are we human?

chiaki

kanata

(noah, zola & conall’s boards are under the cut)

all those stories. they have something in common, Caom. they all paid the price for their fame. everyone remembers who they are, yes, but time tainted their memory, twisted it. they are now mere echoes of who they truly were. the curses most foul are those which afflict the heart, boy and this shall also be your fate. 

- a curse most foul

taglist under the cut: please tell me if you want to be added/removed because my list is completely messed up and there are some who I believe changed urls anyways long story short it’s a mess

THIS UNHOLY WAR — a dark fantasy novel

The old gods are rising, 

The new world is falling, 

And the war to come 

Will be a most unholy one.

WICKED SEVEN + wip introduction

A governor, a time traveller, a thieving priest, a half-dead revolutionist, and a soldier condemned for her faith carved their world into seven-folds and their eyes upon the forgotten saint who hid behind the impenetrable war ship

EASTHALLOW | Masterpost | Project Page | Project Preview | ko-fi, if you like my work :p

Chapter One

In the morning, Elijah stares at the ground where he saw the figure limping from the night before. No trace of it, no footsteps, no broken branches along the treeline… Just in his head, a trick of the light.

He’d dreamt about it. Kind of. About strange, hooded figures, about daggers and blood, and woke up when he heard the front door shut as Josh left for his morning run. Sweat pooling in the small of his back, Elijah tugged on his shoes and stepped outside into the chill morning air to investigate.

Stupid, maybe, but in the morning sun, shit seems less freaky, and what’s Elijah got to lose? He doesn’t have a home, a job, a boyfriend. His family hasn’t seen him in years. Not enough to get worked up about.

But there’s nothing. Elijah searches the same area for forty-five minutes, until Josh returns, huffing and puffing, cheeks red with exertion. “Morning,” Josh says, as he jogs up to Elijah. “Planning your new bedroom?”

Elijah ignores him. Kicks at a bit of the brush and frowns. Relief floods through him, yeah, but… his hair still sticks up on the back of his neck. The sun has taken care of the last of the morning fog, but cloud cover is already moving in, and the air is heavy with moisture. If there was something out here, Elijah should find it before it rains.

He’s being paranoid. What’s worse is he knows it.