#malfabulae

[ryusxnka-moved]

@malfabulae​

        T he breathtaking stone,  ever-subtly was it motioned to a gradual left, then back to  the right, from 'tween  cool-padded fingers was,  indeed,  stunning to  the aesthetic eye.  ---  Its glistening overlay, whilst in movement,  was as beautiful as he had latterly proclaimed - comparable to an anew birthing sundown, it radiates sheens of dissimilar hues; it  was,  in  all  actuality,  mesmerizing,  influential  in  effectiveness,  temporarily withholding the capability  of pulling  one's subconscious  into a recollective  instant of their  childhood they’d deem as naught but elating.  ---- The other must-have forged it personally, those bandages they wore, clumsily swathed aloft each overlapping piece and dirtied by insanitary dust, grime, and  whatever else evidenced such a plausibility.

             Disapproving of an overabundance of constituents,  majorly those affixed to an individual's universal  conduct,  as in the  outward  manner they  represent  themselves when standing in the attendance of momentous figures,  Hitsugaya forthwith refuses to accept the perceptible negligence towards those undeterminable wounds. As hypocrite as he may fatly be for he often dismisses his own conditions, he felt  obligated, a youth husked within a spiritual-crystalline  body of  absolute integrity,  to exchange  this one's kindness for  proper, medical, attention. " Come with me. " it was not a proposition, but an outspoken command as the contributed commodity was gingerly stored in the loose confinement of his Shihakusho's pockets. "  -- I will not allow you to leave here without first getting your hands better bandages. " further words were thereafter enunciated all whilst he pivoted his  person in the explicit direction of his  division's barracks; Leaving.

[wyrdify]

Moodboard - Vanitas & Verona

@malfabulae​

[bitterarcs]

what would time matter if it be borrowed from the lives of others? even monsters-made have debts; verona, no different. in the end, she knows she's her own to pay.

her estate, piece by meticulous piece, dissolves. the tyrannical struggle between her and shinra wordlessly, gradually, removed from the equation. and without so much as an acknowledgement. the great matriarch stepped down from her mantle, fading. rather, dying.

no-one knows for sure when it happened.

but one day, rather unbeknownst to anyone, parcels arrive for those she remained in contact with. reno, her reluctant companion, was one of them.

it's a simple affair, given the woman who sent it posthumously. the contents, however, far more sentimental: a photograph, tinted with age ( the two of them posed candidly, amid some debate, grinning the whole while, cigarettes in hand ), an engraved pocketwatch ( the very same which hung from her waistcoat, and finally... a box of fine cigars, the sort that most high society folk would choke for - made less with strains of tobacco and more with verona's personal blend of flora and opium.

a note flutters down.

' reno. for all that happened, thank you. v. '

For all that happened, thank you. Thank you. Thank you?! All Reno could think was — what the fuck. For a man whose entire life was composed of messy endings, doors shut in many faces ( dead and alive ), he didn't like them. Rather, he didn't like when things were beyond his control, and he was left standing feeling like he was nine years old again. Alright, it wasn't that bad, but truthfully he would have preferred a good relationship to end with a gory explosion or a bullet through the skull. What did this mean? Tokens for safe keeping a very brief letter as though she was expecting to depart suddenly.

Or . . or it was all fake. Like when Veld departed and a majority of the Turks departed with him, as if being a Turk had optional departure. Once a Turk, once a ShinRa employee, once a trusted person in Reno's life — they were there to stay. Items, including the aged photograph, were tossed across the room. However the photograph itself simply fluttered back and forth pathetically. Reno didn't know what pissed him off more: that she was gone, that she left something so disgustingly sentimental behind, or that it hadn't been more.

(  ❛  FUCK! ❜  )

What was the point?

What was it all for?

[flameleadsarc]

@malfabulae​ asked:

the evening goes as it must ; facets of mindless , faceless solitude & remedies transmuted only by nimble night-hands. finding themselves again in the same café , a dimly lit corner , a crooked space made up of books & towering plants-- the woman orders her usual & takes care ( observant as ever ) to have his order already on the table 'fore he even arrives to meet her there.

this conversation was a long while coming -- the question budding & blooming 'tween them , taking root in every scene they exchange: who are you ? what are you ?  she can answer one of those. for now. two claws raise & trace in the air what a lost voice can no longer provide , venomous curls of ever-changing smoke churn to form a singular answer:

"VHALHYR."

It became a habit, these trips to the café on what many considered the wrong side of town. After grueling days spent at his desk with piles of paperwork, or on the streets chasing down leads, he needed a reprieve. His coworkers, while charming and pleasant in their own rights, lacked any knowledge or ties to the “other world” he lived in---the one full of magic. He could have theoretical discussions about laws surrounding magic users, the history, or even other types of magic that fascinated him. But, bringing up why he took smoke breaks alone, how sordid his history truly was... that could only lead to ruin.

Hence why he laid low in this café in hopes a certain someone might join him. When Havoc, his coworker who occasionally bummed a cigarette off him, asked him if he was seeing someone, he almost had the gall to say yes. It would explain why he was always so busy after work got out. Alas, his company at the café should have more say in an innocuous lie. More importantly, he hardly knew anything about her: where she came from, who she was, what she was. He knew her appearance, her silence, and the smoke she weaved through the air. Nothing more.

Yes, her smoke. Surely that was why he felt drawn to her. Where there was smoke, there was fire.

She arrived before he did, his usual order waiting on her table. Had he truly become that predictable with his meal habits? Well, routine did comfort him, and he certainly wasn’t about to say no. Shedding his coat, he took his time to sit across from her. Idle chatter quickly became more focused as he let that curious nature of his lead the way. Which question would she answer? Who she was? Or what?

Vhalhyr. The latter then.

Though, surely she could give him just a bit more. Oh, silly Flame. That’s how all your addictions start.

"I’ve only heard stories---nothing concrete.” Onyx eyes remained on the smoke before honing in on her form. His calloused hands rested on the table, no gloves to protect him. “Mind telling me what that entails? In return, I’ll answer one of your questions as well.”

Equivalent Exchange was the law that governed his late master, not him. Yet, it did have its uses...

[modern-austen]

From the author asks: ann radcliffe & ocscar wilde c:

ann radcliffe: what’s something you’re known for among your friends or family?

—usually for having a ton of random facts at my disposal for any given scenario I’m presented with

oscar wilde: what book have you read more than once?

—I’ve only read a couple books more than once and those would be “the song of achilles” by madeline miller, still currently my favourite book, and “the fault in our stars” by john green, my favourite book when I was a young teen.

[ask me something from this list of classic author asks!]

[ofthepuzzle]

@malfabulae​ said: 🚖... if you want ig jkcns Send 🚖 for my muse to pull yours away from danger

      Igniting the world with such brilliance, the eye of the Millennium Puzzle shines with dappling rays. Like fire melting the bars of a cage, it casts a streak of golden light as it spreads and meets with the opposing Millennium Item’s onslaught. Whilst Bakura had sealed a piece of himself in the puzzle, he’d found out that Dark Magician isn’t the only soul guarding the memories of the Pharaoh. There is but a fourth soul that resides in, but more so one that’s bound to the Pharaoh’s own.

     Bakura could clearly pick up on the fact that that Verona used to be his Ka in his Ancient Egyptian days. And were these two souls to be fused together, it may become a threat to the Millennium Ring holder. His aim is to forcefully separate them and immobilize Verona in order to restrain her from coming to the Pharaoh’s aid.

     “I won’t let you—“ comes a growl under the snap of teeth. The soul translation of angry eyes, a spark of gasoline igniting magenta irises as they glare daggers at his opponent. This isn’t the first time the Millennium Items clash and it won’t be the last. But whatever it takes, Yami won’t let the Ring win.      As Bakura’s laughter blurts in the hollow silence of the room, it soon comes to a stop when the beam of the Millennium Puzzle overcomes the Ring’s. The force shakes Bakura off his feet and propels him back. The Ring flickers a couple of times until its powers are ceased to work against the Puzzle. Bakura has fallen to the ground, twitching and trembling as he gradually brings himself to his knees.

      “You won’t ever get in the way of our bond. Even if you did, we will find each other again. But you must know… there’s nothing more powerful than souls combined.” Yami declares, skin tightening over his knuckles whilst his hand is folded into a fist.

     It was shocking at first to be reminded that Verona was his Ka— rather everything he’d learned about his past was a shocker. Even more so that he had to split his Ka from his Ba before he could completely vanish upon his soul getting sealed away. So, at least, Verona doesn’t get pulled along by accident.

     This time, however, he wouldn’t have allowed another to intervene with what he once had. He can’t lose her again. The power of Yami’s will and soul triumphed over Bakura’s malicious attempt to weaken the Pharaoh and even hurt Verona in the process.

[hhemeraa]

don't oust me for being here, sy, i just wanted to give you something from kaen. }} how long has it been? months? years, even? the passage of time dulls with blood hardly mortal-- but never has their vision been clearer ; after so long in pain, strength blooms where despair left them wounded. and to that once-altar ( where remedy seemed impossible so long ago ) comes frequent gifts ; fresh-ripe fruits, delicate yellow flowers. . . occasionally a note on loam-scented parchment, to simply read: i miss you dearly, for all you've done and all you are to me. i hope it's warm enough in my heart for you. yours, kaen.

God never forgot his chosen, his precious few. Their lives were short compared to the infinite span of time that he lived, all but a blink in his vast understanding of the universe, but they were remarkable and fascinating. He cherished, he obsessed, protected them as his own because they were his. 

Kaen had been a favorite. Their fear and trepidation when they first appeared and the slow blossoming of their confidence and familiarity with him brought him unbound joy. The unease of the future, but their blind trust and conviction causing them to make a sacrifice that they themselves didn’t even feel was worthy enough  -- deity still held onto their nearly blind eye like the most valuable bauble. It was filled with such dedication and love. 

He was right to train them. He was right to bless them as one of his own even if it meant he barely saw them as they traveled about in his name. Would he come to hear of their adventures? Of the blessings? Of the curses they’ve bestowed? Even a god can become nostalgic with faint footsteps wandering the small shrine room that had aged far more than he ever had. With an offering left behind of fruits and flowers that smelled of them, he took them all with affection, holding them close to his chest. Their little notes consumed and kept forever with care. 

Kaen grows older each day and one day, their final song will ring to him through the universe and call him to them. The faint flicker of sadness ripples briefly across his chest, but then a giddy excitement follows from behind. When they die... when Kaen finally lays to rest-

He will be the first to consume their flesh and never let them go. 

[ofthepuzzle]

@malfabulae​ said: 🤝 (bc we're curious what you have in mind uvu) Send me 🤝, and I’ll post one thing my muse has in common with yours

Hmm.

Does it count that they both can be very deadly? //shot They have their own ways of ‘eliminating a problem’. Though Verona would more likely gut someone with her bare hands and Yami/Atem would let his shadow powers do that for him pfft.