#pleasant mag

[pleasantmag]

Foster the People - "Lost in Space"

Written by R. Zachary Anderson

Los Angeles indie-pop band, Foster the People, are back with their first album in 7 long years. Paradise State of Mind will be out on August 16, 2024, via Atlantic Records and is the follow up to 2017’s Sacred Hearts Club. On the heels of the news that they would be releasing a new record, they released their first single titled, “Lost in Space”. Now if you’re unfamiliar with Foster the People they were quite popular with the song “Pumped Up Kicks”. Over the years from the days of “Pumped Up Kicks” to their newest song “Lost in Space”, they’ve evolved from a catchy radio friendly indie rock band to what I have coined as a “Neo Disco” band. Their songs are still as catchy as ever and has a grooving bassline. It would be hard not to find yourself dancing to this song in your car seat, around your home, or wherever you find yourself listening to music. This record is going to be great, if I can tell from this song, and I can’t wait to hear the rest of the record.

Preorder the record here.

[thelien-art]

For the sketches, you had me at bromance! 😁 How about Fingon and Húrin? Thanks for sharing!

Always some good bromance between Elvers and Humans

[chusofullout]

Tim Daggett apologized for saying that a gymnast from Taiwan (I know it's called Chinese Taipei in international sports but idc) was from Korea. Growth?

[snekberry]

future!jon waiting for his martin to arrive

post MAG-200 tma time travel au series

[ID: A four panel comic about Jonathan Sims from the future interacting with Jon and Martin from season 1 of TMA. Future Jon is a thin, brown-skinned man with long, greying dark hair in a ponytail, and various scars. He wears a green “What the Ghost” hoodie. Jon from the past has short hair with less gray, and wears glasses, and a white button down shirt with a black tie. Martin is a large, pale man with red hair and glasses, and wears a blue sweater over a white collared shirt.

The first panel shows Future Jon lounging in a chair, while drinking from a mug. There is an arrow pointing to him that reads “borrowing past! Jon’s spare clothes”. He is grinning with his eyes closed and saying “I’m waiting for my boyfriend to arrive in this timeline.”

The next panel shows Jon and Martin from the past. Past Jon is sipping from his own mug, and looking at Future Jon with interest, as he thinks “I get a boyfriend in the future?” Martin is also holding a mug, and smiles pleasantly as he asks “Oh?”

The next panel shows them again, as Martin gets jealous, and tightens the grip on his mug until it begins to crack under his hands. His expression is still pleasant as he asks “Who’s your boyfriend?” Past Jon notices Martin’s mug and reacts with shock, saying “Good lord!”

The last panel shows Future Jon again, sitting forward a bit and grinning slyly at the pair of them, looking highly amused. He says “Oh, you’ll see.” End ID.]

Thank you @/coulson-is-an-avenger for the ID!!

[occudo]

so this isn’t really an ask just something that I thought you might appreciate.

I got a highland cow stuffed animal the cows the Jon and Martin were referring to in MAG 160 so I named the cow Martin for that reason.

And every time I see my best friend who introduced me to the podcast I’ll start the  “Let me know if you see any good cows.”,“Obviously I’m going to tell you if I see any good cows.” exchange. One of the few pleasant things to come out of MAG 160 honestly

Martin the Highland Cow plush is appreciated

[spookypete-94]

O-

GhostxFem!medic!reader

Reader is a medic that has been assigned to specifically take care of TF141. She learns just how difficult the lieutenant can be.

SFW, CW for- language, more then likely medical inaccuracies

You had worked next to Price shortly a few years after he started. Your impressive skill level always imprinted on him. After he became the Captain, he had sought you out specifically. The risks of the missions he was on he wanted someone he could trust on standby to take care of him and his men if something were to happen. Sure, you knew your way on the battlefield and could do basic operations if needed, but your area of expertise was caring for the injured. It was almost like you were hardwired and made for it, a natural.

Once learning Price had requested you, sought you for so long- it was a no-brainer to join him and his team.

"Ready to meet everyone?" He asked, his voice quiet but still carrying a booming effect.

"Sure am," she you replied, crossing your arms as he led her to his office. Inside stood 3 men. One that wore a blue hat in casual attire, the second one with bright blue eyes and a mohawk, and the other was a large looming man that leaned against the desk face covered with a skull balaclava, dressed all in black.

"Would like you all to meet the team medic, this is Y/N L/N. I sought her specifically for us."

Y/N stuck her hand out to greet everyone, shaking the first two, easily learning their names as Gaz and Soap. The third one, however, did not step forward to shake her hand. One could feel the distrust from his gaze.

Fine, You thought to yourself and instead stood next to the Captain again.

Price explained your duties and how you would be attending missions with them on scene, in your own helicopter, and would respond as needed.

"If I could have dog tags, just to have full name and blood type, I'd appreciate it. Makes it easier for me to log and store blood if needed."

Again, the first two she met and Price complied, handing their dog tags over with ease. The large one never left his stance from the desk, arms crossed, hands never reaching into his shirt.

"Lieutenant," Price said just shy of a scolding manner.

"No worries, Captain, I'll manage." you said, waving it off. Honestly, far from offended, dealing with difficult men your entire career, becoming used to it. Price looked at you, shocked, wondering how you would "deal" with it. Scribbling the information down, your own chicken scratch looking difficult to anyone else who might read it before handing the tags back. "Thanks," you said cheerily, handing the tags back. "Lieutenant," nodding in his direction still being courteous to him. "I'll be in the MedBay updating my records and starting carts for all of your needs. Hope you all have a pleasant day." Nodding, and stepped through the group of men.

Once the door was shut, they all turned to Ghost appalled by his behavior to such a kind woman. "Why ya' gotta be like that, mate?" Soap asked him.

"Don't trust new people," he grumbled, leaving them all to shake their heads.

Time had passed, you had her records all updated and built trust with three of the group she cared for. Not quite with "Skullface" though, as you called him. Being on the team with the TF141, means you still had to qualify on all weapons... leaving you at the mercy of the range with the grumpy Lieutenant as he was the instructor.

His tone came across condescending at the very start. The first weapon he picked was a handgun. He showed how to load and reload the mags, how to place it in the bottom of the guns and forcefully shove up to make sure the mags don't fall out. How to use the iron sights and the difference between red dots, the difference between calibers - things already known by you but dared not say anything wanting to make a point. He handed back the pistol, taking aim, and shortly emptied the clip, hitting the metal target in the center. The ping echoed, target shaking with each bullet. Managing tactical reload, dropping the mag, pulling the full one from your belt, reloading it, and doing the same thing.

"You know how to use a gun?" he asked stunned.

"I do."

"You could have led with that."

"Didn't want to interrupt your whole "spiel, "seeming it's the most you've said to me the entire time I've been here."

Behind him, Price stood smiling, arms crossed as he stood at the front of the range. Game, set, match, he thought to himself comically.

"Can we do shotgun next, or are you gonna break the basics down for me on that, too?" Your tone playing coy, making Ghost shake his head, handing her the shotgun.

The day was over faster than Ghost expected it to be, thinking you would be inexperienced.

"I'm sorry I treated you like that," Ghost said humbly as they picked up the empties.

"Used to it."

This answer caused silence among them both. You took it upon yourself that he was waiting for you to answer why.

"Most men in this field just see me as a nurse. They seem to forget that Medic's have to be battle trained, too. Used to being treated like that."

He turned to look at you. "Shouldn't be a medic, you're better than most of the soldiers I've seen in the field."

"All be it surprised, I'm a better medic, then I am on the battlefield."

"Have to be one hell of a medic then."

"I am." you said confidently, throwing the expended bullet casings into a bucket to be repressed.

How grateful you were, that it ended on a positive note between the two this time.

"Here," he said, going to hand her his dog tags.

"Don't need them any more."

Even though his face was covered, you could tell he was confused by your response.

"Got it taken care of." smiling widely to him, throwing your assigned weapons over your shoulder and heading back to the base.

You had left him preplexed and him watching that smile never leave as your legs carried you away. Satisfaction filling you, knowing you made your mark on him.

"Fuckin' hell," he said quietly to himself.

Inevitably, the day came. Ghost had found himself and Soap injured, Ghost was losing blood rapidly, taking the grunt of whatever exploded. They requested evac but had to wait for an extraction team to get to him. His conscious status was in and out, vaguely remembering you and your squad getting to him and Soap. Your facial features make you seem like you were is glowing, the light being so bright. If he had not seen your ability to be deadly, he would have thought an angel was standing before him from the golden glow.

The next thing he knew, he was on the helicopter, finally coming to. He started to sit up quickly, the sudden alertness making him realize what had just happened

"Sit your ass still," you growled to him.

Even as a threat, your voice calmed him, making him indeed sit still.

"Where's Johnny?"

"Next to you, across the bird behind the curtain, my team got him stitched and wrapped up. Hold still," You said, pulling his arm back to her. He realized you were stitching him, hand holding his arm close. Noticing the IV for fluid and another for blood attached into his other arm. There, he saw a rolling cart with "Skullface" wrote on the top where his name should have been, bags of O- blood inside it.

"My blood type isn't O-," he said, head rolling over to look at her.

"Mine is. It's the universal donor."

Finally, he realized what you meant.

"That's your blood?"

"Yup, been pulling mine off for your cart in case something happened since you wouldn't give me your tags that day."

He was silent for a bit. That was her way of managing... using your own blood to save him. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole to you."

"Stop. You already apologized. Just be grateful I did what I did and didn't leave you to bleed out." Some men just needed tough love.

Somehow, you had struck him. He was seeing you in a different light once more. How grateful he was for his mask because if it wasn't there.. you would be able to read his face. Adoration and all. He leaned back into the pillow, letting you finish and look him over. Fingers ghosted across his skin as you moved his body to be able to check for whatever it was you were looking for. No resistance was given by him now. You had earned just more than his respect and trust. Just on the ride back to base, you already had him stitched up.

"Still will have to do scans to make sure there is no internal bleeding, but have to do that back at base. I'm glad you're still alive." you said, patting his thigh in an area that you knew was not injured.

"Fuckin' hell," a phrase he found saying all too much with you. Eyes watching your walk away and prepare for landing.

Soap pulled back his curtain, smiling mischievously at Ghost.

"Not a fuckin' word," he grumbled to him, knowing all to well that Soap knew that Ghost had caught feelings for hyou.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

[msmk11]

Five More Minutes

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

WC: 1.5k

CW: Fluff, angst, the games, illusions to death

Summary: Five more minutes. A phrase you say often but only now really mean.

Day 16 of mk’s mad dash

The cold waves crash against your legs as you run through the water away from Finnick. Two person tag is pointless, really, but at the young age of eight, practicality is not an important thing on your mind. You’re still at the age where you’re similar in height and strength to the blonde, so you pretty easily outrun his attempts at tagging you.

“Wah, wah, you can’t catch me Finny!” You tease, sticking your tongue out.

“I told you not to call me that!” he yells, a pout growing on his face.

By the way his brows furrow in concentration, you can tell that your best friend is more determined than ever to catch you.

You run back up onto the shore, your feet sinking into the wet sand beneath you.

“Hey guys!” A voice shouts distantly.

You stop running and look up to see Finnick’s mother at the back door.

“It’s time to come inside my loves, dinner is ready!”

Just when you’re about to respond, a cold wet hand presses your arm.

“Tag, you’re it!”

Finnick stands beside you, golden hair windblown and wearing a big smirk.

“Not fair!” You shout back, betrayal written all over your face, “the game was obviously paused.”

“Never said so,” Finnick answers, arms crossed bossily.

“I’m gonna get you!”

You look back at Finnick’s mom, “five more minutes!”

*****

“Five more minutes.”

You look up at Mrs. Odair standing next to you, arms crossed and an anxious expression on her face that she absolutely cannot hide from you.

“Five more minutes,” you agree, reaching out and squeezing her arm gently.

Five more minutes. Five more minutes until Finnick would finally arrive home from the Capitol.

Finnick. Your Finny. The Capitol’s newest Victor. The youngest too, winning at the young age of only fourteen.

After being gone for weeks, you’d finally get to see him again. You’d finally be able to rest easy, knowing that he’s alive, safe, and within walking distance.

You hear it before you see it- the horn of the large, silver train warning everyone to back away from the railway. As it glides smoothly into the station, your stomach erupts in anxious butterflies, equal parts eager and nervous to see Finnick after all this time.

The train door slides open and the first person to step out is Finnick’s mentor, Mags. But then, there he comes, your best friend.

It seems the entirety of District Four is crammed into the small train station awaiting Finnick’s return, so the whole platform erupts into cheers at the sight of him exiting the train.

Finnick, ever the charmer, immediately puts on his best smile, waving to the crowd. Though you know a lot of it is an act, you can tell a part of him is genuinely happy to be home surrounded by his neighbors and friends.

His smile turns fully genuine, however, when he sees his parents and you waiting for him near the front of the platform. Finnick runs straight into his mother’s arms. Though he already towers over her, he looks so small at this moment, relieved to be back with his mama after all the trauma he had faced. When he pulls away, he gives his dad a hug too and then turns to you. If possible, his smile grows even wider and he opens his arms to you. You run straight into his arms at full force and he catches you, barely even stumbling under your weight.

You bury your face in his neck, “Welcome back, Finny.”

*****

You’re already ready to kill someone and the games haven’t even started yet. Interviews, in front of millions of people, are starting soon, and you’ve never felt more uncomfortable. You aren’t against dressing nice, but as a sixteen year old girl from the districts, you’re certainly against dressing uncomfortably and so lavishly. The big, poofy, blue gown you’re wearing is supposed to resemble the ocean, but you’re sure your stylist has gotten it all wrong. One is pleasant and good and makes you happy, the other is a stupid-ass dress with itchy fabric.

Luckily, your team has at least given you a few minutes alone before your interviews to collect yourself.

There’s a soft knock on the door and before you can even respond, it’s opening and closing quickly. Finnick is upon you in a second, arms wrapped around your waist and his chest flush against yours.

“Finnick,” you sigh, “what’re you doing here? I thought mentors weren’t allowed to be back here before the interviews?”

He pulls away a little and gives you a wink, “perks of being the Capitol’s Darling.”

You roll your eyes and scoff at him, but secretly you’re grateful for his status in the Capitol. Without his unwavering support at your side every second of your games journey so far, you certainly would’ve cracked. You’re not sure how you’re gonna fare in the arena.

Finnick looks you up and down, “you look….”

“Like an idiot?”

“No,” the blonde says, suddenly very serious, “You look beautiful, really. Though I suppose you always are.”

“Finn-“

You’re interrupted by the door opening. A backstage assistant peeks their head in the room, “you’re on in ten.”

When the door shuts, Finnick squeezes your waist gently, “okay, we should probably go.”

You stop him before he can pull away, “wait! Five more minutes, please.”

Finnick nods and pulls you impossibly tighter, resting his forehead against yours. As you stare into his seafoam colored eyes, a wave of calm overcomes you.

You’re so close that your breaths intermingle, and your stomach does a flip.

“Finnick-“

But you don’t need to say anything else, because his lips are already on yours.

*****

Even though Finnick never has to work another day in his life if he doesn’t want to, he’s still up and off to the docks every day before the sun even rises. It’s a habit of his you used to admire, maybe selfishly so, because he always showed up on your doorstep after a morning on the water with some sort of gift or breakfast in hand. But now, now that you and Finnick live together, you hate it. Even though you’re happy he’s doing something he enjoys, you, again, selfishly, want to keep him in bed a little longer.

When you feel him start to stir next to you, you instantly whine into his bare chest.

“Where are you going?”

Finnick’s strong arms squeeze you tightly, “gotta get up and head to the docks, sweetheart, you know this.”

“No,” you moan tiredly, “stay here.”

Your boyfriend places a soft kiss to the crown of your head and mumbles into your hair, “you know I can’t. Gotta work.”

You open your heavy eyes and look up at him, chin still resting on his muscled chest, “but you don’t have to. You could stay here and lay with me.”

Finnick sighs and you know he feels bad, but you also know you won’t change his mind. You find his stubbornness endearing, even if it works against you sometimes.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

You huff dejectedly, “fine. But will you at least lay with me for five more minutes?”

The blonde pushes a strand of hair out of your face, “okay, pretty girl, five more minutes.”

The squeal of delight that escapes you makes your boyfriend chuckle, and you wrap yourself around him like a baby koala bear.

You look up at his pretty smile and long, soft eyelashes and place a soft kiss to his jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

*****

Much like all the mornings before, you cling to your husband tightly as you two lay in bed, preparing to face the day ahead.

But nothing about this morning is typical.

Instead of contentment you feel fear, instead of rested you feel restless, and instead of Finnick being eager to start his day, he clings to you just as tightly, head buried in your chest listening to the beating of your heart.

You mindlessly run your fingers through your lover’s curls, the only thing keeping you from completely breaking down.

Today is the day of the quarter quell. A day you never thought would come- when you have to enter the arena again. Even worse- when Finnick has to enter the arena again.

You’re still in shock over it all, and you can’t help the bitterness you feel towards the “girl on fire” for putting you and Finnick in this position again. Still, you try to keep your husband’s words in mind- it’s all for the revolution.

Only time will tell if you two would make it out alive.

Finnick’s rustling startles you from your daze and you look down at him, watching as he glances towards the clock on the nightstand.

“We probably should-“

“No.”

You pull Finnick towards your face, “just five more minutes, okay?”

Five more minutes. A phrase you’ve said countless times, but only now really mean in the face of death.

Five more minutes to hold your husband. To kiss him. To love him in the security of your bed. To pretend that the world doesn’t wait outside your door.

*****

Oh what you’d do for five more minutes.

[pleasereadmeok]

"THE MOST IMPORTANT ITEM IN A GENTLEMAN'S WARDROBE ...... is not actually clothes but manners. It doesn't matter how you dress. It's really all about how pleasant you are."

[Matthew Goode]

📷 my edit from Paul Wetherall pic for 'Another Man' online mag new version of 2015 post

I'm still crushed that he wears pyjamas or ANYTHING in bed.

[nonbinarybrainstorm]

i just saw the valve mod post and im,,, can i request a springer x bot!reader who has a valve mod for milking spike,,,,

Here ya go

Even with his hands bound above his head, his spike and valve on full display, Springer still manages to look smug with that charming smile of his.

“Why don’t you come over?”

They answer his beckoning, sauntering over slowly with their hips carving through the air in a soft sway. Springer watches this with rapt attention, his optics flaring in excitement, biting his lip. Hiking one leg up, they straddle Springer and plant their hands on his chest, a sweet yet mischievous smile spreading over their lips.

“You look good like this…” they sigh while trailing a hand down, rubbing his panel which slides open at their touch. “Oh, you’re bigger than I thought…”

Springer grunts as they squeeze and stroke his spike, shutting his optics as he grunts, “Hah, is that okay…?”

“Mmm, yeah,” they sigh as they let their own panel open to grind on his spike.

He ducks his helm down and they accept his offered kiss, basking in the feeling of his lips, all the while sliding their slick folds over his spike with their own spike twitching helplessly against Springer’s plating. They can feel his spike pulse between their folds, the light touch barely grounding the nodes at their entrance. With a careful roll of their hips, they get close enough to brush their entrance against the charged-up nodes under his spike but not enough to truly connect, keeping him just on the edge.

“Ah, please,” Springer breaks the kiss briefly to beg, his voice husky with desperation.

They don’t have the will to tease or argue, already losing themself to lust, and quickly mount him. A jolt rushes through them with charge flooding their systems from practically falling onto his spike with how excited they’ve become, their valve dripping with lubricant. It’s so overwhelming that they have to just cling to him until the feedback loops between them finally lessen to a pleasant buzz instead of an ion storm. Springer begins kissing their shoulder and neck while they brace themself against him, recovered enough to come back to himself. They capture his lips briefly before sluggishly grinding down on his spike.

“You gonna start?” Springer pants, and they can’t help but think of how cute he is, all dazed like this.

“Mmhm,” they bite their lip and smirk at Springer’s surprise as they activate their mag-locks.

Locked on his spike, they use their calipers to massage his spike, their hips spasming as their nodes fire off like miniature fireworks. Springer moans while they rock their hips to grind their anterior node on his plating. Gasping, they squeeze his shoulders when they change the mode setting of their valve, causing their calipers to move up and down, rolling snuggly over Springer’s spike. The sensation has Springer bucking his hips but he can’t move inside them with the mag-locks still firmly in place. Their calipers begin to move together, starting at the base of his spike, gripping him in a tight hold before sliding up to suddenly release at the tip, leaving Springer a moaning mess. While their valve milks his spike at a steady, lazy pace, they roll their hips, never pulling their optics away from his face and delighting in how he struggles helplessly in his binds.

They tighten up in surprise and then tense with a mini overload that almost knocks them over the edge at the burst of warm transfluid spilling into their tank. Springer’s optics remain screwed shut with his hands curled into fists and a low groan on his lips as he overloads into them. As soon as his overload releases him, he slumps in his binds, his vents pushing out steam. His spike remains inside them, twitching and hot.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to give in so soon…” Springer looks at them with dull, lidded optics, recovering from his intense overload.

They lean in to cup his chin and murmur, “It’s okay, we just started after all…”

Springer swallows nervously but his optics burn with excitement at the promise of all to come.

[postapocalyptic-cryptic]

After some thought, I've decided that the only way to introduce this fan continuity to the wider fandom is to start posting it. So here, take around 700 words of Jazz and Prowl's first meeting.

SIX MILLION YEARS AGO IACON, IACONIAN PROVINCE, CYBERTRON SMF TOWER ONE MEETING ROOM 4, SUBLEVEL 5H 0653 HOURS

"Get your pedes off the table."

The other cadet isn't looking at him. He's just sitting there, picking at the seam of a claw and humming some annoying pop song. "Nah." "Seriously, get your pedes off the table. Now."

The cadet finally looks up, arching an eyebrow. "You know, it's so funny, but they told me Optimus was going to be my commanding officer, not you." Prowl opens his mouth to respond, but he keeps going. "Prowl, isn't it?" Then, as if it wasn't really a question, "How did your exams go this semester, Prowl of Petrex? Doesn't the PPA usually do exams this time of year?"

Prowl bites the inside of his lip plate and tastes energon. "Be respectful. We're about to meet a Prime."

This time, the cadet does take his pedes off the table, if only to swing around and face Prowl more fully. They're sitting across from each other at a long, off-white table lined with spinning office chairs more expensive than Prowl's entire dorm room back at the academy. The overhead lights are harsh white, almost blue, and the cadet's perfectly polished plating shines under them when he leans forward on his elbows and says, "Damn, loosen up a bit. He's only been Prime for a few days. And he did choose us. He should be happy we're here."

"And we are," a deep voice booms from the doorway. Prowl's on his feet before any conscious thought registers, and then all higher level processing is shut down by the sight of Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus standing in the doorway. Fortunately, a crisp salute had long since been driven deeper into his programming than panic could reach, and he snaps to attention.

"Sirs!"

The other cadet takes his time, getting gracefully to his pedes and into a salute of his own. He has some sense, then. "Mags," he greets. "Prime."

"Good morning, Jazz," Ultra Magnus says. He's standing just in front of Optimus, hands clasped neatly in front of himself. "And Cadet Prowl, it is pleasant to meet you face to face." Magnus doesn't look pleased, and Prowl forces his EM field to stay tight to his plating. He hopes his face looks as blank as it feels.

"It's an honor, sir," he says. "And Prime, it is---I---"

"'S good to see you, too, Optimus," the other cadet, Jazz, cuts in. "The upgrades are looking good."

Again, Prowl feels woefully disadvantaged. Clearly, Jazz has already been integrated into this social circle, is familiar with its inhabitants and rules, and Prowl has only just now learned his name. He prides himself on preparedness, but considering the lack of information he was given, he fails to see how he could have avoided this situation. "At ease," Optimus says, and Prowl falls from his salute into a tense ready position. Jazz flops back into his chair with a fluid ease that looks well-practiced. Despite his words, Optimus himself doesn't appear to be at ease. He's standing stiffly, the way Prowl feels himself standing, but without a soldier's practice. He'd heard Orion Pax was an unconventional choice for Primacy, but until now, he'd never considered the possibility that Pax hadn't even been in the military. Begrudgingly, he makes a mental note to consult Jazz on it after the meeting. He seems to know everything around here, after all.

"Mechs," Ultra Magnus says. "You two have been hand-picked from a collection of the best and brightest minds our generation has to offer for these positions."

"And what are these positions?" Jazz interrupts, ignoring Magnus's sharp look of reproach.

"Head of Special Operations and Intelligence," Magnus says to Jazz, "and Head of Tactics," he says to Prowl, "of the new Cybertronian Defense Corps."

Prowl's processor stalls. "We already have a military," he says dumbly. "We won't soon," Jazz says, and this time, Ultra Magnus spares him any censure.

"Jazz is correct," Magnus says. "Mechs, I hate that it's come to this, but we're on the brink of war, and when it breaks out, the Senate wants only those they trust in charge of the safety and stability of Cybertron and its government."

"And you chose us."

"Based on a multitude of factors, from your psychological evaluations to your test scores and beyond, yes, we have chosen you."

[pleasantmag]

Nails announces a banger!

Nails has announced an insane show in Los Angles featuring Xibalba, World Peace and Entry to name a few.

Tickets are on sale this Friday at 10 am pst here

[signed-sapphire]

Thinking about outfit symbolism…

A lot of other designs have that juxtaposition between Starboy and Magnifico, and Amaya and Asha, and I want to add some of that in the TFS designs. But Mag and Amaya are good at first. And Asha is a… very pleasant princess. Any ideas?

[arkturusz]

@cult-of-the-eye here it is, hope you like it :3

MAG[REDACTED] - Blood in the Machine

Anonymous statement, regarding the statement maker's purchase and use of a strange desktop computer. Original statement given 4th of February 2024, recording by Arcturus Walker, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, Budapest. Put to tape on the 21st of March 2024. Statement begins:

I don't want to go into details as to why I came to make this decision. It was an offer too good to be true, just what a struggling university student needed: a cheap PC with great specs and with only 2 years of usage. I know how some sellers put enticing prices on Facebook Marketplace just to drop the real deal in later messages, but that wasn't the case. The owner got his hands on "something better" and saw no use in keeping this one around so he asked for the bare minimum that would still be a deal to him.

I went to pick up the desktop, it was a city away so I drove there. It was a bit weird how creeping closer to the destination all we had were dirt roads. I live in the suburbs, I know not all city councils pay it enough attention, but these weren't those dusty solid roads. These were muddy, the tracks barely visible and overgrown with grass. No, not grass, something more- vibrant.

The roads branched off a few hundred meters from my destination, only one going in its general direction so I followed it. I reached a house, no buildings in its neighborhood, crop fields on one side, a small forest on the other, the kind that always seems way more moist than the weather would allow it and always has that smell of thick mud and insects. I could only *enjoy* that for a moment before I got hit with something else, something fleshier. It was a stench that burnt into my nostrils. I try not to judge a house by the smell, my parents were chainsmokers and I've always been more ashamed to bring friends home than it seemed they were bothered by the odor. Assuming I just met a butcher, or really just someone that keeps their own livestock I headed inside.

It felt like a hallucination, it really did. I stepped into a corridor, my lungs full of the dull yet powerful stench that covered everything. My brain felt foggy and with a headache that felt like pressure on my skull I continued inside. I was hoping to pick up the computer and get going right away, and I did my best to accomplish just that. I lifted the PC which was rather heavy and hurried back the way I came when something caught my attention. As I was putting my shoes on my brain alerted me of movement. From all around. The walls seemed to have this rhythmic pulse to them. If I wasn't at the doorstep I would've fainted, that's for sure, but I made it out to my car, telling myself it's the headache getting to me.

The drive back was nothing out of the ordinary, but that foul smell just wouldn't leave my nose. I parked, opened my boot and to no surprise the aroma oozed out of the case like a thick invisible fog, bringing back that numbing pressure that I felt earlier. I grabbed all the cleaning chemicals and similar that I could find lying around, giving it a thorough rub on the outside. I pride myself on my expertise in software, but the hardware always confused me and I never bothered to learn it. Thus I did not want to open it up, which proved to be a grave mistake.

For 6 months straight there seemed to have been no problem with the PC. It worked as intended, was just as fast as I expected and the smell was only noticeable if you got up close to sniff the case. Which I didn't. But two days ago I didn't need to either. I woke up to a strange smell. It wasn't as strong or numbing as the one I felt at the house but it certainly wasn't pleasant. We had maintenance that night, we were notified that from 10pm we should be expecting a blackout. I didn't mind, but it seemed that whatever was in my computer did not like it. I decided to give it another round of cleaning once I was done with my cup of coffee. I dressed up and went to pull out the cables on the back, but they were a lot harder to unplug than I remembered. I ripped out the one which was most limiting length-wise and I pulled the rest of the case out from under my desk. As I saw the back of the PC I had to stop myself from throwing up.

Now I'm not afraid of gore, I grew up in a generation (and the subcultures) that made it such a commonplace it's usually unamusing. On screen, at least. But I didn't expect to come face to face with a chunk of skin stretching across where my plugs should have been. The cable I ripped out laid on the floor, a dark red liquid dripping from it, staining my carpet. Same thing could be found on the back of the case. Turns out the cable wasn't just stuck, it was *integrated* into the fleshy mess that shouldn't have been there.

That's when I got a screwdriver and ripped the case open. It seemed like the only logical way to deal with whatever infested my computer and I didn't know what else I could do. The case came away like a sticker, the inside melted to a wall of human-like skin, peeling away it left a residue of perspiration on the plastic.

The flesh monster's skin seemed to have formed a block, covering its insides from all angles, pressing against the vents and pushing out through the outlets. The cord I ripped had left a nasty hole that started to scar up, but I wanted to see what I was up against and I *didn't let it*. I scraped away the scar tissue with the screwdriver and pushed it through the wound, detaching the vein that supplied my cable from the wall of skin. The case still hugging it from the outside cast a shadow that made it hard for me to see in, so I turned on my flashlight, stretching at the hole with my tool, trying to take a peek.

I saw veins running across the surface, the inside was humid and *warm*, at least warmer than room temperature but it wasn't the heat of a working human body. It was starting to cool. In the middle of the case I saw something heavy, a huge knot in the middle of the circulatory system which kept beating in a steady rhythm. It was slow, the pulse was invisible from the outside, yet it kept pushing blood through the opening, trying to close it up, but the scarring slowed down significantly from when I first ripped that cable out. It ran on electricity, it had to have been the case, the inside had a greenish tone from what I could make out, meaning that during the blackout it started rotting. The system that somehow ran like a normal computer for months started to decay, which reminded me of the smell my brain ignored from my initial shock that once again sat heavy in my lungs.

I did not reconnect it but I didn't know what to do with it either. Who would have I called? I scoured the internet to find your institute, and I left my PC to you. Past making this statement I wish not to associate myself with this case any longer.

Statement ends. First thing after reading this statement I went down to artifact storage to ask about this curio. Turns out whoever left it to us delivered it too late, the "heart" was not beating and the thing once stretched against the walls of it's case now sat collapsed and rotten in the organic section, making any other follow-up almost impossible. Looking for the flesh house also yielded no results, meaning I will put this case to rest as-is. What does keep me wondering are the intentions of the seller. Why would an avatar of the Flesh sell a piece of itself to an unsuspecting individual? There was no mention of the *flesh block* attempting to leave its case meaning there was no intention of spreading the system either. Maybe they didn't intend the buyer to possess it for so long, maybe they tried to alert us of their vicinity. But they failed. They left us with a cold trail. *sigh* Recording ends

This is episode one of my series I call MAGREDACTED, here are all the episodes out now:

The Vast The Stranger The Dark

New episodes will be posted over on @archivus !

[profanepurity]

I am here to knock on your door and peer inside for any Sister Diana and Bellamy info, because this is my fave AU now. I am very greedy and wish to know more (also Secondo being a girl dad, MY HEART)

Not only is Papa Emeritus Secondo a girl dad, but Bellamy also has two very evil satanic cardinals for uncles that watch very R-rated horror movies with her when they babysit. Don't worry, Copia always fast-forwards through the really bad parts, despite Terzo saying "she already knows about that stuff". Bellamy loves horror movies (and spending time with them), but C still got her that rat plushy for when she spends the night- which she named Lumaconi.

Lol so this response got super plot-driven, which is why it took ages to finish, I’m so sorry about that! This is going to focus mostly on how Secondo met Sister Diana when he was a Cardinal under Primo’s papacy, the ‘ghuleh’ that haunts the mortuary, and baby Bellamy. I really wish I could have rendered these, but I just didn't have the time unfortunately 😞

TW: This gets spicy. There are mentions of sex and suggestive imagery, but nothing explicit. Also TONS of angst. Mentions of death and blood. 

Thank you so much for your ask. Your support means the world to me! Enjoy 🖤

Diana was taken in as an orphan by the church as a young teen. Despite her unknown family history, she quickly grew accustomed to her new home at the ministry. She met Eliza when she began training to take her official vows. Their relationship started out as mentor and mentee but grew into a friendship once Diana had taken her final vows. Despite there being a bit of an age gap, they quickly became very close. Diana would often pull some of Eliza’s darkness out of her, encouraging her to “have some fun”, while Eliza was more the voice of reason. After Primo and Eliza married, you better believe Diana’s teasing was relentless, and even more so when Eliza was made Prime Mover. Though this came to bite Diana in the ass when she started eyeing Primo’s first younger brother, much to Eliza’s delight.

Primo seemed to ascend from a Cardinal to Papa in the blink of an eye, taking Eliza as his Prime Mover and promoting Secondo to a Cardinal. Secondo was of course no less lively decades ago than he is now. His reputation among the siblings of sin and even to a few outside followers/ connections with the church was nothing short of promicuous. While he continued to appreciate the pleasures of the flesh and substance, Secondo was perhaps lesser known to be quite active within the dark arts. His nose was either in a grimoire or a porn mag, no in between. 

Diana had taken her place overseeing the mortuary of the church, having a fascination with the dead and the dark powers that collect the soul as they are taken to Hell. When Secondo happened to find himself drifting towards the art of necromancy, the mortuary was the first place he looked for “research materials”. The first night Secondo met her, Sister Diana had been sewing a newly dead sibling back together after she had embalmed them and performed the ceremonial ritual to send off their soul. This hauntingly gorgeous sister, clad in a white, bat-like Cornette, with a cold gaze that would often unsettle other siblings of sin, lifted her eyes to him, and allowed the corners of her full lips to curl in a small, but controlled smile. There was no shyness or intimidation on her face by the sight of Cardinal Emeritus II, like so many siblings often had. She moved like a ghost around her table, silent, floating like a flower petal. You could say it was Asmodeus himself who brought them together, consuming them with the delightful sin of lust. 

Diana was charmed by his demanding presence and intense stare, and her odd serenity and striking beauty enamored Secondo. It was suppose to just be a one time thing. One night turned into two, and then a month later Secondo was having her sit on his lap while sipped on scotch, her hands resting on his chest as music served as pleasant background noise for them to enjoy eachother’s bodies tol. Then they were driving with the top down through the night lit streets of LA, and he got to see her hair whip around her face, free from her habit, as they went club to club; drinking, laughing, fucking. Next thing he knew Secondo awoke one morning to a spare toothbrush in his bathroom and spare clothing having found a permanent residence in his quarters. What shocked him more so was that he didn’t seem to mind.

At first, Secondo assumed these many shared nights were what caused him to find himself coming back to her time and time again. It was only natural, to bond with someone, it had been a year at this point after all. But what he would never admit to himself, was that the long, deep conversations he would find himself sharing with her within the private walls of his quarters, late at night, made him feel connected to someone else in a way he’d never been before. No, seeing the same lust within her for both carnal explorations and for knowlege of the dark arts that he shared himself was not at all attractive to him. Waking up to her presence in his bed, wearing his shirt, sharing his warmth vulnerably, showing her trust in him despite being reserved and isolate to nearly everyone else, did not melt his heart in the slightest. 

Sister Diana challenged him as an equal intellectually. Secondo knew of Diana’s unwavering nature, her own ambitions and independence, yet she allowed him to hold her. To lead her in a dance. To keep his hand on the small of her back as they walked. She willingly submitted her body to him, as he did to her too, behdind closed doors. 

He loved the way she would look at his younger brother Cardinal Emeritus III, not with carnal desire like some of the other siblings, but she would rather toy with him and match his own advances in a playful manner. Not once did Sister Diana look at anyone else like she looked at him, and only he would ever know that.

All that being said, Secondo has never, and may never be exclusive to anyone, as monogamy was never something he was drawn to in his life. Thankfully Diana felt the same way about her own sexuality. They silently understood this between eachother, despite never actually having a real conversation about it. Still, they would sit in the library for hours as they studied together. She would come up to the quarters of the high clergymen and massage his shoulders as he finished paper work. He would come down to the morgue to bring her coffee and food when she would be working nights. There was no denying their love for eachother.

Their meetings fell into a comfortable routine. So you can image how it confused Secondo when Sister Diana wasn’t in the mortuary at the time she usually was every other day. How it started to make his brow crease when he couldn’t find her anywhere else in the church. The Cardinal found her in the very last place he chose to look for her in. Perhaps if he had gone to her room first, things would have been different. Perhaps he wouldn’d have found her lifeless body, mutilated and pale, blood already beginning to dry upon her skin and the carpet as she layed on her bedroom floor. 

I briefly mention this scene in one of my one shots, “Child of Her Grave”, but of course I’m slightly changing how it goes already lol. But anyway, the family was in shambles to say the least.

Secondo had come to Primo in a daze. He didn’t know how long he stayed by her body, completely shell-shocked at the sight until he decided to knock on his brother’s door at 2 in the morning. The unlit halls of the church disguised her blood that now stained his cheek and clothing. He simply told Primo that Sister Diana had been killed, unable to utter anything more. 

Her death occured on the same day that an incredibly important ritual needed to be performed. It had only been hours after Secondo told Papa Primo that he was now faced with having to tell his Prime Mover that her best friend had been murdured over night. 

The combination of seeing his brother struggling to process finding his lover’s body, and holding Eliza against him as sobs racked her body, was the most torturous thing Primo had ever experienced. But they were left with no time to process their grief.

The higher clergy, along with Sister Imperator, were adamant with Papa Primo that the ritual not be delayed simply because of one sibling’s funeral. But when Papa didn’t come when he was summoned for the ritual, several Bishops stormed his quarters in anger and frustration at the delay of the incredibly time-sensitive ceremony that still needed hours of prep work before dawn. Primo was considered one of the more patient Papas that was very difficult to truly anger, yet he didn’t feel an ounce of remorse as he killed one of the Bishops for daring to raise his voice while Eliza was shaking violently against his chest.

Her burial ceremony was quiet. Secondo sat by her grave afterward and refused to move. It broke Primo’s heart that he wasn’t able to attend with Eliza and his brother. He got there as soon as he could, heading straight to his cardinal. He had been aware of his relationship with Sister Diana, it had been obvious to Papa that the year they spent together has made his brother close to her, even if Secondo himself refused to admit it. He could only imagine his pain. Someone was standing over his brother- who he barely registered, thinking it was their father Nihil deciding to be present. Primo was not prepared to see the wrath of Satan in his brother’s eyes. He should have known then that Second Emeritus was planning something in his silent anguish, but Primo found a brief sense of relief knowing the Old One was with him when he couldn’t be.

The ritual had required Carinal Emeritus III and Cardinal Copia to be in attendance of course. The roles of the two satanic princes of the church had been flipped. Terzo was the one now wringing his hands and stuttering over his words. Both of them wanted to be with Secondo, but Copia sent him off before they left the offices of the higher clergymen. It was important that at least one of them was there.

Terzo felt his heart hammer in his chest as his legs carried him across the cemetery.Even when they were boys, Terzo had never seen Secondo cry. His brother was always so stoic. Secondo took everything in stride and grace, and demanded nothing but authority in every situation. But when he reached his destination, Terzo stared at a man that was just as lifeless as the bodies six feet under them. 

He was almost afraid to touch him. He didn’t want to upset his brother further, but Terzo couldn’t bring himself to leave either. The younger brother’s throat tightened and he stood rigid- but soon eased himself beside his superior dark Eminence, sitting on the painfully cold metal bench that faced her grave.

He held his breath for Secondo to snap and tell him to fuck off, he almost wanted him to, just to have a sign of normalcy from his brother. When that never came, he slipped his arms around him, and just press himself as close as he could, remaining silent. When there was still no reaction from Secondo, he laced his hand in his and squeezed.

 “Ti voglio bene...”

Terzo hated how his voice shook and cracked when he whispered it against Secondo’s shoulder. He needed to get a fucking grip- 

Weakly, Secondo finally squeezed Terzo’s hand back. Oh- Lucifer, he can’t cry. That’s all it took for Terzo to press his face against his brother’s shoulder and hug him tightly. 

Thunder raged in the distance when Terzo’s blinding white eye spotted one of Nihil’s ghouls walking over to Imperator at the top of the stairs to the church's entrance. The sight of dried blood on black fabric made violet lightning split the sky- before an explosive peal broke the silence.

To this day they still don’t know exactly which ghoul murdered her.

As soon as the moon had cast a blinding glow upon the cemetery did Seconod’s mourning cease. He has been mentally preparing to recite the words of the many grimoires he’d read with Sister Diana, realizing that the dark arts had brought them together for a specific purpose, in this moment, he would raise her from the earth. It needed to be done before the decay of her internal organs began. It was the most demanding casting Secondo had done at that point in his practice. But by the time the moon was at its peak in the sky, Diana rose from her grave, her skin sickly, bones snapping back into place and mending her body where it had been broken. Standing in a horrific sight from the hole she clawed herself out of. Her hand’s blacked and clawed, raw from scratching out of her own casket. Yet she smiled at him like the day he met her.

Now you can really imagine the family’s reaction, seeing the dead sister walking through the halls the following day of her funeral. Sister Imperator seemed especially stunned, for whatever reason. I’ll have to draw some of these reactions later lol.

Thankfully not much changed after that, as Diana kept to herself mostly, her returned presence was not immediately noticed by the rest of the church. The siblings would of course rumor that a ghost haunted the mortuary, with exposed bone and rotting flesh. None of this was true of course. Secondo only noticed she was colder to the touch now, and smelled more like the earth, but her beauty and mind were in tact. He knew why Lucifer brought them together that day with necromancy, and he was now more driven than ever to master the evil forces. 

Nonetheless, Cardinal Secondo and Sister Diana were very happy to be reunited. Bellamy was born just a little over a year after her mother’s resurrection, as physical proof of that rejoined love. 

Currently, in the timeline of this au, Bellamy is now seven years old and Second is now Papa Emeritus II. There will be more content to come with her, I know this response is getting stupidly long lol. For now, I’ll end it with this goof ass doodle of Bellamy’s dedication ceremony to Lucifer and Lilith, actually led by Papa Nihil, who shockingly volunteered to dedicate his granddaughter to the Lords of Hell at the altar. 

Primo better get a comfortable ass seat in hell for the shit he puts up with.

That’s all for now 💐🖤

[infinitebrians]

Favorite Games of 2023 Part 6: Phantasy Star Online (Ephinea Server)

This game barely fits even the criteria of ‘game was new to me in 2023’ but I had so much I wanted to say about my experience playing Phantasy Star Online this time around that I’m making this. First off, if you’re interested in trying the game out I cannot recommend the Ephinea private server ( https://ephinea.pioneer2.net/ ) enough. It comes with many community features and other small quality of life changes that make the act of playing the game pleasant without heavily changing the core experience.

PSO is one of my all time favorite games, there's nothing that can match it’s aesthetic, nothing that outdoes it's sort of science fiction look. The coolest looking characters with the coolest looking weapons fighting cool monsters while listening to an all timer soundtrack. Playing this again was just refreshing to me, it felt good to just play a game that's unafraid of being purely about the experience of grinding levels on a character. That's the point of the game, you just wanna level up and get stronger and find cool new thing to make yourself even stronger and cooler over and over until satisfied. After playing so much of this game as a kid entirely offline on my Gamecube, i cannot be thankful enough that there's been a strong and dedicated fan community keeping this game i love alive through fan made and maintained private servers. They are the true heroes.

Revisiting the game this time around has in particular made me discover just how cool and robust the auto chat messaging function is. It was something I either entirely ignored or just used as a means to avoid traps due to opening a menu will cause your character to keep running through traps instead of taking to a defensive walk state. This time however, I just started toying with it and discovered there's just so much to it. The auto messenger is surprisingly dynamic, it’ll react to other auto messages people sent before, floating appropriate responses to the top of the menu and react to where you are in the game. It just has such a wide variety of topics to pick from on and off topic from the game including stuff like hobbies and other real world chit chat subjects. Looking at this feature again in addition to thinking about this just simply incredible promotional video for the game ( https://youtu.be/dyEnJCgTZds?feature=shared ) really solidifies a sort of feeling the game had in feeling like they were really working on something that was going to be the future of games. In some ways they absolutely were, this game was a major influence for other online action RPGs like Monster Hunter and I always felt like Destiny took a lot of inspiration from it as well. The auto message feature (along with the simple symbol chat) just feel like they were coming from an era of ambition and wonder about just how big a game for ‘the whole world’ could be and trying to develop for that whole world.

I also had so much fun raising mags this time, even more than usual! I started raising multiple at a time and keeping notes on the proper way to raising my mag to be the special evolved form. I was so happy to find out just by chance that the player ID I had was the exact right one I needed to make a sato mag, my favorite, non gimmick mag design in the game. Just a funny little cat/fox guy with a huge tail, everybody loves sato! This time around I found myself continually wanting to just keep raising mags and trying out different good mag builds. Not even to really use them even, I’ll probably give them to friends or trade them off for goodies or whatever but it’s just a lot of fun to raise them. Mags being a way to start at level one feeling powerful from either being easily shared from another character has been one of my favorite things in this game. Its such a cool way to start a new character or player out feeling strong that now feels like you're cheating due to how common it is for games to entirely lock down player trading. PSO instead having trading be almost entirely unrestricted feels so cool and communally positive, you can just share cool items you found and don't need instead of being restricted to some intended player progression concept. I always wonder why stuff like mag raising or Sonic Adventure’s chao garden don’t show up in games more often, they’re always a feature that feel like they’re universally beloved and yet just feel like they don’t show up in games often.

The biggest thing I took away from revisiting one of my favorite games was Clown. I started playing this again because I just really needed to walk around Pioneer 2 for a drawing reference which then turned into me making a whole new character and quickly becoming enamored with the game all over again. I’ve never played as a FOnewearl (force class, Newman girl) before so I wanted to try something different and I named them Clown because simply that's what my brother and I thought they looked like when we were kids. I gave them big round glasses and after a short while I found myself falling in love with leveling Clown, the biggest doofus in Pioneer 2.

After that I decided to doodle Clown out of enjoying their design and needing a daily drawing for that day. It’s a really fun design! I love character with big goofy glasses, they’re super expressive and lend themselves well to someone who wear their emotions on their sleeves. So I just started drawing Clown a bunch and sort of nailing down a consistent design for them, what colors to use and some small general preferential modifications to the design from their original PSO design. So, for the first time I was successful in making an ‘original character’ I actually liked and wanted to draw in other things. I love Clown, everyone loves Clown, the people can’t get enough of that Clown! I should really draw more Clown…

This was especially significant to me because something that’s always been bothering me with my art is that I’m doing way too much fan art, I’m super worried my art has very little ‘me’ to them and everything I do is just recreations of someone else’s ideas. Then, on the other hand putting myself out in such a vulnerable way as to share completely original concepts has and still does scare me into paralysis. Clown has been important to me in sort of just sort of taking a baby step into this whole thing, something I really hope to push myself into more and more over time. I have some ideas on some stuff I want to try this year but ideas are cheap and action is scary so we’ll see if you’ll actually see some of it eventually.

I’m hoping that I will some day be able to more comfortably put myself out there with my art and I’m realizing that with the use of create a character functions in games has been the most consistent way for me to start to express myself in a way. Clown has been my most obvious example of this, but I’ve also been really fond of the character I made in Final Fantasy 14, a hrothgar that I made to look like an old man with a big bushy beard and also small golden round glasses. I feel like I’m at my best when I’m not entirely alone in creative stuff, I need bounce off of someone or something else, I’m funnier when I get to riff and joke with someone else. People who can entirely work off of their own intuitions are just so impressive to me, it’s like a super power I don’t know if I’ll ever have.

Hey, if you’re actually reading all this writing at this point, behind the ‘read more’ button, thank you. I figure most people are just gonna look at the picture and be on their way and for the most part that's the intention but its been really nice writing out my thoughts more and even hearing some people talk to me about it in turn. I’ve had a bit of a hard time starting to write this stuff but more and more after each of these posts I’ve become a bit more confident in organizing my thoughts and getting words out correctly. This is admittedly too much for someone to reasonably read about some silly 'favorite games list' so if you’ve cared enough to keep going to this point, thank you so much. You see that stuff up there? Wow! I’m actually saying self conscious thoughts and concerns about things I’ll maybe never fully address out loud! Feed that to your mag to give them some Defense and Magic points!

Revisiting PSO again has been a really positive experience for myself as both a means of reaffirming my lifelong love for this game as well as creating new reasons as to why I should feel passionate for it. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop loving this game and I hope I never a reason to stop. This game to me has some of the best aesthetic and visual identity in the entire medium, nothing will ever top its sense of place to me. I wish I could live somewhere as cool as Pioneer 2 and hang out with cool robots and space wizards all day talkin’ about what cool red boxes they found or how cute rag rappies are. I turned the game on again recently for drawing reference purposes and I totally want to play some more again.

[hbosscreations]

Mostly Comprehensive Guide to Noah Ikumelo (With minimal personal commentary)

I have tried to consolidate everything we know for certain about Noah in one location, but I’m sure I’ve missed things. If you see something that’s not here, please let me know. I’d love to know if this is useful to anyone.

I have avoided repeating pictures, even in areas where examples would work well in multiple places, I highly recommend reading the issues he’s in, in Marks of Woe and The Best Version of You, if you’re interested in using him as a character.

Origin Story

Noah Ikumelo was born in 2003-2024 to Liza Ikumelo, a poor black woman who was harassed for years by an entity who identified himself as Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones. In an effort to save her life, she somehow came into contact with John Constantine, who half assed putting him into a grave and then slept with her on top of it.

Ten years later (2013-2014), when Noah is nine years old, Rawhead-and-Bloody-Bones decides that he’s ready to take his revenge on John and uses a spell to track her down, thinking that he’ll find John through her.

Instead, he puts her in a coma and rips Noah’s ability to speak from his body.

We do not know who took care of him or where he lived after this point. The comic briefly mentions a grandmother in A Green and Pleasant Land Part 3, but does not imply that he lives with her.

At some point, he is picked up by K-Mag and the Ri Boys, a gang of drug dealers that operates out of Peckham Rye park. He has not been sent on a bloodrun (a ritual killing in which initiate gang members take a knife and walk alone into enemy territory to spill some blood) before he meets John, and is not a full member of the gang.

Relationships

Liza Ikumelo

See above information on what we know of Liza's history.

Noah loves his mother dearly. He visits his mother no less than two times a week, late into the night, and often falls asleep at his mother's side.

(I would just like to point out how cruel it is to tell a child that his mother can hear him deep down in her coma, when he cannot fucking speak.)

If this is two days since she became comatose as opposed to two days since she was transferred from Kings College Hospital to St. Thomas Hospital's Terminal Ward (Edit: This is in reference to the above panel that states Noah visits his mum at least twice a week, the information detailing the amount of time Noah has spent in the hospital has been moved to the section on Loyalty.)

(Edit: Between Scrubbing Up Part 2 and Quiet, Liza is transferred from King's College Hospital to St. Thomas' Hospital, specifically into the terminal ward. We do not know of her fate at this point, but Noah believes she is still alive during the beginning of Dead in America.)

Gran

There are references to Noah’s Grandmother and the implication of the door of her apartment, but we know nothing about her except that Noah cares enough about her for K-Mag to use her as leverage.

Isa

Noah is not shown to have friends in the series, the closest we see is Isa. He does appear to be defensive of Noah, tries to shut John down for using ableist language, tries to give Noah credit for the capture, tries to get Noah his own bloodrun so he’ll be fully protected by the gang. Isa is assumed to understand British Sign Language by John, but we do not actually know.

Unfortunately, this is the last time we see Isa alive. Isa is killed in Kennel Crew territory and brought back to be used for scrying parts by K-Mag.

K-Mag

K-Mag is the leader of the Ri-Boys, a teen gang that takes in boys of all backgrounds, who uses them to run drugs and murder to provide him with body parts for haruspexy. Based in Noah’s ability to break into and hotwire a car, we can assume that they also steal cars.

Despite putting a gun to Noah’s head to threaten John into working for him, K-Mag does imply that he trusts Noah to be loyal to him.

He does seem to be correct in that implication. Noah is alone in the world, and K-Mag is a source of strength.

Noah does appear to be afraid of K-Mag, but doesn’t seem to have any interest in breaking away from K-Mag’s control or the gang until John comes along.

D.S. Davinder Dole

Despite being in a gang, Noah does appear to have police connections, due to his mother’s profession before she went into a coma.

Dole does care about Noah, but it seems like he cares from a distance.

Tommy Willowtree

Noah meets Tommy for the first time in K-Mag’s drug den/slaughterhouse where he meditates naked while staring at a wall.

Nat

Despite being around Noah constantly in Dead in America, she rarely speaks to him and nearly every time she does, she insults him. I cannot tell if the comments are meant to be playful the way I assume most of John’s cruel insults are meant to be playful, but I hope so.

Attraction

We see little of Noah having interest in anyone, though this is likely a lack of panel time more than a lack of sexuality.

He attempts flirt with a woman in the hospital he sees regularly, though this is right after his mother was transferred to a different hospital’s terminal ward and he’s there in the middle of the night. The narration does specifically say that he’s doing the flirting to break the quiet.

He expresses interest in Nat, but given that she’s the only woman he has contact with for an extended period of time who isn’t his comatose mother or his possibly still alive grandmother, this may also be a proximity crush.

He mentions that Tommy is good looking, but this could be a joke towards John.

Personality Traits

Empathy

Noah constantly reaches out to help when he is involved in a situation, even to his own risk and detriment. He does not need to be instructed to help, in fact, he has been reigned in from helping more than once. When he sees an addict being attacked in Peckham Rye park by Derek and his Angels, Noah’s first instinct is to run in and help, even knowing that people are being slaughtered in the park. After John forces him away from the situation, he is furious at not being allowed to help and blames John for the death that he might have prevented.

Quiet gives us the story of an angry ghost killing minority patients in the terminal ward of St. Thomas Hospital. Noah tries to save the patients, tried to save John, and when the ghost came for his mother, he ran into her room and offered condolences that she was alone.

You could argue that this scene was not a genuine act of kindness, given that on the previous page, Noah said he thought this woman deserved to die for using her ghost to murder people in the hospital.