#foundation verse

[justdreamsandmusic]

''SCP Foundation USA Sites''

just something for fanfiction and so on

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

���Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

[therightrighthand]

SCP-8883

SCP-8883 // Ketter Class / Containment Breach // ZK-Class Reality Failure Scenario // 'Goldchild' Protocall in effect

--------

"Greetings, my name is Doctor ██████ from the ███ ██████ ██ department of the SCP Foundation, universe designation ██ ████ ███ ███ ███.

If you have received this documentation, it means SCP-████ has successfully entered your reality to deliver this message to an SCP Foundation member or an organisation of a similar kind. I guess, greetings from across the multiverse [Chuckle] ... anyway.

Sadly, this message is not one of the good tidings but a warning of an anomaly we have designated in our universe as SCP-8883, which has developed as a potential Keter Class threat (Uncontainable depending on your classification system) or invoked a ZK-Class Scenario (Reality has broken down and our end is imminent).

In the event this does happen, we have enacted the 'Godchild protocol', where we reach out to known neighbouring universes that have a high probability of having their own SCP-8883. The goal is to share our findings and research on SCP-8883 so that you may be ready for the coming threat.

If it happens, I mean. This documentation is merely a precaution for something that hasn't even happened yet, so it may just be a waste of time-" [REDACTED] "This documentation will come in two parts, Pre and Post ZK-Class Scenario so there is ample time to properly per pair our findings before it might be 'too late'.

PRE - ZK

"SCP-8883 is a young female girl, (as of █████) around 25 years old, though her age and identity may vary. There is nothing overly anomalous about SCP-8883. In her un-interfered state, she is just a normal human. What allocates her as an anomalous SCP is that she will one day become god, or a god, so to speak. We discovered this during a fact-finding mission with SCP-████ that uncovered this supposed proficy they referred to as the 'Sirpyn Paradox'. It is believed that SCP-8883 will, in some nondescript way, develop into an entity so strong it cannot reside within the walls of reality.

The details on how or when this happened were not provided, but we believed her to be relatively safe. What drew our attention was our attempt to apprehend SCP-8883, and various anomalies interfered with the process. There were 15 attempts to bring her in, and over 48 recorded anomalies one could describe as 'godly intervention'. Flat tyres, floods, lottery wins, sickness, pregnancy, even a meteor destroying a highway. To many around SCP-8883 to be a coincidence.

It's at this point we humoured the theory (now proven) that their future god-self (designated SCP-8883-B) is manipulating fate to stop our efforts. Interestingly, this has only ever been the case in regard to capture; we've never been stopped when our operatives have engaged with SCP-8883 undercover just to 'talk'. We surmised that direct capture of SCP-8883 was in conflict with their 'fate', leading them to become SCP-8883-B, so they intervened. Meaning we had to get creative.

In the end, we had to use SCP-████ to create models, based on the probability, to predict a course of action that would allow us to secure SCP-8883 that would not interfere with their fate. This presented us with an interesting possibility, how much can SCP-8883-B intervene, and how far can we force their intervention?

With the approval of ██████ we orchestrated a series of tests. The first test gave us obvious results, harmless intervention, but by using the probability modules, we were able to, in a sense, corner SCP-8883's fate to a full manifestation of SCP-8883-B and aggressive confrontation. The only visual confirmation we can conform from SCP-8883-B, which hasn't led to an immediate brain aneurysm, is a close likeness to SCP-8883 in shape and form, with a face covered in shadow and piercing green eyes.

With this discovery, we're putting together a proposal to utilise this incredible opportunity. We have the power of a god-level SCP at our disposal, one who is inert and who we can contain and control through predictive model data. If their abilities is as strong as we believe it is, we can use SCP-8883 to destroy other SCP threats.

It's all very exciting!"

POST - ZK

"Mother of god ... what have we done ... W-what have I done ... I hope there are enough analogies about playing god- or tempting fate in your universe ... clearly there wasn't enough in ours" [REDACTED]

"As theorised ... SCP-8883 has been elevated to a Ketter Class SCP, a ZK-Scenario is in effect, and Protocol Godchild has been initiated... I only wish I had more time to better compose myself ... or even amend my last fucking entry- I.... fuck. god I can't" [REDACTED]

"As I mentioned at the start of this documentation, the Godchild Protocol has come into effect and you have received this warning that SCP-8883 has caused a Reality Failure Scenario.

Before I carry on... whoever you are, you must stop this recording IMMEDIATELY and escalate this to the highest level of Authority. If you are part of a SCP Foundation, then this must be taken to The Administrator, or at the very least, The Council... otherwise, you pose a risk not only to your own life but to your universe's too"

"........................................"

"Ok ... if I am talking directly to who I think I am ... kill the person who handed you this documentation, them, and anyone who has any knowledge of this information being passed to you. As we speak, my reality is falling apart because of the information in this document. Whilst we could not contain SCP-8883 we could prevent it, by Leaving. Her. Alone. By knowing someone's fate, you risk intervening with it, and intervened with Del- erm, SCP-8883's fate led to our demise.... I ask- no, BEG you, destroy this documentation, stop the recording now and erase everything. Let them live their lives untested and let fate take its course...

"........................................"

"If you're still listening ... I hope you know what you're doing and the risks with this information. Know, I'm only sharing this to appease curiosity, so you do not give into the same temptation we-.... I did...

After discovering we could control SCP-8883-B's focus, we began to escalate our testing to harvest residual energy created by SCP-8883-B and eventually use them as a weapon. We found we could manipulate SCP-8883-B to destroy other SCP's. I'm not going to list each SCP, but- we had a 100% success rate, and we were able to remove over 80% of our most hostile SCPs. They were everything we ever wanted. And with SCP-████ models the risk was next to 0.

However...

SCP-████ was unable to account for a variable we had no measurement for. Put my fucking trust in that AI-" [REDACTED] "It seemed that every time we coached SCP-8883-B into acting on our behalf, we frayed the fabric of time and space ... like running a blade across a rope, slowly eroding its threads until it eventually snapped.

That's when everything fell apart and SCP-8883 entered a ... I don't know what to call it, demi-god state? A defense mechanism? Whatever- SCP-8883-C, let's just call it that... We've tried to capture as much footage as we could, but we lost every power station across the globe the second shit hit the fan. Any and all attempts to stop SCP-8883-C were met with the same effect, immediate destruction on a cellular level. We don't even have any SCPs to throw at it to slow her down ... But that's only the tip of the iceberg, as SCP-8883-C has weaponised SCP-8883-B against us in a form we've not seen before ... some sort of giant lizard entity the size of manhattan... Apparently, you can see it's destructive trail from space...

The crippling blow wasn't the girl or her knock-off Godzilla, but the sheer power emitting from the two of them that began to tear space and time apart. Past and future are starting to crumble into one another as SCP-8883-C's slow destructive path seems to be echoed simultaneously in every moment in time, all at once.

The effects are ... indescribable ... yesterday I shared a cup of tea with my grandfather, who's been dead for 8 years ... and an hour ago, I rang up my grandson and told him I loved him ... I don't even have a family- or I won't yet , or ... ever will? ... and then there are parts of time that have been completely eviscerated... members of staff have even began to forget their names...

Everything is falling apart...

Now the responsibility lies on your shoulders. You must carry on the Godchild protocol. Not only do I know there is an SCP-8883 in your universe, but in every conceivable universe. The Sirpyn Paradox isn't just a rare freak anomaly, it is a FACT. And if it cannot be contained or destroyed, then it must be maintained...

Gods speed..."

[MESSAGE END]

-------- The winner of this month's Del-veres vote! SCP Foundation Del! I was really looking forward to seeing how this could work because I figure the SCP Foundation would be the only group able to contain/utilise the Sirpyn Paradox, or their universe's Del. Or at least for so long

-- Follow my socials and art discord on my Link.tree Do not use, repost or claim (rp) my art/character Art © @The-Red-Right-Hand

[terminalvelocityfrfr]

No little British boy don’t read that 50p book from the British Heart Foundation!

[hesbianyaoi]

The Soukokus and the Four Symbols: Pt 1

STARTING OFF BY SAYING: This is just a fun connection/"theory" (if you would call it that) I made while reading BSD, so not everything will be connected exactly to the T. I just love mythology and Byakko has already been confirmed to be a celestial being thanks to chapter 119, so in any case, buckle up and enjoy my insanity.

WHO AND WHAT EXACTLY ARE THE FOUR SYMBOLS?

The Four Symbols—also known as the Four Guardians or the Four Gods—are constellations and mythological creatures in Chinese (and other countries in the Sinosphere) culture that are believed to be the protectors of the four cardinal points: the North, South, East and West.

They also had correspondence with the Five Phases (Wuxing), the philosophy that the fundamentals to the universe were composed of elements and their relationships to one another. These elements include nature, seasons, times of day, directions, and colors.

The Four Symbols are the Azure Dragon of the East, the White Tiger of the West, the Vermilion Bird of the South, and the Black Tortoise of the North.

Sound familiar?

It's like how Soukoku + Shin Soukoku is associated with the colors blue/red and black/white. This alone wouldn't be enough for me to make this entire thing such a big post in the first place, though; it's the very nature of everything else in Bungo Stray Dogs concerning the Soukoku's and the subtle symbolism they have connecting them to these divine beings.

For the sake of my own mind, we'll be discussing Shin Soukoku in this post, as they have the most relevance to the recent update and to their associated guardians/gods. Interesting since they create such a unique Singularity, right?

ATSUSHI: BYAKKO, THE GUARDIAN OF THE WEST

We have the most information about Byakko thus far, so it only seems fair to start off with her.

Byakko's associations with Wuxing include the color white, sunsets, autumn and its desolation, and the west itself. These are things Atsushi is commonly associated with, such as sunset/moon symbolism, how the sun sets in the west during the autumn equinox, even his joke title of the Wimp of The West in chapter 33.

Atsushi's white tiger is something we already know is highly sought after from all around the world, and we already know that the tiger itself is a "bookmark" to locate the book. The Book is obviously representative of something otherworldly, something as heavenly as its association with creation and life, and of course, Byakko is the literal guide to finding it. Because of course she is.

Byakko is more than just a white tiger; it is the embodiment of justice, protectiveness, and righteousness. It is the king of beasts and a capable warrior. She's more than just an ability (as we see in Dead Apple, alongside Rashōmōn, since they're the only two that take their own forms compared to everyone else's abilities being mirrors of themselves) as she resides inside of Atsushi's body as another physical being entirely.

Canonically, abilities are described as receiving their power by their user's souls, which is why an ability will disintegrate once their user dies.

But Byakko is not just Atsushi's ability; she is an entire being residing within him, two souls in one body. And not just any being, but a god.

It's also speculation on my part, but Byakko is often referred to as the "key" to finding The Book when in actuality, she's most likely protecting it. Fitting of the White Tiger's role as a guardian of justice and morality—if it fell into the wrong hands, balance would be broken.

AKUTAGAWA: GENBU, THE GUARDIAN OF THE NORTH

Also known as the Black Warrior of the North, as the character 武 translates to warrior/knight and is a much more faithful translation. Compared to Atsushi's more blatant connection to Byakko, Akutagawa's connection to Genbu relies more on subtlety, which I would say picked up during chapters 117.

His death, becoming a vampire, and the time spanning from his death until now could also count as a form of hibernation, given the fact tortoises hibernate and winter is the prime time for hibernation to occur, which aligns with Genbu's associations with Wuxing: the color black, winter and its frost, midnight (prime time for traditional vampires), and the north itself.

From the beginning, Akutagawa has always been associated with black as his signature color. Rashomon, his armor, is his protective "shell" like that of a tortoise. In the most literal sense, he is a warrior—a true knight, further emphasized by Bram's final wishes and desires to protect. It's also worth mentioning that the Tortoise is revered as a pillar of support during challenging times.

Honestly, need I say more?

Genbu is also associated with resilience, wisdom, and most importantly, immorality. The story of the Black Tortoise (Xuanwu) varies from legend to legend, but the general base for the story is the same: Xuanwu was once a mortal who achieved enlightenment and became immortal by pulling out his stomach and intestines, the last remains of his human parts. Once he pulls them out, they become demons, and he must subdue and tame them—quite literally overcoming his own sins.

In a twisted sense, Akutagawa's death was a form of enlightenment.

He dies believing that Dazai truly didn't abandon him, that this was all just a test, and thus he dies with a smile on his face. Now that Akutagawa is awake, he doesn't remember anything besides his knightly duties. It is a new beginning for him, one without the demons of his past weighing him down internally.

He is anew. He is enlightened.

SO, WHAT COULD THIS MEAN?

That's the thing. It could mean nothing at all except for speculation. It could mean something bigger in store for the future of the story. The point is that we don't know what could happen or what any of this could mean outside of correspondence with mythological archetypes. Regardless if this actually contributes anything to the plot, the similarities between Akutagawa-Atsushi and the White Tiger-Black Warrior were too fun to resist talking about, which brings up another point.

Byakko and Genbu, Baihu and Xuanwu, Atsushi and Akutagawa, the new Double Black. They all represent the same thing: balance.

The tiger is representative of its protectiveness and righteousness whilst the tortoise is associated with its wisdom and the strength of a warrior. All four guardians are responsible for the balance of the cosmos and nature itself, and for the Soukokus, it is the same.

The balance they fight to keep is not only between themselves and each other but for Yokohama, for the fabric of reality itself. (And it's something I want to go deeper into when I focus on Dazai & Chuuya next.)

[the-scp-list-of-ominous-threats]

[litlove]

PART I

PART II

[pynkhues]

‘Louis blinks, smile weakening, forehead furrowing as he looks back at the sudden cloudy, faraway look in Lestat’s eyes, and it’s familiar. The memory old, but - -

Yeah.

Familiar.’

Is this an Easter egg for the BDSM fic where Lestat got triggered about Magnus back in New Orleans 👀👀👀

👀👀👀👀

(It is, haha).

[thomastanker02]

In order for Christ to build us up in his image, he’s got to have a sturdy foundation.

This is why Jesus gave us his eternal word. It’s upon his teachings that we can safely place our lives, and remain secure.

Jesus’ word is the seed the springs to life in those who trust in him with their whole heart. The fruit it bears being love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self - control. Against such, there is no law.

After we have given our lives to the Lord, and established our trust in him, he can begin building up his house.

Don’t we know that we are the temples of the Holy Spirit, and that our lives are not our own? If God plans to dwell within us, he’s going to make some changes.

He knocks down the walls of self righteousness and pride, and instead builds up walls of virtue and peace. He rips of the floor boards of lust and replaces them with love and respect for others. He replaces laziness with ambition, and willful ignorance with a search for knowledge.

As we continue in our walk with God, more virtuous attributes are out in place.

2 Peter 1:5-7, “For this reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self - control, and self - control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love”.

All of these characteristics, the fruits of the Christian life, are built in the solid foundation of Christ’s word. When the storms of life hit, we remain calm, for our foundation is steadfast, and won’t fail us.

However, if we build our houses on the sand, it’ll be utterly scorned.

If we build our lives on the pleasure of this world, and try to find meaning in a world that is passing away, then so will our houses. The storms of life will come, and everything we’ve built will be knocked down. Not only that, but our efforts will be proven meaningless when Christ returns, and we aren’t ready to meant him.

Instead of building our lives on the things of this world, Christ calls us to let him build up our lives in his image.

Instead of focusing on ourselves, we are called to something bigger and more purposeful: a kingdom where all are welcome. It’s a place where God’s love is a light to all, and sin has been eternally defeated. It’s a place of oneness with the Lord, and always being in his glorious presence. It’s a world where we share in the glory of God who called us out our darkness and into his marvelous light.

But this will not happen for us if we continue to find our identity in the things of this world. We must replace our foundations of sand and replace them with foundations of solid rock. Then, we must let the artist do his work.

God bless, Jesus loves you ✝️❤️

[justdreamsandmusic]

[nihonio]

i always draw rex so angry its funny at this point

[lsunstreakerl]

chapter nineteen of Search History is out!

[atinyladybug-art]

You've seen my Rec AU vs Canon Interpretation Iceberg. Now get ready for my clefs

I'm pretty sure it's very obvious who Recollection AU Clef is inspired by 😔

Also I am experimenting with my art again! Used a new pen for this one and honestly I really liked it.

Also for Rec AU's clef design, she's also supposed to have more goat features hence the horn and the ears as well as the legs. The idea behind it is that she is the one who made this appearance and took after Meri after her promotion to O5 (thus being able to change his identity/keep it hidden/separate herself from "Dr.Alto Clef"). The eyes are like, sorta, manifestation of the other alters in the system.

But my canon interpretation is that 1. He's a short gremlin who is not knowing of what the shelf looks like. 2. He is stinky and doesn't shower. Also got a rat's tail because I like braided clef but he doesn't give me like, actual fully braided hair vibes and also rats tail is fitting for a rat like him.

[thejumbaman]

Future Spiders of the Spider Society.

The Spider-Society has recruited many Spider variants from across the Multiverse and has begun assigning them into various squadrons, each given different missions to prevent the creation of Anomalies, Incursions, and the death of Spider-Totems by the Inheritors.

These three are Spider-Men from different futures with advanced technologies built into their suits. Together they share their innovations to better advance the Spider-Society HQ and create a potential path for all other Spiders to follow.

This team consists of:

Spider-Man of the Future Foundation

Spider-Man 2099

Spider-Man Unlimited

[brightshaw-shipper]

a beginning

a red blossom spreads

the flower of battle opening its petals on the gray linoleum floor

and a shattered digital watch, screen wiped blank, empty as the eyes of its owner.

outside, leaves dance through the steely November sky—

shining red and gold against gray

like rubies and diamonds and white gold

nestled in an unfeeling hand.

light flares, the watch resumes

strange hands holding a familiar object

dried flower petals on the gray linoleum floor

and at the center, himself, outside looking in

"Dr. Bright? We appear to have a problem."

[multiversal-fusion-reborn]

Have any of the rebels interacted with any particular SCP anomaly?

Jackrow had faced SCP 035 and was actually immune to its mind control due to him being protected by the soul of a God.

Uzi had come across 173 and witnessed it change "forms" various times as she tried her best to keep her distance away from it.

Eda would avoid getting mauled by 1155 with her claiming that the chase and fight was somehow less of a hassle than the graffiti she needed to clean off at Hexside.

And "everyone" has encountered 682 at least once...