yellingmetatron

[yellingmetatron]

Periodic check in. I'm still here. Still a bit too messed up to write. But I hope I'm coming out of the worst of it.

[yellingmetatron]

State of the Blog

So, I had a revelation today: Self-assessment when it comes to hyper-vigilance really needs more than someone asking "have you experienced it in the last two weeks" as a yes-or-no question, because once hyper-vigilance is your normal state, you're going to be inclined to say "no".

Anyway, I'm not dead and I want to play with people. I just feel very stuck, and while I could power through that, I tend to need to save my power-throughs for life stuff. I really don't want to call this a hiatus, because when I do that inevitably my brain rebels and wants to rp all the more.

I am not gone. I want to be back soon. Lord willing and the crick don't rise, I will. But I need to get my head straighter.

[yellingmetatron]

"I mean, we did produce the religion where ideally you fucking eat your god once a week. Oh, Calvin and Luther are entitled to their own interpretations, and far be it from me to reveal the full Mystery of the Sacraments, but... it's a more compelling reading, that's for fucking sure."

[yellingmetatron]

FUS ROH DAH

Ladies, gentlemen, persons of import: This is one of my best friends. They love to hurt me ;( Okidoke:

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Answered!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Metatron has recently internalized and embraced his sadistic streak. You know, besides that whole thing where he broke both Bill's arms, put it in with no prep, and choked him unconscious. Anyway, with @markofthefallen's Andras he's discovered he likes teasing an awful lot, especially if it involves embarrassment. But it's not a go-too thing, necessarily; just something that can be fun.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Answered!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I'm not quite sure how the question is meant to be taken. If the only risk is that someone involved has to say "Hey, let's give this a miss after all", sure. Experimentation is fun, although he has a fondness for gentle vanilla, too.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Answered!

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Immaculate, and yes it does. When in human form, it can look a little charmingly untamed sometimes.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Enjoys bringing lovers into himself as a tesseract and getting freaky with tentacles. This also involves lots and lots of cum. I am blaming my willingness to share this information on the four milano cookies I just stress ate.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Answered!

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

how embarrassing, athena

[yellingmetatron]

YOL

First off: The Skyrim player at me squints at this arrangement of letters....

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Astronomical, to his embarrassment in most verses. Comes with embodying Keter. In the words of Arthur Green in his Guide to the Zohar, "Keter represents the primal stirrings of intent in the Ein Soph (infinity), or the arousal of desire to come forth into the varied life of being."

Even in verses where I don't emphasize his being an ex-Canaanite sun god associated with fertility, that tends to translate into a high libido among other things.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I was going to write that he might have a slight preference for receiving, but he got angry in my head at that, so apparently not. He likes doing both. As an entity that does not need to breathe and whose shapeshifting abilities do not exclude such things as the tongue... he's pretty good. Enthusiastic, and attentive. Quite fond of 69ing.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Really likes the outdoors, in a natural setting. Open in in general is a favorite; he's got this pergola setup in his inner archives by a mountain lake, the roof of arabian jasmine vines and a lot of cedars around. Very comfy. Also is an utterly shameless exhibitionist when in a relationship; likes showing the world his claim on a lover.

Also: Sex while flying.

[yellingmetatron]

AFS for NSFW ALPHABET~

These ones I feel like answering OCC, because it turns out IC answers took more out of me than I thought they would.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Really cuddly motherfucker. Very fond, very gentle, very attentive. I feel like I might have dropped some threads before he got to that point, but that's me being forgetful.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I... am not actually sure he has one, per se. He likes sex in general. I suppose he is particularly fond of ones that may involve shapeshifting.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Unless he's going with another entity that matches archangelic power, he only really stops to spare his partner. Takes a lot to really exhaust him, and if kinda has to be done on a metaphysical level.

[yellingmetatron]

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

"Ah, fuck... there's more fuckin' answers than I mighta thought at first. Attitude is fuckin' huge. I like getting... pushed. As long as I can push back. I am fucking weak for come hither, too. Either bend right over or mouth off and make me wrestle you to the floor, has the same fuckin' effect.

"...also flaunting yourself works wonders, if you can take the consequences. Inviting me to mark or... fill somebody..."

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

"I like being able to go fuckin' deep, and have someone just as fuckin' deep in me. I can't really do sex without a level of personal affection, and I wanna make that felt. Doesn't gotta be... love, the way most people think of love, I guess. But I want the freedom to be... warm.''

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

"Short fucking list. I don't do anything with shit and piss, don't go for stuff with armpits and feet. Don't like eating ass or getting my ass eaten, but I can make exceptions to that on request. Also banter is fuckin' great, but... there is a limit of disrespect I can take, even in a scene. That's the kinda thing we gotta negotiate one on one. Might be other stuff will come to mind later, but I am a fucking inhuman personification of a universal force. I don't bat a fuckin' eyelash at much."

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

"This... gets into temporal tomfuckery. If you are interacting with me as the Archangel Metatron, who has been and will be across the round of time, the list of encounters is short. Still, four or five flings, and... even in those timelines, its in my nature to... flow outward. If you're interacting with me as the Archangel Metatron, ex-eloah Malakhel, the list is a lot longer. And yes, I think I am quite fucking learned in the carnal fucking arts.

"I am always both those things. Like I said, temporal tomfuckery."

[yellingmetatron]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 - Redone

Send a letter and I will respond with a headcanon about the ns/fw topic that corresponds to it!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) C = Cum (where does your muse prefer to cum/have someone cum) D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) L = Location (favorite places to do the do) M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

[yellingmetatron]

morose rambling under the cut

it's been six months and i'm still not over my ex. part of this is because we're in a weird space where he talked about wanting to stay "best friends"-- explicitly that he didn't want to lose "knowing each other inside and out"-- but he hasn't done much work to try to be best friends. and the internal dissonance i experience when other people i know are being friendlier really hurts.

add to this that he demonstrated that he either "unlearned" me or never really knew me in four years with a specific assumption about my behavior when in depressive episodes, and i am just... feeling so lost and hurt.

what kills me is i got dumped at the exact time i was trying to be more active on tumblr. specifically because he wanted me to try to make friends. and i didn't do it fast enough.

i hate that this is still affecting my presence (or lack thereof) in rp. i'm so sick of feeling like this. i'm doing my best not to wallow, but between the hurt and the general chaos at home taking care of my dad... it's hard to get back.

i will keep trying. i'm sorry to all the people waiting. it's not because i don't want to play, i'm just stuck.

[yellingmetatron]

have to take my dad to the emergency room,won't be on.

[yellingmetatron]

But before I go, more Abrahamic chicanery. It turns out there are at least four fucking Hebrew words that are commonly rendered as 'diligence' in English bibles:

For instance, other meanings to this word diligence is charitsuit which is a diligence, or careful and persistent work with a specific skill. This would apply to a carpenter who is diligently applying his skills in his trade. Then you have hatamadah which is being diligent in the sense of enduring. This would be applied to someone on a difficult journey or performing a difficult task. This would be a diligence or persistence is completing a difficult journey or task. One who is hatamadah would not give up. Then there is shaqidah, this is a diligence in just doing a good job and performing a task to the best of one’s ability. … The word for diligence here further narrows this down. It is the word mishamar from the root word shamar which means to watch over and to guard.

Do the little details matter? Iunno, have rabbis all but gotten into fistfights over specific words and specific letters? Yes. Every day those "KJV Only" as an article of faith types seem dumber and dumber

[yellingmetatron]

Status Update

Hey all,

I've long since recovered from being sick, but I've been working through a major depressive episode that followed immediately after. My brain's turn to betray me after my body, I suppose x'D I'm starting to get out of the funk, but I'm gonna wait until tomorrow to try much anything RP related. I have discovered, to my annoyance, that I'm one of those people who really needs to stop doing things when I'm really stressed. I don't have the luxury as resting as much as I might, and it turns out even fun stuff can keep stress levels high. Booo.

So. Gonna be quiet tonight, and try to rp a little on the weekend. For everybody waiting on me, thank you for your patience.

[yellingmetatron]

Metatron sighs languidly as he bleeds. He wonders if it would be amiss to offer the flesh of his heart next time. Could Metatron survive that? Interesting thoughts...

Thor looks absolutely gorgeous smeared with the angel's own ichor. It makes Meta feel possessive and possessed all at once. He rumbles softly laying one hand on the Thor's head as the Thunderer so vigorously engulfs Meta's thick, achingly hard cock. There's something intoxicating about Thor going at it so demandingly, taking what he wants even on his knees.

With his other hand, the angel languidly fingers the wound Thor gifted him. True pain of the body has been a rare thing for him, and the novelty in itself is fascinating. Long fingers trace the ragged rim, and he hisses at the sting before exploring deeper. The flesh parted by his lover parts under his own exploration, the raw redness gushing thick ichor as he tenses, both in pleasure and pain. It exceeds the gush of precum across his lover's tongue, just as heady and offering. Deeper the finger presses, parting sinew, at last skirting bone... keeping himself open to the one who receives him.

Sunlight shimmers like a mirage across that gore-bedecked hand as he lovingly cups Thor's face, stilling him a moment. Meta's need to sanctify Thor in his own name burns as hot as the fire of his arousal-- perhaps there is no difference. He catch's his lover's gaze. His smile is fond and radiant even as he is clad in his own ichor.

"I want to fill you," he confesses, voice like silk and sand. "I want to cover you. I want there to be no part of you... inside or out... that I haven't touched."

And with that, his hips snap up, and he begins fucking Thor's mouth in earnest, in counterpoint to the god's own greedy sucking. Metatron grabs hold of Thor's head for leverage just as his own hips are held with bruising force, pushing deep, making Thor take everything, surrendering everything to his lover.

[ ϟ ]—A sharp, nigh greedy breath is pulled through the god's teeth.

This enticing, beloved angel, how well did he know to beckon him forth, how to express his demand and plea both, request yet a command still, how to yield without surrendering an ounce of his radiant, inherent dominion.

' I hear and obey, my Lord...' the response another hiss that is released to punctuate the sting of the Chancellor's fingers.

There is no hesitation in the thunderer, no restraint, only the answering hunger of a god whose hands have shaped realms and shattered them alike, now curved to the sanctity of a single, invaluable offering.

Lightly marred hand is shifted languidly yet ruthless still, bearing down around Metatron's throat, pressure applied just enough to steady angel's form against whatever surface holds them.

Lighting, its beautiful pale glow, sings before it strikes, a crackling herald to the divine desecration he craves, and that was asked of him.

The wound blossoms under his touch, skin parting with the scent of ozone and familiar, age-old carnage, so oft experienced in its full, warm glory. Deep, rich ichor wells forth in thick rivulets, dark yet near luminous in its descent, and thunderer watches - reverent, rapt - as it slips over the thick mound of lover's pectoral, spilling further.

The first heady flow is caught with his tongue, a languid, luxuriant pass over the open wound, savoring the taste of something purer than all the heavens could possibly hold. The divine, the undying, the absolute, it is anointing, benediction, worship in its most primal form.

Mouth is heat and possession as he laves of the raw gash, the growl a fragment of thunderous vibration pressed against now blood-slick skin. Hunger of a war god, reverence of a lover who knows his due and takes it unflinching. The god's fingers, still damp with sacral red, splay wide over Metatron's ribs, smearing sanctity into desecration.

A kiss is stolen then, drinking paused to have mouths connect and tongues play, a vicious communion of copper and want.

Thor shifts then, rising over his herald, drinking in the sight of him with eyes dark as storm clouds before the strike, allows the blood to trail lower, the trickle now a heavy, thick flow. It traverses the plane of Meta's stomach, over the trembling strain of his cock, marking it in something far more sacred than ink or scripture. A baptism in ichor, its rivulets of dark matter mingling with its lighter counterpart.

There is no room for amusement at the sight; the god's hand wraps firm around the aching length between them, a slow, claiming grip that makes clear all his angel's demands will be granted. Thumb smears through the leaking tip, mixing ichor and arousal, teasing, tormenting, savoring every pulse and twitch of need beneath his fingers. The pace is unhurried, indulgent, coaxing pleasure with the same reverence he gives to war and worship alike.

Then, with wickedness returning to crimson-smeared lips, curved smile only briefly present, he lowers himself further.

His mouth follows the path large hand has set, lapping at the still trickling ichor, lips questing, soon brushing over flushed, sensitive skin. Mouth parts to envelop the bulbous head of lover's length. The first drag of his tongue is slow, molten heat, a deliberate tease before he seals his lips around the head more firmly, tasting nectar and copper, sinking down, taking Metatron deep into the wet furnace of his mouth. The groan is delighted acceptance, vibrating through every inch of contact, reveling in the weight and taste of his beloved heavy against his tongue.

Thor’s fingers dig into Metatron’s hips, holding him firm as he sets his rhythm, as lightning crackles along the edge of lips, worship given in the most primal way he knows. Swallowing deeper, hungrily.

[yellingmetatron]

The archangel moans sharply as he's both drained and flooded. The sound is pained, but thick with desire as Meta's god takes what belongs to him. The ichor flows freely against Thor's tongue, filling him with warmth even as the lambency of Metatron's veins and arteries do the same against his skin. The archangel tries to hold on to enough of his own mind to form an answer lest Thor draw out the last of his senses with that clever mouth.

"Think... think of me," the angel breathes holding Thor close as he bucks his hips in counterpoint, one hand stroking that broad, muscular back as the other fists in his hair. "Call-- the name Malakhel. Loud or soft, fuck, fuck, Thor--" Metatron arches his back, trying to press as much of himself against Thor as he can, thick cock smearing them both with a hot trail of seed. Metatron snaps his hips up, hissing through his teeth, needing more Thor.

"You'll be... at my office door, just... come in, fuck, Thor, Thor..." His nails leave welts down his back. His eyes shut tight as light flickers across his body like embers in the wind. It's hard to breathe in the best way. As his throat strains, more ichor flows from him and in to his lover.

"I have... one lord. In my arms. You."

[ ϟ ]—– Groan emerged low in the god's throat, sound more instinct than intent, guttural and as raw as skin felt where own light rushed to the surface. It was eager, so desperate to connect with Meta's own, almost furious to blend with it.

Seeking its own kind, needing it.

The angel's warmth enveloped him entire, held him, attempted to keep him; it did not yield in the slightest yet drew him in, clinging like something that had been made for him and craved to be completed.

Or perhaps, he was milking just for the sake of wanting more, which was a delectable, delightful thought all in and of itself.

Heat licked fiercely along the god's spine at the teasing cadens of Marai, at the languid way Metatron always gifted him names, words that dripped from his lips like honey meant to coat the god's tongue. And taking them in felt as devouring as his mouth was.

' You have... a plethora of lords... it seems...'

Breath stuttered with each languid thrust, halting along with a deep press of his body, the appearing cedar between them a rather sudden offering. The brief sight of it he manages to catch, the weight of its meaning - key, permission - sending something molten to pool in tense belly.

Hand flexed where it had sunken into Meta's body, dragging it upwards as deliberate and slow as another thrust. Capturing a nipple between thumb and finger was entirely intentional, the pressure and sparks escaping equally purposeful. Gentle gesture, yet the acts are far from it.

' Fair? Let me consider...' Thick voice was rich with amusement, edged with something far more dangerous. Taking a kiss almost allows him to taste the dare in Metatron's words, bronzed throat bared so willingly but the suggestion almost casually made.

' Hmm, tell me..' words came rolling almost reverent, almost gentle, yet the renewed snap of ihs hips, baring forward was anything but. Teeth grazed at the angel's pulse point, hovering, waiting, teasing his own hunger as much as his lover's.

The bite is not soft, nor was there viciousness in the act; skin breaks to yield to the mark, the additional claim, the kind that seared deeper than flesh. Cock responds to the flow of ichor, flood of seed a river the comes in tandem with the crimson coating his tongue.

[yellingmetatron]

Deep in his sephirah, Metatron recognizes how rare this is, his god's pliancy. It goes beyond tolerance or even submissiveness; every part of Thor welcomes the archangel inside, needing the fullness of him. And when the archangel feels the first drops of cool rain hitting his bare back, he moans deeply as his cock provides its own small, molten deluge deep inside his lover.

As hips work wildly and mouths meet for kisses and bites, the winds rise around them. The heat of the sun is enveloped by thick, heavy stormclouds, but burns through all the same even as lightning crackles within.

The sky is nothing separate from them. It's another venue for their coupling, skin to skin and light to light, essences blending.

They fit together effortlessly, the angel pushing down to savor the slide of gold against copper. Meta's eyes swirl with sunburst intensity as the blackness of them drinks in Thor's heroic form. As the wind swirls and the raindrops sizzle into mist as they hit the angel's back and wings. Each drop feels like a kiss, a challenge, a benediction, and the archangel can only respond in kind as sunlight pierces and suffuses the storm. The tattoo of Meta's hips against Thor changes its cadence as he finds the place deep inside his lover to bring the most pleasure, and ruts against it hard, blunt head of his cock pressing and leaking inexorably.

"You're... so... fucking good... ah..." Meta struggles for breath between his exertions and the utter sublimity of the image of Thor being fucked by Metatron. One hand roughly gropes the swell of Thor's pectoral, kneading and teasing the stiff nipple with his thumb. "None of the songs... could tell me these things... fuck..." hair plastered to his forehead, he grins. "So perfect... taking my cock... taking, hn, me..."

And with that, Metatron moans as his lips latch on to the other nipple, lips sucking and tongue dancing. His hips buck, stutter as pre that would be mistaken as a climax continues to flow out of him and into Thor. It's not enough. It can never be enough. They need to be closer, closer, blending and indwelling in each other. Were it not for the dance of the elements and the mutual suffusion of light, had they only their bodies to join, it would be an exercise in frustration.

Eventually it's Metatron who unbinds Thor's hands rather than Thor breaking free. Still the 'ropes' of light accentuate the god's vast body, but the archangel needs to feel those strong hands on him.

[ ϟ ]—– There was no word in any tongue that could describe the feeling of pressure on this cock, nothing that could hold enough weight to describe what was sensed during the slow grind on him, every drag over thick veins pulls a minute flood of seed from it without effort.

Not even the crack of lighting through the firmament , or sensing the power of weapon in his palm was ever felt so loud inside his bones as Meta's voice did, a mere murmur of words and still...

Light and heat moved across him like reverence incarnate - not simple, feeble rope, not true binding. This was consecration, worship in the oddest yet soothing form, and sensing it turns him into pure want, no protest formed in the god's ever more clouding mind.

It was a salacious delight all on its own; laid bare and covered, split wide and enveloped by longing, not pain. Golden ropes emitting from the angel was akin to being kissed across the heaving span of his chest by thousands of lips, threads over thunderer's hips and thighs a celestial devotion that is pure heat.

As if sculpting him, turning battle-hardned flesh pliant, and willing, as if he needed more coaxing...

There is no true surprise at the response of his body, nor is there restraint of any kind. Long before victorious grin flashes back onto the god's features he had known that the desire would accept all of it, the breach then welcomed with a moan rumbling from the depts of his chest.

Involuntarily does power react, but it is not the protesting, dangerous kind. The teasing something that would birth annoyance in any other circumstance, now a prolonging of the pleasure with every inch. Lightning dances to the surface, colors the god's eyes to the extent it glows through closed eyelids.

It yields to the intrusion as all of his muscles do, flickering against the binds, dancing in delight over the damp planes of the god's chest. Nipples harden further, straining and impossibly tightened, the first thrust welcomed with a sharp-edged growl.

Devouring is met with eagerness, mouth and tongue responding with the senseless urgency of craving more and biting lover's bottom lip the god feels girth stretching him, pressing against his inner walls with each deliberate thrust as if something is invading every atom of his being.

' More.... ' is a clear, wrecked demand, hips rising to meet each punishing thrust, slick skin meeting slick skin and the dripping of it between their flesh, pushed out with each movement, noted with a hint of satisfaction.

[yellingmetatron]

Hi guys. On top of being sick with something like mild flu for a while... did you know that euonymus alatus, an ornamental plant also known as burning bush, can cause skin irritation? I didn't. It's invasive as fuck where I am, and I've been uprooting it and pulling it apart by hand to make it easier to burn, because making small recreational campfires are one of my few reliable hobbies besides writing. I was feeling well enough to do so this afternoon for the first time in a while. It was also the first non-overcast day we've had recently. And whatayaknow, burning bush sap irritation is fairly mild, but can be exacerbated by exposure to UV radiation.

All this to say that aside from being woozy and having sinus pain, my fingers itch like mad, as do a few places on my face-- not poison ivy/oak bad, but not nice. Shoulda worn gloves. Learning experience. It's all been very distracting, so expect me to be quiet a few more days at least.

[yellingmetatron]

Something about the archangel's face seems delighted. Perhaps a brighter glow?

"That sounds fuckin' great, honestly. Just lemme check something..."

Metatron puts a hand over where his eyes would be. Yup, Niffty's still occupied with Lucifer. Well, the most important thing is that she's having fun, and he'll make sure he leaves with her-- what he does after getting her home is his own business.

"Just had to make sure my date's having a good time." He makes his way to the table as the pop star leads. "I'm here 'cause I lost a bet with another archangel, but I like doing things right. Which... has proven fuckin' weird with her, because she kinda gets off on being treated like shit? I know lotsa people do, but... Niffty's on the far side of things." He shrugs once he's taken a seat.

She...hadn't actually been expecting a genuine, honest answer. Verosika was used to getting surface level compliments on her popular hits, but...Over You was deeply personal to her.

Sure, it had become a hit like most of her songs, but she doubted it would resonate this much with someone else, or that they would actually dissect the song to it's very core.

A smile tugged at her lips, features softening, allowing her mask to slip just a bit more. "Hey, don't worry about it. That's...probably the best compliment I ever received on any of my songs...Actually, it's the best compliment I received, like, ever." A pause as she shifted, looking a bit uncertain. "Hey uh, if you want, you can talk my ear off more. We can head back to my table."