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  • Real Name
    Zanar Naryon
  • Age
    16
  • Gender
    Male
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I suppose the charred corpses of a million sins is kinda pretty

AND I SET FIIIIRE, TO THE RAAAAAAAIIIIN
Atty, if you betray her trust, heavens help you
@JetDaGoat: But does he have dinosaurs?
Evil doesn't come into this world with a spiked crown and cape, huge and fierce and terrible. Evil is born in the small things.

A cruel taunt

A forgotten visit

The childish urge to hit and hurt

But these dark vortexes aren't something other, no.
They're us.
All the tiny evils we all perpetrate day after day gather and thicken in the psychic womb.
Until they take shape and form, burst up and out.
Once we create them, they feed our own darkness back into us.

So we create the shadows
The Shadows create us.
We all feed together.

And this is the result: Millions of small sins, billions of tiny evils, twisting, twining, groping, combining. Until they become a great Serpent. A blight on the world that rises from the collective unconscious, towering over us.
Blocking out the Light.

It's so convenient to blame it all on some sneering, arrogant demon, sitting on a fiery throne, plotting to corrupt our souls.
But if there's a devil...

He's only another projection of our own sins.


Logic of a Mad God by Rambopvp, slightly adjusted.
https://rambopvp.deviantart.com/art/Comic-Logic-of-a-Mad-God-429476480
Only thing this place lacks is giant text saying "DOOM"
It's a bad fanon interpretation of a corrupted element of harmony. Run, before the shippers arive
Why does fictional guards only have a 90 degree field of view?
Then this Ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandring from the Nightly shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore"

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse to plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - Little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door
Bird of beast upon a sulptured bust above his chamber door
With such name as "Nevermore"

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered - Not a feather then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before
On the Morrow He will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before"
Then the bird said "Nevermore"

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless" said I, "What it utters it its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmercifully Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
of 'Never-nevermore'"

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in fromt of the bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore"

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloated o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "Thy God hath lent thee - By these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - Respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore"

"Prophet" said I, "Thing of evil, prophet still if bird or devil! -
Wether Tempter sent, or wether tempest tossed thee here ashore
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
On this home by Horror haunted - Tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - Is there balm in Gilead? Tell me, tell me, I implore"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore"

"Prophet" said I "Thing of evil! Prophet still if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore"

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutnoian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber foor
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - Nevermore!
Once upon a midnight dreary
While I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious
Volume of forgotten lore
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
as if someone gently rapping
rapping at my chamber door
"'Tis some visitor" I muttered
tapping at my chamber door
Only this, and nothing more

Ah, distinctly I remember
It was in the bleak december
And each sepparate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor
Eagerly, I wished the morrow,
Vainly, I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow
Sorrow for the lost Lenore
For this rare and radiant maden whom the angels named Lenore
Nameless here, forever more

And the silken, sad, uncertain, rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - Filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entrating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more"

Presently, my Soul grew stronger; Hesitating then no longer,
"Sir" said I, "Or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore.
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- Here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that Darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more

Back into the chamber turning, all my Soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
"Surely" said I, "Surely that is something at my window lattice;
Met me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;
'Tis the wind, and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of Yore
Not the least obeisance made he; Not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of a lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more
Oh yeeeaaaaah... This is gonna give him some ptsd
Grim seems minorly annoyed at Ripa insulting his name, as if it was a simple pun

(Also, just noticed the Elder sign for Luck on her shoulder)
Was he just waiting behind the door for... The main character whose name I definitely remember to show up?
This is a damned fine cup of coffee
La meg fortelle deg en hemmelighet, som ingen andre vet. Bortsett fra Meg og Døden.
Legene trodde det var influensa, helt til feberen nådde 40, og jeg ikke kunne røre på hodet.
Ambulansen kom lille juleaften, og før de lukket døren, snek Døden seg inn, og han betraktet meg i stillhet.
Sykehuset var hektisk. Det var folk som ropte og løp fort, og midt i alt dette, sto Døden, og han slapp ikke blikket mitt.
Pappa kom, selv om det var midt på natten. Onkel og tante var der også, og jeg tenkte; Jeg kommer aldri til å se paris
Jeg kommer aldri til å lære å spille piano
Jeg kommer aldri til å gå med gresset mellom tærne, eller våkne og undre hva dagen vil bringe
...
Jeg kommer aldri mer til å le

Jeg tok feil. Jeg døde ikke, men da jeg ble skrevet ut av sykehuset, var jeg blitt en annen.
Jeg skjønte betydningen av tusen klisjeer den dagen. Om å ta ting for gitt fordi du kjenner dem. Fargene var klarere, luktene var sterkere. Og midt i alt dette, sto Døden
Og han sa:
"Dette er min gave til deg. Du vil huske mitt kalde stå på din hals, og det hvite i mitt øye. Sånn att inntil vi møtes igjen...
Kan du virkelig leve"
-Lise Myhre
I agree with three of those, but agents of vice and illicit pleasure are two of my favorite things
Shit, he's hot
I didn't buy you anything, I made you something
@malicemuffin: "Just ignore it, it's already dead, there's nothing I can do about it"
@MemeReaper: People being mortal enemies and hating each other is like a steroid injection for shippers, why do you think Tracer and Widdowbitch is a ship?
Death does care about his son