#absolute maniac

[whistlepen]

might fuck around and watch part one with the audio description on for more gems like he curls his fingers inward, softly enfolding hers because i deserve good things

[o-i-w-u]

brain rot moment

[sohotthateveryonedied]

say what you will about hbo titans, but that show objectively has the best live-action bruce wayne i have ever seen in my LIFE. creaky old man bashes the joker's brains in for killing jason, then fucks off to another country without warning to live in a literal CASTLE and tries to commit suicide via setting himself on fire. astounding

[cottoncandysprite]

THERES A JAVID DENKINS TWITTER NOW GODDAMMIT

[koschyei]

𓆩 ♔ 𓆪 @laperlina ( 𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂 ) . . . spotify prompt  ↳ 🎁 snake dance • the march violets

on the longest day of every ninth year, when the sun sits at its highest zenith above buyan, every noble house and respected retinue from the lands of chyerti, fey, daemon, and jinn converges upon its western shore-- a place koschei had thought appropriately named snake bay. here, their banners writhe and snap in the salt wind, drums and cymbals rattle wildly, for they come not just to witness the red flash of a dying sun, but to conspire in it. through singing, feasting, drinking -- and other such rituals of blissful deniability.

over the gathering sits the tsar of life: the earthly fulcrum upon which the revelry teeters and strains. he is enthroned within an enclave carved into the face of a black-stoned crag, high enough to see the entire crescent shore, low enough to feel the heat of the bonfires burning below. one by one, they light at the top of each hour, waiting for the one that strikes golden. in the meanwhile, emissaries from each faction ascend the narrow path to him. they are laying tributary garlands across his shoulders, whispering vows of loyalty and expectation in equal measure. in this moment, koschei feels himself, at once, both the most powerful and most powerless man alive.

remember this, you who stand on the mountain's base. you who crane your necks toward the summit and dream of standing crowned against the sky. who would fashion yourselves as a daystar, when you are no more than the residue of its dust. 

kingship always affords its protections: unimaginable wealth, armies that can change an epoch at a gesture, knowledge from all corners of the world, every bodily comfort one could desire. but when the people believe their ruler's seat to be a sacred office, a conduit for the land's magic and fecundity, every wrinkle in the soil, every atrophied crop, every coughing child can be taken as a reflection not of chance or natural circumstance, but of his incompetence. from there the logic becomes ancient and inevitable: a ruler must be sacrificed in some way before the rot can set in. they say this is how the sunfeast came to be.

when dazhbog told the history of it to his apprentice, he sought to find out with dark wonder: who had been the first to realize that their death, like water, could be redirected with sufficient cunning? the one to offer the throat of a bull for slitting? the one to point to the maidens and youths born under a wrong moon and say "that is where fertility fails! make them the tribute!" or to bind straw into an effigy and declare "this is my body! burn it in my stead!"

condemn him for hiding his death in so many objects, but koschei was hardly the first ruler to do so. and unlike those who came before him, he would not offer a youth or a beast in his place, nor would he soothe the crowd with the hollow theatre of an effigy collapsing into ash. even without the insult, it would not suffice. he is incapable of satiating the crowd with the miracles put on by his predecessors. he cannot call the worms to churn in the soil and make it swell suddenly green and beautiful. they know this, but it isn't beauty they want from the chyerti king anyway, is it? they want his body adorned as a living trellis, only to appease them all with the horror of setting himself to the pyre and surviving, as he had on that first succeeding feast and all others thereafter.

this time, there is a deviation in the ritual. the last to approach him is none other than a cursed perisi. from whom he accepts no garland, but hands a torch ignited in crimson lichfire. it is a small heresy and yet a breach so profound, it ripples through the crowd in curdling murmurs. ( what does it mean -- for them, for him -- to be so felled by her whim and witness. had he been enchanted? fallen prone to madness? ) in some ways, yes, but not in this. ❛❛ take my hand, ❜❜ says he, soft enough that only adella could hear. ❛❛ take me to the fires to burn. ❜❜ through centuries of repetition and the dread of walking this path to ruin alone, the salt-burn of her fingers closing around his own is a steadying solace. one that dredges the rare jewel of a smile from koschei, even if it quickly coils into something arrogant and conniving in their turning towards the watching masses. ❛❛ try not to look like you'll enjoy it too much. ❜❜

[em0tionl0rd]

Introduction /// > > >

You can call me Steven! Formerly Sadz (Em0tionL0rd).

On my About Me page, you can find links to all of my socials.

If you like music, check out my playlists over on Spotify.

And don't be afraid to Ask Questions! I don't bite (normally).

Current Fixation: Dónal Finn in Young Sherlock, The Other Bennet Sister, and SAS: Rogue Heroes. --- (updated: 05/05/2026) #afton - William Afton -centric tag for personal inspiration.

[mezmatch]

This is why you don't ask "what if Ki Adi Mundi was reversed so he was all chin no forehead?"

Created by the lovely @pezenthusiast the absolute psycho -_-

[the-yosuppeeps]

You've heard of Hex Maniac now get ready for...

Curse Madman