#ALSO DEAR GOD THE FLESH PIT

[star-synth]

I'm gonna start crawling on the walls, EP 7 IS ALMOST HERE AND ITS NOT GETTING HERE FAST ENOUGH

[wordsvomit101]

That awkward moment when you realized that your big bro got laid with the person you tried to kill.

Author Notes: Credits to @eternal_auditor & @jazeswhbhaven, I got this idea for this shameless worldbuilding headcanons for Heaven and Angels thanks to both of them and the latter's "Angel Bros Headcanons: Michael Flips" post. I also just want to write the scenario in general. Warnings: Raphael is a caution flag himself, depictions of violence, thoughts of brutalizing and eating someone (being directed at MC) by Raphael, a lot of name-calling from Raphael directed at MC

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(Heaven - Time of Councils and Assemblies)

In the tranquil embrace of Heaven, evening descends like a gentle caress, casting a soft golden hue upon the timeless realm. As the radiant sun dips below the horizon of ethereal clouds, the celestial landscape is bathed in hues of pink, orange, and purple, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colors that stretches across the vast expanse of the heavenly domain. The sky is like a canvas painted lovingly by the hands of God, with the colors of a thousand sunsets, each stroke a masterpiece of divine artistry. The clouds, like celestial brushstrokes, dance across the canvas, their forms ever-changing, their edges illuminated with an ethereal glow.

Amidst the celestial splendor, angelic beings gracefully glide through the sky upon the archways of purest gold span the thoroughfares of Heaven, their graceful curves reminiscent of angelic wings in flight. Beneath these archways lie crystal atriums, their transparent walls revealing the celestial wonders of Heaven in all their resplendent glory. Their iridescent wings shimmer with divine light, flying gracefully as if they dance and pirouette in ethereal ballets, painting radiant trails of luminescence across the sky.

The lower-ranking angels engage in celestial chorales, their melodious voices intertwining in harmonies that resonate throughout the Heaven. The soaring soprano of archangels blends seamlessly with the velvety alto of cherubim, weaving a symphony that would uplift the soul and transport the listener to realms of pure bliss. The music reverberates through the celestial expanse, like a cosmic symphony conducted to worship the Almighty.

For middle-ranking angels, their beloved duty during the Pilgrimage to the Mount of Revelation to commune with their dear creator has to be despairingly pushed to merely Contemplation of Sacred Texts and attending to the Halls of Eternal Wisdom, a lesser, but an honorable duty nonetheless.

Even higher above, amidst ethereal spires and resplendent palaces that grace the heavenly expanse, angelic artisans toil diligently within the Halls of Artistry. Their deft hands sculpt magnificent statues and weave intricate tapestries, each a testament to the wonders of creation. They yearn for the day when their divine creator will bestow upon them a glimpse of their artistry, even a millisecond of recognition for their unwavering dedication to him would be more than enough.

While other angels tend to the flourishing celestial flora in the Gardens of Eternal Bliss. Radiant blooms burst forth in a splendor of colors, their petals shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence. The angels nurture these heavenly gardens with love and care, a single damage to a petal of these beautiful flowers is enough to have their heads roll to the disgusting pit of Hell, however making a mistake in God's favorite garden is an even bigger sin.

It is a mundane day for all of them.

Bang!

"Sir-!"

Creak!

"AAAAAA-!"

Crunch!

"I have yet to finish my prayer-!"

Snap!

However, it wouldn't be a normal day if there wasn't a Raphael brutally tearing and eating fleshes of every angel on his path to the Chamber of Divine Counsel to meet with other Seraphs. His blood-caked shoes thundering over polished marble as he swaggers through the vaulted corridors of Heaven, his crimson-smeared wings unfurling like banners of carnage. Red marred his short blonde hair and white attire. With each wrathful step, he leaves a trail of dismembered angel carcasses, their alabaster feathers floating like ethereal snowflakes in his wake. His crimson eye fully emits an aura of violence and fury.

Thump!

Bursting into the Chamber of Divine Counsel with enough force to make the office tremble, the room was bathed in an ethereal glow, and the other Seraphs present, Gabriel and Michael, sat in their resplendent chairs, their expressions inscrutable. Raphael's form, however, drenched in the gore of his victims, stood in stark contrast to the pristine surroundings. He only has one thought of personally feasting upon that purple hair wench's flesh when she is still alive and making her watch herself being devoured alive and cut off her tongue so she couldn't even voice out her pain.

"Why... Why is it always her...! That bitch!"

The pure white chairs, crafted from the finest celestial ivory, bore the brunt of his rage, splintering and crumbling under his kicks. Yet Gabriel and Michael, their faces devoid of emotion, paid him little attention.

"If you insist on throwing a tantrum, I implore you to do so in a realm more suited to such sorrowful displays. Hell would accommodate your temperaments more appropriately."

Michael stood tall over the intricately designed long table with a mindmap and countless brainstorming notes. Standing in a place Brother Lucifer used to stand in each council meeting. His glare locked on the furious blonde seraph before him. A frown, as if carved in stone, creased his handsome face, adding an air of solemnity to his prideful demeanor. Around his neck, a regal purple choker, embellished with ornate gold rings and shimmering gemstones, encircled his throat. At its center, a prominent gold ring held a solemn cross pendant, its gentle clinking accompanying his every movement.

In a swift motion, Michael tilted his head to the left, displaying effortless grace as he dodged the flying chair hurtling towards him at high speed. The chair collided with the wall, its impact leaving a deep dent in the panel, a testament to the force behind the throw.

"Shut that shitty mouth of yours! Maybe try to go down there yourself to ask why our dear brother is entertaining trash!" As Raphael spoke, his voice trembled with anger and frustration, his words dripping with venomous accusation. A few veins already popped on his crazed, striking appearance. Filled with unrepressed anger that led him to kill his spies who reported to him and fly from the dungeon up here.

Yet Michael continued to look at his notes, his face blissfully indifferent. His right hand continued to write on many of his papers on the white table.

"He has simply strayed from the right path."

Brother Lucifer’s footstep-less feet headed for the vile tiny red devil.

'Stop it.'

However, he couldn't say the same about his head. Memories he had been trying to wipe from his mind for years served only to haunt him. Taunting him of the gut-wrenching event more than a hundred years ago.

In the silence, pure white hands pushed through the grass and preciously held up the rotten red thing.

'Don't dirty your hands.'

His brother stroked that thing's body so softly with his hands so similar to how he once did with Michael's face. Those strong, beautiful hands that once held his face so tenderly to wipe his tears away. As he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

'Brother...'

"I remain confident in my ability to guide him back to the right path." 

His brother's hand was holding Michael’s ray of light. The light in Brother Lucifer’s hand had stopped in front of the disgusting beast's chest, unable to advance further. He was again protecting worthless things that didn't deserve his grace.

'Why did you save it?!'

When his brother finally stood before Michael on his third step, black energy, not white, began to flow from his body.

'No-NononononoNONO-'

From his beloved brother’s head, the gorgeous head of the Morning Star, bright red horns that were the same color as the vile thing that tempted him began to grow.

'Brother- Brother Lucifer please!'

"You shall witness it in due time."

"I love you, my brother. Which is why I will give you one last chance. Return."

Crack!

The force of Michael's left hand left a massive crack in the opulent crystal marble table that trailed down to the other end of it. Effectively bringing clarity back to Raphael as the blonde gazes at Michael's hard knuckle gripping the table painfully, ignoring the blood pooling down to the marble floor and further dirtying the former pristine chamber.

Michael's abrupt actions were met with an air of knowing silence from the two. It wouldn't be far-fetched if they possessed a secret understanding of his motivations that would elude outsiders.

"Hmph," a scoff rang out and pierced the silence of the room, originating from the slender man with platinum blonde hair seated to Michael's right. His face, though classically handsome with a pale complexion, remained stoic and emotionless, belying the arrogance that dripped from the single syllable he uttered.

"Then you better live up to those words."

Gabriel's lean was a graceful movement, his body sinking into the chair as if it were a throne. His arms crossed over his chest, the crisp white of his shirt contrasting sharply with the gleam of the gold chain that adorned his white jabot ruffle shirt. The fabric of his sleeves rustled softly against the delicate filigree, creating a symphony of subtle sounds that echoed through the silent room. His eyes, deep and enigmatic, surveyed the scene before him, his expression a mixture of amusement and quiet contemplation.

"Furthermore, even in his current state, Brother Lucifer still demonstrates a reverence for God. It is conceivable that his actions are merely a symptom of his yearning for God's divine presence."

In this timeless realm, where Gabriel proudly proclaims to reign supreme as the epitome of seraphic obedience, there exists but one for whom he would willingly surrender his esteemed position: Brother Lucifer. The firstborn of God's creations, Brother Lucifer's devotion to his Maker surpassed all others, earning him the title of Morning Star. His brilliance illuminated the heavens, casting an unrivaled radiance that even Gabriel's wings could not obscure.

It was Brother Lucifer who instilled within the celestial choirs the rituals and observances that expressed their gratitude to the Almighty. Yet amidst his unwavering piety, Brother Lucifer adhered to a solitary discipline known only to himself. Only a select few had glimpsed this secret regimen, elusive even to those who had followed his every step for countless eons.

Solitary would not be said without Brother Lucifer's name being attached to the word. He found solace in his own construction of hallowed sanctuaries. These Majestic Temples of Worship at odd places in Heaven served as his solitary refuge, where he could commune with the divine without the distractions of others. His devotion ignited a spark in other angels, who, inspired by his example, crafted Halls of Artistry. They sculpted countless colossal statues of the Almighty, their grandeur exceeding the limits of mortal imagination.

No one dared step one foot into his havens, they were for Brother Lucifer alone, and death would be upon those who broke that unspoken rule.

Yet there were times he allowed Gabriel to join him during Celestial Meditation in the secluded Garden of Eternal Reflection, a sacred sanctuary hidden deep within the heart of Heaven. Here, amidst the fragrant blossoms and tranquil pools, Brother Lucifer let Gabriel join his silent meditation and prayers. It was one of the highlights of Gabriel's day when his brother was still around.

"Not if he is messing with the descendant of Solomon."

Raphael's voice now had the former rage in it that reminded him of what he came here for, to be in these two insufferable presences. He could barely believe it when one of his spies uttered those words out of their useless mouth. That Lucifer? The Morning Star? His brother who despises Solomon as much as any other angel and the one that would bite another head off if they recklessly touched him even in the rendezvous night at the sacred Eternal Flame at the heart of Heaven where they allowed themselves to let loose for a bit?

It sounds fucking unbelievable, but when they show him a picture of that purple-haired vixen bumping parts with his brother, it sends him off the reels. He kills most of the spies and storms out of his favorite dungeon to here.

"Pardon?" Michael's mismatched eyes bulged, his neck creaking and twitching as he stared up at Raphael in a frenzy of incomprehension, his falsely composed display gone. The mere hint of the truth was liable to send the black-haired Seraph into a rampage and murder them all.

"Are you suggesting..." Gabriel's face, previously etched in stoicism, crumbled into a mask of horror. He couldn't believe the words that had escaped Raphael's lips, but he couldn't shake the realization that was slowly creeping upon him. He desperately wished that the words that came out of Raphael's mouth were nothing more than a cruel jest, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

"I said, he's with the descendant of Solomon, that purple-haired harlot...that traitor....that cheat- That tempting trash!"

It pissed Raphael off even more as he raised his voice volume, veins now appearing on his throat, especially at the reminder of his text with that two-timer. The sheer self-satisfied energy radiating off his phone screen almost makes him fly down to Hell to choke that bitch until her brain pops out of her head himself.

"This is preposterous...impossible..." Michael's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide with disbelief as Raphael's accusations cut through the air like a madman who had just been cheated on. His normally steady stance faltered, replaced by a palpable sense of hysteria that made his body tremble. He stumbled backward, his back colliding with the cold, unforgiving wall as if seeking solace from the onslaught of emotions that threatened to consume him. The wall provided no comfort, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the turmoil raging through his body.

"I'm not joking. I heard her talking about Lucifer, his scar, his... 'thing'," The mere mention of his beloved brother's private part sends shivers down his spine as his voice quivered. The thought of that conniving bitch taking full advantage of the trust Brother Lucifer had placed in her made his blood boil with simmering rage. And that she dared to go against her promise to him as if those moments they shared in the poisonous sky of Hell meant nothing.

"She knows his exact measurements!- You know what, look at this shit yourself!" With a resounding slam that echoed through the room like a thunderclap, he unveiled the damning evidence: a collection of photographs frozen in time, capturing moments of intimate interaction between Lucifer and the individual in question.

The images fell upon the table with a heavy thud, causing the fragile surface to tremble under the weight of their revelation. Despite the force of impact that threatened to shatter the fragile table beneath them, the pictures remained intact, their unspoken truth radiating from their glossy surfaces like a painful revelation begging to be acknowledged.

Michael's face contorted with a ghastly twitch as if he were attempting to conjure laughter, but the sound that escaped his lips was more akin to a hollow echo in the thick, suffocating atmosphere. "Shut up," his mind struggled to piece together the unthinkable truth that lay sprawled before him like a macabre revelation. Denial, a feeble shield against the onslaught of evidence, crumbled before the weight of reality, leaving him quaking.

"I swear before Thrones of Heavenly Majesty I will make her rue the day she even touched him. She corrupted him and brought him over to the side of temptation. God would never-" As Gabriel's solemn vow echoed through the room, the air crackled with the intensity of his conviction, thick with the gravity of impending retribution for the sinner.

His words struck a nerve, exacerbating Michael's fraying composure. The gravity of the situation bore down upon him like a suffocating weight, his anger bubbling to the surface in fervor.

"FUCKING SHUT UP! IT'S NOT REAL! IT'S NOT REAL!" Michael's voice cracked with anguish and insanity, his outburst sending shockwaves through the chamber. In his distress, the chamber was engulfed in an inferno, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the walls. In the distance, the echo of Michael's despair mingled with the desperate prayers and curses of those trapped within the blazing office. The once-orderly chamber had become a scene of utter chaos and destruction.

"O, Almighty Creator," Gabriel's voice trembled with urgency, his words a fervent entreaty to the absent God above. "Grant us clarity in this hour of darkness, illuminate our path with Your divine light."

Meanwhile, Gabriel's attempts at prayer offered little solace as he grappled with the implications of Raphael's revelations.

His murmurs grew more frantic with each passing moment, a desperate attempt to find solace in the face of unsettling truths. "Guide us through this tempest, O Lord, for we are adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Let Your wisdom be our compass, and Your mercy our salvation."

But despite his fervent appeals, only shrieks and flames answer back, echoing throughout Heaven from the burning chamber they're in.

"She said she'd only do that with me..." Raphael’s voice cracked with bitterness, each word laced with venomous resentment. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to contain the seething anger threatening to consume him whole. "...she lied...she lied..."

The weight of betrayal hung heavy in his heart, suffocating him with its oppressive presence. Raphael's chest heaved with each labored breath, his heart aching with the sting of betrayal. "Fucking cheater..." His words dripped with venom, the bitterness of betrayal poisoning his soul.

With a primal snarl, Raphael's control shattered like glass, shards of rage cutting deep into his consciousness. He lashed out blindly, his teeth sinking into the flesh of a passing stupidly brave angel that came to check on the three Seraphs, the taste of blood a bitter reminder of his own foolishness.

"I hate her..." The words escaped his lips in a guttural growl, each syllable dripping with raw fury. His grip tightened around the angel's trembling form, nails digging into flesh as he sought to vent his pent-up rage on an unwitting victim.

"I'm not sloppy seconds..." Raphael's voice cracked with rage, his crimson eyes ablaze like a firestorm. He tore into the angel's flesh with savage ferocity, his actions a grotesque display of his inner turmoil. "...I'm no side bitch!"

Boom!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Hm?", in the dim recesses of his grandiose office, Lucifer, who was engrossed in his craftsmanship of carving the statue of the divine, lifted his gaze from his artistic endeavor by the sudden but subtle yet discernible disturbance in the island above the sky of Hell.

His pure white eyes shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Despite the plaster and pigments that adorned his once-pristine garments save for his bloody back that had his broken wings. His form radiated a timeless beauty, marred only by the grim expression on his handsome visage.

The sensation he felt was like a creeping up from above, like a ripple in the placid waters of a celestial lake.

'What are those three getting angry at right now?'

Raon, who was perched upon the plush velvet couch that adorned his office, her tall form immersed in the pages of an ancient tome, looked up swiftly at Lucifer's voice, a rare occurrence after hours of silence.

Once she raised her gaze from the text, her curious eyes meeting Lucifer's form with silent inquiry. Normally, she would wait until Lucifer is willing to tell her what is on his mind, but currently, she is bored and needs a break after reading several magic grimoires Lucifer gave her and practicing with them for almost a whole day.

'Let's just hope he will at least give me a short answer.'

"Um, Lucifer, is there something wrong?" Raon's voice, soft and tentative, carried a note of concern as she awaited his response, her gaze fixed unwaveringly upon him.

Lucifer's answer was measured, his words carrying the weight of foreboding. "I feel there's a disturbance. There would be a storm soon," he left out the part that it was most likely his brothers being angry about something again.

"Is it related to the angels?" Yet the young woman still managed to catch onto the hidden message, her question not directed at ordinary angels but at his brothers as she nervously tightened her grip on her grimoire.

Lucifer nodded solemnly. "Very likely," he confirmed. His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon but his voice relaxed to ease the lady's tension as he contemplated the unfolding events in the celestial realm.

"Oh, then I will get back to my training-", with a subtle shift of his form, he turned his attention back to Raon, his gaze meeting hers with a serene intensity as he stood up to clean himself with a swipe of his finger. He tidied himself with a cleaning spell and put his tools and statues back into their orderly places without doing so himself physically—a casual display of his magic that Raon wishes to get to one day.

"It's fine," Lucifer assured her, his tone gentle yet authoritative. "Let's take a rest. Care to join me for a walk to the observatory room?" Quietly, he held out his right arm for her to hold on to if she wanted to accompany him.

Raon's heart fluttered at the invitation, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to contain her excitement. "Really? I-I mean, of course! Please lead the way." Her words spilled forth in a rush of eagerness, her eyes shining with anticipation as she rose from her seat and she excitedly but carefully walked over to Lucifer's spot.

As Raon raised her gaze, a silent query lingering in her eyes, she studied the handsome devil's countenance for the slightest hint of unease. Finding none, she shyly reached out and clasped his arm, a silent agreement passing between them. Together, they embarked on a leisurely stroll, the pace unhurried yet purposeful.

Lucifer, typically swift in his movements, slowed his steps to accommodate Raon, pausing whenever she expressed a desire to linger and marvel at the exquisite white blossoms that adorned Paradise Lost, a sight reserved only for the privileged few. The air was filled with a sense of tranquility and reverence as they meandered through the garden, each step bringing them closer to their destination, yet allowing them to savor the beauty that surrounded them. Unbothered by the chaos that is currently exploding in Heaven.

[tallatonk]

The hideduo fic i promised. Any comments or thoughts on this are appreciated, this is still a work in progress! Fic is under the cut.

tw: small tiny cannibalism mention, teehee

When You’re Too Scared To Say I Love You

Fit grabbed the nearest book and erased its contents in a rush. The pit in his stomach swelling, the urge to write this letter for Pac is strong. He had so much to say and so little time, the sense that someone, or something, was watching him plagued him all day.

A shaky breath left him as he picked up his pen to write. 

“Dear Pac,” he mumbled as he scribbled through the book. “I miss you so much, I wish you were here right now.” Fit stared into the page, god he can’t say that.

This was so embarrassing. Not that loving Pac was embarrassing, but rather trying to pour his heart out about exactly what he was feeling was. The world suddenly felt like it was going to implode, leaving him to pick up the pieces of his mind he never shared with the man. Yet here he was, too scared to write a few simple words.

He’s one of the toughest people on the server, hardened by the years of 2b2t. His life had been and still is filled with pain, war, and the type of things that would put fear into most. But out of all of that, this scared him the most. This was the first thing in years to make his palm sweat and feel as if he was on hardcore mode.  

It was both infuriating and infatuating, the way Pac affected him this much almost too much but not enough at the same time.

Fit pressed his hands into his face, as if it would help his internal battle, groaning to himself he looked towards the letter again. He can do this, he’s got this. He felt that deep sleep feeling coming, so this had to happen. He had to write this letter. He deleted what he wrote before, forcing his thoughts to focus on a new letter..

He’d restart the letter over and over again as long as he could, the best for Pac.

“I haven't seen you in many days, I hope you are enjoying your sleep. I have been feeling very tired recently and I feel like I will be having a very long sleep soon,” his heart felt it was beating out of his chest as he thought about the possibility he wouldn’t be able to see Pac again. He continued, pushing those negative thoughts in the back of his mind . “If I don’t see you for a while, I want you to know how special you are to me.” That's it, he thought after mumbling those last words, this is how he’ll say it.

Fit paused, reading his words over as though he finally said it to Pac in person.

“I know we haven’t been able to spend much time together, but you are always on my mind. It doesn’t matter how often you spend time with someone, it matters how much you think about them.” The American's eyes begin to sting, he pretends it's the sudden tiredness rather than the tears threatening to fall.

 “The next time I see you, I have a lot of things I want to say. Good things, don’t worry.” He lets out a small, bittersweet laugh as a warm tear runs down his cheek. Would he even be able to say what he wants when he sees Pac next? He can barely get down what to say in a letter, but in person?

It feels impossible. 

He shakes his head and smiles to himself, he’ll do this the only way he knows how. 

“But until then, I hope you are doing well and enjoying yourself. Also, my robe has been SUPER soft since you gave it back to me, so I owe you! I’ll have more fofoca soon! Yours truly, Fit.” He covers his feelings with jokes, just like always.

Something that Pac probably figured out about him by now.

--

The pain was nauseating, the wounds scoring down his chest to his stomach made him want to curl up and die. Fit was stuck in this cave for 2 weeks. 2 weeks surrounded by dead bodies and rock. 2 weeks of being on half a heart and unable to eat anything. The desire to go back to his old ways called to him, to consume the rotted flesh in front of him. He couldn’t do it, with everything Madagio told him– these were their friends, their fellow island members. 

--

Fit threw his head back in agony and screamed. He screamed until his lungs hurt, until his face grew red. He didn’t stop until he was sure the whole empty island heard him. His voice broke as he began to sob. Fit was stuck here, all alone. Things always came back to this, him all alone surrounded by the dead.

--

How i want it to finish--- Something something he doesn't wanna eat people, he breaks down and cries, he screams at the bodies and Madagio, and regrets not telling Pac he loves him. He cries out that he loves him and that he wishes he can see him again. He thinks he's gonna die down here, he mentions that at least he’ll see Max and the dead eggs again, and maybe even get to punch Spreen for leaving him and Ramon.

[lamemaster]

Melodies of Love (Part 2)

PART 1

Summary: It isn’t mortal flesh or blood that your sword pierces but the very soul of the one you once knew as your father. You deliver the final blow to Morgoth, the dark lord of Arda, the villain of all wrong in the world but also your father.

AN: thank you to all of you who commented such good things on the first part and gave me the courage to write another one. This has been a story I have wanted to write for the longest time ever. So, thanks a lot for reading! (P.S. These really awesome dividers by @saradika.)

You expected to feel a burst of relief or maybe joy for the betterment of Arda. Anything numbness, anger, exhaustion but not this…not a despair so profound that you find yourself gasping for air. It feels as if the tip of your sword had been thrust into you. As if your own move left you wounded. 

It isn’t mortal flesh or blood that your sword pierces but the very soul of the one you once knew as your father. You deliver the final blow to Morgoth, the dark lord of Arda, the villain of all wrong in the world but also your father. The one you came looking for this world that you belong to partially.

It is a glorious moment of the fall of all dark and all wrong. A moment of victory from the hands of a demi-god, from another world. Around you, people celebrate the victory. Men, Elves, Dwarves, Valar, Maiar are all ecstatic about the unmarring of their world.

But you cannot bring yourself to move an inch. Fear grips you. You are terrified of moving the sword that impales your father. What if you hurt him more…what if…your thoughts panic as you observe his dissipating form. No…no..no…

None had seen it. None but you. The final blow would not have landed. It wouldn’t have if your father did not allow it himself. The dark lord of Arda willed his demise. He let you kill him. “My child…my dearest, I thank you. Forg-” are the only words you hear as you see your father’s fleeting form.  

You collapse to your knees, tears streaming down your face, as conflicting emotions surge through your heart. The truth of your father's sacrifice dawns upon you with devastating clarity. He had allowed you to strike the final blow, not out of weakness or defeat, but as a deliberate act of love and redemption. He chose to sacrifice himself for the greater good of Arda, and for you, his child. 

Your father...you could have saved him...he was not lost yet, not until you killed him with your very hands. You did it.

Manwe, the Lord of Arda, searches for you amidst the vast battlefield, the entirety of Arda stretched out before him. He felt it the moment you struck his brother, a deep ache in his chest that left him breathless, as if he were a dying mortal.

Regret floods Manwe's heart as he realizes he should have taken the burden of Arda upon himself. He should have shouldered the responsibility as its ruler, rather than allowing you to face such a miserable fate. He laments his decision, yearning to undo the choices that have led to this moment.

10 days ago...

In the quiet sanctuary of Manwe's chamber, a solemn conversation unfolds between you and the Lord of Arda. The weight of the world hangs heavy in the air as you gather your resolve, ready to make a promise that will shape your destiny.

"Uncle Manwe," you begin, your voice steady but filled with unwavering determination. "I cannot bear to see you burdened with the duty of facing my father in battle. I offer myself in your stead. Let me be the one to confront Melkor and bring an end to his darkness."

Manwe's usually serene eyes flicker with unease as he gazes upon you. Love for both you and Melkor intertwines within him, creating a conflict that cannot be easily resolved. The thought of pitting kin against kin weighs heavily upon his heart, and he hesitates to accept your selfless offer.

"My dear child," Manwe replies, his voice tinged with sorrow. "The battle that lies ahead is of unimaginable magnitude. It is not a fight I wished upon anyone, especially not you. Melkor is my brother, and though his actions have caused immense pain, he too was once a part of our family."

You reach out, placing a comforting hand on Manwe's, understanding the depth of his love and the struggles that torment him. "I know the extent of your affection for him, Uncle and that is why I cannot let you be the one to do it. I also cannot stand idly by while his malevolence continues to sow chaos and suffering. I will face him, not merely as his child, but as a force for good. For the world that you and the rest have created"

Manwe's troubled expression softens as he absorbs your words. He comprehends the unwavering conviction burning within you, the desire to bring an end to the darkness that has tarnished your father's legacy. Yet, the pain lingers within him, knowing that he may be sending his own flesh and blood to confront their own parent in a battle of epic proportions.

"Child, I cannot deny your determination or the purity of your intentions," Manwe says, his voice tinged with sadness. "But know that this path you have chosen will not be easy. The clash between light and darkness, between love and strife, will test your resolve and demand sacrifices. And in the end, should you stand against your father, the weight of that decision will forever shape your soul." Not for the first time Manwe finds himself in awe of your resilience. Despite the unfiltered hatred and less-than-acceptable treatment, his people have treated you with, you remain steadfast for a cause you never expected to encounter. Nothing has managed to break the spirit of the child of Melkor and Aphrodite.

You meet Manwe's gaze, your eyes radiating a blend of determination and compassion. "I understand, Uncle. I have contemplated the consequences, and I am willing to face them. My purpose in this world extends beyond my lineage. I will fight not only for the sake of Arda but also for the love that still resides within my father. If there is hope even a fragment of it, then I will fight to get him back from his fall."

Manwe's eyes shimmer with unshed tears, his inner turmoil laid bare before you. He reaches out, enveloping your hand within his own, conveying both love and reluctance. "May the grace of Illuvatar guide your steps, my child. May your path be one of light and love, even in the face of the darkest shadows. I will support you, protect you, and pray for your triumph. But know that my heart aches for the pain you will endure."

With a solemn nod, you accept Manwe's support, knowing the tumult of your own fate. But fueled by love and determination, ready to face your father and the destiny that awaited you.

Your face remains covered by your hair that had once been tied into intricate braids now lay unbound. What jars Manwe is the ash color of your hair. Once darkest black, the color of Melkor’s hair that you got from him is now ash. 

Present

Manwe, the sorrowful witness to your anguish, approaches with a heaviness in his heart. His steps falter, his voice filled with remorse, as he pleads for your forgiveness. He yearns to bear your pain, to shoulder the burden that weighs upon your soul.

Kneeling beside you, Manwe gently brushes away the veil of hair concealing your face. His touch lingers upon your tear-stained cheek, a tender gesture of empathy and love. "Y/n," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea, but your distant gaze remains unyielding, lost in a void of despair.

The light that once danced within your eyes has dimmed, replaced by a haunting bleakness. Joy, life, and radiance have been consumed, leaving behind a desolate emptiness. Manwe's own tears mirror your pain, for he knows that he is to blame. If only he had acted with courage, your hands would have been spared this tragic fate.

In broken words, you confess the unbearable truth. "My father… I… I killed him," your voice quivers, laden with remorse. Manwe attempts to wrench the sword from your grasp, desperate to release you from the weight of your actions, but your grip remains unyielding, as if bound by an unseen force.

Frantically, you search for something, your mind ensnared in a labyrinth of torment. "Uncle, I didn't want to… I tried… he just… my sword," you murmur, your words fragmented, lost in a haze of despair. Manwe's pleas grow desperate as he calls your name, his voice filled with urgency and longing, but you remain unresponsive, trapped in the grips of a nightmarish trance.

Fear grips Manwe's heart as he seeks aid from Lorien or perhaps Namo, anyone who can offer solace and healing. He tries to infuse his own strength into your shattered spirit, but only emptiness echoes back at him, a void that consumes his efforts. Panic surges within him as he scans the surroundings, only to find you vanished, leaving behind a void of sorrow.

On a day when Middle-earth rejoices in an improbable triumph, Manwe, the Lord of Arda, crumbles beneath the weight of loss. His brother, his only memory of him, you, both lost to the ravages of fate. The celebration fades into insignificance as the depth of his grief consumes his very being, leaving him shattered and bereft.

In the depths of your heart, the grief remains, a heavy burden that seems insurmountable. The consequences of your actions, the weight of your choices, bear down upon you relentlessly. Sorrow, guilt, and remorse intertwine, weaving a tapestry of anguish that engulfs your soul.

Tears flow ceaselessly, tracing rivulets of sorrow upon your cheeks. Once steady hands now tremble under the weight of the sword that forever altered your destiny. The memory of your father's essence resisting the blade haunts your every waking moment, a haunting reminder of the irreversible act that shattered your world.

Within your grief, there lies a multitude of emotions. It is the loss of a flawed father, a complex figure who once held a place in your heart. It is the anguish of shattered hope, the realization that your desperate attempts to save him were in vain. It is a mourning so deep that it takes everything of you.

And so you wander every coast, every shore, every mountain, every plain looking for any sign of your father. The world lay forgotten. Such has always been the fate of heroes in your mother's world and it seems fate is what you carry from her world to Arda.

Glorfindel pushes past a merry crowd of men as he tries to find you. His heart beats faster than it ever did. He can feel it. A fading pain in his heart, a pain that belongs to you in a heart that belongs to you.

He needs to find you and hold you. And he will do everything to mend whatever broken pieces the final battle left. After all, Glorfindel was no stranger to the emptiness of a victory that cost everything.

The gleaming band on his finger is not just for times of joy but also for moments of despair and he would not abandon you. He catches a glimpse of Lord Manwe standing alone and he feels the urge to ask the Vala about you. He must know, right?

Lord Manwe always wished good for you and it was for him you fought your own father so he must know. Glrofindel reasons as he makes his way to the king of Arda.

The king of the world had to know of your whereabouts. He would surely tell Glorfindel about the half-Vala who smiles at dandelions blooming by a street or the otherworldly half-god who bears all the hatred with a humble smile.

He would ask about his beloved who does not require food to sustain themself but cook nonetheless for Glorfindel's sake. Some know them as Agape from a foreign land.

Manwe's form seems to receede farther away despite every step Glrofindel takes. His own heart hurts so sharply that he stumbles. Foreign hands try to support the golden lord but Glorfindel pushes them away.

They are not what he craves. He wants the one his heart hurts for he wants them so selfishly that nothing else holds significance.

[feedingtheflockministry]

A Letter to Those that Share the Message of Jesus with Others.

Dear brothers and sisters in our beloved Savior and Lord Jesus Christ,

We come to you in love and with humble hearts to address the issue of other ungodly messages and financial gain that is present among the good works you do unto The Lord. For many of you have social media accounts, online video platforms, film productions, blogs, books, audio recordings, and the likes of these that are for the purpose of spreading the message of Christ, but do not call your work a ministry because it is not associated with a church or denomination. This is a deception you have fallen prey to beloved brothers and sisters.

Because of this deception you have allowed your work to become defiled by things such as; symbolism, money, fame, success, and through these things pride and arrogance have hardened your heart to repentance. This has only blinded you from being aware that the presence of God has left your ministry.

For we are told many times over throughout the biblical narrative that we should not tolerate sin in ourselves, and among our gatherings or work unto The Lord. We are told that we should not fellowship with those that practice disobedience, and walk in darkness. We are told that those who practice abominable acts with same sex partners are worthy of death according to the Torah and the Apostles of the first century church. We are also told by Jesus Himself that tolerance of these things among us will result in His judgement coming upon us. Look at His warning to the church in Thyatira in the book of Revelation.

Stop and consider Peter’s words from one of his own letters.

“For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell and committed them to pits of darkness, reserved for judgment; and did not spare the ancient world, but preserved Noah, a preacher of righteousness, with seven others, when He brought a flood upon the world of the ungodly; and if He condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to destruction by reducing them to ashes, having made them an example to those who would live ungodly lives thereafter; and if He rescued righteous Lot, oppressed by the sensual conduct of unprincipled men (for by what he saw and heard that righteous man, while living among them, felt his righteous soul tormented day after day by their lawless deeds), then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from temptation, and to keep the unrighteous under punishment for the day of judgment, and especially those who indulge the flesh in its corrupt desires and despise authority.”

Peter paints the mental image of what the heart of a righteous person looks like by using Lot as an example. Lot was tormented in his soul because of what he saw and heard day after day. He did not have a ministry, nor could he tolerate the wickedness around him by making excuses for it. It is also highly doubtful that he would employ such people to tend his sheep or associate himself with them. By allowing such ungodly people to be among your work to The Lord it exposes your own lack of righteousness.

Another thing to consider is the words of the prophet Micah when addressing the judges, priests, and prophets of his day that were using their offices / work for financial gain. He writes, “

“With the Spirit of the LORD — and with justice and courage to make known to Jacob his rebellious act, even to Israel his sin. Now hear this, heads of the house of Jacob and rulers of the house of Israel, who abhor justice and twist everything that is straight, who build Zion with bloodshed and Jerusalem with violent injustice. Her leaders pronounce judgment for a bribe, her priests instruct for a price and her prophets divine for money. Yet they lean on the LORD saying, “Is not the LORD in our midst? Calamity will not come upon us.” Therefore, on account of you, Zion will be plowed as a field, Jerusalem will become a heap of ruins, and the mountain of the temple will become high places of a forest.”

If The Lord passed this judgment on the nation of Israel for making money off of judging, teaching, and prophesying how do you think He will judge your works?

Jesus taught us this, “It is inevitable that stumbling blocks come, but woe to him through whom they come! It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea, than that he would cause one of these little ones to stumble. Be on your guard! If your brother sins, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him. And if he sins against you seven times a day, and returns to you seven times, saying, ‘I repent,’ forgive him.”

If you have a ministry of any kind that shares Jesus with others, and someone in your ministry is sharing an godly message in a verbal or symbolic way that causes others to stumble / sin (and you do not remove that person after becoming aware of it) you become an accomplice to their crime. Therefore you to become a stumbling to others.

The last thing to consider is this. Perhaps you may think that obtaining such material gain or allowing other messages to be present in or around your work for The Lord is no big deal. Let us remind you all that this way of thinking is what brought about the fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden. Another message was present, and a desire to gain something. Heed the words of the prophets, the apostles, and The Lord Himself.

We must protect our work unto The Lord from any defilements. We must set a righteous standard for ourselves and those around us that are participating in our work. We must not let any other message in along side it, nor financially profit from the things of God.

With sincere hope in our hearts we pray you repent of these sinful practices. For those that do will be sanctifying their work to The Lord. Holiness and righteousness will take root and flourish in your work, and your reward in Heaven will become great because you did not receive it here, nor let it become defiled in any way.

[loganthrives]

RimWorld: Anomaly Part 4

I think I may be getting bored of this colony and want to start over, but I wanted to tell one more story about it first.

Under cut as usual to protect from spoilers:

So at the end of the last one I shared a message that said the ground was cracking apart. If you know anything about this DLC while reading that, you might be thinking of this:

Or of its smaller cousin, which just poops out a handful of flesh beasts before you plug it.

The message I posted last part wasn't for that, though. It was for this.

Randy was gracious enough to place it a good distance away from my base, but it spreads quickly. By this point I've already raided two overrun villages that have had this happen to them and seen the aftermath when one of these pops off. So I knew I had to act quickly.

We grabbed half of our best fighters and approached the fleshmass. Unfortunately we had some visitors to the region passing through at the same time, and they encountered the fleshbeasts first.

Most of them survived, I think. I don't remember exactly, its legitimately been a while since this happened/since I've played.

Cleaning up the fleshmass is a chore and a half, because as I said, it spreads QUICKLY. I learned quickly that if I could take out connecting tissue between chunks of it, it would stop spreading out from those chunks. Anything connected to the centre mass will still spread, though.

And there are consequences for being so diligent.

My colonists had been at this for a day and a half with no sleep or food. A couple had mental breaks. I had to let them go rest, eat, and recover their wounds.

I didn't leave it alone for too long, though, and started harvesting samples so I could learn how to kill it.

In this taller screenshot you can see the fleshmass on its day off from being shot at, how far it spread and the areas it had spread to previously by the fleshy ground left behind.

At this point not only did my colonists need a break but it hadn't actually spawned any blisters for me to destroy for more samples. I had to let it grow.

Eventually we got our breakthrough.

Several colonists stood guard while he delivered the fatal shock required to end it.

Cool guys don't look at explosions.

And it left behind a little present.

Naturally, I took it back to my base to contain and study it, and it has been providing the twisted flesh for my animals' kibble ever since. I worry for the day when it might try and reform itself in the middle of my base, but in the mean time, dear gods I really need to get those transport pods researched.

As for this hole in the ground?

Sure, it spawns enemies every so often that throw themselves impotently at my turrets, bears, and clawer dryads...

... But it also serves as a convenient year-round mushroom farm for some extra nutrition. So I haven't closed it up yet.

In the meantime, we sent the angry ball out to fight a Diabolus-level threat so we could try and increase our mechtech, but I think it accidentally destroyed the signal chip we needed for our research in its onslaught, because I can't find it anywhere.

Oh well.

Next time, I dunno. I might try and tell some colonist stories, but I've actually gotten a little bored of this colony. There have been a couple patches to the DLC since to allow people to advance to the end of the Anomaly storyline without discovering absolutely every anomaly, so I actually have the option to end it available to me now. There's also the opportunity to play a pure horror experience as of last patch, where anomaly events can happen but you don't advance the monolith storyline.

Personally, I'd prefer a middle option - where a monument exists, but on another tile on the map instead of your main base, and anomaly events can happen regardless. But you have to travel to and set up a colony at the monolith to open up that ending option. But maybe that's just me?

Anyways, I'm hesitant to pull the trigger on the ending because I still haven't resolved the giant pit in the ground/our mushroom farm, and I haven't discovered this vaunted golden cube yet, either. There's also at least one anomaly critter I haven't seen yet that isn't the thing that waits for me in the hole. I see it in screenshots on containment platforms all the time, but I don't know what it is. No spoilers, please.

If you liked this there are three other parts preceeding this that you can check out (if you want):

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Thanks for reading 💗

[silriven]

The Vow Eternal

This is an edit of my compiled thoughts and favorite quotes originally posted in a readthrough on Twitter about The Vow Eternal, the new short story that features Wrathion.

*sighs, rolls up sleeves, cracks knuckles*

Alright.  Let's see what we've got.

First off, I love the cover art.  After 2+ years of low key dreading that when Wrathion made his post-BfA return, it would be as a villain or antagonist, it's been pretty nice to see him depicted heroically, even enveloped in a golden glow.  We've really been spoiled with good art for him this expansion, which hasn't even come out yet.

No. I must not look up. But no sooner did he think it than he began to twist and shriek. Metal plating spread over him, containing him as he contorted into a form less of solid flesh than of liquid fire.  When the horrifying transformation was complete, the monster he had become, fueled by hatred and rage, opened its massive iron jaws. “There is no Wrathion!” the thing of metal and magma cried. The voice was dreadful, heart-stopping, and . . . familiar.  “There is only I, Deathwing—now and always,” Wrathion found himself hissing. But it was not his mouth. He watched, helpless, as the Aspects swooped to attack him, as the black dragons doubled back to blast him, their old enemy made anew . . .  All they saw was Deathwing.

...ok, to start, I am pleasantly surprised that we're kicking off with the implications that Wrathion regularly has Deathwing body horror nightmares, a type of Wrathion angst that is very near and dear to my heart.  Good, strong start.  

Short story: 1

Silriven's dignity: 0

Wrathion composing himself after shouting out in his sleep is a nice touch.   It's also interesting to note that Wrathion drinks a lot of wine...or at least has been recently.  Also, he's spending time at the Horde inn at the Shrine of Two Moons, rather than the Alliance inn.  Maybe he’s also giving The Tavern in the Mists a wide birth because he hasn’t reconciled with Tong, though I’d like to think that the Black Prince, not unlike the Lannisters, always repays his debts...eventually.

Wrathion scoffed. The pleasure of your company. Ha! This wedding was a monumental event in Azeroth’s history—the joining of two powerful leaders—and yet he knew he had been invited only as a courtesy. No one in Azeroth really wanted a black dragon—especially him—at any sort of grand occasion. It was good political theater to trot out someone so instrumental in defeating the old god N’Zoth and saving the world, but neither the couple nor their high-profile guests would deem being in his company a pleasure.

So far I think I'm on board with Wrathion being self conscious about attending a social event like this, it makes sense.  Credit where credit's due, I have to say it's also nice seeing attention drawn to his role in N'zoth's defeat instead of dwelling on War Crimes/WoD.

Wrathion crumpled the scroll with unnecessary vigor and flung it into a corner. Weddings were notoriously sappy affairs, and this one was likely to be especially so. According to the reports of his Black Talon operatives, it was a true love match, one that had blazed to a flame during a poetry competition, of all things. There would be other giggling, happy pairs; families with their giddy children; old friends reuniting.

Positively stomach-churning.

This is how I also feel about Lor'themar & Thalyssra's great big heterosexual wedding getting center stage so no complaints here.

There was High Chieftain Baine Bloodhoof, who, Wrathion observed with a sly grin, came with Mayla Highmountain.

Jesus, and people make fun of shippers for pairing two people who have just stood next to each other.  Sorry, I really would be enjoying this a little more if it was like, Shaw and Flynn's wedding or something.  Joking aside, I like the implication that Wrathion keeps up with Horde gossip, or maybe this comes from Ebyssian passing on Highmountain gossip to his brother.

In the past, Wrathion had sought to protect Azeroth by pitting Horde and Alliance against one another, in order to determine which side was the mightier. Now he understood that the fate of the world hung not on conquest but on collaboration.

Character growth, we love to see it.  I think this is one thing that most WoW players don’t understand is that the betrayal is a feature of Wrathion x Anduin, not a bug.

Anduin, the king of Stormwind who had been absent from that role over the past few years, had always believed permanent peace was possible between the two factions. He had worked toward that goal with a quiet tenacity that Wrathion had admired. After the Fourth War, Anduin’s hope had become a cautious reality.

There's something kind of poignant about the Horde and the Alliance finally gathering together in peace and Anduin, someone who's fought hard for this, being absent and unable to experience it.

At this point, overall, I'm surprised by how much I don't hate this.  Roguish Wrathion deciding to utilize the party to listen for "tidbits" of interesting conversation is good, Taelia being awed to meet him is good, Kalec being happy to see him is also good.  Fairshaw cameo is...better than nothing I suppose.

Taelia’s eyes widened, and she took a step toward him. “I am honored to meet you. I hear the world owes you great thanks.”

Seriously, Taelia x Wrathion shippers come get your JUICE 😍

Wrathion spread out his arms as he strode toward them. “Magni!” he cried, genuinely glad to have spotted him, for the two had worked together to defeat N’Zoth.

“Och! Wrathion! Come here, laddie, an’ let me introduce ye to my family. Me brothers, Muradin and Brann, and me dear daughter, Moira.”

“I of course know all your names,” Wrathion said with a dashing wink. It was true. “And what a pleasure to finally meet you,” he added, taking in the lively bunch.

“Oh, we know about you too!” Moira said. “Me da here willna shut up!”

Wrathion was caught off guard. Such a warm welcome almost undid him. The feeling was . . . contagious.

So this section right here, where Magni and his family give Wrathion a warm welcome like this and Wrathion is taken back by it?  This is the moment where my stone cold heart defrosted.  I still think Wrathion’s familial connection to Blackrock Mountain and the Dark Iron dwarves would be a great thing for World of Warcraft to explore.

Wrathion understood not having many friends—or any friends. He’d never truly been a child; he had grown so swiftly and been driven by so dark a purpose that there had been no time for play. Of course, a childhood disrupted by wars and conflicts didn’t help. Meeting Anduin in Pandaria had been both a gift and a curse. A gift, because Wrathion had learned that someone, anyone, might deem him worth caring for. A curse, because Wrathion had chosen to exploit Anduin’s trust in an ill-conceived attempt to protect Azeroth. They had met again years later, and that encounter had been . . . Well, suffice it to say Anduin had a much better right cross than Wrathion had given him credit for. He hoped they could reconcile once Anduin returned from . . . wherever he was.

Wrathion drained his glass, and the strange ache in his chest returned.

This is the really interesting bit, the part where Wrathion addresses Anduin directly.  I think hell has frozen over or I'm reading something incorrectly because this reads like confirmation that Anduin cared for Wrathion and that Wrathion feels heartache when he thinks about that.  It’s unexpected and...honestly, pleasant.

Kurog kept going, scrutinizing him. “How were you made, Wrathion? Cobbled together out of pieces of corpses? You and your depraved kin . . . You are the very symbol of all that has gone wrong in this world.” While most onlookers murmured in shock at Kurog’s words, Wrathion heard a voice from deep in the crowd cheering the tauren on.

A chill ran through Wrathion, but not from the voice of dissent in the crowd. Rather, from the peculiarity that a shaman would know this bit of awfully specific information. He wondered if he was the reason the tauren had decided to show up . . .

This part was also interesting, too, I wonder how the shaman found out this information or if it will come up again.  I kind of respected and liked how blunt this was, if they were going to keep Wrathion’s strange origins as is, it was a good way to utilize that information during this tense scene.  I think it also made for a good lead-in to the part where Wrathion looses his temper.  Something like this, so personal and said in public, in front of high ranking members of both the Horde and the Alliance, would make him loose his temper.

“You’re very kind, but I should have realized that my presence here would be . . . provocative . . . to some. I hope this did not tarnish your memories of this most joyful occasion. I must depart, and I wish you both nothing but happiness for all your days.”

They did not protest.

“I owe you my thanks,” Baine chimed in. “Kurog is a powerful shaman. He—”

Wrathion held up a hand, flashing a charming smile. “No need for thanks.” The black dragon bowed, straightened his shoulders, and strode off without another word.

Ouch 💔

“Kalecgos! What do you wish of me?”

The blue dragon lifted a bottle of arcwine and two glasses. “Some help in drinking this fine vintage.”

Kalec comforting Wrathion is sweet, so is Wrathion returning the favor.  I don’t ship the two but I cheer it on enthusiastically from the sidelines.  At least you don’t get the jokes about Anduin being a domestic abuser over there.

So at this point I started getting worknight tired and was a little distracted by figuring out that the mechanics/metaphor of the heartache that Wrathion has been feeling throughout the story are a literal affliction, the pull of the Dragon Isles on all of dragonkind to come home.  I didn’t really appreciate the weight of the next part until I read the short story a second time the following day.  I thought that Wrathion’s pain was going to be explained as him not recognizing what perfectly ordinary heartache is, but then Kalecgos is revealed to have the same feeling in addition to other dragons who have congregated at Wyrmrest.

Alexstrasza stepped forward and, as if there was not and never had been mistrust or resentment between them, gently placed a hand on his face. To his own surprise, he allowed it, comprehending that the significance of this moment transcended any quarrels.

“Young one,” the Dragon Queen said, exchanging a sage look with Nozdormu, “you have heard the call . . . and you have answered.”

Wrathion did not understand. “The call?”

“Yes, the call,” she said, speaking to all of those standing closely around her. “One long awaited. All of us—here, below, anywhere in the world—we have all been called, and we have heard it with our hearts. The Dragon Isles are awaiting our return.”

“But . . .” Wrathion shook his head, still not comprehending.

“Wrathion,” she said softly, “you are homesick.”

The ache. The desperate longing for something he had never had.

“Homesick?”

The Dragon Isles had never been denied to him. They were only waiting. For him, and for every other dragon in Azeroth. His people. Wrathion had not been excluded.

He was being welcomed.

He belonged.

This?  This bit is nice.  Wrathion being accepted and welcomed by the dragons, especially their queen, truly, for lack of a better phrase, sparks joy.  The one-two punch of Wrathion realizing that he is homesick for a home he never had and then feeling welcomed by other dragons as a part of the family does land emotionally, at least for me.  My one quibble is I wish Ebyssian was included in this moment, being the first dragon that Wrathion sees as family.  Ebyssian is curiously absent in this short story, though it juggles so many characters as it is.

I think this also reframes the later questline in Dragonflight proper where Sabellian is questioning Wrathion's right to seek the title of Aspect, knowing that Alexstrasza and other dragons of Azeroth, like Kalecgos, do accept him as he is and as one of their own.  It softens how harsh this interaction is, when you take into consideration that Wrathion’s mother was forced to breed by the Red Dragonflight and her whelps, including Wrathion, were experimented on with the end goal of curing the Black Dragonflight of the Old Gods’ corruption.  This is the one obscure lore fact that I keep hammering on, sorry, I know it gets old but

[ “Everything not saved will be lost. - Quit screen message, Nintendo ]

I don't think we were going to get a satisfying resolution to the old conflicts between the Red and the Black Dragonflights, one that addressed the experiments done to Nyxondra's children for example, so in my opinion this isn't a bad way to start fresh.  I kind of don’t want this game to touch the subject of forced dragon breeding again.  The way this MMORPG approaches its story doesn’t lend the kind of nuance and gravitas you need to tackle a story like that in good taste.  Let's have a new narrative.

Overall I really liked this short story.  I think this is better characterization than the snippets I’ve seen from the so far from the Obsidian Citadel questline in the alpha/beta, or at least complements it better.  I’m also a little self conscious because, to be honest, after Shadowlands, my expectations for Dragonflight have been practically on the floor.  World of Warcraft can be hard to talk about, too, because content comes out at such a slow drip feed, there's a lot of excitement when things drop.  I've been looking forward to the possibility of a Wrathion short story for a while so I'm also trying not to get too swept away in the hype.  Still, Wrathion enduring both a wedding and its guests is a fun ride.

tldr; Wrathion needs more gentle touches to his face, I can get behind this short story.

[toaster-boi]

finally getting around to that frame-by-frame analysis i wanted to do!

link to part 2

link to part 3

!!! SPOILERS AHEAD (and also gore) !!! (but you probs knew that)

"peer reviewed evidence warning" lmao

girl your aura is ghoulish and haunting. i dig it.

big fan of this trope whatever it's called

wick-based headlamp, certified JCJenson Employee Equipment Moment™

yeah, he could probably tell something was up and didn't want Yeva in the line of fire.

hologram distortion.

ah. our first on-screen human dismemberment that isn't discolored.

Welcome to Mystery Flesh Pit National Park

it's hard to make out but that appears to be Ridley's skull

lot to take in here. anime figurine. pattern-dipped ninja star. catgirl humansona drawing. iPod.

early sketch?

damn girl do you take commissions???

and we got blood right out the gate

[ ctrl + b ]

in all seriousness, though...he just lost one of the two people he could genuinely consider a friend. V was finally "on his side" and she just...died, just like that, as far as he knows. his reaction makes perfect sense, he's had so much emotion pent up all this time.

and there's his reminder that he has to be careful if he doesn't want to lose everything else. (and also blood)

yep, that's reaction image material.

and there's the angst

god he's such a dork

they're both such dorks

Murder Drones, the only show where the robot gore looks more painful than the human gore.

ah, the ol' hologram corpse puppet. classic.

reasonable reaction to seeing the definitely dead version of your presumably dead friend in a mysterious mineshaft

"RSCH012 - 'CABIN FEVER'"

"OT IS OPTIONAL! <3"

"UNRELATED: THE SINGULARITY IS ACTIVELY CONSUMING EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR!!1"

"Due to lack of progress in units (sans 048), Team 06 (Ridley), is tasked with reattempting 002's recovery VIA failsafe USB (606b). THE EXPECTED COMPLETION DATE IS: SER 27th, 11:59pm"

the month is probably related to the calendar in Cabin Fever (Ep4) that had "serramoris" as the listed month.

"don't all die and almost let it out again lol we're pretty mad but mostly scared about that"

ah, there's the shot from the trailer.

is that Tessa's dad('s corpse)?

(end part 1)

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for August 30, 2023

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 23:27-28 (KJV): 27 A whore is a deep ditch, and a strange woman is a narrow pit. 28 She also lieth in wait as for a prey and increaseth the transgressors among men. Proverbs 23:27-28 (AMP): 27 A harlot is a deep ditch, and a loose woman is a narrow pit. 28 She also lies in wait as a robber or as one waits for prey, and she increases the treacherous among men.

Thought for the Day

The first verse compares sexual involvement with a whore to a deep ditch. A car stuck in a deep ditch needs a truck to pull it out. Likewise, one cannot climb out of a narrow pit but must be pulled out. Adultery, fornication, and all sexual sins are like deep ditches leading to demonic oppression and spiritual bondage that create the need to get help to be delivered. This kind of sin usually requires exorcism by "casting out demons." Pornography is a spiritual ditch that often becomes a devastating addiction. Many good men wish they had never sampled it.

The Bible teaches that a man becomes one with a prostitute through sexual intercourse. "Now the body is not for fornication, but for the Lord...Know ye not that your bodies are the members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ, and make them the members of a harlot? God forbid. What? Know ye not that he which is joined to a harlot is one body? for two, saith he, shall be one flesh. But he that is joined unto the Lord is one spirit. Flee fornication. Every sin that a man doeth is without the body; but he that committeth fornication sinneth against his own body" (1 Corinthians 6:13-18).

Many men, thinking sex with a prostitute is a harmless pleasure, wake up from this lie to a living nightmare. Some contract incurable venereal diseases; some lose wives and families; some lose reputations and careers; some undergo all these. God's loving power can pull a man out of these spiritual pits if he will repent and cry out to Him for help. Some may also need others to pray deliverance over them, to free them from the hold of demons that encourage and feed on lust. Satan uses sexual sin to entangle a man in a web of bondage and leech him of inner life. However, there is hope for both the passionate man and the prostitute. Some may think of those caught in sexual sin as "trash." This is a lie. They are precious souls so loved by God that Christ died for them.

The Bible includes stories of adulteresses who became women of faith. A Samaritan woman was living in fornication when she met Jesus. Without condemning her, He revealed Himself to her. She became a great witness for Him (John 4). Another woman, caught in adultery, was brought to Jesus by some religious leaders. He said, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her" (John 8:7). He did not condemn her, but told her not to sin anymore. Rahab, a harlot, hid two spies in Jericho. Because she helped the people of God, she and her family were spared when they captured Jericho. She married an Israelite and became an ancestress of Jesus Himself (Joshua 2 and Joshua 6; Matthew 1:5).

Many women and children are forced or tricked into prostitution. They need God's power to be delivered. He is kind and loving; desiring to free all those enslaved by sexual sin, whether because they were forced into it, or entered into it willingly.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, please help the young men and women in our day not to yield to the temptation of a lustful life. Lord, there are so many sexual temptations everywhere, keep those who desire to walk with You from falling into the traps of the devil. Lord, also deliver those who are already in bondage to sexual sins and perversions. I especially pray for those who have fallen into the deep pit of pornography. God has mercy on them and grants them the power of the Holy Spirit to find their way out and overcome the bondage of this addictive evil. Deliver our world from the sexual sins that are destroying our societies. I ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Tuesday, August 29, 2023, Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA, https://www.facebook.com/StevenParkerMillerQ Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, https://twitter.com/StevenPMiller6 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman, https://www.tumblr.com/gatekeeper-watchman, https://www.pinterest.com/GatekeeperWatchman1/ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981

[sunshine2p3-blog]

Seraphine x Eslanda

Seraphine met her eyes with a heavy lidded gaze, embarrassed and like before, still hanging out the veranda. At least, this time, she had intentionally landed on her veranda.

Princess Eslanda smiled, leaning against the marble railings Seraphine was dangling on. “May I ask what my dear majesty is doing hanging off my window…? Especially after yesterday’s events…” Princess Eslanda rested chin her face in her palms.

“You…” she gulped. “You didn’t report us…” She peeked through her lashes. “Report me?”

A day had gone by, a full day. And there were no war bells, no preparing armies, no slashed treaties, not even a notice to inform her family that she was caught sneaking into their palace.

Seraphine bit her lips.

And despite all of that, she sneaked in and got caught again. Why, Seraphine, why test the waters! Stupid!

Princess Eslanda just tilted her head, still smiling, a serene, all-knowing kind of smile, that made her feel small and stupid, like a child.

Though given where she was right now, it was all justified.

The princess withdrew one of her tugged hand. Her warms fingers, smooth and sure, snaked against Seraphine’s hand clutching the veranda— her cold, rough hands.

She couldn’t help but feel the difference, couldn’t help but shudder at her touch. The softness of her skin… it… felt overwhelming.

Seraphine gulped, snapping her face at her— not hiding her stares anymore, just fully, completely gawking at her. Her cheeks only growing warmer as the princess leaned in closer with her ivory smile.

“My beautiful majesty…” Her voice was low, velvety like the voice of a seductress. “You do realise our kingdoms are in a very, very volatile phase of the treaty…”

Her fingers traced tiny circles on her palm, it made her breath hitch. God, it did so much more, that Seraphine didn’t have the words to describe it. No one had ever talked to her like that, looked at her like that.

Seraphine gave an uncertain nod, not trusting her lips to spew out coherent words.

“Then, you also know your unauthorised presence in my kingdom would wreck our unstable peace…?”

She nodded.

“And again there will be a senseless war, depleting both of our meagre resources…”

Heat rushed to her ears. An overwhelming amount of shame settling in the pits of her stomach.

“I suppose we both don’t want that, do we?”

“No…” She cleared her throat.

“Then, you know why I didn’t report you, yeah?” God, she really felt like a child again. “But if you keep sneaking in like this, the next person that catches you might not hold the same sentiments as me...”

“I wont… do it again.”

Seraphine couldn’t meet her gaze anymore. God, she really was a child being reprimanded. No, this was worse. This time she was hanging off of a palace!

A finger suddenly drawled across her cheek (her burning bright cheeks) before hooking under her chin and tilting her face up. Seraphine couldn’t help but feel the warmth, feel the tingles on her reddening flesh, couldn’t help but follow her lead

Princess Eslanda, under the pale glow of the moon, with wind in her hair. How was she even supposed to breathe while looking at something so maliciously beautiful.

She leaned in towards Serephine— a small smile on her lips. “Good girl.”

[nataywrites]

Before you read this, know that this rambling is a serious one. You may feel uncomfortable. If you don't have the spoons to read it all, don't fear. I would never hold that against you, my dear friend. Sometimes we have the energy to carry our friends, and other times we can barely carry ourselves. One is not a bad friend for not being able to shoulder a burden one can't bear. Never forget that.

Hello there! I hope your day is well, and that you maybe got a little rain wherever you are. Right now I'm wishing for rain. It's so dry despite the humidity and the river is looking anemic in the water department. I'm worried about the fish and other water creatures. When I think of past rainfalls, I remember the ones that happened while I was in high school. The river was so swollen that it climbed over its banks and into our basements. I could walk on a sidewalk, one hundred feet from the river bank, and still be knee-deep in water, with fish nibbling at my sandalled feet.

Not only do I wish for physical rain, but I am also wishing for the emotional kind too. I'm the kind of person that doesn't know she's feeling something until it's too late. The anxiety, stress, and grief sit inside me until an entirely unrelated issue draws them out as irritability, anger, and words I wish I could take back. Everything seems to be accelerating faster than I can react to it. Sort of like the time I got two of my wisdom teeth removed, and the doctor plunged the needle full of anesthetic into the soft flesh of my mouth faster than I could react. All I could do was grip the armrests of my seat with white-knuckled fear.

I found out two months ago that I have a cancer predisposition, then two weeks ago I had a rectal exam, and the polyps...my God they were everywhere. I thank my lucky stars that I don't have any tumors in there. Now I found out I need a biopsy of a nodule on my thyroid. Before I even have my colonoscopy to detect one kind of cancer, I need to have another procedure, no matter how small, to see if I have another kind. Next week I will be going in for an endoscopy and colonoscopy. Another IV in my arm, but at least this time I will have the mercy of sedation. I won't be aware of the doctor and their nurses putting their long-necked eyeballs into the most intimate reaches of my person.

I know what some of you may be thinking. "At least you know," "You don't know yet if you have cancer." And yes, I know. Yes, I don't know if I have cancer. Yet. Isn't that a terrifying word? Yet. It doesn't matter what I know in my mind. There is a significant difference between knowing something and feeling something.

Right now, the smallest, most vulnerable part of me is terrified. She is crouched in the fetal position somewhere in the pit of my bowls, nestled next to the polyp-riddled large intestine that will end me one day if I don't do anything about it. I'm afraid, and I can't feel it except when I am close to an emotional extreme. Some days I don't know where my head is, or if I want to cry, or rage, or laugh in incredulity. I am lost. I need someone to hold my hand and not tell me to look at the bright side. The power of positive thinking is powerful until it isn't and then all I see is the giant hole that it tries to conceal. I can't fill that hole with anything. It simply must exist. Like the empty space that is left by a passed loved one, there is an empty place where the me I used to be was. The one that had only depression and anxiety as her biggest health woes. The one who never had to worry about severe illness and despair. I need to mourn her before I can move on.

This did get deep, but I needed to put this out there for you, my dearest, most treasured reader, to read. I need you to see me for how I feel and who I am. You don't need to assure me that all will be well, because whatever will be, will be. Just hold my hand and pray for rain. Pray for rain with me, to a God, Goddess, Goddex, personification of humanity, or Spaghetti monster that you may or may not believe in. It doesn't matter. Prayer may be directed at the divine, but secretly, we all know that it is truly directed at our deepest, innermost selves. I love you, friend.

[metalbuckaroo]

💋Unspoken Rule #4💋

🍒 SUMMARY// At 3am, every Sunday, Bucky locks his bedroom door to watch his favorite camgirl. What's to happen when he finds out he's much closer to her than leaving generous tips on her videos?

💋 WARNINGS// smut, light fingering, unprotected sex, some sub!bucky, cursing, a smidgen of angst

🍒 AU// roommate!bucky x camgirl!reader

💋 NOTE// As always, requests and asks are open, feedback is appreciated 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

🍒Ronly Friends Masterlist🍒

💋Main Masterlist💋

Moodboard by// @commonintrest

Over the next two weeks, two more videos were filmed. Both without kissing and not going any further than getting each other off without having sex, but also still as mind blowing as the first.

Bucky wanted to experience that high he couldn't reach himself. That no one else had gotten him to.

He didn't tell Steve or Sam about anything that had been happening, he knew there would be teasing and it would also blow the 'Soldat and Cherry' cover, so it became another unspoken rule.

He stopped trying to muffle the sounds he made as he watched the videos and ditched the headphones; making it obvious to you that he was still subscribed to watch videos that he could easily ask you to send him.

But, the sounds you could hear through his bedroom door were nothing compare to the ones muffled by the plastic mask when it came time to film another video.

A long talk about boundaries and keeping things casual, is what lead to the filming of the fourth video. Making sure both of you promised it would stay purely in videos. Nothing more.

Even as you laid against the throw blanket that covered your bed, completely bare besides the mask and wig as he tugged the glove on his right hand off. Bucky kept mentally repeating the promise.

Goosebumps prickled your skin when the cold leather and warm skin of his hands glided up the insides of your thighs, his cock twitching and eyes staying locked in on the glisten of your slit. His thumb ghosting over your clit to elicit a soft moan. "Don't tease." You exhaled, shifting around slightly under his piercing gaze.

Humming in response, Bucky ran two fingers through your folds. Coating the pads of his fingers with your slick before circling your sensitive bud.

The skillful work of his long, thick fingers had you convinced that your own would never be the same. The way they curled and stroked against your walls in the best way as your hands clutched the opening of his leather jacket. Quick to have your back arching from the mattress.

"Is my face in the shot?" Bucky said lowly when he leaned down so his face was inches from yours. Your eyes looking to the small screen on the side of the camera to see his hair shielded his face. "No."

"Good, wanna kiss you." His gloved hand reached to pull the mask down, the steady thrust of his fingers on his right not faltering. "Ok, just don't stop." You nodded, catching his plump lips in yours.

The taste of his tongue just as you had imagined it to be when it slipped between your lips to press into yours. Both minty and sweet.

Bucky swallowed every sweet sound he pulled from you, making sure not to break away from the breathless kiss until you had rode your orgasm. Your teeth nipping at his bottom lip as your hands pressed against his chest. "Mask on and lay back." You mumbled against his lips as he removed his fingers.

Bucky's mind was racing just like it was the first time as you moved over him, his hands holding your waist and heart thumping away against his ribcage.

He always thought that all sex would feel the same, but this was different. He had a certain proud feeling when you whimpered softly once he was fully sheathed into the tight warmth of your cunt, the instant flutter of your walls making him groan softly.

You had never had such a full feeling, his tip brushing your cervix as you swiveled your hips. Laying your hands flat against his taut chest to keep steady and letting your head lull forward.

Starting slow and working up to a faster pace when you had adjusted as his hands slipped down to hold your hips.

It was hard to keep focus, the feeling of every ridged inch sliding against your walls sending sparks of pleasure through you starting to engulf you. Trying to pinpoint the pitch of Bucky's moans and pants to know when to slow down.

His fingers curled into the flesh of your ass, hips rolling gently under you as the swirling in the pit of his stomach started. Only to fade away when your hips slowed into a grind, his eyes snapping open to meet your hooded ones as you gave him a wicked smile.

Bucky lifted a hand to hold the back of your neck, pulling you down to whisper in your ear. "You're edging me?" He mumbled, biting back a groan when you wiggled against him. "Be a good boy, Soldat."

He couldn't deny the warmth that washed over him from the two words he told himself wouldn't have an effect on him, muttering a few curses in Russian as he moved his hand back to your hip.

The tensing of the muscles in his thighs quickly started again, his release being held off until he was desperate.

His head lifted from the pillow, brows scrunching up as he tried to guide you faster, your movement nearly stopping when he did. "Please, dear God, cherry." Bucky whined as his head fell back against the pillows, chest and neck flushed and sweat slicked. His mask not helping the hot huffs of breath that fanned right back into his face.

You knew he could easily overpower you if he wanted to, and that's what made it even better. Watching as he tensed and wiggled under you in attempts to get the release he wanted- but he knew it would be worth it in the end. Being able to push as deep as he could go and fill you with his spend until you leaked around his base, would definitely be worth it.

Your throbbing clit ached for some kind of attention, but you weren't done with your fun of watching Bucky crack under you. The sturdy man muttering to himself to let him cum as his warm hand groped at your chest, gloved left caressing your waist and backside.

Needy whines promising he'd be good, telling you how amazing you felt stretching around him. Until his pleas and praises were enough to snap the coil.

Your fingers digging crescent moon shapes into the smooth skin of his chest as your orgasm took over completely. Mind fogging over for a brief moment.

"Oh, god- B-" your bit down harshly on your bottom lip to stop his name from rolling off of your tongue, falling forward against his hot chest as the aftershocks took over and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. Giving him the opportunity to chase his own high.

Bending his knees to plant his feet flat against the mattress, Bucky's hands went under your ass, letting out a shaky breath as he chased his own high with rigorous thrusts that made you keen against his flush skin.

"Shit- oh, fuck- so good, cherry." He grunted, gripping your backside as his hips pistoned up into yours, quickly reaching his high. A guttural moan vibrating through his chest when he filled you with hot spurts of his release.

His hands stayed on you until you were out of his reach to turn off the camera, looking over his blissed out form one last time as he felt for the edge of the plastic face covering.

"Holy fuck..." He panted, almost ripping the mask from his face. "Good?" You giggled, slipping on one of his shirts that was on your dresser as he sat up. "Great, best ever." Bucky chuckled, eyes wandering down to where the tops of your inner thighs glistened from his spend leaking onto them before the hem of the shirt blocked the view.

"Beat you to the shower." You grinned, squinting your eyes at him as you backed towards the door. "That's not f- wait!" He called when you slipped out of the room, standing to follow after you.

"I wasn't paying attention, that wasn't fair." Bucky pointed a finger at you with a frown that made you laugh lightly. "Better luck next time."

🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒

The next morning went as normal, Bucky left for work after breakfast, you took a trip to the grocery store. Only this time, you came back with something to talk to Bucky about.

He gave you a bright smile when he walked in the door, long legs carrying him over to where you were on the couch before he swiped the remote from your lap.

"Buck, I need to talk to you." You sighed, turning in your seat to face him. "'Bout what, cherry?" He said, shifting to be more comfortable as his knees parted more. "I, uh, I have a date next week so... I'm gonna do the next video solo." You nodded.

Bucky felt a pang in his heart, he promised everything was purely for videos, but he couldn't help the sliver of jealously that tainted his veins. "Does that mean- we're not gonna film together anymore?" He asked quietly, muting the TV so you had his full attention.

You sucked in a sharp breath and shrugged your shoulders. A part of you wanted to say no to the man at the store who asked you on a date, but he was nice and handsome.

"I don't know. This guy seems nice and all but, it was more of a- I don't want to decline your invitation because you're sweet, so one date won't hurt." You said, looking at where you hands were tugging a string on the couch cushion. "And you don't want to feel guilty about having sex with someone else days before the date. I understand." Bucky nodded his head, giving you a sweet smile.

"Thanks, Bucky." You mumbled, patting his leg before scooting closer. "Who is it?" He said, narrowing his eyes at you and hoping it didn't seem like a 'who's replacing me' type of question. "Cashier at the supermarket."

"He is pretty nice. Gives me extra coupons when I go." Bucky said, scrunching his nose up. "You're not mad, are you?"

He quickly shook his head and gave another smile as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. "Of course not, all for the videos, remember?"

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you leaned further into his side. "Yeah... for the videos."

🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒 🍒

Taglist: @likeahorribledream @cxddlyash @iwannabekilledtwice @bookstan0618 @glxwingrxse @yliumy @pineprincess @makbarnes @cupcakehinch @doasyoudesireandlive @magicwithinnightmares @preferredrealty @andy-is-gay @stucky-my-ship @marvel-3407 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @i-l-y-3000 @avoxzy @impala1967666 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @supernaturalbaesduh @bucky-hues @suchababie @an-adult-fairy @ju5tyna20 @hallecarey1 @jxlystan @elizabeth228 @secret21121 @strwbrrybucky @busybeingtrash @harrysthiccthighss @everything-burns-down @ynsdiarys @sunnynapp @bucky-harrymybfs @sylleblossomstar @winter-soldier-101 @smokeinherperfume @amalfoyandariddle @mal-edictions @missusbarnes-rogers-laufeyson @sky0401 @saturnaliatemple @doll1917 @eireduchess

[thatlongspringnight]

Unspeakable Horrors (Ch. 2) : Cthoseok vs. Trader Joe’s

Pairing: Hoseok x The Concept of Trader Joe’s 

Genre: Comedic Horror, absurdist, whatever you’d call “welcome to nightvale”

Rated: T for teen, because of some horror themes, and descriptions of gore

Summary: 🐙Cthoseok vs. the World🐙 Hobi is ready to see the wonders of the world, starting with the travels and trade of Trader Joe.

Word Count: 658

Warning: Cthulhu, eldritch horrors, mentions of violence!!

Previous Drabble: 1

Tagging: @miscelunaaa @minttangerines @doneimnida (Thank you guys for giving me this idea, BANNER MAKING, and encouraging my mischief hehehehe) also tagging @starlostjimin @xjoonchildx @hobivore @sunshinerainbowsbts @dntaewithluv @reliablemitten@wwilloww​ @illneverrecover @blueversaillesdreams​ @augustbutwinter​ @vyduan​  just because i think you’ll giggle

🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙

“But there was once a Trader Joe?” Hoseok asks, for perhaps the fifth time; staring up at the sign. “He is no more? Was he punished for his hubris? Damned for eternity to the realm of silence?”

“Unfortunately he did not have his tongue cut out, eyes gouged before being pushed into the pit of darkness and into the realm of silence.” Your clarification makes Hoseok sigh, shaking his head in disappointment.

“He was disemboweled by wolves then?” The man – ugh – being of eternal damnation looks distraught. “That is a shame.”

“No, he succumbed to a natural death.” 

“Oh dear, his family must be so disappointed.” Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Yet his wares remain in this store even though he died in such a…dishonorable way?”

“Mostly, they have a tendency to change up their offerings….often.” You narrow your eyes. Trader Joe’s has always been nothing but a place of disappointment to you, luring you in with products just to steal them away again. 

“Mmm preying on humanity’s insatiable need for stability,” the man giggles. “Snatching the goodness away at the worst moment, Trader Joe was truly a visionary.”  

“Perhaps you’re right,” you acquiesce, grabbing a shopping cart from the stand. “Are you absolutely sure I cannot interest you in the blood of the innocent? I don’t want you to get a stomach ache–”

“Come human; they are speaking of a sale, mozzarella balls. I can feel their quiverings of disbelief at such a choice.” And he’s all but skipping inside. “I wish to see these offerings.” 

“Master Hoseok –” You have hardly time to follow him in, unable to comprehend that this is what your life has come to. 

In the Trader Joe’s. Traitor Joe’s is more correct, considering how you have been betrayed by your God. How could this ancient harbinger of the end of days make you stand here while he tries to decide what flavor of ice cream pop he wants? 

“Have you ever had this – this substance called ‘boba’?” he asks, holding up a particular box. “I do enjoy the coffee milk tea – it is sweet AND bitter, a perfect paradox”

“Yes Master,” you deadpan. “They’re chewy.”

“Ah like the flesh of the creatures of the deep,” he observes – the lights flickering as he opens the box, intent on tasting his prize now. 

“Ah, sir – you can’t, you have to pay –” But the gaze of Hoseok freezes the man with a stare, head cocking in confusion.

“I have already paid.” He’s cheerful, even as black liquid begins to leak from the ceiling, cosmic goo, dripping down the other man’s face. “Through millennia of suffering, of being chained in the depths while you puny humans played house up above. Now you ask me for more? Perhaps I should pay for these with your soul? Oh! How would your soul taste with this boba I wonder?” The man does not speak, too busy standing frozen, eyes glazed over as Hoseok smiles. 

“Master,” you sigh, watching as one of his tentacles slips to snatch another box. “If you aren’t going to eat him, then release him from his prison of eternal nightmares. I have noodles at home you can eat before you have dessert.” 

“Oh!” And the moment is broken, sound resuming in the store as Hoseok grins. “That sounds lovely.” You wonder if your freezer can even fit the half dozen boxes of frozen treats he is carrying out via his tentacles. 

Where are they coming from anyway? Your attempts to gaze at his back are met with static in your brain, and. A headache coming on. 

“Trader Joe was a brilliant man.” Hoseok is pleased as he sits in your car. “One day I should like to exhume his body, and feast upon his bones in thanks, and to chain his soul to mine in eternal torment and delight.”

“I’ll have to Google where he’s buried once we’re home.”

🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙

If you liked this! Drop me a heart <3 or send me a comment, drop an ask! 

Drabble three Teaser: Hoseok dance Number 

[sylverstorms]

Dimitrescus x Maiden---- The End of Winter(s)

Requested here. (I don't always have time for requests but we all needed this one.)

First come the gunshots.

Then, a feeling of dread.

It is strange; You’ve had intruders enter the castle before, in the years you’ve been with the Dimitrescus. Some lasted seconds, others hours. There were one or two the daughters kept around for more than a day, just for the thrill of the chase.

It is not the first time you hear a gun go off in the estate. Your past also renders the sound familiar, nothing remarkable.

But.

You can’t shake off the nausea that accompanies it this time. Your chest constricts and your gut churns and you just know something has gone terribly wrong.

Your fears are confirmed when, minutes later, Bela stumbles in from the doorway, her usual grace and aura of certainty completely gone. She is shivering, shaking, chilled to the bone. The visible patches of her skin look grey and hardened into an almost diamond substance. Flies are breaking apart from her and falling, twitching, to the floor.

You immediately rush to her and she collapses forward in your embrace. Her chin knocks against your shoulder, cold as a block of ice.

“Bela, love, what happened?!” you ask, while leading her to the nearest fireplace. Of course, you know about their weakness.

But how does he?

She wraps her arms around your waist tight, almost too tight, like she’s on the verge of breaking apart –physically, mentally—and you’re the only anchor she’s got.

From the top of the staircase, you hear Alcina’s hurried steps. Another door snaps open in the far corner of the room and you see Cassandra materialize out of the swarm there, then rush over to you.

“I… I… This can’t be happening.” Bela whispers, gasping for breath.

You can only hold her more securely against you, running your fingers through her blonde hair. It seems to calm her somewhat. Both your ministrations and the warmth.

You and Alcina share a look of pure worry.

“I failed. Mother, I failed.” Bela practically sobs without facing the woman and your heart shatters into pieces. You’ve never seen her like this.

“Bela—” she tries to say, while Cassandra remains there like a statue, unable to process the scene.

“He shot the windows and now he knows.” Bela pulls slightly away from you to say. “That stupid man-thing has got Daniela!”

“I’m going. I’ll rip out his intestines and feed them to him.” Cassandra growls and it’s a dark, ominous sound.

Alcina grabs her arm before she can swarm off. “No. I won’t risk another one of you. I will deal with that vermin.” she says through clenched teeth. You can see the effort she puts into keeping her voice steady.

You want to reach for her, to comfort her, but Bela is in a worst state, battling her body’s reaction to the cold and her self-loathing for her failure, so you stay put.

“Stay with Eliza. Do not let him anywhere near her. I will get Daniela.” she orders her daughters, leaving them as your guards.

Cassandra walks over to you and takes your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together. With her free one, she rubs Bela’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ve wanted to kill Daniela several times over the last century so I can safely say it just doesn’t work.” even as she tries to lighten the mood, though, you can see how tempted she is to disobey Alcina and go after Winters. Her grip keeps clenching and unclenching. “He won’t come near you, darling.” she promises you.

But then… the thought strikes you. What if you go near him?

-

-

After you put Bela to sleep, you tell Cassandra to wait a while with her and that you’ll be back.

You will be back. Just not without Daniela.

The more you think about it, the more sense it makes for you to go. You are only human, yes, but that is precisely what can give you an edge in this. You do not have a fatal weakness to the cold. You move much faster than Alcina.

And although you’ve tried hard to grow beyond your past, you always knew you were no better than what it made you.

You’ve killed dozens who had done nothing to you during your time in the military’s special forces. Why would you not plant a bullet in the head of someone who dared to harm your new family?

Duke recognizes the look in your eye when you ask to see his collection of rifles. You pick one to your liking and test its weight in your grip. So much for promising never to touch a gun again.

You run through corridors and rooms before you hear his voice.

“Shut up, witch! I’m getting Rose back!” he shouts at Daniela, coped up in the library where there’s only one entrance. You press against the wall and carefully peek through. She gives a weak giggle, chained in front of an open window as she is.

God, she must be suffering.

Still, her eye rapidly flits to you. You motion for her to drop down. And then-

You turn into the room, rifle blazing, the first bullets driven into his head and the rest of the clip emptied in his torso. Blood splatters everywhere with every pull of the trigger and for the first time in your life you do feel something as you kill another person. Pure satisfaction.

You leap over the crimson pool that is swelling around Winters’ corpse to free Daniela, who is laughing even though she’s basically an icicle, at this point.

When you pull her away from the cold she collapses into you, much like Bela did, only she can’t move her limbs enough to cling to you.

“Daniela?!!” You hear Alcina’s voice wrecked with anguish. “I will slice you to bits, you filthy man-thing!” she nearly screams as she approaches the library.

“Go wild, dear. He won’t put up much of a fight.” you reply, a brief smirk curling your lip. Daniela burrows deeper into your warmth with a faint laugh. Alcina is equal parts confused and fuming when she ducks under the doorway—

And sees the body of Ethan Winters laying in a pool of his own blood. Her claws detract. She stalks over to his corpse…

Then crushes his head under her heel.

You wince at the gut-churning, crunching sound, holding Daniela tighter, but part of you is deeply relieved it’s finally over despite the brutality. Can’t take any chances.

You almost lost them. You lower your head to Daniela’s neck as silent tears start to flow from your eyes.

“Baby, I’m.. fine…” the redhead croaks out, nudging you with her head.

Alcina kneels down beside you, more exhausted than you’ve ever seen her. She gathers you both into a hug, resting her head on top of yours. You stay there a long time.

“My beautiful girl. My love.” she whispers to Daniela and you. She’s too proud to say most of the things she wants, but you can see them in her expression and the tightness of her throat regardless.

“…I’m hungry.” Daniela complains once feeling returns to her frozen form.

“When are you not?” you tease.

“We’d have that man’s flesh for dinner… but I would never feed my daughters something so disgusting.” Alcina says.

She picks Daniela up in her arms like a baby and you do not look at the bloody mess behind you.

-

-

After dinner, the Dimitrescus and you are all sitting in a couch in front of the fireplace, making light conversation and basking in each other’s presence.

Alcina is delicately sipping wine while you’re leaned against her, with Daniela practically in your lap. Cassandra is beside her and none too happy to not touch as much of you, though she is keeping your hand on her thigh possessively. Bela is curled like a cat at your legs, her cheek on your knee.

“Can you not hog her like you’re here by yourself?” Cassandra growls at Daniela, who doesn’t even think to budge.

“I’m the one who almost died. Piss off.” Daniela’s lips brush against your neck as she speaks.

“Daughters.” Alcina chastises.

“How long are you going to play the ‘I almost died’ card for?” Cassandra asks irritably.

“As long as it works~” Daniela kisses your jawline several times.

“Bela, are you still sulking?” Cassandra nudges her with her foot.

“Leave me alone...” the eldest sister huffs.

And the answer to that is a resounding yes.

You know it will take time to be completely over this. You know right now they all need you, in different ways.

Bela has to climb out of the self-blaming pit she’s dug herself in –she always is too rough on herself—and your touch grounds her.

Cassandra wants you to please her hard and long in bed to blow off the steam of the past day or she won’t be able to rest at all.

Daniela won’t show it but she was petrified and she’s still scared. She needs your attention, needs you to drown her in kisses, until it all goes away.

Alcina almost lost her girls to that man. She hasn’t recovered from the shock but you can see the bone-deep gratitude and the sheer love in her eyes whenever they lock with yours. Her girls will get you first, but when it’s her time with you…

Well.

She’ll thank you in so many ways.

.

Ko-Fi

[wulfgard-fantasy]

(Wulfgard) The Imperial Bestiary - Gargoyles

Gargoyles are strange beings that hail from the Underworld. Though their appearance varies, many of them somewhat resemble demons. Despite this, they are clearly not unholy. They are occasionally summoned and bound to powerful temples as guardians, though this occurs almost exclusively in the Black Lands of the Achaean Empire and in some regions of the Far South. They turn to stone when the sun rises, freed again only at dark.

Much of this article is from Caudex Daemonum, by Grigore Summers. Dear reader, please bear in mind that gargoyles are creatures of much speculation and mystery. Should one be encountered, it should never be approached, nor spoken to. If one is seen outside the confines of the temples they protect, a summons should be sent to the Knights Templar at once. Failing this, the Venatori may also be comparable.

Appearance Gargoyles vary wildly, almost like the demons of the Underworld themselves. Most are tall and somewhat man-like, though others may resemble almost Chimeran-like beasts and even go on four legs. Some, but not all, of those that walk upright like Men have bat-like wings and long tails. Some even have hair like Men, while others are too grotesque. Still other man-like gargoyles have heads that can favor beasts of the mortal world, particularly wild canines, though they never have fur. Gargoyles have thick, tough, hairless hide for skin and generally have claws. Their skin ranges in coloration, mostly hues of grey and grey-black. Some have flesh red- or blue- or even green-tinged, though always quite dull and never at all bright. Their eyes are like glowing pits, sometimes in striking colors, but generally are white.

Nature Gargoyles that appear more like Men can be remarkably intelligent and some can even speak. Others are more like beasts and are incapable of speech, particularly those that move and behave as animals. Since they are often bound to holy sites, gargoyles are clearly not demonic and unholy, despite their appearance. Gargoyles turn to stone at sunrise or under any summoned light of the holy sun. However, they will regain their usual form at dark. They are considered beings of order and behave in orderly ways, which is why they serve well as guardians. Some speculate they are even holy in nature, perhaps servants of various death gods, such as Hades and Anubis. It is noteworthy that gargoyles are not capable of breeding with other races and thus do not spawn corrupt creatures like the cambions, as demons do.

As Guardians Should a gargoyle ever intentionally be summoned into the mortal realm, they are generally bound to sacred sites such as temples, graveyards, and tombs. This is an ancient practice in some lands, such as certain regions of Kemhet, in which beings thought to be statues may stir to life and attack tomb-robbers. In the Achaean Empire, however, the practice never came into particular favor except in some small regions, save for the Black Lands. There, temples and tombs are grand and often have one or more gargoyles bound to protect a single holy site. Others in the Empire call this practice hideous and disturbing, however, arguing that temples should be places of beauty and that gargoyles are far from beautiful.

(Click here to read this article on the Wulfgard Wiki)

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[cruncherzz]

⚠️Shadows of Rose Review⚠️

On my initial playthrough of the Shadows of Rose DLC, I expressed a lot of facts that weren't true and had been explained to me. So, I thought I'd do the people justice and actually review this game after reading every note I could fucking find on my second and third playthrough:

Exposition/Story-

Alright, so, on my first post I made a lot of judgements on the story and plotholes that I didn't bother to look into. People brought to my attention that I was wrong about a few so I'm gonna review them.

The Masked Duke- He's not really changed in my eyes. Like, I understand that a lot of people came at me for accusing the Duke of being evil for no reason which still stands. I understand that Miranda experimented and made this new entity but the plot devices that he's used for also don't really hold profit? I stand by my complaint that he was evil for no reason, in general. Capcom could've picked anyone else.

Actual story-wise? Yeah, it still doesn't do it for me, gotta be honest. I may not like Ethan or Rose very much but this isn't a bias towards either. I just think the plot wasn't fleshed out and the character "Rose" wasn't developed very thoroughly. I mean, for god's sake, she was a baby in the last game. She was never very memorable other than people poking fun at her looking like a mini version of the Duke. The exposition is rushed and characters aren't really put into the story in a way that makes you think this is cohesive to Rose's development. Like, who the fuck is this "K" guy? Lol, he shows up once and then Miranda says it was her all along? Just a little bit wasted.

Voice Acting

So, I didn't do this in my last post because it was a rant not a review but this is so yeah... voice acting.

Liked it a lot. Rose sounded like she was actually reacting to stuff unlike her dear old Dad so it was an immersive DLC, for sure.

The reverb on Eveline's voice during the mannequin Mia challenge was great. "Don't let Mommy catch you," was just chilling and just really sold me on the creepiness factor.

Ethan was alright as usual, he was meh. Y'all know my opinion on him. Although, he was better as Michael in my eyes. I liked the words and nonverbal communication between him and Rose. It was cool.

Miranda was lovely as usual, her laugh still gives my spooky goosies, so yeah. Voice acting was nice.

Castle Segment -

This part of the game was easy enough, you find the masks, get the fuck out. Simple. I will say that the lack of ammo was a bit challenging and irritating. Yes, it felt a lot like RE7 where you had limited everything which was good but when you're trying to cleanse one of those flower cores and 5 dementor ripoffs just pop out of the ground and you have 2 bullets to your mf name; you're gonna freak out a bit. WHEEZEE! The fight with the Gardener hybrid looking thing was cool, I guess. It was kind of annoying to have to unlock the hallways with the cores everytime you downed him once but I suppose there's not much else to do in a battle pit in a lush castle, lmao.

Overall, okay section.

Dollhouse/Beneviento House-

Fucking adored it. Holy shit. I loved it so fucking much. It really just sold that horror theme to you on a platter.

The Mia Mannequin challenge was fucking horrifying for me who has a more than slight phobia of mannequins and faceless creatures; it was terrifying to see them Pinocchio speed walk at me while I'm trying not to shit myself and just get to the kitchen doorway.

The hide-and-go-seek game with the dolls was really entertaining, I really enjoyed how everything was big compared to me. I felt like a toy in a toy set and it just sold me on this area. I was having a blast just letting myself get caught to see these dolls attack. Their little chittering laughs were adorable and so refreshingly childish. Just like Eveline--speaking of Eveline...

Eveline was an excellent addition given she's Rose's "sister" and she was with Mia first. She believes herself to be in the right to be upset about this girl who stole her mother from her. She's this bioweapon who was never given the chance to be a kid. She's tormented by this feeling of uselessness because of Miranda throwing her away, Mia rejecting her, and even the Bakers freeing themselves of her influence. She's alone in this moldy super hell and she has literally no one.

Overall, great fucking section and I have a save for it just to replay it over and over again.

Miranda-

Miranda is an interesting character, I'm not gonna go into detail about her because I'm making that RE8 character post soon anyway but yeah... she's Miranda! Her section gave all the plotholes of the game a relative fix. Aside from the obvious ones I'll point out soon, I read them all and sort of just... don't get it.

I understand her motivations and all but that Mold and Megamycete just... don't make sense. The way that the Megamycete is presented in RE8 suggests that once you die with its gift in your system, you'll go to that Mold Hell we see the Baker's in and just live there. Yet, Miranda can influence the outside world and even shapeshift when she has no physical form anymore? Like, K was literally Miranda. It's just confusing.

Her fight is really entertaining but the new controls for the fight are jarring and the instructions for how to use them didn't show up on my screen. Overall, it was cool... enough.

The mold and Miranda have always been confusing, moving on!

Rose-

Okay, so, she's still not... good in my eyes. She's really just not a good protagonist. Her motivation is literally to be normal. Okay? Cool, I can get behind that--wait, you want to be normal because a few kids bullied you when you were younger? You were essentially raised by Chris--which I'll get to why that ticks me off later--who is the Alpha/Head Honcho/Big Man of the BSAA striking team. He's a fully decorated bioweapon-fighting war hero? And you're afraid of a few "you're a loser" insults? There are worse backstories in the franchise that deserve more focus but do they get their own DLC? Nuh-uh. She's just not a very fleshed out entity in all this and I just... could care less.

Mia -

A thing that REALLY bothers me is that Mia Winters, the mother of Rosemary Winters, her last living parent, isn't in her daughter's life?! Rose establishes in one of her notes that: "I haven't seen Mom in ages," which just completely boggles my mind? Her own mother let a criminal organization take her and experiment on her in subtle ways for years? My personal headcanon is that Chris had her killed so she couldn't stop Rose from joining them. That's the only acceptable answer, I mean, really? You expect me to believe that after everything Mia endured and everything she fought to protect Rose from, she'd hand her own baby over to the same organization that delves into the suffering she endured? Bruh.

Overall, the DLC wasn't the best and not the worst but it is low and down there so yeah.