04/29/2023 05:06 PM  For real.  Some of you have some major hang-ups over fiction.  Pretty please, seek counseling. 3 Comments

04/23/2023 11:32 AM  ♡ H e h . ♡ Current mood:  amused All of that guilt-tripping grievance when ones does not get the make-believe craving and attention they so yearn for. O, how this hobby do house some... heathens. Well, on a positive note, the bitchassery can finally stop on my beloved streams and that of others. Well, good riddance, you silly child. ♡     0 Comments

09/17/2022 10:31 AM  Reflect, Respect and Ride On.     A bundle of white lilies is gently clutched in a gloved hand. Its bearer in an olive-green cloak is carefully strolling towards a row of three stone crosses; each thick base has been pierced well beyond a foot beneath the earth.   Enchanting blue eyes give each cross a fond stare. Soon, the flower-bearer kneels down less than half a yard before the middle one. At least five stems with seven or eight fair white petals on one end are placed in front of every cross.   Fingers within tanned brown leather are then placed atop the nearest carved stone. This red-haired woman with a bewitching visage akin to royalty, despite the dirt and mild bruises on her freckled face, closes her eyes before taking a deep breath. The moment feels slow. The distant howl of the late morning breeze and the chirping of winged critters are quite crisp for her ears.   The burden of grief perhaps encumbers her. And so, she ponders fondly on past days of exploits, for good or ill. Even the eves came with the sweet frivolity formerly joined by those now sleeping under the dug and then spruced earth. Some were wilder and more wondrous than others. The lads bore a hell of vigor to have her scream sinful melodies and nearly had her mind going blissfully blank while either rocking the bed or even making bushes shake. And she thoroughly delighted on their carnal cruelty, a reward for their bravery in battle and just being such fine fellows to get well-acquainted with.   She even mused on one of them being happily married to her, even bless him with a child or two to raise and then carry well his lineage. But such aspirations were quashed by one of the biggest and most barbaric blights of this world. What a loathsome lot, armed and eager to flay and feed upon many; take their trinkets and comforts. Burn the green lands. Poison the crisp waters and the fresh air, even.   A competent hand could have been lent to avert this outcome. Alas, what evil they have all been fighting had split their forces for quite some time. To delay the spread of such darkness and pillaging of the innocent, these three, perhaps even others out there whose corpses have not been found, laid down their lives. Even if their eyes were plucked, their flesh was torn and their limbs maimed, each courageous deed to push back the dreadful tide was perhaps worth the gruesome death to either be a stubborn blockade or give time for those who cannot fend well for themselves to be led away into safety.   Maybe, good fortune is even upon these do-gooders. The fallen ones this lass is paying respects to have pierced something fierce into those armed wretches. And a great curiosity was also discovered, one that can turn the tides back in their favor. Something or someone ancient and rather divine for this world aches to be reawakened, if the shackles are removed and the sinister stupor making them so pitifully weak is cured.   “Their sacrifice will not be for naught,” an armored fellow with a black beard and mustache broke the silence. He, a man nearly on his fifth decade on this earth, can easily tower over the woman if both are on their feet. She remains silent but only for a few seconds.   “Absolutely,” she sweetly spilled, her voice quite alluring. Her fingers atop the cross are removed. She plants them on her luscious lips before placing them on the cross but for a brief moment. She takes another deep breath.   “They shall all be avenged.”   The tall fellow walks close to be by her side. He too is careful in his steps so as to not disturb his comrades well at rest. The woman opens her eyes just in time to acknowledge his kindness with an open hand just inches before her lovely face. She obliges with a smile and a lifted hand of her own which he meets with a decent grip. She lightly groans while ascending to be off of her knees, dusting them afterwards with her knuckles.   Before leaving this open field beneath a fair sky, surrounded by mossy rock walls and nearby trees, they all look back at those graves. A hand is placed on a respective chest. They all bow in tandem before their fallen friends. Depart, be on recently-fed steeds and ride on, the men and the woman.   A few minutes had passed since they left the grave site.   “We have confirmation of that folk those wretches have imprisoned, where it is being relocated,” declared by another armored bloke with a fine reddish-brown beard.   “Hooded, cloaked, corpse-like, and conquered in gray?” she asked.   “Right on all accounts, my lady,” he reaffirmed with a mild smirk.   Relief is astir in her, though such elegant countenance looks rather solemn.   “I need to free him from his bonds,” she prattled while the hooves keep galloping on.   “And so you shall,” reassured the other rider, the one who helped her back on her feet not long ago.   “But we may need a bit more men to ensure you are not easily disturbed from the sorcery you need to perform, Lady Eden. We need this miracle to work. Too long that these lands have had its share of suffering. Too many good men and women had fed into such ravenous darkness.”   “Very well, my lord,” Lady Eden agreed with him.   “Lead on. I will neither fail you nor our beloved fallen.”   Ride on, warriors and a knightly witch.   Recruit more aid to free a god in gray. / E D E A L I A T H   0 Comments

09/11/2022 08:46 AM  @ COPYPASTE GREETERS Friendly advice: Add at least a few words of nuance specific towards who your copypaste greeting will be sent to, as if you read their profile and gave more thought to things apart from Ctrl+C and then Ctrl+V. Those few words would make you positively stick out and you can even weed out those who present a flatline feedback/response your way (i.e. the dull/uninterested ones). You can be lazy but still be smart and forthcoming about how you go about things. Be the vibrant variable, not the boring baseline. Thanks for attending my TED Talk. 0 Comments

08/29/2022 11:55 PM  Babe V. Brass     Upon stepping into the middle of a great hall, the heart hops a few beats. Nerves pampered by pain and peril twist. Fear, perhaps? Or senses of a seasoned warrior giving a most profound call. Danger is nigh.   Eden hops back something fierce, shy of four yards. Spill a womanly gasp! Halfway through the airborne arc of her evasive flaunt, the slab of flat ground she leaped and left from is soon occupied. A halberd nearly twice her stature slammed down. Thunder by steel and stone clapped through these confines fitting for a grand ball or a fierce conflict.   Those boots finally settle back down on the ground. Sapphires with brows quite furrowed above them are sharp upon this thing before her that dared surprise her with the bitter tidings of sheer cruelty.   Slim but gargantuan, this pale brass thing raises its halberd off of the ground. A foot-long slice had been sculpted by that powerful chop. Her ears are still ringing from that wicked welcome. No smirk. Keep that prettiest visage stern, her lovely cheeks a bit tainted on by dirt.   Eden adjusts the straps of the buckler hiding away much of her left forearm. Her left hand opens. A ball of swirling red mist is forming to hover well above the gloved palm. She swings it to cuddle above her bosom. Smoke of dim red consumes her head to toe with a crackling and howling noise. Such mysticism was done to raise her strength for a brief moment, maybe put a bit of weight on her which will be useful if a considered interest is desired to be enacted upon.   The tall brass golem stands. The visor on its helm resembling a spinning top offers nothing but darkness. No eyes. No nose. An open cave with not even the slightest glow to make well of what it looks like. How unnerving. It towers over her even from several yards away. But Eden has no time to dread. What it is to her is a blight to her path. A path in which the passage she needs to proceed has been blocked by a thick wall of mist moving like rippling water. Its sorcery that can repel an army will be undone if the unconditional call to arms is met with triumph on her part.   The scarlet-haired mistress raises her own blade before her, slender and soon gleaming pale blue from her whispering blessing upon it. A choir of low-note trumpets blares from the brass giant standing on both feet. Mark this moment. The guest must pass its test or be cast back to what site of respite her Tarnished self had last rested at to regain strength and sorcery.   The giant crouches, left foot forward and right foot back. The halberd gripped on the right hand is lifted and tugged back to its right side. The strip of sole just under her left toes is where a good amount of her own weight has been strongly planted on. Her shoulders relaxed. Waists at ready to carry her seductive form through what quick deed she must do to respond to what disciplined savagery it may spring out of.   Captivating blue eyes stroke the outlines of this crouched behemoth in brass. How bent its knees are. Its brass boots pressed well on the stone floor, ever so slowly twisting and gritting before a liveliest leap. The long halberd clutched well on its right hand with striations and smears on both the spear and an ax end. The hollow cavern for a face on that bucket. She takes a deep breath to calm her nerves, limbs eager to be sprightly and prove her passing skill.   The brass creature pounces forward! Its right arm guides into a hearty forward-arc path the halberd. Its pace is that of a great jungle cat in its prime committed to chase a fleeing dear. Dare to fiercely pierce the maiden’s belly garbed in a dark-brown brigandine!   Eden quickly huffs a deep breath, sliding her left foot back shy of half a yard from where she stood while partially facing her right side. Her right foot leaps up quite high, bending such a slim leg. The spike of the halberd misses her greatly, and so too the rest of the armament. The air barked a loud thud from the vicious jab that failed to skewer such darling prey! A great strip of the halberd shaft behind the harmful point and sharp curve is well above her raised right foot.   Eden slams her raised limb down, the bottom of her shoes acting as a vigorous hammer strike upon the shaft of the giant’s halberd! The sorcery that leaves her ablaze in dark red smoke significantly raises the force that comes with her deeds. The sting of her response can be felt on her right knee, her thighs, hips and lower spine. But the pain is keeping her wits sharp!   The giant stumbles forward. The ax of its halberd claps hard on the floor! Eden goes for a vice grip on the hilt of her long blade. The bluish glow remains on the tall double-edge strip. The tip of the sword is swung to soon be aimed on the open crevice of the helm. Eden presses her shaft-stomping right down foot. Her body jolts forward while letting out a womanly roar to guide her enchanted steel passionately driven into that darkness that is its face!   A blast of cold air is freed like a small dome from where pure blackness and her sword meet. The ferocious stab has Eden’s sword going more than half a foot into its face. Trumpets of distorted notes quickly wail out from the creature! Even Eden has to gnash her pearly whites and squint an eye close from this hysteria of pain. Although she wants to deepen this stab, she feels it ever so proper to regain her posture. She violently tugs back her sword, still glowing pale blue. Her right boot lets go from stepping on the halberd.   The giant stumbles back two steps, pulling back its weapon along with it. The armored being delivers a feral sweep forward of its halberd, spike and axe rather aloft to go above the head of a standing child. Eden raises her left arm to let the buckler shield hammer onto a bulk of the sweeping weapon while going to her left to be well under the sweep. The push of the round surface of the shield and the claps hard! She yelps away a moment of discomfort, her left elbow and shoulder not pleased by her choice to block that wild swing instead of leaping out of it completely. Foolish.   Smoke-smothered Eden soon stands up again, watching the giant regain posture. She takes a sharp breath, twisting her left elbow to soothe the pain away. Mind as little as she can the sting in her nerves and muscles from her latest deeds to meet danger, be out of its way, and then deliver danger herself. The lady smirks but then removes such smugness too soon. Her blood is boiling past the overture of this bout with the brass behemoth.   Sword raised inches before her face. The giant stands tall and soon briskly strolls forward. Her blue eyes account well where its striding boots and the gripped halberd. The gorgeous guest takes several steps back, strafing to her right. The giant stops on its track a yard a half and from its strafing foe, holds the weapon with hands and then hammers it down, the ax aiming to split her in half.   Eden hops back more than a foot. Slam! Missed again. Her heart is beating wildly! Pounce with her blue-lit blade raised above her head. With another roar, she chops her sword down towards the helm of the creature in a forward hunch from its recent attack. Discombobulate. Its brass bucket rings, accompanied by that brief trumpet choir of agony again before stumbling back again. Eden giggles as she takes two steps back and recovers her posture and be fully out of the path of yet another wild sweep by it.   What a thrill this test has been thus far! / E D E A L I A T H 0 Comments

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08/13/2022 09:59 AM  A Scarlet Scorned, Pt. 1.     Blue eyes of are hawks upon a great living portrait. Such a perusing pair belongs to a fair-skinned woman with long flowing vermilion hair. The visitation of breeze is making such a myriad of elegant strands sway about, though also bestowing bitter kisses upon her complexion akin to a battered shrew.   The torn brown rags embracing her ravishing form are far from bespoke to exude her beauty. An unfortunate wench who dragged herself out of a great abyss of untold abuse, clawing and clinging onto what slim precarious ledges of hope she can find to be higher and no longer in such an incarcerating pit of deep despair. Back in the world of the living, robbed of her right to a good life and aching for the greatest of redemptions the likes which are worthy of a timeless song to then be passed onto future generations. That is the countenance Lady Eden is presenting at this very moment.   Sultry sapphires around such an elegant visage, the latter kissed by dirt and bruises, are hanging between peace and rage whilst ever so mindful of the mural of malice miles ahead. Nigh-hundred strong, they are atop a long wall of high earth that is smothered by a curtain of snow.   Each monstrosity has a fortress for a tough complexion with thick matte rock-like hides with a mixed palette of ivory, black onyx, and muddy silver. Great antlers of either stags or beetles, even shaped as symmetrical pairs of tall rocks jutting out like steeply-leaning towers, are on top of their oval-shaped heads resembling a shark, that is if each is made out of masonry. On both talon-like feet, they tower as fully-grown brown bears with burly legs. Two pairs of glowing red eyes are on each creature. Together, they make a sinister swarm of fireflies.   Fortified by dark powers, they are a deadly blight for even the greatest of armies in this world. A hungry storm bred as unholy attrition to unmake a nation. To any who has never been embraced by the pangs of war, even scared stiff at the mere thought of harming another folk whether out of self-defense or for personal gain, behold and cower upon this moment worthy of letting blood bask in the blizzard. A scene from a nightmare though stillborn as an ongoing and agitating prelude.   To meet them without a single ally is daft at the very least. Madness must be conquering this pain-embraced maiden all too well. What prompted such foolishness as a lonesome lady before a flock of ferocious fiends? ‘Tis quite silly but simple, really. She was scorned. Severely so.   She can take much agony, a masochist in her own right. However, far worse than being in the heart of the prolonged devilry at work is drowning in the crushing depths of impotence to protect those she dearly cares for. To watch them be torn apart as food and comforting tools for monstrous lust was to let rivers of thorn and broken glass flood her nerves and lightning and acid passionately pervert every fiber of her being, her heart. Her senses going mad and her tortured screams from being an abused toy for demons herself are fleeting compared to those who she failed to keep safe.   Many were gutted like a live game still breathing and flopping around. Plenty enough as well, mainly other women such as her, were each treated as a bound and drugged courtesan about to be thoroughly explored and exploited for countless nights by a league of seasoned torturers and ravagers. Almost all were promised through such demonic dedication to never see daylight ever again.   Nothing would make her feel better than to exact vengeance on their behalf. Dedicated the coming slaughter to the fallen and the fouled. To finally cleanse this world of such frightening filth would be a miracle for the ages. At least, a triumph against of this evil of this caliber will be grand act of penance for her failure that could alleviate her ailing mind and heart.   Lady Eden takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Slim fingers stride softly on her dirt-ridden face from temple to her jaws. Through this gesture, a polished helm with a long silver plume like that of a horse’s tail comes into being. It conceals well those lovely eyes of hers and a most elegant visage despite sullied by earthly mess and bruises. She presses the down on the top with an open palm to ensure it is secured enough.   The lonesome lady begins to march ahead. Her first few steps are a pitiful limping, slow and pathetic. The wasteland floor with all its grains, waves and bumps crunch about with each slow step, lacking urgency and elegance. She hisses in and softly shudders away the sting in her own nerves from her too stubborn to cease her stroll, all begging her to let this fight be done another day. But no, her pride orders them all to form ranks and be onward. And if she even dares to forsake this gathering, a great tide of horror shall drown many who are powerless to stay farthest or hide deepest from its path that can gnaw through metal and sorcery as strong as the former, let alone best it.   At the twelfth step, her posture is given a significant change. Her march now befits a proud queen, one foot gracefully gliding after the other. Her shoulders are mellow, her chest pronounced. What loud choir of malcontent is in her body, it is an enraged crowd but rallying up to honor her choice and deliver something only a storm can bestow upon the poorest of souls.   Her raggedy clothes start to burn away through a great bush of flame that is unnaturally darker in its bonfire glow, almost red as blood in its the bizarre brilliance. For a moment, she is left wholly and shamelessly bare, a glorious gift for ravagers. But soon, a scarlet steel ensemble is embracing her goddess frame. This construct is making a loud metallic crunching and shuffling as it is conjured into completion, perfect to enfold this beauty and negate much of the harm her way. Streaks of its tarnished bulk glowing like that of steel during a dedicated smithing session. Smoke darker than blood is rising out from each luminous streak.   A blanket of pale mist is soon covering her ravishing steel-embraced person. Much of this mesmerizing murk on her back is acting like an outstretched cape gracefully bespoke for a royal bride. It too has the majesty of a bright nebula of red and orange stars. The large strip of this cosmic curtain is effortlessly dragging onto the rugged earth behind her like soft fingertips on porcelain skin.   Several seconds after, indulge in another deep breath. Each sip and snarl is soft and sultry. At her third draw to maintain a peaceful center, she can hear the mountain itself growling about. The great choir of war-demons is singing something guttural, gleeful and ghoulish her way. Their exposed rows of fangs have a few red smears from a previous prey, even nuggets of flesh stuck between the crammed crevices.   Praise the return of an old adversary, an inconceivably beautiful one at that. She better brave the coming hour as a fierce warrior or become their meal, or much worse, an enslaved wife to many hellish husbands. At the fourth pronounced breath, the open strip of a window before her eyes is veiled by something translucent and glass-like, conjuring and crunching into being as a visor.   To arms, lone maiden. Free into the dim-lit noon a slender steel conjured into existence a quick strip of blood red smoke on her right hand embraced by a gauntlet. Grip it well on the hilt. Let it bask in the free air while held on an incline to her right. The metal it is made of predates even this marble of life and death. A fabled tool to weave catastrophe if wielded properly. Pair it with her prowess for combat and the talent for sorcery akin to the miracle of gods, and a spectator, friend or foe, will be left with eye and mouth both agape in sheer awe from her cosmic artistry.   Tens of the rock-like behemoths crouch forward. They let a knee and a curled knuckled kiss stone or snow. The cold air around each kneeling creature swirls quickly until coated in a shell of roaring gales. They produce another short sharp song. A proclamation their pleasure. How fond it is to be reunited with a former prey and perhaps a stern warning for her.   Eden feels rather honored. Many of them, if not all, are so eager to play with her. Hunched down, the kneeling bunch is sprung down and ready to make miles of a gap be yards to inches through their incredible strength and agility. All are agitated with thrill to play the part of proud predators to this prettiest of a lonesome prey. A goddess who long fell from grace.   O, she will writhe. She will fight. And if her wrath is done right, she will smite them all out of sight. Dame, dare not stall. Stay true this stroll. Answer the great call. Thine longing to cull. ~ ♡ Stay Tuned for Part Deux. ♡ ~   1 Comments

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