was certainly divine, but also he was kinda just… a man? A very handsome man with pretty brown-and-gold slitted eyes and lovely auburn hair and a sharp smile that made his stomach do some interesting maneuvers and-

Still. Not exactly the mind-meltingly powerful image some followers claimed to see. Their offerings usually went unnoticed, and Ambrose bet they hadn’t actually met him.

He was wandering the upper floor of the temple, looking for the rumored records room, when the tell-tale flash of golden light appeared behind him. He whirled around. And yup, the serpent god was right behind him. Shit.

“You’re getting closer,” said the god, in a sing-song voice. Fuck, his teeth were sharp.

“Hm?”

“The records room,” he said, stepping forward, and holy shit he was tall, “you’re getting close to it.”

“Oh, uh, you know about that?” 

“Of course. It’s my temple after all, and secrets are in my domain,” said the god. Right. How could he have forgotten?

“So you know what’s in it?”

“I’ll do you one better,” the god moved to face the wall, pressing on a stone, and a part of the wall creaked open.

Unfortunately, the records were just a log of offerings over the centuries. Incredibly uninteresting, and the serpent god laughed at the face he made.

___________________

Apparently he was the god of a lot of things. Sure, most people knew the “secrets” aspect, but there was much more to the serpent god than most were aware. Self-confidence, Generosity, Indulgence. The list went on.

"How are you the god of all these things?" Ambrose asked. "They're all so contradictory."

“We can stretch our natures. Some of my kin pick up and put down titles like toys. As long as we can connect them. A friend of mine branched from logic to knowledge to science because it interested him,” he explained.

“So how do you connect yours?”

The god smiled at him. “You’re a clever man. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Ambrose learned he was also the god of Revenge when he came to the temple with blood up to elbows, cheerfully informing Ambrose that his abusive parents were now dead. Or was it Justice? It certainly felt like the latter when Ambrose was planning the funeral.

___________________

They were on the grassy hill outside the city. They’d had some pastries, and split a pot of chamomile tea between them. Ambrose wasn’t a tea person, but it was growing on him. Now, though, they were just watching the clouds go by.

“Why do you visit me?” asked Ambrose, after picking out a bird-shaped cloud. “Surely I'm not that interesting.”

“Hm? I don’t know what you mean.” Jay fidgeted with a flower stem. For a god of self confidence and secrets, he was a terrible liar.

Ambrose rolled over, propping himself up on his elbow. “You know exactly what I mean. You could see anyone in the world, do anything you want, but you come see me. Why?”

Jay turned towards him. “Maybe you’re just pretty.”

Terrible liar.

___________________

“I have a gift for you, darling.” Ambrose examined the golden jewelry that Janus presented to him. It was gorgeous. A golden arm cuff in Janus’s signature animal, complete with emerald eyes.

“It’s beautiful, honey, thank you,” said Ambrose, pulling it on. It fit perfectly. He kissed Janus’s cheek, and the smile he got in return was as radiant as the sun.

___________________

Ambrose had never been so happy. The past few years had been sheer bliss.

They were in Janus’s bedroom, in the divine realm. The smell of sex still lingered in the air. Janus was exactly a head taller than him and Ambrose (who had always been taller than his previous partners) laid on his chest with his head tucked under Janus’s chin.

Janus had one arm around his waist, and the other was stroking his back. He hummed, nearly purring as they cuddled. 

“I love you," he murmured. He kissed his forehead. Ambrose's stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. Janus tensed underneath him. Ambrose rolled off, sitting at the edge of the frankly massive bed.

“Wha- Rosey, why would you say that?” Ambrose could hear the hurt in Janus’s voice. He couldn’t stand to look back at him.

“I... I just,” Ambrose sniffed. “I’m going to die someday. And I love you too, and I’m sorry.”

The bed dipped behind him, and Janus’s warm arms wrapped around his waist. He brushed a kiss to Ambrose’s cheek. 

“It’s okay.”

“It really isn’t,” sobbed Ambrose. “I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to leave you! I’m so sorry, Jay, you should go, it’s not fair to you-”

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright. We can fix it.” Janus tucked a piece of Ambrose’s hair behind his ear.

“We- we can?”

“Of course, darling,” Janus gave him another kiss, this time to his temple.

“You could live forever, if that’s what you want.”

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair@paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme

#im so sorry yall but it had to be done #<- isnt sorry >:) #fr though i cried a little while writing this #honestly i dont think ambrose is actually mad in present time. upset yeah but mad no. he just misses him so much #i was literally so excited to post this #Ambrose and Elliot #my writing #whump

[prof-peach]

Hi,

I'm making a dnd campaign with a pokemon module of 5e and wanted to use a bit edited version of Dotaku Island, Prof. Peach and the crew cause I like your headcannons and work nice with my idea of the inner workings of the Pokemon world.

Is it okay to use them?

It's a campaign with friends and we're not making any profit from it, but still wanted to ask cause now more than ever artist consent is important (even when nothing about this is goong online so normally people woukdn't ask, but I also wanted to say I've been a huge fan of your work for a long time so two birds with one stone ig).

Either way, thanks for showing your work to us here on tumblr and hope this ask isn't too weird :)

Haha sure go for it, I’m chill with non-profit use, and if you ever do post junk let me know so I can snoop.

Fun notes for anyone who may be inclined to do this: THESE DO NOT NEED TO BE USED NOR FOLLOWED, PICK AND CHOOSE IF YOU PREFER.

North is off limits, no exceptions. Being caught there will get you removed from the island on the first ship back to your original region. You will struggle to return here if found in the north. Patrols line the fences to make sure no one goes in, night and day.

Players will take damage if they try to touch peach in any way. Treat her as a high level monk/Druid, who 1000% will throw hands with u and your Pokemon given a good reason. Cold and distant to approach, pawns players off to other staff at any given opportunity. A hermit who will humour you if you can appeal to her better nature, or great desire to fight things. You may lose but it’s the trying that counts.

Wisdom saves (DC28) with Val if you try to touch her. Not only will you gain force damage if you succeed (half damage) or fail (full damage) to lay hands on her, but you’ll see horrifying illusions for a minute relating to loved ones. Frightened condition until a long rest, compelling you not to approach further. I cannot stress this enough. Penalise players for trying to touch her, peach will bluntly warn you once, after that you’re on your own.

Grey regularly hands out handy snacks that may help heal or buff teams. He is warm and open, a good person to approach for hints and tips. Notably found in his labs or out running errands, he’s always kind and gentle, unless that is you threaten his home or his loved ones in a severe way. He is scarier than peach when he’s pushed too hard.

Plenty of staff roam around to offer aid or information, ranging from gardeners, cleaners, shop staff, and specialist keepers who maintain the visitors sections.

A groomers, cafe, food stands, daycare, small fairground with rides and games, a hotel, lighthouse, port, greenhouses and of course multiple lab and practical spaces exist, amongst other interesting buildings.

The resident ranger can offer assistance but she is known to stay quite busy, and so getting her attention may prove difficult if it’s a trivial issue.

Adoption zones are the only approved areas to catch Pokemon, and even then it’s a process that requires a test and paperwork, so everyone involved is able to provide adequate care to the mons in question, and so they know any pre existing conditions.

The islands purpose is recovery, so human needs come in second. The Pokemon will always come first, a fact some visitors may have issue with. The staff will not care and continue to do their job without concern for this.

Year round events make the island busy and people are welcomed to join in with whatever’s going on, be it chilli cooking contests, fairs, pageants, board rental for the sweet ocean waves, or watching a migration pass by. There’s always something to do!

This is all optional, just have fun with it, and I hope your players enjoy! If they ask about it, redirect them to the blog so they can dive on into the content.

#prof.peach #ooc

[lunaevangeline]

In which prince!Oikawa Tooru found out the princess he betrothed to ran away with a mere knight. tw: mention of blood

The kingdom of the neighborhood, the blue castle, is in chaos as the first prince who will reign on the throne went furious.

"How dare you came unto me bearing such news!"

He raised his voice, hand slamming the table, causing a frightening echo throughout the room.

"Your Highness, please spare my life—"

The poor old man trembling, kneeling before the young man.

The prince has beautiful brown locks, with eyes in the same color that are able to drown every lady across the country, a royal crest embedded on his chest. He was hailed to be the most eligible bachelor, not only for his status. He's sharp and agile, a good tactician with a charming look. Knowledgable, he also has a good sense of political strategy and diplomacy.

One hundred and eighty degrees from his current resentful visage.

The prince's chest heaved, face reddened. His hand tugged one of the tablecloths made of silk in the color of his royal symbolism. Everyone winched at the loud clattering sound of the fallen things.

The old man doesn't even dare to make eye contact. Face nestled down to the cold stone floor, pleading for his dear life. Only his palm prevented him from directly kissing the marble tiles.

"His majesty won't be delighted to find this," his words stammered.

Oikawa had lost into madness, throwing another grail at the decorative window. The multicolored patterns shattered without hurting anyone, but the cleaner have to work hard after this commotion. For sure, they also need to search for another artisan to repair the luxurious glass artwork.

The prince's handsome look distorted. His brown eyes burned in exasperation, not paying much attention to the shivering old man who nearly sobs before him. It happened ever since he heard the news.

"How dare the princess ran away?"

He threw glares at everyone across the room, they were trying to avoid his intense gaze.

The question is rather rhetorical, no one knows except the princess and her secret lover. He was at a loss for words at the fact that his fiancée had run away with her royal knight commander. Humiliation pierced his bones. Eyebrows scrunched as he clenched his fists tightly, almost hurting his own palm. Blood rushed in his vein pumped by adrenaline.

"I need her," he let out a strong statement, there's an urge in his tone.

To him, pursuing you is merely a political fulfillment for his kingdom. In order to ascend the throne, he needed an equal partner. Since you were coming from the eastern kingdom, which is endowed with abundant natural resources, betrothed to you is like killing two birds with one stone.

He swore it was only for the sake of the monarchy's agenda. It was not because he found you on the balcony before the time of his official visit, and heard a voice from heaven, your melodious voice talking to the birds. Not because your smile beams like the sun from the eastern side of his balcony. He didn't fall when you wittily countered his arguments over the negotiation table. You're indeed smart, and he needs an ingenious queen to rule the kingdom.

He totally was not over the moon when you called his name for the first time. But recalling the memories of you only ignites the fire inside him.

"Prepare my horse and a platoon of cavalry!"

He turned around, picked up his navy blue cloak and dressed up. His trained arm took out his sleeved sword, delicately tracing the line of the silver steel.

"I will search for the princess."

His eyes locked at the glistening tip of the metal. He smirks contently when he cut his flesh over the examination, blood dripping from his index finger.

"I swear to God, I will bring her home by any means."

"—even if I have to soil my sword."

(masterlist.)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #hq imagines #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu!! #hq x y/n #hq drabbles #hq angst #hq x you #hq oikawa #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru #oikawa scenarios #oikawa x reader #oikawa drabble #oikawa torū #oikawa toru x y/n #oikawa toru x you

[kenziemeadowscottage]

🌸What is a 'Green Witch'🌱

As Arin Murphy-Hiscock explains in her book The Green Witch: Your Complete Guide to the Natural Magic of Herbs, Flowers, Essential Oils, and More: "A green witch at their core is a naturalist, an herbalist, a wise woman, and a healer.". This sentence has always stuck with me the moment I read it! ✨

Being a green witch means that you:

Understand that working with the earth means incorporating the planets, people, and animals in your practice.

Understand humanities impact to the natural world, not only how we treat it, but also by its feelings and energies of the world and people.

Commune with the land, the stones and gems. Rely on plants, flowers and herbs.

Call to nature for guidance and respects every living being (including plants!).

Being aligned with plants, healing, natural remedies, nature's energy, Mother Earth / The Goddess, and the Universe.

Having a connection to the land spirits.

These are just a few examples on how one can be a green witch. That isn't to say that there is one way to be a green witch! ✨ Everybody has their own unique paths but those who are a green witch decided this path due to their love and appreciation of the Earth. 🌱

Some ways that you can be a green witch:

Using items from nature to create ritual tools (like a Besom).

Using natures properties in your spell work (lavender for calming, rosemary for protection).

Spending time in nature.

Having a nature journal!

Working with the cycles of nature (Wheel of the Year / Lunar cycles / Menstrual cycles).

Asking plants permission to take a trimming for magickal purposes, saying thank you, and leaving an offering if you are able (even just tying some hair onto the plant is a good offering!).

By reducing environmental impacts by growing own food / herbs / flowers, declining single use plastics, using natural fibres for clothing / housewares (tea towels).

Using refillable and compostable packing for hand soaps / house cleaners / laundry sheets / skin and hair care / makeup (Skipper and Ethique for Australian's / New Zealanders).

Creating your own moisturisers, salves, tinctures, bath salts, salt scrubs, etc.

Harvesting and drying your own herbs.

#green witch #green witchcraft #witchcraft community #witchcraft #witch community #witchblr #my post

[nyxshadowhawk]

The Rural Dionysia submissions inspired me to attempt some poetry:

LARPing

I was accused of LARPing again. I get accused of LARPing, and of hubris, by people who see that I don't worship the gods properly, so I must not take them seriously. I am told that I have not been initiated. That the gods will strike me down, and put me in my place and then I'll be sorry. And I was sorry. I wept.

You kicked down the door with a big box of costumes, painted green with gold clasps. And you sat atop it with a winning smile. You asked me, “What shall we play? “Let's play pirates, and ride on the high seas, and turn the sailors into dolphins. “Let's play wizards, knights and castles. Grab your sword, and your armor, and your book of spells, and we'll save a princess from a dragon. “Let's slay Medusa, like you did once when you were seven, using your fairy princess wand as a sword, swinging it by the star until it broke. “You were Perseus, then. You climbed on Pegasus' back, and he took you to Olympus, where we, your siblings, waited for you.”

I asked, “Why wasn't I struck down like Bellerophon?”

And you said, “There's a big difference between being invited, and kicking down the door claiming you deserve to be there.”

I look at the box and I say, “I want to play Shaman.”

I know how problematic that is. I know that shamans are spiritual leaders from Siberia I know how insulting it is for a colonizer like me to imitate Native Americans as a childish game, Dressing up in fur and feathers like a bad Halloween costume And listening to New Agey "tribal" music While I dance around an altar that I built out of feathers and rocks and other natural talismans I'd collected and little figures of deer and elephants and leopard-print scarves spread under a fake plastic campfire that burned in the center of it all.

But I remember how it felt. It felt powerful. It felt ancient.

You smile and say, “It was powerful, and it was ancient. “You were not imitating any real indigenous rituals, except to burn sage and call it "smudging." “Everything else was your own. It was your ritual. A child, reaching back, back through the mists of time “To find the oldest ritual in the book. “Before there was theatre, there was LARPing. “Before there was writing, there was dance.”

And I said, “Lord of Dappled Pelts, give me that feeling back.”

You open the box. Inside are fawnskins and leopard skins, feathers, bones, animal skulls, Rough-hewn masks, with empty staring eyes, as primeval as the soil. You put a horned mask on my face, and dress me in furs, and braid feathers into my hair and put a necklace of bones around my neck that rattles with every step. Before there was theater, there was LARPing. There was the shaman, in their animal mask, behaving as the animal does, dancing round and round the ritual fire until they don't know the difference between man and beast, real and unreal, day and night. And you are there, where you've always been, in the dance. Casting the illusion over our eyes. The mask is a glamour, the stage, a farce. Storytelling itself, an enchantment cast over an audience as they watch and listen, enraptured, fully believing what they feel and see. It is old magic.

I found my gods by LARPing. I put on a white sheet, like a makeshift peplos, and made an olive crown out of pipe cleaners and construction paper and gold glitter and I drank nothing but white grape juice, the blood of the vine, and pretended it was ambrosia, and it was. I threw my paper leaves and thought the gods were listening, and they were. Back then, I didn't ask whether they were real or not, or whether what I was doing was historically accurate or not, or whether I was guilty of hubris for pretending that I, too, was a god.

You and I dance around our ritual fire decorated with stones, and feathers, and figurines grapevines, pinecones, and phallic objects and other fetishes, wearing our pelts and our animal masks. I lose my name, my face, my gender. I am made and unmade. In the primeval woods, in a time before the dawn of civilization, industry, writing, art, theatre religion, liturgy, sacrifice, humanity itself, we were LARPing.

#poetry #devotional poetry #devotional #dionysus #dionysos #dionysus devotee #dionysus worship #dionysus deity #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #hellenism #mysticism #neopaganism #paganism #gods #pagan gods #primeval #larping #LARP #ritual #ritual work #meditation #shamanism #altered consciousness #masks #unverified personal gnosis

[homemakinghippie]

DIY Cleaning Products 101

Personally I don't love the ingredients in most conventional cleaning products. They generally have artificial fragrance and other endocrine disrupters and things you don't really want to be breathing in. For the last year I have been making most of my own cleaning products and in addition to being healthier, I've noticed I save money doing this as well. I want to share some of my favorite recipes for cleaning products, but there are definitely things you need to know about the different ingredients first so I'm sharing this first.

Vinegar- Vinegar is an amazing all purpose cleaner for tables, counters, any surfaces that aren't natural stone like marble or granite. I also love using it for washing produce and replacing fabric softener (no your fruit won't taste like vinegar and your clothes won't smell like it). It can effectively remove some pesticide residue, as well as help the produce last longer. Some recipes you find online recommend mixing vinegar with baking soda or castile soap-neither of these should be mixed with vinegar. Both baking soda and castile soap have a basic pH, while vinegar is acidic. Mixing baking soda and vinegar makes a cool chemical reaction, but you're left with fancy salt water. Mixing it with castile soap basically unsaponifies the soap, making it completely useless as well. If you want to add some scent to your vinegar you can add citrus peels or pine needles to it and let them sit for a few weeks before straining. NEVER mix vinegar with bleach or hydrogen peroxide. Vinegar and bleach makes chlorine gas, vinegar and hydrogen peroxide makes peracetic acid. Both of these are extremely dangerous.

Baking Soda- Baking soda is a great abrasive for scrubbing, and a great deodorizer. I use baking soda on my glass top stove, scrubbing my toilets, scrubbing the shower, anywhere I need extra scrubbing help. As I mentioned before it shouldn't be mixed with vinegar because they cancel each other out. I do like using it with castile soap for bathroom cleaning though.

Castile soap- Castile soap has soooo many uses. If you've ever looked at a bottle of Dr Bronner's you've seen the huge list of things they recommend it for. It shouldn't be mixed with vinegar, but castile soap can leave behind some soap scum if you have hard water so rinsing with a vinegar/water mix after use is often recommended. I like using it in the bathroom as well as dish and hand soap (I wouldn't put this in your dishwasher though, hand washing only with this).

70% Isopropyl Alcohol- Also known as rubbing alcohol, 70% isopropyl alcohol is a great disinfectant. When using it you need to make sure you're using 70%. This is a standard dilution you can get at the store, but many people don't realize how important the dilution percentage is. If you mix it with water there won't be enough alcohol to disinfect, and if you use higher than 70% there's too much alcohol and it will evaporate before it can do it's job. I use this all over my house from the kitchen, to the bathroom, to disinfecting my nail supplies after doing an at home manicure. It also works amazingly as a glass cleaner.

Hydrogen Peroxide- Hydrogen peroxide is another great disinfectant, but it's not one I personally use as much. I keep it in my cleaning closet in case I want it for something, but unlike alcohol it needs to be wiped away after sitting for a bit.

#natural living #homemaker #homemaking #housewife #crunchy mom #non toxic #lowtox #nontox #diy #traditional housewife #50s housewife #vintage housewife #hippie mom #traditional femininity #traditional gender roles #tradfem #tradwife #stay at home wife #stay at home mom #trad wives #traditional wife #hippie wife #trad women #traditional woman #holisticwellness #holistichealth #holistic #natural wellness #crunchy #hyper feminine

[heliosoll]

hey i have some questions about your mermaid dr if you don‘t mind :)

- how long did the mermaids usually live? do they mature at the same rates as humans do?

- aside from their fishtail fishtails do they look like humans? are there any differences in anatomy, or ‚fantasy‘ hair colors like purple, green, blue? eye colors that don‘t exist naturally in cr?

- how many siblings did you have in your mermaid dr?

- what is mermaid culture like do you have theatre, movies, books, music?

- did you have magic or technology there underwater

- other than watching pets what sort of jobs are there?

- do mermaids go to school? if you went to school what was your fav subject there :)

- what was your fav food in your mermaid dr?

Hi! No, I don't mind at all, thank you for asking 🥰

In my DR, merpeople had longer lifespans than humans but matured at a similar rate up to adulthood where it then went by slower! We usually lived up to around ~300 years (give or take)!

We mostly looked like humans but we did have some differences like more fantastical appearances and certain biological differences (gills and fins!). For example, my hair was blue! I'd say the most common hair colors were black, blue, white, and green. Brown hair wasn't as common but it did happen. Blonde hair typically started as white and then gradually darkened to blonde throughout life. As for eyes, there was a big difference in how they looked! The sclera, pupil, and iris were all the same color (they were still separate but they were always the same color) so eyes often looked like they only had one part. Eye colors were usually the same as humans but we also had white, and black was more common!

I had a sister and brother :)

So just like humans, culture is different everywhere! Live performances of the arts was extremely popular since technology didn't do great underwater (some of the richer mer had tvs in the upper parts of their house). Writing things in stone was still common since paper made from trees also didn't do well! In place of paper, we used palm leaves! So we still had books and stuff like that :)

No, we didn't have magic (although now I'm thinking of going to a mermaid DR where we do...) but we did have technology! Technology wasn't available underwater but some mer have an "upper" part of their house above the water where they could have technology. I'd say tvs and radios are the most common things to have.

I only had the pet sitting job, but all sorts of jobs exist. Practically everything humans have, we had too. Like chefs, cleaners, accountants, teachers, etc. But for jobs that were unique to us... there were mer who literally acted as bodyguards for other mer swimming in open oceans (ie away from our cities) and for protected species of underwater animals! They were really cool actually and probably one of the most respected jobs since it can be really dangerous. Humans didn't intentionally try to hurt/hunt us but every now and then someone would get caught up in a net :(

Yep! My favorite subject was history :)

Favorite food... it's basic but I love seaweed (try the wakame "noodles!"). For other things, salmon (sorry fishies), eel (sorry again fishies), squid (so so sorry mollusks), and coconut jelly :) I mean you can find all these things here too so maybe this one is a bit boring hahah

#dr storytime #letters 🎀