#i am /so/ sorry for posting this so late

[monthofsick]

The longest Night

Nov(emeto)ber 2022, Day 30: 5 + 1

OCs: Jamal, Nikita

The title fits quite well because this actually is my longest story so far and I just spent the entire night finishing it. It's already early morning of December 1st where I live, but I hope it still counts as an entry. There are a lot of themes and tropes I love in this one and the relationship between Jamal and Nikita evolves even more. It's late/early, I'm tired and time was ticking, so proof reading had to be done a bit quicker. Hopefully, there aren't too many mistakes and you can still enjoy it!

TW: Vomit, illness, mild scat

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A hesitant knock on the door disrupted Jamal's sleep. He woke up with a jolt and was instantly hit by a jab in the neck. Had he fallen asleep at his desk again? Jamal grimaced and rubbed his stiff muscles. The shorter days and cloudy skies drained his energy. Sooner or later, Jamal would get used to the changes in sunlight exposure and weather and the autumn fatigue would wear off. Until then, he had a hard time getting things done.

 "Hello?" An insecure voice, followed by some more tapping. Jamal had only been half aware of the sound that had ripped him out of a rather bizarre dream. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and cleared his throat to sound more awake.

 "I'm here!" Rotating his head to get a little crack out of his nape, Jamal got up and rushed to the door. A stocky young man with brown curls and dark eyes was waiting outside, staring at Jamal like he was surprised by him stepping out of his own dorm room. Jamal knew that his name was Karl and that he lived on the same floor. They didn't share any courses, but they sometimes chatted while brushing their teeth in the morning. It wasn't that Jamal could write a psychological evaluation of his fellow student, but he definitely hadn't seen that concerned and insecure expression on his face before.

 "Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you, but I'm a bit worried right now and I didn't really know who to turn to."

 "Yeah, sure." Jamal was confused. Karl had two of his closest friends in the rooms right next to him. He and Jamal got along well, but they weren't confidants. "Wanna come in?"

 "Ah, no, you should come along." Karl pointed his thumb in the direction of the community bathroom. "You're close with Nikita, aren't you? I mean, the guy doesn't have a lot of friends and he made it pretty clear that he wanted me to, uhm, leave, so…"

 "Wait, what's wrong with Nikita?" Jamal was suddenly wide awake. "Is he sick?"

 "I don't know exactly, he didn't want to tell me." Karl rubbed his palms nervously. "He locked himself in a toilet for at least two hours."

 "Fuck. I'm coming with you."

 It actually was the other way around – Jamal storming down the corridor with huge steps, Karl tagging along. The bathroom was empty, as usual at this time of day. It was a bright and nicely renovated area with small toilet rooms instead of cubicles with a gap at the bottom. At least a bit more privacy in a place they had to share with everyone else on the floor.

 Jamal took a deep breath and knocked on the only door that was shut tight.

 "Hey, it's me", he announced himself. "Can you let me in, Nik?"

 There was a moment of silence. A weird, strained noise. And then, to Jamal's relief, the door was opened slowly and Nikita peeked out. He looked like death warmed over. Nikita was always pale, but right now his complexion resembled a sickly green. Quickly, before Karl could see the blonde in this miserable state, Jamal slipped in and locked the door behind him again.

 "How do you know?" Nikita's voice was cold as ice, but his lips trembled slightly.

 "Karl told me." Undeterred by his friend's standoffish demeanor, Jamal put both hands on Nikita's shoulders. His entire body shivered so hard that Jamal was surprised he could stand at all. "I'm glad he did. You look like absolute shit. Now stop giving me the evil eye and tell me what's wrong."

 It was obvious that Nikita struggled with himself. He was all about control and he still had a hard time showing any kind of vulnerability, even towards Jamal. In the end, Nikita's body made the choice for him as his knees gave in. Gladly, Jamal had trained his fast responses well and he caught Nikita with both arms before he collapsed. Holding him close, Jamal got down on the floor and brushed some sweaty strands of light hair out of Nikita's forehead.

 "Don't worry, I got you." Jamal felt the heat radiating from Nikita's body, his unsteady breath and damp skin. There was no question wether he was sick, only what exactly he suffered from. "Come on, Nick, just let me know what's bothering you. I'll do what I can to help you."

 "I… I suddenly felt so sick." Nikita exhaled and it seemed like all of his strength and defiance left his body with his breath. He sank against Jamal's chest and held on to his shirt with one hand. "I was fine after lunch, but then it got so bad I had to leave during class."

 "Did you have to throw up? Or lost it from the other end?"

 "Nope, not at all." A humorless laugh escaped Nikita's lips. "I thought I would, guess why I made a run for the restroom. Been waiting for it ever since. It feels like it's coming up every second, but it doesn't. Fuck me."

 "God, Nik. I wish I had known earlier." Jamal hugged Nikita for a moment. He had often joked about Nikita's claims that he never puked. It was the reason they had bonded in the first place. That night in the locker room when Jamal had found Nikita, dead drunk and sick to his stomach, but unable to purge the poison. Even in this highly intoxicated state, Nikita had needed Jamal's assistance to vomit. Maybe it was a process his body struggled with for whatever reason. Or Nikita had conditioned himself to hold it in at all costs.

 With a husky moan, Nikita squirmed in Jamal's arms. The blonde clutched his stomach like he wanted to rip out the pain with bare hands. His face contorted with a silent retch. It looked absolutely excrutiating.

 "We gotta get that stuff out of you." Jamal grabbed Nikita's shoulders again and straightened him up just enough to look him in the eyes. "Do you want me to help you?"

 Nikita hesitated. Then he flinched and moaned, probably because of another cramp. He let out a defeated sigh and nodded weakly.

 "Guess I don't have much of a choice. It can't be worse than this."

 "Trust me, it will be a huge relief." Putting on his most encouraging smile, Jamal moved Nikita closer to the toilet. "Come on, let's get it over with."

 Visibly reluctant, Nikita got on his knees and bent over the bowl. Jamal leaned over Nikita's arched back, putting one hand on his rumbling stomach, the other one on his chin. Nikita tensed in his grip.

 "Try to relax, Nik." Jamal touched Nikita's lips with two fingers, asking to be let in. For a second, it seemed like Nikita would back out, but then he opened his mouth. Jamal rubbed Nikita's belly in gentle circle, feeling it bubble like overboiling water. When Nikita eased up a bit, Jamal let his fingers slide in. As soon as he touched the slick surface of the tongue, it tried to push him out again. Undaunted by the counterattack, Jamal moved along Nikita's palate until he reached the back of his tongue, then held it down. It was enough to trigger a first gag.

 Nikita's head bobbed back to escape the nauseating procedure, but Jamal had a firm grip on his chin. A drip of viscous saliva ran down Jamal's hand. That was a good sign. Nikita's body took protective measures against the impending storm tide of gastric acid.

 "I know this is bad, but I promise it won't take long", Jamal reassured Nikita as he went in deeper. A violent retch shook Nikita's body as Jamal's fingers slipped down his throat. Jamal felt the muscles tightening around his fingers. He gently moved back and forth, ignoring the teeth that dug into the back of his hand and the drool that kept on flowing over his skin. Nikita retched helplessly, his stomach contracting harshly with every heave. Jamal pushed against his abdomen in sync with the convulsions, firmly pressing in and upwards. "You're almost there, Nik, just let it happen."

 Nikita choked wetly. His back tensed and curved even more, pushing against Jamal who mimicked his posture, hugging him from behind. It was a weirdly intimate moment, being so close to each other in this deeply private and vulnerable situation. Jamal kept on stroking the back of Nikita's throat, his slight moves inducing frantic spasms. Nikita's face was flushed and tears ran from his eyes with each gag Jamal forced out of him. He was close.

 Speeding up his tiny movements, Jamal rubbed against Nikita's uvula. The blonde jerked forward with another throaty heave, causing Jamal's fingers to thrust in even deeper. Every single muscle in Nikita's body seemed to tighten up and cramp all at once until suddenly, a surge of hot liquid gushed over Jamal's hand.

 "There you go, get it all out." Jamal let his fingertips stroke down Nikita's tongue as he pulled back, eliciting another retch from him. Before Jamal had a chance to get his hand out of the way, Nikita puked up a much bigger surge of orange mush. Jamal felt the thick, warm fluid and a few chunks slide over his skin and he had to swallow a gag himself. Yes, it was gross, but he couldn't let it show when Nikita had finally let down his guard.

 Lurching dangerously close to the vomit-spattered bowl, Nikita gurgled up more of his meal. The color and texture looked disturbingly close to pumpkin soup, probably what had been on the cafeteria's menu today. It splashed back and coated the white ceramic walls in pureed Hokkaido. Jamal pulled Nikita even closer to prevent him from dunking into the rising lake of barf. With only one clean hand at his disposal, Jamal stroked Nikita's hitching chest with his thumb while he held him up.

 Bigger orange lumps fell out of Nikita's mouth and plopped heavily into the puke below. He coughed and spat several times before he slackened in Jamal's grip.

 "You did great", Jamal smiled and sat up, pulling Nikita with him. The blonde looked even worse than before, eyes half closed, his face reddish and covered in sweat, tears and vomit. Jamal wiped off the mess, then cautiously leaned Nikita into a corner to keep him stable and upright. He flushed and cleaned the toilet, then thoroughly washed the sticky throw-up from his hand. Finally, he returned to Nikita. "Feeling better?"

 Nikita nodded faintly. It was enough for Jamal to decide upon a change of location. It was about time his friend could snuggle into his own bed instead of lying on the cold restroom floor.

 -

 Shivering and exhausted, Nikita was sitting on his bed, blanket pullet up to his chin. He had his own electric kettle in his room, so Jamal poured him a cup of ginger tea. Curled up in himself, Nikita took small sips while staring into the void. Jamal sat down next to him.

 "How y're holding up?", he asked, stroking Nikita's head.

 "I don't know. Still nauseous." Nikita bit his lip. "It's okay, you can go now. I'm going to sleep anyways, I'm done with this day."

 "No way, I'm not gonna leave you alone."

 "…and that's how you're gonna get yourself sick." With a grim expression, Nikita carefully drank from the steaming hot beverage, then put it away on the nightstand. "I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself."

 "So what. Maybe it's just food poisoning." Jamal shrugged and leaned back. "I'm going nowhere. Bed's big enough for both of us. By the way, I pretty much pulled the puke out of your stomach with my bare hands. If this is contagious, I've probably caught it already."

 "Whatever. Don't complain if I say I told you so." Nikita tried to act unmoved, but only a moment later, he froze, eyes slightly widened. "Hand me a bucket."

 "Damn it." Jamal jolted up. He wasn't sure if Nikita would actually throw up on his own this time, but he didn't want to find out the hard – or rather, soft and mushy way. The fact that Nikita cupped his mouth with one hand definitely wasn't a good sign. "Try to hold it in!"

With a big leap, Jamal plunged towards the desk and grabbed the trash can. Immediately back on his feet, he spun around and got back to Nikita with two strides. He placed the bin under Nikita's lap, just in time before a spurt of amber liquid burst from the blonde's lips. Jamal held Nikita's head in place while he gagged up mouthful after mouthful of runny vomit. It hit the scrunched up paper and wrappers with a crinkling sound.

 "Tea didn't want to stay down, mh?" Every last bit of color drained from Nikita's face as he burped up a slimy mixture of ginger brew and bile. For a while, Nikita kept on hanging over the trash bin, eyes closed, mouth open, long strands of drool clinging to his lip. Jamal watched him closely. "Think you're done?"

 After a few more seconds, Nikita spat out and replied with a nod. Jamal got a paper tissue from a box on the desk, then wiped off Nikita's mouth. Fortunately, there was a trash bag in the bin that he could take out easily and knot up on top to seal away the sour odor. Good thing Nikita was such a tidy person. Jamal put in another bag and placed the bucket next to the bed.

 "Gonna get rid of this, try to rest."

 Nikita growled something unintelligable before he sank back into his pillow and pulled the covers all the way up. When Jamal returned, Nikita already slept deeply and soundly. Jamal slowly lay down behind him. It was a tight fit on the matress, but at least Jamal was sure he would notice if Nikita got sick again. He cuddled up to his friend and it wasn't long before he dozed off.

 -

 When Jamal opened his eyes again, it was almost dark in the room. He wasn't sure what had woken him up – a movement? A noise? Nikita was still huddled against him, breathing calmly, but something wasn't right. It was the unmistakable stench of partly digested and fermented food, mixed with bile and stomach acid. Jamal pushed himself up to assess the situation. Nikita had vomited in his sleep. A heap of brownish-orange chunks piled up right next to his mouth, part if it smeared on his cheek.

 With a quiet sigh, Jamal rolled out of bed. Armed with the entire box of tissues, he picked up the soggy mass. At least it was mostly solids – it actually looked a lot like thick baby food with some bigger lumps. As gently as possible, Jamal cleaned the sick from Nikita's skin. It hadn't been long since Nikita had thrown up, the puke hadn't dried yet and could easily be wiped away. Jamal was conflicted. Nikita's barf mountain had left a stain on the pillowcase, but it seemed rather superficial. Leaving Nikita on a dirty cushion obviously wasn't an ideal solution. If it meant that he didn't need to be disturbed and could sleep through the night, it still seemed like the better option.

 Jamal took off his shirt and placed it in front of Nikita's face. It covered the wet spot and offered extra layers of protection if Nikita expelled more of his stomach contents. Weird how Jamal's hands-on assistance seemed to have pulled a plug. Now the vomit had literally spilled out of Nikita on its own. It was probably better for him.

 Nikita looked so different while he was asleep, almost peaceful. Jamal wondered if it was cold were Nikita came from. It would have fit him. Everything about him was so light – his hair, his skin, even his eyelashes. He belonged in the snow. Absentmindedly, Jamal watched Nikita for a little while until a yawn reminded him that a good night's rest wouldn't hurt him either. He made himself comfortable again and hoped that both of them would be awakened by the sun in the morning.

 -

 Actually, it was a thud that ended Jamal's slumber this time. The dull noise was startling enough to drown any sleepiness in adrenaline. Jamal looked up and found the bed next to him empty. Nikita was nowhere to be seen. Anxiously, Jamal raised himself – and discovered Nikita lying behind the bed. So the source of the mysterious sound had been Nikita's body hitting the floor.

 Jamal jumped out of bed and helped Nikita into a sitting position.

 "What the fuck are you doing?" The words sounded way more accusatory than Jamal had intended. Nikita looked up with a frown.

"How does it look like to you?" As Jamal didn't answer, Nikita pursed his lips. "I wanted to go the bathroom because what else would I do right now?"

"Have you noticed the bucket right next to your bed? You should have, you've used it before."

"Oh come on, do I really have to explain?" Nikita attempted to get up on his own, but he lacked the strength in his legs. There was a feverish gleam in his eyes.

"You should have still woken me up", Jamal sighed, put both arms around Nikita and lifted him up.

"I don't need you to wipe my ass", Nikita grumbled and tried not to lean on Jamal too heavily.

"Trust me, you need a whole lot more than that if you don't even make it to the toilet." Just to be safe, Jamal grabbed the trash bin with his free hand. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"I'm not." Nikita turned his head to the side, but Jamal still noticed a tinge of red on his cheeks. It stood out against his pallid face. Maybe he was actually way more embarrassed than sulky. Didn't change the fact that he was an idiot.

Jamal put his arm around Nikita's upper body to support him if he should stumble again. After a few steps, Nikita gave up his futile resistance and sank against Jamal. By the time they entered the bathroom, he was bent double, holding his stomach and moving along with a weird shuffle. He probably had to clutch his butt cheeks tightly to prevent an accident. Still, he tried to push Jamal away as they entered the toilet room.

"You wait outside. No discussion." As urgent as matters were, Nikita didn't move a single inch further.

"Hey, I'm not gonna judge you." Jamal's voice was much softer than before. "And I really don't want you to go through this alone."

"No way", Nikita groaned and snatched the bucket from Jamal's hand.

"Fine. But don't lock the door, I need to get to you if you pass out or something." With a deep sigh, Jamal closed the door behind Nikita and leaned against one of the sinks. Of course, Nikita had a right to privacy. Maybe he had pushed him too much. He just wished Nikita would understand that there was no need to be ashamed. He was sick, he couldn't help it. If he felt better once he had relieved himself, it was all that mattered.

Through the closed door, Jamal heard Nikita moan, followed by a splatter. A retch, then even more splatter. Jamal winced in sympathy. Good thing Nikita had a receptacle on both ends. Judging from the sounds, he emptied himself quite forcefully in either direction. The groans and gags and sighs he produced left no doubt that he was in pain. Jamal wanted to hug him and hold up the bin for him and rub his back or his stomach, but he knew his presence would only make things worse for Nikita. He had to loosen up and let everything flow out of him freely, which he wouldn't do while someone was watching him.

After what seemed like forever, Jamal heard the toilet flush. There was the patter of liquid hitting liquid, then a second flush. Unsteady steps approached the door and finally, it was pushed open. Nikita's face had turned green, lips slightly parted, legs trembling. He didn't seem to notice that there was still viscid vomit dripping from his chin.

"Come here, Nik." Jamal pulled the shivering blonde into a close embrace, even if it meant to get some puke on his chest. Jamal had cursed Nikita's thick skull not too long ago, but he couldn't be mad at him. The poor guy felt horribly sick and it hurt to see him suffer like this. Jamal stroked back Nikita's hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. He didn't even think twice about it. "You're doing great. Now let's get you cleaned up and back to bed."

With the smallest of steps, Jamal guided Nikita to one of the basins and washed his face. Then he made sure to wipe off the stains from his own skin. Even though Nikita had apparently emptied the bucket into the toilet, the trash bag was still blotted with sick, so Jamal discarded it. He pulled Nikita closer to hold him upright before they slowly made their way back to Nikita's room. It worried Jamal how quiet his friend had become. Suddenly, he almost wished for some snarky remark.

It was the same procedure as before – Jamal tucked Nikita in and put a new bag in the bin. Then he crawled under the covers and hugged Nikita from behind.

"Is it a little better?", he asked, hoping for at least some kind of answer. "Think you can sleep?"

Nikita nodded and moved even closer. A faint smile flitted across Jamal's face. He waited for Nikita's breath to slow down until he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off as well.

-

Pale morning light seeped in through the fogged up window as Jamal was alarmed by a sudden motion. He blinked in confusion, still drowsy, and saw Nikita bending over his side of the bed. A silent curse left Jamal's lips, then he scrambled to his knees. He put a hand on Nikita's forehead to get his hair out of the way and keep him over the bucket. With the other hand, he began to rub his heaving back.

The spasmodic convulsions of his muscles forces long, agonized retches out of Nikita. They sounded harsh enough to chafe his throat sore. Eventually, the empty gagging turned wet, then productive. Beige vomit burbled from Nikita's mouth and landed in the trash bin with a wet, thick plop.

"Yeah, that's it, you're a pro by now." Jamal continued with the back rubs, feeling Nikita's muscles tense and jerk under his fingers. It was a good thing he was holding up the blonde's head, considering how heavy it rested on his hand. Nikita had puked up his guts and he still couldn't stop, no wonder he was at the end of his rope. "It's okay, Nik, get it all out. I won't let you fall, you can let yourself go and just vomit it up."

Nikita sank into Jamal's grip. To make sure he stayed in place and got his cramping abdomen away from the mattress, Jamal put his other arm around Nikita and supported him at the chest. Nikita's eyes were barely open as he spewed murky liquid and soggy globs. It wasn't much that came up, but it was honestly astounding that he had left anything inside of him he could eat backwards. The gags turned into coughs until Nikita choked up some finely shredded pieces of what might have been carrots. The next retches squeezed nothing but measly spatters of bile out of Nikita's wrung out stomach. Finally, the heaves turned into pants.

Careful not to put pressure on his belly, Jamal pulled Nikita back on the mattress. The blonde looked so drained that Jamal expected him to instantly fall asleep again, but Nikita rolled over and buried his face against Jamal's shoulder. Jamal held him tight and let his fingers run through the fine blond hair.

"Shhh, I'm here, I won't leave you alone", he soothed Nikita. "You'll be better soon, you'll be okay, this will be over before you know it."

Nikita didn't say a word, he just clung to Jamal like he was his lifeline. His back hitched with convulsive gasps, but he didn't make a sound, so Jamal wasn't sure if he was crying. Jamal cradled Nikita ever so softly, stroking his back and his head until his friend relaxed in his arms. This time, Jamal didn't turn him around. So what if Nikita threw up on his neck, there was no way he would let him go right now. Cuddled up snuggly, they finally slept without a rude awakening.

-

It was almost noon when Jamal woke up again. He lay still and kept Nikita in an embrace until the blonde began to move. Bleary eyed, Nikita looked up and broke into a yawn. He still had an ashen complexion and cracked lips, but the expression of constant nausea had turned into exhaustion.

"Is it just me or are you looking a little more alive?", Jamal smiled and brushed Nikita's cheek.

"It's been worse." Nikita shrugged, then wrinkled his nose. "The bucket's still filled, isn't it?"

"Yup, filled and fermented for a couple of hours. I'll get rid of it."

With a slight reluctance, Jamal left the bed and disposed of the congealed mass of puke. He put in a new trashbag and made fresh tea. Nikita actually managed to drink half of the cup and keep it down, which was definitely an improvement. Jamal sat down next to him, leaning back against the wall behind the headrest.

"You better stay in bed today", he said with a glance at Nikita. "It's been a lot for you."

"Yeah… I guess." The blonde looked tired enough to fall asleep again in an instant.

"No objections? That's unusua-aaaahhhhhhhhhrrrrrlllll." Interrupted mid-sentence, Jamal projectile vomited all over the blanket and his bare chest. Nikita stared at him, wide-eyed. Jamal was completely flabbergasted himself. There had been no warning – no nausea, no buildup, no drooling or retching. The sludgy brown flood had just shot out of him with a sudden explosion. Quick-witted in spite of his shock, Nikita grabbed the bucket and pushed it under Jamal's face. Utterly confused, Jamal didn't understand why Nikita would do such a thing until another massive gush of puke spurted out of his mouth, filling up a quarter of the bin in one fell swoop.

A hand stroked up and down Jamal's back as he gurgled up a chunky stew that barely resembled the beef stir fry he had eaten for lunch the day before. As his retches became harder, shaking Jamal's body with abrupt jolts, he worked up a thicker mash of rice, meat shreds and bits of broccoli that slipped over his tongue and plunged into the vomit lake below him. Some of them drowned instantly, some stayed on the surface, covered in a glistening sheen. Just seconds later, Jamal's stomach churned again and pushed up more of the lumpy gloop. Several more gags followed, but they remained unproductive.

"I didn't think it would happen so quickly", Nikita sighed and wiped Jamal's face with one of the paper tissues from the box that was still placed on the nightstand. Groaning, Jamal lifted his head.

"Don't say it", he croaked, throat sore from the forceful expulsion of his stomach contents.

"I…"

"Nik, no."

"…told you so." Nikita put the dangerously full bucket away and went on to clean the puke from Jamal's chest. "And I'm glad you didn't listen."

"I might change my mind in the next few hours, but so am I." Jamal forced a strained smile. "By the way, sorry for barfing all over your bed."

"I guess that's fair when you caught it from me. And you got most of it on the covers, so it's easier to clean up."

"But you're still sick!"

"Yeah, but I'm much better already, so stop worrying." Nikita stroked over Jamal's head. "You know what? I'll get rid of the mess and then we switch to your room and get cozy. Agreed?"

"Mhm", Jamal muttered and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how much time he head until the next wave, not even on which end it would come out. It would be a long day after a long night and Jamal dreaded what lay ahead. But for some reason, he was still happy. Maybe he had been the bigger idiot all along.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Archive of our own: Up all night to get Bucky

tumblr: birdnamedenza

[anbaisai]

It's not even actually their birthday

(Based on a conversation I had with a friend + Jamil's 2024 birthday present to the player)

[arsenicflame]

Bonus round! Do you use a queue tag?

[dreamsy990]

obligatory 2/2 comic because its basically a right of passage for any shuake fan. also theres no backgrounds because i tried and it looked bad!

bonus:

background that i didnt use bc again this looked REALLY bad with backgrounds

this mildly amusing color ref

and an uncolored version too. for funsies and because i actually really liked the lines here

[excali8ur]

Weird dream.

[ba1laur]

why not. why not post some of the dog eat dog concepts. look at my wolves

[ocrukoji]

[returntosunder]

Days 7 - 11

I’M SO LATE IM SORRY

[isjasz]

The sand may brush off (Do memories last forever?)

Happy DL anniversary i am NOT LATE LETSGO

Dtiys from @pikorulli on twt!! (from like sept 2022 LOL)

[connect404]

Just found out BLOM did a stream last Friday so posting these drawings is WAYYY overdue

[cinnamonest]

I know the smut fanfiction blog is probably not the best place for awareness posting, but this is my only real outlet and I'd like to share what's happening regarding the storm.

My area was affected by Helene — I woke up a little over a week ago at 4 am from the storm, to no power and standing water within my apartment.

The area where I live now was not hit too badly, so everything is back to normal for me now, and obviously I have power and internet again.

But the same is not true for many people near where I'm originally from. This storm has completely devastated Appalachia.

A village that was like a second home to me is gone. Every single building in the village is either underwater or decimated, and some of its residents are missing.

People in the surrounding area are desperately trying to reach family and friends — whole areas have essentially gone radio silence with no cellular data, even now almost two weeks after.

Many Appalachians have lost literally everything, including family, pets, and homes. The region is heavily reliant on orchards, livestock and tourism, so many livelihoods have been swept away. This area also already had a major poverty issue to begin with, so many had very little, and now literally have nothing but the clothes on their back.

Moreover, the handling of this situation by federal administration has been disgraceful and negligent, if not outright malicious.

Any acknowledgement at all was absurdly delayed, and the financial aid being given is the disaster response equivalent of a band-aid on a severed artery.

The FEMA people are present (sometimes), but they don't do anything, they just stand there and occasionally harass people for taking photos or loitering in parking lots. If anything, they are dedicating most of their time to delaying incoming resources and actively impeding independent rescue efforts. All while we have corpses strewn up in trees and people still trapped in their homes.

But for those looking to help, or if you are affected by Helene and need help, Appvoices has a page full of resources for those who need them and verified donation organizations that can reach those in need.

It is going to be a long road to recovery. This is a beautiful region filled with wonderful, strong people, please keep them in your hearts ❤️

[seethingvortex]

they cant even get 5 hours of sleep

this is very rough but the movie reminded me of why i love the family dynamics of the band lol

[saltedbiscuiit]

Matching pyjamas mayhaps?:3

[miutonium]

🏃‍♀️Hi hi I'm reopening my commission again since I am in the middle of my final year project and I needed funds to support my art project _(:'3」∠)_

*also if you see my previous commission post minutes ago, please disregard that I put the wrong info there ;w; Also appreciate if you guys delete my previous post too if you reblogged it 🥲

Please take note that since I am in the middle of my final year and I also have 3 pending commissions to go right now, I only be able to fully commit to this slot around the end of July!

SLOTS TAKEN: 2/5

*Taken slots will be updated from time to time!

‼️PLEASE READ MY TOS AND RULES BEFORE YOU DECIDE TO COMMISSION ME!!‼️

🔷️My TOS, art samples and additional rules/info can be read on my carrd here.

🔷️No rush orders will be accepted as I am currently in the middle of my final. If you need an estimate for commission turnarounds please refer to my Trello! I date stamp all of my progress from start to finish! Please commission me only if you don't mind waiting for me!!

I'm also posting my art samples (personal art) undercut!

And as always, reblogs are highly appreciated 🥰💕💕

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[flying-fangirls]

As a music, religion, and literature nerd, the Dies Irae has been one of my favorite go-to pieces of trivia for a long time, which means that this line:

Has been driving me batshit BONKERS since part 42! And also as a semi-professional media analysis yapper, I figured I might as well dive into the exact reasons I jumped up and audibly gasped upon first hearing this line and have subsequently lost my mind since then. So!

Here is why I think that the Dies Irae is the perfect analogy for John and Arthur:

Religion

Let's start with the most straightforward meaning: "Dies Irae" is a Latin term, and it translates to the "Day of Wrath." Or otherwise known as the Judgement Day, the foretold second coming in Catholic canon, when Christ will "come again in glory to judge the living and the dead." It's at this Last Judgement where God will wield perfect justice to send the worthy to everlasting peace and the unworthy to everlasting punishment. (everyone say "thank you" to excessive childhood Catholic lessons for burning this into my brain)

There's a kind of irony to the fact that Arthur so vehemently rejects Christianity and religion as a whole, and that John spends much of his arc trying to distance himself from the role/identity of a god, yet both are given this incredibly religious title, effectively restricting them from ever forgetting the presence/influence of religion in their lives.

This title has a couple layers though, because we have to consider why it's the Day of Wrath specifically that represents Arthur and John. Now, I don't think I have to tell you that those two are bursting with anger 80% of the time. But I am going to tell you that those two are not just angry, but moreso "divine fury" incarnate.

The Day of Wrath, the Final Judgment, is the final and eternal judgment of God on all: "For now before the Judge severe / all hidden things must plain appear; / no crime can pass unpunished here." (Dies Irae, Dies Illa). The final Judge, the all-powerful God, can see the objective morality of every single person, and is thus the sole, rightful determiner of fate.

This assumption of their right to perfectly and single-handedly decide others' worthiness shows up over and over, not just John and Arthur's actions, but also in how they describe these judgments.

When Arthur kills the widow on the island, it's not because she was dangerous, but because she was a cultist who "deserved" to be punished.

When John and Arthur need to get rid of Mr. Scratch's stone, John says they should give it to "criminals" who are "deserving of this curse." Even though, just moments before, Arthur refused to give the stone to Oscar because to do so would be to cursing him to a fate of eternal suffering.

And I can't go into every single detail about the entire Larson plotline because this post would double in size, but it obviously needs to be included here. Possibly the strongest tie between this arc and the idea of the Dies Irae is Arthur's conviction through it all. Arthur vows that he is going to kill Larson in divine retribution not because he wants to, but because he has to. He even goes so far as to admit that killing Larson will be a mistake, a cruel and overly-bloodthirsty action that goes against his compassion. But killing Larson isn't a choice to Arthur, it is the unavoidable punishment for Larson's sins and Arthur is simply the enactor of justice. Just like the Final Judgment, there is no sympathy, no hesitancy— the judgment is absolute, divinely ordained, and cannot be stopped no matter how undeniably horrific it is.

If we look at the Catholic Catechism, principle 2302 states that it is sinful to kill out of desire, but that it is "praiseworthy to impose restitution" and use violence to "maintain justic." So even if Arthur has intent to kill, his actions count as divinely sanctioned. He is acting as the hand of God's punishment.

Over the course of Season 3 and 4, Arthur's fiery rage dies down to a more gentle simmer, but his conviction only seems to grow, and John follows suit. Despite previously reprimanding Arthur for his unquestioning wrath, John eventually becomes just as convinced that Larson "deserves" to face a wrathful reckoning. The "fact" that Larson is wholly unforgivable and is fated to receive eternal punishment becomes more indisputable in their minds, and they both stop questioning the morality of their intentions, entirely convinced of their judgment.

Throughout the story, Arthur and John insist upon the importance of kindness, compassion, and forgiveness, and say that these are the values that guide their every action. Yet, time and time again, they approach certain people with nothing but wrath and resentment. It's a sharp contrast to the benevolent figures they make themselves out to be, and Arthur and John are often blind to the contradiction because, in their eyes, they are still following those values in every action. And in the moments when they do recognize their horrific words or actions, they still cannot let their judgment go, convinced that it is their "duty" either way.

In Part 35, Arthur says "Just because you can't make the hard decision, doesn't mean it's wrong." This is exactly how John and Arthur view themselves. They know that some of their actions are harsh and violent and painful, but they are don't view that violence as wrong, because they are enacting that violence in justice. They move through life with carefully-selected destruction, culling the world of those they view as unforgivable sinners, and punishing them with divine righteousness. Arthur and John carry righteous fury in their every step, bringing the Day of Wrath down upon the world around them.

Now, there's already a ton of meaning just in this religious allusion alone. However, there's another application of the Dies Irae in modern culture, which brings us to the second side of this title:

Music

Back in the 13th century (sounds like a familiar setting...), friar Thomas of Celano wrote a poem for and about the Dies Irae. The poem was recited at Requiem Mass (church services to honor the dead), and it ended up being set to a Gregorian chant tune.

Over time, this melody has been used by a variety of composers, but the one we're focused on is Hector Berlioz. In 1837, Berlioz used the Dies Irae melody as part of his narrative symphony, Grand Messe de morts, in order to communicate that the main character had died. Then a lot of other composers saw that and said "Hey that's a cool idea!", and started also using this melody to represent death in their music. Nowadays, it's a fairly staple part of modern film and musical storytelling. If you've listened to literally any major soundtrack, then there's a good chance you've heard this motif (or a variation of it) used before. It's often subtle, sometimes loud and obvious, but no matter what, it reveals the inevitable presence of death. (essentially, the Dies Irae=death)

Now, obviously there's something tragically ironic about Arthur being likened to a musical motif when he tries so hard to distance himself from it, and there's something tragically ironic about John being associated with such a dark piece of music when he shows so much fascination and joy toward the art. Again, though, we've got some layers here. Yorick doesn't just compare Arthur and John to the Dies Irae, he literally defines them as the Dies Irae, a full embodiment of it.

Even before the story started, Arthur lost both of his parents, his friend and wife, his daughter, and his best friend.

John, when he was part of the King in Yellow, knew only how to harm and attack. In the Dark World, he falls back on this fearful lashing out with violence, harming even more people.

And throughout the story, John and Arthur seem to bring devastation to everyone else around them: Lilly the buopoth, Oscar, Noel, Collins, Daniel, Larson and Yellow.

The arrival of Dies Irae musical motif in a film always indicates that death is approaching or that is has already struck— a host carrying its blight to spread onto others. Just like the musical motif, the arrival of Arthur and John foretells the near-arrival of death. They play a duet together— John and Arthur, and death— always singing and dancing around and with each other.

These two never succumb to death, always finding a way to slip through its fingers and survive every situation. But they cannot escape death's presence because they are death's partner— singing the melody to death's subtle harmony. They cannot escape death because they are its host— destined to carry and spread devastation to death's victims. From the moment you meet John and Arthur, you know that death is inevitably approaching just a step behind, waiting to strike you down.

Whether it's the religious or musical side, we can see that John and Arthur are the literal embodiment of these allusions. They carry these powers and ideas in their every action and word, in their every step, in their very breath and blood.

Arthur and John. The hands of God's justice. The enactors of divine fury.

Arthur and John. The hosts of blight and destruction. The partner of death's song.

The man himself. The voice inside his head.

The Day of Wrath. The Dies Irae.

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 103(123): miscellaneous practice beasts