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Orean and the book
Orean walked through the basement in the old library, looking for nothing in particular.  Down here were stored old books, most of them moldy and either half-forgotten or entirely so.  It made sense that the cult who worshipped the demon lord of knowledge would claim this place.  Orean, talented cleric that he was, had only been a member of the cult for a few weeks, and knew this was not the god for him.  He had gotten faster at recognizing that feeling, after having drifted from god to god for so long.
But he stuck around, mostly because there were a few moments after ‘services’ (which no one other than the cult members attended) where he could freely explore the library’s oldest areas.  He wasn’t sure what he was looking for; he determined that he would know it when he found it.
The area he explored now was damp; he sneezed and grumbled, wishing he was permitted to carry handkerchiefs within the ‘temple’ grounds.  When
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 1 0
The city of Kerun was prosperous.  It would be, however, as it squatted on both banks of the main river that flowed through the heart of the continent, along with every worthwhile trade route that criss-crossed it.  It had started because some enterprising mercenary group—tired of guarding caravans and running the risk of dying every alternate step—had simply set up a booth.  Anyone who wanted to protect a caravan had to pay a small fee—so small even the poorest of adventurers wouldn’t really notice the loss—and every caravan had to pay a slightly larger fee in order to receive protection from anyone.  Of course this tactic had been tried by other groups before, but it had never worked.  But then, no previous mercenary group had had the manpower and training available to enforce their will, and no previous group had charged such small fees.
Over time, they had expanded their influence to a large sector of the continent, and other p
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 1 6
The Haunted Painting
They say a camera will steal your soul.  For this reason, when I inherited my title of duchess from my mother—the latest in a long line of duchesses—I decided to have my portrait painted instead of dabbling in the new photography thing, though I could easily have afforded it.  It took a while, as paintings will, but I felt it was worth it.  The man I had hired was very good at his job.
Too good, as it turned out.  Because, when he finished and turned the painting around to face me, I felt vaguely dizzy.  And when I recovered myself, I found I couldn’t move.  It was as though my body below my shoulders no longer existed.  When I saw myself moving carefully through the hallways—guided by the painter I had hired—I understood what had happened.
Do I need to explain it to you?  Somehow I doubt it.
I had never been a woman to lie down and accept my fate.  So I experimented, and discovered I could change my expression.
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 1 0
The world had been brought to order.  All was well.  The Makers, as always happened, wished to stay and ensure that it grew to be exactly what they wanted—especially here, in this case, even now the corruption had been contained.  But they could not.  They never could.
So, as always, they created simulacra of themselves.  Most were placed in the north, above the prison of the strongest piece of corruption.  In the end, the Prime Designate was also placed there so that any escape attempts on the corruption’s part would be noticed and reported and dealt with immediately.
There was a southern council of simulacra in the interests of balancing the northern one, though it did not have a prime designate.  East and west each received one image; those pieces of corruption had fought the least.
And then it came time to decide who would do the most part of the work; the simulacra were large, and powerful in magic, but could not work at a smaller sca
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 0 0
The Dream
He was flying, and Shii was carrying him.  His friends—his best friends—flew next to them, laughing.  They were going north to kill the last of the Urgals, who couldn’t possibly withstand four Riders, their swords, and their new magic.  There weren’t all that many either.  They weren’t likely to get in trouble either—it didn’t matter what anyone did on their rest days, after all.  They landed in the middle of the Urgal camp and started killing, and everything went as it was supposed to.  The Urgals fell like wheat.
But then Lir died.  An Urgal child jumped on him from behind and bit into his neck.  His dragon bellowed in pain and loss and everyone else had to take cover as he began setting everything on fire that he could reach.  Galbatorix sensed rather than saw another Urgal sneaking up on them and turned just in time to chop his head off.  He turned just in time to blast another off Shii
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 0 0
Naga librarian
My name is Evaline, and I work in the library on 12th Street in Nine Pines.  Well, kind of.
See, the thing is, one day I managed to annoy a wizard.  It wasn’t even my fault really.  See the thing is, the library’s been around for ages—before I was even born—and we switched over from paper records to computers about a decade before I started working here.  And for that matter, before this little incident, I didn’t even know that wizards were an actual thing.
Yes, of course I read Harry Potter.  But everyone knows that it’s not a real place, don’t they?  Hogwarts isn’t real, as much as I might want it to be.  And neither are dragons, as awesome as it would be for one to descend on Congress and scorch them all to cinders for being such prats.  So when this guy walked in in stereotypical wizard robes, a long beard, and a staff near as tall as him capped with a crystal, I figured he was a cosplayer and t
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 1 0
Music Box
Not long after I came into my inheritance at Blackdown manor—built a few centuries before and only sporadically inhabited—I woke in the middle of the night and noticed the sound a music box drifting up from the wine cellar.  What man in his right mind would leave a music box in a wine cellar? I mused, and upon recovering dressing gown and candleholder, I strode swiftly down the stairs by the shortest path thereto.  I did not fail to notice that the shadows were oddly long for a night with a full moon, nor that the trees scratched oddly at the windowpanes, but mindful of what happened to those who listened and looked for too long, I merely quickened my step.
A thorough search of the wine cellar showed that no music box was present, though the sound of it was louder, and still—somehow—from below where I now stood, at the lowest point in the recorded mansion.  Of course the place was old, and old largely abandoned mansions, I mused, frequently had a
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 4 0
Demonology 101
“Afternoon, class,” the lanky professor said, his voice bored.  The doors slammed shut of their own accord after him, but did not lock.  The not locking was such a strange occurrence that it was the subject of intense discussion, at least until the professor—robed in red like all the teachers at the Academy—made it down the 99 Steps of Knowledge to the orchestra at the bottom of the amphitheatre.  Once there, he did not immediately begin a lecture, but instead began sorting notes on a table which obediently appeared for him.
The sound of shuffling papers echoed all the way to the top of the seats, and his students shuffled with them, most nervously.  No professor they had ever had so far had delayed their teachings this long.  They were all too in love with the subject material.
When at last he spoke again, it was still not to begin a lecture.  “Show of lights.  Who’s here for Demonology 101?” he asked, the sh
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 10 7
Our village did not mourn the passing of the chosen sacrifice; instead, we celebrated her life and her passage to the realm of the gods.  The chosen maiden’s identity was to remain unknown until the next sunrise, when she would simply have vanished—that night, once Sun had closed her eye and Moon had opened his, she would simply slip out of her home and go to the shaman, where the ceremony would begin.
The ceremony was a two-day process, and came every year.  On the first day, the shaman would determine if there needed to be a ceremony at all—sometimes, Kah’lik of Fire did not want a sacrifice, and it was never wise to disturb him with one he did not want.  He might become upset and send his fires to destroy the village.  If he did want a sacrifice, the shaman would then determine who among the villagers he wanted—he always chose from the whole village, even though Kah’lik had never wanted anyone except a young maiden.  Once
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 7 2
The words of the dead and dying
The words of the dead and dying are prophetic, carrying weight far beyond the promises or threats of the living.  For a living girl, to say that she would wait forever for her lover to return was a simple thing.  A mere promise, even if she meant it with all her heart.  The priest sighed, then, as he entered the house of the dying girl.  Some fever had struck her, along with a pain in her stomach that would not fade—it could be no babe, unless she had been as blessed as the Virgin Mary, and she had carried this pain for nearly a year now—and now she was ready to leave this world behind.
He had been tending to her for most of the previous year, but he had been a frequent visitor for some time before.  Her dearest love had left her behind for a war in France across the sea almost ten years before, and though he had written her letters, the girl could not read.  The priest could, though in this case he wished he could not.  But it was his God
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 10 5
He came through the front gates.
In doing so, he shattered the walls he’d helped to build—his own suggestion on how and his own ingenuity to prevent payment.  In doing so, he made no secret of his freedom.
The other gods panicked, a thing largely unheard of in Asgard, and most dove for their weapons, but there was no immediate battle-horn:  no demons rose, no giants came clamoring down from the heights.  Even Jormundgar and Fenrir remained still and chained.
Of all the monsters foretold in the battle of Ragnarok, only the Trickster had come.  And neither Odin with all his foresight nor his ravens Hugin and Muninn had foreseen this occurrence.
But Loki came on, with eyes burned sightless by acid—though this did not seem to halt him in any way—and something, some aura about him, rendered the other gods powerless to stop him.  Then they became curious, for despite his terrible appearance, no wake of death followed him.
He stopped and spoke only when he reached the
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 13 11
Blue Drake
Breaking into his father’s study should never have occurred to him in the first place.  He did not belong there and any information or artifacts contained within belonged to his father alone.  Even if his father was dead and his title passed to one of his children—and not the one who had opened the door and quietly shut it behind him.
The door would only allow a very specific height and shape of humanoid form through it, and close only just cut it in the case of the young blue drake.  He had been in once before, though, when his father had told him and several others of his most trusted children that he planned to reclaim Azeroth’s magic and place it within his sanctum.  Two of them had agreed both with his plan and its mode of execution.  One had not agreed with his plan at all and had been sent away the soonest.  The last, who was now taking in the full glory of the study, had agreed with the ideas, but had not agreed with the war to do
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 1 0
Ivias on David
I should like to make it plain, here and now, that David Sunwalker was a difficult fledge.  Doubtless he has already made his own opinion of me quite plain.  I have no doubt that he hates me for what I did, without caring what I was trying to do.  No one will know who is right, because I am after all dead.  Well, moreso than I was when I made him.
The point is, the Sunwalkers are an…influential clan.  We don’t have a history of being a particularly large clan, like our close cousins, the Moonwalkers.  I hear the founders of the two houses were twins, but I digress.  We tend to go on and live for a long, long while—live being used in the loosest possible sense, as is rather standard for our kind—and pick out one fledge who seems worthy.  Just one.  Maybe two if they’re particularly good, but never more than three.
In the time when I lived, there was something of a miniature war going on between several of the cl
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 0 2
Yogg'saron's Birth
I wonder how many people can say they remember being born, in my more pensive moments.  I honestly do.  I know that I am one of them, but I have yet to meet a mortal of any kind who remembers.  Admittedly, I haven’t exactly been capable of looking until very recently.  Still, I suppose it’s worth talking about for now.
We’ll see how long this mood lasts.

Darkness, and silence.
There was no terror, there was nothing, really.  Only the Darkness and the silence.
Perhaps it was peaceful.  They did not know.
They eventually came aware of a sense of direction, and of one of those directions having not-silence.  They were curious, and pulled themselves towards the not-silence out from the silence and Darkness.  There was a different feeling on their skins as they pulled, coming from the not-silence, but neither of them could name it.
After some time, they ran out of things to pull agai
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 1 6
Demons are Smarter Than You
The mist obediently hovers within the binding circle, coming once more and tamely to my call.  How raucous it was when first I summoned it!  How loudly it roared its name to the ceiling—how silent were the heavens that night.  But now it is silent when it arrives, as silent as the heavens when I call, for I have bade it so.  With it comes the sulfurous reek of its home and its own pets—a pair of tiny bat-winged imps no larger than my hand—and a deepening of the shadows in my basement conjury.
The fool has cast his spells of summoning again, and never were more clichéd words uttered than in this room.  He thinks I am silent because he ordered me to be; I am silent because I know that were I to speak, I would reveal the true depth of his idiocy.  And that simply would not do.  Not now that I've invested so much time into making this little room homely.  My "little" pets—if the stupid scholar knew their true shapes, he would die of fright—are
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 233 60
Titan Genesis
The Vanir and the Aesir were not always one.  The two kinds were both of them Titans from the start of it, but the Vanir say that the Aesir looked down upon them, for the Vanir lacked the glorious magic of the Aesir and were thus viewed as little better than their magical servants.  Yet the Aesir say that the Vanir were ever quarrelsome, unable to be swayed by words or wisdom even when invited to share with them.  And so the two peoples parted and built two cities some distance apart from each other, and both made little note of the other's doings.
The Aesir with their silvered-metal skins and their magic built their White City to soar—tall buildings to scrape the firmament and pierce new holes for the stars.  And desiring to come ever closer to the stars they so loved, they set themselves to buildings boats and chariots which, when given life by their magic, could float upon the air like the waves of the sea, and ride across the wind as tho
:iconmoreagaara:MoreaGaara 2 6

Random Favourites

Analysis of a Sue: Xion
Analysis of a Sue: Xion
I have been told Xion is a Sue. But now, using Wikipedia, I will prove that SHE IS NOT.
Let's start with the Angsty Sue!
This subconcept of the larger "Mary Sue" concept comes in two common variations. The first is a character who is constantly depressed and has a tragic past, frequently involving murder, child abuse, rape, or abandonment of some sort. She or he often feels guilt for something that happened in the past, even though it is usually not his or her fault, which gives him or her the ability to feel bad about something without having done anything wrong. Generally, if she or he doesn't commit romanticized suicide, then only the love or close friendship of one or more canon characters can convince her that she is not responsible for a tragic or horrific childhood or event that was obviously not of her making. Such backgrounds constitute an ill-advised attempt to gain sympathy from the reader.
Let's see. Abandonment? Nope. Child abuse? Nope. Murde
:iconanakhasilver:AnakhaSilver 19 139
Breaking Dawn by pocketroxas Breaking Dawn :iconpocketroxas:pocketroxas 8 0 Hell's Valley by ilikeorange Hell's Valley :iconilikeorange:ilikeorange 0 0 My dog by sarastallet99 My dog :iconsarastallet99:sarastallet99 3 3 milk tea  46 by tuyetdinhsinhvat milk tea 46 :icontuyetdinhsinhvat:tuyetdinhsinhvat 3,204 316 Vintage - Sanctuary by ErinPtah Vintage - Sanctuary :iconerinptah:ErinPtah 4 0 Blaze - Neon new dragon form by TheOracleDragon Blaze - Neon new dragon form :icontheoracledragon:TheOracleDragon 11 6
The pain is constant,
in lingers,
it throbs,
it stabs.
And so I malinger,
unable to...
Daily it takes
so much out of me,
so much from me.
It never stops,
it never will.
As so, in silence,
I suffer...
:iconfaoiltiarna-wolf:Faoiltiarna-Wolf 45 20
Reality stand free
Stronger then reality
She steps into me
I am the one you see
More then you can ever be
Looking back to me
You will never see
When I need to make a stand
She's the one on hand
She's quite in demand
On our feet we try to land
No more a reprimand
I am only a dream
Deep inside a theme
Spitfire's gleam
Cleared the stream
Powerful the scheme
:iconferelwing:Ferelwing 50 29
The angel of life,
giving and protecting.
A teacher of language,
of right and wrong,
of social custom.
Nursing our hurts,
physical and emotional,
be they real or imaginary.
She expects the best of us,
and deals with our worst.
Hoping only for good things,
but dusting us off
when life gives us the worst.
Feeding our souls and hearts,
even as she feeds our bodies.
She drove us to games,
to school, to the mall.
Accepting our friends,
whether she liked them or not.
Every mother is perfect,
and yet each one is flawed,
by their blind love,
for us, their children.
:iconfaoiltiarna-wolf:Faoiltiarna-Wolf 43 19
Unending Hunger
The pit of my stomach,
is hollow, empty.
Nothing fills it.
No food, no drink.
It lasts for days,
sometimes years...
And it seems as if all
I can do, is eat.
And eat, and eat,
trying to fill the hole,
trying to quell the pain.
It only satisfies a moment,
and then, I return,
to the fridge,
to the cupboard,
looking for solace,
looking for something
to make me whole,
but nothing works.
No matter what I eat,
I remain empty.
The hollowness inside,
eating me, instead.
:iconfaoiltiarna-wolf:Faoiltiarna-Wolf 31 4
Winter Magic
Jack Frost arrives,
his thousand or so pixies,
giggling and cheering.
Each one carrying
the tools of their trade.
Magic paint brushes,
miniature fans,
and fine tipped pens.
Positions taken,
they begin their work.
Painting the thin layer of frost,
on windowpanes,
on cars, trees,
and even blades of grass.
A starting canvas.
Others take clouds,
fans and pens in hand,
drawing the flakes
from the fluffy easels.
Gently they send
the finished projects to earth,
creating the gentle blanket of winter.
Covering the earth in
pristine beauty as it sleeps.
Quick as they come,
they vanish...
leaving only their work behind.
:iconfaoiltiarna-wolf:Faoiltiarna-Wolf 45 20
Crisis Line 2: Midgar
From the way Lucrecia had talked about this place, he had expected something entirely different. Grand, beautiful, perhaps a cloud-free sky and borderline Paradise. But instead, Midgar is dreary, dull, dingy place. There is graffiti everywhere, riff-raff running around and doing as they please, and don't even get him started on the degree of pollution.
The air is rife with the scent of decay. Even the people seem to be hollow-even more so than him. Everything they want or need is handed to them on a silver platter, he supposes, with no reason to complain or, well, even think. No wonder this is an empire of sorts.
Instant gratification, keeping the masses at your beck and call since the dawn of time.
Momentarily, Vexen has to wonder how such a bright mind in Lucrecia happened to be nurtured in this dull-gray world where everything is done so as to prevent free thought. Outside of passing laws, it seems.
Oh, wait. That's why.
He's staring at a world map, and he realizes that, while the w
:iconanakhasilver:AnakhaSilver 5 0
Counterfeit Heart: Convergence
con⋅ver⋅gence – noun
the point at which things meet; the act of meeting.
Ten years. Ten long years. That's the amount of time since Aqua's death, since he'd been launched onto a never-ending journey from world to world. He'd been constantly plagued, too, since then. The offenders are small, black creatures, but sometimes they are large and fierce instead. Either way, they are always there, and he rarely gets to stay in one place long because of them.
Not that he cares, really. He can't, after all. It's just not in his nature.
So it's all normal when he finds himself sitting amongst tall, tall buildings in the pouring rain. He'd long since gotten himself a brown cloak to protect himself from the elements. It is coarse and rough, but it works. That's all that matters.
It's in this city, though, that his life's course is suddenly and drastically altered, all with one simple action. As the rain pours down, suddenly, it is no longer touching him. Cerulean eyes shift
:iconanakhasilver:AnakhaSilver 4 11
Vintage - Baby's First Book by ErinPtah Vintage - Baby's First Book :iconerinptah:ErinPtah 6 5


First off, Edgar Allen Poe is made of win. So too are most demons. I liked the detail about the horribly English accent; lets us know s...



Or, if you must, do so by creating more aht for me to enjoy.

This prerecorded message has been brought to you by myself. Thank you for reading.
features:  :iconanakhasilver::iconlucifers-uke::iconkcimaginary:
and the best short story ever written:…


And now I have apparently gotten into the Diablo III Beta.  I'm not sure how this happened, but I am not complaining.  Like, at all.


Homophobia means:
* I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
* I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.
* I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.
* We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.
* I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.
* I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.
* I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.
* I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.
* We are the couple who had the Realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.
* I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.
* I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.
* I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.
* I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.
* I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.
* I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.
* I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transgendered.
* I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me.
* I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
* I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.
* I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male.
* My daughter cannot go on her 3rd mission trip because someone from church saw her holding another girl's hand at the mall.

Re-post this if you believe homophobia is wrong. Please do your part to end it. Now really, go! Truly I tell you, an institution that protects and supports hatred on any level can never be one of love.


31 Writing Prompts:

:mangapunksai:01. letter:…
:mangapunksai:02. sticks and stones:…
:mangapunksai:03. birthday:…
:mangapunksai:04. immortal:…
:mangapunksai:05. circus:…
:mangapunksai:06. abandoned:…
:mangapunksai:07. nosebleed:…
:mangapunksai:08. mother [or father, or both]:…
:mangapunksai:09. sunrise:…
:mangapunksai:10. distraction:…
:mangapunksai:11. habit:…
:mangapunksai:12. fuck:…
:mangapunksai:13. love:…
:mangapunksai:14. waste:…
15. skinny
:mangapunksai:16. eyes:…
17. white noise
18. impulse
19. addiction
:mangapunksai:20. desecrate:…
:mangapunksai:21. death:…
22. low
:mangapunksai:23. heartbeat:…
:mangapunksai:24. first kiss:…
:mangapunksai:25. tomorrow:…
26. sweet
:mangapunksai:27. fog [or mist]:…
:mangapunksai:28. can't:…
29. village
:mangapunksai:30. time:…
:mangapunksai:31. forget:…

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