#><strong>Goats</strong></span></a>

[marknee]

bts fanfics i personally think shakespeare would lose his job over in the 1500’s.

chapter i. ✷ chapter ii.

KEYS ON SEVERITY OF SHAKESPEARE’S STATE:

( ✮ ) — poor sod is on the floor. perhaps it’s shock?

( ♬ ) — he’s jealous he didn’t write this himself. well, it sucks to suck, mate.

( ✎ ) — currently handing him a tissue. give him a second.

( ♛ ) — both him and i lost our jobs. her majesty is ruthless.

THE SHAKESPEARE SERIES.

WARNING: keep in mind, some of these authors are very strict on the rule that no minors should read their work if they’re underage, and i will honour that. but, at the end of the day, i am not your parent. so, there’s that. but heed my warning wisely. any smut or 18+ content is highlighted in bold.

NOTE: without further ado, this are the fanfics that i think would cause shakespeare to lose his job: the first of many essays. let’s bring the guy to his knees. metaphorically.

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( ♛ ) THE BODYGUARD — by @rmnamjoons

!! bodyguard!namjoon x reader | 62.9k !!

bodyguard au, romance, smut, fake dating, slight angst if you squint, lil bit of violence.

firstly, we’re starting off strong. i present to you, the mother of all namjoon fanfics. and she’s a bad bitch. tbh, i feel like this fic needs a moment of silence just to relish in her glory. soak it all up. it’s essential.

this fic genuinely had me gobsmacked at how incredibly written it is. it delves into every detail and no aspect of the story is left dry. you can tell the author put their everything into creating this world you just submerge into. and it shows.

the world building is amazing, the characters are so thought out, and it feels like you’re just on this adventure with them and discovering their story as it plots out.

also, the build up to the smut? out of this world. that’s one thing i love about this fic: it doesn’t feel rushed. everything is very spaced out and takes it’s sweet time, so when you get to the chocolately nut of the ferrero rocher, it’s like gold and well earned. and you can enjoy it.

honestly, it’s been months since i read this and i think about it every day. i did do some research (for my own peace of mind) and this fic is longer than the perks of being a wallflower. and is it better? yes. sorry not sorry.

this work of art deserves to be read and loved. and i rest my case, your honour.

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( ✎ ) UNTIL THE LAST STAR FALLS — by @minniepetals

!! underworld lords!bts x shield!reader | 44.4k !!

reincarnation!au, poly!au, gods!au, unrequited love, minor character death, car accidents.

quick question — for science — how does one happen to lose all their memories without any sustaining any internal or external injuries? because the things i would do to read this again for the first time. and i do not use those words lightly.

this was my first ever ‘longer’ written fic. and if i’m being honest, i never really liked to read them because i have the attention span of a goat. but this fic lures you in from the very start and time slips away like smoke. to say, it definitely left its mark on me.

it’s so brilliantly written and you feel connected to the characters both mind and soul. you want the best for them, you want to save them, you actually want to crawl into the pages (or screen) and fucking help them out. and that sold it to me, i think. just the sheer love for these characters.

i balled when i read the last few sentences. i didn’t want it to end. i think i finished it at three in the morning and sent a voice note of me crying to my friend. tmi? well, now on my christmas list is 7 hot boys in the underworld who would risk their everything for me. and i, them.

worth every single second. trust.

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( ♬ ) WARM THIS WINTER — by @jamaisjoons

!! seokjin x reader ft. ex-boyfriend jungkook | 51.6k !!

christmas!au, vacation!au, angst, fluff, smut (18+).

one thing about solaris, is she never misses. if i could, i think i’d recommend every fanfic she ever put out, but that’s too much effort for me when you could simply click her masterlist. so, i’ll wait here for you to do that. make sure you come back though.

love. sure, there are hundreds- perhaps, thousands of fics on this app about it. so what makes this one different? well, that’s just it. the sorrowful honesty of love. knowing when it’s over, and when it’s blooming in the midst.

i’ve never been in love, but frankly, this fic really spelt it out for me. the pain, the joy, the lingering memories after everything is said and done. it’s all there. and it really settles in your heart as you near the end.

this work pulled on every single heartstring of mine, stamped on them, and then proceeded to sew anew for the future to bring its own miseries. and i enjoyed it more than i can say (or type).

give this a read if you need just that bit of spark in your life. and that bit of sadness, too.

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( ✮ ) STRIKE A CHORD — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x reader | 15.8k !!

smut (18+), pianist!yoongi.

i don’t know what it is about this fic, but i come back to it whenever it pops up in my mind during my day. i’ll immediately unlock my phone and open this app, knowing i’ll feel better when the last word is read. and i feel content.

the atmosphere in this fic, if i may, feels as though you’re trapped in a warm, safe bubble with hazed music in the distance and soft light spilling through the thin layer of the bubble— not too dark, but enough to make you feel drowsy and peaceful. perhaps that’s why i return to it so often. i like how it makes me feel.

yoongi as an artist is already enough to make a person swoon, but as a pianist? i need a lie down. a cold towel to the head. just the whole characterisation of him in this fic needs a whole separate essay in itself, but you’ll understand my point when you read it.

forever a comfort fic, i think. and forever a comfort person. double whammy. case closed.

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( ✎ ) THE END — by @jimlingss

!! seokjin x reader | 31k !!

fifty percent fluff, fifty percent angst, loosely inspired by to all the boys i’ve loved before.

i say this with my whole chest: i have never underestimated the amount of emotions you can experience during a fanfic, until i read the end— both literally and metaphorically. shock horror.

this fanfic takes you through the adventure of the reader learning of what her future would commence if she were to marry either one of the six members. best part? she’s led through this rollercoaster journey by the ghost of kim seokjin.

first impression to such an offer? sign me the fuck up. i mean, what more could you ask for? however my final impression went a bit more on the lines of what the fuck just happened. very different ends of the spectrum, if you ask me.

i decided to hand both shakespeare and i a tissue after this great piece of art was finished because not only was i sobbing, he was on the floor knowing his romance play of pericles could never live up to such an incredible story.

this fic was a rollercoaster i would be delighted to get onto for another ride.

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( ✎ ) A UNIVERSE TO YOU — by @readyplayerhobi

!! soulmate!hoseok x reader | 41k !!

fluff, angst, smut (18+), soulmates!au.

shakespeare once said (according to google), “it is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves,” and if this fic wasn’t a soulmate!au, i think i would’ve agreed in some sorts. but as it is, in fact, a soulmate!au, i’m obliged to disagree. it was destiny i read this fic, hand on heart.

i was not expecting this fic to hit me in the feels as hard as it did. as you can tell by the other works listed in this essay of recommendations, soulmate!au’s come up a lot. and with a lot of the same plots flying around on this app, it’s hard to make one stand out. but this author definitely has a gift.

everything was so richly created it made you feel full. of wonder, of love, and of want. it made you crave it for yourself. and that’s what i love about this fic. it just makes you feel… good. and with the unfortunates of life currently, it’s one to get your head stuck in for some temporary relief.

dream soulmate? he’s right here, people. just enjoy the story and all the feels that float around your body. go on.

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( ✮ ) BUNNY — by @btssmutgalore

!! jungkook x fem!reader | 46.5k !!

non-idol!au, camboy!jk, friends to lovers, smut, angst.

let’s start here: never judge a book by its cover. a quote by george eliot going all the way back to the 19th century, and one i would use to describe this series as a whole, and my first impressions towards it.

this series, although unfinished (i think), has exceeded my expectations of a good smut outlined by a good plot. the best of both worlds, if you might. i came out of this series deeply in awe of the writing and the clear imagery the author manages to create within your own mind.

additionally, bunny was the beginning for me in learning about the world of camboys and camgirls(?), but i was greatly surprised. often, people are unkind to the new and stick to what they’re accustomed to, afraid of what the unknown might bring — me, included.

but, i’m glad i took the risk because i received three great things in return: a beautiful fanfic, knowledge of something that was foreign to me, and an author whose work i admire and shall be returning to in the future.

perhaps what i’m getting at is this could be a lesson to all. take a risk of something unknown because who knows? maybe something great will come out of it, and you’ll learn something. i did.

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( ♬ ) SEOUL UNDERGROUND — by @hunniejimins (ao3)

!! namjoon x jungkook x f!reader | 300k !!

mafia!au, enemies to lovers, violence, slow burn, love triangles, mob boss!namjoon, smut, heavy angst.

it’s ironic really. i found this work by someone else’s recommendation, and now i’m passing on the favour and recommending it to you, dear reader. it’s funny how the world works.

this work is the perfect balance of fantasy and reality and i love it. you’re hit with the beauty and clouded haze of love before being smacked back into the world at the realisation the very person you’re in love with, is a mafia mob boss and his killer mate. a real fun-sponge, i tell ‘ya.

nevertheless, this book kept me up early morning and late evening reading. it keeps you hooked, wanting, and hungry for more.

it’s nothing less of a masterpiece.

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( ✎ ) CREAM AND SUGA — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x barista f!reader | 14.8k !!

coffee shop!au, barista!au, fluff, nfsw (18+).

@snackhobi is mentioned twice on this list. though, can you blame me? it’s just a good thing shakespeare and this author don’t exist in the same century. it would be absolute carnage but nobody is ready for that conversation.

this author has a talent of portraying yoongi in the most irresistible way possible. i swear, i fall in love with him all over again reading. i wish you understood.

the whole misunderstanding section made me laugh because haven’t we all been there? the crushing pain and overwhelming guilt of having a crush on someone you can’t have. it’s all too real, seriously. been there, done that (unfortunately).

especially having the holidays just past, this is a perfect fic for a warm evening in, while the coldness of winter storms past outside. such a cute fic. love, love, love!

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( ♛ ) LOST AND FOUND — by @taleasnewastime

!! seokjin x reader | 21.2k !!

strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, sfw.

everyone says they have a fanfic that changed them, whether they’re being hyperbolic or brutally honest. and in my case, it’s a matter of both latter and former.

a couple months ago, i reached what i thought was rock bottom regarding my mental state and i took to my imagination to save me from the daily hell of my own mind. and this book was one i never really forgot about.

everything this author wrote within this fic was honest, heartfelt and very, very real. from the way you don’t just go up after going through something, but fall occasionally and sometimes feel as though you’re back at square one, to the way that there definitely is hope in the dark moments, and a light at the end of the tunnel. albeit a very faint one.

it comforted me in a way and reminded me of what i thought to be lost. fruitless, even. but sometimes, it’s books like these that open our eyes to things we’ve forgotten during times of turmoil: the simple goodness of life. and of people.

“if you’re going through hell, keep going.” winston churchill.

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( ✮ ) CANDYLAND — by @honeymoonjin

!! seokjin x reader ft. elf!jk | 13k !!

thriller, angst, fantasy, husband!jin, some cursing.

my mother is the biggest thriller fan. not that you needed to know that, but she is. and she’s not ashamed of it either. she’ll let you know if she’s reading a really good thriller in the moment. trust me, you’ll know.

me? not so much. i’m more of a sappy, hopeless romance, happy ending kind-of-sod — if you haven’t already guessed from this list. but there’s a reason this fic is on the list, too.

this fic genuinely kept me on the edge of my seat- uh, bed. the secrets of what darkness lingered behind the happy exterior of this adventure trip gripped my eyes to the screen, and lord, was it worth it.

throw a bit of husband!seokjin in there too? what more could you want! and written by @honeymoonjin? what a win.

let’s just say after this fic i added a few other thrillers to my basket. and happily reported to my mum i was a changed woman. okay, i’m exaggerating, but you get my point. it was incredible.

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( ✎ ) LILY LUCK — by @gguksgalaxy

!! yoongi x reader | 10.7k !!

soulmates!au, angst, fluff if u squint, very slight implicit sexual content, anxiety.

although this fic may be the shortest on the list, do not underestimate its power. it is still as mighty as the others— perhaps, even more so.

i think the main emotion i want to hone into concerning this fanfic is compassion. it sinks into your bones and surrounds your entire being like a unwanted hug. and you can’t even stop it.

the author does a good job of making you feel intense compassion for the reader — who so desperately wants to meet her soulmate. which makes the ending that much more satisfying.

this is for those who’re lonely, need a pick up, or those who’re hopeless romantics and believe in love belonging to fate, such as myself.

“expectation is the root of all heartache.” william shakespeare. talking of the devil, he would definitely cry over this fic. either of bubbling emotions, or the fact he didn’t write it himself. sucks really. for him, not for me.

© marknee, 2023. all rights reserved.

[lurkingshan]

This might be an assumption I'm making, but would you say that romance is one of your favourite genres? Are there any other genres that you enjoy? (Yes, I am angling for recommendations even though my to watch list has over 200 shows and movies)

I would in fact say that romance is my favorite genre, I'm something of a romance fiend and have been since I was a wee child. There's a reason I love kdrama and bl so much, and that's because they cater to my tastes so perfectly. I've already shared some of my favorite romance recs here, though I always have more if you need them.

In terms of non-romance dramas, I have plenty of recs for those, as well! Even though romance is my fav I watch a lot of other stuff, too. I recently did a list of friendship focused dramas here. And of course, a lot of dramas include romance storylines even if the main story is not a romance; that is very common in Asian media (and why we love it).

A few other genres that I love, and the dramas I count among my favs in each category:

Action/thriller dramas: Happiness (pandemic zombies and two badass besties who know how to use a bat), Healer (classic kdrama that I need to rewatch again), Reset (cdrama time loop thriller and it is so good), The Crowned Clown (the what if we replaced the king with a fake trope treated with utter seriousness), The Glory (the ultimate revenge drama, cw for extreme depictions of school bullying).

Family dramas: I especially love dramas about families that span years and allow you to see how a family changes over time. Some of my favs include 10 Years Ticket (cw for depictions of family abuse), 18 Again (actually a very sweet one about a dad who ends up back in his teenage body and bonds with his teen children while repairing his marriage), Go Ahead (MY BELOVED I will find a way to include it in every rec post), Go Back Couple (a couple on the verge of divorce goes back in time and gets a do-over), Reply 1988 (best installment of the Reply series with a strong focus on five different families who live on the same block). And of course a recent entry here is Moving (but you know that one already).

Mystery/crime dramas: Beyond Evil (everyone in bl fandom has already heard of this but it is not actually bl fam, it is an excellent crime drama with two magnetic leads though), Extracurricular (poor high school students getting up to some bad shit in order to survive), Manner of Death (a classic mystery with a romance subplot), Signal (A+ long form mystery with a time travel twist), The Smile Has Left Your Eyes (crime drama hingeing on a tragic romance).

Supernatural/fantasy dramas: Alchemy of Souls (supernatural sageuk with magic and body soul swapping and lots of fun), Goblin (do I even need to tell you about this one?), Kingdom (sageuk zombies), Mystic Pop-Up Bar (found family mystical dream healing), Oh No! Here Comes Trouble (also a crime drama but the supernatural part is crucial), The Uncanny Counter (found family grim reapers).

Workplace dramas: Misaeng (THE GOAT), My Mister (set in a workplace but not primarily about work because it's way more about trauma), Pinnochio (kind of crosses genres but I'm putting it here because the leads are reporters and their work is important to the plot), Search: WWW (three women in tech trying not to let the bastards keep them down).

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 2 - A Soldier Boy Story

FREQUENCY:  A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 2: “Uncle Sam”

WORD COUNT: 4,056

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader 

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Racial slurs, fatphobia, drugs, and mentions of suicide. Foul language, mentions of sex, or sexual innuendos. 

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns. 

Masterlist | Taglist

When John and I would fuck, only he would find it easy to sleep. See, we almost always did it at Vought tower. He had thought my apartment was gross and grimy.

He would snore away, his naked body pressed against mine, his strong arms holding my waist. I’d be up all night. The tower was loud, and I was much too nosy to not listen in on everything going on. Most people had left by the time that I was laying there awake, but the important ones stayed.

Security worked all night, keeping their tabs on literally everything going on in the world. If two Pakistanis were going at it premaritally at a goat farm in the middle of nowhere, Vought would be the first to know. 

It was always funny to me that the CIA always assumed they were one step ahead of Vought. That they had the upper hand, and that no matter what, the good guys would always win. Wrong. Vought knew absolutely everything the CIA was doing. They knew every hideout, every operation, every compound, every undercover. Vought, a private company, was the global leader for national security- but no one would ever know that. 

John would shift behind me, nuzzling his face into my neck, nibbling on my ear. 

“Go to sleep.” He’d say plainly, before drifting back into his own disturbing dream. 

Go to sleep, I’d think. Funny. Little did he know I was keeping my tabs on every compound mentioned in terms of Vought, and every event to go along with it. I knew every building the CIA operated. Every property. Every piece of land. Which is why I’m so confident now that I know exactly where Soldier Boy is.

In upstate New York, the CIA has a large base. It spans acres, but in the middle rests a midcentury, concrete bunker. Strong enough to withstand the blast of a nuclear bomb…getting warmer, I think. 

After the job I did for Butcher, I went straight home and started doing research. The CIA compound wasn’t visible on any map, but thankfully I was already aware of the coordinates. 

The next day I hopped in my shitty car, and drove upstate. I started spying once I saw the first signs of surveillance, which was about twenty miles away from the location. I staked out for about a week, driving closer each day, taking note of every camera, every security checkpoint. I wasn’t in my car after I got close enough, obviously. The closer I got the more inclined I was to walk on foot. 

I understand this may seem impossible, I mean, this is the CIA after all. No one is getting past them, right? Wrong. You need to remember, no one would ever see me coming, and they definitely wouldn't see me going. I can hear cameras before I see them, and it’s the same thing with all types of security. The CIA didn’t stand a chance anymore after I was created. Nothing was getting past me. I was born for this mission.

The morning of, I made sure to leave no trace of any research in my apartment. I threw out my computer at the edge of the city before I drove upstate. I prayed to all holy, although I’m not much of the religious type, that my shitty four-door would make it all the way up there without breaking down. As I stepped on the gas, I took a deep breath, shutting off my senses as best as I could until I was in trackable distance. I’d have to savor all five, I’d need them to be as strong as possible. I was going to get my revenge. 

This may sound conceited, but I do think I have created the best plan in the history of plans: See, unknown CIA compound number whatever, although large, and unknown to me internally, is quite easy to navigate if you think about it. Let’s think about the five senses here. Sight: I could look through the walls of the building until I feast my eyes upon the, I’m assuming, frozen solid body of Soldier Boy. But this can sometimes be all encompassing, and too much work. Sound: I could always hear him out. Scope out the slowest multiplying cells in the area, until it leads me to the supe popsicle. But again, too much work for what it’s worth. Also I needed to be focusing on nearby agents, cameras, and security. Touch?  No idea how that would work, no interest in finding out. Taste? Absolutely not. I don’t even want to know how that would work. But smell? Ahhh smell. That’ll lead me right to it. I can taste the frosted formaldehyde from here, a mile away. I’ll sniff out the frost bitten captain America better than any bloodhound. Smell. That is the way. 

I park my car off in a clearing, I think it may have been used as a campsite at one point. There isn’t a camera in sight. It's the dead of night. Leading up to the compound is a long, winding, wooded road. It's a forest boundary, which is nice because I won’t be getting any sort of sound pollution. 

I begin to walk parallel to the street through the woods, attaching the silencer to my gun. As I get a half-mile away, I start to take note of small CCTV’s attached to dry, dehydrated fir trees. I begin shooting down every camera I can hear, and as far as the eye can see. This is my collateral. I know once I break him out, CIA intel will be checking every camera to see where we went. They will never see us leave. They’ll never even see me coming. I got a few hundred yards between me and the next scanner. 

I reach into my backpack, pulling out scarf, and then wrap my head hijabi style. I’m already wearing a modest, all black outfit. Maybe something similar to a burka. I thought it would steer people away from my trail by posing as a stereotypical supe terrorist. Nothing scares Americans more than a muslim being in places they aren’t supposed to be.

I can see the building now, it's fortunately surrounded by trees, making my breaking and entering a little bit easier. I don’t even know how they can see anything on surveillance with all of this blockage, I think. Hell, the pine needles are getting in the way of my quality of sight. 

It's a tight squeeze through shrubbery, but I make it to one of the side doors. Again, I shoot out every camera around me before I even get close to the area. I stop and take a listen. From my spot now, the closest heartbeat I can hear  is deep within the compound, maybe at the front security desk. Most agents have gone home by this point. 

I’m assuming, if my hearing is correct, there is an obese man sitting at a control panel at the highest point of the building. Similar to that of a bird's nest. He’s asleep, snoring so loud I don’t know how he’s not choking himself. This is too good to be true, I think.

I make my way inside, there was a codebox on the outside of the building which are the easiest contraptions to get into. I smacked the side of it, feeling for the numbers.

 I aim for each camera before it can catch me, knocking it out in the center every time. 

I take a deep breath. Formaldehyde is all encompassing. I choke on the taste. He’s in the basement. 

I go ahead and make my way down multiple floors, once again, getting rid of every camera. This part of the compound is terrifying. Tons of steel and concrete feel suffocating when you’re this far underground. I almost trip over a janitorial cart in the darkness of the stifling halls. 

I come face to face with a large steel door. It’s got to be a few feet thick at least. To the right of it is a key pad. Looks pretty high tech, much different from the one on the outside of the building. This one must be new, I think. That’s a good sign. I mean, along with the fact that my eyes begin to water, my nose hairs singing off from the stench of chemicals. 

There is a card reader on the side of it for swipe entry. I pull up my finger, and gently tap it onto the corner. It echoes through it. I listen for the preset code. I can hear each four number etchings clear as day. 4459. 

The door opens with a flash of a green light and a click. I walk slowly down the hallway. It’s stark, cold. A metallic chamber with no windows. No place for a human being to live, I think. At least he’s not awake to see it. 

I round the corner, reaching another door. Fuck. I think to myself, another lock. The code box blinks at me, then speaks to me in a robotic voice.��

“Please enter access code.” 

I look down at the machine. Again, knocking on the side of it, like the one from before.

“Please enter access code-” I jump at the sound, but before it can finish I type in the numbers again. 4459. 

Clink! Green light illuminates from a bulb over my head. The door slides open. Idiots. 

There is what looks to be a control panel. It’s windowed, and looking down into a surgical-like dip in the floor. I walk over to the glass. There are buttons and levers riddled around a console. 

About fifteen feet below me I visualize him. Most of the lights are off inside of this area, but his body is lit up. He lays like a corpse inside a see-through cryogenic freezer. His heart is beating slowly, maybe less than five beats per minute. His blood barely circulating through his augmented veins. 

I take a deep breath, it’s now or never. From what I can tell, the security guard watching over the cameras is still fast asleep. Him, the man at the very front, and the other few scattered around near the archives, are all unaware of my presence in the building. 

I open the door to the right of the panel, and make my way down the rickety metal stairs that lead to his futuristic tomb. There he is, fast asleep… or frozen? I’m not sure of the right thing to say. I lean over, looking at his face through the glass. I place both of my gloved hands palm down, feeling my way around to getting him out of there. A latch, which, as I can tell, is connected to a code box. The CIA and their codes. They are just asking for me to break in. 

I squat down next to the machine and locate the lock. I do as I do again, knocking on the side of it, and waiting to hear the notches for the numbers. 1919. Really? I go ahead and select them, and watch as the glass casing begins to open up around him. It’s like a vampire coming out of a coffin. A waft of nitrous mist cascades around the room, revealing to me then, the body of a very, very, cold man. 

He has an oxygen mask on his face. I go ahead and take that off. The chemicals they have pumping into his veins via IV drip; I rip those off too. The machines tracking his vitals, I unattached, letting them drop to the floor. I can’t see much of anything else that would be keeping him asleep. Unfortunately though, I think I will have to wait for him to thaw out. 

I look around the room, checking my watch. I've been in the building for twenty minutes now. I look over at him, he's still not moving. His heart rate is still resting at an undetectable rate. I’ve got to get moving. I start pacing around the room, rubbing my chin with my hand. Think, think, think. I couldn’t bring any ammonia or any other sort of smelling salt because I’d be able to smell it through the container. Migraine waiting to happen. I could always slap him awake, but I’d risk breaking my hand from the sheer strength of his jaw. I could warm him up myself? Rub up on his arms until he begins to heat up. 

I look down at his arm, lifting up his wrist with my fore finger and thumb. He may be strong, but I’m sure he doesn’t weigh a ton? Ugh, who am I kidding? This man has got to be over two hundred pounds of pure muscle. THINK woman, think. 

Then, by the grace of all holy, I remember the janitorial cart I almost broke my neck on earlier. That’ll do it. I check back down at my watch, twenty-five minutes have passed now. It might not be too hard to drag him all of five minutes.

So, I do just that. Wrapping my arms under his, then securing around his torso, I begin to lift up. No, this will definitely be too hard. I drop him onto the floor, then clamp my hands around his wrists. I start pulling him across the room, then I remember; the stairs. Fuck. Making my way up I’m already drenched in sweat. It's one thing having to carry someone awake, but this supe was all dead weight. I’m praying he wakes up soon. 

It takes me ten more minutes on top of the five I had already expected to climb all the stairs back up to where I saw the janitorial cart. Before I go to put him in it, I listen in again. Everyone was still where they were before. The obese security guard is still in desperate need of a CPAP machine. I smile. This is all working out for me. With the little strength I have left I hoist him up into the cart, setting him on top of dirty mop heads and rags. 

I see it before I hear it. Red lights begin to flash around the building, then the sirens begin to wail. The security guard is definitely no longer asleep. I get a good grip of the cart handles and begin to push him down the hallway with unrelenting fervor. 

I can hear footsteps gaining on us as I reach the same exterior door that I came in through. I launch him out, and watch as the cart goes tumbling onto the forest floor. Great. Maybe that will wake him up. The guards are even closer now, a floor above me. Flood lights shine around on the outside. I push him back into the cart, and gun it through the forest with a speed that rivals Usain Bolt. 

Once I reach the clearing where I parked my car, about ten minutes later, I can just now make out the glimmer of flashlights in the distance. This was a huge forest. They had no idea where I could be. I go ahead and begin to load the bastard into the backseat. He mumbles a little, making me jump. I reach my hand down to his forehead. He was definitely warming up. I buckle him in with a seatbelt, and hop in the driver's seat. I accelerate out of the lot, watching as police cars race past me just a road over. This was going to be a long drive. 

It took him a four hour drive, plus forty-five minutes in the hotel room to finally wake up.

“…helewooh…” thump thump. “….ooonclee saaamm…”

As he came to, everything was blurry. It reminded him of when he used to mix codeine and benzos. 

Slowly, but surely, he begins to focus, making out the silhouette in front of him. A girl, young and lean. She sits across from him on a chair. She snaps and claps in his direction. Leaning in a bit closer, she slaps him in the face. Now that wakes him up. 

He jolts forward, easily breaking the pitiful restraints that have him tied to the chair. Now that he thinks about it, he’s sure he’s just broken the chair too. 

“Woah, WOAH,” she waves her arms in front of his face, trying to calm him down. “Easy there tiger, I wouldn’t want you blowing up this motel.”

He shakes his head, finally waking up enough to take in his surroundings. It’s a cheap, tacky motel room in god knows where. It reminds him of the one he stayed in when those pansies brought him home from Russia. Wait, those pansies-

“Where the fuck am I?” He looks around again, running over to the windows and peeking out the blinds. He turns around holding his finger up to the young girl in the room with him. “And who the fuck are you?”

She walks towards him slowly. He takes her in. She’s young, definitely young. Pretty, to say the least, but that’s the last thing he can think about right now. Her shorts and shirt are tiny and much too tight for a girl her age. Again, he thinks of the past. Has all modesty been thrown out the window? Not that he’s complaining, really. 

“Okay, first of all, I saved you, you should be worshiping the ground I walk on.”

“I don’t even know who you are little girl.” He recoils. “Wait,” He looks her up and down. “You’re not some unclaimed child of mine, are you?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” She says, rubbing her hands down her face.

He walks forward, getting into her face. “So ya don’t know me, and you expect me to believe you got me out just out of the kindness of your heart?” 

“Yes.” She says simply. 

He nods, going back over to the window, looking outside again. 

“Where are we?”

“Pennsylvania.” 

“They got any beaners here?”

“I’m sorry?” 

“Any beaners. I need to cross the border. Get out of here as soon as possible before these fuckin’ gay lovin’ commies try and throw me back into the ice again.”

“I’ll get you across the border, no problem. I don’t need any help either. Anywhere you want I’ll get you there.”

He glares at her, squinting. Looking her up and down. Hey, maybe she does look pretty good. He begins to walk around the room, searching for any hidden cameras, any microphones.

“You wearing a wire?”

“No one followed us down here.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No, I’m not wearing a wire.”

He gets back into her face. Towering over her. She shows no sign of fear. Naive, he thinks. She can feel his breath on her skin now. 

“What’s the catch?”

She smiles up at him, crumbling under his intense gaze. She feels for the back of the chair behind her then sits down. 

“Have a seat.”

“No thanks, been layin’ a lot recently. What’s the fuckin' catch, sweetheart?”

“Okay,” She sighs. “There is a catch, you're right.” 

He gets angry now. His chest visibly rising and falling. It begins to glow. Okay, now she’s getting nervous. 

“Hear me out please,” she begs, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m trying to get revenge on Vought.”

“Get in line, little girl.”

“I’m a supe. Please, please hear me out.”

“Too late.”

Okay, she’s angry now. Looking around the room she sees her keychain. It has one of those pull-able self defense devices. She reaches over to grab it. 

“If you don’t calm down, if you don’t help me, I’m going to pull this tab, and it will notify every police department, every agent in a 300 mile radius.” She’s bluffing, of course. But he’d surely believe it. Hell, they have fuckin' lesbians plastered on billboards these days. Anything is possible. 

“You’re bluffing.” He says smiling. 

“Am I?” She asks, smiling back. 

He stares at her. He says nothing. She goes to pull the pin out of the device.

“Wait,” he says. “Look, I’m old, I’m tired, and I just want to go fuck off to Costa Rica, and live my life not frozen in ice. If you want revenge on Vought, honey, by all means go for it. Girl power and all that shit. But there are plenty of other supes out there willing to help.”

She sighs, looking up at him with heavy eyelids. He smiles down at her now. She’s much prettier when she’s not being fuckin' hysterical. 

“Your loss.” She says, shrugging, pulling the cap off of the safety device. It immediately begins to flash and scream. Sending her far away from it, gripping her ears in pain. Sending him flying to the floor trying to put the pin back in. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” He yells, his hands shaking as he tries to find a way to silence the device. She doesn’t answer, just shoving herself into a corner with her hands over her ears. “Did you hear me, nutcase? How the fuck do you stop this thing!”

He throws it onto the ground now, beginning to stomp on it. He ends up with his foot halfway through the floor. All is quiet.

He looks over at her shoved into the corner. She slowly moves her hands from her ears. He’s angrier now, stomping over to her. 

“How long until these people find me?”

What? She thinks to herself. Oh yes, the bluff. 

“30 minutes. We might as well leave now, and keep driving until we get to the safe house.” Welp, there goes 50$ for the room rental. “And there’s more where that came from, so don’t do anything fuckin' crazy.”

“I won’t as long as you aren’t acting like a fuckin' lunatic.” 

“So then it’s a deal?”

“No deal.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, no deal. You can take me to this safe house and we can discuss further. That’s all I’m agreeing to. You take that, or I can just smash your head in along with the rest of your little devices.”

She rubs her chin. Walking over into the corner and picking up her duffle bag.

“Yeah, let’s hold out on the latter. Y’know, collateral land all that.”

“It really is that easy, you know? All it would take is just a snap of that spine and you’d be shut up for good.”

Her skin crawls at this. He is right. The collateral is shit. He has every right to bash her brains in and leave with no trace. What the hell can she do about it? 

Unless. 

“Look, Captain America, there is something else that could pique your interest.”

“Trust me, there isn’t much.” He looks around the room one last time before they go out the door. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any reefer?”

She closes the door just as they’ve opened it. She leans into him. This is cruel, she thinks. This is wrong. And hell, he’d have every right to kill her after they get the job done. And maybe that would be the best thing to do. Quick and easy. 

“Look, if you help me do this, I can show you to your children. To your family.” Yup, she’s rotting in hell. “I used to work for Vought. I know of their location.”

His gaze softens. Fuck, she thinks. 

“This is some sick fuckin' joke?”

“No,” She coos, placing a sweaty palm on his shoulder. He flinches. “No, of course not. And if you help me, you can take all of them down to Costa Rica with you.”

He looks at her with question, with curiosity. He doesn’t think he can trust this girl, but hell, she did just save his life.

A family? His family? People who are ready to welcome him with open arms. His own children who’d view him as a hero, as a good father. People he could make proud. Hopefully they wouldn’t be fuckin’ pussies like Homelander. What a waste, he thinks.

She bounces back and forth on her feet. He nods, not looking at her. 

“Tell me what you need in the car. And we’re stopping for alcohol and cigarettes.”

“Deal.” She says with a guilty smile, watching as he walks his way downstairs. 

Masterlist | Episode 3 | Taglist

Taglist:

@sl33pylilbunny @lanassmarty @sydneyyyya @1-800shootmeplease @muhahaha303

[arandomuserloreexplanations]

Random's Lore Explanations - The Player Character

Howdy hey, name's Random. Now, let's talk about what what this title indicates. That's right! We're talking about THIS TWAT!

Now, (edited this out) this is Frisk. Ahem. We "name" them at the start of the game. I put name in quotes for later explanation in a different post. Anywho, this is about THEM, so let's talk about them. Frisk is a human child, and the seventh fallen human (eighth if you include the first). As you can probably see (if not, sorry for not making an alt text), they have yellow skin, like, ACTUAL yellow skin, a blue onesie (supposedly) with two purple stripes going across the chest, and... that's it. Frisk is a gender neutral (different from non-binary, but is usually used as a replacement for NB) human child, whose gender is left unspoken, and is usually referred to as They/Them. They're what we use as the character to explore the Underground, and they don't have much of a personality. In fact, they're a fuckin' brick wall when it comes to personality. They have a little bit, but it's only slightly seen in the ACTs, and that's it. Their relationships (in my opinion) towards the main cast (spoilers fellas) goes as follows: Flowey - That weird-ass flower that tried to kill them twice Toriel - Goat mom that they can flirt with and call her their mama in the span of two 10 second-long calls. Napstablook - That depressed ghost that people rarely talk about. Sans (Pacifist) - That weird skeleton dude that's as tall as them. Papyrus - That loud, tall, eccentric skeleton who acts egotistical just to be seen as great by others. Also their first date in the Underground. Monster Kid - The armless Undyne obsessor, and a pretty cool kid. Undyne - That lesbian fish lady. Yeah, that's it. Alphys - That weird lizard nerd who's in love with Undyne. Also the person that they helped act as a third wheel for. Mettaton (base) - Metallic box, pretty much indestructible, and also a great gameshow host... if he wasn't trying to kill them all the time. Muffet - Capitalist spider woman... Rarely talked to her. Mettaton (EX) - Oh no he's HOT! It's the robot built like a Twink, but will beat you up with his legs. Asgore - The King that tried killing them to uphold his promise to his people. Asriel - Crybaby goat boy, and also the GOD OF ABSOLUTE HYPERDEA- Mettaton (NEO) - "MY NAME IS METTATO-" A pathetic robot incapable of a single attack. Sans (Genocide) - The guy that broke the rules of the game to give them a bad time. Strong only because he could break the rules. Chara - That one kid that they probably only learned about via cassette tape and being called that by Asriel. Gaster - Who the fuck is Gaster? And that's about it.

[revelationschapter6]

cinnamon and myrrh

Events: Sicktember, Whumptember, Bad Things Happen Bingo

Prompts:

Desperate measures

Head lolling

Coughing fit

Preventative Measures (Not taken)

Side effects/Adverse reaction

Uncooperative Patient

Confused

Disoriented

Hurts to Breathe

Warnings:

implications of depression

This fill is written as a one-shot of my original story, Saudade. You can find my info page for Saudade here.

What context you need to read this is:

In Saudade, the Archangel Raphael Fell during the Rebellion. It was a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, and he was thrown out by four angels while his partner, the Power Camael, tried to help him.

The angels who didn't Fall were made to forget those who did. They don't remember they ever knew them. As far as they know, all the Fallen were on the fringes of Heaven's society. If they asked around, they might go, "Wait, no one knew a Fallen?" But they Don't Ask Questions.

Raphael worked to gain Camael's trust again, and eventually won it. Camael learned he did, in fact, know Raphael before the Fall by regaining a memory, and convinced Raphael's siblings to hear him out. Now they're trying to figure out WTF to do.

Who, in their right mind, burns myrrh for funsies? Humans, apparently. And in the middle of the holiday season no less, so the smell of it is covered up by the reek of all that damn cinnamon. Raphael really should have learned by now. Whumptember: Desperate measures, head lolling Sicktember: Coughing fit, Preventative Measures (Not Taken), Side Effects/Adverse Reaction, Uncooperative Patient, Confused, Disoriented Bad Things Happen Bingo: hurts to breathe

can be read on AO3 or below the cut

Raphael watched the little blurs that were the light-up battery-powered fish in his fish tank.

When he’d moved into this apartment, he’d thought about getting a cat. But they had such short lifespans compared to his. It just wasn’t worth getting attached. Dogs were the same. Rodents were even worse. It felt like they barely took a breath before dying. It was nearly impossible to find an apartment that would allow a bird, though even they didn’t live terribly long in the span of his life, and he hated turtles.

A hellish animal might have been an option, but he didn’t like any of them. Hellcats, with their too many tails, disturbed him greatly and brought to mind Kitsune, who he didn’t want to think of as he cleaned a litter box. (Their litter boxes had a nasty habit of bursting into flames, besides.) Hellhounds came in every shape and breed of dog, but being around Lilith’s was enough. He didn’t have nearly enough water to keep an ahuizotl, and he already had plenty of nightmares without inviting in a Pesanta.

So, finally, he’d bought a fish tank and some light-up, battery-powered fake fish and been quite happy with them.

Through the poorly insulated walls of his apartment, he could make out general merriment. Carolers on the street, the buzz of countless lights, cheerful voices. Could smell pine from pine trees, burning gingerbread from a few doors down, and tried not to cough at the thickness of cinnamon in the air. It had been strong for days, no matter where he went. Cinnamon brooms lingered on his neighbors’ doorsteps, and it seemed every shop he passed was cluttered with them.

He’d never liked Christmas, not really. Though the Giant Lantern Festival was beautiful, he’d admit that, and he always had fun trying to burn the Gävle Goat. Any Fallen loved Krampusnacht, none more so than Krampus himself. But Christmas was a time for those with friends and family. He might have called Maalik a friend once, but he was long dead. Lilith and Lethe, perhaps, but they were busy doing their own things, and they saw each other only every few decades, besides. He still wasn’t sure if he could call Samyaza a friend.

And he certainly had no family.

He had Camael back, somewhat. But Camael, though he knew now, didn’t remember, surely wasn’t willing to spend a holiday with him. And Gabriel and Michael still looked half-ready to run him through if he sneezed wrong, though they knew too.

So he hadn’t even bothered to ask.

Raphael sighed, trying to tune out the music his neighbors were listening to: the one above him was listening to some caterwauling cover of All I Want for Christmas is You, the one below him Last Christmas, to the right a pop cover of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (why?), and to the left Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer (again, why?). He could make out the neighbors further down the hall, but it all clashed together into raucous noise.

He rolled over, stretching out on his bed. It smelled far better than the cloying cinnamon. Though lingering sulfur and rain-dampened dirt weren’t exactly appealing either.

It wasn’t Christmas Day or Eve. At least, he didn’t think so.

He couldn’t hear wrapping paper tearing—well, that was a lie. The gender-optional tenant three doors down was wrapping gifts it sounded like—or smell ham or turkey or baking cookies.

Then again, he’d slept for quite a while, so he couldn’t be certain. He’d only gotten up long enough to duck into the corner store and wolf down the taquitos whose wrappers lay crumpled on his nightstand.

Raphael clutched his pillow, curling up. Hell, but he was tired. He’d slept the better part of the last two days, and still, he was exhausted.

So what was the harm in sleeping? It wasn’t as if he’d miss anything.

His phone rang, and he grumbled. Blearily, he thought that he needed to take it into the store to get it looked at because the voice announcing the caller was so muffled that he couldn’t make out what it said. Raphael reached for it, fumbling, but it was out of his reach, and he was still so tired.

If it was important, whoever it was could leave a voicemail.

Someone banged on his door, and he groaned. Did they have to be so loud? He could hear the door rattling in the frame. It was probably someone looking for the man down the hall. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had someone knock on his door by mistake, so he didn’t feel sorry that he didn’t even open his eyes.

There were voices, and he felt he should wake up. Because sleeping while someone was near him was never a good thing, barring a few people. And those weren’t Lethe or Lilith’s voices. He could tell. But his bed was so warm, the blankets so soft and comfortable, so surely he could sleep a few minutes more?

Besides, those voices felt safe. What was the harm?

Hands—cold hands, familiar, rough hands, though who they belonged to escaped him at the moment—grabbed and shook him. He wanted to tell them to let him sleep—even with their hands on him, he felt leaden—but his voice wilted and died in his throat before he could make a sound.

The voice called his name again, and two more hands, rougher and larger, joined the first.

His name was called again, this time by a voice deeper than the one before, and the hands became so rough that his head rolled on his pillow. It was irritating, and he tried again to tell them to leave him be. But his voice died, and his eyelids were so heavy that he couldn’t even glare at them to go away. His breath hitched, as sluggish as the rest of him, and struggled in his throat.

Raphael felt that should have worried him, but he was too comfortable and tired to care.

The hands went away, and he was grateful. Now, surely they’d leave him alone? Whatever they needed couldn’t be that important. It could wait.

Surely, they’d finally let him sleep.

A pair of hands slid under him, separating his head from his pillow and awkwardly gripping the underside of his knees. He shivered as he was torn away from the warmth of his blankets, the cold biting into him worse than the blizzards of Cocytus. A complaint started, then died, in his throat. His head lolled back, his neck arched painfully, and while one arm had been scooped up so it rested on his stomach, the other dangled uncomfortably.

The person carrying him moved jerkily, jolting him violently, even as they rubbed their thumbs along his skin as if to try to warm him. They came to an abrupt stop, and he tried to open his eyes. Some part of him was alarmed when he couldn’t get them to respond, but he was too tired to get anxious.

One hand came up to cradle the back of his head as he was made to stand. Well, stand by the faintest gasp of the word. If it wasn’t for the hand, or the body he was propped against, he surely would have collapsed. His feet tingled differently than usual, more numb than throbbing or sensitive. Even when he tried to make them, his knees wouldn’t support his weight. The person behind him, a sturdy wall, held him carefully upright. Raphael felt he should recognize them, if not from everything else than from their height, his head coming up to their chest from the feel of it as it lolled on his irritatingly unresponsive neck.

The first, smaller pair of hands, fingers slimmer than the ones holding him, tugged off his sweats, boxers, and nightshirt. Some part of him felt he should cover himself, like there was something he needed to hide, that he despised, tried to never let anyone see, and was forgetting.

But that would mean moving, which he didn’t think he could do even if he tried. His arms were so heavy, and was it really so bad if they saw it?

He lost time.

And then he was scalding, dragged beneath a spray of water. He gasped through a barely open mouth, his breath rasping loudly in his throat, then started to cough violently.

Were they trying to drown him?

A heave ran through him as he coughed, desperate for breath he didn’t actually need, feeling as though he were fighting to breathe through wet cloth. One of the hands, the one with the thicker fingers, caught his chin and squeezed the joints of his jaw. He tried to jerk back and felt like he was back in Boston, struggling to wade through molasses. His body wouldn’t listen to him, every moment slow and faltering, a twitch of a movement if he managed to move at all.

"Shit, he’s covered in it."

Raphael retched as a wet finger pressed down on his tongue, sweeping along his throat. It was a horrible feeling, but when the finger drew out, he could finally breathe. He coughed harshly, gulping air down greedily.

His fingers twitched, and the hand on the back of his head tightened in his hair to keep him from doubling over. He could taste rotten sulfur, his throat stinging as he struggled to get his coughing under control. There wasn’t an inch of his skin that hadn’t begun to tingle unpleasantly, bordering on a faint burn.

The smaller set of hands left his skin, replaced a moment later by a washcloth. The tingling quickly built to a burn, and as energy began to return to his limbs, he struggled weakly. Being pinned had never resulted in anything good, and slowly awareness was filtering to him; he shouldn’t be so confused and so tired; he should have been wide awake long before they’d made it into his apartment. He’d never known the touch of holy water, but having water flow over his body just before he began to burn did not bode well.

The arms tightened around him, and a familiar voice grunted as he managed to brace one foot on the slippery tile and drive the heel of the other into the shin of the person behind him.

"Stop fighting us, dammit!"

Wait—he did know that voice. Now that it didn’t sound so far away, so muffled, he did know that voice. And those hands felt familiar, as did the body behind him. And now, with the insulated walls of the shower between him and that awful, seeping cinnamon scent, he could make out the strong bite of petrichor.

He forced his eyes open, though they were very reluctant. His vision swam, eyes stinging, and they’d only open a slit. But even through a film of silver tears, he’d know that angel anywhere. She was too close for him to make out her features, but even darkened and flattened to her scalp by water, that red hair was unmistakeable.

"M’ch’l?" His tongue was slow, heavy, and unresponsive in his mouth. Just that word, if you could call it a word, made him cough again, tearing at his throat. He whimpered, and the angel behind him held him up when the force of it tried to bend him over. Ichor sprayed, foul and thick, across his tongue. Before he could do anything, Camael reached up and swiped his fingers across his tongue and throat. Raphael retched, but strangely, his throat hurt far less.

"Shut up," she snapped as he panted, stooping and running the washcloth down his legs.

"You’re a real idiot, you know," she said as she straightened.

"Wh-?" He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice to obey him. His voice sounded ridiculous, slurring and rough. "Why?"

Finally, he got his legs to support him, though they shook violently. Still, when Camael pushed him forward and Michael pulled him towards her, he went easily. He slumped, head resting on her shoulder, letting her take most of his weight. Behind him, Camael wiped him down with quick, rough movements. His skin burned, too sensitive, under the touch of the rag, and he whined as his hands and feet began to sting. He hadn’t even realized how numb they’d gone, but now that they felt as if they were being lanced with needles, he wished they’d go back to being numb.

Camael knelt, pushing him so he put more of his weight on Michael, and pulled up his foot. He did cry out, then. They were always either sensitive or numb, but the feel of the rag was agony. Then he began to cough again, struggling against the burn in his chest. Each small gasp of breath he managed to get only fueled the burn, and he sobbed.

"Sorry, sorry," Camael muttered, hurrying to finish. The other foot hurt just as badly, if not more, and it was only because Michael braced herself that they weren’t both taken to the ground when his leg gave out.

"Close your eyes," Camael said, and then Michael guided him to stand upright and bend over. He wheezed, beginning to cough again, wrinkling his nose at the foul taste of sulfur. When the stream of water was aimed at his hair, he flinched, so Michael brought one hand up to cover his eyes. Hands ran roughly through his hair, tugging at tangles, Camael murmuring apologies every time he tugged roughly at his scalp.

"Is that all of it?" Camael asked, helping him to stand upright. He wavered, blinking blearily at Michael as he struggled to catch his breath.

The burning was starting up again in his throat, and he managed to say "All of-" before it irritated his throat so badly that he started to cough again. When the force of it, pain shooting through his upper back, threatened to take him to the ground, Camael held him upright. Heat filled his mouth, and he tasted sulfur as the water shut off.

"Don’t let him get any on his skin," Camael said as Michael pressed the cloth to his mouth.

"I know," she scowled. "Next time he can catch his breath, hold his head up and his mouth open."

It felt like ages as he coughed. His throat and chest burned, and tears trickled down his face. Camael slid one hand up to rest over his racing heart, Michael replacing his grip on Raphael’s arm with her own.

Finally, he was able to take a breath. It wasn’t much, but for a moment, he could stop coughing. His breath whistled in his throat, an awful sound that set his teeth on edge. Camael grabbed his jaw, making him tilt his head back, then, as gently as he could, squeezed the joints of his jaw.

Raphael coughed, jerking awkwardly at the angle his throat was forced to. He didn’t struggle as Camael lowered him, and Michael stood on the tips of her toes. She raised her hand, and Raphael’s instincts screamed as divinity spiked strongly in the air. Gold-tinged smoke trickled from his mouth as Michael pinched the air, then pulled back. There was an awful tugging feeling in his chest before the burning flared. He struggled against Camael’s pinning grip, but as the agonizing burn rose through his throat, his chest stopped hurting.

With a gasp, he began to gulp down air. Each breath came easier than the last, the burn moving to his tongue, then gone completely. Camael loosened his grip, letting him slump against him as he gasped for breath. Camael was saying something. He could tell by the vibrations of his chest against his back, and maybe Michael was, too. But his heart raced loudly in his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything else. He twisted, spitting ichor into the drain.

Michael stepped out of the shower, and scooping Raphael up, Camael followed.

Please tell me I’m not naked.

Michael looked away as she grabbed a towel. "Can you stand?"

He cleared his throat, basking in being able to breathe. "Y-yeah," he said, though he wasn’t really sure. Camael carefully set him down, making sure he could take his own weight before releasing him.

Raphael hadn’t known this Camael could be so gentle or kind. He wished he’d been aware enough to enjoy it.

Hands shaking, he took the towel she offered. His head was still a bit foggy, the world moving slowly around him, but now he could feel the alarm he should have felt before creeping up on him.

"How dumb are you?" Michael asked as he toweled himself dry before he could ask what the hell had happened. It was only as he carefully picked up a foot to towel it dry, leaning into Camael’s supporting hand, seeing the discolored flesh that went up nearly to his knee, that his heart dropped into his stomach.

His glamors.

He wasn’t wearing his glamors.

They’d have seen the discolorations for sure, and they certainly would have felt them. It was a miracle he hadn’t, in his daze, brought out his spines.

The thought made him feel ill.

And–his eyes. His eyes didn’t have the reassuring, faint warmth of his glamor, the one he applied without thought the moment he woke. That glamor—they'd have seen his eyes; they’d have seen those monstrous eyes. How had Michael stomached seeing them?

He took deep breaths, reveling in them, and answered her. "I don’t know... I don’t even know what happened." Frantically, he tried to call up the glamor. It was child’s play—something he could do when bleeding and half-dead. But his power, usually burning and riotous, was barely more than a smolder in his chest. His eyes remained unchanged.

"Myrrh," she said as she walked out of the bathroom, speaking over her shoulder as he tied the towel around his waist. Camael helped him follow on shaky legs. "You got yourself covered from head to toe in myrrh." When he walked into the rest of the apartment, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The entire place smelled like ozone, divinity sparking along his skin.

Michael rummaged through his dresser, pulling out a shirt and tossing it to him once he’d sat on the edge (well, his bed was round, so it didn’t have edges) of his bed. It had been stripped down to the mattress, and the rough mattress itched his sensitive skin.

"And inhaled it," Camael added as he pulled the shirt on. He sounded pissed, and Raphael cringed. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"I didn’t mean to," Raphael protested as he wriggled awkwardly into a pair of shorts that landed in his lap. He mourned his boxers but would rather that Michael didn’t go into his underwear drawer. Remembering the days of robes and little else, then the days of kaunakes, which covered even less, he wondered when he’d become so prudish. What Fallen would mean to inhale myrrh? "Who burns myrrh anymore?"

Michael wasn’t far enough away for him to make out her expression, but he was fairly certain she was looking to Heaven for strength.

He didn’t need to look to know that Camael was rolling his eyes. "I’m serious," Raphael said. "I haven’t been able to smell anything but cinnamon for weeks. You think I’d’ve stuck around if I smelled myrrh?"

Of all the things hellish beings were weak to—blessed objects, certain sacred symbols and objects, holy water, purified salt, consecrated ground, certain sigils and runes, among other things—Raphael found myrrh the most insidious. Sacred symbols and objects you could avoid; you had to touch them, usually, to be harmed by them. Pick them up or have them thrown at you. They were only dangerous if they touched bare skin. Any hellish being knew well what those tended to be. Blessed objects were more dangerous; anything could be blessed. Sacred symbols and objects counted among blessed objects, like crosses, ushabti, and holy books. But it was entirely possible to rummage through a pile of clothing and find a blessed shirt. Sigils and runes had to be carved or painted, and were far less reliable. They were so finicky that a shaky hand or a shed eyelash in the wrong spot could ruin the entire thing. They were usually best at keeping hellish beings out, or he’d have considered them much worse. But if someone knew what they were doing, they could make the barrier far more dangerous, even lethal. The ones he’d painted around his cave served as an electric fence, although he’d seen an imp fried to ash when it insisted on continuing to try to come in. Once, though, he’d seen a demon walk over an intricate rune set, unaware, and be instantly and mercilessly erased from existence.

Consecrated ground, well. Raphael, personally, hated consecrated ground after spending years recovering from a run-in with it. But provided you weren’t him and weren’t foolish with it, it wasn’t too much of a danger. Consecrated ground was almost always a holy building, religious or spiritual retreat, sacred grove, or sacred site. So long as you avoided those, you were just fine. That wasn’t a hard rule—he was still deeply confused by a six-inch-by-six-inch patch he’d found deep in Baikunthapur Forest—but it was a safe one to live by. And, if you were unlucky enough to find some random patch, you just had to step off of it.

It was only when you stayed standing on it that it started to eat away at your being.

Purified salt, unless consumed, was only really useful for making a salt circle. If it touched the skin, it acted as a bit of an irritant, but when consumed in large amounts, it became an anticoagulant. ‘Large amounts’ being the key word; it diluted in drinks, and any amounts that would be dangerous to a hellish being made food noticeably salty. And holy water—well, any self-respecting hellish being feared holy water, especially with people carrying it around now. You never knew how pure it would be, whether it was just tap water with a prayer said over it by some human or water properly blessed by an angel. The former, a Fallen or demon would have to be dunked in or guzzle to be killed by, and it would be a long, drawn-out, preventable death. Otherwise, it hurt like hot oil.

Not pleasant, but better than the latter. The latter was like acid; a few drops would eat away at your skin, but any significant amount was liable to outright dissolve you away.

Myrrh, though. In its natural state, it was harmless. He could hold it with his bare hands if he wanted to. But when burned, which humans had taken to doing, it became smoke. And it was the smoke that was so dangerous. That it had such a strong, distinct scent meant it was one of the easier dangers to avoid. Still, if, somehow, you breathed it—perhaps being a new demon, or a Fallen with little experience of Creation—it settled in your lungs, clinging to your throat. Often, it coated your skin as well, if you were unlucky enough to be too close. It ate away at you slowly, siphoning away your power. This made you tired, too dazed to register that something was wrong. If you fell asleep, you never woke up again.

Raphael remembered how groggy he’d felt, how tired and listless, so certain that it would be no harm at all just to go back to sleep. How he hadn’t cared though there’d been hands on him, strangers (or so they’d seemed at the time) crowded around him while he was vulnerable. If that had happened in Hell...

He shivered.

Michael had been talking, and he quickly scrubbed his hair dry, trying to pretend he’d been listening.

"–lucky we found you when we did!"

"I know," he said. There were so many ways he was lucky, as much as he sometimes thought himself otherwise. When it mattered, he was damn lucky.

"Really," Camael said behind him, his voice soft. "You were almost dead, Raphael. If we had waited a few hours–"

Raphael was startled when Camael’s voice hitched. And, he realized, Michael’s had sounded decidedly rattled. They cared. He barely managed to keep from smiling, as inappropriate as that would be. They still didn’t remember him. Camael hadn’t told him what he’d seen, but he’d seen a memory, or more than one. Enough to know he had known him once. That, for all these years, Raphael hadn’t been lying. He didn’t know the depth of their relationship, but that was fine. Gabriel and Michael, through Camael, had come to accept that they’d known him as well.

It was hard to deny, especially once he showed them their feathers on his necklace and that his were on their jewelry. He couldn’t fake the feathers on his necklace. They shed feathers, sure. But the feathers on his necklace sparked with their divinity—the remnants of when they’d shrunk them, solidifying them so they wouldn’t be ruined in his day-to-day. There wasn’t any of his foul power on them.

Right, his power. It was a bit of a struggle, but after a moment, he managed to pull a glamor over his eyes. He’d done his best not to look them in the eye, but they’d certainly noticed something was off, even if they’d been distracted when they’d seen it.

How they hadn’t realized they had his feathers—well, he had his suspicions. They’d worn them since before Creation, and that was a very long time not to question the seemingly random feathers they shared. Then again, there were so many things that didn’t make sense that no one in Heaven, it seemed, had questioned.

His necklace-! He reached for his throat, fumbling where the cold chain always was. He’d only taken it off once since they’d given it to him, when he’d handed it to Michael to prove he really did have their feathers. But his neck was bare, and, to his horror, so was his wrist. Camael’s bracelet was gone, too.

"Here." Michael’s voice was undeniably strangled. When he looked at her, he sighed in relief. A little smear of gold and what looked to be a miniscule streak of the same with three white blobs dangling from it hung from her hand. They reeked of ozone, and divinity brushed against his skin when he took them.

"We-"

"We?"

"Michael banished your bedding. It had myrrh all over it." Raphael had liked that bedding. "Your clothes too. She cleaned everything. We didn’t want to risk missing some."

"When did you manage to do that?" He gaped at Michael. Everything between falling asleep and Camael washing his hair was blurry, with massive blank spots. Still, he was fairly certain there hadn’t been a moment when she wasn’t there.

Camael took the clasp he’d been struggling with, ignoring his startled flinch, and fastened his necklace for him. Feeling was still coming back to his extremities, and he felt rather fumbly.

"Right after I took off your clothes," she said plainly. Raphael was sure he turned an impressive silver as he remembered her stripping him under the water, Camael holding up his dead weight. She was his sister, but still. He’d have been just as embarrassed if it were Gabriel. Hell, Camael being there was almost as embarrassing.

…wow, he really had become a prude.

"I did it all at the same time. It’s not that hard if you’re doing all the room at once. Though, uh," she sounded sheepish. He remembered the way she’d avert her eyes when embarrassed, dark skin taking on a twinkling gold glint. "I might have been a bit overzealous. Some of those lights went out… and I might have vanished some of your towels."

That did not surprise him. You didn’t have to put much thought into using power—or divinity, as the case might be—but the less you focused, the more mistakes it might make or the more liberties it might take. If she’d thought ‘bedding and clothing’ it might have included ‘fabrics’ in that, and he should feel lucky he had any clothing or towels left at all. Hell, if she’d been rushing and had intentions such as ‘purify everything’, he was lucky he had anything left; such broad intentions could easily have ‘purified’ his apartment by emptying it.

He laughed. It felt good to laugh, to enjoy being able to breathe without that awful burn. "Don’t, don’t worry about it. Those were shit towels."

Forgetting himself, used to only letting Lilith and Lethe at his back, he reclined back against Camael. Camael stiffened against him, and he went rigid. Then, slowly, Camael relaxed.

Michael moved to sit next to him, sighing loudly.

"You have to be more careful," she said, sounding her age. Not the one her physical body appeared, but how old she truly was.

"I usually am." Sometimes. With some things. He was still alive, wasn’t he? And in (mostly) one piece.

Camael snorted.

"I avoid myrrh, I promise. We all do." He winced. Usually, he did all he could to keep from mentioning Hell, demons, or other Fallen. "If I have to get close to it, I layer up and wear masks. I avoid anywhere that burns incense or anything." This did, however, make it very hard to source materials for runes and sigils. Oh. The fucking corner store! The person who ran it was always burning candles. He’d been going there for years. "And if I even think I’m exposed to it, I shower. I just couldn’t smell anything through that damn cinnamon. It’s been strong the last few years, but never this bad."

...then again, he forced himself not to grimace; he hadn’t even worn his mask. Some dumbass had yelled at him the last time he had, and he hadn’t had it in him to get into an argument if he ran into someone else who took issue with him. Of course, that would be the one time Georgie burned fucking myrrh instead of their ‘field of fresh-mown grass’ candles.

In fact, he had sneezed. But their candles usually made him sneeze, and the cinnamon brooms irritated his nose, so he hadn’t thought anything of it.

Damn, he was stupid.

"Well, it is. What are you going to do now?"

Camael asked a good question. Raphael pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. "I’ll have to be more careful. Cover up as much as I can, stay away from any shops if I can, wear a mask. Definitely will shower as soon as I get home no matter what... that was dumb of me."

"Very."

It was funny when Michael and Gabriel did it. When Michael and Camael spoke together, it was just disconcerting.

"Burn any cinnamon brooms I find," he added, sotto voce.

"Why are they even a thing?" Michael shook her head. "Makes you feel like you shoved a bar of cinnamon up your nose."

He laughed, enjoying the rumble of Camael’s chest behind him as he did the same.

God, he’d missed this.

"What were you doing here, anyway?" He'd been sure he’d be spending Christmas alone. But here were Michael and Camael in his apartment, having saved his life. "Not that I’m not grateful!" He was quick to add.

Camael didn’t laugh again, but Raphael could feel the rumble of his chuckle against his back. The warmth that spread through his chest, then, was anything but painful.

"Well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it?" Camael said, and now that he paid attention, Raphael realized he was right. Even through the cinnamon, he could smell turkeys and hams baking; his gender-optional neighbor had, it seemed, procrastinated and was only now baking an over-sweetened apple pie. Children were shrieking (he grimaced. Michael snickered.), and adults and older children were laughing. Awful Christmas music was playing, muffling the tearing of wrapping paper and the high-pitched noises of children trying out their new toys.

"You really thought we were going to let you spend it alone? Our own brother?"

Yes.

"I didn’t think you celebrated, honestly."

He knew they celebrated. He’d seen them more than once, participating in so many holidays over the centuries. So many New Year's celebrations, sometimes more than one in the same year. Why humans couldn’t pick a calendar and stick with it, he’d never know. Sometimes it was just Michael and Gabriel. Others, it was Michael, Gabriel, and Camael, and he was glad about it. It was nice to know they were still close. Rarely, it was just one of them. Often, it was Michael and Raguel, Camael, and, bafflingly, Gabriel and Kushiel. He’d seen them giving gifts of protection during Handsel Monday centuries ago, helping with the harvest and blessing the loaves of Lammas, preventing injuries during Gŵyl Mabsant, betting on who’d fail to carry the burning barrels during Up Helly Aa, throwing tomatoes at each other (from what he could tell through watching from afar, they lost points if they hit humans) each La Tomatina he’d seen, and, on one memorable occasion, Gabriel, Kushiel, and Raguel, glamored to appear as a man, competing in a heated discus throwing competition at one of the last Ancient Olympic games while Michael and Camael egged them on. This had ended very quickly when Gabriel, scowling at Kushiel, had flung his discus an impossible distance and lodged it into the wall of the stadium. There had been a very brief chaos as the angels rushed to make the humans forget what they saw.

Raphael would have helped, honestly, but he’d been too busy laughing until he cried at the horror on their faces.

And, in recent years, Gabriel seemed to have found it great fun to participate in Blasphemy Day. Michael always followed him, telling him he shouldn’t, but if Raphael got close enough that he could make out her face, she was always grinning.

But why should he think they’d want to celebrate with him?

"Of course we do," Michael frowned. "Actually, Camael, can you text Gabriel? He’s probably wondering where we are."

"Wait, Gabriel–?"

"He’s at Camael’s apartment. We’ve got a tree up and everything. If you’re feeling up to it, of course?"

Of course, he was up to it. He’d drag himself across shards of blessed glass if only to have a moment with any of them. His skin was a bit too sensitive, but otherwise? He’d have had no idea that he’d almost died in such a stupid way.

"Yeah, of course." Michael stared him down, but she’d raised him, insofar as any of them had been raised, so he didn’t squirm or look away.

"Tell Gabriel we’re about to head over," she finally said, apparently satisfied. Then she leaned forward, grabbing something out of his sightline that crinkled loudly. When she leaned back, she held a lumpy package in her hands, covered in gaudy, multi-colored stripes. At least, he assumed so. They smeared, hurting his eyes. She dropped it in his lap.

"What’s this?" He picked it up, wrinkling his brow when it gave under his touch.

"You have to look the part." Even still, she sounded tired, and he felt horrible for scaring her so badly.

Look the part?

Finally, he really looked at her. And then he had to laugh. He’d been a bit distracted, but now it was impossible to miss the garish red sweater she wore. It clashed horribly with her hair, and he wished more than anything that he could make out what those twinkling, white blobs were.

"Camael’s is worse," she grumped. That he had to see. He twisted, then laughed harder. Raphael hadn’t known blue could be that bright, and the fuzziness of it explained the coarseness he’d felt against his exposed skin. Lights of various colors twinkled, and he snorted, then laughed at that.

"Oh God," he rubbed at his eyes as they teared up, "that’s bad."

"Wait until you see yours." Camael patted his shoulder.

"Mine?" The word came out far louder than he’d intended it to.

They really did want him, didn’t they? A gift, a Christmas tree, and now an ugly Christmas sweater. His grin, he was sure, was wobbly. Raphael had gifts for them too, of course. But he’d had no delusions of being able to give them to them. He had intended to give them to Camael the next time he saw him, Oh, I saw these, thought of you guys. Mind giving those to Michael and Gabriel next you see them? Thanks!

He’d never dreamed of being able to see them open them.

"Now, get dressed. Put that on, get some pants. Sister or not, I’m not going through your underwear drawer."

"Thank you for that."

He had so much to thank her for. Raphael didn’t think he’d ever be able to say them all.

[in-flvx]

HOW am I meant to choose?? I need to know about all of them! But since there's one I already know about (maybe two?) almost for positive, uhhhhhhh...alkdfjakfdj

Tell me about Day Dream with abusive Dumbledore PLEASE??

yes its two you already know about hehe.

So, Day Dream is going to be my deput into writing horror (if anything works out). It's set after GOF; Dumbledore gets a bit obsessed with Sirius, and thinks he has learnt from his mistakes with Grindelwald.

@plecotusauritus @narcissa-black-supermacy @impishtubist

Snippet (that I just wrote to have anything for this WIP) under the cut

We all have secrets. It's a truth, ingrained into the human nature, like Thestral hair into Elder. Like future into past. Albus Dumbledore had harboured many secrets over the span of his long life. More than he could count. But his best guarded secret lay deeply hidden, almost forgotten. Underneath a rich humus of truths, lies and fiction. Albus, the White, had risen from the ashes of his own life. Larger and Better than before. What a fool he had been. A child in love. In love with Power, with Magic, with the myths about both. With himself, his brilliant mind. And with the boy. When Albus thinks back to him he most often laughs about himself. How weak children are, to think they are in love with the first pretty boy they meet. Gellert had been pretty. His sharp mind was mirrored in his dagger-sharp eyes. In every cutting word he spoke. Gellert provided an entrance to the world that had been closed for Albus, an out of an impossible situation. The sound of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace, they have awakened something in Albus he had never felt before. The butterfly flutter of attraction, the hot sparks of lust. Albus had reveled in those feelings, in the excitement they brought. A heady cocktail of everything Albus had ever desired, poured into the vessel of one Gellert Grindelwald. It was bound to explode. And when it did, it took down the rest of the world alongside it. Albus decided not to dwell on him after that. This strategy worked well. Who would even be able to tell the truth about him, about them? Crazy Aberforth? No one believed a word of what he said after Albus had let slip that Aberforth loved his goats the 'welsh way'. Batty Bathilda? Her shame about being related to a dark magician proved a better muzzle than Albus could have hoped for.

Gellert had been an outlier, an anomalie, provided by fate to show Albus his shortcomings and helplessness. Had he just been easier to control, the world would be all the better for it.

Fate had more plans for Albus. A new challenge, planned without his knowledge. This time Albus was ready. Another beautiful boy, with a brilliant mind, who refused to be contained, who sparked the burning depth of desire back to life. Albus stopped being a fool a long time ago. Sirius Black needed a strong hold to stay how Albus needed him. What better place than the childhood home he escaped from so many years ago to keep him captive. It's easy, really, to make Sirius desire him too. He would just have to be a little patient. And Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not patient.

[doomedandstoned]

New York Occult Rockers MAMA DOOM Reveal 'Ring The Bell’ Music Video

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Here's a track that gets better every time you listen to it. It's a ballade of sorts, a tale told of the longest night. "Ring The Bell" is the first single that emerged from 'Blood Salt Sacrifice' (2023) by MAMA DOOM, which dropped December 15th. Today, it gets the music video treatment and this Gratuitous Productions joint illuminates the story in a dreamlike way, where we are left to ponder its symbolism and puzzle together a meaning.

“Blood Salt Sacrifice," says the band, "tells a story that combines the eerie aspects of death and the undying with the enduring themes of love and power and Gratuitous Productions, led by Anne Terror and Grave Dave, wanted to create a Twilight Zone inspired video with ‘Ring the Bell.’ Most of the video was shot under the shadow of an ancient tree surrounded by several forgotten headstones. We set up a makeshift dreamscape which provided me with my own internal struggles because large spiders kept finding their way onto the sheets. There is always a lot of laughs and a whole lot of fun when making these videos, and we’ve got many more to come!”

"Ring The Bell" begins with a wavy Toolesque bass groove from Chuckie Rumbles, and the bass has a strong presence throughout the 3:34 runtime. This is paired with Anne Terror's vibrant beat and an otherworldly synth that has the feeling of ancient mystery about it. Like her keyboard playing, D.Lolli's vocals are well suited for the storytelling demands of the lyrics, supporting the narrative with a range of styles from serious and focused to dramatic and gnarly.

The underground New York trio released their third album on Interstellar Smoke Records, and it is a strange, haunting gem, weaving elements of doom metal with retro occult rock stylings (get it here). Stick Mama Doom on a playlist with Electric Wizard, Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats, Saint Vitus, Castle, and Christian Mistress.

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

Last heard in 2021 with the release of their sophomore album Ash Bone Skin N Stone; haunting hard-rockers Mama Doom return this month with their devastating new album, 'Blood Salt Sacrifice.'

Originally formed in Newburgh, NY in 2016, since the band’s 2018 debut, 'From Blue to Bone' (2018) the trio have traded in guitars for keyboards and ethereal vocals, and in doing so summoned the deepest of grooves from dominions below.

Blood Salt Sacrifice by Mama Doom

Finalizing that perfect union with crushing bass and drums, their sound might be familiar to fans of doom rock, but it also offers a strangely unfamiliar and unique tone, given its impressive component parts. Newly signed to Polish label Interstellar Smoke Records, 'Blood Salt Sacrifice' is a monumental tale encompassing the eerier aspects of death and the undying.

Traversing a spectrum that spans traditional blues, doom, and ego-death metal, Mama Doom’s 'Blood Salt Sacrifice' is a serious force to be reckoned with.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[birboon]

Nymmril the Gold - A LoTR Fanfic

Pairing: Legolas x lion-shifter male!oc (Nymmril) Spans from: The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug - Lord of the Rings: Return of the King Synopsis: Nymmril, a young skin-changer from the far deserts, has been under the care of his Keeper Beorn for centuries. With the dragon present, it was deemed too dangerous for him to leave. But what happens when Gandalf and his company of mischievous dwarrow stumble into the Carrock asking for help? Only one thing is for certain: A lion's loyalty is a powerful weapon.

act 1 - chapter 2: "Company"

read it on: ao3 & wattpad [read chapter 1 here!]

The young man woke for the second time that day when the sun was bright and awake, rays riding bright and strong onto the ground below. He was reluctant to open his eyes, for his little awakening hours before had drained him somewhat and the rest of his night was full of fitful, frightening dreams of fire and gold and blood. But with the promise of an adventure on his mind, Nymmril dragged himself from his pallet and shook himself to rid the weariness, washing his face in a wooden basin and taking several moments to glance at and perfect his reflection in the cool water.

By the time he had dragged up the courage to leave his room and meet Beorn, Gandalf and the rest in the dining room, he was the last to arrive. All thirteen dwarves were seated around the large wooden table, seated upon an oddity of chairs, stumps and logs. At the head of the table sat an extremely grim looking dwarf, regal and powerful and the only one (save Gandalf) who seemed unphased by Beorn's lumbering figure loitering around with a jug of creamy goat's milk. Also at the table, somewhat hidden by the piles of fresh bread rolls with homemade butter, soups and honey cakes, was a halfling. Nymmril started at the tiny creature with wonder. He had never seen one before, outside of the scripts and scrolls of his people's documentations of Middle Earth's residents.

The young man was glad Gandalf had managed to introduce the fourteen to Beorn successfully, for he had been fearing the Bear would swallow them all whole and thus there would be no adventure for him to go on. Nymmril ran a hand through his shaggily-shorn, golden hair, nervousness buzzing through his entire being as he stood out of view around the corner, debating on whether to interrupt or not. He did not have to strain his ears to catch the words fluttering around the table; talk of Azog the Defiler and his horrific ways. Nymmril remembered the terror the Orc caused all too well. Subconsciously the young man rubbed at his wrists, pale skin tainted with pale scar tissue from where the bonds and shackles had been bound too tight.

"There are others like you?" The halfling asked suddenly, drawing the man out of his pious stupor, away from the confines of his memories. Nymmril's ears twitched at the creature's voice, noting its temp and pitch and the earthly tone of its tongue. The halfling was used to comfort, it seemed, but also liked to get his hands dirtied in the soft soils back home. The young man smiled at the thought as he listened to the halfling speak.

"Once there were many," Beorn replied sullenly, replenishing the mug of a particularly rotund dwarf.

"And now?" At the halflings queries Beorn's shoulders stiffened sadly, and he turned back towards his small guest.

"Now... There are only two."

The walls of the wooden building seemed to expand, as if it had inhaled just as sharply as those that it encompassed. Nymmril could hear the boards creak and stretch as it did so, much like he could hear the beating hearts of the company - of every dwarrow (save the pretentiously regal, handsome one at the table's end) and of the halfling and even of the wizard that was guest in his home, who was sat leaning against the wall much in the same position Nymmril had left him in that morning chewing on the same pipe. The stuffiness of grief settled upon the group and weighed heavy on his own heart.

"Two you say?" came the words of a particularly northern-sounding dwarf, "But here there is only one!"

"Aye, there are two of us. There is me, and then there is Nymmril."

"Are you much alike?" Asked another dwarf, sounding young and keen to learn. He had in his hands a thick journal, and had opened it to one of the back pages, scribbling notes beneath a quick, well-drawn sketch of Beorn himself. The Bear opened his mouth to respond, but Nymmril hopped quickly from his hiding spot, winking at Gandalf as he leaped into view.

"You may see for yourself, Master Dwarf, and then make up your own mind on the matter," the young man said loudly, standing tall and lean at the far end of the company, opposite to where Beorn was standing with a frown etched on his forehead. Golden beams of light glanced off Nymmril's flaxen hair and his emerald eyes glittered as he laughed at the stunned faces before him, for even the stone-faced, black-bearded dwarf who seemed to be the chief of his companions was shocked at the arrival of the second shifter. Whatever they had been expecting, it certainly wasn't him.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mister! I hadn't seen or heard you enter, so I was-"

Nymmril silenced the young dwarf with a loud, musical laugh. His shoulders shook as he did so and the sound caused everyone in the vicinity to smile, whether they felt like smiling or no. That was the beauty of Nymmril, so joyous and jovial that it felt like an offense not to join him in his childlike happiness.

"Speak no more of it, my young friend! Such mannerisms matter not to me." The young man strode forward boldly, grabbing a honey cake from the plate of a hatted-dwarf and dancing around the table to kneel before the anxious journalist, to whom he asked: "What is your name?"

"Ori, Master Nymmril."

"Oh, we'll have none of that here, young Ori. I am Master of none. Nymmril shall suffice," he tore apart the honey cake, offering the largest half to the dwarf, who accepted with shaking hands and a gracious bow. "Now tell me: Do Beorn and I look alike?"

Uproar swept through the company and Nymmril straightened to his full height, standing shoulder-to-breast with the Great Bear beside him. He sent a confused glance towards Gandalf, who shrugged and laughed along with his dwarvish friends. The young man looked up towards Beorn.

"I guess we don't," he said with a grin, causing the other shifter to push him away forcefully with a grumble that almost sounded like amusement. As the clutter died down, another young dwarf with blond hair and beard spoke up: "Are you sure you're related?"

"Oh, we aren't rela-"

"We may both be shifters," Beorn cut off his younger friend with a raised voice and sharp look, "but we are not of the same family. In fact we aren't even of the same tribe."

"Same... Tribe?" There the halfling spoke again and Nymmril sent a wide smile his way. But before he could answer, Gandalf cut him off.

"They are different Radags. Nymmril is not a bear like Beorn is here."

"Then what is he?" The blond turned his eyes back towards the young shifter. "What do you change into?"

"A different animal," Nymmril replied with a devilish smirk, much to the dismay of almost everyone in the room. Beorn rolled his eyes, pushing his ward out of his way and nodding his head towards the empty seat besides the wizard. The young man took his place, leaning back against the wall with his cheeks stretched happily. There were many dwarrow in the room and he made it his own personal goal to learn each and every single one's name - and he had already started, with young Ori. Beorn hummed to himself.

"So you need to reach the Mountain before the last day of Autumn?" He asked.

"Before Durin's Day falls, yes," Gandalf replied.

"You are running out of time," Beorn said steadily, gaze drawn towards the miserable leader of the company.

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."

"A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer of Dol Guldur. I would not venture there unless in great need," the Bear warned, casting his gaze out upon all the dwarrow. The halfling, Nymmril noted, seemed to slump down in his chair when the Necromancer was mentioned. Curious indeed, the young man thought to himself, resting his elbows on his knees and gazing at the small creature.

"We will take the Elven road," Gandalf replied, nodding and taking a puff of Old Toby. "That path is still safe."

At the mention of Elves one of the dwarves turned aside, face sour and disbelieving. Nymmril bit his lip, wringing his hands. "Gandalf, the-"

"The wood elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin," Beorn once again cut the younger shifter off. "They are less wise, more dangerous."

"That matters not," Nymmril finally spoke once more, not taking his eyes from the dwarf as he turned sharply on his heel.

"What do you mean?" He asked fearlessly.

"This land... Its crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing-"

"And you are on foot," Beorn finished off. "You will never reach the forest alive. I don't like dwarves, they are greedy and blind - blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own. But Orcs I hate more... What do you need?"

Gandalf rose to his feet, cloak billowing at the movement, and Nymmril's brows shot up. The wizard walked towards Beorn, staff tapping at the floor with each step. The old man craned his neck backwards to meet the eyes of the Bear.

"Ponies, Beorn. Your finest animals. I assure you they will return to you safely," the wise one said. His eyes made the mistake of drifting towards the younger shifter as Beorn turned aside with a fearsome growl, looking down at the Gandalf. His eyes strayed towards Nymmril, who met his gaze with faux-confidence, kissing his teeth nervously.

"Hmm... I see that look in your tricky eyes, Wizard. You mean to take my Nymmril with you!" the Bear allowed his voice to raise, narrowing his eyes angrily as he turned to the grey-clad man. The young shifter jumped up defensively, even as those in the company flinched back, many reaching for their weapons and one almost falling from his chair. Nymmril grabbed for Beorn's arm, but was shrugged off the first time he clasped his hand around the man's bicep. He watched in terror - not for himself but for the others beneath their roof - as thick black fur sprouted from the pores on the back of the larger man's enormous hands, which were beginning to mould and change, slowly coming to resemble enormous paws.

"I do not wish for any harm to come to him, Beorn. I have known Fleetfoot since he was a cub and poor would my life be had I never met him-"

"You cannot sweet talk with the Black Bear, Gandalf. It would be best if you all left quickly. I shall meet you outside once I have calmed him down," Nymmril said softly, ushering the dwarrows out and pushing the halfling towards the door gently. As they left, with Gandalf casting one last annoyed look towards Beorn, the words of the company could be heard. Specifically one rich voice slandering the Grey wizard for not conferring with them before inviting another along into the company. A huff was all the dwarf received in reply as the wizard strolled through the exotic gardens of Beorn.

Nymmril reached again for the Bear, taking him by both arms this time and guiding him towards a long bench that had been previously home to the backsides of many dwarves. The young man took him by the paws, which were now fully transformed, eyeing the black fur spreading along the man's forearms with a crease in his brows.

"Beorn, calm down."

"They wish to steal you away," Beorn growled, eyes never once leaving the heavy, wooden door that acted as the only partition between his wrath and the lives of their guests.

"Nay, I wished to go with them. If anyone should be angry it is Gandalf, for I have forced myself upon that company without thought to whether they would want my companionship or not."

"It is too dangerous for you to leave, Nymmril. You are young-"

"Four-hundred and seventy-eight is hardly young, Black Bear," said shifter huffed, removing his grip from Beorn.

"Not for most, maybe, but you're barely of age by our standards. The world is much changed since you last ventured out. The one you love is gone, taken from us with the fire drake's coming to the Mountain."

"But-"

"If you truly wish to leave then I can't stop you. But heed my warnings, Golden One. It is dangerous, even for the likes of us. It is my wish that you remain here, safely, with me," Beorn spoke seriously. His hands, with his anger released now back to normal, came up to the side of the younger man's face. "I am responsible for your safety. I cannot protect you if you leave my side."

Nymmril flinched back, both his hands gripping tightly onto Beorn's own even as his eyes watered. He sent the Bear a tight-lipped smile.

"You never used to be like this. You and I, we used to go on our own adventures - you could come with me!" Nymmril's words were hopeful, yet even as they were spoken the young man knew in his heart what the answer would be:

"Times have changed, and with them so have I. If I went with you I would forsake this land - the one thing that is truly ours. I cannot go with you."

"I am going with them either way."

"I know you are. I do not wish to see our guests again, not in this state. You have my blessing to leave on this quest with them. But it is bound to fail, do not come running back to me upset after it is all over. I will be of no comfort to you," Beorn stated seriously. He was frowning down at where Nymmril's hands lay overtop of his. "You have grown up quickly. Too quickly for my liking. Go, then, before I change my mind. Fetch them fourteen ponies and a noble steed... We shall see if Gandalf keeps his promises."

Nymmril nodded, pressing his forehead against his keeper - the only parent he'd known since Orcs stole away his borne ones - closing his eyes.

"Thank you, Beorn. I will return to you, I swear."

The Bear smiled grimly, shooing the younger man away. "If you call for aid, I shall come. May any enemies you find in your path turn to shreds beneath your claws."

Nymmril grinned at the parting words, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and drying it on his red tunic. He bowed deep and long, winking half-heartedly as he snuck away to his room to gather supplies. There he grabbed a linen bag and stuffed it with his bed-roll, spare clothing and water-decanters. He wrapped up sticky buns and seeded loaves in cloth and added them to his luggage, too, for though it was perishable Nymmril wanted to bring along a taste of his home, no matter how long (or short) it would last. Nothing could beat Beorn's honey cakes, and if he ran out of food... well, the man was a hunter in his own right. Beorn may not eat meat, but he did.

He sat there silently for several minutes, staring down at his pack with a heart brimming with both grief and adrenaline. He didn't wish to leave his keeper behind, but he craved his own freedom. Excitement bristled down his spine and tingled his fingertips as he slung the bag over his shoulders, relishing in the comforting weight as it rested at his back. Memories poured fresh into his mind, of days where he and the Bear would go traipsing off in the mountains together, of joining bands of merry men as they journeyed and hunted creatures in the fell hills. Nymmril's hands clutched at the leather straps and he felt a smile slip into place. He would make many more memories, he reckoned, on this new venture.

The young man tiptoed back into the dining room, relief washing through him as he spied that Beorn was no longer there. If he were, the man was not sure he would be able to leave, so bitter was the sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt almost sorry, for leaving the Great Bear behind. But never he minded it, and Nymmril shrugged the feeling away quickly and left their home altogether, letting the heavy door slam behind him.

[undersero]

I want to get to know you better! This is one of my favorites. Pls gush to me all about to!

✨ If you get this ask, tell us more about your selfship(s)! And then feel free to pass this ask around ✨

GASP OK BUT U ASKED ME FOR IT!!!!!! HERE WE G O

(Selfship screaming under the cut)

Currently I’m pretty obsessed with beerwin (Bee x Erwin). Erwin is really patient and a strong, reliable presence! But he works too hard, so I am good at helping him take a break!

Erwin is so supportive and helps me with my silly little garden without being asked to help and he always listens to me talk about my silly little plants and watches obscene amounts of TikTok’s about cool garden stuff that I want to add and whatever else is rattling around in my silly little brain.

I like it when he tells me about books he’s reading, or when he lets me drink some of his tea/coffee (I’m perfectly aware that I can make my own but his tastes better bc he has it and yes I realize how ridiculous that is). I also love bringing him something cold to drink when he’s working outside in the heat, and we’ve started sitting on the porch in the evenings after the sun goes down. It’s quiet and all we can hear are the crickets but it’s so peaceful because it’s our home.

Also I like that he comes to the market with me because I don’t have to climb the shelves anymore bc he Tol.

Erwin has several pairs of work khakis that are torn and patched hundreds of times but he won’t get rid of them because he said they still get the job done but I think it’s because he likes when I mend them, especially with fun fabrics. He’s a berry fiend tho and everytime he’s outside he eats several handfuls of berries from the bushes but he always brings me some wherever I am. He’s so cute when he does it.

He’s very nice to our chickens and talks to them and the ducks when he feeds them. The cow positively adores him, too, and so do the sheep and goats and all the barn cats. He’s so gentle with them, it makes me warm and fuzzy inside.

I’ve made a sweater for Erwin roughly each year we’ve been together. He will never get rid of any of them. He still rotates them around, tho some are better for fall and some are better for winter, etc. He’s always keeping an eye out for yarn or fabric sales.

Erwin is the best at getting the seals nice and tight on our canning jars but I think he does this on purpose so that I ask him for help to open them. He also organizes our canning pantry so well, he has the patience and attention span to do it really thoroughly and we always have a good idea of what’s in there thanks to him. We go through jams and jellies and preserves so quickly tho, because he’s always using them on breads and cakes and graham crackers and cookies.

He makes the very best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had and he’s usually awake before me everyday. If he heads out to the barn or the fields early, he always refills my water bottle with cool water and has the coffee maker ready for me to use.

I normally go to sleep a little later than he does, so I like to leave notes in his boots or on the door for him to find in the morning. I also really like to make sure the coffee maker is ready for him to use when he wakes up. *note: we both know we don’t need to do this but it makes us pretty happy to do this for each other*.

[coffyblak]

this gonna flop but anyway, have some drawings with low effort sketch expressions

Meet the Cool Ranch!

Luzia Lamb:

- german

- goat/dragon hybrid

-don't ask how this is possible, even she doesn't know

-knows how to knit and sew

-please don't call her a sheep, she'll beat you up

-plays the accordeon

-hates her name, prefers being called Luz

- is arrogant, proud, stubborn, short tempered, and a cheapskate

-has difficulty to express her feelings because she hates showing vulnerability

-hates being alone yet doesn't want to get attached

-basically an Asuka kinnie

-has pyrokinesis and is almost as fast as Sonic when flying

-talking about him, they were childhood friends but lost contact over the years

-also she saved him once when a kid and she boasts about it so much–

Toffee the dog:

-a german shepherd who's also a german

-Luz's housemate and bestfriend

-the two of them own a shop

-plays the guitar

-is kind, golden hearted, protective and caring towards his friends

-"happy-go-lucky" kinda guy yet realistic

-ironically enough he can be sarcastic and sassy as hell

-he's a great listener too

-he'll try to give good advices but won't guarantee it

-he's strong

-like very strong

-not like Knuckles but still

-gentle giant basically

Ella and Stella the chicken:

-twin sisters

-they surprisingly get along well with eachother

-Ella is an outgoing and positive person while Stella is more reclusive and realistic than her sister

-both are farmers but Stella sometimes sells flowers

-Stella knows how to make flower crowns and give them to the group

-Ella collects bugs and has pet ants

-she's not a morning person at all

-Ella probably has a crush on Toffee

-Stella is a hopeless romantic tho

Spring the ocelot:

-his real name is Zack but shhh-

-the youngest of the group

-he's an adrenaline junkie, energetic and has a short attention span

-gets hurt a lot because of this, hence why he always have a band-aid on him

-the true happy-go-lucky of the group

-sees Luz as a older sister and role model

-he thinks she's cool because she's different yet doesn't care about what people think (oh boy he's so wrong)

[smokeys-house]

*Taps your shoulder with mah lil' paws

Any facts/info you might have about archery? ;-;

Of course! My interest lies in any form of armed combat or weapons, not just swords. I used to practice archery every day for a few years actually. Historically speaking it hasn't varied a ton aside from advancements in equipment, but there's a lot to talk about with archery so I'll narrow it down to something quick and interesting!

Modern bows for hunting and sporting have varied draw weights, that's no secret. Compound bows allow the user to hold significantly heavier weights for longer periods of time, and can also be adjusted. Either way the minimum required poundage for a bow to be used to hunt deer is ~60lbs or so depending on where you live. Bows used for warfare, however had significantly higher draw weights. They weren't exactly standardized because you needed all your archers to be able to use their bows, and also crafting a bow by hand leads to some differences! But essentially they're often touted by modern archers as having been around 80-120lbs for European longbows during their major implementations. They also used significantly thicker arrows for many reasons, raw power of the bow notwithstanding.

Now for an interesting divergence, a crossbow of a similar time period could have a draw weight of around 1,000lbs! You might hear that and think wow that's impossible they must have been so powerful! But the difference lies in the weight and size of the projectile as well as the "power stroke" or the period of time over which the projectile is accelerated. Im not entirely sure on the stats but essentially crossbows werent as impressive as the comparison from 100 to 1,000 would make it seem, although they still were very strong. Crossbows of this weight were often spanned with devices such as a windlass or a goat's foot instead of by hand to manage such intense weights. So if you ever see a movie where somebody takes one of those big medieval crossbows and pulls it back with just their hands, they're being a bit silly.

[jun-kys]

i introduce you all to my magical girl au

magical boy radius.

backdraft- futa kajiyama from milgram

strikeback- ethan nakamura from pjo

7boshi- nanase tenma from clock over orquestra

monops- akihiro mebuki from one eyed ripper

the premise is futa kajiyama becomes a magical boy and is forced into a the 3rd magical division of L-city.

here is just my silly braindumps

BACKDRAFT

Knight motif

He has ONE guilty goat horn on the left side btw.

He has a muffler that he sometimes uses to cover his face with (like the black mask he wears in Milgram)

scouted bc he has a strong will to serve (justice) ayo boys serving

scouted a week before the events of MBR, which greatly surprises everyone because he's managed to stop a lot of crimes from happening in the span of one week among magicas.

even though he complains about them a lot, he’s very thankful for the L-CIty 3rd Division, and to have a group he belongs to. 

he says he became a magical boy for ‘the sake of justice’ but hes actually just lonely.

Oldest in the L-City 3rd Division.

The 2nd least mentally mature.

The (somehow) 2nd most emotionally mature (you have nanase tenma and akihiro mebuki in your group lah cb)

Cooks the most in his division.

“What's upstairs? Stairs don’t talk.”

The only one that can help Akihiro with his homework LMAOOOOOO

Canonly dislikes vegetables and likes me. Canonly likes curry rice.

cooks lunches for everyone else

STRIKEBACK

Doesn’t cook often.

Congrats, the most emotionally and mentally mature out of everyone in L-City 3rd Division!!!! And you are still mentally unstable.

Originally pretty cold, but eventually just thought “oh i can get close to these people NICE” and just started teasing them.

Rarely genuinely smiles (not around fuuters though hes always making this barely resemblinga smile thing when teasing fuuta)

“Based? Based on what.”

Can’t read kanji very well. Would die upon helping Akihiro with his kanji. He can do maths p well though.

Knows english 

7BOSHI

Can’t cook for shit, the kitchen will be set on fire.

Uses emoticons in the gc. spams unintentionally

Bought a bathtub for the apartment they share and often spends quite a while in the bath. Fuuta has to drag him out.

Least mentally mature most of them but 2nd most emotionally mature

unintentionally insensitive

“You’re telling me a shrimp fried this rice??? :O”

canonly likes omurice

canonically far more ignorant of anger and sadness than others

completely dependant on others and their decisions

MONOPS

2nd most mentally mature, LEAST EMOTIONALLY MATURE TAKE THAT YOU PRE PUBESCENT BOY HAH.

“Apartment Complex?? But its seriously simple.”

canonly likes coffee

Accidentally opens up and trusts them, even though he initially acts distrustful, and IS distrustful towards everyone else

Eventually realizes that hes broken out of his mindset of “not needing anyone besides big sis” 

initially HATED everyone in L-City 3rd Division bc nanase was loud, insensitive and annoying, and kept bothering him and smothering him with hugs, ethan just pissed him off, and he fuuta bc hes angry and keeps complaining.

actually really smart, comes up with a lot of the strategies which ethan later reviews for him.

CHATGROUP EXTRACT ONE:

7BOSHI: WOOAAAAAAAAAHHHHH I’M EXCITED

MONOPS: shut up

7BOSHI: THIS IS ONLINE, YOU CANT TELL ME TO SHUT UP

~~↑─ = ≡Σ (((つ ◕ل͜◕) つ↑

MONOPS muted 7BOSHI

BACKDRAFT: LMAOOOOOOO

STRIKEBACK:💀

STRIKEBACK unmuted 7BOSHI

7BOSHI: Aki whyyyyyyyy(´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)♡

MONOPS: i’ll mute you again

7BOSHI: (๑´•̥̥̥-•̥̥̥`)

‘CANON’ CONVO 1

7BOSHI: Anything's fine with meeee~!

MONOPS:* SLAPS 7BOSHI’s BACK* Even in such a dire situation, you still can’t make a decision?

STRIKEBACK: Well, then what do you suggest, Monops?

MONOPS: … i refuse to make a decision.

BACKDRAFT: Seriously.. so only Strikeback and I can make a decision here, huh?

STRIKEBACK: I’m actually more of a follower than a leader. 

BACKDRAFT: …

BACKDRAFT: Fucks sake, I can’t make decisions either.

(its likely that in the end, MONOPS makes the decisions)

[fin24bb]

Story : overview and inspiration

Overview

For the start of the game I want to throw the player in where the gameplay start with little amounts of exposition on who the characters are just giving small hints on who the characters are and there relationships that would be established more as the story panned out however I don't have the means to make the whole story/game

however a general overview of what happens at the start of the game that is playable is that Finbub the main character who attends a school set in the modern day but this school is that off a school for outcasts and weirdos with odd mutations and powers mostly linked to those of Gods from around the world a small bit of exposition that the player wouldn't know is that Finbub the protagonist used to be friends with Dionysus or as he calls him Dio for short as they were good friends Dio however one day gains a new set of powers before he was weak and seen as an outcast even in a school full of them as being related to that of Dionysus he could only grow measly Grape vines and sometimes the grapes if he was lucky but however he one day suddenly spurts new crazy powers allowing him to not just have much ascended the previous powers being able to make his old powers far stronger being able to create that of sentient grapes but also he has the ability to grant wishes but he only uses this for evil and his own way all of the bullying he was stuck with will be retributed but this causes a sort of outbreak of his mental stability causing him to go crazy with power this is then left to Finbub to fix as he was his only real friend as he didn't have much of powers either he was just a Faun a goat boy with legs horns and eyes that he hides as he dislikes that due to previous bullying he covers it with a bandanna that shows off his inner flame as well he has fire powers however very weak he could barely light a candle if he tried but Dionysus might help reveal his inner power and this is more a less where the story starts with Dio making Fin fight off his new minions

The inspiration

My Hero Academia

Firstly one of my largest pieces of inspiration was from the anime/manga series My Hero Academia the show mostly consists of a world inhabited by many people who suddenly spurted powers one day called quirks these are superpowers that really can be anything sticky balls that come out of your head to Super strength caused by ingesting Sugar although what I will say is it is almost the opposite to my world as not having powers in this universe would cause one to be bullied in comparison and that's where I pull a large piece of inspiration from the Main Character Izuku Midoriya he Starts the series as somewhat of a nobody bullied from the fact he has no powers but he still aspires to become a strong hero and attend the school for heroes UA However once he is given his power One for All by the number one hero All Might he is able to climb his way up and become far stronger than anyone could imagine

Danganronpa

Danganronpa is a Game/Anime series based around a group of students all talented in there own areas and therefore are invited to a prestigious school Hopes peak academy however upon arrival they are never to be seen again the story of the game follows as story murder mystery puzzle based gameplay as a game of survival of the fittest plays out between them having to try and be the last survivors playing a game of kill or be killed every time someone is murderer the students go to trial having to try and pin it on one person who will then be sent to "punishment time" that would lead to the inevitable death there is 3 main games/series that all follow the same idea with a fresh new cast and ideas obviously my main inspiration from this game is the character each having there own unique talents that span from being the ultimate gambler to the ultimate swimmer and everything in-between and outside this idea

Wednesday

The Netflix iteration on the Addams family series Wednesday I think really fits the theme of my game well as the setting and story share many point such as the school for out casts with werewolves, Gorgons and vampires and many other with there own unique powers compared to My Hero Academia where not having powers is weird its the opposite in this universe where having them makes you weird and dangerous but I also think this universe works well as it is set in the modern day making mentions of that such as tiktok but also another part of this is that the main story is Wednesday and her group of friends hunting down a mysterious beast and having many other mysteries mix into it and that would be similar to my story as a whole as while chasing the main villain there would be many side plots set off

[writer59january13]

Upon approaching advent of an early spring 2024

(alternately titled GENESIS RESPLENDENT) No matter the calendrical/official onset of vernal equinox takes places Tuesday, Mar 19, 2024 and transpires until Thursday, Jun 20, 2024, an intimation sensed (predicated on above average temperatures for February 21st, 2024) that season of blooming plants will override any assertion of Old Man Winter.

The ideal, general, ethereal ability of corporeal (once arboreal) beings to adduce, contemplate and exhaust gray inner knobby matter oft times finds this clothed apish chap entertaining gamesome insight. How did this, that or another thought spring forth per mine consciousness? This conjecture might be a shrunken modus operandi how life began, which query mankind scrunched brow throughout Homo Sapiens history did contemplate. Origin of life ascribed to the big bang, but then the question begged what preceded that cosmic event, which question came crashing into inquisitive mind of yours truly (me) after reading a book titled Angels and Demons by Dan Brown; He also wrote the Da Vinci Code, and The Lost Symbol among other book titles.

This veritable stranger sends

what he hopes you consider to be

a most pleasant unexpected note to thee unknown reader

allowing further discourse

(communication) a boot...

footwear ourselves, and

maybe fledgling acquaintanceship

will positively resonate akin to a magic flute,

whereby digital life jackets

donned in virtual trumped up petsmart boat

perhaps if weather inclement,

an additional slick trojan raincoat

doned to help stay dry

until destination reached

perhaps landing upon a north Carolina island

resembling this hill Billy goat

(christened Beverly),

whence springs germ of sum re: idea

takes root exhibiting

potential valance lives strong

when juiced sta stp away

from ma cheaply tricked

supertramp violating

tender tinder and tumblr

ova vulnerable shoot.

To search for source that gives rise

enabling homo sapiens to think

this ace of spades heart felt,

(albeit diamond in the rough poet)

digs shallow sometimes

force fool lee with light club

to emulate spelunker easing

into bosom of Gaia, or shine laser focus into chasm

teetering on the brink

hunting down gamesome

elusive dodging idea sunkist,

dogged catlike whimsy

doth elusively, and we silly out pace

yet hi yam ready with

whorled wide net to capture alive

agile rat scorpion fink unseen

quiet as mouse notion

gives this hardy laurel

a divine run for his money

quite a chase - bank king analogously

viz monkey and weasel

scurrying thru microcosmic burrow

of cerebral size manhattan

skyscrapers at a blink quarry

arising whim of mine

vanishes without a trace quick

as mental cogs & wheels

generated riveting link,

perch ants connected

to previous pondering

within cranial place, or appear

as some random

non-sequitur conscious kink

distracting ability to latch onto

awesome fleeting mind space

inducing minor frustration at lack of ability

dag nabbit (albeit painlessly) steely zinc

shimmering insight cognizant

ability likened to ode Grecian urn vase frieze

depicting close captcha

thought process cold playing life

spans shorter than a wink

via third eye of providence

of this comfortably numb,

yellow brick walled

beatle browed face,

whereat he espies verdant

pastoral themes that billow and flow

across terra firma hallowed ground

sanctimonious from immaculate

mother Earth conception

synchronized in a symphony with terrestrial

fauna and flora which life forms abound

via natural laboratory qua nature,

especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide

where multitudinous existence can be found

carving out a figurative zoological niche

in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore

idyllic melodic musical sounds

artist palette of rainbow blended sights,

which twin manifestations

of restorative and natural calm

assuage auditory and visual

sense and sensibility pleasures respectively

serve as psychic balm against global threat

of life, liberty and happiness triage psalm

rampant in the form

of diabolical deliberate deeds

bred in the soil of deep rooted hatred

kudzu resistance asphyxiates human camaraderie

democratic state attacked with no qualm

malicious and terroristic plot methodical map

blueprint leaves catastrophic trail of red

dire dystopian prognostications

constitute doomsday scenario

no rocket surgeon

nor brain scientist mentality requisite

grave misfortune writ large for all life!

[deepdarkconsumption]

★BE A BOSS: OBJECTIVE COMPLETED

General Content Warning for: Violence, blood, guns, knives, smoking, drugs, alcohol, wounds, fire, possible body horror, etc.

Just another kin bastard out here. Don't mind me. Dont worry about it lol

fyi for u 3edgy5me kids - Im an adult. fuckin. stay in ur lane and be safe bc ur only a kid once. dont make my mistakes. seriously.

➥ Myth / Wraith / some kin names work (namely Zeitgeist or Infinity) ➥ he/his or it/its ➥ 1997. so. adult. ➥ Got a memory span like a goldfish on a bad drug trip ➥ just a fuckin weird bastard tbh

other blog tags + list under the cut of who/what I was lol

Other Blog Tags

#Shit I Sent In Yo - #DeepDarkConsumption.txt

#Aes - #Art of me - #Decor - #Fashion - #Food - #Haunts - #Info - #Kinfessions - #Positivity - #Self Care - #Shit to buy - #Shitposting - #Stim - #Stimboard - #vid

My Theriotypes + Otherkin (alphabetical)

➥ Black-Billed Magpie - #magpie Having multiple 'types that had wings is a pain bc getting the feeling of astral wings doesn't HELP especially when 3 of the 4 were all feathered wings. heck-

➥ Deep Sea Monster - #dsm A bio-luminescent catfish-gator-serpent creature. Very large/long. Rarely came up to or near the surface. If I did it was at night and usually to sink passing ships or submarines. I lurked in cave deep underwater. I used to hoard stuff from sunken ships and subs.

➥ Demon - #idt Super unconventional demon here. Like not in the hellfire and brimstone sense - like the inter-dimensional traveler who liked fucking shit up and messing with others, to the point where it often resulted in disaster and death.

➥ Miniature Goat - #goat

➥ Yellow Mongoose - #mongoose I do feel a strong connection to any mongoose, however.

➥ Void - #void ohman how to explain- I was some kind of void-dweller. I can feel wings of some kind, nothing really like birds or bats or bugs, just wings? When I get anxious in a shift, I get a glitchy, staticy, spaced out feeling, in my body, in my brain, moreso than normal. It also feels very militaristic which doesn’t make sense like ??? maybe its b/c another kintype? Maybe not?

My Fictiotypes (alphabetical)

➥ Claudia Donovan - #Donovan Warehouse 13, mostly canon compliant? I think? Do NOT follow if shared. Still working out if I was in an AU or not but so far, the events of the show seem fairly accurate?? IDK man memories are a bitch tbh. Should probably rewatch it again-

➥ Cut-Out - #roughnecks Starship Troopers: Invasion, noncanon fictiotype. Do NOT follow if this exact fictiotype is shared. Mobile Infantry Soldier. Rico’s Roughneck’s platoon. Nick-name was Cut-Out. I remember I had screwed up somehow & getting my unit killed. I was the only one who survived. The war lasted about another decade afterwards. I was forced into training new recruits, despite my protests.

➥ Flametrooper - #Flametrooper Star Wars sequels, noncanon/background. Just another background flametrooper, really. All I remember is the heat of the fire, and the harsh smell of chemicals. Mostly sensory memories, nothing visual of note.

➥ Flint - #Necro Dragonfable, noncanon fictiotype Unsure on doubles, please ask. I mostly used Necromancy with some Pyromancy at times. I remember a mostly dark blue and black colour scheme and I know that damn dragon was black with deep blues. Fucked if I know anything else about it.

➥ Point Blank Member - #gm Saints Row, noncanon fictiotype. Do NOT follow if this exact fictiotype is shared. I didn’t really work with pimping and drug dealing, though I would escort others at times. I worked more in enforcement and similar. I wasn’t a gang boss, but I was sorta high up in the ranks. Rival gangs did not like me lol I was a vicious bastard :p

➥ Project M6, Codename: Infinity - #asset Marvel Cinematic Universe, noncanon fictiotype. Do NOT follow if this exact fictiotype is shared. Originally I thought M6 was just a sona but NOPE I was wrong about a kintype oops. I absolutely did not volunteer for experiments. I was kidnapped by Hydra and they ended up experimenting on me a lot, and brainwashed to the point the only identity I had was what they gave to me. I ended up being captured by SHIELD prior to CA:TWS. This whole life was a shitshow lol

Usually at least in some form of a partial kinshift for this one. Def would say this is my strongest one. Welp.

➥ Zeitgeist - #Acid boy Deadpool 2, mostly canon compliant? Do NOT follow if shared I don't recall how I died but I also don't recall much of the canon shown? So I think the outcome of X-Force was different than shown in the film. I was a bit of a jerk, and I know I didn't consider myself to be a nice person despite having a mostly chill yet chaotic vibe. I also remember smoking a lot, because it was the only thing that got the taste of that acid vomit out of my mouth.

[vitamindgummies91]

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