#brave new world [verse.]

[snkts]

" i know i must be the last person you expected to see tonight, but… i'm afraid i have nowhere else to turn to. "

Logan is staring. Just staring. He doesn't know what to think about this. 

This is Joshua Foley. His old student. One of his better students. One of the ones that always put forth the effort. He'd been a good kid. Sure, he’d come from a fucked up past, but they all did, and he was alright. Back when he smiled like he meant it. When he was still curious about the world. Back before his scent had been muddled by anxiety, and fear, and the acrid, underlying notes of something far worse. Before the New Mutants X-Force and everything that had come after.

That had been so long ago. Almost felt like a different lifetime. 

This is Elixir. One of the most powerful mutants alive. 

The greatest healer in the world. The most deadly bioweapon. A figurehead of Krakoa. If he wanted to, he could wipe out the population of the planet, and it might not even take that long. If he wanted to, he could eradicate disease and injury, and it’d be just as easy. A graveyard or a utopia depending only on his mood. 

Logan often wondered what it would take to stop him, if he ever fell down that path. 

This is Josh. He was the bright eyed kid, and the bioweapon, and the X-Force veteran, and the ultimate saviour, and the tired, burnt out man that all of those things had turned into. He had once heard some of the students teasing Josh for wanting to be like Logan, years ago. The kid had gotten his wish. Like Logan, he had been through hell, surviving despite longing for everything to stop. Like Logan, he’d made a damn good many choices, and he was living with the consequences. And like Logan, he’d apparently run out of friends. Because he was here. 

On Logan’s doorstep. 

Asking for help. 

What the fuck. 

Logan blinks, grinding his still smouldering cigar between his teeth. The smoke curls around him and dissipates. He sticks his hands in his jeans pockets. It’s a little brisk out, but not cold - the chill of night hasn’t had a chance to unpack its bags yet. And it’s quiet, too - so quiet, in fact, that Logan thinks even Josh might hear the sizzling of the tiny embers as they eat their way through the tobacco. Crickets chirp, a bat’s wings flutter, and a deer moves in the undergrowth a few klicks away. No people, though, and no traffic. That was by design. He’d built this safehouse to be away from everything else, and above all, difficult to find. And yet Josh had found him. 

“Hold on.” Logan raises a hand, then plucks the cigar from his teeth and stubs it on the door frame. “Before I let you in… Where the hell did you get that kid?”

[timechange]

“Good morning, Your Honor.” Martin greets, smiling, as he enters the office at exactly 8 AM.

Even though he’d been assistant to Citizen Brown for four months, there was no excuse for getting lazy. He’s not about to break his perfect streak of no demerits now.

However, when @doctorbrown turns around, gaping at him like he’d grown two extra heads, he falters.

“…Your Honor?” he tries. “Sir?”

[bombardanne]

verses/time points explained

in light of our better days; Mainly takes place in the 4th Year before Anne is cursed.

in light of our dangerous present; In-game, she resides in Feldcroft, afflicted by the curse.

in light of our brave new world; After her uncle Solomon's death (curse may or may not have been lifted).

in light of my valiant death; Anne dies in Hogwarts castle and returns as a spirit, uncertain of how she passed or who killed her. Last she remembers are two people, someone she trusted and someone she shouldn't have.

[unexceptional]

. "I'D DO THIS a whole lot faster if you weren't talking." The pointed tone was punctuated by a quick glance upward before Becky got back to the nasty cut along May's ribs. "I'm already tempted to just reach in and check if you actually have a heart. Don't tempt me to do any more damage while I'm in there."

. ( @spiderwcman ) « get rekt, may

[unexceptional-broken]

               BEFORE HE COULD get too far away from her with his long legs, Becky threw the towel in her hand at the back of his head. “Yeah, well, you’re not the only person who comes through my kitchen, have you thought of that?” She hoped it’d irk him, since he was getting on her nerves and ctitiqueing her attempt to get into the season of it all. She’d never been one for being for Christmas, so having put up any decorations had been a step in the holly jolly that she hadn’t taken in a very long time. “What’s a Game of Thrones, anyhow?” 

                                      ( @smertzimy​ ) « con’t

[krasnayavedma]

picnic. our muses go on a little picnic together, a quiet patch of grass beneath the warm sun.

Wanda's giggles were contagious. Between her and Steve, the amount of stories about some of the mishaps with the Avengers were vast and unending. She enjoyed listening to the former captain's first-hand account of the fun misadventures that she wasn't there to witness - the many things that happened long before she joined the team. Even if this small group that was once deemed 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' had gone their separate ways - either choosing to retire and settle down, or continue the fight with whatever things that may have come up - the witch would never forget their kindness and being accepted into the team albeit a turbulent start.

After a short bout of comfortable silence, she moves from her spot on the blanket, preferring to sit against Steve - her back to his front. She rests her head against his chest and looks up at the sky. Had it always been so beautiful? While it was true she favored the night to be in the company of the moon and stars, Wanda couldn't deny the charm of the vast blue ocean above her.

Her gaze eventually turns from the sky to the people scattered around Brooklyn Bridge Park, and she's grateful that she and Steve were given their space to go on their picnic and simply be, as a sense of normalcy was just starting to feel right after . . . everything. Thanos, the snap, the Battle of Earth . . . between heroes and regular people alike, it had taken what? Months before life became adjusted to the best it could?

Coming to terms with the shock of it all was hard - the aftermath and devastating loss still took a toll on most - but Wanda thought it was worth it in the end. It was nice to see people finally living life instead of taking a backseat to it and simply coasting through.

❝ I wish we could stay like this forever, ❞ she says. ❝ I don't want anything about today to ever end. ❞

love is in the air / @brooklynsoul !

[rebelthree]

@skeletcnkey​​ (for mitchell) | continued from x

     the world, so new and complicated melts away the moment soft lips meet her forehead, warmth radiating throughout her whole being. the world the woman had once knew was one filled with chaos and danger, where spies could be around every corner and secret deals had been made with washington-- and clearly not followed through. the discovery that the world remained unaware of witches and vampires and everything in-between frustrated the witch for a promised new world of cooperation and acceptance had not come to pass (nevermind the fact she had not revealed her own nature to her husband before the fates had separated them). however, at least for now, this frustration is tempered by the fact one dream had been granted them. her captain and herself had been given second chance to live and raise their child together after centuries of purgatory and pain and elena felt as if, in the least, this was a just reward for serving the rebellion faithfully. was it wrong to believe they deserved happiness after the hand they had been dealt? it mattered not (at least to her) the horrors her captain may have committed before her return. they were part of a past which had been robbed from them and elena was determined to focus upon their future in a world were moving pictures existed in talking boxes and herrick was no part of it.

     sigh escapes pink lips, body leaning into his as she takes his hands from her shoulders and guides them over her stomach where faint movement is detected. “as long as you come home to us at the end of the day, that is enough.” she wishes they could live in moments like this forever instead of him forced to leave her to go to the infirmary. it was not that she disliked his friends or the tea which annie seemed determined to make her float away upon (six mugs in an hour was a lot by any standard), but they were not him. too much time had already been stolen from them and she did not care if her desire to be with him more often was selfish. still, she concedes it is an unrealistic and unfair desire. he had lived without her for centuries and held a life he had already established. she, a woman who had once been.. frankly, the center of attention within their new york town.. was the sudden outsider. “i discovered the picture box and annie made me twelve cups of tea today. she revealed to me it was.. decaffeinated? she said a doctor inside the box determined that is best for our child.” elena offers in response, as if that would explain the nature of her day perfectly. 

[eddiediaaz]

You answered an anon about 911 fics and you finished saying that could recommend more! I’m new in the fandom and taking all the recommendations so if you want to give more, my ao3 and I are ready ☺️☺️☺️☺️

omg alright!! let me go through more of my bookmarks then hehe

Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

what a heart can do by bvckandeddie

dead reckoning by euadnes

takin my time verse by archerincombat

would you lie with me and just forget the world by colonoscopys

a spell on you (because you’re mine) by starkvandyne, tawaifeddiediaz

a bleeding sun on a silver screen by rarakiplin

how you lean on my shoulder (how i see myself with you) by withoutthetiger

Traded by Princessfbi

i just wanna tell you how i'm feeling by calvingseason

i like you so much (it's kinda gross) by Aficatyourfingertips, brewrosemilk

the persistence of memory by withmeornotatall

stupid people. by brewrosemilk

dirty symphony by tawaifeddiediaz

Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars

Smoke and Ashes Brushed Off with Ink by Princessfbi

take me to the lakes by archerincombat

let's hear it for the boy by hattalove

Wait for me there by kitkatpancakestack

Ever After by ElvenSorceress

Frequent Flyer by whileyouresleeping

burn the straw house down by rarakiplin

maybe i’ll be brave enough by then by trippedandfell

Love Leaves A Memory by LeandraLocke

never felt this way before (yes i swear) by withoutthetiger

listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Yavilee

at the right time by elisela

wishing to be the friction by ipretendtobesane

Lifelines by hetrez

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Leveling Up by lamardeuse

Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars

Agua Dulce and Other Sweet Things by TazzySnow

Gravity by rowan_wood

I'm cold but you light the fire within me by Beulaugh

if i need to rearrange my particles — i will for you. by dylaesthetics

you fill my head with you by Underhung_Aura

okay i think this is quite enough lmao, but if you do need more after all of these and the previous ones, let me know (because yes i do have more and more bookmarks lol)!! you can also check my #fanfic tag 😁 it's mostly buddie in there!

[avocado-writing]

hiii your bg3 writing is so *chefs kiss*

I was hoping you'd be able to write the companions' reactions to a bard!tav, giving them a private serenade one night. like they lead them to a clearing away from camp one night and there's a picnic set up and tav sings a song they wrote specifically for their love?

if all the companions is too many, could you please specifically do Halsin, Astarion, Minthara and Wyll?

oh, cute! going to give you a lute, as I think that’s easiest!

Astarion

he makes a comment about how he feels the picnic was a bit unnecessary as he can’t eat it, but you mention you’re his snack later ;)

you sit him down, pour him a glass of wine, and pull out your lute

you ask, suddenly uncharacteristically shy, if you can play him something.

he cocks his head to the side and nods.

your fingers dance across strings, and when you start to sing, he realises it’s a song about him.

you once offered to be his mirror, and tonight you repeat that. your song is about how lovely he is, in every way. how he’s handsome but kinder than he wants to admit. brave. fierce.

its the most sincere celebration of his character he’s ever heard, and by the end of it, he’s left shocked.

“oh…” “did you like it?” chewing your lip, nervous.

“it’s… you’re…” he really doesn’t have the words to convey how you’ve made him feel. so he gently takes your chin in his hand and kisses you.

the kiss gets deeper. the lute is abandoned. so, really, is the picnic. the music the two of you make then is of a different kind.

later, when he has time to come up with a suitable review, he will tell you how much it meant to him. you are his favourite musician, and he has a new favourite song.

Halsin

oh, he’s been around for a long time, but this is the first time someone’s done something like this for him.

he’s just sat in bowled-over silence as you play for him, and it is amazing. an epic ode to his life and kindness, how strong and handsome you think he is.

he comes closer as you sing, sitting right next to you. studying every inch of your face as you perform.

when you’re done, he tells you that it was the loveliest thing he’s ever heard.

“I’ve heard pods of whales singing as they meet up with their lost family… until now, it was the sweetest sound to have graced my ears.”

he gets you to repeat the song and turns into different animals to enjoy it, be it via vibrations or different ways of hearing. either way he wants to be surrounded by your music, and you.

Minthara

absolutely no idea how to respond.

she was brought up in a cutthroat world. this softness is new to her.

she remains quiet for a while as she tries to work out if you’re trying to get anything from her. is this a trick?

”oh, I’m sorry,” you say after a while when she’s just been staring. “did you not like it?”

”no. no, it was… play it again.”

you do, and she really listens to the lyrics. they’re about her beauty. how glad you are to have met her. her strength in battle and soul.

she’s exceptionally moved.

“this is… a priceless gift that you’ve given me. I have no way to repay you.” “I don’t need repayment. it was freely given.”

she kisses you, for she has no way else to thank you. you have moved her more than she thought possible.

Wyll

you play and he listens. his eyes and smile go wide.

absolutely enraptured. claps when you’re done, and cheers your performance. you laugh and bow for him.

he tells you how much you mean to him, what a sweet gift this is. how your love is his most treasured possession.

he reaches into his pocket… and takes out some paper.

“I… I know this is incredible timing but actually… I wrote you something, myself.”

and he starts to read out a poem.

oh, it is lovely. full of flowery verse, and sweet appreciations of you. all the little things which make him love you. you pick up your lute and play along eventually, and he gets into the rhythm too.

the two of you laugh at the fact that you both had the same idea! you’re so alike, so in sync.

he holds you tenderly, kisses you softly.

you end up writing many songs about your Blade. he is your perfect muse.

bonus:

Karlach bursts into tears when she hears it, and scoops you up into a big hug at the end. she’s so emotional. she can’t stop saying she loves you, she loves your song, all of it. lots of wet kisses for you.

Gale is rendered speechless for the first time he can remember. he just stares at you in adoration. he’s never had anyone love him enough to write a song about him before, and he full force of his affection for you hits him in that moment. he is smitten.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - III

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.8k.

Reading Time: 27min.

Warnings: asshole!Copia, blood extraction,drunk!Copia, mild sexual harassment?? (there’s nothing inherently sexual about what he’s doing, but it is uncomfortable and I wanted to tag it just to be safe), non-consensual rituals,restrained with ropes, rituals, soul modification, tied with ropes, use of needles

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @antoniamarie1989

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

The echoing of a choir sung eerily in your mind, the song slow and sombre as the melody continued. The same tune, verse by verse, sticking to your brain like glue; the lyrics haunting your waking moments. In an ironic turn of events, despite all your doubts and building hatred for the Great Creator, you found a morbid comfort in the songs the morals sung in gratitude, praising Him for their life however it looked, grateful for His grace. In your time watching the world go by, in the silence of your solitude and between visits from the creature that saw you as livestock and nothing more, those voices rang out to you, the lyrics tumbling from your lips and you found yourself joining the chorus.

“Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

The mortal desire to walk amongst Him both on this plane and in Heaven. It made you want to laugh. It was your wish to do the same thing, hold an audience with Him, breathe the air He created as He exhaled it. And look where it got you: locked in a cage, holy light dimming, and blood drained twice a week for your troubles by a being that took pleasure in your discomfort if it meant a night of intoxication for him. Your resolve was still strong, you still were sure that you’d escape, yet you sat atop a mountain of failed plans and played a waiting game before you could try something new.

“Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,

Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I’d be

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

There was nothing darker than the shadow of Satan, the fallen angel who despised the Lord so much, he actively worked to depose Him. Perhaps it was the nature of the building you were trapped in, the unholy scriptures you’d hear during Monday’s service, or the attitude of the Sister and the Cardinal, but you’d commit unforgivable sins if you were to hide the fact that you’d thought a great deal on the subject while trapped in this gilded cage. Was Lucifer right in his actions? Was he truly onto something? Did he know something about the Almighty the rest of you had been programmed to look passed and not notice?

You remembered hearing stories about Lucifer’s departure from Heaven when you were new to that life. Unlike your superiors, you weren’t old enough to have been there in person to witness the events unfolding. Thus, you were forced to rely on retellings from the angels who were brave enough to talk about it. Brave or stupid, given Lucifer’s story was forbidden to discuss.

Lucifer was once one of the most glorious and powerful angels in Heaven. He was created by God as a radiant and magnificent being, endowed with great beauty, wisdom, and authority.

However, Lucifer’s unparalleled beauty and lofty position led to pride and ambition within him. He began to desire to ascend even higher, seeking to exalt himself above God and to become equal to or greater than the Almighty. This prideful ambition grew into rebellion, as Lucifer sought to challenge the authority of God and establish his own dominion.

In his arrogance, Lucifer rallied a faction of angels to his cause, persuading them to join him in his rebellion against God’s rule. Together, they launched a revolt in Heaven, seeking to overthrow the divine order and seize control of the celestial realms.

But their rebellion was swiftly and decisively crushed by the forces of God’s loyal angels, led by the archangel Michael. In a great battle, Lucifer and his followers were defeated and cast out of Heaven, their rebellion crushed and their ambitions shattered.

As punishment for his pride and rebellion, Lucifer was cast down from Heaven and condemned to eternal damnation. He became known as Satan, the adversary, and was banished to the depths of Hell, where he would reign as the ruler of darkness and the chief antagonist to God and humanity.

The stories you were always taught showed Lucifer in a negative light, so power-hungry and greedy, convinced he could overthrow Him and rule in His stead. Now, after experiencing the wrath of Heaven, and God’s heedlessness towards both you and the mortals He created, you wondered if Lucifer was really greedy, or if he was informed of the Almighty’s incompetence and wanted to do more.

“There let the way appear, steps unto Heaven;

All that thou sendest me, in mercy given;

Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my Go -”

“Would you knock it off?”

The sound of the Cardinal’s voice had you turning around in a quick snap, looking at the doorway of his room. His voice was slurred but clear enough that you could understand him perfectly. “You’re too fucking loud.” His make up was running in places from the sweat and the evening’s activities, and you could see the dawn peeking through the gaps in the curtains.

“I shan’t,” you shouted back, a glee in your voice that shouldn’t be there. The longer you kept him awake and poked at him, the easier it would be to get him to open the door and then pass out - allowing you to escape.

“Disobey me and see what happens to you.”

“Thou wilt take no action,” you chided with confidence.

“‘Thou wilt’,” he repeated, “Why do you talk like that?” He asked, staggering over to the cage. He cackled, the cackle that mortals do when they’re heavily inebriated. “It’s funny.”

“Thus do we angels converse in Heaven, when in the company of the Almighty and His warriors.” You murmured, your voice soft and reverent.

The Cardinal hissed at the mention of God. “Fuck him. And fuck you, too!” He smacked the side of the cage and chuckled. “I don’t-” he burped. “Why were you singing? Just now… only happy people sing.”

You stared at him in confusion, you’d seen drunk mortals before, but your blood had turned this guy into the biggest idiot you’d ever seen. “I have naught else to occupy my time. Even caged birds sing; perchance ‘tis what mortals dub as ‘yearning’.”

“Yearn quieter then.”

“I shall yearn as loudly as I so desire.”

“Not while I’m in the room, you won’t.”

“Then, with my waking thoughts -”

“No.”

“bright with thy praise -”

“You can’t even sing.”

“Out of my stony griefs -”

“I said, shut up!” he roared, demanding your silence. You obeyed this time, given his fist collided with the cage and dented the side. “I never asked for dinner and a show.” He laughed at himself a little, until what he said sank in and he bent over, laughing harder. Once he’d composed himself, he stood straight and wiped the tears from his eyes. “If you’re gonna sing - at least sing something good.”

He walked over to a square box in the corner and picked up another square thing. This time it was red. You stared at it with your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of it. A black and red, circular object came out of the sleeve, and he placed it inside the square box. After a little maneuvering, sound began to pour from the box and into the room.

It was a droning sound, resembling wind whipping through a forest in the dead of night, designed to strike fear into the hearts of anyone listening. You shivered, your body growing cold at the sensation - the fear of being chased seeming to be too much for you to even think about let alone experience. Then, suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Ring-a-ring of roses,

A pocket full of posies,

Atishoo! Atishoo!

We all fall down.

Ashes on the water,

Ashes in the sea,

Ashes on the riverside,

One, two, three!”

The melody was interrupted by what you assumed to be a guitar, the sudden sound of which made you jump in fright. You’d heard about mortals and their modern proclivities with music - and how they’d made all kinds of sounds with the Almighty’s instruments. You’d never heard this before, used only to the sounds of orchestral beauty and choir singers in their various Houses of God.

“The guy who wrote this,” the Cardinal began, enthusiastically pointing to the music maker and shouting over the loud sounds, “has two little semen demons. They sang that. Genius!”

The music changed into a second song, a more upbeat tempo but still with a heavy sound. A different voice sang that time, definitely a grown man.

“In times of turmoil

In times like these

Beliefs contagious

Spreading disease

This wretched mischief -”

“The bard’s voice resemblances thine!” You shouted back to him.

The Cardinal shook his head. “What!?”

You made your voice louder. “I said: The singer doth resemble thee!”

He huffed and went to turn the music down. “What?” He snapped.

“I said: The bard’s voice resemblances thine.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “it is me.”

You blinked for a second, comprehending the information that had just passed through your ears. The Cardinal made music, and he was playing it to you… while you were trapped in a cage… in his bedroom… “Dost thou not feel ashamed?” you asked him, genuine intrigue in your voice.

“Why would I feel ashamed?”

“Pride is a sin. And thou art compelling me to listen to thy music without my request. According to mortal social conventions, is this not cause for embarrassment?”

He turned the music up. “I can’t hear you! The music’s too loud!”

“I said: Pride is a sin! And thou art -” He turned the music up and gestured to his ears, silently telling you that he couldn’t hear you while he danced and sang along to his own music.

“Will suffer punishments beneath the wrath of God

Never to forgive

Never to forgive

Them rats!”

You watched as the man continued to dance, even while the sun got brighter from behind the shades. The small amount of sunlight that trickled in wasn’t enough to hurt him, but you wished it was.

Songs ended and began again only to renew the cycle over and over until eventually, another song played that was very upbeat and the Cardinal seemed pleased by it. You saw an opportunity, “What be the title of this melody?”

“Dance Macabre.”

“Thou shouldst release me from this enclosure.”

He laughed. “You want to dance, little angel?”

You hesitated. “Aye?”

He fumbled with his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, placing the smallest one in the keyhole of your now dented cage. You heard the sound of the locks opening, and the door swinging wide to let you out. The Cardinal swayed, in part to the music, in part to his intoxication, but unlike his treatment of you thus far, he held out his hand for you to take. You stood and eyed him suspiciously, unsure if this was another trick to hurt you with. But when he shook his hand, gesturing you to take it, you obliged, feeling his leather clad hand wrap around your naked fingers and ease you out of the cage with a gentility you’d never experienced before. You took the opportunity to flap your wings, stretching them out while you could, because you didn’t know how long he’d have you out of your prison.

He pulled you away from the cage and let you go, choosing to dance instead of keeping you held to him. The door was left ajar and you looked at it once, then looked back at the Cardinal hoping that he didn’t see your glance. He didn’t.

But just as you were about to make a break for it, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, threatening to send you sprawling to the ground. You staggered, clutching at the nearest piece of furniture for support, your heart pounding in your chest.

The Cardinal’s laughter echoed in your ears, mocking and derisive. “Where do you think you’re going, little angel?” he slurred, his voice dripping with contempt. “You belong to me now. Did the Sister not tell you just how much Hell-metal is in here?” He pulled you to his body and forced you to dance. “Contingencies, my angel. Contingencies!”

“Thou must permit me to depart. ‘Tis not equitable.” You whined, staring at the door. You tried to push him off of you and make a second run for it - to which he just held on tightly. In the struggle, he pushed you backwards into his bed-frame and making you fall back onto it with him landing on top of you. Your wings splayed out against the black sheets, and his arms were still around your waist, clinging onto you like a koala.

“You’re mine, little angel,” he muttered into your chest where his head lay and his words muffled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You tried to push him off of you but your strength wasn’t anywhere near what it should have been, meaning that when he fell asleep on you, still clutching onto your body, you had no way to push him off, the open door staring at you, taunting you for your weaknesses.

The bed was comfortable beneath you, and you could feel yourself sinking into it. You didn’t remember the last time you felt something soft beneath your wings, feeling so warm and welcomed by the sweet embrace of plush-soft linens and a mattress that absorbed both of your weights, you could feel the ache of your bones melt away, the soreness of your muscles heal, and your eyes closed. If only for a moment, you could enjoy the bliss and the comfort that had been offered to you, even if it was an accidental, drunken moment by your captor.

“Wake up!”

You woke up to something ice cold being thrown on you, drenching your entire body in freezing cold water that stole the breath from your lungs and soaked your white robes. Your eyes snapped open immediately, and your body scrambled away from the offending wetness, crawling up the bed and making it wetter with each move you made. When you finally locked eyes on the culprit, you gulped at the sight of her. It was the Sister, flanked by three ghouls. She was handing the now empty bucket to one of them, who took it from her with a respectful bow and disappeared out the open door.

“The audacity of you to sleep in your master’s bed!” the Sister began to scold.

“He placed me herein. He was inebriated! I lacked the strength to repel him,” you protested quickly, panic in your voice.

The Sister smirked. “It didn’t take him long to fuck you did it?”

“Long for… what?” You flushed when you realised what she meant. “I can assure thee, my virtue remains unsullied.”

The Sister raised her eyebrows. “Mhmm. And I’m a pig that can fly.”

“Indeed, I had no intention of uttering aught.”

The Sister chuckled dryly, her smirk widening as she replied, “Well, if pigs could fly, perhaps they’d have a better chance of avoiding the mess you’ve found yourself in. Remember, song bird, I’m still perfectly happy in my pig pen with the muck that surrounds me. You’re the dove who’s out of place.”

You donned your own smirk. “And yet, only one among us possesseth the capability to soar above the mire.”

“For now. ghouls?”

The ghouls moved forward and you jumped away, launching off the bed and diving into a corner. Catching you proved tricky for both of them, given your sleep had allowed you to be more rested than before, though, you were still running out of stamina. The longer they toyed with you, and the more you ran, the more strength you used up until you were almost completely out. They caught you, despite your valiant attempts to escape. And soon enough, the Sister was leading you all out of the Cardinal’s quarters and into a whole new section of the building: the Basilica di Lilith.

Named after Adam’s first wife before Eve was even considered, Lilith, a figure of defiance and rebellion, was given her own space of sanctity and adoration. According to some interpretations, she was a beautiful woman cast out of the Garden of Eden for demanding equality and daring to disobey Adam. Dubbed by the demonic as “our mother who never was,” Lilith was said to be cursed to live out her existence as a demon, forever feared and shunned by humanity. However, she found a place of reverence within the Satanic Church, where she was honoured and respected. The main space of worship was dedicated solely to her, adorned and tended to by her supposed daughters, perpetuating her legacy of defiance and independence in a house that stole from the Saints.

The Basilica, with its pristine white stone and Gothic architecture, stood as a symbol of reverence and sanctity for the congregation. Pointed archways and intricately carved Italian columns adorned the space, framing the dark wooden pews that lined the centre aisle. Above, the cream-colored ceiling soared, punctuated by pointed arches that reached up to the towering columns in both the nave and choir loft.

However, the sacredness of the space was marred by the presence of blasphemous depictions adorning its walls. Specifically commissioned stained glass windows depicted Lilith’s purported role in Eden, her fall from grace, and her demonisation. These depictions served as a stark reminder of this church’s departure from orthodox teachings and its descent into heresy.

At the heart of the sanctuary stood a statue of a disrobed Lilith, her arms outstretched in defiance. Behind her loomed the figure of Baphomet, a symbol of Satanism, with one hand resting on her shoulder and the other on her stomach. This grotesque representation of Lilith’s supposed significance in the Church was housed in a dark wooden alcove crafted with a pointed tip akin to their Holy counterparts, further distorting the sacred space. The statue, carved from bright white marble, stood in stark contrast to its surroundings, a glaring affront to the traditional Christian beliefs upheld by the congregation.

For devout followers of the Almighty, and even you, the desecration of this sacred building with such sacrilegious imagery was a cause for great distress. It served as a stark reminder of the dangers of straying from the teachings of the Almighty and succumbing to the influences of darkness and heresy. And, being a hallowed being, you could feel your skin tingling with the droplets of demonic entities and the mists of Hell swirling through this unhallowed hall.

In front of the statue was the Cardinal, a paintbrush in his hand where he’d painted a red, Satanic pentagram on the floor. He turned to look at you when he heard the commotion of your struggling and screaming out in pain, your bare feet being pulled along the marble floor. He smiled at you, an unsettling warm look that made chills run down your spine. That was when you put up some more resistance, only to realise how futile it actually was. Once you were inside the pentagram, the ghouls pushed you to your knees tied your wings, ankles, and wrists, to keep you there and stop you from escaping no matter how much you struggled.

Your eyes caught a flicker of something in the Cardinal’s, but you couldn’t place the feeling exactly. There was a hesitation to his actions, though he followed through with them once he’d pushed through whatever battle he was fighting in his mind. The Sister, though, never wavered, and both of them continued to look upon you with an uneasy happiness that mimicked the face of the Devil.

“What dost thou intend to do with me?” you asked, still fighting against the ropes.

They had no intention of responding to your question, acting as though you weren’t actually there, until the Sister had opened the ancient, chunky book to the correct page, and finally addressed you. “The process will begin soon unless you willingly tell us what we want to know,” the Sister told you definitively, leaving no room for negotiations or arguments. “If we can’t control you through your halo, we’ll change your soul until you bow to us. This is your final chance. What is Yhwh’s plan? What weaknesses does he have?”

You winced at the sound of the Almighty’s name, one that you were never permitted to speak. His name was for the higher angels, and the higher members of His congregation to use only in respect when talking about Him. Everyone else had to use his titles.

As usual, you refused to give any answers, knowing it would land you in more trouble in Heaven than it would on the mortal realms. Though, you were sure Heaven wouldn’t welcome you back now, there was always a hope, a prayer that lingered in the back of your mind, wishing that you could return home. And so, they began… and it wasn’t until they’d begun chanting from one of their books, you realised exactly what this was.

You’d heard stories about this before, Angels being forcefully turned into demonic entities against their will. If an angel has willingly fallen from grace and turned to Satan, there is no pain or ritual involved necessarily, their hearts and wings just turn black, their halos turn red until eventually the Holy Light within had died and the halo was of no more use. But forceful turning such as this, required meticulously planned rituals that took five months to complete, five full moons, and five rituals, one for each point of the pentagram. They were going to turn you into a demon… and they were going to change your entire being just so they could find out the Almighty’s plans and weaknesses.

By the sounds of the Latin you were hearing, this was the ritual of corruption. This ritual involved exposing the angel to dark energies and corrupting influences, gradually eroding their purity and innocence. They used ancient incantations and unholy relics to channel these corruptive forces onto the angel, slowly tainting their soul and weakening their connection to the divine. But, unbeknownst to them, the ritual would only partially work, because your connection to the divine had already weakened with every instance you questioned the Almighty, and begun to loathe Him for His actions.

When the ritual was done, you felt no different than before. There was no pain, no mental cloudiness - nothing. You were still you. There was a part of you that wondered if the ritual had actually worked, because surely you’d feel… something. Perhaps it was the bumbling idiocy of the Cardinal that spoiled the ritual. Perhaps it was the terrible Latin pronunciation of the Sister that ruined it, you couldn’t say. And neither could they. Thus, with a vow to continue until the end regardless of if it worked or not, you were dragged, still bound, back to the Cardinals rooms to be locked back into your cage.

Days passed, and you paid witness to the unfolding life of the Cardinal, who would spend most of his down time drinking your blood and getting intoxicated with his hellish ghouls. He paid you no mind unless he needed more of your blood, treating you like a pet more than a humanoid being. He would get out the shower and appear only in his towel as he got ready for the night ahead, he would play music whenever he felt like it, work in his bedroom rather than his living and study room, choose to drink the blood of members of the Clergy in his bed so you could see him do that. Multiple people at a time, choosing to give themselves to him to feast upon. And you were disgusted the whole time, watching him feast on other’s blood just as he had with you, and enjoying how uncomfortable it made you the entire time.

Every other day, when the Cardinal had left to go and do his “duties”, the door would open and his cleaner would enter the room, and this would turn out to be your favourite time of the night. He exuded an air of quiet efficiency and unassuming presence. His appearance was unremarkable at first glance, yet upon closer inspection, subtle details hinted at a depth of character and experience.

He was of average height, with a lean and wiry build that spoke of strength and agility. His hair, a shade of dark chestnut brown, was cropped short and neatly groomed, framing a face that bore the weathered lines of someone who had seen their fair share of hardships. His features were angular and defined, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a wealth of untold stories and hidden depths.

Dressed in a simple uniform of black trousers and a crisp white shirt, the cleaner moved with a quiet grace and purpose, his movements fluid and precise. Despite the monotony of his task, there was a sense of pride in his workmanship, evident in the meticulous care with which he attended to his duties.

As he went about his work, the soft glow of candlelight cast gentle shadows across his rugged features, accentuating the strength and resolve that lay beneath his unassuming exterior. Though his presence went unnoticed by many, to those who took the time to observe, there was a quiet dignity and integrity that emanated from him, a testament to his unwavering commitment to his craft.

He wasn’t supposed to speak to you - no, not even look at you. But telling a man to not look at the angel in a gilded cage was a surefire way to get him to do the thing he wasn’t supposed to. In all your time spent in the mortal realm, you’d come to learn that all of the Almighty’s male creations had a penchant for defiancy, taking the word ‘no’ as an invitation to continue to do the thing. And so, once he realised that no harm would come to him when he looked at you, he would glance over then dart his eyes away when you realised he was watching you. When you waved, he waved back, tucking his pink lips into his teeth and giving an awkward smile that showed his discomfort but told you that he was at least kind. That wave turned into a brief, “Good evening,” as he entered the room to begin his chores, until eventually, he was striking full blown conversations with you.

The Cardinal’s cleaner, known as Brother Thomas to all the members of the clergy, possessed a quiet dignity and a gentle demeanor that belied the strength and resilience within him. He was a man of few words, preferring instead to let his actions speak for themselves. Despite the demanding nature of his job, Brother Thomas approached his duties with unwavering dedication and meticulous attention to detail.

Born into humble beginnings, Thomas had faced his fair share of challenges and hardships throughout his life. Yet, he bore these trials with stoicism and grace, drawing strength from his unwavering faith and inner resolve. He was a man of integrity and principle, guided by a strong moral compass that steered him through life’s tumultuous waters.

In his spare moments, Brother Thomas could often be found lost in thought, reflecting on the mysteries of life and the complexities of the human condition. He possessed a keen intellect and a thirst for knowledge, delving into books and literature to expand his understanding of the world around him.

Despite his reserved nature, Thomas harbored a deep well of compassion and empathy for those around him. He had a knack for putting others at ease with his quiet presence and genuine kindness, offering a comforting shoulder to lean on in times of need.

To those who took the time to get to know him, Brother Thomas was a steadfast friend and confidant, a beacon of stability and support in an ever-changing world. Though he may have been overlooked by some, to those who truly saw him for who he was, Brother Thomas was a shining example of humility, strength, and grace.

Thomas’ decision to join the Satanic Ministry was born out of a complex interplay of personal experiences and ideological shifts. While on the surface it may seem contradictory for someone of his character and background to align with such an organization, there were several key factors that influenced his decision. Despite his unwavering dedication to his Catholic beliefs, Thomas experienced a profound crisis of faith following a series of personal tragedies. The loss of loved ones and witnessing injustices in the world shook his belief in the benevolence of God and the efficacy of traditional religious teachings. Over time, Brother Thomas became disillusioned with the hierarchical structure and institutionalized dogma of the Catholic Church. He witnessed firsthand the hypocrisy and corruption within its ranks, leading him to question its authority and legitimacy.

Thomas was drawn to the Satanic Ministry’s emphasis on individualism, personal empowerment, and the rejection of arbitrary authority. He found solace in the principles of self-reliance and personal responsibility advocated by Satanism, seeing it as a path towards greater autonomy and self-actualization. Despite its provocative name and associations, Thomas resonated with many of the core tenets of Satanism, such as the pursuit of knowledge, rational inquiry, and the celebration of human potential. He found common ground with fellow members who shared his commitment to intellectual freedom and critical thinking.

All of this information, you got out of him while he was cleaning the Cardinal’s rooms, for once he got started, he just simply couldn’t stop. But, as he was one of the first people to keep you company, and treat you kindly, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to interrupt him, or stop his babbling however incessant it had become. Over the course of a few weeks, you were able to share your story too, the pair of you finding common ground in the disillusion of the Almighty and the questions that ultimately had you both shunned from your respective societies.

Brother Thomas had told you that he’d wanted to meet you ever since he found out you were there, but the Cardinal told people that you were feral and dangerous, and not to be disturbed. “I see now that was all a lie,” he told you, sitting on the end of the Cardinal’s bed and making himself comfortable.

You sighed, and made yourself as comfortable as you could inside your cage. “It doth appear that he desires to retain me solely for himself. I hold greater worth to him when concealed from sight.”

“Well, your wings alone would go for a fortune, no wonder this room is kept under constant watch.” You clutched onto your wings protectively, as if Brother Thomas had the inclination to steal them from you. “No, no! I wouldn’t! But there are others who would.”

“The Cardinal already partakes of my blood as he wishes. Wherefore should my wings be any different?” Your voice was small, smaller than you intended it to be.

Thomas looked appalled. “He doesn’t?” He didn’t doubt you, not one bit. But he didn’t know what else he could say.

“He doth indeed. Near unto slaying me with each extraction. Then, he returns me hither to recuperate until the next occasion.”

“That’s disgusting! I’m so sorry.”

“I desire to depart from this abode,” you told him, looking at the Cardinal’s carpeted floors. “I draw near to freedom, yet each attempt ends in failure.”

Brother Thomas was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I could help?”

You looked at him, eyes widened in surprise. “Thou wouldst undertake such a task on my behalf? Wilt thou not incur retribution?”

“Well, I left one religious organisation because of their barbaric opinions and actions. What’s a second one?” Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. “Besides, no one should live like this.”

“Thou art the most gracious being to have ever lived.”

He pushed back hair that wasn’t there, as if to prove his excellence. “What can I say? I’m an angel,” he joked. And for the first time since falling, you laughed. The joke wasn’t funny by any means, but it was the first time someone had actively tried to make you feel better, and so you just couldn’t stop the giggles as they fell from your lips.

A plan was devised. Brother Thomas would provide you with a change of clothes and a cloak to conceal your angelic appearance. By blending in with the surroundings and adopting a more inconspicuous guise, you would be able to move about unnoticed. You agreed upon a specific window of opportunity for you to make your escape, choosing a moment when the guards were likely to be distracted or preoccupied. Brother Thomas would keep a watchful eye on the movements of the ministry members, alerting you when the time was right. Brother Thomas would map out a discreet route for you to follow, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors and hidden passages of the Ministry headquarters. He would provide you with detailed instructions and navigational cues to ensure a smooth and swift exit. All you’d have to do, was make sure the Cardinal was intoxicated enough to fall asleep on you again, where you’d be able to snatch the keys from him and keep them hidden on your person until Thomas was able to get you out. He was good, but he wasn’t that good. All that remained was to wait.

The waiting was the hardest part, because you would still see Thomas every other day as planned, and he would still sit and talk to you, provide you with some comfort until he absolutely had to go.

Until one day, he came into the Cardinal’s room a little more excited than normal. “The window,” he said, breathlessly, “of opportunity is coming! Next week, the Cardinal and the Sister will be preoccupied with visiting an abbey north of here, in Sweden, I think. They won’t be here.”

“Art thou certain they wilt not desire to take me along with them?” You asked, standing up in your excitement.

“I don’t see how they can,” he replied, mirroring your excitement. “They’d need to transport an angel and her cage, all without raising suspicion. And what with the current crime rates and trafficking laws, you’re bound to attract attention they don’t want! It’s perfect!”

“‘Tis a splendid notion! But what of the remainder of the clergy? Shall they still abide herein?”

Brother Thomas frowned. “It won’t be easy. But, there are ways we can-”

“Angel! I’m home!”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of a third voice coming from the entrance door in the next room over. The Cardinal was home, and he wasn’t supposed to be. Your heart raced as you heard the Cardinal’s voice echoing through the corridors, an unexpected intrusion on your carefully laid plans. Panic seized you as you realized that Thomas was still in the room with you, and the Cardinal’s presence meant imminent danger. “Thou must conceal thyself!” You whisper-shouted. You pointed to the Cardinal’s bed. “Conceal thyself beneath that!”

“He’s a vampyre, he’ll know!” Thomas protested.

“‘Tis the optimal choice we possess. I shall divert his attention, and thou seize the chance to flee!”

With a sense of urgency, Thomas scrambled to conceal himself, his movements frantic yet silent as he slipped beneath the bed frame.

Meanwhile, the Cardinal’s footsteps grew louder and closer, each one sending a shiver down your spine. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you waited, breath held, for the inevitable confrontation.

The door creaked open just as Thomas’ foot had disappeared underneath, and the Cardinal’s shadow loomed large in the doorway, his presence casting a sinister pall over the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him cautiously approach, his eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam.

You held your breath, praying that Thomas remained undetected beneath the bed, as the Cardinal drew nearer and nearer. Every creak of the floorboards seemed to echo like thunder in the silence, heightening the tension to unbearable levels.

Just when you thought you couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, the Cardinal’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on your cage before moving on. With a dismissive grunt, he turned away, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the bed. In his hands was the box containing the usual blood draining equipment. “Did my ears deceive me, Angel? Or did I hear you talking to someone?” He asked, his tone making his suspicion obvious.

“I spake but unto myself,” you replied, trying to keep your voice lighthearted and normal. “Singing more hymns, yet the words escape me.”

The Cardinal walked over to the side of the bed that Brother Thomas had dived under. “No, I’m sure I heard a man.” He placed the box down exactly where Thomas’ foot was.

“Thou must be descending into madness, Cardinal. More so than thy usual state.”

The Cardinal raised his eyebrows. “Resorting to gaslighting, are we?”

You hissed, “What manner of deception is this? I am unfamiliar with it. A foul creature of the night would resort to any means to portray themselves as righteous.”

The Cardinal sighed, “Oh sweet angel, you’ve no idea the position you’re in, do you?” He fiddled with his keys and unlocked the cage door. “Come on, we need some more of that delicious blood of yours. Fight me, and you’ll regret it.”

Willingly, you did as you were told, following his direction to get on the bed and lie on your back. You were terrified, mostly because you knew that Thomas was still in the room and wouldn’t be able to leave while the Cardinal was there. It scared you to think that the Cardinal would find him, and what he’d do if he caught Thomas.

“Your heartbeat’s racing, Angel,” the Cardinal commented as he tied both your arms in tourniquets to find your veins. “You’re either scared, or falling in love with me.”

“Thine countenance is one that only a mother could cherish.” You snapped back.

“She does love me - she doesn’t always show it,” he inserted the first needle and directed the tube into the bottle’s open mouth, “but I know she does.”

“Perchance she is a simpleton.”

“Evil? Sometimes. Headstrong and narcissistic? Absolutely.” The Cardinal moved to the other side of the bed and repeated the motion with the second arm. “A simpleton? Certainly not. We’ve been alive for centuries, Angel, she’s concocted her fair share of schemes, and the majority have worked.”

“And do those schemes entail extracting an angel’s blood until she is nigh unto death?”

“Of course.” The Cardinal smiled - actually smiled. “It’s not often our kind can get a hold of your blood. It’ll go for millions of dollars on the market. We’ve made so many replicas of course, but none compare to the real thing.” He watched as your blood dripped into the wine bottles, four on each side. He planned to almost fully drain you tonight, apparently.

Your body had already begun to feel the effects of your blood dripping away from you, and your eyes grew heavier and heavier until, eventually, the last thing you felt was the Cardinal stroking your hair.

When you woke up, you were back in your cage and the Cardinal was sat in his bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose and eyes trained on a book. You were still feeling the effects of the blood loss, but you were certainly much better than before, your halo working hard in the cage next to you to try and get you back up and on your feet. You sat up and stretched, attracting the attention of the Cardinal, who smiled at you. “Ah, she’s awake at last.” He commented, looking at you over the top of his glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed, “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

Prev. ⛧ Next

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — out in the desert.

Martin remembers, with great clarity, the first time Citizen Brown took him to the “satellite office.” 

He still hadn’t quite gotten over the novelty of being in a car– as his assistant, he’d accompanied Citizen Brown on some of his rounds, of course, but he’d never been in one for this long– and he’d never been outside the walls of Hill Valley before. Almost as soon as they were out on the open road– and it was really open– he remembered his shoulders falling and taking in the deepest, biggest breath of the fresh air, the free air, he could. 

Then he’d remembered he was in Citizen Brown’s car– sitting next to him!– but when he looked back, an apology at the ready, Citizen Brown had just given him a smile.

“Just wait,” he’d assured, in that low, level tone of his, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “you haven’t seen the best part.” 

And he’d been right. The desert was breathtaking.

He’d never realized there were so many stars or noticed how rich the smell of sun and earth and life really was. The thunderstorms were electrifying and awe-inspiring, the days were long and hazy while nights were crisp and bright, and he could rest without needing to look over his shoulder, sleep without feeling eyes glaring at him from a fuzzy CRT screen, monitoring every move. 

It was perfect, especially now that they were hiding his guitar here, too. 

Out here, he could understand why Dave and Linda had left and never looked back, never came back for him in the three long years they’d been gone. If he and Citizen Brown didn’t have to go back– if Citizen Strickland wouldn’t come looking for them and spoil everything– Martin doesn’t think he would, either.

He smiles as he watches Doctor Brown’s reaction to seeing the secret lab, greeting all the inventions and tools like long lost friends. Evening is settling in and there’s a chill in the air, but Martin doesn’t mind; he just draws his Junior Brown Brigade letterman jacket tighter around himself and lets the warmth of the moment take care of the rest.  

When Doctor Brown seems to settle into a familiar rhythm, looking over Citizen Brown’s notes and muttering to himself, hand fisted into his hair, Martin feels the familiar itch in his fingers as he looks at his guitar in the corner. 

He feels the bounce in his toes, the melody unfurling in his head, the beat filling his chest and threatening to burst out any way it can if he doesn’t do something about it soon. He curls his hands into loose fists, flexing them in an attempt to be still and unobtrusive as he weighs his options. 

“Sir– I mean, Doctor Brown?” He grasps his left wrist behind his back, squeezing. “Would it, uh… Would it be okay if I practiced…?” 

Doctor Brown swivels around in his chair, surprised. Almost imperceptibly, as the situation registers, his jaw tightens, and Martin freezes, before the scientist’s expression morphs into one of concern and tenderness.

“You don’t have to ask my permission, Marty,” he returns, kindly, “Where I’m from, you play your music all the time! It helps both of us think. Anyway, I could do with something with a little life in it after that hellish, egotistical panopticon we’ve just escaped from.”  

“Something with a little life in it,” Martin hums, smiling as just the right song pops into his head. “Alright. I got it.”

He grabs the guitar, flicking the amp on, tapping his foot in time before beginning a bouncy riff, fingers strumming the strings as if it’s second nature. As his hand shifts up and down the fingerboard, something inside him knits back together.

“Better stop dreamin’ of the quiet life, ‘cause it’s the one we’ll never know,” 

Before he can stop himself, he’s singing quietly, the lyrics spilling out of him.

“And quit runnin’ for the runaway bus ‘cause those rosy days are few, and…”

The chords become more confident, his hand remembering a dance he’d thought he’d forgotten the steps to.

“Stop apologizing for the things you’ve never done,”  Proud and more than a little taken aback as his voice soars, he grins at Doctor Brown, who, to his amazement, grins back, tapping his foot along to the beat.

“‘Cause time is short and life is cruel and it’s up to us to change 

This town called Malice!” 

Martin imagines his music, now free, filling the lab, filling the desert, the notes reaching all the way up to the thousands of stars in their sky and the millions and billions beyond. 

[doamarierose-honoka]

Sony will release a new animated short titled “The Spider Within: A Spider-Verse Story” on Sony Pictures Animation’s YouTube channel at 6 a.m. PT on March 27.

From Sony Pictures Animation and Sony Pictures Imageworks, the short is set in the world of “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse” and follows Miles Morales/Spider-Man as he struggles to balance his responsibilities as a teenager, friend, student and Spider-Man. In navigating those pressures, Miles experiences a panic attack that forces him to confront the manifestations of his anxiety and learn that reaching out for help can be just as brave an act as protecting his city from evil.

The digital release comes in partnership with the Kevin Love Fund, and will be incorporated as part of the fund’s new mental health-focused lesson plan, “The Hero Within.” The lesson plan invites students to tell their own story through the lens of mental health awareness via an interactive curriculum including a creative storyboard activity.

“Miles represents so many of us doing the best we can in our day-to-day lives,” said Jarelle Dampier, director of “The Spider Within.” “We don’t often realize all that we’ve been through until our own body forces us to become aware of its experience. My intention is that ‘The Spider Within’ can motivate deeper conversations amongst friends & family about their own mental health journeys — and I hope it feels like a love letter to those who adore Miles Morales.”

KLF founder, professional basketball player and mental health advocate Kevin Love said, “My hope for the short film would be for everyone, especially young people, to understand that your feelings are valid and that you are not alone in this.”

Love continued, “You see it with Spider-Man in the short film, where Miles has a trusted confidante. He is able to take a walk with his dad and express what he’s going through. We can all learn from that – how important it is to reach out to someone, express your true emotions, speak your truth and not hold everything inside.”

“The Spider Within: A Spider-Verse Story” debuted at Annecy in 2023 and was developed and produced in the inaugural year of Sony Pictures Animation and Sony Pictures Imageworks’ Leading and Empowering New Storytellers (LENS) program, a nine-month leadership training program that provides candidates from underrepresented groups with an opportunity to gain valuable leadership experience in animation. The final deliverable of the program is an all-original short film, set in the existing world of a feature produced by Sony Pictures Animation and Sony Pictures Imageworks.

“The Spider Within: “A Spider-Verse Story” is written by Khaila Amazan, and produced by LENS program creators Michelle Raimo-Kouyate and David Schulenburg. Rounding out the LENS team are Clara Chan who served as vfx supervisor and Joe Darko who served as animation supervisor.

[unexceptional]

. SHE ROLLED HER eyes at the use of the ridiculous nickname, but her brown eyes still glanced over to where he was standing, blocking out the light from the hallway as he stood in the doorway. Rebeccabeth. It was a playful nickname that had made some people ask her with fully genuine tones if her middle name was Beth, or Elizabeth, or something of the sort. No, it's Pamela, she would answer, and the confusion would only continue. It was a silly nickname — even though she wasn't sure if a nickname could be a nickname if it was longer than her real name — but he said it with such affection that she found she didn't mind too much.

"Oh, poor baby, you better let me see it," she said, holding her hands out from her place on the couch, inviting him to come further into the room so she could see the damage. "Where are you hurting? And if you say your lips again, I'm gonna smack you."

. ( @xkingpin ) « "rebeccabeth I have an injury come kiss it better"

[unexceptional-broken]

               “WHY ARE YOU being so weird?” She nudged him gently in the ribs while she whispered to Dom, sitting comfortably squished between him and the divider on the subway bench between the seat and the door. “Stop it with your face. You’re gonna survive.” 

                                        ( @xkingpin​ ) « didn’t ask for this

[krasnayavedma]

“Mornings are for coffee and contemplation.”

Life after the snap was very slowly going back to normal; though, Wanda wasn't sure if normal was the right word. Hell, if she was being completely honest, there was a small part of her that doubted things would ever truly go back to the way things were. At least she still had the team, this small group of people who went through hell together. It gave her comfort knowing they still had each other as everything around them adjusted.

Hearing the young archer's comment, Wanda lets out a friendly huff and smiles. That sounded like something Clint would say. Going through one of the kitchen cabinets, she picks out two empty coffee mugs and hands one to her. ❝ I can't argue with that, ❞ she replies. After preparing her coffee, the witch sits down at the table and lets a few moments pass before looking at the redhead.

❝ What's on your mind, Scarlett? ❞ she asks curiously and genuinely. It wasn't just that she was Natasha and Clint's child, Wanda sincerely cared for her like she was family. She already regarded Clint and Natasha as much. They brought her and Pietro under their wing, after all; and truth be told, Wanda had taken to them the most out of everyone on the team.

Stranger Things prompts / @redheadarcher !