#it's such a good orc letter y'all

[nuclearforest]

1- How good and dilfy is briar's dad to have so much fae pussy?

2- How often does she write to her siblings, and how is she able to send the letters?

3- Whats going on with Briar having clipped wings?

4-did Briar ever use that advice from Sabine? Is that how she earned so many pups?

5- headcanons for briarett as first time parents

HELL YEAH HOMIEEEE ty I'm gonna write so much shit

And please y'all: go show Rotten @rotten-hearts-sharp-teeth some love for Barrett because he needs his time to shine.

1. Briar actually has 2 dads and 2 moms. Polyamory isn't all that weird in fae circles (primarily elven and fairy) because they're tasty little morsels and if one parent is snapped up like the snack they are, you gotta hope for some additional stability. If anything, it's the norm.

That said, out of Briar's fathers (tentatively named Georgiy and Roman), Georgiy is definitely DILFy. Her folks were all part of a flood of fae that fled Eastern Europe in the human world around 1917 in the upheaval of WWI and the Russian Revolution. They were kids at the time, but they settled in a pocket of fae in what was largely predator territory. Georgiy may only have about average human strength, but he's a tough old man and carries it with him well after the parent poly unit moves much closer to the fairy capital in fae Scotland, a much safer place.

2. Briar wants to be where the people are. And as a result, she's gotta deal with writing to a world with a much lower state of technology but much greater magic. (Really, the difference is large in part to being unable to handle raw iron.)

To send it, she describes it as "sealing it with a kiss" because the letter will always find its recipient. In reality, there are little gremlin creatures that live in the machines at post offices and steal anything that smells like a fae letter. They move back and forth between worlds with ease and all they want in pay are paper scraps to eat. Before post office sorting machines, the critters would dig through piles of mail by hand.

3. Most fairies are not born winged as they cannot actually fly. That would be pixies, the much smaller variant. But when a fairy does have wings, it has been historically tracked to the ability to bear children for creatures outside the fae race.

It's a bit of a showy defense mechanism like "if you can't beat them-- breed them." Tooth faries, for example, are crosses between fairies and goblins. Orc and troll crosses would be the most common and would usually result in political marriages and children that keep some level of peace and prevent too many fae snacks. When a fairy does breed, the children often take most of the non-fairy genetics as dominant. There's a prevailing theory in the fae world that most lost their wings following excessive breeding with humans.

Now that said! Being born with wings puts a proverbial target on your back. "The winged are destined to leave" and "The winged will be cursed with love for other species." All good and fair things to be wary of, but the fae court can and will take winged fairies to raise if they want to marry them off in the future.

So when Briar was born, her parents panicked and immediately docked her wings to save her some the same fate. But then she went to the human world and decided to shack up with a werewolf, so there's that.

4. Lmao folks will only learn about Sabine's not so motherly advice on how to blow your werewolf when Rotten finishes her stories and I can publish. The short answer, though, is yes. And Briar does get pretty good at sucking Barrett's soul clean out.

5. Ohhh ty for this one. The first baby is a learning curve for both of them! Fortunately Briar's mothers and her younger sister come by to help Briar recover from a werepup birth. Barrett may be feeling awfully cramped in his home, but Briar needs it because the baby was MASSIVE. Takes after dad.

They're both really good parents though. The baby is almost always in somebody's hold and baby wearing is common in the house.

The most tender moments are feeding baby. Barrett takes a centuries old watch position and Briar gets to relax during the process. Since Barrett is very instinctually guided, the learning curve isn't that hard to master. Sometimes, if he's in charge of getting the baby settled after a feeding, he will joke "you're welcome" to the baby after a big burp.

He's also extremely good at taking care of both her and baby. The most tender of holds for bathtime. No request is too far. Is always ready to cuddle up.

Thinks everything is going great until baby #2 comes right on the heels of the first. Breeding kink went a little too hard. And no, Briar may know better on the timing as a Dr but can't really help herself either.

#mun rambles #hellsing ultimate #hellsing oc #bunny briar #werewolf barrett

[deenomilk]

Orctober Week 3

Already!

22. Tashok (LDB, Skyrim)

23. Malacath (Orc icon, Elder Scrolls, stand alone post here)

24. Yorag (Skyrim, OC)

25 and 26. Yagha and Ghara (Skyrim, OC)

27. Yamal (Skyrim, OC)

28. Yaren (Skyrim, OC)

#it's a whole TES squad this time #tes #skyrim #elder scrolls #malacath #orcs #orsimer #orc #orctober #my art #oc: Tashok #oc: Yaren #oc: Yamal #oc: Yorag #oc: Yagha #oc: Ghara #whenever i need an orc name i just use Y and wing it #it's such a good orc letter y'all

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

#my writing #orc x reader #reader insert #female reader insert #orc/human #monster/human #monster x reader #monster/reader #angst #orc

[leggyorlandomiddleearth]

Marry Me (Legolas)

Warnings: Mentions of death and is depressing so if you don't wanna cry, SKIP THIS-

Requested by habbits_of_hobbits on Wattpad.

Alethia (I'M SORRY BUT I LOVE THAT NAME SO MUCH) is Legolas' best friend. I don't wanna say anything else.

Italic words mean they're speaking in ELVISH. I was too lazy to search up the elvish words so-

TOO BAD-

Also it's not EXACTLY what you asked but I couldn't resist XD

ONE-SHOT BECAUSE I SERIOUSLY COULDN'T DO ANYTHING ELSE-

__________________________________________________________

Legolas'(s?) P.O.V.

"Lathia, you and your group will search this half of the village and the rest come with me," I ordered.

My heart was pounding. I hope she was okay. Her house was burned and I didn't see her anywhere. We had gathered as many villagers as we could from the burning village. Orcs had come to this village and killed many people. We had gotten there 10 minutes after they attacked.

Most of the village was on fire, and only 3/4 of the villagers remained. My heart hurt as I saw families hug their loved ones, not breathing, but separated. Sent to another world. Most of the dead were parents. What would happen to all these kids who had lost their parents, I did not want to know. I just hoped they would find comfort.

"Let's go!" I commanded. I urged my horse forward. We split up to search our own sides.

"Find anyone who is still alive and needs help. Get them to the makeshift medical station immediatly." I say. I urge my horse to gallop towards her house. Everything was burnt except for the safe I had given her for her begetting day. (Birthday)

I jump off my horse and go to the safe. Entering the password, I open it. There were many things in there, including the wolf I had whittled her. I smile at that memory.

(This is a memory now)

"SURPRISE!" I yell while jumping out of my hiding place and hugging her.

She squeals. "Legolas! Don't scare me like that again! I might have thrown this whittling knife at you!"

I look at the deformed block of whittling wood in her hand as I let go of her. "What is that?" I ask, making fun of the block of wood.

She huffs out a breath. "It's supposed to be a wolf. Ada had taught me how to whittle when I was three. I'm TRYING to remember..." she says, sadly. Her father had died in a war to protect Mirkwood.

"Hmmm... Maybe I can do that for you!" I say.

Her eyes widen. "Really?! You'd whittle a wolf for me?!" she asks excitedly.

I grin. "Of course! After all, today's your birthday, silly!" I laugh.

The afternoon was spent whittling the wolf I gave to her for her birthday. She loved it.

(Memory ends)

I also saw the little tools she used to pick locks and the tiny whittled creatures her father had given her. But I saw something new. I picked up a letter.

Legolas,

I promised that I wouldn't get sad that I left Mirkwood, but I couldn't help it. You're my best friend and I couldn't bear not seeing you. If you can, meet me in the gardens.

XOXO,

Your best friend <3

That's where she must be.

I jump onto my horse and gallop towards the gardens. There's a piece of paper hanging from a string attatched to the tree. I get off my horse and turn the paper around to look at what's written.

Doing great Leggy! Keep walking forward!

I smile at the mention of my nickname. Walking forward, I see lights hung up and another piece of paper.

I love your smile! Keep smiling for me!

I laugh. Of course she'd say that.

Walking forward, there's another paper.

ALMOST there!

I walk, then decide to run excitedly. I see lights! Not JUST lights, but candle lights! A scent fills my nose. There's peppermint, which is how Alethia smells like, and...

No. It can't be. Orc blood-mixed with...

Elven blood.

I dash into the clearing as fast as I can. I slow down as I see corpse upon corpse of orcs layed about the path, each having a slice at their throat, the signature mark of her dagger.

Then, I see her. She looked beautiful. Her blue hair was in an updo and she was wearing a green flowy dress. The only thing that wasn't perfect was the sword sticking out of her stomach.

"ALETHIA!" I cry out, rushing to her and falling to my knees. I cradle her head in my lap.

"Legolas," she whimpers, looking up at me. I lay her head back down.

"Shh, don't move, Alethia." I say, trying to soothe her, and in the process, myself.

"Legolas, I'm not going to make it," she gasps out.

"No, you will, I'll make sure of it."

"Legolas, look at me," she says, cupping my face to look at hers.

"I brought you here so I could tell you something," she says, looking at me for permission to continue. I nod.

"Legolas, do you know how crazy you are? With your flawless hair and charming smile?" she asks. I smile.

"You were always there for me, pulling me up when I needed it the most. I thank you for that. And I'm sorry I didn't have the time to tell you that I-I-I love you," she says, shaking due to coughing fits.

"I love you, Legolas. I love your good, your bad, and everything in between. I love your kindness, your happiness, and how much you care about EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. I love how stubborn you are and how you will stand up for what you believe in, no matter what. So, I have one last question," she pauses to grab a box.

She opens the box and tears fall out of my eyes. "Will you be mine?"

Inside is a ring with a golden band and a greenleaf on top of it. "Yes," I say.

She smiles and leans in to kiss me. I kiss her, but I don't feel her kiss back. I pull back in confusion. Her hand was limp but her eyes were closed and she had the beautiful smile on her face.

"Alethia," I whisper.

"Alethia," I say more urgently.

I check for her pulse...

None. There's none. I... lost her...

I let out a cry. "Alethia! Please, love! Come back to me! I NEED YOU! I love you!" I scream desperately.

I grasp her hand and kiss it many times. "I love you, PLEASE come back," I repeat it over and over again and again.

Hours pass and my voice is hoarse, but the tears haven't stopped.

King Thranduil rushes into the clearing. "Legolas," he breathes out, looking at the scene.

He kneels down and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"I loved her," I whisper. "But they took her."

Thranduil smiles sadly. I take the box and slip on the ring. It fits perfectly. I lift her limp body and carry it to where we would bury her.

Ever since we buried her, I would bring her strawberries, her favorite food. I would sit there and talk to her, hoping that she would come back to me.

I missed her. I loved her. She was my everything. My Alethia was taken from me... and it was unforgivable.

____________________________________________

Y'ALL HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY TIMES I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS-

OK I'M SORRY BUT NOW HERE ARE SOME GIFTS-

IDK IF ALREADY DID THAT

AAAAAAAAAND GOOD BYE

#legolas #tolkien elves #lord of the rings #the hobbit #depressing #wattpad #lotr

[probablywarlockrpgideas]

Y'all mind if I share my short story

He has addled my brain. The Beast with a Million Maws has granted me power, and in exchange I gave Him my free will. I thought that I could keep at least a shred of myself. I thought that I could be myself for just a little longer, until He finally took the world.

I suppose I deserve this. I knew from the start that He would convert our universe into His. What, then, would happen to me? I never asked myself that question, and by now my brain is far too addled to answer it. There's nothing I can do now.

I'm sending this message through any medium I can think of. Do not trust the Lurker of the Threshold. He offers power for souls. He doesn't even ask for your own. To a younger me, this sounded like heaven. What He did not mention is that His power tainted. His power corrupted.

I was a nice person before, you know. I had a wonderful life. I was looking to become an adventurer, to get my name in the halls of legends. To do that, I needed power. Many pacts looked promising, but His promise of power was the most enticing. I suppose He has a way to manipulate.

There's only a few hours left until the transition is complete, and I become part of the Opener of the Way. I will no longer be myself. Anything resembling time will be lost. In my lust for power, I singlehandedly caused the destruction of this world, and now I pay the price.

I suppose I shall tell my story to help anyone who crosses paths with Him, not that I expect this message to extend beyond our world. I was born an orc, though through corruption and His taint, I have nothing resembling what I once was. I was born and raised in a Human kingdom, of which the name has no importance. Naturally, having green skin, I was shunned by everyone, making me a bit of a loner.

However, I saught to prove myself. I trained to be a wizard, working day and night, until I recieved the letter. I wasn't accepted into the College. I was crushed. My entire life goal to finally become recognized by my peers had ended. What was I to do?

That was when I met the One who Knows All. He spoke directly into my soul, offering me more power than I could ever need for a small price.

"No," I said. "I will never give up my soul, my individuality."

"Then don't give up your own," He replied.

This was what started me on a path of darkness. He had a point, naturally. I wouldn't need to give up my own self to gain power. Unfortunately I didn't know at the time that gaining power from Him made me give up my own self.

I'm really hammering that point in, I know. To me, though, that's what meant everything to me. I quickly gained more and more power as I stole souls from other people. That continued until about a day ago.

Yesterday I met a god. Not one with nearly the same scope of power as the Eater of Souls, but one with enough power to bring Him back into our world. He willingly gave his soul for the Greater Good. Perhaps, though, the Greater Good was the greater of two evils.

All war will cease. Famine will be something of the past. Everyone will be equal. This seemed like a utopia to me. What He didn't say was that there would be no "one". There would be no "me".

What I had given for power was too great. So many people will die. Some of them I would even call my friends. These were the people who helped restore my sense of self, and the people I adventured with in the pursuit for power. They each had their own goals, but everyone's goal was wealth in one form or another.

I thought they were fools. Why work for your own gain, when you could work for the Greater Good of the world? I didn't see what I see now. My goal was power, even if I had some holier-than-thou attitude about it all.

I would be lying if I said that He wasn't speaking through me right now. I think that His hold is gone for the moment, as I have outlived His purposes. I gave him everything, and in exchange I lose everything. Perhaps this is what that dreaded gnome was trying to tell me. The Law of Equivalent Exchange states that in order to transmute something, something of equal value must be given. However, all alchemists must never kill, for what could equal the value of a human soul?

I now know the value of a human soul. I gave my soul to Him so that He may overtake this world. My soul, evidently, had enough power to destroy this universe. Mathematically it took a soul thousands of times more powerful than mine. That was my problem. I never took things emotionally. There is no logic in anyone's soul, which is why I couldn't forsee my descent into madness.

The worst part about all of this is that everyone is oblivious. They're going on with their normal lives believing that everything is okay and they'll see tomorrow. The ones that are going to die in the next few hours are the lucky ones. Those will be the last people to go to Heaven or Hell or whatever exists beyond this world. They won't be in an eternal consciousness.

To anyone who this message may reach, I warn you of His whisperings. You cannot outsmart an omniscient god. You cannot gain power without sacrifice. In the end, He always wins.

Do not trust Yog'Sothoth. Do not trust anything that He says.

Y'AI'NG'NGAH YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH