#will afterton

[applehare]

Chronicles of Freddy Fivebears Pt. 1

Roblox Kid: will afterton kills freddy fivebears

Roblox Kid: and his friends

Roblox Kid: bunny the bonnie

Roblox Kid: chica the kitchen

Roblox Kid: and

Roblox Kid: foxy the pirate fox rawr

Roblox Kid: and then at night

Roblox Kid: freddy fivebears and his friends

Roblox Kid: try and kill miguel afterton

Roblox Kid: but they fail and thing

Roblox Kid: and then miguel afterton gets fired

Roblox Kid: because he was too silly

Roblox Kid: then some guy

Roblox Kid: called Jerma

Roblox Kid: goes to the other place with the freddy fivebears

Roblox Kid: and then the spaghetti one called mangle

Roblox Kid: bite his head off

Roblox Kid: and thats like

Roblox Kid: no good

Yes this is real, there was so much in fact I had to pull out the screen recorder. I'll write the rest of the story later.

[curioscurio]

The Fellowship based on their alcohol preferences:

Frodo: a wine man no question. him and bilbo are constantly being annoying about the delicate aftertones and nutty aromas of wine and whatnot. They really do have excellent taste though, and Gandalf's go-to Yuletide gift is a bottle of Hobbit Wine. Despite how he looks, Frodo isn't a lightweight, and will happily drink whatevers on tap if the wine isn't to his liking.

Sam: He's a fan of a stout ale and local brews. Most wine is too dry and sweet for him, though he'll have a glass if Frodo asks him to try it because he wants Sam's valued opinion. Also not a lightweight and handles his alcohol better than Frodo. Unfortunately has a habit of drinking whatever someone hands him as the night goes on and Merry and Pippin love to see how drunk they can get him.

Merry: Loves fruity and refreshing cocktails. Likes to get fancy with it. Probably would LOVE an espresso martini. Drinks that high quality Brandybuck distilled spirits and has spent a LOT of time researching fancy drinks and how to make them. Probably bartends occasionally and likes to show off. Alcohol Nerd. Get him drunk enough and he'll start infodumping about the difference between Shire-grown Old Toby and the stuff that grows all over Gondor.

Pippin: GARBAGE TASTE. he has college student alcohol preferences. like the guy is a Took so he can hold his liquor well but often overdoes it. vodka and fruity soda white girl wasted bull shit. He sometimes just mixes random shit with alcohol and calls it a day which infuriates Merry to no end. Someone once saw him mix together unsteeped tea, tomato juice, 4 warm olives from his pocket, and bud light. Calls it Pippin's Surprise as the olives get substituted with whatever he has in his pockets at the moment (that's what makes it a surprise). He has a tendency to get cut off and then steals other people's drinks when they're not looking. He is the one who wanderers off.

Gandalf: The man loves Hobbit Wine. Also mostly a wine guy. It's not that he can't drink, he just has a wizards constitution (lightweight) and doesn't like to get drunk often. He gets pleasantly tipsy on special occasions, though. He also has exquisite taste in fancy liquor even if he doesn't like them. Merry has for sure talked his ear off about different types of alcohol and the drinks they can make; and even though Gandalf pretends to be annoyed by it, he's always listening intently.

Aragorn: Old Fashioned. Whiskey on the rocks. Also really loves a high quality nigori sake. He travels a lot so he has a diverse pallete but forgets the names of certain drinks and spirits so he goes for what he can remember. Only let's himself get proper drunk at celebrations or occasionally by himself when he's brooding. He likes to loiter in bar corners as we know, but he's a really good listener if you give him a chance.

Legolas: In Mirkwood, Legolas has some chronic alcoholic tendencies. Being a prince is stressful and hard, and when you have access to the finest of alcohol you damn well drink it. He's used to fancy and complicated cocktails, (which he and Merry bond over) and thinks beer is piss. Shotguns beer for attention though FOR SURE but then he'll go and raid your parents expensive whiskey cabinet or something. His dad was the kind of guy to let him drink wine with dinner when he was young. Absolutely will drink you under the table. Forgets you at the bar for a one night stand.

Gimli: He enjoys the occasional sweet port wine, bourbon whiskey, Dwarven Spirits, and ale. Needless to say, Dwarven Moonshine will end you, though Gimli dislikes the taste (except for root beer flavor). He won't back down from a drinking challenge, as we know, but isn't always very good at them. He didn't like the "frou-frou" cocktails that Legolas drinks for a long time until Merry and Legolas introduced him to a Moscow Mule. A joy to drink with tbh he's the life of the party alongside Merry and Pippin.

Boromir: Doesn't drink because he dislikes the way it makes him feel. Will sip a Coors light at the bar or share a toast with his men. If he does drink, he drinks to forget. Usually the DD. Alcohol sparks his temper easily, so he avoids the flames as much as possible. He has a great time going out with the Fellowship though, and is basically the Mom friend. He makes all the Hobbits drink water and makes sure Aragorn has some food in him, and that Legolas has all his clothes on, and that Gimli is still breathing. Occasionally he has to go find Gandalf, who is in the basement, cleaning 5 bitter Rhorrim out of their entire stock of imported Hobbit pipeweed from a game of cards.

[imaginaryfriend20]

so guys I know, really looooong time, but guess what I wrote a short story and this is , so it is kinda sad and yeah I've watching world war films so yep. so this is it.

 Diamonds in the Dust.

07th of March 2034.

What should I start with? Weather? Or should I toss aside all and tell whatever to tell?

I’ll start with weather.

The sun’s out. Peaking through the blinds of the crags of the mountain creeks. Yet the frost crisps the air and ground I stand on. It’s…

Almost as if the crisp frost never dissolves here, despite the sun, however much it glides or juts in. Maybe that’s what builds whatever this is.

I had never seen snow to my eyes, till last annum. But then again I hadn’t seen war either to my eyes until last annum.

Where might I be? I have lost all sense. All I know is I am under needle trees, which would have never survived the sun I come from.

But then again who am I to judge, I had never seen snow a day, forget about burying your knees in it until the sun turns to lantern.

I know nothing of this ground, where my soles are blanketed from its dirt.

War was… a sad tragic to be stopped and to be never seen.

World War was a chapter in history books which gave glimpses of what truly humanity can do.

And World War III was a simple joke to refer to flared-up tempers.

Not, soaked boots, diary entries and lips bleeding and cold steel handled at 10 years later. At 25.

24th of March, 2034

Raids. A word. It’s ironic how brutality is always taunted out by its short stomping feet.

Air raids over Manchester and Massushets. Boston.

Added a very cementic, sulphuric aftertone in the sky. The sky is constantly tinged with grey and the air the tanged with metal, and cement.

Reminds of choking in a chlorinated pool but with no water.

Bobby comes. He tells me many things. Afterall this and these years, his eyes still manages to capture the light and refract them, to diamond sparkle on their onyx tides, like at 15.

Eucalyptus from his bathing, and musk from his perfume slurs and slips over each other in hazy laze.

He still talks about taking me on his oaken boat. That boat he oared in our sunny suns when we were 15.

I nod for his words tumbling out about hope and plans, although worn out and run over, many times. It is soft and sweet. Ecstatic in it’s own twisted unreal manner.

His lips still shifts like a rush dawn-coloured rose, from bloomed to unbloomed.

His cheeks have never grown out of their pinkish stain of rose dusting. 

Still, his expressive flair when conversing hasn’t worn out.

But,

Echos of midnights he witnessed lingers around, the butterfly wing fluttering eyes of his.

Creases has streaked ever so slightly around the corners of his eyes.

But his nails still reminds me of the pink quartz, we used to keep for luck. His fingers of the guitar he played.

By habit, I sense now the climaxing question of each night.

Bobby looks, his eyes ever earnest, over pleading.

       “Can I have your coat?” he says his voice low and soft as ever.

        “Again?” I ask amusement lacing into my voice.

He nods, in his earnest manner, as young as ever.

        “ But it’s tight for you Bobby… your torso is bigger than mine I reply my suppressed laughter musing into my tone.

         “ Nevermind. I don’t care. I want it. I can’t sleep or else.” he says his cheeks turning into a deeper dusting of red, his lips pursing and plump as rose petals widening in the sweet sun. As endearing Bobby as he knew his cards to play. He knew how I fret over his restless nights.

Sweet little trickster.

       “Fine.” I say trying to invoke annoyance to my tone, in reality when all that was fondness in my heart.

I remove it. Place it in his hands, which in gleeful delight grabs immediately.

He places his own on my shoulder, with a quick teasing trace over the curves of my shoulders.

That gesture must be countless. Yet it hitches my breath and leaps my heart.

His own fragrance envelops.

I breathe in.

9th of April 2034

The rains in April always surprised me here. The dampness of it, the concrete mud and ashes and fillets of rubbish adds an extra hue of grey to the rain to the skin.

The riffle metal grows colder. My grasp on it tightens. 

I see Bobby on the other side, same as I. rifle left medicine right. I carefully turn away, so that although I can glimpse him in the corner of the eye, it is only the corner of your eye.

Some fall. Some bleed, all groan.

I do my best to stitch and protect from another sharpness to cut through.

I see Bobby doing the same, in opposing coats of arms.

I linger, for the midnight that turns all coats to grey, to have Bobby beside me and not opposite.

15th of May 2034

Weather. Let’s start with weather.

The sun is starting to turn into something beyond a beam of light.

Despite all the concrete that seems to stack on the air and ground, tiny flowers of colours true to the season peak through.

They remind me of Bobby's face and the blush at 15.

The nights are a dash of soft chill away from the daylight of the season. The stars in the sky are clearer, and vainly shimmering like diamonds on a rich bride. 

Bobby says he will make me that rich bride, with diamonds and twilight silk robes, to match the sky.

Oh bobby……

But I see how the light refracts in his own onyx eyes, gleaming brighter and worthwhile beyond diamonds of a rich bride and worthwhile all chalk dust of white lies.

I smile for I dread the refraction’s loss in his eyes.

            “ Then you must live well, here, so you can stay a long time and work to buy those diamonds”

I say teasing to dampen the sadness of epiphany with happiness however short it might be.

             “ I am. I will. After all your birthstone is diamond. And of all brides you deserve it.”

They say your heart can’t crack. Literally. 

But now I felt the cracks’ jutting splinters piercing through and scraping through.

             “May I?” he asks gesturing to my palms which he had brought his own to close proximity providing an echo of the warmth we left behind in our summer isle home. 

              “ yes. Please.” I say guilty for feeling thankful for the way Bobby’s palm coverlet mine in its tender, maternal warmth, which like a mother’s echos with certainty which extends forevermore…

5th of june 2034

The sun, cuts through, a heavy beam through the dust coverleted air.

Like a lighthouse beam, cutting through the curtains of onyx-tied skies of night.

Like the sun the war has risen to its solastis.

Today I step out to do what I promised to defend against in oaths.

To hand out death.

To whoever in opposite arms.

Friend, strangers who might have been friends…..

I hold.

It flies, it may hit or not.

My eyes betray my heart’s intention to forget where Bobby might be…

There he is…..

He cascades down… He falls. He falls?

He falls! Bobby!

In the end, we are human.

Duty or sense doesn’t come first.

Fight or flight comes first.

I run. I don’t care my arms aren’t Bobby’s colour, and that…

That plenty of death’s bullets can seal lips with my life.

Why is the distance ever-expanding, despite my feet being on fire with flight?

There Bobby, Bobby, Bobby…

My knees greedily eat the soil and concrete and whatever the ground was made up of now.

Peace seems to have conquered him.

I see the number of the bullet on it’s cover.

365B.

I handed over death with 365B.

“No, Bobby, stop scaring me… this a dream, this a dream, I will wake up, wake up………….”

The sun knives out heat my back.

The air whips my skin, cruel lashes.

The world is made up of such lies.

Honour. Glory what are they?

They can starve and kill but never feed.

Lies and lies. Lies that twist lives to ironical lines.

Lies.

So many lies we breathe.

Lies.

Hope is just another, chalk-damped lie.

Bobby holds my hand, one last shield against the lies.

“Down my pocket, I picked the stars that are worth my sp..spring queen….”

“Shh, shh, give them to me yourself Bobby…. Okay? Yourself”

His voice falls low and soft and sweet like the countless times his fingers glided along the sweet selene coloured strings of the guitar.

“ I can’t. I can’t April…

I don’t my stars to go in waste…….

please, April, please….”

I felt the hems, the stitches, the ground of my heart, tear and crash away from its’ seams….’ The pieces jut and poke and pierce.

I see the pleading in those eyes.

The concrete of the air is building up a dam in my throat.

I take his stars, the stars he picked for me.

He has picked so many.

So many stars of my birth month and name.

I let the stars he picked for me crescent on me.

“They…. They look beautiful… on you… you make them sparkle April. You eclipse… all and everything, always and evermore….

Forevermore, you eclipse mine..heart…”

The guttural animal in my throat claws open.

The guttural animal without any honour, glory or sadistic lies…

My fingers dig through my coat to reveal its interwoven roots.

My knees consume in greed the ground………………

                THE END.

[bluebipples]

i lost my taste and smell to covid so here's what things smell and taste like to me, an ongoing list

-coca cola = tastes like: seltzer water | smells like: nothing

-every single soda ever = seltzer water | smells like: nothing (except for mountain dew, which weirdly smells flowery for a split second before losing any concept of smell)

-seltzer water - air, possibly even breath | smells like: nothing

-whiskey - water, but ouch | smells like: goats? does that make sense? it smells like how a goat smells

-bourbon - water, but ouch with a dirt aftertone. not in a bad way, im kind of into it, there's just a distinct dirt taste to it | smells like: petting zoo. Still can't figure out why dark liquor smells like that and at this point im scared to look into it

-red wine - dust, but specifically dust from a basement full of books. not exactly complaining, just weird that i can taste it | smells like: literally nail polish remover

-nail polish remover - didn't drink it, but it does smell like nothing. insane how much like nothing it smells

-cinnamon - yes i had a spoonful of cinamon, no i dont want to talk about it. imagine eatin a spoonful of dust. yeah. tasted like that. smelled like dust too. 0/10 would nevver fucking do again. absolutely awful.

-fireball whiskey - tastes like nerds rope. can't really explain that. smells like an old lady. can't really explain that either

[lettherebemonsters]

I love looking up screengrabs of The Clown on Google Images because he's so random and silly while secretly being the spawn of Satan.

Look at this fat chem genius. He's so proud of his Aftertonic.....

This is the clown equivalent of Leatherface dragging his first victim in TCM into a meat locker. Also, I just love how he's got these huge bales of hay ready for Maurice.

Yeah he's a monster clown but damn does he love his horse.

Man his eyes are really freaking me out right now. That Clowntrap smile ain't helping things either...

See what I mean?

Okay, who upset the Clown? I WANT NAMES.

Crocodile Dundee voice: Dis is a knoife....

[mayaluvsu2]

eating indie girl pussy for those earthy aftertones

[antiivarook]

@emmliches asked: ❛ a fine orlesian red, aged for a robust sixty-four years, ❜ emmrich says, a quality to him like tinsel suns. ❛  how is the wine, rook? ❜

"It tastes..." Kiran normally wouldn't have picked the wine. It was normally the cheaply produced and questionably made alcohol that she would find in the most obscure corners of her home. Things had changed since being here though. New experiences, new foods, new drinks... People normally have something really intellegent to say about wine. The aftertones, the smell... the initial taste. However, Kiran got to the point. "...I don't know...expensive? Like, I didn't know wine was even supposed to taste this... nice. " She tilted her glass, swirling the red around before looking over at the mage with a small smile. "You have a great taste in reds, Emmrich...I know who I'll be consulting for the beverages when we celebrate this whole thing being over..."

[ever-growing-system]

Is willy afterton furry

Jinx: Yes, Even if he refuses to admit it.

[wollyart]

the smell of this candle makes me feel comforted when im upset <333 like i can smell bill hugging me its like a campfire with a cologne and vanilla aftertone

[cdbrainrecords]

Janis Ian - Aftertones (LP, Album, RE)

Vinyl(VG++) Sleeve(VG++) Insert sheet(VG++) Obi(VG++) / with Obi 帯つき // in excellent conditions, more than VG+ conditions / コンディション　盤 : Very Good Plus (VG+) コンディション　ジャケット : Very Good Plus (VG+) コンディションの表記について　  [ M > M- > VG+ > VG > G+ > G > F > P ] レーベル : CBS/Sony – 25AP 1133 フォーマット : Vinyl, LP, Album, Reissue 生産国 : Japan 発売年 : 1978 ジャンル : Rock, Blues, Pop スタイル : Ballad   収録曲 :  A1. Aftertones…

[amaezingblog]

🎼 Analyses

Principle Study 🎻 Sem 2

Joseph Schwanter

[Aftertones of infinity]

playing around with sound effects (hexachord)

varied tempo, timbre, blocks of sound

no melody/order of notes

fallin and rising notes

playing with dynamics

leading tones in and out of chord structures

Stravinsky

[Babel]

contrapuntal lines, harmonic clusters

shifting textures (thick polyphony->transparent passages)

ostinato patterns every now and then

dense chordal structures, vertical sonorities

syncopation, irregular meters, asymmetrical phrasing

Takemitsu

[A flock descends into the Pentagonal Garden]

clustered verticals

slivery glisses

lyrical melodies

metallic bell-like textures

[phantasmaw]

   〈 ★ * 〉┊  And with the utterance of that single word, the night is no longer the night. Though its trappings remain the same, that cloak of suspended stars now swaddles the skeletal form of Visitor. It still cannot be seen through the heavenly tapestry adorning it from head to toe, but the sigh it lets loose from between lipless teeth is proof enough that it is there. Because touch alone does not prove presence, and neither does weight or height or visage or communication or even observation. Nothing could prove this Visitor’s existence. Like the bestowed title, it is transient, a blot of ink soaking into parchment, the proverbial phantom and the actual phantom. Perhaps that is why it leans forward now, offering another disembodied hand that bleeds ether and gems onto its host’s lap. 

     “𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳,” it echoes back to him, its second hand pressing its fingers to his lips once more. It lets the warmth of his skin seep into hollow sepia, leeching and leeching, never able to replicate the flow of life already wrenched from its husk of a body. It presses those fingers against the hood of the night, tracing over the vague outline of its mouth through the rippling fabric. The aftertones of his voice taste like overripe fruit left in the sun. It yearns to eat. To taste and chew and thank the world for its provisions. The desire passes in an instant, absorbed by the hollow tomb locked away behind its ribs. Of course. It cannot mimic what isn’t there. And he is not there. 

     “𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰?” it asks. It meanders over to the desk, the wisps of its abyssal cloak floating in the dark like algal blooms in a shallow river. The lullaby continues, occasionally interrupted by the distant chime of a handbell. Return from your journey, the bell insists, you have no strength left. Whether the bell speaks to the author or his visitor is up to him. The Visitor ignores it altogether. “𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘨. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵.” Visitor perches on the edge of the desk. Tendons woven with liquid light begin to creep over silvery bones cracked with obsidian. Outside the window, the moon weeps silently; it is losing its child again. Both hands cup his cheeks, a mother to a child, a mentor to an apprentice, a lover to a lost one, nothing to nothing. “𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳?”

     It knows the door. So does he. And so it offers. The stuffed man set up to look as if he is sitting properly in a chair, with his limbs attached to strings so he may write, and his mind contained in a jar the shape of a skull covered in flesh and hair, he cannot open the door. Toys do not come and go from playhouses of their own avail. Neither do ghosts pass from one life to the next out of simple desire. So he may look. He may see. If. If. If. 

behind each dull iris , sympathy . ragged , tender pity for the slain and deathless-waking . about it , a born hypothesis . what was the difference between sickness and a slaughter ? freedom and a choice ? finality ? perhaps for a human being . such was why they so feared things like phantoms and their own shadows : extractions apart from themselves that had lost all sense and memory , and yet still lingered .

however --- this creature before him was much like a natural god instead . nigh utterly formless , nameless , ever-shifting , communicating in ways that an ordinary person would have never been able to understand , such as the careful stroke of nocturnal limbs , the dead-end riddles . bleeding stars and jewels , silver and gold ; a greedier man might have wept at its sublime midas touch , but the clipped poet merely shutters and lifts the lids of his eyes above the finger tracing one of their dark shadows . thereafter , how long would the chilly , phantasmal sensation of contact linger ? of course , it might have been useless to try to constrain and quantify it to man's idea of time .

definition dwelled within both presence and absence , and a ghost , ( for lack of a better word , as those could even lack l'esprit , ) was decided by its egregious lacking , something perhaps even outside of it .

' i see . ' perhaps , in retrospect , it had been a foolish , catastrophic question . the dark matter between stars or inside the brain bore no proper , singular moniker either . such masses were merely separated and decided as something else from what they weren't , much like himself . the author's lips twist a little into a frown , and then his gaze slinks away , sinking deeply with guilt until each iris met the pure white sheet of the paper before him again . ' apologies . it seems that i am unable to pronounce it ... thus , until my lips are capable , i will call you my 'visitor' . '

to define it by presence , its very arrival ... its press upon the jugular . even as a cadaver , someone or something else would be handling his corpse . crawling itself was an unnecessary if not excruciating , impossible effort . you and death all may lay yourselves into me . he held no complaint , of course .

[la-nightraine]

writing my june song

I've been writing songs for seven years, sometimes I write one once a month, but I don't think I've ever before been so proud of a song I made to the point where I have to write about it online. I wish I could simply share the audio, but I'm still figuring out how to produce my songs into reality (also I ain't confident with my voice yet; also I don't have a proper instrument and a good recording device and space).

Anyway, the song title is Icarus Underwater.

Let me start with the inspiration--I was listening to Corpse Husband's new music release: a one-hour loop of this lofi song which faintly goes "I fall for you, full circle" in the background. No, literally the title of the official YouTube vid is "CORPSE Singing in a High Pitched Voiced for 1 Hour" and the video accompaniment is a high-def GIF thingy of Corpse standing in the middle of the ocean with a giant wave building up and about to crash him. Except, it doesn't crash onto him and just keeps building up for the whole hour. Now if you'll check the comments under it, you'll see different stories by people who needed to release something aided by that song. And I, too, had some feelings and tears to release while listening to the entirety of that 1 hour song for the first time.

I realized that everything that makes my college life insufferable is my biggest regret: choosing the wrong course and possibly the wrong school as well. Every time something wrong happens, my mind automatically blames it to the fact that I didn't choose the course that I really want. I wanted to blame my mom for making me think that the course I want won't lead anywhere unlike the one she wants for me, but in the end I made the decision when I could've easily told her otherwise. It's been two years since then. My batchmates are about to choose their majors, while I'm failing subjects here and there, essentially stuck in the middle of my first and second years, unable to shift out or transfer.

Well enough about my story, I wrote a song about these feelings. The first thing that came to my mind was the phrase "drowning in these thoughts", then I remembered that I have a big fear of drowning (I'm not aquaphobic, but the thought of dying by drowning triggers my anxiety). It got a little graphic in my head but instead of making things worse, it helped me visualize these feelings which was easier to write about. I wrote about sinking to the depths of the ocean with no anchor to guide you back to the surface, everything in your sight gradually losing color, the big bright sky fading in the distance, the water freezing you to death, but you don't totally die like those shipwrecks that remained intact as if they were frozen in time...

That's when I decided to give the song a temporary title called "Icarus Underwater". It was temporary until I reflected upon the story of Icarus, the son of Daedalus. The crafty father created wings for them to escape the Labyrinth where they were trapped, and Daedalus specifically instructed Icarus not to fly too close to the sun nor the sea. But because the idea of flying was thrilling, Icarus flew a little too high, got the wings broken, fell to the sea and drowned. Now one of the things I love about assessing stories is looking at its tone in the ending and post-ending, which I've been mistakenly calling the "aftertone". And I think the "aftertone" of this story is regret, but we mostly see it in the perspective of Daedalus. What about Icarus? I'm pretty sure his dying thoughts were of regrets, too.

Additionally, what if just like in most Greek myths his soul remained stuck there at the bottom of the ocean with his corpse, watching it decay and over time witnessing other things sink and die, while the world above moved on. Mixing in that perspective of Icarus with my own thoughts, I came up with the song and officially titled it such. It was supposed to maintain that tone for the rest of the song, but the next day I figured it should at least end with a somehow positive tone, so I inserted a half-verse to close the song that denotes a wishful thinking of finally washing up ashore from the depths in a thousand years' time.

I'm afraid to post the whole lyrics online without audio accompaniment just in case someone steals it as their own (worst case: they put a different tone over it and just ruins the whole thing). So I'll just share like 4 lines that I'm proud of coming up with.

* "Lately all of my waking lights / were just one monochrome morning"

* "They said cherish your present life / 'cause future comes and the past won't be around / Now what would I do if I was stuck in time?"

* "Shipwrecks don't always have chests / sometimes, they reek with sharks and regrets / And not every glitter you see is gold / sometimes, they're tears of the untold"

* "Not everything that survived needs to be glorified / I doubt Daedalus thanked the gods it wasn't him who died / He knows his tears would never reach Icarus underwater"

I guess that's all I gotta share about writing my June 2021 song! And I hope soon enough I'll finally be able to release it to the world and share it with anyone who feels the same.

[hard-to-be-the-bard]

Helmut Zemo x Reader NSFW

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, AFAB reader, Praise Kink, Unprotected Sex, Baron Zemo wears the coat during sex.

There is no need for me to write this, it's just self indulgent cause I'm sick.

I will work on requests when I'm better :) I also didn't check this for errors.

You were left alone with him.

In most cases you would of argued with Sam and Bucky, saying he didn't need a babysitter. But everyone knew he had a tendency to simply vanish, when everyone expected it the least.

So now here you were, lying flat on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling as you listened to the slow drips of rain rolling off the window pane.

Zemo was somewhere near the counterside, brewing tea, insisting that you'd enjoy it.

"Here" A low voice called, as a shadow fell over you, as you glanced to the side you watched as Zemo set down a china cup in front of you, an encouraging smile on his face as he gestures to the cup he just placed down.

You sighed sightly, before sitting upright, swinging your legs off the sofa, so you could get easier access to the drink. You gave him a look first, before picking it up. He was watching your reaction as you finally took a sip, and sat down next to you in satisfaction when you admitted it wasn't half bad.

He leant towards you slightly picking up his own cup, and you caught the strong smell of his cologne, your breath caught in your throat, for a split second you wondered what it would be like to wake up to that smell next to you, then you cleared it awkwardly.

It wasn't the first time you'd thought about Baron Helmut Zemo like that, and as much as you hated to admit it, you thought about him just a little too much.

You watched as he placed his drink back down, his gloved hand retracting after to rest on his knee. You had wondered why he always wore the gloves, but more so about how they'd feel against your skin.

God, you really needed to stop thinking about him.

When you stop thinking about him again you realise you've been staring, and Zemo is staring at you, the same smile on his face that you've seen before, one that screams amusement. His brown eyes watching you thoughtfully for a moment.

"Something wrong?" He asked, his voice teasing. You look away for a brief moment, biting the bottom of your lip for a split second, thinking of any other excuse than the fact you were thinking about him just now.

And then the same gloved hand is on your chin, turning you head to look at him again, as he tilts his head to the side slightly.

"You were staring" He stated, the amused look still on his face, and his eyes moved to look down at your lips for a split second that you would of missed if your weren't watching him so much.

His gaze still remains on you, and it goes straight to your core, you try to ignore it, and slowly you try to press your thighs together, as you keep your breathing steady.

But he knows, and you know he knows, a smug look on his face as he chuckles slightly, the deep, rumbling sound of it making you curse him out in your head more.

His fingers run down your jaw to your neck, resting there for a moment, the feeling of his gloved hand against your skin almost makes you lean into his touch more, yet you stop yourself.

You swallow slightly, and you can feel his fingers move slightly under the tight leather of the glove

He knows what he's doing, the way he moves his hand shows that he's not going to stop unless you ask him too.

"Perhaps we should take this somewhere else?" Zemo finally spoke, his hand leaving your neck for a second as he gestured towards the door.

You waited for a brief second and he spoke again.

"If you do not want to, you don't have to Dragă, even if you change your mind in my room you can leave at any moment" His voice was low, and he watched you for a moment. You thought about what he said, knowing you weren't going to change your mind.

"I do" You say, before adding.

"I do want to" You nod, and he stands, offering the same gloved hand to you, which you took, standing up too.

His room isn't as big as you thought, a double bed in the middle, a small table close by, along with a chair, a dresser, and several plants.

There isn't much light, most of it coming from the lamp on the side of his bed, and he doesn't make a move to turn on the main light. Instead he brings you over to the bed.

He doesn't make you sit, not yet, instead he moves closer to you, pressing his chin into your hairline, as he draws you close to him, your head resting in his neck, and you breathe in gently, the same scent of his cologne taking over your senses, it's sharp, almost musky, like the smell of old books, with an almost cinnamon aftertone.

He shifts slightly again, hand moving to tilt your chin upwards, he moves to press a kiss against your neck, trailing his mouth from the base of your ear to the middle of your neck, and you feel his tongue move across the skin, it almost feels like it burns, and you press further against him as you feel his teeth come down on the skin, causing a sharp breath on your behalf.

He's slowly manoeuvring you so that you're backed up against the bed, knees bending so you sit, and he comes down with you, one hand on one side of you as the other grips the side of your waist, he pulls back for a moment, hands moving from you completely as he pulls off one of his gloves, leaving one on still.

He moves so that he's now on the bed with you, he looks to your for permission before sliding your skirt towards your stomach.

For once you're glad you wore the thing, after having complained about Zemo's choice in wardrobe for you. He'd insisted it would make you fit in more in Madripoor.

The same hand traced the length of your thigh, causing you to shudder, gently grazing the tips of his fingers against your skin. You jolted forward, desperate to press your lips against his, and he allowed it.

You could barely breathe as he kissed you, he made it seem like a competition, the need to show you who was in control rising in his chest. You try and move forward, but his gloved hand presses on your shoulder and pushes you back into the pillow. He moves back from the kiss, and the lack of contact with him is almost painful.

"Can I touch you?" He asks, and you nod shakily, as his hand moves in between your legs. He's quick to slide down your underwear, and soon you can feel his ungloved finger press against your clit, circling around it, as he watches your reaction, you let out a shuddered breath, and your eyelids shut for a brief second at the feeling. His fingers move past your clit and closer to your cunt, his fingers moving the slick that's building up there and bringing it back towards your clit.

He changes from circling your clit to experimenting by sliding a finger into your cunt, he's still watching, your responses and noises to him touching you getting him harder as he presses on. His actions become faster, switching between circling your clit, to pressing inside of you, adding another finger each time.

His name leaves your mouth in a gasp as you hand moves to clutch around his arm. He's talking to you, and when you listen to what he's saying it's praise that leaves his lips, telling you how well you're doing.

You don't realise you're begging until he moves forward suddenly, pressing harsh kisses into your neck, biting, sucking, leaving as many marks as possible on your skin, and he continues his actions below, heat curling up into the pit of your stomach. You almost arch your back, pressing your heat down against Zemo's fingers, trying to get as much contact as you can, whimpers leaving you mouth as he continues to praise you, telling you to hold on for a moment more.

And when he brings his other hand down, so he continue to rub your clit whilst thrusting his fingers into you, you feel the build up get worse, legs moving closer together as your orgasm rocks your body.

He holds you for a second, letting the tremble of your body stop, and your breathing return to normal, until he's leaning upwards, kissing you again as his fingers move to quickly unbutton your blouse. He pulls you up slightly so he can easily tug it off, and he moves to your bra next, unclipping it at the back and throwing it onto the floor

His hands move upwards to cup your beasts, fingers moving nimbly across your nipple until he harshly tugs on one of them, squeezing it between his fingers, releasing a cry from your mouth.

You want him closer, and your hand moves so upwards curling into his hair, bringing him down onto your mouth, and you kiss him harshly, open mouthed kisses pressed against his lips.

When he pulls away his cheeks are flushed, and his breathing mirrors yours in the way his chest is rising and falling faster than normal.

Your hands move now to his trousers, looking up at him as he nods, his own hands helping you along as you pull off his belt. Unzipping his trousers, you let him get out of them fully, his cock moving freely now that his trousers are gone, you move forward to wrap a hand around it, but his own stops you.

"As much as I'd like that, I doubt I'd last, and I wish to finish inside you" He says, watching your reaction. You nod at him, as he pushes you back down so your head hits the pillows once more.

You expect him to take off the shirt, or at the very least his coat, but he doesn't make a move too as he presses your legs apart with his hands. You move your leg to the side as he gets closer, wrapping it around his waist, and his cock presses at your entrance, moving painfully slow past your folds, and then he moves his hips forewards until he's completely inside you, and you hear him say your in a shaky panted breath.

He waits for a moment until he starts moving, and you can feel every stroke of his cock as he fucks into you, his hands rest on your thighs, one keeping the leg that's wrapped around his waist neatly in place as he continues to pound into you, every move he makes causes another sound to leave your mouth, and your hand moves upwards to grip onto his coat, eyes rolling backwards as your head falls, the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your cunt making your toes curl in bliss.

You're almost begging for him to move faster, moans and whimpers leaving your mouth, and your words get you what you want, and Zemo thrusts his hips in further, snapping them backwards so that he's almost all the way out before thrusting back in, and it feels heavenly. You can hear him again praising you, telling you how good you feel, that you're doing oh so well for him, and it makes you moan out his name.

You feel the same build up as earlier, the feeling of Zemo inside you as he continues to fuck you into the mattress almost becoming too much. The bed's moving now, the headboard thudding against the wall, Zemo doesn't seem like he cares, it's almost as if he's trying to make it louder as he thrusts get harder and faster and you're in too much pleasure to care.

You look back to Zemo, who's head is almost directly above you. His forehead glistened with sweat at the exertion of energy he's using, the hair that's usually in a perfect neat condition hanging in front of his face in strands, you reach up to brush them out of his face, and he shifts his position inside you, leaning down towards you further, and you cup his face as he presses his forehead against yours, there's something about how close you are that makes it better, your hands now cupping his face as you lean up to kiss him, and he continues to pound into you as he kisses you, all his coordination going into fucking you, so the kisses are open mouthed and wet. His name leaves your mouth once more as he continues to kiss you, and you whimper and cry into his mouth as you feel your orgasm rising again.

He knows you're almost there, and he moves a hand to circle your clit once more, the overstimulation of him fucking you and touching your clit at the same time proving too much as your back arches and you feel your orgasm tremble over you, your legs shaking as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. Your arms slide around the back of his neck as you tremble against his lips.

Zemo still doesn't stop fucking you, if anything your orgasm spurs him on, a shaky breath leaving his mouth as you feel his hips falter for a brief second, he's close to his own orgasm, and you can feel another rising in you as he harshly thrusts into you again, he's tiring out but still determined to finish inside of you.

Once more an orgasm rocks through your body, and you cry out his name as he suddenly falters, his grip on your thigh tight enough to leave a bruise as he spills into you, his eyes are shut and his brow is furrowed as shaky breaths leave his mouth. He holds still for a moment, his face still close to yours, and you lean up to press another kiss into his mouth before slumping back down.

He slowly pulls out of you, before falling down onto the bed next to you. You move closer, nestling into his side as his arm wraps around you.

"Can I stay here?" You ask, waiting for his response.

"What about your friends?" He asks, tilting his head down to look at you. You think for a moment, wondering what Sam and Bucky would think about all of this, they wouldn't like it, that's for certain.

"I'd like for you to stay, if you want" Zemo says after you don't respond.

"I'll stay" You nodded into his chest as you close your eyes.

[shinsouskitten]

How they smell

dont ask

Warnings: idk bro is there such a thing as a smell warning?, reference to death with dabi bc its dabi, hawks binging kfc again

---

King Explosion Murder, more commonly referred to as 💥 Bakugou smells of sweat and smoke - no surprises there - but also caramel, and a little too much spray on deodorant. It’s not overwhelming, kind of soothing in fact when it’s left behind on his hoodies that you not-so-secretly steal. The caramel and smoke mixed together is unusual, almost like a barbecue gone wrong and a pound of sugar piled on top to quell the flames.

---

💜 Shinsou smells like lavender, just like the diffuser on his bedside table meant to help with his insomnia. There’s also the strong undertone of coffee, for when the diffuser doesn’t work. It’s sweet - sugar but no milk - and warm like a hug that fills the air around you. The lavender swirls in soft circles, threatening to lull you to sleep at the behest of the coffee which streams its way into your nostrils.

---

Pikachu himself, ⚡ Kaminari, smells of energy drinks, with a slight aftertone of metallic elements. It’s the kind of smell you’d expect from batteries - if they had a scent - but for Kaminari it seems fitting. It’s energizing (I have such a way with words), exhilarating almost, and fills you with a rush of adrenaline whenever he walks into a room.

---

💙🔥 Dabi smells of leather, singed hair, and charred cotton. The remains of those he incinerated hang around him in the air in the short moment before he strolls into your room and simply falls onto your bed in exhaustion, but it's the smell of the burnt clothes that stick to him. A villain such as himself isn’t expected to smell of sunshine and rainbows, but there’s something soothing about the fact that it all fades away when he comes home, leaving instead smelling of you.

---

Something tells me 🏃💨 Iida smells of pencil sharpenings and freshly printed books, a side effect of his time spent organizing school equipment as class rep. The pipes on his suit leave a metallic aftertaste on his clothes for a few hours after training, but with his diligent time spent in the shower, it doesn’t last for long.

---

🍗 Hawks, quite unsurprisingly, smells of chicken, but also fresh, untainted air, a gift brought down from his constant flights high in the sky. He practically douses himself in cologne whenever he plans a date with you - an attempt to disguise the whole bucket of kfc chicken he inhaled prior to getting changed. The cologne is expensive, some gift from the hero commission, but he doesn’t really pay enough attention. He just doesn’t wanna smell of chicken.

---

It’s ironic, but ❄️🔥 Shoto smells like peppermint, the same as his body wash. He doesn’t understand why you find it so amusing, but if it makes you happy then he’s happy. It’s not overwhelming, not the kind of mint that makes your mouth water and our eyes sting, but the softer kind, that has a cooling effect without turning your entire mouth into Antarctica. After training, there’s always the slight smell of ash, from when he accidentally uses his fire quirk and half destroys yet another poor shirt.

---

idk why i did this

[yinses]

festive fevor - benimaru shinmon

rating: 18+ a/n: been saying that i was going to write for him and the inspiration finally hit. 

he pins you to the wall, the humming end of laughter vibrating against the base of your throat. the both of you were still high from the lingering festival celebrations, stumbling around like teenagers in the shadows of the night. you feel the heat of his hand drawing down to your apex and your legs part in anticipation.

 there is no urgency to remove clothing, benimaru more than compliant with edging past the folds of your yukata to walk his fingers down to your core. your hips hitch in tandem with your breath and he’s there to swallow it, pressing at your slick entrance. “you think i didn’t notice how you danced around?” he twists a digit and you moan in answer.

you’re thrown back to a few minutes prior, where you’d soaked in the warmth of the moon and the soft glow of lanterns as you flowed freely from one dance partner to the next. the partners ranged from women, men and children, all brimming with delight as they filled the space benimaru should have taken had he not been content lounging in the background. you’d only offered for him to join you once and were met with a soft smirk and a nudge. not much else was seen of him after that as the world spun with every twist and spin. 

“so you were watching?” you huff back. his teeth pull into a grin before his tipping your head up by the chin. benimaru latches onto the newly exposed skin, drinking in the salt and smokey aftertone from the party. the nips he lavishes against your throat spark shudders as you tremble in his hold. tic-tac-toe eyes find yours, but you’ve been gone from the beginning. swept up fiercely in the zesty love that could only be offered by his presence.

he aids the circle of your arms as they grapple around his neck, impatiently propping you against the wall while doing so. you’re barely balanced, stabilized precariously by the pressure of his alone as he fits between your legs. his cock, dripping at the tip teases you with a bare modicum of restraint.

“always watching, baby.”

benimaru enters with fluid precision, rocking into you with the perfect rhythm that flows like good wine. his cock never quite leaves you, always brushing against the edges of your convulsing walls before slamming back in. your hands slide along the sweat shimmering under the moonlight, staggering for purchase against the defined outline of muscles and bone. he’s less focused on words now, and more entertained by the idea of triggering your peak, face heavily shaded by passion and too many more overheat with lust. the undertone of sake still drifts from his pores, intoxicating you more as you hug desperately to his frame. “ah-… beni-please,” your voice cracks, bruised by the effort of refraining from crying out, a self-induced punishment on your part.

his head drops, pressing against your chest as he sacrifices a hand to slip between your joined bodies. you’re too high to wrestle for any stability, falling off the edge into euphoria as it all comes crashing down. the contraction alone is enough to drag him down with you as paired bodies slide to the floor.

seconds faded into minutes, just the dichotomy of your breaths filling the silence until it breaks with a laugh from his lips,”fuck.”

leaning forward you steal a kiss, sharing the same sentiment. “fuck.”