#lucid dreams of new orleans
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Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 7
CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Alastor resolves a pest problem.
The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs.
But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor’s worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter’s dream.
Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor’s soul from the brink of destruction.
In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.
[AO3 LINK]
New chapter and new art!! note that chapter 6 is an interlude so this takes place directly after chapter 5. Next chapter is dropping in a week as usual!! chapter preview below 📻🍎
All Hell breaks loose the next morning.
Niffty has, apparently, been keeping a colony of more than three hundred rats in her room — and the prior evening, while Alastor was occupied with his interrogation, she had seen fit to set them loose in the hotel.
Charlie calls an emergency meeting after Angel Dust wakes the hotel with his — frankly childish — screeching about a rat in his bathtub.
They convene in the kitchen to assess the situation. Niffty, perched on the counter, snickers and openly admits to releasing the rats for what she terms their playtime.
A consensus quickly emerges. Niffty is Alastor’s responsibility; so, too, are the rats.
Alastor’s dominion over the radio is equal parts blessing and curse in his search and rescue operation. If he concentrates, he can hear the shuffling, sniffing, and squeaking of all 312 rats in the hotel — which, while helpful in locating the rats, makes it more difficult for him to plead ignorance regarding those that have wormed their way into the worst predicaments imaginable.
This is how Alastor finds himself on his knees, dismantling the toilet in Husker’s bathroom.
“Oh, Hell,” Angel Dust says — Alastor hadn’t heard him come in, focused as he is on loosening two pipes in the water line that appear to have somehow, in the six weeks since they rebuilt the hotel, rusted together.
Alastor grimaces. “I’m quite busy.”
“Sure,” Angel says. “Y’know, you ain’t gonna find a rat inside the pipes. They can’t live in there.”
“These ones can. I’ve come to the conclusion that these are not rats — they’re demons, sent from some lower ring of Hell to ruin us. They are relentlessly determined to evade me. And they. Don’t. Die.” Alastor heaves at the wrench with both hands — it budges perhaps an inch. He huffs.
“Huh.”
Alastor shakes out his aching hands and looks up at Angel. “Can I help you?”
“Oh — yeah, I was just wondering if my bathroom is clear, now, or if I should wait to shower? It’s just, I gotta get to work soon.”
Alastor listens — one of his ears twitches.
“It should be fine, if you’re quick,” he says.
“Right,” Angel says. He takes off at a run. “Thanks!”
Alastor raises a hand in acknowledgement and returns to his task. The pipes have begun to drip around the join, which complicates matters — Alastor did shut off the water before he began this accursed project, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still wet in there.
Footsteps behind him.
“Angel. If don’t leave me to my work, I’ll —” Alastor glances over his shoulder — “Oh. It’s you.”
Lucifer stands behind him, smiling sheepishly, his hands clasped behind his back. “I brought you a present,” he says.
With a flourish, he produces a rat in a golden cage. The creature is standing on its hind legs with its tiny hands wrapped around the bars. At the sight of Alastor, it shrieks in frustration — further evidence that the creatures’ disdain for him is somehow personal. Lucifer places the cage on the tile next to Alastor.
“Thank you,” Alastor says. “That leaves only —” he cocks his head to the side and listens — “Two hundred and sixty-two. Including this one.” He inclines his head toward the plumbing and resumes the miserable task of loosening the pipes.
“You don’t know a thing about plumbing, do you?” Lucifer says.
Alastor huffs in irritation — Lucifer leans over him with a smug smile on his face. “Those pipes are heat welded,” Lucifer says. “You’ll be here all day if you insist on using a wrench. Allow me.”
Before Alastor can protest, Lucifer tugs off a glove and places his hand over the join. There is a sizzle, a puff of steam, a flare of heat across Alastor’s face — and the two pipes come apart effortlessly in Lucifer’s hand with a cartoonish and unnecessary pop. Lucifer withdraws, a smug smile on his face — his fingers leave molten orange prints behind on the metal, which fade away after a moment.
“Show-off,” Alastor grumbles. He sends a shadow tentacle in after the pipe rat — a tiny shriek echoes from the darkness. As the rat emerges, it makes a desperate grab for the edge of the pipe, kicking and screaming.
Lucifer snaps his fingers; the rat disappears and reappears inside the golden cage with its brother.
“Your assistance is unnecessary,” Alastor grumbles without any real heat — getting into those pipes on his own was pretty miserable.
Lucifer smiles like Alastor has just given him a compliment. “You’re welcome,” he says. “Now — I need to get back to it. I just made a breakthrough on a project I’m working on, and I have a meeting this afternoon with the other sins.”
“The project is a rubber duck.”
Lucifer frowns. “What else would it be?”
“Just confirming,” Alastor says. “Now, there’s another rat in the light fixture. So. If you don’t mind.”
“Oh! Sure. Good luck.” Lucifer backs out of the room, but pauses in the doorway. “I’ll — I’ll see you later? Tonight?”
“I will be back to collect on our deal once every single one of these infernal vermin are back in captivity.” Each word is punctuated by a further unfolding of Alastor’s antlers — he breathes deeply to bring them back under control. “I expect it will take several days. Enjoy your reprieve.”
“Right. Right. Of course. Okay. See you, Al.” Lucifer ducks out of the room.
Alastor stares after Lucifer in confusion for a long moment. Al — the abbreviation reeks of familiarity. The people closest to Alastor had called him that, when he was alive — does Lucifer share that fellowship now, due to the knowledge he’s acquired? The idea is disconcerting, so he puts it aside and returns to his work.
It takes Alastor all day to wrangle the first 104 rats. He delivers them into Niffty’s waiting hands, and she welcomes each one home by name.
He heads for the bar, exhausted, to collect the night’s highball from Husker; then he slips into the shadows and across the hotel to his room. He hangs his coat by the door. His ears twitch — on the other side of the wall is the unmistakable cacophony of a dozen displeased rats.
He peeks his head through the door. He blinks. Twelve pairs of irate red eyes regard him from twelve golden cages, stacked neatly on his doormat like the misguided offerings of a house cat.
A smile creeps across Alastor’s face. He closes the door gently — he’ll bring the rats to Niffty in the morning.
[AO3 LINK]
#lucid dreams of new orleans#radioapple#hazbin hotel#appleradio#lucifer#alastor#hazbin lucifer#hazbin alastor#mine#lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#duckiedeer#ao3 fanfic
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Currently obsessed with these Radioapple fanfics, and I need to share:
• Strange Appetites by Gotllphi
• Of Saints and Sinners by @morningstarwrites
• Lucid Dreams of New Orleans by CyberWords @radiaurapple
• The HumanAU comic series by @notherpuppet
They capture their characters so so accurately and their writing is just *cheff's kiss*. Please go follow them and give them some much deserved love ❤️📻🍎
#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbinhotel#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor radio demon#hazbin#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#hotel hazbin#alastor hazbin#alastor and lucifer#alastor fanart#alastor art#alastor the radio demon#alastor x lucifer#human alastor#lucifer x alastor#radioapple#appleradio#duckiedeer#duckydeer#lucifer magne#lucifer hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer#hazbin lucifer#lucifer morningstar#lucifer morningstar fanart#lucifer art#strange appetites
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Had a few weird dreams last night, but the last one was the most memorable. I was in an old neighborhood, really cool one too. All the houses were huge old Victorian, and beautiful. They had wrought iron fences around the yards with, lots of bushes and plants. I went into one and was walking around the kitchen, which was just amazing. Then I went upstairs and could see someone watching me from another house. I thought that was weird, since I was the only one around.
As I was looking through one of the bedrooms, I got a text message. It was a group chat from my husband's siblings. They said, "Since you're in dad's old house, could you grab x, y, z... before you leave." Suddenly, my husband and his best friend are there. My husband is just like "ugh we were here for vacation, not to collect shit for them!" I said "But we're already here, it's not that much of an inconvenience to grab a few things." So, I told them "Yes, what do you all need?" I can't remember what April, the oldest sister asked for, but Allie asked for her x-ray machine, and his brother Sean asked for his dads 512 gun. I'm thinking to myself in the dream, what the fuck does she have an x ray machine for?! And also, their dad NEVER lived here, because I know damn well, I would've heard about it! This place was insane! Also, I've never heard of a 512 gun so, I have no idea what that is.
Either way, I'm now lucid in the dream, and I'm ready to go find this shit! Felt like an important mission! I walk toward the basement stairs; it's pitch black down there and I'm trying to find a light. I hit the switch at the stop of the stairs. The stairway turns into an entry door, to a very modern garage. I instantly got pissed, that this wasn't some cool ass basement of a Victorian house and woke up.
I remember thinking this might be a part New York, I don't know why, I've never been. To me it felt, kind of like New Orleans, with the old Victorian type houses but they were very close together, more like New York. It was definitely a historic district of some sort.
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Watch Free Full 12 Rounds
Release Date : 03/27/2009 (US)
Category : Action, Thriller, Crime
Production :
Country : US
Rate :
Cast : John Cena,Aidan Gillen,Ashley Scott,Brian J. White,Taylor Cole,Gonzalo Menendez,Steve Harris,Nick Gomez,Billy Slaughter,
When New Orleans Police Detectiv
Without a Cause for the grown-up world.
Lumet's origins as a director of teledrama may well be obvious here in his first film, but there is no denying the suitability of his style - sweaty close-ups, gritty monochrome 'realism', one-set claustrophobia - to his subject. Scripted by Reginald Rose from his own teleplay, the story is pretty contrived - during a murder trial, one man's doubts about the accused's guilt gradually overcome the rather less-than-democratic prejudices of the other eleven members of the jury - but the treatment is tense, lucid, and admirably economical. Fonda, though typecast as the bastion of liberalism, gives a nicely underplayed performance, while Cobb, Marshall and Begley in particular are highly effective in support. But what really transforms the piece from a rather talky demonstration that a man is innocent until proven guilty, is the consistently taut, sweltering atmosphere, created largely by Boris Kaufman's excellent camerawork. The result, however devoid of action, is a strangely realistic thriller.
A biography of the celebrated 19th century adventuress, but not a biography in the conventional sense: the lady's life is chronicled in a highly selective series of flashbacks, framed by scenes in a New Orleans circus where she allows herself to be put on show to a vulgar and impressionable public. The space between her memories and her circus appearance is the distance between romantic dreams and tawdry reality, or between love and the knowledge that love dies. Ophüls conjures that space into life - indeed, makes it the very subject of his film - by means of the most sumptuous stylistic effects imaginable: compositions unmatched in their fluidity, moving-camerawork that blurs the line between motion and emotion. If ever a director 'wrote' with his camera, it was Ophüls, and this still looks like his most sublime work. TR [Note: Shot in three separate language versions - French, German and English - this was premiered at around 140 minutes, but subsequently much recut. The English version - The Sins of Lola Montes in the US, The Fall of Lola Montes in GB - ran 90 minutes, but is seldom seen now. Prints of the French and German versions currently in circulation are approximately 112 minutes. - Ed].
Watch free movies and tvshows on VidooTv
Watch Free Full 12 Rounds
Watch Free Full 12 Rounds
e Danny Fisher stops a brilliant thief from getting away with a multimillion-dollar heist, the thief's girlfriend is accidentally killed. After escaping from prison, the criminal mastermind enacts his revenge, taunting Danny with 12 rounds of near-impossible puzzles and tasks that he must somehow complete to save the life of the woman he loves.
When New Orleans Police Detective Danny Fisher stops a brilliant thief from getting away with a mult
amatic conventionality, that by no means minimises its impact and sincerity. Mihaileanu picks on one such immigrant, Schlomo, a nine-year-old Ethiopian (played by three actors) who, in order to be saved, has fabricated a Jewish heritage and then follows the searing contradictions operating on him over the next 20 years. It’s a sensitive, clearly socially engaged, but subtle and nicely-acted tale of difficult readjustment, suffering and loss. The boy – although lucky to be fostered by a liberal, enlightened middle-class (French) family – must deny his mother’s existence as one of the prices he must pay. It’s also unafraid to broach such difficult, not to say, taboo subjects, as cultural elitism and racism, operating within the heart of Israeli society. Armand Amar’s score may be a touch over-emphatic, but in general, the tone is exemplarily balanced.
Oedipal-tainted repression spirals up and down the confines of a lighthouse-turned-orphanage in Guy Maddin's latest visual confession. The silent era is revisited with string orchestra accompaniment tensing the muscles, exclamation marks fastening themselves onto intertitled commentary and erotically sublime gazing played out by a cast worthy of memory-imprint…yet, the story of one woman's thirst for nectar and a mad scientist's attempt to extract the age-reversing substance from the resident orphans' insides, is uniquely loyal to those murky nightmares conjured solely in the minefield of a child's mind. Rapid, intimate and dramatic; like a punch in the face!!!
Expanding with an organic sweep, Dunn’s debut eco-doc turns the battle to save a beloved Austin, Texas, swimming hole from ambitious urban developers into an engrossing microcosmic metaphor – first global, then spiritual – for a world eating itself alive in its hunger for growth. Lensed with a lyrical beauty that nods squarely to exec producer Terrence Malick, Dunn’s musings arrive via startling visual symmetries, refocusing gracefully between great (God’s-eye photography, motion graphics) and small (talking heads, glittering underwater footage). Even if the director eventually hard-pedals her pantheist imagery into cliché, this inconvenient truth is discreet, intimate and regularly surprising.
Another of Alonso’s minimalist parables in the form of a slow, largely mute and obscurely motivated oddyssey, this chronicles the journey of a middle-aged sailor from the Atlantic freighter on which he works, via Ushuaia, the southernmost town in Argentina, to the remote and snowy hamlet that was his birthplace. After years of travelling, this loner, who communicates with a bottle of booze more comfortably than with humans, wants to see if his mother is still alive. When he finally reaches home, he not only finds her dying and unable to recognise him, but discovers that he has a sister he never knew existed, a young woman lost in her own sad and abused world. The imagery is meticulous, the pacing carefully measured, and the mood generally melancholy and enigmatic. Whether the film adds up to more than the some of its parts is moot; Alonso certainly seems keen not to give away any superflous information.
Mason's furrowed brow and brooding presence have rarely (never?) been used to better effect: 30 years on, his performance as the mild schoolteacher who is prescribed the wonder drug cortisone and becomes a raving megalomaniac addict remains profoundly disturbing. Suburbia is haunted by psychosis; family life torn apart by Oedipal bloodlust. Ray's direction (in 'Scope and Eastman Colour) is as moving as ever - delicate compositions and fluid camerawork contradicted by the image of weak men locked into obsessive self-destruction. At every level the banal props of '50s prosperity are turned into symbols of suffocation and trauma, from the X-ray machine used to diagnose Mason's 'disease' to the bathroom cabinet mirror shattering under a desperate blow. Trashed on first release, resurrected by Truffaut and Godard, lovingly imitated by Wim Wenders (in American Friend): this is Rebel
imillion-dollar heist, the thief's girlfriend is accidentally killed. After escaping from prison, the criminal mastermind enacts his revenge, taunting Danny with 12 rounds of near-impossible puzzles and tasks that he must somehow complete to save the life of the woman he loves.
Founded in 1932, the annual Venice Film Festival (Mostra Internazionale d’Arte Cinematografica) is the oldest film festival in the world and remains one of the most prestigious. For 11 days in late summer the glitterati of the film industry, plus their entourage of press and fans, take over the Lido. The main venue is the marble-and-glass Palazzo del Cinema, where official competition screenings take place. Other screens can be found in the Palazzo del Casinò, the striking red box of the Sala Giardino and the 1,700 seater Palabiennale marquee.
Many screenings are open to the public, with tickets from as little as €5 (in 2017) available online until two days before the event; multi-ticket subscriptions are also available. Note that competition films are likely to sell out quickly. Further details, including a full programme of screenings, are available on the official Biennale website.
The gimmicky premise of
Jack Gelber
's play - that those were real junkies up on the stage waiting for their fix, killing time by improvising jazz and making with street-jive monologues - probably makes more sense as a movie than it ever did in the theatre. Clarke films it as if it were documentary (so that when the cameraman himself takes a fix, the camera-work goes to pieces), and the Living Theatre actors are convincing enough to sustain this close a scrutiny. Some creaky business with a Salvation Army sister recalls the piece's stage origins, but the music and the sense of 'dead time' retain a 'beat' authenticity.
Where does criminality end and celebrity begin is the question posed by Australian director Andrew Dominik whose stunning second film – after 2000’s excellent (and not entirely dissimilar) ‘Chopper’ – sets the Western genre barn ablaze to deliver a gripping, Gothic tête à tête between two of American history’s most morally perplexing folk heroes. Kicking off with an expertly choreographed train robbery which acts as both a narrative nub and tonal barometer for the director’s bucolic, mournful mise en scene and script, the film then ruefully traces the interlocking paths of Jesse James and his young admirer Robert Ford. Early word suggested that Casey Affleck’s Ford was the man to keep an eye on come awards season, but this is unquestionably Pitt’s film, his James insouciantly radiating a piercing, unreadable intensity redolent of Joe Pesci’s work with Scorsese, a truly enigmatic presence constantly obscured behind warped glass, thick smoke, or even his own visibly battered visage. Though, in the end, the film’s main intention is to have you query every element of its mischievous title (and you probably will), it’s a journey of immense emotional foreboding and, flabby coda aside, a red-raw classic.
Although it’s true that French-Romanian director Radu Mihaileanu’s ambitious – and brave – attempt to dramatise the tortuous experience of Falasha Jews brought to Israel in the partly-clandestine, Mossad-organised, ‘Operation Moses’, following their post-famine exodus in 1984, succumbs to certain dr
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Ok like for example for awhile I was very into lucid dreaming and one of the dream places I sort of set to return to repeatedly as an entrance point into a lucid dream was a little shop. I didn't make it up but it was a particularly vivid dream place anyway so it was easy to visualize it very clearly and repeatedly, like all the physical details and the things they sold and the ladies who worked there, like we never really spoke much but they would nod to me, and the print of the curtain that led to the back room. and then years later I went to New Orleans for the first time and that shop was actually there. same layout same ladies same curtain. and I think things like that probably happen all the time to everybody but why would you recognize a random place you dreamed about only once in the real world, or maybe you never happen to go to the real one at all. I could easily never have gone to New Orleans. and it doesn't have any significance really, like, I didn't find a magical hidden treasure there or anything, I just happened to notice
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✗ Basics:
[Character Sheet]
Name: Sprig Arden Hamby
Character Type: Human, Hollower Witch
Concept: Wanderer
Born: March 1st, 1999 (Pisces)
Birthplace: Biloxi, Mississippi
Background: Lithuanian (Maternal) Dutch-Danish (Paternal)
Family: Gemma and Elijah Hamby (parents), Papa Noah (paternal-grandfather)
Build: Swimmer’s build
Height: 5′8″
Weight: 129 lbs
Eyes: Gray-Blue
Hair: Natural blonde, changing color and length on a whim.
Home: New Orleans
Drives: Green ‘13 Mini Cooper
Style of Dress: Between boho and grunge. Often wearing gloves despite the weather or outfit.
Distinct Features: Nose piercing on left side; both ears. A black swallowtail tattoo split between her forearms. Two freckles top right of her navel. Naturally smells like bay leaves.
Misc: Insomniac, addicted to cigarettes with an affinity for cannabis.
Hollow Ones: Hollowers are witches with no set faction and no primary Sphere of magick. Either orphaned from their Tradition or isolated from knowledge by birth. Hollowers are oftentimes those with innate talent, raised without a community to guide their understanding. They piece together philosophies and spells from any available source, creating their own haphazard concepts. Some have no idea they are not alone.
Avatar: Mirme (“Mirror me” she said as a child. An Avatar is an invisible manifestation of a mage’s soul, and is the conduit of their magical abilities. Sleepers call them imaginary friends to their children.)
Essence: Dynamic
Languages: English, some French
Humanity: Neutral-Good
Willpower: Certain
Nature: Gallant
Demeanor: Critic
Kinsey Scale: 1
Likes
Music
Relevant
Thoughts
Wardrobe
Aesthetics
Random Facts
Ars Mysteriorum
Tag: sprighamby
Facial Inspiration: Cara Delevingne
Chapters
✗ The Story:
Sprig’s grandfather had called her a seer. As a child, he explained her sensitivity was a gift, one which he shared. She had inherited Noah Hamby’s psychic ability, known as psychometry, as he had inherited from his grandmother. The ability is known by many names: touch-know, token-object reading, and psychoscopy to name a few. Seer was what her grandfather called her, and seer is what she continues to use.
After her grandfather’s death, nineteen-year-old Sprig set out on her own. She was an anomaly to her parents, and once the door closed behind her, Gemma and Elijah breathed a shameful sigh of relief. They didn’t understand her, and they didn’t want to understand her. Her strange behavior walking into old buildings; frozen after shaking strangers’ hands; her fascination with antiques; knowing things she shouldn’t. She was a strange child, and the longer she was gone, the less guilt they felt for their deliverance.
✗ Updates:
September 21st, 2021:
⚜ A kind witch and baker named Piper Hayes gave Sprig a job in her shop in the heart of New Orleans.
✗ Sphere-based Powers:
Mind Sphere
Sense Thoughts and Emotions: Catches random thoughts and emotions briefly via touch.
Read Surface Thoughts: Skimming the contents of a mind via touch.
Mental Impulse: Place an emotional impulse upon another via touch.
Empathic Bond: Establish an empathic link holding two people’s hands.
Mental Link: Establishes a link that allows the exchange of ideas or images between two persons, including illusions.
Dreamwalk: A fortified Demesne, with lucid dreaming, and a jumping off point to roam the Dreaming.
Psychic Blast: Forces painful thoughts upon a target via touch.
Spirit Sphere
Spirit Senses: Catches a glimpse through the veil into the Penumbra via touch.
Touch Spirit: Ability to affect minor things through the Gauntlet while remaining on the other side.
Manipulate Gauntlet: Thickening or thinning the Gauntlet of a small area via touch.
Time Sphere
Time Sense: Aware of the time of day down to the second. Aware of paranormal distortions of time in her vicinity.
Time Sight: The ability to see ambiguous moments of the past or future through the eyes of a witness via touch.
Life Sphere
Sense Life: Sense the potency of a life form via touch, measuring its relative health and well-being, as well as basic information.
✗ Limitations:
Conditional magic, limited to physical touch and dreamwalking.
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Amara wished she could call Zafar and just beg him to tell her what was going on. It had been almost an entire week since their last meeting where she had to take that horrid spill off his balcony. One that she still couldn’t explain. Amara had racked her mind for some sort of clue as to how he had done it, but all that was echoing in her head was what he had told her when they were back in his home, the broken piece of her mug in her hand as she demanded he tell her what was going on. “I’m not… human exactly.” Somewhere down the line after she hadn’t heard from him in the days that followed, she began to ponder on them. Now that she had cooled off a bit, Amara was more inclined to accept whatever it was he was trying to tell her, but it still made no sense. What did he mean by that? Were super heroes real or something? Had Zafar once been bitten by a radioactive spider, leaving him with abilities beyond human comprehension? Is that how he was able to get down to her so quickly before she could really get hurt? Of course, the other thought had crossed her mind… the topic of many of their conversations… Amara felt crazy for even considering it and banished the thought altogether. Zafar Khan was not a vampire.
But the fact of the matter was whatever his explanation would have been, she hadn’t heard from him and now it was Friday night. Six days since she’d seen him last. It made her queasy to think that maybe he’d made good on his promise. Maybe he left New Orleans after that night and that’s why she hadn’t heard from him… If that was the case then she just had to crush whatever feelings were beginning to blossom for the mysterious man and get on with her life. She had been on her way home, the bar having closed only minutes ago. Dead hour was upon New Orleans and as she made her way onto the street, it looked as if she had stepped into an old Hollywood horror movie. Hazy fog everywhere. “Fucking winter in New Orleans…” she muttered bitterly to herself, trying not to let it get to her. A tipsy Amara hugged her jacket close to her body as she walked, her home only a few blocks away.
As she walked the deserted streets, she felt a strange feeling take root in her gut. Something felt off. Of course, while she wasn’t staggering over drunk, Amara had indulged in a few drinks while she was at the bar, taking a mild enjoyment in watching other more intoxicated people make utter fools of themselves. Still, she was buzzed and was in no way capable of truly defending herself. The Latina looked over her shoulder to see if her intuition was right. Was someone actually following her or was her drunk brain just playing tricks on her? No one. She started walking again and once again the strange feeling set in causing her to reach for her purse, more specifically the pepper spray within it. Amara chanced one more glance behind her, but saw no one. Her steps quickened now, but what happened next happened so quickly she didn’t even have time to properly react.
There was quick moment swooping around her and then suddenly she felt hands on her, grabbing her tight. One second she was on the sidewalk and the next she was being slammed up against a wall in an alleyway. “Well aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Her assailant was quick and strong and even when she tried to spray him in the face with the spray, her one weapon, he didn’t react the way she thought he would. It definitely stung him in the eyes, but he didn’t release his cold vice grip on her like she hoped. He hissed, shutting his eyes tight for a few seconds and then opened them to look back at her as if nothing had happened. It was then that she noticed those crimson orbs staring back at her. “You humans always think you’re so tough.” Amara hadn’t ever felt so frightened for her life. She thought she was so fucking tough all the time and here she was about to die a pitiful death in an alleyway.
“I’ll give you whatever you want. Just let me go,” she begged, struggling against his hold, but he was stronger than her and she wasn’t able to budge an inch. “Foolish girl, I don’t have to let you go to get what I want.” And then he changed before her eyes. She watched in horror as he bared his teeth.. Not just any teeth— fangs. Bright, sharp, vampire fangs. Was this some sort of lucid dream? “Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.” There was no way she was surviving this if what she thought was about to happen was going to happen and so Amara did the one and only thing she could think of in this moment of desperation. She began to pray, her eyes clenched shut, the words flying off her tongue like she’d just learned them yesterday and not all those years ago in Sunday school.
“Padre nuestro,
que estás en el cielo.
Santificado sea tu nombre.
Venga tu re-”
“Oh prayer,” the stranger laughed, “That’s a response I haven’t encountered in quite some time. It won’t help you much, but it was a valiant effort.” Amara only continued on, her prayer louder now as she hoped desperately for some sort of Hail Mary.
“-Venga tu reino!
Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.
Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día.
Perdona nuestras ofensas…”
It wasn’t going to work though and she knew it. She was going to die in a matter of seconds and there was nothing she could do about it.
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songfic day 3: “dancing in the moonlight”
Cole dreams in New Orleans.
(Inspired by Toploader’s “Dancing In The Moonlight,” a song that always reminds me of summer.)
He often dreams of things that are shards of memory: his childhood, his brother, the warmth of the studio lights on his skin, Brooklyn, the J line, the acrid smell of chemicals in the archaeology labs.
He notices that these are - in some form or another - things that he longs for.
So he finds it interesting that even now, even here in New Orleans, with its nightly croon of jazz and heat and raucous crowds, he’s had the same dream. Night after night.
A balcony, always. Whether the balcony in their apartment in Vancouver, or the one in Hawaii, a dreamy portal to ocean views and absurdly ethereal sky.
And her, beckoning to him in the moonlight.
Well, no - not beckoning, but simply inviting him. Leaning over the railing, looking over at him and saying, Hey, come here. Casual and lowkey, like she’d just caught sight of something that might make him laugh and wants him to see it.
He dreams it on his first night in Nola, and on the third, and the fourth.
On the fifth, he thinks he’s lucid enough to actually see it. The balcony this time is the one attached to his hotel room. He stares at the vision of her under the amber light of the moon, his dream self cocking his head to the side, wondering why she’s wearing the grey jacket she likes wearing on airplanes.
Then he feels the warm air wafting in, and realises that he’s wide awake, and he sits up with a jolt.
“Lili?” he asks in disbelief. “When did you--?”
She smiles, almost apologetically. “I caught an earlier flight.”
He stumbles out of bed, stumbles towards her, and catches her in his arms. She giggles and sways under the weight of his embrace.
“Holy shit,” he says, laughing in his disbelief. It isn’t a dream, but also... it is.
She is.
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Hello fellow gremlins, remember this post about my resurrection hopes for S3? I wrote it out and it’s not particularly exciting but I thought I should post it since from now on, unless otherwise specified, my fics will probably be set after this. I’m working on a fic for a prompt rn but it’s getting late so pls enjoy this for now.
---
No matter how many times Sweeney insisted that he was a god, Laura never truly believed it. Not the way some of the others were. Sure, she might not have treated them with any particular awe or reverence, but she couldn’t deny that there was something there she hesitated to underestimate. It was a form of power that was hard to place, something at once strangely familiar and frighteningly ancient, quietly commanding. She’d never much cared for church, but standing on hallowed ground had a certain feeling to it that she couldn’t place. The same feeling as when Bilquis had kissed her, and the rest of the world had melted away for just a moment. The same feeling as when Wednesday settled his one good eye on you, and you felt like he might be seeing right through your eyes into your soul.
She had almost felt it, briefly, when they’d gone through the hoard - but then he was himself again, complaining about the price of cigarettes and snoring in his sleep just like every other boring human she’d ever met. It had been impossible to believe that he’d ever been more than the luckless drunk she had been stuck with for all this time.
But now? Now she believed him.
At first, she thought the potion hadn’t worked. She had been expecting something sudden, a gasp of breath, maybe a magical burst of light. But the seconds had dragged by, painfully still, and she had wondered how long she could sit at the end of the bed just staring at him until she had to call it quits. This might have been the most intensely she had ever felt her own death: numb and silent and absolutely fucking hopeless. It didn’t have to happen this way. They didn’t have to fight in New Orleans, he didn’t have to go up against Wednesday alone. The weight of their dumb fucking choices weighed so heavy on her that all she could do was sit with it, thinking of another Laura who had been smarter, who had done everything right, who wasn’t so utterly alone. It had been a long time since she’d last truly slept, since she’d last dreamed, but now something inside of her just quit. She let her consciousness dim, let the world fade into a muddy grey blur, and waited for death to be done with her.
And then suddenly she was awake again, marvelling at the feeling of warmth on each shoulder, the heat of strong hands shaking her, rousing her. He was kneeling in front of her, and his skin was flushed with colour and hot as a flame, and he shone like the fucking sun. Now she could feel it, that divine power radiating off of him. She wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before.
“It worked,” she breathed, scrambling to touch him, holding his face in her dead hands and staring down at him in disbelief. He looked younger without the tired shadows under his eyes, more lucid than perhaps she’d ever seen him, but his gaze was somber and his mouth was set in a hard line.
“What the fuck did you do?” he asked, voice low, and her brow creased. Here was the asshole she knew and barely tolerated.
“Excuse me?” she scoffed. “I saved your life, if you didn’t notice. You’re welcome.”
“How?” She paused, mouth open, waiting for the right words to come. None did. She shut her mouth again. He smiled tensely and tilted his head to one side.
“Alright… I might have lied in New Orleans,” she began. He huffed out a breath and closed his eyes, then stood and turned to stare out the window. “The Baron gave me a potion, but-”
“But you didn’t take it.”
“It wasn’t finished. It needed another ingredient, and I didn’t think I’d get it. I thought it was a cruel joke.”
“Looks like you were wrong.”
They were both quiet for a moment. She watched with an indescribable satisfaction as his shoulders rose and fell just slightly with every breath. If nothing else, he was alive. At least she had done that. Finally she collected up what she wanted to say, and forced herself to say it.
“I needed blood. From someone who loved me. That’s why I went to Cairo.” Laura watched for a reaction, waited, and finally he said,
“I’m sure you found plenty of it.”
“Yeah. I did. Shadow made a real mess. He seemed pretty upset about it, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Not really,” he replied shortly, turning to her and shaking his head. “I’m not angry at him, I’m angry at you. I finally did it, I found a way for you to be alive again, and you didn’t take it. You wasted your one fuckin’ chance at life-”
“Wasted it?”
“-and now, what? You really are just gonna wait to fall back into the grave, is that it?”
“I did you a favour.”
“Why?” The stare he fixed her with told her that he knew the answer. She bristled with anger for a few moments, and then it started to fade. It was exhausting, battering her emotions down with misplaced rage, using that frustration to hold him at a distance. It was how she’d always been, how she had always kept herself neatly isolated. Isolation felt safe. It also felt lonely. She smiled up at him, small and sad and tired.
“Selfish reasons.”
He dropped back into a crouch.
“You sacrificed yourself. For me.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered.
“I’m not. You held your life in that fuckin’ bottle and you could have taken it, but you didn’t.”
“Well, asshole, that’s what love is, I guess.” She was getting frustrated again. He smiled wryly.
“That’s what worship is,” he corrected. She shot him a glare and he revelled in it, wanted to laugh at the sheer miserable irony of how much the pair of them hated and needed and wanted each other. “There’s a lot of power in a sacrifice like that.”
What a beautiful, horrible joke. For so long all of his power, all of his luck, had been wrapped up in her rotting heart and oh, how he had resented her for it. He had thought he had hit rock bottom the night he’d killed her for Wednesday, but then he’d lost his coin to her and found how much deeper he could sink, how truly powerless he could be. And then she had done this one stupid thing, and a strength he hadn’t felt in centuries was burning in his veins and pounding in his head. He didn’t need an army of believers, didn’t need a temple full of worshippers praising his name and begging his favour.
He only needed her.
She gasped as he pressed his hand against her chest and a jolt of life shuddered through her. Her heart pounded decisively, unclogging arteries, refreshing atrophied muscles, sparking each nerve ending back to life. Her lungs burned with agony as she gasped in ragged breaths like she’d forgotten how to breathe. Shit, maybe she had. The pain was everywhere and her heart was hammering so hard she feared she might die all over again, and dimly she realised she was sobbing and begging him to stop. His hand stayed fixed in place until his coin fell into it, and for a moment she was angry, betrayed, until he dropped it onto the bed beside her and pulled her into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, warming up her grave-cold flesh, holding her still when her skin began to knit back together and she writhed in fury and terror, lost in the terrible pain of it. Then, for a long time, he just held her as she shook and cried until finally, exhausted from the trauma of resurrection and months without true sleep, she slipped out of consciousness.
When she finally woke again, the world outside was cool with the dimness of dusk, but she felt warm beneath the thin and scratchy motel sheets. Warm. Fuck, she’d never enjoyed feeling warm so much before. It felt so beautiful and simple and good that she wanted to cry. She ran her hands slowly over her arms, her breasts, her neck, relearning what touch was like. It could have been hours that she lay like that, soaking in the colours of the room and the foul mildew smell and the heavy weight of hunger in her stomach, delighting at every touch of her own hands. It seemed unthinkable to her now that she ever wound up choking in that hot tub, when just to be alive was so incredible.
She was shaken from her reverie when the door to the bathroom clicked open and Sweeney stepped out, barefoot and shirtless, hair damp and towel-mussed. What had once been a grisly open wound below his sternum was now a pale scar. He glanced at her, turned and cleared his throat when he saw she was awake.
“Clothes are ruined,” he muttered shortly in explanation, and she hummed in understanding.
“That’s probably for the best,” she replied softly, sitting up straight. “The way you dress is pretty bad.”
“Well, it’s good to know that you’re back to your charming old self,” he sighed, but his smile was light, nearly affectionate. They fell into a not-uncomfortable silence for a moment, though neither of them was able to look directly at the other.
“Got your coin back,” she said eventually. He nodded. “What are you gonna do now?”
“Buy a new shirt, probably the first thing.”
“Okay… And then what?”
His gaze moved, focused on her properly, and they considered each other for a few moments.
“And then… Then, I’ll do whatever the fuck you ask me to.”
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#Nola#New Orleans#french quarter#bourbon street#toulouse#mardi#gras#mardi gras#french#blue#sky#technicolor#trippy#lucid#dreams#daydream#high#on life
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Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 3
CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Lucifer makes a choice he is likely to regret.
The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs.
But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor's worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter's dream.
Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor's soul from the brink of destruction.
In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.
[AO3 LINK]
Hi! here's the latest chapter of my radioapple fic!! things are gettin crazy!! Im very excited about this chapter so I attempted a drawing to accompany it as well ❤️ As always next chapter will be posted in 1 week. 📻🍎
Chapter preview below!
Charlie is still a little girl on the night of the first extermination. When the screaming starts, Lucifer is in her room, curled around her tiny body, his wings a cocoon around them –– he sings softly in her ear, even as she cries and bangs her tiny fists against his chest.
“Daddy,” she sobs. “Help them –– please!”
I can’t, he doesn’t say. She hasn’t learned, yet, that there are no correct moves in this game –– that he is a pawn locked in Heaven’s trap, always three steps behind.
It is Lilith who oversees the exterminations. In those years, she often returns with a scrape or two from an angelic weapon. These are a joy to heal –– her soul is made of Lucifer’s most treasured memories. It feels less like a curse, then, to crawl into her arms –– to press his forehead to hers and dive back into Eden.
When he touches her, it is easy to forget that Eden was an age ago.
When Charlie is thirteen, the Exorcists arrive six hours early; the denizens of Hell are unprepared, still out drinking to their own impending doom. It is a massacre.
When the rift opens, he is at Lu Lu World with Charlie. He brought her there to cheer her up before the extermination. The Exorcists swarm the park in seconds — Lucifer pulls Charlie against his chest to whisk her away, but not before she catches sight of a ticket-taker with an angelic arrow in his heart.
She struggles in Lucifer’s grip, her hand outstretched, as if there were anything she could do — and then they both dissolve in a red shimmer of light.
They materialize in the parlor.
Charlie snarls — her horns sprout from her forehead. “Let me go!” she yells.
Lucifer releases her instantly. She stumbles forward; Lucifer reaches out a hand to steady her, but she rounds on him and bats it away.
“I can’t believe you!” She says. “I know you heal Mom when she comes back from the exterminations. If I had that power, I’d be out there right now, trying to save as many lives as I could. They’re our people, dad!”
Lucifer frowns, removes his hat, and runs a hand through his hair. “Come on, Charlie. You know I can’t do that.”
Charlie squares her shoulders in defiance. “Why not?”
Lucifer sighs. He crosses into the dining room and sits at the table. He’s tempted to tell her the entire truth –– but of the host of indignities that come with his sentence, the worst has always been explaining each punishment to his daughter. Her naïve confusion when she learned he once lived in Heaven still haunts his nightmares.
He drops his head in his hands.
Charlie’s soft footsteps –– she pulls out the chair next to his and sits down.
Lucifer sighs and settles for a partial truth. “You and I are very alike,” he says. “It is sometimes more natural for us to … care.”
Charlie’s hand lands on Lucifer’s back. He looks up at her.
“One day you’ll understand that caring is part of our punishment here,” Lucifer says. “The more you care for these sinners, the more it hurts.”
[AO3 LINK]
#hazbin hotel#radioapple#alastor#lucifer#hazbin lucifer#hazbin alastor#appleradio#duckiedeer#fanfic#mine#ao3 fanfic#ao3#lucid dreams of new orleans
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Name: Moona
Nick names: Luna/ Sel
Species:
Human ( Formerly )
Moon Demon
Age: Early 30s
Orientation: Asexual/Aromantic
Languages: English, French, French Creole, Spanish, Italian, Vietnamese, Hungarian, and Croatian
Date of Birth: Oct 28th ( In Earth of State Louisiana New Orleans)
Death of Date:1933
Cause of Death: Murder Incident
occupations- Soul Stealer ( Formerly)
Deal Maker
Overlord ( Along with Alastor)
Status: Active
friends-
Rosie
Vaggie
angel dust
cherry bomb
niffty
husk
lucifer
lillth
Likes-
Magic act
singing
Music
Dancing
cooking
make spells
Dress up
Dislikes-
Angels Sexual Remarks
don't like being touched by others that she don't know
frowns
tea
anything sweet
cats or dogs
technology like phones
Enemies-
Valentino
Vox
Sir Pentious
Closed friend or best friend - Alastor Known as radio demon
Shipping name- Entertainment
Personality: Her as asexual/Aromantic, She has this Trait of Mannerism since she sings Daily on Stage. Music and Art is her total Passion and Compassion, she owns her business of doing her singing and Musical to give demons of what they admire but she doesn't admire to those are sexually towards her and touching her. Rosie founds about Moona is Narcissistic of how she behaves towards others very different. But to Alastor it's Neutral because how Alastor likes Entertainment of singing on Stage that Enlightenment his mood a lot of smiles. Moona really admires his Fun ideals, he gives Since both of them liked same thing as if both are like Besties as doing amusement ideals. even though she doesn't get in peoples personal space, she only people that she allows them to touch is alastor, Rosie and charlie as allies or friends.
Natural Abilities:
full Demon transformation: Demons entitlement Nightmare Mode, This Kind of Form gives a Terror look of Moon Banshee Demon with Pointy Horn, Sharp teeth, Eyes of color white and legless and no feet, the dress is like Greek style, Sharped Nails and her hands turn Dark blue. so this Natural Ability, It's Immortal once you dream, she'll step in the dream and take your soul and Murder you and feed the Corpse to her Cannibal Souls she deals, feed them like Animals Don't mistake she isn't Cannibal, She eats any Flesh of a Meat that is out side and inside.
Skillset:
-Sing/ Write songs
She has done this before, She is Good with doing Songs that Spots on to Demons,
Her Lyrics and Song names gave full Juicy detail that demons have Craved a lot. She was on Posters everywhere and All Demons Expected her to do more.
-Musical/ Dancing/theatrical Talent
Well Before she died, She has Full Talent Career with her singing came with Musical and Dancing and theatrical, She was a Full star Singer Back then in Louisiana. She even still doing it while in Hell.
-Prep Meals/ Cleaning
well at her business, she cleans and Prep Meals for her friends and her best friend Alastor,
She doesn't give much of meaning of how she likes it.
-Magic act
She does this in hell because she was ever Familiar with it of her past life.
which Demons loves her Magic Stunts even Alastor and Rosie as well.
- Multilingual
Well before she died, She Spoke Multilingual, she used to have Family that spoke Multilingual Fully a lot active. One of them do Speak American Accent of British because of Blood line.
-Flexibility
Moona can position her body into numerous unnatural poses and such without hurting her joints. she has also shown to be able to turn her head 180°.
-Wide intellect
Moona is shown to be quite the cunning individual, which resulted to her becoming one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell through her tricks and deal-making. she always strategists and thinks ahead before proceeding to execute a plan.
unique Abilities:
-Soul Absorption
To those that Fail the Deal, their souls get Collected by her or her Moon witch staff.
-Shadow Manipulation
Moona is able to summon shadows and manipulate them into doing her bidding.
-Eldritch control
Moona has shown instances of possessing powers that make Blue rose witch craft glowing symbols float around her. It could Symbolize of she might had Bloodline with Witchcraft that she hasn't known of.
-Spatial warp
moona is able to get around with the help of her shadow, when she teleports behind Rosie and Alastor after entering in her Business Called Demons Radical.
-Dream Manipulation
She can step in Demons Dreams and Change the dream into nightmares to make it as Lucid Dream.
-Healing/hurting Medley
Moona once healed a Demon Child in Hell while singing a Medley, All Children Demons Loves her charming voice towards themselves. the Hurting Medley is different from healing, It can hurt demon by Killing the Demon of letting Meaningful souls or shadows to do it's playing act.
-Psychic reading
She can talk to the souls that she collected and make Fair Agreements or disagreements. Demons will think she talks to herself lol.
-Dark Arts
Well She has done this in her radical Demon Business Complex,
She has Full of Dark Art meaning Dark Magic, she has Many Abilities Behind that. Just Voodoo Magic even Dark Mystical dance.
-Telepathy
She really read peoples minds without telling a Demon About it by walking around or just being Nosy.
-Enhanced Speed
this speed is strong, she'll do it with her staff that has this ability.
- Pyrokinesis
She can summon Fire or Blue flame to point it out.
-Photokinesis
moona is shown to be able to project Rose blue glowing light from her eyes as well as her moon Staff's Pentagram that has different color.
-Outfit Alteration
She has Been Doing this Ability on Stage and demons as well.
-Portal Creation
Well this isn't first time she has done that, she snatches charlie to have fun.
-manifestation
She has done this stunt on Lucifer, he didn't take it well with her as she doesn't care and jokes around.
-telekinesis
she can do that with the moon staff or any object ;3
Trivia-
> Moona Did Travel Around world to show her full Performance in the past on earth, she was popular singer in world that she had million trillion fans across globe.
> in 1933, She was Murdered by Jealous women in the woods and as this women didn't realize in front of her that she was Flesh off of a huge bear.
> Alastor and Moona has met before in past life, Alastor has met her singing on stage doing a warm up for next stage singing. Moona gave him Autograph with her signature on it. Alastor did love her talent work of how puts her voice so beautifully.
> She can also speak English Accent, She had Cousin Name Brake speaks that English tone.
> Moona was adopted and Mostly in her past life that she didn't know that her real family was part witch cult of white and black magic.
> moon staff is meaningful of witchcraft like moon witchcraft has abilities of magic art and it she did name it moonlight it will come to her by command and it will fight against any demon on it's own of whom tries cause harm towards moona.
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Have you had a good day so far?
my day has been really nice honestly. i woke up next to my honey and his parents are catholic so they came all the to tampa to plant an easter egg hunt in his front yard, it was my first easter egg hunt and it was nice, I'm currently drunk bc he took a nap lolol
What’s something you wish you could tell your younger self?
i would tell my younger self that you don't to something to constantly fill the void, that everything would make sense soon enough. you're powerful and great and sometimes that can fill your mind with strange ideas, just roll with them, also drugs are so much fun but theres a fine line from partying and addiction.
If you could share one song with someone for them to understand you, what would it be?
Off to the races by lana del rey. i live my life fast, i ignore the grey and love the black and white. i fall hopelessly in love. as hard as i try to stay out of trouble, i love trouble. I'm a chaos junky and self destruction is strongly alluring. and never forget, I'm fucking crazy but I'm free.
A song maybe people wouldn’t expect you to like but you do?
big green tractor. shut up its good.
Describe your go-to pair of shoes?
black toms all day every day
Do you have a poster/picture in your room? What of?
i have highland cow picture my cousin in scotland bought me. it makes me feel warm.
Do you own nail polish? What’s your favorite colour?\
i don't but my favorite color is grey.
Favorite herb/spice?
for spell work i love to use red pepper, it sets a fire under the work and gets sit moving.
Do/can you lucid dream?
no :(
Summer or winter?
summer!! I'm a florida boy, i love the beach and the parties and the drugs and clubs and the sun and the icees and just the free feeling that comes with summer months.
If you could relive a day of your life, would you? When?
like @surreptitious-shades any of my manic days. manic monday in june are times i look back and just remember and feel happy
Favorite historical era?
back when voodoo ran new orleans.
A common misunderstanding people have of you?
that I'm a bad boy, I'm really well behaved i mind my business and don't break laws unless their incovenient for me :))
thank you for reading i tag every single person reading this!!!!
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ONLY $5 ADMISSION EACH DAY!!!
YEAST BY SWEET BEAST 2020 SCHEDULE
YEAST BY SWEET BEAST 2020 DAY 1
SPIDER HOUSE FRI MAR 13
INSIDE STAGE
6 pm – 630 pm VINCENT CARLTON OSCILLATOR
645 – 715 pm QUITTINIRPAAQ
730 – 8 pm CINDERS ENSEMBLE
815 – 845 LINE OF FIRE
9 pm – 930 MANY BIRTHDAYS
945 – 1015 EPISODIC MEMORY
1030 – 11 pm NOKKEN & THE GRIM
1115 – 1145 DREAM BODY (SAN MARCOS)
12 mid – 1230 PYRETHRUM
1245 – 115 SAAK
130 – 2am IMPLODEMUTE (DALLAS)
YEAST BY SWEET BEAST 2020 DAY 1
SPIDER HOUSE FRI MAR 13
OUTSIDE STAGE
615 – 645 MURDERTITS (NEW ORLEANS)
7 PM – 730 UBA
745 – 815 GUMBASSO PROFUNDO
830 – 9 PM ANA BARAJAS
915 – 945 LIFE COACH
10 PM – 1030 WACO GIRLS
YEAST BY SWEET BEAST 2020 DAY 2
SPIDER HOUSE SAT MAR 14
INDOOR STAGE
215 – 245 THE CONCERNED
3 pm – 330 SOARY
345 – 415 OUT OF ORBIT (MISSOURI)
430 – 5 pm APACHE SUICIDE
515 – 545 CHRIS PETKUS
6 pm – 630 JOSH RONSEN & VANESSA GELVIN
645 – 715 XEROCAT
730 – 8 pm AURORA PLASTICS COMPANY
815 – 845 AUNT’S ANALOG
9 pm – 930 PSIONNOSAUR
945 – 1015 NO DEADS
1030 – 11 pm ST-37
1115 – 1145 LUCID DEMENTIA
12 mid – 1230 NAUGHTY PIE (NEW ORLEANS)
1245 – 115 am MC TRACHIOTOMY (NEW ORLEANS)
130 – 2 am PASTEL DYNASTY (DALLAS)
YEAST BY SWEET BEAST 2020 DAY 2
SPIDER HOUSE SAT MAR 14
OUTDOOR STAGE
2 pm – 230 MC TERRORISTIC
245 – 315 KORPERSCHWACHE
330 – 4 pm MOTHS GUILD
415 – 445 MUREX (SAN MARCOS)
5 pm – 530 CYCLOP TOAD (SAN MARCOS)
545 – 615 BLIND TEXAS MARLIN (NEW ORLEANS)
630 – 7 pm LUNITAS
715 – 745 ABIGAIL UND HANSEL
8 pm – 830 CASTLE CLUB
845 – 915 TECHRIDGE BOYS
930 – 10 pm STUNTDRIVER (LOS ANGELES)
YEAST BY SWEET BEAST 2020 DAY 3
CAROUSEL LOUNGE SUN MAR 15
230 – 3 pm FONTKNOW
315 – 345 EPOP NIVEK
4 pm – 430 SLOW COYOTE (NEW ORLEANS)
445 – 515 NIGHT VIKING
530 – 6 pm UNLUCKY BEEKEEPER
615 – 645 7-INCH STITCH
7 pm – 730 WILFRED BRIMLEY’S SECRET MISSION
745 – 815 zenoctave
830 – 9 pm OUINESS
915 – 945 DIKEMAN ACA DUO (w/Jonathan Horne)
10 pm – 1030 ATLAS MAIOR: PALINDROME
1045 – 1115 BAD TIES (NC)
1130 – Midnite MANIFESTiV (DALLAS)
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@heroquills replied to your post: heroquills replied to your post: ...
do it do it DO IT
your funeral.
Hi, say hello to Fi Somnium. She’s a low-toned Hip Hop Melodian from the fitting planet of Melodia. Melodia is a planet where music is everything. Government, society, laws, citizens, you name it. This entire world has been forged by the three principles of music: Harmony, Melody, and Rhythm. There are districts that are formed from your standard genres of music, like Jazz, Hip Hop, Classical, and other influential music types that spawned the countless offshoots we listen to today. Cities and towns are based on the reigning genre that resides in that region, and people will be, too. Some areas are playgrounds for musical culture, some are more cemented as to what you’ll expect.
Each person has a tone, either high, mid, or low, that they’ll be from, and it can drastically change what type of genre they’re formed from. Someone who is a low-toned Swing Melodian will vibe more with cafe jazz or bossa nova, while a high-tone Swing Melodian will be more for excitable brass band swing straight from New Orleans. Mid is typically for the mixed individuals who have several types of music mixed in their blood, giving them a sub-genre stemming from several roots.
In the case of Fi, her form comes from Lofi Hip-Hop, the sleepy beats that run through Fi’s very being. My fantastic friend Synnie drew a reference of her if you’d like to take a look! She’s technically a low-toned Hip Hop Melodian, but Lofi Hip-Hop is plenty known as the term used when referred to them, which is the same for other subcategories. The tiring beats that run through her head are more than enough to make a person sleepy just like her, extended exposure to her music capable of putting someone to bed for a spontaneous nap. It’s incapable of being turned off, though, simply dimming the volume so people won’t have to bring earmuffs just to have a chat with her.
Don’t expect to get too far with it, though, because the likelihood of Fi passing out mid-conversation is way more likely than you’d prefer, I’m sure. She’s got a terrible case of narcolepsy, preferring to drift about on vaporous clouds instead of actually walking. Yes that’s a vaporwave joke which she also took inspiration from PLEASE laugh. These can carry her surprisingly light body with ease, along with others if they ask nicely. All of these traits form a persistently exhausted girl that spends her time drifting in and out of consciousness, finding new worlds to explore in the same manner.
Fi can dream walk to get about, an entire dream world created by her imagination when she finally left home. The mystifying land is a soothing experience; pastel colors through a sleepy fog with a dominating shade of pink coating a seemingly deserted city. In the center, a fountain trickling away can be seen and heard, though no matter where you go, that fountain will always drip away in your ear. This is only one of the countless inconsistencies that reside in this dream world. For dreams hold no sense of reality, they have no reason to stick to the waking world’s rules. Streets will wrap back in on themselves, stairs will spiral on and on, the sense of space totally wack when giving it a proper thought. Only, it will make perfect sense to you. It isn’t often you question a dream’s activities when you’re properly having it, and Fi is the only one capable of lucid dreaming, for it is hers that you are in. You are in her world, and it is hers to control.
The dark truth to Fi is that... she isn’t the kindest person in the world. Except, she’ll lead you to believe the opposite. If you’re not an active listener to Lofi Hip-Hop, there is constant talk and imagery of sadness, loneliness, depression, and other concepts along those lines. Fi uses these sweet visages to paint a perfect picture anyone would love. A cute, sleepy girl drifting away to peaceful music? Who wouldn’t adore that? Who wouldn’t want that around? Get close enough to her and she may eventually invite you into her dream world, but this is only a spider’s web you best avoid if you know any better. Fi holds a desire, and it is a partner that will never leave her. One that will show her the love she wants without trying to leave and motives will turn on a dime if they so much as think about doing so.
The saccharine-sweet woman willing to do anything to fill the lonely void with companionship, trapping once possible friends in her endless wonderland until they fall into a night of sleep she has no plans of waking them up from. Falling asleep in a dream, though... it never ends well. Wandering lost in endless sleep for the rest of your so-called life... It will be the fate for anyone who falls for Fi’s ruse. She’ll even go into other people’s dreams to spy on their minds and pick out what they like and dislike to appear even more appealing in the waking world if she finds someone she particularly likes. Acting akin to a dream virus. A pop up that shows on your computer screen for a second and vanishes the next before you can get any input on what it did. Your eyes gloss over her and paint a foggy image of her once you wake up, forgotten in a matter of minutes if any brainpower is put toward actually remembering her. She is controlling, misleading, and has unintentionally killed countless of people who have fallen for her trap.
This is why citizens of Melodia who grow to inspire off of Lofi Hip-Hop are frowned upon. They grow into layabouts that do nothing for society, cast out before they eventually choose to leave into their dream worlds instead of the real world. A part of it cannot be helped alone, these people being refused by their own world at birth. A helping hand could correct them, yet it is largely unlikely for them to receive it.
#heroquills#(OOC.) ''The kind of tired regular sleep can't fix.''#((GODGODGOD i love fi GOD I LOVE HER))#((also for those with xkit. which SHOULD be all of you. i highly recommend getting read more for dash))#((it's called read more now and it lets you read 'read more' posts on the dash instead of on the blog))#((i say that because i have no clue how this'll look on my blog and it'll probably be way better for reading))#((not like anyone's actually gonna READ THIS because it's LONG and RAMBLE-Y and 4 AM))
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512.
What is your favorite thing to drink in the morning?
>> Water, or tea.
Have you ever lost a library card?
>> No.
What do you want to do for your next birthday?
>> I have no idea. I assume we’ll go for another Chicago daytrip, as usual.
When is your next birthday?
>> Next May.
At what time of day do you generally start to feel awake?
>> I usually feel awake enough shortly after I get out of bed. I start to flag in the midday unless I’m doing something active, and then I feel awake again by evening.
At what time of day do you feel your best?
>> Feeling my best usually doesn’t depend on a particular time of day.
Have you ever experienced withdrawals from a medication?
>> No.
Do you feel your age?
>> I don’t believe ages can “feel” like anything. I just feel like whoever I am right now.
How old are you?
>> 32.
If you had kids, would you want them to look like you?
>> I mean, any child I raise wouldn’t be biologically mine, so...
What do you dream about naming your future children?
>> ---
What season do you want to get married in?
>> It will be fall.
Has it been raining a lot lately?
>> Not as much as it had been in the beginning of the month.
How many hours a day do you spend looking at a screen?
>> Way more hours than I spend doing anything else.
Which do you do more, spent time online, watch TV, or read books?
>> Spend time online.
What is your favorite magazine to read?
>> GameInformer or New Scientist.
Do you long for love, or do you have it?
>> I don’t long for love, I long for the ability to feel it. (Like, to feel other people’s love, I mean. Apparently it’s so good that it’s worth dying for, and here I am, seemingly unable to reap these amazing rewards.)
Do you know what you’re going to be for Halloween?
>> I have no idea. But I’m going to be in New Orleans, so I’m going to have to dress as something. Hopefully we’ll find costumes while we’re there.
What type of Halloween costume do you like best–storebought or DIY?
>> I have no experience with Halloween costumes.
Do you have to hem pants when you buy them?
>> No.
Do you find it creepy that there’s a skeleton inside of you?
>> No. That’s... that’s where bones belong. The creepiness of things like skeletons is the fact that they’re exposed instead of being hidden inside of someone.
Do you feel happier now that you did a year ago?
>> I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention.
What did you dream about last night?
>> I don’t remember now.
Have you ever had a lucid dream?
>> I think so.
Have you ever wanted to be a model, actress, dancer, or singer?
>> I’ve wanted to be a singer. When I was a child, Inworld was a city where I was an actor, but I don’t recall ever wanting to be an actor in the outworld realm. That was just how Inworld operated (and how my storytelling skills first developed).
What were your childhood dreams?
>> ---
What are your dreams now?
>> ---
Do you know anyone who has everything handed to them?
>> No.
When you see people chasing dreams in a field they’re not good at, do you wonder what it is that they are good at and should be doing instead?
>> I don’t think that people should only do what they’re good at. I also think that people eventually get good at things if they work at them long enough -- or, they eventually run into a wall where they realise they’re not going to get any better at the thing for whatever reason, and they reevaluate. Sometimes people make mistakes, but one can always start over. I also-also think that it’s really none of my damn business what other people pursue, and if I’m not going to be supportive or helpful then why am I even commenting on it.
What are some Halloween costumes you would like to wear in the future?
>> I’d just like to wear a Halloween costume one day.
Do you think stores put out Christmas decorations way too early?
>> Not for me. I mean, I get it, part of the experience of holidays is... experiencing them at the appropriate time... and yeah, capitalism/consumerism has kind of blurred the lines there. So honestly, I wouldn’t mind if there were more restrictions placed on when holiday decorations can start being put out. But, you know. It doesn’t bother me too much.
What is the best time of year?
>> *shrug*
What does your name rhyme with?
>> I don’t think it rhymes with anything.
What color is your hair naturally, and were you blonde when you were young?
>> Dark brown. No.
Were you born with hair on your head?
>> I don’t know.
Would you rather have a home birth or hospital birth?
>> ---
Do you ever wonder why everyone is so mean?
>> No, because I don’t think people are mean all the time. I think people can be mean, because we all can be. But that’s not something I fixate on.
Do you feel free to express your emotions, or are you not allowed to?
>> No, I don’t feel free to express my emotions, but that’s not because I’m not allowed to. It’s because I have unresolved trauma.
What year do you want to go back to, if you had to go back?
>> ---
What was the best year of your life?
>> ---
At what age did you start going through puberty?
>> I guess eleven or so.
Did your hair change (like going from straight to curly) then?
>> I... don’t think so??
Did you get highlights in your hair when highlights were the craze?
>> No.
^If yes, what color highlights did you have?
>> ---
If you could go back to your senior prom, what would you do differently?
>> I don’t care about doing things differently. Nothing that happened at senior prom was so awful that it ruined the entire rest of my life, so??
Do you live near a park, and if so, do you wish you did?
>> There’s a park not too far away. But it’s just far enough away that I wouldn’t want to walk there, so that sucks.
What color was the house you grew up in?
>> Brown, I think. Or something close.
Do you currently live in the house you grew up in?
>> No.
If not, what do you miss about it?
>> Nothing.
Have you ever hallucinated? If so, what happened?
>> Yeah. I mean, a lot of things happened. It was the kind where my physical reality was completely overlaid with whatever kind of world I was hallucinating, yknow.
Do you prefer real pumpkins or styrafoam ones?
>> ---
Are your pumpkins real, fabric, plastic, or styrofoam?
>> I don’t have any pumpkins.
Do you like how fabric pumpkins look?
>> Yeah, they’re cute.
When was the last time you did a DIY craft you saw online?
>> ---
Do you ever make up your own crafts?
>> No.
What color were your bedroom walls when you were a teenager?
>> White, I think.
Are you irritated right now, and if so, by what?
>> Nah.
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