#rhythm: larva

[tsunagite]

More wheel spinning, with a bonus Spasmodic

[michaelmac6072]

The father and the son

[autistickaitovocaloid]

If Megpoid the Music# gets me to learn python I think that would be fucking hilarious.

[dimetrodone]

@ospreyonthemoon they lay their larva on hosts while they are chicks (the more recently hatched the better. Their larva searches out for a soft spot in the host’s exoskeleton, and then uses its mouthparts to burry in and inject its innards put into the host, loosely like how a Sacculina barnacle larva injects its innards inside of crabs.

Some cultures bring the host home and care for it and wait and see if the infection was successful, but most actually wait until the host starts showing early signs of vocal mimicry before retrieving them. Their parental instincts and “cute response” is almost entirely based around vocal cues rather then visual appearance (a toddler learning words or a parrot’s simple repeating of words is much “cuter” to them then a newborn human baby or puppies and kittens).

The singular focus on vocal cues over looks extends to their sexuality as well. A handsome healthy host body alone looks identical to an uninflected animal. Sexual attraction for them is almost exclusively about voice and rhythm, singing and dancing is how they woo one another.

[gracemain919]

What if Obsession themself was also obsessed with a leader- but only one? What would the other leaders do?

(The Fungus Universe)

Tw: Yandere, mentions of sexual themes(if you squint)

Truly an unexpected event. You suddenly carrying on some corrupted traits or just overall naturally becoming obsessed was not something any of them expected. Especially the Liar. He had everything ‘written’. Expected every outcome and now you are starting to act like a very mild version of them… Good riddance.

Well no matter what they think or desire, sharing will happen either way. They need you, so you will still be tossed around the site but probably less often. Depends on the Leader. Some might drown in rage, some might not care as much *cough cough* Lair, *cough cough*.

How they react if they’re chosen:

The Liar: Even if this is unexpected he won’t throw away such opportunities. If you want to always be with him then you can stay in the darkness he calls his ‘home’, but he won't be greedy. Not because he is merciful, but because he cares more about his power and team than your wants and needs. You can survive without him for a little while, right? You will. Even if he is just lying directly to your face.

Poison: Oh my, aren't you such a joyful little thing? So happy to see her experiment. So excited and willing to kiss her until her already burned lips ache. Her workers would be more thankful for your common occurances since if their leader is happy then they will probably not be punished so often… Poison is very pleased and truly enjoys your presence but her closeness to the Liar might influence her decision to share you with the others. She can't keep you to herself all the time.

The Cannibal: It’s Impressive. Johnson had forgotten the true scale of how many ways he could be hurt. The surface now being covered in blood he has been enjoying being with you day and night. You seem to enjoy having him around too, especially while carving your own name into his flesh. Go on, carve it in his tongue next.

Share? Why would he do that?

Doppelganger: Come on dear. Watch him, applaud him. Keep that beautiful rhythm.

“Hey Liar! I'm the favorite and you're outdated trash! HA!”

Saying he’s happy is an understatement. Your odd and overbearing joy for his shows and entire being really was the thing he needed. The thing he craved. From one insane to another(even if you're not corrupted) he will keep you by his side. Even letting you appreciate the most mundane stuff he does. You are perfect just like that.

He might share willingly, probably to the Illusionist and Priest. The others have to pry you from his grasp.

The Illusionist: They are so happy. You always checking up on them to the point you just stay in their domain for days at a time. Your joyful face as they show you their new ‘nursery’ of larvae or the way you approve and even endorse their questions… gosh the heart they don't have is melting. From what they were told you wouldn't be able to show the same dedication as them. Glad to see they were wrong.

Why is the Doppelganger acting so cold towards them now? Are they mad? Oh no… Maybe they should not keep you with them all the time.

The Eye in the Sky: Great, you are fed, you are safe. He has been able to get so much done since you started staying on the security floor. Staying right at his side watching him defile the toughest security programs in a few clicks. No need to watch you when you're literally in his vicinity.

It benefits his work greatly, but he can't say he doesn't enjoy your lingering touches as he focuses on his computer screen. As you whisper in his ear testing his own will. Maybe his work can wait for just a moment. Wouldn't you like that?

He won't share. He is so much more effective with you by his side since he doesn't need to keep an eye on you.

The Priest: You want to sell your soul to him? How did you figure that out? Why would you even let him take something that is so precious?

Will he deny that? No. To finally literally own you… he can't say he hasn't dreamt of something like that.

You can stay in the Sanctuary as long as you like even if you sell your soul or not. If you remain clueless and don't know he is the devil then he will keep you blind… keep you with him as long as you let him.

Rose will be happy, he will be happy… everything will be fine. If the others want a bite then they will have to get it themselves since he ain't sharing.

(might make a more detailed one where the Leaders are not the chosen, maybe, maybe not. Idk)

[goron-king-darunia]

Eggtober Recap and Masterpost 2023

Untitled Egg Poem Egg Yolk Splattered in a chipped bowl, Limitless potential Broken like the dawn.

Scared of wasted sunrise, Scared of loving white lies, Yearning, Wanting to breathe free.

Prison within a prison, Living without living, I am spinning, toiling, burning, Breaking, sifting, praying, learning, Nothing blooming Nothing growing Tears.

Crackling insanity, A song that boils within me A rhythm Setting me in stone.

And I'll claw in Like dandelions, Vines, like yeast and mold I'll make a mark one day, you'll see.

Rooted, I'll grow my thorns, It's not my fault for being born, Sorry if My laughter is too loud.

I'll make a reverie of mechanical monotony No more apologies Just me. Insects and wriggling larvae, Eggshell like lead paint chips, Star dust doesn't choose its shape.

Pigment from wilted roses, blood spilled by mistake, I refuse to ever break.

Not again.

Eggtober is over. We did it~ The poem doesn't really speak to a current state of mind. Just a pattern of maladaptive thinking I grew up having, being the weird kid. People like the rough edges a lot more when you grow up, I've found. Makes you interesting. Or maybe it's just easier to find your people when you're unapologetically strange online. And I like that Eggtober sort of embraces that. It's not a super serious Inktober challenge. Just a bunch of weird people drawing weird eggs. And I mean that in the best way. People expect there to be a "why" a lot. "Why eggs?" And sometimes there is a why. Sometimes I draw eggs to express something or to symbolize something. But sometimes there is no why. Sometimes it's just because an egg is easy or fun or comfortable. Sometimes an egg just feels right. Sometimes it's just to make something. Doesn't have to be poetic or meaningful. Sometimes you just draw an egg, and that's all it is. And I think a lot of discomfort around art is that everyone expects there to be a why, and if you don't have a why, then your art doesn't deserve to be seen. "Why do you like gorey stuff, kinky stuff, weird stuff? If you can't explain, I'm choosing to believe you're a freak and should be disallowed from creating." And I'm lucky, I think, to not be that popular. I don't get asked these sorts of things. But I see it happen to other people. And sometimes I get it. An answer to the why pacifies. I get uneasy with horror the same as everyone and I pacify it by reading the wiki and learning the secrets and understanding the why. But I think we need to get more comfy making up our own why, or get comfy with the knowledge that sometimes there isn't a why. Sometimes the little brain goblin decides there is no why. They just like the weird little eggs. And that's okay. And I think the reason we make up for other peoples' "why" should maybe stop being "because they're a weird little freak that likes degenerate things." Because yeah, maybe they are. But it's not a bad thing. And the world is a lot more interesting when we accept that we don't always know the why. And the why isn't always as simple as that.

I dunno. I'm rambling a bit. But I'm grateful to everyone that showed up and participated and shared and liked and just... enjoyed existing where the thing happening was lots of eggs and the "why" was just "why not?"

Hoping every one of you has a nice glass of your preferred warm beverage and stays nice and toasty for the rest of the year. (Shout out to the southern hemisphere folks if there are any. May you guys have an iced beverage of your choice and stay nice and cool for the rest of the year.)

Lots of thoughts about Eggtober 2023 and no good way to articulate them, but suffice it to say that having a loose amount of structure like this is very good on my garbage ADHD brain. If anything in the collage catches your fancy, here's the posts in order from the top left to the bottom right. May the rest of 2023 be sweet. I can't wait to see everyone again next year! And don't eat too much Halloween Candy at once, even if it is those yummy gummy fried egg candies.

Eggtober 2023 Posts in Order: (Unfortunately I didn't learn about the speedpaint feature until day 6 😢)

Eggtober 1st: Fried Egg on Green Eggtober 2nd: Lemon Fried Egg (Both Versions) Eggtober 3rd: Fried Egg Cake

Eggtober 4th: Poached Eggs and Asparagus Hollandaise Eggtober 5th: Sheet Pan Fried Eggs Eggtober 6th: Raw Egg (Both Versions)

Eggtober 7th: Painted Egg Eggtober 8th: Rice Crispy Eggs Eggtober 9th: Chocolate Souffle Eggtober 10th: Hot and Sour Soup

Eggtober 11th: Flan Eggtober 12th: Fried Eggs and Bacon Eggtober 13th: Ramen Eggs Eggtober 14th: Tiger Skin Egg

Eggtober 15th: Fried Egg with Berries Eggtober 16th: Cheesy Baked Cream Eggs Eggtober 17th: Mushroom Quiche Eggtober 18th: Cipriani Cake

Eggtober 19th: Pavlova with Strawberry Jam Eggtober 20th: Deviled Egg Eggtober 21st: Hard-boiled Egg and Mayo Eggtober 22nd: Scrambled Eggs with Cheese

Eggtober 23rd: Omurice Eggtober 24th: Shrimp Fried Rice Eggtober 25th: Uovo in Raviolo Eggtober 26th: Image of Fried Egg on Jack-o-lantern.

Eggtober 27th: Tea Egg Eggtober Eggtober 28th: Monster Eggs Eggtober 29th: Korean Egg Bread Eggtober 30th: Fried Egg on Magenta in the Stlye of @quezify

Eggtober 31st: Fried Egg on Burger Eggtober 31st Bonus: Egg Creature from SNOBBISM

Special thanks to my bae, @actualaster for the love and support, @hannikka for the encouraging words, @lady-quen for the ongoing collab, and @quezify for being the best host. Love you all! I am putting the King Sized Reese's and KitKat candy bars in your metaphorical Halloween bags.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

The 11 most venomous animals you can find in Germany

Ususlly you would think about exotic species when it comes to venomous animals, particularly species from Australia. Others are so common that they spontaneously don't come to our mind, such as bees, wasps, or hornets.

However, there are indeed venomous species that live in Germany, which can cause discomfort to severe pain, and – in rare cases – death.

Ammen-Dornfinger (Yellow Sac Spider), its fangs can penetrate the human skin and inject poison into the tissue. Symptoms are usually not worse than a bee sting, but can also cause nausea, vomiting, and shivers.

Gelbbauchunke (Yellow-Bellied Toad), the mucus contains a poison that is irritating to the skin and particulaly the mucosa and the eyes.

Petermännchen (Weeverfish), likes to bury itself in the ground near sandy beaches so that only the venomous spines stick out, causing a danger to the feet of tourusts. The symptoms include excruciating pain, swelling, redness, heat, neusea, vomiting, joint aches, headache, lightheadedness, increased urination, tremors, and in rare cases abnormal heart rhythm, seizures, gangrene, tissue degeneration, and unconciousness. This fish is considered the most dangerous venomous species that lives in Germany.

Spitzmäuse (Shrews) have venomous teeth. However, they rarely bite humans, and even more rarely have the power topenetrate the skin. They mostly use their venom to kill insects.

Kreuzotter (Common European Viper) are elusive animals, so very few peple have actually seen one. Their venom is three times more poisonous than that of the most dangerous rattlesnake. However, the viper doesn't like to waste its venom, that it also uses for hunting, for defense, and it has a much smaller reservoir. That's why the viper is only dangerous for small children and elderly people. Between 1959 and 2003, no viper-related deaths were recorded, and in 2004, an 81-year-old woman died. Victims often have to be hospitalized, about 10 % of them required ICU treatment. The symptoms include severe swelling, shortness of breath, and heart issues, in rere cases paralysis of the affected limb. On the other hand, numerous cases are known where the victims had no symptoms at all, probably because the viper didn't inject the venom.

Aspisviper (Aspic Viper) occurs only in the southern parts of the Black Forest and is very rare. The venom is similar to that of the common viper. It is expected to expand its territory in the future due to global warming.

Schwarzblauer Ölkäfer (European Oil Beetle) sprays a substance that is severely irritant to eyes and mucosa.

Eichen-Prozessionsspinner (Oak Processionary), hairs of the larvae easily break off and float through the air. They contain a venom that causes symptoms that reach from mild urticaria to severe dermatitis. If inhaled, the hairs can cause bronchitis, painful cough, and asthma.

Feuersalamander (Fire Salamander) has venom on the surface of the skin. In humans, it causes a slightly burning sensation on the skin, but it is absolutely deadly for dogs.

Gelbe Haarqualle / Feuerqualle (Lion's Mane Jellyfish): Touching this jellyfish causes excruciating pain, eczema, fever and breathing trouble.

Wasserspinne (Diving Bell Spider) can penetrate the human skin and inject venom. The effects are usually mild and not worse than a bee sting.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Fire and Blood- the ancient words of House Targaryen. An interesting choice, yet completely truthful in revealing what the Valyrian’s stood for. Both words were initially seen as destructive, threatening and cruel, but upon closer inspection, this was not always the case.

Fire embodied the wrathful force of dragon fire, a fearsome power wielded by Maera's ancestors. It symbolized the fiery conquest that shaped the Seven Kingdoms under Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives. Their dragons, winged creatures of destruction, became instruments of subjugation, turning rebellious lords and resisting kingdoms into ashes. Fire echoed the unyielding strength of House Targaryen, rooted in the flames that forged their dominion over the Realm. It was a reminder of the price paid in burning ambition, of the searing path toward dominion that defined the Targaryen dynasty.

Yet, despite the initial chaos, fire could be healing and purifying. Maera had read that in the year following Aegon’s Conquest, the crops in Westeros had grown three times as big, and that less crops were becoming subject to disease and decay. In her interpretation, fire symbolized renewal and rejuvenation. The flames, once agents of conquest, became catalysts for new life. The purifying aspects of fire, as witnessed in the fertile lands that emerged from the ashes, spoke to Maera of a transformative force, capable of healing wounds and fostering growth. It was a perspective that transcended the destructive history, embracing the idea that from destruction, there could emerge a fertile ground for new beginnings.

The flames could also bring solace as Maera recalled how the hearth in her chambers seemed to always be alight. The fire would flicker with hues of orange, gold, and red, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the room. The crackling sounds formed a comforting symphony, echoing the rhythm of their shared moments.

Recalling times with Aemond, she enjoyed how they would sit for hours by the hearth, the warmth enveloping them in a serene cocoon. Silently reading, they found comfort in the companionable silence, interrupted only by the occasional soft rustling of turning pages. Aemond’s fingers traced delicate patterns on her hand, a simple yet reassuring gesture that spoke volumes in their shared sanctuary by the fire.

Helaena, who was known to always see the best in things, also saw fire as a marvellous creation that could be used in a way that would achieve greater outcomes. When they were younger, Maera recalled her friend educating her on how some species of butterfly benefited from forest fires. This was because the fires created open spaces and new growth, providing favorable conditions for certain plants that served as host plants for butterfly larvae. In fact, one year, when Helaena was pregnant with the twins, Maera somehow managed to procure some of the larvae for her dear friend as a nameday present.

Blood appeared to be a more complex element, yet Maera had come into contact with it more frequently than fire during her time in the world. The blood from the animals she had slain during a hunt held a primal significance. Once the meat was cooked, it became a source of sustenance for her family, ensuring their health and satiating their hunger. In this context, blood was a vital and nourishing force, connecting the family to the cycle of life.

The blood she witnessed on her new siblings, born fresh from her stepmother’s womb, held a profound significance. It symbolized the continuity of life, the bond within her family, and the promise of a future generation. The arrival of new blood into the world brought a sense of renewal, growth, and the perpetuation of House Wylde’s legacy.

Maera's experience with her first Moon's Blood, at the age of sixteen marked a significant transition into womanhood. Despite the pain and mess, it symbolized her ability to bring forth life into the world, connecting her to the timeless cycle of creation. This natural and biological occurrence connected her to the generations of women who had come before her, creating a shared experience that transcended time and bound them together.

On her wedding night, the blood on the sheets following the consummation of her marriage with Aemond was a societal marker of purity and untouched innocence in the eyes of the Gods, a notion that Maera found to be somewhat absurd. Despite her reservations about these traditional expectations, she acknowledged the weight that such rituals carried in the eyes of those around her, and how the blood mixed with her husband’s seed on the sheets marked the formal beginning of her marital journey and the merging of her life with Aemond’s.

Her encounter with blood changed in the two moons following her marriage to the One-Eyed Prince. Maera had experienced her womb bleeding since the wedding, about a fortnight after the consummation. However, instead of her usual five to seven days of using rags to collect and dispose her Moons Blood, the bleeding only lasted for a day, with the occasional cramping in the weeks that followed.

Maera’s reluctance to consult the Maester stemmed from a blend of stubbornness and a desire not to appear foolish or uninformed about the changes her body underwent after marriage. Assuming these alterations were a normal part of a woman’s experience, possibly linked to regular intimacy with her husband, Maera chose to keep her observations to herself.

Yet, the presence of blood was not always seen as a positive. In her training sessions with the sword, the cuts on her flesh symbolized mistakes and were accompanied by the sharp sting of acknowledgment. Each drop of blood mirrored a momentary lapse in her skill, urging her to better herself. Blood also brought forth scars – reminders etched into her skin. Not all scars were viewed fondly; some carried the weight of missteps and lessons learned.

A few months previously, when Maera had forced herself into Helaena’s room after Aegon had barricaded her in there, the blood on the sheets indicated that the Queen had been raped by the King; her own husband, her brother, simply because he could. From that blood came trauma, pain and confusion for Helaena, as well as a new life beginning to grow within the Queen. And all Maera could do was comfort her friend , and help her pick up the pieces afterwards to ensure Helaena could continue on.

However there were times that Maera could not always do that. Sometimes the pain was just too much to bear, and a friend’s embrace or comforting words would not erase the horror that had been inflicted. Such a night was when the word ‘blood’ came to have another meaning; the name of a man who would take something precious from the Greens, alongside his accomplice, Cheese.

The evening had began much like any other. As twilight draped its gentle hues over the Red Keep, a serene ambience enveloped the ancient fortress. The towering spires and stone walls, adorned with the remnants of the day's sunlight, cast long shadows across the courtyards. The air whispered with the subtle transition from the vibrant hues of the day to the muted tones of night.

Within Maera and Aemond's chambers, the soft glow of candles and the flickering light of a hearth created a warm and intimate atmosphere. The furnishings, draped in rich fabrics, seemed to absorb the twilight's colors, casting a cozy and inviting spell upon the chamber. Past the grand windows, the sky painted a canvas of purples and golds, mirroring the quiet transition within the walls of the castle.

Prince Aemond, the Master of Coin, sat at his imposing writing desk, a commanding figure engrossed in the meticulous task of crafting reports and ledgers. His long silver-white hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face marked by sharp contours, his eye patch concealing his sapphire, and a firm jaw set in concentration. His long, slender fingers, deftly holding a quill, danced across the parchment, weaving lines of ink into intricate financial reports. The ledgers sprawled open beside him, bearing the weight of the realm's economic intricacies.

Aemond’s violet eye occasionally shifted from his work to glance at his wife, who stood gracefully by the window in a simple black cotton dress adorned with golden threading. Her long, dark, curly hair cascaded freely down her back, with a distinctive silver streak woven into the locks.

As the ambient light highlighted the rich hues of the room, Maera stood before her easel, engrossed in putting the finishing touches on her dragon egg painting. Her green eyes, filled with artistic determination, were fixed intently on the canvas, capturing the essence of the dragon egg with each precise stroke, adding the extra details of depth and dimension to the portrait before she gifted it to Helaena and the children.

The sudden commotion in the corridors sent a ripple of tension through the air, causing both Aemond and Maera to instinctively shift their focus towards the door. The distant echoes of men yelling created an eerie symphony, interwoven with the hurried footsteps that echoed in the passageways. The unmistakable sound of clattering armor intensified the atmosphere within their chamber, casting a shadow of uncertainty.As the noise grew closer, the room seemed to hold its breath, the anticipation palpable. Aemond, with his sharp violet eye, glanced at Maera, while her green eyes reflected a mix of concern and caution.

The Prince rose from his writing desk with a cautious demeanor, his posture reflecting a subtle tension as a look of concern etched across his features.

“Stay here,” he ordered Maera, along with a measured gesture of his hand. Silently, he walked to the wall, fingers deftly securing his sword and sheathing it into his belt. His purposeful strides carried him out of the room, leaving Maera with a sense of suspense and a room filled with unanswered questions.

Maera carefully placed her paintbrushes and sponges into a silver bowl filled with water, the shades of purple and grey swirling together in the liquid. As anxiety crept into her stomach, she wiped her hands on a damp cloth, her senses heightened by the unsettling atmosphere.

The cacophony outside intensified, and above the tumult, a heavy wooden door creaked open along the corridor. Queen Alicent’s voice, tinged with urgency, sliced through the air, and the frantic quality heightened the tension in the room. Just as the uneasiness settled in, a heart-wrenching scream, unmistakably Helaena’s, shattered the air—a mournful, piercing cry that left Maera with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

Maera's instincts kicked in before her mind could fully process the unfolding situation. In a swift motion, her hand snatched her dagger from the wall, and her body propelled her forward with urgency. The corridor blurred as she ran, the rhythmic pounding of her footsteps echoing the anxiety that churned within her.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of concern for Helaena, coupled with worry for Aemond, who had ventured toward the disturbance ahead of her. Every step she took heightened her own unease, her breath quickening and heart pounding in sync with her hastening pace. The unknown lay ahead, and Maera, driven by a mixture of fear and determination, pressed on toward the source of the commotion.

As Maera pressed forward, the torchlight flickered ominously against the cold stone walls, casting an eerie shadow against a lifeless pile near the stone wall. Her green eyes wandered to the mass, focusing on it until the chilling sight became clear- two guardsmen, their lifeless bodies sprawled on the stone floor, throats brutally slit. A gasp escaped her lips, but her determination propelled her forward, guided by the anguished cries of Helaena echoing through the corridors.

Finally reaching the entrance to Alicent’s chambers, Maera’s path was blocked by a tumultuous sea of armored guards, their expressions grave and their weapons drawn. Undeterred, Maera wove through the throng, demanding passage with a command that bespoke her status as a Targaryen princess. Yet, before she could breach the doorway, a force halted her, a firm grip seizing her arm.

Ser Arryk's presence materialized, his bloodshot hazel eyes revealing the distress that gripped him. Disheveled, his typically neat hair hinted at the turmoil of the situation. His grip was a plea, and his words were both desperate and earnest as they tumbled from his mouth. “Please, Princess, do not go in there.”

In her protector’s eyes, Maera found a reflection of her own rising fear, a disconcerting deviation from his usual resolute demeanor. The desperation for answers fueled her determination to press forward. Despite Ser Arryk's plea, Maera, driven by an unyielding force to be with her sister-in-law and husband, wrenched her arm free. As she crossed the threshold into the chamber, her senses were assaulted by a scene that would haunt her. Time seemed to pause, and the world crumbled around her as the harsh reality of the situation unfolded before her eyes.

The air hung heavy with the scent of tragedy, a stifling reminder that the familiar tranquility of the Keep had been brutally shattered. Blood adorned the stone walls and floor like a gruesome tapestry, stark against the pale background. The chamber's furniture lay in disarray, a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded.

Queen Alicent, once regal and composed, now sat at a table, trembling and disheveled. Her auburn hair cascaded wildly around her, framing eyes filled with tears. Lord Commander Criston Cole, the embodiment of concern, hovered beside her, providing a semblance of comfort in the midst of the chaos.

A toppled wardrobe revealed an entrance to hidden tunnels, guarded by vigilant men with swords drawn. Maera's emerald eyes swept the room, capturing the tumultuous scene. Aemond, a force of fury, stood a few feet away from his mother. His violet eye ablaze with a righteous anger as silver strands of hair fell rebelliously around his face, matching the tumultuous storm within. The one-eyed Prince was unleashing a verbal torrent upon one of the Kingsguard, the deep bellow of his voice demanding answers, his words akin to a dragon's roar.

Amidst the chaos, the sound of a cry reached Maera's ears, drawing her attention to little Maelor. The two-year-old, innocent and frightened, was being cradled by a nursemaid. The woman's tear-streaked face reflected the horror that had unfolded. She tried to soothe Maelor, wiping away the blood stains on his face while her own hands trembled with fear. Maera's heart clenched at the sight, relieved that there seemed to be no visible injury on the child.

Little Jaehaera, her silver curls matted with crimson stains, stood eerily silent, her gaze fixed on a point unknown. The four-year-old's vacant stare stood in stark contrast to her brother's cries. Physically unharmed, yet emotionally distant, Jaehaera seemed lost in the commotion. Maera heard in the conversations going on around her that the King had been found unharmed in his own chambers, and was to remain heavily under guard. The chatter also revealed that Lord Otto, Lord Larys, Ser Tyland, Maester Orwyle and Maera’s own father, Lord Jasper were discovered alive and well. But there was a name missing from that list. A small presence with a a gleeful voice, full of energy and enthusiasm. Jaehaerys. Where was Jaehaerys?

Following Jaehaera's gaze, Maera's eyes landed on Helaena. Kneeling on the floor in front of the hearth, Helaena's screams and sobs echoed through the room, a tormenting lament that cut through all other voices in the chambers. Cradling something in her arms, the source of her devastation, remained obscured by her figure and shadows of the fire, leaving a haunting mystery in the air.

As Maera approached her best friend, the hushed gravity of the room intensified, an unspoken understanding that this moment held a profound weight. Maera furrowed her brows in concern as she cautiously reached out, placing a hand on Helaena's shoulder. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. Helaena, gripped by an unfathomable distress, tensed at the touch. Her neck whipped around to face Maera, revealing an olive green dress now stained with an overwhelming amount of blood and remnants of flesh.

The room seemed to darken around Maera as she cast her eyes downward and fixated on the grotesque and unholy abomination before her, wanting to look away, but finding it impossible to. Blood-soaked and lifeless, the small body of Jaehaerys lay cradled in Helaena's trembling arms, mutilated and broken, missing his head.

The ghastly reality of what had occurred that night came crashing down on Maera, her breathing catching in her throat before letting out a horrified sob. The sight etched itself into her memory, a haunting image that would forever change the course of their lives. In that harrowing moment, a suffocating wave of shock overcame Maera. Her body, once a vessel of warmth and life, was now gripped by a rapid heartbeat, cold beads of dread forming a chilling sweat on her skin. The horror before her drained the color from her face, leaving it pallid, a canvas of disbelief painted in shades of despair.

The weight of the scene, the gruesome reality of a headless child cradled in Helaena's arms, pressed upon her like a leaden shroud. As she stared at the unthinkable, the physical sensations of grief and trauma manifested within her, a whirlwind of emotions too overwhelming to articulate. Helaena's purple eyes pleaded with Maera, a silent desperation that resonated through the anguished wails.

In that instant, it became clear that the pain was not confined to a single soul; it reverberated through the room, through the very core of the Red Keep. The world blurred before Maera's eyes, and, unable to bear the weight of the tragedy, she succumbed to the darkness, the overwhelming despair pulling her into unconsciousness.

In the disorienting haze of awakening, Maera jolted upright in her bed. The inky blackness outside the window hinted at the passage of many hours, shrouding the chambers in a cloak of night. As her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight flickering in the room, Maera surveyed her surroundings. The darkness seemed to cling to the air, and a wet rag on her forehead slipped off as she moved.

Aemond, silent and watchful, sat at the foot of the bed. His one eye, a lone sentinel in the shadows, was fixed on her. In that fragile moment, with reality settling upon her like a heavy cloak, Maera dared to hope that the horrifying scene she had witnessed was nothing more than a cruel dream. But the air, heavy with unspoken sorrow, seemed to whisper a truth that shattered that fragile hope.

Her husband’s violet eye bore the weight of a myriad of emotions – grief, anger, and an underlying vulnerability. His usually stoic demeanor cracked, revealing the profound impact of the tragedy. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his sharp features, emphasizing the lines etched by the night's events.

“Jaehaerys…” Maera uttered, as if it were a prayer. Perhaps it was. A plea to the Gods that they would take all of this horror away.

At the sound of his nephew’s name, Aemond furrowed his brow and tensing his jaw, inhaling deeply before rising from the bed, fists clenched at his side. “Two men got in through the tunnels.” He paused, as if trying to process the next words himself. “They made Helaena choose which one of her sons should die.”

A disorienting mix of emotions overwhelmed Maera—fear, sorrow, and an indignant rage that simmered beneath the surface. At the thought of her friend suffering so, panic gripped Maera, and she attempted to rise from the bed, her heart pounding. The room spun, and a dizzy spell overcame her. Aemond swiftly moved to her side, his strong presence steadying her.

“You need to rest,” Aemond urged gently, his gaze filled with concern as he guided her back into the bed. Tears welled in Maera’s eyes as she lay back, the weight of grief and disbelief settling upon her.

The Prince remained at Maera’s side, sitting next to her on the bed and silently offering his support in the face of a tragedy that had shattered the contentment they had found with one another in the short time of marriage they shared.

Aemond's silence finally broke, his voice edged with restrained anger, "This is my whore half-sister’s doing."

Without looking at him, Maera questioned, "How can you be sure?"

Aemond, through gritted teeth, explained, "The Maester was called to give milk of the poppy to soothe Helaena's hysteria. I have never seen anybody scream so much. Before she fell asleep, she managed to tell us the words the men spoke to her."

Pausing for a moment, Aemond's intense gaze prompted Maera to look up at him. He stated solemnly, "A son for a son."

Maera, with a sniff, tried to steady her breath as she attempted to process the information. They had never spoken about it properly, but she knew that Rhaenyra would exact revenge for her beloved son, Lucerys. Aemond had drew first blood by killing the boy who took his eye, thus formally beginning the war between the Blacks and the Greens. What Maera did not expect was that Rhaenyra, a fellow mother, would do something so cruel to Helaena, her own sister, who was innocent in all of this.

In a gesture that spoke volumes, Aemond reached out, his fingers intertwining tightly with hers. It was a silent pact, an unspoken agreement to weather the storm together. The strength in the clasp belied the fragility beneath, as if any other form of affection might unravel his tightly held composure, exposing the raw grief at the loss of his nephew. Determination flared in his eyes as he declared, "They will not get away with this. Before the Gods, I swear, we will get our revenge,” he promised firmly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand.

Maera furrowed her brows, nodding with a clenched jaw. "With Fire and Blood," she affirmed, their shared resolve cutting through the sorrow that hung in the air, a pledge to avenge the loss of their nephew and confront the shadows of House Targaryen’s tangled and complicated history.

Notes: I’m back! Sorry I had a really difficult week in the real world but the writing bug struck and here we are. This is the start of some major events in the story, and there will be more jumps forward in time. My heart breaks for Helaena 💔 and unfortunately it’s going to get worse. I just want to wrap her up in a blanket and put her in my pocket.

Tags: @blue-serendipity @manipulatixe @shesjustanothergeek @watercolorskyy @marvelescvpe

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings

Right! You're... damaged. You got chomped on and scraped up earlier, and your soul is in rough shape. In order to PATCH YOURSELF UP, you've got to patch the holes somehow- but with what?

All you've got to hand right now are some letters, which you're pretty sure you'll need later, and some desolate straw huts. You... guess you can grab some straw from the roof of one of these buildings, and try to bandage your wounds with it...? Hrm... maybe not. You might be able to find something if you CLIMB THE STAIRS.

You ascend the stairs and find yourself in a skyscape of spinning gears and whirling machinery. Vast steampunk spires rise above the dilapidated city center, constantly moving. It's no trouble to find a few spare cogs and sprockets to jam into the holes in your soul. Your STINGY OUTLIER increases back to 100%, and the sound of gears ticking under your skin ticks out a reassuring rhythm.

Error: architectural entity field 0x07CF referenced without blueprint key. Update loop deferred until resource is released.

Still, you don't find anyone up here. You're feeling a little more clear-headed, but the place is pretty deserted, except for a number 7 which came loose from a clock face, which you've added to your inventory. Guess it's time to RETRACE YOUR STEPS and try decoding some of those other avenues of exploration!

Continued

[tiny-buzz]

Regis Philbin is a super retina display.

Regis Philbin is known for his video capabilities.

Regis Philbin is controlled by a smart speaker.

Regis Philbin is vibrant colors and darker blacks.

It is Thursday, November 30th. Regis Philbin wakes up and makes coffee. Another day starts, another year is coming to a close. Regis reads the newspaper on his digital screen, watched by ten trillion wide-lens eyeballs. The headlines coax him:

MILLENNIALS REQUIRE ABUNDANCE, GEN Z SAYS “WHY STOP THERE”

STARLET PROMISES TO PACK ON THE POUNDS

QUANTUM COMPUTERS GET SEXUAL

TOO TALL FOR THE N.B.A., THIS MAN WANTS TO DISRUPT PETS

Regis smiles through a sigh. He has seen it, he sees it, and he will see it. SZA’s people pass on the branded opportunity. Diplomats arm the oceans. Unilateral agreement on a new standard for data transmission, passed at midnight accords on the Friday before the longest weekend, portends a shift, a 25th hour in the day, which is what Regis focuses on, now (this very moment, the moment of awareness, past which there can be no return).

Regis Philbin has heart rate monitoring.

Regis Philbin is capturing images with a 24 megapixel sensor and a comfortable grip.

Regis Philbin is boasting a white-and-black design and an ultra-fast SSD.

Regis Philbin is noise-canceling and wireless.

The extra hour, Hour 25, slips past the clocks, the calendars, the hourglasses. Regis can, in a sense, understand this change. He appreciates it, like all transmissions of nature. “It’s intuition,” he explains to his mental health therapist, ordered by the courts. “I can feel it in my skeleton, in the bolts they put in me.” Joy cannot feel it, but she trusts her husband (the power of love).

Regis Philbin is a cordless vacuum cleaner with intelligent suction power adjustment.

Regis Philbin is a circular design and advanced health tracking.

Regis Philbin is stylish.

Regis Philbin demonstrates his photo capabilities.

Of course, this Hour 25 is a project of people you have never met, of Very High Net Worth individuals. What do the empowered, the lauded, the golden do with these secret minutes? This time that cannot be scheduled, this daily reprieve when all of them are immortal. “Death cannot occur during Hour 25” announces the True, Secret, Real President of Earth, from the center of the planet. Instead, this daily partition (which, we should explain, happens once daily, but is different every day, unplanned, and unpredictable) is used for creation. Larvae. Germination. Women and men drink. Mechanical processes, yielding returns, occupy anterooms. Or, alternately: it’s a great time to take a stroll around your skyscraper, city-state, plantation, airship, or arcology.

Regis Philbin has 16 million colors.

Regis Philbin promises tri-capsule technology.

Regis Philbin is an immersive virtual reality experience.

Regis Philbin is waterproof.

Regis Philbin is holding you by the shoulders. His face is undisturbed, but you note a hyper-reality about his eyes (beautiful, you can understand how handsome he must have been when he was at Notre Dame, a young man, a hero, a liar like all heroes, but that just makes us love him even more). Regis whispers something to you, and the words hang in your ears, terminate-but-stay-resident process, a radiant series of plosives, morphemes, all that good stuff. You hear the words (with your ears) and understand the words (with your brain) and enact the words (with your action points).

And now, at last, we come to the acceleration. Regis walks away, toward the hillside. A dog appears, fast from out the brush, trailing crayon shavings, and slows to follow. The rhythm, the cadence. Regis strides, shoulders back, the entire Varsity squad, a chestnut miracle. The band is rocking, the caverns are skanking. Stick to the script, burnish your credentials, account for slight variations in weather conditions, repudiate as quickly as you defend. You are a perfect representation. You are what Regis has always wanted. When you honor him, you honor your tenacity. You do not need the extra hour, is not what he said, not exactly, but rather the general “gist” of the monologue he whispered into your soaking ears. The tide does not care about the boats, even the large ones. And lastly, about you. Regis, half a football field away, turns, smiles, waves, and hollers. “I am not golden. And you will never be golden, either” Regis shouts, “But, be honest, folks: who needs gold except dukes and microprocessors?”

You agree with Regis, you agree and agree and agree, as he turns back, and walks, behind the hill, behind the day.

[tsunagite]

Rhythm game uniforms, for Guest Receptions (mostly)

[ukkigirl]

haiiii i hope you are doing well !!!!! ive been wanting 2 ask this 4 so long but who is the dude with blonde hair and glasses that you seem 2 love..... . ive been so Curious ever since i followed you hahaha

HIIII thank youu and you as well! omg i was doing just okay but this ask has brought me straight to amazing :DDDD i had to put it under a readmore bc i wrote too much HAHA

it's ukki!!!

actually its yuuki makoto, but ukki is a nickname given to him by one of the characters bc hes kind of dumb like a monkey (i think the word they use for a monkey sound in jpn is kikii)

he's from the idol rhythm game ensemble stars!! you've probably seen the characters around at some point its veeeery popular.. the this one

anyway ukki is one of the first 4 'main characters' aka he's in the protagonist idol group aka a lot of people think these 4 are really basic, boring etc. which is fair...but ukki was/is very unpopular in the english fanbase bc they think hes UGLY TT______TT i dont think hes ugly at all i think hes very cute an dlooks like a nice young man plus he was the cutestbaby ever

i started joking about him looking like a bug and like a warlock's curse i out of nowhere became insanely obsessed with him and wrote this whole thing about the ukki grub life cycle and his larvae stages and stuff and now i just think about him every day bc my friends encourage my bjork stalker level enjoyment of him but aw hes so cutes aawww. i think he has a really lovely and sad backstory that not a lot of people give the time of day to bc he looks like a hamster but well i think hes very sweet. and also basically an oc at this point but thats how it goes

i think i wouldnt have become so crazy abt him if he had more english speaking fans but ive found myself as the ukki protector and #1 american ukkigirl so thats me now yayyy ukki YAYYYY

i had to cut this down a bit bc u didnt ask me this much but pls...spread the word....this year my goal is to move him up from 43rd most disliked character to a hard 38th...

[mynameiskanade]

kanade (s/i) enstars lore i copypasted off whatsapp (because im too lazy to write it again) + TW: SUICIDE, ABUSE, EMOTIONAL TRAUMA, BULLYING <3 + ANTI SELFSHIPPERS DNI :33

childhood (known as the 'egg' part of kanade) ;; when kanade was a kid, they used to be extremely happy and cheerful. they get good grades a lot back in elementary school. but, they were never taught to be polite nor how to deal with their parents, so they just cry and cry to express emotions. when they were in elementary school, they were extremely extroverted and constantly talks to everyone, but they secretly (but they didnt know) felt extremely lonely. thats why they talk a lot to people. in fourth grade, kanade discovered the internet and found a bunch of friends online, they were extremely happy to greet them everyday. but secretly, the internet was the only coping mechanism thay could use to escape from reality. but because of this, they depend on the internet a lot and found out a lot about the nasty stuff. because they found out their parents were abusive through research, they started distancing away from their own family to focus online.

middle school (known as the 'larva/caterpillar' part of kanade) ;; kanades parents decide to move to japan from indonesia. after several months, their parents left to work in china. leaving kanade and their brother in one home. kanade attended a middle school in japan. but because they were affected by the online, they slowly became a seeker for attention to make up for the loneliness they felt. they tend to physically hurt themself often for someone to come help them, which they enjoyed feeling like someone cares about them. kanade met a girl in second year and they became best friends ever since. they often went to lunch together and talk to eachother and joke with eachother.

middle school incident, (known as the 'crysalis' part of kanade) ;; however, one day, the girl invited them to visit a train station. kanade was confused, but complied anyway. when kanade arrived, they saw the girl on the train tracks, trying to get hit. kanade cried and begged for the girl to stay, but it was too late. the girl had completely killed herself. kanade felt extremely guilty and blames how they couldnt properly strategize their own words to hit them. soon, rumors by kanades classmates spread around saying that 'kanade was the one who drove the girl to suicide'. it led the whole school to distance away from kanade and even have the guidance counselor believe it. everyone completely gossiped about kanade, and because of that, kanade never went back to middlr school until they graduated.

high school / current (known as the 'butterfly' part of kanade) the first reason why kanade became an idol is because they wanted attention and they knew that they'll be 'number one' in atleast one of the peoples hearts, but they started enjoying being one. kanade is a solo idol in a unit named 'morphosis', a unit within the rhythm link agency. kanade has grown into being socially distant, socially anxious, and lonely. they have never smiled ever since the middle school. though, they have shown to be extremely childish, energetic, and extremely emotional underneath that. they also have a hard time keeping thay distant exterior. the only reason why they kept that exterior is to not get attached again. but they felt extremely lonely as a negative side effect. they compose their own songs (which are centered around their emotions) and they have an obsession with seaweed flavored snacks. kanade has .. never shone as bright as they do currently. also kanade is an extreme fan of ra*bits and valkryie, often being jealous of them too. they have an omanjuu and plushies of valkryie and ra*bits in their room. they have a dog named 'momo' who they take care of lots. theyre also good with taking care of their cousins. theyre currently in the dorm with nazuna, leo, and natsume. but because kanade doesnt fit in very well, (natsuleonazus hair is warm colors (red orange yellow), while kanades hair is black.) they usually sleep in their home or the ritsu + mika dorm

[kayleezra]

A Sunflower and Their Encyclopedia // (Ezra x GN!Reader)

Word Count: idk like 500-600

Summary: Modern AU? idk but we're on Earth so you decide. Ezra tells you he loves you.. in some less than normal ways...

A/N: FOR MY WIFE @writer-darling WHOSE BIRTHDAY IT IS TODAY (it's short and shitty because I just typed it up after work but I couldn't not post something!) BUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LOVE YOU MOSTEST

oh and this is like not at all accurate because sunflowers use circadian rhythm to face and follow the sun but… we’re going to pretend we don’t know that and believe the social media myth

“You’re my sunflower,” Ezra's smooth voice brings you back to reality. 

“What?” You ask, not sure you heard him right in your trance-like state.

“You are my sunflower,” he annunciates, “or Helianthus as it’s scientifically known” he adds as if that would clear everything for you. 

If the two of you had been talking about flowers, it would make some sense, but you were simply enjoying each other's presence in silence. 

“What?” you ask again, clearly confused. 

“Well when it’s overcast and sunflowers are looking for the sun, they often face each other. Claiming each other as their own personal sun, sharing each other’s energy. You’re my sunflower, you’re who I turn to in dark times to keep me going.”

“That is… incredibly sweet,” tears brim your eyes, “Then you’re my sunflower too. What brought that up?” 

A slow smile creeps its way onto his face, the corners of his mouth lifting with love and eyes warming. 

“I was simply enjoying the view, of you. And how captivated and intoxicated I am from the sheer joy you exude. How my infatuation and devotion to you knows no bounds. You’re my life source, my light and my love.”

A cheesy smile is plastered on your face, “And so the obvious conclusion was sunflowers?”

“Perhaps sunflowers didn’t properly convey all that.”

“No it did I was ju-” but before you can finish he interrupts by continuing his thoughts.

“You’re the Acacia Tree to my ant colony,” he finishes with a proud smile.

You stare at him dumbfounded.

“Acacia trees, commonly found in South Africa and Australia, grow hollow roots, structures that allow ants to use as shelter and even feed from. In return, the ants defend the tree from herbivores. The ants larvae also feed off Beltian bodies, which are small pouches of important proteins and nutrients and in return the ants protect new acacia seedlings from being eaten by other small critters.”

“So… I’m a tree,”

“An acacia tree, yes”

“And you… are a colony of ants,”

“Mhm”

“That share a relationship,”

“A symbiotic relationship, yes”

“That share a symbiotic relationship. But why am I the tree and you the ants?”

“Easy. Because you’re a life-giving thing that is much greater than I. A beautiful great standing of Mother Nature.”

Then it dawns on you. Where Ezra is getting all this random nature information. Weeks ago while thrifting he came across a tattered nature encyclopedia, his nose was stuck in the book before he even purchased it. He returned it to the shelf claiming he did not need it but something tells you he went back…

“Did you get that encyclopedia?”

“Is it that obvious?”

You laugh, “I take it you're enjoying it”

“Thoroughly”

“And how many more métaphores do you have for us?”

Ezra looks up and cocks his head like he’s actually mentally counting them, “at least another hundred.”

You laugh again at his absurdity born of love.

“Although I don’t think I could even run out of ways to tell you I love you, my dear. And if I did then I’d learn more languages. And if I ran out of those, I’d create our own language that never runs out of ways to express my love for you.”

And you know that this man in front of you means every damn word he's just said. You can't help but wonder how you got so lucky, while he wonders the same.

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @littlemisspascal @writer-darling  @avengetheunnatural @louderfortheback @currentobsessionrabbithole

[kitchen-light]

fireflies are more easily deceived. They lose their light rhythm for a few minutes after a single car's headlights pass. Sometimes it takes hours for them to recalibrate their blinking pattern. What gets lost in the radio silence? What connections are translated incorrectly or missed entirely? Porch lights, trucks, buildings, and the harsh glow of streetlamps all complicate matters and discourage fireflies from sending out their love-light signals - meaning fewer firefly larvae are born the next year.

Aimee Nezhukumatathil, from “World of Wonders | In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks and Other Astonishments”, Souvenir Press, 2021

[evocation-of-mystical-eidolons]

I nodded and started presently a phantasmal and grotesque appendage slipped into my view...calcinated by the purification of spectral larvae I dozed and was sent whirling down nether abysses of non individuated oneness as of Neoplatonists...my eyes wrenched toward acrid gaudy lights drunk as of tenuous shadows tenebrous litten by eld mothy moon eared excrescences protruding from the luminous aether in unbounded spaces my neck snapped under pressure of pachydermatous hands of ferruginous salts of ammonia my brain was ravaged and I sunk utterly...infinite revulsion of spirit anguish clad by raiment of oleaginous and unctuous agglutinations of loathsome putrescent slime of eggs of enormous Worms and toads of fungal larvae and maggot born exhalations as of ophiolatrous worshippers beating ponderous drums to the tattoo of infernal rhythms my heart was choked and withering to hoary greybeards in the Selene clad prognathous cerements palls blackened teeming with spermatozoa and oocytes alleles as of genetic abominations delivered to my knowledge through cacophonous dins of insensate pulsating horrors acrimonious and ragged drug through miry fens and bogs of abhorrent medieval sorcerers witches clad in starry lachrymose textiles wrought from the skin of wyverns...my mental proscenium was filled with visions miasmal and horrendous celestial and glacial primal and prehistoric teeming masses of ancient organisms the entire phylogeny tree bifurcation and budding in myriad efflorescence's and umbels roseate honied speech flowed from the lips of maidens defiling from an eld cathedral clad in lace dresses as of white snow tresses as of ravens a grand processional of mystic proportions these imidrizing visions gave way to a new tide of repulsive abnormities flowed in unending tortuous cascades grim spectres of deaths heads and a tide of seething masses of horrid bat deamons culled from nether acrid caves as of trolls and moss swords and castles crypts buried rotting spectres phantoms of nitre-encrusted toads lurking in swampy fens denizens of ancient eld dominions of wizened cronies Hyperborean mages of alchemical phantasies philtres of love potions...I wavered and faltered encumbered by noisome vapors beset my nocturnal owls of sulphur and bitumen my soul froze and I wearied agonized by tumultuous vast scurrying thoughts of anguished wails of frightful ogres and ghouls, spawn of Tartarus and the eternal limitless abyss of Nyx. Beaten goaded and sickened my spirit breaks and is tattered and ravaged by innumerable orcs Elven faeries capered to and fro in front of the darksome and brooding grotto they danced a merry and gay jig the Gladsome and light airy fays or the aerial and ethereal sylph of Paracelsus I was entranced and filled with myriad tender thoughts as I gazed at the joyous dance of the eld little folk yet I was as yet still beset by ravages of the mind...ineffably weary weltschmerz unspeakable existential dread the vast and sardonic derision of the evil propagator of the universe I was tossed tempestuously and rendered derelict and abandoned my body was benumbed by an ancient and terrible icy frost of Norse hells beset beleaguered and bombarded beaten and torn ripped limb from limb utterly extirpated my soul cried out in horrendous despair why ? And the silence mocked my personal credo quia absurdums of Thomas Browne formulated and expressed at my utter limit of anguish De Profundis Domine Lord of the depths I have cried to thee blot out my iniquities , lord have mercy my anguish is yet a species of pride to be simple and humble to be meek I will do penance and mortify my concupiscent desires of the flesh self flagellate and beat my breast have pity on a lost soul wandering in the barren and desolate desert of Nubia I execrate this paltry and puerile life it is devoid of any worth it is a vanity and a lie a profound dearth worthless and ragged and torn asunder...I was slightly taken aback by this sudden torrent of pious devotion which had sprang from my lips I gazed at a crucifix hanging on the wall and thought of the Spanish black Madonna's and the byzantine Christ Panocrator...newly inspired I quickly navigated to the yt channel poesie psychotique vaguely felt affinities to my own experiences a vindication a link to an artistic vision of chaotic and beautiful nay more basically rich vibey vague and various Imagos as of moths of aether and silken dreams wrought in batik Malayan textiles...next I gingerly lifted a mug of fortifying libation of rich earth mould acidulous coffee darker than black as of anime archetypes creating effectively infinite expansive legendariums I sipped and savoured the rich flavour, the inimitable beverage quaffed by decadent dandys nay that was the green fairy Absinthe...my thoughts wandered and new images wrought of psychobabble formed novel and magnificent malformations upon my mental proscenium I plodded along the circuitous and labyrinthine passage of an eld mouldering city of vast cyclopean edifices raised by some archaic prehistoric race who worshipped ithyphallic monolithic idols of rough hewn basaltic stone and porphyry...I glimpsed terrible and arcane carvings and hieroglyphs carven into the malevolent stone which forbode of unknown and arcane rituals of sacrifice to zoomorphic and amorphous god beings extraterrestrial eldritch abominations spawned in the further reaches of Saturn at the edges of the cosmos...they were fungoid beings born from aerial sporangia which traveled galactic distances and arrived on Saturn countless aeons ago they were the Old Ones the Elder Gods identified with all the primal earthly deities of El and Astarte the horned goddess who dances a gyrating and lascivious ritual before the Tetrarch incense laden an perfumed of rich and fragrant myrrh and balsam and also darker satanic perfumes of acontium and wolfsbane they were henna painted and curved voluptuously to the tattoo of a drum beaten incessantly a decadent femme fatale an intoxicating houri of Islamic paradise an exotic oriental goddess the avatar of the destroyer Kali of brooding Kolkata which birthed deafening and thunderous war metal pummeling in its torrent of audial sonic desecrating filth.