#icarus metal family

[waytray]

Икар

[ladykailitha]

The Rise of the Fallen Part 1

The thrilling sequel to Icarus and Around the World is finally here!

This universe has decided though, completely without prompting to do a little Christmas story set in this verse. So.... yeah!

Enjoy!

Summary: On the ten anniversary of The Fallen's eponymous debut album, the band decides to do an unmasking. This is the interview with Variety journalist Karla Lopez. SEQUEL TO ICARUS AND AROUND THE WORLD READ THEM FIRST!!!

~

Exclusive Interview with The Fallen Behind the Veil by Variety reporter Karla Lopez.

Karla Lopez: I am deeply honored to be chosen to do this, you have no idea.

Astraeus chuckles: Oh I think we have an idea, yeah.

KL: Why did you decide to do a reveal now? You have all been pretty vocal about not wanting to break persona.

They all look around at each other like they trying to decide who’s going to answer that. Finally Abbadon speaks.

Abbadon: Back when we were first asked about it, Asmodeus said that maybe if we were still here ten years on. This marks the 10th anniversary of our first album, so I guess it just felt right.

KL: Fair enough. There were talks about this being live so you could answer questions from a chat on air. But all of you nixed that. Can you tell me why?

Asmodeus laughs: We all wanted to see the reaction on our friends and family’s faces when they find out who we are.

KL: You have fans among your friends and family?

Abbadon: Oh yeah. It’s funny having to pretend to hate metal so much I won’t go to our concerts.

Astraeus: You have to film yours, man. I have to see his reaction.

Abbadon laughs: Don’t worry, my partner has it on lock.

KL: Someone we’ve been told we can’t talk about until after the reveal.

They all snicker

Azrael: That’s because he’s here and them being a couple is also being revealed today, too.

KL: Awww, that’s so sweet. So this is how the reveal is going to work: each of you will take turns in the hot seat I point to a large red leather armchair off to the side a little and you will take off your mask, tell us your real name and a bit about yourself.

They all nod

KL: So you guys picked the order. Youngest to oldest, right? Again they nod So who’s up first?

Azrael stands up and moves over to the hot seat and sits down. He takes a deep breath and removes his mask. He pushes back his hood. Behind the mask is an unassuming man with blue eyes and wavy blond hair that goes to his shoulders. He’s conventionally handsome but he’s got a bump on the side of his nose where it’s likely been broken.

Azrael: Hi, I’m Spencer Peters, I’m 32 years old with a wife and twin little girls aged four. No she didn’t know I was a drummer for a metal band only that I travel a lot for business. He waves Hi, honey! Shout out to Sweet Pea and Pumpkin. I was an EMT before I met the rest of the band. I had been playing drums since I was ten, but I never thought it would become my job.

KL: Why did you chose the name Azrael?

Azrael: Because I wanted to pick something I wasn’t. As an EMT my job was to save lives. I figured that if I chose the angel of death no one would guess it was me. He huffs a bitter laugh And it fucking worked.

KL: No one in your life even wondered?

He shrugs: If they did, they didn’t tell me. As far as I know, no one in my life put together that my business trips line up with our touring dates.

KL: Do you feel angry about that?

He looks over the other guys and then back at the camera: Sometimes.

Abbadon ducks his head as Azrael (Spencer) stands up and walks back over to the group.

KL: Do you want to talk about that anger?

Abbadon lifts his head: My partner figured it out. Before we got together. It’s partly why we got together. But as far as any of us are aware no one else in our lives have figured it. Not spouses, parents, siblings, close friends. So yeah sometimes it hurts that they don’t know us well enough to guess.

KL: That’s got be hard. How does no one else know? Aren’t there dozens of people milling about after shows?

Asmodeus: Certain people have to know, our agent and our manager. Our chief security; they all sign NDAs but we’re also very quiet about it. We don’t get ready in their dressing rooms unless we have to. And if we do, we have armed guards in front of the door.

Abbadon waves: Shout out to Murray Bauman, though. He guessed I was the frontman for one of the masked bands. Just didn’t care which one. So he’s not on the list of people who knew I was Abbadon, because he didn’t. Until now. He wags his eyebrows.

Azrael: Plus once we’re ourselves again, everyone thinks we’re roadies or PAs or whatever role we can slip into that won’t draw suspicion.

I laugh: I guess I can see how they might make that mistake. Who’s next?

Asmodeus stands up and walks over to the hot seat and sits down. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Abbadon walks over and puts his arm around his shoulder and they whisper for a couple of moments. Abbadon stands up and moves just enough out of view of the camera but close enough that Asmodeus can still see him.

Abbadon nods and Asmodeus takes off his mask and pushes back his hood. The man’s coal dark eyes are apparently natural as he doesn’t remove any contacts. His hair is as dark as his eyes. He has a square jaw and a sweet smile. Abbadon smiles back encouragingly.

Asmodeus: he waves awkwardly at the camera My name is Simon Olsen. I’m also 32, but older then Spence by two months. I’m the biggest nerd of the group. I play D&D, I’m big sci-fi nerd, huge Trekkie. I was trying to write a sci-fi novel when I met the other guys. It’s not very good. I’m a better guitar player than I am a writer. I started playing when I was sixteen to get girls.

KL: Has it worked?

He laughs: As Simon? No. As Asmodeus, girls are always throwing themselves at me. But I never felt that was genuine so I’ve never indulged. I guess I’m a 32 year old virgin.

He winces and looks up at Abbadon. Whatever he sees there soothes him and he clears his throat.

Asmodeus: Like Spence, I picked Asmodeus because he was the antithesis of me. Someone to drive the girls wild. Cool, confident. I like being him more than me sometimes.

Abbadon holds out his hand just out of frame but Asmodeus stands up and takes it and they both walk back to the group.

KL: Is that something you all feel? That you like being your alter egos over yourselves?

They all glance around at each other.

Azrael (SP): Sometimes. We’re all what people in the 80s called preps. I’m not sure what they would call us now, probably nerds. Polos, chinos, Henleys. Suburban dads, I guess. So our alter egos, our personas if you will aren’t like that. They are so much cooler than us so it’s easier to be them.

KL: Has it been hard keeping the two lives separate?

Astraeus: More than you’ll ever guess. It’s why after a tour we don’t immediately go home we learn how to be regular guys again.

KL: I laugh How does that work?

Abbadon: Military grade specialists.

I laugh again but they don’t laugh with me: Wait, you’re serious?

They nod

Asmodeus (SO): They have these people that teach incoming soldiers how to turn off being soldiers and be people again. They’re kinda like that. Not exactly but close enough. Our head of security heads this up. He’s really fucking good.

Abbadon: I was the reason for this, by the way. My persona is so unlike my real life that there was actual talk about me being cursed. Our manager helped me that one time, because she knew me before I went on tour, but it was clear it wasn’t perfect. So she found a couple of people that would be willing to help us get in and out of character before and after our tours. It’s been a real life saver for sure.

Astraeus: And believe me, I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous. But it’s really helped us out.

KL: Who’s next?

Astraeus stands up and makes his way over to the hot seat and curls up on it like a large house cat. It’s a jarring affect to see the large bassist tuck his legs under him like a teenage girl about share secrets with her bestie.

He takes of the mask and drops the hood. He runs his fingers through a riot of tight red curls. His face is freckled and his has a gap-toothed, goofy smile.

Astraeus: Hey guys! My name is Shane Kendrick, I’m 33 and me and Abbadon have the same birthday, year and everything. I’d call us twinsies, but he already had a soul twin in the form of our manager, and you so don’t want to get into the middle of that!

Abbadon, their manager, and Abbadon’s partner all burst out laughing. Astraeus winks at Abbadon.

I am starting to see a pattern and it’s making me a little upset if I’m honest.

Astraeus: I tease, I tease. They’re super cute. I chose the name Astraeus because there aren’t that many night gods, lots of goddesses, but not whole of gods. But I am a huge mythology nerd. In fact I helped everyone come up with their names. I chose Astraeus because he’s not a god of night, he’s the titan of night and that sounded way more metal than just a god.

I was actually studying to become a history teacher for the middle school grade when I met the rest of the band.

KL: Where did you guys meet?

Astraeus (SK): Abbadon was working at a little cafe where the three of us would come in for coffee. Me and Simon would spend hours there. Him doing his writing and me doing my homework. Spence would come in after his shift and just sit in a corner to decompress.

KL: How did you guys become friends?

They all laugh

Astraeus (SK): Abbadon was playing Corroded Coffin on their speakers. First cafe I’d ever been to where they didn’t play some new age shit.

There is a choked off laugh from Abbadon’s partner and Abbadon ducks his head. I’m sure if the mask was off, we’d see him blush.

KL: You bonded over Corroded Coffin?

Astraeus (SK): Yeah, I told him I had a crush on the drummer and he told me that he had gone to high school with them.

My jaw drops: Wait? Really?

Abbadon nods: All Hawkins High alums. Almost all different years though, too. Eddie was ahead of me, Jeff and Brian were below me one year and Gareth was two years below me.

KL: Wow!

Astraeus gets up and swaps with Abbadon. They give each other five as they pass as if they they are tagging the one out and the other in.

~

Part 2

Tag list: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @chameleonhair

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @garden-of-gay

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @clockworkballerina @eyehartart

[steddielations]

Flight of Icarus lore dump part 2:

Part 1 | Character List

- Wayne has a green thumb. He reads Gardener’s Weekly magazine. It doesn’t say what he grows, but it says he buys vegetables from the store so I’m going to say that gruff old man Wayne has the prettiest petunias in the whole trailer park.

- Eddie sneaks into the Hawk with his best friend Ronnie to watch action movies and thinks Snake Plissken, Han Solo and Conan the Barbarian are cool.

- Eddie talks for hours about the intricacies of Elven politics in Tolkien.

- Eddie read comics as a kid and hid them all over the house "like a little squirrel" under the bed, behind the nightstand, under the rug. Wayne found his Uncanny X-Men in the freezer between stacks of tv dinners. Also, "Hellfire Club" comes from these X-Men comics.

- Floor time! There's a part where Eddie is literally just lying on his back on his bedroom floor counting down from a million. When Wayne comes home, Eddie army crawls on his belly to the doorway to see him.

- Eddie reads Gormenghast paperbacks, gothic fantasy novels. It mentions that Wayne saved them from the house fire along with Eddie’s guitar. It never says how/when Eddie originally got his guitar.

- Eddie says lots of cc’s original songs have D&D references. It's implied that he writes them. One is called “Fire Shroud” after a spell

- Eddie is called Freak King at school and Munson Junior or just Junior around town and he hates all of it

- Eddie talks about having anxiety a lot and it's implied he has had panic attacks in the past

- Eddie is the lead singer and guitarist of cc. He started the band with Ronnie specifically because it was required to participate in the school talent show.

- Neither Wayne or Al graduated high school. When Eddie (temporarily) drops out, Al celebrates.

- Eddie doesn't cook. He doesn't even own a spatula. The smell of cooking in their house actually shocks him and gives him a deep longing for family meals, which Al uses to manipulate him

- Eddie jokes about being into Saturday Night Fever and strikes the pose a couple times.

- Eddie knows how to hotwire and how to pick locks. Al taught him this at the age of ten. Eddie is "disgusted" with himself any time he does either of those things.

- Eddie "drives like a monster" when he's upset about something.

- Eddie smokes cigarettes occasionally. Weed is mentioned a lot in the book but it never says anything about Eddie smoking it or doing any drugs. He either doesn't smoke much or he hasn't tried anything yet in the book. Also, he’s just now meeting Rick. But It’s pretty clear after everything he went through why he would start

- There's lots of mentions of PBR and Bud Light. Though Eddie says he doesn't like to drink after his shifts at the Hideout (where he's a barback). He mostly drinks off-brand Big Buy soda in the book (he calls it "pop")

- Eddie's parents were married on March 12th, 1966. The date is inscribed on the bottle of their wedding wine. Eddie asks what kind it is and Al says they only had 'red or white' kind of money

- Al breaks out the wedding wine (to manipulate Eddie, you guessed it) it's red wine and Eddie really, really likes it

- Eddie went to War Zone with his dad for supplies for the truck heist (spike strips, coveralls, etc)

- Eddie's band played Exciter by Judas Priest at the talent show. The song was only approved because they emphasized the "priest"

- There was another (?) talent show in Winter of 1981 where Eddie's band played "Prowler" and they were kicked off stage halfway through because the song was considered Satanic, and the PTA visited all their parents for trying to convert everyone to Satanism.

- Eddie imagines hitting his dad twice. Once with a glass bottle and once with a metal wrench. (He should've- oops who said that)

- The only hug Eddie gets in the book is when his dad first comes back, Eddie knows it's the first step in his cycle of showing up, using Eddie and leaving, but Eddie still accepts the hug and feels guilty for enjoying it.

- It's implied Eddie gets close to tears a couple times in the book, but the only time they actually spring up is when his mom's favorite song (from Muddy Waters) comes on in the truck radio while Eddie is doing the heist with his dad and feeling awful about it. Eddie has several flashbacks of dancing with her to this song, it seems like his happiest memory that he always returns to.

- Whenever Eddie is doing what his dad wants (hotwiring, charming a person into their plans) he puts on what he calls his "best Al Munson smile" and he's terrified that it will eventually take over his whole face. There's a part at the end where Eddie is sitting in a jail cell and says "All I want to do is tear my face off. If a new one grows in it's place, maybe it'll make me a different person. Someone who isn't such a complete fuckup."

[k-is-for-potassium]

and you were more beautiful when you could fly ~ ★

hey there! you can call me maggie! (or babna lol) i have mentioned my irl first name a couple times tho

they/she/he pronouns page :3

please use gender neutral/fem terms. im okay with and use stuff like dude and girly in a gender neutral way, lmk if you don't want me to :)

everything is platonic!! i say things like "<3" and "ily"platonically, so if you're uncomfortable with this lmk :)

also i swear sometimes quite a bit, i don't usually tag it but i might if there's a lot or smth

legacy of apollo ☀️🎶🏹⚕️✍️

my timezone is est (maybe...) i am in the us tho

i am a minor. adults are okay but no 18+ or big nsfw please

everyone is loved here (unless you're a homophobe, transphobe, terf, aphobe, racist, sexist, map, maga, etc.) 💖

not really any dni's, unless you're someone listed above or a weirdo (you know who you are)

more under the cut!

interests, hobbies, and fandoms

music ~ ☆ taylor swift, olivia rodrigo (shes literally me yall), conan gray, chappell roan, ajr, tx2, noahfinnce, cavetown, eminem, mcr, green day, måneskin, lots of broadway musicals, and MUCH more

im always looking to broaden my music horizons, so lmk if you have any suggestions! my music taste is crazy i like basically anything so i'll probably love any of y'all's recs lol

musicals (yes they get their own section) ~ ★ EPIC: the musical, hamilton, in the heights, SIX, dear evan hansen, be more chill, heathers, (kinda) wicked, les miserables, and beetlejuice, but the list is always expanding

movies/tv shows ~ ☆ the owl house, gravity falls, mean girls (movie and musicals), house md (not done yet, on season 7? i think), hazbin hotel, helluva boss, percy jackson, bluey, all versions of tmnt (especially rottmnt), the hunger games, metal family

video games ~ ★ minecraft, animal crossing, splatoon (2 and 3), kirby, pokémon, stardew valley

i have my own pink switch lite :3

books ~ ☆ pjo, hoo, toa, tsats, mcga, kane chronicles (not done yet), the iliad, hopefully the odyssey eventually, circe and tsoa (not done yet), the hunger games, wof, kinda lotr and hobbit, probably more that i can't think of

im currently reading circe, tsoa, and the iliad (huge greek mythology phase rn lol)

i'm a musician! i play clarinet in my school band and flute, piano, ukulele, and guitar in my own time :)

i am also a scout (bsa), my rank is tenderfoot :3

my favorite colors are purple and yellow!

#1 icarus supporter

i LOVE making new friends, if you wanna be moots you can dm or askbox me :D

alts:

@/babna-arts: just an art acc

@/apollo-god-of--like--everything: etm apollo rp/ask blog

@/the-greek-pantheon: general greek gods rp

@/katsika: etm oc rp (not rly active)

@/not-the-musician: pjo oc rp (also not rly active)

and some secret others :3

☆~ credit ~★ babna origin 😨 @/saradika and @/saraduka-graphucs – the beautiful dividers and "introduction" banner my pfp and header are from pinterest and the lyrics are from beetlebug's "lepidopterist" ♡

[mothiir]

all is fair in love and war, part i

In which our favourite diplomat faces an assassination attempt, and Sicarius and Roboute must address some feelings.

Cw: gore. No sex. That’s in the next part.

—

—

An Inquisitor is aboard the ship. An Inquisitor is aboard your ship, in your space, they are here. Fear pulses through you; the instinctive dread of a prey animal learning that the wolf is just around the corner. You have no firsthand experience of the Inquisition, but by the Emperor you have heard stories — colleagues who were threatened into taking part in the cruellest of traps, luring rebellious worlds into an accord, only for the Inquisition to burn the planet to cinders. Worse than this: you have heard stories of those who refused — lobotomised, servitorised, and not just them but their families, their friends, punishment that runs along the most tenuous of connections until everyone who heard the name of the would-be hero was dead, or wished they were. It cannot be chance that the Inquisitor has arrived now, when the Primarch has taken all of the battle-ready ships and most of the men to deal with a section of the webway benighted by daemons, coming to the assistance of their Eldar allies, a comradeship that you were instrumental in brokering. Aboard the diplomatic vessel the Hestia, with nothing more than a barebones crew, sheltered deep in Ultramar’s space you thought yourself safe. And you are — but only from external threats. 

The rot within the Imperium still finds you here, apparently. 

As the most senior civilian official here, you join the welcoming party, standing beside Captain Icarus, a now-retired guardsman who — having served decades on the frontline of the Imperium’s battles — knows the ways of the Inquisition all too well. There are no Astartes aboard the ship, only baseline humans — formidable foes, practiced veterans all — and yet as the Inquisitor and her retinue board your ship (the continent-sized bulk of her ship dwarfing your own, blotting out the stars) you find yourself possessed by the mad urge to gather the men beneath your non-existent wingspan, to shelter them. 

“My lady Inquisitor,” you say, with a deep and respectful bow. “It is an honour —“

”Are you really the most senior diplomat here? Hm. I suppose you will do, until the senior officials arrive,” says the Inquisitor. Oh, what a promising start. What a truly excellent start. You straighten up immediately. “I am Kagha, of the Ordo Xenos. I was under the impression that the Lord Primarch was resident here and came to offer my services.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, trying your utmost to keep your eyes fixed on Kagha — and not her Deathwatch bodyguards, looming like obsidian-wrought gargoyles; nor the cherubim hovering behind her, fleshy abominations with blank, unsettling faces. The other woman is a little shorter than you, hard-featured and haughty, but possessed of an ageless, sharp beauty that speaks of those rejuve treatments the upper-classes so love. Her copper hair is swept up in an elaborate braided style, ornamented with gold skulls with glowing red eyes. You would wager your life’s savings on those hairpins being secret, deadly weapons. Her outfit is equally impressive: a long black leather coat, embroidered with a motif of heretics burning in a flaming pit while an impassive angelic figure watches; skin-tight trousers; an elaborate lacy blouse that closes at her throat with a ruby the size of your fist.

She’s wealthy. Well-connected. Experienced. And yet there is something not right; an itch under your skin. 

You look to the Deathwatch marines, as briefly as possible. There are five of them — more than enough to annihilate the paltry crew here, should they wish — and all are helmeted. Two carry shields slung over their shoulders; huge oblongs of metal longer than you are tall, ornamented with strange milky stones, like opals, and yet somehow familiar —

Your blood turns to ice. Spirit Stones. The funerary custom of Craftworld Eldar is to keep the souls of their dead in these psychic tombs, thus preserving their fallen comrades, and keeping them safe from the endless maw of She Who Thirsts. To break a Spirit Stone is to send the soul contained within to eternal damnation; it is one of the cruellest fates you can imagine. And to decorate your weapons with them — and to bring these weapons to the ship of a diplomat you know brokers peace with the Eldar —

You know then what is happening, and you would laugh at the flagrant arrogance of the Inquisition, if you were not so fearful. They are so used to having nothing stand in their way — why would they be subtle about an assassination? You make a quick gesture with your right hand, keeping it pressed tight to your side. In battle-cant it means call the Primarch. Bring him back. We are in danger. 

To Kagha, you beam, trying to appear every inch the young idiot she appears to think you are. “Would you care to join me in my quarters for tea? I can send a vox to my senior — he is currently aboard a ship in the Ultramarine’s fleet, and will answer as soon as he can.”

A bluff, of course. You have no senior. And yet Kagha — arrogant, stupid Kagha — nods tersely. “This is acceptable.”

—

You do not think it arrogant to claim that you are more that a little adept at the finer points of conversation — it is, after all, much of your job to be personable and engaging. Indeed, this talent is in such short supply across the Imperium that you sometimes wonder if you count as a prodigy, just because you can engage in small talk without threatening anyone, or going on a half hour diatribe about the Emperor’s endless benevolence. You once even made a Harlequin laugh! Yes, it was because you fell over — but it still counts. 

And yet Kagha is a brick wall — no, that is an insult to masonry. She either does not answer your questions, or does so in a way that suggests she considers you the stupidest woman alive for even raising the point. Still, she is kind enough to pour the second round of tea, so you sip, and resign yourself to silence. 

After around twenty minutes, the ring on your index finger — a nondescript circlet of silver, set with a tiny little sapphire — tightens minutely. Thank goodness for that. You offer Kagha a bright smile. 

“If I were you,” you say. “I would have a word with your sources.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

”Well — they’re clearly quite out of date. I did have a superior diplomat overseeing my work here — her name was Sara Buchanan, and she was wonderful — but she returned six months ago to be with her grandchildren. I’ve been running the show here ever since.”

Kagha’s brow furrows. “If you are suggesting —“

“I am not suggesting. I am telling. Do you really think you are the first member of your Order to come calling to the Primarch’s fleet, thinking that they can disrupt our mission here? Granted, you are the first one to approach myself directly — but we know your sort. The arrogance of you! You’d see the Imperium remain steeped in shadow and ignorance if it kept your position safe.”

Genuine anger bleeds into your voice, and your throat tightens. You cough into your hand, cursing the sudden flare-up of — what? Allergies? Gunshots echo outside; lasgun facing lasgun. The Primarch has returned home, and is not best pleased with what he finds. 

Kagha’s lips skin back, showing her teeth. “You stupid xenos loving bitch — you have no idea what you are doing here.”

”I know exactly what I am doing here. Following my Lord Primarch’s orders. You are the heretic who claims to know better than the son of the God-Emperor —“ you break off into another bout of coughing, this time more strenuous. It feels like something is clawing up your throat. The door to your chambers crashes open, Cato Sicarius storming in, wreathed in smoke, spattered with blood. 

“Careful!” you yell out at the gunfight outside. “Don’t break the stones on the shields!”

”We know that,” Sicarius snaps at you. “We are well-aware of the Deathwatch’s tactics —“

Whatever he was about to say is amputated as you double over and vomit. A dark grainy substance puddles at your feet, like recaf-grounds. Behind you, Kagha sniggers. 

“So, so clever — but didn’t think to check the tea, did you?”

Oh for the love of the Emperor’s left bollock — you curse your oversight. She’d poured the tea. Ample time to slip poison into it, even though you had been watching her the whole time, because Inquisitors are nothing if not swift with their petty, lethal blows. You choke on another upsurge of bile, pain now radiating from your stomach, and collapse onto the floor. 

The next two things happen so swiftly as to be synchronous. Kagha reaches for her hairpin, presumably to activate some kind of suicide device, and Sicarius leaps towards her. Before she can complete whatever last-ditch resort she was planning, Sicarius has flipped her upside down, holding one scrawny ankle in each of his gauntleted hands. Kagha shrieks in astonishment — a shriek that soon turns to a wordless, senseless wail of agony as the Astartes moves his forearms, just a little, and rips her in half. Gore showers him, and you avert your eyes, but you can still hear the wet slop of organs falling to the ground in a bloody puddle; the popping and breaking of bones, rent apart like matchsticks. 

“That is my woman,” growls Sicarius — or, at least, you think he does. The world is starting to blur at the edges; the pain is receding — or perhaps you are receding, falling away into the dark. Your last image is of Sicarius bending down to you, reaching out. And then it is all black, as black as the void between stars. 

—

You blink awake to cool white light, and soft white linen. For an absurd moment you think you’ve perished, and this is the Emperor’s rest — an endless bed, where you can sleep as much as you wish (sleep being the one resource you were always so scarce of). 

Then —

“Ah, the wench awakes. Good. I was getting sick of looking at your sleeping face.”

Cato Sicarius sits by your bed, a paperback book open on his knee. The title reads Duty and Love: The Steamy Romance of a Kriegsman and a Sister of Battle — but before you can comment on it, he’s whisked it away, hiding it in one of his armour’s many compartments.

”How long — how long has it been?”

Your voice is rough; your throat aches. Sicarius tosses you a canteen of water. 

It’s metal. It’s Space Marine sized. You can’t catch it; it hits you in the chest and bounces off, leaving another bruise to deal with. 

“Next time, catch better.”

You have no idea how to respond to that. With shaking hands, you unscrew the lid and gulp at the icy water. 

“The poison ate through your oesophagus,” says Sicarius, conversationally. “Just as well it spared your tongue — a mute diplomat is no use to anyone, and we would have had to get someone new aboard. Can’t be doing with that.”

Perhaps it is your drug-induced delirium, but you smile at him. “Are you saying you’d miss me?”

”Absolutely not. Give me that.”

He snatches the canteen back, spilling water over you both. It’s his canteen. There’s a jug of water on your bedside table, and he gave you his canteen — but before you can dwell on that , Sicarius is back to grumbling. 

“We had to divert our entire mission because of you. Lord Gulliman was not best pleased that the Ordo Xenos was causing trouble for him and his, so we had to go halfway across the galaxy to Kagha’s home base. He’s spent the last five days putting every Inquisitor he can find to the sword. Burned a couple of planets that were still perfectly useful just because they wouldn’t tell us what we needed to know.”

There is far too much there for your sluggish brain to process. You manage: “Five days?”

”Yes. You’ve been out for six. That poison almost killed you. It didn’t. Fortunately.”

You stare down at your hands. They are almost as pale as the sheets: sunless, drained. “And the Primarch —?”

As if in answer to your question, the door opens, and Roboute himself enters. You immediately try to greet him properly — stand, curtesy, even salute — but your body won’t obey, and you just manage to tangle yourself up in your sheets, tumbling from the bed. The Primarch catches you before you hit the ground, swaddling you up in your linen like a newborn babe, settling you back onto the bed. His armour is tarnished, swathes of it stained rusty with old blood, and he reeks of smoke. Deep shadows hang under his eyes. He looks like he has come fresh from the battlefield. 

“There,” he says. “Better? Glad to see you with us.”

Your arms are pinned to your sides, which is just as well, since you suddenly want to stroke his tired brow, comb your fingers through his hair. 

Roboute looks over at Sicarius. “Thank you for your watch, brother.” To you, he adds: “Sicarius stayed —“

”Here because I was ordered to, and now I must leave to attend to proper business,” says Sicarius, all in a rush. 

Gulliman stares at him. And stares at him. Then looks at you. Then back at Sicarius. 

“…is that really what you want to say,” he says, in a tone of infinite, weary patience. “Really. After all this. That’s your parting riposte.”

Sicarius stands up straight, throwing up a parade-ground salute. 

“I fulfilled your orders, my lord. Watched her for the five days and nights. But now I have to return to my battle brothers for my actual purpose.”

Gulliman stares at him for another long, long moment. You twitch in the cocoon that Gulliman has forced you into, feeling deeply awkward but not entirely sure why. 

“Last chance,” says Gulliman. Sicarius frowns. 

“Not sure what else I should say, Lord Father.”

”Right,” says Gulliman, and sighs, turning back to you. He tucks you in more firmly — clearly intending it to be a comforting gesture, but managing to strait-jacket you to the point where you think your fingers are going numb. “Theoretical: the potential of losing you drove me to depths of fury that I had not felt in quite some time. This was in part due to the Inquisitor’s meddling, but largely to do with the prospect of not having you by my side.”

He strokes your hair gently.

”Practical: when you are well enough to stand, you will come to my quarters and we will have nice non-poisoned tea. And we can talk. And enjoy one another’s company.”

You squeak. “S-sounds like an excellent strategy, my lord. Yes. Please. Would like to play my part for you and the Legion and —“

”Perhaps not the entire Legion,” says Gulliman. “Not yet, anyway. Oh, and Sicarius? Why are you still here?”

Sicarius’ face is frozen in a rictus of pure, delirious rage. “No — no reason at all Lord Primarch. I will…I will take my leave.”

No one can say Gulliman did not give his idiot son a chance. He leans forward and kisses you gently on the forehead, pausing to inhale the scent of air. It smells of home. 

[angelsanarchy]

Righteousness of Man: Kappa x Y/N- Mini Series PRT 02

Tagging: @icarus-star @ithinkitstimetonap @kappasbbgirl @chainsawgvtsfvck @luzclarita57 @miniisunshine @romanroyapoligist @madamemaximoff06 @thirtyratsinasuit @ethical-cain-vinnel @blueberrypancakesworld @dumbbitchdelrey @loljustignoreth4t @tvgirlsbluehair @s0ulfulll @mommymilkers0526 @vomiting-blood @ultrakissed @hisemoslut @lustkillers @s-0lar @roryculkinsgf dukesofsp00ks thirtyratsinasuit

Y/n had decided to stick around camp for awhile and Kappa made it his mission to incorporate her into the family as seamlessly as possible. The two of them had a way of moving about the camp watching one another's every move.

Kappa found the way she spoke with the others and brought a level of comfort just from gentle touches to their faces or arms made everyone calmer. It was very motherly. He pondered the idea of having her teach all the girls how to be as soft and gentle as she was.

Y/n found listening to Kappa rant around the bonfire was both entertaining and educational. He spoke with such conviction that the others listened to him like he was preaching gospel straight to their souls.

"They're trying to take over. Soon enough, there will be metal rods in all of us, puppetting around like mindless robots. It's fucking disgusting." Kappa spit into the fire. Tonight's topic was based on the technological advancement that NASA had come up with sending astronauts to space but allowing them to have animatronic vessels here on Earth that could be present with their families.

The idea of robots taking over the world made Y/n chuckle to herself and it caught Kappa's attention.

"Y/n....do you have some thoughts on the matter you wish to share?" His tone was challenging and she simply shrugged her shoulders as she leaned back in the chair, holding onto a beer bottle.

"It's the American Dream isn't it? Father goes off to work while mother stays home and raises the nuclear kiddies, only now dear old daddy can be working around the clock while mommy gets to ride on a mechanical cock instead of the flesh and blood kind." She smirked. Some of the others laughed and Kappa knelt down opposite her, the large fire between them.

"No machine could ever compare to weighted flesh of the real thing." Kappa palmed at the front of his slacks and Y/N smirked.

"I don't know, I think unless you've used one then you can't really speak on its efficiency." Y/n knew she was pushing it and Kappa held her gaze. He was clearly getting worked up. His silence meant he was annoyed. It had only taken her a few days of being here to know that his silence could bring punishment.

As people started to retire to their cabins, Y/n remained in her seat, watching Kappa places kisses on his adoring flock of women who begged him to fall into their beds but he refused. He made his way towards Y/n who looked up at him as he stood towering over her.

"Left all your little minions heartbroken tonight? How will they survive without the weight of your flesh and blood cock?" Y/n continued to pick at Kappa and he grabbed her chin forcefully making her stop.

"Why would you defend the government taking over the human race?" Kappa's tone was serious.

"What?" She tried to laugh it off but his grip tightened.

"Who do you work for?" He asked curiously. Y/n held his gaze strongly.

"Technically I don't work for anyone. I'm self employed." She tried to give him the straight answers he was looking for.

"So a government contractor, is that it?" Kappa pressed stepping closer, trapping her in the chair.

"Let go of my face." She hardend herself but Kappa didn't budge.

"Darlin' if you think just because we've fucked that I won't toss you into that fire, you're sadly mistaken. I asked you a question." Kappa threatened squatting down to stare into her face.

"You want to hurt me because I challenged you in front of your people or because I think a robot cock is just as useful is your own?" Y/n bit back.

"You want to fuck something that feels nothing? That's what you want? That poison running through your veins?" Kappa flips out his knife and holds it to her throat.

"You want to kill me? Go for it." She tilts her head back exposing her neck to him. Kappa pressed gently drawing the slightest bit of red blood before wrapping his hand around her throat.

"I am trying to build a community here, something real. Something that will survive when the world goes to shit and the machines try and take over." Kappa growled.

"You think I don't realize that? You think I've stayed for the fun bonfires and fucking?" Y/n asked making Kappa release the pressure of her throat.

"You are the leader here Kappa. To them, you are a God among men. They feel safe and empowered with you and they should." Y/n could see him taking in everything she was saying.

"And you...what do you stay for then?" Kappa asked almost nervously.

"Every great man has a woman at his side reminding him of his potential." Y/n leaned forward towards Kappa.

"And you think you're going to be that woman?" Kappa challenged. Y/n shook her head at him.

"I am that woman." Her breath against his lips made his eyelashes flutter. He stood straight up and held his hand out for her to take but instead of taking his hand, she played with the front of his pants. Carefully unlooping his belt and resting her face against the zipper, long enough to take in his musk and grip the zipper with her teeth.

"Come to bed with me." Kappa lifted her chin gently this time and she refused.

"I want to feel the weight of your flesh and blood cock on my tongue..." She pulled his slacks down his legs and his cock hung heavy between his legs, slightly curved to the left and sprung from a heavy bushel of dark, coarse hair.

Y/n leaned forward and licked his already wet tip, listening to him take a deep breath in through his nose as she peppered little wet kisses over the skin, lapping at the precum.

"You want to be a God among men Kappa? Fuck the word of man into my throat then." Y/n's words made him look down as she held his eye contact while she took him into her throat deeply. He let his jaw slack as she drooled all over his cock, sucking and gargling on his thick cock. She let used her hands to stroke the length she couldn't fit into her mouth and massage his balls.

"Fuck...your throat is sinful." He brought his hands to his face and tried pushing his hair out of his eyes. He wanted to see Y/n take him down. He wanted to see her sacrifice air for his pleasure. He held the sides of her head and fucked into her throat harshly, feeling her moan at the contact of the tip hitting the back of her throat roughly.

His moans and the sound of the fire behind him were the only sounds that could be heard for miles.

"I'm going to cum and I want you to swallow every last drop. I want you to taste something machines could never produce. I want you to feel my cum in your belly tonight when you sleep and know that a little piece of me lives inside of you forever." Kappa whined as he yanked on the top of her hair so she would stare into his eyes, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. He held her gaze as he released into her throat, watching her eyes roll into the back of her head as she swallow around him. When he softened, she slowly pulled back, letting his cock fall semi-limp against his thigh. She leaned back trying to catch her breath but instead of allowing that he yanked her to her feet by her shoulders and kissed her.

He could taste himself on her tongue and she gripped his greasy hair between her fingers tightly as she kissed back. When she pulled away, he wiped the tear streaks off her face carefully and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Don't leave...ever." Kappa's tone sounded like a plea rather than a demand and Y/n smiled. This was only the beginning.

[vomitspit2]

Im going visceral /pos

What are your thoughts on Floyd? Any kind

But if that's too vague, maybe what kinds of dynamics do you like writing with Floyd? (ex. visceral/toxic yaoi, tall/short, tall/tall, "i can make him worse", "i can fix him", etc)

any kind of thoughts work, tho! ex. I think he'd be killer at jazz (I'm thinking jazz drums, because it's the most "feel" out of all of them, and is the most "rhythm" out of all of them, too)

No need to respond if you don't feel like it, as always!! Have a great day, either way!!!

hi hi icarus!! was so excited to see you in my inbox!! hello!!

any time i want to think floyd thoughts 💭 i just listen to ‘the pillows’; a lot of their songs put me into the headspace i envision when writing floyd!

i’m going to ramble under the cut because i got carried away (it’s even got a table of contents)!!

because of the cake event, i’ve got a couple of requests for floyd … more so than jade which is fine, i’m fine (ʘдʘ╬) …. & i’ve been thinking of a concept of floyd as living armor! i won’t be able to write it because the two medieval AU requests are fluff and the concept is anything but fluffy (well, it is sweet and cute to me but my vision is warped)!

just a preface: whenever i solidify an AU in mind, i always divide into what are both jade and floyd doing. i like narrative foils.

— it’d be fun to get around to what jade is getting up to via mafia AU one day ….

medieval concept:

floyd and jade are both knights in this AU. floyd’s path is actually much sweeter than jade’s, despite how horrific it is.

as young knights, appointed to the front lines, floyd and jade were an invincible force. they slip through the grim reaper’s claws like water, finding themselves persevering no matter what. the grim reaper only catches up to one of them when he stumbles upon a suit of armor left in the ruin of a kingdom they just bested.

floyd is entranced. the material is studier than his own; it is exactly his shape and build; and the visor, shining the brightest silver, is shaped like a set of fangs enclosed. it is the finest piece of blacksmithing and forge work he has ever laid his eyes on — and jade, wiping red rain off his face and content with his kills, does not fight floyd when he declares he will take it for himself.

it is a descent into madness plot.

the more floyd wears the armor, the less he wants to take it off. he is starting to see twisted shadows out the castle’s windows. it only gets to the point of no return when he tries to remove one of the gauntlet and his skin peels off with the removal.

after that, floyd swears to never put it back on, resolute in his decision, as his brother smashes their room apart in a terrible rage over his arranged engagement to the king’s daughter.

however, he does put it back on. it keeps shining in kaleidoscope stars and beckoning him with honeyed whispers.

when he puts back on the helmet, it is last time he sees the sun with his own eyes.

the kingdom goes to ruin. jade has killed the royal family. there is nothing left for floyd, because try as he might, the suit of armor will not come off. he tries to push his own sword through the helmet and shoulder-plate, only to hit his neck and realize it is metal rather than flesh.

floyd rots at the bottom of the castle. alone for a decade. until one day, a scavenger from a neighboring building comes and raids whatever is left from the castle’s innards.

one last time, floyd decides he will serve his dead king one last time and kill this scavenger, hungry and desperate you. it is a wild chase around the hallways, him at 6’2”, face full of carnivore teeth, swinging a claymore that is intent on cutting you clean in half. he has you cowering in a corner, about to add another body to the ghosts that float in his ruined kingdom, his ruined home, only to stop when a loud yip ripples your tattered coat.

you have a puppy. a puppy you were trying to feed with the leftovers.

it is not bigger than a kitten and yet it barks at floyd like it is the size of the bear.

floyd’s sword slowly drops.

it is an unsteady friendship from then on. he still dislikes you roaming around in the castle; you are still afraid of this man in the armor. but, eventually, you do come to a truce.

floyd finds himself becoming more endeared to your company. you bring a light back into the court that has been extinguished by his own brother.

and for the first time in a decade, floyd gets to feel the sun on his armor (his skin will never be the same) as you slowly take his clawed, metal hand and bring him out the catacomb of his home.

“can i finally see your face?” you will ask him one day.

and silent, he will shake his head. no.

that’s okay. the company of each other is enough for the both of you.

tall/tall dynamic:

i really really enjoy the dynamic of tall/tall for floyd!!

like absolutely adore it with my whole heart!!! 🖤they’re slowly morphing into the height and relationship dynamic of okuyusau and josuke for me!!!

picture for reference, mc and floyd are almost always the same height in my head.

i always have chess piece ocs in mind when writing /readers. its subtle but in narc, mc is the same size for shirts as floyd and is around the same height too. there is no part of standing on their tippy-toes for kisses & the eye contact is on equal footing.

i’m workshopping the scene where mc and azul meet in arnolfini portrait again & have to slap myself on the wrist every time i write ‘you glared down at azul’ or any variation of azul moving his neck to look up at mc.

idkw i feel so strongly about tall/tall dynamic with floyd. but i ADORE floyd with a tall shrimpy!!!

drummer! floyd:

from what i’ve seen from reading canon information on floyd, he did in fact play drums in a jazz band w/ azul and jade during middle school!! which i took to incorporating in ‘got you (where i want you)’ bc it’s largely a oneshot revolving around pop music club:

i want to explore a bit of the difference between how kalim plays drums and how floyd plays drum in it. it is going to be a big piece, about three chapters!

i only play piano and drums so we’ll see how i can handle talking about guitars (but like every single guy involved in my life plays guitar — brothers, bf, friends, co workers — so i got people to ask about it)

also was going to have floyd keep knives in his drum sticks during narc but scrapped it.

cake event:

the lineup for floyd that will come out nov 5 is:

royalty AU — jester x princess smut

NRC — viscera part 2 smut, 69 position

Arranged Marriage AU — hurt/comfort (FINALLY some angst from my request list б（＞ε＜ ）∂!!!)

royalty AU — mutual pining (no plot outlined yet but i’ll figure out a dynamic)

time loop AU — requester was very specific so the outline is already there!

arnolfini portrait:

HERE, is a snippet from that long Floyd work I’m going to release next year, some fluff (i think idk fluff) in a pool of angst;

Jade looks down at the both of you, a moue on his face. “I told you to watch him; not join him.”

Bleary, tear-soaked eyes blink seven times before you finally can fix all the puzzle pieces of Jade’s visage clearly in your vision. Above you, he stands, tutting in disappointment with a single teacup in hand. Steam curls out of the ceramic, reminding you of the absolute flaming heat on your cheeks. In response to his serene anger, you mumble, “Hmmm what?” into the pillowcase.

“Really, what am I going to do with the two of you?” Jade sets the teacup on Floyd’s desk.

“Leave us alone,” Floyd grumbles, nasally and exhausted. He takes to rub his forehead in your neck, impossibly hot as well.

See, Jade told you to watch over his brother for the afternoon. It is the weekend; you had no classes so you sought Floyd’s company. Said company happens to be suffering from a high fever he developed Friday night. Fretful, Jade told you he would return during his break at Mostro Lounge with tea for Floyd. Which must be now; not that you are keeping track of time. With little convincing, you fell in bed with Floyd due to his clogged and snotty siren call, snuggling up into the tempting warmth and accepting his infectious kisses.

Now contaminated, you wake up from your nap to face off the enemy of Jade’s frowning discontentment. Your attack move is to shimmy yourself down until the comforter is up to your chin. Floyd’s arms wrap around you tighter, thinking you are trying to leave. You cast the verbal spell of, “Yeah, what he said.” and close your eyes to get more sleep.

A subtle, amused laugh is Jade’s counterspell. “I hope you two will accept the responsibility of holding each other’s hair back when this virus wants to make its exit.”

Cheek to cheek, Floyd mumbles back, “Of course, I’d do anythin’ for (Name).”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifts. The fluidity of your limbs that were melting into the cuddle hardens into stone. Even Jade seems to stand a bit straighter despite his already perfect posture. Slowly, you pull your upper body out of the hug, bleary eyes wide as saucers.

“Did you just –?”

It is hard to tell: is the blush on Floyd’s face from his ridiculously high fever or is it because of his embarrassment? He looks at you like you are the one who has grown two heads. He has no reason to be looking so shocked when you are one who has whiplash!

“I – um –”

“Oh my God, you just did!” The fact of the matter – Floyd using your real name – has put your world on such an axis that you worry Floyd is going to have to hold your hair back like Jade suggested; you are about ready to throw up from nerves. Nerves exit your mouth through laughter instead. “Oh my God! Hahaha! You – hahaha!”

“Shrimpyyy,” Floyd whines before erupting into a coughing fit.

“It’s cute! I promise, it’s super cute! Hahaha!”

Floyd, who hates being called cute, fixes you with a glare that is lackluster due to the sweat glistening on his forehead and the chagrin that has sunburnt itself on his skin. He pulls his hand off your stomach and pinches your nose. You let out a honking laugh that is more geese than human.

anyways,,, always holding floyd like this. i do enjoy his character (but never more than his brother)!!!!

[generalsdiary]

comfort isn’t Sunday’s thing.

he is like a match, he needs to burn

and burn out till the wooden wick turns black and ashen.

The head of the Oak family. …Former head of the Oak family. “what a joke…” he dryly chuckles. his wrists and ankles shaded red from the shackles and chains they held him in. the cold metal against his soft skin was still fresh in his mind, chaining a Halovian… an angel in chains- so much like the archangel Lucifer- except Lucifer was never a bad guy, nor is Sunday- that’s what he believes at least. or was Sunday more like Icarus, he got too close to the sun- touched the hand of a god, of an Aeon. this ‘freedom’, if he can even call it that, given by Jade- it will surely be short-lived, like a firefly in the summer, burning out his life. what deal did Robin make with that woman? he should find her, he needs to see his sister. make sure that she is okay. behind his heavy eyelids, Sunday recalls how she caught him, held him… silently murmured prayers fall from his lips in hopes that she is okay. he would forsake anyone, anything, even himself- his pride and beliefs and fall on the ground to pray to any Aeon if it meant his sister would be safe. his step is heavy, silenced by the carpet in the empty hotel room. the door clicks as it closes, and he chuckles once again, a self-deprecating laughter. “I failed. At… everything. I couldn’t protect her, I couldn’t give everyone a happy life in the dreamworld- I couldn’t-“ Sunday’s words get stuck in his throat, choking on them, feeling the flower petals bloom inside his throat- constricting his breathing and making his mouth dry. his gaze raises to the ceiling, is he seeking a remnant of Ena?... no… Sunday is regretting his failure. “I was never enough. I didn’t do well... enough.”

gold sun-like eyes fill with hot tears that slowly tread down his cheeks and he falls to his knees. he softly shakes his head and stands back up, “no… no.” Sunday, even in his fall from the sky, he doesn’t allow himself to tread so lowly that he’d weep on the floor. instead, he walks further into the room, which, in his gaze looks distorted, in the same way the world looks when one��s eyes are full of tears threatening to overflow. Sunday’s eyes were now dry, his hands calm without a tremor as he slowly took off his jacket, and another one… and his shirt. the wings usually wrapped around his waist relax and sit behind him, long, light, never seen by another. the gloves come off his hands and he continues until he stands without any restrictions. troubled mind with troubled eyes focused on the clothes laid out on the bed. why are his clothes the only thing he can control right now? Sunday turns his back to the bed, frustration washing over his body. “What’s next… what is it that I can do next? Where… where would I even go?” Sunday’s voice turns to soft mumbles while his back remains straight and shoulders square, even after everything he holds himself up high, elegant, and firm. as if he is always observed by a silent shadow of his past that judges his every move. with a heavy step, he walks into the bathroom and towards the bathtub. a sour sight. the wound’s still fresh. he sits in the normal bathtub, the water filling it slowly, his head hangs over the edge and he sighs. the match has burnt out. the hot water brings him no comfort. Sunday’s mind is on a short pause, a mere breather full of regret and knives pressing against the hill of his throat, as he struggles to swallow the mistakes, the failures, and thoughts of what he could have done differently. mere moments later his head raises again, the vulnerability in them gone, the tundra cold in them once more while he organizes the information in his head and creates a new plan for moving forward. it is all chaos, his mind like books that fell off the shelves, shredded paper flying around with crossed out writing on them, the furniture thrown, flipped over- his mind palace a mess. Sunday made this mess and now he must sit in it. him, a follower of the order.

“… but chaos… is a ladder.”

[waxweave]

“you didn't have to go out of your way to take care of me.” — for icarus!

@nymfernal / kindness.

but he does, doesn't he? owes her that much, and if it's not for what he owes, then it's for what he hopes: to see her happy, whole. truthfully, icarus feels as though he is right on track. the end of the path so clear to him, worth walking on no matter the effort. goddess at rest, smiling with her family. does like her smile. he wouldn't be able to see it from a bird's-eye view, would he? shame, thinks it would be beautiful. but to be allowed to see it at all, even grounded — anything. a hand pushes through seasalted hair, falls back in place with a shake of his head. the smile he gives her polite, ❛ hardly out of my way, meli! swear it. ❜ always that practiced distance. what's a shade to a god? it'll be the norm when she wins. right now he encompasses something more, plays at landing on her level. it's temporary. best not to get comfortable with it.

always in excess for the gods though, icarus, mortals. never any good at heeding warnings to stay away, always seems to make a habit of failing when it comes to melinoë. urged to her attention is an extra gift. a metal covering far too small for her, adorned in markings of silver sisters. he's nervous because with it comes admission, acknowledgement that he looks on from where she cannot always see. to look down upon divinity, even with warmth — he clears his throat. ❛ for frinos. ❜ perhaps his heat doesn't reach her no matter what, perhaps sun-stained shades attempts do not breach the night at all. she'll find her success under shroud of darkness, beneath expectant gods, and when she does, he'll step in their line. stop standing out so offensively. for now, though. ❛ i've seen what you both go through when you're out and about — ❜ and i know he's important to you, used to be there to see it firsthand. ❛ thought this might help give you some peace of mind. ❜

but then, his eyes draw over her, like they often do despite his best attempts to stay focused on the road ahead, to not let gold drift to wayward paths that maybe, if they were the same, if he had not yearned still for the sun — they could have been walked together. that's not important. what is is that she's no place to carry it. ever practical. it draws a chuckle out of him, both at her familiarity and his own shortsightedness. ❛ i'll, uh. drop it by? it'll be waiting for you there. ❜ and then, because he knows her, because he'll take the discomfort of the crossroads in stride for her, ❛ won't be out of my way, don't worry. ❜

[feastonkings]

nicholas galitzine / he/him ——— no way is that CASH WILKERSON.. they’re a 27-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being IMPISH & GULLIBLE but there are some people who have seen them being EXCITABLE & COMEDIC. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of flipping off the camera, shirtless instagram pictures, icarus flying dangerously close to the sun, wearing sunglasses to hide a hangover, and worn out converse sneakers, but that could just be because they’re considered the THE FOOL around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

GENERAL.

full name: cash reese wilkerson nicknames: wiley (military) classification: enhanced human gender / pronouns: cis man, he/him age / birthday: 27, september 29th orientations: bisexual, biromantic occupation: security at the radio station location: middle district status: single, closed family: gunner wilkerson (brother), rocky wilkerson (brother), 2 brothers tbd strengths: strategic, excitable, comedic, tough, assertive weaknesses: impish, gullible, aggressive, uncouth, violent

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: bullying, violence, adultery

the second oldest of five brothers and seemed to take after his oldest brother in way of being an unrelenting force of nature. cash wasn’t always bad, but he got bored easily and tended to delight in reactions he would get from people. the best reactions often came from tormenting people, at least the ones cash enjoyed the most.

his mom was the only one who could ever get through to him a little bit and that was just because she was ruthless and didn't put up with any of the kids’ bullshit.

unfortunately for her, she couldn't send them all to military school and cash was very aware of it. plus, he learned from the best: his older brother

in school he was notorious for terrorizing his fellow classmates, he made sure anyone who tried to bully his younger siblings thought twice about doing it again.

at home, he could be a terror to his siblings and his parents alike. cash loved his family, don’t get him wrong, he just struggled to express himself in a better way so his care was often shown in small ways that could easily go unnoticed, like fixing something that broke or cooking a meal.

in the eleventh grade cash was finally kicked out of school, he ended up getting his GED and was recruited to join the navy.

before he was deployed to basic training he married a friend to help her from getting deported then accidentally fell in love with her but she said she felt the same about him

the navy really gave him a place to shine, he discovered his knack for strategy, quick thinking, and thirst for violence went well with the military. he was quickly promoted into special forces, training to be a navy seal

after his first deployment, he got leave and the choice to end his service then if he wanted to. when he came home to make the decision with his wife and spend time with her only to find out she’d been cheating on him the whole time he was away. they got divorced and he shoved the heartache down and went right back to the navy

on one of his deployments he was wounded in action which resulted in him needing several skin graphs on his chest and bicep and extensive nerve damage among other things. if they would've let him deploy again once he healed he would've but they gave him a medical discharge and a purple heart, forcing him into retirement at the age of twenty-six

he still isn’t quite sure what to do with his life, he gets a lot of pent up energy that can get him into trouble if he doesn’t find somewhere to put it. mostly fights from antagonizing people for the fun of it

the one saving grace is having his siblings around and getting the job he did at the radio, the rest he’s just trying to figure as he goes.

HEADCANONS.

has burn scarring on his back, chest, and arm. still gets pain in his left arm where the metal rods were put in, sometimes it gets pretty bad

more to come

[oh-well-shit]

There’s something giving me EXTREME heebie jeebies about this whole submarine thing, and the precedents it’s about to set. The reactions from the public, the press, the rescue efforts, the symbolism, all of those things are already hugely reshaping our worldviews. The idea of it all, the full circle element with what society was supposed to learn from the original Titanic tragedy, the folly of man, the Icarus of it all, is extremely compelling in theory. Whether you’re praying for their families and a safe return, or relishing in their potential suffering.

But tomorrow morning, EVERYTHING will be different.

Either this frantic race against the clock, news grabbing attention, memes, tweets, and commentary will end in a hunk of metal being hauled up from the bottom of the sea with the bodies of people who died in likely the most painful and terrifying way conceivable, in a frozen airless vessel at the bottom of the ocean that crushed itself like a tin can, and the world will know that not even billionaires are immune to not only the laws of nature, but to their own exploits,

OR

A categorically impossible rescue mission will pay off, resulting in all of us mortals ACTUALLY REALIZING that so much has been possible the whole time, for the benefit of all of humanity, and that in real time we see how well it pays off for these billionaires to continue operating as usual.

Either billionaires will discover that they are not invulnerable, or we will discover that they actually are.

I think if they live things will continue relatively as normal, maybe with some swats on the wrist for the company that runs the program, but if those people die, it’s gonna open a can of worms we won’t be able to predict.

[doyourememberrocknrollradio]

Why, Yes, Yes I Do

“Do you still listen to that Heavy Metal Devil Music?” asked my least favorite Uncle during one holiday family gathering that we always had around this time of the year. I was just out of high school and was probably wearing a band t-shirt. A huge part of me wanted to stick my tongue out, put fingers up by my head like devil horns and talk like a demon possessed. But I was raised better than that, so my Uncle trying to belittle me wasn't going to work. I just answered “Why, yes, yes I do.” Honestly, nothing I could have said would have changed his opinion of me, and I already knew the man was a complete asshole.

But looking back I think it's so odd that people get worked up about something, even if they haven't really researched it or looked into it themselves. My Uncle was going by whatever he had heard from some fear-mongering religious zealot spewing crap about how heavy metal music was destroying the youth who listened to it and opening the door for Satan to waltz right in and take their souls. I can still remember some religious folks outside of the venue when I saw Iron Maiden back in the 80s. They didn't save my soul. The music did.

I could have explained to my Uncle that a lot of my favorite music at that time was educational. Like the band I mentioned above, Iron Maiden, so well known for a song and album called “The Number Of The Beast.” They had peaked my interest in (Satan? No!) history and literature and mythology. Songs about Edgar Allen Poe stories, one about the plight of the Native Americans, one about the poem the Rime of the Ancient Mariner and even one about the great sci-fi novel Dune. The story of Daedalus and Icarus was also the subject of a song, as was the Battle Of Britain and countless other subjects and themes that had nothing to do with Satan. I found all of it fascinating.

Also back then Metallica was dropping songs about the horrors of addiction, the hell that is war and even the struggle that is depression. It wasn't all just about banging your head, although that part was a lot of fun! For me, just knowing others dealt with depression at a time when so few people discussed it was refreshing. It somehow made it easier to fight and deal with.

And the brotherhood that many fans of bands have is amazing. If I'm wearing a Slayer shirt and walk past someone else wearing one then at least one of us is going to yell “Slayer!” There are always some bad exceptions, but for the most part I always found the metal scene being very accepting of everyone. It didn't matter if you were male, female, black, white, gay or straight or whatever. If you were at a show then you were part of a large family of headbanging freaks. Hell, I made a good friend once just because both of us were browsing the metal imports at the local record store.

I remember going to a show with my cousin back in the day. (One of the asshole Uncle's children) Once the band started playing all of the sudden my cousin and the guy beside him are singing together, bumping into each other, sometimes arm in arm and just totally enjoying every second and soaking in the energy of the music. The two guys didn't know each other, they just had a mutual love of the band playing and the music. It was beautiful. They didn't become friends after the show, they just enjoyed that moment in time.

So I guess I could have tried to explain all of this to my rude Uncle when he asked me if I was still listening to that Heavy Metal Devil Music stuff. But I doubt he would have understood that there was (and still is) so much more under the surface of metal music.

--- Tim (@big-low-t) ---

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 21

Hey guys!! The story is starting ramp up to the finish line! I hope you guys are still enjoying it as much I enjoyed writing it.

In this we have Steve taking back his agency, Eddie and Jeff having a little chat and Abbadon leaning on his friends.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

~

As soon as Abbadon grabbed the mic, the audience knew they were going to be in for a ride.

“Las Vegas!” he roared to the crowd, who roared back. “There seems to be some confusion about how naughty I got with Eddie Munson in Denver.”

The crowd went wild, screaming and jumping up and down.

“I never do anything without prior consent,” he grinned. “I’m a gentleman, until you tell me you want it otherwise.” He winked and the crowd screamed back. “I’m not saying I’m coming for Asmodeus’s job,” Abbadon said, draping himself over his guitarist’s shoulders, “but I’m no innocent. I don’t need protection.” He walked across the stage to Astraeus. “I’ve always been affectionate. But I think it’s time to be put the rumors to bed.”

“Oooooohhhhhh!” Asmodeus and Astraeus shouted and got the crowd to say it with them. Once they were loud enough, Azrael started rapidly tapping his drums to further build up tension.

Just when Abbadon was sure the tension couldn’t stretch much further he said, “I’m not a slut. I’m the slut!” The throng of people roared back. “And I’m not going to hide who I am to make myself palpable to people I’ve never met or no longer have any connection to me. I am Abbadon! I AM THE FALLEN!”

Waiting in the wings was Jeff and Eddie. They had gathered to watch Steve do this in person instead of watching it live in the green room.

Jeff cocked his head to the side and clicked his tongue. “Whatever else you think of Abbadon and the rest of the band, you have to admit the man has charisma.”

Eddie pressed his lips together and nodded. He was proud of Steve. Of course he was, but it did sting a little that it took Shane to get him to talk about it. Not him, Not Robin. Hell, not even Simon, whom Eddie thought was unhealthily close to Steve. Shane. Of all the band members, Shane had the least in common with Steve. Spence had the EMT thing, Simon, the upper class upbringing. Other than them liking metal, they couldn’t be further apart then if God planned it that way.

Shane came from a middle class liberal family with an older sister he was close with. Hell, he even still talked to his parents while Steve definitely did not. He was a giant nerd who loved history and myths. Steve struggled in school and only made it out alive because he was on three sports teams and captains of two of them. Shane even slept around to Steve’s search for ‘the one.’ Which Eddie really, really hoped was him.

But maybe that was it. Maybe the reason Shane could get through to Steve was because they didn’t have much in common. Maybe their connection were their differences. That they were friends in spite of the gap between them.

Eddie almost wanted to get Steve into therapy like Gareth was. Because even though it always seemed to him that Gareth was one drink away from destruction these days, the therapy did appear to be working.

Steve could really use something like that.

They watched the set a little bit longer.

“Are you sure you’re okay with Abbadon flirting with Gareth?” Jeff asked.

Eddie blinked for a moment wondering where the comment was coming from. Because, sure, Gareth had talked non-stop about Abbadon being his favorite member, even going as far as to tattoo Abbadon’s mask on his left bicep. But Gareth didn’t seem interested in Abbadon as a person.

And it wasn’t like Steve was really interested in him that way before or after becoming a rockstar.

“Gareth and Abbadon both say it’s fine,” he murmured after a moment or two. “And I trust Abbadon.”

Jeff hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah okay. So this time it’s not going to be the duet?”

“No, I don’t want a repeat of last time. Abbadon is going to be taking the lead vocals on ‘Might as Well Fly’, I think he’ll lend a haunting quality to it.”

Jeff pursed his lips. Steve definitely had the pipes for it, but it wasn’t the song out of their discography that he would have chosen for Abbadon to shred.

Eddie huffed beside him and crossed his arms in front of him. “Let me guess, you have other ideas?”

“Can Abbadon play guitar?” Jeff asked rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Eddie shrugged. “I mean, I guess. He’s like able to play piano, violin, and guitar. Can he play the song you’re thinking of is the real question.”

Jeff turned to him with a grin. “Oh, if I know our friend as well as I think I do, he knows it.”

Eddie frowned at him and cocked his head to the side. “Which one?”

Jeff told him and Eddie rubbed his lips, skeptical. It was a good song. Harder than ‘Might as Well Fly’ and faster too. It had an extra guitar to it because it originally featured a famous guitarist. But it was also the lead guitar on that song.

“Do you really think he can do it?” he asked, licking his upper lip slowly.

Jeff scoffed, “Why? Do you think he can’t?” Eddie just shrugged. “Because holy hell, dude, I was talking to Asmodeus and he was telling me they formed their band over their love of our music. I’m betting if you asked Abbadon he could list his favorite albums alphabetically, chronologically, or which one is best musically. Even before you guys got together, before their band, before we even got a record deal, he’s been your number one fan. And he’s got the chops for it. You know he does.”

Eddie looked around to make sure no one had heard Jeff’s impassioned speech. He ducked his head. “Have Abbadon meet us before we go on to discuss the change while they setup our equipment.”

Jeff grinned and licked his lips. “You won’t regret this. And neither will they.” He jutted his chin out at the roaring crowd.

And yeah, Eddie knew he was being ridiculous about the song. He was trying to play this safe, but Steve didn’t need safe right now. He needed to take back his agency and Eddie knew that this song? It was fucking perfect for Steve. They would be able to feed off the roar of the crowd and give Steve a chance to really show them how good he is.

~

Steve loved the idea of the change in song. Don’t get him wrong, he loved ‘Might as Well Fly’. It just wasn’t the vibe he was trying to send today. Steve already was flying. Now he was raging at the people who were trying to clip his wings. And fuck them.

It meant that he couldn’t start on Gareth’s lap, but that was okay. This was going to be better. A hell of a lot better.

He pulled on his Corroded Coffin logo lined coat and swapped his mask for the lighter everyday one. He was going to need the extra movement for these vocals. He started in the middle again, this time in front of Corroded Coffin instead of between them.

“Hey, Las Vegas!” Eddie cried. “You bitches ready to rock?”

The crowd screamed back and Eddie laughed. “We’ve got a treat for you tonight!” The crowd screamed even louder. “We don’t usually play ‘Nightmare Killer’ because we don’t have that third guitarist.”

The audience went wild, screaming and whistling and stomping their feet in excitement.

“We asked Asmodeus,” Eddie continued. “But he’s too cool for us!” The crowd made teasing booing noises and oohhed. “But that’s okay, we found someone else willing to play.”

The room fell to a hush as Abbadon’s spotlight came on. There was some uneasy wrestling from the audience as he stood with his ear mic and white guitar. Something that eagle-eyed fans would know about Eddie and Jeff was that they didn’t own a white guitar. And all The Fallen fans knew that all of Asmodeus’s guitars were red and vaguely devil themed. This wasn’t his either. This was clearly Abbadon’s.

Abbadon began the opening riff and the crowd took a massive intake of breath as he sailed perfectly through the chunky bits of the original artist’s style. Then he began to sing, the haunting quality of his voice filling in the gaps of the silence that seemed to stretch on from the audience.

Eddie didn’t even bother trying to hold back the look of admiration on his face as he joined Abbadon for the chorus. Their vocals mixing beautifully to the backdrop of a hell beast looking for more from life than the violence it was weaned on.

Throughout the song the only sounds from the crowd were clapping in time to the beat. Eddie had never seen anything like at their concerts before. It was like there was this reverence for what was happening on stage.

Abbadon ate it up and played it up as he enticed the members of Corroded Coffin to him. Each of the members resisted. Then Abbadon handed his guitar off to a roadie and climbed the stairs to the platform that Gareth was on. He straddled Gareth’s lap and drumming cut out as his bandmates played on. From behind it looked like they were kissing, but with Abbadon’s mic off they were making fun of each other. Then suddenly he whirled on Gareth’s lap and hit the drums right on the last note with a crash.

Then in an instant the crowd thundered to life, cheering and stomping and clapping.

Abbadon blew Gareth a kiss and leapt off the platform to take his bows. The flutter of the coat revealing the Corroded Coffin logo again and the crowd screamed even louder. He blew kisses to the crowd and continued to bow. Eddie whistled loudly and Abbadon laughed.

Eddie grabbed the microphone. “Abbadon everyone! One very talented son of bitch! Another round of applause everyone!”

The crowd continued to go wild. Abbadon let out a whoop and jumped up and down, laughing. It was exhilarating, everyone just feeding the energy back to Abbadon and just feeling high off that. Eddie and Jeff shared a glance and Jeff winked. Eddie shook his head. Because yeah, Jeff won that bet.

Abbadon waved goodbye and walked off the stage. Once he was out of view of the audience Hopper swooped in and immediately threw a cool, damp towel over his head and Steve nearly sank to his knees in relief. Because try as they might, the hoods were still fucking hot. Hopper lead him to the dressing room where the rests of The Fallen were waiting.

As soon as the door closed tightly behind Abbadon, Steve pushed back the hood and ripped off the mask. His hair was wet and sweat clung to his face and neck. He let himself sink slowly into the soft cushions of the sofa and laid his head back.

A bottled water was being pushed into his hand and an ice pack was placed on his brow. He let out a small shuddering breath. He opened the water and dumped half of it on his face and the rest into his mouth.

“Thanks, guys,” Steve muttered, his eyes fluttering shut. “How did I look out there?”

Simon huffed a little a laugh. “Like fucking rock god.”

“I’m with Simon,” Spence said. “It won’t silence the naysayers but it’ll drown them out which is even better.”

Steve laughed. “Fuck that was so much fun. Gareth called me a queen. So I called him a bitch. I honestly don’t know if he likes Abbadon more now, or less!”

“Considering how little time you had to prepare,” Shane said, sprawled over an armchair instead of on the floor for a change, “I say you kicked ass. You’re going to get people saying you weren’t really playing but, they can suck your dick!”

Steve lifted his head, the ice pack sliding into his hand. “I hate doing this without you guys, though,” he admitted. “But as Shane pointed out, I’m already super affectionate with you already and short of French kissing Simon, they aren’t going to believe shit.”

“Nothing against you, Steve,” Simon said with a wince, “but I really don’t want your tongue down my throat.”

Shane raised his hand. “I volunteer! I volunteer!”

They all laughed. Then Robin as Celeste slipped in and sat next to Steve. She grabbed the ice pack and pressed it to the back of her neck. They all waited as she let her defenses slowly come down. She pulled off the wig and tossed it Spence who caught it deftly.

“Vickie has been working tirelessly tonight to keep an eye on social media,” Robin began, “she even has two of her assistants watching all the accounts, constantly refreshing.”

Steve turned on the couch to face her. “And what are they saying?”

Simon and Spence immediately moved over to her to sit on either side of her and Steve. Shane sprawled over the back like some Renaissance painting. He rustled her hair and she huffed out a laugh.

“You’re getting the trolls from both fans shit talking about how Abbadon is better than Corroded Coffin and should have turned them down like Asmodeus,” she continued, pausing only for Simon’s huff of laughter. “The Corroded Coffin fans were whining about how Abbadon’s vocals ruined the song and that he probably faking the guitar playing for the views.”

“I’d like to see them fake that bridge,” Steve scoffed. “It’s insane.”

Simon nodded. “I don’t think I could do it.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll post a Tiktok of me trying to play it.”

“Wait!” Spence said. “Have Steve do it first, showing a close up of the hands dancing on the frets. Then you stitch it with your version. That should kick them in the ass.”

Steve and Simon fist bumped each other. “Hell yeah!”

“But the rest of the tweets and shit coming in is overwhelmingly positive,” Robin finished. “So that Tiktok should silence the Corroded Coffin fans.”

When Simon did his stitch of Steve’s video he made sure to admonish their fans about thinking who’s better than who. He was friends with the boys in CC and the being ‘too cool’ was a fucking joke.

Then Eddie did a stitch of both of their videos and showed them again how complicated the riff was for Abbadon to play by playing it himself. Abbadon and Asmodeus’s videos racked up a lot of views and shares, but Eddie’s really did the numbers. It blew up and completely overshadowed all the haters.

Steve made sure to thank Eddie for that later in the privacy of Eddie’s hotel room.

~

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[hughjidiot]

Total Drama Level Up Chapter Six Behind-the-Scenes

Time for another look at the writing process of TDLU, and I have a lot to say about chapter six.

For starters, this chapter was supposed to come much later on. For a while in my drafts I had the zombie apocalypse challenge in mind for episode six while the music challenge would take place post-merge. But then I decided the band challenge would work better for the team portion, so I swapped them.

Before the switch, I also envisioned this challenge as being more like karaoke, with Trent, Cody, Justin and Harold of the Drama Brothers as special guest stars playing the actual music. After making the switch I then thought I'd make them guest judges instead. But it was during this brainstorming that I came up with the idea to have past competitors guest star in the murder mystery challenge, so I scrapped any appearances here so as not to double-dip.

Speaking of which, I also initially planned to have Zee casually reveal that he's a metalhead, rather than simply having family into the metal scene, drawing humor from someone so chill being into hardcore metal. But I'd done a similar reveal just a chapter before revealing Zee to have a sudden interest in skateboarding, and I didn't wanna repeat of that. If I had made Zee a metalhead, I would've had a joke like this when someone expressed surprise that someone like him would be into metal: "Hey man, not all of us metalheads burn churches or practice devil worship or use a picture of our dead bandmate as a bootleg album cover." (looks directly at the nearest camera) "I'm not making that up by the way; that actually happened."

And yes, Zee really isn't making that up. I'm not giving you the album name obviously, but if you're morbidly curious, look into the history of the band Mayhem.

By far what gave me the most trouble was trying to figure out what everyone would sing. I went through so many choices, it's crazy.

For Millie I decided she'd be into oldies, since that felt like a good hit for her "Wow, my generation is messed up" attitude from season one. I went through a whole list of potential songs, almost going with "Message in a Bottle" by the Police before ending on "Walk Like an Egyptian."

For a while I thought to have Bowie singing David Bowie, but that felt a little too on-the-nose. I ultimately went with Elton John after hearing "The Bitch is Back" on the radio and deciding that would be perfect for Bowie.

For a while for Axel, I'd planned on having her sing an Iron Maiden song. I headcanoned her as a fan as metal makes for great workout music, and she'd appreciate the literary and historical references in a lot of their songs. It was a toss-up between "The Trooper" and "Flight of Icarus;" if I'd gone with the latter, the plan for the performance was to have Bowie in a winged harness like Greece's Pieces from World Tour, flying over the stage to a giant sun prop where he'd ignite the wings, detach himself and drop down. Obviously all of that changed when I decided a Guns n Roses song would better fit Axel's vocal range.

Side note: I really liked having Axel be the one to paint her team's backdrops here. I couldn't resist throwing in a nod to her artistic side, one of my favorite things we got from Axel for season two.

For Zee, once I'd headcanoned him as being a fan of soft rock, I almost instantly decided on "Brandy" by looking glass. Initially for his performance I was gonna put emphasis on Lauren admiring him as the beginning of her crush, but decided to save it for their dance during MK's number instead.

Lauren's performance of reenacting the murder of Paul Allen from American Psycho was one of the first things I came up with when finalizing this challenge. For the song itself, I actually had "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves picked out, which is also part of the movie's soundtrack. But in the end I decided to go with the actual song from that scene, "Hip to be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News.

MK, hoo boy. She easily went through the most songs, since I wanted to find something that felt like a good match for her scratchy voice and something semi-romantic for Zee and Lauren to dance to. For a while my choices were "Love Gun" by Kiss, "You Shook Me All Nite Long" or "Touch Too Much" by AC/DC, or "Sweet Child of Mine" by Guns n Roses (before deciding to give Axel the GnR song.) I ultimately went with "Butterfly" by CrazyTown since I figured MK wouldn't be one for singing, so she'd rather rap.

[literarynecromancy]

Happy birthday!

Also earlier I tried to look through your blog for your (written) works so I can send in more meaningful asks, but I couldn't find anything. ;w; Would you kindly describe some of your pieces?

Ah yes - the elusive pieces you are looking for are because I actually haven't actually uploaded much here! (I'm deeply terrified of people stealing my words or ideas - which is something I'm slowly trying to work on especially if I actually want people interested in my work!)

My pieces are as follows though, and I'll try to get in depth!

All Things Concerning Chaos is about a band of misfits quite literally tasked with capturing the embodiment of Chaos, which Markus (Ringleader of a troupe of circus-based thieves) unleashed by trying to steal from the Ruler of Icarus.

Magdelena and her daughter Eva are dragged in by Markus as he points them as insiders who helped - even though that couldn't be further from the truth. He just wanted to get back at his ex-girlfriend for leaving him in the first place and if he was going down, he was taking her with him.

The story follows them as they travel all over the post-apocalyptic planet (notably by train) as they have three years to complete their task before their prison collars (collars quite literally locked in place around their neck) go off, slicing their necks and killing them instantly.

It's a very character-driven story as well and the cast are as follows:

Magdelena - Eva's adoptive mother and a witch who can turn things to different forms of metal.

Eva - Arguably the main-main character and is a prodigy whose specialty is creating automatons, she is also a witch that can breathe life into things - within reason.

Ferro & Dog - Two of Eva's personal works and automatons. Dog is less complex and takes the shape of a large metal canine that acts as protection for Eva, and Ferro is VERY complex and based upon a human being. After having life breathed into him, he's almost human. But they don't know what happens when it "runs out" as it frequently does with Dog.

Scarlette - One of Maggie's Ex's and is a witch that can manipulate with her voice. She's very protective of Eva and her breakup with Maggie can be understood as a huge misunderstanding.

Markus - Ringerleader of Abbadon's Circus and the head of the thieving troupe it really is. Prideful and has hella bad eyeliner. He's also my personal favorite of the whole cast.

Sophia - an older and wise lady that acts as Markus' confidant. Also a witch that can manipulate the tattoos on her body into weapons.

Vienna - Alcoholic gremlin and part of the troupe.

Aelyn - Born into a chaos worshipping cult, was raised and shaped to be the next leader, and decided to leave gender behind in the process. Tasked with keeping a metaphorical eye on the group.

Julius - Head of the Wings of Icarus and tasked with keeping an eye on the criminals as they fulfill their task.

Monty - Sadness masked with a blanket of waining hope and determination that barely helps keep him alive. Head doctor of a plague-ridden town.

El - Another witch and Monty's assistant. Tries to help with the plague problem.

Lucy - El's wife and assistant. Formerly a resident of an asylum before breaking out.

Darien - Part of the Chaos worshipping cult and believes that he should be the next coming of Chaos. Antagonist.

Lila - Eva's twin sister and everything she touches, dies. Antagonist.

==================================

Death Rattle is about work partners and roommates Roswell and Necro as they try to figure out why crime against the cryptalters is rising within the city. With Roswell as a cryptalter himself as he is a Reaper, and with Necro being a Witchblood-addicted woman who escaped from the commune of the People of the Occulum before she was to marry into the head family.

Characters:

Roswell - Reaper cryptalter and arguable main character. Very edgy and angry and it causes a lot of problems.

Necro - Roswell's partner and addicted to a drug called Witchblood, which gives her cryptalter-like powers.

Reaper - THE Grim Reaper and the one that started reapers as a cryptalter species.

[loyaltymoved]

Icarus, it was not your fault.

He is 19. He is killed by ghouls to seek revenge on a father he never really knew. It happens out of nowhere, it confuses him. He is strapped down before flesh is torn from his body with teeth. He screams, and they are echoed by his mother. But soon those screams turn to silence.

His body is found, but he gets no proper funeral. There is no chance for his friends to grieve him, no gravestone to be visited. His corpse is burned. A hunters funeral, despite him being only a kid. He gets no tears, there is no mourning. He is dead, and yet those he cared about will never know.

He goes to heaven. It looks like his prom. He is smiling. His heaven is kissing a girl he liked. It’s strange, yes. But it’s pleasant.

Because of the decision of a brother he never met, he is brought back to life. He is told he is chosen to save the world. He is treated like a prisoner by people he doesn’t care about, and who do not care about him. He is the baby brother, the one left behind.

He is the bait. He is the innocent. He is a lamb sent to the slaughter.

They appear, like they’re going to save the day. Things do not go as planned. Eldest rushes to his brother, helps him escape. Adam is left behind. He cries out for help.

He says yes.

He’s going to be a hero. He’s going to save the world. He and an archangel are going to kill the devil.

There is a heat in his body, a rush of grace. And suddenly it is not his body anymore. He is just a passenger.

The choice of another brother dooms him. A moment that will forever stay ingrained in his mind. His feet on the ground one second- and then he’s falling, falling, falling.

He is in hell. He doesn’t get another chance. He is scared. It’s dark, it’s suffocating, it’s terrifying. It’s lonely. His company is a brother he doesn’t know, the devil, and the archangel wearing him. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. He watches as the brother that doomed him is ripped apart over and over again.

He watches the brother that damned him be pulled out of the cage. He watches, crying out to be taken with. Begging to be pulled from the eternal, ever crushing darkness of the cage.

He wants to go home. He begs for the relief of death. He wants to go back to heaven. He wants to see his mother again. He spends his time praying.

Centuries pass. He looks the same, but his soul is old, old, old. He’s become attached to the being sharing his body. He’s fallen in love. They come to an agreement. They only have each other. Control becomes theirs. It’s shared, no longer one or the other. The body is theirs. Shared movements, shared breaths, shared heartbeat. They are one.

He is in love.

The devil walks free, yet he is still stranded. They only have each other. He has to remember… he struggles with remembering that he’s not alone. They learn how to embrace each other without physical touch. A soul and grace… there’s a warmth that has no match.

The door opens. Yet he’s afraid to leave. 1,200 years is such a long time. He’s afraid of what the world will be like. How much has it changed?

He doesn’t realize that for everyone else it’s only been ten years. Time in hell moves so, so much differently. He still looks young, but his soul now carries the weight of centuries. Centuries of pain, of fear, of isolation.

But it’s all worth it for him.

They are free. They have a chance. He smiles across the booth at a diner, eating for the first time in a decade. Even though he doesn’t have to. It’s a comforting feeling.

They are pulled back into the issues of their families. Metal digs into wrists as they sit in a bunker.

All he wants is an apology.

He doesn’t get it.

He talks with his love, wanting to figure out what is going on. There is a problem, and no matter how much he hates it, his brothers are right. There’s a moment of tension, yet it eventually cools. It always does. After all, there is a trust between them that neither have ever had.

They agree to help, and then they go to leave. It is only then that he is spoken to… that he is asked for.

He gets his apology… but it doesn’t feel sincere. Instead it feels final. He is told he is a good man.

What does his brother know about him?

The lovers leave. But their freedom is not long lasting. He is torn away from their body, his soul ripped in places where he desperately tried to hang on. He doesn’t want to go. He refuses to go… he’s in heaven again.

Only this time it’s a diner. A conversation on loop. Adoring eyes staring at him. But it’s fake. The conversation never changes. The tone never changes. The expression never changes.

He’s cold, for the first time in a very, very long time. There is no blanket of warmth, no heat of grace that he had grown accustomed to. He is empty.

He does not like it.

He wishes for one thing. He only wants to say goodbye. He doesn’t want to let go. He is stubborn.

His lover needs him.

And then he’s back. He’s in his body, put together like new. He’s excited, he calls out to his love.

But that empty feeling lingers. He is not there. He is alone. Only this time there is no memory sitting across from him, no visage of what used to be.

He is utterly alone.

He prays every night before he sleeps. Every morning after he wakes up. He prays any time he can. He finds old prayers, more modern prayers. He makes some of his own.

Finally he is on the floor, tears running down his face. Another night, calling out to a love who he is sure has abandoned him. Perhaps he was just a little too far from his reach. Maybe his prayers just aren’t quite enough.

Or maybe he is gone.

There is a knock at the door of his apartment, late one night. And when he answers the door, there is a face he knows. There is a choked sob that escapes him. He pulls his lover in for a hug, never wanting to let go.

He says yes again.

There is that flood of searing heat, a brightness that only an angel can provide. There’s a stretch of fingers as they become one again. Grace fills every inch of him, his body like a glove.

“Hi, lovie.” The angel says, a whisper only he can hear.

“I’ve missed you.”